Author's Note: So after some requests, I've decided to re-upload this archaic and very bloated old Dragon Age fanfic piece meant to expand/follow the journey of a Maleficar/Apostate Tower Mage, more specifically my original Surana. This is by far the largest fanfiction project I ever took on, going well past 60 chapters and still wasn't even halfway through my Surana's timeline. Please enjoy what I did manage to write over the course of a few years back in ye old timeline of 2010 - 2014. These are very old writings so pls no judging, this is mainly being put back up for my friends to read xDD Oh and it's very CullenxSurana centric, though I don't really jump into it for a long time honestly. I enjoy a slow burn that makes you suffer kinda love haha. ANyway enjoy reading! I'll stop talking now lmao [2/7/2022]
This was a time before the wretchedness seeped in.
Before the darkness engulfed us all, one by one. Piece by piece.
Before she took everything that made me what I am.
What I once was.
Clack Clack Clack. The soft tapping of my shoes echoed off the stone walls of the winding staircase, drifting upward and dispersing into the silence like a ghost. The tower was always such an abysmal and wretchedly deserted place at night. I had lived around and conjured the most disturbing spells and hexes since a small child, yet the silence of a deadened hallway still uprooted me. Unnerved me, I could even go as far to say.
My eyes darted down the long stretch of black hallway in the corridor. Nothing. They traveled to the fine golden tapestries on the wall, trimmed in red with various and elaborate mage symbols painted in pearl-white in the very center. I trailed along the line of the decorations so carefully spaced across the stone archways, each one symbolizing different spells and abilities to separate us mages into groups. Divide us. Primal mages with primal mages, healers with healers, hexers with hexers. Like cattle divided by the colors and shapes on their backs. Branded. They ranged down the dark hallway until they dispersed into nothingness, invisible to my eyes.
A quietly murmured spell into my hands and the small lightning rod I'd stolen from a Tranquil at the stock room bloomed into a visible glow. I narrowed my gaze before holding out the light to the hallway, trying in vain to peer down the dark expanse of shadows lain out before me as a yawning chasm. It would be sincerely easier sneaking about at night if I didn't have to play a guessing game as to where I was going every five steps, but then again no one expected mages to be up at such an hour. That didn't change the fact I would never understand how the tower could look so utterly different under the shadowed veil of night. I felt like I was awaiting for some demon to spring out at me around every corner or open archway.
The soft padding of the rug beneath my feet silenced my shoes, thankfully. Only a gentle brush of hardened soles against carpet could be heard. I made my way around the bend, carefully following along the path with my hand against the stone wall for guidance. I jumped when the surface under my hand shifted from smooth stone to wood, and gasped before jerking up my light to find what object had obstructed my path. A great portrait hung on the wall, that of First Enchanter Irving, undoubtedly commissioned in his younger days when he had a little less of the world written on his face. I tilted my head to the side and smiled pityingly against him.
"Still manage to catch me in the dark, do you?" I mused quietly to myself while putting my hand to my hip. I let my gaze linger on his portrait for a moment more, briefly dwelling on the subtle comfort I felt whenever looking up into the face of the closest form of family I'd had since my eviction into the tower so many years ago. If there was one mage I would never dare contradict or snap at-and how I did love a good sarcastic remark-it was Irving. I respected him, much to my regret, and I couldn't seem to escape such a feeling whenever I stood in his presence. It was unsettling and stirring, but I needn't think on it too hard. I didn't feel like being sentimental tonight; not tonight.
Just as I began to turn away from the portrait and plunge back into the darkness, a shift of light somewhere behind me caught my attention and made me jerk around. I froze, waiting for the shadows to shift again, but found no light twisting into my line of vision. Tensing, I held out the torch to the darkness and swallowed my breath, fearing the worst. When nothing came to jump out at me from the shadows, I sighed and slumped my shoulders before placing a hand over my face.
