Six Escape Attempts (Part 3)
The Six Escape Attempts (and Single Escape) of Anders
Mulit-Chapter, a bit long.
Rating: PG at max
Some implied pairings, but only Anders/Karl stands out. A few OC Wardens, who don't conflict with each other and don't play much role.
Ch. 3 - The Kitten Attempt
22 Wintermarch, 9:17 Dragon
Months later, Anders still protested that it had been worth it. Templars now stood at the doors to the apprentice quarters, had to eat their dinners in shifts in order to keep better guard on the doors and three of them even had to attend all of his lessons - two inside and one by the door in the hallway, just in case. But that week in the wilderness had been completely worth it.
Hadley had been the one to find him on the outskirts of the Frostback Mountains, where he’d found the trading posts at the gates of Orzammar, and had been doing menial worked for food there. Fried nug tasted like butter-fat and freedom, and Anders loved it. Many of the traders needed their animals healed and rejuvenated before setting off down the pass to the Imperial Highway (four days of gossip had taught Anders quit a lot about geography), and were happy to trade a few coppers to have the deed done magically so they could be off again quicker than they had expected. One of the dwarven traders had even paid him with a large tabby cat (“It’ll be almost like a nug, and it’s one pretty good meal. Old Teagrin there can fry her up for you.”), which Anders took to immediately. The cat was plump and grey and decidedly female. Anders wasn’t sure whether the dwarf had been joking or not about eating it - it was hard to tell with some of the dwarves when it came to food - or whether he’s seen how Anders was around the other animals and had thought to get away with paying him without money. Anders didn’t mind in any case. Lady Chubbychubs had been the best gift anyone could have ever thought of for him. When Hadley arrived to take him away, Anders promised to come quickly and quietly on the condition that he got to keep the cat. Bewildered at all the healed animals and laughing traders around him, Hadley had agreed. Five weeks later, when the kittens were born, Hadley added that decision to his ever-growing list of deepest regrets.
Anders never had the chance to wonder why the templars had chosen to let him live and return to the circle unharmed. He had been shoved into the knight commander’s office, where Greagoir and Irving were waiting for him, before he’d even seen the other apprentices. Greagoir had gone on or nearly an hour about the duties of mage and the rights of templars and how mercy played a role in the tension between them and a lot of other things Anders didn’t remember. It was Irving, smiling silently in the corner, a roguish grin tugging at his face, who winked to tell him all he needed to know. Apparently, you only needed one of them on your side to live, and somehow Anders had gotten in Irving’s good graces. He knew better than to look a gift mage in the staff.
Anders had few reasons to be happy about being back in the circle, of course. Gone was sky and freedom and deep fried nug, back were getting his eyebrows burned off by Torrin, and having to deal with Flora’s nagging (now doubled from his never-before-known cat allergies), and of course back were the constant days of being watched and feared. It took him a few weeks to realize that the templars really were more afraid of him than they had been before. One of the recruits, a blond boy in armor whose perfect shine didn’t hide the fact that the breastplate didn’t fit quite correctly, would mutter under his breath in a squeaky pubescent voice every time Anders walked past. He had been outside their control and surveillance for nearly a week. The younger templars were terrified that he had learned forbidden magic out there and was just waiting to try it out on them late at night when no one was watching (they always traveled in pairs when they followed him). The older templars were just wary that he’d get out again. They had reason to worry. Anders rarely thought about anything else. But there had been no opportunities with the tightened security around him, and this time, if he wanted out, he would have to plan it well in advance.
It felt different, looking actively for ways to escape, not just notice, but the tower itself. Despite having technically run away twice, he’d never given too much thought as to how he would accomplish a real escape attempt, given the chance. He didn’t even trust the other apprentices to brainstorm with him. Those that wouldn’t turn him in (and they were few enough in number) would likely give him poor ideas for the sake of their own amusement when he was caught. Most people didn’t go to Keres for anything for this reason. There were a few who would probably have been safe to talk to, people like Niall and Karl, but fear of the consequences and the Templars being able to hunt him so quickly made him hold his tongue. He had yet to figure out if it was his rumored phylactery or pure luck or deduction that had led Hadley to him. On the one hand, it wouldn’t take a genius to take a bee line form the direction he’d swam to the road and then follow the road to the first trading post, which was exactly what he’d stupidly done, but on the other it had not even taken a week for the templar to get there, and that without cutting across the lake. Anders couldn’t tell, and it was too risky to try and find his phylactery, even if it was in the tower. Irving probably wouldn’t be able to save him, then.
So in between his studies and taking care of the six cats that now roamed the circle’s halls, he planned. The elaborate, completely impractical plans were his favorite to come up with, just because of the variety of creative ways he could think of to distract the templars. If they were improbable enough, he would sometimes leave little drawings in the library books or on the walls of the classrooms for the amusement of others. The tranquil hardly ever noticed, as long as he was able to keep himself from laughing and drawing attention to what he was doing. Some of his favorites included replacing all of Flora’s books with blank pages and setting the distraught apprentice on the templars, filling Knight Commander Greagoir’s office with buckets of ale and leaving as the templars got smashed, and raising an army of templar-fighting cats who could block the templars’ mana-disrupting powers with their fur. The fact that it wouldn’t work made it safe and made it fun. He even caught Senior Enchanter Sweeney howling with laughter at his drawing of a drunken Greagoir on the back of the door to a third floor classroom. The knight commander was less than pleased.
And so four months had gone by like this, and Anders was no nearer to finding a plan than he had been the moment he’d seen Hadley coming over the bridge to the Frostback Mountains. Thoughts of the sun, the grass, and fried nug kept him from getting too frustrated, but he was beginning to wonder if this was why mages didn’t try to escape the tower very often. If you tried thinking about it before diving into a lake, it seemed a whole lot harder. Everything could go wrong so easily, and Greagoir had made no small point about the punishment for apostates usually being death.
