Chapter Warnings: Angst, Blood, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Non-Canon...

Edited: 01.31.2015

Chapter Nine: A Cursed Blessing

Naught but fear and loss
Anguish only overwhelms
Bloodied and broken

Sebastian stroked Maria's ashen cheek, her eyes fluttering closed when the sleeping potion at last took effect. The barest hint of smile beamed down on her and those same long fingers tangled in dark strands to sweep away the stray bit of fringe from her brow. Fists unclenched as he continued to sing his lover to sleep. With every word, he exhaled the tension which brewed in his chest, his thoughts a maelstrom of doubt.

Whatever the outcome, the blame would be his and his alone to bear.

At his behest, she took this course and entered the Fade to seek spirits. The request now brought him more worry and stress than expected. He shivered at the prospect of his folly for every Andrastian knew the story of the magisters and their hubris, that through them the Golden City became corrupted, their gift of magic abused. Though dread devoured him, he begged for strength even while he convinced himself that the Fade was merely a world of spirits and demons. He prayed that they did not trespass against the Maker, blinded by need. It could not be the same, could it? Yet, he sent her there, forced her even as he ignored her fears in his desire for her to face them and seek that which had been taken but now unwanted. Although she feared her own power, it defined her very being – who was she if not herself?

His arms held her tighter, needing her council for the unknown. All he could do was wait and pray as he cradled her head to his chest and kissed her knotted tresses. Whispered words of apology brushed across the shell of her ear, unheard in slumber. Settled at her side, he relished in the pleasant heat of her body next to his own, naked save for the rumpled linen sheet. It amazed him that together, even separated to simple acquaintance for six long years, they braved insurmountable odds in the pursuit of peace. Each word and action she made, she now made for him. Their cause was indeed righteous, so he had made himself believe.

Doubt itself never deterred him in the aftermath of the destruction. It had never gave him reason to question that they may not endure the trials set before them – his faith carried him onwards, further into her care and the prospect of success. But did faith hold an answer for love, so soon to be set aside like his gaze into the fire? Duty and circumstance fought to bar him from it at every moment and test his resolve. His frown deepened while he allowed his thoughts to consume him once more, the snapping flames in the hearth accompanying the stillness of the night.

In turn, guilt and frustration tainted him, soured. Remorse lingered in the wake of his harshness towards the one other woman who ever mattered to him. Only a man in the Maker's sight, he would never understand the life a mage must suffer. He could never comprehend the fears which she faced every night because of her very nature.

She herself gave him pause. Her fickleness caused him anger - one moment she refused his wishes, the next she gave into his every whim – always changing as if she was too broken to be fixed, that she required more than prayer and her own feeble will to survive. In some ways, she needed him more than ever. For all those years, she bore a mask. Now, however, he trespassed beyond its sanctuary and glimpsed enough to fall in love with the woman behind it, magic and more.

"Without you, I'd have nothing. I remember spending so many weeks near the end in an effort to garner favour, sending letters and seeking rapport in preparation – because of you, I always meant to return to Starkhaven. You'd laugh, but I even had Elthina's blessing. Actually, she had encouraged it once I had made my decision known." A soft chuckle rumbled his throat, a forced thing in light of that memory – her death haunted him with every step he made to move forward, that day too fresh to be forgotten. A broad thumb traced his lover's silent mouth, the once velvety-soft skin cracked and dry beneath its pad. Sebastian wondered what she would say had she heard him. Her kind words rose in his imagination to soothe his uneasy mind, his needs put above her own. "May the Maker bless Elthina's soul, but may He forgive me for my selfish wish: I should've asked you then to come with me. I should've taken both of you away. Should've given into that moment of weakness. Maybe then I could've saved you from this. I owe you both so much. No amount of apologies will make up for taking so long to realise how much I needed you. Oh, my love, I know it goes against everything you desire now, but I will make you as strong again."

The words slipped from his lips, Sebastian begged to bury them in silence. Shaking his head, his mistake hung in the air like a moth before the flame. To his surprise, Maria's breath continued in a steady rhythm, lost to the throes of unconsciousness before entering the Fade.

No, the past is the past – you cannot change it. Only a new path will give her peace.

They both left much behind and he had hoped their tension stayed there as well – what a fool he was to complain, childish and shameful. All that remained was to accept it and find compromise, a daunting task regardless of his willpower.

