9:36 Dragon, Summer

Dearest Samantha,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. Please know how truly sorry I am to bring you this news in a letter and not in person. I hope you opened this letter first and not the box.

Innley is dead. Allow me the time to explain how it happened. I'll do my best to describe the entire encounter, because I would want the same thing.

You probably know by now that Kirkwall has a new Champion – the Fereldan refugee that I hired to kill the Flint Mercenaries: Hawke. The Knight Commander of Kirkwall tapped the talents of the Champion for a quest, and I was asked to join. Knight Commander Meredith received a missive from Starkhaven's Knight Commander Rayce, and requested that three specific mages be added to the list of the Free Marches' Most Wanted. They were asked to be brought in alive.

Innley's name was on that list.

It took all the conviction I had not to say anything about his origin. Aside from protecting you, I didn't think it prudent to point out that I knew him. Thankfully, even though all three mages were from Starkhaven, Hawke asked me nothing about it.

We found Innley in the Vimmark Mountains atop the highest point of Sundermount. He was crying, huddled up against a rock face. He didn't recognize me, and I said nothing to him. We watched him for a moment, but once he saw us, he changed. I have fought demons beside Hawke for years, but never have I seen as many demons pour out of a single mage as I saw pour out of your brother. No less than five erupted from him. Rage, desire, and hunger, and I thought about you, and how I was going to tell you about how Innley died, for he did die. Who killed him, I cannot say, because between Hawke, me, and the two others who were present, we all struck final blows against all of the monstrous creatures.

I know of no other way to say this: I am so sorry, Sammie. I will light a candle for Innley during service and add you both to my prayers. I cannot imagine the terror that he caused you as I read about it from the Templars' reports, but to see him like that… to see how he had changed… to imagine that he held you in the grip of terror for a single night… I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since.

I have sent along something that was found on his corpse, and I apologize sincerely for the morbidity of its inclusion. Hawke had no need of it, and to keep my relationship with you secret, I bought it from a vendor after it was sold. I thought it best to hide my desire for it. Please accept it with my deepest condolences and my most sincere affection.

Andraste remember you.

Your friend, Sebastian Vael

She held the letter in her hands; the parchment was soft, uncreased, and it kept trying to roll back up. She read it just once, the paper sitting like an egg upon her fingertips.

Innley had once said that his life had been amputated. He had screamed it while in the clutches of a Templar as he was dragged back into the Circle Tower. He had been speaking about the Circle's restrictions, but Samantha imagined that it was those demons across the Veil that had amputated Innley. Slowly and with gentleness. Grand Cleric Francesca had always warned of the kindness of demons, of the tenderness, of their manipulations, of the falsehoods they spun to get what they most desired, which was a foothold in a mortal brain: freedom.

I can make her talk. What would you most like her to say?

The tears plunked onto her knees as she lowered Sebastian's letter, and there was no amount of squeezing that Goran could do to take it away. Keis stood nearby, her gaze fixed on the package, longer than it was wide, that sat unopened and untouched on the brunch table where the servants had left it.

Samantha stared into the parchment stoically. "I thought I would be relieved…"

Goran held her hand and said nothing, for what was there to say?

Memories of Innley the boy surfaced like bubbles in water – shaggy hair, laughing, hiding, secrets, and sticks. He must have been so full of rage, so full of desire, of longing and pain, that he was willing to give his soul to so many demons in exchange for… what? Freedom? His was just an illusion. Why didn't someone tell him that it was false?

"Do you think he was still…?" She searched for the words. "Do you think Innley was in there? Somewhere?"

"I don't know," Goran said gently.

"I wonder if he knew…" Her eyes turned bleary.

"… I don't know."

"Or if he felt anything…"

"… Sammie, I…"

When she started to cry in earnest, she could feel Goran's helplessness as much as her own. There were so many questions, and whether or not the answers existed or had been kept from her was irrelevant. It took the better part of the afternoon for Samantha to calm down, collapsing with her sorrow and waking hours later in Corbinian's bed, the light of the day waning from the window.

She pushed herself up with difficulty. "Goran…?"