“Anderfels! Get that thing off of my bed! It’s messed up the sheets and got it’s fur ah-ah-everywhere!” Flora shouted, just barely overcoming a sneeze in order to get his sentence out. Anders looked up in time to see the started kitten leap from the bed as Flora swatted at it.
“Hey now, there’s no need for that. Why should you get all the comfortable places in here to yourself? Poor little Mr. Wiggums. He just wanted somewhere to nap and get away from those mean old templars. Don’t you, Mr. Wiggums?”
“You are disgusting,” Flora spat. “You and that dirty animal. Now I have to clean my bedspread all over again or I won’t get any sleep. And keep that thing away from my books!”
“Flora, my cat can’t read, and even if he could I doubt he’d want your books any more than the rest of us.”
“My name is Finn. Not Flora. Finn. I am not a garden plant. I am not a girl. Finn.” Flora said, and he pulled off his bedsheet, walked out the door and gave an almighty sneeze that echoed back from the hallway.
“Don’t listen to him, Mr. Wiggums. You’re very clean. He’s just very picky, that’s all. Now, who wants some water?” Anders took the jug from beside his bed and set it on his trunk, so that Mr. Wiggums could put his front paws on the lip and drink.
Everything was quiet for a minute, and then a bed behind Anders gave a rustle and a creak, and footsteps shuffled over to him. Karl Thekla, looking haggard sat down on Anders trunk and scratched Mr. Wiggums ears.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Anders said, for lack of a better way to ask what he was doing. Karl didn’t reply for a few minutes. He just sat staring at the water and absent mindedly stroking the kitten’s fur. “I don’t know where the others have gotten off to. I thought I saw a templar carrying Fluffpaws yesterday, but it’s hard to see past that armor. It may have just been a bit of fur from something else. Brown cats are hard to distinguish, you know, if you can’t see their faces or tails.”
“My harrowing is tomorrow,” Karl said. His voice didn’t shake or squeak, but Anders could hear the tired panic in it. “No one’s passed for a few weeks now. Owain chose tranquility when they told him what he had to do. He chose it. How do you choose something like that? What could be worse than… and Owain, he was… he was funny you know. And smart. And if he doesn’t think it’s worth going through the Harrowing… If he didn’t think he’d make it. What chance do I have?” Karl never made eye contact as he spoke. He just stared a little to the left of Anders’ water jug. Mr. Wiggums was rubbing his head against Karl’s still hand, trying to get it to pet him again.
“Plenty- plenty of people have passed the Harrowing, Karl,” Anders said, although he knew he’d been silent a little too long to be entirely comforting. “I mean, look at Godwin. Who would have thought he would get through two months ago, and he was fine. They said it was a long Harrowing, but he made it through okay. He just vomited for a while, and you’re a lot stronger than him.”
“Who says it has anything to do with strength?” Karl continued, “What if it has to do with choices and being clever and all those things that magic can’t help with? What if you need the ability to back down from a fight? I’ve never been very good at that.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call you violent, and your no idiot. Godwin’s an idiot. You’re alright,” Anders replied.
“You’re trying too hard, Anderfels,” Karl said, finally giving a small smile. “But that’s what I wanted to hear, so I won’t stop you.” He sighed and scratched Mr. Wiggums’ ears again until the kitten started purring loudly. “We all know what you’re up to, Anders. Subtlety is an art you have yet to learn.”
“What are you talking-“ Anders began.
“I don’t know if you planned to jump in the lake before hand, but I’m glad you did it in any case. And I’m even more glad that you came back all right. We all,” he paused and looked Anders in the face for the first time, “we all took some comfort in knowing that maybe not everything we do can result in death. Maybe the templars can be a little forgiving and a little stupid. And maybe mages can be outside the circle and not change who they are.”
“Of course we can! What else could-“ Anders began in confusion, but Karl cut him off.
“It’s nice to be proven right in your hopes. It’s nice to know, not guess but really know, that maybe we aren’t as cursed as they tell us we are. But in any case, be careful, Anders, because one day… if I make it though this… one day, I might like to follow you out of here. I’m tired of being scared. I want… I don’t know what I want. Freedom? That- that’s not quite it. I think I just want life. I want life more than anything. The circle can offer me some of that, but it feels like I’m loaning it from the chantry at a pretty heavy price. No, I want a life, and I want to live it. So be careful, so we won’t all lose what we have here now. I don’t think I could live with much less than this.” Karl gave a final pat to Mr. Wiggums, stood up and walked over to the door. “Class time. See you, Anderfels.” And he left.
Anders sat quietly for a long time, while Mr. Wiggums padded across his bed and curled up in his lap. The Harrowing. Karl wasn’t much older than he was. He hadn’t known the others too well, Godwin and Owain and all those who had died recently. Karl was right; the last three Harrowings hadn’t gone well, but this was Karl. He knew Karl. They had shared this room with Flora and Eadric and Niall and Keres and the Rivaini (whose name he really needed to learn soon, apparently) for years. Even Jowan was becoming a regular feature of the room. People came and went from the apprentice quarters all the time, of course, new mages coming in, older ones moving upstairs, but you only really concentrated on those around your own age. And the first of those, Karl, would be leaving tomorrow, one way or another.
He really hoped Karl made it. He really, really hoped.
“Well, Mr. Wiggums. Now we need a real plan.”
-
None of the apprentices said much the next day. Even Flora didn’t say anything when Mr. Wiggums tried to drink out of his water jug. Karl had left early that morning, and no one had much wanted to say or do anything until they knew what happened. The Senior Enchanters had canceled their classes for the day - they remembered what watching another apprentice get Harrowed had been like - so everyone had nothing to do but sit quietly on their beds and trunks. Flora and Niall flitted uneasily through books. Anders pet Fluffpaws (who he’d found on the fourth floor the previous night, curled up on a windowsill) absentmindedly, and Varrun (whose name he’d finally asked last night, much to the boy’s confusion) sat patiently while Jowan fidgeted on the floor next to him. Keres had been staring at the ceiling for several hours. He might have been napping, but no one felt any desire to check.