The prince sighed again and chastised himself for the part of him that mourned the mask of Kirkwall's former Champion – Varric's stories hid so much of the truth while he painted her with unbelievable courage and power. Unlike those tales, her fate lay elsewhere where she no longer needed to hide behind that title, the disguise meant to deceive the madness around her. By his birthright's power, he intended to dictate that destiny to repay a debt for her loyalty and affections. Hope yet reigned in the notion that some greater purpose guided him: perhaps such troubles were the Maker's way of providing him with someone to care for, a prelude to managing a principality? To regain his stolen throne, he believed without reservation that he first must heal the one who lead him onto that path. For both their sakes, he chose to stoke the fires of strength and passion to renew their purpose. For prosperity, he saw her as his anchor against the tides, his drive to dive into the viper's nest. All the while, he imagined himself as her light in the darkness, a support of hope for a better future for them both. Her desires, her needs, became his true goal. Without her, their crusade ended before it even began – it was her desire that turned him towards the duty he once shunned. In this, they shared the same ambition: to retake Starkhaven from the hands of Goran Vael, still a puppet ruler who warmed an ill-begotten seat of power. All signs assured him that only together could they remedy the wrongs done against his people – no other would satisfy that equilibrium.

If he failed to the care for one woman, even one so dear, how could he expect to care for the well-being of the people of Starkhaven?

Their roles reversed, his need balanced hers and the truth flared into brilliance only to dim. In his heart, uncertainty continued to plague him. At every turn, they met with opposition and complications. There had to be a reason for everything that had happened to them, there had to be – nothing happened without cause, some divine intention. Even with that conviction, he could not help but wonder: were they doing the right thing for either of their futures?

One question built upon the next and Sebastian spiralled deeper into the tempest until he found resolution.

I cannot be torn – I've faced my demons and I must now make her confront her own. To long have we denied our natures, our purpose. This must be done.

Between his influence and Fenris's strength, they offered her protection from herself and from others – the scales, evened. Where her apprehension ceased, freedom existed. In their care, she would find progress, a new life.

Yes, it had to be done.

Doubt found itself crushed beneath that reasoning. His choice as one of righteous intent, questioning it would only bring him condescension. Never could Sebastian be more grateful for their companion's allegiance – he was not alone, for no other man save he shared the sentiment.

Everything will be fine –this I promise you, Maria.

Heart and mind brought into an accord, the notion calmed the storm until every thought vanished.

From nothingness, an abrupt, overwhelming sense of wrongness chilled him. In the corner of his eye, he tried to deny it. Beneath his palm, he wished that he could ignore the slick wetness which felt so warm. The acrid tang curdled the air and he held his breath for but a moment. Unable to overlook the signs any longer, panic overtook him and his sight locked on the lines of blood. Before his eyes, strange designs curled over Maria's skin, carved into her flesh as if cut by a knife tempered by the sun's fire. The lines wormed up her neck and across her breasts. Quicker than any cutpurse, they continued to wrap around her arms before they disappeared underneath the linen, staining fabric and skin. Like some ornate, grotesque embroidery, they wove in delicate swirls and patterns, marring her face and form with crimson runes and sigils. Sebastian gaped at them in horror, her blood painting the sheets and his own skin.

Maria's brow then furrowed further in agony. Her spine cracking, she arched up from the bed, her body wrenched away from his embrace and he scrambled for control. More blood dribbled from her nostrils and eyes like tears; it trickled from her mouth between thinned lips, her entire form drenched in scarlet. Like a red-washes spectre, she seized and writhed in an attempt to run away from something, unknown and frightening beyond measure.

He cried out her name, but to no avail. Stricken, terror offered him nothing – he could not help her as he was, not this time. It terrified him. What could he possibly do? No amount of prayer would stop that? What had Flemeth done?

Maker, guide me. I...

He stopped.

Fenris.

How could he be so blind? If it wasn't the Maker's will for the elven warrior to be among their number when his expertise mattered most, he didn't know what other truth remained. Despite being blinded by fear, through the daze he recognized the markings were not unlike those of the former's slave's brands. Powerless, he raced to seek him out, so sure that the man could give him some aid, anything at all.

He had already lost his family, lost Elthina; he would not lose her, too...

He never made it past the door.

