It didn't take Clare too long to realize that Gereon Alexius and her mentor were less than fond of each other.

The first indication was when Alexius did not stir at the greeting. He did not return it, smile, or even react. Instead, his eyes skimmed across the courtyard just as he did before, almost lazily this time, eyes finally returning to her mentor after a few short moments of almost sneering at his surroundings.

"Elias Villaneuva," he finally returned, the words nothing short of an unimpressed drawl, "A pleasure, as always."

His tone indicated he thought anything but.

Elias, however, was undisturbed. His mask, one she was so used to seeing, remained intact, showing no indication of what he was truly feeling. A moment passed where that impassive, cold facade remained in place, and just as it was beginning to unnerve Clare, a smile - forced, even she could see - plastered itself across his face. The notion made him look almost… unnatural. "Ah, you flatter me, old friend. Yet it seems introductions are in order. Gereon, please meet my apprentice," A pause, Elias taking a moment to meet her eyes before speaking his next words, "Clare Albsio."

What?

She managed to calm herself and wipe the shock off her face just in time as Alexius glanced over at her, eyes narrowed. "An apprentice, you say?" he replied, a hint of bitterness in his eyes as he turned back to Elias. "I had thought you considered them a waste of your precious time."

Clare gulped at his words. She'd never heard anyone talk so brazenly to her mentor before; not even she, for all her bad manners and foot-in-mouth syndrome, knew better than to take such a tone on with him. Yet despite the fact that Gereon Alexius practically spat the words at him, Elias did not falter. Instead, his smile only broadened, yet it only served to make him appear all the more unnatural and sinister. "We all make exceptions, Alexius," he replied, his tone almost mocking. "Speaking of apprentices, how is Dorian?"

It was as though Elias may have well as just physically hit Alexius. Whoever the hell Dorian was, he was clearly a soft spot for the man. She had no idea what Elias had meant by asking that question, but it clearly had it desired effect as Alexius' eyes darkened, causing her mentor's expression to border upon downright gleeful at the sight.

Yet just as the look of rage passed onto his face, it was gone just as quickly. Alexius cleared his throat, an obvious attempt to calm his grating nerves. "Dorian and I have… parted ways. Odd that you have not heard, but I suppose being a hermit has its effects," he jeered.

Elias only tsk'd, shaking his head in some kind of false proclamation of sympathy. "I am sorry to hear that. He seemed to have so much potential," he said, the words bordering upon sarcastic.

Clare watched as Alexius clearly struggled to keep his face impassive, his eyebrows twitching. "Indeed. Shall we then?"

Her mentor, looking vaguely disappointed that Alexius had cut off him off from his amusement so quickly, inclined his head in response, turning on his heel to stride into the estate. Clare dutifully kept her mouth shut as her mentor lead this mysterious Gereon Alexius inside, head down as she trailed a step behind Elias. The slaves that had gathered in greeting for their master's guest slowly dissipated, leaving to attend to their duties once more. Even Voss, she noticed with more than slight unease, hadn't followed them inside.

Never before had she felt so uncomfortable by two people. Silence stretched between the three as they walked, none making any effort for idle chatter. Against her better judgement, she took this moment to sneak a glance at Alexius, who trailed after Elias with little interest as to where they were going; almost as though he'd done this several times before. He held his head high, unconcerned with his two escorts, eyes trailing along the several portraits that decorated the walls. He didn't look impressed. Lost in her own observations, she didn't have time to look away as his eye caught hers. He rose an eyebrow at her curious stare, to which she immediately turned her head away, cheeks burning in mortification and embarrassment. Mentally berating herself for being caught staring but still filing her small observation away for later, she continued on, trying not to let her panic show at being around an individual that seemed to command so much respect. She's only just gotten used to Elias' overbearing presence; another was almost too much for her to handle.

Thankfully, some kind of deity seemed to show mercy on her today. As they Elias paused in front of a door - the door to his study, she quickly realized - Alexius cleared his throat. "I am here on his business, Villaneuva," he stated, eyes none-too-subtly drifting to Clare, his mistrust palatable.

