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I’m slowly illustrating my fics as I practice watercolours. This is of Cullen Rutherford and Solana Amell from Warded Heart.
His eyes were shining and he smiled softly."You look lovely, by the way. I should have said before, sorry."
She felt colour rising to her cheeks. "Are the flowers too much?"
She'd stuck them into her hair, in a festive wreath. She had no idea how it looked and she was at once self-conscious. It wasn't exactly traditional.
She has been a Grey Warden for eleven years, and the taint is beginning to consume her. She needs to find a cure soon. So Elodie Amell sets out in search and finds herself in the city thought long-lost, Kal-Sharok. There she discovers something much bigger than just a cure for the taint running through her body.
A companion story to my other story, In Your Gaze I Wish to Stay, but this can be read separately!
Master of Tides
They return to Kal-Sharok.
Unfortunately, unlike in the other stories of grand adventuring, there were no secret passages back to Kal-Sharok that would make the return trip easier. All of those passages had been purposefully collapsed after the Blights, which meant that the group had to return the way they came. The Sha-Brytol didn’t attack them this time, thankfully, but there were still spiders, and Elodie needed rest.
She had just been cured of the Blight.
She was still covered in lyrium burns.
She was free of the taint.
It was reflex to think ‘Thank the Maker’ for such a miracle, but it wasn’t the Maker who had cured her.
…
Or was it?
No. She pushed the thought from her mind, the thought was too…odd and blasphemous, too inconsistent and she really did not have the energy for deep theological thinking and work arounds.
Though if the Titans did make the dwarves, that would make them a Maker of a sort.
They made it back to the Shaperate in another week, and she practically collapsed into the bed as soon as she saw it, only sparing time to change out of her traveling robes and into a clean sleeping set.
She slept for fourteen hours, waking only to relieve herself and to eat. Her stomach growled in distress and she set upon the platter of lichen and bread. The food disappeared quickly and she expected the hunger to continue as it always had done for the past decade. But it didn’t, the hunger abated and she actually felt remarkably full. Like a normal person.
Still amazed, Elodie rose from her cot once again, tying her hair back into a braid. A new set of robes were laid out for her on the table beside the bed, robes that mysteriously looked like those Effir and Pritte had worn before setting out with them.
Her heart warmed, they had made her special garments just so that she wouldn’t have to don her now tattered, torn, and still smelling-like-spider robes. That being said, the new clothes were…very different from what she was used to. It took her several minutes to just figure out how they were to be wrapped and tied and secured about her frame.
She eventually figured it out, wrapping herself securely up in the garment that…whoa.
It was…warm. And buzzing with lyrium and magic. That…was certainly different, even for mage’s robes. Did…did the dwarves of Kal-Sharok create lyrium infused cloth that they stitched into runes on normal clothes?
She opened the inside of a sleeve to behold a tiny stitched in rune pattern. An amazed gasp left her. That was incredible, lyrium was the backbone for their way of life, stitched, literally, into their everyday lives.
She emerged into the main living area of the Shaperate to find Pritte reviewing his notes with a steaming mug of…something.
“Hello, Pritte,” Elodie said in the little Kal-Sharok dwarven she had picked up. Pritte stopped and looked up, smiling broadly.
“El-o-die! What a lovely surprise, and wearing our traditional clothes as well, I see! Effir had been very insistent on acquiring those for you, you know.” He hopped off the bench and walked over to her, inspecting the garment, nodding and smiling at the craftsmanship. Her heart warmed at Effir insisting her having these robes, it was a kind gesture, even if they would most likely shrug it off as practical for her to not stink up the city with spider gore. Effir, the softy, who knew?
“How is transcribing our adventure into a tale for the memories going?” She asked and Pritte rubbed his hands together, launching into a long monologue on the transcribing process and how much work he had to get done because everything was significant in some form! Not a detail could be left to chance, and that was why he had her sit down and recount her side of the story to him.
He took notes in a furious pace, nodding, and scratching things out when appropriate. It took most of the day, or work-time, and at one point a servant brought them a tray of lichen and cheeses to nibble on.
About an hour after the tray of food was brought, a servant ran up to them, bowing low before snapping back up.
