Note: All, uh, two of you who are reading this story on this website, thank you. With this update, it is now caught up with the Archive of Our Own copy. I'll be posting the remaining chapters on the two sites in sync, so there is no writing on AO3's copy that ffnet readers haven't seen. There are images, however, so if that piques your interest, take a look at it over there.


Chapter 23: Elder Memories


Leliana's agents had little difficulty finding the Tranquil mage, Maddox, who had contributed the missing links to the design of Samson's armor. Dagna knew where to find him, and Leliana's people managed to extract him from the dangerous site and transport him to Skyhold.

"The consequence, of course, will be that Samson and Carroll are aware that we have retrieved him," Leliana warned Max.

"I don't think those two could change the design of the armor themselves," Dagna said, thinking in terms of their foe acting to make their new information irrelevant. "There's a reason they hired Maddox and me to do it."

"We still need to deal with Samson as soon as we have learned what we can from Maddox, though," Max said. He gazed at Leliana. "You said he's Tranquil. I had been led to understand that Divine Justinia was overseeing research about reversing the Rite of Tranquility."

At these words, Dorian's ears perked up in interest. "That would ruffle quite a lot of feathers in Tevinter if that gets out," he said.

"Tevinter practices Tranquility?" Max gasped.

"Oh yes. Not for the same reasons as the Southern Chantry, of course. But what better way to eliminate a rival or a threat?"

Max gaped in dismay. "That's terrible."

Anders had also overheard the discussion. "I've also heard about Justinia's project," he put in. He eyed Leliana. "In fact, you were the one who mentioned it to Caitlyn and me years ago. The White Spire mages informed us near the end of the war that it had been successful. If the Inquisition truly means to be a force for good in the world, I suggest offering this option to Maddox."

"The ritual is... complicated," Leliana began.

Anders gazed hard at her. "I know what it entails. You have a spirit touch the mind of the Tranquil, restoring their connection to the Fade."

"How does that work?" Max asked. "The Tranquil have no connection to the Fade." Something then occurred to him as his hand gleamed green. "Oh." He flexed his fist. "I could."

"It works without the Anchor if a spirit makes the connection," Leliana said.

"But I have a 'shortcut' of sorts. Let's offer this to Maddox, I agree," Max said.

"You could hurt yourself, amatus," Dorian objected. "You know what Solas said after the... Waking Sea incident."

"I'll be careful. I won't tear open a big rift."


Like all Tranquil, the former mage displayed no emotion—except loyalty to Samson. Max wondered about that. He recalled the Tranquil he had known in the Circle at Ostwick. They were certainly loyal to their... masters, he supposed, was the most accurate term. And yet, there were other instances in which a Tranquil did display independent initiative to oppose their group and leader.

"It was easy enough to find him, but not to retrieve him," Leliana advised Max. "He did not want to 'betray' Samson and tried to destroy the information that he held." She gave him a significant look. "Inquisitor, if you do not want to expend energy and risk yourself for a person like this, I understand."

Max actually did consider it. He flexed his fingers, contemplating Solas's warning after the Waking Sea disaster. It would be so easy to judge Maddox for his loyalty to Samson and refuse to aid him on that basis.

Anders then spoke up. "If, Maker forbid, anyone ever did that to me, I doubt I would think the same as I do now. I knew someone who... had it done to him..." His face fell as a shadow came over him. "This man approved of it while he was in that condition. But I know he never would have wanted it done before then, and... when he briefly recovered due to proximity to me... he begged for death."

That made up Max's mind for him. "Then I'm going to help Maddox. If he remains loyal to Samson in his right mind, we can judge him then."

"Very well," Leliana said, though she sounded doubtful.

She had Maddox retrieved from the dungeon, his hands cuffed even though he could not do magic anymore. It was unnerving to Max. The man did not even glare at or defy him.

Very few people knew about Justice, but Leliana was one of them. Anders did not mind letting Dorian in on the secret either, figuring that if he didn't tell, Max would. He did not allow Justice to take himself over fully, but did let the spirit blaze blue through his eyes and lights flicker over his body. This, he had explained in advance, would let Maddox remember what it was to have the connection to the Fade.

Max had used the Anchor to close many rifts and open one—that one large enough to destroy a ship with the blast of energy it produced. This would be different. Only a small rift would be necessary for a spirit to slip through.

"I can summon a spirit," Dorian offered. "Necromancy is exactly that. And I can make sure it's a good one, not a demon."

"I'm glad someone has these skills," Max said gratefully. "I didn't even give much thought to the specifics of summoning a spirit."

Dorian smiled. "That's why I'm here. I think... this fellow needs a new purpose, wouldn't you agree? So a Spirit of Purpose."

"As you say," Max agreed. "You know more about it than I do." He raised his hand.

Pain shot through Max's marked arm as he cast. The air glimmered green, glowing more brightly by the moment, as reality itself seemed to come apart in a person-sized space.

An entity seemed to take form as Dorian cast his own spell. "Purpose," he murmured, as the spirit, a bold, forward-tilting, eager-eyed translucent entity, drifted through the gleaming edges of Max's rift.

The spirit's passage suddenly sent a wave of intense pain through his arm. He winced, trying to avoid clutching his arm. The rift shimmered, snapping and crackling along the edges, as Max's strength wavered. Doubt came over the spirit.

"Go to him!" Dorian commanded it, directing Purpose to Maddox. The Tranquil stared back impassively.

He does not want me, Purpose said—though Max was not sure the spirit's words were audible to anyone but himself and, perhaps, Dorian. The vessel must be willing.

"But—"

The rift was trying to close, as Max's powers faltered from the effort and his hand throbbed in pain. Maddox continued to gaze back emotionlessly.

I cannot force it. I will not. Goodbye. Purpose stepped back through the rift even as Max collapsed to his knees. The rift snapped shut, leaving behind nothing but tingling pain in his marked hand and the overwhelming fear that he had just hurt himself irreparably—and to no, well, purpose.

Anders was horrified, instantly reaching for Max's hand to cast healing spells. "I'm sorry," he burst out as waves of magic poured from his hands. The pain subsided, at least, as Dorian crouched next to Max. "I'm so sorry. I thought..."

