The work of man and woman,

By hubris of their making.

The sorrow a blight unbearable.

-Threnodies 7:11

The sound of the slap echoed through the dark dungeon, and the gesture all but sent the frail woman spinning. Tears of humiliation and surprise in her eyes, she turned to face Cassius, and distantly, though the deep vat of acid pain in which he was submerged, Solas thought he could almost feel sorry for her.

Almost.

'I thought you swore this…thing,' Cassius barked, erratically waving his arm in the direction of the shimmering field of energy that surrounded Solas' cage, 'worked!'

'It does,' Calpernia replied; despite the tears her voice was defiant. 'Perhaps,' she added, finding her bite, 'you should try it yourself, Magister Cassius – and don't you dare raise your hand to me again; I may be Liberata, but I am free and human, and this is still assault.'

Cassius smirked. 'Who'd testify?' he muttered. 'This thing?' he queried, directing a hate filled glance at his prisoner.

'I would,' Solas shrugged, despite the chains – because he was telling the truth, the relief from the pain was immediate, and, he guessed, visible, for Cassius' features became even further contorted with impotent rage. 'And there's no need to thus abuse your minion,' he added. 'Her device does work.'

'You are mocking me, creature!' the Magister hissed, and Solas gave a strangled chuckle.

'Of course I am,' he once more truthfully responded; the pain was almost completely gone. 'A menial, but satisfactory pastime.'

'You see?' Calpernia muttered. 'The field does work – when it speaks, and it is truthful, it feels no pain.'

'That is not the part I am interested in, you insipid woman,' Cassius snarled. 'What I am interested in is where this bloody jungle fortress is! And see…See?' he all but screamed, noticing that Solas had not even cringed. 'It feels nothing!'

'That's because you did not ask it a question,' the woman sighed, in exasperation. 'You merely made a statement of interest, addressed to me. Truthfully, Magister Cassius,' she deeply frowned. 'This magical containment field was designed by Lord Corypheus himself; saying that it does not function is akin to saying the rack does not function simply because one does not get answers within the hour.'

'It's been four weeks,' Cassius said, his voice reduced to a pitiful whine. 'If I had used the rack…'

'You might have gotten the temptation to get just…slightly carried away, which is not precisely what your masters want,' Solas neutrally observed; landing another sting at the clearly befuddled sadistic Magister had not been his only goal, however.

He knew well enough that the field worked, by now – he felt pain when he did not answer simple questions; he felt excruciating pain when he even thought of lying, so much, in fact, that the lie could not be uttered.

It simply was that the respite from the device's unyielding clutches was truly welcome. Just as all the other implements of torment that had reminded him of what true bodily pain felt like, an instrument was only as good as its victim's resolve was weak, and Solas somehow guessed that Magister Cassius had not met a creature quite like him in his previous explorations for extracting truth via various bodily orifices.

Someone who had more physical resistance to pain than any short lived, dreamless mortal, because he'd seen and felt it all in dreams and had been prepared for some of it. Not all of it – dreams were still dreams, and the dreamer, unlike spirits and demons, could not truly slip into the physical form of the one who dreamt, thus the pain itself was but a mirror. The reality of the pain, once rationalised…was not lessened. Yet, when the pain came, the mind went to curious places, and to those places Solas had oft travelled, with other martyrs.

He'd even dreamt of Andraste's pyre, once; he'd smelled hair burnt, then flesh burnt, he'd seen the eager crowd of Minrathous though her eyes. He'd felt how relived she had been when Hessarian had put the Blade of Mercy though her chest, and how happy she'd felt that her sacrifice had amounted to something; he'd also seen her though the eyes of a young Minrathous milk-maid, who'd asked her mother – why does she not cry, why does she not scream?

Why does she break the rules, when we all keep the rules? Why can they not make her scream in the fire? They make us all scream without fire…is it because people say she said is truth? Is it?

Solas had not liked those dreams, for they simply showed all faiths needed martyrs – he knew already that he was to be one, but did not feel worthy of such recognition, for there was no faith in him to be had.

Still, he'd known both his ancient enemies for millennia, and hence knew all too well that neither regarded the suffering they could, and had, casually inflicted, as a goal onto itself. The satisfaction of revenge upon the people who had shunned them had existed, of course, yet underneath it, there had been a far more pragmatic goal: by locking the Forgotten Ones away, Solas had effectively turned them into outsiders, no different than the demons who could only descend into the unchanging world if blood was shed to summon them. The fact that they had only been capable of possessing dragons, not humans or Elvhen, and only managed to project their wills, yet not return in full, even with such great offerings, was testimony to his own past skill.