Stilled and naked in haste with his hand frozen on the handle, his heart shattered when trembling lips parted and red-washed eyes snapped open wide. The scream which followed rang out in night, pained and despairing before becoming silent once more.

Everything is wrong. For all the years of her magic, this awakening is different. It is not the scent of raw magic and charred ruins that greet her. Copper fills her mouth and cloys in her nostrils. A sickening sound chorused in her ears before bright, unseen pain brings her to her knees. Within, her insides scream as though they have been shredded and then lit on fire, dragged over and over through the fiendish flames and torrid glass. Both her arms and legs refused to heed her, the network of muscle holding her together seeming to rip itself apart. Bones cracked like snapping twigs to the slightest move. Fingers claw the ground, bloodied by the rough dust of a tainted city. Her skin begins to twinge, pulled as if carved by a blade dipped in the pool of the hottest molten forge; her nerves torn to the last frayed edge. Blood drips from her nose. Her tears flow red. The singing throb in her head reels higher, threatening to split her skull apart. Every inch of flesh shrieked, tightened and torn beyond its threshold. Each line flares, whiter than true sunlight; the design of her Fate burns its way deeper and deeper. Driven to her knees, she chokes on her own blood before her anguish forces her to convulse and purge it. Is there no end to the madness of agony?

Yet it does not end, the delicate swirls clothing her in crimson even as darkness threatens.

A part her will not remember how many hours of distorted time she lay there, thrown back to reality long enough to scream in agony. Only Sebastian's expression of fear remains before something dragged her back into the darkness. Nothing cut through it until in the haze a glimmering crack of light amidst the shadows that became her world blinded her even in the black oppression. Between her breasts, the Tear twitches, vibrating more and more as her pain coalesced. Somehow a shaking hand wrenches the glittering jewel from around her neck and, without thought, as if guided by some unspoken command, thrust the gem into the purest glow.

Such a calling; it brilliance swallows her whole and the numbness follows, empty and wide enough to engulf the soul.

"You lie!"

Bottles rattled with the force of his anger, the fear masked within as the prince's fist crashed onto the table. Even Fenris could not stanch the man's worry, knowing more than he cared to admit. Yet for Sebastian's sake, he stayed the truth; though uncertain, his own concerns kept him in check, at least for that moment. He needed to know more before he acted on his suspicions.

"I assure you, Your Highness, there is little I can do."

The harried young mage barely looked up from her charge, choosing duty over arguments; yet, beneath her hooded gaze, fear lingered. Even he had felt, the sudden spike of unrestrained magic making his lyrium brands thrum. Nevertheless, Fenris tolerated her only for Maria's, thanks to the templar at her side. Before their companion's plight, the two had been mere bystanders, dispatched during the season to the little hamlet from the Circle as a precautionary measure. Such festivities often times led to greater misdeeds: bloodshed, collateral damage and much more; stupidity and tempers never change. As a healer, the woman served her necessary prison well - she wasted nary a second once her gray eyes fell on the champion. With the stalwart templar close at hand, he led Sebastian away when the mage offered nothing more than her abilities to manage the pain and seal the bloodied patterns. Only Maria's will would dictate the outcome, only the Maker - or fate, Fenris could have cared less - would see her rise from that bed or not at all. Still, the warrior prayed that he was wrong.

"Tell me the truth, Fenris." Sebastian glared at him over the steeple of his long fingers, the cup of brandy left for him untouched. The militant light and dread yet lingered in the cerulean depths, his power tensed to a hair-thin trigger point. One more word to mar his hope and faith and the veneer of peace would dissolve before they could prepare a counter.

"I'll not pretend to understand the working of the Witch of the Wilds." A simple answer, truthful to the end. "Patience, my friend. Hawke has never failed to achieve her material goals; she will meet this challenge head on."

"I know..." Sebastian sucked in a harried breath, his composure slipping, his hands falling into his lap. "It's just that she's not strong enough. Not now. Without her magic and one of the greatest mages of history playing in her shadow, I can't see reason. If this is the Maker's will, my fears grow greater."

Neither desired to speak such words, but events proved their deficiencies: they could not help her.

The chill of pain soon recedes but its memory yet remains. An eerie absence takes its place, as though some more had been taken; something precious, sanctified. Magic, albeit the barest taste, breathes across torture flesh, neither cool or hot, but refreshing and comforting nonetheless. Even with her eyes close, the scent of ash reminds her that the Fade still held her spirit. Her fingers scramble for purchase in the dirt as she tries to lift herself up. Strength fails for a time, but desire drags her forward, the desire for power, for a purpose greater than herself: his purpose.

