Content Warning: This is the Annulment of the Dairsmuid—and, in my AU, Tantervale and Starkhaven—Circles, which I've repeatedly foreshadowed. I'm not going to gloss over what that entails, so warning for graphic descriptions of violent murder, including of children. This is a horrific, evil act, and I am writing it that way, not censoring the violence. If the final Annulment scene resembles an active shooter attack, that is probably inevitable at this point.

Song: Nightwish – "Dead To the World"


Chapter 85: Not Monsters But Men


Tantervale.

In a simple house in Tantervale, First Enchanter Rivella of the Dairsmuid Circle presided over a meeting. She had brought her Senior Enchanters with her, and there were also representatives of the underground resistance in the Tantervale and Starkhaven Circles. Also at the meeting was a representative of the apostate "fraternity" of the northern Free Marches, the Resolutionists.

Enchanter Perry of Starkhaven was officially the leader of the Aequitarians of that Circle, but he also secretly represented what remained of the Libertarians, Lucrosians, and Isolationists. Fraternities other than Aequitarians and Loyalists were banned here now. But he had kept faith with those mages who persisted in private objection. He had also privately told them the news that there was a way to reverse Tranquility. The authorities had suppressed it. Resentment was brewing over that, but so was hope: a potent combination.

Perry was nervous, shaking as he spoke to Rivella. "I can't be here long," he jabbered. "Raddick thinks I am casting wards on the city walls." A drop of sweat trickled down his neck.

Edna, the Resolutionist representative, scoffed. "Yes, they make war to crush mage freedom, but they are still quite satisfied to use the powers of mages for their own advantage!"

Rivella took control of her meeting. "We must make this quick so that our allies' absence won't be noted. I have an alliance with Viscountess Hawke. We have freedom of movement, obviously, since we are able to meet with you. The Antivans and Ansburgers have also gone to Kirkwall to join Hawke. Now that Grand Enchanter Fiona has won the vote for the laggard Circles, we need to find a way to get as many mages free of Starkhaven and Tantervale as we can."

"It won't be easy," warned Perry. "I believe I have the names of all who still support freedom, but unfortunately a lot of mages have been brainwashed."

Edna spoke up. "The schism has even declared its own 'Grand Enchanter' now, awarding that position to Raddick. Boot-licking, cock-sucking Loyalist that he is. And he has spies in the Circle."

"And in the Tantervale Circle," spoke up Enchanter Irmengard of that city. "It is particularly dangerous for us, as we are closest to the false Divine and all those monster Templars she keeps about her."

Everyone present shuddered at that. They all knew about Red Templars.

Rivella spoke up again. "My mages and I have been permitted to study fields of magic that no other Circle in Thedas—probably including Tevinter—has. We have ways of distracting the Templars, including Red Templars."

Irmengard looked uneasy. "You don't mean... blood magic?"

"It is not truly blood magic," said Rivella. She gave Edna a nod. "As the representative of the Resolutionist movement in Tantervale and Starkhaven, Edna can make the necessary arrangements to break the rebel mages out of the Circles. My mages and I can support the escape with our... special approaches."

Perry and Irmengard exchanged uneasy glances. The man spoke up. "The Resolutionists... no offense, but we'd always heard that they were violent criminals. Terrorists, more or less."

Edna glowered at him, her gaze thundering disapproval. Rivella frowned as well, and it was she who responded. "According to the schismatic Templars, any mage who escapes a Circle is a 'violent criminal,'" she said. "You yourself would be a criminal in their eyes right now, serah."

He sighed. "Point taken. But what the Resolutionists have done..."

"What do you think they have done?" Rivella replied. She did not wait for an answer. "Most Resolutionists migrated south and joined Hawke's army years ago. They've been fighting in honorable combat. Those who remained in Tantervale and Starkhaven have targeted Orthodox Chantry priests and Templars for assassination." She glowered loftily. "It is true that before the war began, the Resolutionists committed some acts of violence against civilian targets, attacking chantries and the like without regard to who was inside. But after war erupted, they realized that such acts would only be used against the cause, so they targeted priests and Templars."

"The First Enchanter is right," said Edna tightly. "We have not attacked any civilian targets since the war began in Dragon 9:37. But we have killed several particularly bad priests and Templars in Tantervale and Starkhaven."

Perry managed a nod. "As you say."

Irmengard spoke up. "Are you sure that the enemy isn't watching your movements right now?"

Rivella was the one to answer, impatience in her voice. "Do you think that this meeting would have progressed this far if they were? We haven't had Templars breaking down the door and attacking us, have we? Frankly, I'd be more concerned about 'Grand Enchanter' Raddick and the Loyalists in your Circles watching you, rather than enemy spies watching Edna!"

"I really don't think Raddick knows what I have done tonight," said Perry. "I covered my tracks well. I did reinforce the city wards before I came here."

"You weren't sent with a Templar guard," Edna mused. "Otherwise you couldn't have come."

"I have done what I must," Perry said in distaste. "I have feigned loyalty to Raddick. The simpering traitor thinks I'm a loyal lieutenant. I'm officially the leader of the Aequitarians. I've done everything I can to blind him to the truth. That's why he didn't send a Templar to escort me to the city walls."

"Let's hope."


The Grand Cathedral of Tantervale.

Elthina, Divine Fidelia I of the Orthodox Chantry, rose from her prayers, leaving the votive candle lit before the statue of Andraste. Giving a curt nod to the Templars who stood guard, she left the nave and headed to her private offices to think of the news that she had been receiving.

It was good to have the full support of the Seekers of Truth and Templar Order at long last. Had they had this kind of manpower at the beginning of this war, they... well, Elthina had to admit, might not have quickly triumphed, but the enemy would not have had it so easy. But it was better to have their support late than never.

A sharp, urgent knock on the office door interrupted Elthina before she could even sit down.

"Most Holy," came an emotionless, even voice of a Tranquil. "The Knight-Commander of Tantervale and Grand Enchanter Raddick to see you, with urgent news about the war." He spoke the words, but his voice displayed none of the inflection associated with such urgency. It would have been disturbing to anyone other than someone who regarded the voice of a Tranquil as soothing—a reminder of a threat neutralized.

Elthina sighed. "Show them in, in that case."

