Hawke had to hand it to the Templars—they knew how to sap a person's will. First, lay in an obscenely comfortable mattress, a soft pillow, and piles of downy warm blankets, so the subject had no desire to rise from the comfort of the bed into the chill of the unheated cell. Then add atmosphere. The wind whistling around the high tower, the sense of utter isolation from anything or anyone familiar, and oh, yes, the screams. The screams that started as soon as the sun fell and lasted all night long, so that all one wanted to do was curl up under the pile of toasty blankets and forget the horrors one couldn't see in dreams of faraway loved ones. Never mind that their faces were growing dimmer in your mind.

After the first day, she noticed something interesting, however: They weren't drugging her any longer. Energy was coursing through her limbs again, even though the food was minimal at best. On the second morning, when the screams stopped and the sun struggled through the mists to touch her barred window with its fingertips, Hawke tossed back the warm covers and got out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold stones. She wished for more clothes. They had left her a thin tunic and leggings that didn't stop the chill in the air. Yet another reason to stay in bed under the covers.

Gritting her teeth with determination, she began a slow series of movements. Her muscle tone was practically nonexistent after all this time; she'd need to put a lot of effort into reconditioning herself.

She finished a round of sit-ups, deciding that was enough for one day. It wouldn't do to push her muscles too hard and pull something. Getting to her feet, she stretched a bit and then walked around the narrow cell as much as she could for a cool-down. Once she was done, she eyed the comfortable bed longingly. Later, she told herself. It wasn't just her body that needed reconditioning. Her mind felt sluggish, too.

Standing in the middle of the room, she began reciting poetry. Gradually, as she recited, she lost track of what she was saying and found herself reliving, rewriting, her last argument with Fenris. She made some fairly persuasive points, if she did say so herself. How dare that broody bastard not be there to hear her and admit she had outtalked him?

Hawke sighed. Clearly she was going to have to keep working on her focus.

She moved closer to the window. On her tiptoes, she could just barely clear the lower sill, getting a glimpse of the outside world. If only she could climb the wall and see where she was. But then, she had no one to communicate her whereabouts to, so what would be the point? The bars were too close together to fit through, even if she could get up there.

A chill draft blew through the cell. Where had that come from? She wrapped her arms around herself, looking longingly at the bed, piled high with the fluffy blankets.

It occurred to her that the prison, which had been alive with screams during the night, was absolutely, utterly silent in the daylight. It was hard to decide which was more eerie.

That was it; she'd done enough. Gratefully, she sank into the comfortable mattress and pulled the blankets up around her, curling up on her side, facing the wall, and imagining Fenris there, holding her. Never mind the fact that, even if she were somehow set free of this unimaginable place, he would still be out of her reach. If she had to be kept here, there was no reason to deal with that unpleasant little piece of reality at the same time.

She was nearly asleep when she heard something, deafening in the silence. Footsteps. Distant at first, then coming closer. Were they coming toward her? Hawke sprang from bed, using her fingers to comb her hair, wishing for pins to put it up in the familiar bun. Even without a mirror, she could tell that her current dishabille, complete with grey-streaked hair falling around her shoulders, was something far less than imposing.

The footsteps stopped in front of her door. Were they bringing food? She was surprisingly not that hungry, and left with the consideration of whether it was better to eat to keep up her strength or to avoid whatever food they gave her as much as she could in order to keep from being drugged again. It was nice having her mind back, even if there was nothing so far to use it on.

The door swung open, and she stood straight and tall, prepared for anything, she told herself.

Keran came in, smiling at her. "I see you're out of bed. It's surprising how many aren't, even on the first day. Comfortable, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are."

"That was my idea, you know. I said, 'why not give our guests something comfortable to sleep on?' Amazing how it saps the will."

"Guests? I don't think that's the word I would choose." Hawke refused to contemplate the potential sapping of her will, although Keran's dispassionate comment chilled her as much as the silence had.

"'Choose' being the operative word. You use yours, I'll use mine. But come, we're late."

"Late for what?"

Keran was studying her, his head cocked to the side. "I think I won't bind you. You're too intelligent to think you could get very far if you ran, and if you try something, it'll be a valuable lesson for you."

Hawke let that one alone. He was right, there was little point in fighting and trying to get away, especially since she had no idea where she was. She'd see what they wanted from her, give some thought to how she could figure out where she was, and then go from there. Always in the back of her mind was the idea that Varric might have tracked her somehow, and that maybe he was coming for her even now. Far-fetched the idea might be, but she couldn't let go of it. If she lost faith in Varric, who was left to count on?

She walked with Keran down the stone halls, her feet making no sound on the rough stone floors. Her toes were cold, and she kept stubbing them on jutting pieces of masonry.

"Too bad we can't give you any shoes. Only soft clothing, as you can see, and none too much of that. For everyone's safety—we can't have you harming yourself."

"I could always rip up the blankets, if I wanted to hang myself."

Keran chuckled. "Try it sometime. You'll find it's harder than you think."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Keeping track of the turnings and twistings of the halls was nearly impossible. Most of them were entirely closed in, so there were no windows to pay attention to. The sconces that held the candles were uniform, no way to mark any one particular one in her memory. Still, it was a nice puzzle and it felt good to stretch her brain.

