DISCLAIMER: Hey guys, I'm going to go ahead and put a trigger warning in here. If you're sensitive to descriptions of torture or suicidal thoughts, you may want to skip this chapter. So that you don't miss out on the storyline, I'll put a SFW summary recap in an Author's Note at the beginning of the next chapter.

The next few days felt like months. It was constant darkness in the windowless dungeon, and the absence of sunlight made it impossible to keep track of time. After a while, time stopped mattering. The only thing that mattered was whenever the door opened, I knew it was time to see Gort. Gort didn't talk much. Gort knew how to make other people talk.

On the first day, I was bound to a chair and forced to watch as a young elven man was put to The Rack. Iron spikes on either side of my head prevented me from looking away as he was slowly stretched. I didn't know what was worse: the sounds of his screams, the cracking of his bones, the sickening pops of his joints and ligaments as his shoulders and hips were dislocated and his muscles stretched and torn, or Gort's cheerful whistling as he worked.

I tried to comfort him, weeping and whispering that it would be okay, that help would come, that he wasn't alone and, eventually, when I couldn't lie to him anymore, that it would be over soon. He was still alive when his crippled form was carried from Gort's room. I hoped he wouldn't have to suffer much longer. Gort spoke for the first time, then. He asked me where the others were. I said nothing.

On the second day, I was suspended from the ceiling by my wrists in iron chains and flogged, first with a leather whip, then with a wooden switch and, eventually, with an iron rod. Gort whistled his cheerful tune as I screamed. I felt the flesh being ripped from my body with every lash. At the end of our session, when Gort asked me again where the others were, still I said nothing.

That night I lay wide awake, shivering, my body in shock from the deep, searing pain. I think Soris might have tried to speak to me, but I didn't hear him. I knew I wasn't getting out of there. I knew it was over. I just wondered how long it would take for me to die. I wondered what would finish me, in the end. Maybe they would get tired of torturing me and just slit my throat. Or maybe I would succumb to my injuries, or from infection seeping in through my open wounds as I lay in the dank filth. Either way, I just hoped it would be soon.

The third time I saw Gort, I was drowned. Over and over, my head was forced into a barrel of filthy, freezing water until I reached the brink of unconsciousness, and then I was wrenched back out, and forced back in again just before I could really catch my breath. After a while, when I could take no more, I tried forcing myself to breathe in a lungful of the water. It'll be quick, I promised myself. It'll hurt like Hell, but you're already hurting. You're going to die in here, at least you can do it now on your own terms. But I physically couldn't do it. My body resisted me. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I just didn't want to live like this. When I finally caught my breath after being thrown to the ground for the final time, after what felt like a lifetime, wheezing and gasping for air, my lungs burning in agony, Gort asked me again where the others were. Again, I said nothing.

On my fourth visit with Gort I was suspended from the ceiling again, this time by my ankles. My head throbbed painfully as all of the blood in my body rushed in the wrong direction, and I clenched my teeth, thinking to myself that the pounding in my head was painful, but it wasn't as bad as the previous days. I could bear it.

Then, I heard the whistling. Through my upside-down view of the world, I saw him approach me with a white hot poker in his hands. I panicked, struggling and twisting and screaming for help. He barely seemed to notice. He pressed it into the pale, sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh, holding it there, and I screamed louder than I knew I could as the smell of my own burning flesh filled my nostrils. He did the same on the other leg, on the back of my knee. He moved onto my upper arms and the already bruised skin of my stomach. The poker mustn't have been his favourite instrument of torture. He didn't use it all that much. Instead, he left long periods of silence in between the burns, waiting for my breathing to return to normal, waiting for me to finally let myself believe he had stopped, that it was over for the day, before delivering the next one. When he was finally finished, the chains holding my ankles were loosened and I dropped to the ground in a quivering heap. Gort asked where the others were. It took me a few moments to remember who he was talking about. I said nothing.

As I was hauled to my feet and dragged from the room by a couple of guards, he stopped them, bending down so that he was eye level with me. My head felt too heavy for my neck, and it took a few attempts before I was able to lift it up high enough to look back at him.

"Tomorrow." He said, pointing to the other side of the room. I didn't have to follow his finger to know that's where The Rack stood. I glared back at him, with all the defiance I could muster, and he grinned, happily. "Tomorrow."