"Not as if the Fade itself will come and swallow me up," I muttered to myself before sighing again and turning back around to continue my increasingly vexing journey to the library. In the same instant I finally removed my hand from my face to scour back through the shadows, my eyes met another's-empty, pale, livid eyes-and shaped out the form of a ghosted little girl's face for the briefest moment.
I sucked in my breath and stumbled backwards, but instead of regaining my balance I felt my heel catch the edge of the hallway runner. I only had a moment to shriek before twisting around and crashing to the floor. My hands flew out to grasp any object I could find, and on my way down I pulled the spear from the knight display. I jumped and coiled tight in instinctive protection for myself, covering over my head and neck at the sound of the heavy metal weapon smacking against the stone floor in reverberation. I had hardly recovered and was attempting to uncurl my crumpled body when the sound of shifting metal caught my attention, and seconds later the suit of armor's head followed, crashing to the floor and sending me into another fit as I screeched and curled back up into a tight ball to escape the raining metal armor.
"Who goes there?" the telltale, militant shout of a Templar called down the corridor seconds later. My panic quickly shifted from whatever I'd seen moments ago to a completely new issue - getting caught. I was not one to spend another night in restricted isolation for getting caught awake after hours. Bloody Templars could shove it if they thought they could rope me into that again.
"Blast it!" I hissed through gritted teeth before shoving myself back onto my feet. A quick glance back down the corridor affirmed that at least one Templar was heading in my direction with a torch at hand. My head jerked back down the blackness of where I'd seen… whatever I had seen. A chill swept through my chest when I noted it had disappeared, whoever or whatever it was.
"I'll deal with you later," I murmured under my breath before turning back to the dark shadows of the corridor to streak blindly down to the library. I wasn't sure where my rod of light had landed, but I no longer cared. All that mattered now was escaping the Templar. Only a few feet into my journey, I stumbled and nearly hit my head on another armory display. A quick feel of the stone walls and I managed to jog the rest of the way until I found a door that was not locked. With my back smashed up against the door to double-check for any more unhappy spirits looking to greet me in the middle of the night, I opened the door and backed into the opening, shutting it once I'd gotten safely inside. Just as I was about to dare allow myself a breath of relief, a voice murmured directly from behind me and caused me to jump and turn around to face the new intrusion.
"May Andraste pour her blanket of mercy on me, and cast me not away for my imperfections. Maker protect me, and forgive me for I have done wrong unto what is in Andraste's purity and perfection," a man's voice murmured from an incomprehensible direction. I heard it as it whispered off the walls in an echo, bouncing about and leaving the voice without a face. As my eyes slowly traveled around to circle the room, I took in the tall, stone-white pillars that stretched high into the arched ceiling.
Directly across lay four stained glass windows etched with the stories of the chantry. In the center of the room, lying directly under the largest and most decorated stained glass window, stood a statue in the resemblance of Andraste. It was beautifully shaped, with not a nick out of place, and it looked as pearl-white as when it was first carved and placed between the pillars. As my eyes traveled down to the soldiered line of aisles, the distraction began to fade and I was reminded of where I now resided. The Chantry-right.
I had never been one for the Maker and all that business, or anything to do with it really. Or rather, I just wasn't very.. active in my faith. A curious note on my behalf, but I'd never really noticed the chantry in all my years of living in the tower. Drawing back from the world around me, I focused back on the repetitive, continuously lowered mutters of whatever religious-obsessive man had decided to come pray at three in the morning. Hopefully not a Templar. Not many mages in the tower were privy to the Maker, though I knew some to be. None that were personally my friends, of course. Most of the "chantry chanting" was left to the more over-obsessive, Templar-types and Andrastians, or as they liked to be called - "prophets of the Maker". Stuffed-up, obsessive types.