"Se-bas-tian..."

Inch by inch, she hauls herself through detritus of a forgotten realm, seeking the source of the magic which tugs at her heart. Again, time distorts, seconds stretching into the unknown, until she reaches it, something that should not exist. Her eyes flutter open to reveal the Fade blanketed in fog and shadow, yet just ahead she finds it. Every movement is sluggish, but she cannot stop until she touches it, that crack of light floating in empty space. She trembles, hesitant to make contact but it called to her, a comforting voice in the vastness. Yet she collapses before it, its raw power singeing her skin and, in turn, withdrawal. Never has she felt so pure, unprocessed magic. It roils around her, a barrier of some sort rippling and flowing within the Fade, separate but apart.

"So, is this my prison, Flemeth? The pain you promised me?" Crumpling back onto the ground, Maria begins to sob again, feeling nothing now, not even the pain. Cut off from the rest of the Fade, she may as well be Tranquil; any effort she might muster dissipates, the fruitlessness of her lot realized.

"My sweet girl..."

No, it can't be. Through the tears, blood, and grime, her father's face swims just beyond, warped by the ebb and flow of Flemeth's conjured dome. Once again, she raises a hand to touch the barrier, the sliver of light beneath her palm. The shade of the man matches her, hand to hand. His magic seeps through and he, too, vanishes into the smoke only to reappear within the confines of her prison. Although merely a shadow of its power, the spirit of Compassion stared down at her through empty eyes, the very same colour as her own.

"So, this is the form you've taken?" Even as one of the spirits embodying one of man's great virtues, Maria knew to be wary: spirits served their own desires in the end. This spirit was one of many who shared the same virtue, but having served her father before her diligently and faithfully did not make it any different for its brethren. Compassion may not be a demon, but no matter which side of man they from which they were born, darkness or light, every power had a price. While demons dealt in blood and souls to draw their power, spirits of virtue responded only to those who intrigued their basest part. Her father may have bound this one, but she too was bound to its terms as well as those of another. Yet, Compassion would still treat her like the child who lost so much, thrown into the tempest of a changing, brutal world and seeking that what was taken from her.

"Would you prefer this?" With his voice brimming with a familiar brogue, the dark gaze shimmers into cerulean. Grey robes bleed into polished white armour, the gilded edges glowing in eternal twilight. A mere trick, to be sure, but it is enough... enough to tear out an angry sob, to break her down into that little girl buried beneath the champion's veneer. Her face falling into the dust, she cannot bear to look up, the voice only enough to leave her shaking. "Does this please you, dear one?"

"No... please..." She begs, torn between shame and longing. "Please, give me back my father."

A part of her hates taking the offered hand of the thing that so easily wore the guise of her father, that form once again donned at her request. Mimicking him in all things save for true life, not even the Maker could replace the turmoil in her heart to have her father wrap her in his arms. To see his face again, to hear his voice... though it may not be real, she relishes in Compassion's gift, craving it if only for this moment.

They stand there in silence; neither wind nor beast breaks through it. The Fade's eerie absence is more frightening than the lack thereof, second only to the magic just beyond her reach. It is Compassion who speaks first which only reminds her that there is more at stake than fulfilling a child's wish. Burying it once more, she draws away and lets her gaze drift towards the dome that surrounded them. Despite the ability to control it, she can still sense the magic pooling above and around them. Not only that, she noted, but it seems she is not the one affected - behind her, she feels Compassion's avatar waver, the barrier tugging at him, wearing at him as it does her own physical energy, her strength.

"You sense it, don't you?"

She nods, casting out her aura to test the limits further. The magic of the Fade mingles with her own trapped power as well as that of Compassion, but there is something familiar also weaving through the air, faint and dying. Ice spreads into her veins even while her own skin remains numb - only one power would have been able to pull her back from the hell she which she endured upon awakening.

"Where's Faith?"

Compassion was never alone in her life once she grew into her power. At her side, Faith arose, draw by a faith that there was a purpose for her life after she fell so far in the wake of her father's loss and then her rise to protect her family. Together, they each shared with her their power to augment her magic in exchange for her deeds, feeding off the ambient pure energies born from them and revelling in taste of the world beyond the Fade.

