Everything was in utter chaos. Someone had opened the Sun Gates, and Dubois' soldiers poured in, clashing with the city Guard. Dubois herself headed straight for the Grand Cathedral looking for the Lord seeker.
Dubois went mostly unopposed. The Guard was little match for her army, and the Templars were keeping the mages occupied, leaving her people free to do as they wanted.
Even from a street away, Dubois could see the flash and light of spellwork. As she got closer, she saw a plume of smoke rising from the Grand Cathedral, and another one at the Spire.
She let out a low whistle. Someone was certainly doing a great deal of damage to her city, that was for sure.
She met the Lord Seeker coming out of the gate of the Grand Cathedral. He bled from a wound in his temple. One hand was wrapped around the arm of a struggling elvhen woman. She thrashed and spat curses in Orlesian at him.
Dubois laughed.
“Lord Seeker, I see your gambit went well,” Dubois smirked as she looked at him. “Did I not say the mages were trouble?”
Lambert snarled wordlessly at her. “In any case, they are no trouble now,” he said, yanking on the woman's arm.
“I wouldn't say that,” Dubois looked at her. “Who is this?”
The woman spat a truly vulgar insult at Dubois, one that made her raise her eyebrows.
“Ah,” she said. “A military woman, I see. I thought all you mages were scholars, locked up in your towers.”
“The Grand Enchanter,” the Lord Seeker hissed. He gave her a particularly harsh glare, and the world felt very solid for a moment. The woman went boneless, gasping for breath.
Dubois rolled her eyes at the Lord Seeker's dramatics. “And you need her alive because...?”
“Examples must be made.”
The Grand Enchanter huffed an insult at the Lord Seeker's mother, and he smacked her. She hardly flinched.
“Amazing.” Dubois said. “And the Divine?”
“We haven't found her yet.”
“Truly astonishing,” Dubois drawled. “And what of your Divine?”
“She will be in place soon enough. Even if we cannot kill Justinia this night, she can do nothing to refute the declaration of her death.”
“Right,” Dubois nodded. “And so will you hold up your end of the bargain?”
“I see you did not bother to assist me beyond sacking the city.”
“No, not yet, Lord Seeker.” she smirked. “I preferred to wait and see. And I see you have quite scattered the mages. A shame—I thought they would have been better warriors.” she tutted. “Oh well, it looks like I'll have no trouble getting inside of the city.” she looked at the walls. “Why, look at that,” she grinned. “I already have.”
“You--”
“Oh, don't give me that face,” she waved a hand at him. “You got what you wanted. The mages are all in cages and Justinia is missing. She could even be dead. Just what you wanted.” she gave him a broad smile.
He scowled at her. “And what you wanted, as well.”
“Absolutely. So it works out well for everyone. Well, except her, I suppose,” she jerked her head towards the Grand Enchanter, who glared at her.
“Va te faire enculer,” the smaller woman snarled. Dubois sighed and casually backhanded her.
“What will it take for you to pull yourself together and start doing things properly, Lord Seeker?” Dubois demanded, the Grand Enchanter reeling from the smack. “All these power plays and this righteous before the Maker nonsense—just kill her, put in your Divine, and be done with the matter.”
“You do not command me,” Lambert said. “You will have what you desire—have no fear of that.”
She shrugged. “Then, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way.”
Vivienne navigated the undercity. There was a series of tunnels that they had been using for supplies, and she hoped to escape through them. Everything was in complete disarray, and she cursed Fiona for delaying them. If she had not cared so cursed much about her precious freedom, if she had not split the mages in half, this might never have happened.
She came across Wynne, Evangeline, and Pharamond coming the other way.
“I see you made it out, Enchanter,” she said, looking Wynne over. Wynne was a little burnt around the edges, her hair with ashes in it, but seemed uninjured. The Templar was spattered with blood, her sword dripping in it, and she breathed heavily, but seemed unhurt as well. Pharamond was also a bit burnt, frost clinging to the corners of his eyes.
“And you as well,” Wynne said.
Vivienne nodded. She sighed and ran a hand over her head.
“How long did you know about the Lord Seeker?” Evangeline asked.
“Only a few days before the Conclave,” Vivienne said. She shook her head. “Utterly vile—it is times like these that make me think Fiona has a point. It is difficult to see the use in the Seekers when their leader conducts himself so abominably.”
Evangeline seemed ashamed, her face flushing and shoulders hunching, but Vivienne cared little.
“He must have been planning this for a long time,” Evangeline offered, not looking at any of them.
Wynne pursed her lips. “Many things about the Lord Seeker have been suspicious,” she said.
“He is certainly very paranoid,” Vivienne agreed. “A poor candidate for the position he is in. He would rather waste resources on foolish missions and vendettas rather than doing what he is supposed to do.”
“This all started a long time ago,” Wynne sighed. “I think that if it had not been him, the Blight would have driven someone else to drastic action.”
