Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

None to return to the lands of their mothers
By cruel magic taken, ice, lightning, and flame

-Andraste 1:1-1:14

Shay Surana had very little memory of their life before Kinloch Hold.

They often dreamt about the world beyond the tower walls- quite literally, as a matter of fact. Every night, for as long as they could remember, visions floated through their mind- visions of a world far different from the gray stone hallways and candlelit classrooms they knew so well, visions formed through some hypnotic combination of imagination and half-remembered pieces of a life they could not consciously recall. Yet even in those dreams of color and warmth, the specific details of their past had always been left blurry. Even their surname was something they created for themselves, when they were seven years old and already despairing at the lack of answers given to their innumerable questions.

The Shay part itself was something they could only hope was real enough. It was one of the few solid memories they could conjure, mixed in with other faint sensations that were all just barely decipherable.

(The bright glare of the sun in their eyes. The enveloping scent of saltwater and fish. The name Shay, spoke low and soft as a lullaby.)

Shay traced over these faint memories with a sort of reverence, the same way they traced their fingers over the books in the Circle library. It was those books which gifted them Surana. Shay had no idea if they had a true surname, but the adoption of one felt right to the young child. It felt important, as if by donning the name they could become something like the characters that populated their tales and stories. Shay had found the name in one of the tower’s rare books on elven lands, and the decision to take it as their own only fueled their growing fascination with the distant, untouchable world beyond the Circle walls.

And who could blame them for that? They were a small child, who spent their days in small rooms with small windows that offered only the smallest view of the lands outside their tower. How could they help but dream of a world where there were mountains and oceans and tundras out there, just waiting to be seen?

Even at seven, Shay knew better than to voice those desires out loud. They knew the philosophy of the Circle- a mage should be content with the life they were given, constricted though it was. The world beyond the Circle was a dangerous place to venture, and at the end of the day, Shay could only be thankful for the safety of their stone walls and warm bed. They knew not all mages were so lucky.

They also knew it was not a common thing, to be taken as young as they had been. Most children who came to the tower were at least old enough to hold on to something from their old lives. But Shay had nothing- no faces, no home, nothing. The Senior Enchanters said their magic had manifested when they were scarcely four years old, in a feat of telekinesis which resulted in them immediately being whisked away by the Templars. Such an early showing of their gifts meant the magic within them was strong, Shay was told, though they were never quite sure whether this observation was intended to bring them pride or shame.

Either way, there were few other apprentices Shay’s age in the Circle, and those who were older tended to overlook the quiet elven child. It didn't help that Shay had always regarded their fellows with caution, torn between the wish to know them and the lack of knowledge in how to formulate an approach. People had always been difficult for them to figure out. Magic was one thing; magic came easily, as naturally as dreaming, and with a little study and patience Shay found they could perform spells even the older students struggled with. But people didn’t make much sense at all, no matter how much time Shay spent studying them from afar.

Once, they brought their questions to a Senior Enchanter. Wynne was an older woman in the Circle, a healing specialist and rare adult who never yelled at children for making messes or berated them for being underfoot. Shay tended to trail after her on the days they didn’t have lessons, listening to her lecture the Junior Enchanters on things which Shay didn’t quite understand but found fascinating nonetheless.

“You’ll find that people start to make a little more sense when you’re older,” she told them at the time. That was a common answer from her: when you’re older. At Shay’s frown, Wynne chuckled and tousled their dark curls with a gentle smile. “You’ll also find that sometimes they still don’t make any sense at all, but I’m afraid that’s just how life is. Now, what brought this on?”

Shay’s frown deepened. “Enchanter Sweeney said his eyes are starting to go. I asked him where they were going and he just laughed, and then he said what he meant was they weren’t working very well anymore. So I asked him if he couldn’t make them work with magic, and he said he could, but he wouldn’t. But he wouldn't say why, and I still don't understand."

Wynne sighed- a familiar sound, and one that was usually followed by the when you’re older answer. “A person shouldn’t always do things just because they can, especially when that person has the power of a mage. There are some types of magic that simply aren’t allowed.”

“Not even to make his eyes work? That's not fair.”

“Not even then, but every rule has a reason. They may be strict, but they are what’s best for everyone.”

Not for Enchanter Sweeney, Shay thought, but they didn’t say the words aloud. They simply kept their puzzling to themselves and trusted that Wynne was right- as she usually was- and that once they passed their Harrowing and became a real mage, they too would understand the structure of the Circle's rules. All that mattered now was that the Enchanters and the Templars had their orders, and it wasn’t the job of a young apprentice to question them.

So they didn't. Instead, when Shay was tired of trying to figure people out, they would retreat to their own little sanctuary: the Circle library.

The library was, in Shay’s opinion, the best thing about the Circle. It was immense, filled with volumes upon volumes of more books than Shay could hope to read in their lifetime- not that they could be dissuaded from trying. Best of all, it was large enough that there was almost always a quiet corner in which Shay could tuck their tiny self away for hours on end without fear of interruption or discovery.

That was how Shay discovered their favorite section. The atlases, stored in the fourth aisle of the sixth section on the third floor, were rarely of interest to the tower-locked mages. Every now and then a Templar or Senior Enchanter came to search for information on Fereldan locations or routes to other Circles, but nobody seemed to realize just how much more was waiting to be found. Tomes describing far-off places Shay had never even heard of could go untouched for years, undisturbed until a tiny elven mage stood on their tiptoes to haul them down from the shelves. On their best days, Shay would study the books until their eyes surrendered to sleep- and even then, their dreams were filled with the strange and beautiful things they’d read of.

Most of Shay’s time in the library was spent in solitude, which was how they liked it. Not many others shared their appreciation for the subject, and even the Enchanters who seemed amused by their interest tried to discourage them from hiding away in such remote corners of the library. The protests didn’t bother Shay; it only meant they got better at not being found.

In fact, there was only one person in those days who ever had the honor of knowing their best hiding spots.

Jowan wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

He was nearly nine years old, and that was far too old to sob like a baby over getting yelled at by an Enchanter. Even if she had a voice like nails on a chalkboard. Even if her screeching had caught the attention of every other apprentice in the stockroom, who had all turned to stare at Jowan’s embarrassment.

Jowan pressed his fists against his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the tears not to fall. It wasn’t like he’d meant to mess anything up. He never meant to; messiness just followed at his feet like a stubborn dog, getting him into trouble no matter his intentions. The thought sent another tremor through his chest, but he bit his lip and fought against the cry that threatened to escape.

“What are you doing?”

The voice made Jowan jump, and he spun around in a huff, ready to run again. But the person who’d found him wasn’t a disappointed Enchanter or giggling apprentice. It was just Shay Surana.

Jowan crossed his arms over his chest defensively, but his initial spark of fear had already faded away. Shay was a little weird, and Jowan had never really known what to make of them, but they were rarely mean and hardly scary. They were just quiet and scrawny, with big dark eyes that stared expectantly at him as they waited for an answer. Jowan ducked his head, hoping that his shaggy hair would hide any tears that had managed to escape, and in as steady a voice as he could manage said, “Hiding.”

 “Who from?”

“…Enchanter Leora. I was ‘sposed to help her clean up the stockroom today, but I got the potion labels all mixed up. I didn't mean to! The letters just got all fumbled around in my head." Jowan paused, his fingers fidgeting nervously at the hem of his sleeves. He felt stupid, trying to explain this all to Shay, who always had their head in a book and had probably never fumbled up a letter in their life. Jowan choked down another sniffle and continued, "Anyway, I put two things next to each other that weren't 'sposed to be next to each other, and a whole cabinet got burned away. Now Leora's looking for me and she's real mad.”

Shay’s eyes widened, and Jowan felt a rush of gratitude upon realizing they understood the severity of the situation. They stepped to the side, and Jowan realized they were standing in front of a dark doorway partially obscured by a lopsided bookshelf. All Jowan could see inside was haphazard clutter, but Shay gestured towards the room as if offering up a solemn secret. “Do you want to come inside? Nobody uses this room anymore, and if you squeeze past the boxes in the back and stay very quiet, people can't find you at all.”

Jowan hesitated, chewing his lip as he evaluated his options. Shay gave him a small, hopeful smile. “I can show you my book collection. There’s one about the Emerald Graves so thick I can hardly even lift it off the table.”

What an Emerald Grave was, Jowan had no idea. That was another thing about Shay- whenever they did talk, they tended to go on about things that nobody else really cared to know about. But in spite of himself, Jowan felt a smile waver on his lips.

“Yeah, okay.”

While Jowan suspected the initial invitation was an act of pity on Shay’s part, they didn’t protest when he showed up to their hiding spot the second time. Or the third, or the fourth.

In fact, Shay actually seemed to enjoy having Jowan around. Jowan was at a loss as to why; maybe the elf kid was just desperate for any kind of company, no matter who it was. They talked to Jowan endlessly about the latest discoveries they’d made in the massive volumes they were constantly devouring, most of them involving travels and adventures in far-off places. It made sense they would be desperate for any companion in this topic; such talk was normally discouraged, especially among the apprentices.

Whatever their reasons, Jowan couldn’t mind too much. Shay was odd at times, but they were nice enough. They didn’t make fun of Jowan when he stuttered in class, and they didn’t seem to mind his occasional clumsiness. They even shocked Jowan by agreeing to skip class one day- a rare event for such a sickeningly good student. That day, Jowan risked his skin swiping cookies from the kitchen for the occasion, and found the resulting smile on Shay’s normally serious face was well worth the trouble.

“Jowan?” Shay asked when half the cookies were gone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we’re friends now.”

Jowan blinked at the statement, and before he could stop himself blurted out, “Why?”

Shay frowned at the question, and Jowan cursed himself for sounding so dumb. “I just mean…none of the Enchanters here really like me, and everyone knows it. You’re the smartest apprentice in our whole class, and I’m not good at anything. Why do you care about being friends with me?”

“You’re good at a lot of things.” Shay protested. “You’re funny, and you’re nice to talk with. And you’re brave enough to steal food from the kitchens!”

“That stuff doesn’t count,” Jowan said with a pout. “You could be friends with Florian or Petra or somebody else who’s smart and good at magic like you. Why don’t you ever bring one of them here instead?”

“Florian wouldn’t want to get his robes all dusty, and Petra would tattle to Irving right away if we tried to hide out like this.” Shay glanced around at the old shelves and boxes that had become their own secret fortress. “Besides, everybody else thinks I’m boring, or weird, or…” They trailed off, one of their hands tugging at their curls in what Jowan had come to recognize as a nervous motion.

Jowan thought about the things Shay had said. He still wasn’t convinced he believed them all, especially the parts about Shay actually wanting him around. Nobody wanted Jowan- not the Enchanters who constantly demanded he 'do better', and not the other apprentices who giggled behind their hands when he inevitably failed to do so. Even Jowan's own mother had preferred to shut him in the barn when his weak magic made itself known, rather than let him spend another night in the family house while they waited for the Templars to come. Those facts circled in Jowan's mind constantly, reminding him every day that even though he was a mage, he didn't really belong here.

But then again…Shay was pretty smart. Smarter than all their classmates. Definitely smarter than Jowan's old mother. Maybe they were more right about this than Jowan gave them credit for.

“You are weird," Jowan said at last in a thick voice. "But it’s good-weird. I like you.”

Not even the cookies had made Shay smile quite like those words did. “I like you, too.”

“That just means I’m also weird.”

“That’s okay. I like you anyway.”

Jowan’s friendship with Shay only grew from that day forward. The Circle could still be a dizzying place, full of expectant Enchanters and demanding classes and the hovering, unspoken threat of demons lurking in the shadows of their dreams, but Jowan found it all easier to manage with someone on his side. Shay never slipped from their place at the top of the class, and while Jowan never quite measured up to them, he still managed to get by and keep out of any trouble too severe. All in all, the days in the Circle passed in a quiet, predictable fashion until they were about thirteen years of age.

That was when Rosalind Amell came screaming into their lives.

Ros was a fighter. That was what her father had told her, all her life. That was what she remembered the most- his voice, urging her on.

You’re a fighter. We both are. Never lose that.

So when the Templars ripped her away from him, she fought. She screamed and raged and threw herself at these kidnappers- these murderers, her thoughts hissed, and Ros desperately hoped that wasn’t true, that against all odds he'd somehow managed to survive her capture. But although everything had happened in such a blur, she could never forget the flood of red that covered the ground when her father tried to shield her from those monsters in steel.

Ros would have turned into an abomination right then and there, if they hadn’t already cut her off from the Fade. She would have killed them all, and it would have been worth it.

She cursed herself now for having been so stupid, so reckless. Everything her father had done, everything he taught her, every time they’d moved towns- all that work, lost in one uncontrolled outburst. It was almost enough to make her hate herself, but unfortunately for the Templars, she hated them far more.

By the time they dragged her into the tower that was to be her prison, Ros’s throat was hoarse from screaming, and her body felt about to collapse from sheer exhaustion. The long dark-blonde hair she'd once taken such care of now fell in long, tangled strands, her scalp still stinging from the way the Templars had pulled at her when she tried to make an escape. Dark bruises colored her arms, and her wrists were raw and chafed from the bindings they'd kept her in. But she never gave in- in fact, the sight of those heavy doors closing behind her only reignited her anger.

If she’d had her magic within easy reach, she would have blasted them all away. But the Templars had kept her mana drained the entire trip, and her muscles burned from the combination of magical smites and her forced march. Still, she had her voice and her fury, and she put them both to good use.

“Calm down, girl,” one of the Templars snapped, shoving her down the hallway. “You keep up like this and it'll be straight to the Rite of Tranquility.”

“Fuck you and fuck your Tranquility!” Ros threw herself backwards against the Templar, hoping to knock him off balance. Her hands were bound, but she could still get in a few good kicks, given the opportunity.

But she was small and weak and no match for the armored warrior, and her efforts were met only a hard smack from the back of his glove.

Ros tasted blood, and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, her ears ringing. All at once, everything seemed to weigh down on her: the bruises and exhaustion, the hot tears running down her face, the horrid creeping certainty that she was never going to see her father again.

She gritted her teeth, doing her best to ignore the aching in her jaw, and forced herself back to her feet so she could glare up at her kidnapper. Whatever else happened, she would not be cowed so easily.

Before she could say anything, however, an aged man in dark blue robes appeared beside her and stepped up to the Templar. Ros was dimly aware of the calming words he spoke, but she suddenly found herself too woozy to make out the meaning. She shook her head, and when she looked around she realized that small crowds had gathered in nearby doorways. The faces she saw stared back at her with varying degrees of curiosity and pity, but she didn’t have long to study them.

“She only needs a little time to adjust,” the man next to her was saying, and he laid a placating hand on her arm. Ros wrenched away immediately, not caring that she stumbled and nearly crashed to the ground once more.

No matter what any of them said, Ros was determined to never let herself adjust to being a prisoner.

The Templars eventually took Ros to the Circle dormitories, which turned out to be one massive room lined with rows upon rows of stacked wooden cots. She was swiftly assigned to a bed, then given a set of robes and instructed to report to someone whose name she didn’t bother to remember. She didn’t care about any of it, and she had no desire to play that part of a good little mage; all she wanted was to keep fighting, to run back to the tower entrance and claw the doors open. But her body simply had no energy left to give, and as soon as Ros allowed herself to lean against the bed she slipped into a restless sleep.

When she woke, an old woman was at her bedside, tending to the wounds Ros had sustained during her journey with the Templars. As she worked her magic, she gave Ros a motherly smile and told her that happiness could be found in her new life, if only she learned to accept the form it came in.

Ros barely resisted the urge to punch her, and instead settled for a glare and stony silence.

The following days crawled by slowly, even inside this tower room that never saw the sun. Ros stayed in her bed, refusing to attend meals or speak to any who approached her. Maybe it was pointless, but it was the only form of rebellion she had left. That didn't stop the older mages from trying, and the only moments Ros was truly left alone were at mealtimes, when the dormitory would empty and she would finally have a few moments to herself. She spent this time wracking her brain for ways to escape, but she'd already fought back with everything she had- what more could she do than that?

And what would escape even mean, if she had no family left to return to?

After days of these angry musings, Ros looked up from her bed one evening to find that although the mages had all been called for dinner, she still wasn’t alone. Two young mages hovered in the doorway- and both were clearly staring at her. Ros gave them no acknowledgement, but after a quick whispered argument amongst themselves, they moved forward together and approached her bedside.

The first thing that caught her notice was how different they were from each other. Both looked to be about her age, but one was an elf, small and angular, with dark skin and wavy hair that hung past their ears; the other was a human, pale and gangly and looking as if he expected Ros to bite his head off at any second. The second thing that caught her notice was the smell of fresh bread, and she hated the way her traitorous stomach instantly growled in response to the bundle of rolls the human revealed to her.

“We figured you’d be hungry,” he said, holding them out like an offering. Ros’s stubbornness warred against her hunger, but only for a brief moment. It had been days since she’d had anything like a proper meal, and before she could think better of it, she snatched the rolls from the boy’s hands.

It felt wrong to care about anything so petty as bread after everything that had happened to her...but in that moment, those rolls were the best food Ros had ever stuffed into her mouth.

When she finished devouring her meal, the elf stepped forward. “I’m Shay Surana,” they said in a quiet, businesslike voice. They looked then to the human, who sighed.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk to her.”

“Be nice.”

The boy frowned but relented. “Fine. I’m Jowan. Um...good to meet you?”

Ros said nothing, just eyed the two warily. She was grateful for the food, and they seemed decent- but she wasn’t sure what exactly it was they wanted from her.

“We know who you are,” Shay said, clearly trying to prompt her. “You’re Rosalind Amell.”

Ros looked away. Amell was a name her father had not used in a very long time; she wondered how the Templars had known. Perhaps they’d been looking for her longer than she’d realized.

“We could also call you Terror of the Tower,” Jowan added with the flicker of a grin. “The other apprentices are already telling horror stories about you. Thanks for not trying to kill us. Yet, at least.”

Somehow, this attempt at conversation was worse than the Templars’ glares or the Enchanters’ condescension. Ros didn’t want to make friends here; she wanted to leave. With a huff, she turned away, sank into her bed, and pulled the blanket over her shoulders.

But these two wouldn’t take the hint. Shay actually took a step closer, and said, “I read about the Free Marches in one of the library books. If the Amells really are important there, Greagoir and Irving would probably let you write to them. Finn- he’s another apprentice here- he’s from nobility, and his family writes him all the time. Once you pass your Harrowing, you might even get to travel and see them. It’s mostly Senior Enchanters who get to do stuff like that, but if you follow the rules and get Irving to like you…”

And that was too much.

“Leave me alone!” Ros shouted, whirling back on these two idiots with all the force she could muster. “You don’t know my family and you don’t know me, so go away!”

They both took a step back, startled, but it was Jowan who scowled and snapped back, “You’re not the only who doesn’t want to be here, you know!”

Shay put a hand on his shoulder as if to calm him down, but he shook them off and crossed his arms defensively, still staring at Ros. In an even quieter voice than before, Shay said, “Maybe this was a bad idea. We just didn’t want you to get into more trouble- which you will if you don’t start following the rules.”

Ros bristled, and she was about to tell this kid exactly where they could stick the Circle’s stupid rules when they added in a rush, “And before we go, I also wanted to ask if you’d ever seen the ocean, just in case.”

Of all the possible things they could have said, it was that ridiculous question that gave Ros pause. She blinked, confused, wondering if this was some sort of trick. “Of course I’ve seen the ocean.”

Shay’s eyes widened in wonder, and Ros could only stare at them, baffled.

“Shay thinks they’ve seen the ocean, too,” Jowan mumbled by way of explanation. “But only in their dreams.”

“I remember it,” Shay clarified. “I just…don’t really know why I remember. So I’m trying to learn. Can you tell us about it?”

Ros wanted to say no. She wanted to tell them both to shove off. Instead, she said, “I…I guess so. But then you have to leave me alone, okay?”

And that was how the three mages spent the rest of their dinnertime exchanging questions and answers, with the majority of the questions supplied by Shay. Jowan mostly listened, still wary, but every now and then he cut into the conversation with a dry comment or sarcastic remark. Ros was quite aggravated to admit that he was, at times, almost funny.

When dinner was over, they actually did as she asked, and drifted away from the bed she’d claimed. Before they left, however, Shay gave her a small smile and said, “Thank you, Rosalind.”

Something about that made Ros’s throat tighten, but she swallowed hard and tried not to show it. “Nobody actually calls me that,” she said. “It's just Ros.”

“I still prefer Terror of the Tower,” Jowan said, and for the first time in days Ros allowed herself a smile.

The next day, Ros pulled herself out of bed, the events from the night before still rattling around in her mind. You can do this, she told herself, and before she had the chance to doubt those words she marched herself up to the nearest Templar and demanded an audience with the First Enchanter.

She didn’t know anything about the Amell side of her family; her father had never spoken of them. But she remembered Hana and Ollie, and she knew there were others who had been taken by the Circle before she’d ever had the chance to know them. Ros hated that she was here now, but…maybe her family wasn't completely taken from her.

Nothing about finding them again would be easy, of course. When she showed up at the First Enchanter's office, he seemed pleased enough- until he realized what she wanted.

“Family ties are typically discouraged in the Circle, especially among apprentices,” he explained. He was just as patient and composed as he had been the day Ros first arrived, and somehow that only managed to stoke Ros's indignation.

“That’s not fair!”

“Perhaps not.” Irving motioned for Ros to sit in the small chair positioned in front of his fancy desk, but Ros crossed her arms and remained standing. He let her resistance pass without comment, and instead said, “If your older siblings have passed their Harrowings, I believe communication could be allowed. I will make inquiries. But you should understand that such privileges are earned through cooperation with our caretakers here at the Circle. You needn’t like the Templar's presence- indeed, I would suggest you avoid them when you can- but they are here to serve a purpose. Compromise with them, and they will compromise with you. Can you do that?”

Ros considered this question, still fuming. She hated everything about this- and yet, she knew had little choice.

The lines in Irving's face softened as he regarded her quiet surrender. "I'm terribly sorry for what you've been through, child. I truly am. But the Circle is no death sentence. You have a strong will, that much is clear. I believe you could do very well here, if you give yourself the chance."

After her meeting with Irving, Ros forced herself to return to the dormitories, don her awful Circle robes, and take the winding path down to the classrooms. Whispers followed her as she made her way down the halls, and every time she caught sight of a Templar she could practically feel the air around her boil with her anger. When she walked into the classroom, however, her temper cooled as she spotted Shay and Jowan seated in the front row. Jowan raised an eyebrow at her in surprise, but Shay granted her a small, shy smile. Without hesitation, Ros marched over and placed herself in the seat right beside them.

For the time being, she had no choice but to endure this prison. But at least she didn’t have to endure it alone.

Chapter Text

As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light

—Transfigurations 10:1

Tiny sparks of lightning danced across Ros’s palm. She took a deep breath and rotated her hand slowly, holding it out to so that Irving could observe the electricity as it grew around her fingers and wreathed her palm in light. The First Enchanter took his time in studying the spell, and the lightning crackled loudly in rhythm with Ros’s growing impatience. She forced herself to focus only on the magic, ignoring Irving’s watchful eyes until at last he gave her a nod.

Finally. Now for the fun part.

In one swift motion, Ros thrust her hand forward and released a bolt of electricity at the target across the room. The loud blast of the resulting impact brought a smile to her face.

Bullseye.

More lightning gathered in her hand practically of its own accord, and Ros was already moving into position to deliver another, larger bolt when Irving loudly cleared his throat.

“That’s enough, Miss Amell.”

His words broke Ros’s concentration, and the magic in her hand flared out beyond her control. At the last moment she pulled back on the spell, but rather than harmlessly fizzle out, the sparks exploded across her fingers.

“Shit!”

“Language, Miss Amell,” Irving scolded, peering down at her with a frown. “And let’s keep practicing that control, shall we?”

Ros could hear the titters of the other apprentices, and she scowled as she shook out her singed fingers. “I had it perfectly under control until you distracted me.”

“The assignment was one bolt. You must learn how to listen before you attempt to show off. Loss of focus can have disastrous consequences.” Irving’s calm and authoritative demeanor did nothing to improve Ros’s mood, especially as he added, “Speaking of such- why don’t you show me your progress in creation magic with a healing spell, now that you’ve provided yourself the opportunity?”

Ros grimaced and stuffed her fingers into the folds of her robes, ignoring the pain of her burns. “Don’t need it. I’m fine.”

Irving sighed, but thankfully didn’t push the subject. Another apprentice was called forward, and Ros fell back into her place in line, reminding herself- as she did every day- to keep her temper. Stinging fingers and wounded pride weren’t that bad, all things considered. She tried to distract herself from darker grumblings by watching Irving’s examination of the other students, but it was all so dull- just standard, entry-level spells, fired off by nervous apprentices wishing to impress the First Enchanter as he reviewed their progress.

Her tempestuous thoughts were lifted only when Jowan stepped up for his turn. Despite some hesitation, he managed most of his spells with an awkward moderate success. Irving hummed quietly as he observed the display, offering neither praise nor critique, but Ros gave her friend an encouraging smile as he returned to his place next to her. Jowan glanced down- he was nearly a full head taller than her now, even with his habitually hunched shoulders, a fact which left Ros thoroughly infuriated by the unequal distribution of growth spurts- and nodded back at her with a smile of his own, obviously relieved to have the demonstration over with.

One by one, the other apprentices were called. Clemence fumbled his spell and missed the target completely, and Keili was so reluctant to participate that she barely generated any sparks at all, but Finn and Eadric both performed well enough. Still, it was with vindictive satisfaction that Ros noted none of their bolts came close to the intensity of her own.

Shay was called last, and they, of course, were perfect. Their mouth was pressed into an adorably focused frown as they went through the motions of their spells with cool grace, and Irving hummed his approval as always. Ros rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at them as they returned to the line. Ever the good and obedient student, they waited until Irving’s back was turned before returning the gesture.

With the demonstrations finally over, their group was dismissed for the day. Ros breathed a sigh of relief, eager to get back to the dormitories- only to find her exit blocked by Irving.

“I must say, I am disappointed by your performance today.”

Ros gave him a wry smile. “Inspiring as always, First Enchanter.”

Irving frowned, and Ros knew that look well enough to recognize the lecture that was coming. Across the room, Shay was lingering in the doorway, their brow furrowed with concern, and for a moment Ros entertained the notion of calling them over to act as a buffer. But she knew that there was no avoiding this conversation, and there was no reason Shay should suffer with her. She nodded at them to go on without her, ignoring the pang of reluctance that echoed in her chest as she watched them leave.

Irving barely noticed her distraction; he had already launched into his speech. “You are a bright student, Miss Amell. You have much potential, as I’m sure you know.”

Ah, yes. Potential. That was a line Ros was well acquainted with. “Lucky me,” she said flatly, not quite succeeding at keeping the disdain out of her voice.

“But you lack control.”

“So I’ve heard. You need new material, Irving.”

Irving closed his eyes, clearly searching for patience. Ros didn’t know why he bothered- she’d never made a secret of her opinions, and no amount of calm condescension would change them. Still, he insisted, continuing the speech he’d clearly rehearsed for her benefit. “If you are ever to put your potential to use, you must choose a path and commit yourself. You may not want to see it, but with your natural talent and the proper application, you could rise high as an Enchanter-"

“An Enchanter who lives to do the Chantry's bidding and lick the Templars' boots,” Ros snapped, the words bursting out before she could stop them. She winced, instantly regretting the slip, but she refused to back down in front of Irving. Instead, she lifted her chin defiantly to meet his eyes as she added, “If rising high involves rubbing elbows with people like Greagoir, I don’t want any part in it.”

“Your spite does you little credit,” Irving said sharply, his voice raising for the first time. He sighed and shook his head, and in a more controlled tone added, “Every Enchanter here, myself included, does what they can for the good of their fellow mages. Once you are older and have more perspective, you will understand. But you must begin taking your lessons more seriously. Talent is no substitute for hard work, and you need-”

“-discipline,” Ros finished. “I know. That’s all I’ve heard from you for the last four years. Like I said- get some new material.” She moved around him so she could make a quick exit from the classroom, but his next words stopped her in her tracks.

“A letter from Ostwick arrived today.”

Of course, he would save the most important part for last. He always did.

“For me?” Ros asked, looking back grudgingly. Irving reached into his pocket and produced an envelope with her name written in a looping, graceful script.

The first time Ros had seen a letter like that, it had been nearly impossible to believe that such deliberate, composed penmanship came from someone in her family. But that was Genevieve Amell- elegant and precise in all the ways Ros never would be. And Ros could forgive her for that, because Genevieve was the only one of her siblings to ever respond to the letters Ros had sent out so many years ago. The others had all remained stubbornly silent, with no hint as to whether they were dead or missing or simply uninterested in her existence. But Genevieve had been there for her, from the very start, and she answered every subsequent letter from Ros with unwavering reliability.

Ros has a sneaking suspicion that Irving only allowed the letters to continue in the hopes that some of this reliability would be a good influence on Ros, and she didn’t even care. For this, Ros could bite her tongue and play along with whatever games the First Enchanter wanted to play.

When Ros reached for the letter, however, Irving pulled back, a hard look on his face. “I would encourage you to think on how and why you are allowed the privilege of this correspondence,” he said. “Not all Circles entertain such notions, especially for apprentices. Such things would not possible without ‘rubbing elbows’ with those whom we might otherwise avoid. Please, keep in mind what I have told you today.”

“...Yes, First Enchanter. I get it. And...thank you. I'll think about what you said." Ros swiped the letter from his hands, then turned on her heel and swept out of the room before she could say something she would truly regret.

“Shut up, Jowan.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Shut up.”

Jowan threw a pillow at Ros, hitting her square in the face and thoroughly disrupting her sulk. She sat up and glared at him, unimpressed by the innocent expression he adopted as he dangled his feet off the edge of her bed.

“Irving says you have potential. That’s a compliment. Maker, I’d kill for the First Enchanter to say something like that about me.”

“You don’t need Irving’s approval,” Ros insisted, throwing the pillow back at him. “And anyway, how are any of us supposed to really learn if they refuse to let us experiment with anything more complex than a wimpy single bolt? It’s all control and discipline and just do exactly what the Chantry tells you to do so you never have to think for yourself.”

“Shay gets to learn more complex spells,” Jowan pointed out as the elf in question finally entered the dormitories. They were perpetually busy these days, having been assigned extra lessons and duties with Wynne- one of the many burdens of being the prodigy of Kinloch Hold. Shay took a at the other edge of Ros’s bed and, without a word, held their hand out expectantly towards her. Ros sighed dramatically, but she placed her burned hand in theirs without protest.

Shay’s fingers were soft and cool, and it only took a moment for the familiar numbness of a healing spell to spread across Ros’s skin. She raised her hand in the air, stretched her fingers to test the feeling, and gave a satisfied nod. Clasping her healed hands together, Ros batted her eyes at Shay in an exaggerated fashion. “My hero.”

She grinned as her words brought a faint flush to Shay’s dark cheeks.

“I only learn spirit healing,” they said to Jowan, doing their best to dutifully ignore Ros’s flirtation. “Aside from that, we’re still just apprentices. Once we’re Harrowed, we’ll all be given more opportunities.” They glanced in Ros’s direction, their words growing pointed. “We just have to make it through our apprenticeships without antagonizing the First Enchanter to death.”

“But then how would I have any fun?”

Jowan snorted. “You’d think of something.”

Shay, however, was not amused. “I’m not joking, Ros. Irving allows you quite a bit of leeway, but if you keep pushing back against him, you’ll never be able to leave this tower.”

Ros frowned, an all-too-familiar ire bubbling inside her. “But I will if I follow all their rules like a good little mage?”

“Could we please not have this argument again?” Jowan grumbled, but Ros was already too riled up.

“No- I really want to know. What would I do, perform party tricks for nobles? Fight in the Chantry’s wars? Or maybe I could take Irving’s job and brainwash the next generation of kidnapped apprentices?”

“That’s not fair,” Shay said in a quiet voice. “We could be much worse off. Irving does what he can to protect us.”

“And how’s that working out?” Her voice came out in an angry snap, harsher than she’d meant it to, but she couldn’t stop. “While he’s lecturing me about discipline, the Templars are off doing whatever they please! Maker’s balls, did you see the bruises Anders had after his last escape attempt? They broke his arm! Who’s being protected there?”

Jowan winced, and it was only then that Ros realized how loud her voice had risen. She bit her lip and glanced to the doors, certain that the Templar standing outside was taking note of her words. Stupid girl, she chided herself, but the admonishment did nothing to quell the state she’d worked herself into.

“Ros,” Shay said softly, leaning forward to grab her hands. There was no magic involved this time, but the gentle weight of their touch was calming all the same. Ros closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe- in, out, just as the mages did for their meditations every morning. Loathe as she was to admit anything she’d learned in the Circle was useful, the practice did help to center herself.

“Sorry,” she muttered. She expected Shay to pull away again now that her rant was done, but they didn’t- they just held tighter. Their dark eyes were intense, and Ros’s couldn’t help the way her breath hitched in response to that look.

“Believe me, I know,” they said. “But please, at least try to make it past your Harrowing. Then you’ll be a fully-fledged mage, and you can join the Libertarians and argue with Irving as much as you want. But you have to get there first, or they’ll make you Tranquil before you get the chance to do anything at all.”

Ros dropped her eyes. “We’ve got ages before we have to worry about the Harrowing…”

“You don't know that. I've heard rumors of them taking mages as young as sixteen in the past."

“Fine.” Ros didn’t know if that was a promise she could keep, but how she could say anything else when it was Shay who was asking, who was looking at her like that? “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Shay said quietly. They pulled Ros into a hug, and she breathed in that familiar mix of Circle soap and old paper as she leaned into their comfort. It was a comfort they'd given a thousand times, but Ros's heart fluttered all the same. “Just make it to your Harrowing. After that, they can’t hurt you.”

Both of them knew that wasn’t true, but if Shay needed a goal to strive for, Ros wouldn’t take it away from them. She wouldn’t do that to Shay, who had stuck by her side all these years despite her sharp tongue and surly temper and penchant for provoking the very people Shay tried so hard to please. She truly didn’t know how Shay put up with her with such grace, but they did. And in moments like this, Ros could almost be grateful to the Circle for bringing them together.

Jowan cleared his throat, as if reminding the two of them that he was still there, and Shay quickly pulled away. They released a breath and stood up, not quite meeting either Ros or Jowan’s eyes. “I have to go now. I'm supposed to help Wynne with the next lesson.”

They hurried away without another word, and Jowan watched them go with a quiet, contemplative expression. When they were gone, he gave Ros a knowing look. “So…you realize they’re in love with you, right?”

Ros heaved a sigh and fell back against the bed. “Maker knows why. You’d think they’d be smarter than that.”

Genevieve’s letter spoke of many things- updates on her life in Ostwick, descriptions of the projects she was working on, idle gossip over the lives of people Ros had never met. Ros treasured it all, every word...but there was one particular passage which rattled around in her head for days afterward.

You asked me how to handle things with your friend, and while I’m flattered you would come to me for such advice, I doubt you will be happy to hear what I have to say. I’m afraid I haven’t the best record with these things- you remember I told you about myself and Evie, yes? Nothing good came of that, and I was a mess for months afterwards. Romance is difficult, especially for people in our position. First and foremost, I advise caution. Conduct yourself discreetly, and do try not to hang your happiness upon another- the heartbreak is not worth it in the end, I assure you.

(One more word of caution- even if you ignore everything else I say, please do make use of contraceptive spells as needed. I would be a terrible older sister if I did not at least implore you to do that.)

The advice stirred conflicted feelings in Ros. Not the contraceptive part- despite her sister’s concerns, Ros was already well-versed in that area. No, it was the other word her sister had used. Romance.

That was the crux of the problem. Romance was never supposed to be part of things, not in the Circle. And Ros was fine with that; she’d always been happy enough with short-lived trysts with other apprentices, the kind comprised of hurried touches in dark corners and little else afterward. The thrill of knowing she was blatantly breaking the Circle rules only made each encounter all the more satisfying, and that was the main appeal. Ros had never had to deal with actually liking any of the people she fooled around with.

But Shay was different. Shay was her friend, and Shay was looking at her lately in ways both similar and drastically different from the straightforward stares of interest she'd garnered from other apprentices.

Ros desperately needed to talk to someone who knew what they were doing when it came to matters like this.

In the lack of such an expert, she turned instead to Anders.

“What do you do when somebody is in love with you?”

Anders paused at the question, giving Ros a mystified look over the pot he was supposed to be scrubbing. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. Why are you asking?”

“Because we’re both stuck here for the next two hours at least, and we might as well talk about something.” Ros shoved her own well-scrubbed pot to the side and picked up the next one.

As far as Circle punishments went, they could be worse off. Anders knew that better than anyone; he’d escaped no less than four times, so he claimed, and even the increasingly harsher methods used to drag him back to the Circle had never discouraged him. That was why he was one of the few people to earn Ros’s admiration- he wasn’t one to sit around and take what the Circle gave him. He always swore that one day he would get out for good, and despite all his previous failures, Ros believed him.

The assignment of kitchen duty, however, had been handed out over something far simpler than escape plans: a mere breaking of curfew. Ros herself was stuck in the kitchens due to “deliberate and disgraceful destruction of Circle property”, as Senior Enchanter Innes had put it when three desks and half a bookshelf had fallen victim to one of Ros’s fireballs.

She was actually rather proud of that one, and she considered an evening of scrubbing dishes a relatively light price to pay.

Still, dealing with the products of a kitchen which provided meals for the entire tower was no quick task, especially when the use of magic was strictly prohibited. Luckily, the Templar assigned to watch them had disappeared into the halls with one of the kitchen maids, so Ros and Anders were at least free to talk. “Well? If you don’t answer, I’ll just keep bugging you all night.”

Whatever Anders thought of this line of questioning, Ros knew he wasn't any more suited to silence than she was. Sure enough, it barely took a minute of expectant waiting on her part before he relented and asked, “Fine. Let's start with this: do you want this person to be in love with you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Ros answered truthfully. “It’s complicated.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “You're a little young for 'complicated'. And anyway, why do you think I’m the one to come to about this 'complicated' issue?”

“Aren’t you and Karl in love?”

“What?!” The pot in Anders’ hands tilted and nearly fell from his grip, sending a wave of soapy water spilling down the front of his robes. He barely seemed to notice. “Of all the- how do you even know about us, anyway?”

Ros shrugged apologetically. For once, she hadn’t meant to offend- especially not Anders, who was one of the few older mages who didn’t treat her like a petulant nuisance. “People talk. You know there’s no secrets here with that kind of thing.”

Anders huffed and scrubbed viciously at his pot as he said in a tight voice, “You shouldn’t always listen to what people say. Besides, you know that kind of thing isn't allowed.”

Why did people keep reminding her of that? Ros knew. As Templar Drass had so elegantly declared to her entire class when they’d all turned fifteen, mages were not permitted to breed. When Ros had pointed out the plenty of positions and arrangements in which this would not be a concern, Drass had amended the statement to include any ‘act of passion’, which would surely cause the mages to become possessed by demons of lust and die the gruesome deaths all abominations deserved.

It was obviously rubbish. Ros didn’t know why Anders, who never paid mind to any rules, would be so bothered by that one.

“Since when do you care? Karl’s hardly the first person you’ve been with. You bragged to the whole tower about that girl you met in Denerim who-”

“Not that part, dummy. The love part.”

“Fine, whatever. You’re not in love. But Karl is different, right?”

“Drop it, pipsqueak.”

“You haven’t tried to escape since you’ve been together.”

Anders went still, and Ros wondered for a moment if she’d finally pushed too far. But that was the real problem, wasn’t it? The Circle already took people away far too easily. They all lived on the whims of the Chantry, where a simple word from a Templar could get them transferred halfway across the world. They certainly weren’t allowed to have actual families, or even openly display affection within the Circle halls. Yet despite the impossibility of it all, Anders was still here. Anders, who had once thrown himself into the lake and swam over a mile because the idea of freedom was so enticing, had ceased his escape attempts shortly after rumors began to circulate about him and Karl.

He could protest as much as he wanted; he could refuse to call it love. But he was still here, and Ros had to know one thing. “Is it worth it?”

Anders heaved a sigh and finally let his gaze flick back to her. “When I figure that out, I'll let you know."

Jowan hurried through the halls as quickly and as quietly as he could. He’d meant to come as soon as he was finished with lessons, but- well, he’d needed to make a detour, one which definitely couldn’t wait. What he'd done was risky enough; keeping evidence of his crimes on his person was something only an absolute fool would do, and Jowan hadn’t reached that point just yet. Now the scrolls were at least stored somewhere safe, and he could stop worrying and put them out of his mind.

At last he reached the kitchens, and Jowan paused for a moment to catch his breath. As he did, the conversation inside couldn’t help but be overheard, and he found himself lingering a moment before making his presence known.