However, Compassion only looks down as if in shame, his visage an otherwise impassive mask.

"She was here when the construct formed, drawn by your state of despair."

He offers nothing more and the sense of dread only fills her more. Drawing her aura back within herself, tears streak through the blood staining her countenance. The vestiges of Faith's spirit dwindle with each breath, burning away her pain but taking far more with it. With her hands pressed to her chest and her head bowed, she offers up an unspoken word of thanks for such sacrifice. Deeper still, however, she wonders what magic Flemeth conjured that cost her the service of such a powerful spirit.

Behind her, Compassion professes that he has been blocked from her for some time, his own magic barely able to permeate the barrier surrounding her only to have the bulk of his efforts stolen, absorbed. Strangely enough, he admits that he could not bear her suffering and fought against the barrier – unnatural and dark in creation. All that now remains of him is this shade, all of his power spent in the hope to renew the magic parted from her. If it would be his last breath, so be it.

"Your father bound me to your bloodline, but I have failed even my own purpose."

"No..." Maria closes her again and exhales the bitter taste in her mouth. Screwing her courage, she walks forward, away from the comforting aura of Compassion, still welcome despite its weakness. Before, the slow undulating movement of the barrier flickered like the shell of an opal, a prism for colours winking in and out of sight. She touches the translucent cage only to be thrown back to fall at its base, exhausted and drained even further with the pain of the markings on her skin flaring back into life.

"Oh, poor little mageling. So helpless. So lost. I would take your pain, child; give you power and beauty."

Through her red-washed gaze, a desire demon peered at her as one might a caged exotic beast, its sneer quirked just enough to betray its promises. Just another in a long line since her childhood when she tasted magic for the first time, the nightmare proving real, she muses. Her father once said that mages possessed the experiences of two lives, one of the living world and one of the Fade, accounting for that aged, haunting look that dwelled in the depths of his eyes and those like him. And, like her father before her, she too chose to cast away such empty words. Demons preyed on blood, stealing energy from its shed and death; blood was powering even without a demon's seal, binding magic and more to its line.

Yet, she never dabbled, never imagined giving in.

No now, not ever.

"Begone, foul creature. You cannot tempt me."

The smirk twitches as its black eyes narrow, the brows dipping sharply before its stare widens.

"She has rejected your offer, demon. Take flight. Now. Your brethren have no claim to this soul."

With a snarl of indignation, the demon's dark aura speeds away, its tail between its legs. Alone again, Maria scrambles on the ground, afraid to look behind her. She knows this voice - no other could inspire such fear save the maker of the prison which surrounds her. Leather creaks with every step, carrying the harbinger of her woe into view. Unchanged from their last encounter, Flemeth's golden stare bears down on Maria's fallen form.

"Fortune smiles upon us this day, child. Although this spell does not find its roots in blood magic, its energy tends to draw such pitiful beasts; your blood was no more than a focus rather than a sacrifice."

Maria fights against her rage, that born of frustration - thanks to this woman, her magic coils at the edges of her awareness, so close but unreachable. She grits her teeth and marshals her mind, knowing all too well that Flemeth may be her own salvations lest the Maker interceded on her behalf. As much as she believed, she knows better than to rely on currying favour for a sinner such as herself.

"Fortune never favours me, Flemeth. What seal is this?"

"The path you walk already carries the weight of one sacrifice, the beginnings of another, and those yet to come. You shall wear blood and magic as the mantle of a queen and have it ripped from you. This is the chance of fate you have drawn, the seal you now bear."

"I make my own fate and I fear you only mock me for your own amusement. Now, release me. You've had your fun." She would fight for her freedom if only to return to her lover's side empowered.

"Perhaps. But what is done, is done. My hand is stayed."

"And who governs the great Witch of the Wilds?" It is a gamble, but anything to elicit a response, some truth to be revealed. A loaded spell, that is certain.

"Oh, dear child. You know naught of the sea of darkness into which you have waded. Cloaked as you are, you may find light. My part in this began when I took the Tear from your father and now it ends. What happens now is in your own grasp."

With this, Flemeth moved to take her leave, but Maria forces herself up. Hardening her mind, she dares to inquire of another delicate matter - it was enough that the Witch had stolen the Tear from her father, another soul hangs in the balance.