"It isn't your fault," Max said, glowering at Maddox.

"This... complicates things," Anders said, looking appalled, eyes wide. He appeared devastated. "I would have thought that the Tranquil would want to recover..." He gazed down at himself. Justice was no longer flashing either. "I don't understand. Karl did. I wanted to be present specifically to give Maddox a taste of what it would be like..."

Maddox himself finally spoke. "I felt that again. It does not matter. You only want to change my loyalties away from Samson."

"Why are you loyal to him?" Max finally asked.

"Samson stood by me. When I was a mage, I had a... lover." The word sounded strange on his tongue. "Samson helped me pass messages. I was made Tranquil for my actions. Samson was not discovered. But when he joined the Orthodox Chantry, he brought me to Tantervale. He agreed with their views then, but he still did not cast me aside. No one else cared. The rebel mage armies did not. Not Hawke's and not Fiona's. Only Samson."

"Caitlyn let the Tranquil of the former Kirkwall Circle have work to do for the war effort," Anders objected.

"Samson gave me work better suited to my abilities."

"You mean working with red lyrium," Anders replied in contempt. "I must say, of all the weapons we created, that wasn't one of them, true enough."

"You could have your life back," Max pleaded. "Feeling, emotion, love."

"No. I could not. My lover is dead. The Mage-Templar War cost her everything. The Siege of Kirkwall bankrupted her. She stood with Harlan, the late Coterie leader, in opposition to Hawke, and died for it at Hawke's orders."

Anders glared back, goaded to open anger at last. "Would that be the day that Harlan and Lusine raised a mob to burn effigies of us in front of the Keep?"

"She was in that group. She was executed at Hawke's orders."

"So she was one of the worst agitators of the lot, because Caitlyn didn't order anyone else put to death as a traitor," he retorted. He raised his hands in defiant surrender. "You know what, Inquisitor? To the Void with this one."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "I think you are letting a personal vendetta interfere—"

"He doesn't want our help," Anders interrupted. "And we can't force it on him. Enough, then. Let's just get the information we need to kill Samson."

"We have that already," Leliana cut in. She was visibly disturbed by the entire event and the conversation that had followed it. "My agents seized papers from Maddox. This was just a chance to save him. But if he doesn't want to be saved, so be it."

The small group broke apart, Anders stalking off angrily, Leliana having Maddox returned to the cells. Max was still troubled and upset. What invisible wounds will this war leave behind? he wondered darkly. What additional "Maddoxes" will I create by waging it? It's necessary, yes. Corypheus must be stopped. But the Mage-Templar War was necessary too.

Dorian was just as unsettled as Max himself. He put a hand gently on Max's shoulder, giving him a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, giving Max a light kiss. "You did your best."

Max sighed. "My best wasn't enough. And that's what bothers me. Sometimes it just won't be."

Dorian did not know what to say. "Sometimes it won't," he agreed lamely. "But our best is still all that we can do."


Maddox's papers did reveal enough information for Dagna to develop a rune that would counteract the armor. With that weapon in hand, most of the Inquisition inner circle set out on the planned trip, beginning in the Emerald Graves, where Carroll—Samson's second—was supposed to be. Cullen and Josephine held down the fort at Skyhold, but everyone else—and the Grey Wardens, Dagna herself, and Anders—went along. Some people had indicated that they had more interest in certain fights than others, but Max knew that this would be the final stretch of their efforts, and everyone wanted to take part.

Max was not surprised to catch glimpses of elven rogues in the shrubs, the tall grass, and the treetops as he traveled through the Emerald Graves. They were all garbed in green, which Leliana murmured to him was the color that Briala, Fairbanks, and Monette were using to signify support for Dales independence. It was also good camouflage in the verdant area.

"This means that they are consolidating control over the region," she explained in quiet tones. "There are probably very few royalist agents remaining now."

"Is it wise for Briala to drive out the royalists already?" Cassandra said.

"She probably has no choice. Too many people have likely figured out the true meaning of her embassy to Denerim and just how it was that she got the King and Queen of Ferelden to cede land back to her—nominally to Orlais, but really to her. Readying the chessboard and declaring war is her best move now."

Max reflected again on the horrors of war, even just and necessary wars. A war for Dales independence might not strictly be necessary, but it would be a just one just as the Mage-Templar War and the war against Corypheus were. I set this in motion as well, he thought.

"You take too much upon yourself," Dorian suddenly spoke up. Max glanced up, startled. Dorian smiled wryly. "You need not say a word, amatus. It is clear enough what you are thinking. But this particular war, if it happens, is not your doing. You cannot make people fight unless they want to, and they do. Celene and Gaspard gave them ample cause."

Max sighed. "You're right. I just hate the fact that there will be so much collateral damage."

"More Maddoxes," Dorian guessed. His wry smile fell. "You are not responsible for everything that happens to everyone. You can set things in motion, you can have a great deal of control, but you are not the Maker. And even the Maker takes a rather hands-off approach to the world, wouldn't you agree? People have free will and act on it."

"I know." He gazed out, briefly meeting the eyes of a masked elven spy before the spy disappeared into a cave. "What I can do, though, is try to make the cost more bearable." He gazed ahead, eyes hardening. "We're doing that. We're coming for you, Carroll."

Anders spoke up. "The Butcher of Dairsmuid's Circle. Remember that. He led the Annulment there." He lowered his voice. "And those Annulments happened in part because Elthina was angry about the death of Lambert van Reeves. We now know who's responsible for that. I don't see Cole blaming himself for what she did. She made her own choice to order mass murder. We have enough guilt for what we do in life," Anders concluded. "There's nothing to be gained by assuming the guilt for the freely made choices of others. If you and I are responsible for what we've done, so are people like Elthina, Carroll, Samson—and Maddox's dead lover."

"You're right," Max said, perking up. "You are absolutely right."


Carroll was angry, defiant, spiteful—but, in the end, not that difficult to kill. Deprived of Samson's company, he had begun the transformation to a Red Templar, but the Inquisition had ample knowledge of how to deal with that.