“You feel this has been stirring since the Blight?” Vivienne asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Of course,” Wynne said. “The moment Surana and Fiona started looking for power beyond the Circle, it got the Seekers' attention.”
“That only makes sense,” Evangeline said.
Vivienne adjusted her sleeve, choosing not to bring up how she had sought power outside of the Circle, and the Seekers had chosen not to lose her minds over her. “Regardless of how it began, we must decide what to do next,” she said. “General Dubois' army has doubtless taken control of the city by now, and it is uncertain whether the Divine still lives.”
“What do you plan to do?” Wynne asked.
“My people need me,” she said. “I must return to Montsimmard and see if I can gather the last mages who are loyal to Justinia. The Lord Seeker will doubtless hunt us, regardless of our alliances—and most likely because of them. And what of you?”
“I must find Rhys,” Wynne said. “I need to save him.”
“What about the others?” Pharamond piped up with a shaking voice for the first time. “The other Enchanters, and those of the White Spire?”
Vivienne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I can do little for them,” she said. “Just as I can do little for your Rhys, or for the others. Would that I could, but one must know when to retreat, and now is one of those times.”
“You care nothing for your fellow Enchanters?” Evangeline said.
Vivienne's expression frosted over. “My dear, I would quite love to go and perform some heroic deed to rescue them,” she said. “But the fact remains that while the Empress and the Divine are missing, we are all of us in danger, mage or no. I have a duty to the remaining mages and the people of the Empire, to protect them from harm.”
Vivienne stiffened suddenly, and turned, looking for something. She could feel something strange in the air, another presence.
“Is something wrong?” Evangeline asked.
“I feel...”
A figure seemed to materialize from the wall. A young man with filthy blond hair and tattered clothes, very thin, with hollow cheeks and enormous blue eyes.
“You!” Wynne exclaimed.
Vivienne’s lip curled. “What is this—thing?” he felt like a construct, radiating magic and dreams—not quite a demon, but certainly not a human.
“He isn’t a thing!” Evangeline exclaimed.
Vivienne stared at her, then to Cole, then back to Evangline again.
“My dear, you are a Templar,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “You of all people should know better.”
Evangeline ignored her, to face Cole. “I was starting to forget,” she said. “I'm sorry...”
“That's alright,” Cole assured her. The blood drained from Vivienne's face until she was almost gray.
“Ser Evangeline,” she said. “Get away from it.”
“Vivienne, don't,” Wynne said. “He means no harm. Do you?” she regarded Cole with a calculating expression.
He shook his head. “I know a way to find Rhys,” he said. “The Lord Seeker hasn't killed him yet. Or a lot of the others.”
“Do you know why?” Evangeline asked.
“He wants--” Cole trailed off, tilting his head to one side as if listening to something. “He wants a show. Mages cannot be trusted, the people can't believe their lies of peace, it must be shown that they are beneath us, they are wrong--”
“Alright,” Evangeline said. “Alright. Where are they being held?”
“My dear, you cannot believe this thing,” Vivienne gestured to Cole. “Demons lie.”
“He's—a friend,” Evangeline said.
“Demons pretend to be friends,” Vivienne insisted.
“if you do not trust her word, trust mine,” Wynne snapped. “He is not a hostile spirit.”
“Not at the moment, perhaps,” Vivienne sniffed.
“I know,” Cole interjected. “I know where they are.”
“Very well,” Wynne nodded. “Then we will go find them.”
“Do this foolhardy mission if you wish,” Vivienne said, and turned her back on them. “I will not be responsible for it.”
“No one asked you to be,” Wynne snapped.
Vivienne gave a light laugh. “That, my dear, has never been more true.”
They watched her leave.
“She was afraid,” Cole said. “Demons, everywhere, Divine, gone, the walls pressing in, nothing had ever felt like a prison before, not like this, not like this--” he knotted his fingers together, blue eyes wide and nervous.
“Are you sure Rhys is alive?” Wynne asked. “He hasn't—he hasn't--”
Cole nodded.
Wynne let out a breath and ran a hand through her hair.
“He's in a dungeon, with too many Templars,” Cole said. “That's why I had to find you. I can't get him out by myself.”
“Why do you want to help?” Wynne asked.
“Rhys helped me,” Cole said, avoiding her eyes and shifting from foot to foot. “Everything that happened to him, happened because of me. I have to do something.”
Wynne sighed. “I...thank you,” she said.
“He's a Compassion spirit,” Pharamond piped up suddenly. He had been watching Cole with an intent gaze, and now looked as if he just realized something. “Of course he wants to help.”
Cole blinked, surprised. “Is that what I am?” he asked.
“How do you know?” Evangeline asked Pharamond.
“Oh—well, one reason they made me Tranquil is I spent a bit too much time talking with spirits,” Pharamond said, flushing. “And then I spent a great deal of time researching the Fade at Adamant. You can—you can tell.”
