WARNINGS: Graphic violence

CULLEN

"To arms!" I hollered as Shades erupted all around us. "Get the people inside!"

The creatures roared as they swarmed upon us. There were so many, my very soul was oppressed by the weight of their gluttony. In the darkness, they seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, only the smell of mottled flesh and a single, baleful eye set them apart. Screams sounded from the few cognizant townsfolk, but the soldiers and Battalion quickly leapt into action.

Mages casted barriers, one rippling against my skin, and shielded the innocents as they led them to safety. The templars slammed their swords against their shields, the metal thrumming as it alighted with the white light of lyrium-imbued power. Harding and her scouts scattered to find perches and down as many with their arrows as they could in the light between the mages' fireballs.

Claws raked across the surface of my shield, I took the blow pushing the creature's arms up as I thrust my sword into its belly and yanked, gutting it. Black ichor splattered out, the fetid blood of demon polluted the air. The thing raged, but a slash across its throat silenced it and it fell, painting the stuccoed wall with its putrid blood. Another came. Block. Slash. And another. Parry. Thrust. The air grew foul, the rank of the demons choking my nose, filling my mouth, overwhelming my senses. My eyes began to water and I had to rely on instincts alone. Just as I thought we would be routed, the Shade before me froze just before I punched my sword through its skull.

Pulling my blade from it, I shook the rotted blood from the metal as I looked around to find what had happened. Meira stood, her mana an orchestra beneath her skin, silver eyes incandescent with magic against the dark. She was still, her eyes unfocused even as they were alight with magic. There were Shades frozen mid-attack around her, the last remnants of the spirits protecting her shimmering as they disappeared on the cold air. With the Shades' fall, she reanimated causing her mana to calm and her eyes to dim. She put a hand out, steadying herself against a wall.

"It seems Imshael knows we're here," Michel stated.

"That was the demon's doing?" I looked to the Chevalier, part of his face cast in shadows from the torch he held.

"It was. Imshael is no ordinary demon. Commanding lesser demons is the least of its powers."

"Will it alert the Red Templars?"

"I cannot say. Imshael has roamed the land for some time. If anything, it will have grown in power. All I can say is that it likes to play." The man's grey eyes looked to the hills beyond. "Either way, our enemy awaits."

I nodded, reiterating my previous orders. Harding and the other archers disappeared into the shadows. The rest fell in behind me, Meira coming to stand at my side. I looked to her, a brow raised in a silent question. She gave a small nod in answer. My gaze lingered, spotting the signs of weariness that seemed to be making themselves more and more plain as of late. She'd confessed the truth of Shame and through it I had realized that she still doubted that I could truly accept her for who and what she was. That she was worthy of my love or trust because of it. 'Heal her scars'. It was becoming abundantly clear that her scars were numerous and far deeper than she let on. I had begun to doubt that I could heal them. Fear crept in, I worried that bit by bit, she was slipping away from me.

I watched her as she moved forward, leading the Battalion. A moment slower than she, I waved the others on and caught up with her. We moved as quietly as we could toward the upper camp, I praying that we would go unnoticed and be able to ambush them. We split off. Harding and the other archers taking the high ground. The soldiers and Battalion mixing as I tightened my grip on my sword.

"Do you hear that?" Meira whispered.

I strained to listen, but all that met my ears were the sounds of the pines. The occasional wolf. And as we drew closer to the Red Templars' camp, the unintelligible sounds of chatter. From how she posed the question, I guessed she meant something not expected. "No."

Worry flickered across her face briefly before she shook her head. We drew close to the camp, staying just beyond the reach of the torchlight. We waited, I counting down in my mind how long I estimated it would take Harding to get into position. I was relieved from doing so when I saw the barest flicker of white from Amelia.

With a bellow, I led the others to storm the camp. Taken by surprise, but not unprepared, the Red Templars met us. Shield and blade met, a great cacophony of metal scraping against metal, the angry whispers of the red lyrium, the monstrous voices of the corrupted templars all crashing together in my ears. Even through the layers I wore, I could feel the heat of the red lyrium burning—aching—to get inside. I locked shields with a corrupted templar, crystals growing out of their skin, it mottled and stretched. A lipless mouth pulled back from animalistic teeth as dead, crimson eyes glared at me with hatred.

"I'll grow a crystal garden in your skull!" It threatened, its voice like the grinding of rocks with a whisper behind it.

I felt Meira at my side, a flash as she swept a hand over me. An odd sensation leaching down through my layers to my very skin. The runes of my armor she'd commissioned for me, I had not used them yet, wary the sensation of magic against my skin would send me back there, distract me from battle. And though my hair stood on end for a moment, it passed and with it strength filled my limbs.

The corrupted templar had been strong, nearly as strong as Carroll, but with the runes activated in my armor, I met its strength with interest. And it wasn't just strength I felt coursing along my skin, but speed and a hyper-awareness. It was as if the battle slowed around me. My foe pressed against my shield and I let them. Using it to propel myself to twist, I flipped my blade into a reverse grip as they stumbled forward from their own momentum. They now open, I punched my sword into the unprotected space beneath their arm and yanked upwards. Their arm severed, but where blood should have poured out, red lyrium grew.

They bayed a vengeful howl, crimson eyes glowing as they mutated further. Weaving through their maddened swipes with their lyrium limb, I sliced off their other arm in an arc that also sent their head rolling. Their decapitated body crumpled to the ground, red lyrium consuming what remained.

Foe after foe I met, magic bolstering my stamina and speed. Block. Thrust. Duck. Sweep. Again and again. The maneuvers I'd practiced hundreds upon hundreds of times. Volleys of arrows felled some. Familiar magic froze dozens more. The more that fell, the louder the angry whispers grew, tempting tendrils slipping inside my helm, caressing my ears and worming its way into my mind. Parry. Jab. Punch. Guard.