Indeed, their violence upon the people might partially have stemmed from hatred, but it had not been either mindless or goal-less; there had been chilling purpose to it, and a clear focus that the human who now wielded a whip on their behalf did not seem to possess.

Tevinter's need to recover its property, and perhaps gain even more of it was undeniable, of course, and Solas grasped it better than he might have liked. Magister Cassius was greatly frustrated at his lack of progress, but the task in itself visibly gave him pleasure, too – sadism for its own sake was a wide crack in any armour, one that no man, even one with no true hope of reprieve for himself, had a right to leave unexploited.

'Why do you need to ask me for the location of my jungle fortress?' Solas asked. 'Why will your Gods not surrender it to you?'

For a moment, the human looked baffled enough to actually answer instead of ask.

'Why, you insolent…' the Magister pitifully squeaked; Calpernia cringed in embarrassment, and Solas truly sympathised. The man was embarrassing.

'It is a fair point I am making,' the elf shrugged.

'Maybe I just enjoy asking,' Cassius spat.

'I hold no doubt you do,' Solas matter-of-factly said, 'but your desperation to obtain an answer is obvious; I can only assume your Gods are cruelly mocking you…'

'Has your fair lady been down here to see you, yet?' Calpernia asked, interrupting his exploration of the armour's crack; the minion was swifter than the master, Solas thought, also wondering why the woman accepted the embarrassment of a superior she had without protest. From what he had seen of these two – and he'd seen more than he cared to – the freed slave could run circles around the Magister with her ankles bound, even in such simple tasks as causing pain.

She did not even need the magic force field to do it.

'I do not think that I am a sight to be relished, at present,' Solas slowly answered.

'Or perhaps she is busy,' Calpernia shot back. 'Busy planning for the destruction of Arlathan, perhaps?'

He shook his head, for this shot had been wide of aim. 'Keeper Lavellan would never do that,' he said.

'Perhaps not Keeper Lavellan, no,' the woman agreeably said. 'But Magistra Pavus definitely would. She has already given you to us, why would she not follow through?'

Of all the words the freed slave meant as weapons, only one truly registered, and it hurt more than any lash.

'Magistra,' Solas dully echoed; the fact that Cassius looked as if he'd just swallowed a particularly juicy slug barely caught his eye though the fog of pain.

'She did not sell you out for a menial prize,' Calpernia shrugged. 'Perhaps I am insisting in the wrong direction,' she sighed, turning away. 'Even the rack stops working after the subject loses sensitivity,' she said, to no one in particular. 'It sadly should have lost its sensitivity to this particular screw by now.'

But he hadn't. He hadn't, and she somehow knew it, thus she kept turning the screw.

'So,' Calpernia followed, 'here we have an elf, raised higher than any elf has been raised for generations. A revered religious figure, the head of a mighty army, a literal king maker; and suddenly she gives all that up, and marries into money. Human money, and not a little amount of human money…also, she marries a name. An important human name; I would see the profiteering bitch as what she is from a mile away, but our subject here did not. You could almost sympathise with its stupidity.'

She shot him an indifferent glance. 'Almost.'

'But,' she once more sighed, 'one cannot help but admire her; she marries money, she marries name, and she delivers a former lover, the last meaningful defender of the slave race to his fate without batting an eyelid. Magistra was par for the course.'

She met Solas' glance and smiled.

'You're right,' Calpernia said, dryly, addressing the stricken elf. 'She's not delivered Arlathan – yet, given her progress thus far, I am assured she has not done it because the correct price has yet to be named. Maybe Magistra is simply not enough – maybe she'll actually try for Archon, for herself or for her human husband: once, in a different world, I would have said it was impossible, but…Flying cows have been seen over Minrathous, and now that she and her husband have effectively restored the Gods, I would place nothing in the realm of the impossible.'

'Keeper Lavellan would never accept…' Solas shakily said.

Calpernia arched an eyebrow in response. 'Accept?' she queried. 'She was sworn into office, with great pompe a fortnight past. The first Magister to take the new oath: loyalty onto death to the Tevinter Imperium and all its Southern Provinces, to its true and immortal Gods…'

'A lie too far,' Solas said, somehow mastering his voice for a second longer; he cringed then, and a soft groan did escape him, though he'd tried to catch it behind gritted teeth.

The force field flared red, in sign that the pain had returned, twofold now, threefold…He had not sensed its approach, because in truth, until the words had been spoken, he had not felt that he was about to lie; he'd only realised, in horror, that he believed Calpernia when he'd heard himself actually speak. His heart still did not want to see the truth in that Vel would stoop so low, his pride would not accept that she would rise so high without him, but, in his mind…there was doubt.

He'd just lied to himself, and the cage knew it.