The door handle clicked. Everyone jumped and whipped around to stare. Senior Enchanter Sweeney walked in, supporting Karl, who seemed dazed and dizzy.
“Easy there, boy. Which one’s his bed? Gah, of course he would be in the back. Right, who wants to help an old man?”
Niall, Jowan, Anders and Varrun all stood at the same time, but Fluffpaws dug his claws into Anders leg and Jowan tripped on the hem of his robe trying to stand, and blocked Varrun’s path, so Niall took Karl’s weight from Senior Enchanter Sweeney and led him back to his empty bed.
“He’ll wake up in an hour or so. He may be sick, so grab a bucket and get it ready for him. And you can all breathe. He passed.”
The communal breath was audible from every corner of the room. Anders ran to get the bucket while Varrun helped Jowan off the floor. It was almost like being free, the lightness Anders felt as he ran for the toilets. Karl was alive and still connected to the fade. There was hope for the rest of them yet.
-
The circle was always cautious for a few days after the Harrowing. Sending a mage purposefully into the fade alongside a trapped demon held a significant chance of weakening the veil, an even more dangerous activity when you considered how weak the veil already was at Kinloch Hold, given the number of practicing mages who lived there. Classes were more theory based than practice based and any unnecessary magic, even healing magic, was strongly discouraged. Flora was in heaven. Anders was in hell.
Anders didn’t mind reading. He even rather liked some books. Years ago, he had found a cache of translated Orlesian romance novels in the back of the library, most of them marked up with saucy notes in three or four different handwritings, and he had very much enjoyed reading those. Magical theory, however, especially written by chantry priests was dull and often at least partly incorrect, so Torrin would have him read a few chapters each night, then correct what he had learned in the morning. It would have made more sense to Anders for Torrin to simply lecture the correct material to him, but Torrin insisted that he should know firstly what was taught to the world, and secondly - when he was really listening - what would most help him in his personal studies.
“There are hierarchies of demons outside what the chantry teaches. They simplify the demons into categories based on which preys most often on those they see, and how much damage they can do in our world. And so the classifications go, from least powerful to most powerful-“ Torrin paused to let Anders fill in what he had read the night before.
“Hunger, rage, sloth, desire, pride,” Anders intoned.
“Good,” Torrin said, “But, a demon who comes to a simple man outside the tower in a famine can cause quite as much damage as one who takes hold of a mage in the circle. Can you think why?”
“Because the demon in the simple man may be much more powerful than the one in the circle?” Anders tried.
“That is true, but there is a simpler answer, one that the chantry loves to use,” Torrin replied. “Even if both men are possessed by the same demon, the simple man has just as much chance to cause as much or more damage because he is unguarded. No one would expect a demon in such a situation, and as such if he defeats those immediately around him, he can go on a rampage and take out entire towns before anyone realizes what is happening. A possessed mage will be immediately noticed and can be killed with no hesitation. This is the chantry’s first and foremost reason for housing templars within the circle. They are trained to resist all outside mental influence, from mages and demons alike. The lyrium they take increases their powers and at the same time makes them less susceptible to demons that may sense their presence through the weakened veil. They are, in fact, better protected than we are, for all our training. Now, can you tell me in what forms one may encounter a demon in the waking world?”
“A demon may possess a man living or dead, or it may chose to remain a shadow, or Shade, feeding off the emotions of those around it until it can manifest a physical form.” Anders said.
“Someone’s been memorizing,” Torrin laughed, “but yes, that is correct. Anyone living or dead can be a vessel for a demon. They may not even know that this is what has happened. This is why one must never make a deal with a demon. They will possess you and turn you against yourself. The power they promise will never be yours, but will always be their own, as they give it to your body and then take your body from you.”
“What’s the difference between demons and spirits?” Anders asked. The question had gone essentially unanswered in the text, after all.
“The only difference is the part of the psyche which powers them. One does not have to feel rage to be possessed by a rage demon, just as one does not have to be strong to be aided by a spirit of fortitude. A demon in the waking world is powered as much by those around them as by the body they inhabit. Those which approach you in the fade sense some of their power in you, whether it is active or not, and will approach you with the intent of bringing that part of you forth so that you can let them in. If they sense no resistance, they can even take over without persuasion, as is the case with the walking corpses one sometimes hears of demons possessing. A demon is but a very specific and dangerous spirit. Does that answer your question a little too fully?” Anders nodded. “And do you have any more? Right then, we’ll pick up tomorrow with abominations, and then I think the next day it will be safe to start practicing spells again. Off you go.”
Anders walked from the classroom as calmly as he could. He had a plan for the night, after all. With the mages and templars still trying to keep the tower secure from tears in the veil, no one was paying too much attention to what individual mages were doing, so long as it wasn’t magic. Tonight, Anders was going to take Mr. Wiggums, Fluffypaws and Fuzzballto the quartermaster’s station and tie little packets of lyrium dust to their tails, then set them outside to distract the boat templar and take the boat across. He could land it in the woods to the side of Calenhad docks and then follow the lake south to Redcliffe. He knew that there were a lot of things wrong with the plan, but Karl’s Harrowing had greatly increased his desire to get away as quickly as possible - before it was his own turn.
Anders didn’t go to dinner. He could eat later, he reasoned, and it would be easier to prepare while everyone was out. Only Karl was in the apprentice quarters when Anders arrived, and he was fast asleep again. The Harrowing had taken quite a bit out of him, and he had been sleeping on and off since Sweeney had brought him back, though the tranquil had already moved his things upstairs to the mage quarters. Anders tried to be as quiet as possible as he gathered the kittens in his arms. Karl stirred, but didn’t appear to wake. Struggling a little, and thanking whatever benevolent spirit had convinced the templars to house the apprentices next to the main lobby area, Anders left his bedroom.
