Solas extends his hand, a troubled look crossing his features.
"The veil is thin here, withered away into something dark and tainted."
"The thinner the veil, the more difficult the rift," mutters Evelyn, her fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. This was going to be difficult. Battling through corrupted templars and the taint of red lyrium, all to then have to close a powerful rift...
Solas says nothing though she can see the sympathy in his eyes. The elf has been a strange but steadfast companion and there is a respect between them she values greatly. Together they return to the Inquisition battalion to take their mounts for the last leg of their journey. They aren't even on the grounds of the fortress and already she can feel the distinct queasiness that comes with being near the red lyrium. She feels a rush of sympathy for her fellow mages who are encountering this vile substance for the first time though she prepared them as best she could.
Cullen (no, the Commander) rides in front on a Fereldan Forder, cloak gone, and in full plate short of a helmet. He tried to speak to her yesterday after he relayed the detailed plans of their attack but Dorian had intercepted him, giving Evelyn just enough time to disappear. Except to confer with the Council, he had stayed away since and she was grateful. Her focus could not take that kind of upheaval. She pulled her eyes back to the horizon as a black structure grew closer, only visible due to the stars it blotted out.
"We are here," spoke the Commander over his shoulder, "The Shrine of Dumat."
The red templars are abominations unto themselves. Monstrous and grotesque, they seem to feel no pain and ambulate with shuddering movements that makes Evelyn's skin crawl.
She buries her spirit blade into the chest of one and hisses in pain when she slices her wrist on a red shard erupting from its body. Her head swims and she braces her shoulder against the wall to wrap her arm with a piece of cloth she rips from her tunic. A hand grips her shoulder and Cassandra's voice asks if she is alright.
But it is not Cassandra's face she sees when she looks up. It is another, a face from her past with black inky hair and soulless blue eyes that look at her with only sneering disdain. She is paralyzed with fear for the split second it takes for the Seeker to shake her, and the face is gone.
"Inquisitor?" asks the woman, her brows furrowed.
Pushing herself straight, Evelyn nods. "I'm fine, Cassandra."
She glances around the now cleared room and sees Dorian collapse to his knees, his arm shaking where it braces him against the floor. Cullen makes it to his side before she can and helps the mage to his feet. She is unsurprised to see the other mages are gone, only Solas and herself able to withstand the effects of the tainted Lyrium. The Elf leans heavily on his staff as he approaches them, his pale face a sickly grey with perspiration beading along his brow.
"Solas, go with Dorian," she tells him and the Elf straightens.
"I can still assist you-"
"No, Solas. I'm the only one who can close the rift and our soldiers need but one charge to look after if I am overwhelmed. You can help more by healing the wounded outside."
He hesitates a moment before bending to slide the Tevinter mage's arm over his shoulder and together they limp out the room, and Cullen gestures for one soldier to go with them.
Evelyn stands surrounded by her heavily armored troops, every one of them a former member of either the Templars or the Seekers. All part of the Chantry who think her kind evil. For a moment, they all have the flaming sword of Andraste emblazoned on their chests and lips stained bright blue, but she swallows thickly and slams shut her eyes.
It is not real. You're hallucinating. Varric said this was possible.
When she opens them, the soldiers are once again her people and she shifts the staff in her grip before moving deeper into the belly of the fortress.
The rift is bloody massive, demons pouring from its maw as fast as they can eliminate them. Evelyn's energy, mana, and will are waning; she has to close it now if they are to have a chance.
Cloaking herself in her barrier she reaches with her left hand to knit the veil back together. The ends are rotten, disintegrating in her grasp and she pours more of herself into the mark, her world narrowing down on herself and her connection to the fade. Her barrier flickers with each strike the demons throw against it.
She hears sobbing and she sees a girl, a mage she knew as a child, being dragged away to be made tranquil, her arm outstretched as she begs Evelyn for help.
It's not real.
The mocking laughter of a man echoes in her head as he rips the robes of a terrified mage before growling at the rest of them to "move along."
Not anymore.
The Captain of the guard presses her cheek flat against the wood of a table to see how close he can get the tip of his dagger to her eye before she'll apologize for her insolence.
I'm no longer in the Circle.