“The Paragon-Elect is searching for the Grey Warden.”
“Ah, it was nice speaking with you, Pritte. Can you take me to her?” Elodie asked. The servant nodded and lead her out from the Shaperate and out to the apparently repaired lift system. The dwarves were quick to guide the lift back to the palace where she was led down the hall to a large room. Karega was done up in her finery, cleaned and pressed and beautifully fierce. The far side of the room was open to gaze down at the city below her, and Karega stood just before it, watching.
“Dwarves do not dream. I have been told that our connection to whatever magic allows dreaming is different from elves or humans, qunari. We are connected to the Stone.” She strode across the length of the ledge, her face drawn in serious contemplation.
Elodie bowed her head and took a step into the room.
“I am aware, though even this has not stopped dwarves from being fascinated by or even studying magic,” she said, thinking of the dwarven girl she sent out to the Circle only to see her once again in the Inquisition, putting her knowledge to good use.
Karega turned away from Elodie to stare more intensely at the city below.
“So you must be aware how strange it must have been when last night I…had a vision? A dream?”
Elodie tilted her head to the side and sighed. She could think of how odd that could be, exactly so. Oghren’s flailing at suddenly being in the Fade in the Blackmarsh floated into her head and she winced.
“Those of us who regularly dream often experience unpleasant ones. Many of us find that speaking of the unpleasant dreams helps.”
Karega paused before glancing behind her at Elodie.
“It was not unpleasant. Merely odd. I…was with Gurendar, and it was almost like it had been, but he spoke like he did when we were in the deep.” Karega’s voice was softer, reminiscent and careful. Elodie realized that she did not quite know what to make of the dreams.
“The lyrium induced visions were…trials on my body. The nightmares from the Blight were a scourge, and the nightmares because of the demons due to my mage heritage have been…harrowing, quite literally. But the dreams between are not always easy, they are not always good or perfect, and no one can really tell you what dreams mean. If someone does, then they are lying to convince you to do something they want you to do. Only you can decide for yourself what your dream means. Dreams are often…mirrors, reflecting the world and our own feelings. Examine those and you can discern their meanings from there,” Elodie replied, joining Karega at the ledge.
The queen straightened her back and nodded once, “I miss my husband, but as he said, he is not truly my husband anymore. He belongs to the Stone, to the Titan. I must move on.”
Well, that was quick.
Elodie looked out to the city below them and she wondered as to why Karega was suddenly dreaming…though it sounded less like a dream and more like one of her lyrium visions. A final goodbye, closure. But closure like that…it never comes, not really. Love does not move on so easily, and the heart holds onto memories longer than the head.
Alistair’s face flitted into her mind and she exhaled.
“Your majesty?”
“Fool top-sider, didn’t I tell you to call me Karega?”
Elodie laughed, “You did! I’d do well to remember that, wouldn’t I?”
Karega grunted and rolled her eyes, but she smiled.
“The Titan has granted me a significant boon –
“It’s also got you trapped in a pretty sweet situation with defense.”
“True, but a boon it still is. I am…free of the taint, something I never thought I would ever say.” She rolled the sleeve of her robe up and examined the now blemish free skin. No darkness, no taint, not even a scar….
The lyrium had sunk deep into her and blasted whatever impurity was left.
It did not make much sense to her, but it had worked. Her head was clear, her blood pure, and she felt her body sing with magic and a wholeness that she had not felt in…more than a decade.
And beneath it all was a deep longing to go home. A happier exhaustion shrouded her and she was eager to return to Denerim to the family and life she had someone created for herself. Karega lifted her head up in pride as she gazed out at her city, at her sons sparring down in the circle below.
“My husband is gone.”
“But your family and city remain.”
“They do, and I will protect them all. So I trust that you will not hold much of a grudge if we blind you while we lead you out of the city and to the surface.” All of that said with a straight face.
“Of course not, Karega. Though I would hope you would consider a…loose alliance of sorts.” Nothing brings people together better than sharing a unique, trying experience, something that others will not believe or even ever empathize with correctly. She bonded with Karega…but that did not necessarily translate into a political alliance.