The chapel servant admitted the pair, then stepped aside as the Knight-Commander closed the door. Elthina observed the mage and Templar closely. They looked grave.

"Knight-Commander Denam," she said to the Templar. "Grand Enchanter Raddick. What brings you here?"

The Templar got straight to the point. "Terrible news from Val Royeaux, and word of a conspiracy almost at our very doorstep," he growled.

Elthina frowned. "Terrible news? From Val Royeaux? I expected that the rebel mages would join the Kirkwall apostates, but..." She trailed off.

"They have, but that's not what I mean," said Denam. "Lambert van Reeves is dead, Most Holy."

Elthina gaped, genuinely shocked. "Dead? And this news is from Val Royeaux?"

"Indeed. Murdered in Val Royeaux. The Seekers and Templars who follow the Maker will join us all here soon enough, but without him. He was found dead in his own quarters, knifed." Denam glowered, his eyes gleaming with the strange glow of red lyrium deep in his cells.

Elthina was appalled. "Who do they think did it? That bard that they call the Left Hand of the Divine? Everyone knows how she works."

"That would've been my suspicion too but for Raddick's account," said Denam. "I think it was the Resolutionists. They are conspiring against us all."

"I did not know that those terrorist apostates had a cell in Val Royeaux." She turned to the Grand Enchanter of the Orthodox Chantry Circles. "Raddick. What does the Knight-Commander mean?"

The mage cleared his throat. "I have suspected for some time that those mages who persisted in calling themselves Aequitarians were in fact rebels at heart, in sympathy with the apostates."

Elthina nodded. "Yes, that is why we allowed that fraternity to exist—so that we would know who to watch. Much like how the old fraternities served the same purpose. Mages self-declaring that they wanted to sever ties with the Chantry, or wanted gold and power, or wanted to live away from everyone else—they made it easy. But here, of course, they would have been too fearful to identify as such. The Aequitarians seemed 'safe.'" She gave Raddick a pointed look. "I suppose the conspiracy that you have uncovered involves them."

Raddick nodded importantly. "It even involves the man I allowed to lead them. Perry has defied me, telling his following of that heretical research from Orlais, riling them up in secret. Most Holy, I believe that every mage in Tantervale and Starkhaven's Circles—except some Loyalists—will attempt a violent escape soon, with the aid of the Rivainis and the Resolutionists."

Elthina scowled. "We will triple the Templar presence, then."

"I'm afraid that it may not be enough," spoke up Denam. "The mage tells me that the Rivainis are intending to do blood magic. He had his Aequitarian Senior Enchanter followed and the spy heard the head Rivaini herself say it."

Elthina drew breath deeply. "Blood magic. Sadly, who is surprised? A Circle in name only, complete freedom of movement, even keeping house with each other and with non-mages and calling it marriage and family. This is inevitably what happens when they have no oversight. Temptation presents itself, and with none of the Maker's authorities to stop them, they will do what any child does when faced with a bowl of candy without a parent present."

"Exactly, Most Holy," agreed Denam.

"And the crown of Rivain also shares blame. The Queen has allowed all manner of false religions to exist there. Val Royeaux has not stepped in since the last Exalted March, so the Maker has appointed this task to us. Yes," Elthina resolved, "we should have targeted Dairsmuid far sooner, I see now."

"So we are going to attack Dairsmuid?" Denam asked.

"I think that as soon as we have the rest of the Templars and Seekers here, yes, we should capture it. But in the meantime... I must consider what you have told me about the treason in our own Circles. Leave me."


By the time Elthina summoned her top Templars to the Grand Cathedral of Tantervale, she had already decided what had to be done. It was sad, but the mages had made their choice, and now they would have to suffer the consequences of their betrayal: Annulment.

But she would need to tell the Templars, since they would be the ones to perform the grim deed. Starkhaven was close, the messengers traveled swiftly, and by the next day, Elthina was surrounded by the Templar leadership: Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch, newly promoted Knight-Commander Denam of Tantervale, Knight-Commander Carsten of Starkhaven, newly appointed Knight-Commander Carroll of Hasmal, and Knight-Divine Raleigh Samson.

Elthina had not invited the secular leaders of the Orthodox Chantry cities. Joffrey Orrick was a cowardly man who would balk at what had to be done. Sebastian was no coward, but he was softhearted at times, and he would likely object too. Better for him to learn about this decision after it was already done, could not be undone, and Elthina could explain gently to him why it had been necessary. For that matter, he still did not know what red lyrium did to a Templar's body, and although he might in time be persuaded to understand it as the holy sacrifice that it was, he was not ready for that knowledge yet either. And the lord of Hasmal was not trustworthy, as he had joined them only when the army was at his gates.

In dour tones, Elthina explained the situation. "And so," she concluded, "I fear we have little choice but to end the threat preemptively. This means the Annulment of our own Circles as well as that of Dairsmuid when we attack it."

The Templars took that in. Denam had known already, of course. Carsten accepted his Divine's conclusion with no argument either, indeed with a look of glee, as did Carroll, and Samson was utterly impassive. But the one who was nominally the leader did not look to accept the idea immediately.

"Is this truly wise?" asked Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch, frowning. "The heathens in Dairsmuid, I understand, but we're destroying our own Circles. Hawke's army has hundreds more mages than we do, and it'll be thousands if the rebels at Andoral's Reach have joined her."

Elthina considered this. It was a valid point. However... "If they fight for the enemy, either openly or by stealth, they are not 'our own.'"

"But are you certain of this, Your Perfection?"

"Tragically, Grand Enchanter Raddick has assured me that every mage in our two remaining Circles except the Loyalists is conspiring with the Rivainis and the Resolutionist terror cell."

"We could make them Tranquil instead," he suggested. "Put them to good use in the war. You know my thoughts on that subject, Most Holy."

Elthina gave him a sharp look. "I do indeed. Your thoughts on that subject, expressed to the wrong person, cost you your position under the anti-divine."

"I'm not saying to use all of them for private needs. Some can craft things. We could use them for the war. The Tranquil Solution, as its adherents called it, was not a bad idea in principle. They just wanted to apply it too broadly. If they had pushed for it as an alternative to Annulment, instead of something to impose on every mage in Thedas, it would have appeared as the reasonable compromise that it is."