"Tell me how it came into Sebastian's hands, then."

Amusement dances in the Witch's eyes like wildfire and Maria withdraws a step, cursing her sudden unease.

"Silly girl, I would've have taken the Prophetess's form to fulfill my bargain, but alas it wasn't necessary."

"How so?" Confusion then writes itself across her face, her faith now hanging by the weakest thread. What bargain could such a power mage as Flemeth be bond to if not of her own free will? No, that's not important, Maria reminded herself. How the Tear came into Sebastian's possession, that ordeal had always concerned her.

"Because I gave it to him. Yet, that truth matters not." Her entire form no more than a beam of sculpted light shining in the dimness, the Bride of the Maker turns her gaze towards the Witch of the Wilds as though she has always been there, watching them. "You're time here has run its course, Flemeth."

"By your leave, then, my dear." Something unseen passes between the two. An unspoken truce or promise, Maria does not know. Still, the very thought of the Maker's Bride and the Witch of the Wilds could reached such an easy alliance for purpose not yet reveal. Even so, it is Flemeth's knowing smile that frightens Maria most. "Take care, Champion. Be always on your guard."

"Wait! Come back!"

Again, behind her, her perception shivers at her magic's familiar touch and she stumbles back, her demand forgotten. The opalescent glow of Andraste's Tear fills her jail's dome, taking both the avatar of Andraste and Flemeth into its blinding brilliance. Once again, only she and Compassion remain, the tear now dangling from his fingers. Its glow diminishes until its liquid light pools within its form to seep through the cracks, the gem shifting on one shine of a colour into the next on its otherwise charred black surface like oil on water. The scent of magic, too, shifts, its course changing. She can savour it now and sense it brushing along her skin as it is drawn towards the jewel.

Yet, the Flemeth's seal still burns, untouched, and she find herself plagued by even more questions.

"It seems this relic is tied to your mortal form..." Compassion pauses when he eyes the Tear even closer. "Might I keep it?"

Hauling herself to her feet, ignorant of pain's memory, she reaches out to him and begs for its return, her only hope. Spirist would always be drawn to magic, but she could not lose that one bond to her life - without it, would she even survive? Nearly Tranquil, without her magic, how long would she stand when a mage's mana was tied directly to their life force?

"No, I think this is what Flemeth meant by light. If it would heed me, it may allow me access to my power, if only the smallest taste. My only concern is why the Maker's Bride would offer me any aid or even share the same space with Flemeth." A desperate part of her prays for that to be the truth, the light in the darkness that her sins would not hinder their cause. She needs it, craves it - with even the slightest breath of magic, she could make a difference and rely on her own power again. Sebastian's love and faith could only carry them so far; her very soul requires something more to regain that which she lost.

"As you wish." He lets the Tear fall into her hands, its delicate chain tinkling in the stillness as she whispers her thanks. "Take care of your father's legacy; Faith is scattered to the winds of the Fade and my power wanes. Perhaps soon you may be alone once more. You must be ready for that day."

She nods, holding the gem to her breast as if it may grant her some revelation of peace, of hope. In the wake of Kirkwall's fall, to lose any more of her friends, even those who betrayed her, will always weigh upon her heart.

"You think of your past. Do you feel justified in your decision?"

She cringes at his words, having once faced the same query from those closest to her.

"What's done is done."Another lie, she tells herself. Sebastian had asked her the very same and her only answered had been that she had did what was right. As he himself had said: "Andraste says we're all children of the Maker and deserve the freedom to walk by his side or throw ourselves to the Void."

"You may hide from the humans and the like, but you cannot hide your broken heart from me."

Her mask stolen, she answers that perhaps there had been no right choice. Now that she thinks on it, if she had chosen to support the templars, as Viscountess, she could have given the mages a greater sense of freedom, but at the same time, the people would never accept her, the fear of the mages too high. Even she knows the dangers that those with the gift presented and feared them herself. But, in siding with the mages, she saw the Void which many chose to fall into, turning to blood magic. In the end, she agrees that she did not know the right choice, only that she had not wanted anyone to die, to be sacrificed. Every life she had taken until that day had been in self-defence; she hated being someone's end.

His form brightens in reaction to her emotions, her compassion feeding him. For its strength, he reminds her that that her actions rooted themselves in the empathy towards others. If nothing else, he accepts that alone and he smiles.