The mages were particularly intense in their fighting with Carroll. Max had expected that of Anders, certainly, but also Dorian—and himself. To his surprise, however, Vivienne displayed more emotional fury than Solas, and it was she who got in the killing blow against the Red Templar.

She had noticed the men gaping at her in surprise. When she brushed off her hands, frost fading from her palms, she raised a sculpted eyebrow at them. "Surely you do not think I approve of Annulments."

Anders gazed levelly at her. "You approve of traditional Circles."

"What that man"—she gestured at Carroll's body with contempt as Cole and Cassandra applied spirit runes against it to denature the red lyrium—"did was an act of mass murder, acting on the illegal orders of a usurper. Annulment was not meant to be the killing of every mage in a Circle, even little apprentices. It was meant to be the dissolution of the Circle structure in that specific place, with investigations to determine guilt and innocence of the individuals. Both mage and Templar."

Every other mage gazed hard back at her. "That may have been what it was supposed to be," Max said, "but that's not what it became."

"That's true," Anders added. "Even in Ferelden, during the Blight, the Templars were going to kill every mage in Kinloch Hold. Children included. And not a single Templar would have been investigated." He raised his own eyebrows at Vivienne. "And that was not the illegal order of a usurper."

Leliana stepped in. "Let us not argue. There will be no Annulments in the future, no matter how a Circle is established."

Max's heart skipped a beat in fear, and Anders could not let this sit. "I am here to speak for the Free Mages," he said in a warning tone. "The victorious Free Mages. We are not going to tolerate a reestablishment of the old system."

"I know," Leliana assured him. "I meant that if an individual Circle chooses to follow a more traditional structure."

"I don't think the new Divine should allow that. It's one thing to say that some mages would prefer the old, structured system. But what if they change their minds? And what of children born into such a Circle, who don't get a choice?" Anders gazed from Leliana to Dorian and then back again. "That's also why we can't let people 'choose' to enter slavery. Rights exist, granted by the Maker, and we can't just surrender them any more than we can surrender the Maker's gift of free will. These rights can only ever be forcibly denied."

"I meant to propose compromises," Leliana said.

"Some things cannot be compromised on," Max said, agreeing with Anders.

"Perhaps you are right," she considered thoughtfully.


The next stop of the Inquisition inner circle's intended trip was Val Royeaux. It was in the Orlesian capital that they hoped to pick up the memory crystal from the merchant Vicinius and learn about Calpernia from it. Their accommodations would not be a problem. Leliana had a safe house, which she had said belonged to her and Elissa Cousland. They had lived there with their two adopted elven children whenever Divine Justinia had needed her Left Hand and Leliana's family wanted to be there too.

"My agents have heard ill of this merchant, this Vicinius," Leliana told Max and Dorian as they entered the gates.

"His name is Tevene," Dorian said. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't tell me he is a Venatori agent."

"I think he may be. That or a Venatori asset. You understand the distinction, of course—"

Both men nodded.

"But ultimately it makes little difference, if he is working with Calpernia. My spies believe that he is. In what context, it is hard to say, but the rumor is that he is not just a seller of oils, spices, and amber. He has a sideline—though in terms of profit, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it is his main line, the rumors have it—in slave-trading."

Max scowled. "So that's his association with Calpernia? Dealing in slaves? What about the memory crystal that could contain her memories, then? What did he want that for?"

"Two possibilities come to mind, both of which may be correct. Agents always want to spy on other agents," Leliana said wryly, "particularly in organizations like the Venatori, I would expect. And the other possibility is that if he has business dealings with her, as he apparently does, he would want to know as much as he could about her in order to find the best angle for a sale. Or to blackmail her, as the case may be. He seems to be a very shady figure, no matter his true allegiances."

Max considered the situation. "Then in that case, I definitely want you along for this, and Bull too, since you both have been spies. No offense," he added. "You two would just perceive things that the rest of us might not."

"No offense taken. Specialized expertise is always important to have."


Max, Dorian, Leliana, Cole, Iron Bull, and Anders broke off from the main group to enter Vicinius's house in Val Royeaux. Max remembered his childhood home in Ostwick when he stepped inside. This was a fine place, with delicate detailing on the walls, fine paintings, and expensive pieces of ornate furniture.

Unfortunately, it was apparent to him at once that something was badly wrong. They overheard voices from upstairs murmuring in a language that he now knew quite well: Tevene. He and the others exchanged dark glances as they prepared to fight.

There were not as many Venatori as he'd feared, but Max was still shocked and horrified at the sight before him on the second floor. Vicinius was dead, and it had been perhaps the messiest, goriest kill he had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Blood was spattered from the floor to the ceiling along the side of the room where the merchant's body lay, skinned and cut open, organs and tissue spread almost ritualistically. They were only certain it was he because of what they found after the fight was over and the bodies of the Venatori had been added to the carnage.

Vicinius certainly had been a slaver, as Leliana's agents had believed. He had left notes indicating to his brokers that Calpernia was dissatisfied when the slaves he procured for her had been abused or maimed.

"Good for her on that front," Max muttered, "but if she authorized this sort of killing, her disapproval of cruelty clearly only goes so far."

"She was a slave once," Dorian said. "That is why she didn't want them abused."

"Other than the abuse of being enslaved," Max pointed out.

Dorian put his hands up. "You and Anders will not let me forget that."

"If there's any danger of your forgetting it, we sure won't," Anders said.

"There is no danger of that," Dorian said.

They also found the memory crystal, which had been shattered into three pieces. But that was why they had brought Dagna along, to avoid having to make unnecessary trips back to Skyhold. There had been a time when they could have perhaps afforded such frequent travel in circles, but Briala, Fairbanks, and Monette were going to declare Dales independence any time now—they had no choice; otherwise Celene and Gaspard would attack first—and that meant that the Inquisition suddenly found itself short on time.

Dorian and Cole also knew something about memory crystals. Dorian had heard of them and studied the lore about them in Minrathous, and Cole had tapped into memories of dozens of mages in the White Spire who had read all sorts of books. Between them and Dagna, they were able to put the crystal back together in the Inquisition safe house in Val Royeaux—Leliana's house—and examine the ghostly images.

