Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3830101.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dragon_Age:_Inquisition, Dragon_Age_(Video_Games), Dragon_Age_-_All_Media
      Types
  Relationship:
      Male_Inquisitor/Iron_Bull, Iron_Bull/Male_Trevelyan
  Character:
      Male_Trevelyan, Iron_Bull, Varric_Tethras, Cullen_Rutherford, Dorian
      Pavus, Solas, Cole_(Dragon_Age)
  Additional Tags:
      Slow_Burn, Light_BDSM, BDSM, Abuse, LIKE_SERIOUSLY_WARNING_FOR_TRIGGERS
      OF_ABUSE_STUFF, There's_more_characters, I'll_add_them_as_I_decide_to
      make_them_more_important, Or_rather_as_I_write_them, Tranquility, Mage
      Rights, PTSD, Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-27 Completed: 2016-07-25 Chapters: 22/22 Words: 44097
****** More than a Mark - INCOMPLETE ******
by Euleogy
Summary
     Damien Trevelyan is a mage from Ostwick. Having been put into the
     circle at a young age, he's suffered just as any mage under the
     abuses of the templars. It's quite by accident that he finds himself
     an important player in a terrifying game. Targeted by a Magister and
     a Qunari though with differences in intent, he finds himself trying
     to sort out his life, his past, and the scars that he insists don't
     exist.
Notes
     I'll warn you now, I associate heavily with the abuse present in the
     Circle Towers, and as such this may get graphic as I'll be
     incorporating my own experiences with flash backs and panic, while
     also trying to show a side of Bull that we don't see as much.
     (Stupid... limited cut scenes...) If you're easily triggered by rape,
     violence, manipulation, gaslighting, etc, PLEASE don't read this fic.
     I'll be prefacing every chapter that has smut with a warning, but as
     each chapter will hint at adult themes and themes of abuse, please
     keep that in mind before you begin this fic.
***** Cesspool of a Circle *****
[[[[ So I'm going to be REWRITING THIS FIC. I'll be leaving this up and
starting a new fic, Same Title, however that Fic will have the [Revised] tag at
the beginning.
So yeah, I'm gonna mark THIS FIC as completed. And then I'll be reopening a
revised version. So if you want to have spoilers because you're just tuning in,
then read this one. Keep in mind, the later chapters especially will probably
have drastic changes made (part of why I abandoned this project was because I
felt like I wasn't channeling Damien well enough, and it was ruining the
progression of his character). ]]]]
 
 
The day started with the blaring of a horn, same as it always did. Damien was
already awake, staring at the ceiling. It had been 6 months since his
Harrowing, and still the nightmares wouldn't let him sleep. Not that it
mattered, he'd never gotten much sleep anyway. He was one of the lucky ones.
His last name prevented him from being made Tranquil, and the object in his
pants made him less of a target than the female mages. The Templars who did
target him though, did so with a vehemence that the women rarely saw.
It hadn't taken much to learn which areas of the tower to avoid. He'd only been
5 when his parents had promptly sent him to the circle. His entire family were
good, faithful Andrastians. Cousins in the Templars, two sisters in the
Chantry. It was just their luck to get a mage. So, as soon as he exhibited
magic, they sent him away. Hide the disgrace while showing how they obeyed the
laws.
The horn blared again, a shrill trumpet echoing along the stone of the tower.
The door to men's rooms was kicked open as Damien rolled off his cot to stand
at the foot of his bed, his roommates doing the same. The Templar, Ser Kendal,
walked along the line of mages. Kendal was one of the nicer ones. He did his
job, nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't a power-hungry sadist either. He
wasn't kind, but he wasn't cruel. Many of the mages were so want for affection
that he could have slept with half the population of the tower, had he wanted.
He didn't though, and for that he had earned Damien's respect.
Once Kendal had taken attendance, he left the room, allowing the men to dress
themselves before leaving for their day to day tasks. Most of the Templars
would stay to watch the women dress, and a handful would stay to watch the men,
but Kendal left, like he was supposed to. Damien, in his younger years, had
also felt the attraction to the solemn Templar, but this faded with age, and
now he even found his respect fading. Kendal did his job, nothing more. He was
never up for promotion. He never advocated against his fellow knights. He did
not defend the mages, just didn't do the abuses himself. To some, that was
enough. It had been enough for Damien, when he was in his teen years. Now, it
was almost as bad as having a hand in the abuse himself.
Breakfast was lukewarm porridge, leftover from the pot the Templars made for
themselves. Sometimes there were bits of meat, fish, sometimes even fruit
thrown in, but today it was just the bland, flavorless porridge. Grains and
water, cooked to mush. Sometimes, if there was a particularly good Harrowing,
the Templars would give salt, sugar, or milk to the mages to flavor the
porridge, but today was nothing extraordinary, and the porridge was barely
warm, and bland. It went down like the paste used to repair the books as they
fell apart, sitting in the stomach like a particularly soft rock of tar. It
kept your stomach from growling, but did little else.
After breakfast, the mages had their chores. Chamber pots to be washed, clothes
to wash, dishes to do. Each day was a new room, floors to scrub, shelves to
dust. That way the rooms all got cleaned on the same time frame. Lunch and
Dinner for both mage and Templar alike was cooked by the mages, though usually
a small group of Apprentices were assigned that task. Stew, Roast, Breads, it
all had to be made, starting first with breaking apart a whole animal, or
rather, several whole animals. All the while, the Templars watched, waiting for
any excuse to alleviate their boredom with violence.
Meat not cooked enough, floor too wet, floor too dry, shelf still dusty.
Anything could be used as fuel. The Apprentices were in the library most of the
day, with the senior enchanters who taught them. Everyone could remember the
Templars surprise tests.
"Block this, Mage."
"Heal this, Mage."
"Burn this, Mage."
Any failure would only cause a rebuke. A painful rebuke. Even if you managed to
'pass' a Templar's test, for it was never truly passed, the most you could
expect is an aggravated grunt. Failing to block a blow was usually considered
punishment enough, same as failing to heal whatever wound they chose to inflict
upon you. Fail to create fire, or lightning, and you think they'd be happy that
your magic was weak, but this was often met with pain, fists both open and
closed. If an apprentice was particularly disliked, sometimes they'd even get
you on the floor, only to give you a final kick.
The mages of the Ostwick Circle has long learned to remain silent. Make a
noise, they fed off your pain. Remain silent, and they'd leave you alone. You
weren't any fun if you just took it like a good little subordinate.
Damien had long learned the behaviors. Look toward the ground. Nod vigorously
but silently, unless they were yelling. If you were being yelled at, simply
answer yes, Ser, or no, Ser. Even then sometimes, you were a target.
Too smart, too fit, too fair, too ugly, too stupid. Anyone but the average was
a target. You wanted to blend in. You wanted to be 'just another mage'. If a
Templar knew your name, there was trouble to be had.
The day ended with dinner, then bed. It used to be you heard crying, soft sobs
and gentle weeping. As you got older, as your group of mages got smaller, as
you all became harder, the noises grew less and less obvious until finally,
there was silence. Children, aged up to 10 was one group. Ages 11-15 another.
Ages 16-19 was the third. Granted, the official ages were 16 and up with the
last group, but everyone knew if you weren't out of the apprentice barracks and
into the mages barracks by then, you were going to be made tranquil.
Damien had almost been tranquil. To this day he attributes his last name to his
sense of self, because he fears without it, he would be a no one, just a
tranquil. Like the others around the circle. Menial tasks, inventory, spell
checker, things that required little skill and even less thought. Originally
the Tranquil had also done the chores and cooking around the small circle of
Ostwick, but the population of the Free Marches was spread into City-States,
and Ostwick was not a large one. Each group of Apprentices numbered less than
15. If you kept track of the ages of the Harrowed mages you'd see that number
shrink to less than 15 with those who were under 35 alone. For everyone 5 mages
there were 2 Templars.
Damien had been 19 when he'd finally be slotted for his Harrowing. They had no
reason to wait so long for him, really. He'd eavesdropped in on some of the
senior enchanters as an apprentice. Had heard them talk about him. Saying how
he wasn't an amazing mage, but he was certainly more than proficient enough to
take his Harrowing. Still however, the First Enchanter, or the Knight Commander
rejected him every month.
When he was finally slated into place, he almost cried. He'd been sure they'd
planned to make him tranquil. Damien had undergone the same abuses as most of
the other Apprentices, and it was well known that being made Tranquil made you
nothing more than an object to the Templars, to do with as they pleased. In
some ways the abuse got better, but in others it got much worse. Not like you'd
care though, becoming Tranquil was like dying, but your voice and face could
still haunt your friends. That damned sunburst of a brand seared into your
forehead as a constant reminder than you were no longer whole.
With night brought fitful sleep. Sleep without sleeping. The Fade, the world of
dreams, demons. Damien used to enjoy sleeping. No Templars. Just dreams, just
the Fade. Sure, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck prick as demons
whispered their promises of false futures, but they’d never been a true
temptation to Damien. Now though, he rarely dreamed, and when he did, they were
only nightmares. Demons took the shape of the Templars. Those Templars who knew
his name, and knew just what to do to break his silence.
He wasn’t sure what it had been about his Harrowing that had spurred the
nightmares. His nightmares weren’t replays of his hours spent wandering the
fade, fighting his way out both physically and mentally. The Harrowing was
riddles layered upon attacks, but it had been only draining. The abuses from
the Templars had prepared him well, as ironic as it may be. No, perhaps the
Harrowing made his presence more apparent to the demons of the fade. Made him a
bigger target. Allowed them to see those things that did tempt him.
Two hours, staring at the ceiling. One hour sleeping without dreaming. Another
half hour staring at the ceiling. An hour of half-sleep. 2 hours of nightmares.
An hour of half-sleep, and hour of sleepless sleep, and then 30 minutes of
staring at the ceiling before the daily monotony of the tower continued once
again.
                    --------------------------------------
The reports came in slowly. The Chantry explosion. The Annulment of several
circles. Apostates killing those who supported the Chantry. Finally news that
there would be a vote. A vote by the mages, to decide whether or not they would
continue to follow the Chantry.
With each new development the Templars grew more restless. More Apprentices
made Tranquil. More mages locked up, starved. Tower-wide punishments. Skipped
meals. Confined to quarters. Anything could tip the delicate balance of the
circle. Until finally, news of the vote returned to the circle. The Enchanters
had voted to abolish the circles. The Chantry had called the Templars back to
Orlais. All Mages were free. Apostates, but free.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be. For some circles, it really was
that easy. The Templars left, the mages took their things, left or stayed, it
didn’t matter. Ostwick was different though. Too many Templars, perhaps. The
good ones left, of course. Followed their orders. The ones who remained though?
Those were the worst of the group.
At first, life was as you’d expect. The Templars did a lot of damage. Then,
they ran out of Lyrium. That was it. Those that left then left the remaining
few with too few Templars to keep the mages under their thumb. So there was
slaughter. Only 4 months after the war got violent, and Ostwick Circle became
nothing more than a pool of blood.
Damien had hid. Cowardly. Hide away, don’t save your brothers and sisters. He
could hear their screams, their begging, pleading. He wasn’t the only one to
make it out alive. Several of the mages had hid well enough that the Templars
didn’t bother to find them.
He’d stayed in his hiding place, a chest in the Templars’ own barracks. The
screams finally stopped. It felt like hours. Then there was silence, blissful
silence. An hour passed, then two, then the soft weeping began as he could hear
footsteps shuffle in the rubble that the Templars had created when they
destroyed the tower. Looking for friends, siblings, anyone. Damien kept to his
chest, and even those who survived did not find him.
He kept in that chest that night, curled in a ball as the cold air permeated
the wood. His robe pulled tight around him for water he summoned fire to his
hands, allowing the flames to lick across his skin, close enough for warmth,
but not enough to harm him. He’d always been good at fire. It was fierce. It
did damage. It couldn’t be caged. It was feared, and respected, and if it
wasn’t kept in check, it could wreak more havoc than ten mages.
Fire was everything he wished he could be. Powerful. A force to fear. True, as
a mage he was feared, but it was an unjust fear. Fear of fire was just. Fire
was dangerous. Fire was also clean. Burning everything and leaving only hot
blackness in it’s wake.
When Damien had been 19, afraid he was going to be made tranquil, he tried to
envision the positives to the process. A brand. Burning pain. Just like fire.
And then nothing. Just scarred black emptiness. Just like a fire.
It had made the prospect seem particularly less daunting. Like he might
actually be able to face the brand with a stern face and dry cheeks. Now
though, in the cold of the Tower, in the chest of a Templar, he cried.
                       --------------------------------
The next morning, Damien woke up. Sunlight came through the windows of the
Templar barracks and in turn filtered through the cracks in the wooden chest.
It occurred to Damien that he’d actually slept, and in a chest of all places.
Carefully, he lifted an arm, pushing up on the lid of the chest, a ‘creak’
filling the otherwise empty air.
Damien climbed out of the trunk, his heart hammering, almost expecting to have
a Templar bare down on him. He straight his robes, looking around the room.
Frantically, he began searching everything he could, chests, sacks, trunks,
armoires, bookshelves. Anything that had been left behind. He managed to find
some gold, and a weak staff. It was better than nothing. His searching finally
led him to what was left of the pantry; some stale bread, and some dried fruit.
Everything else was rotten, needed to be cooked, or was otherwise indigestible.
Hungrily he ate the bread before shoving the fruit into his pockets, as for the
first time in his life, he left the tower that had been his home for over a
decade.
                       ---------------------------------
Eight months. Eight months avoiding Templars and mages alike. Eight months
stealing what food he could. Eight months camping in the woods, bathing in
rivers, and eating leaves that he hoped were edible. He had had some training
as far as survival goes. Enough to draw pictures of poisonous leaves, and
medicinal ones. As far as ‘What to Eat’, they’d never thought that necessary.
Likewise for berries, roots, and animals.
He didn’t eat anything hearty. After 2 weeks of a vegetarian diet (he’d managed
to steal a wedge of cheese, and snuck into a barn to milk a cow once), he
finally gave in and ate those critters that were less than appetizing. Crunchy,
fairly flavorless, and went down like a particularly nasty seed, but he knew it
was supposed to be good for you.
His cheeks had grown gaunt, the bones of his wrists protruding. He’d been able
to start fires, but even the energy for that life giving element was growing
scarce. He was a circle mage. He’d been sheltered from the elements, if not
from the cruelty of humanity. Even as he cursed his own lack of skill, he could
not find it in his heart to feel any sort of anger toward the mages who had
brought about the disbanding of the circles. Had he been in attendance, he was
sure his vote would have joined them.
Then the Conclave was announced. He may have been avoiding humanity, but you’d
have to be under a rock to miss the Conclave. The roads were full of merchants
and sisters, mages and templars, mercenaries and soldiers, nobility and
peasants, all heading toward Haven, toward the Conclave. The Divine Justinia
had called for peace talks. To try and end the war. Damien found himself
following the throngs, heading toward Haven, to hopefully, an end to the
madness.
 
 
***** The Temple of Sacred Ashes *****
Chapter Summary
     Essentially, this just covers the events from the prologue/intro/
     tutorial of the game.
A flash, bright green. Spiders. Another flash, pain shooting up arm, up to his
shoulder blade. Then consciousness. Damien was kneeling in the center of a
dungeon, his robes had been replaced- No… No he’d changed into these clothes.
He’d wanted to look like a faceless Merc. Why had he wanted to hide his
apostasy? The Conclave. Right. It was all coming back, slowly. Sneaking into
the Conclave, hearing shouts. He’d debated running, sure an authority figure
would find the source, and sure he would not want to be found near it. Against
his better judgement, he followed the yells, and then… nothing. That was all
he- No. No there were spiders. Huge spiders. And green. Everything was a
sickening green.
Another flash followed by pain drew his attention downward. His palm. His palm
was… glowing? No. Not exactly. There was a mark, a scar of some kind, slashing
across his palm in a jagged line. It was glowing. Then it faded slightly,
pulsing. It ached, but the shooting pains up his arm were even worse.
‘What is this?’
He didn’t have long to think about his predicament before the door in front of
him burst open, a tall woman stomping through. She was… quite angry. Demanding
answers about the Conclave. It had… blown up? Like the Chantry? And of course,
he was a mage.
“You think I had something to do with it.”
It wasn’t a question. He was a mage, it was obviously his fault as far as
anyone else was concerned. His own brothers and sisters may very well blame
him.
A demand that he explain the mark on his hand. She walked around him as he was
left to think a moment, his brow furrowed.
“I.. don’t know. I don’t even know how that got there.”
“You’re lying.”
“Of course! Because the mage always lies!”
The woman withdrew her arm as if to strike him physically, only to have her arm
held by another woman in a hood. She must’ve come in at the same time, but he
didn't notice, his attention had been a bit fixated on the angry whirlwind
who’d entered first.
“We need him, Cassandra!”
                             --------------------
The breach. That’s what it was called. It was a giant gaping hole in the sky,
pelting out missiles of demons like confetti. It matched the mark on his hand.
He could understand why they had assumed he’d had a part in it’s occurrence. It
was terrifying, huge, and it was threatening every single life within all of
Thedas. It had a twin on his palm, and so why shouldn’t they think they were
related?
Walking out of the dungeon had been a nightmare. He’d tried to focus on
Cassandra’s words. He’d managed to reply, but all he could see was the Heraldry
of the Chantry. That fucking sunburst was everywhere. Walls, clothes, chests.
He found himself fighting for breath as they walked toward the gates and out of
them. Down the path, around, more wagons, more chests, dead bodies. Everything
was stamped with that damn symbol. As if he didn’t have it seared into his
memory enough as it was.
They began to cross a bridge, just as another demon-chariot came thundering
down to the earth, shattering the bridge and sending both him and Cassandra
falling. Cassandra went off to slay the beasts, but of course as soon as she
left his side the ice at his feet began to bubble, signaling the approach of
another demon.
Damien looked around in panic, his eyes falling to a staff not 5 feet away from
him. He dove for it, snatching up the wooden stave and spinning it around,
hurling ice at the demon as it attacked him. He continued to fling projectiles,
his stave kicking out ice wildly before the demon fell the ground, crumpling
into a green mush. He idly poked at it, picking up a small crystal from the
remains. He shrugged, wiping it off before tucking it into his pocket. Who knew
what it could be used for?
He jogged up to Cassandra as she slayed her own foe, only to have her turn
around, her sword pointing on his chest. She demanded he lay down the staff of
all things. Damien bit his lower lip, his brows pressing together.
“I don’t need a staff to hurt you.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
Her tone was biting, and Damien clenched his jaw.
“Well, I haven’t used my magic on you yet, have I?”
Cassandra also clenched her jaw, and they spent a moment staring at each other.
She couldn’t know how his heart pounded in his chest, how his palms grew slick
with sweat. She couldn’t know how he was fighting back a sobbed out apology.
She may not have been a Templar, but years of brutality had woven those
patterns into the recesses of his mind. Those instincts were a part of his as
much as his need to breath.
“.. You don’t need a staff… but you should have one. I won’t be able to protect
you the whole way. I should keep in mind that you came willingly.”
Damien searched her face for any sign of treachery, any sign that she was
lying, that she was just trying to get his guard down, any sign that there was
a falsehood in her speech. He couldn’t find one. Either she was telling the
truth, which was doubtful given the circumstances, or she was an excellent
liar.
She didn’t seem like the type who’d be skilled at lying, but perhaps that was
just more evidence to it’s accuracy. Either way, there was little choice for
Damien to do anything about it if she was trying to lure him into a false sense
of security, so he only nodded, his grip on the staff tightening as he followed
her up the hill back onto some semblance of a path.
“We’re getting closer. You should start to hear the fighting ahead.”
Sure enough as they crested the hill the sound of bow twags, the sounds of a
staff discharging and the sounds of swords biting into soft meat met Damien’s
ears. Not a half second later the hill was beaten and he was looking down a
small wall into the ruins of perhaps a building of some kind. Demons and men
alike fought, and in their midst was a smaller replica of the breach, bright
green crystals protruding from it as it compacts itself inward.
“Quickly!”
His wrist was grabbed. Numbly he allowed it to be yanked in the general
direction of the rift, his palm searing as green tendrils shot out, touching
the rift. Within moments there was a snap, the bones in his arm aching as he
felt a tug, and then nothing, the rift was closed.
                             ---------------------
Varric, Solas, Cassandra, it seemed these were to be his companions for the
time being. First it was to the forward camp, and then it was to the massive
breach at the temple. Damien didn’t know anyone at the temple. He hadn’t lost
friends, nor role models. Loved ones, nor acquaintances. Even still, walking
amongst the corpses, was difficult. Many of them were nothing more than burned
husks. Shells of their former occupants, some still burning with green flames.
Damien had never seen a dead body. Any mages that died or were killed were
always disposed of efficiently at the circle. These though, were
unrecognizable. They could have been humans, elves, adults, children, dwarves,
it didn’t matter. All that remained were charred, frozen bodies. Positioned in
varying stages of agony, Damien walked silently among them, his hands clenching
against his clothes.
It was habit that whenever something bother Damien, he only grasped his tunic.
It kept his nails from biting into his palms, gave him something to grab onto,
and the fabric of whatever he wore absorbed the sweat from his hands. This was
no exception as he tightenhis jaw against the sight.
“This… is where our soldiers found you.”
Cassandra’s voice was solemn, almost in awe. He wondered if she’d been to the
temple since the explosion, though he couldn’t see why she would have.
Nonetheless they walked along before ducking into a small tunnel that had once
been a hallway.
                             --------------------
“Bring forth the sacrifice.”
The voice was deep. Damien didn’t recognize it, and from the reactions of the
others, it appeared they didn’t either.
“What are we hearing?”
“My guess would be the voice of the person behind the breach.”
Solas was very matter-of-fact, Damien was discovering. He, of all the party,
seemed the least phased by events. Odd, considering the man was an apostate elf
who had been alone for years.
Finally, climbing around the temple, they found a way to the bottom, placing
them almost directly under the massive rift in the sky.
“Somebody! Help me!”
“What’s going on here?”
That. That was his voice. His voice was echoing around the ruins of the temple.
“What…?”
“You were there!”
Cassandra stared at him, her eyes reading minute amounts of betrayal. Surely
she didn’t think he’d been lying?
“Who was it, who caused this?”
“I told you, I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know what’s going on!”
“Most holy called out to you…”
“The veil is thin here, these echoes from the fade, replaying the events that
happened… The breach is closed, though I suspect it won’t last long. If we can
open it fresh, and then reclose it, it should work to close it permanently.”
Damien nodded his understanding, preparing to pull on the breach.
“One more thing. Opening the breach will draw attention from the other side.”
“That means demons. Prepare yourselves!”
Cassandra drew her sword, nodding to Damien to continue.
He clenched his jaw, holding up his hand. Once again he felt the tug, as if his
arm was going to be yanked out of his shoulder, as if the bone was stretching.
He felt a vibration, growing in intensity as there was a snap, and the breach
was open. Just as it opened, a large demon materialized in the air, dropping
down and surveying the gathered forces.
With a large swing of it’s arm, it send a soldier flying. Damien furrowed his
brow and sent a beam of blue to hover around their forces, creating small
temporary shields from damage.
He hovered back, away from the demon, firing ice crystals at it. Then he
watched as it drew energy from the breach, creating it’s own shield. Damien did
the only thing he could think of to try and get rid of that shield. He
disrupted the breach again. Pain shot up to his shoulder blade, mixing in the
vibrations as, with another snap, the creature was stunned, it’s shield gone.
‘Perfect… stun and weaken them by weakening the breach… I can deal wi-’
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain against his back. Spinning around
revealed a shade, it’s claws bared. Of course. Disrupting the breach may stun
the demons, but it also attracted more of them.
Summoning lightning up underneath the creature, he continued to fire ice into
it as finally it crumpled, leaving behind the same green goo that the one under
the bridge had. He then turned his attention back to the larger demon, only to
see that it had once again brought up a shield.
This push and pull of disrupting the breach, fighting the smaller demons, and
then harming the large until it was time to disrupt the breach again continued
for the better part of an hour before finally the creature crumpled to the
ground, and the breach remained open, ripe for closure.
“Now, Close it!”
The voice was Solas’ but Damien didn’t make the connection. He was exhausted,
his arm was throbbing. As if in a trance, he raised his arm one last time only
to have it jerked forward as the green tendrils pulled him toward the breach.
That same gut wrenching pain, that tug followed with a snap. But this time,
there was no snap, just blackness. Blissful unconsciousness.
                             ---------------------
The door opened. It was quiet, but he was already stirring from sleep as it
was. At the sound of the footsteps, he sat up with a start. The breach, he
needed to-... Where was he?
A small elven girl stood in his room, though when he’d sat up she’d dropped
whatever she’d been carrying.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you!”
There was a quiver to her voice that broke his heart. He’d heard the same
quiver in too many of the mage girls as they begged forgiveness from a Templar
who was about to teach them ‘respect’.
“No, please, you don’t have to be afraid.”
It was then that she prostrated herself on the ground, her arms flung out.
“I am but a lowly servant, my lord. Please forgive me. The Lady Cassandra will
want to know you’re awake.”
She stood quickly, stumbling backward over her own feet in her haste.
“At once she said.”
“Where is she?”
He could do nothing but let her leave. Asking her to stay would likely only
bring her more stress.
“The Lady Cassandra is in the chantry. At once, she said, At once.”
With that she practically ran out the door, leaving her package behind.
A quick search revealed nothing. The crate had some elfroot, and there was a
log, likely of himself as he slept, sitting on the desk, but the quarters were
otherwise vacant of anything particularly useful. Even the chest on the floor
was empty, though he suspected that it was there for his own belongings.
He followed the elven woman out the only door only to stop dead in his tracks.
There was a crowd gathered, and they were… saluting him. He’d seen that same
salute shared between the Templars. He clutched at the doorframe to the hut
he’d been sleeping in. That salute… it meant respect. Only respect. They were
showing him respect.
The words repeated in his mind as he walked in front of the masses on his way
to the chantry, yet again seeing that blasted sun burst symbol portrayed
everywhere he looked. He hands shook and so he gripped onto his clothes, just
as at the temple. He could do this.
Walking through the chantry doors, out of the sunlight, and away from the
masses, he took a deep breathe. It was then that he heard the arguments, loudly
flowing through the wood of the door at the far hall.
Damien didn’t need to listen in to know what the subject of the discussion was,
so he took a deep breath, and walked in.
“I want him chained and prepare for transport to Val Royeaux at once.”
“Ignore that, and leave us.”
“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”
Damien took a few steps forward as the two guards that had been posted vacated
their positions, closing the door behind them. There was a table in the center
of the room, and it appeared to have a map of Thedas stretched across it.
Damien spent his time studying the map, trying to find where Ostwick would be
while they argued. It was then that there was a loud bang, as a book was
dropped onto the table. Damien jumped, clenching to his clothes, though no one
seemed to notice. He attempted to calm his heart as he tuned back into the
conversation.
“You know what this is. A writ from the Divine, granting permission to
reinstate the Inquisition of old.”
The Chantry man was definitely not pleased at that development.
 
