dragon age: light up as if you have a choice (3b/?)
Chapter Two: "Expectations, Part II"
Author: kel_fish
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Alistair/Amell
Rating: M (so far for violence and language)
Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to people who aren't myself; I just enjoy playing with the characters they created.
Author's Note: I wasn't sure what the rating should be for the story, but since there's quite a bit of gore and language in this chapter, and there's bound to be more of it before the adult content comes into play, I figured I'd just make it M now. Let me know if you think this is unnecessary--I'm never sure with the system. A special thanks to dasque for this chapter, if only because I would've forgotten to post it otherwise.
Summary: A templar, a crazy mage, a Witch of the Wilds, a war dog, a bard, a qunari warrior, a healer, an elven assassin, a golem, and a drunken dwarf throw themselves at a giant dragon on top of a prison tower; they had to win, they were the punchline.
This thing has been cross-posted like you wouldn't believe. Sorry if it crowds your flist.
Prologue, 1
Part I
Solona nearly jumped into the wardrobe as Jowan’s voice came from almost directly behind her, instead digging her nails into the already-nicked wood and slowly turning her head to face him. “Were you following me?” she demanded, certain that Jowan’s timing was too perfect.
“Does it matter?” he responded evasively, and while Solona might have answered yes, as sneaking around behind her drew the notice of templars, he pressed on, “I have to talk to you. Do you remember what we were discussing this morning?”
“Jowan, can’t this wait?” Solona asked, exasperated as she looked down at the bed that was just there, waiting for her… especially now that the frustration Jowan usually brought with him was already making her temples throb.
“No, I need you to listen,” Jowan insisted softly, his eyes darting around for eavesdroppers. “We should go somewhere else.”
“Andraste’s ass, Jowan, this better be fucking important,” Solona hissed, opening the wardrobe to grab her new robes-if she was still going to be running around the tower, then Jowan was going to damn well wait for her to change into something less wrinkled and worn. Her glare as she strode over to the changing screen ensured that Jowan kept any complaints he might have had to himself. She shimmied out of the blue robes that had been altered over and over again until they threatened to fall apart, yanked her nightdress off over her head, and quickly pulled on her new robes before the cold could reach her skin.
When she stepped back out from behind the screen, she noted the brief flash of jealousy that twisted Jowan’s mouth before he jerked his head and motioned for her to follow him. “You do realize all of this whispering and skulking is more suspicious than just talking about it?” Solona asked wryly. Jowan opened his mouth, as if he were about to retort or at least tell her to shut up, but then he snapped it closed again and shook his head minimally, silently leading them along the corridor; honestly, sometimes Solona believed their relationship would improve immensely if Jowan would just say what was on his mind once in awhile.
Solona became increasingly puzzled as Jowan led her into the chapel, of all places, particularly when he approached a familiar sister: the girl Solona had seen the night before. “We can speak here,” Jowan announced. Solona pinned him and the sister with another shrewd gaze, unwilling to draw things out when she had no more elfroot to spare unless she went back downstairs; not to mention Jowan thought they could discuss a problem in the chapel, the templars’ favorite haunt.
“A few months ago I told you I… met a girl,” Jowan fumbled. “Uh… this is Lily.” Solona merely raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms against her chest, waiting for him to continue and silently swearing that if he only brought her here to show off his new girlfriend, she’d set his robes on fire-a fair trade for the numerous times he’d singed her hair, back when she used to let it grow long.
Lily offered a timid smile while Jowan looked uncomfortably at each of them in turn, but both continued to simply stand there and wait for Solona to say something. She bit down on her cheek as well as the root tucked away toward the back of her mouth, reminding herself that starting fires in the chapel was generally frowned upon, even if there were braziers lit everywhere the eye could see. “My condolences,” she deadpanned to Lily, then to Jowan, “Are we discussing love, or could this have waited until tomorrow?”
“I… no.” Jowan glanced at Lily nervously, then cleared his throat and leaned in closer to Solona so he could speak quietly. “I’ve been sneaking out at night to meet Lily… I must have been seen, I guess, but they’ve got it all wrong…” He gulped, his eyes closing as he inhaled deeply, and Solona’s annoyance began to lean toward worry. Her expression must have belied her shift of opinion, as Jowan started to rush through his explanation with more confidence. “They’re going to make me tranquil, take away all of my dreams, my love, everything… Lily saw the order on the knight-commander’s desk.”