"Thank you." He says as he allows his magic to ease her thoughts. "You faced a difficult task when I felt such anguish in your wake. I heard them through you: all those who had died before, the blood split in oppression, in fear and anguish, rises up from the ground, crying out and driving those into desperation. I expect that it was only a matter of time before the stirrings boiled over.

"Nonetheless, allow me to offer what assistance I can with what power remains within me, your healing magic always at hand. Without it and that jewel, I fear you may be powerless - the Tear connects us for the time being. Let us not waste the gifts of your world." His empty gaze drifts out towards the rolling plain beyond and he bows his head in shame. "This barrier keeps you severed from the rest of the Fade, suppressing your mana and trapping mine. You shall be weak like those you call Tranquil, but magic can still pass through you. The pain you experienced on your arrival was the last of Faith's magic as it frayed, taken to fuel the seal and carve it onto your soul. Physically and magically, I expect you will suffer greatly both here and away but we are not completely cut off."

He points towards the crack in the barrier and explains that thanks to it, he can siphon enough magic to feed her mana, if only to keep it alive. Filling that same gash with his own magic, he might prolong himself to see her to her goals. After all, he approved of her chosen mate and in turn, follows them in light of their plight. However, he must caution her: Sebastian once betrayed everything his faith stood for in an effort to seek justice and revenge; he needs to rebuild his faith on stable ground, not simply cling to a forgotten memory that he may hope to make real once again.

"Faith is more than living the life you think is right; one must know it within your very soul." The spirit, still possessed of her father's guise, presses a kiss to her brow, an act of love learned from the man to comfort his children in his absence. Through it, she feels his own shame, sensing the mask and her heart grows heavier. It seems she is not the only one to suffer. "Now, our time grows to an end."

She nods, feeling the intrusion of another's magic over her true body - someone was trying to heal her from the other side. A soft smile touches her lips, almost grateful that she was not alone anymore.

"Wait." Compassion captures her attention once more even as the other mage's power tugs at her soul. "I have a message for your beloved."

Soft and quite do the whispers fall into her ear even as she feels herself shatter, pulled away into the blackness between the worlds and through the Veil. She fights it if only to see her father's form just a moment longer, but in the end, she is left with only its memory and a message in a language she cannot understand...

The moment Maria opened her eyes, Sebastian ordered the others out with barked words too harsh for acceptance, but Fenris ushered the mage and templar to follow him regardless. With their task done for the time being, what choice did he have when his companions traipsed the edge of despair, a loss too great to imagine should they have failed? When the door snapped into the place, the warrior caught one last glance of a broken, babbling woman buried in the embrace of once proud man. Each clutched onto something both tangible and incorporeal, scrabbling for renewed meaning outside of fear.

"Maria, what... what are you saying?"

Against his chest, the rustle of the thin sheet scraping loudly in her ears, Compassion's last wisdom muttered like the Chant of Light. Though unknown to her tongue, the prince knew those words as if he had heard them only yesterday, staring out over the lands of Starkhaven while a now lost soul stood at his side...

Among the shower of autumn leaves, Jonathan Vael allowed his sad smile burn into the red-orange glow of sunlight, the last rays painting his face in shadow.

"Tada gan iarracht. Níl aon suáilce gan a duáilce féin. An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú. Is ceirín do gach créacht an fhoighne." The former prince turned his gaze down on the boy, his eyes dull in colour with the weight of his years. Out of the three heirs to the throne, only the youngest, the unwanted son, shared his heart, his passion. Unlike his brothers, Sebastian valued what little his lot allowed him and cherished every moment. "Remember these words, my boy: nothing comes without effort for there are no mixed blessings in this life. Never forget that your feet will bring you to where your heart is and patience, it is a poultice for all wounds. These words will carry you far, Sebastian. In the Maker's light, you will thrive, but you must not forget those around you - they will encourage and strengthen you."

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers twisted the hem of his sleeves.

"Shouldn't you be telling this to Lucas? He's the heir, after all. Wouldn't he be more fitting to bear such wisdom?" Tongue caught in his teeth, Sebastian waited for the truth that he believe since he learned his place in the Vael legacy - such gifts would never be his, neither power nor favour would be his.