The hallway and lobby were just as empty as Anders had hoped they would be. Even the quartermaster joined the mages and templars for dinner, and he had left his wares open on his table. Anders took a basket from his station and set the three kittens down in it before rooting around for the lyrium dust. It was in a glass jar, next to the scoop and little pouches he used to sell it in. Anders scooped out a small amount in each pouch, then dipped the pouches in the dust so that they were coated in the strong, metallic smell of it. The kittens squirmed and mewled when he tied the pouches around their backs, and Fluffypaws managed to climb out of the basket twice, but they didn’t bit or scratch Anders. He knew that the Lyrium in this form wouldn’t hurt them, nor would the templars when they saw what was going on. The templars would be able to smell the lyrium even more than Anders could, and he was having to hold his breath a little from the stench. This would be an excellent distraction.
Moving quickly and quietly and putting Fluffypaws back into the basket for a third time, Anders scurried over to the main doors. He used the smallest bit of magic to put out the torches, as the lack of windows wouldn’t give away any difference, but the light pouring from the door would and, moving to just beside the door, Anders prayed that the templar on the other side was facing the other direction. He turned the handle until it clicked, and held it there for a moment, waiting for any sound of reaction. None came. He pulled the door open as slowly and as smoothly as he could, hoping that it didn’t creak too loudly.
“I’m telling you, we should be in there having dinner with the rest of them. No reason for all three of us to be out here. What’s Knight Commander Tightwad expecting to happen anyway?”
“The knight commander specifically said he wanted several templars out of the tower at all times keeping watch in case the veil was ripped. We are to be stationed so that one of us can go for help if necessary, one can take the boat across and stop people from coming in, and one can keep watch at the front door here. It’s procedure! Simple routine.”
“Cullen, if you don’t put a sock in it, you can be the one to take the boat across, but you’ll be unconscious when you do it.”
“I’m only saying-”
“Did I sound like I was joking, Cullen? Maker’s breath, shut up for just a minute. I can’t hear myself think over your jabbering.”
Anders wondered for a moment if the templars would distract themselves enough without his interference, but thought it was probably best not to risk it. One by one, he gave the kittens tiny shoves through the crack in the doors and listened as they went their separate ways.
“- just who are you calling a recruit? We’re all recruits, that’s why we’re stationed out here, and not inside with the others where the real danger is. The knight commander said we were the most dependable he had.”
“Yeah, he would say that. Old Tightwad Greagoir is a smart one, I’ll give him that. He knows you only shut your trap when you stammer, and boy did you stammer when he called you ‘dependable’.” Two of the templars sniggered loudly while the third sputtered.
“I didn’t- didn’t stammer. I was- I - I only, well- it’s a big honor to be called-“
“Oh, shut up, Cullen. Hey, do you smell something?”
Anders tensed. Any moment now…
“Yeah. Can’t tell where it’s coming from. What is that? It’s familiar, innit?”
“Don’t you two even recognize what that smells like?” Cullen sneered, “What kind of templars are you? That’s-“
“Lyrium! Where’s it coming from? I think there’s some over here. Maker’s breath that stench hasn’t been here all this time, has it?”
“Can’t have been. There’s no light coming from the doors, so they’re still sealed. And it’s too strong to be coming from the windows.”
“I think it’s stronger over here- What in Andraste’s name was that?!”
There was a great YOWL of cat-fury and Anders under the shouts and screams of the templars, slipped out the door, shut it behind him and crept over to where the boat was docked.
“Maker, it moves! It moves! I think I may have stepped on it!”
“Where did it go? It’s going to ambush us!”
“Get off, Cullen!”
“Foolish mortals!”
Anders stopped dead. That was not the voice of any of the templars. It didn’t even sound human. He nearly cast a spell that would give him light to see the situation, but stopped mid-cast, when he realized that the templars would likewise be able to see him. And they weren’t supposed to be using magic yet…
“Mortal! The burning rage you caused shall consume you!”
And with an almighty roar that ender in a hiss, something leapt at the templars. A great clash of metal armor told Anders that at least one (and it sounded more like two) of the templars had been knocked down by the force of it. It was hard to discern what was going on under all the clanking and shouting, and Anders had to rely only on his ears, unwilling to show himself and unable to see in the dark. He nearly let out a loud yelp when something soft brushed against his ankle. Fuzzball was rubbing up against his leg looking for attention. Anders knelt down and took the lyrium packet off of the kitten before lifting it up and holding it close against his chest. That thing sounded like a rage demon, but those were made of fire, and would cast a lot of light, if they came into the waking world. Unless of course they possessed someone, but who else would have been out here to possess?
“It’s got my face! It’s got my face! Oh, Maker!”
With one last clunk that sounded a lot like metal on bone, there was a weak flump and a loud crashing clatter, and then silence. Anders stayed very still and very quiet for a long time, until his curiosity got the better of him. He crept as quietly as he could over to where the templars lay. By the weak light, there was no sign of a demon, living or dead, nor was there any smell of smoke, as a rage demon’s body would produce. Then again, it was difficult to smell much beyond the lyrium. A lot of it seemed to have spilled on the ground.
Another mewl from the ground caught Anders attention. Fluffypaws padded over to him, his lyrium pack askew. Anders loosened the ties and pulled Fluffypaws up into his arms with Fuzzball.
“There you are, kitty. You’re coming with me. Now, where’s-“ There was a soft crunch under Ander’s foot as he stepped past a templar. A small cat was laying there bleeding, it’s lyrium pack ripped and it’s body smoking ever so slightly.
“Oh, Mr. Wiggums! I’m so sorry, Mr. Wiggums,” Anders whispered. A cat possessed by a rage demon? How? And who had ever heard of such a thing? “Rest easy, Mr. Wiggums. You fought well.”
Anders scooped up the other two cats as one of the templars stirred very slightly. He kicked the templar’s helmet and the man started to snore. And running to the boat, he jumped in and started paddling for the opposite shore.