An arrow sprouted from my last foe's neck, causing them to pause just long enough for me to slice their head from their shoulders. When no more remained, I realized I had barely broken a sweat nor did I feel drained. Taking a quick inventory of their camp, cataloguing what we could use, I felt Meira approach.

Meeting her eyes I asked, "Any wounded?" She shook her head. "Good. Burn the bodies. Have the Battalion take lyrium rations. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

"Should we wait until morning?"

"No. We need to hit them hard and fast so they don't have time to regroup and send reinforcements." She nodded, her eyes studying me for a moment, unspoken words in them. "I'll be fine."

"You better be," she warned, "You owe me a wedding."

My lips twitched. "I shall honor my word, love. I will marry you."

Though her features did not change, the same weariness and worrying lack of joy in them, she teased as she turned, "I'll hold you to it, Commander. Wouldn't want you dying a virgin."

Blushing beneath my helmet and ignoring the heat that flared in my gut, I growled, "Lieutenant."

Looking over her shoulder, a feline smile curving her lovely lips, she arched a mocking brow as she purred, "Just giving you motivation, Commander."

Maker's breath. "See to your troops, Lieutenant. We leave in ten."

…

It was a night of much bloodshed.

We marched through Alphonse's Pass, Michel leading us as Harding scouted up ahead. She returned to report there was another camp at the mouth with a few small patrols within—which they'd silently taken out so as to not alert the larger camp. Once we were moving along the pass, I was tempted to remove my cloak and warmer layers as the red lyrium upon the walls made the air stifling.

Braziers had been set every few feet, between their fire and the glow of the lyrium we could see our way clear enough. Turning to ensure no red templars were trying to flank us, I noticed the mages seemed to have a hard time breathing in the tight space, sheens of sweat on their pale faces. It helped when Meira froze the lyrium as we passed it, the heat and the song it emitted dampening. Towards the middle of the pass, there was a statue of a wolf. I heard a misstep in the march and turned to see Laren break off to give a bow to it, her lips moving with a prayer before rejoining.

"Fen'Harel," Meira murmured as she turned to look, "The Dread Wolf."

"A Dalish god?"

She nodded. "God of Betrayal. Of Nightmares. Lord of Tricksters. Though the Dalish bear no love for him as he is blamed for the disappearance of the other gods, they still regard him with respect, lest he hunt them. I may not remember everything, but there are some things that stick with you. The Dread Wolf was a figure of fright to keep children from misbehaving or wandering too far from the camp." Her lips twitched. "Him and templars." I cleared my throat. "Thankfully, the latter did not prove universally true and I've never had to deal with the former."

We exited the pass, seeing large formations of red lyrium on the hills above us and the banner of the Red Templar Order unfurling on the snowy breeze, the red of the flag like blood in the glow of the corrupted lyrium.

"I would venture to guess the Red Templars prove the warning true," I fumed.

"They are not templars, Cullen," she challenged.

"Perhaps not, but in the years that follow the Inquisition, how will templars be remembered? As murderers, butchers and jailers. The line between the Templar Order and the Red Templar Order will be blurred with time."

"Then we have to build a new order that's worthy of remembering. And surpasses the old."

"How do we salvage this?" I begged, the song of red lyrium angry as it swirled in my mind, humming along my bones.

"We don't. We destroy it. Burn it to the ground. And build something new from the ashes."

I nodded before raising my blade, a war cry tearing from my throat as I charged at the dark shadows that had always been within the Order. Now, they'd just been given form. The red of the lyrium the blood of countless innocent and non-innocent mages alike. Mages that had been slaughtered out of fear. Fear sown and then exploited by religious indoctrination to fool naive, idealistic men and women into believing they were serving the Maker by jailing the mages and calling it protection. And if they had to strike them down? It was for the good of all; to protect the mages from themselves. The angry whispers were their cries of outrage. The mutilated forms of the Red Templars was the corruption of the Order made apparent. Like Meredith. We cut our way through each camp as we came upon it, our enemy growing more and more grotesque as Michel led us to the Tower of Bone near which the quarry sat.

Creatures of man and lyrium shrieked and roared. Shards of lyrium splintering as I rammed my shield and cut with my blade. More grew. It was everywhere. In the ground, consuming buildings, sprouting from skin and teeth and bone. I fought the paranoia that it was on me—in me. That I would become one of them. That I already was.

My throat grew sore as I screamed during the battles. Screamed in challenge, in horror, in rage, in fear. Challenge that I was not them, horror at what had been done to them and myself, rage that any knight would become this, fear that I already had been a monster—that I could so easily have been one of them.

Hacking, slashing, bashing, blocking. I had to block it out. How many of them there were. How many had fallen for this, turned to Corypheus. How many had done so willingly? How many unwillingly? How many in desperation to not face the withdrawal? Some were so young. So unbearably young, yet they fought like ravenous beasts. Some seemed to be troubled, to be in pain, to be utterly terrified, but still they fought. Fought as if compelled to do so.

As I caught the blade of one, he spoke as if in both challenge and warning, "The song—the song cannot be denied!"

Maker! Andraste, have mercy! Do they suffer compulsion as well but of an even more malignant form? Yet he fought on, even as I told him to surrender, that we could try to help him. He refused. I knocked his blade aside as he thrust and drove my own up under his cuirass all the way to the hilt. Perhaps my imagination, but I could have sworn he whispered a thank you before he died.

I stood at the base of the Tower of Bone, our enemy routed, mulling it all over as I stared up at the giant banner hanging from it. It ruffling in the howling wind as dawn brought a red sky. Giant chains stretched from the great tower to bury themselves in the ground. Michel had said the legend was that the tower itself was possessed by a powerful demon of pride and the chains were to keep it in place. It only added to the evil that seemed to infect the very air here. Solana and the other mages saw to our wounded and burned the dead. A couple of mages and templars had fallen.