The human female's features turned to a feral smile. 'See, Magister?' Calpernia hissed over her shoulder, to her stunned superior. 'The field does work.'

Not giving Cassius the time to undo her good work, she turned and left the chamber, leaving the door behind her open and her prisoner in greater torment than anything that they had thus far caused to inflict in a fortnight. Clearly furious at that his minion had succeeded where he'd failed, Cassius whispered a curse, but followed her, slamming the door behind him; it did not quite stay closed, so he slammed it once more, with strength born of redoubled fury – it did stay closed, this time, and it was duly barred.

But none of that mattered; even in the absence of his torturers, the pain did not subside one iota. They did not need to be in the chamber to torment him however; they'd just filled him with enough doubt for him to far more efficiently torment himself, until their inevitable return.

Unless…Unless…

The pain still allowed him the tiniest room for thought, and once the initial pangs of humiliation and disbelief subsided, he forced himself to look beneath to woman's words, and the red flare of the dome was broken by a rim of blue.

Not that Cassius saw it; door barred behind him, he spun on Calpernia with the fury of both awakened dragons combined, and slapped her once more with such force and hatred that even the armed and armoured guards flinched.

'If you ever embarrass me like that again…' he menaced, fruitlessly, as now there was not even shock depicted on the woman's features; merely disgust, and though Calpernia would doubtlessly be left bruised, she simply turned and walked away from him. 'Don't you dare…'

The woman spun so fast that it was his turn to draw back in barely repressed fear.

'I am not embarrassing you, Magister, you are embarrassing yourself,' she calmly spoke; the anger made her dead fish eyes all but glow in the dark. 'I simply saved you from doing so in front of our defeated enemy; should my interventions not be required in the future, please refrain from inviting me to the spectacle.'

'Oh worry not, I shan't,' Cassius growled, 'for you are not of even minimal use to me. More the fool me for believing low born miscreants such as yourself and Gladius could possibly assist with anything.'

Calpernia swallowed the insult, and though she drew her lips thin over her teeth, she did not give him an excuse for justifiably hitting her again. 'Very well,' she said, dryly. 'I shall take my leave, and only further collaborate if anyone higher than yourself requests it. Still, Magister Cassius, allow me one further word of advice.'

'Not required,' the man snarled.

'Indeed it is, if you ever wish to actually accomplish your task, and find the location of Arlathan,' Calpernia responded. 'It is not that Lord Corypheus' device does not function; the magic will, eventually, break it, but not in time for you to claim any merit – my former master, Erasthenes, resisted it for months. This creature will resist it for years…And the reason why it will resist is not the fact that its physical endurance has not been tried; you've seen it bleed, you've seen it hiss in pain, it is still flesh and blood – no.'

Cassius smirked. 'It's not been tried enough.'

'No,' she said, narrowing her eyes. 'You are not obtaining results because you fail to understand how long people will suffer for their cause; that is easily explained by the fact that you have never suffered for a cause in your entire existence: our brothers and sisters bled and died throughout the south, fighting for Lord Corypheus. Our brothers and sisters bled and died here, by the Archon's orders,' the woman followed, in a blood curling tone, 'under your glance, around your feet – and you did what, in the meanwhile? Called yourself Venatori?'

'I'd be careful of how and to whom I speak those words,' the Magister responded, dryly. 'The Gods do not seem as fond of your Lord as one might have expected, Calpernia. He did declare that they do not exist, and you fought for his cause.'

She simply shrugged. 'I did,' the woman simply made reply. 'And I'd have died for it, if my Lord called. I would have suffered for it too, far more than you would ever understand…That is how I know this creature that you seek to subdue will resist your persuasions while it still thinks its suffering has reason…'

Cassius shook his head. 'Arlathan is lost to it,' he said. 'It must know that.'

'The fortress is not its cause,' Calpernia said slowly. 'The slave race is its cause, and the sooner it comes to believe that they are lost, the sooner you will have a fortress it thinks hollow. What better place to start, then, in showing that its people are ready to bend knee to us than at their very top?'

He breathed out sharply, finally seeing sense but hating it as if he'd been dragged across hot coals, then thrown into ice water to find it; still, trawling through the muck, he found something to finally hurt the woman with, other than a mere slap.

'Veldrin Lavellan is a Magistra now, though.' Cassius said. 'She did take the oath of loyalty, before Radonis and the Gods, and all the Magisterium. You did not lie to that creature, you did not even mislead it…And for what's best, Liberata, Veldrin Lavellan is sitting in your seat. The one that you were promised.'

'Which gives me motive to hate her as much as you do.' Calpernia briefly said, meeting his glance and baring her teeth. 'If you give me what I desire, I shall deliver Arlathan to you, so that you may deliver it onwards.'

