WARNINGS: Violence and Slight NSFW

MEIRA

When morning came, we followed Svarah toward the mouth of the cave. Next to it, was a wall, the Hakkonites and people of Stone-Bear crowded at the bottom of it. The battalion and soldiers were also among them. Thane Harofsen stood upon a platform, warhammer held like a staff, awaiting Svarah.

"Thane Sun-Hair," Gurd greeted, the horns of his headdress dipping in the barest of bows that bordered on impertinence. I couldn't help but wonder if he slept in his warpaint and dress. "Name your terms."

"You will present a champion," Svarah began, "and choose one from amongst our guests."

"Is that all?"

"Aye."

Thane Harofsen scanned our people, his eyes landing on Lace. "The she-dwarf. I hear word that the spilling of blood was under her direct command. Only fitting that she be held responsible for it." Svarah looked to Harding. Lace stared Thane Harofsen down, unintimidated, and gave a curt nod. A smug smirk pulling his mouth, Harofsen stepped aside as he gestured to someone behind him. "And my champion."

The Hakkonite that stepped forward was a tall and lean hunter. Haughty in his stance, he eyed Lace. "Pray that their weak Lady can rise to the challenge, she-dwarf. For Hakkon smiles on me and the blood I have shed for him." Lace said nothing.

"At the sound of my whistle, the challengers will run at the wall and climb. First to reach the top will be victor," Svarah explained.

As one, we all turned our attention to the wall. Lace stripped down to her tunic and pants, even removing her boots, before rubbing dirt between her hands. The Hakkonite studied her and barked a mocking laugh. Svarah joined Thane Harofsen on the platform, her face unreadable. A few heartbeats passed before she put her fingers to her mouth, and blew a crisp whistle. At the sound, Lace and the Hakkonite raced to the climbing wall.

In two strides, the Hakkonite overtook Lace and leapt at the wall. Strong hands and arms pulling up a good way before Lace even began her climb. We watched as she launched herself at the rocks. The Hakkonite was nearly a whole length of himself ahead of Lace as she began her climb.

He looked down at her and barked another laugh. "I thought you small before, she-dwarf, now I can hardly see you."

Once again, Lace ignored him. Instead, she grasped onto a rock that was jutting out with both hands, searched above her and then threw herself up with a grunt. She grabbed onto another purchase and closed a decent gap between the two of them. Cheers broke out. She did the same again, but the Hakkonite remained ahead.

"The she-dwarf seems tired already, Thane Sun-Hair," Harofsen mocked, "What offering shall you make to me?"

"The test is not over."

"It will be soon enough."

With another grunt , Lace launched herself up, bare feet scrambling along the cliffside and sending her further up before her hands grasped another rock. What she lacked in stature, Lace was making up for in speed, but would it be enough?

"Come on, Lace," Cullen breathed, "Andraste, give her strength."

Lace kept throwing herself from purchase to purchase, scrambling up further with her feet in between each move. The Hakkonite looked to see that she was gaining on him. He tried to throw himself further up the climbing wall, but this was where Lace had the advantage: she was lighter. Where the Hakkonite grabbed, the rock gave way, causing him to slide and lose some of his lead.

Lace took her opportunity. Faster than before, she scurried up the wall, using hands and feet to push the gap between them closed and then climbed past her opponent. The Hakkonite let out a growl of frustration as he clawed his way up trying to catch her. The Hakkonite was a skilled climber, but Lace's petiteness lent more purchases to her—ones too small for the Hakkonite to use.

Soon enough, she was ahead of him, the top of the wall close. We cheered her on and I prayed for her victory. The Hakkonite gained, but not fast enough. With a final cry, Lace threw herself up and grasped the top of the wall. With a grunt, she pulled herself up just as the Hakkonite grasped the ledge.

"The guest of Stone-Bear has taken victory in sight of the Lady of the Skies," Svarah announced, "She is released of her blood-guilt. Thane Harofsen, you and your Hold will seek no more the blood of our guests while they remain in Stone-Bear."

"Aye, Thane Sun-Hair," Harofsen growled, "But once they're no longer your guests, we will remember."

"Then your blood be upon your own hands."

"Should Hakkon deem it so," Harofsen hissed, before turning his attention to us. "You've made an enemy of the Jaws of Hakkon, Inquisition. Do not forget it."

We watched as the Hakkonites took their leave, the people of Stone-Bear barely containing their disgust. Svarah approached Cullen once Harofsen was beyond earshot. "A few more days and then we will guide you out of the Basin. Best to do so in the cover of night—both to avoid the eyes of your enemy and the eyes of the Hakkonites." Her hard face relaxed. "But that is the future. Right now, I must thank you."

"Not me," Cullen shook his head, gesturing to Lace as she ran towards us, "Scout Harding."

"I thank you, Scout Harding, for your skill. The gods smiled upon you."

"Thank you," Lace gave a slight bow, a grin on her face. Her cheeks were pink from the exertion, sweat on her brow. "Years of climbing after sheep and Fereldan boys teasing the dwarf, you learn a thing or two. And I owed it to Grandin."

"Should we expect further trouble from the Jaws of Hakkon?" Cullen questioned.

"Not while you remain guests of my hold," Svarah assured, "but I would not venture from here again. Not without a larger force of your people." Cullen nodded his understanding. "We've a few more things to finish for your supplies, Commander, but we will have you on your way within the next few days."

…

The rest of our time with the Avvar was spent within the Hold. Sharing their communal meals, Cullen and the soldiers practicing with their warriors in the arena, I and the Battalion speaking with their Augur and mages. One evening after the Battalion and I observed the Augur, we got into an argument in the feast hall.

"All of these people should be abominations the way they practice magic!" Briony hissed.

"It just lends credence to the lies of the Order and the Chantry that they're not!" Solana spit back.

"Or, it simply shows the truth of Our Lady's words: all magic can serve," Barris debated in his calm, collected way.

"You cannot be serious!" Briony shouted, disbelief in her voice.

"Is the lieutenant-commander not proof enough?" Barris probed. "She has eight spirits walking with her."

"Ten, actually," I corrected.

Barris gestured to me in a "see" sort of way. "If anyone should be an abomination, it is her and yet she remains uncorrupted."

"She is a dreamer mage," Briony dismissed with a wave of her hand. "We do not even know what such mages can do."

"Why can you not accept that perhaps your Order got it wrong? That the Chantry got it wrong?" Solana argued.

Briony pinned her down with a look. "The fact that magic is dangerous has not changed, Amell. The scars left in the world from the Blight that mages brought about—one of whom is currently walking the earth—still remain. Still crawl out of the dark and slaughter thousands every so often."