As I lay in my cell that night, I barely even felt the pain anymore. It was there, but it didn't mean anything. I wasn't afraid anymore. I had been terrified every second since I'd been abducted, and it hadn't mattered. Every terrible thing I had feared might happen to me had already happened, along with some extras that I wasn't sick enough to dream up by myself. Death was the only thing left to fear, but instead I prayed for it. I prayed to The Maker, to Andraste, to anyone who might be listening. Let me die. Just let me die. What's the point of keeping me here for another day? You're just prolonging the inevitable. They could keep dreaming up new and terrible ways to torture me, and I was certain that they would, but nothing would make me betray the people I loved. That would be the only pain I couldn't bear, and they didn't have the power to inflict that.

I fell asleep thinking of Alistair, imagining he was holding me. I started to think about how I would never feel his arms around me again, how Grayson had been right, that we really had been wasting time. I had just figured we had more of it than we did. It wasn't fair, how short our time together had been. Maybe it was better that way. Just a few, short weeks of perfect, innocent, first love. I forced the thoughts away when I felt tears sting my eyes. Gort was doing just fine with the torture, I didn't have to do his job for him by torturing myself too.

I slept fitfully, waking at one point with a cry of agony when I accidentally rolled onto my back, resting my full weight on my torn flesh. I tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn't. There was no escape in sleep anymore. I wasn't sure if it was due to the lack of sunlight, the intense pain, the physical and mental trauma or if there had been a flare in Darkspawn activity, but my dreams were worse than they had ever been. Whenever I woke, I could still see the Archdemon. It's terrible face was burned into the insides of my eyelids. So I didn't sleep, I just lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of Soris breathing in the cell next to me. Water dripped somewhere near my head, the sound of it echoing around the room. My mind drifted and the sound seemed to grow louder and louder. I wished I could hear music again, one last time. The only music in this dark, windowless world was the demented whistling of my tormenter. I hummed, gently to myself, my voice rough and hoarse from screaming, finding a rhythm in the dripping.

Somehow, inexplicably, the first song that came into my mind was The Cup Song, from the movie Pitch Perfect. Emily and I had spent an afternoon watching YouTube learning how to do it. I smiled, the memory of that afternoon filling me with a warmth that was almost unbearable in that moment. It felt like another life, like maybe it was just a story that I'd heard. I closed my eyes and sang to myself, softly, slowing down the melody and feeling each of the words on my lips. My voice echoed, eerily, around the cavernous dungeon.

"I've got my ticket for the long way 'round

Two bottle whiskey for the way

And I sure would like some sweet company

And I'm leaving tomorrow, wha-do-ya say?

When I'm gone

When I'm gone

You're gonna miss me when I'm gone

You're gonna miss me by my hair

You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh

I know you're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

My voice broke on the last note and I hugged myself tighter, sniffing. I hadn't ever thought of that song as sad before. Now I thought it was just about the most tragic thing I had ever heard.

"That was beautiful." Soris murmured, quietly. I sniffed, hastily wiping the tears that were forging a path through the grime on my face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." I whispered.

"No...that was the first music I've heard since...since I was free. Since my wedding day." He replied, in a shaky voice. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I smiled, sadly. "Think of it as a parting gift."

"You're leaving? You have a plan?"

I let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"Something like that."

"Oh…" He seemed to realise what I meant.

"I hate to leave you alone again." I said, hoarsely. "I just...I don't think my body can hold out much longer."

"I'm sorry." He said, sincerely.

"Me too." I replied, blinking away fresh tears.

"At least they won't be able to hurt you anymore." He said, soothingly. "Anything has to be better than this...right?"

"I hope so, Soris." I agreed, taking comfort in the thought. "I just wish…"

"What?"

"I never got to say goodbye." I said, quietly. A sudden thought struck me, as I remembered meeting Soris in the dungeon in the game. Events may have already changed too much, but there was a chance. "Soris, if...if my friends come, after...when I'm gone...would you tell them I loved them?"

"Yes, of course." He said, softly.

"And Alistair. Especially Alistair. Tell him...tell him I loved him from the start. Tell him that the last night we spent together was the best night of my life. Tell him I'd go through all of this a thousand times over just to live that night one more time. Tell him my last thoughts were of him."