Is it worth it? Ros asked, and Jowan bit down on a sigh. Speaking of fools…

Well, maybe fools was a bit harsh, especially coming from him. Jowan had proven today that he didn’t always make the best decisions himself, hadn’t he? But the truth of it was, Ros and Shay had been dancing around each other for far too long now, and it would be a relief for them to finally get on with this whole thing. If Ros was finally going to do something about Shay’s longing looks and wistful sighs, it could only be a good thing- even if four years was still a dreadfully long time to drag things out.

Jowan shook his head, berating himself for becoming so invested. Before he could think about it further, he simply pushed through the door, and the stress he’d been carrying all day did lessen slightly when Ros beamed at the sight of him. He edged slowly into the room, greeting Ros with a smile and Anders with an awkward wave. Ros was the one who adored the older mage, as most of the apprentices did, but Jowan never really knew what to think of him. Anders just attracted far too much attention for Jowan’s liking, and that was coming from someone who spent most of his time with Rosalind Amell. Anders smirked at Jowan, as if he could read those thoughts, and acknowledged him with a dismissive nod.

“What are you doing here?” Ros asked.

“Sweeney told me to come help with kitchen duty. Well, he didn't, but he’s getting old and if anyone asks, he’ll assume he did and then forgot about it. Come on, don't look so surprised. Shay’s still stuck working with Wynne, but I figured I’m better than nothing. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be here all night.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ros protested, but Jowan shook his head.

“I’m the one who took the stupid book. You just took all the blame.”

Anders gave Ros a questioning look, and she mouthed long story back at him.

A story of recklessness, more like, Jowan thought wryly. This whole thing had started with that book, the big volume of pages written in elven that he and Ros knew Shay would simply love. Enchanter Uldred had let it slip that there was a copy of it in the restricted section of the library, accessible only by Senior Enchanters, but of course Shay would never dream of breaking the rules on their own. So, Jowan and Ros had taken it upon themselves to do it in their stead.

Correction: Ros had taken it upon herself, and Jowan had never been able to prevent himself from getting roped into her schemes. She could be very convincing when she wanted to; she’d even promised to handle the distraction, and Jowan could only blame himself for not realizing that in her mind, distraction meant fireball. Meanwhile, Jowan was given the easy job of taking the book and running.

That was all he was supposed to do. But it was while Ros's fire was burning and people were running to active the library's ice glyphs that he'd noticed a bundle of old scrolls, tucked in-between the shelf and the wall.

He’d been curious, was all.

Ros didn’t know about that part; she was still grinning to herself, clearly relishing the memory of her scheme. “I’m always in trouble for something anyway,” she said breezily. “Might as well be efficient about it. You really don’t have to stick around here. Go get some of that peace and quiet you're always pining after.”

Jowan shook his head again. “You’re impossible, you know that? I’m trying do something nice.”

“Do you realize that saying the word ‘nice’ like that only makes you sound even grumpier?”

“Very funny. You know, now that I think about it, I forgot something in the dormitories. Maybe I should just go…”

Ros rolled her eyes and pushed a pile of plates towards him. “All right, if you’re going to be stubborn about it. Just don’t mention it to Shay- they already feel guilty enough about me being stuck here because of their illegal book.”

Jowan’s nerves spiked at the phrase illegal book, but he kept voice light as he gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Believe me, I know. Especially since they still haven’t figured out how to read the blasted thing.”

“Yeah, that was a flaw in planning on our part. But it was worth it, right?”

Jowan sat down next to Ros and picked up a plate, wrinkling his nose at the smell of old food. But he also remembered Shay’s ecstatic grin at the sight of their prize, and Ros’s look of pride as she surveyed the chaos she’d wrought...and, yes, the knowledge he’d uncovered when on his own in the library. It was an incredibly dumb move, he knew that, but it was a little exciting to have that kind of secret for himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think it was worth it.”

When the Templars came in the middle of the night, Jowan was certain they were there for him.

It had been four days since the incident in the library, and despite the efforts Jowan took to hide the scrolls, he couldn’t stop himself from fretting over their existence. He hadn’t read them. He would never do something like that. But once he’d realized what they were, he couldn’t just leave them, either. How could he? It was writings about blood magic. In the library! There had been no time to think, and in a burst of stupid, reckless bravery, Jowan had grabbed the scrolls and stuffed them into his robes, praying fervently that Ros’s chaos in the next room would stop the Templars from paying him any mind.

Taking those writings was an impulse, an irrational, secret act of rebellion, the riskiest thing someone like Jowan could do. As long as he never did more than that, he still had some deniability. He knew the Templars probably wouldn’t see it that way, however, and when the clanking of their metal boots filled the dormitory, Jowan went rigid with fear as he waited for them to drag him away. But they marched right past his bed, and stopped instead at Shay’s.

We’ve got ages before we have to worry about the Harrowing. It had barely been a week since Ros said those words. Jowan listened to the Templars pull Shay from their bed, and he realized how very wrong that statement was.

Jowan stayed frozen and quiet until he was certain the Templars had left. He couldn’t make out Shay’s soft footsteps amongst the sound of armored boots, but he sensed their absence from the bunk next to his. Only once the sound of the Templars faded completely did Jowan carefully rise and tiptoe to where Ros lay in bed, softly snoring and blissfully unaware. He thought briefly about letting her sleep…but he knew that if he did, she would kill him come morning. Besides, the last thing Jowan wanted was to be alone right now.

He carefully shook Ros awake, and when she blinked at him in a combination of irritation and confusion, he whispered as quietly as he could, “The Templars took Shay.”

She understood immediately.

Jowan and Ros waited through the night in Ros's bed, their hands linked tightly together, neither sleeping. Sharing beds was supposedly forbidden for apprentices of their age, but Jowan knew Ros was just as grateful for the comforting presence of another warm body as he was.

“They’ll be okay, right?” she asked, and her voice had never sounded so small.

“They’ll be okay,” Jowan whispered back. “You know how perfect they are. They’ll be fine.”

Ros’s grip on Jowan’s hand didn’t loosen. In all the time he’d known her, Jowan had never known Ros to be afraid of anything- she was always the first to argue with Templars and teachers alike, always the first to stand up against any perceived injustice. Always the first to start fights, too, and the last to apologize- and maybe that was why she barely had any friends other than Jowan and Shay, even after all these years.

They were all like that, all three of them. Ros had her temper and her recklessness to drive others off. Shay had their quiet eccentricities and their position as the Circle's most annoyingly flawless student to keep them isolated. And Jowan was…well, Jowan. The three of them had each other, and not much else.

Of course Ros was scared. Jowan was scared, too.

“They’ll be okay,” he said anyway, as if by repeating the words he could make them true. Ros sniffled and buried her head against his chest, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Jowan to wrap an arm around her and press a kiss against the top of her head.

“They’ll be okay,” he whispered, and he hoped desperately that he was telling the truth.

Shay woke from their Harrowing in a cold sweat.

They were in the infirmary. Wynne was hovering over them with a relieved smile. They were safe.

Little by little, everything came back. The glint of cold moonlight through the Harrowing Chamber's windows; the jarring, metallic song of marching Templars; the solemn stares from both Irving and Greagoir. The bright glint and burning taste of lyrium, stinging Shay's throat and nose as it took effect.

Wynne brought a cup of water to their lips, and only then did Shay realize just how parched they were. They were also exhausted, and aching, and suffering from an atrocious pounding in their head, all of which Wynne assured them was perfectly normal. But there was still worry in her eyes, and Shay knew there was something more she wasn't saying.

(The Harrowing wasn’t supposed to be like this.

That much had to be true. Irving said they would be tested by a demon. One demon. Not an entire horde of spirits flocking in a whirlwind of energy and noise that overwhelmed Shay almost immediately.

Take us with you , they cried in a chorus of a thousand voices. Let us through the Veil!

Shay tried to explain that they couldn’t, but the noise was too loud. They tried to push the spirits away, but they had never fought anything like this before. A glowing tendril wrapped itself around Shay’s arm, and they shrieked and stumbled back.)

Shay had taken longer to pass the test than expected, Wynne explained. It was something of a surprise, considering their considerable aptitude in all of their lessons. Shay could hear the disappointment in her words, and it was difficult to push down the resulting rush of fear which swelled in their chest.

“But,” Wynne was quick to add, “you are, of course, very young. To be Harrowed at this age is a rarity, and to pass is still an impressive feat.”

She continued on, speaking about the new privileges Shay would be granted as a fully Harrowed mage. Shay did their best to listen, despite the growing pit of panic that had traveled from their chest to deep in their stomach.

(The spirits and wisps continued flocking to Shay, snaking around their legs, grabbing at their robes, and for a moment it seemed they had no chance of resisting.

But a sudden dark shadow passed over the Fade landscape, and under this new presence, the spirits scattered and the wisps dissolved into nothingness.

Such pesky things, a sleepy voice drawled in Shay’s mind. Shay twisted in place, and finally saw the creature who was speaking. It was a lumbering thing, hunched on all fours and covered in a thick coating of coarse fur. Shay had never seen a bear, but they imagined this was similar, save for the fact it had a face framed in bone and a few too many claws sprouting from its feet.

“What did you do?”

I bade them leave. The wisps disturb my rest. So do you. But you, little dreamer, are much more interesting .)

Shay wanted to tell Wynne. They told her of all their troubles, they always had, ever since they were a child.

But what if she then told Irving? What if Irving told the Templars? What would Greagoir do, if he knew Shay had not truly defeated any demons?

(“I know what you want. You want to possess me.”

The spirit- the demon- did not seem impressed by Shay’s declaration. Posses? No, that is…far too much effort. I am rather disinclined to struggles, you see, however much the others enjoy them. I suppose I may be a demon, but I am hardly a demon. And you are...different. I may wish to meet you again.

The demon laid itself on the ground, resting it head on its paws as it observed Shay in an oddly mild manner. There will be no fight today, little dreamer. I suggest you leave now, before I tire of keeping the weaker spirits at bay.)

Leaving a Harrowing was supposed to be victorious, but for Shay, it had been like pulling themselves forward through a flood of molasses. They had done it- they had returned from their Harrowing, alive and un-possessed. But they knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the demon’s eyes were still upon them. By all rules of the Circle, they should say something. The attention of a demon was a danger. Shay was a danger.

Yet, when Wynne asked how they were feeling, they gave her a shaky smile and said only, “Tired. But I’m sure I’ll be better by tomorrow. Thank you for watching over me.”

Wynne smiled back, and pulled them into a hug, and Shay did not tell her anything else.

Ros and Jowan were waiting for Shay in the dormitory, and Shay did not get a step beyond the doorway before they were very nearly knocked off their feet. Ros’s embrace was immediate and strong, and Shay melted into her arms right away. It was a relief to let go, to forget; to let Ros lead them to a bed, her arms still wrapped protectively around them. Jowan hovered nearby, a nervous hand on Shay’s arm, his voice weak with relief as he immediately began asking questions.

Shay almost told them. If they could tell anyone, it would be Ros and Jowan. Maybe they could even help.

But right now they didn’t want to talk about demons or dangers or dreams- they only wanted to hold even tighter to Ros, to let her tell them that it was all okay now, to let the warmth of her unyielding embrace chase the ice from Shay's veins. And when her hands tangled in Shay’s curls, and she pulled them close for the kind of kiss they’d been dreaming of for years, they only wanted to kiss her back.

So they did, and for a brief moment, everything else in the world could wait.

Chapter Text

The gates of the city parted and the legion descended upon the land
As the shadow of a distant storm darkens the sun

—Apotheosis 2:1-2:18

Throughout his entire life, Jowan had been warned of the horrors of blood magic. He knew the risks. He knew blood magic was an evil, dangerous thing that would stain a mage’s soul even darker than the ordinary curse of magic already had. And unlike ordinary magic, which could be tempered and balanced through service and self-discipline, blood magic was a stain that could never be washed away.

The first time Jowan actually performed blood magic, however, it didn’t feel like that at all.

When he finally pulled the stolen scrolls out of the hiding place he’d made for them, it wasn’t a decision he made lightly. In fact, it took him over a year to work up the right combination of nerve and desperation to give them a proper reading. But after Shay’s Harrowing, the nightly disappearances of apprentices his age gradually grew more frequent. The best students were taken first- Petra, Kinnon, Finn, all plucked from their beds only to reappear the next day in dark blue Enchanter’s robes. It didn’t bother Jowan at first. He was far from the top of the class, and he had some time left to prepare himself, he was sure.

That feeling didn’t last long. Jowan was falling further and further behind the other apprentices with every passing day, no matter how hard he tried. It had been frustrating enough when it was only Shay showing him up, even though that was to be expected. But then even Ros, with her late arrival and stubborn defiance, began flying through lessons that still left Jowan struggling.

He’d tried doing things the proper way, he really had. It just wasn’t working.

The final straw came when Clemence was called in the middle of the night. At first, Jowan had been indignant. Clemence was even further behind than Jowan- he had never mastered a single entropy spell, and the Senior Enchanters thought he was more prepared for the Harrowing?

But when Jowan looked for Clemence’s face the next morning amongst the crowd of Enchanters, he found nothing. Clemence wasn’t in the dining hall, or the hospital wing, or the Enchanters’ quarters. Jowan finally found him in the stockroom, dutifully filling catalogues, his eyes dull and the Chantry sun burning brightly on his forehead.

That was when the desperation truly set in.

After months of arguing with himself, Jowan finally returned to the scrolls he’d hidden away in the old abandoned classroom he and Shay had once made their hiding spot. Shay never came here anymore- they had their own designated area in the Enchanters’ quarters, after all- and Ros had never been one to hide away on her own. This room was now Jowan’s alone, and it was as good a spot as any to engage in what was certainly a very, very bad idea.

It wasn’t as if he was planning on doing anything evil, he repeated to himself, acutely aware of how weak an excuse it sounded. But amongst the rumors of demons and mind control and blood-drinking, there was one common thread: blood magic did not rely on the Fade for power. It took a mage’s abilities and shifted them, transformed them…usually into something stronger.

Jowan needed to be stronger.

When he was finally ready, Jowan broke the edge off one of old wooden library chairs, creating a splintered hunk of wood that would be just sharp enough to get the job done. He almost muttered a prayer to the Maker, then decided he’d rather not call the Maker’s attention to any of this. With shaky hands, he pressed the makeshift dagger to his shoulder, where nobody would notice a small cut. Keeping in mind the instructions from the scrolls, he pressed down, focusing on the tiny flare of pain and the droplet of blood which oozed from the small wound.

The answering pulse of power was small, but present; a burst of energy, like taking a swig from a lyrium bottle. But instead of gradually fading as lyrium did, the feeling stayed, thrumming inside of Jowan to the beat of his racing heart.

Hesitantly, still shaking, Jowan held out a hand and attempted the sustained flame spell he’d been working on all week. Despite his efforts, he’d never conjured more than a few stable flickers- hardly impressive, especially when compared to the blazes Ros could summon without breaking a sweat.

This time, the fire answered his call far more readily, and in barely an instant Jowan was holding an eager flame within his hands.

Jowan laughed, so relieved that for a moment he forgot the need to remain absolutely silent. This could work. He didn’t need demons or sacrifices or any of the darker things discussed in those scrolls. He just needed this. This could be enough to get him through this Harrowing, and then…then, he would be safe.

Jowan spent extra time that night praying in the chapel, lingering even after the other mages had gone. He’d never been the most religious of people- why should he be, when the Maker had never been exceptionally kind to him? Still, it couldn’t hurt to offer up a few words of penance after the rules he’d broken today. Just in case. It wasn’t as if he’d be missed, anyway; even after all this time, Ros and Shay were often too wrapped up in each other to notice his occasional absence.

That’s not fair, a small voice in Jowan’s head chided him, and he sighed. He knew it wasn’t. They were still his best friends. Only a truly horrid person would wish his best friends were a little less happy with each other just because he missed the time when they were Shay and Ros and Jowan instead of Shay and Ros (and Jowan). So of course he didn’t wish that, because he wasn’t a horrid person who felt a twinge in his chest whenever Ros looked at Shay with lovestruck doe eyes, or when Shay rested their head on Ros’s shoulder.

Nope. He was just an apprentice engaging in secret blood magic.

So much better.

Jowan groaned and rose from his knees, turning away from the small altar. He didn’t know why he thought this would work; now he only felt even more guilty and muddled than before. He was so muddled, in fact, that he didn’t notice the other person in the chapel until he stumbled right into her. She squeaked in surprise, and the bundle of unlit candles in her arms tumbled to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” he said automatically, quickly dropping to the floor to help her gather the scattered candles.

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” the girl assured him as she leaned down alongside him. “I wasn’t paying much attention, I’m afraid. I was in a hurry, and- well, as you can see, when I’m in a hurry I tend to end up making a mess.”

As the girl rambled, Jowan studied her through the cover of his long bangs. She was wearing the bright robes of the Chantry, but she chatted easily with him, with far less judgement than most of the Sisters who served in the Circle. She was younger, too, about Jowan’s age- and very pretty as well, he couldn’t help but notice. Dark auburn hair framed her face, and her smile seemed to glow in the flickering candlelight as she looked up at Jowan.

When their eyes met, she didn’t look away, and Jowan could feel a heated blush rise around his ears.

She giggled- oh Maker, she noticed- and balanced her reclaimed candles in one arm so she could stick out her other hand towards him. “I’m Lily.”

Jowan did his best to sound confident and calm as he took her hand. “Jowan. I- I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before?”

“I’m new,” she explained with a nod. “I’m still finding my way around...and getting horribly lost. I was supposed to set these out an hour ago.”

“Do you need help?” Jowan asked before he second-guess himself, and Lily’s smile brightened even further.

He helped her arrange the candles around the altar, and once they were all lit, she knelt and began reciting the Chant in a soft, melodic voice. Jowan lingered, listening in silence. He’d heard the words of the Chant thousands of times, and had never been overly impressed.

Now, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something beautiful about it he’d simply never noticed before.

“Jowan!” Ros crowed, a horribly mischievous glint in her eyes as she pulled Jowan down into the seat next to her in the dining hall. She grinned wickedly and bumped her shoulder against his. “You were out late again last night. Are you engaging in some…extensive extra studies?”

“Could you be any louder?” Jowan mumbled, rubbing his temple.

“She can,” Shay said wryly from the other side of Ros.

“Hey, I can be very discreet when needed-”

“Not discreet enough,” Jowan grumbled. “Everyone in the tower has walked in on you two idiots at least once. I would prefer a little privacy, if you don’t mind.”

Shay at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed at that, but Ros hardly seemed to notice. She regarded Jowan for a moment, as if those bright blue eyes of hers could peer into his very mind. “Is it Vera?” she demanded. “It’s Vera, isn’t it? She was out late last night, too-”

“It’s not Vera. It’s someone who, like me, doesn’t need the entire Circle knowing our business.”

“Besides,” Shay said, “Vera was out last night with Ferran.”

The wicked glint in Ros’s grin seemed to grow more pronounced. “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t out with Jowan, too. The more the merrier, right?” She leaned against Jowan and wiggled her shoulders suggestively.

Jowan nudged her away. “Are you trying to embarrass me into spilling my secrets?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“You’re the worst.”

Ros just giggled and pulled away, leaning against Shay instead. They leaned back against Ros, heads almost touching- the most affection they ever dared to show in public- as Ros waggled her eyebrows and teased, “Aww, does that mean we’re out of the question, too?”

“The worst,” Jowan repeated firmly, ignoring the fact that the room suddenly felt very hot. Ros just laughed again, of course, while Shay listened to the exchange with an air of faint amusement. They never seemed bothered by Ros’s abrasive innuendo- even when she flirted with people who actually had the nerve to flirt back. Maybe it was something to do with the way the two of them had been joined at the hip ever since Shay's Harrowing; for all that Ros liked to play with any mage who gave her a smile, there was never any doubt as to who was her favorite.

While Jowan didn’t completely understand this balance they’d worked out, he was eternally grateful for it, both for the sake of his friends’ happiness and for his own. If their strange relationship were to crash and burn, their trio would surely be over. But it still had the odd side effect of leaving him somewhere off to the side, nursing an ache he refused to name. Maybe that was why he still hadn’t told them about Lily. Secrecy was an important precaution, true, but it also felt good to have something that was only his.

 “Leave him be, Ros,” Shay said at last, finally deciding to take pity on Jowan. “It’s his business.”

“Come on, you know I hate secrets!”

“You hate them because you’re terrible at keeping them,” Shay said with a small smile. They glanced at Jowan and their smile flickered for a moment as a shadow of true concern passed over their face. “Just…tell us the truth about one thing, okay, Jowan?”

Jowan shifted under their gaze, thinking of the many things he could not tell them. “What?”

“It’s not a Templar, is it?”

A rush of relief filled Jowan’s chest. This, at least, was a question he could answer truthfully. “No, it’s not a Templar.”

Ros nodded in approval. “Good. You can keep your secrets, I guess, as long as you’re not being stupid about who you’re screwing around with.”

Jowan somehow mustered a smile despite thoughts flashing through his mind of blood magic and Chantry girls. “Come on, you know I would never be that stupid.”

“At least someone has sense,” Ros said, her mouth sliding into a frown. The playfulness was now gone from her expression, replaced by a familiar irritation. “I ran into Elodia earlier, and she kept giggling like an idiot about how one of the new Templars is sweet on me. Her words.”

She grabbed a bread roll from the table and tore it in two pieces with more force than was strictly necessary. “Sweet on me. Ugh. I swear, if there's any truth to what she's saying, I’ll call down a demon on them so fast-”

“Ros!” Shay hissed, inching away from her as they cast a furtive glance around the hall.

“What, you think I should be flattered that some tin can asshole-”

“Of course not, but you know you shouldn't say things like that.”

“Please, they can’t kill me just for saying the word demon. How is that any different than what we talk about in lessons?”

 Jowan shook his head at their debate- truly, some things never changed- and leaned across the table to grab a piece of bread. He was startled when Shay suddenly leaned forward and grabbed his arm. Dread sank in Jowan’s stomach as he realized that the sleeve of his robe had ridden up, revealing the small cut he’d made the night before.

But Shay didn’t question him. After a few seconds, they simply withdrew, their fingers skating smoothly over Jowan’s wrist and leaving behind skin that was fully healed. They turned back to Ros as if nothing had happened, and said, “Even if it’s harmless, Templars aren’t known for being understanding. You have to be careful.”

“Can you tell me the difference between creation magic and spirit healing?”

The group of children stood quiet before Shay, forming a crowd of silent, staring eyes. Shay held back a sigh; teaching was by far their least favorite assignment, and the lack of cooperation from young apprentices was exactly why. Anders was far better at this, but his latest escape attempt had landed him in solitary confinement, and now the class was Shay’s responsibility. Wynne had assured them the assignment would be temporary, that the Templars couldn’t keep Anders locked up for more than a few weeks, at most.

At this point, it had been nearly five months. There was still no sign of Anders, and Shay’s teaching methods had not greatly improved.

Shay paused, imagining the way Wynne might approach this, and tried again. “Okay…who among you can tell me what creation magic is?”

One brave girl with pigtails stuck her hand in the air. “It’s what Wynne uses to make us feel better?”

“Sometimes,” Shay said with an encouraging smile. “Creation magic can be used to heal minor physical injuries, such as abrasions or non-terminal illnesses. Like when you get a scrape, or a stomachache. It works by changing our body in the natural world, understand? More serious injuries, on the other hand, take more energy to heal. Powerful creation magic can work in those cases, but sometimes it’s beyond a mage’s mana reserves. Spirits, of course, don’t have such limits, and so can do much more. But they’re not part of the natural world, are they?”

Some of the apprentices still looked lost, and Shay sighed. “Just...watch me, okay?”

They closed their eyes, focusing on the thin fabric of the Veil around them. “What I’m going to do now,” they said, lifting a hand into the air, “is use my spirit magic to draw a friendly wisp from the Fade.”

The spirits came easily- they always did. They hummed against the Veil constantly, following Shay wherever they went, curious and persistent- and gentle, for the most part. They brushed against Shay’s mind like a cool breeze, and their soft-spoken melodies coaxed a smile to Shay’s lips.

Hello again, little dreamer.

The smile slipped away, and Shay ceased their stalling. Eyes still closed, they made a slow circular motion with their hand and beckoned one of the familiar spirits forward. It passed readily through the Veil, materializing as a delicate wisp that danced with delight in Shay’s hands. Others rushed forward as well, eager to burst through the Veil, their combined humming growing into louder, overlapping notes. But Shay had done this many times before, and they quickly stitched the Veil closed again before any could slip through.

Goodbye, little dreamer, Sloth yawned, and Shay shivered.

They opened their eyes to see the crowd of children fixated upon the wisp in their hands, all previous indifference to the lesson now replaced with wonder. “Friendly spirits like this can be persuaded to heal people in ways I couldn’t do on my own,” Shay explained. “But remember- the Fade has creatures both benevolent and malicious, and it’s not always easy to tell which is which.”

“What’s muh-lush-uss?” One of the younger apprentices asked.

“It means a spirit can be cruel, and very dangerous. That is why you won’t be using this school of magic for a long time.” Shay allowed the wisp in their hands to dissolve back into the Fade, much to the disappointment of their small class. “For now, we’re just going to learn about the different types of spirits, so you’ll be ready to learn more when you’re older.”

A chorus of groans arose as Shay told them to take out their books, but otherwise the class passed without incident. Shay spent the next hour speaking of spirits and demons, and steadfastly ignoring the melodies playing out on the other side of the Veil.

Later that day, Shay sat in Wynne’s office, a maze of papers and books spread out before them. It was an organized chaos, one which Shay had become quite accustomed to in their time as Wynne’s assistant. They’d spent hours here, studying the intricacies of healing and spirit magic, memorizing the anatomical mapping of the body just as thoroughly as they’d memorized the mapping of the world when they were a child. They’d hoped to find some peace here, but they could feel Wynne watching them over her own pile of papers. Still, Shay remained silent, hoping she wouldn’t bring it up today.

“You’re distracted lately,” Wynne observed, and Shay bit their lip to keep from sighing. No such luck, it seemed.

“It’s nothing,” Shay said, and Wynne merely smiled in a way that said she didn’t believe them for a second.

“And would this ‘nothing’ have anything to do with Rosalind Amell?”

Shay’s quill slipped from their fingers. Ros? Why bring her up now? Had they gotten her into trouble?

Before they could form their worries into words, Wynne just gave a fond chuckle. “Oh, don’t look so startled. You two are not the first mages to engage in secret affairs, and you will not be the last. Some things cannot be controlled, no matter what rules we put in place. and I've found that is especially true for passions of the young. Maker knows I’ve certainly had my share of fraternization.”

“Wynne!”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Wynne tilted her head, watching Shay thoughtfully, and Shay dropped their eyes back down to their papers. “You do truly care for Rosalind, don’t you?”

"...Why do you ask?"

"Because it's obvious that you do." Wynne paused, clearly taking care in the selection of her next words. “As I said, this is not unusual. But…I hope you realize that as you grow older, you must take on more responsibilities within the Circle.”

Shay frowned, wondering what she meant by such an implication. “Is that not what I have been doing?”

“Perhaps I misspoke,” Wynne conceded. “What I mean is, you have a greater responsibility to the Circle. It is one thing to engage in a…youthful dalliance. But you cannot allow such relationships to cloud your judgement. When the time comes that you are called to serve the Circle, you must put your duty above your attachments.”

Oh. Shay understood now- Wynne had noticed their distraction, their sleeplessness, the way their attention to their duties had slipped ever since their Harrowing. She simply believed it was all due to Ros.

Shay had to admit- some of it was. But far more of the blame for their sudden lackluster performance could be laid at the feet of the demon that circled through Shay’s dreams every time they closed their eyes. Their nights were spent evading its approach, and their days were spent searching through the library tomes for answers. They’d finally found the right trail of hints in an old book from Tevinter. The tome was a difficult one to find, and Shay had to teach themselves the Tevene dialect to decipher it, but they finally managed to find records of mages from long ago, mages who could deliberately walk the Fade without use of lyrium, mages who drew spirits to them like moths to a flame.

Somniari, the text called them. Dream Walkers.

The book gave little guidance on how to navigate the dreams Shay walked, unfortunately, nor did it have advice on how to deal with the demons that watched them from the Fade. But at least Shay could now put a name to what they were. They also found a name for their demon- Sloth. That knowledge provided a small comfort. Sloth itself was quite reluctant to give Shay any useful information, but it was one of the less malevolent creatures of the Fade, and its continued presence did help keep the more bothersome spirits at bay.

Sloth asked for nothing in return- not yet, anyway- but its aid still had a price of its own. Many times, Shay had almost asked Wynne for help with their conundrum. But the Circle’s most golden rule- never accept help from a demon- had been broken the moment Shay awoke from their Harrowing, and they never could bring themselves to reveal that truth.

So rather than correct Wynne in her assumption, Shay simply nodded and said, “I’ll try to find a better balance. But I promise, Ros is not a problem.”

This seemed to satisfy Wynne, if just for now. “Good. You have one of the brightest minds of Kinloch Hold, I’ve always said.” Pride shone through her voice, and although Shay was far too old for her to reach over and tousle their hair like she used to, they could tell she wanted to do it anyway.  But she restrained herself, and simply said, “There is much you could do to serve the Circle. To that end…please, think on what sort of influence your friends have on you.”

“You don't need to worry about us,” Shay said to Wynne, “Ros is not the bad influence you think she is.”

Shay meant to spend the following evening attending to research for Wynne. Instead, they spent most of it pressed against Ros in an empty stairway.

“How long do we have before you have to get back to Torrin?” Shay asked between quick, fervent kisses. Neither of them could risk staying here too long, but it was difficult to dwell on such concerns when there was Ros, with her soft curves and warm hands and muffled laughs, her kisses that felt like gentle electricity as her lips moved along their neck.

“I sent Niall with a message that I was called to help Leorah in the laboratory instead,” Ros answered, her voice hoarse and hushed. “He won’t mind- he’d much prefer Niall help with the enchantments, anyway.”

Shay almost prodded her further, almost asked just how many Enchanters her duties were being shuffled between and what Irving would think of it when he inevitably found out. But Ros had a mischievous glint in her wicked blue eyes, and as her hands danced lower down Shay’s body just about every worry they’d mustered was driven from their mind.

Much later, when the initial urgency of their time alone with Ros had faded, Shay sat with their back against the stone wall of the staircase and tried to focus on the peace of the moment. Even now, however, they still stayed alert for the sound of echoing footsteps or opening doors. Ros lay with her head in their lap, her golden-brown hair fanned out like a halo around her head.

She really was beautiful. More than that; she was bright and warm and brave, so different from anything Shay could ever be. Falling in love with her was the easiest thing Shay had ever done, the only rule they had broken with no regrets or reservations. And yet Ros was looking up at them as if she were the lucky one in this situation.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked with a knowing look.

Shay brushed a strand of stray hair from her face. “Just enjoying the view.”

She laughed. “You do know how to flatter a girl.” She was quiet for a moment longer, still staring at Shay as they played with her hair. “But is there anything else? You’ve been looking tired lately. Breathtaking as ever, I promise…but still. Is something-or someone- bothering you?”

Shay was quiet as they tried to decide upon a simple answer to her complicated question. I have a demon in my dreams and abilities I can’t control. If I tell anyone they’ll know I’m dangerous, and maybe they’re right, but I’m too afraid and selfish to do anything about it. On top of all of that, Jowan is also keeping secrets, and you’re both due for your own Harrowings any day now.

“The Senior Enchanters know we’re together,” Shay finally said. “Wynne thinks you’re a bad influence.”

Ros just laughed again at that. “Oh, I definitely am. What else am I here for?”

Careful was much easier said than done. Jowan did what he could; he told no one his secrets, he did nothing to draw attention to himself, he kept the cuts he made confined to places nobody could see.

It was still a bad idea, but his efforts were paying off. He was certainly performing better, even if every demonstration of his skills felt like a test in how much power he could show before it became obvious what he was doing. He tried to stay smart, to keep from displaying too much sudden improvement…but there was still a tempting thrill in showing off, however meager his accomplishment. He’d actually managed to master an Entropy spell that Ros couldn’t do, and the approving praise from Senior Enchanter Uldred combined with Ros’s honest, gleeful grin at his progress had Jowan feeling unnaturally confident and optimistic.

The feeling was shattered at the end of the class, when Uldred dismissed the apprentices only to request that Jowan stay behind.

Ros shot him a questioning glance, but Jowan could only shrug and wave her on, hoping to appear casual when in reality his heart was racing. Did Uldred suspect? He had to have noticed Jowan’s recent improvement. What if he’d noticed Jowan's frequent disappearances, as well? Why had he been such an idiot and shown off with his Entropy magic, of all things?

With all these thoughts running through his head, Jowan was almost too panicked to speak. Luckily, Uldred barely seemed to notice. As soon as the other apprentices left, he merely turned to one of the shelves on the wall, idly perusing its contents and barely paying Jowan any mind at all. When the silence had stretched on too long to bear, Jowan finally worked up the nerve to clear his throat and ask, “What did you want to speak about, sir?”

“How long have you been in the Circle?” Uldred asked, still not turning from the bookshelf. “About twelve years or so?” He sounded almost bored, and he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Your Harrowing should be occurring soon, is that right?”

Jowan clenched his books tightly to keep his hands from shaking. “Yes, sir. At least, I hope so.”

“Have you been preparing for it?”

“I- yes, I’ve been studying. There’s not much else I can do but study and wait.”

Uldred paused, nodded to himself, and pulled a book from the shelf. He turned and strode out the door, pausing only to give Jowan a glance and say, “Come walk with me.”

Uldred’s pace was confident as he led Jowan out of the classroom, down the hallways and past the Templars. He had reason to be sure of himself, Jowan supposed; Irving may have been the First Enchanter, but Uldred was still regarded as one of the most respected (and intimidating) of the Senior Enchanters. Why he was taking a sudden interest in Jowan was a mystery, and Jowan’s anxious confusion only intensified as Uldred led him to the library.

When they had passed the general study areas and into an empty section of shelves, Uldred finally spoke again. “The Templars wouldn’t have you believe it, but the Circle is more fragile than it seems.”

Jowan blinked, now more lost than ever. “Sir?”

“The Harrowing is intended to weed out the weak,” Uldred continued. His pace slowed, and now he looked straight at Jowan as he spoke. “The weak and the dangerous. It is believed the process removes the mages who are most susceptible to demons.”

“I have been studying,” Jowan said quickly, alarmed by the abrupt change in subject. “And I know I’m hardly the top of the class, but I’m strong enough-”

“Calm down.” Uldred gave him a thin smile. “I do not know the scheduling of the Harrowings, and I am not implying anything about yours. I am merely pointing out a fact. It’s a barbaric system, isn’t it?”

Jowan opened his mouth, then closed it again. This felt like a trap- it had to be a trap. Senior Enchanters didn’t say stuff like this, not to apprentices. Jowan was torn between the fear of not denying the obvious trick and the fear of denying it a little too strongly, and all he managed to get out was, “Sorry?”

Uldred didn’t appear bothered by the lack of reaction. “It is not even very efficient at its stated purpose. Take your friend, for example.”

Jowan could only think of one friend of his whom dangerous could apply to, and true panic jolted him into actually responding. “If this is about Ros, she hasn’t done anything wrong. She talks a lot, I know, but-”

“Who?” Uldred’s brow furrowed, but after a moment he nodded to himself. “Ah, Rosalind Amell. Yes, she does talk, doesn’t she? If you’re worried for her sake, you needn’t be- outspoken teenagers are hardly what I mean by dangerous. She will be Harrowed soon with no fuss, of that you can be sure.”

“I thought you didn’t know the Harrowing schedules.”

Jowan was afraid his words were a little too close to an accusation, but Uldred merely smiled again. “Isn’t it obvious? The Amells may have had some rough luck in these recent years, but the name still comes with a certain amount of respect. Irving hasn’t yet given up on having the power of a name like that on his side.” Jowan opened his mouth to protest, but found he had no rebuttal against Uldred’s insinuations. It felt unfair to Ros, in a way; she’d never known the wealth of her distant family, and she’d certainly never asked for it. Jowan had never held such things against her…even if it was impossible not to wonder how she might be treated by Irving if she’d been just another nameless apprentice like him.

The Senior Enchanter seemed to read Jowan’s thoughts on his face. “Don’t think too badly of Irving,” he said, his voice half a sigh. “Not for that. The Circle is all politics. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be. Besides, I was actually speaking of your elven friend. Shay Surana, isn’t it? Wynne’s newest favorite. The youngest Harrowing we’ve had in roughly a decade. That is all the evidence you need that the Harrowing does not remove the weak. Spirit healing is the practice of pulling the smallest, feeblest creatures from the Fade; to excel at that is nothing to brag of.”

He paused and glanced again at Jowan, whose head was spinning far too fast to formulate any sort of answer. “Which brings me to my actual point- you.”

“Me?”

“You may not excel in classes, but you have something better than trite obedience- you have resolve.” Uldred’s smile suddenly seemed sharper. “A willingness to do what is needed. That is what I see in you, and I am not often wrong.”

Uldred had stopped walking, and Jowan now finally realized where he had been led- they were in the very back section of the library, in an empty, dusty aisle full of books in languages Jowan could not read. The very place he had found the blood magic scrolls so long ago.

His mouth was dry, but he did his best to sound as innocent as possible. “I don’t know what you mean, Senior Enchanter.”

Uldred raised an eyebrow, and turned his attention to the bookshelf. “I remember some interesting scrolls that were here, once. Would you have any idea where they have gone?”

Maker, help me. “No, sir.”

“Shame,” Uldred said casually. “If you had, you might have the power to do things far beyond what your friend has ever dreamed of. To control a demon, for example- now, that is strength. Do you think you could ever manage that?”

“Of course not!” Jowan blurted. This is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap. “I never- I haven’t done anything wrong, I just-” Jowan forced himself to slow down, to breathe, and finally managed to respond in a somewhat steadier voice. “I’m just studying for my Harrowing. I would never try to hurt anybody. I swear.”

Uldred peered down at Jowan, studying him for a long moment in which Jowan was too terrified to do anything but remain still under his gaze. Finally, Uldred seemed to make a decision. He nodded, slid the book he was carrying onto the shelf, and said, “I believe you.”

He tilted his head in what was a clear dismissal before turning to walk away. Jowan, however, still felt frozen in place, his heart racing and mind whirring as he tried to process what had just happened. Only when he was absolutely certain that Uldred was gone did he investigate the book left on the shelf. It seemed innocent enough; some entry-level treatise on Entropy magic…but there, tucked between the pages, lay a few handwritten scraps of parchment. The scrawl was difficult to decipher as Jowan held the pages in trembling hands, but it was all too easy to recognize what the subject matter was.

Jowan slammed the book shut around the parchment, threw it back on the shelf, and practically ran from the library. A trap, a trap, a trap, his mind screamed at him, but in truth he didn’t know what to think anymore. If Uldred knew- and without a doubt, he had to know- why hadn’t he turned Jowan in ages ago?

Weeks passed, and no Templars came to drag Jowan away. He was grateful for that, at least, even with the million unanswered questions still burning in his mind. In the end, Jowan could only assume that Uldred was perhaps a mage like him- someone who had secrets of his own to hide, who perhaps understood the desperation Jowan had always felt. Uldred’s praise, enigmatic as it was, still rang in his ears, and eventually Jowan’s fear gave way to a quiet, cautious pride.

The next time Uldred asked him to stay after class, Jowan was able to return to his hiding place afterwards with more scrolls to add to his collection.

Chapter Text

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.
Foul and corrupt are they
Who have taken His gift
And turned it against His children.

—Transfigurations 1:1-1:5

The marble likeness of Andraste stared down at Ros through flickering shadows and incense smoke, remaining silent and impassive as her carved eyes watched Ros dully read out the scriptures assigned to her. Mother Sybell looked on as well, but unlike the Prophet, her disapproval was etched clearly on her face. Ros did her best to avoid the Mother’s scowl as she recited the words in a flat drawl.

“And so we burned, we raised nations, we raised wars. We dreamed up false gods, great demons, who would cross the Veil into the waking world, turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you.”

The Mother had her saying Threnodies, because of course. How else could Ros truly appreciate the gloom and doom that had been brought upon the world through the very existence of magic? Never mind that according to Threnodies itself, the Maker was the one who had created the Fade in the first place, so if anyone was going to bear the blame for magic it should be him.

But that was exactly the kind of talk that had put Ros here in the first place, and she wasn’t keen to extend her punishment, so she held her tongue and read on. She’d gotten all the way to what was probably Sybell’s favorite verse- Ungrateful children, I gave you power to shape heaven itself, and you have made only poison- when the Mother gave a disapproving scoff.

“I want to know that you recognize these words for what they mean. Say them with feeling,” she ordered.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of feelings,” Ros muttered under her breath. The answering rap of Sybell’s cane against the stone floor made her jump, and she bit down on her lip to keep from saying more.

“You are speaking the Maker’s word, girl. I repeat- I want you to recognize what those words mean. We will stay here all night if we need to.”