 
***** Waiting on the Hinterlands *****
Chapter Summary
     Learning of Mother Giselle, and then waiting on the scouts to report
     back, Damien is left to his own devices for about a week.
Chapter Notes
     Beta'd by the lovely solasshole on tumblr. >:3
“Well, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean
you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of
the Divine. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”
The dwarf was… interesting. He wasn’t here out of faith, nor was he being
forced to stay here. Now, he was… asking if Damien was alright?
“I-... I’m not even sure what’s happening anymore. I’m not even sure I knew
what was happening to begin with.”
“Well that makes two of us. Bad for morale would be an understatement. I still
can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”
“Honestly… I’m not sure even I believe it myself.”
“Well, you might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve
written enough tragedies to know where this is going. Heroes are great, I know
that first hand, but this whole in the sky? That’s beyond Heroes. We’re going
to need a miracle.”
Damien nodded, turning his gaze from the dwarf to survey the ‘hole’ in
question. When he turned around, the dwarf had sat down, preoccupying himself
with polishing Bianca. Damien took that to mean the conversation was over.
                             --------------------
“Does it trouble you?”
Damien had been looking at his hand, the jagged mark slicing down his palm, a
green glow pulsing subtly. He paused, thinking for a moment. It… wasn’t too
painful. It did ache, but he’d grown accustomed to it at this point. It was
just uncomfortable, but he suspected even that may fade.
“To be honest… I want it gone.”
“We have use of it, yet.”
Damien had to clench his jaw to keep himself from laughing. Of course, his
opinion didn’t really matter. He was just a tool. A mage. Now he was just a
more useful tool than he had been before. Cassandra was likely only asking so
as to gauge whether or not it might be affecting him negatively.
“Your mark is stable, as is the breach. Solas believes that if we have more
power we maybe able to close the Breach. The same level of power used to open
the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”
Damien could only assume this was leading into something.
“You have an idea, don’t you?”
“We do.”
She then continued walking, leaving Damien no choice but to follow.
                             --------------------
Introductions around the table. Josephine Montilyet, Commander Cullen, and the
hooded woman, Leliana. They were all impressive, each name accompanied by it’s
own string of titles, and Damien said as much.
Then they discussed the breach. Or rather, how to accomplish the task of
closing it. They could go to the mages, or to the Templars. Just the thought of
going to the Templars made Damien’s heart race, but at the same time, he knew
it was what was expected. Leliana believed the mages would help more. They
could certainly channel more power into the breach, but Cullen believed that to
be a dangerous option. Damien was saved from having to state his own opinion on
the matter when Josephine spoke up, stating in no uncertain terms that not only
would neither group acknowledge their presence, but that the Chantry had gone
so far as to denounce the Inquisition, or rather, Damien himself.
He wasn’t really surprised. He was a mage. Not even just a mage, but a mage
from Ostwick, in the free marches. He wasn’t from some Orlesian circle, where
the mages were actually treated like people. He was unimportant, more than
that, he was uncontrollable.
He was torn between fear that he was going to be banished from the side of the
maker, never to be happy, and elation that he might actually be free for good.
It was not a comfortable feeling.
Damien snapped out of his reprieve when he realized that Josephine expected him
to comment on the Chantry’s denouncement.
“Oh, yes… they… they still think I’m guilty.”
                               -----------------
The Herald of Andraste. Confound Leliana and Cassandra both. The last thing he
wanted was for people to associate him with the Maker, or his bride. He’d just
as soon swear fidelity to the old gods of Tevinter. Either way, it was done.
Already the term grated on his nerves. Every time someone saw him, it was ‘The
Herald’. Fuck their Herald.
It didn’t matter. Being known as the Herald was bad enough, but now this…
Chantry Mother… Giselle was her name. Now this Chantry Mother wanted to speak
with him. More of the Chantry. As if the Chant of Light hadn’t been shoved down
his throat enough as it was.
 
Cold stone pressed against his cheek, rope biting into his wrists.
‘Come on mage, repeat the Chant. You don’t want to open yourself to possession
do you?’
Another thrust. Bright, stabbing pain. His vision clouded with spots and tears.
‘N-no, Ser. Please, I w-was j-jus-’
‘That doesn’t sound like the Chant, mage.’
‘S-sing only the c-chant...’
‘Good boy…’
 
“Damien? Damien are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Damien shook his head, blinking back tears that threatened to spill as he
reminded himself to breathe. Just breathe. Deep breathes.
“Yes, sorry, shiver ran up my spine. That’s all. Why would this Chantry Mother
help us? I’m a declared heretic.”
“I understand she’s a reasonable sort. Perhaps she doesn’t agree with her
sisters.”
Damien nodded and more options were discussed, Cassandra stating that she
didn’t want to leave everything to ‘The Herald’. Damn. Even she was using the
term.
They sent scouts to the Hinterlands, now all that was left was to wait.
                             ---------------------
A week since the scouts had been sent to look for Mother Giselle. A very long
week, trying to survive Haven alone.
Damien had been advised to explore Haven, talk to the blacksmith, the
quartermaster, and the apothecary. Thankfully this had consumed a bit of his
time, even more so when the apothecary asked him to find his predecessor's
notes. Two full days actually, though it likely would have taken less if he
hadn’t spent more time finding odd paths to avoid anyone wearing chantry robes.
Damien hadn’t started out avoiding them, just ignoring them. When he passed by
first one group, then three more, each reciting different parts of the chant,
and quite loudly, he decided it might be best to just avoid the devote
altogether.
So far that plan had worked out. They didn’t hound his cabin, that was a gift
at least. Actually he was pretty much left alone. It was a bit disconcerting to
have people stop talking as we walked past, but at then he didn’t have to hear
about the Maker.
Meals were usually delivered to his cabin, though twice during the week Varric
had sent the elf empty-handed with instead an invitation to join him at the
fire. Damien had had little choice but to oblige, though the dwarf was the only
one at Haven that seemed to genuinely care. Damien still hadn’t decided if this
was honest consideration, or just a ploy to gain his trust.
Damien much preferred taking walks outside Haven. The cold biting at his cheeks
and nose, reminding him that he was out in the elements. The open silence that
only the snow and wind could bring leaving him to the peace of his thoughts.
Ironically, that was how he’d found the notes for the Apothecary, but no
matter.
After a week and a day had passed, the elf came and found him on one of his
walks outside Haven,
“My Lord! The Lady Leliana requests you to the Chantry at once! She says
there’s news.”
Damien nodded, allowing the elf to go back inside the small village, with her
preferred haste while he took his time entering back in the wooden walls.
                              -------------------
“We avoided the fighting as best we could-- It’s every bit as bad as we’d
feared. The apostates are mad, attacking anything that moves, and it appears
that the templars here aren’t following anyone’s orders any longer. We located
Mother Giselle and are trying to protect her, but she refuses to leave the
refugees until we’ve ensured their safety. That will be hard to do without
troops to push the apostates and the templars out of the area.
Commander Cullen asked me to make inquiries of Master Dennet a retired
Horsemaster of Redcliffe, who lives in the area. We tried to contact him about
obtaining better horse for the inquisition, but we’ve been unable to get
through the fighting.
-Lead Scout Harding”
 
The words of Scout Harding’s message still echoed in Damien’s ears the whole
week and a half trip to the Hinterlands. The roads were muddy and wet, and the
horses they had were burdened with supplies, both for camping as well as for
the refugees. An act of good will, Josephine said.
Finally they managed to rendezvous with Harding. Of course her first words were
“The Herald of Andraste”. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck. Something
about mages making people uneasy.
“... but you’ll get no back talk here.”
He assumed she meant at camp, because she certainly couldn’t speak for the
refugees or any of their number. Damien skipped idly pleasantries, straight
into asking about the area. He didn’t want to have to talk to this dwarven
scout more than needed. Basic directions toward where Mother Giselle was
supposed to be, and they were off. The dwarf had mentioned that they might have
to deal with fighting from both sides of the war on their way there, but Damien
was more stressed about talking to this Mother than anything else.
***** Hell in the Hinterlands *****
Chapter Summary
     Damien and friends do a lot of quests.... a lot of them. Like oh my
     god dude, move on, it's a big fucking world.
Chapter Notes
     Alrighty. I'm gonna add in an extra Trigger Warning for this chapter.
     There is a very graphic rape flashback toward the end of the chapter.
     I mean, it's graphic for me. Maybe some of you will find it tame. But
     I digress.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Knawing. Aching. Emptiness.
Starving.
‘Get up, mage. I have something for you to… clean.’
Hunger. Aching. Roll over. Too late. A kick. More pain.
‘I said get up.’
‘Ser Knowlen, he doesn’t look well...’
‘Do I look like I care? He should be able to stand at least.’
More pain. Ribs on fire. Stuggle.
‘See, he can move.’
Hands and knees. Just knees. A knee and a foot. Hands braced on a wall.
Why is it dark?
A flash. Light. Blindfolded. Too dark. Blindfold removed. Too bright.
‘Hah, look at him squint. No, put your knee back down. You only need to be on
your knees for this.’
Laughter. Not loud. Not drunk.
‘When did we last feed him, Lopper?’
‘Eh… 5 days ago, Ser Knowlen?’
‘Very good. I bet you’re hungry, mage. Open your mouth.’
Something soft yet hard. Salty. Tears.
Mouth open.
Full.
Choking.
Can’t breath.
Choking.
 
“Damien… Damien it’s over…”
A hand on his shoulder. A soft voice. Solas. It was Solas. He was on the
ground, next to a rock. He must’ve… he must’ve leaned on it for support… only
to slide down it.
“Damien… are you injured?”
Cassandra this time. Yes. Yes, injured.
“Y-yes, I must’ve just been knocked on the head. Blacked out for a bit. Sorry
to worry you.”
Cassandra looked relieved. Solas furrowed his brow, but stood up straight,
offering a hand. Varric was frowning. Varric knew. No. No he couldn’t know. No
one could know. He was fine.
Templars. He’d forgotten that the war was being fought between mages and
Templars. Of course. He’d only but seen them fighting. Seen the uniform. The
sword across their breastplates. The shields in their hands.
He couldn’t side with the Templars. He didn’t know what he would do if he had
to.
                             --------------------
“Don’t let them touch me Mother, their magic is-”
“Turned to noble purpose. Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.
Lay back and allow them to ease your suffering.”
Damien stepped forward as the soldier rested back.
“Mother Giselle?”
She stood, turning to acknowledge him.
“I am. And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”
Damien cringed, clenching his jaw. He took a moment to debate arguing with her,
but decided against it. She hadn’t said,’You must be the Herald of Andraste.’
She’d said,’They’re calling the Herald of Andraste.’ He wasn’t sure whether to
be glad that she made the distinction, or insulted. Perhaps she didn’t think a
mage could be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride. Damien decided it was best to
just avoid whether or not he was or wasn’t the ‘Herald’.
“Is that why you asked for me? Because I’m being revered? I can assure you I’ve
done nothing to perpetuate this rumor.”
“I’m aware. Some worship you, some fear you. So many good people, senselessly
taken from us…”
“You’re aware I’m declared a heretic by the very Chantry you serve?”
“With no divine, we are each left to our own conscience, and mine speaks to me
of your innocence. Most of the clerics have heard only frightening tales of
you. Go to them. Give them something else to believe.”
“It’s a bit hard to talk to someone who seeks my head on a spike.”
“They don’t have the authority to imprison nor execute you.”
“They can still try.”
“Let me put it this way. You don’t need them to take your side. You simply need
some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them,
and you receive the time you need.”
Damien’s expression must have shown his skeptism because she continued.
“I do not know whether you have truly been marked by Andraste, but I hope.
Right now, hope is all we have. I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana
with a list of names of those Clerics who might be amiable to a meeting. It is
not much but I will do what I can.”
She nodded a farewell before descending the steps to her left, down into a
slightly lower portion of the small crossroads village, off to help more
wounded refugees, most likely.
She still made him uncomfortable, but her advice was good, and that was all
Damien needed to worry about.
                             --------------------
It had been 3 weeks. The first week had been spent more or less how you’d
imagine, exploring the Hinterlands, breaking up fights, finding Master Dennet
and learning what he’d want in exchange for his horses.
The second week had been a bit busier, more stressful. Finding supply caches,
hunting for ram, delivering medicine, those were the easy tasks that they
managed to do en route to more important business. Closing rifts, killing
bandits and mercenaries, they even managed to find the Apostate’s base and sort
out the root of that problem. They also received information on where the
Templar base was, though they hadn’t followed up on it.
Actually, they hadn’t even gone near where the rumors indicated. They were half
way into the third week before Varric pulled Damien aside as they trekked along
on their way to gather supplies for a fairly unimportant requisition.
Varric barely brushed his shoulder, but still Damien flinched. Withdrawing his
hand, Varric looked him over before inhaling,
“C’mon, walk with me at the back of the horse for a bit?”
“You mean where all the shit is?”
Damien was already slowing his pace, handing the reins of the Ferelden Forder
over to Cassandra.
“Exactly, I thought you’d feel more at home back there.”
“Oh, funny, Varric.”
“Really though.”
Varric lowered his voice as they drew a bit farther from Solas and Cassandra,
obviously wanting to keep this conversation discreet.
“Look, Varric, I’m sorry I didn’t let you kill that nug for din-”
“Really, you think that’s what this is about?”
“... not really.”
“Well, at least you’re not as oblivious as Blondie. Maybe you and Blondie would
have more in common if Blondie was… just Blondie. Anyway, sorry, I’m probably
confusing you. What I’m trying to say, I’ve noticed you avoiding the Templars.
Hell, you don’t even like to fight them, which is honestly a surprise to me,
all things considered. It’s obvious you’ve got some baggage, but sometimes you
need to confront it. It’s not healthy, avoiding this.”
“Varric, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Damien was looking ahead, where they were headed.
“I had planned to go after the Templars last, saving it, you know? Don’t worry
about me, friend.”
Varric nodded, but his expression showed that he didn’t believe a word.
“Right, well I’ll tell Cass that we’ll go there after this requisition run,
sound like a plan?”
“Whatever you like, Varric.”
                             ---------------------
Damien wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been
this. The Apostates had at least gotten themselves a nice large cave. The
Templars had a small camp. It would be fine, he kept telling himself.
They were hidden behind a hill, looking around the base at the entrance to the
camp. Damien would just as soon get this over with, but both Solas and
Cassandra had agreed that they should pause look over the enemy.
They needn’t have bothered. The Templars were no more prepared than anyone else
they’d faced. They were unsuspecting. Cassandra looked to Damien, who nodded
and stepped out from around the hill, quickly followed by his companions as
they ran right up to the gates of the camp, firing off arrows, fire bolts, and
ice shards as they went.
Varric, Solas, and Damien all slowed down as Cassandra ran up to the front,
taking the Templars on head on and proving as a distraction, allowed the three
ranged fighters to fire from a distance. Within half an hour, the camp was
clear.
Damien and Cass were just heading back out to the front of the camp, having
gone to the far back for loot and to check for any stragglers. As they called
out ‘All Clear!’s, they walked out of the last segment of the camp, past the
second and on their way to the first when a Templar who had been hiding jumped
out, tackling Damien to the beaten ground.
“Apostate!”
 
‘You don’t want to be an Apostate, do you? You know what happens to Apostates.’
He was pinned, Ser Knowlen’s knees pressing firmly against the backs of his
thighs. His arms were held firm behind his back, Knowlen’s left hand wrapped
firmly around his wrists, his right hand gripped tight in curled locks. He
tried to beg, to cough out an apology. He couldn’t.
Ser Knowlen shifted, his feet resting between Damien’s knees as he applied
force, pushing his legs apart. A swift tug and Damien’s back arched, his ass
bared. His robes were gather about his waist, lifted up as his flaccid dick
hung down.
Ser Knowlen released his hair, using his now free right hand to pull at the
strings holding up his pants. The loose cotton garment that was usually worn
under the templar armor giving way easily to it’s owner’s ministrations.
‘Seek forgiveness from the Maker, mage.’
Damien’s heart pounded as he felt the fleshy shaft press between his ass
cheeks, the tip brushing against his sole opening. He could remain silent, risk
angering Ser Knowlen, or he could beg forgiveness, and still risk angering him.
‘I-I humbly beg the M-Maker for his forgiveness.’
‘And you shall have it, pet.’
Ser Knowlen’s right hand gripped his member, aiming it, then pressing it into
Damien. Once positioned, he lifted that same hand, brushing along the right
side of Damien’s neck almost lovingly before thrusting into him.
Damien cried out, rocking forward, his check grating against the rough stone
floor only to have Ser Knowlen tug his wrists back.
‘Relax, mage. You know you enjoy this.’
At that moment, Knowlen released his wrists, instead wrapping his left hand
around Damien’s throat, leaning forward, his chest flush to Damien’s back. He
moved his right hand to Damien’s cock, stroking it softly as he embedded
himself to the hilt in the mage’s ass.
‘I want to feel you ass clench when you cum.’
Damien let out a soft whimper as his cock stiffened against his will, his
fingers pressing into the grey floor, gripping along the edge of one of the
stones.
 