Knight-Commander Denam eyed the Knight-Vigilant. "This is not a time for compromise, and frankly, I'm starting to wonder about you. You haven't taken red lyrium, and now, you're trying to talk Most Holy down from righteously executing maleficarum who are conspiring against her."

"I'm merely saying that, for the sake of the war effort, it might be wiser to put them to use than to kill them all. Even Andraste herself made an alliance with heathen elves, and the Maker smiled upon her Exalted March. If they deserve execution, do it after we've crushed the apostate army."

Elthina spoke up, silencing the two. "Tranquility might indeed be an acceptable alternative to Annulment, but for the fact that they are plotting against us right now. The Rivainis already live just as the apostate army does."

"But we do have a tight leash on the Circles of Tantervale and Starkhaven."

"I am not sure we do anymore. The Aequitarian leader at Starkhaven defied orders and told his followers about that heretical, demonic project of Justinia's, stirring them up. The Rivainis have also been talking with our mages, minus the Loyalists, according to Raddick. The Dairsmuid Chantry will not control them. They could indeed know blood magic, and our mages would think there was an incentive to use it... given the consequences of a failed escape."

"The fact that the Resolutionist cell is involved in this is additional evidence that they will use blood magic," Knight-Commander Carsten added, anger seeping from his words. "The Lord Seeker was likely killed by those terrorist apostates. He was an ally to us all along, embedded deep in the enemy council. We must avenge him."

"But the numbers Hawke has versus our numbers... even with the Seekers and most of the remaining Templars, this is risky," Trentwatch insisted.

Denam cleared his throat and spoke up. "Mages have to be born, but any of the Maker's Children, other than the cursed ones themselves, can become Templars. Their numbers are as large as they can be for a while. Even if the mages breed, babies can't fight. But our numbers are limited only by the size of our able-bodied population. We can conscript youths from the lands of the Orthodox Chantry to replace the mages."

"Templars have never been conscripted before," Carroll objected. "We're not some common army, drafted by worldly lords to fight petty battles. Becoming a Templar is supposed to be a personal calling to serve the Maker."

Elthina spoke up. "Ideally, that is what it should be. One should enter the Chantry by the front door. But you are mistaken that youths have never been forced to become Templars. It is not unusual at all for 'superfluous' young nobles to be sent to the Order by their families. The Chantry trains them. In this time of dire need, Knight-Commander Denam is right. We could conscript youths to become Templars."

"And we have red lyrium," Samson added.

"True," Elthina said. "Its own nature, appearance, and the circumstances of its discovery demonstrate what it is. Never seen until the servants of the Maker needed it. Discovered by our enemy, but used against her, as the Maker prevented her from understanding it as a weapon. The color of the flames of holy fire. Those who use it make a great personal sacrifice, even greater than the holy sacrifice that ordinary Templars have long made in using ordinary lyrium. It is a sacred gift." She spoke in the tone that all present knew to be her inspired, ex cathedra voice, the voice of the Divine.

"As you say, Most Holy," Trentwatch said. He himself was too afraid to use red lyrium. Perhaps, he supposed, his faith was not strong enough—but that was a struggle to face later.

Elthina continued, returning to the persona of a strategist rather than a Holy Successor. "It would have won us the Battle of Kirkwall, and hence the war, if not for Anders' infernal bombs. But we did not send the great bulk of our Templars there. Yes... I think that a conscription of new Templars, and the harvesting of more red lyrium to enhance their abilities, will more than compensate for the loss of traitorous maleficars."

"And we can grow more red lyrium just as we can conscript more Templars," Samson added. "Unlike the blue sort. Red Templars can serve the Orthodox Chantry even with their deaths."

"That is true," Elthina said. She found it distasteful to harvest the substance from the bodies of Templars who had used it until it took them over, but he had a point. And after all, the real purpose of immolation was merely practical, to keep demons from possessing the bodies of the dead. After red lyrium had had its way with a Templar, there was not much flesh or bone left.

She cleared her throat, gaining the attention of all five men. "So be it. I, Divine Fidelia of the Orthodox Chantry, hereby command the Annulment of the Circles of Dairsmuid, Starkhaven, and Tantervale on the basis of blood magic, apostasy, treason, and heresy. Templars, do the Maker's work."


The Starkhaven Circle of Magi.

Knight-Commander Carsten had hoped that leading this effort would finally earn him the title of Knight-Divine. He could not understand why Samson had the position and he did not. The former Kirkwall Templar had barely done anything for the Orthodox Chantry after introducing red lyrium to the Templars.

Admittedly that had made quite a difference. The heretics in Val Royeaux had had their long-standing monopoly trade agreement with Orzammar. Divine Fidelia had had to deal with the northern dwarven kingdom of Kal-Sharok, and that was still quite a distance to travel, and through enemy territory. It was also smaller than Orzammar and could not supply nearly as much conventional lyrium as Orzammar could. Furthermore, it required the Divine to deal with infidels who did not believe in the Maker, who worshiped the "Stone" instead. In contrast, red lyrium could be harvested from Templars who had made a holy sacrifice, and as the Divine had pointed out, it had been revealed to the Maker's true warriors in their hour of direst need. It was obviously the righteous choice.

But Samson had not discovered red lyrium. That had been the late Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. He had basically been a courier of the substance to the Maker's true warriors. For that Divine Fidelia had named him Knight-Divine. Carsten hoped that this righteous act, slaying the maleficarum and traitors in the Starkhaven Circle, would earn him a promotion at last.

The Orthodox Chantry—the true Chantry—was surely about to win the war. Justinia's days had to be numbered now, with no one to protect her except her dead-end loyalists. The Kirkwall apostates would be crushed. Hawke mustered an army of thousands now, but so did they, and unlike the robes, Templars and Seekers were military-trained and knew about battle tactics.

Hawke has shown herself adept at that too, Carsten thought uncomfortably. But he reassured himself at once. The knife-eared rebel from the White Spire will surely challenge Hawke for leadership, and she doesn't know the first thing about how to run a massive army or plan pitched battles between vast armies. If she takes over, the apostates' side will collapse.