Ros didn’t doubt she was serious. Mother Sybell had only been assigned to Kinloch Hold for a few weeks, and she’d already made it her mission to make the weekly Chantry services even more miserable than usual. Her sermons were long and droning and full of all the same dreary morals as before, but now they carried an extra sharp twist of guilt. Personally, Ros thought she should be applauded for enduring as long as she did before interrupting the woman with a simple question.

A simple question that had then turned into an argument, which then turned into a loud argument. Now she was stuck here, reading and reflecting on the Maker’s word until Sybell decided she’d served sufficient penance. All the while, Andraste’s carved statue smiled benevolently over her, peaceful and serene as ever. A bit too serene, Ros had always thought. Andraste was a warrior. When people pissed her off, she met them on a bloody battlefield. If Ros was supposed to be emulating her, punishments like this were rather counter-productive, weren’t they?

She’d have to remember that for her next letter to Genevieve. Unlike Ros, Genevieve actually liked the Chant, and never hesitated to quote it at her sister. And unlike Sybell, she actually appreciated a debate, and responded to Ros’s quips with plenty of her own. The desire to hold her own in these parries was the only reason Ros had the Chant memorized at all- a fact which she was now grateful for, as it saved her a bit of additional knuckle-rapping from the awful Mother.

“Focus, girl, or we will start again from the beginning,” Sybell snapped, and with a silent groan Ros turned her attention back to her recitation.

She had made her way through the majority of the wars- and by the Maker, there were plenty of wars- and was neatly rounding out the verse about pride and hubris and sorrow when a soft voice interrupted.

“Revered Mother?”

Ros tried to hide her relief as Sybell turned sharply to where Shay stood in the doorway. “Yes?”

“I carry a message from the First Enchanter,” Shay said. Ros snuck a glance at them, but they kept their expression neutral and disinterested as they spoke. “He wishes to speak with Miss Amell.”

“This mage is serving her penance for disturbing the service.”

“Yes, that is what he wishes to speak about. He wants to reprimand her himself, to make sure this won’t happen again.”

Ros’s mouth twitched, but she quickly ducked her head and adopted an air of remorse as she felt Sybell’s gaze burning into her.

“Very well,” Sybell finally said. “Go, and reflect on what you have learned.” She spared a disapproving glance towards Shay as she stalked away. “And tell the First Enchanter to send his message with a Templar next time.”

Ros might have been tempted to make an ill-advised retort if she weren’t already halfway out the door, Shay quick on her heels. The Templar standing guard just outside the chapel straightened hurriedly as they passed, and Ros pretended she didn’t recognize the curly-haired blonde as she and Shay hurriedly made their escape. Only when she was certain they were out of earshot of the Mother did she release the frustration that had been building inside of her all evening.

“Maker’s tits!”

Her voice was louder than intended, and a few passerby gave Ros disapproving stares. She didn’t pay much mind- she was used to that by now- but Shay shot a furtive glance back down the corridor. “Hush,” they chided. “Do you want to be sent straight back to the Mother?”

“Can’t help it,” Ros griped. “I have to wash out all that scripture with some blasphemy.”

A reluctant smile flickered across Shay’s face. “I am surprised you didn’t burst into flames hours ago. I’ve heard that happens to heathens.”

“Oh, it was coming. I could feel the flames at my feet.” Ros edged closer to Shay as they walked, and she allowed a fawning flattery to creep into her voice. “Thank you for the rescue, by the way- you’re my hero, as always. However will I repay you?”

Shay’s cheeks darkened in that precious way of theirs, but they didn’t rise to her innuendo. Instead, they maintained their dutiful stature and said, “Irving will hear about this eventually, you know.”

“Yes, and he’ll give me another classic lecture about restraint that will be only slightly less boring than reciting the Chant. No wonder the Chantry folk are always in such a rotten mood. I would be, too, if I had to listen to that all hours of every day.” Ros didn’t take her eyes off Shay, noting the tired shadows under their eyes, and she kept her tone light-hearted as she added, “Even the perfect Shay Surana was nodding off during service today, weren’t you?”

Shay frowned; they had obviously been hoping nobody noticed. “Just for a moment.”

“A moment? You nearly fell out of your seat. Between that and Jowan running in late, I’m surprised we didn’t all get kept after for a fun group punishment.” Her jokes didn’t do much to lighten Shay’s mood; their frown stayed in place, and their eyes were distant with a familiar glaze of worry. Ros brushed her hand against theirs, conscious of the other mages and Templars drifting through the halls but still needing to offer some show of support. “Shay, you look exhausted. At this rate, your hair will go gray before the year’s out. You don’t even have the energy to say that you told me so!”

That finally caught their attention, and they gave Ros a curious look. “I told you? About what?”

“Stirring up trouble,” Ros answered with a shrug. “Pissing off the Revered Mother, landing myself a night’s worth of pointless recitation for no reason. All that stuff you keep asking me to be better about.” The words were bitter in her mouth- partially because the sad truth was that she was trying to be better. She honestly was making an effort to follow the advice that Shay and Irving and Genevieve- pretty much everyone in her life- kept giving her.

Only for Shay’s sake, of course. They clearly had enough on their mind, even if they wouldn’t talk about it, and Ros didn’t want to just be a thorn in their side. They deserved better than that. And, fine, maybe she was starting to realize that if any of the Senior Enchanters were ever going to take her seriously, they needed to see her as something other than a temperamental child.

Somewhere deep in her mind it might also be said that the sight of Anders, silent and starved and shaking after his year-long stint in solitary, had scared her more than she ever wanted to admit. He’d regained his smile and jokes in time, and had even managed to disappear from the Tower yet again mere weeks later. Ros hoped with all her might that he stayed gone this time, because she didn’t think he’d survive whatever punishment they came up for him next.

Maybe Shay was thinking similar thoughts, for they chewed on their next words thoughtfully before answering in a cautious voice. “I do wish you were better at picking your battles. But what you’re saying is usually true, and sometimes it needs to be said. Like today.”

“Sybell actually managed to piss you off, huh?”

Shay’s eyes narrowed as they frowned into the distance. “Did you see the way she looked at me? And I overheard her telling the Sisters that she wanted to rid the Circle library of all its copies of the Canticle of Shartan, as if that canticle hasn’t already been de-canonized. We don’t even teach it! We keep the copies because they’re valuable history, one of the few pieces of history we even have for elves here, and she wouldn't even afford us that? So yes, I’m glad you pushed back against her teachings. Somebody needed to.”

“…Did you even like the part where I called her a hateful shrew?”

The corner of Shay’s mouth twitched, but they stayed silent until they reached the staircase leading to the dormitories. Only once they’d passed through the doorway into the shadowy, empty stairs did their fingers brush against Ros’s wrist. Their touch traveled up her arm, feather-light, and she moved with them until her back was pressed against the stone wall and their breath was close enough to tickle her ear.

“You are a sight when you get heated up like that.”

Their lips pressed against her neck and their fingers pulled at the skirts of her robe, and it was all Ros could do to keep her giggles quiet as she whispered back, “I should yell at priests more often, then.”

Jowan gently traced a hand down Lily’s cheek, holding her close as she stood on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was late, and the torches in the empty hallway were burning lowly, their shadows keeping the two well-hidden. All of Jowan’s moments with Lily were like this- quiet and quick, both of them fighting back against the fear of being discovered.

“I have to go,” she whispered after far too short a kiss, pulling away with reluctance. “I can’t be away for too long.”

“I know,” Jowan sighed. “I just wish we had more time. It’s torture, waiting for you.”

“Torture, is it?” Lily repeated with an impish grin. “Well, we can’t have that. I’ll try to sneak away again tonight, if you can wait that long.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll manage. For even in adversity, we bathe in the Maker’s light.”

The words of the Chant had never entranced Jowan before. But this was why he was here now, despite the constant fear hanging over his head. Lily had changed everything; she was a new breath of life in Jowan’s world. Her presence was like sunshine, like fresh air, like the very flowers she was named after. Never bitter, never jaded, never angry; never anything else Jowan had come to associate with life in the Circle. Just kind words and soft touches and bright, trusting eyes. As if she really saw him- and not only that, she liked what she saw.

She was the kind of girl Jowan would marry, if he had half the chance. He’d stopped dreaming of a life outside the Circle long ago, but with her…he could imagine it. A happy life with the woman in his arms, where they were both blessed by light and free to love. A fantasy given truth by Lily’s whispered devotion.

Jowan leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her nose, and Lily giggled. “I’ll see you here tonight, then. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jowan watched her hurry away, and he let out a long sigh. His dream of the two of them, far away from the tower, living happily somewhere out under the open sky…he knew it wasn’t likely.

But it was a good dream, all the same.

When Jowan wasn’t hiding the secret of his love with Lily, he was busy hiding the secret of his continuing education in blood magic. He had moved on from the scrolls to actual lessons with Uldred, and the things Uldred knew were truly astounding. It was enough to make Jowan wonder just how many other mages were hiding secrets like this.

Other questions ate at his mind as well. He tried not to ask too much; for all that Uldred was helping him, the man was still intimidating, and Jowan wasn’t looking to get wrapped up in his machinations any more than he needed to. Even so, he took a chance one day, when he could not stop from wondering any longer.

“Enchanter, if I may…”

“You needn’t ask permission for every question.” In spite of his words, Uldred’s bored tone did nothing to bolster Jowan’s confidence. The man didn’t even look up as he organized his papers and locked them away in his large desk. His demeanor never was an inviting one, but Jowan had already begun, so he took a steeling breath and continued.

“Why haven’t you escaped the Circle?”

Uldred looked up from the book in his hands, his attention now fully upon Jowan. It wasn’t an out-of-place question, in Jowan’s opinion. The Senior Enchanter spoke of things like boiling a person’s blood in their veins, or seizing control of their body and mind. Not that Jowan was saying he should do any of those things, of course, not even to Templars. But…Uldred could, if he needed to.

“You would be able to make it, wouldn’t you? If you tried?”

Uldred dipped his head in mild acknowledgement. “I could. But what would I gain from such an action?”

Jowan frowned. “You’ve never wanted to be free?”

“Freedom is more of a burden than you realize. And I would hardly call the foolish mages who flee the towers for a life hiding in the backwaters of the country 'free'.” Uldred's words dripped with condescension, which only grew as he added, “Look no further than your friend Anders for proof of that.”

“He’s hardly my friend,” Jowan protested, although it was Anders who had planted the thoughts in his head. The man had proven time and again that getting out was perfectly possible. It was the staying out which required something more.

“Color me surprised,” Uldred said with a thin smile. “Your typical choice of companions would not leave me to believe you were so discerning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The question came out far too defensive, and Uldred’s amusement only grew. “Please. You know exactly what I mean, and that is why you've kept your newly acquired skills such a secret. An excellent decision, to be sure. Surana is Wynne’s pet, and Amell is Irving’s project. They would both crack in time, if they knew the truth. And then there’s your Chantry girl…”

“Fine. Point made,” Jowan grumbled.

Uldred gave a self-satisfied hum. “To return to your original question…fools who escape like Anders never learn. They will run, and run, and run, and they will always be dragged back. So long as the tower stands, there is no true escape.”

He left it at that, and Jowan did not press farther. Still, if it was the running that was the problem, there were ways around that, ways that Anders had never tried. It all came back to the Templars who hunted him down...and the phylactery which told them where to hunt.

It was a risky, foolish thought. But it stayed in Jowan's head all the same.

“Have you noticed anything going on with Shay lately?”

“With Shay?” Jowan sounded surprised, and Ros wrinkled her nose at him. They were stretched out together on one of the benches in the seventh-floor corridor. This floor was one of the few that had actual windows, and while they were barred and far too high off the floor to be of any actual use, they were still windows. Ros loved to come up here on days like this, when a storm raged outside the tower walls. It wasn’t much, but the occasional glance of lightning and the loud pattering of rain was far better than the usual staleness of the Circle.

Today, Jowan had braved the chill and the noise to join her. Ros was grateful for the company, and for the fact that the echo of the wind and the rain stopped their voices from being carried down the hall as she voiced her concerns.

“Yes, with Shay. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!”

“Noticed what, exactly?”

“Just…they’re acting strange, don’t you think? They seem stressed.”

“Don’t they always?”

“This is more than usual,” Ros insisted, growing irritated that Jowan didn’t seem to be taking her seriously at all. He wasn’t even looking at her- his nose was buried in a copy of some Chantry book, of all things. “Don’t tell me you’ve been so distracted by this mystery lover-girl of yours that you haven’t even noticed.”

Jowan huffed. “Pots and kettles! It’s you two who are always sneaking off together!”

“Look, I’m being serious.” Ros grabbed the book from Jowan’s hands and held it aloft, forcing him to turn his attention on her. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

Jowan just huffed again and plucked it from her grasp- damn him and his lanky arms. “Maybe they don’t want to talk about it.”

“We don’t keep secrets from each other!” Ros insisted, and a guilty look flashed across Jowan’s face. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about things like your secret girlfriend, okay? Sneak off with whoever you want! But would you at least ask Shay what’s going on?”

A roll of thunder boomed overhead, and Jowan jumped slightly at the sound. He glared up at the ceiling, then back at Ros, and shook his head. “I don’t know what they’d tell me that they wouldn’t tell you.”

Ros crossed her arms and leaned back, giving Jowan a critical look. He shifted under her gaze, as he always did, but this time it seemed to be more than just awkwardness. “Is something going on with you, too? You seem grumpier than usual.”

“Maybe you’re just more paranoid than usual.”

“And now you’re giving me sass?”

“And now you sound like Wynne!”

The two stared at each other for a moment, arms crossed. It was Jowan who broke first, as always. "Look...I'm not saying you're wrong, okay? I'm just saying there could be a million different things Shay is thinking about. Not everything is about you. And whatever it is, this is still Shay we're talking about. They always have things under control."

"...You're right about that, at least,” Ros admitted. “Maybe I am a little paranoid. It’s hard not to be on edge, you know? People getting Harrowed every other day and all.”

“It wouldn’t be so worrying if we knew what the Harrowing even was. Maybe that’s the secret that has Shay acting strange.”

“Maybe,” Ros said doubtfully.

“What other reason would they have for not telling us? I thought we ‘didn’t keep secrets’,” Jowan countered, his voice going sullen again.

“That doesn’t count, they just don’t like breaking the rules.” Ros’s voice sounded unconvincing, even to herself, and she groaned loudly. “If it was important, they’d tell us. Right?”

“I…” Jowan paused, his brow furrowed as his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “Sorry, but is that the same Templar that was in the dining hall? And then again in the library?”

Another groan came unbidden to Ros’s lips- even without looking, she knew exactly who it was. And sure enough, when she threw a glance over her shoulder, there was Cullen- standing at attention, the perfect picture of a Templar on duty, just happening to be on guard in the section of tower Ros was in. As if sensing her attention, the Templar glanced in their direction, only to blush and hurriedly look away again when his eyes met Ros’s.

Jowan let out a small hum of understanding. “Oh. Somebody’s got a crush, is that it?”

Ros punched him in the shoulder, and he at least had the decency to look a bit remorseful in return. “Seriously, though, what happened to- how did you put it? Calling a demon down on him?”

“It would be fun to try,” Ros growled, crossing her arms. “But I’m trying to cause less trouble now, remember? Shay’s already fussing over something they won’t talk about, I don’t need to add to their stress.”

“So what are you going to do about him?”

Ros sighed. The shame of it was, the boy seemed…almost harmless. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t. But he’d turned beet-red when he first introduced himself to Ros, and every word she’d heard him speak so far was flustered and polite. He was decent-looking enough, even if broad and blonde and muscled had never really been Ros’s type, and in a different world she might consider pulling him into a closet with her and Shay and having a bit of fun.

But entertaining those kinds of fantasies about mages in the tower who were all on equal footing was one thing. This was another entirely. No matter how sweetly he smiled at her, he was still a Templar, and there was nothing more dangerous than forgetting what the Templars could do.

“I’m going to ignore him and hope he goes away,” Ros finally said.

“That’s not a plan,” Jowan replied, quite unnecessarily.

“No, but it’s all I can do right now.” Ros was silent for a moment longer, then added, “I told Genevieve about him.”

“You did?”

Jowan sounded more surprised than was warranted, and Ros shot him a withering look. “She’s my sister. I tell her everything.”

“You’ve never even met.”

“She’s still my sister. And she said…she could request that I be transferred to Ostwick, if things got messy.”

“She what?”

“I’m not going to do it!” Ros said quickly. “I could never do that, not with you and Shay still here. I just- those are my options, you know? Do nothing, or move across the world and hope the new Templars leave me alone.”

Jowan frowned, and he looked back at Cullen with heightened distaste. “He hasn’t…tried anything, has he?”

“No, he can barely even speak to me. It’s just…it’s the principle of thing, I guess.” Ros scowled and leaned back against the wall, craning her neck to try and get a view of the lightning flashing in the distance. She knew she was making the smarter decision, but a part of her still wanted nothing more than to rage just as fiercely as the storm, to scream and throw lightning and chase away every single Templar until there was nothing but herself and the open sky.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “No matter what. But…help me look after Shay, okay? You two are all I have here.”

Jowan was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he breathed a heavy sigh and said, “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But you know they’re going to be fine. If anyone is safe here, it’s them- right?”

“Nobody’s safe in this place,” Ros said quietly. Jowan said nothing in return, but he took her hand in his, and the two of them listened to the storm in silence together.

“Ros wanted me to talk to you.”

Jowan kept his voice down; the library wasn’t his first choice in places to have a conversation, but Shay was rarely anywhere else these days, and this was better than Wynne’s office. Shay shot them an inquisitive look over the stack of tomes they’d piled into their arms, clearly waiting for them to continue.

“She said you’re acting weird,” Jowan explained, “and she thinks something is wrong, but you won't tell her anything.” He suddenly felt sheepish bringing this up at all, and he shrugged as he quickly added, “I told her I would ask, so I am.”

Shay frowned and set their stack of books on a table, taking their time to balance the pile before answering. They did look tired, Jowan had to admit, but all they said was, “Nothing is wrong. I told her that. But you know how stubborn she can be.”

“Right,” Jowan muttered. “Don’t know why she came to me, anyway. Not like you’ll tell me anything you wouldn’t tell her.”

Shay’s irritation was marked only by the smallest furrow in their brow. “Is this still about the Harrowing?”

It was an old argument, but one that still stung. Jowan fought to keep quiet as he hissed, “Just tell me what happened. Anything could help.”

He knew what Shay would say. They always said the same thing. “I can’t.”

“Did you tell Ros?”

“No,” Shay snapped, “and if she’s worrying about anyone, it should be you.”

The small victory Jowan had felt at finally breaking through Shay’s composure immediately soured. “What does that mean?”

Shay glanced around before taking a step forward, lowering their voice even further. “People are talking about you, Jowan. They notice when you go missing for hours on end.”

“I go missing because I’m with that girl I told you about.” Jowan could only hope his whispers covered the shaking in his voice. After his first slip-up in the dining hall, Jowan had been careful to never injure himself where they could possibly see, and Shay had never prodded further.

Still, they didn’t seem completely convinced. “But you haven’t told us a thing about her. Who is she?”

“What happened to that being my business?”

“That was before there were…” Shay faltered for a moment, and they leaned in to whisper the last word. “Rumors.”

Jowan’s blood ran cold. Shay didn’t clarify, but they didn’t have to- and in that moment, Jowan couldn’t fight back a flash of anger toward his friend who had been Harrowed at such a young age, who was the pride of every teacher in the tower, who had never known what it was like to struggle through a class with the threat of Tranquility looming over their head.

“Is that what you and the other Enchanters do? Share all the rumors you’ve heard about me? I have the right to my own life, you know, and not everybody flaunts their relationship like you and Ros. Is that so hard to understand?” The words came out far harsher than Jowan intended, but backing down now felt too much like admitting his own guilt. So he pushed forward. “And anyway, the only reason I’m here is because Ros noticed something was off about you. So if you’re going to badger me about my secrets, at least admit you’re being a hypocrite.”

Shay stared up at Jowan, their brow furrowed as if Jowan had suddenly become a map they couldn’t read. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. Jowan opened his mouth to…well, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. An apology? An explanation? Another lie to the person whom he’d once trusted more than anyone else in the world?

Before Jowan could formulate any response at all, Shay took another step closer, close enough the Jowan could sense their shaking hands, and said in a rush, “We care about you. I care about you. And I’m trying to keep you out of danger. Is that so hard to understand?”

Then they turned on their heel and disappeared into the maze of library shelves, leaving Jowan alone as always with his guilt.

The sound of armored boots breaking the silence of the night had become a familiar one in the dormitories. Ros was so accustomed to it that it barely woke her anymore, and she was not roused from her sleep until the Templar shook her from the bed. From there, it was a scramble of grabbing her robes and her slippers, and she could only stumble sleepily after the Templars as they led her to the top level of the tower.

None of it felt real. She’d known this was coming, had wondered and planned and waited for it. But now, as she stepped into the silver moonlight streaming through the Harrowing Chamber’s tall windows, she only felt numb.

This was it. Come dawn, she would be either a mage, or she would be…

No. The numbness faded, and grim determination took its place. She would be a mage.

Greagoir was waiting for her with a full revenue of Templars, all lined up silently with swords at their belts. Cullen was one of those in attendance, and he tried to catch Ros’s eye as she walked by. She kept her gaze determinedly averted; the last thing she needed right now was a distraction. Irving was also present, his hands folded behind him, right at Greagoir’s side. Greagoir began pacing as Ros entered, and he held his head high as he recited a speech he was obviously quite familiar with.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” he began, and it was a tremendous battle for Ros to not roll her eyes. Irving gave her a small nod in acknowledgement of that remarkable show of restraint as Greagoir continued on, into a diatribe about how magic was a gift and a curse and a gateway to demons who sought to bring the world to ruin. Finally, he got to the Harrowing itself. Ros was to venture into the Fade, defeat a demon, and return without any traces of possession. If she failed, or if she took too long, she would be killed.

“Every mage must go through this trial by fire,” Irving said solemnly. He gave Ros a steady look and laid a hand on her shoulder. “As we succeeded, so shall you.”

For once, Ros didn’t pull away from the support Irving offered. She could nurse her pride later; in this moment, surrounded by Templars and about to embark on the biggest test of her life, she was only grateful for the First Enchanter’s presence.

“Keep your wits about you,” Irving added in a low tone. “And remember, the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real.”

“The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter,” Greagoir said, his voice tight.

Irving frowned but said nothing more, and he took a reluctant step away. Now it was only Ros and the pedestal full of lyrium- and whatever demons awaited her on the other side of the Veil. She took a steadying breath and gave Irving a grim smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

She dipped a hand into the pool of lyrium, and her Harrowing began.

Chapter Text

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.

—Threnodies 8:21-27

Why hide the blood mage’s c rimes?

The demon’s voice echoed through the library, its words curling through Shay’s head in a way that was impossible to ignore. Still, they made their best effort, and did not even glance away from the mismatched row of doorways they were inspecting.

To focus in the Fade was a difficult enough task on its own, even for Shay. The books claimed that somniari had dominion over their dreams, but in truth, Shay never felt that they had much control at all. They were improving, at least, or so they hoped. In the beginning, their dreams had left them floating in a nebulous space, a maze of mist and shifting boundaries. Then, little by little, those boundaries had solidified, until they consistently found themselves within a hazy impression of the Circle library itself. It was a world both familiar and unreal, with long, winding passageways carved among endless rows of impossibly tall bookshelves.

The Fade library was exactly the type of world Shay would have created, if given the choice- and yet, despite the promising progress, they could do nothing to manipulate or navigate the dreamscape. The walls of their dream tower proved just as immovable as those in the physical world, and Shay’s every attempt at mapping their dreams had ended in the same fruitless failure. For someone who had spent their youth poring over every map they could get their hands on, it was...frustrating, to say the least.

I asked a question. Won’t you entertain my curiosity?

Shay gritted their teeth, unable to stop their gaze from flitting back to Sloth. Just one more thing they could not control. The demon had a habit of appearing around every corner of their dream, usually in its favored bear form. It made an odd sight, sprawled out amongst the bookshelves and tables, its exposed bones rattling softly as it tracked Shay with hooded eyes, but such was the Fade.

“I would,” Shay answered in an even voice, for they had learned long ago that ignoring the demon was fruitless. “But I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know any blood mages.”

Do you not? Sloth did not sound offended, nor accusatory; no, its voice very rarely carried anything other than lazy amusement. Perhaps you have even less intuition than I thought.

A prickle of irritation ticked at Shay’s nerves. “You’re not usually so interested in mortals.”

Blood mages command the interest of all spirits. Even I. We so rarely are given the chance to cross into the natural world.

The underlying threat finally broke through Shay’s composure, and their reply was quick and sharp. “And you don’t have one now. Leave Jowan alone.”

A soft, low rumble, almost like a laugh, shivered through the air. So possessive…but very well. Your blood mage is not worth my effort.

Shay tensed as the title blood mage passed through their head. There was no proof, they reminded themselves. Demons lie, and so do bored, gossipy mages. There was no reason to give the words any credit whatsoever. And if Shay could figure out how to work with the Fade like all the books said they should, they could get to the definitive truth and put all those whispers to rest.

The Fade, however, remained stubborn. Shay let out a long breath, determinedly pushing away all distractions as they focused on the doors in front of them. Slowly, deliberately, they reached for one of the handles…only for it to disappear into mist beneath their fingers. The next handle melted into the door, keyhole and all.

You mastered the tenets of spirit magic at the age of thirteen, Shay reminded themself. You were the youngest Harrowing of your class. You can do this. They gathered all their focus, pulling the threads of the Fade around them, pleading for the world to work with them…and the next door handle remained solid under their touch.

When they pulled, the door was locked.

Shay groaned, and behind them, Sloth gave another low rumble. You wish to ask something.

“No. I do not need anything from demons.”

Still this refrain, little dreamer? You know I protect you. Other s in this realm are not as accommodating as I.

“And you shield me from them, yes,” Shay admitted. “You also confine me. I could do more than this, couldn’t I? It's you who's keeping me here.”

You are growing stronger, Sloth said, its voice deepening into almost a growl. But exploration is dangerous. Stay in my nest of contentment.

A wave of exhaustion swept over Shay, but years at Sloth’s side had taught them how to muster through the lethargy.

“Stop that.”

The next feeling that overtook them was different- a shiver, almost a shock, and for a fleeting moment they were afraid Sloth had finally decided to attack. But then the feeling ended, and they were left with nothing but a sharp prickling along their skin. Shay whipped around to face Sloth, rubbing at their arms as they demanded, “What was that?"

Sloth lifted its head, sniffing at the air. A Harrowing has begun. Another dreamer approaches. Time for this one to be off.

The familiar pull of Sloth’s influence surrounded Shay, and before they could protest, they were pulled under, into the dark- but not before they recognized that spark of a fellow mage.

When Shay awoke to the real world, it was with Ros’s name on their lips.

Jowan was already in the infirmary when Shay arrived. Shay barely noticed him; as soon as they flew through the doors, their attention was fully upon Ros. She laid still and quiet on the infirmary bed, her eyes closed, and for a moment panic overrode Shay’s logic.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Jowan assured them. He shifted in his seat, making room for Shay to settle down to next to him. “She’s just sleeping it off. Irving said she had a strong reaction to the lyrium- they gave her a sleeping draught to help with the migraines. Other than that, he was singing her praises. Said it was one of the quickest Harrowings he’d ever seen.” A bitter smile crossed Jowan's face as he added, “She would have hated how happy he was about it. Anyway, he said he wants to meet with her when she wakes up- probably so he can talk more about how great she was. Typical. And here I was worrying all night like an idiot.”

Jowan’s words were dismissive, but it was impossible to miss the way his hand was wrapped tightly around Ros’s. She probably would have teased him for that concern, but Shay could hardly blame him; their own relief nearly brought tears to their eyes as it finally sank in that Ros was going to be just fine. They let out a long sigh and collapsed onto the cot next to Jowan. “I was worried, too. I’ve been half-convinced she’d finally say the wrong thing to Greagoir, and he would decide to just…”

Shay fell quiet for a moment and took a deep breath. They didn’t need to play out those scenarios anymore. Ros was here, and she was perfectly safe.

“Now you two get to go off and be Enchanters together,” Jowan murmured, and Shay’s overwhelming relief ebbed slightly as they turned to fully look at him.

The two hadn’t talked much since their whispered argument in the library. Shay still didn’t know how things had spiraled so far out of control; they’d only wanted to warn Jowan, to keep him safe, but now he seemed further away than ever. And today, he looked just as exhausted as Shay felt. Bags were prominent under his eyes, and the long black hair he usually kept neatly tied back was loose and unkempt, matching the dark stubble he’d allowed to grow unchecked. The look lent a brooding quality to his face, and Shay had to restrain themselves from leaning closer and brushing the loose hair out of his eyes.

Shay didn’t realize how intently they’d been studying Jowan until he shifted under their stare and looked away, the expression in his eyes growing darker.

“I sound like an ass, I know. I really am happy for her, I just…”

Shay reached out, lightly, to place their hand on Jowan’s arm. “Your Harrowing will come, too. You’ll be joining us soon, and it will be just like old times again.”

“I don’t know. It feels like Irving is never going to give me a chance. I’m sure he thinks you’d both be better off without me.”

“You have to know that’s not true!” Shay insisted. “Jowan, I-”

Their breath caught in their throat, and suddenly they didn’t know what they meant to say. I care about you. You’re my friend. I need you. None of those words felt like quite enough.

“…I miss you.”

It was all they could manage, but perhaps Jowan understood. His shoulders slumped, and he lost all defensiveness as he leaned against Shay, their shoulders touching, just the way they used to sit when they were children. He never released Ros’s hand, even as he said in a quiet voice, “I’m not going to be an Enchanter with you and Ros.”

He didn’t sound like he usually did when he made that pronouncement, all gloom and pessimism but still with a certain sarcastic humor. Right now, he was certain, and Shay’s blood ran cold.

“What do you mean?”

“Shay...” Jowan hesitated, wrestling with himself, but finally forced out the words. “I need your help.”

Ros awoke from her Harrowing with a pounding headache, a pervasive nausea, and a mess bigger than anything she could have guessed. Shay tried to tell her to stay in the infirmary and rest, but she took one look at the utter panic etched on Jowan’s face and told them both in no uncertain terms that she was not staying put anywhere. They both knew better than to argue.

Now, she sat with Shay and Jowan in a secluded corner of the Circle chapel. Jowan was looking more than a little nervous, continuously in motion as he checked around them to ensure that the empty chapel was indeed still empty. But occasionally his eyes would land on the Chantry girl next to him, and he would straighten his shoulders and stand a little taller.

The girl's name was Lily, and she was Jowan’s secret partner. Jowan’s secret partner who was a member of the Chantry.

Ros was still trying to decide if that was better or worse than an affair with a Templar, but the more she thought about it, the more she just felt like she was still in the Fade, and this was all some wild dream. Shay looked just as disbelieving as Ros felt, and as Jowan outlined his and Lily’s escape plan, the furrow in their brow only deepened.

“It can work, Shay,” Jowan insisted, Lily nodding along at his side. Shay shook their head immediately, but Ros was already circling through scheme, playing it over in her head. If she ignored the fact that it was crazy, and required a lot of luck, and involved trusting a Chantry girl (a Chantry girl! Ros still wasn't over that) to hold her tongue...

Then, yeah. Maybe it would.

“I think he’s right," she said, only for Shay to turn to her with wide, anxious eyes.

“Ros, this is serious.”

“I know. But think about it- it’s all about the phylactery! If we can destroy that, it really could work.” She faltered for a moment, trying not to dwell on the many things that could still go wrong. This was no time to let doubt rear its head. Since last night, Ros had already impressed Valor, vanquished Rage, and battled wills with Pride. Neither the Templars nor the Fade had gotten the better of her, and she wasn’t about to accept the possibility of loss now.

“Besides,” she pressed, “it’s Jowan’s only chance. If we don’t do this…”

“They’ll make me Tranquil.” Jowan’s voice wavered as he spoke. “They’ll take away everything. I know it’s dangerous. And I'm sorry that I have to ask-”

“Don’t,” Ros said firmly, her fists clenching at her sides. “Don't even think of apologizing. The three of us stick together. It doesn’t matter if it’s dangerous. I’d burn this tower to the ground before I let anyone hurt you.”

“It won’t come to that,” Jowan said, a shaky laugh in his voice, “but thank you.”

He looked at Shay, clearly torn between hope and fear. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Shay was quiet. But Ros knew that look of theirs- they could protest all they wanted, but they were already invested. She could practically hear the whirring gears of their brilliant mind hard at work.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to be careful and we need to be quick. Ros, you still need to go meet with Irving. Make sure he won’t come looking for you later. I’ll go find this fire rod we need. Then we’ll get Jowan out of here before anyone notices something strange is going on.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lily whispered, her eyes shining. “We’re doing it. Jowan, we’re going to save you!” She looked at Jowan with a smile brighter than the sun, a look which he returned with a gentleness Ros had never seen in him before.

And that was when the realization hit her, with a sinking, heartbreaking rush that was every bit as disorienting as the lyrium sickness: they were going to save Jowan’s life and win him his freedom, and then Ros was never going to see him again.

Shay and Ros set off together down the long tower corridor, doing their best to look as innocent as possible. They tried to move quickly, but it was impossible to avoid being halted every so often as passing mages congratulated Ros on her Harrowing. She gave them all the required nods and smiles, but the cheer was difficult to force- even moreso when she rounded a corner and found herself face to face with Cullen.

“Rosalind! Hello!” he stammered out. “It’s good to see you- I mean, it’s good to see you on your feet again. Looking healthy. I, um- I’m glad your Harrowing went smoothly.” A blush spread across his cheeks and up to the roots of his curly blonde hair, and his armor clanked loudly as he shuffled nervously in place. He didn’t seem to notice Shay at all- his attention was fully reserved for Ros.

"Of course it went smoothly," Ros said, glancing away from his gaze. "I’m a capable mage."

A mage! she wanted to scream. I’m a mage, and you’re a Templar! Did he really not understand that?

If he did, he didn't show it. "Of course you are! You've always been so confident- it's what I admire about you. I mean, it's an admirable quality. And I was so thankful that it went well. They- they picked me as the Templar to strike the killing blow, you know, if…if you became an abomination. What I mean to say is, I’m really glad that you- that it didn’t come to that.”

Ros clenched her hands tightly in the skirts of her robes as she reminded herself not to snap at the Templar, not now. Before she could come up with an appropriate response, however, her skin prickled and the temperature plummeted around them. In a panic, she looked to Shay, only to find them glaring up at the Templar with a dark fury she'd never seen in them before. Her own anger was promptly forgotten, and she grabbed Shay’s arm before they did anything to draw Cullen’s attention.

“Well, thank the Maker I’m perfectly fine,” she said hurriedly. “But I have a meeting with Irving and I can’t keep him waiting, so bye.”

Cullen stammered out some sort of farewell, but Ros barely heard him as she dragged Shay down the corridor.

Shay stewed in frosty silence as Ros pulled them along. Their skin was still icy beneath her hands, and she called a bit of warmth into her palm to counter the chill. At the feel of her magic, they seemed to soften, and they released the breath they’d been holding.

“Sorry," they murmured.

“Don’t be,” Ros said with a weak smile. “you’ve stopped me from losing my temper enough times. It’s kinda fun to have the roles switched. And I’ve never seen you get jealous before.”

“That’s not funny.”

Ros wanted to make another joke just to poke at Shay, to coax their smile out. But when she tried to form the words, a memory flashed through her mind of the Harrowing Chamber: the line of Templars, Cullen included, all in full armor with swords at their sides. Staring at her, waiting to see if she would fail. Her throat went dry, and she simply nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Truth be told, she still could hear Mouse’s whispers in her ears, echoing every angry thought she’d ever had about the Templars, the Harrowing, the Circle itself. How all of it was wrong. How unfair it was that the Chantry could order them about so easily. How the mages deserved better. How Ros deserved better.

Yes, Mouse had turned out to be a demon in the end. That didn’t mean he didn't have a point.

“They probably gave Cullen that assignment because he likes me,” Ros muttered. “Sick bastards. Jowan’s lucky to be getting out of here.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Shay said gravely. Their voice went quiet as they added, “I’m going to miss him, though.”

“Yeah. I’m not trying not to think too hard about that part.”

Shay was nervously toying with their hair now, their gaze anxious and distant. “It’s for the best. And he’ll be okay- he has Lily, and they’re going to be together. But it’s not going to be the same here without him. In spite of everything…I wish he could stay.” They paused, biting at their lip as they worked something over in their mind. “Do you ever wonder about what might have been, if things were different?”

“Like if our phylacteries hadn’t been carted off to Denerim already? Of course I do. I’d kill to be getting out of here like that.”

“Not the phylacteries. I just mean…” Shay trailed off, falling into preoccupied silence until Ros bumped her shoulder against theirs.

“What?” she prodded, and Shay surprised her by looking away in sudden shyness, a telltale flush rising to their cheeks.

“You know…you tease him all the time, and sometimes he…and I guess I’m just now realizing part of me always assumed he’d eventually…” Shay struggled around the words, but Ros knew immediately what that flustered look meant, and several things suddenly fell into place. Shay must have seen the understanding alight in Ros’s eyes, for they groaned and placed a hand over their face in embarrassment.

“Are you trying to say you’ve got feelings for him?” Ros made sure there was no accusation in her tone, but Shay still frowned at the question.

“I love you,” they insisted, and although Ros had already been certain of that, she couldn’t deny the comforting warmth blooming in her chest in response to those words.

“And I love you,” she said back. “But I don’t think that puts a limit on your feelings. We’ve talked about that.”

“It’s not the same,” Shay insisted. “It’s not- it’s not just messing around with someone, or having fun for a little while. It’s Jowan. And I…”

When they hesitated to finish the thought, Ros did it for them. “You love him, too.”

“Maybe,” Shay whispered, glancing at Ros uncertainly through their lashes.

Ros smiled back, and she gave their hand a comforting squeeze. “Andraste had two marriages, didn't she? If she can be with Maferath and the Maker at the same time, I don’t think you have anything to apologize for.”

The statement startled a laugh out of Shay, and they finally relaxed, just a little. “I think you interpret that arrangement a bit differently than the Chantry does.”

“My way is better, though, isn’t it?”

“It has its appeals,” Shay admitted. “Although it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Jowan has Lily, and they're happy, and they'll be safe. That's what matters.”

“You matter, too,” Ros said softly. “It all matters. Even if nothing comes of it.”

Even if Jowan disappears into the sunset with his freedom and his Chantry girl, and we never see him again, Ros thought to herself. It still mattered. It has to.

Ros and Shay parted ways at Irving's office, and Shay continued on to gather the materials they needed. It was hardly difficult; nobody thought to question them, and they soon held a rod of fire in their shaking hands. Before returning to Jowan, however, Shay slipped into the library, taking care to ensure they were alone and unwatched. The path to their old hiding room was one they’d taken a thousand times before, and it didn’t take long to retrace those steps.

The evidence they were looking for was tucked in the corner, behind an old loose floorboard, just where Shay suspected it would be. Just where Shay really hoped it wouldn’t be. Jowan had sworn the rumors were just rumors, and Shat had wanted so badly to believe him. Sloth had told Shay exactly what to expect, over and over, but they’d insisted to themselves that it was nothing but a demon’s lies.

Now, they knew.

And Shay knew what they should do about it- what the Circle demanded they do about it. Jowan had crossed a line no mage should ever cross, and if Shay did anything other than turn him in immediately, they would make themselves complicit. A million voices sprang to their mind in Jowan’s defense- maybe the scrolls weren’t what Shay thought they were, maybe Jowan had never actually performed any spells, maybe he was thrown into this against his will and felt just as lost with his blood magic as Shay did with their demon.

None of them were very convincing, and in the end, none of them would make a difference. Not to the Chantry.

And not to Shay.

Not when they already knew what they should do, and what they were going to do.

They cast a shield wall over the doorway first, just in case of passerby. They summoned a small flame to their hand. And one by one, they burned each paper and scroll and book that Jowan had stashed away. As the papers curled and crumbled to ash, Shay didn’t bother trying to convince themselves they were doing the right thing. Everything they had been taught their entire life said this was wrong, that this act of protection was only allowing further acts of evil.

But Jowan was one of two people who meant everything to Shay. He was one of two people that Shay had ever loved. They would do whatever they could to help him escape. They would make sure nobody in the Circle ever knew of what he had done. And they would do it now, while Ros and Irving were both distracted.

Ros would be furious they did this without her, but that was okay. Everybody knew how close the three of them were, but Shay at least had a lifetime of being a model mage. She was the one who still carried the reputation of a troublemaker, and she would be the first one the Templars looked at if Jowan mysteriously disappeared...unless it all happened while she was right under Irving’s nose.

Yes, she would be furious. But at least she would be safe.

Listening to Irving’s speeches was difficult enough under normal circumstances. Listening to him go on about Ros’s Harrowing performance while she knew Shay and Jowan were waiting on her was damn near impossible.

“Are you listening to me, Rosalind?” Irving finally asked, after the fifth time she glanced nervously at the door.