"Commander!" Harding called as she bounded across the scaffolding the Red Templars had built to move mined red lyrium out of the quarry. "You'll want to see this."

I followed her down, past the tents and fires the Red Templars had been meandering around not moments ago. Though it had been night, none of them seemed to sleep. She led me towards the back of the camp to where prison wagons were now visible in the morning light. Meira stood outside of one, staring, rage plain on her face. Within were shackles, most of them empty, but inside one…

"Is that—"

"Red lyrium…growing from the body," Meira spit, her voice shaking with rage. I understood why. Rage stirred my own heart. "Dagna was right. They use blood to speed the growth." She met my eyes. "Whether they are living or dead." Her mana was welling up within her, the air growing colder. "What in the Maker's name do they think they're doing? What could justify this?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"You claimed Samson was a decent man," she hissed, her anger not at me, I knew, but it was still biting. "What decent person would be capable of this?"

I looked away. "I'm certain someone asked the same of me in Kirkwall."

"And yet you stand here, with the Inquisition, and he stands with Corypheus."

I stared at the remains in the cage. "I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It's monstrous. We have to put an end to him."

"Then let us pray he is here," she said. The tone of her voice saying that if he was, he'd be lucky to make it out alive.

"Do not forget the armor he wields. What I witnessed of it in Haven…he will not be easily thwarted."

She nodded, her eyes looking up and I turned, following her stare. On the top of a hill some distance between us, in the fog rolling down from the mountains, the shadow of a great keep could be made out."My guess, Imshael and Samson are in there. If Samson is here at all."

"If he is not, I pray that Maddox remains."

"Michel says the entrance to the keep is to the west while the quarry is to the east," she informed, "What do you want to do?"

"We should storm the quarry first. If there are any townsfolk in there and they still live, we should get them out before we face whatever lay inside the keep. If we do not, I fear the templars guarding the quarry will kill them."

"And if we do find people in there…what do we do if they're all infected, Cullen?"

It wasn't a thought I wanted to consider. "We shall deal with it once we see this through."

"Andraste, preserve us," she breathed.

"Take inventory," I stated, "everyone will need another dosing of lyrium. The bulk of their force will be in the quarry as it will be the most heavily guarded, but their most seasoned officers will be in the keep. Once we hit the quarry, they'll know for certain that we are here as we've lost the dark. They'll hit us with everything they have got. We'll have to ensure they don't flank us or maintain a high ground with their archers—we'd be as fish in a barrel. This is going to be arduous."

"What if the red lyrium is too much in there? The Pass was nearly overwhelming."

"I want the mages focused on rescuing any survivors within. We'll cover them. I want you and the other ice mages freezing any lyrium we see. We'll figure out how to deal with it once Adamant is done." I clenched my jaw. "Whether or not we would have known them, it is our duty to put an end to Samson and his ilk."

She studied my face a moment before nodding. "Don't let him get to you."

I furrowed my brow. "And what if I do?"

"You're not him."

Before I could argue, she walked off. I looked back to the cage. 'What could justify this?' I swallowed hard, the weight of my sins settling upon my shoulders for a moment. It was easy to justify anything when fear was your motivator. But I did not think fear was what drove Samson and those that followed him. No, it was something equally malicious as fear. Those templars that had been cruel to the mages, not because of some misguided idea of protecting them from themselves, but because they desired to be cruel were not driven by fear alone. They were driven by hatred. But what was the object of their hatred? It wasn't mages as they worked alongside the maleficaric Venatori. It was something deeper—bigger. What happened, Samson?

…

We charged the quarry, my shield held aloft as archers posted at the entrance sent a small volley down. Magic barriers protected us. Lightning arced through the air, catching the templars' armor and searing them within, though the red lyrium's antimagic abilities kept them from dying. Archers of our own—both mortal and mage—answered their arrows, downing a couple. Earth mages scooped up chunks of frozen ground and hurled it at them, shattering the scaffolding they stood upon and burying them beneath.

We pressed our way in, spotting miners that weren't red templars down further in the pits of the quarry. Resistance came swiftly. The corrupted templars seemed to be larger here, no longer the normal sizes of men or women, and there were many of them.

The mages were struggling, the very air noxious. Those who could encase themselves in their chosen element, did so. The shapeshifters also used their animal forms, it wasn't as effective at blocking out the fumes, but their animal forms seemed to give them a modicum of protection. But if either got too close, either to the lyrium formations or the corrupted templars comprised more of it than of flesh, their magic was disrupted. Ice and fire seemed to be the only things that caused any damage.

The templars, soldiers and I stood together, a bulwark, as the mages descended into the quarry to rescue any survivors they could find. Our shadows came, more monsters than men, and it was not lost on me that this was the very image most mages had held of templars: monsters.

…

The quarry was even worse than I had imagined. Instead of stone and rock, the people who'd been taken to work it mined bodies. All within the walls of the quarry, now more lyrium than rock, were people—or what remained of them. Both living and dead, if someone having consciousness as they were slowly consumed by red lyrium counted as living.

Suspended above the main veins of the quarry were strange mechanisms that held large red lyrium crystals, warming the earth and stone beneath, seeming to draw more corrupted lyrium from the earth. The few survivors—those not infected by red lyrium—when lucid, spoke as if the templars regarded the whole quarry as more of a garden than a place for mining. The people seeds from which red lyrium sprouted. Those that lived through the initial "seeding" produced greater and richer red lyrium than those who died. Blood was the water, the quarry the rich soil and the people the fertilizer.

Those who were mining—or in this case pruning and weeding—the quarry had either already been seeded or were waiting. Those who survived the seeding would continue to care for the quarry until the red lyrium became too much. Those who died served to feed what had already grown. Those who had not been seeded still suffered ill-effects from the exposure to the red lyrium.