Keran's blue eyes were on her all too often, and Hawke felt uncomfortably as though he knew what enjoyment she was getting from the simple exercise of paying attention to where they walked. She wished she could hide that from him, but it was already too late.

At last he stopped in front of a door. He swigged down a vial of lyrium, then took a stance and performed some type of movement. Hawke could practically feel the air ripple, and the door came open. "Only a Templar can open the door," he said. "Just in case you entertain any thoughts of fleeing."

"I find thoughts of fleeing very entertaining," Hawke said, preceding Keran into the room as urged. It seemed innocuous enough; a single bare-walled room with two chairs. She took the one in the center of the room while Keran took the other, leaning comfortably back against the wall.

"Now, let's talk about the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry."

"What is it you hope to gain by interrogating me, Keran? I'll tell you everything I know and it's still not going to do you any good."

"I find that hard to believe. Nonetheless, it's what I wish to talk about."

"You have to know what happened. We were near the Gallows at the time, all of us there."

"Except your mage friend."

"Except Anders, yes. And if I'd known what Anders was going to do, I'd have killed him myself before he had the chance." Hawke glanced down at her hands. "I take responsibility for protecting him all those years; but the clinic he ran in Darktown saved the lives of a lot of people. It seemed a safe risk to let him live."

"Safe risk? Is there such a thing?"

"You sitting in here alone with me strikes me as such."

Keran gave a small smile. "A month ago, possibly, but you're not conditioned at the moment, and I am. Tell me about the conspiracy to take down the Chantry."

"There wasn't one."

"Don't be ridiculous. You and your people plotted. Templars died all over Thedas when the Circles rose up against us!" Keran was on his feet now, his voice shrill in her ears.

"I didn't have anything to do with that."

"What about the Circle at Starkhaven? You let those mages go free!"

"I did not!" Hawke stood up, too, outraged. "That woman Grace tried to kill me—with your collusion, may I add. I sent her back to the Circle, where Thrask decided to use her as the linch-pin in some plot to bring mages and Templars together. He paid for that mistake with his life. Isn't that enough for you?"

"You let it all happen, and then you ran off to live happily ever after with your knife-ear lover." Keran's voice rose to a crescendo, and they stood staring at one another, breathing heavily.

At last, Hawke shook her head, sitting back down. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"We'll just see about that. A session with a blood mage ought to bring out your secrets." Keran narrowed his eyes. "In the guise of that elf of yours, perhaps."

"Don't." Hawke knew she should keep quiet, but the idea of seeing Fenris here and knowing it couldn't be him … she was afraid she wasn't strong enough for it. "He wouldn't come; he's a slave in Tevinter. You know that—you were the one who caught me there. I'd never fall for that."

"Maybe." He looked unconvinced. "There are other ways to make you talk." He came toward her, looming over her, his eyes glittering.

"Lay a finger on me and I'll make you wish you hadn't."

"You're a big talker, Champion. But we both know you couldn't fight a gnat right now."

He was right. Evelyn braced herself, trying to think ahead and decide what she would do if he attempted to hurt her.

Just then the door opened. Keran jumped away from her as a figure came through the door. The man was tall and slender, his hair greyed. The skin was stretched taut over his face. Hawke's head snapped back in shock as she recognized him.

"Cullen?"

"Serah Hawke." He looked at Keran, and the younger man stepped hastily away, returning to his chair.

"Cullen, what are you doing here?"

"What else does one do with an aging Templar? You hide him away where he can do no good. Or harm, for that matter."

"Can't you?"

"Do harm?" Cullen sighed. "No, not really. No more than is already being done."

"What's that they say, if you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem?"

"Well, of course I am. I've always been part of the problem. But by the time I learned that, it was already too late to change. And part of me doesn't want to." He stared over Hawke's shoulder. "If you'd seen what I've seen … no, setting mages free with no supervision is not the solution. You should know that as well as I do, Hawke."

"I do know that," she said testily. "I haven't had anything to do with the problems the Chantry has had. I went into exile, fleeing from your people, remember?"

His eyes cleared, and he put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes. Yes, I remember."

"Will you tell them that and get them to let me go?"

"Just … be a good girl, Hawke. Don't give them any trouble." He turned, his shoulders hunched, and left the room. Chilled, Hawke looked after him. Any relief she might have felt when he came in was gone; clearly, there was no help to be expected from that quarter. Although Keran hadn't moved the whole time Cullen had been in the room. Was Cullen in charge? Was there some reason Keran had hung back? She left the room in response to a curt gesture from Keran, walking with him back to her cell. She barely noticed the numbness in her cold toes until she was able to climb back into that comfortable bed and tuck her feet under the warm covers. A meal was waiting for her, and she ate, reasoning that keeping up her strength was worth chancing being drugged again, and once she was done, bored and more frightened than she cared to admit, she conjured up Fenris in her imagination again and carried on a conversation with him until she grew warm enough to sleep.