“What happened Seeker?”
“The Templar attacked, tackled him. He didn’t even fight back, just… did that.
I pulled the Templar off him, but he hasn’t moved.”
“Seeker, will you get Solas?”
“He wasn’t wounded, Varric.”
“That’s… not wh-”
“I’m fine, Varric.”
He was laying on the ground, on his back. He rolled over, onto his stomach,
pushing himself up. His cheeks were wet. His hands shook as he picked up his
staff, notching it into place along the harness between his shoulder blades.
“Heral-”
“I am not your fucking Herald, Cassandra.”
“... Alright… Damien. I am sorry to have angered you.”
“N-No… no, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m
sorry. I just. I need a bit of time to breathe. That’s all. Just. I’ll meet you
back at camp. I’m sorry.”
He walked off, out of the camp, avoiding stepping in piles of blood where he
could avoid it. Blood. Don’t think about it. Keep walking. He did. They didn’t
follow him.
                              -------------------
The sky was orange when he finally walked into the camp by Lake Luthias. He’d
washed hours ago, scrubbing the blood from his skin in one of the lake’s many
tributaries. His clothes too, had been washed of blood. He’d let them dry along
the rocks by the stream, sitting with his feet in the water wearing his small
clothes.
He was back now, dressed, no worse for wear. He’d taken time. He’d planned what
to say. Solas saw him first, the elf’s mouth pressed into a line as he nodded a
greeting. Damien returned the gesture as Varric noticed his presence also,
tapping Cassandra’s hip to get and direct her attention.
“Thank you.. for leaving me be.”
“Oh, we didn’t. We took turns watching you from a distance, keeping you from
being attacked. Felt you needed the peace.”
He wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t quite happy about that either. He also
wasn’t surprised that Varric seemed to have been elected spokesman.
“You… didn’t have to do that.”
It was Cass who spoke next, her accent thick, her voice softer than it usually
was.
“Yes, we did H- Damien. I apologise, I have neglected to recognise that you
feel the stress of the Breach the same as the rest of us. Even more so.”
He had nothing to say to that. It was… honestly it was the excuse he’d been
planning on using. Nothing but stress. He glanced to Varric, but the dwarf’s
face was unreadable. Solas also held a mask of indifference. Only Cassandra
seemed to show concern among her features. She had sucked in on her cheeks
gently, accentuating her already prominent cheek bones, her brows raised
slightly in concern. Whether that concern was genuine or not, Damien didn’t
know, but at the moment, he was simply relieved that he wouldn’t have to
convince them of his excuse.
“Thank you… I-... Thank you.”
He turned from them, climbing into his tent before tying the flaps to the door
tightly shut, laying down on his bedroll, staring at the canvas wall.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     I'm not gonna tell you how nervous I was to post this, just know that
     I've never shared any smut that I've written aside from RPs like 5
     years ago. (now I feel old) So just. Know that your comments fuel me,
     and I adore reading them all, even if I don't reply back.
***** Companion Royeaux *****
Chapter Summary
     Almost all of the companions + Val Royeaux, smashed into one chapter.
Val Royeaux was a bright city. Colorful banners adorning towering archways.
Buildings made of white marble that glistened in the sunlight as if there were
diamonds encrusted in the mortar.
Within moments of crossing the bridge into the market district, one of
Leliana’s scouts walked up to the group, warning them of the Templar presence.
Damien could practically feel Varric’s eyes on the back of his neck as he
thanked the woman before continuing along with the same firm walk as before.
So, not only was he going to have to face Cantry Clerics, but now the Templars
as well? That was fine, he could do this. He could do this.
Walking into the plaza, Damien felt his jaw drop. Banners crossed overhead, the
light filtering through to leave colorful pattern on the stone walk ways.
Plants were everywhere, tastefully placed alongside golden statues. The walls
inside the plaza were painted a vibrant blue, with red, gold, and white acting
as accents. There were windows everywhere, and balconies with fencing. It was
beautiful.
In the center of it all was a lovely short tower, where the billowing red
fabric was attached. Surrounding this tower was more plant life, and a small
moat, easily stepped over. Even still, minute arched bridges were place over it
at intervals.
The entire plaza was designed to show wealth. Damien was more than a little
intimidated by it. He paused a moment to absorb in the richness of the scene
before shaking his head and forcing himself to walk around the tower.
On the other side, a small platform had been erected, a Mother standing on top
of it, her Orlesian accent permeating the air.
The mother made a spectacle of herself, which Damien didn’t mind. Toward the
end though, he felt his anger flare.
“We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no mage in our hour of
need!”
Of course, it all came back down to the fact that he was a mage. Damien
clenched his fists, his jaw mirroring the mannerism before he felt himself
speaking without thinking about it himself.
“I’m not sent by your beloved maker, nor have I ever claimed to be. I’m only
trying to save your pathetic lives, though perhaps I shouldn’t even bother
doing that. All I’ve been trying to do is get help for closing the breach.”
At this, Cassandra piped in,
“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness.”
What happened next will forever be burned into Damien’s memory. The mother
directed a hand to her left,
“It is already too late.”
And then there were Templars. Damien paled as he was able to pick out two
familiar faces. His brother, and their cousin. He was torn between being
pleased that they were alive, and wanting to run, and far.
He didn’t have the chance to do either as his cousin walked up to the chantry
cleric, punching her hard enough to send her to the ground.
Damien found himself at a loss for words. He was surprised he recognized them,
having been only 4 last he saw them. They hadn’t been at his circle. Even
still, he had to question how many mages his own brother had raped. Choosing to
ignore them, his hands clenching tightly to the cloth at his thighs, he chose
his next words carefully.
He knew what was expected. His only option was to lie through his teeth, feign
shock. Pretend he was devout. It would win him friends, and his brother would
send word to his parents about it, if his brother even cared.
“What’s the meaning of this? How dare you touch a servant of the Divine?”
“Her claim to authority is an insult, as is your own.”
He went onto say that their movement was heretical, and that they were too late
to appeal to the Chantry. ‘The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.’
He said.
“So then what are you doing here?”
“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh.”
At this, everything became a bit of a blur, Damien leaning against his staff.
He remembered saying something about the Templars not being their only hope
before Varric gripped his arm.
“Seeker, I think we should stay in Val Royeaux a bit. Gather some more
information. You know how I do love to talk.”
“Very well, Varric. I’ll send word to Leliana about what has happened. She’ll
have an idea of what to do. In the meantime, I hope you can find a suitable
Inn?”
At this, Varric grinned.
“I know just the place.”
                             --------------------
Before they had left, an arrow landed directly in front of them. Something
about a Red Jenny. They pocketed the message, continuing onto the Inn that
Varric knew before they were stopped yet again, this time by a circle mage with
a message. An invitation to a Salon? This was… certainly becoming weirder and
weirder the more time they spent in the Capital. Before they could even leave
the main marketplace, they were approached a third time, this time by Grand
Enchanter Fiona, with a proposition to side with the mages. Damien wasn’t sure
if he should be glad or not, but either way, he’d gotten the message and agreed
to think over her proposal.
                             --------------------
It wasn’t an Inn. It was a Brothel. Cassandra nearly punched Varric.
“Seeker, Seeker, think about it first. Not only would no one look for us here,
but it’s also got the most comfortable beds you’ll sleep on for a while. The
walls are all well insulated to block out sound. Really, I do some of my best
writing in places like this.”
Cassandra still looked ready to toss Varric out into the street for a duel,
fist to face style, but she only grunted in disgust. Varric grinned and walked
up to the counter, renting a room with the accommodations they would require.
                             --------------------
Val Royeaux was a trip, if by trip you meant the most tedious pile of shit. It
took them an entire day to find the ‘red things’ which were just red
handkerchiefs wrapped around little notes. Then they had to figure out what
they all meant, and that took 2 hours. By the time they finally arrived at the
location the strips of paper told them to be at, it was dark, the sun just
barely having set.
Of course it was only natural that once they arrived, there were thugs of some
kind who attacked. This led to a secondary courtyard where a pompous noble of
some sort seemed to think himself the center of the planet, only to have an odd
blond elf shoot an arrow through his face.
                             --------------------
Damien swore, if Damien had to hear anything about breeches again, the person
responsible was going to die.
As it stood, however, Sera, the elf with the arrows, was an interesting ally.
She wanted to join the Inquisition, and really, Damien wasn’t in much of a
position to say no. You can’t go picking and choosing when there’s a giant hole
hovering over your bed while you sleep.
She said she’d be at Haven, and then she was gone just as quickly she’d
appeared, and Damien had a lot of breeches to sell.
                             --------------------
The good thing about the Salon was that it was at night, and that they were
able to go to it directly after the Red Jenny Incident, which was agreed to not
be mentioned in polite company.
Madame de Fer was a lovely woman, rather short, but what she lacked in height
she most certainly gained in beauty. Well, what he could see under her mask
that is. Large lips, prominent cheekbones, even complexion. He was almost
surprised she was a mage. Most mages that he’d seen lacked in the looks, as a
result of the years of abuse they endured.
He looked forward to getting to know the woman better. She was not afraid to
use her magic publically. Even still, Damien gave her the choice to do with the
Marquis what she would.
The two of them walked, speaking. She was the First Enchanter from her circle,
and Enchanter to the Imperial court. Then she told him about the ‘Last Loyal
Mages of Thedas’.
At best he found her distasteful. She was a skilled mage, that he couldn’t
deny. Even so it was with great difficulty that he agreed to let her join the
Inquisition. She could help the cause, and he could simply avoid her.
                             --------------------
With their business in Val Royeaux finally come to a close, Damien and his
party went back to Haven.
Back at the Chantry, Cassandra and Damien found Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine,
all waiting for them.
“Spies?”
It was barely a question from Damien. They hadn’t sent news that they were
leaving the city, so it had to have been Leliana’s agents who told her of their
departure. Leliana’s only response was to nod before they dove into a
discussion about mages and Templars.
Damien was quite done hearing about this whole war. Really, Damien was just
tired. So much to do, so little time and what not. He was going to have to make
a choice, and it wasn’t an easy one.
They agreed they would need to wait longer before approaching either party, and
they all went their separate ways. Before she left however, Leliana approached
Damien.
The Grey Wardens have seemingly vanished, and she wanted him to go out to Lake
Luthias and see if he could find a warden by the name of Blackwall. It was a
simple enough task, and he agreed to look into the matter.
                             --------------------
Damien decided to take Sera with him on the excursion. Him, Sera, Solas, and
Cassandra. All to speak to one Grey Warden.
Before they were able to even talk to him though, they were fighting bandits
that appeared seemingly out of no where. He’d apparently conscripted these
farmers for the sole purpose of forcing them to fight those who stole from
them. It was an interesting idea, and it definitely worked.
They were just leaving when Blackwall stopped him. He wanted to help put things
right. He seemed nice enough, helped out farmers, might as well recruit him.
***** The Iron Bull *****
Chapter Summary
     Okay, this is it, Iron Bull. Yes, I know, you're all excited, so am
     I. On we go!!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Excuse me, I’ve got a message for the inquisition, but I’m having a hard time
getting anyone to talk to me.”
Damien had been walking along the path, on his way to talk to Solas, actually.
He’d found the elf could often be good company, and his stories of the fade had
a way of soothing Damien. It helped to forget his troubles sometimes and think
of something else.
“Who are you, Soldier?”
“Cremiscius Aclassi, of Bull’s Chargers. We mostly operate out of Orlais and
Nevarra. We got word of some Tevinter magisters out on the Storm Coast, and my
commander Iron Bull is offering this information free of charge.”
“Your commander is…?”
“Iron Bull? He’s one of those Qunari…”
A Qunari? That was… interesting. Perhaps this was looking into. At the very
least, they’d have more men. The Inquisition could always use more men. This…
Cremiscius was very insistent that this mercenary group was the best, but of
course, who wouldn’t say that about themselves?
                             --------------------
Before he could get into the meeting room to talk about sending scouts to the
Storm Coast, he heard Josephine, from her office.
“Lord Trevelyan, if you have a moment?”
Damien turned, walking into her office, stopping at her desk.
“You wanted something, Josephine?”
“I’d like to discuss your parents.”
Damien cringed,
“What would you want to know?”
“Should we approach your family for their formal support of the Inquisition?”
Damien sighed, glancing to the floor,
“They… are very religious. I have a dozen cousins in the Chantry. They… they
might want to support the Inquisition.”
Josephine nodded,
“I’ll take that as a yes then.”
She then asked if the accommodations were too rustic for his taste, what with
his noble birth and what not. He had to keep himself from laughing out loud
before telling her he was quite comfortable.
                             --------------------
It was raining. A lot. From the name, Damien could gather that it was always
raining, but just the same, it was very wet. His clothing was slick with the
moisture, his hair glued to his forehead.
Of course, as soon as they got there, they received news that some of their
soldiers had gone missing. As much as Damien was curious about a Qunari, he
would prioritize missing soldiers first.
Of course, the soldiers were dead. Killed by the bandits. Damien actually found
the location of the bandit camp, as well as a way to challenge their leader, in
the same building that his soldiers died in. He didn’t plan on bargaining with
bandits.
                             --------------------
By the time they finally found Bull’s Chargers, the mercenary company was
already heavily in battle with a group of what looking like Tevinters. So much
for information. Damien had no qualms killing slavers. They were just a step
below Templars in his opinion. Damien couldn’t help but stare at the Qunari
though. He was… well, huge. He had incredible horns, grey skin, everything he’d
read about. It was like looking at a mythical creature. Damien snapped out of
it at Cassandra’s voice.
“Are we going to help them?”
“Right, yes, of course."
And into the fray they dove.
                             --------------------
The Iron Bull was a tough man. He liked his booz strong and his opponents
stronger. Krem had reported back that he’d been able to speak to someone, but
he hadn’t been able to give any details on specifically who. With a few
questions, Iron Bull deduced it was the Herald himself.
He wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that someone that important answered a
simple messenger, but one thing was for sure, he felt a small amount of respect
over such a simple action. That respect only grew when that self-same Herald
didn’t seem to hesitate to jump into the fray with his own boys, cutting down
on the time it’d take to beat the ‘Vints.
Wiping his forehead of sweat, leaving a smear of blood in it’s wake, Iron Bull
turned to look at the Herald, who was now approaching. He was a mage, but oddly
enough he didn’t stay back, using his magic to stay out of the fray. He leapt
right in, getting blood on himself just as much as anyone else.
Iron Bull noticed that the end of his staff had what looked to be a nasty
spike, double sided in a ‘T’ shape. Noting the metal tip to the stave, he had
to conclude that the Herald likely didn’t need just his magic to be deadly.
“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a
seat. Drinks are coming.”
Iron Bull liked to hide certain aspects of his information. It’s easier to get
information sometimes when they think you don’t know who they are. So it was
‘with’ the Inquisition. The Herald complimented the fight, then mentioned that
they were looking for work. Before they could talk much more, Krem came over.
Throat cutters done already. Had him tell them to check again, just in case.
“So… You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but worth it. I’m sure the
Inquisition can afford us.”
“How much is this going to cost me exactly?”
“Oh, you won’t pay anything directly. Your Ambassador...what’s her name…
Josephine? She’ll set it up. All that matters is, we’re worth it.”
Iron Bull was a smart man. He’d seen the Herald’s face as they’d descended the
hill. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when the Herald said they seemed
like a good company. Now came the ticket though. A circle mage, cooped up his
whole life, never leaving a tower? He’d probably never seen a Qunari, and
barely even knew anything about them. Iron Bull knew he was an oddity, and he’d
play that up.
“Oh, you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. Tevinters, Magisters,
Slavers, Bears, Dragons, The bigger the better.”
Now came the kicker.
“One more thing. Might piss you off, might not. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”
It wasn’t a question that really needed answering, but still came the reply.
“No.”
“It’s a Qunari order, they handle information. Security, order, Spies
basically. Or well, we’re spies. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition,
gather information. I also get reports though. You sign me on, I’ll share them
with you.”
“You’re a Qunari spy… and you just… told me?”
“Whatever happened at the Conclave is bad, and that breach, that’s worse.”
“You still could have hidden what you are.”
“From something called the Inquisition? I’ve have been tipped sooner or later.
Better you hear it right upfront, from me.”
Iron Bull watched as the Herald thought. It was an interesting sight, his jaw
clenching and unclenching as he glanced down to the pebbles that were the
beaches of the Storm Coast.
“You run your reports through Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she
doesn’t approve. If you send anything that puts the Inquisition in danger,
Cassandra will eat you alive.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Krem! Pack up, the Chargers just got hired.”
Krem rolled his eyes,
“But what about the Casks, chief, we just opened them up, with axes.”
“Find some way to seal them, you’re Tevinter, right? Use blood magic.”
At this, Krem turned to an elven woman who was standing a little off to his
left, and behind him. She appeared Dalish, with the tattoos over her face. At
his look, she shrugged and pulled a dagger out of her waistband, making as if
to draw it along her hand.
“Yeah yeah, you’re both hilarious.”
He walked past them as they laughed and the elf tucked the knife back into her
waistband.
                             --------------------
Damien was impressed. The Qunari was… not what he’d expected, but still
impressive, that was for sure. He had read a few things about the Qun, though
it was all negative, since the Chantry had to approve it. He wanted to learn
more, but he waited.
Damien would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t intimidated by the Qunari.
So instead he spoke with the other newcomers, deciding to see how they were
taking to Haven. He decided to start with Vivienne, since he was sure Sera
would be able to distract him from her.
She was in the Chantry, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. She opened
their conversation immediately with talk of the Circle.
“You were from the circle at Ostwick were you not? Senior Enchanter Lydia was a
dear friend of mine. Were you at all acquainted?”
Yes. He’d known her well. She worked very hard to protect the girls from the
Templars. Of course, that same protection didn’t extend to the males under her
care. Aparently boys should be able to defend themselves, whereas women were
favored in the eyes of the Maker. It was just the sort of drabble that came
from the woman-run chantry.
“I… saw her around the tower, but we never really talked.”
“What a pity, she was a great teacher. I heard she was killed by one of her own
students when the Ostwick circle rebelled. I think we both agree that this war
needs to end.”
That was a lie. Damien had watched her die at the hands of a Templar for using
magic to put a lock on the girls’ dormitory. It had been just after the good
Templars all left on Chantry orders, and only the bad ones were left. Just
before Damien hid. He ground his teeth together, he could do this.
“Mages deserve to be just as free as anyone else.”
“I’m sure it makes the common people feel better to know that their health is
secondary to our freedom.”
Damien hands went to his thighs, gripping the fabric there as he worked to
steady his breathing. She went onto blander about the inquisition deciding the
fates of innocent people. Damien could barely choke out in an even tone that
he’d do his best. At her final ‘My Dear’, he spun on his heel, walking straight
to the tavern. He’d need a little liquid courage before doing anything else.
                             --------------------
“So this is it, huh? I thought it’d be bigger.”
“That’s what she said…”
Damien muttered under his breath over his drink. Sera had sat down across from
him, as he was trying to forget speaking with Vivienne. Honestly, Sera was a
smart girl. She saw things like they were. Damien liked that. She stood up for
little people. He was sure if she knew what Circles were like, she’d be just as
angry as the rest of the mages. She didn’t know what it was like though, and
Damien certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Not unless he had to,
and if Vivienne started talking to her, he very well might have to.
                             --------------------
“Maker look at it. So much easier to ignore when it’s far away. And to actually
walk out of it. To be that close.”
Honestly, Damien had only stopped by the Smithy to ask about having the blade
on his stave sharpened, but seeing the Warden gazing up at the breach had
peaked his interest and he’d walked up behind the other man. He supposed that
he’d been audible, as the warden had started talking, and then turned around.
“I was lucky, I have no delusions about that.”
“The Breach, the Divine’s death, the Wardens… it doesn’t make sense. There’s so
much we don’t know.”
“Just follow my lead, and we should be fine.”
“How do you think you fit in with all this?”
At that, Damien paused. What did he want? How did he fit in. Some worshipped
him, and that didn’t sit right. He’d had Templars who enjoyed that thing, but
it just made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want things to go back to the way
they were, that was certain. He gave the Warden the most truthful answer he
could.
“I’m honestly not sure. I’m just as along for the ride as anyone else. This is
all so strange, I’m just trying to keep up.”
“I guess we’ll have to figure it out then. For me, I’ll be satisfied so long as
we find the bastards that killed the Divine. They owe us some answers.”
At that, he turned back to stare at breach. Damien stood with him for a moment
in silence. The hole really was a beautiful and intimidating thing. After a
minute or two of not speaking, Damien turned to talk to the Smith about
sharpening the blades on his stave.
                             --------------------
Finally, he couldn’t avoid it anymore. As excited as it was, and as
intimidating, he approached Iron Bull.
He looked larger when he wasn’t fighting. His legs were together and straight,
whereas a fighting stance had him bending his body to allow him to move easily.
He had to have been almost 6 feet tall.
“They’ve got good form. Cullen’s putting his templar training to good use.”
Iron Bull saved him from having to start the conversation. Did he see how
nervous he was? No. No he couldn’t. Damien wore a mask of impassiveness.
“You know he’s a Templar? He’s not wearing the armor.”
“He doesn’t have to. Might not be a templar shield, but it’s a templar holding
it. Angle the shield down slightly to project fire and acid away from the face.
Qunari learn the same thing when we train to fight Tevinter mages. Your
templar’s doing good work.”
“I’m impressed by what Cullen’s accomplished.”
“Damn right. He’d even got their loyalty. Now he just need to teach them how to
make a decent shield wall. Your army isn’t your problem. Your problem comes
from the top. You’ve got no leader. No Inquisitor.”
Damien paused for a moment. Sure, no one had come out as the leader. But they
had a sort of counsel. The only real driving force they had was Cassandra.
She’d started this, with Leliana’s help. She went out and fought in the
battles, same as anyone else. She was even faithful to the Maker.
“Cassandra has been the one pushing the Inquisition into being something more
from the very beginning. She’s the closest thing to a leader we’ve got.”
“Cassandra’s a seeker, from what I gather that’s a lot like a Ben-Hassrath. My
people don’t pick leaders from the strongest, or smartest, or even the oldest.
We pick based on those who’re willing to make the tough decisions, and live
with the consequences.”
Talking to Iron Bull was almost therapeutic in the way that Solas was. Not in
stories of the fade, but rather in a non-threatening way. For once, talking to
someone, he didn’t have to feel like he had to lie or pretend. He also thought
learning about the Qunari was fascinating. He’d have to come back and talk to
the Iron Bull again.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     LEMME JUST SAY. <3 Iron Bull. I, personally, really do find talking
     to him and Solas soothing. Solas for his stories, and Iron Bull for
     his aura. He just doesn't come across as judgmental, whereas all your
     other companions do. Blackwall is judgmental, but I think it needs
     said that he judges you more for lying, at least that's how I've
     always felt (OH THE IRONY). So... I'm trying probably too hard, to no
     butcher characters, including my own. I always love constructive
     criticism. I did decide to try something new, and that was writing a
     bit from Bull's POV. Please lemme know if you guys want more or less
     of that.
     You all fuel me to keep writing. xoxo
***** What If? *****
Chapter Summary
     This was a difficult chapter to write, and I'm terribly sorry for how
     short this is, but the hurdle is done, and the rest should be easier.
Chapter Notes
     I'm warning you now. This was the best I could do at attempting to
     put into proper wording Damien's internalized hatred. It was
     difficult to write for several reasons, first of all, because I was
     trying to express a situation that I have been in, and second of all,
     because I was trying very hard to make this believable. Please, I
     adore feedback, and I get nervous about my OCs seeming to become Mary
     Sues. So, feedback is my life.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
So they were going to let him pick. Mages, or Templars. When they’d first
directed the question at him, he must’ve worn a face of obvious shock and
confusion, because Leliana quickly suggested that he would need time to think
on the matter. Yes, think.
He retired to his abode. He still couldn’t come to call the small hut his home.
It’d been 3 months now since he’d woken up to an elf-girl and her crate, but
even still, it wasn’t home. No where was home. He’d had a home, once, then he
had magic, and he lost his home.
Templars, or mages.
He had to make a decision.
                             --------------------
“You want to side with the Templars?”
Leliana couldn’t help but stare at the Herald in shock. She knew about his
past. She very might have been the only one who knew the finer details. She’d
wager she might’ve even known more than him, such as the fact that his main
abuser was actually an Uncle that the family didn’t like to talk about. His
mother’s brother. Different names. The man was dead now, another casualty of
the war, but the Herald didn’t know that.
“Herald, Damien, Why?”
Of course, Cullen had been surprised, but it was a pleasant surprise. Cassandra
too had been pleased. Josephine was fairly neutral. It was an uphill battle,
but Leliana felt as if she was the only one who detested the Templars. Even
with his history, how could the Herald choose to side with them?
He paused, seeming to be thinking of what he was going to say next. She waited,
as the did the other advisors.
“The Templars… are… I feel it’s what would be best, Leliana.”
She furrowed her brow, but simply nodded.
                             --------------------
How do you even begin to explain to someone the reason you’d side with those
who should be your enemy? Damien was a mage. All he knew was the circle.
 
He was crying into his pillow.
Tears from himself.
Tears that weren’t caused by the Templars.
Tears caused by the chant.
The Maker… why would the Maker place this burden upon him?
Tranquility would be the end.
The end to everything.
He couldn’t be Tranquil.
He was already too old.
They would cut him off.
They would really do it.
They would make it so he could never be with the Maker.
They would do that.
He deserved it.
He could barely control his powers.
He was no magical genius.
The Maker had given him a gift.
He wasn’t worthy of it.
He was nothing more than a failure.
He would be punished.
More punished than already.
He was weak.
He would be made Tranquil.
Why?
Why why why?
Why couldn’t he be good?
Why couldn’t he be better?
Where could he go?
The Maker gave gifts.
The Maker at least gave them Templars.
Not all Templars are bad.
Sir Kendal was good.
Sir Kendal kept them in line.
He wouldn’t fail with good Templars.
He needed to prove himself.
He was too weak.
He needed Templars.
Without the Templars he’d probably be an abomination already.
Maybe the sex did that.
Maybe it kept him from being an abomination.
He was too weak to be safe on his own.
Maybe he was just meant to suffer.
 
How could he explain that they might need Templars? How could he put that
feeling into words? He hated Templars. Hated the Chantry. Hated them, but maybe
they were right. There was no proof. But what if?
He couldn’t take that chance. His family would want him to choose Templars. The
Maker would. What if there was no Maker? What if… What if. No. He had to be
safe. Do the safe choice. Do the expected choice. Be safe. Templars. What if?
Chapter End Notes
     This is a very, VERY short chapter. I've been planning on having
     Damien side with the Templars for a while for several reasons.
     First of all, Damien was raised in a very religious family up until
     he was 5 years old, at which point he went to live in the Circle.
     Once at the Circle, he grew and developed, still under the Chantry,
     and then became a victim of the abuses there.
     As someone who had a similar upbringing as far as religion goes, I
     wanted to show how damaging it is to teach someone that their very
     nature is a sin. I tried to show that Damien's self-hatred goes
     deeper than just 'I'm a sinner'. He refutes the Chantry vocally, and
     detests Templars, but alone, with his thoughts, he's constantly
     thinking about the what ifs. What if the Chantry is right? He's just
     doomed. He's a mage.
     I will probably be editing this around, because I'm still honestly
     not very happy with this chapter. I feel like it doesn't have the
     impact I want it to have. Unfortunately, I've also been feeling
     guilty at making you all wait so long while I try to make up my mind
     about how I want to show Damien's mental scars. So, consider this a
     rough draft/preview.
     If I end up taking this down entirely and re-writing it, consider
     this a bit of a delve into Damien's character that you otherwise
     might not have seen.
     Thank you all so much for your patience.
***** Of Templars *****
Chapter Summary
     Welp, I was right. Got over that hurdle, and the words, oh how they
     flow.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Preparations to recruit the Templar order began. The Lord Seeker made it
abundantly clear that only status was important to him. As such, Josephine
began calling together the noble houses of Orlais. Favors, Alliances, Future
Promises, everything. Cullen was sure that the Templars would be able to help
suppress the magic of the Breach.
 
He couldn’t fight. Nothing would come. He wasn’t strong, and his magic wasn’t
coming.
“You’re trying to fight me. I can feel you trying to pull power from the fade.
It won’t work, mage. I’m a Templar. I can suppress your sinful magic. You have
no choice. Accept this at the hand of your Betters.”
 
