She is standing in a vast black lake again. The water undulates in a rhythm around her, concentric ripples racing away to the thrum of a slow heartbeat that is not her own. The unnatural chill of the water leaches through her skin to settle in her bones and she shivers.
It is so different from the Fade she has walked throughout her life (colder, emptier, older) and she knows it is something else that has brought her here.
A High Demon, by the feel of it.
It must have found me at Dumat.
The ripples in the waters still, then reverse, pulling inward to coalesce into an amorphous, black liquid pillar before solidifying into something vaguely human.
"Who are you?" she demands but the figure says nothing, its formless face somehow radiating disdainful regard.
"Begone from here. You can offer me nothing I will accept," she snaps at it.
The cold at her ankles slides up her legs and she glances down to see thick, oily tentacles wind their way up her calves and thighs.
By the time she looks up again, it is Knight-Captain Merrick's face looking back at her, dead-eyed and flat.
"There will be no offers, Inquisitor," he replies and the black water twists around her torso and neck before splitting to delve into her mouth and nostrils. Evelyn gags with panic while this thing steals her breath and squeezes her heart.
"For you have nothing I cannot take."
She awakes to a frowning Hawke, arms folded over her chest as she stands over her bed.
"Demon?"
Evelyn nods, swinging her legs off the bed to scrub her face with her hands.
"Well? Which was it? Xebenkeck? Gaxkang?" She makes a face of disgust. "Oh, was it that fucker Caress?"
Evelyn raises an eyebrow. "On a first-name basis with a lot of demons, are you?"
Marian just shrugs. "Powerful mage, powerful demons. So who was it? Most can't help but start a soliloquy while trying to possess you."
"I don't know. It didn't give a name. It didn't make demands or promises, just told me there was nothing it could not take from me."
The frown on the apostates' face deepens before she sighs and kicks at Evelyn's boot. "Ask Solas about it later. We need to train."
Retrieving her staff and hilt, she follows the apostate down the stairs and through the hall, nodding her quick greetings to the few they pass at such an early hour.
The snowfall has let up overnight and the wind is still except for a slight rustle of the highest bows of the trees.
"Your cousin is on her way here."
Hawke levels Evelyn with a questioning gaze so she continues. "Solona? Solona Amell? The hero of Ferelden?"
"Oh, I suppose she is my second cousin or something on my mother's side. Only met her once though when I was barely out of nappies, a few years before her magic manifested." She grinned at Evelyn. "The Amell line is from the Free Marches not far from Ostwick. Perhaps you are our cousin too."
A short bark of laughter escapes from Evelyn before she replies. "Do not tell Cullen that."
"He would hate that, wouldn't he? You know, I've heard quite the rumor about you and our esteemed Commander."
The grin fell from Evelyn's face and she picked up her pace to their sparring field. "I'm sure there are lots of rumors going around. Soldiers look to anything for a distraction from the very real dangers around them."
There was a small beat of silence in which Evelyn just knew Hawke was smirking behind her. "Liar. So tell me, does that gorgeous beast look as good naked as I'd imagine?"
Evelyn stumbles. "I... I wouldn't know, actually."
Now it is Hawke who stops. "Wait. What the Fade are you two doing then?"
Evelyn can feel her face grow hot with embarrassment but she finds she wants to talk.
"He mostly just... well, touches me."
Hawke's brows nearly reach her hairline and she just stares at Evelyn a moment. "Alright. So Curly's a giver. Lovely. But why haven't you two fucked? Or wait, have you and he's one of those that keeps everything but the essentials covered? That does seem like something he'd do, though it is quite a shame if that is the case. The man's built like a-"
"Marian."
"Right, sorry," she says and drops her hands from where she was creating a vaguely lewd outline in the air. "So, are you or are you not?"
"We... I mean technically-"
"Maker, Evelyn. Have you had sex in the commonly understood way with him?"
"No."
"Huh." The Apostate frowns. "Why not?"
A look of understanding crosses her face when Evelyn doesn't answer. "Chantry fucked him up that badly, then. Kinloch?"
"Yes. That's at least part of it."
"Well. Shit. I don't know what to make of all that, except he must like you if he's working to get you off while not getting fluffed himself. Do you like him or is it just because he's something pretty to look at?"
