Work Text:
"Let the blade pass through the flesh."
“…let my blood touch the ground.”
He shot up from his place on the cold stone floor and turned to confront the person responsible for the interruption, his hand reaching for his concealed blade. Fingers glancing over chilled steel as his red-pink eyes locked onto his intruder, tensed and still unsure of this place, of his 'allies'. He relaxed slowly and let his hand drift back to his side, realizing it was the Chantry Seeker. She seemed to accept his importance earlier and if that left her blade from his back, then he was satisfied enough. He turned back around and knelt before Andraste’s stone form, clasping his scarred hands together and resting his forehead on them.
“Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice. So let it be.” He stayed there for a moment longer, staring at the statue before him. He moved to his feet with a certain care, peeking from the corner of his eye to see Cassandra was now standing right next to him.
“You seem to be a very pious man, Herald.” Cassandra’s eyes remained on the statue and the Herald focused his eyes back on it too.
“Is there a reason a mage cannot believe in the Maker…and his very beautiful and compassionate wife…if the verses and statues are true representations.” The Herald could taste the tang of venom that leaked into his voice, he wished it would have dissipated the moment he opened his mouth.
“There are many mages who blame the Maker and the Chantry for their subjugation.”
“I do not blame the Maker for granting me that power or this one; it is the Chantry who chooses to cage us like birds, because of the Maker’s blessing.”
“Birds cannot turn an entire building to dust with their fingertips or use blood to pull demons from the Fade.” The Herald could feel the accusation in the latter comment, a monotone silence came to hover around the two of them.
“Do you fear mages, Cassandra? Are you afraid of the power I possess or the creature I can become?”
The Seeker looked at him, staring at him as level as she could manage, shifting to face him.
“Should I, Herald?”
The Herald let his neutral facade slip, the smirk appearing on his face full of spite. He turned to Cassandra, and he could see her curiosity waver with angry fear.
“I can become a wolf at will and tear you apart; I can send tendrils of lightning through your body and fry it to the core; and worst of all, I can pull your desires and demons before you from the Fade. Should you fear me, Cassandra? Yes, I should think so.” Despite his words, the Herald backed away from Cassandra, watching thoughts and emotions flash before her eyes as he admitted out loud the secret everyone already knew.
“No." Cassandra’s eyes suddenly focused on one emotion, defiance. “No, I will not fear you; I have seen the man behind the magic. A man willing to sacrifice his life for an elven child; a man who feeds the poor before he feeds himself; a man with unsavory circumstances who struggles for a better tomorrow for everyone; but himself.”
“ENOUGH!” The Herald’s voice echoed through the empty room and Cassandra’s bravery faltered. He stared her with wide eyes. He drew in on himself, backing into the wall; cornered. “This man you see, this hero, that you speak of, is an illusion. I am a mage, stained with blood and demons; I am a blood mage, a maleficar. I…I am lost…consumed by my hatred and fear…I have no need of your worried glance and-and troubled eyes…turn them to someone who wants and deserves them…please.”
The Herald felt so tired and drained; as if the strength he had been using to lead the Inquisition was taken from him by a demon of sloth. It started in his knees, becoming far too heavy to hold himself up and he fell to the floor. The pain in his knees from striking the stone was a numbing relief, overshadowing the weakness and fear. He felt hands steady his shoulders, and a part of him screamed for him to push her away. To wish, he would look up and see her ready to strike him down where he stood. Instead of slaying the worthless being before her though, Cassandra tucked her arms around him; aiding him in folding his knees and slacking forward beneath the invisible weights.
“You are a far better man then you realize; far better than the people who started this war. I do not fear you; I fear for you. It is only you who fear yourself.” Cassandra’s word wrapped around him, caressing his skin and prickling in his veins much like his magic did when being cast; it made him sleepy, so very tired.
“A maleficar with a conscience, a blood mage with a heart. Tell me Cassandra, what they will think?”
“Nothing less, Herald.”