“Fine then.” Damie inhaled, clenching his jaw, banishing the memory,”They can
suppress the magic of the breach enough to allow my magic to overpower it. Or
rather, the magic of the mark.”
Cullen nodded his answer.
                             --------------------
Damien took Cassandra with him to approach the Templars. It seemed only right
as they were more her people than anyone elses. He also brought the Iron Bull.
The man had, after all, offered his services as a bodyguard. It was a comfort
to think he could hide behind the larger man should the Templars prove…
untrustworthy. Finally he decided to take Blackwall. The Warden was a warrior,
perhaps his presence would help the Templars see that the Inquisition just
wanted to protect the people.
There were no mages with him, that Damien had done intentionally. A show of
good faith. At least he hoped that was how it was taken. Honestly, there
weren’t any mages that he would have felt comfortable bringing. Solas was a
mage, but he had never been in a Circle. He wouldn’t understand what was at
stake, and Vivienne? Well, she managed to avoid the abuses, and then cover her
eyes and pretend it didn’t exist. He definitely couldn’t have brought her.
Upon arriving at the fortress, he was met by an Orlesian noble whose name he
forgot as soon as it was spoken. Something about the Dales… This man.. was
grandstanding, that much was obvious.
“Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.”
Ten houses. That was… quite impressive. Damien knew enough about his own house
to know that a noble house was more than just a family. It was a clan. Each
house could probably populate a small town on their own. To have ten such
houses was astounding. He’d have to congratulate Josephine later. In the
meantime, he needed to keep himself calm.
He’d long learned to control his panic. Spending so much time in the
Hinterlands had managed to desensitize him to the armor, the swords. He never
spoke to those men though. Speaking to them was another tale entirely, and he’d
have been lying if he’d said he was confident in his abilities.
“Ten houses is impressive. The Inquisition values this alliance, Messere.”
“As it should. Though, would you care to elaborate on what migh’ve caught his
attention? The Lord seeker that is? Rumor will if you won’t.”
Cause his attention? What, him agreeing to speak, with ten noble houses?
“I would’ve thought that was the doing of our Lords of Orlais.”
“The Lord Seeker won’t meet us until he greets the Inquisition ‘In Person’.
Quite a surprise after that spat in Val Royeaux.”
“The Inquisition only asks for help closing the breach.”
“Ah, then it must be the work of your embassador. Ah, here we are.”
Iron Bull was waiting there, along with Cassandra and Blackwall.
Iron Bull made some comment about how defensible the redoubt was. Cassandra
mentioned how quickly the Lord Seeker’s mind was changed. And Blackwall made a
joke about how there was a sea of petticoats.
“Well, we might as well get this over with. Let’s go meet the Templars.”
Damien attempted to swallow the lump in his throat as he crossed the bridge
into the fortress of the Templars. He kept his eyes on the messenger, though
even he had a hard time ignoring the large banners bearing the Templar coat of
arms.
The messenger was the same Templar who’d seemed to doubt in Val Royeaux, Ser
Barris.
“The Sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your
friends arrive.”
Damien turned to glance at Cassandra, as if begging for her to say something so
he wouldn’t have to. She seemed to get the message.
“If he believes there is a holy mandate…”
“That is what he claims, and our commanders parrot him.”
“Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the
Inquisition seal the Breach.”
Damien looked into this Ser Barris’ face. Ignore the armor, look at the man. He
had a kind face, and his actions said he cared. Just don’t look at the armor.
Damien still couldn’t bring himself to speak. He only nodded, his mouth set in
a line.
“Don’t keep your betters waiting, Barris.”
Barris did his best to ignore the noble.
“The Lord Seeker does want you to do a rite before he’ll speak with you. The
ritual simply shows watchers who you are, and what you value.”
It was a simple enough task, three standards. The People, The Maker, The Order.
Damien could lie, he could be truthful. There was no wrong answer, but anyone
watching would surely make it a point to gossip.
Once again, he only nodded, stepping forward to raise the flags.
The people came first, that was a given. But the Maker or the Order? Biting on
his lower lip, Damien raised the flag of the Order. The Order were men at
least. Men could break away, do what was right… at least in theory. The Maker…
Damien knew the Maker hated him.
That was all well and good, until he was asked to explain his reasoning. What
was he to say? He had chosen based on his own morals. That was hopefully a good
enough reason for those gathered. He hoped details wouldn’t be necessary.
“It was a personal decision. That’s all that matters.”
Once again, the Noble kicked up a fuss. Barris then led them to see the Lord
Seeker.
                             --------------------
There was no Lord Seeker. Damien had tried to warn the Noble. Years of instinct
ground into his very being. Something was more than wrong. This was not a
discussion of alliance. This was just like in Val Royeaux. Make fun of the
Inquisition, then leave.
This time, Damien could feel in his gut, they weren’t leaving. The Inquisition
had walked right into their house, and they would not let him leave. He was a
mage. Touched by the fade. Maybe they considered him an abomination. They were
going to execute him.
Too late, the Noble was dead. Purge the question knights? Purging their own
people? These knights were mad. More than mad. They’d moved passed mages and
were killing their own. Damien felt a large hand come down on his shoulder. He
glanced up to see the Qunari, though the Iron Bull wasn’t looking at him.
Already his weapon was bared, and his eyes were on the men attacking.
“Look Boss, we kill these guys, that’s good, they deserve it, but they’re also
killing their own, those who aren’t crazy. We save them, and we still get our
Templars. We can make this a victory.”
Damien clenched his jaw and nodded. Satisfied, the Qunari moved on, killing two
of the offending Templars with one huge sweep of his hammer.
                             --------------------
The killing was the easy part. The voices weren’t. The fact that no one else
heard the voice? That was the worst. Damien knew he had panic attacks. He knew
he’d have flashbacks. He would even wake up in a cold sweat from Nightmares. He
did not, however hallucinate. Until now. Now he was hallucinating. How could he
do his job as Herald if he didn’t even know what was reality?
Each area of the fortress, more Templars killed. All the while, the voice,
speaking to him. At first he’d thought it was just talking, but after a while
it became clear it was talking to him personally. Wanting to know him better.
It was terrifying.
“Come, show me what kind of man you REALLY are.”
He was ascending the stairs. To get to the Lord Seeker. Was it the Lord Seeker
in his head? Was it a hallucination, a demon? What was going on?
Then, at the top of the stairs, the Lord Seeker waited. Slowly, Damien walked
up to him. Then, suddenly, without warning, the Lord Seeker spun around,
grabbed him,
“At. Last.”
Then everything faded. Literally. Damien could recognize the Fade when he saw
it. What was going on? The corpses… the same corpses from the Conclave, and
then his Advisors. And Leliana?
“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you? So will this. Watch.”
The Demon brought a blade to Cullen’s neck. It was a Demon. The Fade, the
stealing of shapes, speaking to his mind. It all pointed to a Demon.
“What do you want, Demon?”
“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker. When
I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will be you.”
The Elder One. It was the second time he’d heard that.
“Who is this Elder One? What does he want?”
The demon only laughed. Mortal once, but no longer? What was this? Then the
creature was Cullen. Was Cullen, killing himself. It was an envy demon, of
course. It wanted to be him.
Damien watched as his shadow died first once, and then a second time. He placed
a hand over his own abdomen. He knew what being stabbed felt like. It made this
no easier. He just kept telling himself, don’t listen to it. Just find a way
out. Don’t listen to it, it’s a demon.
Damien began walking in the only direction he could, through the brilliant
green mists and grey smoke.
Right into his prison cell, where Cassandra stood in front of yet another
doppelganger. It was the same as the first time, but instead, he was silent, or
rather, his doppelganger was silent. Walking past, his doppelganger was now
commanding the Inquisition, reaching out, ambitious. It was the Demon.
“It imitating what you can’t have the only way for you to gleam any pleasure,
Demon?”
“Is that what kind of man you are? Trying to find my weakness?”
The Demon laughed, before vanishing. Damien cursed himself. Even in speaking to
the creature, he told it of himself. No more. Not if he could help it. He swore
no matter what he saw, he’d just keep walking.
Another voice. Hammer and no more nails? What was this?
Chapter End Notes
     So, this was still a bit of a shorter post, compared to some of my
     others. That's because I decided to cut this one in half, otherwise
     it would have been huge. Second half incoming later this evening. (I
     also felt the need to make up Chapter 7 to you guys.)
***** Envy *****
Chapter Summary
     Finishing up what we started, though I'd have made this Chapter 8.5.
Iron Bull could understand the Templars. Mages were dangerous. Demons were
dangerous. Hell, Magic in general was dangerous. It was obvious they did some
shit to their mages though. The Qunari did some shit to theirs too, but the
Saarebas knew their place in the Qun. Damien was a prime example of someone who
would have faired better under the Qun.
It was obvious Damien was scared. That wasn’t an inaccurate statement. He was
scared of everything. Even a touch, when unexpected, cause him to jump, and
then look at you as he tried to figure out your motives. The Iron Bull noticed
all of this.
He ran around, his tail between his legs, trying to make everyone happy, prove
he was strong enough. It was taking it’s toll too. He’d asked around, but by
far Varric was the one with the most information. Or at least, the only one who
was willing to talk about it. Iron Bull was fairly certain Leliana knew a lot
more than anyone else, but even he had a hard time getting information out of
the spymaster.
Damien seemed happy with the idea of a bodyguard. Or maybe he was just
fascinated with a Qunari. Either way, he brought Bull with him just about
everywhere, and Bull was starting to notice a pattern.
When the Knight-Captain announced this ‘purge’, he could see Damien starting to
crack. Not much, just a hair. Just enough to stand in one place too long, just
enough to get himself killed while he tried to think. So, Bull gave him an
anchor.
He set one of his hands down on the smaller man’s shoulders. An anchor.
Something to distract him, briefly. One pep talk later, and Damien was back in
working condition.
They killed a lot of Templars. Saved a lot too. Climbing up through the
fortress. Damien kept muttering something about a voice. That was concerning,
but for now, there were more important things to focus on. Up the last flight
of stairs, and there was the Lord Seeker.
He remained still, his back to them. Damien took a step forward, closer to the
Lord Seeker. Bull reached out a hand to pull him back, but too late, the man
spun around, gripping the collar of Damien’s robes, pulling him… through the
door?
They had stepped backward, and then they were gone. Bull stepped up, slamming
the door open, only to see Damien push a demon away from himself, which then
flung itself away, fleeing farther ahead of them still.
The Templar with them, Ser Barris was his name, yelled out for his commander.
At this, Damien spoke to the man for the first time since they’d gotten to this
fortress that morning.
“Envy demon. An imposter.”
Ser Barris, to give him credit, took this news in stride,
“That monster made sure we were unprepared. He’d been bringing in new lyrium.
Red stuff. The commanders tried it first, to make sure it was safe. The knights
would’ve been next. That demon turned our leaders so we couldn’t question when
this started!”
                             --------------------
Damien couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for the Templars. He just couldn’t.
They’d brought this on themselves. A man could always question his superiors.
Always. These Templars had just chosen not to. Like they always do.
“This was your fault, then, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but now we’ll make it right.”
Ser Barris turned, sprung into action, and they were given a task. Find the
Lieutenants, find uncorrupted lyrium, and the Templars would deliver Envy to
them. Damien found himself having difficulty comprehending how after
everything, this man still wanted to fight.
It didn’t matter. If they could keep their spirits, so could he. Damien was not
weak. He could do this. He and his team set to work, killing the attacking
templars, and fetching lyrium to power the remaining ones.
There were moments when he wondered idly, what if, when they’re stronger from
their lyrium, when this is over, they turn on him, on a mage. He had to push
away his doubts. He tried to. Every time a Templar thanked him, or mentioned
that they knew his family, or mentioned that they believed in him, or even said
the maker wouldn’t have chosen him if he couldn’t help. He just kept wondering
how much were lies. Half-truths, how much of this was just them trying to earn
trust back?
                             --------------------
Ser Barris was dead. The Envy Demon was dead. Damien was covered in blood, both
his as well as that of numerous Templars. In the end, what did it matter?
No. No, the Templars were ready. They said so themselves. They did ask what the
Inquisition needed of them though. Damien had thought that would be obvious.
“You know what you need to do. The Breach is our priority. Nothing else.”
“We shirked our purpose because we were afraid to question. I see that now. But
our Order is without officers. We must rebuild what the traitors tore down.”
Damien paused, unsure if they would agree to his next request. He had to try
though. Try, for the sake of all mages. He had been hiding his whole life, and
now he was finally in a position to do something, even if it was just a small
thing.
“The order is too damaged. Join us, in the Inquisition. Give yourselves a clean
slate.”
It sounded better than he meant it. In reality, how could he ever forgive these
men. These were Templars. They had committed too many abuses to count. It was
the best he could offer though. He couldn’t just let them roam free on their
own. He owed that much to all the dead mages that he hadn’t fought to protect.
***** Pre-Breach *****
Chapter Summary
     Just a bit of filler for your reading pleasure!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Cullen was not happy. He was far from happy. Damien had made a decision that
wasn’t his to make. He’d known there would be consequences, but to have Cullen
of all people upset that he’d disbanded the Templar order?
“You wanted the Templars, I got them!”
Suddenly, pieces flew off the war table as a young boy appeared in a cloud of
smoke. Instantly, weapons were drawn. All save Damien’s.
“Wait!
“I came with you to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy.”
“Cole, could you get off the war table?”
“Yes, I don’t belong here. I‘m not a war.”
Cole was still a creature. Something from the fade. Cassandra said as much,
calling for guards, only to have Leliana cut her off, seeking knowledge, of
course. When it came right down to it Cole said he only wanted to help. He had
helped Damien. He had been the only thing keeping Envy from tearing Damien
apart.
“Cole saved my life. I couldn’t have… I wouldn’t have… I needed him.”
They bickered a bit more about letting him run free, only to have him disappear
as quickly as he came. Cassandra spoke first.
“Where did he go?”
“I’m sure we’ll find him somewhere.”
Leliana nodded.
“I’ll have people watch the boy, but let’s not be distracted from the breach.”
                             --------------------
“Demons. It had to be Demons. Getting into your head, messing around.”
“I can protect you.”
“My blade pretty much protects me.”
“I can do things your blade can’t. Er- that is, I mean to say, the Circle. I
know how to avoid demons. I mean. Oh hell.”
The Iron Bull grinned cheekily, and Damien felt his face heat up.
“I dunno about that, Boss. My blade has blood grooves. I mean, technically it’s
the fuller, but blood grooves makes it sound so much more violent!”
Damien felt his blush abade. He… wasn’t making a big deal about that slip. That
was new. Damien was used to the Templars mentioning it any time a mage said
anything that could be even remotely interpreted as… but not. Don’t think about
the Templars. Now there’s everywhere. Don’t think about them unless you have
to, because you’re going to have to a lot now.
“Thank you for going with me anyway, Bull.”
“Anytime, Boss.”
                             --------------------
God, who knew a blush could look so good on olive skin? He obviously wasn’t the
flirtatious type, that much was obvious, but it was cute either way. Bull
chuckled as he watched the Herald walk away.
He’d only been getting worse since they gathered the templars. Much worse. He
skipped meals, avoided leaving his cabin. Iron Bull would have bet a few
sovereigns that he was barely sleeping to boot, though he barely had any
circles under his eyes. Probably because of all the sun he managed to get,
running around trying to save the world.
It really didn’t help that the templars were hounding Cullen and Cassandra
about the mages under the Inquisition’s banner. Such and such about the fact
that a few of the mages were probably guilty of crimes, yada yada. Unimportant
stuff. Either way, they weren’t happy.
Damien was doing his best to just avoid everything all together. They went on a
few runs in the Hinterlands, much of nothing really. Simple stuff. It was
obvious he was trying to avoid being at Haven while the Templars were still
idly milling about. Better to wait until they were settled into habits of their
own before walking around, if you wanted to avoid them.
Talking to Varric had once again proved fruitful as well. It turned out that
Damien had used busy work to avoid the templars once before, though that time
it was a small camp of rebel templars. Varric had tried to get the kid to
confide in him a couple times, too. Turns out Damien liked Varric, but he
didn’t trust him.
Bull couldn’t really blame him, Varric was a likeable character. Too likeable.
He could spin a story faster than you could ask the details. It made him hard
to trust, especially when something like trauma was involved.
No, if Bull wanted to help the Herald, he’d have to do it slow. It wasn’t hard.
Damien seemed a mite infatuated with him. Well, with the Qunari. He didn’t ask
too many personal questions, though that may have been specifically to avoid
being asked them himself. He liked to hear about life under the Qun though.
Bull couldn’t help but think that if Damien wasn’t a mage, he’d have made a
good Viddathari. He understood life under the Qun better than most. He didn’t
seem to judge Bull for not having parents. When Bull talked about being pegged
for spy work, the Herald’s only comment was that it must have made him proud of
himself.
It was interesting to hear him contradict himself though. Bull was still trying
to figure out why he did that. In words, he swore up and down that there was no
Maker. That the Chantry was wrong. In action however, he paid the usual respect
to the Chantry workers, albeit avoiding them when he could.
Bull’d even heard him whisper a prayer or two, through the canvas of the tents
in camp. He couldn’t pick out specifics aside from ‘Chant’ and ‘Maker’. Enough
to know through the tone of voice that it was reverent whispers, not
blasphemous.
                             --------------------
A month in the Hinterlands while the Templars got set up. Damien figured the
Herald would just be in the way anyhow. He’d overheard one too many
conversations about possible Maleficarum, and crimes against the Chantry. He
wasn’t going to be in Haven if he didn’t have to be.
A month after they left Haven though, a raven came from Cullen. The Templars
were ready to seal the Breach. He was needed. With heavy movements, he notified
his party, Bull, Solas, and Cole. Cole didn’t have anything to pack. Bull
packed light. Solas had a couple of books, a journal, and a few personal items
that Damien had never seen fit to ask about. Damien though, had only to pack
his bedroll.
He’d thought of having a journal. Solas had suggested it. Said it helped you
comb through your thoughts if you wrote them down first. Damien couldn’t do
that though. Not to say he hadn’t tried. He’d found that the only things he’d
been comfortable writing about were tedious things that didn’t matter much.
Even still, he was paranoid that, should he write anything truly important,
someone would find it and read it. Mages in the circle didn’t keep journals for
a reason.
A week later, they walked through the gates of Haven. Damien walking straight
to his cabin to unload his belongings, and those things he’d collected while
they were gone. Then he went straight to the Chantry, wanting to hurry up and
get this over with. After today, hopefully, he wouldn’t be needed anymore.
                              -------------------
“The Templars are ready whenever you are, Herald. We can’t know for certain how
this will affect you. If you’re ready, we’ll begin preparations and leave for
the temple first thing tomorrow.”
Damien nodded, leaning over the war table. Various pieces littered the map of
Thedas. All of them pointing towards places where troops were needed, troops
were headed, or where troops were currently stationed. A few of the pieces were
unique, those were Leliana’s scouts. Here and there Josephine had placed
pieces, to mark where Nobles or Merchants had the ability to help in case of a
local disaster.
They didn’t really need a Herald, aside from the rifts, which were dotted on
the map with bright green markers. So many rifts, with demons pouring out of
them. It was baffling.
                             --------------------
The fire was glowing brightly against the wall. Chairs and tables surrounded
it, pressed together to try to house as many as possible in the small tavern.
Sera sat at her usual table, drinking from a tankard when the Iron Bull came
in. He was huge. Huge was an understatement. He was taller than most of the
demons from those bloody rifts.
He and Sera had become friends, sort of. She liked him well enough. He could
drink anyone under the table, and loved to prove it. She didn’t even try. She
knew her limits, though she would occasionally fake it, just to see who needed
an arrow to the face.
Today though, Bull didn’t go to the counter to get an ale. He walked straight
over to her.
“Damien and you are pretty close, eh?”
She shrugged,”We talk. He talks. I talk. We agree. We disagree. What of it?”
“I was just wondering, if you knew if there were any girls that’d caught his
eye. It might be his last night alive, thought I might as well see about
arranging a nice visit for him.”
Sera furrowed her brow, twisting her mouth into a sour expression.
“Nah, he don’t see interested in that at all. He’s stressed, yeah? Got a lot to
deal with. He’s too smart to go for that.”
Bull rubbed his chin, glancing around the tavern. He’d figured as much. There
was stress, definitely, but Damien also seemed to be far too shy to even look
at anyone.
“Thanks, Sera.”
“Sure, big oaf.”
                             --------------------
Damien was in his cabin, as per usual. One night. One last night. He could die
tomorrow. It could hurt worse than the other rifts. It probably would. It
almost always ached. He’d tried various poultices. Hot, cold, numbing, healing,
it didn’t matter. Sure, his arm would feel hot or cold. The skin would get
numb. The healing didn’t do anything though. None of them stopped the pain. It
was deep, felt like the bones in his forearm were bleeding.
Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. Damien sat up from his bed, staring at
it for a moment. No one visited him. Not at Haven. They all visited in the
tavern. The elf-girl who’d woken him up accidentally brought him his meals, and
this late at night, he knew it wasn’t her. Then the knock came again, and he
shot up out of the bed.
“Right. Yes. Knocking. Visitor. Coming!”
He mumbled to himself before shouting out the last word in case they got
impatient. He opened the door to see the Iron Bull standing there, his horns
reaching taller than the door frame.
“Oh. Yes. Bull. Hello. Can I help you with anything?”
“Just checking in, Boss. Tomorrow’s a big day. Noticed you weren’t out getting
drunk.”
Damien chuckled a bit,”Yes, well, I find I don’t much care for being drunk.”
 
Drunk. Impaired. Weakened.
Fucked.
Drunk.
 