Three.
Mulit-Chapter, a bit long.
Rating: PG at max
Some implied pairings, but only Anders/Karl stands out. A few OC Wardens, who don't conflict with each other and don't play much role.
Ch. 3 - The Kitten Attempt
22 Wintermarch, 9:17 Dragon
Months later, Anders still protested that it had been worth it. Templars now stood at the doors to the apprentice quarters, had to eat their dinners in shifts in order to keep better guard on the doors and three of them even had to attend all of his lessons - two inside and one by the door in the hallway, just in case. But that week in the wilderness had been completely worth it.
Hadley had been the one to find him on the outskirts of the Frostback Mountains, where he’d found the trading posts at the gates of Orzammar, and had been doing menial worked for food there. Fried nug tasted like butter-fat and freedom, and Anders loved it. Many of the traders needed their animals healed and rejuvenated before setting off down the pass to the Imperial Highway (four days of gossip had taught Anders quit a lot about geography), and were happy to trade a few coppers to have the deed done magically so they could be off again quicker than they had expected. One of the dwarven traders had even paid him with a large tabby cat (“It’ll be almost like a nug, and it’s one pretty good meal. Old Teagrin there can fry her up for you.”), which Anders took to immediately. The cat was plump and grey and decidedly female. Anders wasn’t sure whether the dwarf had been joking or not about eating it - it was hard to tell with some of the dwarves when it came to food - or whether he’s seen how Anders was around the other animals and had thought to get away with paying him without money. Anders didn’t mind in any case. Lady Chubbychubs had been the best gift anyone could have ever thought of for him. When Hadley arrived to take him away, Anders promised to come quickly and quietly on the condition that he got to keep the cat. Bewildered at all the healed animals and laughing traders around him, Hadley had agreed. Five weeks later, when the kittens were born, Hadley added that decision to his ever-growing list of deepest regrets.
Anders never had the chance to wonder why the templars had chosen to let him live and return to the circle unharmed. He had been shoved into the knight commander’s office, where Greagoir and Irving were waiting for him, before he’d even seen the other apprentices. Greagoir had gone on or nearly an hour about the duties of mage and the rights of templars and how mercy played a role in the tension between them and a lot of other things Anders didn’t remember. It was Irving, smiling silently in the corner, a roguish grin tugging at his face, who winked to tell him all he needed to know. Apparently, you only needed one of them on your side to live, and somehow Anders had gotten in Irving’s good graces. He knew better than to look a gift mage in the staff.
Anders had few reasons to be happy about being back in the circle, of course. Gone was sky and freedom and deep fried nug, back were getting his eyebrows burned off by Torrin, and having to deal with Flora’s nagging (now doubled from his never-before-known cat allergies), and of course back were the constant days of being watched and feared. It took him a few weeks to realize that the templars really were more afraid of him than they had been before. One of the recruits, a blond boy in armor whose perfect shine didn’t hide the fact that the breastplate didn’t fit quite correctly, would mutter under his breath in a squeaky pubescent voice every time Anders walked past. He had been outside their control and surveillance for nearly a week. The younger templars were terrified that he had learned forbidden magic out there and was just waiting to try it out on them late at night when no one was watching (they always traveled in pairs when they followed him). The older templars were just wary that he’d get out again. They had reason to worry. Anders rarely thought about anything else. But there had been no opportunities with the tightened security around him, and this time, if he wanted out, he would have to plan it well in advance.
It felt different, looking actively for ways to escape, not just notice, but the tower itself. Despite having technically run away twice, he’d never given too much thought as to how he would accomplish a real escape attempt, given the chance. He didn’t even trust the other apprentices to brainstorm with him. Those that wouldn’t turn him in (and they were few enough in number) would likely give him poor ideas for the sake of their own amusement when he was caught. Most people didn’t go to Keres for anything for this reason. There were a few who would probably have been safe to talk to, people like Niall and Karl, but fear of the consequences and the Templars being able to hunt him so quickly made him hold his tongue. He had yet to figure out if it was his rumored phylactery or pure luck or deduction that had led Hadley to him. On the one hand, it wouldn’t take a genius to take a bee line form the direction he’d swam to the road and then follow the road to the first trading post, which was exactly what he’d stupidly done, but on the other it had not even taken a week for the templar to get there, and that without cutting across the lake. Anders couldn’t tell, and it was too risky to try and find his phylactery, even if it was in the tower. Irving probably wouldn’t be able to save him, then.
So in between his studies and taking care of the six cats that now roamed the circle’s halls, he planned. The elaborate, completely impractical plans were his favorite to come up with, just because of the variety of creative ways he could think of to distract the templars. If they were improbable enough, he would sometimes leave little drawings in the library books or on the walls of the classrooms for the amusement of others. The tranquil hardly ever noticed, as long as he was able to keep himself from laughing and drawing attention to what he was doing. Some of his favorites included replacing all of Flora’s books with blank pages and setting the distraught apprentice on the templars, filling Knight Commander Greagoir’s office with buckets of ale and leaving as the templars got smashed, and raising an army of templar-fighting cats who could block the templars’ mana-disrupting powers with their fur. The fact that it wouldn’t work made it safe and made it fun. He even caught Senior Enchanter Sweeney howling with laughter at his drawing of a drunken Greagoir on the back of the door to a third floor classroom. The knight commander was less than pleased.
And so four months had gone by like this, and Anders was no nearer to finding a plan than he had been the moment he’d seen Hadley coming over the bridge to the Frostback Mountains. Thoughts of the sun, the grass, and fried nug kept him from getting too frustrated, but he was beginning to wonder if this was why mages didn’t try to escape the tower very often. If you tried thinking about it before diving into a lake, it seemed a whole lot harder. Everything could go wrong so easily, and Greagoir had made no small point about the punishment for apostates usually being death.