"And it was mages who turned the tide in the Blight, earning Drakon's favor for doing so. No, Briony, the fact that you cannot abide that magic is not as dangerous as you think it is has not changed," Solana declared. "That is the fault of every templar. Your inane stubbornness. Your pride."

"Our pride?" Briony sneered as she stood abruptly from her chair. "We soldiers who do nothing but sacrifice and serve all our lives so that others may be safe—including you. We keep you safe in order that you may practice your magic. The very magic you claim I overestimate the danger of. Do you not see what magic has done?"

"But it wasn't magic, Briony," Belinda interjected softly. "It was a mage who intended evil. Magic is just a tool. No different than our blades."

"I have lived with magic all my life, templar," Rion added, anger on his face but not in his voice. "I know I could wield it for evil, but I choose not to."

"And demons? What of them?" Briony demanded. "Will they let you choose? Will they let a child choose?"

"You saw the mage children here," Rion pointed out. "Were those spirits malevolent demons?"

"This is a dangerous game you are playing at, Lieutenant," Briony glared at me. "Such practices with magic will lead to pride and the inevitable fall."

"I wanted you all to see up close how they practice magic here," I said, my arms crossed over my chest. "Not with the intention of emulating it, but to show that what we have been taught is not the whole of it. There is danger here, to be sure, but perhaps it is the very dogmatic teachings to fear magic that leads to the dangers we face. If mages were less afraid of their magic—of the Fade—if templars understood more fully, mages could learn to wield their magic and defend themselves against the dangers of the Fade with more confidence. And templars would only be needed when those mages who choose to be willfully malevolent try to bring their corruption upon the world."

"Like the Grandin boy did," Briony slighted, hazel eyes flashing.

"Briony," Barris cautioned.

"The Lieutenant said it herself, the boy chose."

"And so we acted," I reminded her, "Together."

"Which is all the Lieu is trying to get us to do—to make a way forward. Together," Rion stated.

Briony looked at us all, her face hard. I could see the thoughts playing out in her eyes. The war she was having. It was the same war Cullen had gone through within himself. To see it gave me hope. Hope that she would find her way. She let out a breath after a few heartbeats before giving a curt nod and resuming her seat.

"You lowlanders are nearly as eager to fight each other as we Avvar," the Augur chuckled from behind us. I turned in his direction, his eyes landing on me. "Dreamwalker, if you would come with me. I've something to show you."

I stood from my chair, excusing myself, before following him out the door. He led me up to his hut, the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon coloring the skies in corals and turquoises. Cullen would soon be leaving the arena with the troops to join the others for the evening meal. Despite being amongst another group of people, we had fallen into our usual routine. He with the troops, I with the Battalion, not seeing one another until meals or right before bed. I'd try working up the courage to speak with him about Shame only to find the words dying in my throat as soon as I laid eyes on him. I knew I was being a coward. Deceitful even.

"It is because you know. Should he come to know the truth, what he fears of magic, he will once again fear in you."

And as she said those words, I realized she had been right all along. I was afraid. I doubted. It wasn't that I doubted Cullen, but that I doubted myself. That I could ever keep control of my magic, that I would never hurt him, that I was not a monster.

"In the absence of light, shadows thrive," Prudence whispered, "Remember, Fadewalker. Remember what it is you realized when you faced me."

"That is the point, Wisdom, she does. And she realizes that what you said as Pride was the truth: her hope, her faith, is nothing more than a false reality. A shield she uses to guard her from her true reality."

Again, I felt that memory at the back of my mind. Faint and foggy, the details muddled. As if it no longer knew its own shape. I reached for it, my fingers brushing against it. At first, biting cold met my fingertips, but as I felt the other spirits fight against Doubt despite her maddened ravings, something warm burned beneath the ice. In that warmth, I could hear singing. The singing was both my voice and not, but the other voice was one that was somehow familiar.

Like the gentle touch of my mother. The guiding hand of Mother Surana. The safety of my father's arms when he'd held me as a child. Greagoir's arms as he'd carried me from the crowd. Irving and Solana's voices as they'd encouraged me to not be afraid of my magic. Ellana as she'd thanked me after I'd hurt her with my magic and then tried to heal the hurt. The first time I'd heard the Chant speak of how my magic had purpose. And Cullen's voice as he'd told me he did not think I was a monster. I couldn't make out all the words of the song, but a few came through, humming along my bones, caressing my soul and renewing it.

'I am not alone. Though I am flesh, Your Light is ever present, and those I have called, they remember, and they shall endure. I shall sing with them the Chant, and all will know, we are Yours, and none shall stand before us.'

"Remember, Meira!" Purpose urged.

Doubt let out a maddened howl, but I reached out for her. For the door. It was frigid, but at my touch she stilled beyond it. Gently, I pressed it closed again. I understood, then, what had happened. I'd realized at Solasan what Doubt was, that she was more complex than just a demon. I'd drawn her to me in that cell. In the midst of what I'd suffered as I'd clung to faith. I'd drawn her—a Spirit of Hope. Because that is what was at the core of my faith, what had sustained me in that cell, and what I had lost: hope.

And it was why Doubt was certain I could not face her. Could not face what had caused me to lose hope. Because without hope, I had nothing. I was nothing. My faith, my love, my future—it was all meaningless without hope. For if I had lost it once, would I not lose it again? I pressed my forehead against the door. "I am sorry." I had done this to her. A benevolent spirit that had come to my aid in my darkest moments and I had twisted her against her purpose. How did I face—how did I correct—such a grievous transgression?

"It is your duty, Dreamwalker," the Augur's voice spoke, drawing my mind to the mortal plane. I met his eyes. "Fear not, I do not know the details, but the gods whisper of your struggle."

"And if I go to undo this mistake, how do I not also lose myself?" I questioned, more to myself than to him. "And Purpose…"

"Come," he waved me into his hut. "You may be comforted in this." He gestured to something on his wall. Curious, I walked closer to it. Nearly hidden, except for a glimmer when the light hit it at the right angle, were a collection of glyphs. "The god-runes took me months to carve, but if you would know more of our magic, these will teach you."

"What is it written with?" I questioned.

"Veilfire," the Augur stated. "Have you no experience with it, she-elf? I hear tell that it originated with your people."

"I do," I said, recalling the magical flames within the temple, "but I have never conjured it myself. It was a magic…banned by our Chantry."

"Banning knowledge. Fools."

My lips twitched with a smile. "A friend of mine said the same." Dorian had requested that Veilfire: A Beginner's Primer with Numerous Teachings be brought to Skyhold's library and more specifically the mage tower so that we could study the magic. I'd read the primer, understood the theory behind it, but hadn't been able to conjure the magical fire. "I have read the theory behind the mechanics of it, but fire magic is not my strong suit at the moment. I am barely able to conjure ordinary magical fire."