Samson turned to Carsten as they and their force approached the doors of the Starkhaven Circle. The signs of the fire from ten years ago still were apparent, scorch marks and crumbling wings of the building that were no longer occupied. Behind the two Red Templars, a force of two hundred more awaited orders. The sensation of red lyrium permeated the air, producing a righteous rage and drastically increased courage in Carsten. He wondered if this was what it was like to be in the Maker's presence.

Samson examined the doors. "They've put up wards," he said darkly to Carsten. "They must have had warning!"

"It won't matter." He and Samson exchanged a nod, then turned to the force of Red Templars behind them. "Templars! Break down these doors!"

As one, the warriors raised their hands. The exhilarating sensation of red lyrium intensified as the air itself began to glow faintly red. The magic wards suddenly glowed brightly—and then broke apart, the magic dissipating.

Samson and Carsten ordered the force to part. A unit of Red Templars who had completed the transformation hobbled through the break in the lines, resembling nothing so much as golems made of red lyrium. They were not really human now, but they had powers and strength that the others did not. The Behemoths slammed their bodies against the arched doors, shattering splinters of wood with each blow. Red lyrium also shattered and fell from their bodies as the doors splintered, the chunks getting larger and larger. But the Behemoths continued their assault, impervious to their own mortality.

Smash! One of the Behemoths broke down the left door entirely, breaking its hinges. The Red Templars prepared to enter—but before they could, a spell instantly hit the Behemoth, shattering it into red crystals.

Senior Enchanter Perry, his face set in the dark resolve of a martyr, led a force of mages to defend the tower. "We rebels have taken over this Circle! Your pathetic Loyalists don't command here anymore, and you won't have us all, you monsters!"

With that, the battle was joined.

With an angry snarl, Carsten commanded the Red Templars—all two hundred of them—to force their way inside. He counted the mages who were defying them. No more than two dozen, all adults. Carsten quickly determined what that meant.

"They mean to hold us off here while someone gets the little robes out through another exit!" Carsten declared, throwing up his shield against a mage's elemental blast. "Don't let them escape! Templars—to every nook and cranny in this maleficar-infested tower!"

Although Samson was higher-ranked than Carsten, this time he followed Carsten's command. "You!" he pointed to a group of smaller Red Templars. "Find the little mage grubs!"

Carsten was confused. Why had Samson chosen those for the operation? Their transformations had been controlled to let lethally sharp blades of red lyrium develop and protrude from their wrists, replacing their hands. Like the Behemoths, they also seemed to lose the ability to speak and reason very well. They were excellent blunt-force weapons, following orders without question, but were not capable of creative thinking. It would have made more sense to send a group of knights who still had human bodies and brains...

It was too late. The Shadows, as they were called, trotted off down the corridors, looking mindlessly for mage children. Carsten suppressed his scowl and returned to the battle. He swung his sword at the mage nearest him. The blade caught, a river of blood erupting from the mage's side. Carsten roared in triumph as he yanked the blade out, then swung it again, decapitating the mage.


The Dairsmuid Circle of Magi.

As the thuds sounded on the door, First Enchanter Rivella held her staff at a threatening angle, standing in front of the rest of the adult and teenage mages. Her face was set in dark resolve and anger. She did not expect to survive this—but she had sent two randomly selected teenagers to escort the children out of the Circle through one of the secret tunnels.

They had gathered here to plan their intended journey to Kirkwall. That was how the Templars and Seekers had managed to corner them all in one place. Ordinarily they wouldn't have been all in one building. Rivella had cursed herself for the terrible timing, but only for a moment. She had not wasted much time on recriminations. Her life was likely forfeit. What mattered was getting the innocents out, not flagellating herself.

The door rattled on its hinges. Rivella took a deep breath, preparing herself. Arcane candles glittered around them, lining the walls of this circular chamber in a magical pattern known only to the shamans of Rivain. The outer ring would drain the Templars of their lyrium-enhanced anti-magic abilities.

Rivella was not certain if it would work against red lyrium, however, and therefore she had also set an inner ring of candles. They would invoke a powerful spirit of the earth when the barrier was breached. The only people who knew magic like this were the Rivainis and some of the elder Dalish. The Templars would have no direct counter to it. They would have to hack away with their swords, and hopefully the spirit would take out a lot of them before it fell. And there was one more thing that would happen when it fell.

Better not to think of that, Rivella thought. Ideally she and the other mages could defeat the Templars before the spirit died, but if they could not...

The children are already in the tunnel, she thought to reassure herself.

A violent slam shattered the doors, and Red Templars poured into the sanctuary, led by a face that Rivella recognized: the Red Templar Carroll, appointed Knight-Commander of Hasmal after its true Knight-Commander, Brycen, defected with the mages.

Carroll raised his sword high, the blade gleaming red from the lyrium, while green lights from the Fade-lit candles reflected off it. "Templars!" he roared. "Kill the heathens!"

He bounded through the first ring of candles, his vanguard following him. They did not slow down. They did not frown. Rivella's face fell. They had no effect whatsoever on the red lyrium!

Grimacing, she froze the first wave of Red Templars before they could breach the second ring. She did not want the spirit to emerge this soon. "Mages!" she shouted. "Make them pay for every inch!"


The Tantervale Circle of Magi.

Knight-Commander Denam turned to Raddick as they approached the doors of the Tantervale Circle. His face was hard and cold. No malevolent smirk was this. This was the expression of one who truly believed that he was numbered among the righteous.

"Raddick," he said, not particularly wanting to say the robe's title. The Divine intended to abolish ranks and positions of authority among mages after she won the war. Giving them the right to rule even over their own kind was a mistake, and had led to this heretical rebellion. It led some of them to think, as the Kirkwall apostate had, that they had the right to assume positions outside the College of Magi. The titles and ranks had gone to the robes' heads.

Divine Fidelia would put an end to that. The College of Magi, the titles of Grand, First, and Senior Enchanters—even the distinction between Enchanters and apprentices—would be abolished. Enchanters could become abominations and blood mages just as apprentices could. They should not be protected from Tranquility. In the new order, there would be no distinctions among mages. None of them would be allowed to get the idea that they were above justice. But Raddick did not know that, and for now, he was enjoying his little title. The Loyalists who followed him were also insufferably smug that they would be spared the Annulments, and they clearly expected to lead the new Circles that would rise from the ashes of the old ones. More fools they.

