A/N: This chapter is from Cullen's POV; there will probably be a few of these dotted throughout the story because it's the only way to tell certain parts. We'll be going back to Neria in the next chapter. Thank you for reading! Faves, follows and reviews are welcomed and appreciated!

I watched as she slept, her face stressed. I could hardly believe that she was here. I had nearly kissed her when I saw her standing in the Chantry's main hall after she and Minaeve had arrived. The brand had brought me back to reality; that and her empty eyes. Once such a beautiful shade of jade, now a dull almost muddy green. She was still beautiful, nothing could change that fact, but seeing her eyes that had been so full of joy, so full of life, now so unfeeling and cold - because of me - was gut wrenching. I studied the brand again, the memories leading up to the moment I put the iron to her forehead resurfacing.

"I want to transfer to a different Circle," I demanded as I sat across from Greagoir in his partially renovated office. It was after Uldred's rebellion. My eyes darted around the room, my leg twitching and my hair standing on end. I hadn't slept in days, not since - No.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes flicking to me and back down to the paper he was writing on.

I gave a curt nod, "I can't stand another moment in this place. I don't trust the mages here."

Greagoir leaned back, quirking a silver-flecked brow as he dropped his quill, "Not even Neria?"

I grimaced, but said nothing. He knew exactly which button to push. He'd warned me again and again, but I hadn't listened to him. Too enamored by Neria to keep myself from her and what did I get for it? They used her to - No.

"To be honest Cullen, I think you wouldn't trust mages anywhere. Your problem isn't trust, it's fear. You've learned, albeit the hard way, the fear of mages and their power."

I still said nothing, not meeting Greagoir's eyes. Fear. That was indeed what coiled itself in my gut any time I saw her now. Not just her, but all of them, even the little ones.

Greagoir continued, "There's nothing wrong with that. Fear is needed to do our jobs properly. In order to protect the mages not only from the outside world, but also to protect them from themselves. To keep us from getting too emotionally involved."

Greagoir looked pointedly at me when I finally met his eyes.

"I've learned my lesson," I said through gritted teeth. I didn't need reminding as to what had happened. He had wanted a recounting of it, and even in giving him the vaguest details, he had surmised more than I had intended for him to know. At least he had told no one else.

"You would've at her Harrowing had she failed," Greagoir shrugged, snapping my attention back to him, "but she didn't and that seemed to only strengthen your resolve to be involved with the mage."

He had told me before her Harrowing that I had been selected as the one to strike the killing blow if she'd become an abomination. It wasn't until after that he had told me why he had picked me. It had been personal, even though I had told Neria otherwise, but it had been personal to me. He had chosen me because of my infatuation with her. It was a test: had I failed I would have been barred from being a templar, possibly imprisoned; had she failed, I would've had her blood on my hands.

"I said, I learned my lesson," I growled before standing and leaving the office.

"Any word, ser?" I asked as I walked through Greagoir's door a few months later. I was still exhausted, still unable to sleep properly though lyrium had been helping.

"Yes," Greagoir motioned for me to sit, "Kirkwall is requesting additional templars. Apparently, things are getting strenuous there, despite Knight-Commander Meredith's fair, but strict leadership. Would you be interested?"

I didn't care what the problems were, I just wanted away from here. From her. Neria continued to try restoring our friendship, but I ignored her. I was cruel to her despite her willingness to be kind to me. I couldn't get past the nausea, the trembling or the sweat that rolled down my back every time I saw her. In a way, I wanted away from her just as much for her sake as my own.

"How soon can I leave?" was my reply.

After that, I was on a boat headed for Kirkwall. I closed my eyes as I felt the sea air on my face. I shook my head, trying to silence the thoughts whispering to me from within that magical cage that I still questioned if I had escaped. Nausea rolled in my gut as the boat lurched over a wave before I slammed back a draught of lyrium, downing it in one go. As the boat passed through the gates of Kirkwall, I breathed a sigh of relief.