He shook his head briefly,”Anyway, Bull. Did you need someone specific?”
“Just thought we could talk. Ben-Hassrath remember? Something’s up, and you
need to talk.”
Damien clenched his jaw, looking up at the face of the brute in his doorway.
“Bull, I’m fine. Just stressed.”
“Yeah, see, that’s a lie, and it’s one everyone’s been letting you tell.
Someone of us know it’s a lie, some of us don’t, but it’s a lie regardless.”
Bull nudged him to the side with a hand, tilting his head to let his horns
inside as he stepped over the threshold into the simple cabin.
“Nice place. Warm.”
Damien clenched his hands into fists, gripping to the fabric along his thighs.
“Bull, please, I’m fine.”
“I wonder if you believe that.”
Bull went over to the chair by Damien’s desk, pushing off the reports that had
spilled onto it before pulling it out and spinning it around to face the bed
before sitting down. He gestured to the bed.
“Sit, Damien.”
Damien, his mouth pressed into a thin line, sat down, his heart pounding in his
ears. He moved to open his mouth, but he was cut off by the Qunari.
“No. You listen. I’ll talk. You’re the Herald of Andraste. Even if you don’t
believe it. I know I don’t, no offense. That’s the title they gave you. You
have a title. You have eyes on you. There are people who would exploit that.
You know that. However, there are also people protecting you. I know Cassandra
would put herself in front of any sword aimed at your throat. Now, all of this
is worth nothing if you don’t accept it.”
Damien furrowed his brow. Sure, he had denied being the Herald, but he’d been
doing his duty. He’d been closing the rifts. He got them the Templars, after
all!
“I’ve b-”
“Damien. You’ve been fighting. Not fighting physically. Not even fighting with
words. You’ve been fighting yourself.”
Damien stared at the giant. What was he talking about? Yeah, fighting his panic
attacks, his flashbacks, but he had to do that.
“I can tell, you’re confused. So, I’ll put it simpler. Or at least, in words
you can understand. There’s a saying, from the Qun. ‘Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad
astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.’ It
loosely translates to ‘The tide rises, the tide fall, but the sea is
changeless.’ Basically, you can struggle against the sea all you want. Float on
top of the tide, fight, and for a while, you’ll think you’re okay, because it’s
low-tide. But the tide will rise again, because the sea doesn’t change. Why
struggle against that which you can’t change? Accept your purpose, flow with
it, and you’ll find that when you’re not putting forth the effort to struggle,
you can redirect that effort into things that matter.”
Damien inhaled, staring at the Qunari. What, should he have let the Templars
rape him without fighting? Let them just do their will so that in the end, he’d
have enough energy to go do something that mattered?
“I don’t believe in that philosophy, Bull.”
“You don’t need to believe in it to make it true, Boss. I’m just saying,
struggling against yourself is pointless. You’ve got to accept yourself before
you can do your job. If you wanna talk it out, get help, I’m here.”
“Thank you, Bull. I’m fine. If that’s all?”
The giant nodded, standing.
“I’ll see myself out.”
Damien nodded in return, staring at the chair the Qunari had just vacated. He
didn’t look away when he heard his door open and then close.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     So, for the sake of clarity, Bull was referring to Damien's struggle
     against himself, his struggle to ignore what happened, let it fester,
     etc. Damien, of course, took that advice and applied it where he
     thought it was supposed to go. Yey, mis-communication! Anyhow.
     Remember that I adore comments, even if I don't reply to all of them.
     If I don't reply, it's usually because there's not much to say, other
     than a giant "Thank YOU!"
***** Corypheus *****
Chapter Summary
     Let's go seal a breach.
The next morning was a rush. Carts loaded with Lyrium, bags packed. There was a
buzz of hope in the air. Damien didn’t take Bull with in his personal party. He
was still a bit sore from their earlier confrontation. Instead, he brought
Cassandra, Solas, and Cole.
Closing the breach was actually much easier than he’d expected. Once they
arrived at the temple, he got into position. The Templars thrust their swords
into the ground, weakening the breach. No demons came out as the rift snapped
shut, a shock wave spreading out, knocking everyone down. Damien struggled to
his feet and looked around as the Templars surrounding him cheered.
The trip back to Haven was cheerful. Singing of hymns and marking cadence
echoed around the horses. The carts that had carried the lyrium were now empty.
As they marched, many were idly nibbling at bread, jerky, or even berries that
they’d picked along the way.
They returned to a chorus of cheers. Fire already built, and mead, ale, and
even something from Bull’s stores being passed around as the celebration
commenced.
“According to Solas, the skies are scarred but calm. Word of your heroism has
spread.”
It was Cassandra. Damien had been sitting just above the rest of Haven, looking
down at their celebration, not partaking in their drink and dance.
“I didn’t do anything. It was just this mark on my hand.”
“Perhaps you’re too close to judge. We needed you-”
Before she could finish, bells began ringing throughout the small village.
People began shouting. Something about a force, heading directly toward Haven.
Cullen ran past them. Cassandra drew her sword, glancing at Damien,
“We have to get to the gates.”
“One watchguard reporting, it a massive force the bulk over the mountain.”
“What banner?”
“None.”
Suddenly, there was a loud crash against the gate, bright red flowing around it
briefly before a voice called out.
“If someone could open this I’d appreciate it.”
Opening the gate revealed a man, crouching as he leaned on a stave. He stood
when he saw them.
“Ah! I’m here to warn you, fashionably late I’m afraid.”
Cullen walked over to the man, who took a step toward him only to slip and lean
on the other man for support.
“Might exhausted don’t mind me, my name is Dorian Pavus and I bring news from
Redcliffe, a force of mages, called the Venatori.”
He gestured up toward an outcropping where a woman stood, a large creature
walking up behind her.
“The woman is Calpernia, she commands the Venatori, and that if the Elder One.
I risked my life to get here.”
Cullen moved into action, turning to Damien.
“Haven is no fortress. We don’t have what it takes to defend this on our own.
Get out there and hit the forces.”
Damien nodded and began to move as Cullen turned, spurring the soldiers to
battle with cried of hope and stubbornness.
                              -------------------
They had done it. They’d managed to bring down the mountain on the largest
force. Of course, then a dragon flew over their heads, and suddenly hope flew
out the window. One trebuchet was down in a single breath of fire. Damien and
his party ran back toward the gate, toward Cullen. They needed to make a plan.
Cullen got them all inside. Leading them to the Chantry. It was the strongest
building, the thickest, stone walls. If there was any place that could be safe
from a dragon, that was it.
                             --------------------
Roderick, of all people, was the one who had a solution. A path, one that
wasn’t well known, away from Haven. He would lead them on it. Most of them.
This Elder One wanted the Herald, and Damien planned on giving himself over,
but not before he’d gotten the residents of Haven out. He might dislike being
the Herald, but these people had put their lives on the line in more ways than
one, some of them put their lives on the line just for him, on an individual
level. He would not see their lives taken on his behalf now.
“Go Cullen. Get them out. I’ll distract them while you all make your escape.”
Cullen looked into his eyes before nodding. Briefly telling him ways to take
them down.
“If we are to have a chance--If you are to have a chance-- Let that thing hear
you.”
Damien nodded before turning to the door, Solas, Cole, and Cassandra nodding to
go with him for the time being, though he gave them strict instructions that
they were not to hang around.
Shortly after they managed to get the trebuchet aimed, the dragon swooped
through the air towards them.
“Ohhh, swooping is bad. Move, Go!”
He flung his hands out to the sides, using magic to fling his companions out of
the way as the dragon flung fire at them. The fire now working as a wall
between him and his companions.
“Go!”
They did as he asked, as the dragon landed behind him, cornering him between
itself and the flames. Walking through those same flames came the Elder One.
“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”
He was… huge. Taller than Iron Bull, with red lyrium growing out of his head,
and other parts of his… body. He had long thin arms, and at the end his hands
turned into claws. His face looked half burned, though instead the warping of
his skin was caused by the lyrium protruding from his cheek. Large pauldrons
anointed his shoulders, but other than that he almost seemed to be wearing
robes. Chains hung off boney hips, which then dripped into the folds of a black
skirt.
“I-I’m not afraid of you… Demon!”
Well, that sounded a mite pathetic.
“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always
lies. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The
will that is Corypheus.”
Annnnd, he had an ego. They always had egos.
“Why are you here? What do you want with me?”
“I ask for nothing, because it is not in your power to give, but that will not
stop me. I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”
Sharp pain, stabbing into his palm and his arm jerked forward, however not of
his own volition. His hand reached out toward an orb in Corypheus’ grip before
he fell to his knees, gripping his wrist in pain.
“It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and
instead of dying you stole it. I do not know how you survived, but what marks
you as touched, what you flail at the rifts, I crafted to assault the very
heavens, and you used the Anchor to under my work! The gall!”
“Why did you kill the Divine for this?”
The creature walked over to Damien, grabbing that same wrist that he himself
was clenching, lifting him up as if he weighed no more than a doll, holding it
at eye level.
“This ‘chaos’ will empower me and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the
invisible. I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old
gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. A thousand
years I have waited. I have gathered the will of a blight world to bring about
it’s end. Pray I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was
empty.”
With a flick of his arm, he threw Damien, his weak body crashing into the wood
of the trebuchet, crumpling as it fell to the snowy platform.
“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling.”
He paused a moment, almost as if listening to a voice, to debating with
himself.
“So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation
and god it requires… and you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You
must die.”
Standing painfully, Damien looked to his right and glimpsed a sword. Flattening
himself as quickly as he could, he reached out and grasped it firmly, surprised
that he was able to lift it. Holding it out in front of him, he watched as
behind Corypeus, a ball of fire flew towards the sky. They were safe.
Damien turned his attention back toward the creature.
“Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I’m dying, it’s not today!”
With a roar that Cassandra would have been proud of, he swung the sword into
the ropes holding down the sling-end of the trebuchet. Instantly, the machine
flung it’s cargo upward, slamming the large boulder into the side of the
mountain. With a billow of snow, the mountainside began to crumble. Eye
widening, Damien turned, holding his side where he’d slammed into the trebuchet
as he ran, diving down into a pit that had been covered with slats of wood.
Those same slate had been knocked loose in the fighting, and as he pushed his
way through, the snow was enough to break them, sending them crashing after him
before everything went blissfully black.
***** Song *****
Damien groaned, rolling over in pain. Any adrenaline from the fight had long
worn off, and he found himself aching all over. His head was throbbing, he felt
like he’d broken several ribs, he was pretty sure he dislocated a shoulder, and
to top it all off he thought he was g-... He puked. Alright. So he was
definitely in bad shape. He could barely breathe, anything above a small
inhale/exhale hurt. He was going to die.
The thought was fleeting, but it was there. This is it. This is how he was
going to die. Here, in this cave, in pain. Damien rolled back over onto his
back, passing out into a dreamless sleep.
                             --------------------
The next time he awoke, his head hurt significantly less, though the pain in
his chest had increased. He sat up, slowly, shuffling to his feet. He could
walk. He could get out. He didn’t want to die, not like this at least. He had
to make sure they got out. Then he could find poison or something cowardly like
that.
Cringing in pain, he shuffled forward along the cave, coming to a pit with
demons in it. Without even thinking, he flung out his hand, only to see a
small… almost a rift open up amongst the demons. With a crackling noise, it
began pulling the demons back into it before closing with an audible crack.
Looking down at his hand in awe, Damien surveyed the scar. It looked much the
same, but for the first time, he didn’t feel any pain. Whatever the creature -
- Corypheus had done to it, it was… perhaps it was even more stable. Now he
could use it for more than just ‘flailing at rifts’ now it could protect him
too?
With that somewhat comforting thought, Damien continued walking, out of the
cave, into the snow that was once Haven. Now there was nothing but
mountainside. Flat snow that buried what had once been Haven. Damien shuffled
forward in the general direction he’d thought everyone had left in. Without
thinking, he sought life-saving assistance.
                             --------------------
Bull wasn’t the type to worry. People had a habit of either dying, or coming
out of it. Damien wasn’t the type to die. At least, that’s what he told himself
as everyone around him went mad over anxiety.
They could do nothing but press forward, keep moving, get as far away from
Haven as possible. Carts of wounded pulled by a horned beast were surrounded by
survivors. They watched as Haven was first burned, and then buried, all sign of
light from the fires dying out.
It had been a long walk before they finally made their last camp. Had to put
enough distance between Haven and themselves. A good four days of travel,
camping for a few hours to get shut eye before it was moving again.
The faces around the fires were somber. Gone was the celebration. Had it really
only been a mere 5 days before that they were all dancing and drinking? It
didn’t matter, according to these people, the Herald was gone.
Bull slowly walked over to Cullen from where he’d been sitting by Krem toward
the back of the small dip in the mountains.
“So, when do we go back, Cullen?”
“Back? Who said we were going back?”
“If there’s no plan to go back and find the Herald, then I do. We can’t just
sit around here moping. The least we can do is send out a search party to try
to bring his body back.”
Cullen looked up into the Qunari’s face. Seemed the commander did that a lot.
Trid to read people’s mind through their eyes.
“You’re right, Bull. I’ll organize a party.”
“I’m coming.”
“You- … yes, I suppose that would be the least you could ask for, considering
that we would have given up. This should at least give those who’re left
purpose, a distraction.”
Bull nodded, smiling slightly before going back over to sit by Krem, already
tightening the leather around his arms.
                             --------------------
Damien didn’t know how long he’d been walking. All he knew was the cold. The
snow. The whiteness. It was freezing. He could only keep moving. One foot in
front of the other. Left, then right. Just keep pushing. He’d found a camp a
while ago. Well, what was left of one. Nothing but ashes where there had been a
fire. Not that it mattered, it was a sign of life. A sign that he might’ve been
close. He’d stopped for a bit, not more than an hour. Used magic to coax life
back into the burnt remains. Warmed his numb fingers. Then it was time to move
again. Couldn’t let them get too far away, because now he knew he was close,
not more than half a day away. At least, that was what he’d hoped.
Another two hours, or was it three? The wind was blowing so fierce, the sky was
cloudy, Damien had no sense of time, was it morning or evening? Was the sun
rising or setting? His steps were growing slower and softer as he entered into
the beginning of a small canyon. He heard voices, soft ones, far away. He
couldn’t even call out before he collapsed into the snow, the first time he’d
slept in over 2 days as he tried to follow the survivors of Haven.
                             --------------------
When Damien finally became aware of himself, it was to the sounds of arguing.
He opened his eyes and tried to sit only to have himself pushed back down by a
large hand.
“Hey, ‘bout time you woke up.”
“Bull.”
Maker, his voice was so hoarse.
“Don’t try to talk. I’ll get some water and food for you. We’ve been dripping
warmed honey-water and milk down your throat for the last day or so while we
waiting for you to wake up. The healers did what they could, but they couldn’t
feed you.”
Damien managed a nod before he pointed over toward his advisors, all of whom
were in furious debate.
“And them?”
Iron Bull shrugged.
“They’re stressed. They found you, but they lost Haven. We did a lot of work
with Haven. Ah, here’s some porridge to go with that water.”
Damien crumpled up his face.
“Anything but porridge.”
“Look, now’s not the time to be picky, you need the strength.”
Damien shook his head.
“No, please, I’ll eat anything as long as it isn’t porridge.”
Bull paused a moment before nodding.
“Alright, I’ll find some stew. You try to get some rest in the mean time.”
Damien nodded, rest his head back down on the pillow, not even realizing he’d
lifted it to talk to Bull.
                             --------------------
The next time he woke up, it was Mother Giselle who was at his side. He
shifted, sitting up, only to have her lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Lay back down, you need your rest.”
Damien gestured to his advisors, who had woken him in the first place as they
still argued over what they needed to do.
“They’ve been at it for hours.”
“They have that luxury. Thanks to you, the enemy could not follow. However,
infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”
Damien’s heart pounded in his ears as he remembered his encounter with the
creature.
“We need to move. He can’t find us.”
“They are uncertain where we would go. As well, there are other questions,
about you. Our leaders struggle because they do not know what to tell others
about you. Those who believe saw you fight and fall, and now you return from
the dead. The more we struggle and succeed, the more your ations seem ordained.
That is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure? What ‘we’
perhaps must come to believe?”
“Mother Giselle… I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Corypheus is a
real threat. You can’t just match that with hope alone.”
He didn’t speak the unspoken. They didn’t need him anymore. The breach was
sealed. Solas would find a way to seal the remaining rifts now that they
weren’t being powered by the breach. They would probably start closing on their
own. He stood from the cot, walking to the edge of the tent to lean on a pole,
looking down at the snow-covered mountainside.
There was an insane creature after him. They’d lost so many lives, and it was
his fault. He got the templars, he had the mark.
Suddenly, Mother Giselle started singing. It was soft at first, but Damien knew
the hymn well. It was a hymn most of the mages took to heart. Damien had too,
once upon a time.
Biting on his lower lip, he glanced out to those gathered around the fire.
Slowly, first with Leliana and then with others, the song grew. Damien wanted
to burst into tears. Through everything, these people still clung to the hope
that they would find a way to defeat this giant creature who was no more man
was the mountains they camped on?
They believed in him. Damien allowed himself to believe it if only to keep from
throwing himself down the mountain in the middle of the night. He had to keep
on. This was his home too. Once this was all over, he could just, go back to
what he’d been doing before. Living on his own, out in nature. It wasn’t too
difficult.
The song came to a close, and Mother Giselle glanced to him.
“An Army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”
Could he be that cause?
Mother Giselle walked back to where she had been, Solas taking her place
briefly.
“A word?”
With that he walked on, expecting Damien to follow, which he did.
***** Welcome to Skyhold *****
Chapter Notes
     Alrighty. I know, I know, it's been a week. I'm so sorry. Damien
     decided he needed a break from having his past flare up, and I mean,
     I couldn't stop him from walking out for a vacation. But, he's back
     now, and ready to resume telling his story!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Skyhold. A towering castle built on the peak of a mountain. Some kind of
ancient magic working to effectively keep the courtyards and air warm enough
for plant life to grow. It was glorious. It was defendable. It was more than
any of them could have hoped for.
It was somewhat ruined for Damien as Cassandra led him to the top of the
stairs, only to finish their conversation with telling him they wanted him to
be the Inquisitor, as he was already leading the Inquisition as it was.
“You’d trust this position to a mage?”
“Not a mage. You.”
“I happen to be a mage.”
“I will not pretend no one will object, but times are changing, perhaps this is
what the Maker intended. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will
serve, how you lead, that must be yours to decide.”
Leliana, who was on his left, held out a sword, not too large, one handed,
stamped with the seal of the Inquisition. Taking a deep breath, Damien took the
sword, holding it in front of him, inspecting it. Finally he spoke.
“Our concern must be the order and safety of this world, not the next. I’m not
‘chosen’, I have chosen.”
“Wherever you lead.”
Cassandra then turned to Leliana who stepped forward, shouting down to Cullen
and Josephine, who both stood among a crowd that had gathered at the base of
the stairs.
“Have our people been told?”
Josephine shouted up to them.
“They have, and soon the world!”
Now Cassandra cut in, directing her question to Cullen.
“Will they follow?”
Cullen, in turn, looked behind him, to the crowd gathered.
“Will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?”
When this was met with nothing but cheers, he drew his sword, pointing it
toward Damien.
“Your Leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!”
With a sharp movement, he jerked his sword forward and upward, defining the
last word. With a small nod, Damien copied the action with his own sword,
pointing it to the sky as the people in the courtyard cheered.
In hindsight, it had all been so obviously planned. It was a ceremony, but it
was nice to see the people cheer.
                             --------------------
Skyhold may have been a massive castle, but it was a massive run down castle.
There was rubble and debris everywhere. Holes in the roof all over the place.
Broken windows, their glass shrewn about. Chandeliers sat on the floor, covered
in a layer of dust.
No one was quite sure where Skyhold came from, but it was obvious it had been a
very long time since it had been occupied. Damien was just discussing this with
his advisors when Varric walked into the main hall. Something about his memory
being jogged. He had someone to introduce to Damien.
He also refused to bring this person to Damien, said he had to meet him on the
battlements. So, with a sigh, Damien followed Varric, stepping over the wooden
boards, loose stones, and other rubble around the hall.
He didn’t get far, however, as he kept being stopped on his way to the
battlements. Vivienne was the first, she was standing directly at the base of
the stairs.
“It was a mistake to use Haven as a base of operations. The town was completely
indefensible.”
So it was guilt from her. Typical.
“You can blame me for the lives lost at Haven another time, Vivienne.”
“Now is always the time my dear. The past cannot be changed, and tomorrow may
never come. You left yourself vulnerable to attack. It was a mistake. One I’m
sure you will not repeat. However, the enemy struck a serious blow against you
and Inquisition. You must recognize that. You must recognize that.”
“You think I don’t? I’m not in need of your guidance Vivienne.”
“Good. Don’t sit idly by. You can become the leader the faithful require, but
you must do it soon.”
Damien wasn’t sure if she approved, or not, but he honestly didn’t much care.
Just hearing her call him ‘my dear’ was enough to make him want to hurl her
from the battlements.
Of course, it didn’t help his mood that Blackwall stopped him next, as he
stared up at the front of the castle, the door to the main hall.
“So, this is Skyhold…”
He turned, looking to Damien before he had a chance to walk away.
“Come, let’s walk the ramparts. I want to examine our fortifications.”
As they walked along the battlements, Damien could see Varric, talking to
someone a bit of a ways off. He was interrupted from trying to figure out who
this person was by Blackwall’s voice.
“We’ll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away.”
“We’re safe for now. That’s all I care about.”
“I know soldiers. I know our soldiers. Corypheus made a hundred enemies when he
kicked down our door. Let him come, and I swear I’ll take the twisted bastard
down even if I have to die to do it.”
“It’s good to hear you taking this seriously.”
“It’s my job isn’t it? Killing darkspawn. Look in spite of it all, there is
hope. The people flock to your banner. they believe in you.” He paused a
moment, “Tell me honestly, are you what they say you are, Andraste's chosen?”
Damien looked off the Battlements. He’d been denying it at every turn. He
didn’t want to believe it. How could he? He hated the Maker. Hated that he was
nothing. Just a mage, just made for temptation.
“I… don’t know. There’s no real way to know… is there?”
“Does it even matter? Don’t you see what you are to them? Without you they
would be consumed by despair. We all would. They need you to be Andraste’s
messenger, it gives them hope, it gives us all hope.” He looked over the edge
of the Battlements, out at the snowcapped peaks, “Ah listen to me talk, your
time is valuable and I’ve wasted enough of it.”
Blackwall nodded a farewell, and turned, leaving Damien to his thoughts.
                             --------------------
It was Hawke. The Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke. He was an interesting
man. Just as Varric always described him, if a bit more… depressed than before.
He didn’t crack jokes. He was straight to business.
“This view reminds me of my home in Kirkwall. I had a balcony that looked out
over the whole city. I love it at first, but after a while, all I could see
were the people out there, depending on me.”
Damien looked out, trying to envision that. It didn’t take much. Every single
person currently congregated in the courtyard of Skyhold was counting on him.
More than that, every person in the world. The entirety of Thedas was depending
on him to set things right. He had been avoiding it this whole time, but
hearing Hawke just down, he was forced to confront it. It terrified him.
Damien swallowed, turning his back on the courtyard below.
“I try not to dwell on it. Unneeded stress and such. Just do what I do, and
ignore the people down there, and suddenly it doesn’t look so bad.”
“How do you put it out of your mind?”
“I usually go out into the Hinterlands and find something that wants to kill
me. That tends to clear my mind.”
Hawke chuckled, also turning, to face Damien. The small laugh didn’t even reach
his eyes. It was depressing. Hawke was depressing. He was almost a broken man.
“I used to do the same thing.. Speaking of things that want to kill you.”
“Varric said you fought Corypheus before?”
“Fought, and killed. He had been using his connection to the Darkspawn to
manipulate the Grey Wardens. If the Wardens have disappear, they could have
fallen under his control again.”
“... That… is not good. Can it be undone?”
“It’s possible, but we need to know more first. I’ve got a friend in the
Wardens. His name is Alistair. Last time we spoke, he’d been investigating
corruption within the ranks of the Wardens. He told me he’d be hiding in an old
smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”
“I appreciate the help.”
“I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. I failed when I killed him
before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”
Damien nodded, before turning and heading back down the ramparts. Waiting for
him at the bottom, however, was Iron Bull.
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t know what really need to be said, Bull. Your last bit of advice hasn’t
left my thoughts, so I’m not sure what more you have to say.”
Bull cringed. He had realized his mistake as soon as he saw the Inquisitor’s
face when he’d given him that advice. He had to try to clarify.
“I… may have been unclear in my advice, Damien. I… would never tell you that
you should… You never… You should not allow someone to hurt you, Damien. Not
like that, not without permission. I was only… What I meant was. You need to
accept that it happened, and confront your scars. It’s affecting you. There are
Templars all over the place, and it’s taking a toll. I can see it. I meant only
that you can’t pretend nothing is wrong. You’re struggling against yourself,
and that’s what I meant to tell you not to do. I’d never. I wouldn’t. I didn’t
mean.”
Iron Bull sighed. He was normally much better at words, but he really did have
issues with rapists. It made it hard for him to put those thoughts into words,
which is probably why his advice had come out wrong the first time.
“What I mean is, no one blames you. You have more friends than you realize. You
could talk about it.”
Damien searched the Qunari’s face, his brow furrowed as his hands clutched the
fabric at his thighs. He understood. It still hurt. It hurt to have someone
care, too. Everything hurt. He was just trying to keep it together.
“I understand, Bull. Thank you. We’ll… talk later.”
“Anytime, Boss, but when you’ve got a minute, there’s something I want to show
you.”
Iron Bull tilted his head, and walked back in the general direction of the run-
down Tavern. Something told Damien the tavern would be fixed up fairly quickly.
                             --------------------
Cole had vanished again. Of course, Skyhold was a much bigger place than Haven,
so it should have been obvious that he would be harder to find, but none-the-
less, a scout from Leliana had begged him to help search for the boy. Damien
was one of the few people who always seemed to be able to find him without much
effort.
When he found Cole the first time, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas had been
talking while he was playing with the grass nearby. Solas tried to explain that
Cole was a Spirit. Vivienne insisted that Cole was a demon. Cassandra actually
tried to understand both side. In the end, Damien agreed to talk to Cole, to
try to discern whether or not he was dangerous. It only stood to reason, of
course, that Cole would have picked such a time to vanish again.
When he next found Cole, he was among the wounded. Narrating the thoughts of a
wounded man. A dying man. Then, a dead man. It was sad. It had to have been
sad, to hear all those thoughts, screaming in pain, and fear.
“Cole, are you alright? Do you want to be a bit farther from the wounded?”
“Yes, but here is where I can help.”
Another dying man, another story of dying. Then, a thirst, and he satiated the
need.
“You use your powers to help.”
“Yes. I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes… but I made
friends too. Then a Templars proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost
everything. I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but
stronger. I can feel more. I can help.”
“And the help you offer will save lives, Cole. Thank you.”
                             ---------------------
They had been in Skyhold for only a week when Josephine sent an elven servant
to fetch Damien. Only a week, and she was already concerned with the nobles of
Orlais. Only a week, and they needed to find a way into the Winter Palace. It
sounded like a nightmare. A necessary nightmare, if they were going to save the
Empress.
First thing was first though, there were several other matters that needed his
attention. Surely, if he went with them, that would do nothing but improve the
appearance of the Inquisition? He had to go hunt Grey Wardens, there was some
merchant in Val Royeaux who had information on Calpernia, and now they were
receiving word that there were Inquisition Soldiers missing in the marshes of
Ferelden.
First thing’s first though. Damien wanted to know what Iron Bull wanted to show
him. Then they’d go talk to the merchant, then the soldiers. Then they’d have
to go find this… Alistair.
                             --------------------
“Why… am I in these clothes?”
“Just.. come on. You won’t regret it.”
He took them to sit down with a couple of Mercenaries. Introduced him as Grim.
‘He doesn’t talk much.’ Well, Damien could work with that. He merely grunted
anytime he felt the need to say anything at all.
They… believed in him? Oh, now they were going to move on to their tents?
Damien stood, following Iron Bull to his tent.
“I know every soldier under my command. You don’t have that option, but a few
faces might help.”
“I… wasn’t expecting people to be so vocal about that…”
“It’s hard to be an idea sometimes. that’s why you could stand right in front
of them without being recognized. You’ve got a good army. You’ve got friends.
We’ll make it out of this.”
Damien nodded, leaving Iron Bull to his tent as he made his way to his own.
They hadn’t cleared out any rooms yet. Hopefully they’d have more of Skyhold
cleaned up while he was in Val Royeaux.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     No but really, my muse for Damien fled for a bit there. Probably just
     because of the change to Skyhold. There's always so many different
     directions in this game that as the writer and orchestrator, I can
     get a little... overwhelmed. I had to figure out what to bloody DO
     next. But, we should be good for a while. -nodnodnod-
***** Opening Up *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has some heavy stuff, especially at the end. If you're
     bothered by abuse, death, tranquility, etc, might want to skim a bit
     on some parts.
The Capital of Orlais hadn’t changed much since he’d last visited. There was no
longer a stage, manned by a chantry sister, but otherwise, the view was the
same. Damien took the opportunity to get some things bought and sold, then they
went to the merchant’s estate.
The front of the building hadn’t been too overly ostentatious, especially by
Orlesian standards. Only two fountains, six peacocks, and 3 gold benches.
Apparently, doing business with the Venatori paid well.
The scene changed, however, upon investigating the inside of the small manor.
The hallways were littered with overturned furniture. Papers scattered about,
pictures askew. They followed the path of destruction to what appeared to be a
study. A fireplace, by a desk. More papers scattered about, chairs by the desk
laying on the floor on their sides. Damien walked over to the desk, shuffling
through those papers that remained on it’s surface.
“Calpernia is buying slaves. An apparently, she wants them to be in mint
condition. No brands, no marks. Literate. This is… very odd.”
Damien shuffled some of the papers into a small stack, then tucked them into
the pack at his hip. As he continued to explore the study, he found an invoice
with several mentioning literacy, and being set aside specifically for ‘C’
which could only be referring to Calpernia.
Then they found the merchant. Or rather, his body, along with a broken crystal.
Putting it together revealed that Calpernia had had the man killed for abusing
the slaves he sent to her. It was very odd.
They spent a bit more time looking around, gathering what they deemed useful or
important before they decided it was time to head back to Skyhold. Leliana
might know what to make of this…. stored memory, as Dorian put it.
                             --------------------
Dagna had make it work. Sort of. Well, she kinda broke it. But she was going to
fix it. Sort of. Change it might be better wording. She was going to turn it
into a spying device. Allow it to show what was going on by splitting it in
half. They had only a need to plant it in Calpernia’s lair. It sounded much
easier than it would be.
As he was leaving the undercroft, Damien ran into Josephine, standing by the
stone throne at the head of the hall. It had a cobblestone wall around it with
two places where fire could be lit. The walls around it arched to a sun at the
head, that almost reminded Damien of an owl.
The seat of it, while made of stone, come forward into a skull shape, though
his legs would probably hide that particular detail were he to sit in it.
Josephine was looking at it now, a contemplative look on her face.
“Impressive is it not? Fit for a leader. Meant to show influence, and the
burden of it. It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgement. Where you will
sit in judgement.”
So he was to sit in it afterall, of course.
“Don’t you think I spread enough bloodshed in my usual outings? What’s the
point of bringing people here to judge them?”
“I share your distaste for more bloodshed, but it needn’t come to that. The
Inquisition’s sovereignty comes from the influences who support it. You are
both empowered and bound. Justice has many tools. If their application is
clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison.”
Damien nodded. Tranquility was his first thought. He would rather be dead than
made tranquil. He supposed perhaps in extreme cases, if death seemed to kind,
there were other options. He couldn’t see himself ever being in favor of that
rite though.
“Well, is there anyone who needs to be judged, while I have the time?”
“Yes, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll have the guards fetch him.”
Damien nodded, sitting down at the stone throne. It was more comfortable than
it looked, but even still he may ask Josephine for a pillow if he was going to
be sitting here for long periods.
It was the knight-captain from the Templar order, who’d willingly tried to kill
his fellow Templars. Cullen was there to oversee this man’s sentence. He had
caused the deaths of several of his brothers and sisters, as Cullen put it.
In his defense, he stated that he was only following orders. Damien realized
this would be far more difficult than he’d thought. He could do… well,
anything. Set the man free, kill him, imprison him, anything. The power was
terrifying.
Damien shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Don’t think about the people who
depend on you.
“We will question him on what he knows of red lyrium, and then jail him until
Corypheus has been dealt with.”
Safe. That was a safe sentence. No killing. Make him seem kind. Maker, this was
going to drive him mad. Damien needed to clear his head. He did have soldiers
in the marches to save. With that goal in mind, Damien went to gather his
companions. For this, he would bring Varric, Iron Bull, and Solas.
                             --------------------
Telling Varric and Solas about the upcoming mission had gone well. They’d both
been at Skyhold, and Varric especially hadn’t accompanied Damien on an outing
for almost a month. He had a visited the dwarf, but it was always nice to get
out and bond over clearing up bandits.
Iron Bull, on the other hand, had asked him to take someone else.
“What do you mean you have things to do? I mean, it’s okay, but, I’m just
surprised is all.”
Bull chuckled a bit before taking another sip from his tankard,
“The boys and I are going to go shopping. Just basic things. Normally Cullen
gets them, but there’s a few special things. Won’t take long. We’ll be gone and
back before you return.”
Damien pursed his lips. He liked talking to Bull, and it was nice having a
large Qunari on the battlefield, but he had Cassandra, so it wasn’t like Bull
was leaving him without options.
“Alright. Well. We’ll see you when we get back, then.”
“Nice talking with you, Boss.”
                             --------------------
The Fallowmire was wet, and muddy, and smelled awful. The job in and of itself
was easy. The Avvar who challenged him was nothing particularly special. No,
what made the Fallowmire difficult were the corpses.
They weren’t difficult to kill. They weren’t particularly scary. Those were the
easy corpses. They killed those, moved on, killed some more. Then came the
requisition for some of the tissue from those who’d died of illness, to try to
formulate an antidote for the illness passing among the soldiers.
It was with this task in mind that Damien led his team out of the run-down
castle the Avvar had been using as a base. They fought their way down the path,
through the walking dead. Once the dead seemed to rest though, Damien had his
party spread out.
“Alright, we need to find corpses from the illness. None of these walking dead.
We need the diseased tissue.”
With a nod, they all went their separate ways, agreeing to meet back in camp in
an hour.
                             --------------------
Bull hadn’t lied. Not exactly. He’d been meaning to get some new equipment for
the Chargers for a month now. He had stretched the truth a bit about why he’d
stayed behind though. The reason for his slough of duty was standing on front
of him, albeit nervously.
The resemblance between Damien and his cousins was striking. They looked more
like brothers. These two he’d dug up were twins, and seemed to be the only of
Damien’s family in the Templars that had lived through the events so far.
“Look, we don’t want any trouble.”
“We haven’t told anyone we’re related to the Inquisitor we swear.”
“If this is about Newton, he was just joking.”
“Really, Josephine doesn’t need to worry about us.”
Bull bit back a chuckle. Yeah, for all her silky dresses, Josephine knew how to
make threats. It was good of her to keep Damien’s family out of things though,
especially these templars.
“That’s not why I asked you to meet me.”
The twins exchanged somewhat worried glances.
“If this is about Ostwick.”
“Nothing could be proven.”
“Not that anyone was really trying to find anything.”
“It was all rumors. There’s no fact.”
Bull held up a hand.
“I’m interested in those rumors. Damien doesn’t talk about the Circle. I’ve
known him for a couple months, gone on missions with him. Answered who knows
how many questions about the Qunari, but when it comes to life in the Circle,
he skirts around, changes the subject, or gives a short answer. I want to know
what was going on in that circle, and you’re going to tell me.”
                             --------------------
 
Milky white.
Empty.
Staring.
Those eyes.
He was dead.
He was really dead.
Damien pressed himself to the wall in the dank dungeon.
Last night he’d been alive.
Then they took him.
Brought him back dazed.
This morning dead.
Cold.
Rigid.
Dead.
 
 
He screamed. He’d been fine with the first corpse. It was morbid, it was
uncomfortable, it stunk, and it felt disgusting, but he’d done it. Then he
turned this one over. It was a male, not more than 15 or 16. The same age.
He flung himself backward, away from the corpse of the boy. As the water was
disturbed so violently, 3 corpses stood up out of the murky water. Damien spun
around, sloshing in a sort of jog through the thigh-deep water.
He clawed his way up onto dry land and flipped over onto his back, throwing out
lightning and fire, killing the corpses before they managed to touch him. They
burned easily despite their cold skin.
 
 
Skin so rubbery.
Was it ever alive?
Was he alive?
Was he a hallucination?
Damien was standing with his back to the wall of the dungeon, just staring.
He couldn’t call the guards.
He’d be beaten for it.
No noise.
He balled up his right hand into a fist, pressing it against his mouth.
He slid down the wall as tears crawled down his cheeks, as he felt powerless to
do anything but stare at the younger boy.
 
 
                             --------------------
A loud cry. The large wooden door to Skyhold was dropping. It was Damien, and
his party. Something was wrong. The shouts weren’t triumphant. Bull put down
his tankard to go outside the tavern. What he was met with was disturbing at
best. Damien was being brought in on a stretcher of sorts, Cassandra and a
soldier, with Varric and Solas behind them, faces set firm.
He didn’t appear to be wounded. At least, there was no blood. Bull jogged over
to Solas and Varric.
“What happened?”
“That’s the problem. We don’t know.”
Bull looked at Varric, his expression incredulous.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We split up. All of us. Just to collect some decomposing tissue off the
corpses. Solas heard his scream, says he heard the pull of magic on the fade,
and ran to Damien, throwing up sparks of some kind. It didn’t take much for the
Seeker to figure out it was trouble. They found me back at camp.”
“That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me what happened. Solas?”
The elf’s face was set firmly, his eyes on Damien as he was carried up the
stairs toward the throne room of Skyhold, heading toward his rooms.
“I don’t know what happened. I arrived, and he was fine. He was just staring
into space. He muttered a word here and there under his breath, but he was
healthy. I got Cassandra, but then he… passed out. I was unable to find him in
the Fade, however. He hasn’t woken since.”
Bull turned to follow Solas’ gaze, watching the stretcher disappear. He made a
noncommittal grunt of some kind before leaving them both to climb up the
stairs, following the small procession up to Damien’s room.
                             --------------------
“You need to shave. Your hair’s gotten pretty long too.”
Damien squinted against the sunlight coming in to brush his face. He lifted his
left hand, scratching his cheek. He turned in the direction of the voice to
find The Iron Bull sitting on his white lounge, a whetstone and his axe in
hand. The double-head rested on his knee as he drew the whetstone along the
edge, not looking at Damien.
“What do you remember last?”
“I was… running from corpses. No. I’d killed the corpses. I was laying on the
bank by the water. I remember Solas, coming to help. I…. I can’t remember
anymore.”
“You fainted. Or blacked out. Solas couldn’t find you in the fade, and they
couldn’t wake you.”
Damien rubbed his eyes, sitting up on the bed.
“I-.... I don’t remember dreaming.”
Iron Bull nodded, still sharpening his blade.
“We need to talk. You need to talk. I know, I offered before, and you said no.
This time I’m not giving you a choice. I spoke to your cousins.”
Damien went still, the muscles in his back, legs, arms, stomach, everything
clenching tight.
“You… I’m sorry, what cousins?”
Bull sighed, setting his axe and the stone on the floor gently, almost
lovingly.
“Your cousins. The twins that look like your younger brothers. You need to talk
about Ostwick. What they told me… you can’t keep that in.”
“I’ve done just fine.”
“What, with your panic attacks? Your temper? Now you’ve blacked out, who knows
if that’s from something physical or mental. We don’t know when you get sick if
it won’t just be your emotions building up, or if you actually need healing.
You need to talk to someone, and you’re going to talk to me.”
“Bull… I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
There was a timid knock on the door below them. Bull turned over his shoulder.
“Come in. He’s up, so I hope you brought enough for two. I also have a list for
you.”
The elf-girl came up with her tray, though there wasn’t enough for two people.
Bull motioned for her to set the tray next to him before handing her the list.
“Get these things, and bring what you can up with his food. Everything else
might need more than one hand.”
The girl looked over the list and nodded before stepping away. After she’d
left, Bull stood, walking over to Damien’s bedside. Standing so close, it was
almost frightening how much bigger he was.
“Damien. Let me help you.”
Damien clenched his jaw before looking up at Bull, nodding slightly before
speaking.
“It… I… I-.... Maybe you should… just… ask what you want to know.”
Bull lifted Damien up slightly, one arm under his knees, the other under his
lower back, scooting his over before sitting on the edge of the bed, propping
up his feet. He was barefoot. For the first time, Damien noticed that the Bull
wasn’t in his usual armor. He was only wearing his pants. Even the large
leather belt was removed.
Bull folded his arms across his chest, comfortable, but not pushing to touch
Damien.
“Alright. We’ll start small. How old were you when you went to the Circle?”
“I was 5 years old.”
“I’ve heard that’s young… And your parents sent you to the Circle as soon as
you had magic?”
“Yes.”
“What was daily life like in the Circle?”
“I.. suppose like at any school. We were woken in the morning, fed breakfast.
The younger ones went straight to class, older ones did chores. Then lunch,
then the younger ones were done with class and had other tasks, and the older
ones studied. Those who didn’t go to classes either taught them, or did other
work.”
“What were the Templars like?”
Damien swallowed, staring into the fire across the room, past the foot of his
bed.
“They…”
His breath hitched slightly before he continued.
“Most of them were just there. They did their jobs. Woke us, fed us… were there
for our Harrowings.”
Bull glanced down at Damien. His hair had gotten long. He’d been pulling half
of it into a ponytail, but they’d taken that out to let his rest easier. His
hair was down to his chin, brushing against his jaw when he spoke.
“You say most. I want to know how you were treated, Damien. I don’t want to
hear most. I want to hear all. Remember, I know most of this already. You don’t
have to be afraid I’ll judge you.”
Damien’s chest shook as he tried to pick out words to use.
“The… ones that… there was one… who-... Ser Knowlen.”
Bull nodded. The Uncle. He’d heard about that. Well, he’d heard what rumors the
twins had heard from Ostwick. He had a feeling the rumors were very tame in
comparison.
“Tell me about Ser Knowlen. Start with what he looked like. Just describe him.”
“Tall. No. Not tall. He just… seemed that way. Especially when I first… when he
first… When I was younger. He had hair like mine, but cut short, and lighter
skin. Same color eyes. He was sturdier though. A bit heavier too. Like a tall
dwarf.”
Bull was silent, still watching Damien for any sign that he might have an
episode.
“He kept himself clean. All the Templars did. Soldiers have to be tidy I
guess.”
“Good. You said most did their jobs. Ser Knowlen wasn’t most. What did he do?”
Damien voice grew soft. Almost a whisper.
“He raped me.”
Bull raised his eyebrows in surprised. He’d known that had happened, of course.
He’d been surprised Damien would word it like that. It was a good sign. Showed
that Damien had come to terms on at least a small level with what happened.
“Once?”
“No… a lot. More than that… he… liked to punish me. He was creative. He always
had something new to try. Once he knew what I hated the most… then he… he used
it more. He said I clenched up when I was afraid, that it felt good.”
“There’ve been things that have triggered you. When that Templar tackled you.
Varric told me about it.”
“Did you spend that 3 weeks that I was in the swamp just digging up information
on me?”
Damien had turned his attention from the fire to look up at Bull, his brow
furrowed, but he didn’t look angry, just… perhaps a mixture of anger and
surprise actually.
“Only about 2 weeks of it. The Chargers did need some things.”
Damien jerked his head back toward the fire, his cheeks growing a bit red,
though Bull wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Keep telling me about Knowlen.”
“What, you want details?”
“No. I want to know what might trigger you, what has triggered you. I want to
know what I need to know to protect you… I did say bodyguard when I signed on,
remember?”
“He liked to hold me down, tied me up, and then let me squirm. He liked to make
me recite scripture while he hurt me. I have scars all over my body, cuts,
burns, you name it.”
“What happened in the Marsh?”
“I… found a corpse… that reminded me of a friend.”
“Tell me about the friend.”
“It was when we were 13. Knowlen had just started abusing me. My friend… was
supposed to have been at his Harrowing. That’s what we all thought anyway, when
he disappeared one night. Then I… I dropped my dishes in the dining hall. I
might’ve tripped, I can’t remember. I just know Knowlen stood up, in front of
me, and said, ‘You trying to make a mess?’ I was so scared. I just stood there.
That was when he grabbed my robes, along the back of my neck, and dragged me
out of the hall. Down to the dungeons. I remember it stunk, it was dark. At the
bottom of the stairs, he… he pushed me. I fell. I remember hitting my head on
the floor. I don’t remember what happened right after that. I just remember the
pain. He must’ve repositioned me… and him. I just remember him fucking me, and
me screaming. Then he finished and left me, and I remember him closing the door
behind him, blocking out all the light. The next morning, when the sun finally
showed through the window… my friend was in there with me… but he was dead -
with the sunburst seared into his forehead.”
Damien choked on the last line.
“And now I seen that fucking sunburst no matter where I look.”
Bull looked down at the fire, his hands clenching into fists against his ribs,
hidden as his arms were folded.
“And that was the first time? The beginning?”
“Yes.”
“...Did it continue like that?”
“...in a way. He never did that in particular again. He did other things. If he
wanted to make it public, he’d wait until I did something wrong, but most
nights he’d just walk past me at dinner and whisper in my ear. I didn’t go to
his room once. I still have his brand in my shoulder from when he punished me
for that.”
“How long did this continue?”
“.... until the Circles fell, Bull.”
Bull couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath. From when he was 13, to just a
year ago. Bull hadn’t expected that. He’d expected it to have stopped, likely
after his Harrowing. He realized with a sickening stomach why it didn’t.
“Damien… did you ever seek him out?”
“Bull?”
“Did… you ever go to his room without being told?”
Damien was silent for a very long time before his whispered response was heard.
“Yes.”
 