Backlit by the setting sun, a darkened figure sat in front of Corbinian's window, but what answered her call was a female voice. "No… er, His Majesty called me here."

His Majesty? That was old kingly appellation used before the Qunari conquered Starkhaven. When the Vaels took the title of Prince, they insisted that those old designations be discarded along with the title of King.

"Who's…?" She rubbed her eyes as a lithe figure moved into better lighting, revealing her identity to be Amethyne, the elf mage from the Starkhaven Circle, formerly of Kirkwall, formerly of Denerim, formerly of Highever. Her soft coppery hair was pulled up on her head loosely, and a cream-colored robe fit her small frame perfectly.

Samantha was confused. "Goran called you here?"

"Actually, he called the First Enchanter as he thought you would benefit from a mage's knowledge," Amethyne replied. "But Raddick is a busy man, and so he sent me."

Samantha didn't imagine that Goran was very pleased that an elf had been sent in Raddick's stead, and she wondered why Amethyne had been allowed entry. But maybe none of that really mattered. Amethyne had helped them once, and Samantha and Keis had emerged from the remembering ritual unharmed and with the answers they sought. Maybe Goran could change his views on elves after all... Of course, he was capable of change – everyone was! Even those whom Samantha thought she had known so well. Like her brother. The things Sebastian had said in that letter... she couldn't imagine Innley could have changed so much, and into someone she would never have recognized.

Sighing deeply, Samantha sunk further into the bed; the sheets were a rumpled mess from her fitful slumber. Her dressing gown felt enormous compared to this small girl who pulled up a chair near the bed.

"He was my brother," Samantha said distantly, unsure about why she was opening up to this fifteen-year-old elf.

Amethyne nodded solemnly. "I want you to know that I am deeply saddened by your loss."

Samantha started rambling. "I don't understand what happened to him. He was so funny. As a child, he and I would make up games to escape our tutors. I remember one afternoon where he and I tricked our grammar tutor by speaking verbs in Orlesian. Poor woman thought she was going mad."

The elf smiled politely.

"This other time, Innley put on one of my dresses and bonnets and pretended to be me for entire sewing lesson while I was sent to the stables to learn how to properly saddle a horse!" Samantha laughed through her tears. "They only found us out because I got thrown… Father would never let me ride after that." The silence was punctuated by Samantha's sniffles. "Why?" Samantha asked the girl. "How does a boy like that give himself to a demon? Why does he do it?"

An expression of sorrow crossed Amethyne's milky complexion. "There are so many reasons. Most of them would not be understood by the most learned scholar. A demon can twist everything inside a mage; amplifying their fears, their hopes, their anger. Until the emotions become all the rationalization they need."

"Did he know what was happening?" Samantha asked, desperately hoping that Innley was somehow still innocent, tortured as she was by unseen forces. "Did he see himself… maybe from a distance? Or in a mirror?"

"It depends on the mage," Amethyne answered slowly. "Most mages don't appear aware of what's happening at the moment, but when they recover bits of themselves, they seem horrified by what they've done. But there are some who... enjoy it."

Would Innley have been horrified? Samantha thought about that, wondering if somewhere underneath all that anger had been the same Innley she used to know. The kid who hid sticks and struggled with penmanship. A young man who played games and kept things to himself. How many other secrets did her brother have?

"I think he could have been…" Samantha whispered, feeling ill at the thought. Innley, grown up and damaged in ways she couldn't fathom. "Sebastian said he was crying."

"Demons become—when they are accepted, they are then part of the mage," Amethyne said thoughtfully. "It's like that voice in your head that sounds just like your own. We all say things to ourselves that are hurtful, but a demon can be the voice that manipulates like nothing else, playing on emotions and desires, evoking feelings stronger than you can imagine. Maybe your brother was crying, because… because of that voice."

Samantha sniffled. "How do you know all of this?"

The elf had sat poised with her hands in her lap during their exchange, the expression on her face alternated between thoughtful and pained. "I have watched mages give themselves to demons. I have seen what the demons do to them… I have spoken with them. Some call it a curse – it's just magic. All mages have different gifts, and some don't even realize they have them. But I have known about mine since a young age."