—

Then about eight years later, came the aftermath of Kirkwall's Chantry being destroyed; the fall of Meredith and my rallying the remaining templars to clean up the Gallows and Kirkwall. Chaos flooded around me; mages, templars, abominations all fighting, all around. I tried to choke down the fear that threatened to overtake me as memories of Kinlock Hold came rushing to the surface. I didn't know what I was doing, the role of leadership suddenly thrust into my lap after Meredith's strange death.

"Knight-Commander!" Ruvena, a young templar, shouted.

She was short, with bobbed hair and kind eyes, "There are Tranquil trapped in the underground tunnels. What should we do?"

"We must rescue them. They can't protect themselves," I ordered.

She and I, and another templar descended into the belly of the Gallows. Slowly, we fought our way through; I sent Ruvena up first with a group of Tranquil and then the other templar. I continued to press forward alone. When the last of the abominations had been cut down, I stepped into a room, the clang of my steps echoing. It was a dark, stone room, empty, save for a desk to one wall. I turned to leave, t

"Help...me..." a voice, her voice, raspy and weak cried out.

I whipped around, my heart starting to pound in my chest.

"Neria?" I called.

"Cul-len?" her voice cracked, weaker than before, "Are you real?"

"Yes," I shouted as I ran in the direction of her voice, panic gripping me. Was she real? Why was she here?

I found a slightly camouflaged door in the wall and pushed against it. It didn't budge. I noticed a chain holding the door, I used my shield to break it before trying the door again. Still, it did not budge. I stepped a few paces back and then slammed into the door with all my might. With a groan, the door gave way.
I was not prepared for what I saw before me. All fear of this being a vision conjured up by the desire demon dissipated. Nausea and horror tightened my gut, but not because of the past. My friend, this female I still held dear was like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. She had been curled up, naked, in the far corner. A thick, rusted chain holding her wrists to the wall. There was a filthy mattress in the room with her, but she was as far from it as possible. Her hair was matted and she was covered in partially healed cuts and bruises. The air was putrid; I avoided looking any closer to what lay in the room.

"Oh, Maker..." I gasped, as I looked her over again.

I swallowed hard as I stepped closer to her. Neria flinched, rattling the chain holding her to the wall. I quickly broke it, the rust having weakened it. She flinched again as I crouched down to her level, causing her to hug her knees to her chest. She looked like a corpse, her once olive skin was nearly white. I could see every bone in her spine, every rib as she breathed quickly in and out; the sharp edges of her cheekbones as she looked at me with sunken, frightened eyes. Anger, raw and powerful, lit in in my gut as I took in all of her scars and wounds.

"Are you real?" she asked again, weakly.

"Yes," I assured, "I'm not going to hurt you," I promised softly.

"Knight-Commander?" Ruvena's voice called.

"Ruvena, bring a blanket," I asked, keeping my voice calm.

I turned back to Neria, causing her to flinch before holding herself tighter still. Her pronounced knuckles were white with her grip.

"Maker, have mercy," Ruvena murmured when she entered the room.

I took the blanket from her.

"She's not a Tranquil, there's no brand. What is she doing down here? Who is she?" Ruvena asked.

"Wait outside," I ordered.

Ruvena left.

"Can I put this around you?" I asked.

I watched as her head nodded, slowly. I leaned forward moving carefully to avoid spooking her, but she kept flinching. However, she did not move away. I draped the blanket around her bony shoulders.

"Can I pick you up and carry you?" I asked.

I watched as she nodded once more. I held out my hands to her, but made no move to touch her. She looked at me again, her eyes full of fear, despair, agony and distrust. Every emotion that had plagued me after Uldred; that rage lit my gut anew. I wanted no one else to ever be driven to that point and yet, looking into her beautiful jade eyes was like looking in a mirror.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I promised again.