It appeared from the first memory that they had only just missed Calpernia's own presence. She herself had appeared before Vicinius, enraged, roaring at him that she had warned him about maiming and branding the slaves he sent her. The pathetic merchant blubbered in fear—and then that memory went dark.

"The Venatori were here when we came in," Max said, cursing their ill luck. "Calpernia is probably in Val Royeaux right now!"

"Unless she used rifts in the Fade to travel," Dorian said darkly—for another memory was appearing from the crystal at Dagna's prompting. This one showed the towering form of Corypheus.

He spoke to her of his intent for her to become a "vessel," told her not to worry about demons, and said that she would be unable to enter a site called the Shrine of Dumat—that's where we're going next, Max realized—because she was not one of the ancient Dragon of Silence's faithful.

The Elder One had plans for her that everyone there could tell she did not like, even though they did not understand the full import. And if they could see it, he would have too.

"What does he mean by 'vessel,' I wonder?" Max muttered after the memory with him.

"Nothing good, I'm sure," Dorian said.

Anders looked uncomfortable. "She was worried about demons. I wonder if he is going to have her forcibly possessed."

"For what possible reason, though?" Dorian asked.

"I suppose the answers will be found at the Shrine of Dumat," Max said. "Corypheus already wanted Samson there for some reason. It's as we hoped; even if Calpernia herself isn't to be found there, there will surely be some information about her—and about the meaning of this plan."

"Can we use her apparent distrust of Corypheus?" Dorian wondered.

This question proved surprisingly controversial among the party members.

Leliana took the coldly strategic point of view. "It may be to our advantage if we can," she said. "If we could drive a wedge between our foes..."

Cole had more basic motives. "If she turns, she should be forgiven and given a second chance," he said. "She might become an ally."

Anders shook his head. "Can't agree with you. Remember that horrific splash of blood and the violent maiming of that merchant's body?"

"If Solas were here, he would remind you of what your weapons do," Dorian pointed out with a touch of asperity.

"Well, he isn't here," Anders retorted, "and frankly, I wonder about him. But that aside, the Venatori deliberately hacked that merchant open and skinned him alive. There was no reason to kill the man that way."

"We don't know that Calpernia herself did it."

"She authorized it. And in any case, she is a former slave who is trafficking in slaves for Corypheus's purposes. That's like a mage handing fellow mages off to the Templars to be made Tranquil."

"She freed every slave that she purchased from Vicinius," Cole said.

"To make them fight for Corypheus—or become 'vessels,' or whatever he was doing with them!"

"I side with the Healer on this one," Iron Bull said with a shrug. "If we see her, the best thing we can do is take her out."

"You gave Thom Rainier a second chance when he had had true innocents killed mercilessly. This merchant was not an innocent."

That's a good point, Max thought, discomfited. He had been largely on Anders' side until now.

"And we may be able to use her," Leliana objected. She turned to Max. "Inquisitor, what do you think? You have the final decision."

Max knew it would come to this. He gazed at Dorian and could tell that his amatus was conflicted. He himself was conflicted. Everyone seemed to be making a decent point. He took a breath. "I'm not going to kill her on sight unless there is no other choice—unless it's a matter of killing her or being killed. I do want to see, number one, if she will turn against Corypheus, and if so, the details of that turn. If she is only kind to certain people while displaying violent, bloody cruelty to others who don't deserve that level of punishment, that's not a real conversion. The Inquisition does not need to employ more cruelty or associate with it further. She could indeed be useful to us, but only if she isn't so violent and cruel that she is a liability to our reputation on that account. So," he concluded, "let's wait and see."


They spent the night in Val Royeaux before setting off to the Shrine of Dumat. Leliana's little house was cozy to Max's eyes. It was small, with one normal-sized bedroom—the master suite, no doubt—and two little ones. The Inquisition team would have to bunk on the floor, but fortunately, they had all brought their camping materials with them in anticipation of the rest of the journey, so everyone had a bedroll. The furnishings were of a simpler style than those in Vicinius's house, but there were also no dead bodies or horrendous ceiling-high splashes of blood, which made it infinitely superior.

Leliana urged Max and Dorian to have the bed in the master bedroom. They would not have the entire room to themselves—some of their companions would need to sleep on the floor due to the lack of space—but she regarded it as his perquisite as the leader, even though it was her house.

"I feel guilty about taking the bed that you and Elissa Cousland shared," he told her quietly.

"The sheets are new," she said. "They have never been slept on."

"That's not what I mean."

Leliana sighed, rubbing her temples. "I have no reason to suppose that we will ever share that bed again. If I become Divine..." She broke off.

"You had written to her and heard back from her," Max said, confused. "And if you do become Divine, you can set the rules. You can openly have a lover if you change that in doctrine for everyone in the Chantry."

"Of course, and I would do so anyway even if I did not personally benefit from it. That is not the problem. And yes, Elissa and I have exchanged letters since Haven. But I..." Her gaze became far away. "I fear that the breach between us will be too great to mend. Sometimes things happen and it just changes how you feel about someone."

"That's what has happened between you and her?" Max cried in dismay.

"I would forgive her almost anything," Leliana said stoutly. "I was deeply angry with her earlier, you know. You must recall some of the things I said about her. I was very angry. But I realized, I miss her, and she has done nothing during this war that I cannot forgive. But she is harder on herself. She judges herself. And I fear that she now judges herself unworthy of me, and that there is nothing I can do to change her mind."

"Why would she?"

"Reading between the lines, I think she blames herself for not being there for me during the dark times immediately after Justinia's death. She has also learned what Viscountess Hawke meant to do to Skyhold when the Inquisition was compromised, and she... I think she is ashamed of her silence during that time."

"I'm the one to blame for that," Max said. "I put you all at risk by running off to the Free Marches. I did it with the intention of trying to stop a rash, violent action—I meant to have Varric and the others in that embassy persuade Hawke not to strike—but it had the opposite effect. The only reason she didn't is that we had the good fortune to find the chief spies in Wycome. If I'd stayed at Skyhold, it might have been insurance against Hawke striking. Wycome would have gone to the dogs, and the Free Marches would have gone to war with each other yet again, but..."