"That should not hinder you. You are a dreamwalker. Veilfire is the flame of the gods, full of their memory and their emotion. Do not think of it so much as fire that burns and brings warmth, but as light which illuminates and clarifies."

"I had not thought of it like that," I admitted.

I held my hand out, thinking as he had suggested and after a few moments the bluish-green flames lit in my palm. As he said, it was neither hot nor cold, but simply a light. Instead of smoke curling off the flames, it was the sounds of spirits whispering. Once the magic lighted in my hand, the glyphs upon the wall flickered to life. The sensation of the Fade washed over me and before my eyes the vague impression of a great battle in the distant past played out before my eyes.

A spirit protectively watches over Avvar from Stone-Bear Hold as they corner a rival tribe in a forest. Joining in battle, hollers of challenge rise over the crash of blades and shields. As they fight, the spirit turns aside blades to protect the Stone-Bear warriors. The snap of arrows sounds in my ears, a lash of magic blazes my sight blinds momentarily. The rival Avvar fall, bu so does the spirit.

Time skips forward. The dim silhouette of a great ceremony of mourning comes into view. I watch and listen as the Avvar from Stone-Bear pray and sacrifice offering to the spirit destroyed in the last battle. I feel as months pass, but an impression is left that the prayers do not fall deaf upon the Fade.

The last scene plays out before me. Another ceremony, brimming with excitement and anticipation. I watch as Stone-Bear Hold celebrates a nighttime festival around an altar piled high with offerings of food and drink. The thane of the time begins a song. I cannot make out the words, but it speaks of beckoning. Welcoming. The Hold joins the thane. Through the night, the tempo hastens as the song rises to a crescendo. Just as the sun rises, breaking the horizon and coloring the sky brilliant with reds and oranges, a blazing spirit appears above the altar. It has the same name of the spirit that fell in the battle. The name eludes me, but there is the impression it bears the same honorific. The spirit remains for a time, recalling the prayers the Hold had offered up in the wake of the previous spirit's death. The new spirit is both the same spirit as before and a different one, shaped by the Hold as they recall their previous guardian. It understands its purpose and it's for that purpose it has come. The Hold releases an ear-splitting roar of jubilant reception, the echo of it in my ears even as the visions fade.

"How is that possible?" I questioned as I looked to the Augur. "How do your people bring spirits back?"

"You are a wise one, Dreamwalker," The Augur noted as he studied me, "but I thought it explanation enough."

"You just…remember it?"

"Mountains crack, forests burn, the gods change and die. It is the cycle of renewal. When a god dies, we must be willing to let it go. For only when it passes on is there a chance of it returning. It will not be the same, but if we hold on to their memory strong enough, the gods mold themselves to fit the shape we've created."

"So Purpose could return?"

"It will not be your Purpose, but it could remember you. The difference is that we call the gods to a purpose and that is what gives them the power to mold themselves to it. It was the encouragement Sigrid needed as well. Despite it being one of the stories taught to us as children by the skalds, we sometimes need reminding. The gods are never gone, not truly, they are simply reborn. If you could call your Purpose to a new role, perhaps you could guide something new to be reborn." He gestured for me to sit. "Rest and speak with the gods, if you need to. I have duties in the Hold."

I did sit, Ghilani curling up beside me. I petted her, pulling us both into the Fade. I opened my eyes to find Purpose's gold eyes studying me. Alongside him were all the others. They all looked at me expectantly.

"Why Hope? Why not Purpose, Faith or Perseverance?" I questioned.

"But what is at the core of faith, Meira? Of perseverance?" Purpose asked, a gentle smile on his mouth. "Hope." His eyes were warm as he looked at me. "And what is more vital than hope? Nothing. For without it, what can any mortal do? One must have hope or all is lost." He spread his hands out, gesturing to the others. "For at the core of each is hope."

"What do you mean?"

"What is purpose but the hope for meaning? What is perseverance but the hope for strength to prevail against all odds? What is faith but the hope for something unseen? The three are so intwined they can be hard to differentiate, but each has its own importance. But what would you have done to call Hope to you? Not Purpose, not Perseverance, not even Faith, but Hope?" He took my hands.
"Yes, you are a dreamer Meira which makes your magic possible, but you also embody hope. You called me, a Desire demon back to my benevolent nature: Purpose. You called each demon within that temple back to their benevolent nature: Scorn to Prudence, Impulse to Intent, Despair to Joy, Envy to Charity, Rancor to Ardor, Sloth to Perseverance, and Famish to Serenity. You could have just killed them all, but that is not who you are. You hoped for better. It is that virtue that so shapes you that it enabled you to call them to their spirit nature without killing them. To call me back to mine."

"But…Doubt." I considered a moment, thinking beyond that cell. Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I don't want to be a monster anymore. 'Meira!' 'Filthy knife-ear.' 'Rabbit.' 'Magicker!' 'Abomination.' 'Monster!' I don't want to hurt them. 'Foul and corrupt.' 'It is your nature, your disease!' 'In the end, you all choose to turn to that Void you were born of.' "Even before Alrik…I have not always had hope," I admitted, feeling ashamed.

"And that is the mystery of it," he agreed, "Yet in all my time observing mortals, I find that often the virtue a mortal reflects most clearly is the one they struggle with the most. No, you never struggled with faith or perseverance, but hope? Too often you have been afraid to hope. Gave in to fear. To doubt."

I let out a breath, unable to meet his eyes as I asked, "What is she, Purpose?"

"What is the antithesis of hope?"

I flashed a glare at him. "You know, I hate it when you answer a question with a question."

His lips twitched. "I have to teach you while I still can."

Despite it all, I gave the barest smile. "I know." I mulled it over, going back to lessons in the tower:

Wynne stood before us all as we sat at our lecture on demons. She had told us that much of what she was to speak on came from both mages' and templars' experiences with the malevolent spirits of the Fade. It had been a long lecture, the only respite found in Jowan and Solana passing me notes full of teasing as Cullen had been on duty overseeing the lecture. Try as he might, he seemed as fascinated with it as some of the mages. I tried my hardest to keep my attention on Wynne, but he was so very distracting, especially when his amber eyes kept flicking to me, my hand tingling with the memory of his touch.