Neria hesitated for a moment before leaning into my outstretched arms. Taking that as indication that she wanted me to lift her up, I gingerly placed one arm under her knees and the other cradled her back. She was as light as a feather and I had to fight back a growl at whoever had done this to her.
Up close the damage was worse; I had to breathe through my mouth to try and block out the smell. Nausea rolled in my gut as I saw the infection oozing out of the festering wounds of their wrists from the chain, at the filth caked on her skin. Sheer hatred for whoever was responsible nearly overwhelmed me as I saw the many slightly healed bruises that were concentrated at her arms and throat.

"The others," she croaked, "I think they're dead, but please, don't leave them here."

"Others?" I asked, alarmed.

"Don't leave them here," was all she said.

I carried her out of the room and she wept.

"What are we going to do with her?" Ruvena asked.

"What do you think, Bethany?" I asked, "She's been having horrific night terrors. She thrashes, screams and cries. She's better during the day, but not by much."

I stared at Neria. Bethany had washed her hair and cut it short, cleaned and bandaged the cuts and bruises, and changed her into a clean, cotton nightshift, but her eyes were wild with fear as she huddled in a corner. Bethany had her back to me. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder as she held out a hand that glowed with healing magic. Neria flinched and yelled as Bethany held her hand out. I had to fight the feeling that this could've been me after Kinloch Hold had the Hero of Ferelden not come when she did. I had to fight the feeling that I had come too late for Neria.

"Maker, have mercy," Bethany breathed.

"What? What is it?" I asked, panic rising again.

"Cullen, whatever you think she's been through," she turned, her blue eyes wide in shock, lips pressed so tight they were white before she spoke, "It's worse. Much worse."

I felt myself pale at the news, "Ruvena, wait outside," I commanded.

She saluted and left.

"Tell me," I demanded, my eyes flashing.

"I'm not sure I should or even can. That would be for her to do," Bethany shook her head, "But it's no wonder she's terrified."

I understood what Bethany was saying, I didn't want people to know what had happened at Kinloch Hold and I wouldn't want someone telling another without my consent.

"Can you help her?" I asked as I watched Neria curl up in a ball in the corner of the room.

Bethany contemplated my question for a time, but turned back to look at me, hesitation on her face. She looked me directly in the eye, though, before saying "I think the only thing that would truly help her would be to forget."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"We need a mage who can meddle with minds."

Neria was lying on my bed, fitfully asleep, calmer than before. Bethany sat on the edge of the bed next to her, wiping Neria's face with a cloth. I watched as I leaned against the bed post, my arms folded across my chest, studying Neria.

"When you finally made a stop at my house, Cully, I was hoping it'd be me in your bed by the end of the night," a husky, female voice pouted as the door swung open.

I physically flinched as Marian Hawke entered the room. It was evident that she was related to Bethany. She had the same black hair, though hers was cropped short, and haughty eyes of blue. She had the same delicate nose and shape to her mouth as Bethany. Where Bethany was curvaceous, however, Marian was lithe and muscular.

"Shut up, Marian," Bethany scolded.

"Oh, I was teasing. I just want to make our dear, Knight-Commander blush," Marian winked at me, I responded with a scowl. She smiled widely at that and stood on tip-toes to try and kiss my cheek, I leaned away before she could.

"Focus, Hawke," I ordered, glaring at her.

"Ugh, Cully, why are you so immune to my charms?" she pouted, sticking her lower lip out.

"Maybe because they're not charming?" Bethany chided exasperatedly.

This is not the time for another Hawke family squabble, I thought, as I ground my teeth, my jaw clenching.

"Sorry, Cullen," Marian sincerely apologized, "So this is she? Let's fix her up."

She turned and waved someone in the hall forward. A boy entered the room. He had long, straw-blond hair tied in a ponytail. He wore mage robes of strange colors, possibly Tevinter. Though he was young, his green eyes had the age of someone much older in their light. Bethany had explained to me the events surrounding this boy, Feynriel. A dreamer, or somniari, in Elven. A mage that could walk through dreams, enter others in the Fade, to help, to destroy or to kill. It was both terrifying and fascinating to me as I had never heard of such a mage. I could not ask any in the Order about it for fear they would seize the boy and make him Tranquil, thus leaving Neria without hope aside from the Rite as well.