“Kal-Sharok has been independent for…ages,” Karega mused.
“We have survived fine without the interference of anyone…but times are perhaps changing. If we are to create an alliance, it would first be with you and your people, I assure you, Long Legs.” And then the Paragon-Elect of Kal-Sharok extended her hand to Elodie. She took it gladly, smiling and bowing her head in gratitude.
“Now, before you leave, we drink and be merry! Celebrate the repairs to the city and Kal-Sharok’s first foreign friend.” Karega turned from the window and grinned triumphantly up at Elodie who returned the smile and laughed.
“And here I was thinking that we skipped the party!”
“Never! A good Kal-Sharok dwarf NEVER skips the party!” She laughed, clapping Elodie on the back. She left the room, laughing and joyously shouting requests for the party that night. The palace erupted into a loud clamor in preparation, but Elodie remained at the window, staring down at the city.
The dwarves of Kal-Sharok had survived the Blights, protected by the Titan, a cure…not so far from the Anderfels.
The image of the elf standing over the ledge and down at the other Titan filled her mind, blood spilling down her hand….
Whatever happened to the other Titans…was it because of her? And was this the cause of the Blight? Was it reversible, whatever she did? These were questions that needed to be answered and as much as she wanted to make her way to Alistair as quickly as possible…she supposed she could wait another month to revisit Skyhold and report her findings, ask the red lyrium experts there if there are any ties to this.
Skyhold was along the way home, she could report her findings to at least Dagna and then establish communication with the red lyrium experts with herself and potentially even Kal-Sharok. Though who knows how likely that set would be, Karega was hesitant to ally with Ferelden even after everything they had just gone through.
And as she watched the people below her mill about, she thought of her life. It hit her, sometimes, how…extraordinary her life had been, and she was only in her early thirties. Thirty-one, to be exact. A newly hallowed mage turned Grey-Warden at nineteen, and Hero of Ferelden at twenty, then followed quickly by court mage and mistress to the King of Ferelden. She had united kingdoms, fought a Blight, killed an Archdemon, and now…now it felt like her life could truly begin, not as a collection of labels thrust upon her of what the world required of her, but of Elodie. Simply, Elodie. Not even touched by her surname, by the family that had forsaken her for just what she was.
She was finally free to be like the people down in the street.
Well…not entirely free, she still was all those things but they were now past things, past titles and deeds and people.
Elodie turned from the window and asked the guards if she could go to the Market district to shop. They acquiesced and insisted on accompanying her as she shopped.
They took the lift down and around to the markets where people were quick to stare. Elodie was not a short woman by any meaning of the word, and she tried not to tower over the dwarves, but there was only so much she could do. She avoided low-hanging shop signs and got used to bending herself down to buy things. She bought for herself jewelry, large rings and necklaces that glowed with faint lyrium etching, subtle power humming quickly in the pieces. She bought a wheel of lichen cheese for Alistair, and a few other odds and ends for the people she cared about. But Elodie mostly just walked around, watching the people live their lives, musing happily on whether if this would eventually be her life.
Able to walk down a street and just happily purchase something, without fear of the Templars, without fear of the guards, without being bombarded by people who recognized her.
Several hours later and the little shopping party returned to the palace where apparently the feast was just beginning. Loud music drifted down the hall and suddenly several young dwarves appeared, all bearing some similarities to Karega.
Eight. Karega had eight children.
They strolled through the halls, laughing and carousing as they headed down to the main hall. Elodie smiled and jogged after them, ready to celebrate her newfound freedom and friends.
**
The next day, Elodie woke to a sensation she had not experienced in the last twelve years – a hangover. An actual hangover. Grey Warden stamina often meant that her body handled the alcohol faster and more efficiently than non-Wardens, whatever hangover she sustained she usually slept through.
But it seemed that with the taint gone, so was her ability to drink like a qunari. She scrubbed at her face, finding her cheeks sticky with…something. What…happened? Maybe she didn’t want to know. She ate the meal of bread and lichen quickly again, finding it easier to palate after drinking…Maker, how much did she drink last night? After eating, she dressed and left, her things gathered and prepared for her long trek back to Denerim. Karega found her, somehow without a hangover and wearing a great grin.