The taste of blood in her mouth as she lifts herself off the floor and he barks a warning that if she tells anyone, it'll be the rite or the sword.
And I am not powerless.
She feels as if the fabric of her very core is being torn apart, her magic being sundered from her person. It hurts so bloody much and just when she thinks she will dissolve into nothing if she continues, the rift slams closed and her barrier falls.
The ground beneath her bubbles green and she falls.
Her world is dark and her consciousness keeps slipping in and out of the Fade, not staying on either side long enough for Evelyn to get her bearings. The sound in her ears is like the wind that howls through the Frostbacks but words float around her though she cannot seem to grasp on to them.
"Cassandra! We have to get her out of here now! You take point."
There is a searing pain that ripples across her back and she slides back into the Fade, ankle-deep in a vast black lake illuminated by floating torches.
"No, Enchanter Trevelyn?" says a voice (please, not him), and in the distance a figure approaches, his steps creating ripples where they connect with the surface of the water but do not drop below. Evelyn tries to move but she just sinks deeper into the oily muck until the lake lurches violently to the side, dumping her onto a cold metal chair.
"Evelyn, you need to drink this!"
The world twists again and she is enveloped in velvety black water, this time up to her neck, her arms trapped at her side. Merrick is standing over her, his head tilting as if she is a particularly troubling specimen. "Who do you think you are, Trevelyn?"
He sets the toe of his boot on her forehead and slowly pushes her under, the black sludge rushing into her mouth and nose.
Something cold and smooth touches her lips but then she inhales and violently shoves it away, throwing herself to the ground. The smell of blood and sweat and lyrium is overwhelming and her mind screams Merrick and silence and sword.
The light is bright and her vision is blurry but all around her, there is nothing but metal-coated bodies, one of which is rising from the ground and moving towards her. She tries to strike out but the magic only sparks at her fingertips.
"No! I won't go back to the Circle." She scrambles away from them, ignoring the pain in her spine and the rocks that bite into her palms. "I won't let him hurt me again!" This final plea seems to have stopped the approaching templar.
"Who?" asks a voice firm and cold.
Her vision is worsening and Evelyn thinks she may be crying. "Captain Merrick. He said he'll make me tranquil if I tell anyone. Please, I can't go back."
A different templar is moving this time, their plating darker and smaller but no less severe, and Evelyn extends her left hand, the unstable energy humming angrily from the gash in her palm in warning. When the smaller templar backs away, Evelyn rolls back onto her stomach, a pained grunt escaping her. Her tunic is both wet and sticky, pulling at her skin in the places it is somehow dry. She knows she must be bleeding but only cares about crawling away from this place, away from them before they can drag her back.
She hears some movement behind her along with creaking hinges and metal pieces clattering to the ground and tries to move more quickly though her muscles will not cooperate. She'd rather bleed out right here in the dirt than spend one more day in the Circle. Any second she expects to feel rough hands yank at her ankle or a heavy boot press down against the wounds at her back.
What she is not expecting is for a shadow to fall over her and a hand to lightly cup the back of her exposed neck. It is familiar and she stops her struggle to escape.
"Evelyn? Do you know who I am?"
This voice too she recognizes, but whereas the last made her sick with fear, this one makes her feel safe. Safe and sad and relieved.
Cullen.
"Yes," says the voice softly as his thumb slides over her pulse. "Evelyn, you're badly wounded and you're suffering the effects of prolonged exposure to Red Lyrium. I need to bring you to a healer but first, you have to drink some Lyrium."
She looks up and he is there, his clothes rumpled from being compressed beneath his now absent armor. Blood stains his shirt and his face is dirty with two stripes of red that sweep over his cheek, but his eyes are bright and pinched with worry.
"No. No lyrium. Smells like him. I'll vomit."
"How about a healing potion, then?" asks another voice, this one feminine with a heavy accent.
Cassandra.
Evelyn nods, and the hand at her neck moves to wrap around her torso to sit her up against him, minding the wounds on her back.
"Here," says a new, unfamiliar voice. "Give her this one." She takes a few sips, grimacing at the uncharacteristically bitter concoction and she realizes it is a regeneration potion that has been mixed with laudanum.
The last thing she hears before she falls unconscious is Cullen's voice in her ear.
"You're never going back to a Circle. I swear it."