He nodded to me, "What is it you need me to do?"

He was obviously afraid, but still willing to help Neria.

"Make her forget everything that's happened to her since she's been in Kirkwall. However long it's been," I said softly.

"Cullen, I have to ask," probed Bethany, "Did you know she was here?"

"No," I bit out, my temper flaring, "If I had...Maker...I would have stopped this."

"Do you know who did this to her?" Marian asked.

"That disgusting pig, Alrik," I growled, having to keep my temper in check, "I found letters from Neria, Irving and Greagoir to me and to Meredith among his possessions once I was really able to go through them. She wanted to be transferred here when she found out I had come here. She hoped she could be a friend to me after...the Blight, even though I had treated her horribly. Otto had intercepted them all. He hid her so he could perform experiments on her; I found his journals. I didn't find the one on her, but what he was doing to mages, right under my nose..."

The accounts, the details, the depravity that those journals had held. I vomited after reading a couple of them. What he did to those women, what he no doubt did to Neria if her wounds were any indication had made me physically ill. If he hadn't already died, I would have slaughtered him myself.
None of the other women had survived, we had put them to rest with as much dignity as we could. I had burned their journals to honor them and to make sure they could not mar the memory of them. I wished for nothing more than to be able to go back and see what I had been so blind to and save them all.

"I had my suspicions about him, but I'm even more glad that I slaughtered him when I had the chance. Too bad it didn't take longer," Marian murmured, a dark glint in her eyes.

"Indeed," I growled, for once completely agreeing with the woman.

"Go ahead, Feynriel," Marian nodded towards Neria.

Feynriel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before approaching Neria, "You realize, I have no idea what kind of side effects this could have?"

I nodded, I feared for her, but what could be worse than the current state she was in? Little did I know how much that thought would come to haunt me.
Feynriel sighed as he laid down on the bed next to Neria. He closed his eyes, his breathing deepening. Strange magic electrified the air. Neria groaned, her back arching. Feynriel seemed to be straining and Neria began screaming.

"What's happening?" I yelled in alarm, standing straight.

"The memories are too painful. She's fighting me from pulling us into them so I can reshape them," Feynriel panted, his eyes still closed.

"What can we do?" Bethany yelled over Neria's screaming.

"Just give me a moment," Feynriel said through gritted teeth.

Neria arched her back even more and her screams intensified.

"Stop! You're hurting her!" I yelled, lunging forward, my hand reaching to grab Neria.

"Cullen, don't!" Marian yelled, grabbing my arm before I touched Neria, "If you break them up before Feynriel stops, you might ruin both their minds."

Neria was wailing in earnest, tears were streaming down her face. Horror, sorrow, and the feeling that I could do nothing to help her, nothing to stop what I knew would be the inevitable end snaked its way up my spine.

"I can't do it, she won't let me!" Feynriel panted, "There's a demon coming. It wants her!"

"Stop, Feynriel! Stop!" I yelled, desperate.

"I can't!" he cried in fear.

"What should we do?" Bethany begged me. I had no answer for her. I wouldn't say the words.

"The only thing we can do! Cullen, we have to make her a Tranquil!" Marian yelled at me.

I didn't move, didn't say anything, only watched.

"Cullen, now!" Marian screamed, shoving me.

I ran out of the room, down the hall to a stone chamber that had only a chair and a fireplace within. A fire roared in the hearth. I dashed forward, snatching the end of an iron from within. On the end was the Tranquil's sun-shaped brand that glowed blue from lyrium. I ran back to the room, where Neria's screams had turned to sobs.

"Tell me when," I called out, my voice and body seeming far away.

"Now!" Feynriel yelled.