“There she is! HA! Woman you should have told me your people liked to party!” She shouted and Elodie winced, murmuring a healing spell that helped somewhat.
“Oh, yes, we are very fond of the drink.”
“You’ve got good stamina, Long Legs. Oh, that your secret then? Something with long legs?” Karega narrowed her eyes and Elodie rolled hers.
“Hardly, I am just fond of ales and tend to drink them more frequently than is most likely healthy,” she chuckled but Karega smiled and began to guide Elodie down the corridors.
“But now you’re leaving, we get it, you made it very clear last night, you have to get back to the king,” at that Karega bumped Elodie’s hip and winked. Elodie flushed and placed a self-conscious hand over her chest. What…what did she say?
“Oh…yes, well, hmm.”
“HAHA! No need to be ashamed! If I had a man as young and handsome as him, I don’t know if we’d ever leave the bed.”
Well…that’s certainly…something, Elodie thought.
“That being said, I think I’m going to miss you, Long Legs. Pritte will miss you as well…and Effir will too, even if they won’t admit it.”
“They got me these robes, that is communication enough, honestly,” she answered, still impressed by the gift.
“Just don’t let your human spinners and weavers and whatnot go sniffing up the fabric, we can’t have your people discovering all our secrets,” Karega warned, her face serious for a moment.
“Don’t worry, I will keep your secrets close,” Elodie promised. They were at the entrance to the palace now, and as they made their way to the…loading zone or something, Elodie wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, though she suspected it had something to do with her leaving Kal-Sharok.
“I am sure you will, but we have to be certain about some things, as I am sure you understand.”
They turned away from the palace and down a long winding stone staircase that led them into a courtyard full of…
“Are those…giant nugs?” Elodie asked in awe. Karega blinked at her and leaned back.
“Never seen a Nugalope have ya’? Well, here are some of our finest, though the one at the head is a War Nug, we call her Toeril. My sons Rogar and Vulthun will be escorting you through the Deep Roads to the surface. You will be blindfolded until you reach the roads, the boys will know when to allow you sight.” Karega walked around the space, allowing Elodie to get accustomed to being around the…Nugalopes.
It was a small company of dwarves, five in total with what Elodie was guessing was the elder son perched regally atop Toeril. He watched Elodie with a wary eye that reminded her of his mother and wondered if this was the heir to Kal-Sharok.
But there was something off…she counted everything again and lifted a brow. Five dwarves, six Nugalopes. It seemed that she would be riding her own Nugalope…blindfolded. Apparently adventures do not stop simply because she is no longer a Grey Warden.
“Your nug will be tied to mine, don’t worry, Warden,” one of the dwarves said as he walked to her nug and attached a long rope to its saddle.
“That eases some concern then,” Elodie replied dryly, “and I’m not a warden anymore, you can call me Elodie. Or Lady Amell if you require some formality.”
“Very well, Lady Amell,” the man replied before hurrying to his Nugalope, quickly climbing atop it. The rest of her party began to mount their nugs and she supposed that it was getting time to leave the city.
“It’s a good thing you came, Long Legs. It helped Kal-Sharok, and more importantly – you are helping the Titan,” Karega said, putting her hands behind her back as she watches her people ready for the journey.
Elodie glanced back down at Karega and let out a breath before bending down quickly and wrapping her arms around her. Karega stiffened in shock but patted Elodie’s back.
“I am going to miss you too, Karega. Thank you,” Elodie said softly, holding her close. Karega sighed and returned the hug more firmly.
“Stone guide you, Long Legs,” Karega whispered before murmuring something in her dwarven language.
“Stone keep you, Karega,” Elodie replied as she pulled away, placing a hand over her heart. Karega grinned and her eyes shone a bit more brightly.
“Until we meet again.”
Elodie nodded and headed toward her Nugalope. Karega helped her up and showed her the basics of riding the beast. Karega patted Elodie’s leg and handed her the handkerchief to blindfold herself. Elodie accepted it and tied it willingly around her eyes, breathing deeply to accustom herself to the lack of sight.