It made me sick.

"What is Imshael's role in all this?" Michel mused aloud at my side. "What has it to gain?"

"You said it was a demon of desire?"

He clenched his jaw. "It claims it is a spirit. A spirit of choice to be precise."

"Choice?"

He glanced at me. Though we were certain we'd cleared the quarry of threats, we stood ready. He held his sword casually, but not loosely. My shield in one hand, sword ready in the other. Harding and the scouts were combing the quarry, looking for information. The templars were going through the quarry, giving a merciful end to any who remained conscious as the lyrium ate them. Miera and the mages saw to the survivors, guiding them back to the Tower of Bone to give them beds and food before they needed to make the trek back to Sahrnia. I prayed the return of even some of their people would restore hope.

"It offers its prey a 'choice'. Or what it believes to be a choice. It offers you what you want most at the cost of something that will benefit the demon."

"So it makes a bargain. A contract." I gripped my sword tightly as memories of the demon played in my mind. "It sounds no different than any other desire demon."

"Be wary, Commander. While it may operate the same, it is far craftier. And far more powerful. Despite offering a deal, it still fooled me into freeing it when I refused. And this demon…it did things that were far more akin to man than to demon."

"What do you mean?"

"A demon, no matter its evil, is still a spirit. Influenced by emotion. Limited by it. Imshael was creative. It killed in a way that I would not have considered a demon capable of thinking about."

"I know the craftiness of demons well enough."

He shook his head. "It is hard to explain. Just know that you cannot underestimate Imshael."

…

The quarry dealt with, the people safe at the Tower of Bone camp, it was down to Michel, the Battalion and I to storm Suledin Keep. We readied ourselves, checking over weapons and armor. I stood before Meira, checking over her armor, tightening buckles and ensuring there was no damage to it. Straightening, I found her looking to the keep.

"Suledin means 'endure' in the elven language," she spoke almost wistfully, "Well, Solas would say it is 'the concept of finding strength in enduring loss or pain' as the elven language is more conceptual than definitive." Her lips twitched with the ghost of a sad smile. "Given that each elven place I've visited has held lovely surprises for me, I wonder what this one will hold?"

"Given our luck, love, I doubt it is anything good."

"Ever the optimist, my lion," she gave the barest chuckle.

"Just promise me that we will face it together."

She met my eyes. "And promise me that no matter what happens, you will trust me."

"I do trust you."

Laren approached us, we stepping apart as she did. "Lieutenant, may I speak with you?"

Miera nodded, a final glance my way. I noticed that with Laren was a handful of elves. They huddled with each other, speaking animatedly. Meira was both concerned and relieved by whatever they were discussing. Barris approached, the group falling into a hush. Barris saluted to Meira, spoke and Meira nodded. They were ready.

I gave final orders to Harding and the soldiers to look after the people and move them when they were ready. I instructed Harding to send a message to Skyhold to request aid be sent by our friends in Orlais and to alert Dagna and the mages about the red lyrium here. All that seen to, we faced the bridge that would lead us to the keep.

"Why have they not sent reinforcements? Or this Imshael more Shades?" I questioned aloud as we marched.

"Perhaps they simply wait for us now," Michel spoke, "Perhaps Imshael has convinced them to let it make a deal with the Inquisition."

"Can you sense anything, Lieutenant?" I questioned Meira.

She shook her head. "The demon is blocking the spirits from seeing anything."

"Then we need to be prepared for anything."

As soon as we came close to the doors of the keep, they burst open, two great behemoths of red lyrium roaring as they stormed out. We scattered, but Meira let out a bellow before she slammed her fists upon the ground. In her wake, ice exploded and swallowed the behemoths, freezing them solid. With another shout, Meira threw dozens of shards of ice at them, shattering them apart before she raced inside, that magical armor fading away, Ghilani on her heels.

The rest of us followed, I exchanging a glance of worry with Solana. It was the same as we made our way through the keep. Meira charging ahead, an unstoppable force of ice. Her body encased in it. If templars stood in her way, she shifted into her Halla form and barreled though them, freezing them if they came in contact with her. The rest of us swept behind her, making quick work of them.

We kept as close behind her as we could, following the sound of her battle cry, something driving her forward. Almost as if she were frightened. There were too many red templars within for me to speak with her, wave after wave. We pressed further in, spotting what seemed to be experiments along the way. Meira grew more frenzied the further we went, using her magical armor to bolster her power, but as we drew nearer to the top, something changed.

She was humming some strange tune, her body slowing. We cleared another area and climbed up more stairs. Meira let out another cry, but this was one of pain. I heard the humming coming from behind and beside me. All those humming the song were elven. Meira cried out again and I went to her, standing at her side, my shield up.

"Please turn back," I pleaded, as I met the blade of a red templar.

"I can't," she panted, "You won't be able to face the demon without me."

"Lieutenant, something is happening. You and the other elves—"

"I'll be fine."

She ran ahead and I followed. Fighting our way through, we eventually spilled into a courtyard, panting, exhausted. But as we did, the last of Meira's strength gave out. She cried out in pain, Solana catching her before she fell to the ground. But Solana fell too, crying out. All of the mages followed suit, holding their heads, their skin blistering.

Above and strung all along the courtyard was red lyrium, mechanisms like those in the quarry. The heat was stifling, the angry whisperings deafening. Beneath the red lyrium were more red templars, these impossibly more monstrous than those we'd faced before. And in the middle of the courtyard, beneath the largest crystal—

"Ah, the heroes arrive," a suave voice spoke, "But are they heroes or murderers? It's so hard to tell."

The voice belonged to a man. Simply dressed, plain in his features. Nothing notable about him at all, save the oppressive malice that emanated from him. And to his left, his strange armor glowing, filling the air with the fumes of red lyrium—

"Samson," I growled at the same time Michel barked, "Demon".