Leliana shook her head. "You meant well, as you said. And I do not think your presence in Skyhold would have deterred Hawke from striking. There are very few in Thedas who know the true, full extent of your abilities. And now that the Breach is closed, they likely do not see those abilities as critical to save the world."

"Corypheus could use the elven orb he stole to open a new one."

"They do not know that. You did the right thing, going to the Free Marches. You stopped a war. You saved a unifying treaty in the region. And you did save Skyhold from annihilation. You are not to blame for this, Max."

Max sighed. "I suppose you're right. I just hate that it put an additional wedge between you and the love of your life." He took a deep breath. "The story of you and the Hero has spread far and wide, of course. It's meant a lot to those of us who have fallen in love with people of the same gender—especially those like Dorian, who know that they would never have been able to do anything but that. It just seems so sad that your story could end this way."

Leliana gazed at a wall hanging depicting the Grey Warden griffon in silver on a field of blue. Her gaze became pained. "It is sad. I hope it is not so, but this is not entirely up to me. There is another person in the affair, Elissa herself, and if she feels a certain way, she is the one who will have to change. We cannot make people into what we want them to be. They have to do that themselves."


The Shrine of Dumat was a grim place. Debris from ages littered the site, along with pools of far fresher blood and red lyrium. Ancient Tevinter columns, formerly splendid, were chipped and broken. And the entire aura of the place was malevolent, in Max's opinion. Perhaps it was the two great metal doors with serpents on each. Perhaps it was the menacing statuary and bas-relief shapes. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what this place was and what it had been used for long ago. And the gloom of cloudy moonless night did not help.

I wonder where Corypheus and the other Magisters Sidereal entered the Black City, Max wondered. It can't have been Minrathous. The shock would have destroyed the city, surely. And it would be too widely known. There would be residue... maybe even visual evidence. After all, the scar from the Breach still hangs over the Haven area. There is a theory that they did it from the Sundermount, near Kirkwall... which would explain a lot, if true...

Max's musings were interrupted by Cole's observations. "This is a sad place," he said.

Max raised an eyebrow; "sad" was not the description he would have given, but Cole tended to see the world differently. Max often thought the spirit had compassion for people who did not deserve any, but he supposed that there needed to be individuals who made that appeal. Otherwise the world would be even crueler than it was.

They fought through a wave of shades and demons—though no Fade rifts; these were just haunting the site—until finally, they encountered the first person they had wanted to see.

The information that Dagna had researched and Maddox had unwillingly provided proved useful, as Max and the others deployed Dagna's work against Samson's armor. The black shell, infused and etched with glowing red lines, shattered into pieces, then crumbled into dust.

Samson, defiant even when cornered and beaten, just smirked back at them. "Inquisitor," he drawled. "Herald of Andraste." He gave the titles with sarcastic irony. "You deserve neither title. One because it is a lie concocted by you, 'Nightingale,' for your own cynical reasons," he said with a sneering bow to Leliana, "and the other because you repudiated it."

"I took it back," Max said frostily. "We're not here to parley, Samson. Give yourself up or die."

"Not yet," Anders cut in. "I have some questions for him first."

Samson laughed uproariously. "So we are here to parley."

"My companion seeks information, nothing more," Max said coldly. "Anders—make it quick."

Anders did. "Why did you do—everything you did?" he erupted, angling his staff. A snarl formed on his face. "You helped ferry mages to freedom first... or so you thought; you were actually ferrying them to slavery. Was that the plan all along? To punish mages who sought their freedom?"

"Of course not," Samson scoffed. "If I had wanted to do that at that time, I would never have been disloyal to the Knight-Commander." He grinned, teeth bloody and glowing red in the roots, the light shining through the thin enamel. "I turned back to her after you showed all of Kirkwall what you mages truly wanted to do, executing my colleagues with magic."

"And yet after serving her, after murdering for her, after aligning yourself with the 'Orthodox Chantry' schism and then slaughtering mage children in Starkhaven for it, then you turned to Corypheus," Anders said. "Of all people. Why? Do you believe in anything?"

"No."

The single word, cold and staccato, echoed in the tumbledown corridor. The squad regarded the standoff between Anders and Samson uneasily. Leliana could not meet Max's eyes.

"I used to, yes. I was a fool then. They used me for their pathetic ambitions. They made me their tool," he snarled. "The Templars, Seekers, and Orthodox Chantry most of all—but you 'freedom fighters' also use people, Anders, and the Inquisition certainly does. Corypheus is right about one thing. This world is a ruin, filled with both hypocrites and deranged zealots. Have you heard his memories yet? No? Well... continue exploring this wreck of a shrine, Inquisition. You will understand." He grinned again. "Two-faced liars who talk of freedom while delivering death, like you and Hawke, Anders." He turned to Max and Leliana. "Who claim that a prophet who is dead and dust anointed them, while knowing it to be false, but also knowing that the millions of fools in this world will believe it." He laughed nastily. "Liars. Hypocrites. And those are the smart ones. The stupid ones, the true-believing zealots, are even worse. Meredith, Elthina. The Templars. I got my fill of them all."

"So you have aligned with Corypheus because you hate everyone and want to see the world burn," Max said. "I thought his followers saw him as a savior, a new god."

Samson shrugged. "Stupid true-believing zealots, as I said. I have no illusions about anything anymore. Even him."

"Does Corypheus know what you really think?" Dorian asked shrewdly.

"No," Leliana suddenly replied. "If he did, Samson would not be alive." She looked disgusted and deeply disappointed—no doubt because a dedicated nihilist such as Samson had become would not be of any use—but there was something else behind that hooded visage, Max realized. Something personal. He was sure that he knew what it was. She has trouble believing too. His words cut too close to the truth, particularly about the title "Herald of Andraste."

Anders stepped forward, a spell forming as he did. Dorian's eyes widened as he no doubt detected what it was. "Then embrace the ruin and destruction that you crave, you murdering monster," he snarled. "This is for the innocents in Kirkwall and the Annulled Circle of Starkhaven that you slaughtered!"