“Get her to the surface! We can’t have her dying now, not after everything that has happened, now can we?” Karega ordered.
“No worries, mother, we’ll get her to her safe surface in no time,” one of the sons said, and from his cavalier attitude, she suspected it was the younger son.
“Wait! You must wait!” A loud familiar voice called.
“Pritte? Is that you?” Elodie turned in her saddle out of habit
“Yes! Yes, we’re here!”
“We? Is Effir there?”
“For some reason,” they groused making her laugh.
“Oh Effir, you softy,” she teased, unable to stop the wide grin from spreading on her face.
“Thank the Stone we caught you in time! It isn’t right we wouldn’t get to say our pieces properly,” Pritte said before Effir could contradict Elodie’s comment.
“The Stone had nothing to do with you finishing your duties at an inadvisable speed to come here,” Effir protested anyway.
“Well, then how did you manage to finish your own duties to come here?” Elodie asked and she could feel their scowl.
“I did not rush, I finished in a timely and well-structured manner –
“Oh they shucked off duties for tomorrow,” Pritte explained making Elodie laugh again.
“I’m going to miss you too, Effir. You are a good friend,” Elodie nodded her head in their direction and they shifted their feet in the dirt.
“You did not destroy the city and have proven to be a reliable ally.”
Everyone fell silent at that until a low whistle sounded.
“Shit that is high praise coming from them,” Karega marveled.
“They are right, E-lo, you have been good to the city and to the Titan, you have been recorded in the memories and I am sure it is not the last of you that will appear in there. Thank you, I am grateful to have met a Grey Warden, a former one at that. Now go home to your king, tell your country of the greatness of Kal-Sharok!” Pritte exclaimed, making Elodie lean towards their voice, silently asking for a hug. They reached up and embraced her briefly before letting her return to her seat.
“I will do that. Thank you Pritte, Effir, Karega – thank you so very much.” It was truly incredible to find such kindness to a stranger in a place that had been sealed off for so long and she was intensely grateful for it. Pritte sniffled and she was pretty sure that Effir rolled their eyes even if she couldn’t see them.
Karega scoffed, “Surfacers, so soft. Careful you don’t get yourself killed with that softness, Long Legs. Now get going, you’re losing all your time.”
She slapped the behind of Elodie’s Nugalope, though the real thing that got the thing going was the low whistle from the older prince. The animal lurched forward and Elodie had to catch herself from falling as they began their journey. Her heart ached a bit; she was going to miss her new friends and this beautiful city, but she was…. It was time to go home and to live the life she had dreamed of for so long.
The next several days were an odd mixture of blind travel, only being able to see when camp was made, and the brief formation of new friendships. She got to know the dwarves escorting her, all of whom knew of the Inquisition because they had apparently interacted with its agents when the Venatori had somehow kidnapped several Kal-Sharok dwarves and turned them into slaves. They had fought together and had apparently been collecting information for the Inquisition about the Venatori in whatever ways they could.
They were apparently not as closed off as they had led everyone to believe.
After the third day of travel, they stopped requiring her to wear a blindfold and on the fourth day, they began to fight the darkspawn. For the first time in more than a decade, Elodie could not sense them coming. There was no tickle at the back of her skull, no heating of blood or a sense of foreboding – they just descended upon her and the party. She was about to cast a spell that would essentially explode one of the darkspawn when she remembered that she had to be careful about their blood now. She was…vulnerable. She reigned the spell back and instead blasted the darkspawn with searing energy, frying the creature from the inside.
The darkspawn were terrifying once again and she felt normal. Well, as normal as she could as she healed everyone around her with a single spell.
The dwarves were more than a little unsettled by her magic but they did not fight her or yell, just grumbled at the tingling in their bodies.
They guided her all the way to the surface and told her that she could keep the Nugalope as an official gift from Kal-Sharok. She placed a hand over her heart and thanked them for everything they had done. The told her if she ever wanted to get in contact with them to simply send a letter to the closest village, River Rock, and have the trader Ugra Batt get the letter and the rest will be taken care of. Their goodbyes were full of smiles and well-wishes. The princes bowed and she returned the gesture gladly.