'And you desire what, precisely?' Cassius sneered. 'I shall remove Lavellan from your seat at such a time when you deliver me Arlathan.'

'I do not want to be promised a seat, seats have been promised before.' The woman said. 'You will take me as your Altus, after which I shall find my own seat…'

'Inconceivable,' the Magister cackled. 'Inconceivable, you stupid woman! Feel blessed that you are even Liberata, and learn your place, which lies well beneath me…I might as well be elevating Gladius!'

'If Arlathan should ever come within our grasp, Magister Cassius, I shall obtain it.' Calpernia said with a demeanor so faultlessly polite that it was an insult. 'The prize might have been yours, before the words you spoke. Now, I fear, you will bid for it along many others.'

'Try it, and I shall skin you,' he said, smirking and walking up the stairs.

She lowered her glance, and waited until her heartbeat had settled, and she no longer fluttered in fear of that the man would return. For such was fear of masters – once learned, it never fully faded, and still travelled one's bones, and rendered one's knees weak.

And yet, on those week knees, Calpernia spun and headed back into the dungeon that hosted Solas' cell; she felt mildly displeased that the dome surrounding the elf had already begun to reacquire a faint blue glow, which demonstrated that the captive was already rationalising his previous doubts. It was not a good sign, the woman considered.

He recovered quickly, which, to her mind, was an unsettling sign – it was either that its attachment to Veldrin Pavus was weaker than she had been led to believe, or, to the contrary, much stronger and more rooted in reason than Calpernia might have liked. The latter, the woman knew, was far more dangerous than the former, for, unknowingly, she had made the very same calculations about Solas' potential weaknesses that Solas himself had been making about Cassius.

'I gather Magister Cassius succumbed to the obvious and decided intelligent delegation was in order,' the elf said; the red flickers that occasionally crossed the magical dome's surface told her that he must still have experienced pain, but his voice was composed and even laced in irony. 'Or,' he reasoned with himself, 'perhaps not, in which case, I would suggest that you go about what you plan to do swiftly and take advantage of this opportunity before he learns you have manifested initiative and turns your life into more of a living hell than he probably intends to already.'

'I told you nothing but the truth,' Calpernia replied, in an equally even tone; red lightning shot across the dome, in sign that her words still struck a mark. Not an important enough one, however.

'I have no doubt that you have told me at least partial truth,' Solas responded simply, the truthfulness of his pronouncement returning the barrier to faint, shimmering blue. 'The people have never needed gods, least of all me, to find their way…'

'Into extinction?' the woman inquired, with a little smile; the creature thought that he had learned how to manipulate the dome – for anyone but Calpernia, it might have been a discouraging sign. Not for her, though. Erasthenes had thought the same, in the very beginning, but he'd come to learn better…so much better…Up to the point where all his hopes, and all of his realities were eroded or placed so far out of his reach; until the point when he had finally grasped that his only escape from constant pain and doubt would be death, and finally decided to hurry it upon himself.

This one, she knew, would not even have that luxury.

'It seems to me,' Calpernia said, slowly walking around Solas' cage, to take her bound prisoner in from all angles, 'that with or without their gods, the slave race cannot eschew its given destiny, and some of your decaying ilk are better endowed in terms of individual survival instincts.'

Red pangs of pain shot across the blue barrier, letting her know she was, once more, on the correct path.

'You left a race meant for nothing but service, and bound for nothing save obedience,' Calpernia said. 'You found a race that has become nothing and heads nowhere; within your very kin and in your very bosom, your enemies abound. You and your cattle are a laughing stock, but I shall freely give this to you – those who are not about to be laughed at shall be productive in making sure of their personal rise.'

Smiling, she produced a parchment from and read its first lines – 'Magistra Veldrin of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, welcomes Marquise Briala of Orlais to company in her seated study, at such a time that the clock strikes three past noon, if such a day and time poses no conflict…'

The dome that Solas dwelled in became furious red, and he writhed in great pain; the woman smiled.

'Should I toss this within your cage for you to read, as you place obvious doubt upon my words?' she quipped; she did just that with a flick of her wrist, knowing all too well that the bound elf could never reach for or read the letter. He motioned to reach for it nonetheless, heavy shackles cutting into his wrists.

Calpernia laughed at the sight.

'Trust, it seems, is a shorter tether than it pretends to be,' she said.

'No shorter than fear, I think,' he responded, and though the dome still glowed red, as pain and blood and great doubt Calpernia turned away with a heart as heavy as if she had been bound under the dome herself.

Hello hello, we have paused for two weeks mostly because Abstract be lazy.

Thank you for watching, leave us a nice word while the plot is still thin,

Cheers,

Abstract and IvI