Raddick looked back at Denam, trying to keep his face impassive, but not quite succeeding. He looked almost regretful, in fact. At that, an idea came to Denam. This one needs to go. He likes that title and the authority it gave him too much, and really, it is no surprise—he was First Enchanter of Starkhaven for years. We need to start fresh. That is what these Annulments will do, he thought proudly. A clean start, no robes who have grown up in the old system. But Raddick and his followers have to go first. I think I know how to do it.

"You have given me the names of the rebels," Denam said to Raddick. "I have one more test of loyalty for you. You and the Loyalists who support you must fight by our side in the Annulment of Tantervale's Circle."

Raddick gasped, shocked and rather horrified. "Ser!" he protested. "Knight-Commander!"

Denam glared back impassively. "It is not too much to ask, is it?"

Raddick gazed imploringly at the Red Templar. "Ser," he pleaded, "it is not customary for mages to participate in Annulments!"

"That is because Annulments eliminate all the ro—mages."

Raddick grimaced, seeing for the first time the reality of his decision.

"You have named traitors to the Divine," Denam continued. "Heretics, rebels, blood mages. If they are so, you should feel no compunctions about righteously taking their lives in the name of the Maker."

Raddick swallowed hard. Denam reached for his blade—

"We'll do it."

The Knight-Commander stopped, genuinely shocked. He had not thought Raddick would accede to the order. He suppressed a snarl of discontentment as the mage's expression hardened in resolve. He really does mean it, then, Denam thought. I'll have to find another way.

He gave Raddick a gruff nod. "You are not Grand Enchanter inside these doors. You follow my orders. Understand, mage?"

"Yes, Ser."

Denam did not dignify Raddick with further conversation. He kicked in the unlocked doors and swung his blade at once, cutting mercilessly through the Tranquil who manned the doors.


The Starkhaven Circle.

The battle was not going as well as Carsten had hoped. He had brought nearly two hundred Red Templars, far more than the number of mages—certainly more than the number of battlemages—in this Circle, yet the mages had managed to whittle it down to no more than, he estimated, eighty men now. They had clobbered the mages too, but this was carnage.

Such is the terrible power of magic, Carsten thought. He snarled as an electrical spell struck him, arcing over his armor. Whirling around, he knocked the mage to the floor, the mage's staff clattering away. The painful shocks continued as the lightning interacted with the red lyrium, enraging him. He raised his sword high in fury, determined to take out his rage on this robe. In this moment, the thing on the floor was just that—a thing, not a person.

Carsten's broadsword missed the mage's neck, instead striking below his collarbone, cutting through his torso in a horrible thunk. A veritable river of blood erupted from the dead man, severed arms collapsed on the floor, and the mage's hacked-apart lungs and heart spilled out with the explosion of blood like debris carried in a flood. The gory sight filled Carsten with glee for a moment.

"We will triumph!" he roared, raising his bloody sword high.

But as the fog of red lyrium and bloodlust left him, he noticed the Templar bodies that lay in various states of magic-caused slaughter. They were going to Annul this Circle, but the mages had done significant damage to his force.

Despite the fact that he fought with a sword, Samson had retreated up a flight of stairs to a balcony, not engaging anyone in melee, but instead barking orders to his underlings. A Behemoth stood guard on the stairs, protecting Samson, his massive bulk even shielding the Knight-Divine from mages' spells, but not doing anything in the battle that raged around them.

A trio of mages were casting flame blasts at a unit of Templar archers. Samson yelled at a group of Red Templar knights—not Behemoths or Shadows, but fully human still. "Human shield!" he roared. "Block them!"

Carsten frowned. What was Samson playing at? Knights should not be used in this manner. They should fight the mages, not stand there and take the brunt of their spells like living shields. That was a job for Behemoths... like the one who was guarding Samson's own position and doing little else.

Was this slaughter really the result of the power of magic? Carsten wondered for a dark and terrible moment. What is Samson doing?

Carsten decided to take matters into his own hands. Samson might have a higher title than he did, but if he was going to be incompetent, it was up to Carsten to salvage the situation. The Divine may reward me for this, he thought as he bounded forward.

"You!" he ordered the Behemoth who was guarding Samson. "Get out of there and defend those knights!" He gestured at the Templar Knights who were cooking inside their armor as the mages flamed them.

Samson glared angrily as his inhuman guard abandoned him to enter the fray. Red lyrium arms slammed the three mages, scattering them and interrupting their spells.

"Knights!" Carsten ordered. "Kill them!" He turned to Samson in anger. "If you aren't going to fight, at least let someone who knows how to utilize our forces command instead!"

Samson glowered. He drew his menacing sword. "No," he said, "I don't think so." He began to descend the stairs, blade in hand.

"Then fight!" Carsten was pleased that he had managed to shame his colleague out of his cowardice.

Samson swung his horrible sword in a wide arc, cutting off the head of a mage who was trying to get to his feet. Blood sprayed through the air from the stump of the mage's neck, coating Samson and Carsten. The latter felt a rush of satisfaction. Now this is as it should be. I will be a Knight-Divine after this, no question about it. I might even become Knight-Vigilant. Trentwatch is not fully with us. He doesn't take red lyrium. The Divine may get rid of him.

He became lost in his own thoughts. Carsten was a soldier, so that did not prevent him from swinging his blade and angling his shield very effectively. Fighting was an instinct, and the red lyrium seemed to hone this instinct too. But although Carsten could fight and defend with little more than instinct, he could still be distracted.

He felt the stab before he realized that it was a stab—that this was not a mage's spell, but a blade.

The next thing he felt was the eruption of blood filling his mouth, the foul taste of iron. His legs buckled. Carsten fell to his knees, spitting red foam.

"Oh dear. Someone stuck the Knight-Commander."

The Knight-Commander of Starkhaven gazed up in betrayal and fury. Samson loomed over him, smirking, and by his side was a Red Templar Shadow. His unnatural arm extension dripped with Carsten's blood.

Samson grinned, giving the Shadow a pointed look. In the next moment, the Shadow darted off, as fast as lightning.

"Traitor," Carsten snarled. He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream to the rest of the Templars, who must include some loyal ones, that Samson had betrayed him. But the blade had pierced his lungs, and he could barely catch his breath. He was drowning in his own blood, he realized vaguely. It was filling his lungs right now, very quickly...