But Wynne grabbed our attention as she nodded her head to one of the Tranquil, named Humbert, that had stood patiently by, he in charge of depicting each demon and then wiping the chalkboard clean. Humbert began to draw as Wynne spoke, reciting an excerpt written by a templar who'd made a career as a demon hunter:

'Once upon a time, we classified these as demons of sloth, but we learned that despair demons are something quite different. They are not the antithesis of justice or valor, but rather of hope. They form nightmares tearing away the foundations of self and purpose. When brought into the world, they are most attracted to places the downtrodden populate: alienages, slums, prisons, and the like. The miasma they spread can lead to extreme behavior. We look for a rash of unexplained suicides, men and women so filled with grief they lash out. The most intelligent of these creatures are to be feared, for they not only feed on despair, they understand its causes... and seek to bring it about. From the shadows they ruin lives, drinking the tears of those who have no idea the cause of their misery is not random chance.'

Wynne looked up from her notes. "We are often made to feel that demons of pride or desire are the most powerful entities within the Fade, but I must argue this. I believe we have been fooled into thinking they are by those malevolent spirits that wish to remain undiscovered. Pride and desire we mortals often feel. As with rage or sloth. They are indeed hard things to thwart, but not impossible.
"But despair? Only one thing can defeat despair, can protect us from it. But if we lose it, if we surrender to despair…it is the end. The dark with no light. The torment with no escape. For despair drives us to our basest instincts. To surrender to fear, to desperation and to uncertainty. A demon of despair is as close to death personified as will ever exist."

We looked to the board as Humbert finished drawing.

I blinked, confused. The board was empty and the room had gone silent. Dark. But I felt it there, in the shadows, the barest whisper of fabric against stone. A death rattle its breath. Skeletal hands grabbed ahold of me and I felt those cold lips against my ear, the smell of carrion in the icy breath spreading across my neck. At it, I could think only of what I had drawn back in the clearing before Haven. That creature shrouded in darkness. Death personified.

"Do you remember yet?"

I felt something yank on my wrist and I slammed into Purpose. His gold eyes were frantic as he searched my face. "Are you alright?"

"Despair! I gave in to—" My triumph at puzzling it out swiftly died with the realization. "I…gave in to despair? But I…I don't remember that."

Purpose placed a hand against my cheek. "It is the last of the memories you need to recall, but as I said, she has them. Hoards them. Feeds on them."

"How bad are those memories, Purpose?"

"It is not so much the memories, Meira. You drew Hope in the midst of your suffering, but…" he let out a deep breath, "I told you that you became a void. No longer you, but you enveloped in darkness. I think you…broke. Fractured. Into two halves. I think when you broke, it also broke Deshanna's curse upon you. So when I—when Desire—made you forget, in the process you refracted and dispersed Hope within your mind—as you did Contrition within Cullen's. The fractured pieces of Contrition touched by Doubt melded into Shame. For you, Hope fractured and I—Desire—touched it. It melded into Desperation. I tried to destroy it, it a challenge to my dominance over that part of the Fade I had built in reflection to Alrik's prison.
"I thought I had succeeded, but Despair is powerful. The remnant took those memories. You 'forgot' and the majority of you, the benevolent and true you, was restored. Unbeknownst to me, the barest whisper remained, feasting on those memories to cling to existence. But I was part of those memories and I think that is what kept me alive and why I wear Cullen's face permanently. It inadvertently reshaped me by reliving those memories to feed on them—as the Avvar showed you they do with their 'gods'. And once Alrik was dead, once you were left to slowly die in isolation, we both grew stronger again. But it is what happened after your true magic was released that has led you to where you are now. You restored me to Purpose and I…" He looked away, shame on his face.
"You needed to remember what happened, but in so doing…I helped you to inadvertently alter her further."

"You said she has a purpose. You said Despair is powerful. What more could she be?"

"Think about it, Meira," Prudence questioned as she appeared, her sapphire eyes burning, "What is Despair? If she is not just Despair, the question is: why? In Embrace is several host concepts…perhaps because of the armor you bear. It holds the power of seven spirits. Through it and your magic, Embrace was able to be so much more than just Grace. Given that, couldn't the reverse also be true? If she hoards a piece of your soul, a piece of your mind, what has she been weaving in the dark? The breaking of Tranquility. Haven. Solasan. Shame. As you have evolved, so perhaps has she."

Purpose claimed the memories of Desire had influenced Despair. Desperation. Faith and Cole had warned me against Fear. Scorn had said I struggled with Pride in the form of unbelief. 'You shine like the stars in the Fade, a mighty gem. When you touched him, you drew in and refracted the spirit. Without your magic to guide it, however, its nature passed through your corrupted facet—which you call Doubt. Dispersed by your magic, Contrition mingled with Doubt, reassembling into a powerful concept: Shame.' What would come of Fear, Despair and Unbelief? Doubt.

I looked at them. "How does one regain hope after it has been lost?"

"Have you nothing that brings you hope?" Prudence questioned.

"I do," I nodded, "but she is certain I will falter at the memories she hoards."

Prudence shook her head. "If you do, all that you've gained, all that you hope for will be lost. What is of greater importance to you? Your past or your future?"

"What if it is too much to bear?"

Prudence placed a hand on my shoulder. "What is stronger than fear? Than desperation? Than unbelief? Than despair?"

"Hope," I murmured, "but—"

Prudence shook her head, her silver tresses swaying with the movement. "Where does your hope spring from?"

"My faith."

"Why?"

I looked to Purpose. "Because it gives me the assurance that my magic has a purpose. That I have a purpose. That all I have gone through and will go through has a purpose."

"And what is that purpose?"

I met her sapphire eyes. "I…am uncertain."

"And there is her power over you. Your uncertainty. It is the question you will have to answer in order to triumph."

"But I don't know the answer."

Her eyes were gentle. "It is a question many never find the answer to," she looked off to the distance. "Seeking some noble purpose, some grand answer to the question: Why was I born?" Her lips pulled in the ghost of a smile. "It is a question that comes down to one's perception of one's importance. Many are blinded by pride. Inflating their sense of self to shield themselves from the truth that they are of far less significance than they want to acknowledge. When one is proud, one is unable to admit they make mistakes and learn from them. They are even less able to learn from others because they believe the beginning and the end is the self, treating all others with scorn.
"Others are mindful of humility. Understanding that they are but a small thing in the vast universe and ever flowing river of time. When one is humble, one is able to learn from their mistakes and the experiences of others. Having dignity is not wrong, it is simply through which lens we view it that matters. Pride leads to folly. Humility to knowledge. And through the garnering of knowledge, one finds wisdom. If the root of wisdom is humility, how do you believe one who is wise would answer that existential question? How did you when you defeated my counterpart?"

All I need to know is that I am but a tool of the Maker, a sword forged in the 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. "That I am a sword to be wielded by the Maker."