"Your brothers know nothing of earning power through effort." Jonathan caught a leaf with the tips of his fingers, its bright crimson catching fire in the sunlight before he snatched it from the air. "Unlike you, they're bred for it, given their entitlements rather than earning them. Like archery, you've had to struggle for that power where they merely have to ask for whatever they desire. They'll never understand the blessings we each have been given when all else is taken for granted. Wherever the Maker takes you, no matter how far or for how long, Sebastian, never forget your promises or your loved ones. Can you make this promise?"

Sebastian watched the captured leaf drift in the wind from his grandfather's grasp, watched it spiral and disappear in the fields that stretched out from the great wall.

"Yes."

He never forgot that smile, the last time he saw his grandfather stand of the great wall that protected his people since before the man was even born. It would be the last time he saw him stand in the sun, untainted by the wasting sickness that would soon claim him.

"One day, Sebastian, you will surpass even me." That heart chuckle filled the coming evening, so full of life and pride. "Now, let's go before Mother Iona has my head. You know how she is when I keep her favourite pupil from her. Just don't forget our deal."

"What does it mean, Sebastian?" Desperate hands dug into the forearms wrapped around her, her mind trying to make sense of all that had come to past. Between Flemeth's curse keeping her mana to its barest minimum while its stole away the remainder and Compassion's cryptic message for her lover, she could not stop the trembling of her entire being. Something within her needed to understand or she thought she would break - what use was the taste of magic when she could barely stand on her own feet?

Little did she know that she would not be alone.

"It's a reminder of how far we have yet to go, but that together, we will succeed." His eyes closed, a harsh breath rumbling in his chest. He choked back the taste of tears and bile, the bitter truth. So much did he have to make amends for, even so, he held Maria tighter, comforted by the false hope that the path that lay ahead was the right one when he lacked the power to walk it - he was weak. Even when she questioned him of Compassion's concern for his faith, he did not even have the heart to colour his own hatred for his failures. Freely did he admit them, consumed by their guilt in the wake of risking her life for his gain.

Yes, he had forsworn his vows: first for revenge and justice for his family, then again for Anders's murder of Elthina and the other innocents that followed. Though he sinned, by taking his place a prince, he believed the Maker had given him the opportunity to atone, to serve a greater good and save his people from a tyrant on a stolen throne.

"That doesn't matter, I need to be better... for you, for all of us, I need to be better for without, remember, and the Maker, I've nothing." He could not speak those last words, could not tell her the darkness in his heart before he settle another matter. "Rest now, love. I'll return soon."

Despite her protest, he dressed and took his leave for she regained the strength to leave her bed. Though she may have gained a thread of her once great cloak of magic and her wounds healed thanks to a borrowed mage, her body strived for every breath. Leaving her there, he could confront himself without her comforting touch in hopes of strengthening of his own will.

"Leaving when she needs you most, Sebastian?"

Bare feet poised to act, Fenris stood his ground before the exiled prince.

"She's safe. That's all that matters."

"For now. But there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"Yes, but I don't intend to trouble her with my mistakes any longer. Too many souls already lay without a peaceful rest."

Slipping past their comrade, Sebastian strode into the night, the burden of a throne light in comparison to the one in his heart.

In the heart of the Fade, the mist of magic and spirit alike undulating around him, Compassion stands alone. His power ebbed and struggling for its very existence, he remains a mere shade, trapped just the same alongside the soul of the daughter of the man who bound him, an ethereal knight within the ruins Black City.

"I do not understand her fate, friend Malcolm, but I shall do as you have asked, even if she may never be whole again... for the greater good as it has been foretold."

Author's Note: Taken me long enough, hasn't it? I apologize for that and although my excuse it due to my health, even now just finishing my recovery from back surgery. I face only more now troubles, but that shouldn't hinder me always, I pray. *sighs* Any road, I know Hawke is BAMF in the game, but this is broken Hawke and she needs healed first... and that takes time, so I hope you can bear with me until then.

Also, here are more literal meanings of the Gaelic (Forgive me, but I took some liberties to suit my needs in the above text):

Tada gan iarracht. – Translation: Nothing without effortNíl aon suáilce gan a duáilce féin. – Translation: There are no unmixed blessings in lifeAn áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú. – Translation: Your feet will bring you to where your heart isIs ceirín do gach créacht an fhoighne. – Translation: Patience is a poultice for all wounds.)