She knew better than to question who he was, despite the curiosity that burned within her. Elias, on the other hand, seemed only amused by his words. "And here I thought you were making a social call. A shame," he sighed, waving his hand in Clare's direction. "You may go, my dear apprentice."

She almost choked on her own saliva as she registered the fact that Elias had just made a joke, of all things. Instead, she swallowed her shock, giving him a meek nod. "I'll be in the gardens then," she replied, and after a moment of deliberation, turned to Alexius. "It was a pleasure meeting you, sir."

Her words were obviously the right thing to say as Elias' lips upturned, giving her a quick nod over Alexius' shoulder. The man himself seemed almost surprised by her politeness, making her wonder if she'd done something wrong. Yet before she could deliberate whether her words had been wrong, he gave her an almost polite nod in response. "And you, my dear. A shame to cut our meeting so short. Perhaps another time."

God, she hoped not. But she masked her displeasure at the notion with a shy smile, quickly turning on her heel and practically speed-walking away from the pair, eager to be away from the hostile atmosphere they masked with fake, polite words.

After several moments, she decided she was far away enough, and pressed her back against the hall's wall, releasing a breath of air she hadn't realised she'd been holding. There was so much she needed to unpack from that meeting; Elias' constant antagonising of the man, Alexius' hostility, and, perhaps most significantly, his words when they reached Elias' study. I am here upon his business, is what he had said. A clear dismissal of her presence. Not only that, but his strange refusal to say whose business he had been here for was clearly to keep her, specifically, in the dark, for Elias had clearly known who Alexius had spoken of. He didn't trust her, which was fair to Clare. She didn't trust Alexius either. But that didn't stop her from wondering to herself, wishing for answers.

As her mind swirled, trying to put the pieces of this mysterious puzzle together, she couldn't help but sigh. The more time that passed here, the more questions she seemed to have, all the while receiving absolutely no answers.

Unwilling to dwell on the troubling thoughts any longer, she groaned to herself, pushing her body off the wall and continuing to walk in the general direction to the garden. She'd managed to memorise the general outline of the castle after being stuck here for a month, despite feeling like it had been so much longer than that. She nodded to the set of guards by the doors that lead outside, to which they returned her gesture.

"Will you be needing an escort, my lady?" one asked, his voice hesitant. She couldn't help but smile in endearment. After the fiasco with Voss' broken nose, she had taken to practising her healing magic regularly upon the guards, who frequently managed to injure themselves during their sparring matches. In doing so, she had managed to familiarise herself with them, and had now developed an odd kind friendship with the lot.

"No, I should be fine, thank you. Voss will probably find me sooner or later," she replied, stepping outside once the two nodded in understanding.

She felt a gentle breeze brush against her upon stepping outside, and she couldn't help but sigh in content. The air was so much clearer here in Thedas; it one of the smaller things she had come to appreciate about this strange land.

She took her time making her way to her usual place in the garden, calming her still racing nerves by taking in the scent of the several flowers Elias fashioned in the garden. It was likely her favourite spot in the estate, where she frequently went to practise her spellcasting or simply relax. She knew Voss would easily find her here; this was their spot, where they always went after a lesson, where they could speak without the worry of anyone's listening ears. Although he still kept himself fairly guarded around her, he was beginning to speak with a sense of familiarity to her in private, which she appreciated greatly.

The sound of rustling leaves brought her from her reverie. She smiled, not bothering to look over her shoulder. "Voss, thank God you're here, I-"

The feeling of something distinctly sharp and cold pressing against her throat quickly cut her off.

"Don't move a single muscle, shem."

That was not Voss' voice.

"Try anything, and I slit your throat right here."

She felt her blood run cold, felt her stomach drop to the floor, felt beads of sweat beginning to form on her temple.

The knife pressed harder against her throat. "Do you understand, shem?"

Feminine, with a rough edge to it. Slim, yet calloused fingers gripped her arms harshly, sure to leave bruises later.

Clare closed her eyes, slowly swallowing her panic that threatened to spill over. "I… I understand."