 
***** Fluffy Angst *****
Chapter Summary
     As the title suggests, this is mostly just filler, fluffy angst.
     Though, we do get to see out Avvar Prisoner in this one, as well as
     talk to Solas.
Talking had helped, in a way. By the time they were finished, Damien felt both
naked and exhausted. The elf-girl had come back up while they were talking,
though they remained fairly silent until she’d once again left. Damien and Bull
took that time to eat their respective meals, though Bull’s had cooled off
quite a bit.
Damien was given only some broth, tea, and bread. He was just grateful that it
wasn’t porridge. This odd elation had spurred a question, first about why he
seemed happy, and then about what was wrong with porridge. After their meal,
they continued talking. The sun was setting when there was another knock on the
door, though this time it was a few servants, carrying in a large tub, followed
by girls bringing in water and the other things on Bull’s list.
“You… had them bring me a bath?”
Damien looked up at Bull, fighting back laughter.
“I did a bit more than that, actually. They have good timing though.”
It wasn’t long before the bath was filled and steaming. Bull had received
several small bottles, two of which he dumped into the bath water. Before much
more, the elf-girl brought up their supper before departing.
“I can leave too, Boss. I won’t lie though, I planned to stay, if it was
alright with you.”
Damien flushed, bright red from his cheeks to the tips of his round ears.
“S-stay? Bull?”
“Don’t worry Boss, just to help you relax. I knew you’d be beaten after
talking.”
Damien looked over at the bath, his heart pounding before he nodded, standing
off the bed.
“I’ll turn my back while you get into the tub, if you like.”
“Yes, please.”
Damien’s voice was tinged with relief, and he flushed even darker at hearing
his own tone. He stripped quickly, not needed to take much off, before climbing
into the tub, sitting down. Whatever Bull had added to the water had turned it
a milky color, He couldn’t see more than an inch below the surface, which he
tested by lowering his hand from the surface, slowly.
“Lemme know when I can turn around, Boss.”
“Oh, right, yes.”
Bull turned around before walking over to the tub, sitting down by Damien’s
head.
“There’s a few things I had them bring up, but first up, you do need a
haircut.”
“You want to cut my hair?”
“Well when you say it like that… What do you think I’m gonna hack off half and
leave bald patches?”
Damien’s silence was answer enough, to which Bull laughed heartily.
“Relax, Boss. I do Krem’s hair. Krem fixes my clothes, I do Krem’s hair, it’s
win-win.”
“I don’t want hair like Krem.”
“I can do more than one hairstyle, Boss.”
“... fine, but if you cut me, I can’t promise I won’t… freeze you or
something.”
Bull rolled his eyes, grinning as he began snipping away pieces of the brown
locks.
                             --------------------
It ended up being the best bath Damien had ever had. Of course, he hadn’t
really had a good bath since he left the Circle, and bathing in the Circle was…
not the most relaxing experience.
Damien not only got a haircut, but Bull had helped him shave. To say he was
over-due was an understatement. Now he might actually look the part of the
Inquisitor. That was a good thing, because according to Bull there was another
prisoner he’d have to judge, in the morning of course.
For now, Damien was curled up in bed, against the Qunari. He hadn’t wanted to
be alone, partly because he knew that he would have nightmares, especially
after talking about his past. He’d grown to consider Bull a close friend, much
like Varric, Solas, and Cassandra, though Cass and him did have more
differences.
He never expected to open up about his past to any of them though, least of all
Bull, if he was being honest. Though that night, with one of Bull’s arms
propped behind his head, he slept soundly. It was refreshing. When he woke up,
the giant was gone.
                             --------------------
“You continue to surprise me. Alright, let us talk, preferably somewhere more
interesting than this.”
He’d wanted to talk to Solas, maybe figure out why he couldn’t be found in the
fade. He was a bit surprised to talk to Solas in Haven though. Something was
off about this whole meeting. Damien just couldn’t put his finger on it.
They walked through the small village, into the Chantry, and then down into the
dungeon where Damien had first woken to Cassandra’s interrogation.
“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor.”
“... That was incredibly kind of you. I can’t imagine it was easy.”
“You were a mystery. You still are. I ran every test I could think of, and
still nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me
executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”
“That… does sound like Cassandra, I’ll admit.”
“Yes.”
Solas let out a hearty laugh.
“You were never going to wake up, how could you? A mortal sent physically
through the fade. The spirits I would have sought aid from had all fled the
breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… or she in me. I
was ready to flee.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t. I told myself, one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and
failed. No ordinary magic could affect them. I resigned myself to turn and
flee, and then, you sealed it with a gesture. Right then, I felt the whole
world change.”
“It was that impressive to see me awake?”
“You walked in the fade!”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Even now…”
“... This… this isn’t real.”
That tickling nudging in the back of his mind dissipated as he realize what it
was that was so off. He was in Haven, but Haven was under 10 feet of snow.
“That is a matter of opinion, probably best discussed after you wake up.”
Damien sat up in bed, eyes wide. He couldn’t even remember laying down.
                             --------------------
It was late afternoon, his nap, talking to Solas, having taken up more time
than he’d expected. He was once again sitting in the throne, though what this
could be about he could only guess.
“After you returned from the bogs, we discovered this man, attacking the
buildings… with… a goat.”
Damien turned from Josephine to look over the Avvar man, though his head was
bowed. He work a giant hat with horns, and he wore the light blues and sun
bleached whites he’d seen on the other Avvar in the mire.
“.... With a goat?”
“You killed my idiot son, and I answered as is my custom by smacking your
holdings with goat’s blood.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. It.. was interesting, but completely harmless.
“... Put him in… that… Gibbet. That’s it. You will remain in the Gibbet for a
day, to be an example to… whoever it concerns. Then freed and returned to your
people.”
                             --------------------
There was a gentle knock on the door to his quarters. Damien was sitting at his
desk, reading reports, writing letters. Things he never thought he would ever
be doing.
“Come in.”
He had expected the elf-girl, probably bringing a meal, or a message. Her name
was Illana. She was a quiet girl, but she’d slowly warmed up to him. He wasn’t
in the mood for one of their usual chats.
It was with some surprise then, when he saw the two large horns cresting the
stair case. He hadn’t even heard the footsteps of the giant.
“Bull! What can I help you with?”
It had been a week since they… talked. Damien had moved past it, but he thought
it might’ve helped. It helped with some of the nightmares at least.
Within that week, things at Skyhold had continued to move along. Hawke had come
to him just the other day, letting him know that Alistair was ready for them.
As a result, Damien was making plans to leave tomorrow. Solas, Bull, and Varric
had all already been notified, and Damien had been down in the undercroft with
Harritt and Dagna, working to improve their armor and weapons as best they
could.
“Hey Boss. Thought you might benefit from another talk, before we leave. Stress
relief.”
Damien furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected this to become a… thing.
“I never expected you to be the caring type, Bull. Figured you’d be more..
gruff, tough, and manly.”
“I can be.. ‘gruff, tough, and manly’ when I need to be. But you don’t need
gruff, tough, and manly right now.”
Damien stood up from his desk, walking over to his bed. He sat down on the one
side, gesturing to Bull that it was alright for him to sit there as well, which
he did.
“I don’t know that there’s much more to talk about. What do you want to know?”
Bull leaned back, resting his arms along the back of the headboard.
“First, I want to remind you of something. I know a lot of the rumors, but not
the details. In some cases, I’ve kinda figured out reasons, truths, etc. When I
ask a question, it’s not for me, not for my benefit. Alright?”
Damien nodded, looking back down to the fire, just like the last time.
“Why did you keep going back to him?”
“Because… I needed to.”
“Why?”
Damien bit his lower lip, swallowing. His adam’s apple bobbed along his throat
before he took a deep breathe.
“He… said that it kept me from being possessed. If I…”
He choked slightly before taking another breath.
“After he’d been… raping me. For maybe a month…”
He paused here, gathering the courage to speak. Bull waited patiently, not
about to rush the mage.
“I was 14. Sitting on his lap. He was… in me. Then he pulled out, and spun me
around so I straddled him before going back in. He made me look at him. Then
he… started talking. He’d never talked before. Said he was only doing this for
my own good. Said that if he filled me up then there wouldn’t be room for
demons. Said it happened to all the mages who passed their harrowing. Said I
had to be a good boy about it.”
He choked again, this time biting back a sob as a tear rolled down his cheek.
“He said it was my fault. That he didn’t want to do it, but he had to keep
mages safe from possession. It was his… duty.”
He spat the last word like it was poison in his mouth. That was when he went
silent, staring into the flames as his shoulders shook. Then Bull spoke.
“Did he tell you why he picked you?”
Damien turned to look at Bull, he eyes hurt before he whispered.
“You… you know then, don’t you?”
Bull’s face remained passive.
“I haven’t judged you yet, I won’t start now.”
“... He was family. I was family, he said. He was my uncle. My fucking uncle.
Said he had to do it. Said my mother would expect him to protect me.”
Bull closed his eyes, turning his head away from Damien. So he did know.
“Lay down on your stomach, Damien, head towards the foot of the bed, watch the
fire.”
“What? Bull?”
“Just… trust me.”
His brow furrowed, Damien did as he was asked, folding his arms under his chin.
He jumped when he felt a large hand on his back, gentle fingers running down
his spine, then back up to press between his shoulder blades. Damien couldn’t
help the moan, only to bite only his wrist to gag himself. Bull stopped though.
“Are you okay? Did it hurt?”
Damien let go of his wrist.
“No… just… I didn’t expect it.”
Bull nodded before resuming, lightly pressing along the smaller man’s back,
probing his spine, shoulders, and hips.
“Damien. Your uncle was wrong. What he did…”
“I know, Bull. I know. I’ve told myself those same words. Repeated them like a
mantra. It doesn’t matter. He. He broke me. Pummeled his lies into me. He-”
“Shhh. Just relax. I know you know, but telling it to yourself doesn’t work,
does it? So you need to hear it from me. It won’t help overnight, but
eventually, the words will sink in. You are phenomenal. The work you do with
the Inquisition, you’re strong. You never needed help from the Templars,
especially not help like that. Your uncle was wrong, he was sick, and he tried
to make you sick. I’m going to help make you better.”
Damien watched the fire as the Qunari’s hands continued kneading away the knots
that had formed in his back from stress. He was surprised at how gentle the
giant could be. He was finding there were a lot of things he didn’t know about
the Qunari.
“He wasn’t the only one. At first he was… but later, when the other Templars….
I guess he told them…. Well. Then they started on me too. He got
jealous...Locked me in the dungeon. Said I was just a whore. Said I like being
fucked. I don’t know how long I was there. I just know he didn’t feed me. Then
when he got me out, he… proved to me that he was better. I’ve never cried so
much in my life. He wasn’t alone after that though. Guess he didn’t think the
others would stay away,so instead he let them… help keep me pure from
temptation.”
Bull continued to knead, just listening. Damien would say what he needed to
say, and that was alright with Bull.
“They waited on my Harrowing. I think they knew it’d be harder to get to me
when I was a full mage. I was 21 when I finally went through it. I was so
scared they were just going to make me tranquil. Make it easier to fuck me. I
figure my noble birth stopped that, but what do I know? After my Harrowing,
they left me alone… even my uncle. It was the best month I’ve ever had. Then… I
was reading… and I cut my finger. I…”
Bull’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t let it show, and he didn’t stop
massaging Damien’s back.
“I was so scared. I didn’t know how blood magic worked. I’d bled before, but
I’d always been surrounded by Templars. I-... I thought that without a templar,
even a small cut could lead to possession. I ran to his room… my finger
dripping. I-... I begged him to fuck me.”
Damien choked again on that last sentence before sobbing, his shoulders and
back shaking. Bull stopped his massaging, and instead slid his hands into
Damien’s armpits, pulling the younger man into his lap. He was surprised when
Damien turned, wrapping his arms around Bull’s neck. Bull closed his eyes and
followed suit, his arms wrapping around Damien’s torso as the man sobbed into
his shoulder.
When Damien had finally calmed down, Bull laid him down on the bed, pulling off
his boots, and his over clothes, leaving him in his pants before pulling the
blanket over him.
“Bull…?”
His voice was rough from sobbing, and soft, as if he didn’t want to say
anything.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Can you… can you stay… with me…? I… I don’t want to be alone.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Bull slipped off his own shoes and leathers before climbing under the blanket
as Damien slid closer. Just like the first time, his arm was used as a pillow
to prop up Damien’s head. This time, however, Bull stayed and fell asleep
himself.
 
 
***** Crestwood *****
Damien woke up to the sound of snoring next to him. It took him a moment to
realize that it was Bull. He sat up, then poked the Qunari in the ribs. Bull
startled away before cracking an eye open.
“Wuht is et?”
“It’s morning.”
“... then I’m going back to sleep.”
“Bull, we’re going to Crestwood.”
“.... fine, I’m up.”
He sat up, the bed rocking as he swung his legs heavily over the side, slipping
his leather boots back on.
Damien followed suit, throwing is shirt back on as well as his boots. The fire
had died down in the night, though the rooms in the castle never seemed to get
below freezing.
The two of them descended the stairs, out into the main hall before heading out
to the kitchens. Damien ate his usual breakfast of fruit and bread, and Bull
had his usual breakfast of porridge. It was easier to eat faster, since it
didn’t dry your mouth. Bull seemed more inclined toward efficiency.
                             --------------------
Things could never be simple. As soon as they arrived in Crestwood, they were
diverted from their purpose. A rift, and a large one by the looks of it,
underneath the lake. It was a small matter to drain the lake, but the spirits
floating around Old Crestwood were… incredibly disconcerting.
What was more disconcerting was when they found a bedroom. Or at least, what
had been a bedroom. Perhaps it had been a prison cell. It didn’t matter. It had
a bed, and a corpse. The corpse didn’t drown though. Whoever it was had been
hanged. Or perhaps they hung themself. Did they decide it would be better than
drowning?
Damien shook his head before leaving the small cavern, back out to follow the
path. Perhaps people had lived down here. Bull had questioned why there was a
path.
A second room, with the remains of not only furniture, but several skeletons,
some of them small.
“What… why were people living in these caves?”
Damien didn’t even want to think about it. Bull put his thoughts into words at
the mention of nightmares thinking about what they went through.
Moving past that, they continued downward, to find dwarven ruins. This was
turning out to be just about the oddest thing Damien had done yet.
The rift turned out to be in the runes, or rather, a Thaig. It was huge. Damien
had to restrain himself from going exploring. Safety of the town first. Varric
seemed altogether bored with it all.
Once the rift was closed, they backtracked, heading back up to the surface.
                             --------------------
Damien’s fingers shook as he finished the letter, setting it back down on the
Mayor’s desk.
“Boss?”
“It was him. He drowned them. It wasn’t the darkspawn.”
“Sparky, are you okay?”
Varric and Solas were watching, and it was Varric who posed the question.
“He killed them… because they were sick. He sent all the sick down to be
drowned. That’s…”
Suddenly strong arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. His
breath hitched before he felt the whisper along his ear as it was spoken.
“Breathe. It’s just me. Just you and me. Breathe.”
He did. Deep breaths as he let the paper fall to the desk.
                             --------------------
This whole deal with Crestwood left them with no time to see Alistair that day,
so instead they made camp, planning on continuing onto the warden first thing
in the morning.
Damien had just climbed into his tent when he heard Bull outside.
“Boss… mind if I come in?”
“Will your horns fit?”
Bull chuckled and ducked inside, brushing the flap first out of the way and
then back into place.
“Want to talk about what was going through your head after that letter?”
“.... here?”
“Yes, here.”
Damien looked down at his bedroll.
“It’s just… similar justification is used with mages… either to makes tranquil,
or to kill of an entire circle. Just in case. It’s disgusting. I used to think
Templars were the worst thing, but now I see the reason they get away with so
much. It has nothing to do with Templars, even the common people are capable of
such evil. It’s just this world. It’s just… it’s fucked.”
Bull nodded.
“Yes, there are people like that everywhere, but there are good people too.”
Damien grumbled something under his breath.
“Sorry Boss?”
“... I said that they’re not really good people if they sit by idly and let
such things happen.”
“They don’t. The townspeople of Crestwood? They find out about the mayor,
they’ll be out for blood. Most people who’re good are also ignorant about the
bad shit. Once they find out, they either go bad themselves, or die because
they made too many waves. It’s the world, and it sucks. You’re in a position to
change it though. Remember that.”
Damien nodded.
“Thanks, Bull.”
“Anytime, Boss.”
                             --------------------
There was a sword, pointed at his throat. He could only assume it was Alistair.
“It’s just us, Alistair. I brought the Inquisitor.”
The sword lowered,
“I’m Alistair. It’s an honor to meet you, Inquisitor, although I wish it were
someplace a bit nicer.”
“Help me figure this out, Alistair. Corypheus, creator of the blight, and his
dragon archdemon show up. Then all the grey wardens disappeared. Is there a
connection?”
“I think there could be. I started looking into this ages ago, and I uncovered
a few hints, but only hints, nothing concrete. Then, every single warden in
Orlais began to hear the Calling.”
Hawke inhaled sharply,”Damn it, Alistair, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was a secret. A very dangerous one. I try to actually keep a few of my
oaths to the Wardens.”
“The calling?”
“Wardens are tied to the darkspawn. We’re connected somehow. Eventually that
connection affects you. You get bad dreams and then you hear the music. Softly
at first, but then it gets louder. When that happens you go down into the deep
roads, to die fighting. In death, Sacrifice.”
“And every Gray Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re
dying?”
“Yes.”
“So Corypheus isn’t controlling them. He’s bluffing them with this Calling, and
they’re falling for it.”
“They’re afraid.”
Damien’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“I saw what a blight did to ferelden. If Wardens hadn’t stopped it, there’d be
no more Thedas. Commander Clavell wanted to find other means to prevent a
blight, blood magic, etc. I protested, maybe a little too loudly. The Wardens
are here, in the Western Approach. It’s an old Tevinter tower… I’m going to go
investigate. It’d be nice to have help.”
                             --------------------
“He couldn’t have just said to meet him in the Western Approach?”
“He wanted to meet you, make sure you were trustworthy.”
“Still, isn’t Hawke’s word enough?”
Damien was grumbling as they made the trek from Crestwood back to Skyhold.
Though they were riding horses, Damien had been raised in a tower. He hated
traveling, and even with him being in the Inquisition for almost 6 months now,
 He hadn’t grown to like it. It made him a good deal grumpier, especially
toward Bull who seemed to prefer life on the road.
“No, it isn’t, Boss. Not when you’re being hunted by your brothers.”
Damien let out a heavy sigh, sinking into the saddle of his mount.
“You have a point. I wouldn’t take anyone at their word either.”
Bull nodded then moved his attention back to the road in front of him.
                             --------------------
Damien stood at the war table. A large wooden board on legs, with a map of
known Thedas stretched over it. His advisors had felt the need to elaborate
certain locations by stabbing a dagger into them. He recognized them as the
more important missions he’d gone on. Ones that directly affected the breach.
There were also several different sized markers. Locations of people who needed
the Herald’s help directly, and markers for things they could delegate to other
members of the Inquisition.
Damien still had dust on his clothes, and dried blood dotted haphazardly from
his hair to his boots.
“The Western Approach. What do we have?”
He received a report from Cullen.
“According to Rylen’s scouts, there’s a large force of Grey Wardens in the
Western Approach. He suggests establishing a foothold immediately.”
“And do you agree with his suggestions?”
“I do.”
“Then get it done.”
With a nod, they were dismissed, and Damien went to go shower and eat some good
ot food while he waited on their first camp to be established.
                             --------------------
Why was it always Tevinter? Blood magic wasn’t all bad, as far as Damien was
concerned. No more than fire, or a sword was all bad. It didn’t help matters,
however, when the only mages brave enough to use blood magic were also the ones
desperate enough. Desperate like the Grey Wardens were desperate.
Of course, they weren’t much of anything now. Even before they’d been forced to
kill those they encountered, they were mindless puppets, no better than being
Tranquil. It affected Damien even more than all those were the mages in the
Grey Wardens. Those without magical ability had been sacrificed to use their
blood.
Even from Tevinter, mages were not safe, it seemed.
                              -------------------
As soon as they returned to Skyhold, Damien found himself pounced on once he
crossed the gate. Three trainers, all the best in their fields.
There was Viuus Anaxas, a Necromancer,
“I have come from Nevarra, as a voice for the dead.”
“You speak for the dead? Is that like speaking for the trees?”
Damien chuckled softly but turned it into a cough at the plain look he
received.
“Sorry.”
Then there was… a woman. She seemed a bit off. Said she was ‘Your Trainer’...
several times in fact.
“Serah… are you alright?”
“Just tired. Long journey and what not.”
Turned out she was a rift mage. Damien was surprised. The rifts just appeared a
few months ago, so say there was already a school of magic was baffling. It was
probably the most useful to him though, given his circumstances. The last was
Commander Helaine. A very… uptight woman. She taught the skills of the Knight-
Enchanter. Damien didn’t really see the point in continuing a conversation with
her. He had already made his choice.
As he climbed the stairs to the library, he could only hope they would have the
book he needed.
                             --------------------
Damien steeled himself before knocking on Cullen’s door. This conversation was
not going to be a comfortable one.
“Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, Damien pushed open the door. The commander was leaning
over his desk, reading something and muttering under his breath. He looked up
almost lazily before he jerked in surprise.
“Inquisitor. I didn’t expect you.”
Damien waved a hand to indicate he could relax. This was a personal call.
“Cullen… I… I have a request…”
Cullen furrowed his brow, but said nothing.
“I am a mage… if-.... if something… if I’m compromised… What would you do?”
Cullen fidgeted, looking away as he realized what he was being asked.
“If… If there was a risk… I could… Maker, I don’t even want to think about
this.”
Cullen cleared his throat before he continued.
“A Templar has certain abilities designed to allow them to combat magic,
specifically. Purging the area of harmful magic, for example. However, if
things get really bad, a Holy Smite is always an option. It causes spirit
damage. A templar can drain you of magic, and limit your connection to the
fade, and then exhaust you completely, all in the process of trying to banish
anything that were to possess you. In the case that you were an abomination… I
don’t know of anyway to undo that kind of magic…”
Damien nodded, and was about to leave before Cullen stopped him.
“As leader of the Inquisition, you… There’s something I must tell you.”
“... What is it, Cullen?”
“Lyrium grants Templars our abilities. It… chains us as well. We managed to
find a steady supply of Lyrium for the Templars here, but I have not taken it.”
“You stopped?”
“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”
“... Why?”
“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t… I will not be bound to the Order.
I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I
will be relieved from duty.”
Damien bit his lower lip. He could understand Cullen not wanting to be
associated with the Templar order, but he WAS a Templar. Bull had been able to
see it in just his fighting style. As a mage though, could he really hold it
against Cullen? Could he deny his the chance for change? For healing?
“... I can respect your choice. Are you okay?”
“Thank you, Inquisitor… Just a little pain. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Damien nodded.
“The Army of the Inquisition comes first. Should anything happen… I will defer
to Cassandra’s judgement.”
 
 
***** Chapter 17 *****
“Adamant fortress has stood against several blights.”
“But this is good new for us. It was built before modern war machines.
Trebuchets should be able to tear down those ancient walls.”
“One of our allies in the area has already supplied those to our cause.”
“That is the good news.”
The advisors seemed very excited about this, if Damien was being honest. That
last line got his attention though.
“And the bad news?”
“Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test… if they already have
a demon army…”
“I understand.”
“There are several choke points we’ll be able to use to limit the field of
battle.”
“With those, we’ll be able to cut off reinforcements. That will allow us to
carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”
Damien looked to his left, out one of the windows to the War Room.
“This will be a blood bath.”
“Our soldiers know the ranks.”
“Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”
                             --------------------
The fade was green. One moment they were falling from the top of Adamant
Fortress, the next, they were in the fade, and it was green.
It was odd. Solas was helpful. A spirit such as fear. It was confirmed when
another… thing, appeared. It seemed to be the Divine Justinia, though Damien
was doubtful as to the truth of that. He wasn’t the only one.
She claimed she was there to help. There to help him recover the memories that
had been stolen from him at Haven, when he had first entered the fade. She said
that it was a Nitemare, willingly serving Corypheus.
Then she directed him toward some wisps, claiming these were his memories. Sure
enough, after he killed them, each left behind a small glowing green artifact,
that when he touched it, absorbed into his chest. Each one had a flashback,
voices like what he’d heard the first time he’d tried to lose the Breach, but
this time the sounds were in his head, as if they were memories being awoken.
Then, he absorbed the final piece.
 