"Ahem," The plain man, whom I assumed was the demon, Imshael, clicked his tongue. "Choice. Spirit."

"Whatever you may call yourself, you are a demon. And I am here to undo my mistake," Michel promised.

"And you've brought friends, I see. They're very violent. It's worrying," Imshael feigned anxiousness. "But I, too, have friends. And they are even more violent." This caused the Red Templars to laugh. Samson's lips in a haughty smirk as he looked at me. He raised his chin a fraction, a challenge. His eyes were almost completely red—irises and whites. "However, true to my name, I will show you that you have a choice. It doesn't always have to end in blood."

"No," Michel pointed his blade at the demon. "You will not talk your way out of this."

"I talk my way out of nothing," Imshael shrugged, spreading his hands in a non-threatening display. "It is as simple as this: we don't fight, and I grant whomever convinces the others to stand down power. Shower them with riches. Or maybe virgins. Their pick. Then we all live happily ever after. Well, not all of us. But who's counting?"

"Virgins?" Samson chuckled as he raised a greasy brow.

"Admittedly, I should really stop offering virgins. Everyone always chooses them, and I can never find any." This made Samson and the Red Templars laugh again. The demon's eyes landed on me, his mouth curling with a serpentine grin. I fought the urge to recoil, to grab for lyrium on my belt that wasn't there, as I felt the all too familiar tendrils of the demon whispering through my mind. It made my skull ache. "Oh wait. There's one. My, my how is that possible? You've had nigh endless suitors and yet you still—Oh, oh I see." His eyes flicked over me and then to Meira. "Oh, this is delicious. You'd be a fine prize, but…" He cackled. "Really, Michel, are you still uninterested in what I offered to grant you all those months ago? I can still do it, you know. Or have you changed your mind, Michel? She is rather lovely, isn't she? Ears and all." His eyes flicked again to Meira.

"Shut up!"

"Oops, struck a nerve, did I?" His smile widened, his eyes searching. "What about you, Solana?" Imshael called, making a show of looking for someone amongst our group. "You came here under the guise of aiding your friends, but we both know what it is you truly seek. Convince the others to stand down and I will reunite the two of you."

"Sol-Solana?" Samson questioned, his haughty demeanor faltering for just a moment, his red eyes searching.

"Oh, yes," Imshael said with delight in his voice. "Your little Fireheart joined the Inquisition. Of course she wanted them all to believe that it was for some noble purpose. Some desire to see mages and templars come together. But in truth, it was all to get to you, my rascally friend." His smile broadened at Samson's dumbstruck look as he found that it was Solana holding Meira up. Solana's coffee eyes glared at the demon, but she offered no defense for herself. Meira stirred at the demon's words."Seems I've spoiled the surprise."

Meira struggled to right herself, stumbling, as she shoved Solana off of her. The temperature of the air plummeted, frost coating my armor. Meira shouted as she looked at Solana, "It was him?! All this time, all the times your mysterious templar lover came up, you never once thought to maybe divulge that it was SAMSON?!"

"Talitha, please—" Solana begged.

"NO!" she roared, her voice not quite her own, magic in it that caused all of us to flinch. "You have lied to me again and again. Lied to me, insulted me because of the man I love when you have spoken of devotion for him?"

"I tried to tell you, but—" A sharp slap rent the air. Solana held her cheek, her eyes wide, an imprint of Meira's hand blooming across her skin.

"Shut up!" Meira spit, frost dancing off of her. Her mana was off, the sounds harsh and discordant. Something was wrong. The elves in the battalion began humming that song again, quietly, almost too quiet to hear. "This is the last time you will stab me in the back, Solana Amell. I will hear no more of your self-serving words."

Solana's brown eyes shimmered with tears, her hands reaching for Meira until she stumbled away. Solana drew her hands back, them and her head dropping in shame.

"Oh what delectable entertainment," Imshael clapped his hands as his gaze shifted to Meira, the hunger of a glutton in their light. She stiffened as his eyes settled on her. "But no, none of you thirst for something strong enough. Not enough that you would let us go free to fight another day. None save for you." He pointed at Meira. "The mortals call you Talitha. My brethren call you Fadewalker. He calls you beloved. He called you foul. But what is the one name you wish to hear most?" Meira turned at a blazing speed, despite the pain she seemed to be in, hurling a spear of ice at Imshael. The demon caught it in his hand, the force of her throw causing the air to whip behind. He shattered it as he tightened his fingers. "Naughty," he clicked his tongue as he shook his head. Meira screamed as she fell to her hands and knees, cradling her skull. "Be polite." Meira lifted her head, panting for breath, blackest hatred on her face. "Come on, now, I've asked you a question."

She bared her teeth at him, blood was dripping from her nose. "No."

"Very well, I will answer it for you—" Imshael shrugged.

"Do not dare," Meira commanded.

Imshael's smile broadened, but when he spoke, the voice wasn't his. It was the voice of a child. "Mamae."

Meira wrenched herself up, her breaths angry rasps. "Do not dare use her voice again!" Imshael only smiled wider.

"Be silent, demon," I growled, stepping towards Meira.

"Choice. Spirit," it corrected again, though its eyes didn't leave Meira, dismissing me as no more than an annoying gnat. "I offer you this choice, Fadewalker. Allow me to go free, Samson and his ilk as well, and I will do the one thing that not even your Maker has done or could do for you."

"SILENCE!"

"I will heal you. Silence those cries that haunt you. Fill your arms that feel so unbearably empty."