“You have been more than kind and hospitable to me, my thanks cannot be deep or sincere enough to convey what I feel,” she said.
“Flowery surfacer, but we thank you, as does the Titan. Now go, be well! Live well with the life that Titan has gifted you,” the way the eldest prince spoke she almost believed him to be making a threat. But she understood and nodded. Elodie watched their forms disappear back into the darkness of the Deep Roads. She turned to the exit of the roads, the light spilling in from the trench she had entered. It was time to greet her life as Elodie. Just Elodie.
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There was a post going on a while back about having a tranquil mage become the Inquisitor, where receiving the Anchor provided enough magic to break the tranquility that they underwent. So, hear me out:
Duncan is the person who saves Amell/Surana from getting in trouble after they help Jowan, right? But he can only save whoever the player is in every playthrough, meaning that if he went to help, say, the Couslands, then Amell/Surana would either be killed or sent to Aeonar or made Tranquil.
So... Go forth with your Tranquil!Mage!not-Warden turned Inquisitor fics! (Also, imagine how ANGRY Hawke would be about a tranquil!Amell.)
In the Chantry, the Sisters always made sure you knew how bad mages were. They made sure you knew that you had to be on constant watch. One slip, one moment of negligence and the abominations and demons would be running around everywhere. Now, granted, Alistair had slept through most of those lessons so the finer details were a bit foggy, but the main point stuck. Mages: make bad stuff happen. Templars: make sure bad stuff doesn't happen. As a child he thought it was a bit of an exaggeration. The Sisters made you think that every mage is an abomination waiting to happen but he remembers thinking to himself that if that were true, there would be no mages. There would only be monsters and the Templars would have killed them all already.
Looking at the remains of the Circle Tower now, he could see what the Sisters had meant.
To say that the lower levels of the Tower were not bad would only be because the upper levels were so much worse. Every step, every floor, was everything the Sisters and his trainers had warned him about. The first floors were littered with demons, undead, and abominations. As they made their way upward, the corruption infected the very tower itself. Sacks of flesh and rot stuck to the walls. The smell of decomposition permeated the air. Alistair had to stop himself several times from throwing up. Darkspawn smelled worse, definitely, but not by much.
Onward they went, though. Around the fleshy bits and demony things. Over the bodies of mages, innocent and possessed a like. Hindered slightly by a demon trapping them in the Fade but the Warden rescued them and was able to recover the Litany of Adralla. They stopped momentarily in front of a caged Templar and Alistair was struck with an unnerving thought.
That could have been me.
Had Duncan not come, had he not joined the Grey Wardens, Alistair could have easily been one of the Templars in this tower. He could have been one of the ones killed during the initial attack. He could have been one of the ones hiding in the entrance of the tower, waiting for orders to march forth and slaughter everything within. He could have been the one in the cage, tortured and depraved to the point of almost losing his mind or perhaps even losing it completely.
He swallowed hard as he pushed the thoughts from his mind and continued to follow the Warden into the chamber to fight Uldred. If there was one benefit of his training, it was the ability to focus no matter what. Rather than be distracted by what could have been, he focused what was in front of him and that was the demon, Uldred. The demon tried to bargain, because of course it did. The Warden heard none of it. Without hesitation, she called the order to attack. The battle was a blur of magic and steel. He concentrated on dispelling what he could and stabbing what he could not. The almost Templar was only faintly aware of the Litany being recited by the Warden as she cast her own spells against the magical forces that opposed them.
In the end, they triumphed. Evil defeated, First Enchanter saved; all in a day's work. Without the hordes of enemies, going back down was much faster than going up, even with the First Enchanter having to be partially carried due to his traumas. Alistair felt himself relax a bit more when the leader of the mages agreed to honor their treaty to provide aid to the Grey Wardens, thus becoming their first allies. There was still more treaties and he hoped they would still go to Redcliffe to see Arl Eamon, especially after the rumors of his illness. For right now, however, they had achieved their first victory.