Samantha was horrified – to have intimate knowledge of a demon was something they both shared.

"I also know what it's like to lose my family," Amethyne said quietly. "I also have lost many friends. I have felt the pull of the demons inside of them, and watched them lose themselves." She paused a moment and then said, "It's not always the mage's choice, but when it is, it's that much more mournful."

Even after all that he had done, he was still her brother, and the idea that he had possibly been manipulated into becoming an instrument of murder made her feel both relieved and sickened. Perhaps he hadn't asked for it, but rather been tricked… And how had the demon used her in its manipulation?

She felt afraid to ask, but was compelled by her own inner voice. "Is it painful? To be… possessed?"

The elf gave an apologetic shrug. "I cannot say. I only know that many mages wish for death once they realize what is going on."

"And those who don't?"

"Those who harbor demons to give them the power to fulfill their desires. Those sorts of people would not be kind even without magic."

"How do you do it?" Samantha asked her weakly. "How do you say no?"

"I…" Amethyne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I don't really know."

"But you said you've conversed with demons?"

"Yes… but my gift all but ensures that I will never partner with demons. Those that do not have a grasp into our realm run away from me like I am poison."

"You can cure possession?" Samantha's eyes widened in awe.

"No!" The elf was adamant. "I am sorry for the misunderstanding. I can recover the mage for a short period of time, but it is temporary. I apologize, when the First Enchanter introduced me as a spirit healer, I just went along with it. But the truth is that I am a spirit warder. I can keep them at bay for as long as I am present. But that is all I can do. The Fade is one-way mirror for me. I can see in, but there is no way for me to control that energy."

"Except when you converse with demons."

"That's more an assault on them, I assure you. But they have to have a foothold. Here, in the mortal realm. Otherwise, I don't hear them at all." Amethyne looked down at her hands, seemingly disturbed by her own... gifts.

Magic was so strange; sometimes, Samantha couldn't believe it was real. Her gaze drifted to the bedside table where Sebastian's letter sat loosely rolled up.

"Do you know the Knight Commander?" Samantha asked suddenly, thinking of that isolation chamber, and of her brother's treatment in that cell all those years ago.

Amethyne seemed unsure of how to answer. "He is… the Knight Commander. Everyone knows him."

"What do you know of him?"

"Well… he…" The elf pursed her lips, thinking. "He is a widow. From Orlais. My Orlesian is terrible, but every so often I hear him speak it. He keeps his distance from the Circle, mostly leaving the day-to-day duties to the First Enchanter. They have a keen partnership."

"Do you believe he is a man of his word?"

"Suitably."

She glanced at the letter.

There is a debt between us.

Knight Commander Rayce had added Innley to the list. Samantha remembered his voice. Those soft Orlesian sounds, those hardened eyes, the deep creases in the sides of his face; lines drawn from a thousand experiences. What was his angle, she wondered. Why did he believe there was a debt between them? Innley was now dead. Was that the debt the Knight Commander spoke of, and did Innley's death mean the debt was repaid? What kind of debt that left her brother dead at the hands of five demons could ever be repaid? And were reparations even possible?

She leaned back against the pillows, the taste of salt landing near the corners of her mouth. Innley had been crying, Sebastian had said. She lifted a palm to her damp cheek, unable to stomach the idea of her brother's awareness of his own malevolence. He had wanted the family that had thrown him away. Faces replaced with flowers. Things replaced with things.

You were a shame to the family.

Samantha had often wondered how much of her parents lived inside her. Their prejudices and follies. Their politics stamped into her with books and the Chantry. What if they were all wrong? What if Innley had been right? What if desperation had pulled the worst out of mages, and the demons were the only choice to make anymore? What if freedom from the Circle was worth dying for?

Once again she wondered how she had wronged her brother, how her parents had aborted him, how the Circle and the city and indeed the whole of Thedas had failed the mages again and again by giving the demons all the ammunition that was ever needed.

"You should get some rest," Amethyne said gently.