Rage searing through me, I made to charge the demon, but before I'd even taken two steps, I felt my body still against my will. Meira held out a hand to signal for me to stay where I was. I looked to her, finding her entire body shaking violently with rage and pain. Blood was trickling from her nose, her ears. Ice encased her fingers, the points of her ears, the ends of her hair. Her mana was haywire, out of control, and some dark melody swirled beneath it, but she was fighting for control. I worried for her, but as she turned to look at me, her eyes were bright silver and full of sadness, an even sadder smile on her lips. "This is my fight."

I fought against her hold, but she did not release me. Her face filled with frightful retribution as in one hand her spirit blade expanded as the hilt appeared in her hand. And in the other, one of black flames so cold it froze the snowflakes falling in midair. Imshael stared her down, a gleeful smile on his face. Meira exploded, Fade-stepping across the courtyard. Samson made to attack, his armor starting to hum louder, but Imshael waved him off as Meira swung at him. Something invisible deflected Meira's blades. She swung again, and again they just bounced off of him. She let out a cry of outrage, all of us just standing, watching. I felt helpless. Useless. She said it was her fight, but I wanted to help her. Meira let out another frustrated noise before Imshael punched her in the chest. Meira flew backward, landing in a heap at my feet.

Her magic disrupted, I bent down to her. "Love, please."

She pressed herself up to her hands and knees, panting for breath. Her mouth was agape with it as she stared at the ground, at her shaking arms. I noticed that her canines were sharper. Her eyes flicked to me, they no longer the clear, pale light of stars, but blackness speckled with it, her pupils slits. "Stay out of this."

"Beloved," I whispered urgingly.

She whipped her head at me, baring her teeth. The face looking at me was not Meira's. I felt it, that darkness she'd been fighting for so long. She was losing. She closed her eyes, pain twisting her face. Then her features softened, her eyes silver once more as she blinked at me, her teeth dulling. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, "but he's too powerful."

"Then let me help you," I told her.

"Mamae! Mamae, come play with me!" Imshael antagonized again.

She whipped her head at him, a sound coming from her that was not mortal. I placed my sword on the ground and cupped her cheek, turning her to me. "Beloved, please. You don't have to fight alone."

She melted against my hand. Some emotion I couldn't name colored her face, twisting it, settling over her like a shroud so heavy it made my soul ache. "You can't. If you do, you'll die."

"And this is killing you."

She held fast to my hand, her eyes sweeping closed, tears upon her dark lashes. "Do you trust me?"

"Come, beloved, she wants us to play with her," Imshael spoke again, this time with my voice.

"I do," I choked out, "But you promised me. You promised me that we would face this together."

She clutched at my hand, pain in her face. "Then trust that I have a plan. And wait for the opening."

"What do you mean?"

But she was gone. She'd moved so fast, my eyes were unable to see her. I searched frantically, as did Imshael, his cool mask slipping for just a moment.

"Shall I?" Samson questioned.

Again, Imshael shook his head. "She will give in. It is what she wants most. Like a starving man sat before a feast. A caged bird whose door finally opens. She cannot deny this desire. This one chance to see it rewarded. She knows I can do it. It would be fool—"

A blade appeared at Imshael's throat, then a hand, an arm and eventually Meira was revealed. That armor of a metal that seemed alive swirled upon her before slowly fading away once more. She was utterly terrifying, silver eyes lit with magic, ice magic swirling about her. "No. You die, demon."

Just as she was going to drag her blade across its throat, Imshael, oddly, began humming. "Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm." Meira froze. Her mana silenced. Slowly and unnaturally, almost as if she were a puppet, she withdrew her blade. She was fighting, I could tell, but part of her knew there was no winning this fight. Her eyes met mine, unbearably sad. Terror gripped my heart. "Trust me."

But with her assurance as she mouthed those words, I watched as her beautiful face twisted into something dark. Her silver eyes filled with ink. Her canines sharpened. Her entire being was enveloped in darkness. A great crack hit my ears, the sound painful as the whole courtyard was covered in ice. Those black eyes locked onto me and I slipped from conciousness.

…

"It seems nothing can break you," an oily voice sneered. No. Maker, no. "Not even Desire's loveliness tempts you." I was on my knees in that magical cage, feeling its hum as much as I heard it. I cried out as I felt malicious claws in my mind. "You are a difficult one. Such resolve. But I think Reyna, dear girl, didn't delve deep enough. Thought only of the superficial, the flesh. Not that I can blame her, really, so many mortals are driven by their fleshy needs. Oh, but not you. Not you. Or her." I cried out again as I felt those claws pluck something from my memories and drag it out, just as I felt something sharp drag across my skin, hot blood pouring out.

I blinked my eyes open. Before me stood Uldred, but in his eyes was something so malevolent and inhuman it was hard to maintain eye contact. I was strung up by some magical force, armor gone. He glanced down at me, removing his hand from where a taloned finger had been cutting into my skin. But instead of the blood flowing down, he conducted it, caressed it on the air and gently guided it. His fingers twirled and with it, a circle filled with blood formed. That thing he'd plucked from my memory played out in its middle.

It was my siblings and I at the lake. I was young, we were playing templars and apostates. It was the day I declared I wanted to be a templar. "When I'm older, I will be a templar," I heard myself say, "I will be a knight who protects people."

Uldred stuck a finger into the blood, pinching at something. He moved his hand back and forth, memories playing out in dizzying speed. The times I had watched templars before deciding I would become one. The times after where I had trained with them. My own training. After. Now. It was all melding together, my head splitting.

"I see," Uldred spoke, "You became a knight in order to protect. Because you believe templars to be noble. Because you believe mages—nay, magic—is something people need to be protected from. You believe it dignified." He continued watching the memories. "I suppose you're not wrong, it is dignified in a way, even if some of your lesser brethren use it to abuse the mages in their charge. But not you."

"It's my duty to protect them, demon."

"Ah, yes. Duty. Such a funny word. To feel morally obligated." He gave a small nod, as if in approval. "Again, you do believe it." He met my eyes. "I dare say you are honest and noble, templar. Not usual for your ilk."