Samson kicked the Knight-Commander down. "I couldn't be spared, and I couldn't let you succeed with your plan. It's nothing personal. I alone can control red lyrium with my armor. It will consume everyone else. We can't have a monster as Knight-Vigilant." He smirked. "Don't worry. The Annulment will succeed, and you will be remembered as a martyr." His gaze grew dark. "But I don't think either of us is going to the Maker's side."

No! This is all wrong! Carsten tried to reach out with one last gasp of strength, but his arm flopped to the ground as his vision faded.


The Dairsmuid Circle.

Blood and sweat dripped from Rivella's face as she snarled and cast furiously. The Red Templars just kept coming, and they were accompanied by regular Templars and Seekers as well.

They sent a force to take the entire city, Rivella thought in fury as she felled a Seeker with a woody vine. He clutched at his neck as the thick vine dug into his skin, cracking his windpipe.

Rivella scowled, clenching her fist to tighten the vine's grip, suffocating the Seeker. He fell to the floor. Rivella turned to her next foe.

The building was greatly altered from the Rivainis' spells. They knew how to use magic in a shamanistic manner, much like Dalish Keepers—summoning roots to entrap their enemies, calling up pods of vines to transport themselves from place to place, even calling up spirits as allies.

Rivella caught a glimpse of her Senior Enchanters—the five who remained—calling green wisps through the weak spots of the Veil, which was thinned from the massive bloodshed. They directed the wisps to inhabit the plants that other mages had called up, creating artificial sylvans of a sort. The stone floor was cracked and crumbled in the places where the roots and vines had shot up through the ground.

The children have made it out by now, she told herself, holding onto this thought like a talisman. The horrifying size of the enemy force then intruded on her thoughts, an unwelcome invader. That bitch in Tantervale sent a force at least fifteen hundred strong. She must have. They just don't stop coming. What if the children can't make it out because Dairsmuid itself falls?

She pushed this fear out of her mind. She could not know, and it would do her no good to worry about it. All that she could do was fight here, giving them the best chance that she possibly could.

Carroll, the smug-faced Red Templar who was leading the attack, finally breached the inner ring of candles. Rivella sucked in her breath.

The disordered crumble of cracked stone and rubble rose from the floor, combining in an obelisk shape, then forming arms, legs, and a head of sorts for itself. Two unearthly blue lights blinked open where eyes would be.

The spirit of the rock that this tower is built on, Rivella thought. It resembled the fabled rock wraiths of the dwarves, but it was something else—a spirit of the earth rather than the soul of a dwarf rejected by the Stone.

The Spirit immediately engaged the Red Templars ferociously. Its movements were devastating, shattering the skull of everyone even caught by a glancing blow—but those attacks were also terribly slow.

Carroll snarled as the Spirit killed eight of his men with one blow. "Demon-summoning!" he roared, raising his sword high. It gleamed with red lyrium. "The Maker commands that we purge this place of this evil!"

The Spirit responded with another swing—but this time it caught no one. The Templars had learned immediately that they just needed to stay moving and out of the thing's range.

Rivella's heart sank as Carroll directed the Red Templars to begin assaulting the Spirit with red lyrium attacks. The air glowed faintly red as the foul substance flew around the chamber. Crystals landed on the Spirit, hurting it. It halted its determined amble and groaned as a particularly large chunk embedded in its right arm.

Carroll shouted in approval. "Keep at it! Take that demon down!"

I am sorry, Spirit, Rivella thought wretchedly. I didn't want you to actually die. You are a sapient, living being just as I am. You didn't deserve this. I didn't know that it would do this to you. The only comfort she could find, and it was a grim one indeed, was that when the Spirit did fall—

Carroll was suddenly before her, that red lyrium-infused blade of his in her face. Rivella did not even need to think. In a flash, she called up a geyser of saltwater to cover herself and carry her away, so she could regroup.

I am a nature mage, but I am also the daughter of Captain Revaud, leader of the Felicisima Armada, the scourge of Rialto Bay. I know the sea.

Rivella lashed Carroll with a vine. It twined around his ankles and dragged him before her, even as the Red Templar tried to hack away at it with his sword. She regarded him with hatred and disdain, raising her hands to cast a spell.

He snarled at her, rolling out of the way of the blast of ice. He was very nimble and was on his feet in a flash, regarding her with equal hate. "You can't win, maleficar," he sneered, holding his blade at a diagonal as he regarded her like a predator. "The Divine sent two and a half thousand to this heretical city."

Rivella tried not to let him see the despair that she felt at this confirmation.

"We're going to take it for the Maker and purge every one of you heathens! Those false priests in the so-called Chantry here are going first! So you can summon whatever demons you like, but it won't matter in the end!" With that, he charged her, blade swinging.

Rivella was a mage, but she also knew how to handle a blade, and in melee fights, that was often better. With a snarl of her own, she drew two enchanted daggers and engaged the Red Templar, dodging the blows of his sword and getting in close to try to stab him.

All the while, she had a view of the fight between the Spirit and the Red Templars. Sadly the Templars were whittling the Spirit away, now that they had figured out how to fight it. One of its arms was shattered and gone, red lyrium eating it up already.

Rivella glanced quickly around the chamber. Her candles were knocked over and extinguished, the arcane circles broken. A layer of blood, chopped-up plant matter, stone rubble, and red lyrium coated the floor. Bodies of Templars, Seekers, and mages—so very many mages!—in various states of destruction and dismemberment lay scattered. Rivella realized, in anguish, that the only mage defenders left were herself and four others. Meanwhile Red Templars and Seekers just kept coming.

The children, she thought. Please, let them have escaped, she prayed to any god that might be listening.

A Red Templar who had long lost his human form, and was now just a walking chunk of red lyrium, attacked the Spirit at the place where its neck would be. The blue arcane eyes flickered out as the rock that had been its head tumbled off.

The headless, one-armed Spirit seemed frozen in time for one eternal moment. Rivella held her breath as it crumbled to the ground slowly in a pile of rubble.

She barely noticed when Carroll stuck her in the gut with his blade. But then the pain hit. She regarded him glassily, smiling smugly in spite of the circumstances. "You're going to die too, you know," she choked out.

Carroll blinked. "What?"