She'd never had a knife held to her throat before. It was a surreal feeling if she were to tell the truth. Like the world around her was displaced in time, fallen into nothing of meaning, the only thing truly important being whether this person decided to press their blade only the smallest bit harder against her throat. The worst abuse she'd probably ever faced back home was when her mother had slapped her for the first and final time. She remembered the stinging of her cheek and the red handprint for days, despite for fact it faded over only a few hours. It felt like a lifetime ago now, when compared to this.

"You magisters are going to pay for what you did to me. You're not him, but you're close enough," the voice sneered. Suddenly, Clare felt herself being shoved to the floor, someone's foot harshly nudging her onto her back and pressing angrily against her chest before she could even register falling.

A woman's face, contorted with fury, greeted her vision. Braided hair fell across her bloodied shoulders, tucked neatly behind pointed ears. Tattoos decorated her face, graceful lines that swirled across her forehead down to her cheekbones. A nasty-looking gash travelled from her cheek down to her jaw, inflamed and red and looking terribly recent.

It did not take Clare long to understand just who she was staring at.

"You're that… the…" she stumbled with her words, struggling to breathe with her foot pressing down on her chest. "That… day-lish person."

She remembered how wild she looked when Clare first saw her, so full of anger and spirit and fight. She remembered how she struggled against the guards that held her, screaming and biting, and the respect Clare felt for her at her ability to fight the injustice of this place in a way she never could. The only difference between now and then was the fact her body had much more dried blood on it, and she looked angrier than anything Clare had ever seen in her twenty years of existence. Her stomach coiled when she even tried to think about where that blood had come from, and what had happened to her to make her entire body shake with such fury.

The woman only snorted, eyes narrowing almost into slits. "Are you trying to say Dalish, human? Do not disgrace the word with your filthy, slaving tongue," she hissed, pressing down harder against her chest. She could only heave in response.

She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. God, she was scared. Never before had she felt so helpless, so pathetic, so afraid for her own life.

"I- I'm not like him. Please," she begged, not needing to elaborate on who he was.

The elvish woman did not falter. "Yes, you are," she hissed. "You're all the same. Taking and hurting and hunting us. If you're not like him, where were you when I was being tortured in your dungeon? You were here, enjoying your freedom and slaves."

The tears that had been forming at the corners of her eyes now fell from her eyelids, slowly making their way down her cheeks. It was true. Everything she said was true. There was nothing to say to that because she was right. What had she done when she saw this woman being dragged here? She'd shaken her head, remarked how she hated this place, and proceeded to do nothing about it. No, she only continued worrying about herself, only working towards getting herself home because this wasn't her world, so why should she really care?

She was right, and Clare hated herself for it.

I'm no better than him, she realised. He's doing these things, and I know he is. And yet I do nothing about it. It doesn't matter if everyone told me to say silent and complacent. I did nothing.

She opened her mouth. You're right, she wanted to say. You're right and I'm sorry. She tried to reply, yet no words formed. You're right and there's nothing I can say to make it better, and I'm so sorry for it.

Yet she never got to say those words.

Because just as she opened her mouth, the base of a familiar sword swung towards the elvish woman's head, the sound of a resounding crack and familiar, honeycomb eyes her final companions as she passed out cold.

Elias Villaneuva likes to consider himself a rather intelligent man.

He was a well-respected, albeit rather feared man within the Magisterium. Some, like the man who sat before him, would say for all the wrong reasons. He himself liked to believe it was for his quick wit and his no-nonsense attitude. He had never been one to deal in politics; that was once his wife's forte.

But one didn't have to be intelligent or deal within the trivial affairs of Tevinter society to see Gereon Alexius despised him, and would not dare to set foot in his estate unless something truly drastic called for it.

He stretched out in his chair, resting his hands on his hardwood desk. Alexius, for all his years in Tevinter society, masked his discomfort well. But Elias, as much as he loathed to say it, knew his old friend well enough to pinpoint the telltale signs of his agitation.

He already understood the source of his alarm. The appearance of his apprentice was surely one for shock. Especially when he had once looked down upon Alexius for taking one so long ago.