“Yeah, of course!” Ros said quickly. “I’m, uh…I’m just still feeling a little woozy from all that lyrium. Can I go?”

“In a moment. There are some important things I must tell you.”

“More?”

Irving’s mouth quirked upwards into a half-annoyed, half-amused smile. “Yes, more.” He took a moment to smooth out the papers on his desk before continuing. “Genevieve spoke with you about transferring to Ostwick, yes?”

For the first time, Irving had her full attention. “She told you that?”

“It would require my permission. Placing siblings in the same Circle is-”

“-is an unusual privilege?” Ros guessed, and Irving nodded.

“Indeed. Have you given thought to her offer?”

“Yes, and I’m not leaving,” Ros said, crossing her arms and straightening her back. She hoped Irving would drop the subject quickly, but of course there was no such luck to be had.

“Ostwick is home to many elemental specialists. The research performed there would suit you quite well.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

She was at least half-joking, but Irving did not return her lighthearted tone. “I am trying to ensure you are considering the full picture of your future. In Ostwick, you could start with a clean slate. You could meet Genevieve. You could study the type of magic you so clearly prefer.” He picked up a map from his pile of papers and pushed it towards Ros. “Of course, there are other options, as well.”

Ros leaned forward, slightly confounded at what Irving had given her. “What’s this about?”

“This is Ostagar. The Fereldan armies are gathering here- there have been sightings of darkspawn in the countryside, and the Wardens fear a Blight. Wynne and Uldred have already been dispatched to lead our forces, but the armies are always asking for additional power.”

“You want me to join the ranks of the army?” Ros still didn’t understand- yes, she would kick ass in the army, but it was quite the shift away from Irving’s typical lectures on restraint.

“I am saying,” Irving said slowly, “that should you find yourself part of the forces we send to Ostagar, you may meet some interesting people there. The Grey Wardens may be of particular interest. They are always looking for recruits. Greagoir is always reluctant to release his hold on our mages, but there is little he could say against the Warden-Commander.”

“I could join the Grey Wardens?” Ros wanted to say something more, something worthy of the offer, but she could barely process Irving’s words. A transfer was one thing, but the Wardens? That was a degree of freedom she’d never expected to be handed over so easily.

“It is a possibility.” Irving was smiling now- probably getting a real kick out of Ros’s dumbfounded reaction. His satisfaction brought her back to reality, and she was finally able to form coherent thoughts.

“When would this happen? Who else is going? Why are you even offering me this?”

“A group leaves tomorrow for Ostagar, although you are the only one I am recommending for the Wardens.” Irving paused, and his smile faded. “And…I have tried to teach you to be happy here. It does not appear to have worked. Perhaps I am simply hoping that a change of environment may give you a new perspective, and that one day you will appreciate the lessons I have tried to teach. You do still have potential, however much you tire of hearing me say so. You have an impressive natural talent for the magic taught in Ostwick. You have a temperament that would be appreciated within the Wardens.”

Irving folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward to emphasize the weight of his words. “You have choices, Rosalind. Choices that not all mages are given. Consider them.”

And just like that, all of Ros’s excitement dissolved. Because Irving was right. Any maybe he thought that was a good thing, but as the reality of the day’s events and Irving’s words collided, Ros couldn’t see how any of this was inspiring.

“You’re right about one thing,” she said, not even trying to control the edge in her voice. “Not all mages are given these choices. Some just get a brand of Tranquility.”

Irving’s warm demeanor dropped, and Ros could immediately tell that he knew exactly what she was talking about.  

“You are upset about Jowan,” he said simply.

“Is there a reason to be upset?” Ros snapped. “Is there something concerning Jowan you’ve not been telling me?”

“You are a fully-fledged mage now,” Irving said, “and you clearly do not want empty condolences, so I will not give them. Geagoir has proof- eye-witness testimony- that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. If it were up to me, maybe I could…but you know the Chantry. You know what the penalty must be.”

“Proof?” Ros rose from her seat, forgetting all concerns over controlling her temper. “You can’t be serious! Greagoir is making it up, he hates mages! He’d accuse us all of blood magic if he could!”

“Let us not speak ill of my- our colleague.” Irving’s voice was sharp now, all previous warmth gone. “I know you rarely listen to me, but I beg you not to make things worse. You know little of what this situation involves.”

“And you know this is bullshit!” Ros shot back. “Is that why you’re pushing my choices now? You want me out of here before they do the Rite? If I’d transferred before it happened, would you even have told me?!”

“One day, you will see it from my side,” Irving said. The lack of acknowledgement to Ros’s question was answer enough, and it was a struggle not to shout again as he continued. “For now, I simply ask that you do not do anything rash-”

“First Enchanter!”

Ros jumped, turning to see a very panicked Cullen standing at the entryway to Irving’s office. Irving rose to his feet, irritation coloring his tone as he said, “Pardon me, but I am in the middle of-”

“Wards in the basement are going off,” Cullen interrupted. “Someone is trespassing in the phylactery chambers.”

Ros’s blood went cold. No. They weren’t supposed to go yet.

Irving very pointedly did not look at Ros as he picked up his staff from where it leaned against his desk. “I see. Rosalind, we will have to resume this conversation later.”

“What? No! What’s happening? Let me-”

Irving turned to her, and something in his expression killed the words in Ros’s throat. “Cullen, please escort Rosalind to her new quarters,” he said firmly, sweeping out of his office without another glance. “Now.”

In the end, Shay could only be happy that Ros was safe and far away from the Circle basement. Because it didn’t matter how careful they were- nobody escaped the Circle. Not without a fight.

There was one fleeting moment where everything seemed to work out. But they'd barely had any time to celebrate before the Templars came charging into room, and before Shay could blink they were surrounded. Jowan and Irving were yelling, and Greagoir was approaching with his sword drawn, and Shay was cursing themselves for not knowing how to do anything but heal. How could they have been so foolish as to think they could pull this off-

And then Jowan stepped forward, a knife flashing in his hand, and everything changed.

“Stay away from us!”

The Templars were blown away, the spell shockingly powerful for somebody who had always claimed to be horrible at magic. When it was done, Jowan looked around him at the stunned Templars, at Irving and Greagoir lying unconscious on the ground, and the anger in his eyes dissolved into fear. The knife slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor, still covered in a slick coating of Jowan’s own blood. He turned helplessly to Lily, but she was already backing away from him.

“Blood magic?” she hissed. She looked at Jowan as if she’d never even seen him before, and Shay wanted to shake her.

You didn’t know? How could you not know?

“I’m going to give it up,” Jowan pleaded. He tried to move to Lily, but she only shrank back further, and his voice grew ever more desperate. “I’m going to give all magic up. I just want to be with you. Please!”

“I was ready to sacrifice everything for you!” Lily cried. “But I don’t even know who you are!”

“Lily…”

Jowan reached out again, but froze as the girl shouted, “Get away from me, blood mage!”

“Jowan,” Shay said quietly. Their eyes were fixed on the prone figures around them, watching for any sign of movement. “You need to get out. Now.”

He wavered, looking at Lily for a moment longer. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Jowan!” Shay turned and grabbed their friend by the shoulders, forcing him to snap out his haze.

Jowan finally looked away from Lily, his eyes welling with tears as he focused on Shay. “You come with me, then. I can’t just leave you here to deal with this.”

For a moment, Shay was tempted. For a moment, they felt like that child who believed things could be as simple as sharing cookies and telling stories and saying I like you while sequestered away in a special hiding spot.

The problem with hiding, however, was that it could only work for so long.

“They have my phylactery. I won’t get ten yards from this place.” Shay gave Jowan a small, sad smile, and hoped that he understood. “But you have a chance, if you hurry.”

“You’ll suffer for my stupid mistakes-”

“You’re not stupid,” Shay cut him off. They reached up to cup Jowan’s face in their hands, tracing a thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re brave.”

And Shay kissed him. It was too quick to be passionate, and too impulsive to be gentle; it was merely selfish, the last selfish thing Shay might ever do for themselves. They could not leave Ros here alone, and they could not endanger Jowan with their presence, but they could, for just a moment, have this.

When they broke away, Shay gave Jowan a slight push towards the door. “Now go.”

Jowan’s expression was unreadable; he was surprised, certainly, but that was all Shay could gather as Jowan glanced between them and Lily, sniffling in the corner. But he finally did as Shay said, and turned to run to the door. Before he left, he glanced back at Shay, and in a broken voice said, “Please don’t die. Ros will murder us both if you die because of me.”

And then he was gone.

Chapter Text

And they would have vengeance upon
The gods of broken promises.

—Silence 3:1-3:19, Dissonant Verse

“You have to do something!”

Ros punctuated her words by slamming her hands on Irving’s desk, but the First Enchanter barely responded. He merely gave her a withering look, and with excruciating slowness set down the papers he had been reading. Ros hated that he could be so calm. Her entire world was imploding and there he was, just as patient and collected as always.

“I assume you’re speaking of the debacle involving Jowan and Surana?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Ros snapped. She balled her fists at her sides and tried not to completely lose her temper. This wasn’t Irving’s fault- not completely. But Ros had the capacity to hold fury for many people at once. Greagoir, and his horrid rules and his righteous condemnation. Jowan, and his lies and his secrets. Lily, and the way she had crumpled like a leaf in the face of trouble. Shay, and their foolish impulse to protect Ros by leaving her behind. Herself, and her utter uselessness at protecting the only people she really cared about.

It was a lot of anger to carry, and it crackled through Ros’s blood in a torrent that was difficult to control. Frankly, it was a miracle she hadn’t set Irving’s desk on fire yet, but of course he was looking at her like she was a toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“The laws are very clear,” Irving said. He stood slowly, taking his time to speak, and for a moment he actually looked sorry for his words. “There is nothing I can do.”

“Laws on what?” Hysteria tinged Ros’s voice as her volume rose, because the entire idea was ridiculous. Irving was talking about Shay- sweet, careful, quiet Shay, who healed as easily as breathing and collected old books and never so much as argued with a Templar. And now they were going to…she shook her head, fighting off the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes. “Shay didn’t even do anything!”

“Surana aided in the escape of a blood mage. I’m certain even you can see-”

“They helped a friend. They weren’t trying to escape. They didn’t do anything illegal themselves. Nobody even got hurt!”

“A maleficar escaped the Circle. Do you think he will harm nobody else?”

“His name is Jowan,” Ros hissed, and she wished Irving had the decency to at least flinch at the reminder that it was a person they were talking about. “You know, for a second there I actually thought you cared. What happened to that?!”

Irving heaved a long, tired sigh. “What would you have me do, Rosalind? That is an honest question. If there is a way help Surana without bringing down the wrath of the Templars, I would gladly hear it. Remember, I am responsible for the safety of all mages within this tower, not just you and your friends.”

“What are we protecting ourselves for, then? To wring our hands in safety while the Templars kill our friends? That’s not responsibility. That’s cowardice!”

“Enough, Rosalind. I protect who I can. I guide who I can.” For the first time, Irving’s tone betrayed his impatience. He moved as if to place a hand on Ros’s shoulder, but she took an automatic step back, glaring all the while. His hand dropped back to his side. “I have tried to guide you, but at every turn you seem determined to ignore the dangers in which you place yourself. I know you are angry, and you are hurting. But there is nothing I can do for mages when they break the Circle’s rules. I can only try to protect others from their mistakes.”

“Then protect Shay,” Ros said. Her stomach clenched, but she knew this was their last chance. Their only chance. “This whole thing was my idea. My mistake. So tell the Templars it was all my fault, and let them punish me instead.”

“Even if I believed you, do you think I would risk losing two mages instead of one? The Templars will not relinquish Surana now. You would be making a pointless sacrifice, and I will not allow it.”

Irving left Ros reeling in that unfairness, and for a moment she couldn’t see, couldn’t even breathe through the outrage. When she had finally regained her voice, Irving was already seated back at his desk, not meeting her eyes as he continued in his grave, professional tone. “You might be interested in knowing that Greagoir has decided against putting Surana through the Rite of Tranquility.”

Ros went cold at the horrid thought of Shay as a Tranquil, with all the curiosity and care sapped from their heart. “They’re Harrowed. That’s not allowed.”

“Exceptions are occasionally made, especially in situations concerning blood magic. In some situations it is the...kinder alternative." Irving closed his eyes, and for once he had the decency to appear mournful. "In this case, however, Greagoir believes that Aeonar would be more appropriate.”

“Aeonar?" Ros's voice was hoarse as she repeated the cruel sentence. "Nobody ever comes back from Aeonar. How can he-”

“And you,” Irving said, regaining his resolve, “will be transferred to another Circle. Greagoir has no proof of your involvement, but you are clearly too affected by this situation. In this, I am sorry to say I agree. I believe distance from Kinloch Hold will do you some good.”

“What happened to that being my choice?”

“That was before your closest companions were revealed to be maleficarum.” Even now, Irving’s voice did not raise in volume. No, he had better control than that; his disappointment was clear in his words alone, in the pitying look he gave as he spoke. “As I have told you, there is only so much I can do. Do you realize how infuriated Greagoir was at your friend's escape? Do you care at all of your reputation within the Circle? Do you realize how close you were to being sent to Aeonar alongside Surana, regardless of proof or confessions?”

“But Shay isn’t a blood mage!”

“And do you know this?” Irving’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intense. “You’ve noticed their behavior yourself. They’ve become quiet, distant, secretive. These are the exact signs you saw in Jowan, and yet you let yourself be blinded to any potential threat. I had hoped you would come to me with your concerns, or at least outgrow your youthful affair.”

Ros's blood chilled. Her 'affair' with Shay was an open secret, but her concerns for them? She had kept those close to her chest. “How do you know-”

“I know because it is my job to know. Greagoir, however, does not know, and you should be thankful for that. He is suspicious enough, and does not need more ammunition against you. While your reassignment to Kirkwall is not ideal, it will at least remove you from his watch.”

“Kirkwall?” Ros shouldn’t have been surprised- Kirkwall was where the problem mages were sent, after all. But it shook her all the same. “Not Ostwick?”

That pitying look in Irving’s eyes was back in full force. “Greagoir insisted. He believes the Kirkwall Templars are especially talented at rooting out blood mages. You will need to be more careful than ever. Please, Rosalind.” For the first time, Irving’s voice wavered. Ros wished she hadn’t heard it; the momentary weakness made it that much harder to hate him as she wanted to.

Irving paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued, the steadiness in his voice regained. “The transfer will happen as soon as this Blight nonsense is done with and the borders are re-opened.” He produced a letter and pressed it into her hand. “This came today from Ostwick. You should know…it is not likely you will be allowed to receive correspondence such as this at Kirkwall.”

Ros took the letter in stony silence, and with nothing else to say, turned to leave. Before she reached the door, Irving spoke up one last time.

“For what it’s worth…I truly am sorry.”

"I don't want your apologies," she said coldly. The paper in her hand crinkled as her fist tightened around Genevieve's letter. "I just want somebody, for once, to do something."

It was the first time Shay had stepped foot beyond Lake Calenhad in over fifteen years, and the Templars wouldn’t even let them stop and appreciate the sights.

They only caught one enticing glance of the Imperial Highway, twisting north through fields of tall grass and wildflowers, before they were shoved into the covered wagon. The Templars roughly bound their hands and feet with rope, and even went so far as to wrap cloth around their mouth so they couldn’t speak. No chances could be taken with mages who consorted with maleficarum, after all. But Shay was still out in the world, and even inside the cart the air was fresh and cool, and if they twisted their torso just right they could manage to peek through the wagon’s tarp and gain an obstructed view of the roads they had only ever before seen in books. When they focused on that, they could almost stave off the fear over the utter disaster they'd found themselves in.

Sometimes it worked. Shay kept their mind occupied by counting the minutes as the wagon plodded along the road; according to their books, the average oxen-pulled cart could cover approximately four miles within an hour, and from what they could tell of the sun peeking through the flap of the covered wagon, they were heading northeast. They mapped the journey in their head, imagining themselves as a small marking in the atlases they had memorized as a child.

It helped, in a way. It was preferable to wallowing in the regret of their predicament, or surrendering to the panic that threatened to seize their mind whenever they considered their destination. Better to let themselves not think on that at all. Better to let themselves be distracted by the unimportant minutiae of travel, difficult though it was to consider such things while trussed up and kept in the dark. Lily didn’t realize how lucky she was to have been deemed harmless enough to walk unhampered beside the cart, in the light of the sun and with full view of the world around her.

Try as they might, however, Shay’s attempts at distraction were never truly enough. They couldn’t guard themselves from the sounds of Lily crying softly to herself, or from wondering what Wynne would think when she returned to the tower to find Shay gone. They couldn’t help but wonder if Jowan had found a safe place to hide in the countryside, or if Ros had managed to avoid being named as an accomplice in his escape.

And despite their best efforts, they couldn’t fight the fact that every mile and every minute of their journey brought them that much closer towards Aeonar, the prison of legend, of threats far hungrier and more vicious than anything one would encounter at the average Circle. How could they survive something like that? How could they even try, knowing that they were now permanently barred from everyone they had ever loved? The Circle held dangers enough on its own, dangers Shay had spent years learning to navigate- what were they supposed to do when faced with something even worse?

Shay would almost prefer being made Tranquil; at least then the ever-present fear would finally be gone.

A cold shiver ran down their spine at the thought, and they reminded themselves to breathe, deep and slow. They were light-headed- they hadn’t eaten since before their escape attempt- and that certainly wasn’t helping their state of mind. Even so, they’d spent their life learning to keep certain thoughts at bay, and they didn’t intend to fall apart now.

Something stirred in the air around them, and Shay tensed. A gentle, low voice, tickled at their senses- not with audible words, but with a feeling. An offer. Shay shook themselves; they were still awake. They had not attempted to so much as touch the Veil this entire journey. And yet…they recognized that voice, that feeling of being watched.

No, they thought, letting the word vibrate through their bones. However much I fear, I will make no deals with you.

But the feeling did not recede. That night, when the Templars made camp, Shay sat upright and alert, refusing to succumb to sleep. The discomfort of their position helped to keep them awake; their hands and feet were still awkwardly tied, restricting any real movement. In the distance, they could hear the Templars talking around the campfire.

“If we really pick up the pace tomorrow, think we can get back on the road before dark?”

“That eager to return to work?”

“Come on, I know you don’t want to spend the night at that prison any more than I do. Gives me the creeps- and the worst dreams, too.”

Shay’s panicked heart skipped a beat.

“Dreams should be the least of your worries. I was there once when they were questioning a blood mage, and the damn fool ended up getting itself possessed by a rage demon. Nasty one, too, not like you see at the Harrowings. Took four Templars to put it down.”

There was a short moment of silence, and then a question asked in a low voice. “Think we should be worried about possession with this one?”

“I dunno. This one’s pretty quiet. But you never know for sure when blood magic’s involved.”

“They’re not dangerous.” Lily’s voice was small as she interjected. Shay was surprised to hear her speak up at all; ever since the incident at the tower, she had only given the Templars tears and apologies. “Jowan lied to us both.”

“Considering what your little boyfriend was up to, I don’t think your judgement is worth much,” one of the Templars answered snidely. “Better safe than sorry, I say- that’s why Aeonar exists, after all. They’ve got ways of digging up a mage’s demons.”

They reached Aeonar the next evening. By Shay’s calculations, their journey had brought them far north, a hundred miles away from the Circle at least. If they’d stayed on the Imperial Highway the whole time, they could be further, but Shay doubted that was the case. Aeonar’s location was a closely guarded secret, and it was unlikely the place was so easily accessible. The weather seemed to confirm Shay’s theory; a chill had set into their bones that morning, and the increasing cold was surely a sign they were increasing their elevation. Perhaps Aeonar was hidden from the main roads by the mountains which dotted the outer limits of Ferelden's borders.

Shay hoped that was what it meant. They didn’t want to consider the other possibility, didn’t want to remember the unnatural chill that had followed them for days after their Harrowing. It had to be only the mountain air that was making them shiver. Sloth was in the Fade, and in the Fade the demon would stay.

At long last, Shay was finally pulled from the cart, and although they had been thinking of little else for hours, it wasn’t their surroundings which made them stop and gasp.

There were spirits here, and they were everywhere.

It was impossible to miss, even if Shay hadn’t been somniari. The air was so thick with magic they could practically see the haze of the Fade in the distance, and every inch of their skin prickled with energy. Unbidden, wisps twisted to life over Shay’s head, dancing and spinning with ease before dissolving in the wind.

The Veil was thin here, and not like at the Circle, where constant magic had stretched and smoothed it like a well-worn robe. The Veil in this place was more like an old moth-eaten blanket, liable to collapse into nothing but holes and hanging threads if pushed with too much force. Even bound as they were, Shay could sense the nearby eyes of spirits stronger than anything they’d ever summoned before, and for once, caution was the furthest thing from their mind. They were too entranced by the closeness of the Fade, by the ease in which the wisps materialized to greet them, and even now they could hear the hypnotic humming-

Until one of the Templars raised his sword, and with a burst of light dispelled the magic from around them. The wisps which had gathered around Shay flickered out, and Shay was left stumbling as the depletion of mana hit their exhausted body like a fist to their stomach.

“None of that. You’ll have time to be tested later. First, we have to hand you off.” He looked ahead and shuddered, and added in a low tone, “This place still gives me the creeps.”

Shay followed the Templar’s gaze to the large stone building seated within the edge of the mountain. The architecture here lacked the grace of Kinloch Hold; there were no curving towers, no shimmering lakes, only rock and stone and the harsh mountain cold. Lily whimpered next to Shay, and although it was still difficult to feel sympathy for her, they wished they could reach over and offer her some comfort. Wherever it was her loyalties laid, she didn’t deserve this.

Neither do you, my little dreamer. The thought came unbidden to Shay’s mind, and true though it was, the words carved a pit of dread into their chest.

I would think you should be more welcoming. It seems you need my help now more than ever. Wouldn’t it be nice to leave all this hardship behind, just for a moment?

Dimly, Shay was aware of the Templars telling them to move along, and for once they were grateful for the orders. Even as the voice faded away, Shay knew it was only a matter of time before it returned.

Irving wasn’t willing to do any good, but Ros had faith that Wynne would be on her side. Wynne may not like Ros- none of the Senior Enchanters did, really, and Ros knew that was her own damned fault- but Shay was her star pupil. Her prodigy. She wouldn’t just abandon them now, would she?

Ros hunted down the older woman as soon as she returned from Ostagar. She caught her coming out of Irving’s office, and wasted no time in rushing up to her. “What are we going to tell him?”

Wynne took a step back from Ros’s intensity. The look on her face sank Ros’s heart before a word was spoken.

“Well?” Ros pressed anyway, hoping against hope that she was wrong, and that Wynne did have a plan to get her favorite pupil out of the Templar’s clutches.

Wynne’s eyes turned sad and soft. “Rosalind…I’m sorry.”

Now it was Ros’s turn to take a step back. “No. No, Wynne, not you, too. You can’t give up.”

“There are some things we cannot change. And there is one law which the Chantry will never make exceptions for.”

Dammit, Jowan. Why, why, did it have to be blood magic? An escape was one thing. Escapes were punished, but not like this. Ros shook her head, stopping in her pacing only to glare at Wynne. “This isn’t fair, and you know it.”

To her credit, Wynne did not look away. “No, it isn’t.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course not.” Wynne ran a hand through her gray hair, her face tight with concern. Ros didn’t want her concern. What she wanted- needed- was for someone to share in her anger over this injustice. But no, Wynne, was just concerned as she prattled on. “But Aeonar need not be a lifetime assignment. Perhaps after a year or so, when Shay has proven they are not associating with demons…”

“A year. That’s the best you can do? Put Shay through a year-long Harrowing and call it mercy?” Ros let out a bitter laugh, and it was all she could do to stop herself from crying. “You’re just as useless as Irving.”

She turned away and stalked off down the corridor, wiping furiously at her eyes as she went.

Behind her, Wynne called out, “Rosalind, I promise that I am trying-”

And that was too much.

“No, you’re not!” Ros whirled around, barely able to even think straight through her anger. “None of you are! You say you care, and then you say to wait and see. For how long? A year? And then a year from now, when the Templars say no, Shay needs another year, what’ll you do? You’ll just bend over and let them treat us like animals like you always have!”

Wynne stared Ros down, her lips pursed. “Ferelden is in the middle of a war,” she finally said. “Half of the country’s forces were just lost at Ostagar, and the Circle must decide how to respond.”

Ros was still breathing heavily from her tirade, which didn’t make it any easier to formulate a response to the change of subject. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“All of the Senior Enchanters have very important matters on their mind right now. The king of Ferelden has perished, and we are teetering on the brink of civil war and an invasion by the darkspawn. At times like this, when the fate of a country is at stake, the Circle must be united. I promise, there will be a time to bring Shay back. But I was at Ostagar. I have witnessed what comes for us. Now is not that time."

“Oh. I see. You have more important things to deal with than the fact that Shay could be dying, and we would never know.”

“You are still so very young, and I know you don’t understand.” Wynne's voice was heavy with self-assured wisdom, and dammit, this was why Ros had never liked the woman. “These things cannot be solved by righteous anger. The crown may very well owe the Circle a debt of gratitude when this is over, and in that case, the Chantry might be reasoned with. But if we fight this battle now, there is no chance of receiving the help Shay needs. Please, be patient. Do not let anger make you foolish.”

Ros knew that Wynne wanted her to take hope from this. But all she heard was maybe, and that would never be good enough.

Jowan tried not to think too much as he stumbled his way across Ferelden.

During the day, it was shamefully easy enough to keep his thoughts only on the next five minutes. The immediate needs of survival demanded his attention, and he could manage to focus completely on securing food for the day, shelter for the night, and transportation of any kind to take him just a little further from Kinloch Hold.

It was harder at night. At night, there was nothing for him to do but lie awake, futilely trying to sleep and hoping that nobody found him in the barn or cave or abandoned house he’d camped out in. At those times, memory was a lot harder to fight against. But then the morning came once again, and Jowan could put those dark thoughts and memories in the back of his mind and just keep moving.

He didn’t have a very clear idea of where he was going, other than away. Amaranthine, he knew, was on the coast, and for a while he had a vague notion of boarding a ship and setting off for the Free Marches, or Rivain, or even Tevinter. He’d never wanted to go to Tevinter before, but he should be welcome enough in a nation of blood mages-

No. That wasn’t a helpful thought, and Jowan immediately put it out of his head.

He’d had a better plan, once. He’d dreamed of disappearing into the countryside, living an honest life, working on the land and building a home. But that was before he’d been left completely alone, back when he thought Lily would-

No. Don’t think about her.

Perhaps Denerim might be his best bet, after all. Perhaps he could simply disappear into the city. The only problem was he didn’t know the best routes to avoid the Templars, or even how long of a trip that would be. He wished Shay-

No. Jowan forced himself to stop thinking at all, and instead kept his eyes and his mind on the muddy road in front of him, knowing that it would lead him somewhere eventually.

By Jowan’s estimate, he continued on in this manner for about a month before the Templar found him.

“What is the Circle like?” Connor looked up at Jowan as he waited for an answer, curious and innocent and oblivious to the way in which his question made Jowan’s blood run cold.

Jowan tried to control his expression, and he turned his focus to the papers in front of him. Normally, he’d be grateful for any distraction from their lessons; as it turned out, he made just as poor a teacher as he always had a student. Even so, he’d rather muddle his way through an explanation of entropic theory than spend any time on this subject.

“Why do you ask?”

“You used to live there, didn’t you?” Connor asked, fiddling nervously with his quill. He finally caught Jowan’s expression and hurried to add, “I know that’s a secret. I just want to hear what it's like. Mother makes it sound really scary. Is it?”

Jowan breathed out slowly, and with no small amount of effort managed to keep his voice steady as he answered. “It’s big. Even bigger than your home here. Lots of books, and lots of stairs. The tower is right on the lake, just like Redcliffe is. It’s lonely, sometimes, but it’s not so bad if you have friends.”

Connor didn't seem to notice that Jowan hadn't exactly answered his question. Instead, he tilted his head and asked another. “Did you have friends?”

“I did.” Don’t think about that. “Now, let’s back to-”

“Mother says if anyone learns I have magic, I’d have to go live there,” Connor said, his words rushing out. “And I’d never be allowed to see her or Father again. Is that true?”

Jowan should never have agreed to this. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be helping more people break the Circle’s rules, shouldn’t be sitting here with an arl’s apostate son while every Templar in the country wanted his head. It would be bad enough even without this kid giving him big, sad eyes and looking crushed at the mere thought of losing his father.

Honestly, Jowan made an even worse assassin than he did a teacher.

“Maybe,” Jowan said. His voice was definitely shaking now, and he could only pray that Connor was too young and distracted by his own anxieties to notice. “But you’d have to wait until you’re much older, and pass a special test.”

“What kind of test?” Connor asked, his voice high with distress, and Jowan cursed himself for bringing that up.

“It doesn’t matter, okay? Because our lessons are secret, and your magic is a secret. Right?”

“Okay.” Connor was silent for a moment more, then quietly asked, “But if something happens and I have to go to the Circle, you’ll come with me, right?”

The offer from Loghain’s agent rang in Jowan’s ears, another addition to the chorus of memories that haunted his dreams. The deal he’d made was just as bad any he could have made with a demon- a life for a life. A pardon from the Circle in exchange for the death of an arl. At least with this deal, Jowan would be doing something good for Ferelden…or so he desperately ached to believe. And at least he would get to see Shay and Ros once more- provided they were both still unharmed by his mistakes and willing to forgive his lies.

“I hope so, Connor. I hope so.”

The confrontation with Wynne left Ros in a state of numbness.

She was too late. Shay was gone. Jowan was gone. No amount of pleading or screaming would change that, and soon enough her transfer would be official and she would be gone, too. Their special trio, separated forever, and there was nothing she could do to fight back. Her knowledge of the truth, of the injustice of it all, seeped into her bones and kept her in a dark temper that only increased with every passing day.

“Rosalind?”

Ros ground her teeth as she recognized whose voice it was that had stopped her in the halls.

Cullen.

He drifted from his spot in the hallway to approach her, somehow still looking at her with his typical puppy-dog expression. “I- I heard about your transfer to Kirkwall. Are you okay?”

“Oh, is that what you heard about?” Ros snapped before she could stop herself. “What do you care, anyway?”

Cullen blinked and began to stammer. “I-”

“No, stop,” Ros said fiercely. Her temper had set her blood boiling, and the usual modicum of self-preservation she exhibited around the Templars was completely gone. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it. I cannot stand to hear any more meaningless platitudes. So just leave me alone, because I have no patience left for the Chantry or the Circle or the fucking Templars!”

Her shouting rang through the halls, surely audible to any Templar who was listening, but Ros just didn’t care anymore.

Apparently Cullen did, however, for he looked around frantically and whispered, “Rosalind, please, don’t say things like that.”

“Or else what? I’ll be punished? Do you really think that matters to me at this point?”

“It matters to me!” Cullen insisted, placing a hand on her arm. “I want- I want to protect you!”

Ros wrenched her arm from his grasp, leaving a small trail of sparks in her wake. The magic bounced harmlessly off his armor, but his eyes widened in shock all the same.

Good, Ros thought viciously. Maybe he’ll finally realize he doesn’t actually know me.

“Irving’s trying to protect me by sending me away,” she said coldly. “Shay tried to protect me by leaving me behind. I am so fucking sick of being protected!”

“Rosalind Amell.”

The cool voice cut through Ros’s rant, and she turned to see Senior Enchanter Uldred standing expectantly before her.

“What do you want?” she snapped, her already frayed nerves threatening to give away completely.

Uldred did not answer her demand; he merely studied her for a moment, then turned to Cullen. “Allow me to speak with Miss Amell, if you will? She has had a difficult time as of late- hopefully you can forgive her outburst.”

“Of course,” Cullen said quickly, practically jumping at the chance to run from the encounter. “I- I’ll check in later, Rosalind.”

Ros glared at the Templar as he turned tail and ran, but she was quickly distracted by Uldred’s stare. She crossed her arms and stared right back, her anger still screaming inside her for a target. “Don’t bother with me. Soon enough, I won’t be your problem, anyway.”

“I simply wanted to speak with you,” Uldred said, unbothered by Ros’s lack of cooperation. “I heard about your friends, you know. Such a shame.”

“The shame is that nobody will do anything about it,” Ros said, and to her surprise, Uldred nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more. But I do wonder, how long do you think it will take for the Templars to tire of this fighting and extend the accusation of blood magic to you, as well? I hear it’s a common tactic in Kirkwall when the Templars want to rid themselves of difficult mages.”

"You sound like Irving."

"Do I?" The thought seemed to amuse him. “I suppose he would know about that, wouldn't he? Luckily, you don’t have to worry about that quite yet. But it’s still not right, is it? How we all must bow to the Chantry’s will? I know you, Ros. I know you want to fight back in a more meaningful way. So do I.”

Ros could only stare at Uldred, dumbfounded. This felt like some kind of test, but she was so tired and angry and terrified that she couldn’t imagine what she was supposed to say. “What does that mean?”

“Let me phrase it this way- what would you be willing to do to change things in the Circle?”

Ros was silent for a moment before finally deciding she had nothing to lose. “To really change it? I’d do anything.”

Uldred’s smile turned sharp. “Then we have much to discuss, my dear.”

Chapter Text

Darkness fell upon the Lonely One,
A night without moon or stars

—Shartan 9:1-9:28, Dissonant Verse

The books in Shay’s library were tattered and burned, the shelves broken and strewn about the floor. The floor was marred with scorch marks- remnants of the battles that had been fought here. Primal magic was always Ros’s strength, but Shay had learned their share of the theory. It wasn’t until now they’d needed to put those lessons to practical use.

With heaving shoulders, Shay turned slowly to survey the damage. They could restore this space to its original condition; they had done it before. But they had no energy left to spare…and besides, there would always be another battle. Another trial. Another test designed to leave their mind in tatters.

You need a rest.

Even now, Sloth watched them. The demon lounged in the corner of the room, curled atop a pile of ripped paper. The demon was bigger, now, and looked less like a bear than ever before. Its ruddy brown fur had faded to a stone-grey, and the spikes once scattered across its legs now extended to cover nearly its entire body in bony armor. Yet despite this more formidable appearance, the demon never lifted a claw to defend Shay against the accosting demons. It was nothing less than Shay expected- this was Sloth, after all- but it grated upon them nonetheless.

“You could help me, you know,” they muttered.

I was under the impression you did not wish for my help.

“Not like that,” Shay said tersely. “But what happened to shielding me?”

Here? Oh, no. There are too many, too strong. I cannot keep them all at bay. Your energy makes a fine meal, but not worth this battle. A greater reward would be required for that amount of effort.

Frustration flared in Shay’s chest, but they carefully tempered down that flame before it could spark. They could not risk that kind of emotion. Not here. Here, any hint of rage- or fear, or despair, or anything stronger than calm resolve- would be taken advantage of all too quickly.

“Fine,” Shay said, even but firm. “Just get out of here, then, so I can go back.”

But why do you wish to return? Isn’t it better here?

Shay huffed, and their eyes darted around the wreckage of their ruined library. “You call this better?”

I could fix it for you. Make it perfect. The exhaustion in Shay’s bones grew heavier, and every word Sloth spoke sounded more and more appealing until they wanted nothing more than to close their eyes and give in. I could give you peace. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

But Shay couldn’t let themselves be tempted. “No. I want you to leave.”

Sloth, at least, did not attack upon rejection. Shay wished the other demons could say the same.

Very well. Until next time then, little dreamer.

Shay woke to Aeonar’s Harrowing Chamber, the stone cold and hard beneath them. They had barely a moment to re-orient themselves before their chin was gripped by a cold hand, and their head was lifted upwards. Pale, emotionless eyes scrutinized Shay’s face- searching for what, they did not know. If possession could be discerned at a glance, demons would be far less dangerous. But it was a ritual they were familiar with by now, and they did not protest.

It was a long few moments of scrutinization, but the Templar finally released them. He took a step back, and only then did Shay release a ragged breath.

They still did not know the name of this Templar. They knew nothing about him, save that he was obviously in charge and that his face was permanently etched into a displeased expression. He was old and grayed, but nothing about him was frail; even his voice conveyed only a grim strength when he spoke.

“No symptoms yet. We’ll check again in the morning.”

Shay had no time to respond before they were hoisted up by a pair of helmeted guards, and they had to scramble to their feet to avoid being dragged as they were escorted from the cell.

The Templar guards were silent as they pulled Shay long. The guards here were always silent. They kept their helmets in place, and Shay had no way of knowing if these two were the same who had taken them to the Harrowing room in the past, or patrolled the corridor near their cell, or brought them their meals. The grim man was the only one who ever spoke, and even he spoke only rarely. The most words he’d given Shay had been when he’d explained the rules back on their very first day.

Shay would be tested, he’d said. They would be tested as often and as stringently as was necessary to determine whether they carried any demonic influence. If they failed the tests, they would be killed. If they resisted, they would be killed. If, in time, they passed the test, a release would be considered, and they could return to Kinloch Hold.

By Shay’s estimation, that conversation was at least two weeks ago. They had not heard another person’s voice or seen their face since.

But the tests never ended. This was the seventh- no the eighth, the eighth, they had to keep track- time Shay had been forced into the Fade. They did not know how many more times they would be required to perform this same task until the Templars were satisfied, and by now they knew better than to ask.

Back in their cell, Shay huddled against their cot. They were still exhausted, and the overdose of lyrium left their head aching, but they could not let themselves fall asleep just yet. Instead, they recited old lessons in their head, verses of the Chant, snippets of stories they’d read. They forced themselves to their feet and paced their cell for the millionth time, checking for cracks or weaknesses. They wondered where Lily was, and whether her conditions were any better than theirs. Anything to keep their mind occupied.

And eventually, when they could fight it no longer, they surrendered to sleep.

There were no tests in their dreams- none devised by the Templars, anyway. But they were pulled into the Fade anyway, just as they always were, and they could feel the spirits of Aeonar shift in response to their return.

There you are, little dreamer. Welcome back.

And it all began again.

Shay still didn’t know the name of the grave-faced Templar. They had taken to calling him Grim in their head- it was as fitting as anything else.

Grim set the bowl of lyrium down on the table, and Shay groaned as their stomach lurched. They regretted making the sound; it only drew Grim’s piercing stare. They kept their eyes down and waited for the moment to pass.

“You are holding strong against the demons. Impressive.”

Grim’s comments were always a trap, probing for answers they could twist into guilt. Shay knew well enough to stay silent. Their palms itched, their skin searching for mana and finding none. The wards on this prison prevented magic, just like the ones in the Circle basement. They knew they couldn’t have fought back anyway, not against all the Templars here, but it still felt wrong.

“But the tests have only just begun,” Grim finally continued. “Everyone here is here for a reason. You will reveal your reason, or you will break.”

Shay had watched Jowan leave over a dozen times now.

It always went the same, at first- the phylactery, the Templars, the blood magic. Jowan pleading with Lily. Shay pleading with Jowan.

They kissed Jowan. That was what happened next. Some nights they regretted the action, resented how the memory would always be burned into their mind alongside the sharp knife of fear. Some nights they were glad for it, for the guilty pleasure they found in their brief act of bravery. As time dragged on, there were nights when they doubted it even happened at all. The Fade pulled at the memory, warped it, until Jowan pulled away in disdain before Shay could even touch him.

“Just get out my way!” Jowan snarled. “Don’t try to stop me or I’ll kill you all, I swear it!”

“That’s not what happened,” Shay murmured to themselves, their hands clenched against their head as they tried to will the images away. But they were weak and exhausted, and they could practically feel the demons in the air laugh as they pushed the scene forward.

“Jowan, stop!” Those were the words of dream Shay, the fake Shay, but the tremble in their voice felt all too real. “Don’t leave me! Please, let me come with you-”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s not what happened,” Shay repeated. They told Jowan to run, Jowan had no choice, he never wanted to leave Shay behind.

“I…I’m your…”

Didn’t he? Shay tried to remember the look on Jowan’s face- was he remorseful at all, or just eager for his own freedom? Was that why he had disappeared so quickly?

“My what? I never loved you. You know that and yet you still gave up everything. I left you behind and you still don’t get it. It’s pathetic.”

“I’m at least your friend, aren’t I?”

Shay opened their eyes- a stupid mistake, they knew that even as they did it, but they needed to see Jowan’s reaction. But they didn’t. They only saw Jowan turn away without a backwards glance.

“Stop!” they screamed. They felt the Fade shift around them, and suddenly it was Ros who stood before them, looking as beautiful as ever and giving a carefree laugh as she pulled Dream-Shay along by the arm through a classroom.

“Stop!” Dream-Shay repeated, and Ros just laughed again.

“Why should I stop? I’m having fun!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted a hand impetuously, and a nearby bookshelf burst into flames. The vision brought to mind years of antics and stress and worrying, and Shay knew it was never like this, but that knowledge didn’t stop a helpless frustration from boiling up.

“And it’s not like anything bad will happen. Not to me, at least,” Ros continued, punctuating Shay’s thoughts. “Isn’t that nice? To do and say whatever I want, and still get special attention from Irving?”