"If you are a sword, what does a sword do?" She continued on without waiting for an answer. "It strikes fear in the heart of its enemies and inspires hope in the hearts of those it protects." She pulled the sword at her hip from its scabbard and held it across her palms. The metal was beautiful, glistening.
"The forging of a sword is as delicate a process as the carving of marble. The metal must be strong, yet malleable. Too hard and the sword will shatter upon impact, too soft and it won't hold its edge. Often, it is melded with other materials, those that would make it stronger. To do so, the chosen materials are melted down in a crucible that molds it into a form easier to shape into a blade.
"Once this is done, the alloy is heated in the flames of the forge until it is malleable enough to be sculpted by the pounding of a hammer. The process repeated over and over until the metal has become a blade. The process ends as the blade is tempered—heated and then plunged into a vat of either water or oil to harden it—to quench it. If water, it will be brittle and easily break. If oil, the quenching takes longer but in the end the temper is of greater quality." She sheathed her sword.
"Purpose told you in the beginning that mortals are capable of true change. That we spirits are not. We can only be one or the other." Her sapphire eyes met mine, cobalt flames. "But you, Fadewalker, are the bridge. As with a sword, you can mold us into alloys. Shame. Desperation. They are the malevolent results of your magic uncontrolled. Tell me, Kin to Spirits, Dread to Demons, what could your magic sculpt? What could come of Doubt redeemed?"

…

I left the Augur's hut, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Now understanding what plagued me and beginning to have a plan as to how to deal with Doubt, I sought Cullen out. I saw the other soldiers and Avvar warriors leaving the training grounds, most of them still sweaty and panting from the effort, as they headed for the feast hall. I did not spot Cullen amongst them.

Making my way through the group and following the path to the arena, I stood rooted in the spot as my eyes found him. Alone, he stood at the stall the Arena Master usually occupied to oversee the spars. He was shirtless and in the middle of taking a deep pull from his canteen. His dark brow furrowed, his hair damp from the exercise of practice, the wet curls sticking to his skin at his brow. Mesmerized, I watched the water dribble from his mouth, slipping past his chiseled jaw and down the thick cords of his neck where his throat bobbed. Sated, he proceeded to pour the remainder over himself.

The water flowed from his curled hair, caressing his nose, his perfect lips, down the column of his neck to his defined chest, wetting the darker blond hair there. It continued down the center of his muscled abdomen before it dampened the bit of hair under his navel and finally slipped beneath the laces of his leather breeches.

Once again, my fingers itched to draw him. The way the shadows from the low sun outlined his muscular torso. From his broad shoulders, to his powerful arms and chest, to the multiple sinewy ridges of his abdomen, to the deep cuts defining the tops of his narrow hips and falling beneath his breeches. The scars across his tanned skin. The spattering of freckles at the tops of his shoulders. The tight cords of his forearms as he let out a "Maker's breath" before running his strong, beautifully sculpted hands through his hair; droplets of water catching the sunset and coloring his curls bronze. His long fingers tangled in the curling strands as he smoothed them back. Involuntarily, I licked my lips and realized my fingers tingled with more than a want to draw him—I wanted to touch him. A furious blush burned in my cheeks at the realization.

That half-smile pulled his lips before his bronze eyes found mine from beneath his long, dark lashes. A dark brow quirked before his easy smile turned virile. "Did you enjoy the show, Lieutenant?"

Flames. Caught again. Bashful, my mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Folding my arms over my chest, I looked away as I mumbled, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He came to stand before me, his movements like a great cat in their power and grace. I was unable to meet his eyes as my face burned. Air caressed my skin as it stirred with the motion of him pulling his tunic on. His heady scent intensified with the exercise and water, the heat coming off of him, his nearness, the virility and pride with which he'd looked at me, catching me once again staring, were all enough to make my head spin. His cool fingers grasped my chin and tilted my head up to look at him. His eyes burned into liquid honey. The scar through his bow-shaped upper lip pulling as my gaze dropped to them.

"Liar," he whispered, a breath from my own mouth. "I do so adore when you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With wide-eyed wonder," his voice had dropped low, husky. "As if I tantalize you. It is enough to drive me mad," he practically growled the last word before claiming my lips, the callouses of his palms pleasantly rough against my cheeks. He pressed my mouth open as he pulled me closer. I clung to him, his tunic damp in my palms. My eyes stayed closed after he broke away. He caressed my nose with his own, leaving a trail of water droplets along it. Taking a moment to ease his breathing, he asked, "You've been in the Fade, haven't you? You taste different when you've been recently. Something bittersweet, yet lovely."

"I taste different?" I teased, though it had little effect in embarrassing him. I was utterly breathless, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy. Stubbornly, I tried again. "Are you saying I taste lovely, Commander?"

His eyebrow quirked suggestively, his lips pulling at one corner like a boy caught misbehaving, before he sampled that taste again. "Yes," he purred against my mouth. "Now, beloved, as much as I enjoyed preening for you, I doubt you came here just to gawk at me." I chuckled sadly, burying my face in his neck. His arms wrapped around me. "What is it, Meira?"

I met his eyes. "I must beg your forgiveness, my lion."

"Whatever for?" He questioned, brow furrowing as his addled features sharpened with focus.

"Shame," I uttered, looking away. "I…I did that to you."

He was quiet a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when we left Haven to go to Dennet? When I entered your dreams by accident?"

"Yes."

"When I touched you within your nightmare about Kinloch Hold?"

"I do."

"When I was trying to help Grandin, I spoke with a Spirit of Knowledge to see if it had answers as to how to help him, but also if it knew how to help me with Doubt. I thought perhaps Shame and Doubt were both spirits—demons—that we had created from feeling an emotion so strongly we gave them form. But the spirit told me that is not the case. That such a thing isn't possible. We can influence spirits, but we cannot create them.
"However, because I am a dreamer mage, I can influence them into something more complex than simply a malevolent or benevolent spirit born of a single host concept. I can cause multiple spirits to conjoin into something greater." I swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. "When I touched you, I unwittingly influenced a spirit of contrition you had drawn to yourself. Through me—through Doubt—they joined to become Shame. That is why…everything grew worse for you." I buried my face as tears pooled.
"I hurt you. With my magic. Again."

He was silent for a long moment. Fear and doubt gripped me.

"He's going to reject you. Just as you've always known he would."

Gently, his fingers wrapped around my wrists and pulled my hands away. His lips were tender and gentle as they pressed against mine. He broke the kiss, bronze eyes smoldering.

"And with your magic, you aided me. Through your magic, you guided me. Without your magic, I would have no hope of ever overcoming my fear of it." I went weak at the knees, tears pooling in my eyes at his words. "I needed Shame. I needed you, as you are, every piece of you, beloved." He held my face in his hands, blurry through my tears, but I could see him smiling gently at me. "You do not need to be afraid, Meira. You do not need to doubt. Rest assured, my heart, that I love you more now than ever." My lip trembling, he took it between is own as he kissed me again, his arms wrapping me in a reassuring embrace. "Is that what Doubt is as well?"