He was quiet for a long moment, before eventually clearing his throat.

"I'll tell him." He said, miserably.

"Don't tell them about the other stuff. The torture. They don't need to live with that." I said, nodding to myself in quiet determination. "They shouldn't have to remember me that way."

We each fell silent, neither of us really knowing what to say to the other. I still couldn't sleep, but I must have fallen into some kind of trance because I was somewhere between waking and dreaming when the door was wrenched open again and the same two guards who had brought me to the torture chamber each day marched over to my cell. I pushed myself shakily into a sitting position, glaring at them through my one good eye. One of the men visibly bristled as he looked down at me, shaking his head.

"Look at her. She's not going to last much longer." He said, quietly, to his fellow. The other guard looked from him to me and back again and shrugged.

"So? What do you care?" He snorted.

"I don't, it's just…" The younger man trailed off, uncertainly.

"Just what?"

"She reminds me of my little sister. Just don't sit right with me, treating a girl this way. Even if she is a king killer."

"You better hope none of the others hear you say a thing like that." The other man growled, hastily unlocking my cell door.

The sympathy in the young guard's voice sparked a small flame of something inside of me that I thought I had lost completely: hope. If I could just find some way to talk to him…

"What's your name?" I asked, hoarsely, squinting up at him.

He hesitated, looking unsure, and his companion spat on the ground beside me.

"Don't think you can talk your way out of here, filth." He sneered. "Someone wants to have a little word with you."

"No, please." I begged, allowing the tears that had been threatening all night to finally spill. "Please, I just want to go home. I want to see my parents. I want to see my big brother." I lied, openly weeping, focusing on the younger man. "Please."

His sympathetic expression hardened, then wavered, and hardened again, and I knew he wasn't buying it. I stopped crying abruptly and returned to glaring, murderously.

"The Darkspawn are coming. Do you know what they're going to do to your sister?" I asked, in a hollow voice. "Do you know what they do to the women they don't kill? If you let them kill me, you're as good as handing her to the Darkspawn yourself. I can end the Blight, none of this other stuff matters. Are you going to sacrifice everything, sacrifice her, for a rich Arl who doesn't even know your name?"

He recoiled in horror at my words, but his horror was directed towards me, not the 'Spawn. That was too much for him to process.

"You're evil." He said, scowling. "You deserve all what you get."

They hauled me to my feet, each of them gripping my arms harder than was necessary. I struggled and growled and cursed them all the way to Gort's door. When they opened it, they threw me inside, not bothering to tie me to the chair as they had done the previous days, clearly desperate to distance themselves from me as soon as possible. I landed face down, catching my fall with my hands, and twisted around to face them one last time.

"I hope the Darkspawn eat you alive." I hissed, and the door was slammed shut behind them. I whipped my head around, looking for Gort, but the room was empty. I blinked in surprise, certain that this was just another ploy, another way to give me hope just to crush it again...but I couldn't help hoping.

I leapt to my feet, ignoring every inch of my body as it protested the movement. The burn on the back of my knee had started to heal and scab, and the scab cracked open as I stood. The criss-cross of open wounds on my back hurt so much I was worried for a moment that I might pass out or vomit, but I fought the feeling, narrowing my eyes in determination. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked around the room. My eyes fell upon the rack of sharp, cruel instruments on the wall and I raced towards it, grabbing a large, curved knife and a double-edged battle axe, spinning around again to check that the room was still as empty as it appeared to be. I could scarcely believe it when I saw that it was.

I knew that this was a trick, I just didn't know how. Trick or no, they had made a mistake by allowing me to arm myself. If they wanted to put me to The Rack, they were going to have to subdue me first, and they wouldn't take me alive now that I had an axe in my hand.

My body was frail. I hadn't eaten in days, every one of my muscles was screaming, every inch of my skin was battered or burned or bleeding. But the feel of the weapons in my hands gave me new strength. I was getting out of here. Today would be the last day, one way or another.

The sound of whistling in the corridor outside almost made me freeze with fear, but I shook it off, sternly reminding myself that I wasn't weak, I wasn't bound, I wasn't vulnerable. I wasn't a victim. I was a survivor.

"I am Lauren DuVal." I whispered to myself, moving to stand against the wall, by the door, ready to strike the moment it was opened. "I am a Grey Warden. I am Lauren DuVal."