"I don't want to," she whispered, exhausted. The tears came with ease, sobs muffled by her hands, her watery voice leaking through her fingers. "I close my eyes and see only horror."

"I felt like that once. After my mother sent me to Denerim, I had terrible nightmares. I always thought that my magic was to blame." Amethyne fidgeted with her hands, and they were so small and delicate, her creamy Fereldan skin stark against the Starkhaven tan. "But she was protecting me." Samantha lowered her hands, raising her gaze to watch the elf girl speak. "She sent me to people who would watch out for me, and they did. Just like the Maker sent you to the prince. He watches out for you. He didn't even raise an objection when I came instead of Raddick. I could see the worry in his eyes. They were the same as the worry in my mother's eyes when she sent me away. I like to imagine that my mother lives still, that she escaped Highever when the Teyrn's castle was plundered. Just like I escaped Denerim. I like to imagine that we'll see each other again one day."

When have I kept you waiting? Corbinian's words bounced off her ribcage, her shrinking heart darkened by old promises. But unlike this elf girl who had lost considerably more, those old promises pulled her into despair. This elf, this mage, had grown strong with that loss, and Samantha found herself wishing she could be more like Amethyne. Where was the girl's mother? Where was Corbinian? Samantha hoped that none of them were suffering. Not like Innley had. Not like they all had.

A soft knock rapped against the door, and Keis' dampened voice came through. "I'm opening the door."

When Samantha saw Keis' eyes, that clear worried expression of a guardian, Samantha relaxed, but only a little. She could sleep knowing that Keis was there. Goran peeked around from behind her. He was the last family she had until her Beenie would return to Starkhaven. If he would ever return.

"Sammie?" Goran asked politely. "May we come in?"

"Yes," she croaked.

Amethyne stood up, showing her version of graces by bowing awkwardly and shuffling out of the room.

Samantha was surprised when Goran turned right to the elf and spoke to her directly. "I've given Colin a message for a Raddick. Would you make sure he gets it?"

Colin the squire handed her a folded up bit of parchment with the prince's seal stamped in wax. She nodded stiffly, backing away from the door, the lightness of her skin and robe swallowed up by the shadows of the hallways.

The bed sank unevenly as he sat down on the edge. "We opened the box."

She took a moment to catch her breath, looking up and waiting for the answer that didn't need a question.

"Would you like to see?"

She nodded despairingly, knowing that whatever was inside will likely cause her more pain and from the look in his eyes, he didn't disagree.

He looked to the door and called out to his squire. "Colin."

Colin appeared in the doorway again, this time with a large box, and it was so wide that he had to angle himself sideways to get it through the door. He handed it to the prince with great care who set it upon the bed between himself and Samantha. With a deep breath, Goran lifted the top off the box, and Samantha leaned over to see what was inside.

It still shone. Not a speck of rust or dirt tainted its long blade, though the tip was still split back unnaturally. The hilt's skull was pristine white, its horns curving around blackly without even the slightest indication that the elements had touched it.

It was Corbinian's sword. One-Cut. Because that's all it takes.

Only seen in her fuzzy memory and the occasional nightmare, this sword, with its strangely split tip, made everything seem real. The nightmare of that night had actually happened, and here was the proof that her memory didn't lie. Samantha exhaled, reaching out a pair of fingers to touch it. It was real. Solid and sharp with a history that no one would ever know because its wielders were all dead.

All but one.

I don't think a bit of lace and a smile will work for him like it does for me.

Goran touched it, too. "In the missive to the First Enchanter, I've asked for a diviner. Maybe someone at the Circle can learn something from this. Figure out why it's split and where it's been."

"Does it matter?" Samantha was ready to give way to despair.

"Of course it matters. Knowing what happened to this sword might give us information about what happened to Beenie." He pulled his hand away, reaching behind him, where upon a small tray, sat a small vial of thick purple liquid. "You should sleep."

She accepted the vial, staring into the shimmering potion. She wondered if it was as bitter-tasting as lyrium. "This will help me sleep?"

"Yes."

"Will I dream?"

"Probably not."

She tossed back the tonic, and it tasted like relief.