“There are rules,” Dream-Shay protested, their voice feeble and pleading, and Shay hated how pitiful they sounded. “We need to be careful.”

“You do,” Ros taunted in a singsong voice. “You’re an elf with nothing to your name, and even your name isn’t real. I’m an Amell, remember? Our rules are different.”

“I said stop!”

“You can keep asking me that. But I’m doing what I want, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

“No!” Shay shouted, and for a fleeting moment they considered calling out for Sloth and damn the consequences, because nothing Sloth had ever taunted them with was as bad as all this. Then the world around them spun again, and they were facing the worst vision of all.

It was Wynne this time, and she stood in front of a Dream-Shay that was far different from the others. This one didn’t speak; it just writhed before her, hands against its head, as its body shifted and mutated under the undeniable throes of possession.

Wynne clucked her tongue, and in her gentle, mothering voice said, “I told you demons were dangerous. And yet you never told me about the ones in your head? All these secrets…surely you realize that you sealed your own doom.”

She knelt down and cradled Dream-Shay’s head, but there was no fondness in her eyes as she watched the abomination take form. “What a disappointment you turned out to be.”

“Enough!” Shay screamed, and in one desperate move they pushed against the Fade, tearing away from this demon’s trap and into…

Something else.

Shay was back in the Circle chapel, surrounded by candles and carvings of Andraste. The sound of crying echoed against the walls, and with nowhere else to go, Shay followed the noise. Spirits still curled through the air, but for once they were not focused on Shay- they were focused instead on the girl kneeling in front of Andraste’s statue, sobs wracking her body.

Still tense and wary, Shay waited for the trick to come. They didn’t know why the demons were showing them this vision of Lily, but they knew it couldn’t be good. But as they stood, unmoving, nothing happened. Just Lily, praying through her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered amidst the strains of prayer. “I shouldn’t have trusted him. I was wrong, I was wrong.”

Shay frowned, and against their better judgement took a step closer. They stared at the Dream-Lily, and slowly, images solidified in the air around them. They were all of Jowan: Jowan crouching down to gather a scattered basket of candles, Jowan appearing late at night with a bashful smile, Jowan drawing a knife across his palm as dark blood flowed. Shay shuddered and quickly took a step back, and the images shuddered and disappeared. For the first time, Dream-Lily turned to face them.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a shaky voice. Then her eyes widened, and with a gasp she backed away against the wall, crying out, “Wait, no, you’re a demon! They’re coming for me now! Leave me alone!”

“Lily?” Shay asked, breathless, their mind whirring as they realized what was happening. This was no spirit or vision- this was actually Lily. This was her dream.

And Shay had managed to catapult themselves into it.

“Leave me alone!” Lily screamed again, and Shay was about to explain when a wrenching pain took over and they were suddenly forced out of the Fade altogether.

They woke to a pain in their scalp. Grim’s fist was in their hair, pulling them to their feet. The familiar grip seized their chin, and Shay could feel the tears forming in their eyes as they were forced to meet Grim’s glare. Did he know? What would an Aeonar guard do, if faced with a somniari?

“You were deep in that one, mage. Trouble with demons?”

Shay gulped, forgetting their resolve to remain silent. “No.”

Their voice was raspy, shaking. Even to them, it sounded like a lie. They shivered and waited for the Templar’s blade.

But although Grim’s grip tightened painfully, his sword remained sheathed. There was something new in his face now- Shay doubted the man was capable of actually smiling, but it was something close.

“For every mage we break,” Grim said, “we learn more. About their dark magic. Their demons. The ones that hold out the longest teach us the most. And I do enjoy a challenge.”

He finally released Shay, pushing them back towards the helmeted guards waiting at the door. “Limit the food for this one. Let’s see how hunger sharpens that resolve.”

Shay was dragged back to their cell, and as expected, no meals arrived for the rest of the day. They hardly noticed. They were still reeling from the new power they’d discovered- and wondering if they could use it again.

The answer to that question, Shay eventually learned, was yes- to an extent.

They spent their next few forays into the Fade pushing through dreams, coaxing the twisting world to take them where they needed to go. Most nights they still struggled to leave their library, as any progress they made had to be fought for both against the demons who battled them every step of the way and the Templars who monitored the time Shay spent under lyrium with eager hands upon their swords.

But Shay had always been a quick learner, and they were learning now.  They studied the Fade’s landscape as vigorously as they had once studied their beloved atlases, and gradually, pathways began to take form.

Lily’s dreams were easy to find, though visiting did Shay little good. The priestess dreamed of nothing but regret and remorse, and Shay’s appearance only ever spurred outbursts of grief and demands to leave. She remained convinced that they were nothing but a demon, and Shay suspected that whatever the Templars were doing to test her made that a reasonable assumption. Still, it was endlessly frustrating to be so close to the only ally they might have and be continually turned away.

Other dreams were harder. Shay had no connection to other mages in the prison, and their dreams were lost in a maze of demons and spirits. They had been here too long, Shay eventually realized; their minds were barely lucid at all, and the barest push could hurtle them into possession. Aeonar produced too many abominations already- even when not asleep, Shay could feel the ripping and shifting of the Veil whenever another prisoner fell to temptation. They had no desire to add to that count.

Lily would not help, and the prisoners could not, and Kinloch Hold remained unreachable. It seemed, then, that Shay’s new ability was not so helpful as they hoped.

But when Shay was dragged, day after day, to the Harrowing room and the bowl of lyrium and the harsh, unforgiving glare of Grim, another option occurred to them. They still kept their gaze lowered, and they let Grim’s observations and judgements pass without comment. But they occasionally let their gaze flicker up to study the man, and in the back of their mind, they wondered: what do you dream of?

Your power has been growing, Sloth observed, lifting its head to survey Shay’s Fade landscape through lidded eyes. The bookshelves were back, but rather than forming narrow hallways they stacked up ever higher, forming staircases which allowed Shay to reach the papers with which they had adorned the stone walls.

Shay spared the demon only a short glance, and they tried not looked relieved at their reappearance. “You haven’t been hanging around to stop me.”

Did you miss me, little dreamer? The creature yawned as it settled itself on the floor. Interesting things are happening at your Circle.

Shay stumbled from the ladder they were perched on, and just barely managed to float themselves down to the floor without falling to their knees. “You know your way to the Circle?” they demanded as they regained their footing. “I’ve been trying to find my way back! How did you manage that?”

Sloth shrugged, indifferent as always. You truly wish to return?

“Of course! I want to see Ros, I want to see Wynne, and…and the Circle is far better than this.” Shay waved their hands in the air to punctuate their words, but Sloth still seemed unimpressed. With a sigh, Shay tried to focus on the matter at hand. “How can I find my way into their dreams?”

Are you asking for my help?

Always a catch, Shay reminded themselves. But oh, it was tempting. If Sloth could truly help them reach someone, this could all be over. No more cold cells. No more forced lyrium. No more hunger pains, or voiceless prison guards, or constant whispering of abominations in the air-

But there would be abominations. Shay would be the abomination.

“…No,” they finally said, forcing the word through gritted teeth.

Very well. Sloth laid its head back on its arms, but its gaze remained on Shay. I admit, I am curious as to what you plan to do to these Templars when you find them.

“I need to find them first,” Shay said turning back to their papers.

And then? I suppose you do realize you could slay them all from your little library here.

Shay stiffened. Yes, they knew that was something that somniari were supposedly capable of. No, they had never imagined doing something like that, not to anyone.

Not before they came here. Not before they had to sit under Grim’s awful stare as he put them through test after test.

But what kind of solution was that? Grim’s death alone would solve nothing. Were they supposed to kill every Templar in the prison? If that were possible, where would they go afterwards? And could they even live with themselves, knowing they’d become the exact kind of mage they had always been warned against?

“I won’t do that,” they said, and Sloth’s familiar chuckled rumbled through the room.

Then what? Wipe their minds? Control them into releasing you?

It was a better solution, but Shay still didn’t like the way it sounded when spoken by Sloth.

“Why so curious?” they snapped, and they could swear the look on Sloth’s face was almost smug.

If you have no plan, then all this work is pointless, is it not? Why spend so much time worrying and working?

The papers pinned to the library’s walls fluttered in a sudden breeze, and the flickering lanterns dimmed. Shay groaned, but found they had no energy to truly protest as Sloth appeared at their side.

Let me help you rest.

“I said no.”

This needn’t be a deal- not the sort you are thinking of. But you need sleep, do you not?

They did. Every night was like this- an endless puzzle, argument, battle- and Shay knew that as long as they stayed in this prison, it would continue. Forever.

Another wave of exhaustion, and Shay finally closed their eyes. They leaned against a bookshelf and sank to the floor, letting themselves get lost in the relaxation Sloth offered. It was dangerous, they knew. At this point, the wisest thing to do would be to finally slay Sloth, once and for all.

Shay wondered if they could actually do it. Sloth was powerful, more powerful than it let on- but so was Shay. Perhaps in the Circle they would have failed, but after facing so many demons here, they might stand a chance.

But they couldn’t risk it. And as Shay drifted into a deep slumber, they knew the truth was…they didn’t want to. Sloth had been by their side for so long, and now it was the only other voice Shay could count on. If they slayed the creature, their mind would be emptier than ever.

It was pathetic, relying on a demon as their only companion. But it was all Shay had left.

Shay continued mapping out the Fade, and the Fade continued to resist their efforts.

They tried to find Ros or Jowan’s dreams amongst the twisting hallways of their library tower, but rooms shifted and locked themselves tightly. They tried to wheedle their way into the minds of the Templars, but they never got far before they were forcibly returned to the waking world.

They tried to visit Lily again, where they had first seen her in the Circle chapel. In that endeavor, they were more successful.

It took more than a few attempts for Shay to convince the girl that they were not a demon, and that they meant her no harm. But time was the one thing they had plenty of, and eventually they were able to enter her dreams without terrorizing her. Slowly but surely, she grew more willing to converse. They found her one night in her usual spot, sitting beneath the altar to Andraste. She shuddered when she saw them step out of the mist, but all she said was, “You really shouldn’t be here, you know.”

“There’s not many other places to go,” Shay said mildly. They refrained from pointing out that there were plenty of other people they would rather be seeing. At this point, they simply craved conversation with anyone who wouldn’t try to barter for their soul.

A tense silence fell over the two as Shay slowly paced around the chapel. The contradiction to their desire for company was that they had very little to say to Lily; any topic they could conceive of would inevitably lead back to-

“Have you found him yet?”

To Jowan. Shay sighed. “No. Blood magic can weaken a mage’s connection to the Fade. I think that may be why it’s so difficult. But I’ve been looking.”

Lily was silent for a moment, and every candle in the chapel seemed to dim. Shay could feel her conflicting emotions swirling through the air in time with the smoke from the incense placed around Andraste’s statue. At last, she released a heavy breath and said, “I suppose it’s for the best if you don’t find him.”

“You really believe that?” 

“You don’t? He’s a-” Lily stopped herself- even now, she hated saying the words. They echoed unspoken in her dream anyway.

Blood mage.

Lily shivered, and softly she whispered, “He did evil things.”

“Is anything he did really worth this?”

“It was wrong,” Lily insisted, stubborn and certain. “And I was wrong for trusting him. He lied to both of us.”

There was an edge to her words that Shay had no desire to examine. They had danced around this subject before, but speaking of blood magic and betrayal was difficult enough already; neither of them had the courage to add the kiss to that mix. And unfair though it was, it wasn’t Lily who Shay wanted to speak to at all. They wanted to talk to Ros, who had never met a topic too difficult to barrel through- better yet, they wanted to talk to Jowan, and ask how he felt about this whole thing.

All of these things were incredibly small matters to fret about, in light of everything else they were dealing with. Yet Shay still hated the accusation bleeding through Lily’s words. “When people are afraid,” they said, “they become desperate.”

Lily shook her head resolutely, turning her eyes up the carved face of Andraste. “Nothing warrants that desperation.”

“They were going to make him Tranquil.”

“It’s still wrong. And they wouldn’t have wanted to make him Tranquil in the first place if he hadn’t meddled in such evil magic. That’s why-”

“That’s why we both deserve to be here?” Shay asked sharply. “Hunted by demons? Locked in cells? Left in the dark to wither away? I’m closer to possession here than I ever was in the Circle, and Jowan is not the one who built this prison!”

“Shay!”

Shay had barely noticed the candle flames jumping higher, the walls of the chapel cracking and glowing with sickly green light. They stopped, pulled themselves back from the anger, reminded themselves they were still in the Fade. With a few deep breaths the air around them calmed once more, and the stone stitched itself back together.

Lily watched all of this breathlessly. She had backed away from Shay as far as she could go, and her face had gone deathly white. Her eyes flickered to Andraste’s statue, which now sported spiderweb cracks along the surface.

“Please don’t do that,” she breathed.

She was right. She was right, and Shay knew that, and it was still difficult to bring back that calm, even demeanor which had always served them well.

“What I don’t understand,” they finally said, “is how you chose this. I couldn’t have run. I’m a mage with a phylactery and no way to survive, but you? You had a choice.”

“You could have done it,” Lily answered quietly. “Look how much you can do, even now. Even with a phylactery, you could have made it. If you do not blame Jowan for his hand in your fate, then do not blame me. I made my choice because I knew I had done wrong. Now I must pay my penance.”

With as much gentle control as they could manage, Shay replied, “I’ve been paying penance my entire life. From the moment I first performed magic.” They glanced at Lily, wondering if she could ever truly understand.  “How long are we supposed to repent before it’s finally enough?”

“It will be enough,” Lily said, somehow still hopeful, “when we prove to them that we are not thralls of demons.”

Shay did not answer. They looked around the room once more, reached for spirits in the Fade, and frowned. “Demons…”

“What?” Lily asked, her voice heightened with fright. “Here?”

“No,” Shay said, “and that’s what’s odd.” They’d gotten angry. Their control had slipped. And not one demon- not even Sloth- was slithering from the shadows to take advantage. “I don’t know where they went.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Lily asked, but Shay was already stepping back into the mists, spurred on by a growing suspicion.

Sloth’s aura was as familiar to Shay as their own- a fact which they tried not to dwell upon. They followed Sloth’s trail through the Fade, through their winding stone hallways and corridors, and as they grew closer, they knew something was wrong. They could feel themselves stretching further and further, closer not only to Sloth but to a gathering of demons the size of which was typically reserved for Aeonar.

They almost turned back. It would be the smart thing to do. But turning back would mean awakening in their cell, and they couldn’t stand to spend more time than needed staring at those damp, gray walls. So they pressed on, following the presence of their demon.

But when they found Sloth, it was not the Sloth they knew.

The Sloth that Shay knew was lumbering, lazy, usually curled up in a half sleep. The Sloth they found had left behind its bear form completely in favor of something almost humanlike- almost. But it was too tall, too skeletal, too much like the horrid things mages saw in their nightmares, and nothing like the companion Shay had come to know.

“What are you doing?” Shay asked, and shivers ran down their spine as Sloth turned to face them.

Ah. The little dreamer has come to join us at last.

“Us? What are you talking about? What are you doing?” Shay stepped backed and felt around them, skimming their mind over the Veil, and they gasped as they realized where Sloth had finally led them. “This is the Circle! This is…”

The excitement caught in Shay’s throat. Yes, they were near the Circle- near Ros and Wynne and home. But something felt different. Something felt wrong.

Sloth supplied them with the answer they could not voice. The Veil has been torn.

It was the truth. Shay could feel it, just as they could feel the demons swarming to slip through the hole that someone had ripped right through the heart of the tower.

“More blood mages,” Shay whispered in horror, and Sloth rumbled its approval.

Yes. They have prepared a delicious feast.

“But Ros is there! Is she okay?” Sloth did not answer, and spike of fear surged through Shay’s chest. They closed their eyes tightly and searched, not knowing for what but knowing they would recognize her anywhere.

The rush of emotion racing through blood. The sharp smell of lightning in the air. The warmth of another’s hand. Ros.

“She’s there,” Shay said, weak with relief. “She’s alive. But…but something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Shay could feel it. They knew the truth. But once again, they needed Sloth to confirm what was happening before they could accept it.

I will take care of her, if she will let me, Sloth said, almost gently. But she is a stubborn one, isn’t she?

“What are you doing to her?”

She needs rest. They all do.

“And you need to feed,” Shay hissed. The fear in their bones turned to fire, and the Fade sizzled around them in response. “You’re killing her.”

Slowly. Easily. I have never liked the violence of my fellows. Sloth floated around Shay, its eyes fixed on the elf. There was a change to the demon, a predatory edge which was more pronounced than it had ever been before. Shay did not know whether it was due to the blood mages, or the weakened Veil, or the sudden supply of energy to feed upon. They only knew it was a change for the worse. But I am a demon, and this is a feast. You cannot deny me that.

Shay gritted their teeth. “Yes, I can.”

You are not strong enough to defeat me. Not now, when my power is at its peak. Sloth reached out a spindly hand, as if to caress Shay’s face, and Shay stumbled back, heart racing. Sloth chuckled. It would be a shame to see you die trying, my little dreamer.

“You’re right,” Shay admitted. They felt another pulse in the Fade around them, another spark that spoke of Ros, and they latched onto it with all their might. “I’m not strong enough. But she is.”

With every ounce of willpower Shay could summon, they released a mental blast that pushed Sloth across the Fade landscape, and willed themselves to that place where they knew Ros was waiting.

“Get back!” Ros screamed, and Shay found themselves greeted by a burst of fire. In spite of everything, the heat made Shay smile- there was no mistaking this for a trick of their Fade. This could only truly be their Ros.

“It’s me,” they tried to explain, but that only stoked her anger further.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare come at me with their face!”

So much was happening, and it was difficult for Shay to keep their focus. Beyond Ros, Wynne was sobbing, kneeling on the ground and clutching a faceless body to her chest. Shay wanted to call out to her, to ask what had happened to the Circle and how they had all been sent to the Fade, but they knew that didn’t have time.

“Ros, please!”

Ros stumbled, and she let out a groan as she clutched her heads to her hand. Shay was instantly at her side, and they pushed back against Sloth’s influence as hard as they could. And finally, finally, Ros’s eyes fluttered open, and she seemed to actually see Shay in front of her.

“...Shay?”

“I’m here.”

She shook her head again, stubborn as ever. “No. No, you can’t be Shay.” She tried to move away, but Shay gripped her hand and spoke in a rush.

“Denerim, Ferelden. Dairsmuid, Rivain. Nevarra City, Nevarra. Antiva City, Antiva. Hossberg, Anderfels. Val Royeaux, Orlais. Minrathous, Tevinter. The Free Marches don’t have a specific capital city because they’re actually comprised of city-states-”

“What are you doing?” Ros asked, and Shay smiled again.

“Proving I’m me. Most spirits don’t understand the geographical divisions of the waking world. Don’t you remember your lessons?”

She blinked, and slowly, her hand tightened around Shay’s. “Maker’s tits, only Shay could make that kind of argument.” And then she was hugging them, with all the tightness and warmth that Shay remembered, and it was all they could do not to cry.

“I thought you were dead, you jerk,” she muttered into their shoulder.

“I’m not. I’m…it’s difficult to explain, and I don’t have time. But you’re in Sloth’s trap, and you can’t trust it. You have to get out.”

“Yeah,” she breathed shakily. “Knew something was wrong here. I…I think I might’ve fucked things up, Shay. Worse than I usually do. I don’t know if I can get them right again.”

Shay could sense the spirits around them, pulling at Ros’s fear and despair and anger, and they pushed them back as far as they could. “You have to fight back, okay? Don’t give up. Don’t you dare give up, not after everything. I need you not to give up.”

“You don’t understand, you don’t know what I-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Shay insisted. They ran a hand through her hair and pulled her close for a kiss, trying to pour into it everything they didn’t have the time or the words to say.

“I love you,” they whispered as they pulled away. “And I need you to survive this.”

 Ros breathed heavily, still holding Shay close. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to. You have to fight back and- and you have to kill Sloth. Don’t let it trick you. Promise me.”

“I…” Ros faltered, but then she set her jaw, and that familiar fire sparked in her eyes once more. “Yeah, fine, I promise. And I promise, when this is done, I’m coming to get you.”

Shay opened their mouth to warn her, to tell her to never take that risk, but before they could speak a word they were wrenched into that familiar feeling of a forceful awakening. Ros dissolved into mist, and when Shay opened their eyes they were staring up at yet another faceless Templar, pulling them from their bed.

“No,” they choked. “No, I need a little longer-”

But the Templar just dragged Shay out of the cell, and all they could do was hope they had already done enough.

Shay felt it when Sloth died.

They were not in the Fade; they were sitting through yet another interrogation from Grim, one that dragged on even longer due to their obvious distraction. They felt it, anyway; a brief shift, almost imperceptible, faint enough that they almost thought they had imagined it.

But when Grim forced the burning lyrium upon Shay, they entered the Fade to find their library empty. No voice calling from the shadows, no trail to follow. Their demon was gone.

Shay staggered under the overwhelming mix of relief and release and heartbreak, sinking to their knees under the shadows of their bookshelves. Sloth was gone. Which meant, hopefully, that Ros was alive.

And Shay was, more than ever, alone.

Chapter Text

They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.
They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond.

—Transfigurations 1:1-1:5

It was supposed to be a revolution. That was what Uldred had said. They were going to overthrow the Templars and free themselves. There would be death and sacrifice and blood, Ros understood that. She was ready for it. But at the end of it all, there was supposed to be a moment of victory.

Instead, the tower was full of abominations.

Ros ran through the corridors, uncertain of where she was going. She didn’t have a plan anymore- she never had, really, it was all Udred’s plan, and it had all gone to shit. They were supposed to take the Templars by surprise, push them back, seize control of the tower. There would be danger and there would be pain, that had always been clear, but it was never meant to be like this. Now Uldred was acting strange, staying holed up in the Harrowing Chamber, and the demons were roaming the halls unchecked.

To make the whole thing even worse, half the damn Templars had still managed to escape.

Their takeover was a holy mess, and Ros didn’t intend to stick around and watch the next part of Uldred’s plan crash and burn. She had no safe place to go, no clear plan in mind, but it wasn’t as if any of that mattered. The Circle had already taken her family, her friends, her blood. What else was there left to take?

A trio of Templars tried to stop her on the third floor. They descended on Ros with swords drawn, and the air grew tight around her as they burned the mana from her veins. But Ros didn’t rely on mere mana any longer, and she did not flinch as she split her palm open on the edge of her stolen dagger. There was a brief moment of surprise on the Templar’s faces as they were forcibly frozen in their tracks, and then there was nothing but fear.

At least Uldred had been good for something.

Ros left the bodies of the Templars limp and lifeless on the floor, and she kept moving forward.

She might have made it out, if not for the Wardens.

They came bursting in out of nowhere, and of course it was Ros’s rotten luck that they had a Templar with them. But they did make one mistake- the elf came at her with daggers, sharp and biting, and the second Ros got her fingers around one of the blades, all the power that had been stolen by the Templar’s dispel came rushing back tenfold. She threw one of her attackers against a wall, froze the others in their place, and was about to finish her escape when her wounds suddenly began to close, her skin knitting itself together against her will. Before she could realize what was happening, she had been healed.

With her power gone, it was a simple thing for Wynne to corner her against the wall with a staff pressed to her throat.

Despite the circumstances, Ros almost laughed at the irony. Being killed by Wynne, of all people, was not something she had ever expected. Perhaps she should have offered up apologies and begged for her life like Vera had. But Ros had so little left to lose, and she found she simply couldn’t muster up that kind of contrition.

“Are you going to kill me, Wynne?” she asked the Enchanter, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. The staff against her throat pressed harder in response.

And maybe Wynne would have killed her, had the Wardens not been at her side. They were the ones to let Ros live, on the singular condition that she lead them to Uldred. Ros briefly entertained the notion of refusing; she owed Uldred nothing, but she owed these strangers even less. And she certainly had no intentions of groveling for forgiveness for something which even now she could not bring herself to regret, not when the Circle had forced her hand.

But…the Wardens said they wanted to help. They said they wanted to save the mages- not the Circle, not the Templars, but the mages, and they said there were children downstairs, and if nobody stopped Uldred then the Templars were going to storm in and kill them all, and-

Well. Ros still couldn’t allow remorse to creep into her heart. But if the Wardens were going to try and stop the Chantry from slaughtering everyone else for her crimes, then maybe it was worth seeing if they could actually pull it off.

The Grey Wardens and their companions were a strange bunch- dwarves and humans and elves and even Qunari, though only the dwarves and one of the humans wore actual Warden armor. The human was the Templar who had drained her magic, and she kept her distance from him; she’d had enough of Templars for three lifetimes. Instead, she kept her eyes on the two strange dwarves.

“More stairs?” one grumbled incredulously as Ros led them to the next floor. “Why do surfacers have to put so many fucking stairs everywhere?”

“It’s a tower, Brosca,” the other answered in a flat tone. “It’s made of stairs.”

“Don’t act as if you like this any more than I do. Remember last time we climbed a tower? Didn’t end too well, did it? Maybe people aren’t meant to be up this high.”

“At least there will be no ogres at the top of this one. I hope.”

Ros felt the dwarven woman’s eyes settle on her, and she shrugged in response. “No ogres, as far as I know. Just a lot of demons.”

The woman’s gaze didn’t lose its sense of unspoken accusation, and Ros wondered what demons must look like through her eyes. Had dwarves ever even entered the tower before? Surely they must have- she knew the Templars got their lyrium from Orzammar. But she’d never seen one with her own eyes. Nor had she ever seen a man as large as the Qunari who kept glowering at her, or a mage who manipulated her shape like the sharp-tongued apostate witch.

Was this what the world outside was like, for people like the Grey Wardens? Was this what Ros’s life might have looked like, had things been different? There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but now was not the time. And though Ros hated to admit it, there was a small part of her that whispered it would be pointless, anyway; she was surely going to die before she had the chance to step into that kind of life herself.

The Wardens’ conversation continued without her input, and it was the one called Brosca who eventually made an offhand mention of ‘the other maleficar, back in Redcliffe’. Ros didn’t immediately put the pieces together, but then he dropped the mage’s name, and suddenly Ros could barely breathe.

Jowan was alive. He was alive and still getting himself into untold trouble, and just like that, Ros had so much more to fight for- and so much more to lose.

Ros stuck close to the group of Wardens, hoping to prove her worth as she protected them from demons and guided them through the tower, but she knew they still had no reason to trust her. She saw the wary looks in their eyes, the horror in their faces as they took in the destruction the demons had wrought. They didn’t understand, and nothing Ros told them could convey what it was truly like. Even Wynne refused to admit that Ros and her fellow rebels were justified in their anger.

Uldred had understood. Ros never trusted him, any more than she trusted Irving- she couldn’t trust anybody, not after all that happened- but at least he'd understood.

Maybe she should have predicted how his rebellion would turn inwards. Maybe there was no other way it could have happened. Or maybe it could have worked, and Uldred was one misstep away from the liberation he’d preached about. Ros would never know.

Either way, she wasn’t the only one who had placed her bets on his rebellion. For so long Ros had felt that she was the only one who hated the tower with such a deep passion, but Uldred had formed his own circle of at least a dozen other mages who were much better at hiding their feelings. Ros's classmate Vera was among them, much to Ros’s surprise and Vera’s subsequent amusement.

Not all of us wear our emotions right on our sleeves, she’d said. Everybody in the tower has their secrets.

That assertion proved true when the Wardens searched Irving’s office, and Ros found the letters he'd kept hidden away. Somehow, even after everything, she'd still assumed Irving only knew about Jowan's blood magic through some Templar spy or vague rumor. But then she read Irving’s praise of how Uldred was able to manipulate his apprentices, and she pieced together Uldred’s betrayals of his own students as he won over the trust of the man he hoped to overthrow.

Even worse were the letters between Irving and Genevieve. Ros saw her own sister’s handwriting, neatly summarizing all of Ros’s thoughts and worries and secrets. Her hands shook as she sorted through the papers, but of course she shouldn’t have been surprised at all. Irving had always kept an eye on her, after all, and it was his job to know things. And Genevieve…

You’ve never even met her, Jowan had told her once. The papers crumpled in Ros’s fist and turned to ash between her fingers, and she left the charred remains scattered on Irving’s office floor.

It was nothing but a mistake, trusting people in the Circle. But the betrayal was a blow to the gut all the same.

Cullen managed to survive the demons, to Ros’s faint surprise. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he tried to kill her, and that didn’t surprise her at all.

The desire demon which had enthralled him cackled from the corner, urging on Cullen’s attack. Through the flash of his sword and the flare of her own spells, Ros could see the haze of mindless rage that clouded his eyes. It was possible he didn’t even recognize her, that he didn’t remember their last conversation at all.

But when Ros broke the spell and chased the demon away, when Cullen looked at her with clear eyes and that same fervent anger, she knew he remembered it perfectly.

It had been Vera’s idea. Ros would never have suggested it herself. Even if she’d had the notion of using the Templar’s infatuation to her advantage, she was certain she’d burned that bridge with her outburst in the halls. But Vera had just laughed and shaken her head. Men don’t hold grudges against pretty faces like yours.

They chose a quiet evening, when Cullen was the only guard on duty. His eyes widened in nervous panic when Ros first approached him, but she bit down all the things she really wanted to say and instead did her best to adopt the sheepishly embarrassed look Vera had told her to wear.

I wanted to apologize for the other day. Things have been so hard for me lately, and I lashed out. But I never meant to lash out at you, of all people.

Cullen was surprised but pleased, that much was clear. He stammered out some sort of response, and turned bright red when Ros moved closer.

Isn’t there some way I could make it up to you? You’ve always been so kind to me.

His blush deepened, and Ros knew then that Vera was right.

It’s nice, talking to you. Could we talk more later?

The words were difficult to get out, and Ros could only hope Cullen didn’t notice how tightly her bone-white knuckles were clenched at her side, or how her nails dug into the skin of her palms as she tried to control her shaking hands. He didn’t; in fact, he looked rather at war with himself. He tried to say something about his orders, his duty, but Ros took another step, practically pressing herself against his armor, and looked up at Cullen from underneath her lashes.

Please?

And just like that, he was hers.

They did meet, later that night, in a more secluded hallway. Cullen was cautious and awkward, but he stared at Ros undisguised longing, and it was an easy thing to draw him in closer.

I want to see you again, she’d told him after he kissed her. But would that interfere with your patrols? I’d hate to get you into trouble.

The words felt clumsy and obvious, but Cullen began rattling off the Templar schedules and assignments without a second thought. It was all too easy to persuade him to meet her again, somewhere private and far away from the hall where he was stationed every evening. It would leave the hallway empty of Templars, but what harm would that do for an hour or two?

Perhaps she should have felt a twinge of guilt as she watched Cullen walk away with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. But Ros could only see the Templar insignia on his armor and the sword he would have used during her Harrowing strapped to his back, and all she could feel was the same dull anger that had been broiling inside her for weeks.

That same anger flared to life now, as Cullen came at her with his blade. Luckily, her fingers were still red with blood from dealing with the demon, and she stopped him easily enough. Even then, however, she had to deal with Wynne’s judgement for daring to defend herself, and it was all Ros could do not to scream back that she was not the one who had started all this.

“Did you know him?” Brosca asked afterward, and Ros turned away from where Cullen laid on the floor- she hadn’t even hurt him, she’d just put him to sleep, and it was a kinder fate than he would have given her- with as much resolve as she could manage.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m a blood mage now, and it’s kill on sight.”

“Do not act as if you are innocent,” Wynne hissed, and Ros almost laughed again.

For all of her faults, she had never claimed to be innocent.

Sloth’s trap in the Fade was so much worse than anything Ros faced in her Harrowing. The demons that had haunted her during that trial had not been so insistent with their lies; they had not gone so far as to wear the image of the people she loved most.

“Get back!” Ros screamed. She turned away from the demon, but there was nowhere safe to go. Wynne was with her, and the Senior Enchanter should have been able to see through this, she should have been able to help. But instead, she was weeping over the bodies on the ground- the apprentices whom she could not save.

And all the while, the demon wearing Shay’s face called Ros’s name from just over her shoulder.

“It’s me, Ros. It’s me.”

“Don’t you dare!” Ros shouted back. Angry tears were forming at the corners of her eyes, and she tugged uselessly on Wynne’s shoulder. “Wynne, don’t look at them, don’t listen to it-”

“Ros!”

“Don’t you dare come at with their face!”

“Ros!”

Ros’s response this time came in the form of a burst of fire, fanning out from her hands and engulfing the demon in angry flames. Shay’s image flickered away, and Ros was granted a small moment of reprieve as she continued to try to awaken Wynne from the nightmare.

“Maker forgive me,” the woman was muttering to herself, either unable to hear Ros’s pleas or unwilling to acknowledge her. “I failed them all.”

She knelt down over one of the bodies, her shoulders shaking with grief. The image of the body shifted hazily in the Fade, running through the multitude of apprentices Wynne had taught throughout the years. She reached out to gently touch the body, and the vision solidified into an elf with inky curls, whose dark eyes staring unseeing into the green sky above.

Fuck. Ros felt herself sink to her knees, her strength slowly giving out at the sight. “Shay’s not dead, Wynne. The Fade is lying to you.”

“How can you say that?” Wynne demanded. “Can’t you see the death all around us? Why was I spared, if not to help them? Why…”

“Wynne, please.” Ros hated the desperation in her voice, hated how much she needed this woman to lend her strength. She tried to hold on to her passion, her anger, those flares of life that could burn away the demon’s icy grip. But with Shay splayed on the ground before her, with the tower in shambles, with the knowledge that this was all because of Ros and her stupid, willful mistakes…

“No,” Ros growled, pushing out Sloth’s whispers. No. She would not regret. She would not surrender. “Wynne! Get up! That’s not Shay!”

She grabbed Wynne’s shoulder, more forcefully this time, and the old woman rounded on her with accusing eyes. “Why were you spared, and not them? It should have been you who died!”

Ros wanted to scream right back. She wanted to fight. But instead she felt the last of her willpower slipping away, and she could only whisper back, “I know.”

Put those thoughts to rest. Lie down here, where things are quiet.

The other bodies flickered in the strange light of the Fade, their faces shifting into clarity the longer Ros looked at them. Jowan. Anders. Shay. Her father. Everyone she had ever loved, who had ever shown her kindness. Gone.

Let it all fade away. Rest with me…forever…

Stop.

Ros’s eyes flickered open, just enough to catch the sight of a familiar face close to her own. “Shay…”

“I’m here.”

She groaned and shook her head. “No. No, you’re not Shay.”

But Shay’s grip only tightened, and in a quiet rush they began speaking, their words falling so fast that Ros almost couldn’t understand what they were saying. When she did, it still didn’t make any sense- they were listing cities and facts and knowledge, as if that proved anything in this moment. It was ridiculous, and it was…

It was Shay.  

I need you to not give up, they said, and they asked her to promise, and how could Ros deny them anything now?

Shay kissed her before they disappeared. A shock coursed through her system at their touch, and an image flashed through her head- a road, a mountain, a prison cell. And then all too quickly, Shay was gone, and Ros was left clutching empty air.

She wanted to scream. This wasn’t fair. Shay couldn’t just appear like that, couldn’t make her remember and then leave her again. But they had, and there was no other choice left for Ros but to pull herself and do as they had asked.

“Come on, Wynne,” she said, and this time she didn’t let the other woman push her away. “You can hate me all you want, but we’re getting out of here.”

Ros had always assumed that if she were to attract the attention of a particular demon, it would be Rage.

It made sense. She was certain everyone else in the tower would say the same. And when she’d walked the Fade during her Harrowing, it seemed she’d been correct. Rage came, just as she predicted, and she faced off against it with just as much ferocity as she had everything else in her life.

But the demon fell too easily, and Ros realized in that moment that for all her anger and fury, Rage was not the only thing that hounded her footsteps through all her life. It was not the reason- not the only reason- why she refused to bow her head and follow the Circle’s rules. When the second demon showed up, Ros was almost taken in. It spoke to her about how unfair everything was, how the mages deserved better. How she deserved better. It was only at the last moment that she’d seen the truth and resisted, but it had been a close thing.

She never fought that demon. It was still in the Fade, lurking and watching, and Ros should have known she was not the only mage it was stalking. She should have known what she would be facing when she and the Wardens finally broke into the Harrowing Chamber.

“Mouse.”

Something wicked glowed in Uldred’s eyes, and his mouth curled into a smug grin. “I’m surprised it took you this long. You’re a smart girl, despite what everyone says. But please- now that we’re better acquainted, you should call me by name.”

“I’m not here to chat, Mouse.”

The signs had been easy to miss, before; Ros knew now just how good Uldred was at keeping things hidden. Had he been colluding with Pride even before Ros’s Harrowing? Had he always intended this, or had his plans been lost along with his mind when Pride wrested away control?

“You’re here to- what? Kill me?” Uldred shook his head. “We both know you don’t want to do that. You’re better than that. Better than them.” He motioned to the Enchanters who laid behind him on the floor, injured and bound. “You would never bow to the Templars. You would fight. You would join me.”

He extended a hand, as if he honestly thought Ros was going to step over to his side. “Accept our gift, my dear. Take the power you were always meant to have. The Templars will never hurt you again.”

Maybe it was the demon twisting his mind, or maybe he truly thought he had a chance of convincing her, even now. Whatever his reasons, it was time for this to end.

“I don’t need your power,” Ros said. Lightning crackled at her fingertips, and she let the sparks surround her as they grew. “I have my own.”

She let the blast fly without restraint, and smiled grimly as she felt it connect with Uldred’s body. But he was stronger than he looked, and instead of falling on the spot he merely glared at her with bloodshot eyes and pulled his hand through the air, weaving a spell of his own. Demons rose from the ground around him, and his laughter filled the chamber.

“If you insist. You are nothing now but a thorn in my side, and I must remove you before you fester.”

The battle was a grueling one, and Ros feared they were losing.

She had never been in battle like this before, not against a Senior Enchanter who was using everything he had to kill her. The Wardens and their companions were far more experienced, but although they took down Uldred’s demons and lackeys with ease, they couldn’t seem to touch the man himself. There was always a spell to push them back and more demons to reinforce his attack, and they could only hold out for so much longer.

Ros was only still standing because of her blood magic. She’d depleted her mana long ago, pummeling Uldred’s shield with spells that hardly seemed to faze him. Now the tables were turning, and it was all she could do to maintain a shield of her own over the bound Enchanters. Her knees shook as she stood under the barrage of spells, and she was past the point of knowing whether the blood soaking her hands was from others or herself. The power was enough to keep her standing, but she could only hold out for so long, and she hoped desperately that the Wardens had more tricks up their sleeves.

“Read the litany!” Wynne shouted, and Ros was hit by a spike of fear. Did it have to be that trick?

“Blood magic is the only thing helping me keep this barrier up!” Ros shouted back. “We don’t know how the litany will affect it!”

One of the Wardens- Aeducan, Ros remembered- looked between Wynne and Ros, the litany in her hands. Ros didn’t know how much she understood of magic, but she seemed to understand the conflict: if Uldred’s blood magic broke Ros’s barrier, the Enchanters would become his thralls. If the litany broke Ros’s barriers, Uldred would kill them while they laid defenseless. Wynne’s mana was spent on healing, and the other fighters were engaged with the demons that threatened to overtake them all at any second.

“Is your blood magic stronger than his?” Aeducan asked, and Ros could feel the answer in the way her shield was already slipping from her fingertips.

“Come now,” Uldred crooned, and Ros hissed as she felt his magic pressing in on her mind. You deserve better than a foolish death in this cage they've stuffed you into. Your seniors chose this, every time they allowed insults and injustice to pass unchallenged. Leave them to their fate. Accept my gift. 

Ros knew she didn’t have much time. The fate of the Circle rested on what she did next.

Fuck barriers, she thought. She'd never been any good at protective magic, anyway.

“Read the litany!”

The words of the litany filled the chamber, and as Ros let her shield fall, she reached into herself once more- not for blood magic, but for the last remaining shreds of mana she could possibly grip, digging deeper than she had ever dared to go. She poured everything she had into the spell, and she sent it rocketing towards Uldred just as the litany took effect and his own protections fell.

She had no idea if the spell even hit, for she was immediately consumed by the pain which exploded in her hand as she let the spell fly. A howl was ripped from her throat as the kickback caused her palm to spasm, the magic flaring out of control as her concentration faltered. She felt the skin tear, the blood burst, and she knew something had just been damaged beyond repair. She refused to look- she couldn’t afford to be distracted any further- but she could feel the blood running down her arm, the blood that was of no use to her or to anyone else now that the litany had been invoked.

Ros staggered to stay upright, cradling her bloody hand to chest, and finally gathered her wits enough to prepare for Uldred’s counterattack. But as she looked across the chamber, she realized that no attack would be coming.

Her spell had met its mark, and Senior Enchanter Uldred was dead on the floor.

Everything happened in a haze after that.