The tower began to shake from its very foundation. The Seekers, and the Red Templars who remained human, pointed as the floor, walls, and ceiling began to crack. Rivella smirked at Carroll through the pain and blood. "That was the Spirit of the rock that this tower is built upon," she hissed menacingly, blood trickling through her teeth as she fought the pain. "What do you think happens when such a spirit is slain by people it knew to be enemies?"

Carroll's eyes grew wide in horror. He scrambled backward, trying to get to his feet, as stones began to fall from the ceiling.

Rivella found a single candle, somehow still flickering with the green light of veilfire—the flame of magic. She focused on this light, blocking out the screams, the crashing of rocks—and the panicked footfalls of Carroll as he escaped the wreckage by a fraction of a second.

That veilfire light was the last thing she saw before the tower collapsed.


The Tantervale Circle.

Raddick was looking green. Ser Rylen, a Templar formerly of Starkhaven who still took just ordinary lyrium, could not particularly blame the mage. He felt rather sick himself.

Divine Fidelia assured us that this Circle was a haven of blasphemy, heresy, rebellion, and blood magic, Rylen thought. But I've seen no evidence of that. At worst, they were planning to make their escape and go to Kirkwall. Ordinarily, that would be cause for Annulment. But was it wrong to protect one's own life, even for a mage? The question troubled Rylen.

Then, too, he was also troubled by the company in which he found himself. He'd heard that Red Templars were just like him except faster and more powerful due to the kind of lyrium they took, but the truth was far worse. These Behemoths, Shadows—how could this be the Maker's will? Even the knights, like Knight-Commander Denam, who retained their humanity were filled with a wild bloodlust that seemed untoward and improper in Templars.

But it certainly did serve them well for their slaughter, thought Rylen. He had tried to remain in the background, just another soldier. Thus far he had managed to avoid killing any mages except for two who were directly attacking one of his comrades. He could justify killing in defense of his fellow soldiers in combat... but isn't it our fault that combat is even occurring? he thought.

They had pushed their way through the first two rooms, and there had been almost no resistance. The mages and Tranquil—why did we kill the Tranquil? Rylen thought—had been caught unprepared when their own Grand Enchanter and Loyalist mages had burst in. They had not realized it was an attack at first.

"Raddick! What are you doing?" a woman screamed.

The Grand Enchanter did not respond. His face impassive, he merely raised his staff and struck her down with a spike of ice through her heart.

Rylen pushed the memory out of his mind, but another one immediately forced its way to the forefront.

"They're killing us! They've betrayed us! Fucking Loyalist scum—"

A stream of blood splashed through the air as Knight-Commander Denam silenced the mage with a swing of his blade.

"Why are you doing this?" pleaded a young mage who could not be more than twenty or so.

"You know exactly why," said Denam with another swing of his blade. The young man's head rolled into a corner. Blood splashed onto the Templar's arm.

Denam's voice brought Rylen back to the present. He stood before the next door. "The apprentice quarters," he said. He turned to Raddick and the Loyalists who fought with him. "You will assist us in putting them down too."

Raddick gasped in horror. "Knight-Commander!" he exclaimed. "They're just apprentices! They're children!"

Denam regarded Raddick coldly. "They are old enough to be drawn into the blood magic conspiracy and planned rebellion."

What blood magic conspiracy? Rylen thought mutinously.

"If the adult mages are forcing them to collude, they have no choice—"

"They do have a choice. They could choose righteous deaths instead of trying to save their own skins by going along with blood magic and rebellion. They would have done better to die that way than this way. They would have been guaranteed to go to the Maker's side, cleansed of the curse of magic. Either way, they were dead as soon as their elders decided to revolt. Mages cannot be judged as individuals in these cases. If a Circle falls, they must all die. That's what Annulment means."

Raddick gaped at the Templar. "Ser Denam," he pleaded, "I beg of you, you cannot mean—"

The Templar did not wait for the Grand Enchanter to finish speaking. With a single swing of his blade, he decapitated the mage. Raddick's body collapsed to the ground in a pool of spurting blood as his head rolled into the dust.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Then the Red Templar turned to his battalion. He raised his blade high. "As you see, even the mage that the Divine named their leader is corrupted!" he snarled. "These Circles are irredeemable! Kill the Loyalists!"

The Loyalist mages who had followed Raddick attempted to defend themselves, but they were stunned by the betrayal—and they were greatly outnumbered. The mages formed a defensive cluster, but the Templar battalion quickly ringed them and closed in ruthlessly.

Screams rang out, spells pierced the air, and the horrible song of blades clashing and thudding into flesh rang through the room. Rylen was relieved that he was again far removed from the fighting, but his fellows quickly caught the bloodlust of their leaders as the attack turned into a slaughter. The Templars rushed toward the cluster of mages, all wanting to get a blow. Rylen was caught in the wave like driftwood at sea. He quickly found himself at the front lines, face to face with a desperate, bloodied female Loyalist mage.

Loyalist no longer, though, he amended. The mage attacked him because he was a Templar and there. Such is how it is in combat, thought Rylen as he unsheathed his blade and attacked back. He didn't want to. He had no conflict with this mage, and how could he fault someone who was just defending her own life? But that same logic held for him too. That's how it is in battle. We kill random people because of what side they are on.

Rylen stuck his blade into her heart. The look of horror and betrayal on her face as she died would be seared into his mind for the rest of his life.

Denam raised his blade again as the last of the Loyalist mages fell with a gurgle. "Into the apprentice quarters!"

The Red Templars shoved the doors open violently. Children's screams immediately pierced the air. Rylen hung back, trying to unobtrusively make his way backward through the rushing mob of Templars, Seekers, and Red Templars.

"Ser! Please, no—" The scream of a child was abruptly cut off by the swish of a blade and the thunk of steel against flesh. Another crunch as part of his head flew through the air, and more screams as the child's friends scattered.

Templars and Seekers poured in through the doors, attacking the little mage children mercilessly.

At first the children just fled, hiding behind any furniture they could. There was only one door, the one that the Templars were using.

Three children ran into a wardrobe, closing the door and hoping that none of the Templars had seen them. They were wrong. Denam laughed, pointing at the wardrobe with his sword. Half a dozen Seekers converged on it, one of them bearing a waraxe. This one chopped the door open—and more. The child immediately behind the door died at once from the blow. The Seekers jeered, stabbing the others relentlessly. The children were trapped and helpless.