“Anderfels! Get that thing off of my bed! It’s messed up the sheets and got it’s fur ah-ah-everywhere!” Flora shouted, just barely overcoming a sneeze in order to get his sentence out. Anders looked up in time to see the started kitten leap from the bed as Flora swatted at it.
“Hey now, there’s no need for that. Why should you get all the comfortable places in here to yourself? Poor little Mr. Wiggums. He just wanted somewhere to nap and get away from those mean old templars. Don’t you, Mr. Wiggums?”
“You are disgusting,” Flora spat. “You and that dirty animal. Now I have to clean my bedspread all over again or I won’t get any sleep. And keep that thing away from my books!”
“Flora, my cat can’t read, and even if he could I doubt he’d want your books any more than the rest of us.”
“My name is Finn. Not Flora. Finn. I am not a garden plant. I am not a girl. Finn.” Flora said, and he pulled off his bedsheet, walked out the door and gave an almighty sneeze that echoed back from the hallway.
“Don’t listen to him, Mr. Wiggums. You’re very clean. He’s just very picky, that’s all. Now, who wants some water?” Anders took the jug from beside his bed and set it on his trunk, so that Mr. Wiggums could put his front paws on the lip and drink.
Everything was quiet for a minute, and then a bed behind Anders gave a rustle and a creak, and footsteps shuffled over to him. Karl Thekla, looking haggard sat down on Anders trunk and scratched Mr. Wiggums ears.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Anders said, for lack of a better way to ask what he was doing. Karl didn’t reply for a few minutes. He just sat staring at the water and absent mindedly stroking the kitten’s fur. “I don’t know where the others have gotten off to. I thought I saw a templar carrying Fluffpaws yesterday, but it’s hard to see past that armor. It may have just been a bit of fur from something else. Brown cats are hard to distinguish, you know, if you can’t see their faces or tails.”
“My harrowing is tomorrow,” Karl said. His voice didn’t shake or squeak, but Anders could hear the tired panic in it. “No one’s passed for a few weeks now. Owain chose tranquility when they told him what he had to do. He chose it. How do you choose something like that? What could be worse than… and Owain, he was… he was funny you know. And smart. And if he doesn’t think it’s worth going through the Harrowing… If he didn’t think he’d make it. What chance do I have?” Karl never made eye contact as he spoke. He just stared a little to the left of Anders’ water jug. Mr. Wiggums was rubbing his head against Karl’s still hand, trying to get it to pet him again.
“Plenty- plenty of people have passed the Harrowing, Karl,” Anders said, although he knew he’d been silent a little too long to be entirely comforting. “I mean, look at Godwin. Who would have thought he would get through two months ago, and he was fine. They said it was a long Harrowing, but he made it through okay. He just vomited for a while, and you’re a lot stronger than him.”
“Who says it has anything to do with strength?” Karl continued, “What if it has to do with choices and being clever and all those things that magic can’t help with? What if you need the ability to back down from a fight? I’ve never been very good at that.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call you violent, and your no idiot. Godwin’s an idiot. You’re alright,” Anders replied.
“You’re trying too hard, Anderfels,” Karl said, finally giving a small smile. “But that’s what I wanted to hear, so I won’t stop you.” He sighed and scratched Mr. Wiggums’ ears again until the kitten started purring loudly. “We all know what you’re up to, Anders. Subtlety is an art you have yet to learn.”
“What are you talking-“ Anders began.
“I don’t know if you planned to jump in the lake before hand, but I’m glad you did it in any case. And I’m even more glad that you came back all right. We all,” he paused and looked Anders in the face for the first time, “we all took some comfort in knowing that maybe not everything we do can result in death. Maybe the templars can be a little forgiving and a little stupid. And maybe mages can be outside the circle and not change who they are.”
“Of course we can! What else could-“ Anders began in confusion, but Karl cut him off.
“It’s nice to be proven right in your hopes. It’s nice to know, not guess but really know, that maybe we aren’t as cursed as they tell us we are. But in any case, be careful, Anders, because one day… if I make it though this… one day, I might like to follow you out of here. I’m tired of being scared. I want… I don’t know what I want. Freedom? That- that’s not quite it. I think I just want life. I want life more than anything. The circle can offer me some of that, but it feels like I’m loaning it from the chantry at a pretty heavy price. No, I want a life, and I want to live it. So be careful, so we won’t all lose what we have here now. I don’t think I could live with much less than this.” Karl gave a final pat to Mr. Wiggums, stood up and walked over to the door. “Class time. See you, Anderfels.” And he left.
Anders sat quietly for a long time, while Mr. Wiggums padded across his bed and curled up in his lap. The Harrowing. Karl wasn’t much older than he was. He hadn’t known the others too well, Godwin and Owain and all those who had died recently. Karl was right; the last three Harrowings hadn’t gone well, but this was Karl. He knew Karl. They had shared this room with Flora and Eadric and Niall and Keres and the Rivaini (whose name he really needed to learn soon, apparently) for years. Even Jowan was becoming a regular feature of the room. People came and went from the apprentice quarters all the time, of course, new mages coming in, older ones moving upstairs, but you only really concentrated on those around your own age. And the first of those, Karl, would be leaving tomorrow, one way or another.
He really hoped Karl made it. He really, really hoped.
“Well, Mr. Wiggums. Now we need a real plan.”
-
None of the apprentices said much the next day. Even Flora didn’t say anything when Mr. Wiggums tried to drink out of his water jug. Karl had left early that morning, and no one had much wanted to say or do anything until they knew what happened. The Senior Enchanters had canceled their classes for the day - they remembered what watching another apprentice get Harrowed had been like - so everyone had nothing to do but sit quietly on their beds and trunks. Flora and Niall flitted uneasily through books. Anders pet Fluffpaws (who he’d found on the fourth floor the previous night, curled up on a windowsill) absentmindedly, and Varrun (whose name he’d finally asked last night, much to the boy’s confusion) sat patiently while Jowan fidgeted on the floor next to him. Keres had been staring at the ceiling for several hours. He might have been napping, but no one felt any desire to check.