I thrust the iron at Neria's forehead. Her eyes flew open as she let out one last scream. In seconds, the light in her eyes winked out, her face softening into the picture of serenity before she fell back down on the bed, her eyes closing once more. The sun brand was an angry red on her forehead as I pulled the iron away.

Feynriel closed his eyes again, "The demon is gone. Her memories are still there and I can reshape them now," he said.

"Is it necessary?" I asked, the iron in my hand feeling impossibly heavy.

"I think it would be wise. I don't know the ins and outs of the Rite, but those memories are so full of emotion I'm not sure a Tranquil mind would be able to process them without breaking completely," Feynriel answered, "You know her better than I do, what do you think she would want?"

"Would you want to remember what that monster did if it was you?" I retorted.

"Not a second of it," Marian replied firmly.

"Do it."

Feynriel began again. Neria did not react this time, but her eyes opened when he was finished.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello. Who are you?" Neria asked, her voice monotone. I wanted to weep at the emptiness of it.

"I'm Feynriel," he stated, "Can you sit up?"

She did and reached for the brand on her forehead, "I am Tranquil now."

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Yes, I am sorry about that," Feynriel apologized sincerely.

"Neria, can you tell me where you are?" I asked, wanting her to look at me, to see, against all reason, if there was a spark of herself there. She looked at me, her eyes no longer that beautiful jade, but an empty, dull green. Guilt started to curl its way into my mind as I looked at her.

"Ferelden. Though, I do not recognize any of you. Where are Irving and Greagoir?" she asked.

I was gutted. She didn't know who I was anymore.

"How did she forget who I am?" I asked.

I had an ale in front of me as I sat in the seedy tavern that was a favorite of Hawke's. I sat across from Marian, the burly dwarf, Varric, was next to her and the intimidating red-head, Aveline, to her right.

"I'm not entirely sure. Playing with minds isn't an exact science," Marian shrugged as she took a swig from her ale.

"For what it's worth, Curly, I'm sorry," the dwarf offered, his accent that of a Free Marcher.

"Thank you, Varric. Perhaps it's for the best. I'm going to send her back to Ferelden. I think the further away from all of this she is, the better," I stated.
The further away from me is what I really meant: before I could bring anymore harm to her and to hopefully ease the guilt that was now threatening to overwhelm me. That was the only reason I had gone to the tavern, in an attempt to be distracted.

"Bethany said she'd be happy to look after her here," Marian offered, her blue eyes hardly ever straying from me.

"I appreciate that, but I think distance from this place would be best for her mental health."

"Why not with you?" Aveline asked bluntly.

Did they not realize that there was nothing I wanted more? I had wanted to keep her close and protect her at one time. Then the desire demon had marred my feelings for her. In an attempt to heal my wounds and to ease her suffering I had left, but I had only led her to an unforgivable hurt in doing so. They didn't need to know any of this, so instead I had said, "I fear I am in no state to help her."

"Well you know, Cully, the offer for me to cheer you up still stands," Marian wiggled her eyebrows at me suggestively.

The woman did not have an ounce of decorum. I grimaced at her. The only female I wanted in my bed was already there, though she was not in my bed for any other reason then to recover. She would be gone within a few days and I doubted I would ever want someone in my life again once she was.

"Hawke," Aveline scolded.

"What?" Hawke raised her brows incredulously, "I'd even let him close his eyes and pretend I'm Neria."

Anger burned red in my vision at her words. I slammed my ale down, causing some of it to slosh over the lip, "That's enough, Hawke." I would find no solace here.

I had stood and left without looking back.

Now, Neria lay in a cot before me, hope daring to vine its way to my heart, despite the catastrophic event that had just taken place up at the temple. I didn't deserve an answer to my prayer for the Maker to undo what I had done. I didn't deserve anything, but still I hoped. Minaeve's words had sparked it. Had Andraste pleaded to the Maker on my behalf? Would Neria be able to be herself again, healed and whole? I bowed my head, folded my hands and began praying to the Maker for a miracle.