A cry, a shout.
“Somebody, help me!”
Normally, Damien would have let it go, let someone else handle it.
It wasn’t his business.
None of this was his business.
Why did he even decide to come to this Conclave?
He followed the cries.
The area was empty.
Abandoned.
Alone.
No one else would hear the cry.
Why had he ducked down into this hallway to begin with?
Templars.
Probably harmless.
This was the Conclave.
He’d hid though, all the same.
Then the cry.
The cry for help.
He flung open the doors to where he thought it was coming from.
The Divine.
She swung, the ball rolled.
Glowing.
Green.
Grab it.
Pain.
It hurt.
It dug into his palm.
Then a blast.
 
Damien shook his head as the memory returned.
“Was that all you wanted me to see?”
“For now.” Came the reply from the ‘Divine’,“There is more for you to recover,
but until the time is right I will clear the path ahead.”
With that, the Divine was gone, if it was even really her.
                             --------------------
“They think they own us, think they decide whether we live or die. They sit
there, smug in their armor, ready to cut off our heads for the slightest
transgression, as though we don’t strive every day to stay sane, to keep the
demons away. They can’t control us any longer. I won’t go back to the circle,
not ever. I thought about it last night, being back in the tower, their eyes on
me, and all of it came back, all the years, head down, don’t clench your
fingers, be a good mage, be a quiet mage, and I realized I don’t want to make
peace with the templars. I want them to burn, want it so badly that the bed
caught fire and wouldn’t go out until Evanne iced it all over.
“It’s still there inside me. I want them to feel the fear they made me feel. I
want them to know what it’s like. We’re leaving for the Conclave in a few
hours. If those bastards so much as blink the wrong way, I’ll let them see what
an apostate looks like.”
Damien dropped the paper, watched as it curled into green flame and disappeared
into ash, blowing away on wind that didn’t exist. His fingers shook. He
recognized the handwriting. It had belonged to Ophelia. A pretty mage elf who
was good at being quiet. She’d never been targeted by the templars. Not on the
same level that some of the human women were. Ironic that an elf’s thin frame
would protect her from the lusts of those who were supposed to guard her.
It showed Damien how even the luckier mages suffered. How even if the Templars
didn’t pick you out of a crowd, you still had much to fear. How even if he
hadn’t been targeted, he still would have suffered. Not all Templars were evil,
but enough were that their very nature permeated the walls of the tower,
instilling fear into the hearts of all the mages under their ‘care’.
“Boss, breathe.”
Damien jumped. He’d forgotten where he was. The Fade. Right. Without noticing,
electricity had begun to wrap itself around his hands, lightning sparking
outward. His party had all taken a few steps back, given him space. None of
them had read the paper. It had burned as soon as he let it go.
“It’s nothing. Let’s move on.”
                             --------------------
Spiders.
Must keep climbing.
The Divine.
Climbing.
“The demons, hurry!”
Reach the top.
Don’t stop.
Run.
“Come on, run!”
She falls behind.
Older legs.
The one person who fought for the mages.
She was going to die.
“Go!”
She’s gone.
She’s pulled back, faster than possible.
She’s dead.
Through the rift.
 
Another memory down. Damien wasn’t sure how many more there were. This wasn’t
as bad as his Harrowing though, he could handle this.
                             --------------------
The demon was huge. A giant spider. Impossible. They were barely able to handle
the little one. How could they hope to bring down something this large?
A sacrifice. A distraction. Hawke or Alistair.
Damien looked back and forth between them for a moment. He had to choose, and
he had to choose fast.
“You will die.”
“Not necessarily.”
That humor. He always seemed to make sarcastic jokes.
“We’ll remember you.”
He nodded.
“You don’t need to. Now, go!”
Damien nodded as he grabbed Hawke’s arm, pulling him out through the rift.
                             --------------------
Dorian was angry about books. Or rather, a lack of books. Or perhaps he was
angry about the order and condition the books were in? No, Dorian was angry,
and he was using the books to hide what about?
“What is this about, Dorian?”
“You went into the fade, physically. That’s a feat that hasn’t been performed
in a thousand years. The last time it was accomplished, Corypheus and his
contemporaries entered the fade and began the Blights. In comparison…”
“I was lucky.”
“Indeed, although there is cause for concern. If you can walk in the fade,
others will try to follow. Not all of them will be as lucky as you, and what
they could unleash? My advice would be to keep this quiet. Let them speculate.
Too many will see this as a challenge.”
“You’re right. We can’t take that risk.”
“There are enough idiots in the world who think if they use enough blood magic
their problems will just disappear. It’s the same kind of thinking I’m trying
to get rid of back home.”
Damien hadn’t spent much time with Dorian. Between the fact that he was a mage
from Tevinter, and the connotations surrounding that, and the fact that Damien
was trying to get over the idea that a man could see any kind of blood magic as
alright, he hadn’t sought out conversation.
Now, though, after some of the nightmares he encountered in the fade, he
thought perhaps getting to know a mage with a better education might not be a
bad idea.
He’d seen their fears. All of them, even if they hadn’t been there. Some of his
companions had obvious fears. Sera was afraid of ‘The Nothing’. Solas, of dying
alone. Some though, had odd ones. Blackwall, of himself. Dorian, of temptation.
Was Dorian afraid that he would be tempted, just as other Magisters from
Tevinter? Damien wouldn’t ask. A man’s fears were a private thing. None of his
colleagues needed to know he’d seen theirs.
                              -------------------
When Leliana and Damien had first talked after he got back to Skyhold, she had
asked about Justinia only briefly. She’d also mentioned that they might
continue talking later. It was with this in mind that Damien climbed up the
stairs after talking with Dorian.
Dorian had distracted him briefly, but he felt like Leliana would want to talk
some more about her mentor, and he cared enough about the only woman who seemed
intent on freeing the mages to give her his time.
As he approached her desk, she looked up,
“You remember everything now, correct? The Conclave, The Fade, The rift at
Haven. In your report you said Justinia was with you, but only you came out of
the fade. Why? Why were you the only survivor?”
“She knew it either her or me, and she chose me.”
“Of course. Of course she did. That’s just like her. Her message to me; I
failed you too. I’m not sure what it means. Please, did she say anything else?
Anything at all?”
“I’m sorry, nothing.”
“Justinia has never failed me. I was her left hand, and now she’s dead. I
failed her.”
                             --------------------
Varric was writing letters. Solas seemed fairly undisturbed about the whole
thing. Dagna wanted samples. Iron Bull needed to be hit. The last one was the
weirdest. He’d also offered to help Damien get through anything, but Damien was
oddly at ease with the whole thing. It had really been nothing like his
Harrowing, and he’d been oddly at peace with Justinia helping him through. He’d
also regained his memories.
Even his companions who hadn’t been in the fade were having a reaction to it.
Sera was handling it well, straight to about how people died, the people. Sera
was always about the people.
Cole was paranoid. He was terrified of despair, but for a spirit, he was
essentially afraid of becoming a demon. His response to that was to ask Solas
to bind him. Obviously Solas refused, but offered a talisman as a solution,
they just had to find it.
Blackwall was… taking it out on logs. It was understandable that he was upset.
He seemed more than upset though… which was also understandable. He’d have been
angry too if their places had been swapped.
Vivienne’s fear was irrelevance. That wasn’t a surprise, but it certainly
didn’t make Damien like her anymore. He hadn’t gone to talk to her willingly
since their first conversation, and this was no exception. Quite the opposite,
she sent an elf servant to come fetch him, as if he was one of her pawns. She
mused idly about the fade.
“How can you be against the freedom of your own people?”
“I understand how it may be hard to grasp, raised in a circle. It’s a big world
out there, life’s not fair. My brethren want a larger piece of the world than
they’ve been given, nevermind the power they already have.”
“No one asks to be born a mage.”
“But they are born mages. Would you allow a wolf to live among sheep just
because it regrets being a wolf?”
“You may have thoughts of ravaging those without magical ability, but I assure
you most of us just want to be left alone.”
“A wolf may claw to get into a sheep’s pen, but if you let them in, then the
sheep panic, and wolves smell their fear and are driven to frenzy.”
“I think you’re mistaking who’re the sheep, and who’re the wolves, Vivienne.”
“Quite the contrary, my dear. I never allow myself the illusion that anyone
will ever see me as anything but a wolf.”
At that, Damien turned on his heel, and left, fingers shaking.
He went to the garden, hoping the air and quiet would help calm his nerves. He
was met by Dorian and Cullen, involved in a game of strategy. When Cullen won,
he offered a game to Damien, which he agreed to. The game helped with his
nerves more than the walk would have.
 
 
***** Tranquility *****
Chapter Notes
     Please note, if Tranquility bothers you, parts of this chapter may
     not be good for you to read.
Damien did not enjoy judging those brought before the Inquisition. This time,
however, he would make an exception.
“I served a living god. Bring down your blades and free me from the physical.
Glory awaits me.”
Damien stared at the man for a good long time. Long enough that the guards
began to shift uncomfortably. He noticed even Vivienne moved over to her
balcony to watch him. The thoughts going through his mind were dangerous, he
knew that. He couldn’t, however, stop the words that next left his lips. He
just kept thinking of the lives at Adamant, of the Grey Wardens, of Alistair,
of everything that this man helped bring about.
“You are not worthy of death. Nor are you worthy of the magic that flows
through your veins. Magister Livius Erimond, you shall be made Tranquil.”
                             --------------------
It was early. Barely even dawn. Damien woke up early. He always woke up early.
Reports to read, messages to send, letters to write. It blew his mind how he
had gone from a nobody living in a circle to the most important man for miles.
Damien had been up for an hour already when the roosters of Skyhold started to
crow. With a stretch, he put aside his reports and went to talk to Iron Bull.
They’d be heading to the Shrine of Dumat. It was a Tevinter shrine that
Corypheus had been keeping Calpernia out of, for whatever reason. It would be
their last big mission before going to the Winter Palace. It was still 2 months
away, but Leliana and Josephine had informed him in no uncertain terms that he
would be preparing for the ball with them.
He walked into the Tavern, currently empty. He climbed the stairs, glancing
down to see Sera’s door was closed. Cole wasn’t in his usual spot either. Did
he sleep? One last small flight of stairs, and then a knock on Bull’s door. He
was answered within a moment.
“Come in.”
Damien turned the knob, stepping into the bright room. Half the ceiling was
missing, and even while Damien had offered to get it fixed, Bull had said it
didn’t bother him. He liked seeing the stars.
“Ah, Heya Boss. Little early to be harassing me about Seheron, isn’t it?”
“Sorry if I disturbed you, Bull. Just letting you know that we have a location
on the Shrine Corypheus was keeping from Calpernia. You, Dorian, Cole and I are
going to check it out. Figure Dorian knows far more about Tevinter than anyone
else, and Cole might be able to get a feel for anything… odd.”
Bull nodded.
“Sounds good, Boss. Though, before you leave, we need to talk.”
Bull always seemed to say those words. Usually they were welcome, but Damien
had a sneaking suspicion he knew what this was about.
“Yes, Bull?”
“You made that Magister tranquil. Now, I don’t blame you. Personally, I
would’ve killed him. From what Dorian tells me though, Tranquil’s worse than
dead. He’s not happy with you. Feels a bit betrayed actually. Vivienne thought
it was a great idea, hard to believe she’d ever approve of anything you’d do,
but there you go.”
Damien looked away, off at a wall. There was a crack, weaving it’s way down
from the top of the door frame, to the left. Hairline fractures permeating the
masonry.
“Damien, I know enough about you to be worried. I saw that tombstone, remember?
I expected templars, or that Knowlen guy. It said tranquility though. You know
it, I know it, and Solas and Varric know it. Whether or not they put it in
their reports I don’t know. I didn’t include those graves in mine, I know that
much. Damien, you inflicted your worst fear on that man, and considering his
reaction, I’d say it was his worst fear too. That’s… are you okay?”
Damien still hadn’t looked away from the wall.
“I’m fine, Bull. I almost regret it, making that call, but…”
“But you were angry.”
“... yes.”
“I can understand that, Boss. Dorian might take some time, but I can understand
that.”
Damien nodded.
“If there’s nothing else, Bull.”
“Yeah, just one more thing.”
“Yes, Bull?”
“I just wanted you to know, you’re doing good, Boss. You’ve been getting
better. Don’t let yourself spiral away again.”
“I won’t, Bull.”
“We’ll see. When do we leave?”
“As soon as I wake Dorian up, find Cole, and we get packed for the trip.
According to Leliana, it’ll take us around 4 weeks to get there and back, so
while we’re gone they’re going to be preparing possible dress uniforms and such
for Halamshiral.”
“Ah, that’ll be fun. I just love politics…”
Damien grinned, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll see you later, Bull.”
“Anytime, Boss.”
                             --------------------
Once again, Damien had chosen tranquility, but this time, it was optional for
the sufferer. A former Magister of Tevinter, imprisoned, in pain. He begged for
death, but he still had information they needed. Damien offered an alternative,
and the Magister accepted.
The trip back to Skyhold was quiet. Cole wasn’t oblivious, but he hadn’t
started spouting out their thoughts, yet. Dorian wouldn’t look at him, but
Damien knew he was whispering to Bull every now and then. Occasionally there’d
be a laugh between the two.
He could stand this until they were back at Skyhold. Then he would be too busy
getting ready for the Winter Palace. Leliana’s estimate proved to be over-
exaggerated, as Skyhold loomed into view about a week ahead of schedule.
“Hey, Boss. When you have a minute, there’s something I wanna talk to you
about. Can you stop by later?”
“Of course Bull.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
While Damien released his horse into Dennet’s caring hands, he walked straight
up to Leliana to talk about the Magister, Erasthenes.
                             --------------------
Damien was about to walk into the tavern when he saw Iron Bull and Krem off
where Cassandra was usually training. They both had shields in hand, and Bull
was using his to push Krem back. Krem would attempt to mirror the move, but
Bull always won out.
“Ah, Boss, glad you came by, I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-
Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”
“What’s in the letter?”
“The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus and
they really don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with us. With you,
Boss. the Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”
“If Leliana already knows about this, and she didn’t think it was to be taken
lightly, then I’m interested.”
“My people have never made a full blown alliance with a foreign power before.
This is huge.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Just like that?”
“I trust you, Bull.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
                             --------------------
“Shame the alliance with the chief’s people didn’t work out. He hasn’t said
anything, but he’s feeling it.”
Damien looked up from his desk in surprise, his jump almost knocking over a
vial of ink.
“Damn, Krem, how do you move so quietly? I didn’t even hear the door open.”
“Wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, your Worship. Chief wanted to talk to you,
said to meet him on the battlements.”
Damien nodded.
“Krem? I… He’s helped me, get over my issues. How can I help him?”
“Give him time, and be there for him when he needs you. He’s a thinking type of
man. He doesn’t talk his feelings out, and if something scares him, he just
beats himself up over it, literally. If he asks you to wield the stick again,
just do it. If he doesn’t, just let him talk. Don’t prod, but don’t brush him
off either. He can take time sometimes, and this is a big one for him.”
“Thanks, Krem… you give better advice that I realized.”
“I have to with the Chief in command!”
Damien shook his head and laughed as Krem descended back down the stairs.
                             --------------------
“You wanted to see me?”
“Hey Boss, Just ah.”
Bull had been casually standing around on the Battlements when Damien walked
up. As they were talking a couple of scouts, began to walk past them only to
pause. That was a sign something was off. When one of them drew a blade, Bull
spun around, punching him. It looked like a hard hit. Then the second one threw
a knife into Bull’s shoulder. Bull pulled it out and flung it right back at
him.
The first had managed to stand up, and lunged at Bull, saying something in
Qunari. Mid-lunge, Bull crouched and lifted him, throwing him over the
Battlements to the frozen river below.
“Yeah yeah, I know, my soul is dust, but yours is crushed.”
“Bull!”
“Sorry, Boss. I thought I might need backup. Guess I’m not even worse sending
professionals for.”
“You knew they were coming?”
“Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off.”
“... Is that wound alright?”
“It’s fine. I’ve heard myself worse than this fooling around in bed.”
Damien tried to stifle the blush that swept over his cheeks.
“The… uh, blade would have been poisoned.”
“Oh, they definitely used potion. Saar-Quamek. Liquid form. If I hadn’t been
dosing myself with the antidote, I’d be hallucination and puking my guts up
right now. As it is, it stings like shit, but that’s about it.”
“I’d hoped the Ben-Hassrath would let you go.”
“They did. Two guys with blades against me? That’s not a hit, that’s a
formality. Just making it clear that I’m Tal-Vashoth…. Tal-Va-Fucking-Shoth.”
“You’ve been pretending to be Tal-Vashoth for years, this doesn’t change who
you are.”
“That was just a role, this is my life. I’ve killed hundreds of tal-vashoth,
murdering bastards that they are, and now I’m one of them.”
“Bullshit. You’re a good man.”
“Without the Qun to live by…”
“Hey. You’re a good man. You. If the Ben-Hassrath can’t see that, then that’s
their fault.”
“Thanks, Boss. If you ever need an ass kicked. Know the Iron Bull is with you.”
Damien nodded, and Iron Bull walked down the stairs of the Battlements. They
were right next to Cullen’s office, actually. Damien decided now was as good a
time as any to check up on him. Make sure he was still alright without Lyrium.
Considering the commotion they’d just made, he was surprised the other man
hadn’t come out to investigate.
Even still, he was surprised when he knocked on the door as he opened it to
find a scout in the office, not Cullen.
“Oh, Inquisitor. If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with
Seeker Pentaghast.”
“Thank you, but… what are you doing here?”
“I’m just keeping watch, Ser.”
“I see.”
                             --------------------
As soon as Damien walked into the small forge by the tavern, Cullen left. It
had given him time to talk to Cassandra, think about what needed to be done.
Having Cullen take the lyrium would be the easier option. It would also shatter
his self-confidence, and make any future attempt at breaking the addiction even
harder, if not impossible.
It was with a heavy heart that he had to be strong, and do what he could to
prevent Cullen from taking Lyrium. He didn’t have to order him away from it,
but he would have, if Cullen had fought him on it.
When did leading the Inquisition turn into something that would make him face
harder choices than closing rifts?
                             ---------------------
It had been three days so far. Three days of sitting in Josephine’s office
while she and Leliana tutored Damien in those things that he would have learned
at home, had he not been a mage. How to walk, act, eat, drink, laugh, even how
to breathe (no deep breathing unless you wish to convey boredom, take nearly
invisible shallow breaths).
After two days, they’d said he’d be passable at court. Of course, they wanted
perfection, so Damien continued their torture. Even the tilt of his head had
meaning at court. Not only that, but they placed before him the pictures of
every noble of any importance, forcing him to memorize names, faces, and minor
details. Who was sleeping with who, who was arguing with who, who like him, who
didn’t.
By day 5, they’d moved onto actually preparing for the mission. Maps of the
winter palace lay splayed out across the war table, covering most of thedas as
he had to mentally walk through the build, describing simple details.
After a week and a half, they were having him practise with the visiting
nobles. It was still a month to Halamshiral, but most of the nobles were
packing up their things to go back to Val Royeaux, to prepare in their own way
for the ball.
By 2 weeks, they had uniforms selected, allies prepared, and Damien would be a
good noble for the court. There seemed to be no end, however, when Josephine
went to wake him up for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Good morning, Inquisitor. We have a full schedule today, lunch will be served
with Vivienne, I thought she could help us with any rough e-”
“Josephine, I need a break. All this court nonsense is driving me batty. Do you
think you could let me go clear some bandits or something? Just to the
Hinterlands, I won’t be more than 2 weeks before I’m back.”
With a sigh, Josephine glanced over her portable desk, biting back a grin of
understanding.
“I suppose we can spare two weeks.”
“Thank you.”
Damien already knew exactly what he wanted to do.
 