The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had to discuss the specifics of the arrangement and the healer, Wynne, had decided to join them. Alistair smiled to himself when the elder mage had said she was to come along. She had this... motherly air to her. Not only that, she was a powerful mage in their own right and a skilled healer. The Warden had said that while she herself had studied healing, she was far more adept at setting things on fire. It would be good to have Wynne along. Besides, Alistair wanted her to check a cut he had gotten from a demon. The older initiates had told him about demon cooties and, while he was sure they weren't a real thing, he wanted her to look at it.
They had a moment to rest while Wynne gathered what she needed and the leaders of the circle talked. Though, perhaps 'talked' was a light term. Sternly discussed in hushed but raised voices. Yeah, that was more like it. Alistair leaned against one of the pillars lining the room, enjoying the moment of relative peace. He turned to ask the Warden about what they were doing for camp when he noticed she was not where she was a moment ago. She had been walking the room in a mindless wander sort of way and he had mostly left her to it, having sought his own place to relax. As he glanced around for her, he caught sight of her as she passed through the main doors back into the main halls of the tower.
He watched in confusion as the hallway began to conceal her. Why in the Maker's name would she want to go back in there? There was nothing there now but dead abominations and mages...
Alistair slapped himself, causing a few loitering Templars to glance in his direction. Morrigan's not here so I'll call myself it in her stead. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
The Warden was a mage. She had come from here, lived here, spent most of her life here. She must have known the people within the tower. The entire time they moved from floor to floor. Every abomination they struck, every dead body they passed. They were all people she knew. She had never talked about her life in the tower, he had never really asked. She asked him about Duncan, the Wardens, would always check in with him to make sure he was doing well. The entire time going through the tower, she had never faltered. Never gave a moment's pause, but that did not mean that it's condition did not still affect her.
Silently berating himself, he pushed from his pillar and went after her. Maybe she wanted to be alone, but the least he could do was check on her. She has done the same for him, after all. He did not have to go far to find her. In the first room past the doors, she sat on the lower bunk of a bed, head in her hands. Her shoulders shook and he could hear her breath come in small gasps.
She's crying, was Alistair's panicked realization, Maker's breath, now what do I do?
Stand there shuffling was his immediate answer. Alistair had never had to actually comfort someone before, least of all a crying woman. Should he leave? Give her some time? Stay? Sit with her, maybe? Before he could decide on a course of action, the Warden suddenly looked up on him, perhaps alerted by the slight clank of his armor.
"Alistair," her voice was quiet as she wiped away her tears, trying to hide the evidence, "Is, uh, is there something you need?"
Mentally chastising himself for being a coward on top of an idiot, Alistair finally moved to sit beside his companion.
"I was going to ask you the same."
"I'm fine."
"You should never try lying," Alistair joked, "You're terrible at it." That at least got her to smile and a small laugh.
"I... will be fine." She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands on her upper arms. "This was... too real, I suppose. When I left the tower, I never thought of returning. Never thought that it would become... this."
She shook her head as she stood, as though to force it from her mind. When she turned to look at him, she ran her hand along the wood of the bunk.
"This was my bed when I was an apprentice. From the time when I arrived at the circle to the day I finished my Harrowing. I never got to sleep in my new bed on the second floor. The day I became a full-fledged mage was the day I left to become a Grey Warden."
"Duncan wrote ahead, saying he had found a new mage recruit. I didn't realize it plucked your right out of your Harrowing." Alistair commented. She laughed lightly and shook her head in a sad way.
"There were some things that happened in between. I had a friend. Jowan. He came to me, wanting my help in getting his phylactery so as to run off with his initiate lover."
"Ooohh, scandalous." he joked but pursed his lips when he didn't get a reaction. Wrong thing to say then. Thankfully the awkward silence didn't last long as she continued her story.
"Jowan had learned he was going to be made tranquil. In desperation, they wanted to break his phylactery to escape. I was terrified. If we were caught, I could not be made tranquil since I passed my Harrowing, but I could still be executed, or worse, sent to Aeonar. So, I... betrayed him. I went to Irving, told him everything. He had me set them up. Both Jowan and Lily would be punished for their actions." She turned her back to him as she confessed her past. "'The Chantry would do the same to us,' Irving had said."