Anders' spell erupted from his staff and his free fist, enshrouding Samson in a black cloud of cold, stinging dust. Max and the others were out of the danger zone, but even they felt the air chill and burn simultaneously in the proximity of this spell. The Healer's eyes glittered cold blue momentarily, a sign that Max now understood. This was the Spirit of Justice.

Samson shrieked as the spell, a maximized form of Death Cloud, ate away at him, burning skin off. Max caught a momentary glimpse through the cloud of a red roasted body, then wished he hadn't. Samson's shriek cut off abruptly as the spell continued, in a matter of a second, to consume him.

But as suddenly as it had begun, it dissipated into nothing, leaving a pile of dust and fragments of bone behind. Anders regarded them with no emotion apparent but anger and grim satisfaction. He gave a quick nod, then turned aside, leaving Max, Dorian, and Iron Bull gaping in shock that the Healer was capable of such a spell. Cole appeared disapproving and mournful. Leliana merely stared at the pile of dust until she seemed to shake herself out of her momentary fugue. Pulling her hood over her head again, she heaved a breath and continued forward.


Max could hardly believe that Samson was dead—not just dead, but gone—just like that. He supposed he had expected an epic battle, though really, there was no reason why that should have happened. Villainous people were still, at the core, people, whatever powers they might have arrogated to themselves. Stripped of his armor—the only real power Samson had had left—he was just a bitter, broken man with blood on his hands. Anders had seen that.

"I won't 'steal kills' from you, Trevelyan," Anders said wryly to him as they continued searching the shrine for information about Calpernia. "I don't know Calpernia and never had any dealings with her. If we run into her here, she's yours to deal with as you see fit. But Samson was mine."

"I don't begrudge you his killing," Max agreed. "You had reason to hate him, between his role in the Satinalia Massacre and the Starkhaven Annulment. We may have to flip a coin for Corypheus, though." He said this last as a joke.

Anders finally laughed. "No, you can have Corypheus. He harassed me in the Fade throughout the Mage-Templar War, and it contributed to problems in my marriage... but what he did to you..." He gazed at the Anchor. "You'll want that thing gone once this is over."

A chill went down Max's back. "Is it harming me? Solas seems to think it is. He hinted darkly at something that will have to be done eventually."

"It has to come out," Anders said.

"Out? Not off?"

"Out," the Healer said grimly. "It is not something attached to the surface of your skin. That mark infuses at least part of your body. That's how you are able to direct its action with your thoughts. It has a connection to your central nervous system, and it's slowly sucking life away from you, Max."

Max shuddered. He had feared it was so, but for a Healer—a Spirit Healer—to confirm it...

"What can be done to remove it if it 'infuses his body'?" Dorian cut in sharply. Max gave him a look of gratitude and love. That tone was of one who truly cared.

Anders took a deep breath. "I'd rather not get into specifics. I'd have to see just how thoroughly it infuses him. And I say it's sucking life away from you, but what will happen is that it will pull you into the Fade. It'll gradually erode your physical form away. There are ways of dealing even with that, but..." He grimaced.

"You refer to the Rite of Tranquility," Max guessed.

"I cannot do that to another mage," Anders said. "Even if there is a cure for it now, that cure requires quite a sacrifice. Better to simply stop using the Rite entirely, in my opinion. The cure is for those who have already been victimized, not a 'fallback' to justify continuing with its use."

"Do you believe in moral hazard, then?" Dorian inquired.

"Not in this context. The idea of moral hazard is often used to avoid doing a good thing on the basis that it will make some people more comfortable doing a bad thing, if they think it can be reversed. But if there are victims who have been wronged, their needs and justice for them come ahead of speculative fears. We can keep those from being made manifest by banning the bad deeds." He turned to Max. "With respect to your situation, there may be other things that can be done if the Anchor is not confined to your lower arm."

"And if it is confined to that area?"

"Then it's comparatively easy. Sever the limb."

Dorian hissed in outrage. Max was more philosophical. He had, on some level, suspected that it would require exactly that. And better his forearm than his life.


Instead of Calpernia, they found someone else in the heart of the shrine: a man, hooded and cloaked, as a bubble of magic surrounded him like a cage. Bolts of magic pierced his body, making him cry out in agony. It was clear to Max that his mind was already mostly gone and that each bolt was taking more of what remained to him. Was this, then, what Corypheus meant by making someone a "vessel"?

The man gave his name as Erasthenes, a magister of Tevinter.

"I was the greatest scholar of the Old Gods in the Imperium," he croaked, clinging to the last threads of sanity as he talked to Max and the others. "Calpernia... she does not know about this. Corypheus did not want her to."

Max's gaze hardened. "So he made you a 'vessel' and hid you away here? To be tortured in this bubble with no one but Samson and demons nearby?"

"What he has done to me is just..." Erasthenes groaned in pain as bolts coursed over him. "It is just a shadow of what he will do to her. He does not want her to know."

She would turn on him if she knew, Max read between the lines.

"Please," the magister begged. "There is... nothing left for me... outside this cage. I cannot be saved."

"Are you sure?" Anders asked. He formed a healing diagnostic spell on his two palms and cast it at the bubble, even as Cole protested.

A shock wave erupted as the diagnostic spells struck the bubble and reacted violently with it. Anders was thrown backward, avoiding tumbling on his back only by a fortuitous slam of his staff to brace himself. He gaped at Erasthenes.

The spell had only, it appeared, worsened the impacts of the torture magic. "Please," the magister begged. "Just end this. You have the power to." He gazed at Max's hand, then into his eyes. "I will become dust... and light."

"He could be useful," Leliana objected. "He may know more about Calpernia than we have been able to discover here. We eliminated Samson, but this could be a dead end for finding her."

"Does he look like he's in any shape to tell us anything?" Dorian objected hotly.

"Please cast light for me, Calpernia," Erasthenes said, his mind going as he apparently believed his old apprentice was there. Max sighed as he used the Anchor against the bubble. It did not hurt him particularly badly to do so—nothing like opening rifts on purpose—and he supposed that there were far worse things to do with his power than bring peace to a dying man.