The door handle clicked. Everyone jumped and whipped around to stare. Senior Enchanter Sweeney walked in, supporting Karl, who seemed dazed and dizzy.
“Easy there, boy. Which one’s his bed? Gah, of course he would be in the back. Right, who wants to help an old man?”
Niall, Jowan, Anders and Varrun all stood at the same time, but Fluffpaws dug his claws into Anders leg and Jowan tripped on the hem of his robe trying to stand, and blocked Varrun’s path, so Niall took Karl’s weight from Senior Enchanter Sweeney and led him back to his empty bed.
“He’ll wake up in an hour or so. He may be sick, so grab a bucket and get it ready for him. And you can all breathe. He passed.”
The communal breath was audible from every corner of the room. Anders ran to get the bucket while Varrun helped Jowan off the floor. It was almost like being free, the lightness Anders felt as he ran for the toilets. Karl was alive and still connected to the fade. There was hope for the rest of them yet.
-
The circle was always cautious for a few days after the Harrowing. Sending a mage purposefully into the fade alongside a trapped demon held a significant chance of weakening the veil, an even more dangerous activity when you considered how weak the veil already was at Kinloch Hold, given the number of practicing mages who lived there. Classes were more theory based than practice based and any unnecessary magic, even healing magic, was strongly discouraged. Flora was in heaven. Anders was in hell.
Anders didn’t mind reading. He even rather liked some books. Years ago, he had found a cache of translated Orlesian romance novels in the back of the library, most of them marked up with saucy notes in three or four different handwritings, and he had very much enjoyed reading those. Magical theory, however, especially written by chantry priests was dull and often at least partly incorrect, so Torrin would have him read a few chapters each night, then correct what he had learned in the morning. It would have made more sense to Anders for Torrin to simply lecture the correct material to him, but Torrin insisted that he should know firstly what was taught to the world, and secondly - when he was really listening - what would most help him in his personal studies.
“There are hierarchies of demons outside what the chantry teaches. They simplify the demons into categories based on which preys most often on those they see, and how much damage they can do in our world. And so the classifications go, from least powerful to most powerful-“ Torrin paused to let Anders fill in what he had read the night before.
“Hunger, rage, sloth, desire, pride,” Anders intoned.
“Good,” Torrin said, “But, a demon who comes to a simple man outside the tower in a famine can cause quite as much damage as one who takes hold of a mage in the circle. Can you think why?”
“Because the demon in the simple man may be much more powerful than the one in the circle?” Anders tried.
“That is true, but there is a simpler answer, one that the chantry loves to use,” Torrin replied. “Even if both men are possessed by the same demon, the simple man has just as much chance to cause as much or more damage because he is unguarded. No one would expect a demon in such a situation, and as such if he defeats those immediately around him, he can go on a rampage and take out entire towns before anyone realizes what is happening. A possessed mage will be immediately noticed and can be killed with no hesitation. This is the chantry’s first and foremost reason for housing templars within the circle. They are trained to resist all outside mental influence, from mages and demons alike. The lyrium they take increases their powers and at the same time makes them less susceptible to demons that may sense their presence through the weakened veil. They are, in fact, better protected than we are, for all our training. Now, can you tell me in what forms one may encounter a demon in the waking world?”
“A demon may possess a man living or dead, or it may chose to remain a shadow, or Shade, feeding off the emotions of those around it until it can manifest a physical form.” Anders said.
“Someone’s been memorizing,” Torrin laughed, “but yes, that is correct. Anyone living or dead can be a vessel for a demon. They may not even know that this is what has happened. This is why one must never make a deal with a demon. They will possess you and turn you against yourself. The power they promise will never be yours, but will always be their own, as they give it to your body and then take your body from you.”
“What’s the difference between demons and spirits?” Anders asked. The question had gone essentially unanswered in the text, after all.
“The only difference is the part of the psyche which powers them. One does not have to feel rage to be possessed by a rage demon, just as one does not have to be strong to be aided by a spirit of fortitude. A demon in the waking world is powered as much by those around them as by the body they inhabit. Those which approach you in the fade sense some of their power in you, whether it is active or not, and will approach you with the intent of bringing that part of you forth so that you can let them in. If they sense no resistance, they can even take over without persuasion, as is the case with the walking corpses one sometimes hears of demons possessing. A demon is but a very specific and dangerous spirit. Does that answer your question a little too fully?” Anders nodded. “And do you have any more? Right then, we’ll pick up tomorrow with abominations, and then I think the next day it will be safe to start practicing spells again. Off you go.”
Anders walked from the classroom as calmly as he could. He had a plan for the night, after all. With the mages and templars still trying to keep the tower secure from tears in the veil, no one was paying too much attention to what individual mages were doing, so long as it wasn’t magic. Tonight, Anders was going to take Mr. Wiggums, Fluffypaws and Fuzzballto the quartermaster’s station and tie little packets of lyrium dust to their tails, then set them outside to distract the boat templar and take the boat across. He could land it in the woods to the side of Calenhad docks and then follow the lake south to Redcliffe. He knew that there were a lot of things wrong with the plan, but Karl’s Harrowing had greatly increased his desire to get away as quickly as possible - before it was his own turn.
Anders didn’t go to dinner. He could eat later, he reasoned, and it would be easier to prepare while everyone was out. Only Karl was in the apprentice quarters when Anders arrived, and he was fast asleep again. The Harrowing had taken quite a bit out of him, and he had been sleeping on and off since Sweeney had brought him back, though the tranquil had already moved his things upstairs to the mage quarters. Anders tried to be as quiet as possible as he gathered the kittens in his arms. Karl stirred, but didn’t appear to wake. Struggling a little, and thanking whatever benevolent spirit had convinced the templars to house the apprentices next to the main lobby area, Anders left his bedroom.