The demons disappeared with Uldred’s death, and without their leader the few remaining blood mages were thrown into disarray. Somewhere in the distance, Irving was pleading for someone to loosen his bonds, and Ros tried to turn to him but instead found herself slipping to her knees, then to the floor, her bloody hand still clutched at her side. The adrenaline that had pushed her through the fight was gone now, and all she wanted now was to curl up and sleep.

She’d done it, hadn’t she? Beaten Uldred. Saved the tower. Outed herself as a blood mage. All in the same day, and now she was done.

You’re not done, Ros. Stay awake. Stop the bleeding.

“Shut up,” Ros murmured, even as she forced herself back into a sitting position, ignoring the way her body screamed in protest. Her magic was far too depleted to even attempt a healing spell, so she tore a sash of fabric from her robe and wrapped it tightly around her bleeding hand where her fingers-

Oh. Her fingers were gone. The ring and middle fingers of her left hand. Ros remembered her spell, the overwhelming surge of power, the kickback and the pain and the splitting of skin, which made much more sense now as the sensation oriented itself around her missing pieces.

“Let me see.”

The words were both gentle and commanding as Wynne took hold of Ros’s hands and began the weaving of a spell. Ros was surprised, but she was too exhausted to say anything, and they both sat in silence as Wynne worked. It wasn’t long before the pain ebbed and Ros’s skin slowly closed at the base of her knuckle.

Wynne released a tired breath as she let the spell fade away. “This is the best I can do for now,” she said tersely. “That hand won’t ever be the same again. And after a spell like that, without a staff? You’re lucky the backlash wasn’t any stronger- you could have killed yourself.”

“Shut up,” Ros muttered. It wasn’t the wittiest of retorts, but she was honestly impressed that she could still speak at all.

“And your injury is the least of your worries,” Irving added, kneeling at her other side.  Somebody must have untied him when Ros was bleeding and useless. He looked just about as exhausted as she felt, but at least he was unhurt. Ros hoped that was enough for Greagoir.

“Honestly, Rosalind,” Irving continued, looking her over. “What were you thinking? How could you have let it go this far?”

“You’re welcome. I could have just left.” Ros growled in response as she flexed her hand and winced at the sensation. Irving reached out to examine her hand himself, but she recoiled fiercely. She had already saved the man’s life, and the Circle with it. She didn’t owe him anything more than that. Not after everything she knew.

“You should have never delved into blood magic in the first place!” Wynne scolded. “You should have known better than to turn your anger onto to the Circle!”

“Are we really going to have this fight again? I think I’ve made it pretty fucking clear which side I’m on, Wynne.”

“Even after all this?”

Ros grimaced, trying not to think too hard about the demons and Uldred’s body lying a few feet away and her hand which still throbbed with every heartbeat. She’d tried so many times to explain. She’d tried to make them see. They never listened, and she was so tired of trying. “Yeah. Even after all this.”

Irving regarded her for a long moment, looking withered and sad and older than ever. “I never did know what to do with you, did I?”

Ros gave a hollow laugh. “Lucky for you, that’s not really a question anymore. It’s either execution or Tranquility for me now, isn’t it?”

Irving said nothing, and Ros knew she was right. Whatever sorrow or regret or inexplicable affection he felt for her, he would not fight on her behalf. He would do as he always did- stand by and watch and recite his justifications. 

“What else would you expect, after what you have done here?” Wynne asked, giving voice to Irving’s unspoken judgement.

Ros had no answer, and she was saved from having to invent one as Brosca approached with the apostate witch in tow.

“Wynne? Alistair needs some healing, and he says Morrigan’s only making it worse. Still got the energy to help?”

Wynne dutifully rose to her feet, and the Warden watched her go with an unreadable expression before glancing back at Ros. “You could come with us, you know. Duncan took me from right under the noses of the Orzammar guards. It’s called the Right of Conscription. We don’t actually know how to make you a Warden right now, but…still. We could try.”

The offer left Ros speechless, and she could only blink up at Brosca in stunned silence. “Why?” she gasped, when she finally found her voice.

Brosca shrugged and exchanged a quiet look with the witch. “Like you said- you could’ve left. But you stayed, and you fought. We…”

He stumbled for words, and the witch picked up where he left off. “We believe that despite being taught by the Circle, you have power. ‘Twould be a shameful thing to waste it.”

All the breath left Ros at once. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real, not after what she had done. She looked to Irving, who was watching the exchange with a deep frown.

Come on, Ros thought. Just do this one fucking thing for me.

“…If the Wardens wish it,” Irving finally said, “we cannot deny the right of Conscription.”

The next day, Ros found herself on the bow of a boat, provided by the Circle and pointed at Redcliffe.

She’d left one hell of a mess behind her. But between Aeducan’s expert wielding of authority and Brosca’s expert wielding of lies, she’d made it out. Wynne was pissed about the entire affair, and Ros could feel the woman watching her even now. Just like the Qunari watched her, and the Warden-Templar, and the dwarven woman who very obviously did not trust her and was just letting her tag along as some bizarre favor to Brosca.

Ros didn’t care. They could all hate her as much as they wanted- she wasn’t planning on sticking around, anyway. She was out, beneath the sky and on the lake and heading towards a friend she’d never thought she’d see again.

Against all odds, she was still alive. That fact on its own wasn’t worth much, but it was a path forward, and that was more hope than she’d had in quite some time.

Chapter Text

Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,
An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.

—Andraste 1:1-1:14

In the dungeons below the Redcliffe estate, it was impossible to judge the passing of time. It could have been days since the Wardens departed for the Circle. Or weeks. Or, Maker forbid, months. Jowan wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake, when he’d chosen to stay instead of escaping. Maybe he had; he made a lot of mistakes. But he also knew by now that getting out of a prison was much, much easier than surviving beyond it walls.

No, he had to believe that this was the right thing. At some point, he had to face the consequences of his actions; there was no sense in running from that truth. He would wait for the judgement of the Circle, and in the meantime, he was determined not to hurt anyone else.

You will, a dark voice whispered in his dreams at night. You were never one who was good at protecting, were you?

The whispers were new. Not the sentiment, perhaps, but the solid voice that echoed in Jowan's head, just as real as any other. It had been steadily building over these past days-or-weeks-or-months; quiet and mumbled and almost soft at the start, but only growing louder and more coherent ever since the...

The sacrifice. Don’t act so squeamish, it was your idea. And you hated that woman, didn’t you? After everything she did, and all the life she threw away? Perhaps you just aren’t strong enough to admit that she got what she deserved for keeping you down here while she hid behind her castle walls.

Demons were rarely subtle things, were they? This one's presence should have frightened Jowan, but at this point all he could muster was a weary resignation. This was the price of his blood magic, after all, finally demanding to be paid.

It wasn't all bad. He didn’t always dream of such things; often, he dreamt of the Circle- as stifling as it was, it was still the only home he’d ever really known. He dreamt of quiet nights in the apprentice dorms, of clandestine meetings with Lily in the chapel. Sometimes the faint memory of Shay wandered through those dreams, but they never spoke, and Jowan could never figure out how to follow where they went.

Leaving you behind again, are they?

The words grew louder every night that Jowan remained in the dungeon. It was surprisingly easy, after all he had been through, to let the demon’s voice wash over him without truly hearing the words. To ignore the shadows in the distance. Perhaps that was why, after so many identical days and nights, he didn’t notice a movement in the shadows until the intruder was at his cell door.

“Jowan,” the figure in the darkness whispered, and Jowan leapt to alertness with a startled yelp.

“Shush! You’re gonna get us caught!” The figure stepped forward, and-

Maker.

“Ros?!”

“I said shush!”

Jowan just stared wordlessly, following her request more out of shock than anything else. This was not quite the Ros he remembered- she was outfitted in mismatched clothes rather than the robes of the Circle, and her eyes bore dark circles that spoke of days with little sleep. From the way she was staring at him, Jowan suspected he hardly looked any better. At least Ros wasn’t in a prison cell.

But she was still here. In Redcliffe. In the dungeons. Standing right in front of Jowan.

“This is a dream,” Jowan whispered to himself. “It’s a new trick, and I won’t-”

Ros reached the bars and gripped Jowan’s arm. Her hands were strong and firm and warm, just as they always were. It was the first time anybody had touched Jowan with any sort of affection in...well, he had no clue how long, but it was so welcome he almost wept then and there.

“You’re not dreaming.” Her voice was resolute, inviting no questions or arguments. She pulled a ring of keys from her pocket, and it was as she fumbled awkwardly with the lock that Jowan realized her hand was wrapped in a thick bandage.

“Wait, what happened to you?” he demanded, but she just shook her head.

“Later. Let’s get you out of here, then we can talk.”

“No.” Jowan took a step back from the cell door. “Ros, you should leave. Get out of here before they find you, too.”

Ros hands went still over the lock, and she looked up at Jowan with indignant disbelief. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

“I…I’ve done bad things, Ros. I’ve decided to answer for them.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done.” She turned her attention back to the lock, and muttered a few curses under her breath before finally wrenching the door open with a loud, rusty wail. “Get our ass out of that cell. We’re leaving together.”

He wanted to. Of course he wanted to. But Ros didn’t know, and Jowan couldn’t lie anymore. “Did you see the village on your way here? Did you see all the destruction? That was because of me. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.”

Ros stood firm and resolute, as if she barely even heard the confession. “I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Tough shit, I don’t! It's not as if you're the only one of us who's done things, Jowan, so let's at least make it worth it!" She held up her other hand, and when Jowan saw the blood he thought she’d suffered another injury. Then he processed the controlled cut across her palm, the lack of guards, her inexplicable departure from the Circle. She stared him down, not a glimmer of regret in her cold gaze. “Now are you going to walk out of that cell, or are you going to make me drag you out?"

Jowan shook his head, speechless. This…this was his fault. He’d accepted his own fate, but now Ros was following him down the path of blood magic as well? Ros watched his face carefully, and finally she said, “I know where Shay is.”

“You- what?”

She’d hit upon Jowan’s weak point, and she knew it. “It’s too much to explain here, but I saw them in the Fade. I don’t know how, but…it was them. I got a sense of where they are- at least, I think so. And I need your help to get to them.”

“Figured I’d find you here.”

The sudden voice made both of them jump, and Jowan realized with a thudding heart that they weren’t alone. At the prison stairs stood Darvis Brosca, eying them both with a furrowed brow. His eyes settled on Ros’s bloody hand, and his frown deepened…but he didn’t raise the alarm.

“I guess I’d be making a break for it, too, if I were you,” he said instead. He nodded to Ros and added, “You could stay, you know. Being a Warden…well, I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of awful sometimes. But it’s probably better than living on the run as an apostate, right?”

A Warden. Of course. Of course Ros would be offered that chance. Shameful jealousy and fear swept through Jowan as he glanced back at Ros, waiting for her answer. He knew she should take the offer; that would be best for her. She didn’t deserve to be dragged down by Jowan like Shay had been. He hoped she would be smart enough to want this for herself- and yet, despite all his protests, he desperately wanted her to stay with him.

“Sorry,” she told Brosca, her voice betraying not a single waver of doubt. “But I have somewhere else to be.”

Darvis nodded. “Well, who am I to stop two evil, scary blood mages? Even if I tried, they’d just knock me out and wipe my memory. They might even be able to root through my head and find out about the secret tunnel that leads to the windmill. If they did that, they could get out of the village before anyone even notices they’re gone.” He glanced back up the stairway and added, “If only one of them can stop all the fucking shouting, and the other can stop pitying himself to death.”

Jowan’s heart was still racing. Would Brosca really let them leave, just like that, with everything he knew? None of it could possibly be real. But Ros gave the dwarf a nod of understanding, then turned back to Jowan and held out her hand, and the look in her eyes was real enough.

“Are you coming, then?”

Jowan went.

It was better, traveling with Ros.

For one, they had a destination. Sort of. Ros acted with confidence, as she always had, leading Jowan in a direction he was fairly certain was north. She said they were going to Aeonar, and that she knew the way because it had been revealed to her in the Fade. Jowan didn’t know whether he believed her; Aeonar’s location was a secret, and the Fade was full of tricks. But she was certain, and he did not protest.

In spite of everything, Jowan hoped she was right. He was the one who had started all this, had put Shay and Lily in harm’s way. He owed it to them to finish it. But it was still strange, being with Ros again after so much had happened. They told each other their stories through pauses and halts over roadside campfires. Jowan described as best he could the strange events which led him to the Redcliffe dungeons, though he tried to leave out the worst of it, the things Ros didn’t need crawling around in her mind. Things like the decayed faces of the villagers Connor had dragged from their graves, or the whispers that had lived in Jowan’s ears ever since the ritual.

Even without all that, his story had plenty of horrors, and he didn’t try to deny his part in them. Still, Ros never admonished him, and when she saw for the first time the scars laced across his back- courtesy of Isolde and the Redcliffe knights- her fury made the air around them crackle.

“That evil, horrid woman! I swear Jowan, if I ever get my hands on her-”

“She’s dead,” Jowan said quietly.

“Good.”

“Don’t say that.”

Ros allowed the subject to drop, but the fire didn’t fade from her eyes.

There was a difference to her, now. The anger she carried had always been there, simmering underneath, but now it seemed ready to spill over at any moment, scalding anyone who stood too close. She never did fully describe what happened at the Circle, and Jowan knew he had no right to demand the details. It hardly mattered; he could imagine it all well enough. Which he did, often, every time Ros fumbled with her mangled hand or woke shaking from silent nightmares. And every time, guilt coiled like a viper in his gut.

Ros was thoroughly uninterested in his apologies, but Jowan still couldn’t help but wonder…if he had never tried to escape, if he had exposed Uldred as soon as he realized what was happening, could he have prevented all of this?

“It’s not your fault,” Ros said. She’d always had a sense for when Jowan was deep in his own thoughts, and that was one thing that hadn’t changed. “It was Uldred. And Greagoir. And Irving. All this shit started way before us.”

“You really don’t think we could have changed anything?” Jowan asked.

Ros didn’t answer, but that was fine. Jowan doubted anything she could have said would have made him feel better.

The next day brought more walking, until their feet blistered and Ros finally decided enough was enough. She headed into the first village they came upon to try and find better equipment for the both of them. Jowan hated the idea of her taking that risk at all, let alone going by herself, but he couldn’t exactly argue when she pointed out that Loghain’s soldiers already knew what Jowan looked like. So she left, and he resigned himself to waiting in a field and worrying himself sick until she returned.

He fully expected her to come back empty-handed; they had no money, and shoes weren’t something easily obtained by begging. Yet when she finally reappeared, it was with a victorious smirk and an armful of goods.

Jowan could only stare in shock. “How did you get all this?”

“Finally found a storekeeper that didn’t take one look at me and try to chase me out with a broom,” Ros said with a shrug. “I guess with the Blight going on, we’re not the only travelers looking…worse for the wear.” Her voice came out just a bit too casual, and Jowan recognized her tone immediately. It was one he’d heard often, usually directed at Senior Enchanters and always employed when Ros was trying to hide something. Yet much as Jowan wanted to press her, he was admittedly distracted when she dropped her spoils to the ground in front of him.

“Maker…” he sighed, shifting through the simple treasures. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see a new pair of boots.”

“And look at this,” Ros added with a grin, holding up a bundle of cloth. “Real clothes. Leather and everything! By Andraste’s ass, doesn’t it feel amazing to be able to wear something other than robes for once?” Her face was gleeful as she held up a pair of trousers, but Jowan’s attention was still on the boots he’d picked up. They were good boots. Sturdy leather. Not the kind of thing a merchant would hand out to a beggar

“How did you pay for this?”

“I didn’t.” Ros’s voice was forcefully nonchalant, but as Jowan turned to stare at her, a dark scowl crossed her face. “Nobody got hurt, okay? It was just a little spell.”

Jowan let the boots fall to the ground, his heart hammering. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Ros’s words were hard as flint now, her jaw set defiantly as she waited. Maker, she was really going to make Jowan be the one to say it.  

“…You made someone a thrall.”

Her stiff silence was all the confirmation Jowan needed, but still he shook his head in denial. “You can’t do that. You can’t just control people’s minds!”

“It’s not like I didn’t try to negotiate first. But he was being an ass, and we need this stuff, Jowan! I guess I could’ve just frozen his feet to the floor and left him there until he called for the Templars- or, hells, maybe I should’ve just killed him! Would that have been better?”

Jowan wished desperately that he had a proper answer to give. He knew that any judgment from him was the height of hypocrisy…yet for all the blood magic he’d done, he’d never tried that. And now, after everything that had happened, he didn’t want to use blood magic at all, ever again. He couldn’t understand how Ros wielded that weapon so easily. So carelessly.

“It’s wrong, Ros,” he insisted. “This is serious, it’s not some game-”

“Do you think I don’t know that?!” Ros spat back. Jowan tried to interject, but she was in the throes of her temper now. “No, tell me more about how I need to take this seriously! About how I don’t realize how evil blood magic is! After all, what do I know about blood magic and demons and watching people turn into abominations?!”

Jowan couldn’t meet the intensity of her gaze, so he simply looked away. But he could still feel her stare and her anger as she spoke again. “Maker's breath, Jowan, what happened to you? I’m only doing what's needed to survive. What happened to the Jowan who understood that? Who refused to let the Circle take away the things cared about? What happened to the Jowan who fought back?”

“He was a screw-up!” Jowan finally snapped. He scowled and dropped his eyes to the ground, still flinching under the heat of Ros’s glare. “Do you think I’m proud of what I did? I wasn’t some- some brave rebel freedom-fighter or whatever it is you want me to be. I messed up and I made everything worse. I brought Lily down with me, and I abandoned Shay, and I left you in the tower to deal with Uldred and Greagoir all alone- how can you think any of that was good?”

“Because at least back then you hadn’t given up. I still haven't; I’ve come too far for that. I’m getting myself to Aeonar, and I’m getting Shay out, and if I have to use blood magic to do that, I will.”

Her words cut. They were meant to. She threw the rest of the clothes down at Jowan’s feet with unnecessary force and stormed off without another glance in his direction.

Jowan’s conscience didn’t sustain him long; mere minutes had passed before he picked up the bundle and trundled reluctantly after her. Yet even as he tried to push the argument from his mind, the stubborn thoughts just kept picking at his brain.

She’s a fire, that one.

Jowan knew immediately that he was dreaming, but he couldn’t force himself awake. Neither could he silence the voice as it whispered, insidious as ever, inside his head.

Not like you. Is that what you wanted, to be like her? Who could blame you? Some people get to have it all. First, Irving’s approval. Then, Shay’s attention. Even out here, she’s still more than you ever were.

“Stop it,” Jowan whispered, teeth gritted. He refused to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the Fade around him. Didn’t want to see the demon.

Let me help. I could help you do better. Be better.

“Leave me alone.”

Is that really what you want?

“He said leave.”

The cool voice washed over Jowan like a light rain. The demon hissed, but when Jowan opened his eyes it was gone, and-

And someone else was there, their expression solemn in concentration. Their image shifted- one minute the Circle robes they wore were clean and neat, the next they were in tatters. But the image solidified the longer Jowan watched, until the familiar elf stood clearly before him. When Jowan finally found his voice, his words came out in a croak. “Shay?”

Shay took a step closer, their eyes distant, their form shifting. But they focused on Jowan just long enough to give a weak smile. “You…is it really you?” They reached out, their fingers just barely grazing Jowan’s cheek. “You got out. Ros got out.”

“And you’re next," Jowan said quickly. "We’re coming for you.”

“No.” A chill settled over the Fade, and although nothing changed in Shay, something about them suddenly seemed…more. Too late, Jowan wondered if he wasn’t simply falling prey to yet another demon, but before he could do a thing, Shay’s hands were wrapped around his in an insistent grip. “Don’t come here. It’s too dangerous. Take Ros and go somewhere else, anywhere else. Just not here.”

“We need to find you,” Jowan whispered. “You and Lily. We need to save you.”

Shay’s grip twitched, and for a moment Jowan was standing with them in a cell, with nothing around but darkness and frigid air and the distant echo of approaching footsteps. Shay grimaced and shook their head, and everything around them dissipated. “Don’t.”

They ripped their hands from Jowan’s, and only did then Jowan finally awaken.

Jowan stared up at the night sky, more confused than ever. He’d known as soon as he'd opened his eyes that there would be no sleep for the rest of the night; all he could do was stand under the stars, stare up at their light, and think.

Of course he had to go help Shay and Lily. It didn’t matter that he’d probably get himself killed; he knew it was the right thing to do, the only thing he could do. But how many times had he been certain that he was on the right path, the only path, right before his decisions blew up in his face?

Maybe it was better to leave now, before he ruined everything again. Ros could do this on her own; she’d survived Uldred and the Tower, after all, which was more than Jowan could say for himself. At this point, he was pretty sure that Rosalind Amell was indestructible. And Shay had said it themselves: they didn’t want Jowan’s help. Jowan couldn’t blame them. He could have guessed that they wouldn’t want anything to do with him, not after he’d abandoned them to Aeonar.

Jowan sighed, his breath forming a faint fog in the cold night air. If he was going to leave, he needed to do it soon, while Ros was still asleep. He just needed to make the decision.

“What are you doing out here?”

Jowan couldn’t help it- he flinched at the sound of Ros’s voice. As if on cue. “I…I couldn’t sleep.”

Ros was quiet for a moment, and Jowan could feel her gaze boring into him from behind. Finally, she came to stand next to him, letting out a deep sigh as she spoke. “Yeah. It’s nothing like the dormitories, is it?”

“It’s much colder, that’s for sure,” Jowan said, wrapping his arms around himself. “More open. To be honest, it’s a little bit terrifying.”

“But no Templars for miles,” Ros pointed out with a smile. “And a lot less snoring.”

“Except for yours.”

“Fuck you, I don’t snore.”

“How would you know?”

Ros elbowed him sharply, and Jowan realized that he was smiling, too. He chuckled and held his hands up in a display of innocence. “Fine, fine, you don’t snore. Much.”

He expected her to laugh with him, but she was silent, and once again Jowan could feel the prickle of her stare on his skin. When he finally glanced back from the corner of his eye, he realized that her gaze had traveled from his face to the small bundle traveling clothes at his feet. The clench of her jaw said she knew exactly what choice Jowan had just been pondering.

“Ros…”

“Tell me you’re not leaving.” Her voice was cold and harsh, and Jowan wished he could do as she wanted.

“I thought it might be better-”

“Better?! After everything we’ve been through, how is it better that you’re planning on abandoning me again?! What did I do to make you want to leave me behind so badly, and don’t you dare say it’s the blood magic, you hypocrite!”

Ros’s voice rose in volume as she ranted, until Jowan could take it no more, and he yelled right back, “Maybe this isn’t about you! Did you ever even stop and consider that?”

“Then what is it about?! I’d love to know, but you won’t tell me anything!”

“Because I don’t know!” Jowan groaned and dragged a hand through his hair, cursing the demons for filling his head with doubts and Ros for never knowing when to let something go and himself for not being able to put any of this into actual words. “I just…I don’t know. I wish I did. But everything I say, every choice I make- it’s wrong, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You know what to do,” Ros said, her voice strained. “We save Shay. Lily, too.”

“Do you even know where they are?” Jowan demanded. “Do you really know? Or are we just chasing our tails out here?”

For the first time, Ros hesitated. “I…they’re north. They’re near mountains. It’s a starting point, okay? We’ll figure more out as we get closer. We have to.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair, and in a desperate voice said, “I don’t want to do this alone, okay? And I don’t think you want to leave. I’m not gonna stop you if that’s really what you want to do, but I can’t believe the Jowan I know wants to leave them locked up.”

And that…that was one thing Jowan couldn’t argue with. He sighed and turned his face towards the sky- so large, so dark, so unfamiliar. “I’ll try. Of course I’ll try. But after what I did, I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t ever want to see me again.”

“Oh, stop,” Ros said weakly. Her voice wavered, and whether it was from anger or grief or just plain exhaustion, Jowan couldn’t say. Maybe even Ros didn’t know for sure. “Not this again. I can’t pretend to know what’s going on in Lily’s head, but…you do know that Shay’s in love with you, right?”

Jowan shook his head in disbelief, still staring up at the dark sky above as Shay’s words echoed in his head. Don’t come. It’s too dangerous. Even now, they were still trying to protect him.

“Maker knows why,” Jowan murmured. “You’d think they’d be smarter than that.”

So Jowan stayed that night. And the night after, and on and on until he and Ros had been on the road for weeks. They pressed northwards, following the faint intuition they’d been granted. Ros was still certain they were heading in the right direction, but even she admitted that they would need something more, and soon. For now, however, all they could do was press on and hope that they would once again stumble upon Shay in their dreams.

It was after a fortnight of these hopes that a storm rolled in, and neither of them got any sleep at all. The dark clouds had been gathering all day, and by nightfall, thunder was rolling across the hills. Rain fell, in drops at first and then in a heavy torrent. Ros stood in the doorway of the stable they’d broken into, her eyes fixed to the sky and a growing smile on her face.

“It’s a thunderstorm.”

“Yeah,” Jowan said, giving her a side glance as he stored away their belongings in the far corner, a good distance away from the few horses occupying the stable. He didn’t trust those beasts, especially not when the thunder made them whine and stomp their massive hooves. He shuddered and turned away from the creatures, just in time to see Ros step outside into the downpour. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“It’s a thunderstorm!” Ros repeated with glee. “I haven’t seen a thunderstorm since I was….what, twelve?” She shrieked as she stepped into the cold rain, but she beamed all the same, raising her hands and spinning beneath the furious sky. Jowan hadn’t heard her laugh- her real, full laugh- in months, but he heard it now, as she let herself get absolutely drenched.

And then she noticed him staring, and she held her hand out towards him with an expectant smile. “Come on!”

“Absolutely not,” Jowan said, stepping further back into the stable. He’d never quite understood her fascination with rain; in his short time outside of the Circle, he’d found it nothing but uncomfortable. “That looks miserable, get in here before you drown!”

 “Come on!” Ros insisted, her hand still held out. Even amidst the rainy night, her eyes shone brightly with excitement, and before Jowan fully knew what he was doing he had reluctantly stepped towards her, and then he was letting her pull him out into the storm.

Jowan was right about the rain- it was cold and uncomfortable and made him splutter straight away. But Ros was spinning again, stomping her feet in the wet ground and flinging her soaked hair over her shoulder, and now Jowan was laughing along with her. Thunder and lightning crashed above them, and in response Ros threw her arms up and let her own sparks of electricity fly into the sky.

“You’re going to get us caught!” Jowan cried, but even as he said it, he realized this was just possibly the safest they could be. He could barely hear his own voice over the rain, and here in the outside world, Ros’s lightning looked no different than that of the natural storm.

“Try it!” Ros laughed, shooting off more sparks. Jowan raised his hand automatically, feeling the echo of Ros’s magic in the air- but he quickly let it fall again. He’d never been much of a hand at primal magic. The only thing he’d ever shown a talent at was entropy and- well, nothing he could do seemed appropriate. The chill of the rain had really set into his bones by now, and Jowan almost turned back to the stable...but Ros was still laughing and spinning around in the downpour, occasionally pausing just to blast lightning like an uncontrolled apprentice. It made for a surprisingly heartwarming sight, especially after so many days of hard travel and bad dreams and intermittent arguments. Despite his brooding thoughts, Jowan stayed outside with her, just to let the moment last a little longer.

But no moment could last forever, and eventually even Ros was driven inside by the cold. With a flick of her wrist, she lit a small fire in the stable corner, and she and Jowan huddled together around the flames. They were both still soaked, just as Jowan had predicted, though Ros generated a steady flow of magical heat to ease Jowan's sniffling and shivering.

“If I catch my death of cold, I’m blaming you,” he said anyway, only half-joking, and Ros dug her elbow into his side.

“It’s just a little rain. I’ve dreamed of doing this for years, let me have my fun.” She paused, and in a smaller voice added, “I wish Shay could be here with us.”

“Yeah. I figured if I ever walked in the rain again, it would be with Lily.” Jowan pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and Ros shifted in response to rest her head on his shoulder. It felt normal and familiar, a position they had been in countless times over the years- but it also felt closer, somehow more intimate in this new privacy so far from the tower.

“At least we have each other,” Ros murmured. “I know I can be a right nightmare sometimes. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re not a nightmare,” Jowan said. "You're the reason I'm still alive."

Ros glanced up at him through eyelashes still glinting with raindrops, and without thinking, Jowan moved to wipe the moisture away.

And maybe it was him who closed the rest of the distance, too, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. Maybe it was Ros who moved first, her hands threading through his shaggy hair as she held him in place with the warmth of her kiss. Maybe it was both of them, moving at once, both eager to remember and forget in equal measure.

However the kiss began, it ended just as quickly. Jowan pulled back quickly, reflexively, immediately hating himself for the conflicting thoughts of Lily and Shay and Ros all warring in his head. An expression of startled hurt flashed across Ros’s face, and he hated himself for that, too.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I just…”

“No, don’t,” Ros said quickly. “I get it. That was…I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Jowan rubbed a hand over his eyes, cursing under his breath. Was there a single thing in his life he couldn’t make a mess of? “Sorry, just…everything is really complicated right now.”

He could sense Ros regarding him quietly, her gaze going straight through him until she finally blurted out, “Andraste had two husbands.”

The words came out in a rush, and they were certainly not what Jowan expected to hear. “I- what?”

“It’s something Shay and I talked about, a long time ago,” Ros said, almost sheepishly. “Point is…it’s possible to love more than one person at once, you know? That’s what I think, anyway, in case that wasn’t obvious. And so does Shay. And you don’t have to agree, or feel a certain way, I just- I’ve found it helps to be clear. So I’m telling you. I really didn’t mean to bring it up now, and I don’t expect you to…I don’t know. I just think it should be said that we could make that work. Once we’re all together again.”

“Oh.” Jowan’s chill had disappeared, and now his cheeks were positively burning. Even just talking about this left him with a horribly guilty feeling. He knew that Lily wanted absolutely nothing to do with him anymore…but still. He’d made her so many promises. He should try to stay true to at least some of them. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just…I need to see Lily. Before anything…if anything…I just need to see her.”

“Right. Lily.” The distaste was clear in Ros’s voice. “Because she's been so helpful to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ros gave him a look that spoke volumes on its own. “You know what it means. She saw a little blood magic and ran for the hills. What kind of loyalty is that?”

“Not everyone is as eager as you to go against the Maker’s law,” Jowan snapped. It was meant to be an insult, but Ros just grinned proudly at that statement. Jowan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Look, when I was with her- she made me feel like everything would be okay. Good, even. Normal. I could see a whole future with her. I pushed her too far, in the end, but…she was willing to risk everything just for a chance at a life with me. And it would have been a good life. The best.”

The playfulness in Ros’s smile slowly dimmed. “You really do love her, huh?”

“I do.” Jowan shuffled closer to the sputtering fire. “More than anything, I just hope she’s okay. Her and Shay both.”

“Me too.” Ros glanced to the fire, and it sprung up with renewed life under her attention. She tilted her head, an odd look in her eyes as she regarded the flames. “It’s funny. Now that I think about it, I never imagined a future at all. Not with Shay, not on my own. I guess I never thought I’d actually make it this far.”

“To be fair,” Jowan said, a touch of wryness creeping into his tone, “I don’t think anybody could have predicted this.”

“What? You and I both blood mages, on our way to break Shay and your Chantry girlfriend out of Aeonar?” Ros snorted. “Guess it does sound kind of crazy.”

“What would you imagine for the future?” Jowan asked. “If you could have anything.”

Ros chewed on her lip for a long moment, deep in thought. “I’d want Shay to be there, of course. And you. Other than that…I really don’t know. I’m just taking this all one step at a time. I don't know how to do it any other way.”

“Wouldn't you give up magic, if you could? Just have a normal life?”

Ros gave him a sharp look, and her jaw set in that stubborn way of hers. “My magic isn’t the problem. It’s a part of me, and I shouldn’t have to give it up just to have a 'normal life'. You shouldn't, either.”

“Well, the way things should be isn’t exactly how they are.”

“Fine,” Ros said firmly. “Then the future I want, if I could have anything, would be to change the way things are. We could all have magic and nobody would give a shit, and you could be a mage who goes off and farms to your heart’s content. I’d even stop using blood magic, so long as everyone leaves me alone about the rest of it. How’s that?”

“Unlikely,” Jowan answered, and Ros rolled her eyes in a good-natured way.

“You asked!”

Their talk continued through the night, and even after the fire died, Jowan lay awake. He listened to the rolling thunder and the familiar sound of Ros’s snoring. He thought of the future she’d described, and he remembered the soft, fleeting warmth of her lips against his. He remembered, too, the quick, panicked press of Shay's kiss, and for the first time he allowed himself to wonder what it might have been like if they'd had just a little more time.

The thought didn’t come without its share of guilt. But even as Jowan agonized the past, he considered the idea that just maybe, there was reason to hope for things yet to come.

The demon came again that night.

Jowan felt it right away, and he shuddered against its presence. “Leave us alone,” he said, as forcefully as he could, wishing he could channel some of Ros’s confidence into his words.

Us? The demon slithered around him, sounding almost amused. Oh, don’t worry. Your friend doesn’t interest me. Not as you do. I suppose I’ve never had much taste for pride. But you? You’re…bitter. I like that.

“What do you want?” Jowan demanded. “What are you?”

What are you? The demon taunted, in a voice that twisted into a strange echo of Jowan’s. It’s funny, that you wouldn’t know. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. It moved in front of Jowan, and with a flicker, its dark form solidified into a face he recognized all too well- gaunt cheekbones, overgrown stubble, dark hair falling over hollowed eyes. The demon smirked, and Jowan shuddered at the sight of his own mirrored features shifting into such an expression.

You can call me Envy.

“I told you to leave.”

The temperature plummeted, and the demon gave a pained hiss before twisting away, disappearing into the Fade once more and leaving Jowan alone- or almost alone. Shay stood before them once more, but this time, they didn’t smile.

“And I told you not to come,” they said. They refused to meet Jowan’s eyes; they kept their gaze fixed on the distant Fade. “The demons will be worse the closer you get. Just go.”

Jowan was still shaking from his encounter with the demon, but he managed to steady himself just enough to say, “Of course we’re not going to go. You don’t really think we’d leave you, do you?”

Shay finally turned to face Jowan, and their dark eyes were cold, so different from how Jowan remembered them. “Yes,” they said. “I do.”

A harsh shiver ran through Jowan’s veins, and before he could say another word he was forced from the Fade.

Jowan awoke in a cold sweat, a gasp on his lips.

“Bad dreams?” Ros asked. Her own eyes were lined with dark shadows, and she groaned loudly as she pulled herself to her feet.

“You could say that,” Jowan muttered. "You too?”

“You could say that.” She didn’t elaborate, and Jowan didn’t ask. “I just hope we’re getting close.”

“We are,” Jowan said, remembering Shay’s warning- the demons will get worse the closer you get.

Foreboding words, just as Shay intended. But they left Jowan with an idea. It was probably a terrible idea, as most of his were, but it was an idea all the same.

I’m not leaving you behind this time, Jowan vowed. No matter what it takes. I swear it.

Chapter Text

Those who oppose thee
Shall know the wrath of heaven.

—Andraste 7:19

“Are you sure about this?” Ros asked, and Jowan released a heavy, shuddering breath.

“Not at all.”

“Maybe I should-”

“No.” Jowan was firm, and he spoke again quickly before Ros could argue further. “It’ll be easier for me. I’m the one with a demon on my shoulder.”

He was right. This whole plan was shaky enough, and they were already counting on too many assumptions. They needed as many advantages as they could get. But him being right didn’t make Ros hate his plan any less.  “It should be me,” she muttered, one last time. Jowan didn’t even bother to respond; he just held out the knife, and after a moment of stubborn silence, she took it without further argument.

They had traveled as far north as Ros’s vision could take her. She’d wanted to press on further, but the mountain range was wide and full of winding paths. They could spend years scouring every cave and crevice for the prison, and years weren’t something they had.

What they had was a demon. What they had was a thinned Veil. What they had was two blood mages.

“Be careful,” Ros said. “Don’t go too far.”

Jowan gave her a weak smile. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. This isn’t like the ritual I did with- it’s not like what I did before. I’m not entering the Fade. I’m just weakening the Veil a tad bit more. I won’t be able to pull it through, and it can’t come after me. We’ll just…talk.”

Ros couldn’t find it within her to return the smile. “I mean it. Be careful.” An image of Uldred flashed in her mind. “And don’t go making any stupid deals.”

“I’ll have to give it something.”

“Offer it a damn Templar, then. There will be plenty of those at Aeonar.”

“Fine, yes, I get it. Are you ready?”

Ros met Jowan’s eyes, and she was seized by the urge to kiss him again- for luck, for courage, for lack of anything left to say. But she stamped down the desire and focused instead on the knife in her hand. “I’m ready.”

She made the cuts and traced through the ritual, just as Uldred once taught her. And then she waited, standing guard over Jowan as he sat in a trance. He was in the Fade for a long, long while, and Ros was about to lose her damned mind when he finally opened his eyes again

“Did it work?” she asked immediately, and he gave a weak nod.

“I know where it is.”

“And what did it ask for?” Ros could barely breathe as she waited for a response.

Jowan paused, his brow furrowed, but finally he gave an answer. “It said we would know, when the time came.”

“Well…that’s pretty ominous.”

Jowan gave a feeble, exhausted laugh, and he leaned against Ros’s shoulder. “Yeah. But there’s not much else we can do about it, is there?”

“I guess not.”

“Exactly. So let’s make this worth it.”

Ros felt Aeonar long before she saw it. She’d never been much for spirit magic, but even she could detect the shift in the air as the Veil shriveled thinner than an onionskin. When the prison did finally come into view, it was much as she'd expected- a bit disappointing, even. Just a blocky, gray building carved into the side of a mountain, blending into the natural stone so well she might have missed it if not for the demon’s directions. The main entrance was burrowed into the rocks, and no windows or lights were visible to mark the presence of any life. The majority of the prison was sheltered within the mountain, Ros realized with a scowl. That would make this more difficult.

The worst part was the waiting. The waiting, the fucking waiting, was the most agonizing thing Ros had ever endured. But they would only get one shot at this, and for Shay’s sake, she knew they had to wait until conditions were as perfect as they could be. Still, she almost lost her mind about twelve times a day as she and Jowan paced the makeshift camp they'd set up in Aeonar's shadow.

But finally, finally, a day came when the sky turned black and thunder roiled ahead, and they decided that today would be the day.

Ros crept close to the prison, trying not to let the thrumming in her blood addle her brains. Her nerves spiked anyhow, and electricity crackled along her skin in time with her racing heart. Normally she would try to calm herself, but today, she let it build. She would need that power.

She could do this. This would work. She had never been afraid of anything, and she wasn’t going to start now. The mantra helped to steel her nerves until she finally found the exact type of area she needed- open, relatively flat, a clear shot to the prison doors. Ros planted her feet firmly on the ground and lifted her staff towards the sky.

Magic flowed from her hands to her staff to the world around her, and the air crackled to life with sparks and light. Her spell met the lightning in the air, just as it had that night she’d danced in the rain with Jowan. But this time, Ros was focused; this time, she did not laugh and let the power flicker away. This time, she drew the power from the Fade and forced it out, mixing it with the static of the storm, and she let her lightning fly.

An answering flash of lightning lit the sky overhead, and Ros latched onto it, using it to feed her own spell. Her staff creaked beneath her fingers as the electricity grew, and with one last push through the Fade, Ros gathered the whirlwind of electricity she had created and sent it screaming towards the prison door.

The shot rattled against the reinforced entrance, which shook against its foundation but didn’t break. That was fine, it wasn't supposed to- not yet.

All the while, Ros could feel the demons pressing against the other side of the Veil, clawing and cackling at her display of magic. She pushed them away; this whole thing would be much easier with a battalion of demons at her side, but it was too much of a risk. In any case, their plan didn’t call for a battalion of demons.

They only needed one.

The rage demon came through the Veil easily enough, bounding into the world with an eager thirst. It came straight for Ros, but with the adrenaline from the static in the air, she easily overpowered the creature’s meager will. She could sense the other demons, watching from their side of the Fade. They offered more, with wordless whispers that promised power beyond what the storm could provide. But images of the Circle flickered through her mind, and the memories of carnage helped her to push the spirits away.

Thunder sounded in the distance, and a light rain began to fall. Ros knew she had to move quickly; her display had done its job, and Templars were coming to investigate. She ordered the rage demon to the doorway, then hurried to hide herself from view.

She’d expected two Templars, maybe three. Aeonar sent seven. They were well-prepared, too, with swords drawn and at the ready as they searched for the source of Ros’s commotion. She watched them move, itching with impatience as she waited for the perfect moment to strike.

They noticed the demon straight away, of course. Ros waited with bated breath, praying that Jowan’s hunch was right. With the Veil so thin, stray demons had to be a common occurrence…

She barely resisted shouting with glee when two of the Templars turned back to the prison, their posture relaxing as they left their comrades to deal with the nuisance. That’s right. Just another demon banging at the door. Nothing to worry about.