“How?” Cole asked. “I didn't know.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn't,” Pharamond hummed. “Where...where did you come from?”
“The White Spire,” Evangeline explained. “He was...haunting the dungeons.”
“Oh,” Pharamond nodded. “I see. You must have come through the Veil by accident.”
Cole blinked.
“I wasn't aware the Veil was that thin at the Spire,” Wynne said, alarmed. “It didn't feel that way when I was there--”
“No—Cole has memories, like a human,” Evangeline said, and Cole nodded.
“I had a mother,” he said.
“Well, spirits can adopt the memories of physical people,” Pharamond explained. “And even take their appearances. I'm sure you only meant well,” he assured Cole, who was now looking quite upset.
Evangeline sighed. “These speculations can wait until later,” she said. “What do we do now?”
“I know a way inside,” Cole said. “I know where they're keeping him.”
Evangeline smiled. “In that case,” she said. “I believe I can come up with a plan...”
Outside Val Royeaux, in the hills, Justinia, Cassandra, Leliana and Barris walked. Justinia's habit was singed, and both Cassandra and Barris were liberally spattered with blood. The hills were trampled and burnt, after the army had been through them. They weren't here now, but their signs were obvious.
Justinia stopped and looked over her shoulder, stared at the smoldering silhouette of Val Royeaux behind her.
“We must keep moving, Most Holy,” Barris said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I know, lad,” Justinia said. “Give an old woman time to catch her breath.” she sighed and wiped her face.
“Who can we seek shelter with?” Cassandra asked.
“Lambert sabotaged our relationship with King Alistair,” Leliana said, her lips pursed. “Queen Aeducan—perhaps, if she were in the correct mood. The Dalish—never.”
Justinia closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, of course they wouldn't,” she murmured. “Are you quite certain King Alistair wouldn't offer us aid? You did fight with him in the Blight.”
Leliana sighed. “If something has happened to the Grand Enchanter, he will likely reject us,” she said. “As far as he is aware, we are still aligned with the Lord Seeker.”
“Despite you?' Cassandra asked.
“We were never the closest of friends. The Lord Seeker chasing Surana out of the country still hurts them, and the fact that I could not stop it...no, if Fiona is dead or imprisoned he will not be our ally.”
“If Celene yet lives--” Justinia began, then cut herself off and shook her head. “But we do not know if she yet lives.”
“Ambassador Montilyet and the Montilyet family will surely help,” Leliana nodded. “But other than that, we are perilously short on allies.”
“Then we will go to the Montilyets,” Justinia said. “After that...” she closed her eyes.
“We will have a plan,” Barris said. “I am sure of it, Most Holy.”
Justinia gave him a weak smile. “Of course, before we have a plan, we must make our way there,” she said.
“Of course, Most Holy,” Cassandra said. “We should continue on.”
Lambert shook his head, closing the cell door behind him.
None of the mages cooperated—those that were still alive and able to be found, anyway. The Grand Enchanter continued to scream insults, and many of the other First Enchanters either followed her example or sunk into despair. One quoted lines from the Chant of Light until Lambert had backhanded him just to shut him up.
Rhys, the last remaining member of the party who had gone to Adamant, was alternately mocking and despairing, and none of it was of any use to him. The Divine was still missing, no one retrieving her body or the body of her allies.
He cursed himself for continuing to allow Cassandra to remain a Seeker. He had known she must have been spying for Justinia, how could she not have been, but he had let her remain for fear of Justinia's retaliation.
“Still fussing about the mages?” Dubois fell into step beside him. The incorrigible woman practically bounced on her heels, the thrill of victory not having left her. “They won't take your paltry offers, you know. You'd have to let them live for that to happen.”
“Perhaps they would be willing to save their souls,” Lambert growled, looking straight ahead instead of meeting her eyes.
“Oh, don't be foolish, giving me all that pious talk,” she tutted and waved a dismissive hand. “You just want them to grovel before you.” she clapped him on the back, ignoring his glare. “Not to worry, Lord Seeker,” she said with a grin. “I'd want Celene and Gaspard crawling before me, too. It's a natural impulse. I just don't think it'll happen with this lot.”
Lambert shook his head. Dubois made his skin crawl, her gleeful disregard for morality appalling, but he still needed her if he was to hold the city.
“How soon are you going to get rid of them?” she asked.
“Soon,” he said. “A day, maybe. Enough time to allow the civilians to come together and watch it happening.”
She nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “No one'll pull anything once they see you kill them.”
“That is not the point.”
“Oh, you can't fool me,” she teased. “Either way—what do you plan to do after?”
“Elthina is on her way here,” he said. “Half the Grand Clerics are on my side, but the other half must be convinced.”
“I see,” Dubois nodded. “You could, of course, kill them.”
“I believe that the threat of the mages will convince them of Justinia's mistake.”