As much as he wished to have this meeting over with - he had more important matters to attend to, after all - he understood the necessity of tact. So he sat back, patient as ever, and waited for Alexius to speak his words. To ask his questions about his apprentice. It was exactly why he had sent her away, after all.

It did not take long for him to find his courage.

"Why have you taken on an apprentice?" he finally demanded, an eyebrow raised. Expectant. Patient. Gereon Alexius was Tevinter, through and through.

For a long moment, he considered lying. But to lie to Alexius would be to lie to their mutual friend, and that was not something he intended to do. Withholding the entire truth, however…

"The same reason you did. I found her, I saw potential, and decided that her enlightenment was preferable to her ignorance," he answered easily.

Alexius only frowned at his answer. "You never see potential. Even the most remarkable are simply ordinary to you."

If it were anyone but Alexius, he would be furious at his bluntness. But there was truth to his words, allowing his anger to sizzle away as quickly as it had come. "I'll allow you that truth," he conceded. "But this girl has already begun to master a staff."

A rather undignified laugh was his reply. "She is no child. Such a feat is ordinary, at best."

"Her magic surfaced only one month ago."

That stopped Alexius in his tracks. He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. "You lie," he replied, tone bordering on an angry hiss. "No magic can surface that late in one's life; and if it did, it would have to be unremarkably weak. It's impossible."

Elias only rolled his eyes at his comrade's narrow-minded thought process. How fickle he was. "Not without outside influence, it isn't."

He could pinpoint the exact moment his words truly sunk in. Alexius hid his surprise well, but Elias saw it. He had his attention now, he knew. "How?" he asked. One word, but it was the only one he needed.

Elias himself had long asked himself this question when considering Clare. How was it possible? He had once sought answers by seeking her out in the Fade, for it was far more easier to find answers when one, especially an untrained mage, struggled to control their subconscious. He had been shocked to find something blocked him out. Not the girl himself, but something else entirely. Something foreign, something he had never encountered before.

Something was protecting the girl, from both demons and somniari alike.

"I'm unsure," he conceded. It pained him to even say so. "But I intend to discover how."

Alexius tilted his head at his admission. "The girl won't give her answers? What is stopping you from forcing them from her?"

Elias barely managed to control the urge to roll his eyes. He had considered forcing her, using more unsavoury methods - it was hardly as though he was incapable of it; the Dalish savage he had rotting in his dungeon could attest to that much - but had already decided that brutality was not the call for this situation. Not as a last resort, at least. "For now, her cooperation obviously is preferable," he patronised. "If I am to use her for our purposes, she must reach her full potential, and I am certain she cannot do that unless under the false pretence of freedom. Then, I will do what must be done."

He had, of course, seen the girl's aversion to slavery. But she was weak, refusing to comment on the issue or push it with him. He was glad for it, in all honesty. Even after such a short time, she knew her place. It was why he never paid her compliments in their lessons. To compliment would be to give her confidence, and to allow confidence could pave way to something much more dangerous - pride, and worse, self-importance. If he allowed such emotions from her, it would only be a matter of time before she began to undermine him. He would not let his energy go to waste.

When all was said and done, when she had reached the peak of her power, he would do what he must. Enslave her to their master, and allow her to be the catalyst for his success. Some would call him cruel for it, but it was necessary. One life for the restoration of his people was a small sacrifice he was willing to make.

"I only hope your work comes to fruition," Alexius replied, voice sickeningly condescending, "The Elder One would be most… displeased if you allowed yourself such failure."

Elias barely suppressed a sneer. "Which is exactly why I will enslave her using Erimond's ritual," he snapped. "But you, of all people, did not come here to lecture me on priorities. Why are you here?"

He could practically hear Alexius' teeth grinding at the insult, but such a dignified man would not allow himself to lose his patience. No, instead, he smoothed his features and cleared his tone of all hostility. "Have you heard of the unrest in the South?"