The door opened and Gort stepped inside, still whistling. He didn't notice me as he walked into the room, all of his attention focused on the apparatus in his hands that I vaguely recognised as a thumb-screw. Raw hatred bubbled up inside of me as I watched him caress the torture device, lovingly. I didn't want to kill him quickly. I wanted it to last hours. I wanted him to feel every bit of pain he had inflicted on me, on that poor elven boy, on everyone who had come before us. But I knew that wasn't me. I knew he needed to die, and he needed to die now.

I crept up behind him and thrust the curved knife through his lower back. He staggered forward, yelling in surprise and pain. As he turned to face me, I watched as his wide eyes fell upon the blade protruding from his stomach, before moving up to my face.

"You…"

"Oh, I'm sorry. There's been a change of plans." I said, sweetly. "Our regularly scheduled programme has been interrupted by this breaking news."

I smashed the butt of the axe into his face, shattering his nose and sending him reeling backwards, tumbling to the ground. As he fell, he reached around him for something to grab onto, but the only thing within his reach was a vat of black, boiling oil sitting atop an open flame which had apparently been prepared just for me. He pulled it down on top of himself, screaming and writhing in agony as the oil melted his flesh and muscle. Usually, I would have had to look away from such a grisly sight, but not this time. I watched with grim satisfaction as the life drained out of him.

When I was certain that he was dead, I grabbed the keys from his belt and headed for the door, battle-axe by my side. I felt like I had just aged forty years. I wanted to collapse to the ground and sleep for a decade, but I still had work to do. I turned to look at his corpse one last time before closing the door behind me, and whistled his own jaunty tune back at him, sinisterly. In retrospect, it was sick and twisted. At the time, it felt like justice.

I raced to the dungeon, keeping close to the walls and listening for any sign of the guards, but this part of the castle appeared to be deserted. They expected me to be tied up with Gort for hours. I doubted anybody would be down here any time soon. I reached the door to the room I had shared with Soris and scrambled with Gort's keys, trying each one and finding that none of them fit. I sighed in frustration, looking hopelessly at the ring of keys in my hand, before slowly turning my gaze to the axe in my other hand. I shrugged. An axe was as good as a key in a pinch. I slipped the key ring over my wrist and took the battle-axe in both hands, swinging it at the heavy, wooden door as hard as I could. Three swings was all it took to shatter the lock and the door swung open. Soris was already on his feet, his pale, gaunt face peering out between the bars, eyeing me wildly.

"What are you doing?" He hissed.

"I'm getting us out." I replied, striding over to him. "Stand back."

He did as instructed, pressing himself against the back wall of his cell as I swung the axe another three times, crashing the door in. He stepped out of his cell slowly, looking around suspiciously.

"I know." I said, with an understanding nod. "I don't really believe this is happening either."

"How did you…?"

"I told you. I'm a think-on-my-feet type of girl."

"We're free of our cells, but we're still trapped in here. There are a hundred guards between us and freedom. How are we going to…?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead." I admitted. "I'm open to suggestions."

He looked up at me, hopelessly. He opened his mouth a few times, before closing it again, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" I asked, panicking at the look of resignation on his face.

"I hope you make it out. I truly do." He said, miserably, before turning from me and hobbling back into this cell, swinging the door shut behind him.

"Soris!" I hissed, "If you stay in here, you're going to die anyway."

"You don't know that." He hissed back, sounding equally as frustrated as I felt. "If I follow you up there, I'll die for sure. I'm no fighter, Lauren. Maybe on your own, you have a chance to slip out."

"I don't mean to slip out. I'm going to find Howe and cut him in half." I insisted, gesturing to the axe pointedly.

"You've gone mad down here. You'll die before you find him. If you're going, go quietly. Be clever. Be stealthy." He whispered, shaking his head. "Don't let your anger blind you. Get out alive, first. Kill Howe later. Pay someone to poison his mead. Hire an assassin to shoot him the second he steps foot outside the tower. I don't care how you do it, but don't throw your life away. You have a chance."

"So do you!" I insisted, angrily. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Yes you are." He said, resolutely. "I'm not coming with you."

I closed my eyes, thinking hard. I swore, quietly, before stepping towards him and reaching through the bars, gripping his arm.