“The threat of the mages?” she laughed, as airy and bright as if she were at a garden party. “My good man, you plan to kill all the mage leaders. No, I think in this case the threat must come from you, or else they will not listen.”
Lambert glared at her. “I do what must be done,” he said.
“Of course,” she nodded. “Of course! Who ever said that you didn't?” she rolled her shoulders back. “I need to speak to my troops,” she said. “I can't let them loot the whole city.”
“Have you been having trouble with any of the nobility?”
“No, not really,” Dubois said. “Just the city guard, but as soon as we reached the Palace a lot of them started surrendering.” she smiled, and her lips peeled away from her teeth, her delighted expression giving way to a more savage one. “Smart.”
“I see.” Lambert scowled. “Inform me if the nobility do cause any trouble,” he told her. “They can be more difficult than you know.”
“Don't presume to order me about,” she snapped, and he glanced at her. “I'll deal with it. Anyway, I've dealt with idiot nobles my whole life,” she said, her tone lightened, and she grinned again. “I can handle them.”
He nodded. “As you will. I must speak with my own people. Elthina will be here soon, and we need to corral the Clerics.”
“Do that,” she nodded. “I'll see you,” she gave him a lazy, somewhat mocking salute and sauntered off.
He glared after her. The tension in the air eased with her departure, as she took her savagery with her. He seemed to have a habit of acquiring unstable allies. He had no doubt that she would return to cause trouble in the future.
“Lord Seeker?”
Lambert turned to see Meredith. Her red eyes gleamed in the light, and her voice had that strange reverberating quality. Speaking of unstable allies...
“Stannard,” he nodded in greeting. “Have any of the other Seekers arrived?” Most of the Seekers were still at Therinfal Redoubt, forcing Lambert to rely upon the Templars still.
Meredith nodded. “They have sent word,” she said. “Now that the roads are clear, they are more easily able to come this way.”
“I see. Was there anything else?”
She let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. She seemed exhausted, as many of the Templars did. Even the red lyrium could not restore them as pure lyrium was able to.
“There is one thing,” she said.
“What? Come, I have little time.”
She drew her sword from its sheath.
“Stannard, what are you--”
She slammed her sword into him, and he barely got his shield up in time to stop her. He needed to grab for his own sword, but she pushed him so hard he didn't dare lower his shield to take it.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I hear a greater voice than that of men,” Meredith whispered, her red eyes huge and manic. “A greater voice than yours.”
Lambert struggled against her, trying to force her back, but she was easily as strong as he was, and the red lyrium--
The red lyrium--
“A greater voice than that of the Maker?” Lambert grunted.
Meredith blinked, confusion passing over her face for a moment, and he took the opportunity to finally shove her off him. He bashed her with his shield, but she shoved him off, her broadsword a match for his shield.
“I hear the voice of the Maker more clearly than you ever would!” she proclaimed.
“You are mad,” Lambert snapped.
The door slammed open, and Dubois charged in. She had her sword out and a spray of blood was spattered across her cheeks.
“Lambert!” she shouted. “Your bloody Templars—oh, Andraste's ass,” she brought her sword up just in time as Meredith turned to her.
Finally, Lambert could take out his sword, and they both charged Meredith, but she moved with an unnatural speed and strength.
With a snarl, she cracked her sword across his shield, and he cried out—she had snapped his shield with the blow, and he clutched his arm to his chest.
Dubois brought her sword down, but Meredith whirled and blocked her. Dubois' eyes widened as Meredith forced her back.
“Lord Seeker!” she shouted.
Lambert's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and pain radiated from his arm up to his shoulder. With effort, he swung his sword and caught Meredith across the back. She let out a grunt of pain and turned to face him, her sword still against Dubois'.
The door banged open again, and more Templars came through, these ones all with eyes that gleamed a telltale red.
Meredith backed up, to form ranks with the Templars.
“What are you doing?” Lambert demanded.
“The Elder One comes,” Meredith hissed. “Can you not hear it? A voice greater than that of men—no priest or Cleric--”
“What are you babbling about?” Dubois exclaimed. “This is nonsense!”
From outside, someone attacked one of the Templars, slamming a sword down on his head. The one who had come to their aid was a female Templar who had the shakes and greasy hair of lyrium withdrawal.
“Come on,” Dubois said, charging ahead. She and the female Templar broke the ranks of the hostile Templars. Lambert followed them, bad arm still clutched to his chest, and the three of them ran down the hall, the Templars on their heels.
Dubois' soldiers had raised the alarm, and they quickly began to swarm through the cathedral. Lambert searched for a medic, while Dubois assisted her men in driving the Templars away. Though the hostile Templars were stronger, they were also much fewer in number, and after a great deal of fighting, they were forced out of the Grand Cathedral.
Dubois' soldiers chased them through the city, but a large number of them got away, killing many of the soldiers in the process.