"Yes."

"Then we will face it. Together."

…

We departed Stone-Bear Hold under the cover of nightfall. Svarah had provided us with horses born and bred in the Frostbacks, warning us that they were not quite tame as the Avvar believed just a touch of wild kept them brave and bold beasts. The Inquisition would bring Cullen and I's horses with them as they marched ahead to Adamant, we were to meet them at the rendezvous point in a few weeks' time.

Along with the horses, they'd given us Avvar leathers and furs to help with the frozen Highlands. They would help keep us disguised from our adversaries when we could no longer use the night or my magic to hide. Climbing gear in the form of specially crafted axes. Warmer tents and bedrolls along with rations. To my dismay, Erik was sent to guide us along the spine of the Frostbacks, following a path known only to the Avvar themselves, to the Elfsblood River.

The days were long, trudging through the snowcapped mountains. The evenings longer as we tried to stay warm. It became the routine that Solana, Laren, Amelia, Asaala and I all huddled in a tent together, much of the Battalion doing the same in order to stay warm. We couldn't risk fires in case our enemy had watches along the mountain path. We'd pass the nights discussing the Circles and the Order, debating what the future should look like for the two factions. It was the first time Laren and I had truly interacted. Though awkward at first, we found ourselves staying awake when the others had fallen asleep to talk privately.

"They talked about you," Laren spoke one night. "When they thought we were all asleep."

"Who?"

"Ma. Da. The Keeper," Laren clarified, her dark eyes studying me. "The whole clan tried to pretend it never happened. That you never existed. Even Ellana got to a point where she pretended. But Ma…Da…they couldn't. We'd hear Ma weeping in her bed. Overheard them talking about you. Your name was taboo. I said it one day, asked who you were. Ma started crying and ran off. Da scolded me. Ellana screamed to never say your name again. It was like you were some ghost that haunted us. Some dreaded cloud that hung over all of us."

"I'm sorry," I murmured as I stroked Ghilani's head.

She shook her head. "You've nothing to be sorry for. You were a child. It should never have happened." Her gaze became piercing. "It is the reason I decided to become a templar. To help steer the course of the future to ensure that it never happens again."

I was shocked at such a confession. "But…why? You didn't know me. You have no reason to pledge your life to such a cause for—"

"For a sister I never met?" She raised a dark brow. "Why is that not reason enough?"

"Because—"

"And then meeting you? Coming to realize that you truly were this ethereal creature they'd made you out to be. Having faced hardships untold at the hands of templars only to come out of it seeking the good of both mages and templars? Falling in love with one? Calling both sides to the best of themselves? I am proud to serve under you and to aid you in bringing what you hope for to pass."

"Well, I…thank you."

"You should know," she whispered as she tucked herself into her bedroll, "Ellana has been made whole since finding you again. She's terrible at showing her emotions, but it was like living with someone undead. Full of wrath and sorrow. Since joining the Inquisition, it is the first time I have seen Ellana smile with true joy."

…

Eventually, we descended the mountains. We left the mountaintops behind, but what should have been spring in the Highlands still appeared to be winter. Snow was everywhere and from where we stood within the cover of the trees, the great river before us was frozen solid. Erik stopped us before we broke through the trees, signaling for us to hide.

"General Samson is certain the Inquisition will try again?" A deep voice spoke.

Two Red Templars appeared, archers from what I could make of them as they had bows in their hands. Their eyes glowed that crimson red, red lyrium crystals hanging from their necks and growing from their skin. They seemed to be on patrol.

"If that Trevelyan hellcat had the chance, she would've told 'em everything. Anything she knew. Which wasn't much, but wasn't nothin' either," a voice replied.

"Then why do we remain here?"

"General Samson hopes to draw out the knight-captain. Or someone of importance. Maybe his elven whore."

"Why?"

"To deliver a blow to the Inquisition," the other replied, his voice agitated, "They ready themselves to march on Adamant."

"Tell me again why we aren't going to aid the Wardens?"

"Our work is too important. 'Sides, they have demons to fight with them. And Adamant Fortress is defensible. Given the cockup that was Haven? Then Skyhold? The knight-captain is no strategist." They shared a mocking laugh. "But Fornier said it's more than that. The Elder One doesn't wish to put all his eggs into one basket, so to speak. If we go to aid 'em, who's gonna mine the lyrium?"

"True enough."

"And if we left, that village might start gettin' ideas." We watched as they continued on, we silent within the trees.

Once they were gone, Erik turned towards us. "There is the Elfsblood," he pointed at the river just beyond the pines. It was a large body of water, but it was clearly frozen solid. "Your enemy patrols and camps all along the hills leading to Sahrnia. There are patrols along the river, but if you follow it within the trees you should remain hidden. You will come to a waterfall just below the settlement. Climb it and you should find a gate leading into the village. From there, you can press on to the quarry in the hills where you will find your enemy." He turned back to look at us. "I will eliminate the patrol that just passed to ensure they do not come upon you. May the Lady keep you."

"Thank you," Cullen nodded.

Dismounting to leave the horses with Erik so he could return them to Stone-Bear, we moved as carefully as possible, I using magic to ensure we were not seen and did not leave footprints. Ghilani stayed as close to me as she could, offering her warmth as she sought comfort. Her ears kept pricking as she heard wolves calling out to each other amongst the heady pines.

Night began to fall before we made it to the waterfall, the dark beginning to swallow us nearly impenetrable. It made eerie as the only sounds were the haunted moaning of the tree trunks as they swayed in the icy wind and the cracking of the ice echoing through the valley. As I studied the night for signs of the Red Templars, the shadows seemed to come alive; moving, watching, breathing.

I shut my eyes tight. It's not real. It's just her.

I ran into Laren, her hand steadying me as she studied my face. Cullen had motioned for us to stop and was moving back towards me.

"Talitha, Laren, you can see better in the dark than we can. We need to make it to the waterfall. Lead us," he commanded.

Laren nodded and trudged to the front through the snow. I let out a breath, the living shadows gone as I blinked. Going to join Laren, we walked together as we continued to follow the river from within the pine trees. As she scanned the trees for danger, her eyes caught on Ghilani as she walked between us.

"Mahanon is quite impressed with your wolf companion," she stated, her voice so low only I would be able to hear it.

"Why is that?"

"He says it proves our people's fear of Fen'Harel to be misplaced. For why would the Trickster send one of his servants to be your companion? Unless the wolf is going to betray you in the end."

"Do you believe in the gods? Does Ellana?"