Along the way to the heart of the shrine, they had passed several red crystals that Max could tell were not red lyrium. They were instead, according to Dorian, memory crystals, the same type that the Inquisition had used to track Calpernia. Max hoped he had not made a mistake in bypassing them in pursuit of Samson and Calpernia, especially since the latter had not even been here. But he had judged it unwise to stop and listen to them, potentially—likely, in fact—drawing unwanted attention to his group. Better to catch Samson and the demons at unawares. Better to have caught Calpernia so, had she been here.

But the temple seemed to be cleaned out of unwanted guests now, so they had time to listen to these crystals. Leliana insisted on it; with Erasthenes dead, she wanted to gather every scrap of intelligence that she could.

Max approached the first red crystal and activated it with the Anchor. He wasn't sure what, or whom, he expected to hear. Perhaps Calpernia's voice. Perhaps Samson's. Perhaps that of some ancient Tevinter priest who had worshiped Dumat here long ago...

"Calpernia prepares to set foot in the place where regret dwells. To bring it into the light. She cannot know what must be done. Cannot understand. In time, she will forgive."

Max drew back, startled at the realization that this... well, it was an ancient Tevinter priest who had worshiped Dumat, but the words were those of Corypheus and they were quite recent.

"No, she won't," Dorian said darkly in response to the echo.

"The place where regret dwells," Leliana mused. "Solas or Morrigan may know where that is." She gazed at Max, forgiving him for killing Erasthenes now that they had obtained this useful piece of information.

They continued along the empty, bloodstained, dusty corridor until Max found and activated the next crystal. This one too contained the voice of Corypheus, strangely metallic and cold even compared to its normal harsh tone.

"The Anchor has been stolen, by a mage of lesser power. I shall descend on this Haven with fire and fury and take it back. Let us see what manner of 'Herald' this age has bred."

Max smiled grimly as Dorian put a hand on his shoulder in support. "And now you know, Corypheus. I do have lesser power than you. But I have people who stand with me not because they want me to rule the world as a dictatorial god, but because they want me to help them be free and move forward."

The echo from the next crystal prompted a scoff of derision from everyone.

"A slave girl who burned with potential, ignored by all save myself. Her master did not see it. No one saw it. This world has gone craven and blind."

"Potential to be imprisoned in a magical cage and destroyed as a person," Max said. "Destroyed as anything but a 'vessel.' Hypocrite, to rave about her treatment at the hands of others when he means to do the worst of all to her!"

"I suppose I see where Samson's nihilism, at least with respect to aligning with Corypheus, came from," Dorian muttered. "He saw what he was following with clear eyes. I will give him that much."

This memory visibly troubled Leliana, or perhaps their interpretation of it did. Max noticed that she pulled her hood down lower, though it already shadowed her entire face. He wondered what expression she might be hiding.

They reached the next crystal, and Max activated it as usual.

"Did the others never return from the Black City? There is no record even of our names! We are vilified by legend. They spit on our deeds and claim we brought darkness into the world. We discovered the darkness. We claimed it as our own, let it permeate our being. If the others have not returned, they are lost. I am alone in my glory."

"'I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty,'" Max muttered, recalling Corypheus's words that dark night in Haven. "He wasn't lying. He had reason to lie to me, to demoralize me, but... not to this crystal, in his own home base. The Black City really was already Tainted, and the Maker was not there."

"And it's as I told you after that," Dorian said. "There is no reason the Maker would ever have lived in the Fade. It's rather strange to imagine otherwise."

"They returned," Anders muttered, his mind elsewhere. "Some, at least. The Architect. And at least two more who were found in the Deep Roads long ago in a fight."

"Elissa wrote to you," Leliana observed.

He nodded. "During the war. The last war, I mean. We had written to her about what the other Wardens and I were suffering. A scrap of paper she'd found in Valammar Thaig, she said. That was her theory, that one of those others—I think her theory was the Madman of Chaos—was doing it." He sighed, closing his eyes. "She was on the right track, at least."

Leliana looked deeply pained. "I wish I had listened to her. I wish Divine Justinia had listened to her."

"I'm sure you did your best," Max said.

"Did I? I wanted to see a conclusion to the Mage-Templar War. I wanted the Chantry reunited—the southern branches, at least," she amended with a nod to Dorian. "I wanted to abolish the Circle of Magi and reform the Templars. I wanted the Chantry to make a doctrine about weapons of mass destruction... and I put all those political needs ahead of the Conclave's safety." She sighed again. "And because Corypheus won that particular battle, Elissa shut herself and the Fereldan Wardens away during those early months."

And it's never been the same for you and her since then, Max finished in his mind. Maybe it never will be, though I hope you can forgive each other and revive your relationship. He and Dorian exchanged sad looks. He knew what the Hero of the Blight's example meant to him as well.

They approached another red crystal. Max retrieved the memory.

"Awake in a world twisted into perversion and ruin. Awake, only to discover the light of wisdom has gone black. But Samson and Calpernia stand with me. They stand ready."

"Wisdom?" Max said. "That's what you call it?"

"There are a lot of people in Tevinter who believe we've fallen into a dark age," Dorian pointed out.

"They've contributed to that themselves with their own strange ideas about 'mundane technology,'" Anders put in argumentatively.

"Let's not have this debate again," Max said. "I think there are two more crystals. Let's see if they contain any useful intelligence, or if they are just more complaining from Corypheus."

They reached the next-to-last crystal. Max could not have pinpointed exactly why—perhaps the Anchor had a special attachment to the Fade in this place, giving him a bit of precognitive insight into the possibilities of the future—but he had a strangely foreboding feeling about this one. He activated it nonetheless.

"How does this age stand such desolation? They sing to a 'Maker' who answers no prayers. Once I have ascended, I will be their answer. I will be their light."

Leliana drew back as if slapped, her cold, emotionless, ruthless silhouette broken.

"Leliana?" Max asked, turning to her in alarm. Dorian and the others were also turning around to make sure that she was all right.

"I am... all right," she said, though her words were broken and it was perfectly clear that she was lying. Her voice was shaky. "I... will be fine. Let us hear the last memory."