"Every templar here embodied those things. Until you and your ilk slaughtered them."

He smiled, almost patiently. "And naive, it seems."

"Begone, demon. I will hear no more of your lies."

His smile fell sharply. "I am Pride, boy. You will not dismiss me so easily. You will listen, or I will kill you. And that girl you love."

My eyes went wide. "She…lives?"

He smiled again, more malicious. "For now. So long as you cooperate."

"What do you want from me?"

His smile widened, beyond what was natural. I shuddered. "To learn."

I recalled it all. Every question, every cut, every rifling through my mind. Each causing it to fray more and more. Pride was a scholar and I its object of study. It wanted to learn, but not to better itself. It wanted to learn how to break me. Because every question had to do with me and nothing else. Wearing me down, bit by excruciating bit. I began to forget. Forget everything except why I was a templar. Why I had become a templar. Why the world needed templars. The answer for each was the same: to protect people from magic. Again and again he scoured my mind, looking for something, but coming up empty. Until at last, my mental guards fell away, I too exhausted, too weak and too broken to keep them up.

Pride plucked at the blood before it, I crying out as my mind felt so worn that it could shatter. He let out a noise of triumph. "Ah, there it is."

Before him played out both a memory and a thought. It was the first time Meira and I spoke. I had gone to bed that night trying not to think about her and failing. With a sigh, I allowed myself to pull out thoughts I had forbidden myself from having for many, many years. Thoughts of the life I could've had if I had not become a templar. Thoughts of what life could be like if templars weren't needed. Thoughts that asked the question, why were we needed?

The Chantry taught it was because people—both mage and non-mage alike—needed to be protected from magic. But during my time in the tower, the question had dripped in the back of my mind. Unanswered as I watched the mages, all the way from the children to Irving, lead normal lives. They learned how to control their magic and did so, without incident. Those who questioned their ability to wield magic chose Tranquility of their own accord. The few who were discovered to be dabbling in blood magic were stopped and reviled by their own. The mages and templars agreed on the dangers of magic.

I had begun to doubt.

Cracks in my armor, in my worldview formed. And as much as I tried to patch them up, they simply kept growing. The Chantry and the Order abhorred blood magic, yet they used it to create phylacteries to keep control over mages. The Order claimed it was created to protect people from dark magic, to stand between the demonic and the innocent and yet they summoned a demon to try and tempt mages during their Harrowing. If they failed, they were cut down. We claimed mages were dangerous and yet I saw the dangerous and malicious mages to be the exception, not the rule. Yes, evil magic was dangerous, but was all magic evil?

And with that question, I allowed my mind to wander to her. What would it be like if life were different? I just a boy and she just a girl with beautiful and kind magic? If we'd met under different circumstances? I'd begun to allow myself to picture it, visiting it from time to time. Meeting, falling in love, I wooing her with courtly pursuit. Winning her heart and her hand. Marrying her. Owning a farm, working it, side by side. She using her magic to aid both ourselves and those around us. I using my hands not to harm, but to create and grow things. The life I had left behind.

It was not what my heart truly wanted, at least, not when I'd set out to be a templar. I'd wanted to serve. To serve something greater than myself. To serve the Maker. To make my family proud. But as I'd allowed myself to doubt, I began to wonder if I could do so by changing things. Perhaps I could steer the templars and mages within the tower to a better future. With her at my side. I set aside the dreams of a different life and began to dream of what could be here. It filled me with purpose. The want for a better future. It drove me.

I was able to reconcile my doubts, my sympathies, with what I had been conditioned to believe. What the lyrium compelled me to believe. People did need to be protected from magic, but perhaps there was a better way. In fact, I was certain there was a better way. While I doubted the words of the Order and the Chantry, I did not doubt that magic was meant to serve, just as I was meant to serve. And it was something that perhaps templars and mages could accomplish together. It had been a noble dream. One I had asked her to join me in pursuing. A light in the dark of doubt.

Or so I thought.

Until that doubting had led me to overlook dangers. Until the leniency and trust with which we templars had conducted ourselves within Kinloch Hold was betrayed. Until the majority of the mages had chosen to side with Uldred and revolt. Until the warnings of the Chantry and the Order that I had begun to doubt and ignore came to pass. I had been a fool, thinking that I knew better.

"Honest. Noble. Naive. Tell me, templar, why do you doubt?"

"I never should have," I spit, thinking of my friends, everyone who'd died. Because of magic. I glared up at him. "I doubt no longer."

"Oh? And why is that?"

I bared my teeth. "Because the Order was right."

He smiled broadly, teeth showing as malice burned in his dark eyes. "And so it was."

I screamed as his tendrils within my mind ripped at it. Coloring those dreams black. But it wasn't him, not really, it was my own mind. My own fear and hatred telling me that magic could not be trusted. And because of that, mages could not be trusted. She could not be trusted. Even if he told the truth and she lived…

"Tell me, templar, what would you like to do about the mages now?"

I thought of her. Her loveliness. And then watched as she used magic, felt it manipulate the very reality around me, the lyrium within me recoiling at it. Her face twisting into an abomination in the illusion the demon played out for me. Neria was good, but she was a mage. And her magic…

That was what the Order warned about. Because she had magic, she was always at risk of becoming a monster. And now? She'd been under the influence of blood mages. Just as I had. My mind was coming apart. Hers—theirs—had to be as well. And for a mage to lose themselves…

I looked at Uldred. To lose themselves was to loose a demon. He'd done it willingly. And she…how long before she did too? Before they all did? And even if they didn't give in…I looked to the bodies of my friends, mutilated and mutated by demons being forced within them. How many of them were possessed anyway? What would they unleash upon us? Upon the world?