Dubois sheathed her sword at last, and when to locate Lambert. Lambert was away from the fighting, and had still not found the medic. His lips were tinged green and he was sweating with the pain from his broken arm.
“What,” she hissed to Lambert. “In the name of Andraste's sanctified girdle was that?”
Lambert could only shake his head.
“I—I don't know,” he hissed.
“Lambert, if this is the best your people can offer, I am going to find Justinia and put her back on the sunburst throne myself--!”
“You needn't do that,” Lambert caught sight of Cullen, Meredith's second. Though his sword was sheathed, his hair was damp with sweat and there was a spray of blood over his armor, indicating that he had been fighting.
“You,” Lambert hissed.
“Who is this?” Dubois asked as Cullen approached.
“Lord Seeker,” Cullen began, holding his hands up. “I swear, I didn't know--”
In spite of his injured arm, Lambert moved quickly. With his good arm, he shoved Cullen up against a nearby wall. “You were her second—do you have any idea what she was talking about?”
“No, no, I swear!” Cullen gasped. “I don't know any more of what was happening than you do!”
“Why?” he snarled. “Why did she do it? Did she say anything, do anything--?”
“It was—the Templars that were hostile were—the ones who took the red Lyrium--” Cullen gasped. “Not all of us did—just her—and some of the others--”
Lambert let Cullen go. He gasped, his chest heaving.
Lambert leaned heavily against the wall. “Meredith thought she had found a solution to the lack of lyrium. Now...” he shook his head. “I think it is clear that she has not.”
Cullen nodded, staring around at the bodies of the hostile Templars that they had killed.
“I suppose not,”
Dubois laughed. “You suppose? Nothing gets much past you, does it?” she kicked one of the Templars over and looked down at him, examining him closely. She moved back with a cry of disgust.
“What is it?” Lambert demanded.
“He has—something—growing on him, under his armor!” Dubois exclaimed, pointing at the corpse.
Lambert looked, and levered the man's breastplate up with the tip of his sword. Under his armor, on his skin grew strange red growths, like red stone. He stared, baffled.
“What is that?” he murmured.
“Red lyrium,” Cullen breathed.
They both stared at him.
“What?” Lambert said.
“That's what it looks like when it's raw,” Cullen said. “I don't—I don't know what it's doing on him, though.”
Dubois let out a harsh imitation of a laugh. “Lord Seeker, if this is your idea of help, I'm going to go and let all those mages out myself,” she snapped. “This is pure insanity—and you claim the mages are dangerous!”
“Get a hold of yourself,” Lambert snapped. “Cullen, do you know anything else? Does anyone?”
Cullen's eyes darted from Dubois to Lambert and he shook his head. “N-no,” he stuttered. “There was rumors of red lyrium—infection in Kirkwall, but I never thought--”
“Infection?” Dubois gasped. “This stuff is a disease?”
“That's just what the dwarves called it!” Cullen raised his hands. “That's why Meredith and some of the others were using the tainted stuff. We couldn't get any more because the dwarves had cut off trade.”
Dubois let out a hard breath through her nose. Then she grabbed Cullen by his front, shoving her face to his. “The dwarves—the ones who know the most about lyrium—call it an infection, a disease, and your idiot Commander still used it?” she snarled. “Think! What if it infects Val Royeaux as well?”
“This is not of my doing,” Cullen exclaimed, struggling in her grip, but she refused to let go. “I have never taken it--”
“Why did they call it an infection? What is it?”
“I don't know,” Cullen shook his head fervently. “I don't know—they just said that there was something wrong with it, that they didn't want to be near it--”
Dubois let Cullen go with a hiss. “We need to find the dwarves,” she snapped. “Contact Orzammar and see what they know. I won't have my throne be overrun by some—some thing you idiots brought here.”
“The dwarves will most likely not speak to you,” Lambert said, scowling.
She glared at him. “Aye, and that's due to you,” she snarled. “Because she'd have no problems with me, so it must be with you.”
Lambert narrowed his eyes. “The dwarves are heretics,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It is worthless to speak with them.”
“Then who would you suggest?” she demanded. “The mages know about illness, but you locked them up. The Wardens know about the Blight, but you chased them away. The Dalish and the Avvar know herbalism and magic, but you--”
“Enough!” Lambert snapped. “If you dislike your own allies so much, I do not see why you are still here.”
“Because, idiot, you are the one who promised me victory!” she snarled. “Justinia gave me nothing. And you have given me this city—but these fools under you would rot it away again if only given the chance!”
“Elthina would know who in Kirkwall knows of red lyrium,” Lambert said. “If Kirkwall indeed had an infection, someone has to know about it.”
“And how to reverse it?”
Lambert shrugged, and Dubois let out a disgusted noise and turned her back on him. Before she could speak again, the door banged open and another Templar barged inside. Dubois, Cullen, and Lambert all drew their swords in an instant, but the Templar was a friendly one.
