Author's Note: And we're back! Viewer discretion is advised, as this is not a happy chapter. You may thank my lovely new beta readers, Eva Galana and Bdub for the new content. Thank you so much ladies! As always, please read and review, and I assure you new material will be coming on a regular basis!

Chapter 17

"Give in..." he whispered into her ear, his breath warm on her skin, his hands rough and callused on the back of her neck.

"Don't you deserve this? Don't you need this?" Another voice hissed into her other ear; there was a hint of desperation. He wanted this, needed this as badly as she did.

So she accepted it. She leaned back against him as the other man began to pull at the gloves on her hands. He was so beautiful, with his tawny eyes and sly smile. The man behind her chuckled as the other blushed; she loved it when he blushed like that. Her gloves came off, and she felt both pairs of hands work the intricate leather armor she wore. "No...we shouldn't. This can't be real. This is too...too wonderful. Too perfect."

When the heavy leather came off, it was like an intense burden was lifted from her shoulders. Again that smooth purr at her ear, followed by a kiss, by a bite. "So what? We both love you. You love us both. Why be torn about it?" The other one was kissing at her feet, his lips climbing up her leg. She felt her head tilted back, felt lips that tasted of spice and danger close over her own in a kiss. She moaned at their touch.
"You don't hate me? Neither of you?"

"Do we look as if we hate you, lovely Syl? Do you think the King of Ferelden there kneels and worships before just anyone? Let us worship at the feet of our deadly sex goddess, hm? In return, you can have us both. Be with us both, forever."

Zevran's lips moved from her ear to her neck, lavishing attention on the smooth expanse of flesh. Alistair grinned up at her, his fingers tangled with her own. He lowered his head...
"Yes!" Sylrien sighed in pleasure, relaxing. All that tension, all that worry was melting, draining away. "Yes..." She hissed, closing her eyes and letting the sensations both men provoked in her wash over her...

It was a tangled mass of flesh. A lean, caramel body was pressed against a pale and lithe feminine form that was all tangled in a muscular, tanned form. There was moaning, and she lost track of where one person ended and the other began. There was more to this than the various joinings of their bodies. This was love, without restrictions, without limitations. There were no kings or wardens here...There was no past, no future. It was all about the now. It was all about their heartbeats, quick and thundering in her ears. It was all about how Alistair gasped underneath her. It was about Zevran holding her tight as he shuddered in pleasure. Though every nerve in her body screamed that this was wrong, that this wasn't natural...that it couldn't be right...Gods above, she wanted it to be. She willed it to be.

It seemed like hours had passed, eons maybe. Now they were all lying exhausted on silk sheets. Alistair was the first to speak, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Sylrien smiled up at him, turning around to cuddle against Zevran as he left the perimeter of the bed. "Wine?" The man asked, looking over to the two elves.
She stretched and smiled at him. "Sure. Sounds lovely."
"Then how about poetry?" Zevran looked at her, propping himself up with his elbows. She nodded, reaching a hand to twirl a strand of his golden hair around her fingers.

"Of course."

They sat up, she leaning against him as he began to whisper various rhymes and limericks in her ear. Sylrien would laugh at him, with him...occasionally lean back and kiss him. Wine and poetry were simple pleasures she was happy to indulge in with the both of them.

Then things changed.

Alistair came back, and he was holding a large white chalice. She had seen that before, twelve years ago. That was...It was the Joining Chalice. Suddenly Zevran's hands closed over both her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back. He gave a low chuckle in her ear as Alistair neared the bed. "What? What are you doing? What is this? Alistair- Zevran, let go of me!"
Alistiar looked at her with dark eyes. "This your duty. Your fate."
"No, I won't. I won't do it again. I'd rather die...you know that I'm not...I can't. I won't. Please, Alistair..."

The words died in her throat as Zevran hissed into her ear...
"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. "

She screamed, begged Alistair not to do this. He only looked at her stoically, bringing the chalice to her lips and tilting it forwards. She sputtered; It was thick and coppery and vile. The blood overflowed from the rim of the cup, dripping down her chin, her neck, her chest.

"Join us, Sister..." Alistair began, solemn and serious as he held the cup to her lips.

The blood was endless. It never ceased, still pouring thickly. It burned as it coursed down her throat. She was crying now, tears freely mingled with the blood. "You can't...please, please..." Still Zevran was at her ear, his voice filled with malice. "Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."

Alistair droned on, oblivious to her pleas. "...Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant..."

It burned. She wanted to wretch. The silk sheets were now stained red. They darkened, began to move of their own accord. They began to pulse, change. They seemed to stretch to the very ends of the room. The air was sweet before, all roses and sex...now it reeked of death and decay. The air grew fetid, rotten. She struggled against the Antivan elf, but he was like stone, unmovable, still whispering his blasphemous poetry into one ear as Alistair repeated the Joining Oath.

"Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn..."
"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin."

The pain, there was so much pain. She couldn't see anymore through the tears, through the blood. Why would they do this to her? Why wouldn't they have mercy on her? Then there was movement in the corner of her eye...Tentacles, snaking their way toward her. Like a wall. She had seen this before, this was familiar. No, it couldn't be. She couldn't be. It wasn't...No...There was a crunching noise, something inside her was changing. Then blood began to seep from between her legs. There was a cry off in the distance. They were dying. She was dying. "No..." She sobbed between the mouthfuls of the blood that would not stop pouring from that damned chalice. "You can't...you can't take them from me..." It was the screaming of children, her children. The ones she could never have, not with this death sentence, this curse.

"...And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Suddenly their grip on her arms lessened; suddenly those things vanished. Now she was back in the Dead Trenches in the lair of the Broodmother. Except...except now instead of a silken bed, she lay at the center of all the corruption, all the...all the...Sylrien rocked herself back and forth, letting loose a howl. Except it wasn't her voice; she didn't recognize it. She was a monster now, a Grey Warden. They were the one and the same...Now...Now...
"Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."

"And that one day, we shall join you."

Sylrien closed her eyes and sobbed, alone and broken.