I growled. "Wipe their taint from the face of Thedas."

He cackled, gleefully. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Tell me, templar, what nobility is found in slaughtering people for the threat they might pose? Tell me, templar, what honesty is there in slaughtering people out of fear? Tell me, templar, where has your naivety brought you?"

Templar. Templar. Templar. What's my name?! I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember anything beyond the terror of the tower. The death, the screams, the pain. All of it, everything needed to be ended. Even that dream.

"To the end."

"And so it arrives."

With that, he left, and all that remained behind him was a boy once full of ideals, utterly gnarled and shattered. The pieces of himself unrecognizable. I could remember nothing outside of one thought: Protect people from magic. Nothing else is real. Is true.

And then she'd returned, the demon, with her. Neria. A mage. With magic. The demon called me to bow to her in order to spare Neria. Protect people from magic. I knew my duty. And I would never question it again. So I thrust that sword into her gut so hard it punched through the demon.

And with it, that light of hope snuffed out.

"But that isn't where your story ends," a voice spoke. A familiar voice. "It's where it began."The memories faded away as before me stood Purpose. "For slowly but surely, you've worked your way back to that purpose. And because you lost it once, you pursue it in earnest now. It defines you. And what has drawn me to you. But you can't do it alone. Because she is the one that made you hope it was possible." He offered me a hand. "It is as you said, there is no purpose without hope and there is no hope without purpose."

"If you're here, that means she is not lost."

He shook his head. "No, she is not lost." He flashed me a wide grin. I noticed there were wrinkles in his face now, grey in his hair. "Your beloved is clever. Very clever. All of this was by design. I cannot say more lest I risk her plan, but you must call her back from the precipice."

"How?"

"Remind her of her promise."

With a gasp of air, I came to. The scene before me took a moment to register. All the elves that had been with us were now attacking their comrades. A glazed look in their eyes, smiles on their faces as they hummed that same strange song the demon was humming. Even as they cut down their friends, their blood splattering on their faces, they kept smiling. Meira was different. Still being used as a puppet, but there was no glazed look to her eyes, no smile. What was on her face was malicious glee.

Several members of the Battalion were on their knees, grasping at their heads, screaming and crying. I could only guess they were where I had been. A moment of wrestling with doubt and losing. She had them caged within their own memories, feeding off of it. Solana's screams were the worst, tearing at my insides. And Doubt's eyes were transfixed on her, vengeful.

"I can shield you only for a few moments more before she realizes you've broken free," Purpose spoke in my mind.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Call to her."

"What about Imshael? Samson?"

"She said to look for the opening."

At those words, I watched as Ghilani bounded for Imshael. The demon too focused on keeping his concentration on Meira, he didn't notice the wolf. Or perhaps the other spirits were keeping him from seeing her. I looked around quickly. Above us was the red lyrium which was weakening the mages and if the whisperings in my mind were any indication, distracting the templars. Following one of the chains, I saw that they were connected to strange columns dotted around the space. I ran for the one nearest me and just as Ghilani launched herself at the demon, I struck the chain.

I felt the malice settled over Meira break and instead, sensed the war within her. She won for a moment, but it wouldn't last. "Mages! Freeze the elves! Templars! Hit Imshael with everything you've got! Earth mages! Break those pillars!"

She slapped her hands together, healing magic lighting between them before she hurled it at them all. It was powerful, invigorating even from here. It pulled them to their feet. They rushed to listen to her orders. The Red Templars hesitating in the confusion causing the battalion to have a moment of surprise. They slammed together.

Imshael was cursing at Ghilani, I heard the wolf whimpering, but she did not stop biting and tearing at the demon. From Meira, all of the spirits that walked with her became corporeal and they joined the fray, attacking the Red Templars. Samson let out a shout, his armor beginning to hum, but from the crowd Solana ran at him, a great flaming demon of rage as she yelled his name. For a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. I heard Meira scream, an animalistic sound. Time was up. I felt her turn her attention to me.

"Talitha! Please!" I called.

"I will rip your heart out and feast on it, mortal," Meira hissed as she stalked towards me. I felt Purpose near, shielding me. "For all the doubt you sowed in her."

Pushing the fear down, I thought about what to do. Meira had never asked for this. I couldn't save Ella. Grandin had chosen. But Meira…'Remind her of her promise'.

"You asked me once what I would do if you were possessed by a demon," I called to her. She bared her teeth at me. "And I told you that I would do everything in my power to not let you succumb to that fate." Fighting every instinct within me, I lowered myself to my knees, dropping my sword and shield. I spread my arms wide. I could tell she wanted to kill me, but she kept that leisurely pace, as if…as if she was fighting herself. "But I also said that I trusted you to do everything in your power to never let that fate come to pass. You assured me you would. You asked if I trusted you. I said I did." She rushed at me, then, snarling. Fangs out, eyes black, a blade of shadow flame in her hand. "Assure me once more that my trust was not misplaced." Still she came, her sword swinging through the air to slash my throat. I looked into her eyes and felt the song beneath Doubt. Heard Meira's song. "You are no monster, beloved. You never were. Never have been. And never will be."

Her blade sliced through the air, the snow curling around it. I stared into her eyes, black as night. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. I closed my eyes and thought of her. Her beautiful eyes, her soft mouth against mine, her whispered "I love you", the hope that burned within her. Meira. The cold of her blade whispered against my skin and everything went white.

+ I wanted to make the quarry more grotesque than it was in-game because it was just…anti-climatic in-game given that it was their main source of red lyrium.

+ In The Masked Empire, Imshael is shown to have special influence over elves. He uses blood magic upon a Dalish clan, Felassan, Briala and it even affects Michel (as he is a half-elf). Given how scary he was in TME, I felt like he came across almost silly in Inquisition. I wanted to give him a little more of that scare-factor back in this story.

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