Laren was quiet a long moment, a soft snow beginning to fall. In the gentle wind blowing the snowflakes, I swore I heard someone humming. Mmmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. I strained to listen, but it disappeared as Laren answered.

"Sometimes it is hard to know if I truly believe or if it is born simply of tradition. Or if we do so out of hope and respect. Respect for our ancestors and hope that we may flourish as they did." She looked up to the stars.
"I have hope that it may be possible that something more than the desperate scraps we cling to may come about now that Ellana has given power to that elven woman in Orlais, but…will she truly seek the good of the People or herself?" Her lips twitched.
"As for Ellana…she's hated the gods for taking you from her, at least somewhat. But who else was she to pray to on your behalf? For your safety? Your joy? That by some gift of the gods, you would be reunited?"

"How has she taken Corypheus? Some say he—and even Ellana's Mark—proves that the Maker, that Andraste, are real."

"What do you say?"

"If I needed proof, it wouldn't be faith." Laren rolled her eyes to which I chuckled. "That said, he proves that something happened. That something lies within the Fade. And in the Fade, you can see the Black City. There is a truth there, but what the whole truth is…we may never know this side of Heaven."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong," I shrugged.

"I find the gods and the bits of history we know of our people fascinating. I thirst to know more, as Ellana does. But do I have faith in them? I do not know. In truth, I think all the gods—ours and yours—sound like pompous as—"

"There's the waterfall," I pointed as I spotted it between two trees before looking to Laren. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "We need to focus."

I doubled back to Cullen, telling him we were close to the waterfall. I had to admit he was quite handsome in the Avvarian furs and leathers. It gave him a bit of a wild look compared to his usual meticulousness, especially when his lips curved into that half-smile of his.

He moved up to lead again, Laren directing him. We waited within the pines, watching for another Red Templar patrol. When none came, I dropped my Fade cloak and we exited the trees in small groups. Cullen and the scouts went up first, leaving the climbing axes in the ice for the rest of us to follow.

Once at the top, the scouts waved us forward. The ice beneath our feet crunched and groaned, the pines moaned in the wind, wolves howled. Far above us were the remnants of something massive, the pillars homages to what appeared to be a desire demon and a warrior akin to the armor Venatori warriors wore. A gust of wind blew from the direction of the village, carrying the stench of death.

We pressed against the wall, moving slowly in a single line. Cullen signaled for us to stop. The entrance to the village sat just where Erik said it would. I guessed normally there would be fishing boats sitting at the shore of the large lake we'd crossed, the shore stretching up to a path leading into the village. The gates sat open, but before them stood Red Templars.

"What's between General Samson and the Inquisition's general?" One of them asked.

"You don't know?" Another replied.

"I wasn't in Kirkwall."

"To sum it up, General Samson sees through the Chantry's lies. The Inquisition is just the Chantry under a new name. The Elder One, the red lyrium, the General, our Order—its to get rid of the Chantry. General Samson says if anyone should understand our cause, it's the Inquisition's general."

"Why?"

"I don't know the details, but they were friends once. The General has his reasons."

"But Samson wants to kill him?"

"Only if we have to. He'd rather flip him. Or seed him. If he hears the song, he'll understand."

I looked to Cullen. This was the second time the Red Templars had hinted at something between Samson and he. I had seen Samson in Cullen's memories—in the memories Shame had used to torture him. The few times Cullen had spoken of him, there was something in his voice. What had happened?

"He does not tell you everything."

My thoughts were interrupted as there was a sudden movement in the shadows across from us. Steel flashed in the light of the braziers sat by the iron gates. A few templars fell before the others even realized they were under attack. The others drew their swords, but the assailant moved too quickly. The templars were down within minutes of the attack beginning, leaving the mysterious attacker standing above the bodies now illuminated by the firelight.

He wore armor of a purple metal trimmed in gold and on his breastplate there was a gold lion's head. He stood there briefly, assessing the dead, before returning to the shadows. Cullen signaled for us to move forward, weapons at the ready as we snuck into the village.

The picture that met us was one of misery. All that seemed to remain of the village was a corpse that had been picked nearly clean by scavengers and a few ghouls shuffling through the carcass. Dead bodies were everywhere, most wrapped with a written prayer and their name attached to their burial shroud as they were stacked upon makeshift stretchers. A mound of them ringed the bottom of a statue of Andraste, she alight with an unsettling glow from the dozens of lit candles littering her base.

A member of the Chantry was on her knees before Andraste, her voice hollow as it was carried upon the bitter wind. "Oh, Maker hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places."

I shuddered as those words dragged me back to that cell, the shadows on the edge of the candlelight writhing and whispering at it. The cold breeze caressing my skin seeming to snake across it and wrap around like tendrils of the shadows reaching out to pull me into the dark. There were a few weather-beaten tents with the Chantry's sun upon it and small fires in the village, those still alive sat around the flames, unseeing. None seem to even notice our presence as we moved through, Cullen giving silent directions for us to fan out as he led some soldiers to the northern entrance. I led part of the Battalion and Harding to the southern gate.

I tried not to jump as an older woman, eyes unseeing but alight with madness, crept from the shadows. She kept rubbing at her ring finger, my stomach twisting as I realized the skin had been chafed off at the repeated action, it now angry red, raw and bleeding. She was muttering under her breath, her thin lips moving until they pulled as her whole face twisted with black hatred. "Templars. Bad templars. Demons with trusted faces." She continued on, not even seeing us.

"Maker," Harding breathed, "What's happened here?"

A desolate cry rent the air. I didn't want to look, but my body did so instinctually. A woman cradled a small body against her. The child's hand not covered by the ratty blanket grotesquely thin, skin stretched too tight over bone. "Oh Maker, why have you allowed this to happen?!"

I felt those words on my own tongue. Bitter in my mouth as they were mixed with the salt of my tears, the metallic tang of blood and the grime upon my skin as I beseeched the stones above my head. My cry echoing, each reverberation going unanswered. No. Whispers sounded in my ears, swirling around my skull and crawling through my bones. With a shuddering breath, white vapor curling from my lips, I whispered, "They've lost hope."

At the entrance, we found more templars dead. The same man as before pulled his blade from one of the templars. As he straightened, he noticed us. Hesitating, his hand gripping his sword tightly. The snowy wind curled around him, in its breath I heard that strange hum again. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm.

"You're not from the village nor are you Red Templars. Who are you?" He questioned.

"We're from the Inquisition," I stated.

He lifted his visor at that, revealing a handsome face. There was anger in his features as he looked at me. "Where in the Void have you been?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your enemy is embedded here. A large operation. Allowed to fester and harm these people. Why has it taken the Inquisition so long to arrive?"

"We tried to get scouts and small bands of troops through with no success," I explained, "The Red Templars discovered them and…killed them."