Evelyn lets out a gusty sigh and starts walking again. "I don't know. I've never had anything like this before. I want to spend time with him but I don't know how much is real between us or if it is just that we're both lonely and constantly facing our mortality. I know part of it is for comfort from his lyrium withdrawal and I swear the only time my hand doesn't throb in pain is when he's distracting me. It's all mixed up and I don't know where one reason ends and another begins or how much weight is behind each."
"My last relationship was with an elf that was a former Tevinter slave and hated mages," grins Hawke. "So, I'm probably not the best person to give out advice."
"That's alright. I think I just needed to tell someone, another mage, who would understand the dicey dynamics."
"Of course. I'm always happy to discuss the Herald of Andraste's naughty bits smashing against my favorite uptight templar," she laughs and dodges the resulting lightning wisp Evelyn throws her way.
"Ugh, you knocked loose my staff blade," grouses Hawke as they climb the long stairs to the welcoming hall to Skyhold hours later. She pauses at the first landing, holding out her arm to stop Evelyn. "Who's that?"
She follows the apostate's jerk of her chin to the small grouping just outside the great doors. Josephine and Cullen are speaking with a soldier in shining armor and green leathers.
"Oh, that's Michel de Chevin, an ex-Chevalier we recruited as an agent while at Sahrnia," she answers and continues her steps. "We decided he would be most useful with our Forces to help train the recruits."
All three of the party turned as they approached, the Chevalier stepping forward and taking Evelyn's hand to kiss the back of it. "Your worship," he greeted. "It is a pleasure to see you again."
Her eyebrow quirks upward in surprise and she mentally shrugs, marking it up to another Orlesian custom. "Ser Michel, we are thrilled to have your expertise joining our cause. May I introduce Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall?"
"A Chevalier?" asks Hawke, "You must be quite skilled with a sword, then?"
De Chevin gives a self-deprecating grin. "I believe some would consider me so."
Marian's face lights up and she flicks her fingers against the hilt tucked in at Evelyn's side. "Wonderful. Our Inquisitor has taken up a blade of her own. Perhaps you could train her?"
Evelyn looks at the Apostate, unsettled by the overly cheery expression on her friend's face and downright disturbed by the shit-stirring light in her eyes.
"Of course. I would be honored. Will tomorrow suffice?"
"We need to join Dagna in the Undercroft," interjects Cullen and Evelyn leans around Michel to look at him, surprised to see his mouth drawn in a thin line like when he gets one of his headaches.
"Of course," she says and directs herself back to the Chevalier. "Tomorrow then, if you would excuse us."
He bows and she moves in line with Cullen as they turn toward the hall. "How are you feeling?"
The dark look on his face shifts to a slightly confused one. "Fine? Why do you ask?"
"I thought- nevermind. What does Dagna have for us?"
His hand unconsciously drifts to the pommel of his sword and Evelyn notes with a little bit of wonder, that it doesn't disturb her in the least. She hasn't flinched at him so near her in his armor in a long time, either.
"The messenger did not say but I think she's done it. I think she's crafted the rune to unmake Samson's armor."
"How heavy is it?" asks De Chevin with a nod to the hilt at her side. They are in the regular training grounds for her first session after agreeing she would use a standard practice sword instead of her spectral one.
"The blade itself is weightless but the hilt-" she takes it and hefts it up and down in her palm, "is still very light... maybe a pound?"
He lifts a few of the practice swords, testing the weight in his hands before he lays one across his palms out for her to take. "None of these will be accurate but this is the lightest of the options if you think it will suit."
Its balance is strange to her and feels unwieldy but she understands her blade of magic is incomparable to anything purely of the physical world. It will have to do.
He shows her how to more effectively block and parry to fortuitously position herself for the counter. Their practice movements are at first slow and deliberate before increasing in speed and intensity. She grits her teeth and her hands become increasingly numb from the vibrations that rattle down the metal to her arms.
Maker, she hates that sound. She's not too fond of the feeling either. Sweat beads her brow as she shakes out her hand and positions herself for another go. Just when she thinks she has it down, the Chevalier switches his steps up, batting her away if not outright disarming her. But he is an effective teacher, and Evelyn finds him far more patient (and exponentially less painful) than Hawke.
After a run that ends with her sword arm pinned behind her back and his sword at her throat, De Chevin straightens and steps away after releasing her. "Perhaps that is enough for now?"
She smiles and nods in agreement, handing the sword back to the man.
"Thank you, Ser. I have learned much today."
He salutes her and grins. Out the corner of her eye, Evelyn thinks she sees a flash of gold and red but when she looks, it is gone.