The remaining soldiers dispatched the demon easily. Unfortunately for them, Ros had used that time to find her opening, and all the electricity she’d been holding back was released in one large burst.

Her attack felled two Templars on the spot and sent another reeling back into the rocks with a loud crack. The other two leapt into action immediately, and the horribly familiar burning of a smite boiled through Ros’s blood and stole the magic straight from her fingertips. The Templars’ swords flashed through the rain, and Ros had little time to react. But she didn’t have to- before the Templars could move towards her, a wave of force washed over all of them, and they dropped to the ground without further ceremony.

Ros grinned- she couldn’t help it. “Are you telling me you’ve been able do that this entire time?”

On the other side of the clearing, Jowan stepped out from the rock he’d been hiding behind. He grimaced, and Ros’s laughter ebbed at the sight of the blood soaking his sleeve.

“I try not to, if I can help it.”

“Right.” Ros looked down at the Templars at her feet. “Still. That’s impressive.”

“Let’s not get too excited yet.” Jowan knelt down and fumbled through the Templars’ equipment, finally procuring a single heavy key. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Neither Ros nor Jowan knew what to expect once they breached the prison entrance. Ros guzzled a lyrium bottle she’d lifted from one of the Templars while Jowan fumbled with the door. His hands shook enough to nearly drop the key with every motion until Ros clapped him on his shoulder. Her own nerves were buzzing from a combination of the potion and her own adrenaline, but she managed to sound confident as she said, “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Jowan repeated. He breathed deeply, his demeanor steadying. “Yeah, we do.”

The door creaked open, and Ros braced herself, more sparks dancing between her remaining fingers- but nothing happened. The silence stretched out, until at last Ros could only brace herself and walk inside.

The prison was dark- only one torched burned in the main entryway, and the long shadows it threw against the rough stone walls did nothing to calm Ros’s nerves. The lightning wreathed around her palm died the instant she crossed the threshold, leaving her no respite from the dim grimness. But the room was mercifully empty, and she let out a low breath as she eased her way further in. Jowan’s footsteps echoed loudly as he followed, yet still nobody came running. Jowan and Ros were both quiet as they took in the stern, dreary surroundings. Through the shadows, Ros could make out a row of heavy doors against the far wall, each one bearing a solid, heavy lock.

“One of these days,” Jowan said under his breath, “I’m going to have to visit a place that isn’t a dungeon.”

The tension in Ros’s chest eased as she let out a shaky laugh. “Maker’s balls, but that sounds amazing.” She looked down at her empty palms and added, “No magic here?”

“Your mana is cut off,” Jowan said. He stretched his own knuckles, as if searching for a spell, but nothing happened. “The Circle archives were like this. Must be warded against spells. It’s disrupting our connection to the Fade.”

“But blood magic would work?”

Jowan considered this. “I think so, though I hope we don’t have to test it. The Veil is barely here to begin with, and with the wards and blood magic on top of it…I don’t know how all of that will mix.”

Ros shivered, but she pressed on, choosing a door at random. “Let’s keep moving.”

As Ros and Jowan crept down the dark hallway together, Ros had a brief moment of thinking that maybe they could make it through like this, sneaky and quiet. Then they rounded a bend and came face-to-face with a pair of guards, and those hopes exploded into chaos.

Tearing through Aeonar was, in its own odd way, far easier than dealing with the destruction at Redcliffe.

The hallways Jowan and Ros ran through held no memories for Jowan. The Templars shouting behind them were not faces he had come to know. And when the blood at Jowan’s fingers dissolved into a force of magic to send the Templars crashing to the ground, he at least had the bitter comfort of knowing that these were no innocent villagers.

None of that completely muffled the guilt which echoed in his chest. But Jowan could stow those feelings to be fretted over later, at a more convenient time.

“Come on!” Ros urged, and she grabbed Jowan’s hand and pulled him through the nearest door, away from the subdued Templars. The tunneled hallways twisted and bent, and Jowan had no idea if they were going in anything close to the right direction. Even worse, he knew it hardly mattered; clanking and shouting could be heard behind them. The reinforcements were closing in.

Demons clawed at Jowan's mind, emboldened by the blood on his hands. He pushed them away with all his might and just kept running, following Ros as they frantically fled down the hallway. But the thoughts plagued him anyway, and he wasn’t sure anymore which voices were demons and which were his own panicked doubt.

They’re going to kill us anyway. Why not try to protect Ros, one last time? The image of his own face, bearing Envy’s cruel smile, flashed back to him. Pay the price now or pay it later, but it will be paid. Why fight the inevitable?

“Not yet,” Jowan growled between his teeth. “Not until Shay and Lily are out.”

Ros’s grip tightened on Jowan’s hand, and she froze in her tracks. Jowan thought at first that she’d heard him, but her gaze was distant, and he realized she was in a conversation of her own.

“You’re here?” She paused, bit her lip, and finally took a breath. “Yeah, why not? Let’s give it a shot.”

She turned around to face the Templars and brought her blade down across her hand. Jowan realized too late what she was doing, and all he could was shout, “You’re summoning a demon now?!”

“Not a demon!” she shouted back, as the creature she’d called burst forth in a shower of light. The cries of the Templars took on a panicked tone as the creature charged for them, and through the blinding light, Jowan caught sight of a spectral sword lifted high in the air.

“Did I ever tell you I met a spirit of Valor during my Harrowing?” Ros asked, looking far too smug considering their circumstances.

“Of course you did,” Jowan said weakly.

“Yeah, I think it has a thing for lost causes.”

Jowan almost laughed. It really did make perfect sense that Ros should find a spirit of Valor while Jowan still wrestled with his demon of Envy, but before he could dwell too much on that, she was once again pulling him down the hallway. “Valor can hold them off for a while,” she was saying, “It likes to fight, so I assume it’s pretty good at it. It seemed worth the risk.”

“Just take it easy with the summoning,” Jowan insisted. “The Veil-”

“Jowan?!”

The voice in the distance was high and frightened and familiar, and it erased every other thought in Jowan’s mind.

“Lily?!” He raced after the voice, following the call to a row of cells- and there, after all this time, there she was. Everything else disappeared the moment Jowan saw her again. The past washed over him like a tidal wave- her smile, her touch, her kiss, all of it echoed in his mind as their eyes met. Then reality came crashing back in as Jowan truly took in the sight of her.

Her skin was a sickly pale from the lack of sun, her hair a knotted mess. She looked so frail, shivering in threadbare clothes and staring at him with wide, tearful eyes. “Jowan! What are you- how did you- what is going on out there?!”

“We’re getting you out of here," Jowan answered, his voice weak even to his own ears. He took a step toward the cell, only for Lily to flinch away.

Other memories were hitting him now: the fear, the anger, the shaking of her voice last time she’d spoken to him. Get away from me, blood mage.

“Lily…oh, Lily,” Jowan gasped, desperate to make her understand. “I’m so sorry, it’s my fault you’re in here- I should have been honest with you from the start. But it’s okay now. We’re here to help.”

“You…Shay said, but I didn’t believe…I still thought I might be imagining the whole thing…why would you come here?”

Jowan’s throat grew thick. “How could I not?”

For the first time, something in Lily’s gaze softened. Behind Jowan, Ros gave an angry groan. “Yes, very touching. But we have to keep moving!”

“I- yes, of course.” Jowan moved forward again, slower, and sorted through his ring of stolen keys to find the one which fit Lily’s cell. This time, Lily didn’t shrink away. She just watched quietly, her sunken eyes flicking from Jowan to Ros to the hallway behind them, where shrieks were growing ever louder.

“What did you do? How did you even get here?”

“Now’s not the time,” Ros snapped. “Where’s Shay?”

“They…they were in my dreams…”

“Yeah, they do that. But where are they?”

Lily was quiet as her cell door swung open. She stared at Jowan a moment longer, her expression unreadable. But Jowan held out his hand anyway, and after a long pause, she nodded and took it.

“The cells continue this way. Follow me.”

Her touch was feather-light as she pulled Jowan through the prison. Jowan wanted to hold her tighter, like he had back at Kinloch. He needed to convince himself she was really here. He had to at least say something.

“Lily…” he started, and then his throat grew thick again. He swallowed and choked out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Lily’s hand left his, and she softly said, “Now’s not the time.”

“It’s really not,” Ros agreed. She glanced behind them, a tight look in her eyes. “Valor can’t hold them off forever. We need to pick up the pace.”

Lily froze in her tracks. “Valor? You summoned a demon? Here?”

“A spirit,” Ros corrected scathingly. “But yes- I summoned a spirit, and we’ve conspired with demons, and we’re using blood magic! You’re gonna have to get over it, because it’s the only way we’re getting out of here!”

Jowan quickly stepped between the two, laying a hand Ros’s arm as he did so. He made no move towards Lily, but she shied away from him all the same. She was still afraid of him, Jowan realized, and something in his heart broke all over again.

But she and Ros were both right about one thing- they didn’t have the time for all this. “I’m sorry I brought it up, let’s just- let’s just find Shay.” And pray for a miracle, he added silently as a new round of shouting sounded out down the hall. Their plan was paper-thin to start with, and blood magic could only do so much.

But Shay will know what to do, he told himself. They always know what to do.    

The prison was somehow smaller than Jowan had expected. They passed rows of doors, other rooms that Jowan had no time to decipher- some full of empty cells, some holding prisoners who watched with dull, lifeless eyes as the group ran by. Jowan tried to stop for them, fumbling with the keys at one of their doors. The prisoner inside watched him with little reaction- he said nothing, made no movement, simply watched, even as Jowan pulled open the door and offered him his freedom. He almost seemed Tranquil, but…even the Tranquil had their sense of preservation. This mage was unresponsive, grey-skinned and skeletal, and Jowan shuddered as he wondered how long this man had been here. What they’d done to make him this way. What they’d been doing to Shay…

“We have to keep moving,” Ros said, her voice strained but her grip firm as she pulled Jowan away. After that, he tried not to meet the eyes of anyone else as they ran down the hall, until at last-

“Shay!”

Ros threw herself against the cell door, her words lost in her tears- and on the other side, Shay stared in disbelief. They stared for what felt like an eternity, and then in one motion they were against the bars as well, their fingers intertwining with hers, their foreheads touching through the bars.

Shay looked worse than Jowan had ever seen him, but still he couldn’t tear his eyes away. They’d always been small, lithe, wiry- now, they looked as if they would crumble into nothing at any moment, and their dark hair fell past their shoulders in an unkempt mass of tangles. When they spoke, their voice barely creaked above a hoarse whisper.

“Ros…” they breathed, over and over. “Ros. I told you not to come.”

“You idiot,” Ros murmured. “Of course we came.”

It was only then that Shay’s eyes flickered open again, and their gaze slowly moved to Lily, then to Jowan. Jowan opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat as he met Shay’s dark eyes. Instead, he just nodded and stepped forward, keys in hand.

The lock clicked open just as the Templars arrived.

“That’s enough.”

Shay shrank at the sound of the voice, and Jowan turned to see a row of Templars blocking their exit. The man leading them was tall, grey-haired, and glaring at the escapees with chilling contempt.

“No…” Shay whispered, their fingers digging into Jowan’s arm.

“I knew you’d be trouble,” the man said, his eyes fixed on Shay. Ros and Jowan moved as one, placing themselves between Shay and the Templar. Lily hovered at Jowan’s side, her gaze flicking between the mages and the Templars, her face a ghostly white.

“Take these maleficar alive. I would have them questioned,” the Templar ordered. He motioned at Shay and added, “As for this one…I believe we’ve proven the dangers of keeping it around.”

“Stay away from us,” Ros growled.

The Templar only drew his sword in response.

Jowan should have guessed what would happen next, but it was still a shock when Ros flew into action. She threw herself forward, blocking the Templars from reaching Jowan, and immediately reopened the wound at her hand. Blood flowed, and she had enough time to force two Templars back, their legs buckling under the onslaught of her magic. Shay cried out for her, but they were weak; they stumbled as they tried to help, and Jowan barely pulled them to their feet in time to help them dodge the blow of another Templar's blade. His shoulder took the brunt of the hit instead, and a scream tore from his throat as the steel bit into his skin.

There was too much happening; this was not like his escape from the Tower, when his blood magic was enough to subdue his attackers. These Templars were stronger, and Jowan had more people that he needed to protect, and he could barely even make out the words that were being shouted through the pain and the panic.

When Shay screamed, however, they broke through it all. Their cry cut straight through to Jowan’s heart, and for the briefest of moments he was certain that they had been run through with a Templar’s sword.

But when Jowan blinked through his pain, he saw only Ros, still frozen in her attack on the commanding Templar. Ros, whose blood now came not from shallow cuts along her arms but from the wound that had been carved deep into her chest by the Templar’s sword. Ros, who gasped and tried to say something, but managed no words before the Templar pulled his sword from her body and let her slump to the ground.

Shay screamed again, and then the world really broke apart.

No.

Everything else faded away, and the world shrank down to Ros, to the blade in her stomach, to the red pouring out over the stone floor.

No.

Jowan was still trying to shield them, but Shay tore out of his arms and threw themselves forward. They didn’t care about the danger; they just needed to get to her. They could heal her, they could, if they could just reach her before-

But then their hair was seized in an iron grip, and they were thrown in the opposite direction. Through the haze of panic, they realized it was Grim advancing upon them. His sword was drawn, still shining red with Ros’s blood. The man said nothing, simply raised his sword, and in the moment before he brought it down, Shay saw how this would all play out.

They would die here. So would Ros. And Jowan. And Lily. They would all be slain, just like every other mage who ever dared to fly away, and there would be nothing of them left behind to even tell the world that they were here at all.

No.

Shay didn’t think. They simply reached for the magic they knew so well, and they did not stop when they met the familiar wall of the Templar’s wards. They knew the Veil- they belonged the Veil, they realized now, and it suddenly seemed ridiculous that the wards had ever managed to keep them restrained at all. All around Shay, the air rippled as those wards shattered and the Veil surged to its full, blinding potential. Shay met the flow of magic head-on, and for the first time in their life fully embraced the spirits swirling around them.

It all happened in an instant. Grim was still standing over them, sword poised. But power pulsed through Shay now, and before the blade fell, Grim was sent hurtling across the room. The Templar’s armor echoed loudly as it crashed against the stone wall, and Grim fell in a heap on the floor. But he was not gone yet- Shay could sense the flicker of life within him, could see him struggle to his feet.

No, thought Shay again, and they seized Grim in their mental grip. You will not hurt me. You will not hurt anyone. Not ever again.

Spirits flew at Shay’s call, those same helpful wisps who once clamored at the chance to heal. Now, Shay directed them differently.

They were well-practiced in stitching the human body together. It was not so different, pulling it apart.

Distantly, Shay could hear yelling- Jowan, Lily, the other Templars that were pouring into the room. But not Ros, not Ros, and that absence sent another lance of pain through their chest, pain that echoed in the wave of twisted magic they sent through the encroaching soldiers. There was no stopping themselves now. They could only stop the Templars- stop their hearts, stop the blood in their veins, stop the fear they’d always brought down like a hammer as Shay cowered below.

They were done cowering. If they were going to die today- if Jowan was going to die today, if Ros already lay dead on the floor- they were at least going to ensure they took this whole prison down with them.

Chapter Text

Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.

—Andraste 7:12

Shay was not the type of mage who hurt people.

This had always been true; it was not so much a rule they followed as it was a fact inherent to who they were. They healed. They studied. They worked only with spirits who spoke in gentle whispers. They used their magic to serve the world, never to rule over it, and certainly never to cause pain.

None of that mattered now.

Ros and Jowan had fought against the world to come for them, and all they had to show for it was danger and death, all of it delivered at the hands of the very same Templars who had imprisoned Shay, who had kept them starved and sleepless, who had tested them again and again and again and again.

Shay would end that. All of it. They would make sure these Templars never touched another mage.

Their power flowed around them, easy and natural as it had ever been, guiding spirits from the Fade and into the bodies of the warriors who came for them. The music of the Veil echoed loudly against their skull, and for the first time in their life Shay fully embraced the noise. Louder and louder it grew, until the insistent drumming drowned out all other voices, all other sounds. Shay's own heartbeat, their own breaths, disappeared into the cacophony.

In that noise, they found the heartbeats and the breaths of the Templars, and they ripped them apart.

Shay was never the type of mage who hurt people. But Aeonar had done its work on them, and they were not the same mage they’d been before.

Some part of Jowan had known- had accepted- that everything he and Ros planned was doomed to go would go wrong. Who was he, to think he could storm Aeonar with a handful of allies and a haphazard idea of escape, and live to tell the tale? Even if the Templars didn’t take him, the demons certainly would, sooner or later.

And that would all be worth it, just to say that he had tried, just for the slim chance of saving Shay and Lily.

But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Shay!” he screamed, his voice hoarse. “Shay!”

Shay didn't respond, didn't even seem capable of it. Their eyes were sharp, focused, but fixed only on the Templars who surrounded them. Those Templars had charged in with swords drawn, confident and ready to kill, but as Shay's magic burst forth, their battle cries turned to screams of horror. Their unholy howls of pain filled the air until blood gurgled in their throats, drowning them from the inside out, and they could scream no more. Muscles and bones moves beneath their skin, pushing and twisting in an unnatural manner until the bodies finally collapsed- or broke- or even exploded, spilling blood and viscera over their impenetrable steel armor. Spirits sped through the air, jumping from body to body, and there was no scrap of Veil here strong enough to hold them back.

There was only Shay, standing in the middle of the maelstrom, conducting it all.

The Templar nearest Jowan collapsed, convulsing and hacking up blood all over the stone floor, and Jowan had to look away as his stomach churned at the sight. Through the chaos and the overwhelming press of spirits in the air, his eyes fell on Ros- blood-soaked, gasping Ros, who had curled up on the ground behind Shay, and Jowan’s world narrowed back into focus. He dragged himself to her side and took her into his arms, but one look at the wound in her chest told him this was far beyond anything he could fix.

“Shay!” Jowan cried out again. “Shay, you have to snap out of it! You have to help her!”

If anyone could, it would be Shay- but Shay didn’t, couldn't hear him, and Jowan was left alone to try and push as much magic as he could summon into Ros’s dying body. Shay had done the work of breaking the wards, and there was a brief glimmer of hope as Jowan’s spell took hold…but though the flow of blood slowed, Ros’s wound did not close itself, and her groans of pain did not subside.

Another pair of hands joined Jowan's, and he looked up to see that Lily had taken position at Ros’s other side. She pressed on the wound, desperately trying to bind the bleeding with the scraps of her shirt, but her attempts were having no more effect than Jowan’s. She met Jowan’s eyes, and in a shaky voice she asked, “Can’t you heal her?!”

“The wound is too deep,” Jowan said, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. “I’m not good enough, I- I can’t do this.”

I could.

A tight panic gripped Jowan's chest. The demon’s voice was close now; closer than ever before, practically tickling his ear with its breath.

Your little friend was so kind in opening the Veil. They let me out. Now all she needs to do…is let me in.

“No,” Jowan whispered. “No, that wasn’t the deal.”

“Jowan?” Lily was still next to him, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, but he couldn’t look at her now, and he couldn’t look at Ros or Shay either, not when the consequences of his foolish actions were once again closing in on him.

“It was me, not her. You’re supposed to take me.”

“Jowan, who are you talking to? What are you doing?”

But she’s the one who needs me now, isn’t she? I can strengthen her. Tell her to let me in, won’t you?

The chill that had settled on Jowan’s shoulders shifted down his arms, moving to his hands which rested on Ros’s chest. Jowan pulled himself back, shaking his head violently, but Ros gasped again and her eyes went wide, and Jowan knew deep in his bones that the demon had moved on to whispering its promises to her.

“Stop it!” Jowan snapped, and before he knew what he was doing he reached out for the demon’s presence and pulled. The action came all too naturally- Envy had been living in his head for some time now, and he’d already resigned himself to eventual surrender.

That was the deal. Envy was supposed to ensure that Jowan’s friends made it out of here alive, and if it did…Jowan would let it in. All the way in. He, and he alone, would pay for his own mistakes. He’d agreed to that.

But he’d never said the evil thing could take Ros in his place, and he wasn’t going to let it change their terms now.

“Take me,” Jowan ordered as the demon twisted in his grasp. “Make me strong enough to heal her, if that’s what you have to do. But it has to be me.”

The demon hissed its annoyance at being denied, but its ice-cold claws sank into Jowan's psyche all the same. Fine. We have a deal.

Lily was still staring, unaware of what was going on, while Ros tried to argue in her gasping rattle. Jowan kept his eyes on her as the demon took hold- the blood had drained from her face, and it was achingly clear that the meager healing he provided wasn’t going to last her much longer. He needed to do this, he was actually doing this, he only hoped it would be quick-

But the demon never finished its job. It hesitated, curling in Jowan’s mind, and then flung itself away from him with an angry, echoing screech.

You dare speak that in my presence? Ungrateful worms! You all deserve to die here! You-

Ros coughed and spluttered, but her voice grew louder, and Jowan realized she hadn’t been speaking to him at all- she’d been reciting something, and while Jowan didn’t understand the words, the demon certainly did. The air around them shifted and bent, and for a fleeting moment Jowan could see the thing clearly in front of him- that awful mirror image of his own face, now twisting and folding in on itself beyond recognition.

You will all die here. And when there is nothing left of you, I will return for your corpse-

“Fuck off,” Ros coughed, and she started reciting the words again, until the demon disappeared with one final, furious scream.

“Ros,” Jowan said, as a sick feeling sank into his stomach, “what did you do?”

“It wasn’t worth it, Jowan,” she said, and with her final act of defiance finished, her strength seemed to leave her all at once. “Just…take care of each other.”

Jowan shook his head. No. No. He couldn’t be left here like this- Shay was still caught in their storm of spirits, shielding them all as they dismantled the Templars, too submerged in their grief to be pulled back to the surface. Ros was limp on the ground, her breaths growing shallower and shallower. Lily had shrunk back once more at the sight of the demon, keeping her distance now from Ros and Jowan alike.

I can’t do this, he thought again, helplessly, but this time there was nobody to hand him an answer, to pull him from prison, to come and save him. He had to be the one to do the saving.

I can’t.

But he had to. At the very least, he had to try.

There were bodies all around him, Templars Shay had killed, still warm with blood and the glowing echoes of life. Jowan was nowhere near a proper healer…but he knew blood, and he knew entropy. Drain the life of one, and transfer it to another. It wasn’t blood magic, not really- just close enough to be mistrusted. Just close enough that between Jowan’s renewed connection to the Fade and the blood he was soaked in…maybe, maybe…

The pain in his own shoulder- courtesy of a Templar’s blade, though he’d nearly forgotten in the face of everything else- acted as his center point. Jowan gripped that sense of life, pulled it by the roots, and pushed it into Ros as every prayer he’d ever learned spilled desperately from his lips.

As a numbness settled over Ros’s body, the world around her began to blur and dim. Pain had given her a strange sort of clarity- enough to recite the Litany, enough to save Jowan one last time. But now…

Now, the nerves in her body had stopped screaming out. Now, the fragility of her own ribcage didn’t seem quite so concerning. Now, she slipped into that numbness, and though she fought to keep her eyes open, she was already drifting off into darkness.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the rain.

It was just a drizzle of a storm, nothing like the real tempest raging outside the prison. No, this was light. Cool. Pleasant.

Unnerving.

Ros lifted a hand, letting the raindrops sprinkle over her palm. As she stretched out her fingers, she found that her hand- which had been stiff and full of aches ever since her injury- caused her not even a whisper of pain. Her fingers were still gone, but in their place was only a gentle nothingness. Fog rolled in around her, soft and velvety, as if she were standing inside a cloud, and for the first time in ages, Ros felt at peace.

She didn’t like the feeling. It reminded her too much of the Fade's traps, and she knew she shouldn’t be here. But her brain was too fuzzed to remember where she should have been, and that numbness was weighing down the parts of her that wanted to claw back against the clouds.

“Hello, child.”

The familiar voice jolted Ros from her stupor, and she turned to find Irving, sitting on a stone bench in his First Enchanter robes. The clouds bent themselves around him, creating a small, dry sphere against which the rain pattered harmlessly. Ros blinked at him, her thoughts slowly pulling themselves back together.

“…Why are you here?”

“To keep you company, of course.” He gestured to the space next to him on the bench, but the simple answer only made Ros bark out a harsh laugh.

“But why?”

Irving tilted his head, regarding her with that calm curiosity that had always been his trademark. “Haven’t I always?”

“Guess so,” Ros admitted. That composure of his was still irritating, and she couldn’t help but add, “Even when I didn’t want it.”

“Yes,” Irving agreed just a bit too readily. He had that thoughtful look again. “If your friends were here…I think that would make you angry. But you need someone. Nobody wants to be alone in these moments. So here I am.”

Ros breathed in a sharp gasp as the memories finally coalesced, the truth of it all washing over her just as the rain was gradually drenching her hair and clothes.

“Final moments, you mean?" she demanded. Her hand rose to her chest; there was no pain, but she felt a faint echo of impact, and she remembered the flash of steel from the Templar's sword. "I’m dying.”

The spirit- for of course it was a spirit, it was always a spirit- simply shrugged. “Perhaps.”

An unintended laugh bubbled to Ros’s lips. “You’re a good imitation of him. He never did like giving straight answers.”

“Life doesn’t often have straight answers, child. You may be dying. You may live. I do not know. Let us speak of something more peaceful.”

Maker, did the spirit sound like Irving, and before Ros could stop herself she was biting back just like she would with the real thing. “Oh, does my impending death upset you? Is it unpleasant?”

At that, the spirit paused, and its impersonation faltered. “Death…I admit, we do not understand it. We do not die. Even when your kind kills us, we reform, in pieces and in time. So to answer your question, your solid world does indeed seems a very unpleasant place.” Its brow knotted, and sudden sadness overtook Irving’s face. “So many of you, so temporary, so alone. We know nothing of…distance. Of walls. Does it not seem wrong to you?”

It was dangerous to agree too much with a spirit, so Ros did not answer. Instead, she brought the conversation back to her original question. “Why come here, if you hate it so much?”

“You are alone,” the spirit said, as if that explained everything. “Every mage that has come here, has come here alone. I am their Company.”

Ros still wasn’t sure what it meant. Every mage in Aeonar? Every mage in Thedas? She doubted this spirit- this Company- even knew the difference, so she crossed her arms and allowed the questions to pass. “That’s…sweet, I guess. But your mask is slipping. The real Irving wouldn’t care enough to shed a tear over me.”

“Has this Irving not been a comforting presence through your years?”

That almost made Ros laugh again, but the chuckle ended in a choked sound that was a little too close to a cry for her comfort. Yeah, Irving was a constant presence. Always there to guide, to judge, to push her to be something she’d never wanted to be. Always wanting to be closer, despite the distance she kept him at. Why did he care? Why, even now, did his presence haunt her?

And why, when she was still so, so, so angry with him, did she wish she could see the real him one last time?

“I never wanted him to care about me, you know,” she said, and it came out like an accusation. “I want my real father.”

Company was still for a moment, and its image blurred. For a moment, Ros could make out her father’s shape, and the rough approximation of his face- but then the spirit gave up and reformed as Irving once more, and she realized that she couldn’t recall his looks with the same clarity she’d had when she was younger. It was just too long ago.

That was when her tears started falling in earnest, mixing in with the teardrops on her face.

Company frowned at the sight. “I…apologize. I intended to comfort, but I can see I have failed.”

Ros shook her head and wiped angrily at her eyes. “That…actually makes you Irving’s perfect copy. Good job.”

The cold of the rain was finally starting to get to her, and Ros wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to be afraid; this was never what she’d been afraid of before, why start now, when it was already too late? Still, her voice was small when she asked, “Am I dying, though?”

Company patted the bench once again, and its mannerism settled back into the Irving Ros knew. “Come sit with me, child. I’ll keep you dry from the rain.”

“What about Shay and Jowan? Are they alive?”

“Come. Sit. We’ll find these things out, with time.”

Ros hated to sit and wait. There was so much she wanted to go out and do, so many places she wanted to see, so many things she had to fight for. She’d told Jowan she’d never expected to get this far in life, but she was here now, and dammit, she wanted to live.

But Irving was right; the rain was soaking her through, and the fog around her was cold. So she stepped through his barrier, and she settled down onto the dry stone bench, and she let Irving keep her company as she waited for whatever came next.

A door had been opened, and Shay didn’t have the strength to slam it shut again.

Their fury poured relentlessly into the attackers who came for them, but those attackers were slowing their charge. Some yielded and begged for mercy; some simply fled. The spirits came for them all the same, all at Shay’s bidding, and Shay found they had neither the ability nor the desire to call those spirits home.

This would be their end. All of their protection against spirits and demons had eroded away, and when they tried to regain that control the same image replayed in their head: Ros, a sword in her chest, her blood on the floor.

And the fury swept over them again. They needed no defense; they needed only to purge these Templars from the walking world, and then-

Then-

Then, you will die?

The voice was a soft chime in the midst of the Fade’s thunderous music, and it struck a familiar shiver down Shay’s spine. Yes…they would die. They were spent. Nothing was left to sustain them but heartbreak and anger, and that would not last forever. Even if they clung to life, they were too weak to fend off the spirits whom they themselves had stirred into a frenzy.

You will be an abomination?

Perhaps they would be. How horribly fitting: their lifelong fear, come to fruition at last.

I want to help.

Shay pushed back, but it was a feeble attempt, and the offer came again.

We’ve spent all this time watching each other. I don’t wish you harm. I want to help.

Perhaps this was how it happened. Perhaps this represented Shay’s last barrier finally breaking. But this time…Shay believed it. They opened their mind, and they welcomed the spirit in. The invitation was accepted readily, and the spirit rippled with contentment as it wound its way into Shay’s heart. Its touch was cool and calm as it soothed the exhaustion which had threatened to wear Shay to the bone.

Slowly, little by little, Shay regained control of the spirits they had called. Slowly, one by one, they directed those spirits back to the Fade.

Slowly, they broke out of the haze their fury and fear had trapped them in.

Welcome back, little dreamer.

Coming back to themselves was like waking from a nightmare.

Shay staggered in place as the power around them dissipated, the spirits dissolving back into the nothingness of the Veil. All around them was carnage, and their legs went weak as they recognized their own handiwork. Bile rose to the back of their throat, and their heart began racing-

Only to quiet again, as a gentle whisper touched their mind. It’s all fine, little dreamer. The worst is over.

It was true; the Templars were gone, having either fled or died at Shay’s hands. They were safe, and Jowan was safe, and Ros-

Ros.

Jowan was crouched over her body; both his and Ros’s clothes were stained with blood. Lily was crouched in the corner, silent and staring, but Shay barely noticed her as they focused in on Ros. She was so pale, and Shay immediately feared the worst- but then her chest rose and fell, just a fraction, and they’d never felt such relief in their entire life.

“Shay?” Jowan’s voice was cautious and strained, his eyes closed tight in concentration. “Are you there? Are you okay?”

I don’t know, Shay thought, but all they said was, “For now, yes.”

“Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

He was working a spell, Shay realized; he was keeping Ros alive, though the effort was clearly taking a toll. Jowan’s face was hollow and slick with sweat, and his own breathing was labored as he forced Ros's body to cling to life. He was draining himself to keep her alive- and not just himself, but the bodies of the Templars around him, which had been fresh corpses mere moments ago but were now withered and desiccated as if they’d been rotting for years. This was a crude form of healing, derived from entropic magic, rarely used due to the sacrifice it required. Practically blood magic, some scholars called it, and Shay had never cared less.

“Uldred taught me,” Jowan whispered. “But it’s not enough, not yet. Help.”

Shay joined Jowan at Ros’s side, and they went to work.

Her wounds were deep, and more severe than any Shay had encountered before. But Jowan had done good work in keeping her alive, and Shay had a steady stream of power supplied by the new resident in their head. That would be its own problem to sort out, eventually, but for the time being Shay could not protest. Any semblance of integrity to the Veil here had been long since discarded, and they sent spirits wrapping around Ros's chest, her ribcage, her heart, mending and weaving as they went, steadily stitching back the veins and muscle which had been so carelessly torn open by the Templar's blade.

At long last, Ros’s eyes fluttered open. She stirred weakly, and her hand grasped at Shay’s.

“Maker’s balls,” she muttered, “I feel like shit.”

Shay laughed and wrapped their arms around her, burying their tear-stained face in her matted hair, as they whispered, “I’m never letting go of you again."

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she whispered back. At her other side, Jowan released a long sigh of relief as he sagged against the floor.

“Did we do it?” he asked, his voice high and faint. “Are we all actually alive?”

“I think so,” Shay answered. They took a moment to quietly probe at their own mind, worrying over what their intruder might do now that the danger had passed…but what they found was not what they expected.

You remember me as Sloth, the spirit hummed thoughtfully, in just the same cadence Sloth once had but in a tenor wholly unlike the demon's. This being was undeniably the same; Shay could never forget the feel of Sloth against their mind. Yet it felt smaller, somehow; younger, even.

Spirits do not die, it reminded Shay gently. Your Sloth is gone. I remain. Just a piece of what I was- the fragment you wish to keep with you.

And what is this fragment composed of? Shay wondered.

...Repose, I should think. A respite for the troubled mind. A restful place for the weary head. Is this a sufficient answer, little dreamer? 

“Shay?” Ros nudged them. “Are you okay?”

“…Yes," Shay answered, first to Repose, and then to Ros. "Yes, I think I am.” They looked down at Ros, then lifted their gaze to Jowan. All around them was destruction...but beyond these walls was the sun and the sky, and no more locks to keep them bound. "I know I am. Let's get out of here."

Chapter Text

Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember:
Not alone do we stand on the field of battle.

—Apotheosis 1:1-1:14

Leaving Aeonar behind was hardly the complete victory Ros would have liked.

Her chest ached with a vengeance, and every breath she took was like another sword through her ribs; she was forced to lean heavily on Jowan just to stagger down the hallway. As they walked, they had to step over what remained of the Templars, with Lily whimpering at the sight and Shay falling grimly silent. Shay’s eyes lingered on the commanding Templar’s body as they left the room behind, but their expression betrayed little of whatever was running through their mind. Ros touched her hand against theirs, and their fingers grasped tightly back. Without a word, they allowed her to pull them away from the bloody scene.

Retracing their steps led them through an eerily empty prison. Locks and iron bars had been melted away, or turned to ice and shattered, or corroded into nothingness. The prisoners were nowhere to be seen.

“Did they all run?” Ros asked quietly.

Jowan shook his head. “They didn’t look to be in any shape for running.”

“I took the Veil down,” Shay murmured. “Spirits came to take them. To save them.”

“What?” Ros asked, but Shay said nothing more, and Jowan simply urged her on.

It was a bittersweet thing at best, leaving those empty cells behind. Some deep instinct pulled at Ros to stay, but she recognized the threads of the Fade tugging at her mind, and she put all her willpower into staggering onward, onward, onward, until at last they reached the threshold of the prison.

When they finally stepped outside, the sky was gray and angry, with rain still pouring across the mountainside. But Shay gasped and surged forward, and the hollowness which haunted their face was finally broken as the rain touched their skin.

“It’s real,” the said softly, lifting their face up to the sky, not minding the storm in the slightest. They turned to Ros and once more wrapped their arms around her as they pulled her in for a rain-soaked kiss. They kept their face pressed closed to hers, their breath tickling her lips as they said again, “This is real. We’re free.”

“You’re free,” Ros agreed, blinking away tears of her own. "We all are."

Behind Shay, Lily stepped out into the rain as well. Through all their fighting, she’d worn a look of dread and horror; now, for the first time, she smiled. “Praise the Maker,” she whispered, as she raised her palm to collect the raindrops.

When Jowan moved to her, however, she shrank back into herself. Not another word was said between them.

Between the weather, Ros’s injury, and Shay and Lily’s state of weakness, their little group didn’t cover much ground that night. That was fine- they found a small cave to shield them from the rain, and any night not spent in a prison cell felt like a luxury to all of them.

Shay had vowed to never let go of Ros again, and they upheld that promise; they stayed close at her side through the whole walk, and as soon as they stopped to rest they curled up against her, as if they feared she would disappear the moment they released her from their grip. Ros wrapped her arms around their bony frame and pulled them even closer, and she buried her face in their tangled curls.

For so long, all Ros had been able to feel was grief and anger- a raging wound where her love had been ripped away. Now, Shay was back, and she could breathe again. Her aching ribs rattled and protested with each inhale, but by the Maker, it was worth it.

“I love you,” Ros told them, and it felt like a miracle to say those words again. She was going to say them as many times as she could. “Maker's breath, I love you so much.”

Shay pressed their head against hers. They’d been quiet and distant during the journey, but now their eyes focused intently on her. “I know. And I love you, too. And I should be furious with you, for putting yourself through all this just to come and get me.”

“Shut up. You know I couldn't have done anything else. Besides, I should be pissed at you for ditching me back at the Circle. So...let’s just call it even?”

“…Deal.” Shay worried at their lip for a moment, then hesitantly added, “As much as I don't want to think about anything else right now, there’s something you should know.”

Ros had figured this would be coming. “About Jowan?”

“What?” Shay blinked in surprise, and they glanced to where Jowan and Lily sat at the mouth of the cave. They were too far to hear, and still maintaining that awkward distance that had made itself known ever since their reunion. The resolve in Shay’s dark eyes wavered as they watched their friend. “Well- yes, I suppose. But I was speaking of something else.”

“What, then?”

“I’m…not completely sure. Nothing feels as clear as it should. But there's a spirit, and it's one that's always been near me, only now it's changed, and I've changed, and..." they trailed off, and when they spoke again, their voice was grave. "Ros, I let it in. I'm possessed.”

Ros pulled away- just a bit, just enough to study Shay. They didn’t look the same as before, that was true, but that was to be expected; after what they’d been through, anyone would look haunted and hollow. But they were still Shay, right down to the cool touch of their fingers, lacing through hers, linking them together.

For just a moment, however, Ros remembered Envy, and its promise of vengeance. “Possessed by what?”

“By who,” Shay corrected quietly, thoughtlessly. “It’s…a bit complicated. It used to call itself Sloth. I’ve known it a long time- there’s so much I wish I had told you sooner. But it’s different now. It calls itself Repose, and it...it feels like a friend. It helped me, when- back there. And it helped you. I think it wants to keep helping."

"That's good, isn't it?"

Shay nodded, but their brow was still furrowed, their eyes still dark with worry. "I wouldn't be the first mage to think that about a demon, would I? What if...?"

“What if it’s dangerous?” Ros finished, and Shay nodded, closing their eyes and letting their head collapse against her chest. Ros could sense their exhaustion, even now, and she wanted nothing more than to give them peace of mind, to chase away every hint and memory of fear that still dared to plague them.

So maybe it was wishful thinking, what she said next. But maybe it was also that a part of her remembered the things she'd experienced herself, things the Chantry insisted should not be possible- Valor’s aid, and Company’s comfort, and yes, even Pride’s push for action when all seemed lost.

“Maybe it is dangerous. Does that have to mean it's wrong? What if it does help? After all you’ve had to endure, a bit of repose doesn’t sound so bad.”

Shay let out a low sigh as their body relaxed further against Ros. “…I think so, too,” they admitted quietly. “It’s a little confusing…but we can figure it out, can’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“And…about Jowan…”

“Jowan will figure it out, too,” Ros said. She glanced again at him and Lily. He still looked at that Chantry girl with that weak, pleading expression that made Ros’s stomach twist, especially when Lily couldn't even meet his gaze without flinching. But they’d all done their parts, and whatever Jowan wanted to do with his life now…he deserved it. Even if what he wanted was something Ros would never understand.

“One way or another,” she sighed, “he’ll figure it out. And Shay?”

“Yes?”

“I love you. No matter what happens- and I mean that, whether it's Templars or demons or the magisters of the Black City- I love you.”

A smile played at Shay’s lips, a hint of that quiet humor Ros knew so well. “I know.”

“I know you know.” Ros’s arms tightened around Shay. “I just wanted to say it one more time.”

Jowan sat side by side with Lily at the mouth of the cave, watching the storm clouds roll over the mountainside. The rain had slowed to a mist, but thunder still rumbled discontentedly through the air, and the sky was gray and dreary. It was hardly the atmosphere for a romantic reunion, though Shay and Ros seemed to be doing just fine. Maybe the distance between himself and Lily couldn't be blamed solely on the weather.

But what was Jowan supposed to do? What could he even say to her? I’m sorry didn’t feel like enough. 

Still. He had to start somewhere.

“I-”

“I-”

The two of them spoke at the same time, and both stopped as they stumbled over the other’s words. Jowan flushed, and maybe he was just imagining it, but he could swear that Lily smiled. Just a little. Enough to give him the bravado to push forward and speak first.

“I’m sorry, Lily.” Once he started, the rest came out in a rush, his words gracelessly tripping over themselves as he desperately tried to explain himself. “I never, never, wanted for you to be hurt because of me. I just- I was just- I was scared. I never meant for any of this.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Lily said quietly, and Jowan wanted to shrink away from the bitterness in her voice. “I trusted you. I loved you, Jowan. But you lied to me, and that lie destroyed my life. Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Jowan winced…but he couldn’t argue. All he could do was offer a whispered truth. “None of the good things were a lie.”