Rylen saw another trio of children who were not injured exchange quick looks with each other, then totter on their feet, then fall to the ground, tumbling onto the bloodied bodies of some of their deceased friends. Playing dead, he thought, his heart pounding. Maker, let it work—

"Deceitful little monsters!" shouted Denam, who had seen the ploy. He turned to a Seeker who carried a crossbow and motioned to the woman to shoot. Rylen turned away, closing his eyes, as the arrows thudded into the little bodies.

Perhaps seeing the futility of hiding, a cluster of children no more than about ten years old attempted to defend themselves. Their spells were surprisingly strong for their ages, especially combined into one—but they were no match for the Holy Smite of a dozen Red Templars at once. The children collapsed to the ground, winded, vomiting, and helpless.

A Red Templar knight dragged a young boy up by his hair. "Pathetic!" he sneered. "Why don't you ask a demon for help? That's what your kind do!"

The boy sobbed. "No!"

The Red Templar threw him to the ground and brought his sword down on his ankles. The blade sliced through flesh and bone, severing the boy's feet. The child screamed in pain as blood erupted from the stumps.

They're torturing children, Rylen thought in horror and outrage. Just torture for the sake of torture!

Another Red Templar approached the group of mages who had attempted to defend themselves. He raised his armored hand, holding the red lyrium gauntlet mere inches from a child's unprotected head. Rylen winced as a stream of red lyrium pellets shot from the gauntlet, leaving the child's head an unrecognizable bloody ruin.

Coward, Rylen thought, hating himself. Pathetic coward, standing by while your fellows slaughter children.

But what in the Void else can I do? Fight hundreds and die? For what?

That might be the right decision anyway, he thought morbidly. What is the point of staying alive after such an atrocity as this?

I might as well impale myself on my own blade if I can't do something, Rylen resolved. As he thought about it, he realized what he would have to do.


Knight-Commander Denam smirked proudly over the bloodstained floor of the apprentice dormitory. "Templars and Seekers," he proclaimed, "we have completed the Annulment of the Tantervale Circle! Not a single mage remains alive! We can rebuild this place from a foundation of righteousness!"

The company cheered—all except for one voice. Rylen felt sickened by this—this mass murder, he resolved. Because that is what it was.

As Denam led the company back to the Grand Cathedral to give his gleeful report to Divine Fidelia, nobody noticed the one Templar who slipped into a corner to remain behind. A bit later, nobody noticed the man—his Templar armor shed—who made for the western city gates.

They may have done those horrible deeds, but they won't boast of it. They won't boast of the torture of children, of shooting them as they played dead on the floor, of shattering their little bodies with red lyrium. Nobody will know the true horror of this atrocity unless I reveal it. And I will reveal it to those who will actually spread the word.

I can expect no mercy from Grand Cleric Petrice of Kirkwall or Viscountess Hawke. I've heard enough about those two to know that. From them, I can expect nothing but death by fire. And perhaps that is exactly what I deserve for my cowardice. But at this point, my death will do no one any good. I am alive, and I am going to make something of my life. I'm going to atone for my part in this atrocity, and my atonement will begin with my telling Divine Justinia about what happened. The true Divine. I wanted to believe that—Elthina—was the true Divine, but what I have seen today proves me wrong. Justinia is the one who speaks for Andraste. That cannot be disputed anymore.


The Palace of Starkhaven, later.

Prince Sebastian was deeply troubled. He rose from his throne for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening to pace around.

Elthina ordered the Annulment of our Circles, he thought, and that of Dairsmuid. And this rumor that has reached me... if it is true, our Templars killed even the Loyalist mages who had stood by them, and then tortured and murdered little children in Tantervale. Cutting off their feet, shooting them as they lay on the floor, chopping through cabinets to get at them as they hid, blasting their poor bodies with red lyrium...

He could barely stand to think of it. His master of whispers had told him that the source was the Grand Cathedral of Val Royeaux, an enemy stronghold, but that Justinia had announced that a Templar defector who had personally witnessed the atrocity was the one who had told her.

Sebastian did not want to believe it, but he knew in his heart that it was true. Denam led that Annulment, he thought. That man is a monster. I have known that. He was obsessed with red lyrium, and it made him into a bestial man, cold and utterly without mercy.

He had been outraged at the tale that Knight-Divine Samson told of the death of Knight-Commander Carsten in Starkhaven, and appalled at the story that Knight-Commander Carroll—bruised and bloodied—had told of the demonic spirit that the Rivainis had summoned to destroy the tower itself. But to slay innocent little mage children...

How could Elthina have ordered that? Elthina, the holiest woman I have ever known?

These Red Templars have been leading Elthina astray, he decided. Denam especially, but also Samson, Carroll, and Carsten. Red lyrium does something to them. Under its influence, they have been feeding exaggerations to Elthina.

Trentwatch is currently the Knight-Vigilant, but for how long? Samson clearly wants that position, and he may well get it. And what does it say that I am supporting a man like Trentwatch? He was said to have been a rape apologist! He supports making mages Tranquil en masse, regardless of any threat they pose or sins they have committed. If he sounds moderate in the midst of this group, what has it come to? What extremism have we fallen sway to? Caitlyn Hawke seized control of a city as a mage, raised an army, and made war on Thedas for the sake of apostates. She and Anders were so radical, and Justinia was so weak in the face of their pressure, that Elthina had no choice but to do as she has done. But have we become just as extreme in our own way?

The blood of those innocent children cries out that we have, he realized.


Notes: In canon, Rylen was sent to Kirkwall in 9:37 Dragon to keep order after the Chantry explosion. He refused to follow Starkhaven Knight-Commander Carsten in joining the Lord Seeker. Here, he remained in Starkhaven since there was no Kirkwall Chantry explosion, got drawn into the schism, but refused to follow this order at last.

Sebastian has a blind spot for Elthina, whom he sees as incapable of doing wrong. She can be mistaken or misled, but never malicious, in his mind. I've been leading up to this, with his misgivings about red lyrium, disapproval of some of the worst things like the Satinalia Massacre, and ignorance about his precious Elthina's complicity in these things.