"I'll come back for you, I swear it." I whispered.

"Stay safe. Stay alive." He whispered back.

I opened my mouth to reply, but words failed me. I squeezed his arm one last time and raced to the door before I could think too much about what was happening. The only way I was going to get out of here was if I didn't think about what I was doing. If I thought, really thought, about the suicide mission I was embarking on, I would probably have locked myself back in my cell like Soris. I made my way through the dungeons, checking cells as I went. They were all empty. I remembered from my other life that the Wardens found Riordan down here, but there was no sign of him. Either he hadn't fallen prey to Howe's treachery yet, or he and the other prisoners were being held in another part of the tower, and I couldn't risk searching for them.

I came across one room with a round table in the centre, full of empty plates and goblets, with chairs strewn carelessly around it. This must have been for either the guards or the servants, but it was currently, mercifully deserted. There were a few chests towards the back of the room, and I almost turned to leave when I saw the toe of a boot sticking out of one of them. I looked around, warily, before deciding that it was worth the risk and striding quickly over to them, dropping to my knees and rummaging through the assorted armour. I found a helmet, hauberk, boots, trousers, gauntlets and greaves that almost fit and quickly stripped out of my dress, which by now was less of a dress and more of a torn rag. The weight of the mail on my ruined back made me grit my teeth to keep from crying as I slipped it on, but I found that once I was fully suited, I felt infinitely less vulnerable. I pulled the helmet on and it slid down, almost obscuring my vision, but it also partially covered my face. I thought that if I was really lucky, I might just be able to blend in enough to get out of here without a fight.

Every fibre of my being wanted to carve my way out of here through the bodies of the men who had made me suffer. I wanted to find Howe. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw before he died. But I knew that Soris had been right. I had given up so much on the thought that I would ever get out of here alive that my survival instincts had been drowned out by my thirst for vengeance. I would kill Howe. But I would save myself first.

I reached the flight of stairs that led up to the ground floor of the tower and stalled, gripping the handle of the battle-axe tightly. I had no idea what was on the other side of that door. But whatever was waiting for me out there, I knew it couldn't be as awful as what had happened on this side of it. I climbed the stairs, and opened the door to find the corridor on the other side to be blissfully empty. I crept along, surreptitiously checking around corners as I went. The first couple of hallways could have been luck, Maker knows I was due some, but after the fifth empty hallway, anxiety flared inside of me. It shouldn't be this easy. Where was everyone?

A bellow from up ahead of me answered my silent question, and I strained my ears, hearing the distant sound of steel on steel. I listened intently, deciding that whatever was happening was no training exercise. The blows were too vicious, the shouting too frantic, the whole thing too chaotic. At first, I was relieved. I couldn't believe my luck. The timing couldn't have been better. I could use this distraction to sneak out. A small, strong voice in my head whispered that I could use it to find Howe, but I brushed it off. My relief lasted only seconds, until I heard the unmistakable sound of a battle-cry that I would have recognised anywhere.

"Alistair?"

AN: Okay, that got dark. This is where things really start to change from the original timeline (this was the beginning of what I was talking about a few chapters ago, when I said I was nervous about the plans I had to break away in bigger ways).

I just want to say that I hope none of the torture scenes felt gratuitious because that's not what I was going for. I am super nervous about posting this though, because it's a lot darker than I've gone previously, so any and all feedback is appreciated. Please review!

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Kira Tamarion, for your ever efficient and always helpful beta-skills.

TheFanfictionMaster: I hope this is enough angst for you for now because I am so keen to get back to the fluff soon! If you're looking for other fics to read while you wait for me to update, I recommend 13 Years by Kira Tamarion and There and Back Again by Elyssa Cousland (you can find both in my favourites list) if you haven't already read them :)

Chimera Spyke: Fortunately, she didn't find her breaking point, but she came close. She would never have broken and given up the others, but she was close to giving up on herself. Hopefully over the next few chapters I can show her journey and how she copes and how the others cope with what happened to her. I've already got a good chunk of it written so hopefully I can keep up the momentum. All I need is one night a week to myself with my laptop, but that's not always a given! LIFE.

WyldClaw: Welcome to the family! Thanks for the review.

Guest: I hope this wasn't too graphic for you. I'm nervous about it too! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter.