WARNINGS: Tough topics; violence and graphic gore; implied and depicted torture and implied non-con; NSFW

MEIRA

I knew not how long I wept, but I did until my throat was sore, my ribs ached and no more tears came. Shakily, I took up my blade. One foot at a time, I rose.
Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste.
 Letting out a breath, I slipped past the Veil to open the door. To my surprise, there was no room of corpses, no room of temptation. Instead, Pride was before me upon a dais; a throne of stone its seat.
Dead eyes greeted me, the body Pride inhabited resting his cheek upon a fist, legs sprawled before him. An elf as the others had been. His too thin lips pulled into a thin line at my entrance, a brow arching, stretching his skin taut.

"So it arrives at last," he spoke, his voice the one that had haunted my nightmares for so many weeks.
"Am I to be impressed? Or is your besting the others a sign of their inferiority?" He let out a sigh as he straightened, his fingers steepled before him.
"Decades of growing in our power, becoming some of the most powerful beings in the Fade, despite our circumstances, because of my leadership and still they could not defeat a simple mortal." He sneered at me.
"They may have kissed your feet for freeing them from their bondage, but I...I chose this, Fadewalker. And I have no intention of becoming my lesser self."

"You've yet to test me," I stated.

He scoffed. "You've no inclination to hear my offer?"

"No."

His mouth twisted up in a smirk, his chin lifting. "You tarried in desire for quite some time, but I believe that I am still correct in saying that pride is that which you truly struggle against. Tell me, mortal, am I right?"

My brow furrowed. "What have I to be proud of?"

A menacing smile spread upon his face. In a flash, he was off his throne, taloned hands digging into my throat as he pushed my chin up with his thumbs. He forced me to meet his gaze. I gagged on the stench of decay wafting from him. "Pride is so much more than that, mortal, and you know it. Do not play a fool. You are not one, no more than I."

"You wish to have conversation? So be it, demon," I sighed, shoving him away before sitting upon the floor. "I am tired. Weave your tale."

Rage flared in his dead eyes before it ebbed. "Impertinent child. No matter. You will hear me."

I waved a hand impatiently, looking away. That was my mistake. Though Pride did not sully itself with outright deception, it had still been waiting for its opening.
Pulling us within the Fade, the demon's fingers pressed into my temples. The pain causing a slip in my control, even as I tried to call Pride to its benevolent nature, allowing the demon its work.

Horror and fear gripped me as I looked upon Ellana. We were children. She was across from me, suspended in midair. Jade eyes wide, pupils so dilated her irises were nearly black. Her olive skin was so pale she looked dead as her little mouth hung open in a silent scream. Her limbs were unnaturally taut, her spine curved.
I had been angry with her as, yet again, she had been praised for her magical talent while I had been scolded; ignored. Ellana had said something, her words innocent, but they had rubbed salt into my already raw emotions. Day after day as Deshanna trained us, I did not understand why she looked at me with fear, treated me coldly, while Ellana was greeted with warmth and love. At Ellana's words, my envy, my pain had lashed out.
Magic had surged from me, slipping past the Veil and into Ellana's mind. Within, I had projected horrors. Things of the nightmares she'd told me about. Scary things. Things that would scare any child.
I regretted it as soon as it had happened, but it was too late. The images, the illusions had been too real. Ellana had screamed and screamed. I tried to stop the magic, but it had not obeyed me. I, a child without control. As I stood there, looking upon my sister whom I loved, feeling my magic hurting her, I grew frightened of the power I possessed. Understood why Deshanna reviled me and most of the clan avoided me.
Deshanna had protected them from me time and again, coming to me in my dreams to keep me away from the others. I had tampered with their dreams, willing upon them what I wanted to see. For some, it was no more than strange dreams forgotten upon waking, while others I had made into nightmares. Spirits and demons alike were attracted to my power and I drew them, Deshanna would protect me from them, but they would turn to the others of the clan.
Bad omens and visions occurred each night; had ever since our birth. The older we grew, the more my magic grew, the more the others believed I was accursed by the Creators. I was of the Beyond, my powers too, and it drew demons. I would bring ruination upon them as our leaders once had.
Deshanna, Da and Ma had rushed to where we had been playing. I heard Ma's cry of alarm; Da scolding me for hurting my sister. But it was Deshanna, the look of fear she gave me above all that told me what I was: a monster. Scarier than any that had haunted Ellana's dreams. Scarier than the demons that Deshanna defended us from because I was the one that drew them.
My power. My magic. Me.
I released Ellana then and she crumpled to the ground. Hardly breathing, skin pale, eyes still wide open in terror. Da and Ma had looked up at me and in their eyes I saw it too: fear.
The adults had argued for hours, night falling, Deshanna demanding over and over again that she be allowed to perform a ritual upon me. I'd been separated from Ellana, but had snuck back to our bedrolls.
I lay next to her, holding her to me. I had wept as I held her, begging her and the Creators for forgiveness. Only silence met me. I begged and begged, yet no answer came and Ellana remained in her frozen state.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan," I cried softly, "I will never hurt you again. I will protect you. Always."

Tiny hands shaking, hoping I could make it better, I held her head, pressing her forehead to mine. Instead of the scary things, I made my magic show her happy things. Days swimming in the lake, playing together, chasing butterflies, pretty flowers, and how much I loved her saturated it all.
I wanted to erase what I had done. Wanted her to know how sorry I was. After a few moments, she'd taken a deep breath, the terror easing and her eyes had fluttered closed. She'd snuggled into me and whispered.

"Ma serannas, Meira."

I had gone to Deshanna that night. Pulling back her tent flap, I found her standing there as if waiting for me. Her eyes held many emotions as they looked upon me, but fear was the chief of them. She said nothing, waiting for me to speak.

I wiped the snot from my nose, tears having been unceasing. "I don't want to be a monster anymore."

"But nothing could spare you from it. Your Keeper's ritual merely a dam that held back your power, made you forget. It was inevitable that it would break, and when it did, something even worse came of her hubris," Pride spoke.

I looked into the eyes of my kin as they separated to let me pass. A pack upon my shoulder, clothes and boots my only possessions. None spoke out in protest. It was the oath we had taken after the pride of magic had led to the deaths of so many of our people.
It did not matter if I were a child. It did not matter if I was more likely to die than to live. All that mattered was magic was limited within our clan.
I was weak. My magic weak compared to Ellana. I could never lead the clan, not as she could.
I looked back, Ellana had tried to escape our tent, to run after me. Deshanna held her back, Ellana's anguished cries reaching my ears. I looked a moment longer.
No matter what came, I was happy that it was me and not her. I would protect her. Always.
The days and nights of survival blurred together. Sleep eluded me, hunger my constant companion. I had no weapons to hunt, relying on the fruits of the forests to sustain me.
I wandered aimlessly, wondering why I wasn't dead. One day, winter having descended, I stumbled into a human port town. Not having eaten for days, I attempted to steal some food.

"Filthy knife-ear," a gruff voice spit, "I'll teach you to steal."

Rough hands grabbed my wrist, causing me to drop the ripe apple I'd been about to bite. The red fruit pristine against the mud causing my hollow stomach to howl. I reached out for it, trying to grab it. I was so hungry.
The rough hand only pulled harder, dragging me through the mud. I yanked away, the hand releasing me, and I fell forward into the muck. Cold mud seeped through the tattered rags that remained of my clothing. Too exhausted to stand, a shadow was cast over me.

"That is quite enough," a gentle voice spoke. "Look at the child. Surely you can spare an apple to feed one so hungry."

"The rabbit was stealing, Mother. Ain't right to steal."

"As it is no more right to deal harshly with a starving child," the voice kindly reprimanded, "What is of more value to our Maker? To deal harshly with a thief or to show charity to the starving?"

The gruff voice mumbled, but relented. "I better not see her stealing again."

Coins clinked on the wood of the merchant's stall. "She's not stealing at all. I will pay for her food. The lesson is free, however, for you to remember the next time a starving child comes to your stall." Gentle hands helped me up from the mud. "Come with me, child."

"What's your name?" I croaked, voice weak from disuse.

"Mother Surana. But you may call me Surana."

For a few glorious months, I lived within the safety of a Chantry. Provided with food and a bed. And within those walls, I heard the Chant for the first time.
It was preached that I was created by and valued by the Maker. My magic given for a purpose. That the Maker looked upon me and mourned the hardships I went through, but even they had a purpose. I wasn't sure if I believed any of it, but I found it comforting all the same.
All those months I had hidden my magic, until a contingent of templars arrived at the Chantry. There had been a few in town, but I had been able to avoid them. This group was larger and seeking beds until they moved on. They were tracking an apostate. I did my best to evade them, but it did not last.
Stumbling into a few, they had sensed my magic. Fear of them from years of being told what they had done to our clan, I ran. They pursued me. I lost them by sneaking aboard a ship.
Hiding in the dark for weeks, too afraid to come out, I starved again. I was thankful it was rainy season as I was able to drink from the rain that dripped through the slats. The ship docked and I waited until night fell to sneak off of it. I ran for a time after, putting as much distance between me and those templars as I could.
Eventually, I was too weak and too starving to run anymore. I tried to steal food again. There was no Mother to save me this time.
A knife glinted in the sunlight as the merchant hissed he'd cut off a hand because that's what thieves got. Panic rose and magic burst from me, burning the man. He'd screamed that I was an apostate.
A mob formed, pulling and pushing me into the middle of them. I fell into cold mud. I pushed myself up only to be met with so much hatred, I wished I could lay down and never wake up.

"Filthy knife-ear!"

"Magicker!"

"Someone should cut off those ears, rabbit!"

"Spellbind!"

"Cut off one of her feet, maybe it'll be lucky!"

"Maleficar!"

"Abomination!"

"Monster!"

Insults were spewed at me. Rotten food, manure and mud thrown at me. I was so numb. So beyond feeling anything. I had been unwanted and reviled my whole life. My magic the reason for it.
I didn't blame them. Even I feared my magic. I'd hurt that man without meaning to; wasn't hurting people what monsters did?
A rock collided with my jaw, cutting deeply into the skin there. I cried out, heightening the bloodlust of the mob. My bony fingers touched the wound, crimson upon my hand as I drew it back.
I looked to the crowd, hatred and fear in their eyes as they all picked up stones. I closed my own and waited; for what, I did not know. Unsure wether to pray for salvation or death. Unsure if anyone was listening. But the words sung in the Chantry came back to me.

"Maker, hear my cry," I breathed.

Warmth came on either side of me. Pressing against my body. I opened my eyes to find fire red hair on one side, dark brown on the other. Children my age or a little older had stood between me and the bloodthirsty crowd.
The mob hesitated at their appearance. Soon, others came to stand with them, protecting me. Armor glinted in the sun, the armor of a templar. I was afraid for a moment at his angry voice, but then I realized his anger was with the crowd, not me. The crowd gone, the templar approached me, hands spread wide to show he meant no harm.

"You're safe now," he said, his voice gentle.

I collapsed in the mud. I had woken to the same templar, free of his armor, and an older mage. They gave me food, explained I was now in a Circle, where I would be kept safe and taught how to use my magic. I was able to rest, bathe and eat and drink as much as I wanted. The templar, Greagoir, left me in the charge of the mage.
Irving, he called himself. He told me what a Circle was, explained why they were an unfortunate necessity, spoke to me of magic. He asked me to use it, but I refused, too afraid. He understood why I was afraid of it, even admitted to have a fear of it was not a bad thing, but wanted me to know that my magic was not a curse. It was a gift and could be used to help people if I learned how to control it.
A piece of me wanted to believe him and because I would be able to learn the truth myself, I was grateful for my life. The children that had saved me visited the next day. Henry and Elizabeth Trevelyan, the children of a templar. I thanked them for saving me.

"What's your name?" the boy asked.

I nearly spoke it, not having said it in so long. Meira Lavellan. But then memories of the day I had left came back.
No one had protested. No one had even said goodbye except my family. Ellana's anguished cries sounded in my ears.
'Meira! Meira! MEIRA!'
Tears burned in my eyes. No, I could no longer be Meira. I had vowed to protect Ellana. The clan had cast me out. I was a Lavellan no more. The last I had heard my name had been as Ellana screamed for me. So, I took the name of my grandmother who rested with the ancestors and the name of the Chantry Mother who had helped me.

"Neria Surana."

Time passed in the Circle. I sat alone in the library as I always did. Hiding behind my hair, practicing my letters as I slowly learned how to write and read Common.
I could speak it, having been taught among the clan, but I had not learned how to read or write it. The other mage children made fun of me for it and for my pointed ears. Mean boys tugged on them. Mean girls called me names. Books slammed upon the table, but I dared not look up, fearing another round of bullying.

"Seems to me, you need a friend," a familiar voice spoke. I looked up to find the dark eyes of Solana Amell. "Well, do you?" I gave a nod. "Good." She sat down across from me. "First things first. Stop being afraid of your magic. It's not a curse. It's not a sin. I see how your eyes get wide during the sermons whenever they tell us how 'sinful' we are for having magic. The Maker created us. The Maker created magic. He created us with magic. The only sin is using our magic to hurt people, got it?" I nodded again.
"Good." She stood. Coming around to me, she pinched my ears.
"Second thing. These are nothing to be ashamed of. You're an elf. The Maker created you that way. That's just how it is. Embrace it. Don't let the others make fun of you for it. You keep letting them walk all over you, they're just going to keep doing it. Stand up to them."

"I don't want to hurt them by accident."

Solana blinked. "Fine. I'll stand up to them. For now. Eventually, you'll have to do it. Or I'll make you do it. Got it?" I nodded.
"Now come on. I'm tired of seeing you sitting here all alone." Solana grabbed my hand and thus began a beautiful friendship.

Between her, my lessons, and the Chant, I'd slowly let go of the fear of my magic. Had stopped believing that I was a monster. Instead, I had come to believe the Chant, to believe in Andraste and the Maker.
Believing I was created with magic for a purpose. It a gift, not a curse. I, a child of the Maker, not a monster. It was easy to do amongst those like me. But nothing and no one in the world beyond the mages shared that belief.
At Kinloch, most of the templars had fallen somewhere in the middle. Neither zealous, nor apathetic. We not quite monsters, yet not quite mortal. Those extremes more practiced outside the Circle, according to the apostates brought to the tower. Felt in the stones that had been hurled at me alongside the slanderous insults when I was a child. The templars watched us, kept us at a distance. The occasional templar was cruel, but it was a rarity; most were merely doing their job. The grayness of Kinloch's templars had been what I was accustomed to—until Cullen.
He had been the first to treat us, treat me, as something other than a mage. We were people to him. And he wanted us to feel that we were people.
He had looked into my eyes and said the words I had wanted to hear all my life from someone other than a mage. That I was no monster. And in the same breath had acknowledged that templars could be to us what mages were to the Order. Monsters.
For a fleeting moment in time, what I had wanted to believe, what I had hoped for, had been realized in the most unlikely form. The Maker had created me as I was for a purpose; had given me magic for a purpose. And to use it was not sinful because it was a gift. He had said that. A templar.
Though the Maker, Andraste, the Chant and the Chantry were valued by us both, neither of us fully accepted what was taught as the whole truth. Admitting wrong on both sides. Yet, he was as devoted to his position as any other templar, probably more so. And that devotedness only added to the sincerity of his words. He valued the templars, knew their worth, just as I did.
For though there was fault within the Order, I knew its worth. Like a gentle voice, protective shield and a wall between me and those who hated me. Protectors against those who would wield their magic for ill.
Yes, I was a prisoner within the tower, but inside its walls I had freedoms. I had grown valued by those who resided there, both mage and templar. So long as I conducted myself well, I had no need to fear.
The mages were my friends, the templars my protectors. But always I had a wall up between them and I. The mages too angry, the templars too afraid. And I an outsider amongst both.
Cullen's words had been so genuine, so kind, they eased the fear I had held for so long: that maybe I really was a monster and we did need to be locked up. Solana had argued against it; helping me to fight that fear, but she was too angry at the templars, at the world, for me to be fully convinced. And Jowan had been too proud of his magic. The Chant said one thing, the clergy another. The templars watched us not as mortals, but potential threats.
Instead, Cullen called what the others said was a curse, a gift. Worried I thought him a monster. He had broken through that wall and my heart had opened to him. And as he continued in that genuine belief, in his kindness and care, not only to me, but to us all, bit by bit, I had fallen in love with him.

"But it didn't last, did it? He forsook you," Pride sneered.

"Uldred, that is enough!" Irving demanded.

Those of us who had survived the initial assault upon the tower were being held in the Harrowing chamber. Cullen and I separated, I not knowing what had become of him. Our hands and feet were bound by blood magic, there was no escape. One by one we had watched as Uldred tortured the others. Intent on turning us all into abominations.
Some resisted, dying before they would become a monster. Uldred called demons to possess their corpses and return down below to defend the tower from any who would dare try to attack. It was not his goal, though, he wanted mages who were yet living possessed by demons. Only they would provide the power he sought to defeat the remaining templars before going out into the world. Irving whom he wanted most of all. And I, he believed, would be Irving's undoing.

"Until you accept my gift, Irving," Uldred sneered, "It is not enough. How much will you make her endure?"

I was suspended by my wrists, Uldred using magic to hold me up. He yanked my head back by my hair. Tears streamed down my face as I met Irving's eyes. He was angry, scared and unsure of what to do. Uldred slapped me across the face, Irving wincing. I spit the blood from my mouth before meeting Uldred's eyes.

"He won't give in. No matter what you do to me, he won't give in," I promised, "And neither will I."

Uldred sighed. Magic crackled in his hands, the same as the hulking abominations that stood to his sides. Summoning lightning, he used it to torture me. The white hot pain coursing through my body. I cried out before slumping forward.

"You all act so defiant, so strong, at the beginning, but eventually you all give in…or die." He grabbed my chin and pulled my face up. "Which will you be?"

I spit in his face. He slapped me again before using his lightning to torture me more. I was screaming. Irving was shouting for him to stop.

"I won't stop!" Uldred shouted. "Not until I get what I want!" He snapped his fingers and I dropped to the floor.
"Take her back. Clearly, she needs more motivation. They are too valuable to simply kill. I will have their power, with a demon behind it!"

The abominations grabbed me roughly, my bindings replaced. Dragging me back to Irving, they flung me down.

"Stay strong, Neria," Irving murmured as the abominations dragged him to Uldred. "No matter what happens, I need you to trust me."

I watched on as Uldred tortured Irving as he had tortured me, but Irving continued to resist. Eventually, he was rendered unconscious by the pain he endured. The abominations, once mages we had known, grabbed a new victim and drug them before Uldred.
Laughter came from the stairs and we turned, finding one of Uldred's acolytes dragging a few templars up behind her. Reyna. Blood danced on the air, binding the templars' hands and feet. Instead of fear or anger upon their faces, they wore varying masks of euphoria. Uldred turned to her.

"Ah, very good my dear," he said. Observing them, his black brow arched. "And pray tell what delights do you have them experiencing?"

Reyna smiled widely, her eyes flickering to the fire of the desire demon that was housed within her. "Templars have such curious minds. So easily ensnared. So easily corrupted. I but dangle what they long for and they pledge their hearts to me."

"A little pleasure before pain?" Uldred questioned. "You naughty girl."

Reyna cackled before her eyes drifted to where we sat. Her gaze landed upon me and her smile fell, rage taking its place. "If only they were all so easily enthralled."

"Your pet still resisting you? I dare say the boy has very poor taste then. For who could say no to you?"

Reyna shifted to her demonic self. Purple flames danced like hair on a wind, great horns curved out of her head, fire eyes blazed as slit pupils stared at me with hatred. Her perfect, voluptuous body made me self-conscious of my own imperfect one, even if her skin was a shade of deep purple speckled with sparkling silver like freckles.
Clawed feet stepped, her generous hips swaying, tail flicking, the fabric-like skin of her legs shifting. A thin crisscross of fabric sat atop her hips, falling to barely cover what was below. Clawed hands moved along the soft plane of her stomach and up to her impossibly endowed chest that was even less covered than the rest of her. Gold jewelry fell from her neck, tinkling with each step she took.
Everything about her was meant to distract, enthrall, entice. All the while what she was remained obvious. Her very full lips parted into a smile, revealing fanged canines.
As she came to me, she licked her lips, her gaze hungry. Raising a hand, she beckoned me with a finger. Unable to resist, my magic bindings carried me to her. Her clawed hand raised my face to meet her fire eyes.

"One who has tasted genuine love," she murmured, her voice dripping with sensuality as she answered Uldred. "Sadly, no temptation born of lust can easily slake the thirst that love stirs." I met her eyes, within their flames that shifted from the shades of fire to burning amethysts sat the promise of every dark desire, every yearning, every wish, every ache and impulse I'd ever had and resisted. Her smile widened.
"Not easily. But what is more enticing than flirtation with lust? More exciting than foreplay before the climax?" She came closer to me.
"Better tasting than the forbidden fruit?" Her clawed nails dug into my throat.
"Such innocence. Such honor. Such resolve. How much more delicious it will be when one of such purpose breaks."

Her claws raked across my flesh, cutting into my throat. It itched as blood rushed to the shallow wounds. At my bleeding, she stepped back, moving her hands through the air. With her hands conducting, my body moved against my will. My hands went to my throat and began to squeeze.
Squeezing harder and harder until I was unable to breathe. My legs flailed, black creeping into my vision, my body panicking, but my mind could not order my hands to let go. Cruelty lit her eyes and I squeezed even harder.

"Enough!" Uldred ordered. "Her raw potential is too great. Do not kill her."

My hands released my throat, her cruel pleasure fading to a pout. "I wonder if he would pledge himself to me if he saw you die before his eyes? Seeking comfort in my arms to balm his grief? Or would he do it to protect you? An enticing thought."

She flicked her hands, my blood dancing upon the air before forming into tendrils. The tendrils shot out, grasping onto something invisible as they pulled. The Veil tore asunder, opening to the Fade. In horror, I watched as she brought forth more desire demons. They greeted each other before turning to Uldred and bowing in respect.

"Go," he nodded, "See to your plaything." He looked to the others she had summoned. "Once you've had your fun, Sloth will need their assistance. Besides you, he is our best aid in keeping the blood and hosts fresh. Keep them sedate, placated until their use comes."

We watched as they left, before Uldred called our attention to the templars she had brought to him. Before we even realized what was happening and with no mercy, he slaughtered them. Uldred's form falling away to reveal the demon beneath. Craggy skin crackling with electricity, great horns, and many eyes towered above the templars.
Pride snapped its fingers, bringing them out of their illusions spun by desire. Confusion colored their faces before Pride began to butcher them. One he tore limb from limb, his screams clawing at my insides. He used his blood to attack the others. Tendrils of blood forced their way down their throats, ripping out organs. Another clawed at her face as crimson poured from her ears, eyes, nose and mouth until she drowned in her own blood.
With their blood, he summoned forth more demons. As he did, their bodies were dragged into the walls of the room where an amalgam of flesh, blood and bone was forming and spreading like a fungus. Shades and rage demons whom he commanded to patrol the tower, others of more power he called into the corpses of those who laid dead. They, too, were sent below. He turned, Uldred appearing once more.
Irving had come to, his breathing shaky. Hoisted into the air as I had been, restrained by magic, I cried out to him as he endured Uldred's torture. Lightning surged through his body time and again. I knew not how the man had the strength to endure, but he did. Each time refusing to submit.
Uldred was growing more and more impatient. As Irving resisted yet again, I watched as Uldred's hand shifted from human to demon as he lacerated Irving's side. Blood poured from the wound. Uldred stooped to run his fingers through it before standing and bringing his hand to his face.

"Tell me, Irving, will you submit to spare any of your pupils? These children you claim to love?" Uldred taunted.

Calling upon the blood in the room, Uldred lashed out upon the other mage. He was young. Had just passed his Harrowing a few weeks before my own. His enchanter's robes shimmered brightly, such a contrast to the darkness surrounding us. He screamed, his body convulsing as dark magic lit around him. Glyphs of summoning painted his skin. Uldred was summoning a demon into him.
Irving cried the boy's name, but did not submit. Before our eyes, he became an abomination. We had witnessed Uldred's acolytes willingly become the corrupted creatures, but this was the first unwilling he'd turned. The abomination rose, awaiting orders.

"I do so hate such wasted potential. Not nearly as powerful as when the host is willing." He shook out his hand. "Uldred fought, but eventually gave in. It diminished some of the power within him, but what he lacked, I made up for." He turned to Irving. "If you will not submit willingly, what will blood make you do? Will it drive you to end this suffering?" Uldred mused aloud. He reached his bloodied fingers out, painting Irving's forehead with symbols.
"Let us see how strong you are." Irving went pale, his eyes wide and his body taut. Uldred snapped his fingers and Irving fell. Uldred pointed a finger at me.
"Bring her here." The abominations lifted me and dropped me in front of Irving.
"Now, Irving, be a dear and stab her."

Uldred dropped a dagger in front of Irving. In horror, I watched as the man I had come to love as a father grabbed the dagger and plunged it into my leg. The stab was painful, but not deep.

Uldred clapped his hands. "Such a good boy, Irving. But you're still resisting. Now do it again. Harder."

Irving fought, his hand shaking, but eventually followed his order. Stabbing in the same place, deeper and harder. He stabbed again and again. Each time his hesitation becoming less, but he never drove the blade any deeper. Somehow he had missed any major veins, the wound not fatal.
I yelled for him to stop, trying to draw him out of the hold the blood magic had on him, but to no effect. Uldred bent down, his dark eyes meeting mine as Irving drove the blade into my leg once more.

"Will

you obey me and free your beloved Irving from this servitude?"

I bared my teeth. "Never."

"Very well." Uldred shoved his fingers into my wound. No matter its lack of severity, it still seared with pain. I vomited upon the stone floor.
"Disgusting," Uldred hissed as he painted my forehead with my blood.

When next Uldred spoke, his words seemed to drip with honey. Shifting from his nasal tone, to a sweet voice. A voice I had not heard in years. Ellana.
Washing over me like the sweetest lullaby. Promising all I wanted if I just listened. Promising I would see her if I just obeyed.

"I want you to walk down the stairs, out the door, up to the templar named Cullen and stab him in the heart," the enchanted voice sung.

I felt something cold and heavy pressed into my palm. Standing, pain seared in my leg for a moment before it was covered over by a drifting sensation. The tower melted away. I was surrounded by dreams. One foot stepped in front of the other, heavy and light all at once.
I had to listen to the voice. Had to if I wanted to hear it again. But it wanted me to hurt someone? Another step. And Ellana? She would not be here. She wouldn't want me to hurt someone. Another step. This isn't right.
Another step. It wants me to hurt Cullen. Who is Cullen? Another step. Warm eyes, kind words, gentle voice. Another step. I don't want to hurt him. Another step. I won't hurt him. I stopped. Pain licked up my leg and I let out a yelp before collapsing.

"You're impossible!" Uldred shouted exasperatedly.

Rough hands dragged me back to the others as reality returned. I looked to where Irving was still hunched over. His body was shaking.
Uldred turned, rubbing his chin as he tried to decide who next to let Irving hurt. Irving lifted his eyes to mine as he mouthed the words 'Trust me'. He had been pretending.
That was what we all needed to do. Pretend. Pretend we were giving in to the blood magic. We needed to stall for as much time as we could. To what end we did not know, but we had to hope. Hope that the Maker would save us from these monsters. For we knew not how long we endured. Many of us fell, to either death or possession, until there was only a handful left.
We watched on as another was tortured, giving in to Uldred and becoming an abomination. But as he did, someone ascended the stairs, drawing Uldred's attention. A beautiful woman dressed in the armor of a Grey Warden. Forest green eyes, ivory skin and dark blonde hair. Wynne was stood by her along with a few other companions.
Uldred had sneered at the Warden, assuming his victory. Irving revealed how we had been pretending to give in to the blood magic, revealing Uldred's plan to create an army. Pride and the Warden fought, Uldred once more trying to use blood magic to control us.
Weakened from lack of food, water and blood loss, I would not be able to resist this time as I heard the blood magic's call. The Warden used the Litany of Adralla and the call silenced. We were freed.
Thanking the Maker, we watched as the Warden and her companions defeated Uldred and his demons. Caring for Irving and those of us who survived, Wynne and the others helped us down the stairs and through the tower back to Greagoir. Next to him had stood Cullen. I met his eyes, but in them was no longer the warmth and kindness I had been accustomed to, had come to love.
Instead what I saw in them was what I saw in all the other's: fear.

"So you chased after him to prove to yourself that you were not a monster," Pride whispered, "but instead you fell into hisclutches. Where, bit by bit, your false hope was peeled away until the truth you feared was laid bare."

"You see, little elf? You see what your disobedience has wrought upon this sweet girl?" Alrik goaded over the screams of his victim. "You see what you make me do?"

I wrapped my fingers around the chains holding me to the stone wall, my body shaking in the aftermath of his smite and from the screams reverberating off the stones. The cold damp bled into my skin, stinging the fresh wounds in my back. A whip in Karras's hand the cause. The iron and salt scent of my blood mingling with the dank musk.
His victim screamed again, drawing my eyes to his cold, dead ones. Blue so devoid of humanity, even demons could not rival them. As he exacted his punishment upon her, his gaze never left mine.

"Tell me, little elf, do you see the truth of it yet? 'Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond'," he quoted as he hurt her.

"Stop!" I pleaded. "I disobeyed. Punish me, not her!"

He ignored me, a cruel smile curling his mouth beneath his goatee."You thought to disobey me? To use your accursed power against me? Against one of the Maker's own soldiers?!" She cried out again.
"You no doubt ensnared the poor knight-captain with your magic. Just as you all do. Weaving your spells to seduce us. Trying to spread your disease. Then you followed him here when he thought to escape.
"Nearly succeeded in enthralling him once more before I stopped you. Would have had to kill you both, but I kept your taint in check, preventing it from rotting this Circle to the core." He yanked the woman's head back by her hair, pressing his lips against her ear, his eyes unyielding.
"Tell me, my sweet, is she foul?"

Brown eyes, wild with fear, met my own. Guilt lacerated my insides. "She is."

"Is she corrupt?"

Tears spilt over her bruised cheeks, mingling with the blood from the cuts he'd nicked into her flesh. Shame pulsed along my bones in cadence with my heart. "She is."

She cried out as he continued his torture. The cold metal of the chains bit into my palms as I gripped them harder, trying to will the strength to stand, to fight, to do anything.

Fury rose in his eyes. He pulled out his dagger, pressing it against the woman's neck. "You wish to call yet more judgment upon her? Use your magic again, filthy sinner, and see what your pride will wrought."
Meeting her eyes once more—her's full of fear and resignation—I loosened my grip and slumped to the ground, scraping my bare knees against the rough surface. This won a grotesque smile from him.
"Good little rabbit."

Withdrawing into my own mind, my eyes looked without seeing as he finished out his punishment. At the end, she called out for Desire. Begged it for power. It did not come.
She begged for forgiveness as he beat her. Abandoned by the demon and judged guilty by Alrik, he gave her an ultimatum: remain in her cell to endure more punishment or undergo the Rite and enter the Gallows. She had just tried to summon a demon, there was no escaping the Rite now. She chose Tranquility. He commanded her to beg.
I tried to block out the pitiable pleas and the momentary contempt I felt at them. I could hardly judge her for putting an end to this torture. At the very least, for wanting to put an end to feeling this torture.
His sadistic nature sated, he dragged me back to my cell. Chains chafing against the raw skin of my wrists as he pulled them up, he lowered to a squat before me. I met his gaze, as much defiance in my own as I could muster.

"Come now, little elf. I seek only to free you from your sin." He reached a hand out and caressed my face. I jerked away from him. He seized ahold of my jaw, fingers digging in to my flesh.
"And how you have sinned. You brought that upon her, driving her into the arms of a demon. It is only a matter of time until you do the same. But I can redeem you. Save you from that fate. All you have to do is ask."

Grinding my teeth, I bared them. "'All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies'." The blow was hard and fast, wresting a cry from me as I tasted blood upon my tongue.

"Don't you understand?! I am only trying to save you! To save your soul from the Void," he shouted, "To rescue you from your sin! How else do I get you to see?
"She tried to use a demon to kill me, instead of submitting to the Rite. Every mage turns to the arms of the malevolent or to blood magic in the end! It is your nature, your disease!" His eyes blazed with his madness.
"You stole from the Maker and use your piece of Heaven to harm the innocent! It is a templar's divine task, our sacred duty, to stand between you demons bound in flesh and the Maker's children!"

Blood upon my lips, I spoke again. "'Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker'."

Rage was in his eyes again, when my vision cleared. "Still you defy? And just when I thought I was getting through to you!"

He straightened, my chains slacking as he unbound me from the wall. Pulling them as he drug me out, the metal scraping the sores festering in my flesh, I cried out in protest. "Stop! Don't hurt them! Stop!"

"You bring this upon yourself," he sneered, "Upon them! Your stubborn pride so strong as you refuse to see the truth."

I began to panic as he drug me across the floor to another cell. I refused to give up, but it was getting harder and harder to fight. He'd found my weakness. Hurting others in my stead.
Each time I fought, instead of hurting me, he hurt them. And every time, in the end, when they chose to fight, they did so through the demon or blood magic. Those who lost the will to fight, chose the Rite. Yet, I remained. With each occurrence, my own will to fight was waning. I was losing hope.
Losing the hope that he was wrong. That my magic was a gift. That any of this had a purpose. That I would ever be whole again. That life would ever be worth living. Losing the hope that I would ever escape this darkness.
For something was growing within me, thriving in the shadows cast by this place. Something longing to be let out. Something tempted by the whispers of Desire, by the whispers of blood magic. Something that whispered back. And that was more terrifying than anything.

My feet clawing for purchase upon the stones, skin tearing and bleeding. As I heard that something whispering again, the will to fight surged. "You sadistic pig! It's me you want to punish not them. Leave them be!"

His booted foot stomped into my gut, pressing the air from my lungs as he leaned over me. "You did this! You've no one to blame but yourself!"

As he smote me again, the last of my physical strength gave way. Wrenching my hands up, he chained me to the wall as his next victim's pleading sobs sounded in my ears.
She tried to scramble away, but his merciless hands drug her back. The weak cry as his blade pierced her flesh tormented me. But still I fought.

"Why don't you fight?!" I screamed at her, at them all, at myself. "Our magic is no sin! We are not monsters! He is the monster!"

She said nothing. Did nothing to resist him. That shadow in me laughing.

Alrik sneered. "She understands the truth. Your magic is no sin? It does not make you monstrous?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Tell me, little Neria, what happened when your magic first manifested? Did you hurt a loved one? Did you lash out? Did you kill?"

Commencing his torture, two sets of blue eyes gazed at me. One pair devoid of anything human, the other full of despair. Reflecting that which I feared. Despair was clawing at my heart, tearing at my soul. Feasting upon the darkness growing within me.

"Tell me, little Neria, what happens each night as you sleep? You wander the Fade. Night after night listening to the whispers of demons. The whispers of your kin. You're all just biding your time, lying in wait to become a vessel."

"And those who never give in? What of them?" I demanded more to myself than to him. I was fighting harder and harder against myself with each passing day, my mind was coming apart at the seams. The painful truth I was trying to ignore sowing doubt: eventually, I would break. "In the end, you all choose to turn your gift against the Maker's children. To turn to that Void you were born of," Alrik cooed as he passed his blade to the woman.
"Show her, sweet thing."

Her shaking hand took the blade, staring at it. Her eyes flicked to Alrik, despair giving way to blackest hatred.

"Don't!" I begged her. Please, Maker, just one. Give just one more the will to fight.

Instead, I watched as she plunged that knife into her stomach. Crimson flowed out from her wound. A maddened smile stretched her gaunt face as she pulled the blade from her gut. Enchanted blood wove upon the air. Alrik sighed, clicking his tongue as he shook his head.
Pulling another dagger from the back of his belt, he plunged it into her neck and wrenched it forward. Severing tendons, major vessels, nerves and muscles. She was stunned for a moment, unable to heal herself as she wove her dark power.
He used his templar abilities to drain her of magic and cleanse the cell of it. Blood spewing from the wound on her neck, splattering us all. Her body drained of strength, she collapsed to the ground.
As I met her eyes, her mouth silently formed the question 'Why?'. In that single unuttered question, the last of my resolve to fight gave way. Why, indeed.
Why was this happening to us? Why did I continue to fight despite the harm I brought upon the others? Why had I tried to escape? To find Cullen? When I had known what would happen if I failed? Why did magic draw out his perversion? Why did we have magic? Why were we ever created?

"'Those who had been cast down, the demons who would be gods, began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth. And the men of Tevinter heard, and raised altars to the pretender gods once more, and in return were given, in hushed whispers, the secrets of darkest magic'," Alrik quoted as he bent down to her, his hands moving over her dead body.
"'But it was not worship the false gods craved. They urged the magisters to ever-greater depravity, rewarding them with power and more. Arrogance became a great caged beast in the lands of Tevinter, an emptiness that consumed all and could never be filled. To satisfy its hunger, the mage lords, at the goading of their gods, assaulted the Golden City, heart of all creation, to take the Maker's power for themselves'.
"'With magic born of mingled blood and lyrium, the Tevinter broke into the Maker's House. But the promised power did not await them there. The moment they entered the city of the Maker, their sin poisoned it," he folded her hands over her chest.
"'What had been golden turned black, and violently they were flung from the world of dreams back into the waking world. Twisted and corrupted by their crime and their magic into monsters, they fled underground, unable to bear the light of day. The first darkspawn'.
"'Those who had sought to claim Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was golden and pure turned black. Those who had once been mage-lords, the brightest of their age, were no longer men, but monsters'.
"'All that the Maker has wrought is in His hand beloved and precious to Him. Where the Maker has turned His face away, is a Void in all things; in the world, in the Fade, in the hearts and minds of men. Passing out of the world, in that Void shall they wander; o unrepentant, faithless, treacherous, they who are found wanting shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love. Only Our Lady shall weep for them," he closed her eyes.

'Twisted and corrupted by their crime and their magic into monsters.'
'Did you hurt a loved one?'
 Though I could not remember what I had done to Ellana, I knew I had caused my family to fear me. Had known the day would come when they cast me out.
'Did you lash out?'
 I had burned that man. In my fear, I had used my magic to hurt him. And in so doing, I had caused the world to fear me.
Alrik had dragged me back to my cell, her blood clinging to my skin as he pulled me through it. A last taunt to see if I would use it. That shadow begged me to, temptation strong, but I resisted. Resisted until it dried upon me, its use drying up with it.
Desire had come then. Offering escape. Still I resisted, but I no longer knew why. The demon tortured me. Those seams in my mind came apart; I falling into madness and despair.
'Tell me, little Neria, what happens each night as you sleep? You wander the Fade. Night after night listening to the whispers of demons. The whispers of your kin. You're all just biding your time, lying in wait to become a vessel.'
 When Desire next came to my cell, I had been willing to become its vessel. Willing to let it use me if only to enjoy what I longed for and I had proven Alrik right. As all the others had proven him right. A monster, a beast, tempted by a gentle hand. And at that realization, what was already broken inside, splintered apart.
I had mocked Alrik, begging for death. Laughed as his fists broke my body, knowing goading him into killing me was my last shred of hope to resist, to fight, to escape. There was no hope of me exiting that cell.
For what would leave would not be what had been dragged inside. Even if he were wrong about mages and magic, through his torture, he had birthed a demon bound in flesh. He had won.
Yet, I had lived. Nearly all hope rotting away as I went mad in the lonely dark. Whispers in the shadows my only companions. But I clung to the chains that bound me, the biting metal giving me a tether in reality. The smallest flicker of hope, barely clinging to life.
I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself. Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.
Nothing can break me except your absence.
 Cullen had found me. Carrying me out of the cell. Even as my prayers, my hope, had been realized, I was too far gone. In his arms, we crossed the threshold, Neria dying as we did.
In madness, Purpose and my shadow had vied for control, both too weak to seize it. Feynriel tried to rid me of the scars upon my mind. The shadow had lashed out. Purpose fighting against her. Lyrium seared through my being, severing my connection to the Fade.
And when I had nearly died in Haven, a spirit had approached me. Not fully knowing if it were spirit or demon, or what it would even mean to allow it to help me, I had seized the opportunity for it to give me new life. Purpose, who in his malevolent form had been my torturer, had become part of me, sharing my essence. I not a vessel, not an abomination, but still tied to the spirit.
Through that bond, I had broken a curse upon me, one that brought forth my magic—my true magic. Magic that was beyond anything I thought mages were capable of; magic that made me one with the Fade. That gave me power over others, both mortal and spirit. But that power had come with a price. In releasing it, in breaking the two curses upon me—Tranquility and blood magic—I had opened the door for the shadow once more.
'Tell me, little Neria, what happened when your magic first manifested? Did you hurt a loved one?'
I had entered Cullen's dream, witnessed his most painful memories. Perhaps even unwittingly forced it upon him. Had watched as he relived his nightmares.
'Did you lash out?'
 I had slaughtered those templars in the Hinterlands during a fit of rage, magic in control as I tore through their camp. I had left a river of blood in my wake.
'Did you kill?'
 I watched myself in Haven when the dark entity had vied for control. The Fade fully open to me through my connection to Purpose. Power beyond my imaginings tore through our enemies. I killed without mercy. But I had not stopped there. I would have killed Ellana and Purpose as well if he had not returned to the Fade, closing it off to me.
I don't want to be this. I don't want this power.
'Where is your faith?'
Where is the Maker?! Where is Andraste?! I have been faithful, but all I have received is torment! I am terrified of myself!
'What is the opposite of fear?'
'Whatever I fear of magic, I see none of that in you.'
 Then I had nearly choked the life out of him because the shadow that haunted me hated him. The shadow that haunted me was my darker self made manifest; a creature born of my madness and despair.
What am I, but a monster?

Wrenched from the Fade, I stood before Pride. His eyes looked upon me with scorn. "And in that belief, your heart gave way to pride."

"How is that pride?" I questioned.

"All your life you have been afraid of your magic. Your true magic. You let your Keeper take it from you. Grew afraid of it when you realized all you were capable of. Considered ending your own life.
"You have let that fear eat away at you as the maggots feed on carrion. You lashed out at the spirit of faith because that fear, at its core, is born of contempt for your Maker. Your faith and trust are not truly in your god, but yourself. You resist the powers you hold because you trust you know better than your Maker. You claim your god created you, gave you magic, but at every turn you fight it. Fear it. Doubt it.
"What is that but the ultimate form of pride for one who claims hope and fealty in such a god?" Pride began to laugh.
"You have stepped into the place of the god you claim to worship. Is that not the oldest conceit of mortals? To believe yourselves gods? To place yourselves upon the throne of Heaven?
"What is your Chantry, but man ruling over others, only using your Maker as a mask to do so? What is your Chant of Light, but words twisted to the betterment of those who spout it?" His dark eyes met mine, a cruel smile upon his face.
"What is your claim of faith, but a falsehood to insulate yourself from what you truly fear? What you truly believe? That you are a monster and there is no saving you from it."
With those words, he thrust his hand into my chest. Not my corporeal one, but the Fade. He reached through the Fade into my piece of it, opening that cell door and dragging out what lay within.
"You hide behind your faith. Claiming all you've endured happened for a reason. But you do not truly believe that."

"Yes. I. Do." I growled, fighting to pull her back inside.

"No," Pride argued. "You are nothing, but a broken, terrified little girl. Afraid of your powers, afraid of losing what helps you create the fantasy you call reality, afraid of facing the truth. Afraid of facing yourself." In horror and sorrow, I watched as he pulled her out. No longer shadow, but Neria. Broken, emaciated, insane. Skin and bone, riddled with scars, eyes pitch black.
"Always running, never facing. It was as true then as it is now. And your disregard for your faith had so festered that your captor helped you to birth that which you feared: a monster." As she stood before me, his malicious voice quoted from the Chant.
"'In the absence of light, shadows thrive'."
Fear gripped me with such force, I could do nothing, but watch as my broken self smiled before turning into that shadow creature.
"And instead of facing it, in defeating it when you escaped, no chains to bind you, you locked it away. Let it fester. Continued to fear. Proving him right again. You still cling to those chains in that cell! Still believe you know better than your Maker! Dirth ma banal. Mar solas ena mar din," he taunted.
"But I could help you. You were called here. You alone can bear that armor, Era'harel. Together, you could be free of all you fear, all that brings you shame. You know your Maker forsook you in that cell. You know you deserve better.
"With your shadow, that armor and I, you could become your own god. Abandon that which you claim to love, for they all forsook you. The family you were born to. The man you love. Purpose lied to you. Faith is using you. Your Maker and hope a falsehood.
"All that is true in you is that which you fear: the shadow born of your darkness. For you and she are one in the same. Become one with your shadow, wield the vessel and be free."

'The most powerful demons yet encountered are the pride demons, perhaps because they, among all their kind, most resemble men; as clever and manipulative as the desire demon, with a penchant for cruel irony that is almost human. While the demons of desire largely engage in the bribery of mortals, pride will use mortals' own best nature against them.
'Clever men outwit themselves. Strong men crush themselves. Humble men forget themselves. Jealous men fear themselves. They turn corruption and ruin into an art.'
 As I looked at my shadow-self, biting cold darkness drifting off of her full of misery and pain, those words from years of study had never rung more true. Pride had worked through my own defenses with such insidiousness that there seemed to be no arguing its logic. While it had manipulated me, it had done so with the truth...or the truth twisted to reflect my own faithlessness. My own fear.
It had taken what I valued most, my faith in the Maker, and corrupted it. Not with its hand, but my own. As if all my life had been working to this moment, my laying the path for Pride's victory brick by brick. Its logic so seemingly flawless, it would be deemed almost sensible to give in to it.
For had I not trusted in myself over the Maker in fearing my magic? Had I not done so in giving in to Desire, both here and in the past?
I had feared the path laid out for me every step of the way, doubting what I claimed to believe at every turn. I blinked at my shadow as if seeing it for the first time. And in that moment, I knew I had won.

"You're right," I said, my voice gentle, almost happy to my own ears.

Pride's contemptuous smile faltered before growing smug, triumphant even. "Of course I am."

"I have hidden behind my faith," I spoke, my words slow, "But not to insulate myself from the truth. To give me hope. Hope that through it, I would resist what I fear." I looked into the eyes of my shadow-self.
"I did not trust my Maker as I should have. But you forgot one thing, as did I. At every chance I had to give in to that fear, to become the monster, I resisted. I kept fighting." Pride's smugness vanished.
"Do you know why, demon? Because even in the midst of that darkness, I clung to the Light. Clung to the hope that I believed. Despite all the world told me, despite what I told myself, I believed the words of the Chant. Because of my faith, my hope, in the Maker's purpose for me.
"The Maker is above mortal man, virtues beyond what we can achieve and a will beyond what we can comprehend. Through all that happened, time and again He spared me. Returned my magic. Because I have a purpose that was given by Him and He will not be so easily thwarted. It is why so many are so desperate to tear Him down, to deny He exists. As those magisters attempted to do. At the behest of their gods, certainly, but did those gods simply whisper what those mage-lords already believed? That they could be gods?
"Just as you now whisper. I would be no god, but a pawn in your scheme. You would wield me and in so doing destroy all that I love, all that I hold dear. You would make me a monster."
I summoned every piece of armor I had collected from the others, that second mana pool deepening beyond my comprehension as it grew upon my skin. Power as I had never known thrumming through my being, almost too much for me to bear. But no longer was I afraid. As I stared down Pride and my shadow-self, I watched as both took a step back.
"This magic is mine. This armor a boon to face what will come. Both given to me by the Maker, as was my life. No matter the interpreter, no matter what mortal man may tell me, no matter what I fear, I believe that. 'All that the Maker has wrought is in His hand beloved and precious to Him.' 'Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him.'
"'The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace. The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."
Summoning my spectral blade in one hand and a sword of shadow flames in the other, with a thought, I pulled my shadow self back into the Fade. Throwing her into that cell and slamming the door shut behind her. I would face her in my own time, knowing now what she was and how to end it.
"All I need to know is that I am but a tool of the Maker, a sword forged in fire to be wielded by Him as He pleases. The Maker created me and I am His. All that He has guided me through, both shadow and light, He did for a purpose. To forge me into that sword. My life belongs to the Maker and whatever His purpose for me, He will see it through. When I lost all else, it was that hope, that single unbreakable chain that I clung to and continue to cling to with all I have. And no fear, no shadow born of my circumstances, no demon, will break it; will separate me from His Light.
"'For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.' 'Remember the fire. You must pass through it alone to be forged anew. Look! Look upon the Light so you may lead others here through the darkness, Blade of the Faith!'"
Turning my eyes upon Pride, I pointed my blades at him as I wreathed my body in the same elements. A being of shadow and light stood before the demon.
"My faith shines light into the Void, drawing me back. My magic is no curse, but a gift. And you will not corrupt me."
Perhaps another would have triumphed differently, but for me...
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear. I will not forget You, even if I forget myself. Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder. Nothing can break me except Your absence.
"Surrender."

Haughtiness colored his decaying face. "I am Pride! I will bow to no mortal!"

"So be it."

Pulling us into the Fade with little effort—the armor upon me made of the Fade itself, a direct link—I reached through Pride to its other nature. As I did, the Fade's reflection of the temple gave way to a tranquil garden.
Before me stood all the spirits I had faced and freed, the armor gone. I stood before them in a simple dress of white chiffon, ebony curls unbound, feet bare. Purpose, my Purpose, stood amongst them, smiling broadly. I looked at each in turn.
The spirit of peace stepped forward, her gentle face alight with her tranquil smile. Snow white hair falling in soft waves, green eyes of the olive branch full of contentment. Her dress of flowing water shimmered as she moved to stand before me.

"Freed of Famish, I am Serenity." Once more, she buckled the vambrace upon me.

The spirit that had taken Sloth's place, clad in fur armor, strode forward. Fierce eyes of pale yellow studied me. His swarthy skin rippling over his generous muscles as he brought forth his vambrace and buckled it into place.
"Freed of Sloth, I am Perseverance."

Ardor shyly walked forward, prismatic eyes unsure as they met my gaze, but a small smile sat upon her plump lips.
"Ardor, in Rancor's stead," she murmured as she placed a greave upon my leg.

Giving a small bow, Charity's red-brown eyes swept over me. He brought a hand to his armor clad chest in salute.
"Charity, in Envy's stead." Lowering to a knee, he clad me in the twin greave.

My heart aching as she looked so like the daughter I had born in Desire's dream, the spirit bounded forward, giggling. Instead of jade eyes, her's were black with flecks of gold. Clad in a dress of daisies, she danced around me.
"Once Despair, Joy greets you."

She danced back to the spirit of purpose that had replaced Desire. My Purpose, clapped the other spirit's shoulder in encouragement. He was handsome, his poise determined.
He wore armor as well, but less ostentatious than what my Purpose often wore. Joy grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. I suspected he was more what a spirit of purpose would look like; my Purpose a reflection of myself, shaped by my influence. Hair of ocher, intense eyes of pure gold, subtle power drifted from him as he walked forward.
"Once Impulse, Intent greets you."

Together, they lowered the breastplate over my head and buckled it upon my chest. All together, the armor that had haunted me became reality as it grew upon my skin. But instead of the monster I had feared would bear it, I remained.
The temple, the demons, the temptations had burned through all I was before I entered, but from the ashes, I emerged anew. My faith, my purpose, my hope rising up within me undaunted, untamed and unafraid. There was yet one trial to face, but I knew I could do so without fear now. Could do so and triumph.
Every test here had taken what I feared most, allowing me to face it and conquer. The shadow born of my darkest moments would be no different. As I now knew how I could free us both.
My eyes caught on the final spirit. She was older than the others in appearance. Silver hair graced her head, a gray earned from age and knowledge, eyes of richest sapphire.
She was dressed in midnight velvet, silver thread embroidered to look like stars. At her hip a sword of finest make sat. A broad smile stretched her lips, wrinkles lining her face. Her gaze studied me, eyes full of wisdom.

She brought her hands forward and between them sat a helmet shaped like the wings and maw of a dragon.
"No longer Scorn, but Prudence, I crown you, Fadewalker. Where the armor strides, so do we."

At that, she placed the helmet upon my head and the power granted with all the armor pieces together was unbearable. I cried out, knees buckling at the weight of it. I felt many hands helping to lift me up.
Through blurry vision, I watched the Fade responding all around me. Shifting so quickly, my mind could hardly comprehend. My heart hammered in my chest, mana and magic flowing in cadence, I hardly knew what to do. All of my innate powers sharpened and strengthened.
I sensed all of the spirits, what they were feeling, even thinking. Projections of my making played out at dizzying speed. The Fade became the Circle, Skyhold, things of my imaginings. Weapons forged themselves and disintegrated. The spirits flickered between their benevolent and malevolent selves, anchored only by the armor.

Panting as it slowed, I raised my head to meet Prudence's eyes. There was sympathy in them as she spoke.
"This armor was never meant to be worn by a mortal. Not truly. Yet, here you are. Doing the impossible."

"What do you mean?" I gasped out.

"Alas, when we were betrayed, it was our own doing. To some degree. We had forged the armor as asked. The imaginings of a madman craving the power of legends.
"We did it, under my guidance, but for our own gain. The temple built, the armor forged, the Tevinter brought his slaves here. His most beloved servant blinded by faith in the master he was devoted to, believing he was paying homage to the gods he had told his master about. An offer of peace and respect to the people who served him.
"It was all a ruse. This temple no more than a cage. A bloodbath, its decoration. Hundreds...thousands...slave after slave slaughtered to imbue the temple and armor with power.
"In a last act of defiance as his people died around him, the beloved servant called out to me for aid. We had spoken a few times, I seeking his knowledge to craft the armor his master sought. The beloved servant, his faith corrupted, plunged a blade into his master's heart just as his master stabbed him with a dagger. As the master bled upon the stones, he called upon the ichor to seal our fate.
"We had crafted the armor he sought, but for ourselves. In the hands of such a mortal, our kin would be slaves. For that is what he sought, mastery of mortal and immortal. For all to be his slaves as he passed back and forth between the Veil with armor of such might that none could challenge him.
"The armor of Andruil, his inspiration. His beloved servant had told him of her fabled armor made of the Void. He, a dream walker, in his pride began to wonder what armor crafted of and by the Fade could be capable of—and what he would gain. I, in my pride, began to wonder what that same armor and the power of a dreamer mage would grant to me.
"But we thwarted each other. In his blood, the Tevinter cursed the armor to only be worn by a mortal dreamer, us forever bound to the armor and its bearer. While the beloved servant bled, I used his blood to curse it so that only a demon could be the armor bearer."

Her eyes did not leave mine at those last words, begging me to understand.
"The two curses made it so the armor could only be worn by an abomination. A dreamer, alive, possessed by a demon." I said. She nodded.
"Then my shadow...is a demon."

"Yes and no," she offered. "But it must be enough to allow you to wear the armor." She nodded her head to Purpose.
"Between Purpose and your shadow, the criteria is met." I nodded.
"Is met, but not fulfilled," she warned.