He looked me up and down briefly before nodding. "We secure the village, then we can speak more at length. I have taken down the Red Templars guarding the entrances, but there are more patrolling the woods just beyond. We need to put an end to them before they alert the camp in Highgrove and send the whole of them upon us."

"Our Commander is at the northern gate."

"Follow me," he waved a hand.

He hugged the wall, staying in the shadows as we made our way to the northern gate. I spotted a few torches in the pines beyond, the crimson glow of red lyrium swaying with the gait of the templars baring them aloft. We found Cullen and the others standing amongst more dead templars just outside what had once been a gated entrance. Cullen looked to me before his eyes flicked to the man leading us.

"I am Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition's Forces. Who are you?" Cullen demanded.

"Michel de Chevin," Michel introduced himself as he again lifted his visor, "At your service. Never expected to see the Commander of the Inquisition himself."

"Michel de Chevin?" Cullen questioned. "I know your story. You were Empress Celene's personal guard, later disgraced and banished from the Orlesian Court for treachery."

"As I know yours," Michel challenged, "The knight-captain who stood by as his knight-commander went mad and pressed her boot to the throat of the mages until one blew Kirkwall off the map, or so the story goes. There's much more than that to both our stories I'm sure, but they end the same. What does it matter? Despite all, I have a strong arm, a stout heart, and I still serve Orlais. As you do the Inquisition. Red Templars patrol the woods, we should see to them before they alert the others."

Cullen gave a nod. "Harding. This is your area. Take them out, quickly and quietly. We need to keep our presence here hidden for as long as possible."

Harding gave a nod, palming her bow and nocking an arrow, before leading the other scouts into the pines. We waited in silence, it taking only an hour for the scouts to take down the nearest patrols. Harding returned, her team falling in behind her. "There's a large camp sitting further up at the mouth of a cave."

"Alphonse's Pass," Michel clarified, "It is the most direct way to the heart of your enemy's main camp."

"I don't know how much time we have before the patrols should rotate."

"Morning," Michel informed her, "These templars have unnatural stamina."

"It's the red lyrium," Cullen stated.

"And that's the bad news, Commander," Harding spoke, "Red lyrium. It's—"

"Everywhere," Michel finished for her, "All along the land. Spreading. The worst of it at the quarry. I tried to get closer, to observe, but the main force is split between the Tower of Bone near the quarry and Suledin Keep, beyond it."

Cullen gave a nod. "Did you come to aid the people of Sarhnia?"

Michel shook his head. "It was not my original intention in coming here, but I have as much as I can. Though I fear help may have come too late. I hunt a demon. This one calls itself 'Imshael,' and has settled in the keep. Now that the Inquisition is here, perhaps the Red Templars who guard the keep can be routed." Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. "All I need is one chance."

"Imshael?" Cullen probed, "We have it on good authority that this demon is the cause of the unseasonable cold. The freezing of the Elfsblood also its work."

"A desire demon," Michel began to explain, "more cunning than anything I have encountered…and I have played the Game. Imshael has roamed the land for some time. If anything, he will have only grown in power. Why he is here in Emprise du Lion, however, is anyone's guess. Perhaps he gained the cooperation of the Red Templars, or vice versa. Imshael is free because I made a mistake. I will see him destroyed."

"What can you tell us of the quarry? The keep?" Cullen inquired.

"As I said, I couldn't get close enough for fear of being caught, but they are up to something. Most of Sahrnia's people have gone missing. I saw some cages near the quarry with shackles inside. Mistress Poulin, who has been doing her best to help the people, suspects the missing are the Red Templars' doing. They've been providing rations and protection, but maybe they've been taking them to work the quarry?"

"It's like Valammar. Cadash said the same thing. The Red Templars took people into the thaig, but when we routed the templars, there was no evidence of them. They were simply gone without a trace."

"What about the keep? What's happening there?" I asked.

"More Red Templars, so far as I could tell. And Imshael. Suledin is an elven fortress, left to crumble. Mistress Poulin informed me of a local superstition that it is the haunt of ancient elven spirits and the people avoid it."

"Where can we find this Mistress Poulin?"

"She and the few people who have not fallen to madness will be within her home weathering the night. I arrived only a few days ago, Poulin gave me shelter and food in exchange for my attempt to free them from the Red Templars' grip. I have done what I can, but I am only one man. And while I would happily give my life for the people of Orlais, I will not give my life in vain."

"We will speak with her later. Let us dispense with the Templars and this demon," Cullen decided, "Harding, I want you and your scouts to lead all the archers up to the larger camp. Get into positions above them and await my signal. The rest of us are going to surround the camp and ambush it. Mages, cut off any reinforcements that may come from within the pass." He turned to the soldiers directing them to remain at the village to guard the people within.

"Will you find them? Will you bring them home?" A raspy voice questioned from behind us.

It was the woman from before who'd been holding a child. The child was still in her arms. I didn't want to look, fearing the worst, but as I did I saw the shallowest of breaths expand the little boy's chest. He lived, but his spirit seemed to be weak within him, wandering just beyond the Veil. I went to her, hands alight with healing magic.

She tore the child away from me, eyes full of hatred as she hissed, "Do not touch him filthy knife-ear! Your magic is foul! The boy needs food and his father, not your sinful curse upon him!"

"You see? This world will never accept you. Not really. In time, even he will realize." Be silent. "This is my purpose, little Meira, to remind you of the truth. To shield you from false hope." No. Your words are poison. That is all. You came to me as Hope. Feeding my faith, guarding me from giving in to despair, calling me to remember why I fought. "And when you stopped fighting?" Did I stop fighting?

At her silence, I looked at the woman, felt her fear and desperation, could sense something more behind it. I reached out with my magic and saw all that had happened here. Attacks from demons pouring from the open rifts. People disappearing overnight. The Red Templars' oppressive presence. All that she had lost. This child was her last, the older ones having disappeared or dying from hunger and exposure. Twining my fingers into Ghilani's fur, I pulled the wolf and I to the Fade.

Ghilani looked to me expectantly. "Find the child and guide him home." I watched as she trotted off before studying the Fade.

Oddly, while the town had been constructed, it was without color and empty. I could hear whispering. I strained to listen, but the harder I did, the quieter the whispering became.

"Do you not feel it, Meira?" Purpose clenched his jaw. "Whatever this demon is, it is powerful. It rules over the Fade here and it is preventing me from seeing it." I watched as Ghilani led the boy back. I touched his forehead, feeling as he slipped back into his body and took a deep breath. Purpose looked at me. "You need to be very careful."

As those words left his mouth, Shades erupted in the mortal plane.

Thanks for reading! Faves, follows and reviews are always welcome and appreciated!