Alistair sat in silence as he listened. During their time traveling together, the Warden had been nothing if not selfless. She helped those she could and even did her best for those she could not. She listened to him, talked with Leliana, even somehow managed to get along with Morrigan, though Maker only knows how. So, needless to say, this was not what he had expected.
"What... happened?" He finally managed to ask, unsure of what to expect as an answer.
"We found his phylactery and when we made to leave, Irving and the Templars had us surrounded. Jowan tried to resist but when they tried to take Lily he... used blood magic."
Despite the horrifying turn of events, Alistair felt a heave of relief.
"He was a blood mage! You did the right thing, then."
"It's easy to say that now. 'Jowan was a blood mage, so he was wrong and I was right by turning him in.' But, I didn't know that at the time I betrayed him. I was only thinking of saving myself."
Words were not Alistair's specialty. Jokes and quips, sure. But now, he wanted to tell her it was alright. To somehow comfort her as she had for him. She had done it so easily and now it was his turn to do the same for her and he was at a loss. He stood from his seat and went to the disheveled desks she was standing near. His presence seemed to encourage her to continue.
"When Duncan offered to let me join the Grey Wardens, I couldn't believe it. Wasn't sure I deserved it. Irving said it was a reward for loyalty but I couldn't help but wonder what I had been loyal to. To the Circle? To the Chantry? To myself? I went with Duncan because I couldn't be in the tower any more. How could I look at it and not be reminded of what I had done? Of the friend I had betrayed and his lover that I helped doom. At first, I never wanted to return because of the memories it would surface. But, the longer I was away, the more I realized... this... everything. It was all wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Myself, Jowan, this. It was all the product of our imprisonment. Of the Chantry's fear of magic."
"You heard the mages. This was because of Loghain. He offered the mages a deal if they sided with him." The warden shook her head at him, looking him in the eye.
"And they never would of felt compelled to agree if not for the Chantry's restrictions. They saw this," she waved around the room, to the destruction and death that was in very corner, "preferable to living under the Templar's thumb! Everyone sees us as nothing more than monsters waiting to happen and now these..." she pinched the bridge of her nose, calming herself before continuing, "These mages have proven them right."
Alistair wanted to tell her she was wrong. People don't see you that way. They don't see the staff and robes first. They don't see you as a monster. Memories of his training told him he was wrong. That was all the Chantry taught. Magic is meant to serve man and they are best served by locking away all the mages. And, really, was he any different? Would he have given the mages the same chance she had, had he been in her position? Or would his training dictate that the mages within had to be killed, regardless of innocence, because that was what the Chantry taught. He could not tell her that the world did not see her as a monster, but he could do what he hoped was the next best thing.
"I don't see you that way."
She looked at him, a sad smile on her features. When she raised her hand and touched his cheek, he met her gaze and for the first time, really looked at her. She was a mage, yes, but he knew her. Regardless of what she said of her past, he knew that she was good person. He focused on that. Focused on what he had seen her accomplish in their time together and not on what the chantry had taught. He focused on the warmth of her hand and how smooth it felt against his rough stubble. He focused on her. On the way her eyes met his; there was sadness there now, but he had seen them shine with laughter. He looked at the way her hair fell across her face and resisted the urge to brush it aside. She was a mage, but she was still a human. She was not the monster the Chantry wanted him to see.
"Thank you, Alistair." She reached up and kissed the cheek what wasn't occupied by her hand. Luckily, she headed out of the room so she never saw the bright red that consumed his face. When her footsteps faded, Alistair nervously ran his hand through his hair and waited for his heart to stop trying to escape his chest.
The Chantry wanted him to see mages as nothing but monsters. When Alistair left the room to rejoin the group in the main hall, he knew for certain that was not true. Mages were just as much human as anyone else. They hoped and feared; loved and lost. What he experienced in the tower that day was no different than what occurred at Ostagar. It was not mages that caused the king's death and the field of slaughter. It was a man; a singular, cowardly man. Just as there were good people, desperate people, questionable ones, people from all walks of life, mages were no different. Alistair smiled to himself as he left the room to join the group. He was glad he was traveling with one of the good ones and looked forward to learning other ways the Chantry was wrong about mages.