It would just be my luck of the evening to escape one Templar and run straight into another. I sometimes wondered if the Maker purposely mocked me in this manner. Though, for the most part-most of the Templars I knew of were not actually very religiously-oriented. Perhaps it was the spoilings of tower-bred "chantry" boys being left to quarters shared with clusters of our female mages all hours of the night without supervision, but most had never and did not strike me as very oriented in the chantry arts, aside from the captain of course. Though I did know of many other "arts" that our Templar boys were very well-versed in. But for another time and place.
If I wasn't in trouble already, I decided I might as well investigate thoroughly. Shoving my irritation to the side, I strutted casually forward toward the single candle lit at an alter in the far north corridor of the sanctuary. I made no point to quiet my steps since he'd undoubtedly heard me and I'd be damned either way. As I drew closer to the encompassing glow of the candlelight, I could see now that my worst assumptions had been correct. A templar sat crouched, head in hands, rocking back and forth as he begged a wooden altar stand to forgive his sins. Typical.
He was halfway through another round of his same plea for mercy when he finally realized another presence had joined him-namely me. He stopped mid-sentence just as I fell still. I stopped about five feet from where he crouched, using the stone wall for support as I leaned sideways and waited for him to act surprised.
"Rather late for relinquishing your sins," I remarked flatly. I saw a pair of eyes peek out from under the shoulder of his armor. As I met his gaze, untarnished, I saw a spark of either fear or recognition in his eyes. In that next instant, he violently and rather suddenly jerked to his feet and jumped back a good foot from where I stood. I made no reaction. Instead, I raised a brow, still waiting for the templar to recognize I was out of bed past curfew. Templars were awfully foolish, at times. More often than not, now that I came to think of it.
When he said nothing, and considered to stare at me with a blank, idiotic gawk of an expression, I frowned more and felt my irritation begin to rise up again. Well if he wasn't going to start a decent conversation-
"What were you doing?" I nodded toward the alter, not really interested but considering he might be more lenient were I to show some form of false appreciation to his extensive obsession with his Templar… ness. Again, he said nothing, just stared. I decided to revert back to taking in my surroundings by visual aid, and glanced back at his face, curious.
How anyone could take being a Templar so seriously (excluding Greagoir, of course) was beyond me. This definitely was not Greagoir, by the looks of his face. I might have seen him around the tower at some point, but this was not one of those times I was partial to remembering the event. He was altogether unfamiliar, and struck a chord well enough for me to realize that I actually had not even the slightest clue as to who he was. He wasn't a terribly young face, but not old either. Not scowling enough to be Finnis, which was my first guess. But not young enough to be Wendale, who was a bit too "pretty" for my liking. If he weren't so covered in shadows, I could even say he was a decent face. The shadow of a ruddy burnt-auburn stubble shown under the candlelight, as did a carefully pressed back head of distractingly orange-red hair. He had an angular, strict face. Just like a Templar. I wrinkled my nose and decided in that moment: I didn't like him at all.
"I don't remember seeing you about the tower," I noted suspiciously as I continued to inspect his face, ignoring how utterly disheveled he still looked.
"I know," he butted in out of the blue. My eyes darted up in surprise to find the hunk of armor actually spoke. I raised a brow, awaiting for him to elaborate on such a thoughtless reply. He darted his eyes away the moment I tried to meet his. He was rather skittish for a Templar.
"I-I mean, I haven't. Been here, I mean. I just arrived a week or so ago from a Ferelden Chantry outside Denerim where I trained. I signed up to join the recruitment for Templars here at the tower; I heard they were looking for more, so-"
"..So you came to join the witless muscle used to punish us into our proper places. Yes, I know," I sighed irritably. "You lot seem to multiply overnight, I swear it. More prude and uptight with every passing month, too, as it seems," I nodded while gesturing up and down at him with mild disinterest. My snippety remarks, which almost always seemed to have a bad effect on any Templar, still had not penetrated whatever thick barricade this new chantry boy had hidden behind. Perhaps I could even attempt to get away with my midnight excursion, seeing as he didn't have a clue that I wasn't supposed to be awake. That or he truly wasn't aware of the time. Or perhaps he was just a great, stupid oaf. The latter would not surprise me in the least.