 
***** Angry Dorian is kinda scary AKA be careful who you go to for a hangover
remedy *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Come, have a drink. To killing a high dragon like warriors of Legend!”
Bull patted the seat next to him at the small bar in the tavern, sliding a pint
into Damien’s hand. Damien took a sniff of whatever it was before he recoiled
from the odor.
“What is this?”
Bull laughed heartily. Whatever it was, it seemed Bull had already had his fair
share.
“Maraas-lok.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means drink!”
With a grin and a roll of his eyes, Damien inhaled, holding his breath to chug
whatever it was. Almost as soon as the liquid hit his throat he exhaled,
sputtering as whatever hadn’t already gone down his throat hit the bar, his
cough causing several heads to turn.
“I know right? Put some chest on your chest!”
Bull took his own sip, barely coughing at all.
“That little gurgle right before it spat fire? and that roar? what I wouldn’t
give to roar like that. The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of
the fires burning… Taarsidath-an Halsaam! You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred?
Well, as much as we hold anything sacred.”
“That thing you just said, you shouted it during the fight, too. What does it
mean?”
“Oh, Taarsidath-an Halsaam?”
Damien gave a little nod, glancing down into his pint briefly before turning
back to Bull.
“Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later,
while thinking about this with great respect.’”
“You said THAT while it was breathing fire at us?”
Damien felt the flush crawling up his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure it was
entirely from the drink.
“I know, right?”
The next sound out of Bull’s mouth could only be described as sexual.
Attempting to hide his blush, Damien took another hard swig of the swill Bull
had given him, only to have a similar reaction as to the first time.
“Yeah! The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead
after the first one.”
Bull took yet another drink. Damien had to wonder where it was all going, as
Bull, aside from seeming very excited and boisterous, didn’t seem to be feeling
the alcohol.
“Ataashi - ‘The Glorious ones’. That’s our word for them. Ataaaasheeeeeeeee.”
“Why do you think the Qunari think of dragons that way?”
“Well, you know how have horns? We kind of look more dragonie than most people.
Maybe it’s that. But, a few of the ben hassrath have this crazy old theory.
See, the tammas control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you’d
breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe
drinking the blood, maybe magic. I don’t know. But something in that dragon we
killed…”
Bull made another fairly sexual grunt.
“...spoke to me.”
“When you put it like that, I’m worried I killed one of your gods or
something.”
“Nah, One of Tevinter’s gods maybe. They worshipped dragons rights? Kill the
shit out of them all you like. Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But
it’s all uncontrolled, so they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild, order out
of chaos. Have another drink.”
With a deep breath to prepare himself, Damien took another swig, practically
splaying himself over the bar. He was definitely feeling the drink at this
point, the room was spinning slightly, he felt partially numb, relaxed.
“Nice! To dragons!”
For the first time, Bull did cough after drinking, his own sputter matching
Damien’s.
“To… you.”
Damien blushed as he lifted his pint, the alcohol making him bold enough to say
it, but not bold enough to say it without shame. The next words out of Bull’s
mouth surprised him though, even more so when they were said with almost
reverence.
“And to you, Damien.”
                             --------------------
Bull was gone when Damien finally woke up, still in the Tavern. With how busy
Skyhold was, the Tavern was always open, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be
found passed out in a chair at 7am.
It was nice though, that he was in a chair, even in a corner, as if someone had
wanted him out of the way but not wanted to take him to his room. Probably not
Bull. Damien was fairly sure Bull would have just carried him up.
His head was pounding though, and the waves of nausea poured off him as he
tried to stand. Groaning, he walked over to the bar where the Dwarf was
cleaning some glasses.
“Don’t suppose you have anything for a hangover behind that bar?”
“What do I look like, an apothecary?”
“Right, carry on then…”
Alright, that was a failed attempt. That man was always the sourest. Weren’t
barkeeps supposed to be happy and talkative? Either way, Damien needed
something for this hangover.
His first thought was perhaps Sera. She’d trusted him with her own backstory
just a week ago, and aside from poking fun at him, she wouldn’t cause any
damage. She’d probably also know a way to get rid of a hangover.
However, he settled on Dorian. He and the mage needed to talk about the…
Tranquilities, and the hangover would give him a good reason to seek him out.
So, Damien left the Tavern, and forced himself to climb the stairs first to the
main hall, and then up to the Library.
He was just griping about said stairs when he paused. Dorian was sitting at a
desk, had probably been reading something. At least, until Damien had (loudly)
entered the Library.
“Dorian. I was just coming up to talk to you.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s expected enough. You certainly don’t come to library for
any other reason.”
“I...uh.. was wondering if you had any kind of remedy for a hangover?”
“Ah, yes, I recall hearing Bull had dragged you into his celebration. Just a
moment…”
He left the desk, walking over to the nook he’d claimed, searching through a
pack before drawing out two vials. He handed one of them over, a clear liquid,
almost looked like water. Damien uncorked the vial, sniffing briefly, only to
recoil at the smell. Dorian’s laugh was oddly pleasant, considering he hadn’t
heard it directed at him in a while.
“Yes, I know, the smell is awful. Just drink it.”
Damien took a breath, downing the liquid. Not only did it burn going down, but
it kept burning, though not so painfully. Damien shook his head, staggering
slightly, only to have Dorian catch him and guide him to a chair.
“Careful! Yes, there we go. No worries, it’s just going to go straight to your
liver. That helps clear out the alcohol a bit faster.”
“I wanted a cure for the hangover, not an intensified one…. Maker.”
Damien held his head in his hands, groaning as he placed his elbows to his
knees.
“I know, and I’ll give you that when you tell me why you’ve been throwing
around Tranquility. You’re a mage. How could you…. How could you do that to
someone?”
Damien groaned. This is definitely not how he wanted to have this conversation.
“I haven’t been… throwing it around. That… Magister…. He didn’t deserve death.
And the other…. He agreed! I asked him first…. He was hurting…. but we needed
his information…. He agreed!”
More of the pain was in his stomach at this point. His head still throbbed, but
the nausea was even worse, though the burning feeling of the clear vial
definitely didn’t help. Dorian stood there for a moment, thinking before
uncorking the second vial, it’s contents a thick milky white that smelled and
tasted like chalk mixed with grass. He tipped Damien’s head back, tilting the
potion down Damien’s throat.
“You’re a fool. You know that? He mightn’t have deserved death, but
Tranquility?”
Damien leaned back in the chair, sighing as relief swept through his body,
starting in his mouth, down his throat to his stomach, and spreading from there
to every other part of his body.
“Dorian… He…. I was angry. I regret doing it, but not enough to go have them
kill him now. I wanted him to pay. Pay for my pain, for the wardens, for
Alistair…. for everything. I didn’t want to give him the escape of death, and
if I’m honest I still don’t.”
“And the other?”
“I gave him the choice, while he was still himself.”
“I suppose that’s the most I can ask of you…”
“Thank you, Dorian… for the hangover… cure, as well as for letting me explain…”
“I would expect the same from you.”
“And you would have it.”
Damien looked down at the desk briefly before looking back to Dorian.
“What were you reading when I came up? You… didn’t look too happy.”
“Oh… yes… well…”
Dorian reached around Damien, picking up a yellowed piece of parchment.
“You remember Alexius? I believe I told you about him. Well, he had a son. We
were… close. Friends since we were children. He was helping me… circumvent his
father. I’d been trying to find out what happened to him, after… everything,
but there’s no evidence of him, anywhere. It’s as if he never existed. I think
the Venatori found out he was helping me. I think they killed him.”
“...I’m... so sorry. They’ll pay.”
“Yes. They will.... Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was
up late, studying. ‘Don’t get into trouble on my account.’ I’d say. ‘I like
trouble.’ He’d say. Tevinter could use more mages like him. Those who put the
good of others above themselves.”
Damien watched Dorian’s face, the range of emotions the other mage felt visible
as they spread throughout his fine features.
“Were you two….?”
Dorian… almost seemed to snap out of a daydream, looking back to Damien for a
moment before thoughtfully rubbing at the side of his jaw.
“Felix and I? … What an odd question…. No, there was nothing between us. He was
just a fine young man. Better than I. Maybe, if the world were a better place,
he’d be here instead of me.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Yes well… Thankfully, Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around
Thedas.”
Damien was left wondering what exactly he meant by that.
                             --------------------
Feeling much better than he had when he woke up, Damien walked into his own
rooms, a report in hand. He usually avoided messengers that seemed to be
searching for someone, anyone. It was either him, or not him. If it was him
then they’d give him more work. If it wasn’t him, they’d usually approach him
anyway in the hopes that he would know where the intended recipient was.
He read the paper, mumbling to himself,
“Once-proud…..low, barely… Oxmen…”
“Did I hear Oxmen?”
Damien jumped, dropping the report. Immediately, he stooped, picking it up.
“Bull?”
The Qunari was seated on his bed, a smirk casually splayed over his features.
Damien walked over to his desk, setting the report down before taking a few
steps toward Bull, stopping himself.
“So… I’ve caught the hints. I get what you’re saying. You want to ‘ride the
bull’. Can’t say I blame you, but I’m not sure you know what you’re asking. Not
sure if you’re ready for it.”
Damien took a step back. He’d… flirted yes, and if he was honest, he… was
interested, but.
“Bull, I…. I think you’ve been…. You must be mistaken I-”
“You’re blushing.”
Damien lifted a hand to cover his mouth, his fingers splayed over his nose.
“I-.... Yes. I’ve… I’m… interested. I… You want to know if I’m… ready for it?
Probably not. But… I-.... I am interested in you, and I…. I can’t be afraid
of….Look, I just….I want you, yes. I just… if I’m honest I didn’t expect...I
wasn’t expecting reciprocation. Not that I’m complaining! I just. I’ve
never...”
Bull laughed a bit, a chuckle.
“You say you’re interested. I’m willing to work with that. First though, I need
to make sure you know what it would entail.”
Damien took a breath, biting his lower lip. He glanced to the floor as if to
gather his courage before he looked back up, his eyes meeting Bull’s.
“So, show me.”
Bull stood, then stepped toward, him, far faster than Damien expected. He
reached out, gripping Damien’s wrists. With no effort, he lifted them above
Damien’s head, though the grip was gentle, it was firm. If he’d wanted to,
Damien wouldn’t be able to move. The report fell to the ground. Bull said
nothing, just looked down at Damien’s face, gauging his reaction. The silence
almost seemed to insinuate the question,‘Do you still want this?’
Damien… was no stranger to this. The emotions were what had his mind reeling.
He’d never felt affection for the other person before. He’d never even felt
indifference if he was honest. Every other time, he’d felt fear. For the first
time in his life, he wasn’t afraid at the prospect of what Bull was silently
proposing.
“Bull…. I trust you.”
Bull grinned at that, releasing Damien’s wrists, allowing his hands to travel
down Damien’s sides, then hips. He leaned forward, his lips pressing against
Damien’s. He left them there as his hands pressed into Damien’s ass, lifting
the smaller man up to wrap his legs around Bull’s hips.
                             --------------------
Hello. This is where the fade-to-black is in game. Proceed for Smut. Otherwise,
               end the chapter here to protect any virgin eyes.
                             --------------------
His chest was pounding. His ears felt like they were burning. When Bull’s lips
pressed into his own… He’d closed his eyes. At the release of his wrists, he’d
lowered his hands, his forearms resting against the oxman’s shoulders. He
clasped his hands together, almost afraid to react to the sensations.
Ser Knowlen had never kissed him. Not like this. With a groan as Bull’s fingers
dug into the cheeks of his ass, Damien forced Knowlen from his mind. He did
not want to think about that man now, not in Bull’s arms, against Bull’s….
erection? Yes…. that was an erection. It was kept mostly in place by Bull’s
pants, but Damien could feel the hardness pressing against his ass, between his
cheeks. It was suggestive, but Bull wasn’t grinding against him. His hands were
kneading Damian’s ass, his arms lifting Damien up.
His lips were warm, soft. It was surprising. Damien knew his own lips were
probably chapped. Damien gasped softly as his mouth was opened, Bull’s tongue
pushing it’s way inside, teasing, running it’s way around his teeth.
Whimpering, Damien joined the dance, tasting the sides of Bull’s tongue in
turn, only to withdraw as he was allowed to gasp for breath.
“Bull…”
He sounded…. needy. It was a soft noise, with a groan. Needed the taste back on
his lips. It was musky, had hints of iron. Like blood, mixed with alcohol and
sex. The good kind of sex. The kind he’d only ever heard stories about.
                             --------------------
Who knew he had it in him? Bull had expected the hesitation. Not resistance,
not unless he went too far, which he didn’t intend to. The hesitation was
normal. Bull just had to go slow. Ease into things.
What he hadn’t expected was for Damien to return the kiss. Not only allowed him
entrance, but to join in? To use his tongue that way? It just got better as he
heard his name come out from between those lips. Bull needed air just as much
as Damien, so as he inhaled, to hear Damien’s breath inhale, only to exhale on
his name? He felt his cock jerk just at the sound.
Giving Damien a extra heft, Bull spun them around, taking the few steps to the
bed, his eye shifting back and forth between Damien’s own green orbs, bright as
the fade. Bull wondered for a moment if the mark affected his eye color, or if
they’d always been so bright.
With an almost reverent touch, Bull leaned forward, laying Damien down on the
bed. It was a simple piece of furniture, though most of the Inquisitor’s tastes
seemed simple. A flat mattress with a sheet. There weren’t even pillows.
Normally, Bull would mourn the lack of posts, but for this, he didn’t plan on
using anything other than his own body. Let Damien get used to the idea of
pleasurable dominance first, as opposed to unwanted force.
                             --------------------
Damien felt the bed pressing against his back. The mattress was a firm one,
better for his posture. Or perhaps sleeping on a hard surface was just what he
was used to. It didn’t matter. Really, nothing mattered. He could barely think.
Bull had laid him on the bed, his hands free now that he was no longer carrying
Damien. Damien could feel them moving from their location, fingertips probing
along his rib cage. It almost tickled. It wasn’t enough to have Damien
laughing, but it was plenty to make his chest quiver, and his back arch. He
didn’t expect it to feel so pleasant.
Then those hands moved forward, tenderly undoing the clasps that held the thin
cotton garment together across Damien’s chest. The fabric caressed Damien’s
skin as it was pulled away gently, his arms pulling through the sleeves, first
one, then the other. For sake of ease, the shirt was left under him.
Bull’s hands resting against his wrists, where they’d been pulled free of the
garment. Gently, those large hands wrapped around his wrists, lifting his arms
up, over his head. Bull shifted slightly, crossing Damien’s wrists and holding
them in his left hand, his right hand sliding down, caressing across Damien’s
chest before kneading his right nipple gently.
Bull grinned at the moan this earned, Damien’s back arching slightly, tugging
on his wrists before collapsing back, relaxing. Just as he’d started to adjust,
Bull lowered his head, taking Damien’s left nipple between his lips, his teeth
grazing the tender flesh there.
If he’d thought the first moan was pleasant, it was nothing compared to the
noise he heard next. Somewhere between a whimper and a groan, Damien gasped,
sucking in a sharp breath before tilting his head back, his chest lifting of
it’s own volition. Damien tugged again, not out of willful rebellion, but out
of his body’s need to do something, anything, even if it was only to flail his
arms about as Bull continued his ministrations.
                             --------------------
Damien was reeling, his mind a whirlwind as he tried to comprehend how stimulus
on only his nipples could make him feel so… hot. Instinctively, he tried to
grab at Bull’s head, his horns, something, anything, only to be reminded that
Bull was also holding his hands above his head.
Bull slowed this teasing before halting it entirely, his head coming up, his
lips meeting Damien’s once again as his hand moved downward, fiddling with the
straps around Damien’s waist. Either Damien needed better buttons, or Bull was
good with his hands. Either way, it was barely a moment before he felt his
breeches being tugged off, kicking his legs to discard them faster.
A break in the kiss as Bull stood up, letting Damien free. He was torn between
letting his arms fall or holding them above his head. He’d never felt so free,
having that choice. He kept them up, fidgeting as Bull stood there, surveying
his work.
“Roll over.”
It wasn’t loud, or even demanding. It was almost a suggestion. Damien felt his
pulse increase. It was a silly thing to be triggered by, he knew. Bull wouldn’t
hurt him. Slowly, he rolled to his side, then onto his stomach, trying to keep
his breathing even. He looked up at his hands, how he’d tightened his grip on
himself, his knuckles going white.
                              -------------------
Bull didn’t need to imagine the reasons why being on his stomach would make
Damien more nervous. He understood. He also wanted Damien to realize that he
was trustworthy, on a subconscious level. The human mind is an incredible
thing. No matter what logical things Damien said to himself, some things would
bother him. Especially if Bull continued down this path.
Bull kept his own clothes on, a way to keep himself in control as much as to
convey the message that he wouldn’t be fucking the other man. He slowly lowered
himself on the bed, next to Damien. He lay on his side, reclining backward. He
probed his fingers down the other man’s spine gently.
“You trust me. Your instincts don’t. That’s not a bad thing, Boss. It’ll just
take a little time.”
He moved his hand down, adjusting so he had use of both his arms. he encouraged
Damien onto his hands and knees, and then pushed him to where he was straddling
Bull’s left thigh, his hands both on Bull’s chest.
                             --------------------
He was on top. Sort of. The position would still be on the receiving end, but
he wasn’t being held down. Not at all. Bull had moved them a bit farther back
on the bed, so he could recline against the headboard and wall, propping up the
few pillows Damien had.
Bull’s right hand went under his chin, urging Damien to look up at him. His
left hand ran through Damien’s hair, then down his back, along his ribs a bit
before gripping firmly on his ass.
Slowly, he removed his right hand, only when Damien kept looking at him. It
joined its counterpart, gripping Damien’s ass, kneading the soft flesh, running
a finger across his asshole here and there, tickling the spread of skin between
it, and his ballsack.
He allowed his left hand to press a finger gently against Damien’s asshole, not
penetrating, just allowing him to feel the sensation of someone playing with
him there. His right hand moved to Damien’s front, stroking back to front
before his large hand wrapping around Damien’s cock, earning a soft whimper,
thin fingers pressing into gray chest.
“Bull…”
It was soft, almost begging. With a gentle tap on the ass, only firm enough to
indicate meaning, not pain, Bull let go of his cock, earning a protesting moan.
“Hush, Damien. Let me work you over.”
Damien bit his lower lip, looking at the Qunari before nodding, his fingers
clenching against the other’s chest as the hand re-wrapped itself around his
cock. Slowly, Bull began moving his hand along Damien’s shaft, tugging and
tightening his grip here and there as he continued to run his left hand around
Damien’s body, stroking him here and there, learning what parts earned what
reaction. All the while, Damien’s head filled with fog as he struggled just to
keep himself up on his hands and knees, driven closer to his climax.
Bull pressed down on Damien’s ass with his left hand, pulling his right hand
forward. As expected, Damien, whether by instinct or conscious want, rested
back, thrusting his hips more forward in an attempt to keep himself inside the
Qunari’s hand. Bull did this a few more times, encouraging Damien to get
closer, finally having him sitting on his thigh, his left hand pulling his head
forward, their foreheads meeting as his right hand changed position, allowing
his thumb to knead and caress the underside of Damien’s cock, making passes
over his leaking tip while his left hand moved down to the base of his neck,
gripping the nape of his throat and pulling him forward into a brief kiss
before pulling it back over his shoulder to tease his left nipple, his mouth
finding the right.
                             --------------------
Damien’s hands clung to Bull’s shoulders as his toes curled, his fingers
digging into the thick hide of the giant, his mind going black within moments
as he reached his end, gasping out loudly. When he’d finished, he was kissing
the man, though if you’d asked him who’d instigated the kiss he wouldn’t have
an answer. He panted against Bull’s lips, sweat crawling in front of his ears
as a few brown strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Despite his own glowing
complexion, the Qunari seemed mostly unfazed.
Damien looked down to see an awful lot of his own cum spattered the Qunari’s
stomach, none of it hitting the man’s pants. He blushed, staring at it.
“I-... sorry.”
Bull just laughed at the sight in front of him. It had been gentle, but just
because his pants were on didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed himself immensely.
Sometimes gentle was good. Sometimes rough was good. Sex was never bad in the
Qunari’s eyes. He placed another kiss on the Inquisitor’s lips before rolling
over, holding the man and laying him down on the bed before he stood up.
He could feel the cum drying on his stomach, but it wasn’t the worse thing he’d
had there. Not by a long shot.
“Boss. Never apologize for enjoying yourself.”
Damien nodded, biting his lip as he looked over the Qunari, almost awestruck in
his gaze. The endorphins running through his blood giving him a dazed, tired
look. To be honest he probably was tired. Bull knew he didn’t sleep as much as
he could.
Bull leaned forward, stroking the side of Damien’s face and giving him another
kiss, letting it linger as he pulled Damien’s sheetlike blanket up, draping it
over the man’s hips.
“Why don’t you get some rest, Boss? The Inquisitor can take a couple hours.”
Damien blinked slowly and nodded, relaxing against the pillow that had fallen
flat once the Qunari stopped leaning against it.
“Thank you… Bull…. Thank you.”
It was soft, almost whispered in reverence.
“Anytime, Boss. Anytime.”
Bull walked down the stairs, the white cum on his stomach getting drier by the
second. Soon it’d be flaking off rather than needing to be wiped off. As soon
as he left the Inquisitor’s quarters, he ran into Leliana.
“Is the Inquisitor inside? I ha-”
“No.”
Bull held up a hand before shaking his head slightly the side.
“Let him rest. The Inquisition can wait a few hours.”
Confusion crossing her fair Orlesian features, Leliana nodded as Bull walked
past her. She turned to look at the door, her brow furrowed before she
following him back down the stairs to the main hall of Skyhold.
Chapter End Notes
     I feel some explanation is in order as to why on this good green
     Earth this update took so long.
     I have severe depression, anxiety, and a panic order as diagnosed by
     a psychologist. This is all very well controlled, thanks to Cymbalta.
     However, once a month like clockwork, Mother Nature decides to fuck
     up my systems. (I also suffer from PCOS, which may be part of why
     this hits me so hard) So, I get pretty bad anxiety attacks for 1-
     2 days a month.
     Just over a month ago, I went to a psychiatrist for some kind of
     calming medication for those times, as my panic attacks can get
     pretty severe. (self-harm and suicidal thoughts kinda severe)
     He, after one meeting, decided I have ADD, and sent me home with
     Strattera, a newer ADD medication. This medication not only doesn't
     work very well with Cymbalta, but actually cause 1-3 panic attacks a
     week for me. I also self-harmed, and had suicidal thoughts. The only
     ADD-related effect I noticed was decreased energy, and not in a good
     way.
     When I told this to my psychiatrist, he told me to get a sleep study
     for sleep apnea, doubled my formerly adequate dosage of Cymbalta, and
     kept me on Strattera.
     Less than a week after that meeting, I was in the ER, and shortly
     after was inpatient for suicidal ideation, which just means I had a
     plan in place for suicide. (I self-committed, because I couldn't
     confidently say I wouldn't kill myself, and that scared the shit
     outta me)
     I just recently got back, and finished this chapter. I've been off
     the devil-medication formerly known as Strattera for about a week and
     a half now, and am feeling 800 and a half times better.
     However, I am planning on suing my psychiatrist, because wtf man, so
     I might be a bit busy. With my mood back to normal, expect updates
     hopefully once every few days, like it was for Chapters 1-17, however
     if there's gaps, assume legal shit. Also Winter Palace is next up as
     far as major shit goes, and it's my favorite part of the game. o 3o
***** Preparing to Leave *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“That's a good boy. Lay soft now. Quietly. See, I treat you well. Better than
the others. You know that.”
He lay on Ser Knowlen's bed. Covers up to his chin, hiding his nudity, and the
bruises. Tears had long since dried on his cheeks. His hair was a mess.
“Get yourself cleaned up, boy. I'll escort you to your bed.”
Damien could only nod numbly, slowly crawling out of the bed, wincing as he
moved.


Damien, much like then, lay on his bed. He shivered, despite being quite warm.
He could feel the tight lump in his chest. Could feel himself breaking apart.
He stared at the wall. He'd been fine. He'd been relatively happy. Why was he
coming undone? Why was he remembering everything now?
The memories continued to flash across his mind, faster than he could even
process, though the emotions accompanied hit him just as hard as if he was
remembering in detail.


“Mage. What do you want?”
He was at Ser Knowlen's door, again. His finger dripping. Red hit the stone
tiles, splattering. He swore he could hear it, his heart pounding. He was going
to die. Become possessed, and then killed, or just killed ahead of time.
Knowlen wouldn't let him die. He hadn't let him die. He watched Knowlen turn
around. Watched as the Templar took in the situation.
Knowlen's hand fluttered to his sword. He thought Damien was a Maleficar. That
he was here to hurt him. Damien crumpled to the floor wrapping his arms around
himself. He couldn't breathe.
Knowlen relaxed, his hand dropping back to his side. He'd seen plenty of these.
In other mages. Damien had never had one. It was a curious sight. Finally,
Damien sputtered out a few sentences, and the purpose of him coming to Knowlen
was abundantly clear.
“I- don't want. Please. Protect me from possession. Please. I don't want to
die.”
Knowlen tried to keep the smile off his face, but Damien saw it. He had trained
his mage well.
“Stand, Mage. You passed your harrowing. Surely you don't need me.”
Damien stood, shaking as he clung to the door frame.
“Harrowed mages... can still...”
He choked. Choked as tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn't see through
them, but his other senses seemed to be on over drive. He could hear his heart
pounding, feel the air around him, he swore he could even smell and taste the
blood in the air. He heard Knowlen stand, the armor chinking as it was removed,
set carefully on it's stand.
“Shhh... Damien. Breathe. It's okay. I'll help you. Don't worry. I'll keep the
demons away...”


Damien shook his head, sliding off his bed and hastily pulling up the soft
trousers he normally wore around Skyhold. He needed to... He needed to tell
Bull. Tell Bull it was too much. He couldn't. He just...
No. He slowed in his movements and froze. No, he couldn't tell Bull. Couldn't
let him know how much of a failure he was. Bull had told him he'd been doing
well. He couldn't come undone. He took a deep breath before putting his clothes
on, straightening his hair before preparing to leave his room. The Winter
Palace was so close he could practically feel the judgmental looks of the
court. He had to keep it together. Had to put on a face for the Orlesians. Had
to prove that he was the leader the Inquisition needed. He was capable.
He tugged on the hem of his shirt, tugging the thin material down a bit. He
arched his back slightly before relaxing into the straight posture Josephine
was always trying to get him to use. It had to have been just after midday. The
sun wasn't setting, and it had still been early when he'd climbed the stairs
with report in hand. Had it even been the same day?
Damien shook his head again, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of sex. Back
straight, head high. Pretend you're more important than you feel. He walked
down to join Josephine in her office. A servant was just setting up a light
lunch when he entered, just in time for more lessons in table manners.
                             --------------------
It was late in the day. He'd been putting it off. Avoiding Bull for a couple of
days. He threw himself into the lessons from Josephine instead. Leliana had
been drilling him in various Orlesian phrases. She told him it wasn't pertinent
that he learn to speak it with any skill at all. He only needed to be able to
remember certain phrases and words, so that he could repeat them to her later.
Actually, it'd be preferable if he never spoke a word of Orlesian. Better they
think it safe to whisper around him. She said those secrets would help them get
through the Winter Palace more unscathed than otherwise.
Now though, it was late. Even Josephine had told him to rest. That they left in
2 days. That he should sleep on the lessons, and she'd drill him on the way to
the palace. When he left her office, Damien made to move left, to go up to his
rooms. Instead, his feet walked him out the throne room, down to the Tavern.
Damien hovered outside the door. From outside, he could hear the plucking of
the lute that Maryden never set down. He could hear Sera laughing loudly,
likely after telling some joke. Varric's voice could be heard, the dull
baritone seeping through the wood, though the words themselves were
indiscernible. There were other sounds too though. Less familiar ones. Other
laughs. Other voices. His men. All these men, depending on him.
Damien shook himself. He couldn't think about that right now. He walked in, a
lull in the conversations signaling that he was noticed. He moved to the back
of the Tavern, hesitating. He knew Bull could see him. Bull was watching him.
He continued his walk, stopping in front of Bull.
“Good to see you, boss.”
“Hello... Bull... We-... We need to talk.”
He tried to steel his voice, sound more sure of himself than he really was. The
truth of the matter though, was that his heart was pounding. He wasn't even
sure what he was going to tell the Qunari. No. He corrected his own thought
process. He was Tal-Vashoth. Not Qunari.
“Alright, Boss.”
Iron Bull stood, gesturing for Damien to lead. They walked out of the Tavern,
back through the courtyard, through the throne room. Up the stairs to Damien's
rooms. Really, they could have talked anywhere. Bull's room was just above the
Tavern. He wanted the walk. Give him more time to think. Finally he couldn't
put it off anymore. He turned, standing in the center of his room to look at
Bull.
“We need to talk about... about what happened.. between us.”
“Oh, that. Sure, What's on your mind?”
“I-... I'm... not sure... how I feel about it. I... I enjoyed it... But...
I...”
Damien inhaled, preparing to say what needed to be said.
“Bull, I... Afterward... I cracked.”
Bull furrowed his brow.
“I shouldn't have left.”
“I don't mean... I didn't mean to.”
“I made an error, Damien. That's on my head.”
“You couldn't have known.”
“Ben-Hassrath training, remember? When it's a hostile target, you give them
what they want.. But when it's someone you care about, you give them what they
need. In short, I should have known. Before I did what I did.”
Damien clenched his jaw, looking off a bit, not focusing on anything in
particular.
“So... what now, Bull?”
“If you want this, outside this room nothing will change. You're the
Inquisitor. You're the boss. Inside this room though, you can relax. I will
never hurt you without your permission. You will always be safe. If you're ever
uncomfortable, if you ever want me to stop, you say 'katoh', and it's over. No
questions asked.”
“You'll just... stop? No questions asked?”
“You said you trusted me, Damien. I will never go past that word.”
“This.... I can do this.”
Bull nodded, thinking a moment.
“First though, Damien. You need to tell me about what happened after I left.”
Damien tensed. He had hoped Bull wouldn't ask.
“It was... just... I was reminded of times when Ser Knowlen was... more
pleasant.”
Bull cringed slightly, his brows pressing together.
“I... understand... We...”
Bull wasn't at a loss for words. He was having trouble coming up with the right
words. His birth language was Qunlat, and despite his fluency, there were some
concepts that just didn't have words in the common tongue.
“I know ways that could help, with your permission... but it will take time...
and it might not be pleasant.”
Damien went even more rigid, if that was possible, staring at the stones along
the floor.
“Yes.”
It was quiet, but audible compared to the silence in his rooms. They were too
high up to hear the hustle and bustle of Skyhold. Despite this, he said it
again, almost to reassert to himself that he wanted this. Wanted to... not
heal. He didn't think he'd ever heal... maybe just... forget, or at least stop
thinking about it so often.
“Yes.”
Bull nodded, started to say something, paused then started again.
“We won't start this until we have time. With the Winter Palace... We can't
start this kinda thing and then go in there in the middle. I'll be there
though. Just.... remember to breathe. I'll be there, so will Josephine and
Leliana. Though, with Orlesians... expect to get groped”
Damien glanced up at Bull's face, furrowing his brow.
“...Groped?”
Bull chuckled.
“They didn't warn you? Orlesians wear masks, and that makes them bold. They can
touch, and be confident that they're anonymous. It'll be worse for the rest of
us, since you're the Inquisitor. I think Vivienne will just scare them away,
and Sera's an elf, and a crass one at that. Solas might get some perverts
looking at his ears like they're a large pair of tits, but they won't do much
touching.”
Damien's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“Orlesians... are something else entirely.”
“Still better than 'vints, Boss.”
Damien shook his head, grinning. Then he bit his lower lip and looked up at
Bull.
“We leave in 2 days. Will your boys be coming?”
“Nah. They'll do more work staying back. Cullen's got a substitute to man the
forces temporarily. I heard some talk of turning Adamant into rubble. Krem's
excited for it. They've got plenty to do.”
Damien nodded. He was gnawing on his lower lip as he debated with himself
internally.
“What is it, Boss?”
Damien didn't answer. He just stepped forward, pressing himself into Bull's
chest.
“After... before... Thank you. I'm just. I'm broken. I know it. I still wonder
at why you're here. Thank you. Just thank you.”
Bull furrowed his brow again, looking down at the mage. Nothing he could say
would do any good at this point. Reassuring Damien would do no good unless
there were enough good memories to back it up. Right now there was only a lack
of bad memories. Instead, Bull wrapped his arms around the younger man,
squeezing him into his chest gently, and just holding him until he was ready.
                                        
 
Chapter End Notes
     Alrighty. I already ran through the Winter Palace, taking notes and
     what have you, so enjoy this baby chapter. (I felt the chapter would
     just be too long with the entirety of the Winter Palace included in
     it)
***** Hiatus Explanation *****
Hey guys. I kinda debated posting a new chapter just to update you guys and
explain the hiatus, but here we are. My xBox decided to go on a trip. I've been
wanting to buy a PS4 as it is, but money's never something that can be easily
put toward something like that. As soon as I can, I'll be restarting back up
with this, but unfortunately, this particular fic is following the story as I
play it. My other fic lucidity was following a play through as well, but much
looser. As a result, I may be updating that one, and so haven't marked it as
Hiatus. My newest fic was going to follow through skyrim, and I still might try
to get through it on the PC (It's laggy af which makes it difficult to play). I
may write the first 2-3 chapters of it as the beginning of the game is the
easiest to remember as it's pretty much always the same, whereas later through
the game it's much more personalized. I did manage to make it through the
Winter Palace, and take notes, but I lost said notes (of course). I may still
write that chapter, however, as I remember the key parts. Unlike the rest of
the fic, it wouldn't follow the speech options as closely.
 
So, just know that if I do update, I'll write out a bit of a note in that
chapter, and delete this chapter, but for now, this is me saying thank you, and
I hope I get back to this fic soon. :c
***** Ohhh nooooooooooooooo *****
Chapter Summary
     UPDATE
I've become my own worst enemy! Woohoo. The Author that drops a project for
like a year. WELL. Here's a non-update update. Not an update of this story. An
update on my plans.
So, I got an xbone. What does this mean? Well, a good in game picture of Damien
for one. What else does this mean? I had to pick one save, and I went with my
completionist save where I have all the little quests done and I've just
finished the winter palace, because I have more work on that save than any
other. So, I lost the Damien save. So I'm remaking my Damien save.
As in, I'm playing through it again.
So I want to work on this again obv.
So I'm going to be REWRITING THIS FIC. I'll be leaving this up and starting a
new fic, Same Title, however that Fic will have the [Revised] tag at the
beginning.
So yeah, I'm gonna mark THIS FIC as completed. And then I'll be reopening a
revised version. So if you want to have spoilers because you're just tuning in,
then read this one. Keep in mind, the later chapters especially will probably
have drastic changes made (part of why I abandoned this project was because I
felt like I wasn't channeling Damien well enough, and it was ruining the
progression of his character).
So yeah, that's a thing. I'll be updating Chapter one to include a message
about not reading this version for these reasons, but for those of you who
might actually see this forever reason, there's the news. Also I'm sorry for
getting your hopes up about an actual update. :
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!