“What is it?” Lambert demanded.
“Lord Seeker,” the Templar gasped. “The mages are gone.”
Fiona realized something was wrong when she heard fighting outside her cell, but it was only the sounds of swords and shields. There were no spells, no explosions, no telltale smell of lightning or snow.
She peered peered outside the window to her cell.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then she saw one Templar bodily hurl another right past her cell, and fall upon him with her sword. The attacking Templar had a strange red aura and she could feel the Fade around them warping.
Fiona blinked. “What in the name of Andraste...” she breathed, watching the Templars fight.
Suddenly there were even more Templars in the hall, all fighting each other. Some soliders bearing Orlesian armor and Dubois' heraldry came in as well, and Fiona backed away from the door, realizing that outside was utter chaos.
Something slammed against the door, and she winced. She hoped no one would break it down. The room she was in had enough magic suppressing wards to prevent her doing any significant fighting.
More banging and bashing, and her door dented and bent. It seemed no one was actively trying to get inside, more that her door was a casualty in the fight. Again, she tried to peer outside. No one paid her any mind.
Eventually, the fight moved on. After several minutes, she tried her door. With some effort, it could be forced open. The lock had taken a great deal of damage, as well as the door itself.
As soon as she was outside, she felt the rush of her magic come back to her again. Carefully, she surveyed the hall. There were several dead Templars, some with a strange red glow about their person and a very bad feeling emanating from their bodies.
She knocked on the door next to hers. No one. She pursed her lips. The dungeons of the Spire were deep, and she might have to go some ways to find her fellow mages, especially if Lambert had made good on his promises.
Another quiet hallway over, and she finally found someone after knocking on the window of a cell door.
A man she recognized as Rhys popped his head in the window.
“What's doing on?” he demanded.
“The Templars are fighting each other,” Fiona said, blinking.
“What?” Rhys exclaimed.
“Didn't you see?”
Rhys shook his head. “I could only hear the fighting, not see who was doing it. Are you sure?”
Fiona nodded, and hit the lock on his door with a bolt of magic. “Come on,” she said, opening the door. “We need to find the others.”
Rhys nodded and gave a sigh of relief when he stepped into the hall. “You're sure it was Templars?” he asked again.
Fiona nodded. “I saw. They were fighting each other, and some of Dubois' men.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Rhys breathed.
“No,” Fiona agreed, shaking her head slowly. “No, it does not.” she bit her lip. “Some of the Templars have—they were--” she sighed. “I hardly know how to explain it. Here—I will show you should we come across one of their bodies.”
“What do you mean?”
She walked so quickly he almost had to jog to keep up with her. She pursed her lips. “It seems—I don't know. Some of them have this...red glow about them, and a feeling in the air, as if they were possessed.”
“Could that be possible?”
“It is very unlikely.”
Rhys shrugged. “Lots of unlikely things seem more likely now.”
“Quite true.”
They opened the doors to the other cells, and the other surviving Enchanters all came out, looking confused and worried.
“Fiona,” one of the Jader enchanters said. “What's going on? I can hear fighting--”
“The Templars are fighting each other,” Fiona explained.
“What?” Adrian exclaimed. “Why?”
Fiona shook her head. “I could not say.”
“We need to get out of here,” another enchanter said.
Fiona nodded. “Absolutely. Does anyone know how--”
“Quiet, everyone!” hissed another enchanter, and they all stopped. The sound of two people's footsteps was coming around the corner. Slowly, the mages all raised their hands, spells at the ready.
Around the corner came Wynne and Evangeline. They all froze for a moment, staring at each other.
“Evangeline!” Rhys cried.
“Rhys!” Evangeline said. “What’s going on?”
“How did you all already escape?” Wynne asked.
“Fiona let us out,” Adrian said.
“What's happening?” Evangeline demanded. “We heard fighting--”
“We haven’t any idea,” Fiona growled. “This wasn’t our doing—they started fighting each other.”
“Each other?” Wynne looked horrified.
Fiona smirked. “I wonder what Madame de Fer would think of that?” she said.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Evangeline exclaimed.
“What does it matter?” Fiona asked. “Qe have a chance to escape. We must take it!”
Evangeline nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Come, this way—we will escape the same way we came in.”
“Where is Pharamond?” Rhys asked. “Did he escape with you?”
“He is safe enough for now,” Evangeline said. “Still in the undercity.”
Rhys took her aside. “And Cole?” he asked, quiet enough for no one to hear. “Has he returned?”
Evangeline nodded. “He was the one who told us the way inside. He should be waiting for us with Pharamond, but he might have left.”
Rhys nodded.
“Did any of the other enchanters escape?” Fiona asked. “Madame de Fer is not here--”
“She escaped,” Wynne said. “But I don't know about the others.”
“What about the Divine?”
“Missing.”