Lily shook her head, and for a moment Jowan could swear he saw tears gathering in her eyes. But she took a shaky breath, and after steeling herself she said, “I want to believe that, I do. I've done a lot of thinking about what happened between us, and I…I also have things to apologize for. I’m still angry, but I should not have abandoned you. I suppose I was scared, too.”

A hush fell over them, broken only the pattering of light rain against the stone outside their cave.

Loved. That was what Lily said. Loved. Past tense.

“I still-,” Jowan began, and maybe Lily could sense the words ‘love you’ on his tongue, for she interrupted before he could say them.

“You’re still a blood mage.” She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced away, refusing to meet his eyes. “And what happened in there- I don’t know what that was, but…Jowan, that wasn’t right.”

Jowan tensed. He heard the accusation in her voice, and he knew just what she was thinking of- the cold fury which had possessed Shay, the viscera they’d made of the Templars, the blood left in their wake, how Jowan himself had turned flesh to dust in his bid for Ros's life.

It wasn’t pretty, Jowan could admit the much. But it wasn’t wrong. Was it? Did the distinction even matter anymore?

“We did what we had to do,” he said. That desperation was creeping into his voice again, far too obvious, clawing for something he couldn’t reach. “I came for you, Lily.”

“I know,” Lily whispered. “I know. I just can’t…” She cut herself off, shaking her head, and she was definitely crying now. Jowan wanted nothing more than to put his arm around her, but even he was smart enough to know how unwelcome that would be. It didn't help that he could feel Ros and Shay watching them, keeping their space, and he wished this could all be simpler than it was.

Eventually, Lily gathered herself enough to continue. “I wish I could be different. I wish I could save you. I thought I could, once. But I can’t.”

It was then that Jowan finally realized that despite all they’d been through, despite all the love they’d shared, he and Lily were still apologizing for very different things.

He said nothing else that night, and neither did she, and they left it at that.

The path back to the Imperial Highway was slow and awkward. Shay and Lily were both weak from their time imprisoned, and even in her recovery Ros was hardly any better herself. Jowan had never found himself in the position of being the strongest person in a group, but now it was up to him to care for the others as best he could.

Keeping all four of them fed off the supplies they’d stolen and scavenged was a challenge, and between all the worrying and rationing, it didn’t escape Jowan’s notice that Shay was barely eating anything at all. At first, Jowan was concerned they would waste away. When they didn’t, his concern took on a new form.

“What happened, back in Aeonar?” Jowan asked them one night, as they stared into the meager fire that burned in the middle of their camp. “We never really talked about it.”

Shay’s dark eyes stayed focused on the flames, and for a moment Jowan thought they hadn’t heard him. Then, in a quiet voice, they said, “You saw what happened. I lost control. I came very close to becoming an abomination.”

“But you didn’t.”

“…No. I don’t think so. I don't know what I am.” Their gaze drifted from the fire, finally locking on to Jowan. “What I did to those people, what I almost became- and even then, I only stopped because a spirit came to me. I have a spirit in me, now, and I'm still trying to figure out what that means, and if I should be afraid of it, and if you should be afraid of it-"

A dry chuckle rose in Jowan’s throat. “After everything…you think I could be afraid of you?”

Shay- gentle Shay, healing Shay, Shay who never so much as raised their voice in anger- closed their eyes, and a long sigh left their body. When they opened their eyes again, their expression was so full of gratitude it nearly broke Jowan’s heart. “So…you’re not?”

“Of course I’m not. You’re my…” Jowan stuttered and stopped himself. There was still so much they hadn’t talked about- the layers of secrets, the confused feelings, the kiss. “…You’re Shay. I’m not afraid. And I know Ros isn’t, either.”

“Ros isn’t afraid of anything,” Shay said with a fond smile. They closed their eyes again, but now they only looked peaceful. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Shay drifted off to bed not long after that. Jowan was about to nod off himself, and was taken by surprise when Ros appeared at his side.

“Don’t tell Lily.”

Jowan blinked. “What?”

“About Shay.” Ros crossed her arms, watching Shay as they curled up in their sleep. “They’re not in danger, I believe that much. But they still need us. They don’t need her causing a fuss.”

Jowan hated the vitriol in Ros’s voice, and he hated the idea of keeping more secrets from Lily. Most of all, he hated that Ros was right.

“I won’t say anything to her,” he promised. Ros fixed him with one of her looks, and he could tell there was more she wanted to say. But in the end she just nodded and went join Shay for the night. As she smoothed their hair and pressed a kiss to their forehead, Shay's words echoed in Jowan's mind.

Ros isn't afraid of anything.

But Shay couldn't see the protectiveness with which Ros held them, nor the wary glances she shot Lily from across the camp.

Everybody here was afraid of something, and with all of those fears overlapping and crashing against each other, they wouldn't be able to stay together like this for long.

At long last, the four of them made it to the Imperial Highway and were blessed with a rare stroke of luck. The Blight had driven refugees across Ferelden, and within two days of walking they came across a group of survivors from a village that had been attacked by darkspawn. The villagers were on their way now to the Free Marches, where they hoped to escape the darkspawn’s reach, and were led by a group of Sisters who had been promised sanctuary at a Marcher Chantry.

With the state their small group was in, it wasn’t difficult to introduce themselves as fellow traumatized Blight survivors. Lily fashioned a story about serving as a Sister in Redcliffe, and just like that, the four of them had an invitation to leave Ferelden for good.

Jowan knew they couldn’t take it. There were no Templars traveling with this small collection of refugees, but if they were in search of Chantry protection, encounters would become inevitable. Three mages would be in danger under normal circumstances, but with Shay in their current state…it was impossible.

But then there was Lily, who had no such restrictions. For Lily, this was perfect.

She and Jowan shared one last conversation before she left. They hadn’t talked much since that first night, though it felt like they had leagues more to say. Once again, however, Jowan couldn’t come up with the words in the moment, and as he and Lily stood together on the side of the roadway, it was she who spoke up first.

“You know, Jowan, you could…” she trailed off, and dropped her gaze to the ground.

“…come with you?” Jowan finished. He shook his head. “Some part of myself wishes I would. But I-”

I can’t risk being found by the Chantry. I can’t put you in that kind of danger. I can’t try and live the life we planned, not with the things you’ve seen me do, not if we’re both only doing it out of misplaced guilt.

I can’t leave Shay and Ros behind again.

Lily nodded, as if she could hear all the heavy things Jowan carried in his heart. “I know. We tried, but we just weren’t meant to be, were we?” She wiped at her eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, reached out to lay a hand on Jowan’s chest. It was the first time she’d touched him since Aeonar.

“I wish you the best,” she said softly. “All three of you. I really do. May the Maker watch over you all.”

It was for the best, parting ways like this. Jowan knew that. The knowledge didn’t help the grief that settled into his bones when he watched the refugees continue down the Highway, taking Lily with them, leaving Jowan behind. He knew Shay and Ros were waiting for him to rejoin them, but he lingered where he stood, taking a moment to sit in the solitude.

Conflicted thoughts and feelings pushed at the edge of his mind. He was heartbroken to watch Lily go…and yet, some awful part of him was also relieved. He wanted to go find Shay and Ros, to revel in the fact that they were all together again, and yet some part of him was terrified of what that would look like. Above all, he was still convinced he didn’t deserve any of this, the good or the bad, and he wished more than anything that he could leave all the doubts and guessing buried in the mountainside and just be.

“Hey.”

Jowan jumped in place, and turned to see Ros standing near him on the edge of the dusty Highway. She gave a small chuckle at his surprise, and she shook her head. “You know, you and Shay are more alike than you realize. You both think way too much.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been accused of that one before,” Jowan admitted, and Ros shrugged.

“Maybe brooding is a better word, then. Whatever it is, it doesn’t do you any good. Just like Shay and their worrying.”

“Where is Shay?”

“Giving you space.” Ros nodded her head back toward the clearing where the camp was set up. Jowan guessed that Shay was sleeping; they slept a lot, these days. Ros, however, was staring straight into Jowan, as intense and piercing as she'd ever been.

“You don’t plan on doing the same?” Jowan asked drily.

“When have I ever? Besides, space is overrated. After everything we’ve done to get back together, the last thing I want from either of you is space. Honestly, I still can’t believe she-”

“Ros,” Jowan interrupted. “Please. Don’t.”

Her mouth twisted, and Jowan could sense it took all her effort to hold herself back from saying something scathing. “You’re disappointed to see her go, then?”

“I don’t know. But it’s what she wants.” Lily’s words came back to him, and he sighed. “We really were never meant to be.”

“Oh, screw that,” Ros said with surprising force. “Meant to be. Such bullshit. Nothing’s easy as that. But when you love something, you fight for it, even if the whole world says you’re doomed.”

Jowan almost laughed. That was Ros- making everything seem so simple, stomping right over the the complications to cut at the heart of things. He'd never understood how she did that, but right now, her attitude was a welcome relief.

“So…” Jowan drew out the word, a wry smile creeping onto his lips, “What you’re saying right now is that you want me to run after Lily and fight for her?”

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake-”

“I should win her back with my apostate charms? Steal her off into the sunset?”

“You’re not half as funny as you think you are.” Despite her words, Ros was holding back a smile. “You’re not half as dumb, either. You know what I want. You know what Shay wants, too. Don’t waste time being an idiot about it.”

Shay stood beneath the canopy of a large tree.

Branches twisted above, shaking gently in the wind, creating a shelter from the harsh sun. Ribbons and small lanterns hung from the branches, and music played gently in the background. This place was safe, and it was familiar, and the words to the music danced tantalizingly along the tip of Shay's tongue.

Beyond the safety of the branches, however, buildings formed a maze of stone and mortar and suffocating walls that threatened to close in around Shay at any moment. As that thought seeped through, the world around Shay wavered- buildings turned to walls turned to iron bars, and they were back in-

Ease your mind, Little Dreamer. You are safe here. Be calm.

Shay’s panicked breathing slowed; the world around them stilled, and slowly, slowly, the iron bars receded, until the picture they’d painted of their prison faded away.

They were safe. But their distraction had left their memories tangled once more, and the thread which connected them to the vision of the tree was lost. Shay reached back out, through memory and dream and Fade, searching for that sense of familiarity once more.

Before they could grasp it, however, a hand touched their shoulder in the real world, and they were pulled from sleep.

Strange as it was to say, the waking world barely felt any more real to Shay than the Fade.

They woke to find themselves on the side of a wide, dusty road. The world around them seemed the wrong color; too gray, too pale, too not enough, and they almost tucked their head back down to shield themselves from the unnatural light and slip back into their dreams.

But then they heard Jowan’s voice, and they recognized the touch of Ros’s hand on their arm, and their mind anchored itself back itself back into reality.

By the time they were fully awake, Ros had settled next to Shay, her arm secure around their waist. Her eyes were set expectantly on Jowan, who wore a nervous expression as he watched them. He kept his distance, as he had these past few days; Shay tried not to show their disappointment. It wasn’t their place to push him on this, not when he’d just said goodbye to Lily. No matter what they wanted, they needed to remember that.

“We…have something we need to talk about, don’t we?” Jowan started, and despite their previous thoughts, Shay’s breath caught in their throat.

“Yes,” Ros said pointedly. “We do.”

“Right. So. What are we…” Jowan hesitated, and finally he blurted out, “What are we doing now? I mean, obviously we have to avoid the Chantry. And the Circle. But where are we going?”

Ros heaved a sigh, and she muttered something that sounded a lot like for fuck's sake against Shay’s shoulder.

Though Jowan’s question was clearly not what Ros wanted to hear, it was an important one. They’d all left destruction in their wake, and none of them had any ties left to follow. But they couldn’t live on the side of the road forever; they needed something new.

They just had no clue what that was, or where they should look for it.

The Free Marches was considered, but quickly dismissed. Ros had family there, and it would be possible to hide in the crowds of refugees- but the Amells were scattered and fallen, and horror stories of the Circles in Kirkwall and Starkhaven were enough to make them all wary. Shay had always wanted to visit Orlais, as their museums and libraries were things of legend. But the Chantry held a strong presence there, and Jowan had no good impressions of Orlesians. Ros suggest Rivain, or even Antiva; rumors whispered that the Circles held less sway in those countries, and Shay couldn’t deny that the idea of sailing across an ocean was something out of a dream. But that was also the problem, for securing travel to either location would be an endeavor, to say the least.

Certain truths and solutions hung unspoken in the air throughout the discussion. Each destination they named held challenges, but those could be addressed. And they could be addressed easily by two maleficar and a somniari, all of whom could take control of minds and lives as easily as breathing. The whole world was within their grasp. All they had to do was take it.

Shay remembered again what they’d done in Aeonar. The Templars had deserved it, that was their simple, horrid truth. But did anybody else? Who were they to decide that? Did they even want the world, if it came with such stipulations? Before Aeonar, they would have denied it all. Now, they weren't so certain of their own moral resolution.

In the end, it was Jowan who suggested they simply stay in Ferelden.

“It’s dangerous here, I know,” he said, when Ros immediately began to protest. “We’ve all seen it. I saw a lot of it, at Redcliffe. Between the Blight, and all the infighting, Ferelden is…”

“It’s screwed,” Ros said bluntly. “Why stay?”

“Because the people here need help. And we can help them. Even if it's doomed, we can give it our best.” Jowan’s voice was quiet, but certain. He paused, looking to Ros as if waiting for her to shout him down, but when she gave no argument he continued on. “Ros, you can fight. Shay, you can heal. With the darkspawn and monsters taking over, this seems as good a place to do those things as any.”

“And what about you?” Shay asked. It was then that they realized- or maybe it was just then that they were finally able to admit it- that some small part of themselves was still waiting for Jowan to walk away again.

But Jowan met their eyes and said, “I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me. I can’t do what you two can do, but I can try. I’ve hurt people, I know; I’d like to balance things out, if I can.”

Balance things out.

Shay found they liked the sound of that.

“Denerim is on the seaside,” they said quietly. Something stirred in their memories- the smell of salt and fish, a voice singing a lullaby, a tree stretching up amongst buildings. “I think I’d like to see that.”

Ros mulled that over, and finally she shrugged her agreement. “I guess I do owe the Grey Wardens a favor. Maybe we kill some darkspawn in their name. Besides, Denerim’s a big city. Might make a good place for apostates to hide, right? Maybe we’ll even find some others to help out. Could be fun.”

Her fingers twined around Shay’s, and Shay smiled back at her. “To Denerim, then.” They glanced to Jowan, and extended their other hand in his direction. “All of us.”

Jowan took a sharp breath, as if he was still, somehow, surprised. As if he had more to say. But in the end he nodded, and he took Shay’s hand in his.

It was a small gesture. But it was a start.

When it came time to rest that night, Shay and Ros did as they had done before and laid out a space beneath the cold sky. These days, Shay slept easier than they ever had before, but for Ros’s sake they had procured a few blankets from the group of travelers. As they arranged their blankets, Jowan quietly approached. He twisted his hands anxiously, clearly working up the words for something.

Just say it, Shay thought.

And then they thought, This is ludicrous.

They’d never understood the complications people invented for themselves; there was no reason to make things any harder than they'd already been their entire lives.

So they decided to make it easy. Once again, they simply held out their hand in silent offering, no words or speeches or declarations needed. And once again, Jowan took it. He laid down next to Shay, still managing to keep that sense of distance even as their faces rested close together. Jowan took another deep breath, steadying himself.

“Shay…” he said, but Shay interrupted him with a hand brushed against his cheek.

“I know,” they said with a small smile.

Something in Jowan relaxed at that, and maybe that was the exact moment he finally made his decision. When he leaned forward and kissed Shay softly on the lips, Shay kissed back, their hand moving to the nape of Jowan’s neck to cradle his head and hold him close.

“Maker's tit's, it's about time," Ros muttered from Shay’s other side. Shay broke the kiss with a laugh, and they craned their neck back to press a kiss to Ros's lips, as well.

It felt right, the three of them fitting together so well like this, just as they always had and yet also on the verge of something new. And for the first time in eons, Shay fell asleep feeling wholly, perfectly safe.

Chapter Text

The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal,
But know that the sun always rises.

- Unknown Chant Verse

Irving sat at his desk with a heavy mind and heavier heart, grimly regarding the stack of letters before him.

The days after tragedy were always the hardest to bear. His Circle was stained with violence, loss, and grief- and still, someone had to carry on and tend to the tasks that needed tending. That was the role of the First Enchanter, and it was a burden to which Irving was long accustomed.

First, he wrote out the full account of what had happened. Other Circles would need to know, and they would need words other than Greagoir’s. After all that transpired at Kinloch Hold, the Chantry may very well still push for an example to be made of the Tower; it was Irving’s duty to assure them all that the worst had passed. As he pondered the potential cries for Annulment, he made a mental note to speak to Greagoir about the Rutherford boy. While every Templar was bound to be more suspicious than usual, the boy’s ravings exceeded any other; his words were bound to spark a wildfire if left untended. Irving had no power to transfer a Templar himself, but a few well-placed words would doubtless see the job done on his behalf.

With that decided, he then penned a letter to the Wardens, detailing what he could and could not offer them in their struggle against the Blight. They were owed the Circle’s forces, that much was certainly true, but Kinloch’s strength had waned. It was unfortunate enough to see Wynne go, and Irving would spare no other Senior Enchanters until it was absolutely necessary. He made his list of those who would be sent to fight and those who would be held back, and lastly he left instructions on who would to steer the Circle in his absence, should the worst come to pass when he himself left for Redcliffe.

When all business was done, he had one last letter to write, one he had been putting off for as long as he could. He heaved a great sigh, regathered his composure, and began.

Dear Miss Amell,

It is with great regret and sorrow that I must inform you of your sister’s passing.

He relayed his message as gently as he could, and, as always, he told only the most prudent version of the story. Genevieve would hear the tale of the maleficarum uprising at Kinloch Hold, would know her sister had been caught in the fray, and would hopefully be soothed by the knowledge that Rosalind’s last action as a mage of Kinloch Hold was to stand strong against the blood mage who sought to destroy them all.

Every word was a struggle…but it was for the best. What good would it do Genevieve, to remember her sister as a blood mage who had vanished in the night? What good would it do Rosalind, to be brought to the attention of the Templars who would surely intercept this letter?

In any case, there could be no turning back now. This decision had been made when Irving allowed Rosalind to depart with the Wardens. He knew her better than she ever wished to admit; he’d known from the moment she left that she would not stay tethered to anyone or anything. That was the horribly willful girl he’d raised, the girl who could have become one of the greatest forces the Circle had ever seen. Whatever else she was, Irving would always and forever remember her as that apprentice who stormed into his office so long ago, tear-stained and terrified yet still making demands for what she thought was right.

If only she’d learned the lesson of choosing her battles. Perhaps, if Irving had done something more for her…

But down that path was only folly, for nothing was ever accomplished by old men lingering over their regrets. All Irving could do now was leave his apprentice with one last chance.

Rosalind’s phylactery was sheltered somewhere distant; if used, her freedom would be forfeit. But so many wayward mages had died in the uprising, and why would the Templars ever need to utilize the phylactery of someone already dead?

As Irving finished his story, he left Genevieve with one last statement, one of the few true things he could tell her.

Your sister was a talented mage, and a fierce spirit. She will be missed.

When the Blight was ended and the worst of Ferelden’s troubles had settled, Wynne looked back on that tumultuous time and wondered about what might have been, had she acted differently.

Irving encouraged her to quiet those thoughts, and on most days, Wynne could. It wasn’t often that she labored over regrets; she’d lived a long life, but it was a life of duty and service, and she was overall content with the choices she’d made. Even in her older years, she’d put her skills to good work and shown the world what the Circle could offer.

Any yet…she wondered, in ways she found impossible to fully articulate to Irving, or even herself. She lingered over the absence of the solemn, soft-spoken mage whom she’d practically raised at her knee, and try as she might, she could not shake the guilt she carried over their fate.

Should she have been stricter in her interventions, when she suspected their friends would lead them astray? Should she have offered a more attentive ear? Should she have taken them with her to Ostagar? Was it a mistake to leave them to face the hidden dangers of the Tower alone, or was she right to shield them from the realities of battle?

Wynne wrestled with such thoughts over every apprentice whom she’d lost. There had been too many of those, enough to harden anyone’s heart, and yet Wynne never did learn how to stop herself from loving them like they were her own. Especially the ones like Shay.

Having served a key role in that final battle against the Blight, Wynne soon found herself in possession of no small amount of influence among the Fereldan court. Upon this realization, the first thing she requested was an appeal to Aeonar. Irving was reluctant to stir such attention, but he sent word…and no word came back. There was not even a refusal; there was only silence.

And with no other recourse, Wynne was left to wonder.

With the amount of space Shay occupied in her thoughts, it was no surprise they eventually showed up in her dreams. It began simply enough, with the two of them in Wynne’s classroom. It was a familiar setting, a scene that could have been plucked from any of the days Shay had spent at the Circle, yet the Shay who stood with her amongst the books and anatomical charts was older and far more weathered than the bright, attentive child Wynne had always known.

“Hello, Wynne.” Their voice was steady and smooth. As they regarded her, their brow crinkled, and with a note of surprise they added, “And hello, Faith.”

Faith rippled around Wynne’s consciousnesses, and Wynne blinked suddenly into awareness. Yes, this was a dream; more than that, this was the Fade, and Wynne was standing here fully aware, and Shay…

Shay was real.

A heavy gasp broke free from Wynne’s chest as she looked at her old student for the first time in ages. “It’s…you. Shay. How are you doing this?”

Shay’s expression remained tranquil, though the corners of their mouth fell into a slight frown. “I never told you. I’m sorry. I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Shay, what’s happened? Where are you?”

“I’m safe. That’s why I’m here. I know you worry for me, but I’m safe now.” Their face softened. “I’m free.”

Wynne stared at them, confusion and relief and persistent fear warring inside her. The Fade was muddling her mind, and there was so much she needed still to know, but the only thought that broke through to her voice was, “You never should have been afraid with me. My job was to keep you safe.”

“You did what you could. We all did. Some things were just bigger than us.” Shay hesitated, their eyes distant. “…I have to go now.”

“Wait,” Wynne said quickly. “Where are you? Tell me, Shay. Or come back to the Circle. Irving is a reasonable man, and after all that’s happened, we have a greater need than ever for mages like you.”

Her words gave Shay pause. “Mages like me?”

“Mages with good hearts.” Wynne thought of the tensions rising throughout the Circle, of all the debates that turned to arguments that turned to discussion of rebellion from which none of them could ever recover. “Mages who can keep the Circles together, and remind our members that our purpose is to serve the world, not to fight it.”

The Fade seemed colder, all of a sudden, as Shay shook their head. “No. That’s not me, Wynne.”

“But you were safe here. I taught you so much…just come back. Stay safe. Help the Circle grow to something better.”

“You’ve always believed that was possible. It was comforting, once.” Shay wrapped their arms around themselves, and once again they shook their head. “But I’m not coming back. I can’t. But I’ll be okay. I’m with good people.”

“No, you’re not.” The words came out as a scolding that Wynne couldn’t stop. She simply had to make Shay understand. “You’re with Rosalind and Jowan, aren’t you? They’re-”

“Blood mages. I know.” Shay gave a sad smile, and a shrug. “And I’m- I’m like you, and Faith. The Circle would call me an abomination.”

Wynne’s blood ran cold. “Shay, please- just tell me where you are. Whatever’s happened, I’ll speak on your behalf. The Circle will take you in again.”

Shay closed their dark eyes and shook their head for the final time. “I was never taken in. I was only taken. But I told you- I’m safe now. I’ve taken myself back.”

Then they were gone, and Wynne awoke with more questions than answers. Faith sang in her chest, quietly reassuring her, imploring her to trust that Shay would be okay.

At least they were alive, Wynne quietly relented, though she knew her worries would never cease. She could only pray that the child who once clung shyly to her skirts and dealt so gently with spirits was now strong enough to care for themselves, and that their faith in their companions was not misplaced.

Starkhaven was not a place Lily had ever intended to find herself, but when all was said and done, it was where she found a place to rest.

She was not the only refugee from Ferelden who ended up in the Free Marches, and it was easy enough to blend in with those who were fleeing due to Blight. When she suffered nightmares, or flinched at a person’s touch, or refused to sleep without a candle burning in the dark, people noticed but did not think it uniquely strange. They simply counted her amongst those who had been scarred by encounters with darkspawn, and she did not correct them.

For some time after her arrival, Lily floated aimlessly. She had no friends nor family to turn to, and no trade on which to survive. Eventually, with the vague sense that her past self would be disappointed with the decision, she returned to the Chantry.

The Starkhaven Chantry took her in, and it was there at last that Lily found some modicum of peace. There was a sense of irony to that discovery; she’d been given to the life of a Sister, and had spent so many of her younger years restlessly dreaming of a life beyond the vows and golden robes. Now, however, it was just what she needed, and she found the comforting repetition of the Chant was enough to stave off the worst of her memories.

Nightmares became less frequent, though they still came to her on occasion. Lily doubted she could ever forget all of what happened. The cold, cramped prison of Aeonar still haunted her mind; she still felt the grip of chains and heard the hissing of demons in her dreams. On her worst nights, she could still smell the blood-thick air, could even hear the breaking of bones and choked screams from that last day.

It was a heavy memory to hold, but Lily was learning that she was stronger than she’d once thought.

As she settled into her place at the Chantry, she spent more and more of her time in the Chantry’s orphanage, helping to watch and teach the small lives who had been left in the Maker’s care. Here, she felt fulfilled; the laughter and squabbling of children filled her days with light, and in helping them grow she could finally feel that she was putting something good into the world. She’d always wanted to be a mother, after all.

But those days were past, and this was as close as she was ever likely to get.

Time went on. Soon, two years had passed since Lily’s flight from Ferelden, and she found that was…well, perhaps not happy, but content. She had her simple Chantry life, and her gaggle of children, and what her life lacked in perfection it made up for in purpose, however small it seemed.

One night, as Lily was sending the children to bed, she overheard one of the young boys say something of the dreams he’d been having, and how they’d been full of whispers and floating lights.

For a moment, Lily couldn’t breathe.

She watched the child for several more days, as inconspicuously as she could. She was just beginning to convince herself there was nothing to worry over when she saw it- a moment of frustration during his daily lessons, a brief fame flicking in his hands. Lily could not stifle her gasp, and as she stared at the child in horror, he lifted his gaze to hers. He knew the truth as well as she did, and the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

Lily knew what she should do. She knew, better than anyone, the consequences of not fulfilling her obligations.

But for the first time in a long while, Lily willingly let herself linger upon her memories of Jowan. She remembered the promises he’d whispered to her, and she remembered the fervent declarations made under cover of darkness.

I would do anything to leave this place.

Lily was wise enough now to recognize the danger in those words. And she was, perhaps, wise enough to recognize that the danger had started long before Jowan took a knife to his skin.

Her decision was inevitable, a foregone conclusion before she’d consciously made it.

The hardest part was waiting. Lily told the boy what to do, and how to behave, and that he only needed to hide his powers for a few days. In reality it took over a week, but Lily’s frantic searching finally paid off.

The Mage’s Collective was what they called themselves. They promised safe travel to Rivain, where the boy could be educated without the strict imprisonment Lily had witnessed in Ferelden and the Marches. It was risky, but Lily questioned her contact with a relentlessness that surprised even herself, and she was certain as she could be that it was, at least, safer than the alternative.

She hoped she was right. She’d been wrong before, and then wrong again. Maybe it shouldn’t be up to someone like her to make these decisions. All she really knew was that sending this child to the Circle would break whatever pieces of her soul she’d finally managed to mend.

When the child was gone, safe and on his way to something better, Lily cried. She did not stop for the rest of that night; instead of holding it in, she let herself remember, and she let herself mourn.

She’d meant everything she’d said to Jowan. She would never have been able to let herself trust him again. They never could have had that life they’d once dreamed of. But, Maker forgive her, Lily missed him- his humor, his promises, his tender touch, even his bitterness.

But she could not cry forever. When morning came, Lily wiped her eyes, and she returned to the life she’d carved out for herself.

As she woke the children for breakfast and morning prayers, Lily vowed to herself that she would allow nothing to raise a hand against these innocent souls, not Templars nor knights nor even the Maker Himself. Not while she was here to watch over them.

When the mages abandoned Aeonar, the demons moved in.

Most were weak little things, barely worth notice, wanting only to satisfy their curiosity of the solid world before spiraling back to their own side of the Fade. Some ventured outwards, only to be wracked by the pain of their strange new existence, and without a host to draw upon were doomed to shrivel into ash. A few curled themselves into the depths of the dungeon, turning the abandoned fortress into their own decrypt lair.

But Envy was more cunning, more persistent, more than any of its brethren. It festered in the absence the mages left behind, bristling over the host it had been denied by that blasted lightning-thrower. She’d burned it from the prey it had been promised, and both she and the withering blood mage deserved to be hunted and haunted to the end of their days.

That, however, would require Envy’s return to the Fade. And now that Envy had clawed its way through the Veil, it had no intentions of going back. Instead, it set its sights higher than anything those pawns could offer.

It bided its time. It curled itself inside the husk one of the flesh-things had left behind, and it defended its new territory from other wandering spirits. When its strength had gathered, it taught itself to puppet its new home, little by little, until it could wield the rusty sword in its decaying hand and walking on rotting feet to the prison door.

This host would not last much longer. But it would last long enough. Envy would drive it forward, leeching the memories that clung to its bones for guidance on where its next prize lay. Envy would find a host who was more- more important, more encompassing, with more interesting threads to pull and to puppet- and Envy would become more in turn.

Envy reached itself into those old depths of memories, and in the imprints of the husk’s soul it found its answer. Templar checkpoint. To the south. Report to superiors.

Yes. Superiors. More. Envy burned with the need for its future, and it pushed its lumbering vessel forward, into this enticing new world with so much to offer.

Hattie ran as fast as her legs could carry her. At her age, that didn’t amount to much, but fear for herself and the children spurred her on. She shouted at Bernard to run ahead of her, and he did, the smart boy, but little Isaac could only wail loudly as Hattie clutched him in her arms. The demons were closing in, and even as Hattie ran faster than she’d ever run before, she expected to feel the grasp of jagged claws on her back at any moment.

When her ankle twisted beneath her and sent her tumbling to the ground, she could only shield Isaac in her arms and wait for the worst.

The worst never came- instead, a sudden blast shook the ground beneath her. The ground rumbled again- an earthquake?- and when she dared peek back behind her, she saw that the demons at her heels had been struck prone just as she was. Her hair suddenly stood on the end, signaling the incoming lightning a split second before the loud crash nearly deafened her and the shock of light crackled through the air to strike at the staggered demons.

The smell of the burning Fade-flesh made Hattie just about gag, but the sight of their lifeless bodies crumbling into dust was the loveliest damn thing she’d ever seen. It was only when the dust cleared and she regained a bit of her breath that it occurred to her to wonder where this miracle came from.

She staggered back to her feet and immediately stumbled- her ankle had been wrenched something awful. Human hands reached out to steady her, and Hattie found herself looking up at an unfamiliar young man. He was lean and tall, with thick, dark stubble on his drawn face. His eyes were serious, but he gave her a wan smile as he said, “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

For a moment, Hattie was speechless. Her gaze drifted over the man’s shoulder, and she saw two more strangers behind him. One was a woman, short and thick, who was busy searching the clearing for any more demons, while her companion, a wispy, curly-haired elf, surveyed the distance with a frown.

Hattie gasped- not because of the demons, not this time, but because of the woman, who held her hand aloft as she stalked across the burnt grass. Crackling light danced around her fingers, like lightning that had been trapped in place.

Like magic.

“You’re…” Hattie’s voice was strangled, and she couldn’t finish the accusation.

The woman looked up at her, and she rolled her eyes as she finished it herself. “Apostates, yeah. Can we skip this part? It’s getting old. How about a thank you?”

“You’re with the rebel mages!”

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now-”

“Ros,” the man said in a chiding tone, and she huffed. Before she could retort, however, the elf murmured something quiet, and her annoyance turned to exasperated fondness.

“I’m fine, it’s just a little kickback from the spell.” Ros brushed a lock of long hair from the elf’s face and gave them a comforting peck on the check. “You worry too much,” she said, and in that brief, tender moment, she looked nothing like a dangerous abomination who could kill any normal person with a single glance.

The mage woman glanced over to Hattie. Can they read minds? Hattie wondered frantically, and she reflexively tightened her grip on the young child in her arms. Isaac’s crying had quieted, but he still sniffled and whimpered against her chest.

“Are you okay?” The man in front of Hattie asked pointedly. “Did the demons hurt you, or affect your mind?”

“No,” Hattie said, but he didn’t look convinced.

“Check them,” Ros said. The man sighed, and he gave Hattie an apologetic glance.

“Sorry. It really is necessary.” He lifted his hand, and Hattie couldn’t bite back a shriek as a sudden shiver passed through her entire body. For a terrifying moment, she could not move; her nerves were eroded away, her blood frozen in her veins.

Then it was over, as quickly as it came. Isaac’s whimpering grew louder; Hattie took a frantic step back. “Leave us be!”

“I said I was sorry!” the man quickly said. “I did have to check, surely you understand?” He clasped his hand together, though Hattie glimpsed the telltale red trickle of blood in his palm. “In any case, you’re fine. No demonic influence in either of you.”

“Just the busted ankle, then,” Ros said mildly, showing no surprise at Hattie’s reaction. “Shay can fix that up in no time flat.”

In her confusion, Hattie hadn’t even noticed the elf- Shay?- approach. An instinctive flinch jolted through her, but this time there was no sudden spell or display of power. The elf merely took their fellow mage’s hand and turned it over in their own. Their touch came away clean, no trace of blood to be found. It was almost a peaceful moment, until Shay’s eyes slid to Hattie.

The elf looked down her ankle, and in a quiet voice that could barely be heard over Isaac’s fussing they asked, “May I?”

“…What?”

“Heal you.” This Shay made the offer as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but Hattie’s chest tightened.

“With…magic?”

“Yeah, magic,” Ros said impatiently. “And then you won’t have to walk five miles to the next village on a fucked up ankle while hauling your kid and avoiding demon rifts. It’s a good deal. Take it.”

“Ros, you’re not helping.”

“I am helping, Jowan. I’m killing demons. With magic.”

“Ignore them,” Shay said in that quiet voice. “They mean well. We all do. I’m just going to heal your ankle. There’s no reason to be anxious.”

As the elf spoke, a cool calm washed over Hattie. The racing of her heart slowed and the child in her arms quieted. Some small part of her still didn’t trust all this; the Sisters back at the village told stories about the evils and temptations of magic, and Hattie knew it was always best to just stay away from troublesome, unholy matters like that. The Maker didn’t approve of such things. That was why the sky had torn open- those mages had acted against the Chantry and murdered the Divine, and now all of Thedas was paying for their crimes.

Yet even as Hattie’s conscience screamed its warnings at her, her mind was nudged toward practical matters. She needed to get Isaac to safety, and she had to find Bernard again, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of dying herself, either. She took a breath and nodded. “Aye, just do it quick.”

The air around her turned frigid, and she gasped as the touch of ice covered her ankle and seeped straight down to her bone. It was, at least, quick; one second later and it was done. The feeling returned to her ankle, and she was able to stand shakily back on her feet.

“Better?” The elf asked.

“…Yeah. It’s better.”

Ros grumbled something to herself that Hattie could only half-hear, and Jowan gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. He also gave Hattie a half apologetic shrug and mouthed sorry about her. In spite of herself, Hattie couldn’t help but smile back.

“If you’re trying to get to Redcliffe,” Jowan said, “you shouldn’t bother. The road that way is full of these rifts. There’s a village to the north that’s clear of demons, and they’ve been taking people in. I’d say that’s your best bet.”

“Okay, but- I need to find Bernard,” Hattie said, fighting to ignore the sinking of her heart as she imagined the boy out there all alone. “He ran off ahead. And their parents- I’m just a neighbor, you see, I help watch the boys but their parents got separated when those demons came up on us-”

“We’ll find them for you,” Ros said firmly. There was a storm brewing in the woman’s eyes, and Hattie’s smile faltered. Then she remembered the shrieks that had filled her village when the damned rifts first tore through the air, and she could only be happy this mage was seemingly on her side.

“We’ll find your people and take you to the village,” Ros continued. “Well, part of the way. Close enough to make sure you get there safely. We should get going now, cover as much ground before it gets dark. Shay, can you look for the other kid?”

“Of course,” the elf murmured. Hattie didn’t understand how they would help, but she decided she didn’t want to know anything more about magic than she absolutely had to. Still, this timely rescue had undoubtedly saved her life; she figured the Maker would forgive her for allowing this, if only for the sake of the children.

“Thank you,” she said, cautiously, and Ros lifted her chin in satisfaction.

“You’re welcome.”

“Just don’t mention it,” Jowan interjected. “Seriously, don’t mention it to anybody. At least not until the three of us are a good distance away. This village we’re taking you to has too many Chantry folk for that.”

Hattie went quiet, though her mind never settled. If the Chantry really was a danger to these three, why take the chance of helping her at all? Surely they knew she had no money to pay them with, no supplies to share. Could be they wanted her blood for their corrupted rituals…but then, why go through the trouble of healing her? It made no sense.

Of course, mages has always seemed a mysterious and strange folk- who knew what reasons they had for anything? The truth of the matter was simply that she’d be dead without them, and so would little Isaac. Hattie decided then and there to simply be grateful for the unexpected aid, and to ask no further questions than that.

Three mages sat against a thick tree, taking a moment to catch their breath as they watched their fellow traveler- now reunited with the rest of her group- head up the path to Haven.

Ros splayed out in the cold, brittle grass, stretching herself so that her head rested in Shay’s lap while her legs stretched over Jowan’s. Jowan rolled his eyes but didn’t push her away; Shay took her hand and wordlessly massaged circles into the aching stiffness that still lingered in her palm. Healing magic passed between their skin, and Ros released a contented sigh.

“You really are too good sometimes, you know. How are you holding up?”

“I’m well,” Shay said, earning skeptical looks from both their companions. They all knew Shay hadn’t been sleeping well ever since these rifts started appearing, however much they might try to pretend otherwise.

“Do you believe this liar?” Ros asked, nudging Jowan with her foot, and he scoffed.

“With those circles under their eyes? Not a chance.”

Shay flicked lightly at Ros’s ear. “I’m a liar now, am I? You changed your tune quickly.” Their eyes flitted to Jowan. “And I thought you liked my brooding look.”

“I like all your looks. You should still take a nap.”

Shay shook their head, but it was clear they didn’t really have the energy to protest. “…Fine. While I’m at it, I’ll try to locate any other stragglers nearby. I’m getting better at it.”

From her position beneath them, Ros lifted her hand to press a finger sternly against Shay’s nose. “You’ll focus on the rest part first, is what you’ll do. We’ll figure things out from there.”

Shay did soon drift off to sleep, slumping over to rest their head against Jowan’s shoulder. Jowan gave an obligatory grumble- “Do I just look like a giant pillow to the both of you?”- but there was no hiding the fond manner in which he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Shay’s head and let his chin rest atop their curls.

As Shay slept, Ros retrieved the map the three of them had made over the years. Old smudges were still faintly visible, noting where darkspawn hordes had once been frequent, while fresher markings described the location of Collective meeting places. Notes were scrawled across the margins and in empty spaces, describing Templar movements and which roads were safest for apostate travel. Very little of that information was still useful; the Conclave and its ensuing destruction had changed everything, and now this ‘Inquisition’ was encroaching on the land.

The three knew little of the Inquisition and its place in the Chantry’s plans, but Ros already distrusted it. No good could come of a movement led by the Divine’s own lapdogs, she insisted. Jowan would counter by pointing out that the organization had already been deemed heretical, and was even rumored to be headed by a mage. In this matter, Shay did not mediate between them; their concerns and attention were reserved for the large rift in the sky, which spewed demons and left them with a feeling of deep, ominous disquiet.

For now, the Inquisition didn’t matter. The three mages had spent their years together moving through Ferelden, helping people where they could, aiding in the work of the Collective and, eventually, in the uprising against the Circles. They were on their way to Redcliffe now- a slow journey, thanks to the rifts and the demons, but one that would end with them all in the heart of the rebellion they had waited so long for.

Even after all this time, Jowan feared returning to the place that had once been a culmination of his greatest mistakes. Meanwhile, Shay fretted over the Denerim Alienage, and the family they’d found only to part from once more as the presence of any magic attracted more and more of a danger. Ros was, as always, the eager one, unable to hide her desperation for any news of her old friend from Kincloch Hold who had lit the fuse in Kirkwall and was now the figurehead of the mage rebellion.

None of them knew for certain whether Redcliffe would hold answers, or safety, or redemption. There was every possibility this rebellion would go up in flames, just as so much already had.

It was a good thing, then, that they had learned how to pass through the fire. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together, and for now, in their stolen moments of peace, they felt only warmth.