He had not. "You know that I haven't, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

He could've sworn Alexius rolled his eyes. The audacity of him; had their goals not aligned, he would have already had him killed. "There are reports that an apostate has caused the destruction of a Chantry in a backwashed city in the Free Marches. The result was an unauthorised Rite of Annulment. Now, war is beginning to break out between mages and templars alike. And it is spreading across their lands," he paused for a moment, allowing his words to truly sink in. "A Divine Conclave will be held in two months, their pathetic attempt to peacefully end the war. Organised by the Chantry."

The barbarity of the Southerners never ceased to amaze him. "Where?" Elias immediately asked, interest thoroughly piqued.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Divine Justinia V will be attending."

It was all the confirmation he needed. "It is time, then?" He did not need to elaborate. He knew the Elder One's plans as well as Alexius did. All they needed now was the confirmation to put his intentions in action.

Alexius nodded. "Indeed. We have the Orlesian Grey Wardens under our control, which will allow us passage."

They will tear themselves apart; we will barely have to do anything, he realised. "I see," was his short reply.

They was little else they had to discuss, and he knew Alexius would not prolong this meeting any more than he possibly could. Just as he expected, the man immediately stood up from his seat across from Elias. "We will meet again soon. Preparations must be made-"

A knock, purposeful and impatient, interrupted the man's next words. Elias rose a brow at the interference.

Alexius was less than impressed. "I will see myself out. You clearly have more pressing matters," he sniffed, striding to the door and opening it with more force than necessary. He waited until the man was gone, escorted by his guards, before calling whoever had interrupted them inside. He was only slightly surprised at who entered.

An elf, the one he had gifted to Clare, he realised, rushed inside. He looked almost… panicked. Dishevelled.

"Master, something requires your immediate attention."

She woke up to a familiar face - Elloril, she quickly realised with relief - face peering down at her.

"You're awake!" the woman gasped, immediately jumping off the bed she had been leaning over to give a quick bow. It was the most frantic action she'd ever seen from her; poised, careful Elloril, nearly bursting from the seams with nervous energy. Despite her unusual behaviour, the bow, as annoying as it was, was a familiar action to her. No matter how many times Clare protested against her doing that, she never failed to do so. Some old habits die hard, she supposed.

A stinging headache, clashing and spearing at her temples, quickly brought her back to reality. "I feel like crap," she grumbled, bringing her hand up to her forehead. She felt... warm.

Elloril nodded vigorously, another strange thing to see from the woman, her head bobbing up and down almost comically. "Drink this, drink this," she insisted, pushing a vial with some kind of red liquid into her hands.

She sloshed it around, inspecting it closely. Her mind still seemed to not entirely be there, as her first assumption was that it was wine. Yet she quickly noticed it looked thicker than a normal, drinkable liquid, which only said one thing to her. "Please tell me this isn't blood," she moaned, feeling sick at the thought. Another sharp pain in her temples accentuated her words.

Apparently, Elloril shared her thoughts, as her face turned into one of horror at her words. A familiar expression, Clare mused to herself. "No, my lady, it's only a healing potion! Master Elias instructed me to have you drink it when you wake up," she explained quickly, the words frantic. What exactly had her so panicked? She knew Elloril to be a nervous woman, but she usually hid herself well. Right now, she wasn't even trying to conceal how she was feeling - which seemed to be a mixture of frightened, uneasiness and impatience.

"Dammit," she grumbled, considering not drinking it, but obeyed nonetheless. Giving it a quick whiff - it smelled strangely bitter - she downed the contents in one go, coughing as she felt the liquid rush down her throat. Almost immediately, a strange warmth spread throughout her body, slowly focusing to her head - and just like that, her headache lifted.

And with it, her memories returned.

The woman. The knife. Her words.

Voss.

Voss had saved her; knocked that woman out with the base of his sword before she could do anything else. She remembered now, could feel the fresh bruises along her chest and throat. Could still feel the foot constricting air from her lungs. Could still hear the accusations she had spat out at her - the accusations that weren't accusations at all, but rather statements of facts.

Everything came back to her in such a rush, it almost rendered the healing potion's - she was certainly going to investigate how to make those later - effects for naught. It wasn't long before she was almost hyperventilating, her breaths coming out ragged and quick - too quick. "Is Voss alright?" she managed to gasp out. "That woman- oh god, is she okay? What's going to happen to her? How long have I been asleep?"