Fiona cursed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Then the Chantry is collapsing around us,” she said. “More than ever, we must get out of the way.”
“Fiona...” Wynne said.
“Wynne, there are no more Circles to be loyal to, so I suggest you change your arguments.”
“Fiona, splitting us apart will not--”
“Lambert already divided us,” Fiona snapped. “Can you not see those who would kill us?”
“Of course but—we must find Justinia, restore order--”
“We can speak of this later,” Evangeline said. “When we are all safe. What happened to the mages of the Spire?”
Fiona shook her head. “Annullment,” she said. “I hope some made it out, the battlemages especially, but...” she trailed off.
“Oh no,” one of the enchanters covered her mouth.
“So, what do you think of the Circles now?” Adrian muttered to Evangeline. “Are they worthy protectors? Killing innocents and children?”
Evangeline was silent.
“Adrian, enough,” Wynne.
“If we must be killed by her people, then she can bear it if I talk about it once or twice,” Adrian snapped.
“Adrian, I know,” Evangeline murmured.
“What was that?”
“I--” she closed her eyes. “I know what they do is wrong,” she said, in a voice so quiet they had to strain to hear her.
“Oh,” Adrian seemed mollified for a moment. “Well, that's certainly a first.”
“We cannot linger here,” Evangeline said. “What are we to do now?”
“The Seekers attempted to kill us,” Fiona snapped. “I think it is obvious what we need to do.” she growled to herself and stormed on ahead. “I need to speak to King Alistair.”
“King Alistair?” Wynne fell into step beside her. “Why?”
“He will help us,” Fiona said.
“How are you so sure?” Evangeline asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
To their surprise, Fiona smiled. “Oh, trust me,” she said. “He will.”
Wynne narrowed her eyes at Fiona as well, but her confidence in turn made them more confident as well.
They returned to the tunnels, and found Pharamond and Cole, although Cole refused to reveal himself to anyone but Evangeline and Rhys. He even shied away from Wynne, although he had been happy to show himself to her earlier.
“Are you alright?” Rhys asked when he saw Cole again.
Cole nodded. “Yes. They can't hurt me if they can't find me. The Lord Seeker sees demons everywhere, not just me.”
Evangeline sighed. “I know,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder, where Fiona was conferring with the other enchanters about what to do next.
“What are you going to do now?” Rhys asked. “You should come with us.”
Cole shook his head. “I—I don't know,” he said. “I want to help, but...I don't know if you need me so badly now.”
“Why not?” Evangeline asked.
“The Lord Seeker was the one who hurt you,” Cole explained. “If no one stops him, he'll hurt more people.”
“Cole,” Rhys began slowly. “What are you thinking of doing?”
“I'm going to help,” Cole said. “Don't worry. A friend is coming.”
“A friend? What do you--” Rhys blinked, and Cole was gone. He and Evangeline looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Do you think he'll be alright?” Rhys asked.
Evangeline shook her head. “I don't know,” she said. “I hope so. What do you think he meant by, 'a friend?'”
“I don't know that, either,” Rhys said with a sigh.
They followed Fiona and Wynne out of the tunnels, dodging any hostiles they found instead of trying to fight them. It took some doing, but at last, they were out of the city.
“So, we go to Ferelden now?” Wynne asked.
Fiona nodded. “We should likely contact Queen Aeducan first,” she mused.
“The dwarven queen?” Evangeline was surprised. “Why her?”
“She is a friend of ours,” Wynne explained. “Or at least, she is a friend of Warden-Commander Surana's.”
“She will at least give us shelter,” Fiona said, her tone very certain.
So they made for the Deep Roads, val Royeaux burning in the distance behind them.
“Gone?” Lambert snarled.
The Templar nodded, and Lambert's face grew even darker.
“Oh, wonderful,” Dubois drawled.
Lambert stepped forward. Cullen stepped back.
Lambert’s chest heaved.
“Lord Seeker?” Cullen said.
Lambert rounded on the other man. “You—shut up,” he snarled. “You have no explanation for Meredith, and as far as I am concerned, no use at all. Be silent.”
Cullen closed his mouth with a snapped.
“I see your plan worked out marvelously, Lord Seeker,”
“General Dubois,” Lambert growled in a warning tone.
Dubois grinned, but her face was tense. “The mages fled, half of your Templars fled, the Divine gone—seems that things didn't quite go according to plan, did they?”
Lambert scowled.
She hummed to herself. “You best get a move on with your allies,” she said. “Because otherwise, I am finding the mages myself.”
“You cannot--”
“Who are you to say what I can and cannot do?” she snarled. “I don't see that you have your Divine right now.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Dubois turned on her heel and left.
Lambert finally located a medic who wrapped up his arm, then returned to a set of rooms that could serve as his for the time being. He collapsed onto the bed, needing sleep as he had not needed it in a very long time.