They approached this orb, which was concealed under a staircase in a gloomy corridor. The setting seemed appropriate. Max knew—somehow, he knew—that this was going to be the worst of all for her, and probably for all of them.

"I recited the old verses. How easily they come, even after so long a slumber. Yet still I do not feel the presence of Dumat—hear no whispers, no commands. Silence has fallen."

Dorian momentarily, and weakly, smiled at Corypheus's bit of wordplay. Anders also gave a grim smile as a Grey Warden with the recognition of just why Dumat had fallen. But their amusement was fleeting and small. The words were just too bleak to laugh.

And this memory, as Max had somehow known would happen, had completely undone Leliana. The spymaster turned aside, crumpling halfway to her knees, her black cloak pooling on the floor in silken folds as she trembled. Max gingerly approached her and realized that she was whispering and—sobbing. He could scarcely believe it. Leliana, crying?

"'I recited the old verses. How easily they come,'" she repeated in a croaking whisper, unaware of Max's presence. "'For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light; and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.'" Max knew the Chant of Light very well. He remained silent as she suddenly turned savagely angry, aware of his presence at last, but her anger was not directed at him. She turned around, exposing her face from behind her black hood. Her skin was blotchy and tear-stained. "But what does it matter? The Chant also claims that the Magisters Sidereal encountered the Maker in the Golden City. Either Corypheus spoke a pointless lie into his crystal, in the presence of no one but his own servants, or the Chant is wrong."

"The Chant can be wrong and the Maker still exist," Max offered feebly.

She rose to her feet. "Perhaps. But what does it say that we have all, it appears, found Corypheus a more reliable source than the Chantry?" She shook her head. "What does it say? No wonder so many have turned to him instead of the Chantry. Even we agree that, in some respects, he is right and they are wrong. How can we..." She shook her head. "Are Corypheus and I really so different at all?"

"Of course you are!" Max exclaimed. "Last I checked, you hadn't slain anyone to tear open a hole in the Fade, or unleashed demons on the world, or corrupted it with red lyrium..."

She gave him a bitter, cynical look. "I have murdered. You know I have. And not for justice, but for convenience. I even killed in service of Justinia."

Max could not help but note that she did not say Divine Justinia this time.

"I have certainly ordered killings in my capacity as Inquisition spymaster. I have not unleashed demons on the world, but I have given my assent to binding spirits for our purposes... for using pieces of wisps to fight red lyrium... while my own agents tried behind my back to spread it."

"You didn't know they were doing that..."

"Just as Corypheus did not know about Samson's true agenda of nihilism." She gave him that bitter smile again. "I will ask again: Are Corypheus and I truly different in kind? Degree, yes, I will grant that. But kind?" She let that question hang in the air. "These memories pain me because I feel kinship with the one who made them. That upsets me, but I cannot deny its truth. I sought a different god, but I feel no divine presence anymore either." She sighed heavily.

Max had felt these moments of doubt too, most particularly after Haven fell. He still had not fully made peace with his own doubt. But Leliana's crisis of faith seemed far worse at the moment. He approached her, putting a hand tentatively on her shoulder. "When did you stop feeling the Maker's presence?" he asked gently.

She took a shuddering breath, clasping his hand with her own. "It has come on me slowly. I witnessed Justinia ordering terrible things. The purge of the Halamshiral alienages—you know, it was her suggestion to Celene to repress the elven rebellion."

Max grimaced.

"And I did nothing. I watched her change from the priest who had saved my life, and saved me from a life of iniquity... who had offered me such comfort after a dark time in my life just after the Blight... You would have to have been there to know what she meant to me then as Mother Dorothea. I had just done a terrible thing. I had slain my old bardmaster, but in her dying moments, she made me question everything. Mother Dorothea comforted me. She brought me back to the light and back to Elissa Cousland. But then I watched her become... something else. Something darker." She pulled her cloak close. "No offense, Anders, but I watched Hawke turn into something dark as well during the Mage-Templar War in the name of fighting for freedom."

Anders was stricken. "I can't really argue the point. And I'm no better. I still sometimes see the aftermath of the Siege of Tantervale in my mind... or my dreams. It's a place in the Fade now. A bloody one."

Leliana nodded. "And then Justinia was killed. The person who had meant so much to me... After I saw her knocked off her pedestal, then, as if the universe had a final insult to me, she was killed while trying to broker a unity conclave. And the Sacred Ashes of Andraste were apparently destroyed too." She sighed. "I had believed them the true Ashes, and no doubt they were Andraste's remains, but how could their powers have come from the Maker if Corypheus could have destroyed them? If red lyrium could grow in the place where the remains of the Prophet once rested? Perhaps their powers were just the mummery of spirits. Perhaps that is all the shrine to her ever was."

"I'm sure that..." Max trailed off, because the truth was, he wasn't sure.

She gave him a sad smile. "No, you aren't. None of us can ever be sure of anything related to faith again, I fear." She sighed. "So that is when the Maker's presence, or what I had imagined was that presence, lessened for me. But I think the final straw was when Elissa Cousland closed the door on me. I can forgive her, and I do. Just as I could have forgiven her if she had decided to give her life slaying the Archdemon. But that too would have ended my experience of the Maker's presence. And although she is not dead, she is changed. I felt the Maker's presence through love: her love most of all, but also the love of Dorothea, before she became Justinia. And now Justinia is gone, after her own deeds destroyed my idea of her in my mind. Now Elissa is gone in a different way, and I do not know if she thinks she can return to me."

Max did not know what to say. Neither, it seemed, did anyone else. They all stood silently as she emptied her heart.

"I... I understand Corypheus. I understand why he wants to bring back the glories of the past and set the world right as he sees it. Maker help me, so do I."


Notes: One of the writers said that Leliana and Corypheus had a lot in common as "burned believers." The quest "Corypheus's Memories," accessible while hunting Calpernia, bears this out. This is a part of Leliana's spiritual awakening for this story: a darker mirror of her spiritual awakening with Dorothea in Sanctification. It looks bleak now, but it will get better. She has to reach rock bottom first and face her darkest fears, aspects, and thoughts before she can truly rise back up.