The hallway and lobby were just as empty as Anders had hoped they would be. Even the quartermaster joined the mages and templars for dinner, and he had left his wares open on his table. Anders took a basket from his station and set the three kittens down in it before rooting around for the lyrium dust. It was in a glass jar, next to the scoop and little pouches he used to sell it in. Anders scooped out a small amount in each pouch, then dipped the pouches in the dust so that they were coated in the strong, metallic smell of it. The kittens squirmed and mewled when he tied the pouches around their backs, and Fluffypaws managed to climb out of the basket twice, but they didn’t bit or scratch Anders. He knew that the Lyrium in this form wouldn’t hurt them, nor would the templars when they saw what was going on. The templars would be able to smell the lyrium even more than Anders could, and he was having to hold his breath a little from the stench. This would be an excellent distraction.
Moving quickly and quietly and putting Fluffypaws back into the basket for a third time, Anders scurried over to the main doors. He used the smallest bit of magic to put out the torches, as the lack of windows wouldn’t give away any difference, but the light pouring from the door would and, moving to just beside the door, Anders prayed that the templar on the other side was facing the other direction. He turned the handle until it clicked, and held it there for a moment, waiting for any sound of reaction. None came. He pulled the door open as slowly and as smoothly as he could, hoping that it didn’t creak too loudly.
“I’m telling you, we should be in there having dinner with the rest of them. No reason for all three of us to be out here. What’s Knight Commander Tightwad expecting to happen anyway?”
“The knight commander specifically said he wanted several templars out of the tower at all times keeping watch in case the veil was ripped. We are to be stationed so that one of us can go for help if necessary, one can take the boat across and stop people from coming in, and one can keep watch at the front door here. It’s procedure! Simple routine.”
“Cullen, if you don’t put a sock in it, you can be the one to take the boat across, but you’ll be unconscious when you do it.”
“I’m only saying-”
“Did I sound like I was joking, Cullen? Maker’s breath, shut up for just a minute. I can’t hear myself think over your jabbering.”
Anders wondered for a moment if the templars would distract themselves enough without his interference, but thought it was probably best not to risk it. One by one, he gave the kittens tiny shoves through the crack in the doors and listened as they went their separate ways.
“- just who are you calling a recruit? We’re all recruits, that’s why we’re stationed out here, and not inside with the others where the real danger is. The knight commander said we were the most dependable he had.”
“Yeah, he would say that. Old Tightwad Greagoir is a smart one, I’ll give him that. He knows you only shut your trap when you stammer, and boy did you stammer when he called you ‘dependable’.” Two of the templars sniggered loudly while the third sputtered.
“I didn’t- didn’t stammer. I was- I - I only, well- it’s a big honor to be called-“
“Oh, shut up, Cullen. Hey, do you smell something?”
Anders tensed. Any moment now…
“Yeah. Can’t tell where it’s coming from. What is that? It’s familiar, innit?”
“Don’t you two even recognize what that smells like?” Cullen sneered, “What kind of templars are you? That’s-“
“Lyrium! Where’s it coming from? I think there’s some over here. Maker’s breath that stench hasn’t been here all this time, has it?”
“Can’t have been. There’s no light coming from the doors, so they’re still sealed. And it’s too strong to be coming from the windows.”
“I think it’s stronger over here- What in Andraste’s name was that?!”
There was a great YOWL of cat-fury and Anders under the shouts and screams of the templars, slipped out the door, shut it behind him and crept over to where the boat was docked.
“Maker, it moves! It moves! I think I may have stepped on it!”
“Where did it go? It’s going to ambush us!”
“Get off, Cullen!”
“Foolish mortals!”
Anders stopped dead. That was not the voice of any of the templars. It didn’t even sound human. He nearly cast a spell that would give him light to see the situation, but stopped mid-cast, when he realized that the templars would likewise be able to see him. And they weren’t supposed to be using magic yet…
“Mortal! The burning rage you caused shall consume you!”
And with an almighty roar that ender in a hiss, something leapt at the templars. A great clash of metal armor told Anders that at least one (and it sounded more like two) of the templars had been knocked down by the force of it. It was hard to discern what was going on under all the clanking and shouting, and Anders had to rely only on his ears, unwilling to show himself and unable to see in the dark. He nearly let out a loud yelp when something soft brushed against his ankle. Fuzzball was rubbing up against his leg looking for attention. Anders knelt down and took the lyrium packet off of the kitten before lifting it up and holding it close against his chest. That thing sounded like a rage demon, but those were made of fire, and would cast a lot of light, if they came into the waking world. Unless of course they possessed someone, but who else would have been out here to possess?
“It’s got my face! It’s got my face! Oh, Maker!”
With one last clunk that sounded a lot like metal on bone, there was a weak flump and a loud crashing clatter, and then silence. Anders stayed very still and very quiet for a long time, until his curiosity got the better of him. He crept as quietly as he could over to where the templars lay. By the weak light, there was no sign of a demon, living or dead, nor was there any smell of smoke, as a rage demon’s body would produce. Then again, it was difficult to smell much beyond the lyrium. A lot of it seemed to have spilled on the ground.
Another mewl from the ground caught Anders attention. Fluffypaws padded over to him, his lyrium pack askew. Anders loosened the ties and pulled Fluffypaws up into his arms with Fuzzball.
“There you are, kitty. You’re coming with me. Now, where’s-“ There was a soft crunch under Ander’s foot as he stepped past a templar. A small cat was laying there bleeding, it’s lyrium pack ripped and it’s body smoking ever so slightly.
“Oh, Mr. Wiggums! I’m so sorry, Mr. Wiggums,” Anders whispered. A cat possessed by a rage demon? How? And who had ever heard of such a thing? “Rest easy, Mr. Wiggums. You fought well.”
Anders scooped up the other two cats as one of the templars stirred very slightly. He kicked the templar’s helmet and the man started to snore. And running to the boat, he jumped in and started paddling for the opposite shore.
Three.