"Excuse me?" he interrupted, his voice taking on a more incredulous, accusing tone. There we go. The Big and Bad Templar I was used to. I heaved a sigh and leisurely rolled my hip to put the weight on the other side, taking a lazy step forward to circle around the Templar to the altar stand where the candle still burned. He made sure to take a wide step clear of me to keep a foot's distance between us.
"Your lot, as in Templars, as in chantry chanters. Obsessive tool types that get up at three in the morning to come beg forgiveness for not shining their armor set hard enough the previous day," I mused in a flat voice while shifting the candle to put onto a holder. As I moved the candle onto the small silver holster, the flame licked out from the abrupt change of direction. "You know the type, I'm sure.." I went on, bending over to cup my hand around the candle and whisper a small incantation to relight the flame. I silently enjoyed the slight fear that twisted onto his face as he watched me conjure the fire from thin air. I pretended not to notice it as I cradled the newly-lit candle to my chest and turned back around to face him.
"Chantry boys bred outside the tower are usually expected to be so ardently… chaste and righteous or whatever other purist nonsense you were obviously led to believe in your petty Templar training. Which is fine, because it simply means you have nothing to worry about," I relented indifferently while drifting by the bookshelves to browse for the titles I was hoping to find. I saw nothing even remotely similar to what I sought. The templar, however, did not seem to be as calm anymore.
"What exactly do you mean by chaste?" he bit back, this time a little more fiercely. I was getting him riled finally, was I? Perhaps there was still some backbone in his Templar training after all. As I passed over the last possible bookshelf, which yielded no result, I sighed and abruptly turned to face the Templar-he stood perhaps a foot or less over me, but not enough to intimidate me in the least-and struck up a brow.
"To put it in simple terms so that your innocent ears may understand-" I sighed, "I imagine you have not had your hands up a woman's chemise? Have not had a turning of the apples?" His eyes grew suddenly very wide. "Stolen a maidenhead?" I asked bluntly.
"E-Excuse me?" he choked out, his voice cracking for a brief moment. I found it amusing that half of the color drained from his face. Under the candlelight, he looked almost as pale as my ghost-friend from earlier. I smirked and decided that I might as well go all to hell for the evening since he'd provided me with such colorful company so far. No time like the present to break the new boys in, anyway.
"You've never touched a woman in your life, I imagine," I said in a mockingly amused chuckle. I bared a surly grin in his direction before setting the candle down on a table and, in one fluid gesture, stepped forward and pressed up against the chest of his armor before letting my hand rest on the hilt of his belt sash. I felt his posture go absolutely rigid and face contort into frozen shock as he stood as still as the Andraste statue, unable to take in what I was doing much less comprehend it. I rumbled out a small, dark chuckle.
"You're all alike," I murmured up into his jaw. His cheeks flared red in that instant in sheer panic as I lingered there briefly to let the feelings settle in his skin. Let him crawl for a bit, and suffer. I shifted back seconds later, the grin wiped off my face to be replaced by the same unamused, flat expression I'd held before. The amusement passed, as did my interest. "Mindless, brutish suits of armor prepared to vanquish the world until you have a woman dropped into your hands. Then you have no idea what to do with her."
"It's almost amusing," I finished with a tilt of my head before turning to pick back up the candle holder and whipped back around to stride for the exit. I did not turn to glance back at him on the way out, finding my patience and interest exhausted for the evening, but instead just offered a word of advice over my shoulder while trotting toward the door.
"Perhaps you should revisit those vows of yours before morning, Templar," I called over my shoulder before striding back out into the darkness of the corridor, waiting until I was safely away from the chantry and well on my way back down the steps to the apprentice dorms to let a small grin flicker across my face. Foolish Templars.