"So what is the price?"

She gave an approving look. "You can only use a piece or two at a time, or the armor will drive you mad. You bear the power of seven spirits. Both sides of us. Each of us crafted the armor pieces we bore, imparting a part of ourselves within.
"It was meant to carry us across the Veil, our consciousnesses intact, in order for us to create bodies for ourselves. Once the Tevinter had placed the armor upon himself, calling upon the blood of his sacrifices to wield the power imbued within, I would have possessed him. The others would have come forth as free entities.
"Demons given flesh, free of any mortal binding. Instead, they were bound to the servants within the room, their half-living bodies their tombs. The dreamer binding the armor to them in his dying breaths. I bound to the beloved servant, the dreamer's final revenge. We were neither in the Fade, nor out. Only to be free when what was not possible bore the armor.
"Over time, word spread of what the Tevinter had built and mages came. In our spite we reclaimed the armor as our own, recreating the temple in the Fade. Trials set. Both mage and abomination tried, some succeeding only to fail in the end. Madness or death.
"Millennia passed. The temple, its prize, forgotten. We sat and waited for one who could do it. Who could end our eternal sentence."

Purpose threw an arm upon my shoulders. "You could have just killed them, but what did you do? You turned them. Now there is no longer the want to be in the mortal realm, but to fulfill their original purpose: to serve the armor bearer. You do not seek the power to dominate, but instead wish to use it to protect. They will not be your slaves."

Prudence's eyes glimmered. "And we could not be more thankful for it. For without us, the armor would certainly destroy you."

"But I am still missing something," I stated. "I can bear the armor, but not fully, not for any length of time. For fear of madness only?"

"Death as well," she murmured.
"Your mortal body cannot sustain the power contained within the armor. To wear the whole of it, to bear the strength of seven immortal beings, for too long would extinguish your life." He took my hand.
"You have us, Fadewalker. Our gifts are yours, but you are limited in how often and what you can use at any given time. We have placed it all upon you for a brief moment for the magic to recognize you as its bearer. It will fade when you exit the temple. Do not do so again."

I nodded. "I understand."

The other spirits appeared. All giving a salute over their chests. "Go, Fadewalker."

...

I strode out the doors of the temple, feeling as if years had passed. But as my eyes adjusted to the light of the mortal plane, I watched as dawn broke the horizon.
Night curling back as brilliant gold, bronze, scarlet, opal and amethyst painted the sky while flecks of silver blazed brightly in the remaining black; the last stars outshining their kin. Tears fell from my eyes, a smile upon my face, as a crushing weight I had been carrying for months, for years, eased.
There was only one thing left to do, left to face. To be free of those chains, that cell, I had not let go. That I had clung to in fear.

"It seems you have fought and won, Talitha," Solas's voice spoke. My gaze drifted to where he sat, surprised and yet not at his return. Ghilani resting at his feet. His eyes were intense, a small smile pulling the corner of his mouth.
"And the depth of your struggle, and victory, evident in your eyes."

I quirked a brow at him. "What do you mean?"

"They are silver."

"What?" I breathed.

"Your eyes," he repeated slowly as if to a child, "They are now silver."

"How...how is that possible?"

He cocked his head. "Such changes can occur when a mage comes into their power. I sense the change in your strength. Your willpower is tenfold, if not more, what it was before you entered the temple. I suspect some time passed for you within the Fade. Incalculable, but it has been a week since I left you."

I could feel it in my body. The exhaustion, hunger and thirst. His gaze drifted over me as I shook with the aftermath. Pain crackled throughout me as the adrenaline leeched out. Every hit, every cut, every wound I had healed making themselves known. My knees started to buckle, but I stood strong.

"And this your prize?" The armor remained for another breath before dissipating. He chuckled. "Interesting."
Grasping his staff, he stood.
"And now, Talitha, are you ready to face that which lays within you?"
Hesitating a moment, I nodded. "Very well then. We've not much time. A little over a month until we are due at the Winter Palace."

I sighed. "What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?"

He breathed a laugh. "Indeed."

"Let us be done with it," I growled.

I rested a time, eating and slaking my thirst. That done, I sat upon the ground, legs folded. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.
My Maker, hear my cry. Andraste, be with me. Give me strength.
 Just as I was going to slip past the Veil, I heard a familiar whooshing followed by a slight pop. Wrenching my eyes open, I found Cole's watery ones staring back at me. His face was worried, more full of emotion than I'd ever seen.

"Meira," he spoke, voice distant. "The lion chained. Roar silenced. No lyrium to keep the magic out, to quiet the noise. Claws pulled. Reality lost. Shame hid too well. Help me! Help me!"

He was panicking and it was hard to understand what he was trying to tell me. "What is it, Cole? Why are you here?"

His eyes focused on me. "Cullen. He sent me."

My heart stopped and then started pounding. Anger, worry and fear coiling in my gut. "What happened?"

"I can't help. He needs you," Cole murmured. "Now."

Everything went silent.

"Take care of Ghilani," I said to Solas.

"This is not wise, Talitha. You've reclaimed your magic, grown in strength, but until you face what haunts you, you are in danger."

I turned to him. "If it were Ellana, would you hesitate?"

His stormy eyes met mine, but he said nothing.

"Meira? What are you doing?" Purpose's voice questioned.

I ignored him. Ignored them all. Summoning the armor, all of it, as I slipped across the Veil, I used that power to catapult me across the Fade before it overwhelmed me.
As Purpose had done all those months ago at Therinfal, in a single step, I bound from the Oasis to Skyhold. Shooting out of the Fade, I landed within the upper bailey. Rolling across the ground, startling everyone that had been standing around. Wrenching myself up, I said nothing as I sprint for Cullen's office. Bursting through the door, I found it empty, save for Cullen's legate.

Sela looked up, surprise on her face.
"Lieut—"

"—Where is he?" I cut her off.

"He's...he's—"

"—Where, Sela?!"

"His quarters, in the main castle."

I turned and Fade-stepped from his door to the one leading to Solas's rotunda. I Fade-stepped again through the main hall and up to the living quarters. I tore open his door and threw myself inside the room. Eyes turned to me, followed by various sounds of shock and surprise. Ellana and the other advisors were inside, but I paid them no attention as my eyes fell upon Cullen.
Striding towards the bed, I sat upon it. He was buried beneath several furs and blankets. His breathing was shallow, his face gaunt, sweat beaded upon his brow. Bandages peaked over the blankets, covering wounds as they wrapped his chest. Blood seeped at his shoulder. His golden hair was dirty and disheveled, an unkempt beard upon his face.
His whole body shook with tremors. He was sickly and thin. Far thinner than I had ever seen him. My heart dropped at the sight of it; my proud lion, so strong and fierce, cowed by whatever haunted his nightmares.
But what stoked my rage was none of those things. What made me swear that the demon would regret ever hurting him, what had the others wearing varying expressions of worry, grief and anger was the abject terror upon his face. His eyes were open, though unseeing. His mouth moving with silent screams. He was trapped within his mind, in that thing within the Fade.

"Talitha?" Ellana questioned. "Wh—how—Your…your eyes."

"Why did none of you see this?" I demanded. "How long has he been this sick?!"

Josephine was crying, but she answered. "We knew he was unwell, but none of us knew how unwell. He is a private man."

"This is my fault," Cassandra growled, her voice thick with emotions, "I should not have left him."

"What are you going to do?" Leliana asked, her voice laced with rage.

I met her ocean eyes, her question causing me to hesitate. "I know what I can do. I just don't know if he wants me to."

"'There is only one who can help me. Find her. Let her help me'," Cole spoke next to me as he appeared. "Don't be afraid. He wanted you to help him. Only you can."

'Only you can'. Thank you, my Maker. Taking Cullen's hand, his ice cold in my own, I kissed his calloused palm. Pressing it to my cheek, I leaned over him to meet his eyes.
"Hold on, my lion. I am coming."

His hand twitched upon my cheek. I pressed my fingers to his temple and slipped into his mind.

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