The thoughts and questions clattered against each other in her head, fragments of what had transpired only hours ago forcing themselves at the front of her mind. She felt bile rise in her throat, felt her hands begin to clam as she remembered the blood on that woman's clothes, the crazed look in her eyes that she could only guess had derived from hours of torture; real, true torture. What had Elias done to her?

"Voss is fine, my lady," Elloril patiently answered. "You have been asleep for around... five hours, I would say. The woman who attacked you has yet to wake up, and is residing in the dungeons."

"Oh god," Clare moaned, leaning down to put her head in her hands. The dungeons. Of course Elias had dungeons. She had been here for how long, and didn't even know such a thing existed here. Just what else was Elias hiding from her?

Sensing her internal peril, Elloril spoke up once more. "My lady…" she began, looking unsure. Glancing up to meet her friend's gaze, she immediately took notice of the expression she wore. She was wearing the same face she always wore when she was about to explain something she knew Clare wouldn't like to hear. Her lips pressed into a thin line at the discernment, preparing herself for whatever she was about to say next. "You must understand, things are done differently here. Punishments are done differently here."

Not even a lifetime of preparation could have prepared her for that. As soon as she comprehended the words, the implication, she felt her blood run cold, felt her heart stop beating. No, she didn't like what she was hearing at all. Didn't like what her words suggested at all. "What's going to happen to that woman, Elloril?" she demanded, suddenly very, very afraid.

She expected an immediate explanation, like Elloril usually did when she asked for an explanation on something, but she only shook her head. Clare was certain it was the first time she had actually denied her something - she felt a brief sense of pride overtake the raging emotions coiling in her gut for just a moment. "It is not something a lady's ears should hear. I... only ask you prepare yourself," she answered.

That wasn't the answer she was looking for. "What the hell is going to happen to her?!" Clare burst out, "She said she'd been tortured, for god's sake! Tortured!"

Elloril only shook her head further, remaining stubborn. Another flare of pride prickled in her chest. "She knew the consequences of her actions. Now she must live with them," she reasoned. Noticing her words had done absolutely nothing to placate the woman, she quickly tried to backtrack. "Please, my lady, calm yourself!"

Her words, for all their good intentions, did nothing of the sort. "No way in hell is that woman going to die or get tortured because of me," Clare hissed, standing up. Decision foolishly made, she made way for the door, yelling over her shoulder, "I'm going to Elias!"

"No, my lady, please, wait-" She, of course, didn't listen as she strode purposefully to the door, pulling it open and rushing out. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, but it did little to stop her. Not when someone's life was on the line.

She didn't make it far. Five steps, actually, before she rounded a corner and slammed right into someone else.

"Jesus Christ!" she shouted in surprise, the words flying from her mouth before she could stop them, taking several steps back to appraise just who she had just run into. Please don't be Elias, she silently begged. Crashing into him wasn't how she wanted the beginning of this conversation to go. Hell, she hadn't even thought about what exactly she was going to say yet. Who she saw instead gave her a multitude of relief. Honeycomb eyes, dark skin accentuated by seasons of freckles, and the smell of pine meant one thing - one thing she took extreme comfort in finding. "Voss! Thank god you're alright!"

The man in question rose his eyebrows at her sudden exclamation, seemingly surprised at her appearance. He looked… different, somehow. Similar to Elloril. So he knew too, then. "Why are you-" he started, but quickly cut himself off with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter. Come," he instructed, reaching down to grip her wrist and drag her back to her room. Usually, the estranged bodyguard avoided ever touching her, so the feeling of callouses rubbing along her wrist as he forcefully pulled her with him back to her room was an action that, to her, rose eyebrows. "What the hell, Voss!" she exclaimed without much bite to her words - no, it was more surprise than any kind of negative emotion; she couldn't fashion any kind of negativity to him or Elloril - trying fruitlessly to wretch her hand from his grasp, almost as an involuntary reaction. No such luck. "I need to speak to Elias, I need to tell him not to do anything to that woman-"

She never got to finish as he pulled her into her room, nodding to Elloril as he crossed her path. The woman looked just as shocked as she felt. Closing the door quickly behind him, he turned to her, and for the first time since she'd met him, she truly saw him. She saw vulnerability, strength, and fear. She saw a man with the weight of another's greed on his shoulders. She saw a man who was afraid.