A flash of steel caught his eye and he was awake in an instant.
In the darkest corner of the room was a young man he somehow hadn't noticed until just now, a man with the waxy skin of a corpse and pale blue eyes almost hidden by a fringe of strawlike blond hair.
He grabbed his longsword and leaped up from the bed, but in an eyeblink the figure was behind him, the knife in his hand at Lambert's throat.
“You hurt people,” the man murmured in Lambert's ear. “You won't anymore.”
Lambert slammed down a Smite and the man—the demon—whatever it was stumbled, his knife easing off of Lambert's throat. Lambert took the moment to slash the man's chest, and he briefly felt his sword connect with something before it vanished. Droplets of blood fell to the floor, but the figure was gone.
Pain shot through his back, and he looked down to see a wicked blade thrust through his chest. He blinked, rather surprised, and everything began to go gray.
In the shadows, a figure with blue eyes watched Lambert's body. A long wound in Cole’s chest oozed blood lazily, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.
Absently, he pressed a hand to the injury.
Lambert was dead. But there were other deaths that were still needed.
Orzammar was a strange place, and strangely welcoming. Rhys had never seen its like. It distracted him from the war, and how Adrian refused to speak with him anymore. They few times he had attempted to make conversation, he had been coldly rebuffed.
He would go and speak with Evangeline, but she was still busy with Pharamond. The two were hardly ever separate, and Rhys could still not help that strange, inappropriate surge of jealousy he got whenever he saw the two of them.
Wynne was busy as well, meeting with the Queen and the Prince-consort. He hadn't realized exactly how important she was. He'd never bothered to think on it, never bothered to ask.
He was free of the Circle at last, as he had always wanted. He supposed that was something, and he tried to think only of that as he stood amidst the crowd of enchanters who were being sheltered by the Queen.
The other enchanters were fascinated with Orzammar, and spoke to each other, curious, anxious, uncertain of the future.
No one so much as spared a glance for Rhys.
While the other enchanters were settling in, Fiona and Wynne met with Culwydd and Zevran, who explained what had been going on.
“Celene has gone?” Fiona asked.
Culwydd nodded. “She insisted. We were hardly going to keep her.”
Wynne sighed. “I can only hope she makes it back to Val Royeaux,” she said.
Culwydd and Zevran exchanged a dark look.
“We heard,” Zevran said. “Things are not going well there, are they?”
Wynne and Fiona shook their heads.
“No,” Wynne said. “No, they are not.”
Culwydd sighed. “The Coalition claims they apprehended—someone,” she said. “Someone suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” Fiona asked, leaning forward.
“An elvhen man,” Zevran explained. “Who appeared to be a Dalish mage, but had a very suspicious way about him. He refused to say who his Clan was or where they came from, and when we questioned him, he vanished. According to Feynriel Tualsalis, he has a wall around his dreams as well.”
“And what does all of that mean?”
“Keeper Lanaya thinks he was an agent of Fen'harel,”
Fiona and Wynne raised their eyebrows. Zevran chuckled.
“Ah, I do not really believe that myself. But he was certainly a representative of some power that is not known to us and does not wish to be known.”
Fiona nodded. “We must get to Denerim,” she said. “I could not ask your people to house all of the mages.”
“But you will ask Alistair?” Zevran asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fiona chuckled. “Ah—it is a long story,” she said. “But yes. And this is more our fight than it is yours. I would not want to bring the Chantry upon your heads.”
“Fiona, we might be better placed to deal with the problem,” Culwydd reasoned. “But...” she sighed and exchanged another look with Zevran. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is,” Fiona said.
In the estate of the Montilyets, Justinia stared out of a window, contemplating.
“Your Holiness...” Cassandra opened the door and she and Leliana quietly moved into the room.
Justinia shook her head and continued to look out the window. Outside, the sun was rising, and it was red, as it had been many days before now.
Her mouth tightened. She grew so weary of bad omens.
“Your Holiness, we did try...” Cassandra tried again, and Justinia raised her hand. Cassandra was immediately silent.
“Cassandra.”
“Yes?”
“We need an Inquisition.”
Cassandra and Leliana looked at each other.
“We have no other options,” Justinia continued, though neither of them had contradicted her. “It is the last path we have open to us.”
“You know what Lambert will say,” Leliana said.
Justinia nodded. “Demons, heresy, blood magic—whatever option puts him the right. I know.” she sounded very tired.
“We have no forces,” Cassandra said. “No army, the Templars and the Seekers both gone, the mages gone--”
“If we are no longer trying to dodge Lambert, we can call upon Orzammar and Ferelden. Perhaps—if they understand the dire need of the situation...”
Leliana and Cassandra glanced at each other again, Leliana looking dubious.
“If that is what you wish, Holiness,” Leliana said.
“It is,” Justinia said. “I will have a writ soon. In the meantime...” she sighed. “War is coming. We must prepare for it.”