It made her more frightened than she cared to ever tell.

"Listen to me," he instructed forcefully, and it was the first time she'd heard such emotion in his voice - similar as she had with Elloril, she felt a sense of pride as he spoke so forcefully to her for the first time. But it was quickly rendered to nothingness at his next words. "Elias is calling everyone in the estate to the grounds right now. He is going to make an example of this woman."

No. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "Listen to me, Clare." It was the first time he'd ever said her name, she realised. No more my lady. Right now, in this moment, he was not talking to someone he saw as his superior, but someone who he believed needed warning and preparation for just what was about to come. "You cannot do anything about this. He is making everyone watch. You cannot do anything. Do you understand? Do not interfere with what is about to happen."

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. She looked to Elloril for some kind of help, but only saw resignation on the woman's face. She felt absolutely sick. This is what had her so panicked, she realised. She was going to have to watch this happen. They all were. "He can't," she begged, not knowing who exactly she was begging to. "Please, she did nothing wrong-"

"She was going to kill you, Clare," Elloril gently interrupted. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No, it doesn't!" she yelled, distraught. "She was just trying to escape. She had been tortured! She didn't do anything wrong!"

And it was in that moment, the elvish woman, the woman she once knew as timid and nervous, afraid to wish for things like freedom and individuality, snapped

"Listen to me, Clare!" the woman suddenly burst, standing forward to grip her shoulders. "This is going to happen, and there is nothing any of us can do about it. This is how things are done. You must accept that."

She had no words; it was the first time she'd ever heard the gentle elvish woman raise her voice.

"Why?" she asked, desperate for answers. "Why is he going to hurt her?"

She didn't understand. Didn't understand the brutality of this world, the utter cruelty of it. They had kidnapped this woman, taken her from her home, and were now going to punish her for trying to escape. This was the kind of thing people like her read about in storybooks about dystopian worlds, the kind of thing you took comfort in because you would never have to experience such harsh realities. And now, here she was, unable to believe what she was hearing, unable to believe such a reality was unfolding right before her.

The two elves glanced to each other, almost unsure how to proceed. She realised they didn't have an answer - it was just something they'd come to accept.

"Because this woman hurt you, his apprentice," Elloril answered gently, slowly, as though it were her first time truly registering the words. "To hurt you is to hurt Elias himself. If he allows her to go unpunished, he is inviting people to rebel against him. He can't have that; not in his own estate."

"It is to remind us, even you, who we all belong to. Who is in power here," Voss elaborated, voice gentle. In the back of her mind, she registered that she had never heard him so forlorn before. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him sound forlorn, truth be told. The most tragic and brutal of situations truly brought out a side of people they never allowed to be seen, she understood. "We are beneath him. Even you are. He is in control. He doesn't do it to be cruel, but to show authority. It might seem cruel to you, but this is the way of Tevinter. You have to understand this, Clare, or it will only be a matter of time before you take this woman's place."

She felt bile rise in her throat.

This can't be happening, this isn't real, please just let me go home, oh god -

I have nothing left, was her staggering thought. No arguments, no angry rants, no scathing words. She felt empty. She didn't want to believe what was about to happen. But she knew, deep down, the two people that stood in front of her were right. She could kick, scream and cry, but Elias cared little for her opinions. He would do whatever he wanted, whether she liked it or not.

"We have no time. We have to go," Voss said suddenly, his voice almost gentle. "Are you ready?"

She looked to the two elves. She saw so many emotions raging in their eyes, honeycomb and hazel, and she only wishes she could have seen them like this, so alive, so free to feel, without the cost of another's life.

She nodded her head mutely, nothing else left to give.

"Good," he replied, casting a glance at Elloril. "Then let us go."