“Because of… this?” Solona gestured awkwardly between Lily and Jowan, bewildered that Greagoir would approve of Tranquility simply because an initiate of the faith had fallen in love with a mage. Sure, he was a templar, but the knight-commander was usually a fair stick-in-the-mud templar-there would have to be more to it before he would sign off on something so grave.
“I… no. No, there’s… something else. The people who’ve seen me at night, they think I sneak around to practice… blood magic,” Jowan whispered, barely audible.
Solona scoffed, a short burst of laughter, and she shook her head. “How can anyone believe something so ridiculous?” Jowan struggled to simply light a candle; how could he have managed to practice blood magic without killing himself? She noticed Jowan’s eyes narrow in indignation as she continued to grin, and she quashed her amusement, acknowledging the seriousness of the accusations, at least. “Can’t you just… I don’t know, tell Irving the truth?”
Jowan’s voice raised an octave to achieve its usual whine. “If we tell anyone, Lily will be punished!” He reached out to take Lily’s hand in his own. “I need to escape somehow, destroy my phylactery. I can’t just stand here and let them strip me of my identity.”
Solona assumed he had brought her here to ask for her assistance, as this was no simple plan. But was she willing to risk her own livelihood to get him and Lily out of the Tower? She stared at them both, at their clasped hands, at Lily who had yet to say anything to her-not that Solona had been particularly inviting so far-and Jowan, whose eyes were wide and desperate. She thought of the Tranquil she and Duncan had just passed minutes before, dull and practically lifeless as they took inventory and enchanted weapons and laundered sheets… she couldn’t stand the thought of one of those men being Jowan, someone she knew. “What do you need me to do?”
Lily finally spoke, relief making her voice faint. “Thank you, we’ll never forget this.” Her fingers gripped Jowan’s hand more tightly, and her nervousness was put aside as her demeanor became more business-like. “I can get us into the repository, but there is a problem: there are two locks on the door, and the first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one of the keys.” A hint of a smile graced her lips, trying to reassure Solona as well as herself. “It is only a door, however; what’s a lock to mages?”
“I doubt it’s that easy,” Solona muttered, looking down at her shoes as she pondered their circumstances.
“What if it is?” Jowan persisted.
“Experience dictates that type of thinking will get you face-to-face with a door that will try to kill you,” Solona snapped, bringing both hands up to her temples to massage them, the stress of their situation making the room start to spin again despite the elfroot. She sighed, dropping her hands, sure that her hair was an absolute mess by now. “A rod of fire might melt the locks,” she suggested dubiously.
“You could get one from the stockroom!” Jowan jumped on the idea. “The Tranquil will release one to you.”
Lily cut in before Solona could throw Jowan’s nonsensical envy back in his face. “We should stay here-an apprentice and an initiate would only draw more attention.”
Solona nodded, once, biting down on both cheeks in her frustration as more of her day of rest was taken up by other people’s expectations. “I’ll be back soon,” she said shortly, walking back down the hall to the stockroom as calmly and inconspicuously as possible. She hesitated as she approached the Tranquil in charge of the Circle’s stores: Owain, she recalled.
She watched the Tranquil as they worked, trying to picture twitchy, whining Jowan amongst them, and her heart ached along with her head. She found her resolve in that awful possibility, and addressed Owain, who issued the greeting he’d been trained to say to every mage no matter how many times they had done business with him. “I need a rod of fire,” Solona said, pointing at one of the rods as if to emphasize her request.
“A rod of fire?” Owain repeated impassively. “Rods have many uses; why do you require this particular item?”
Solona was taken aback for a moment. “Uh… I, um, need the rod for research into… burning things.” She could practically see the templars dragging Jowan upstairs to brand his forehead with the rune that would negate his magical talent, her lack of finesse doing him in even as she spoke.
Owain eyed her blankly, then reached for one of the many forms stacked on a table in the alcove behind him. “I’ll put your need down as a personal matter,” he droned, writing something down on the parchment before holding it out to her. “Have the form signed by a senior enchanter and I’ll release it to you.”
Solona wondered if the Tranquil would be affected at all if she screamed where she stood. “Can’t we just take what we need?” she ground out through clenched teeth. Now she needed to bring a senior enchanter into this mess as well? She recalled Mouse’s parting words in the Fade: true tests never end. Well, no kidding.
“It is procedure. I need permission from a senior enchanter to release the rod. Thank you,” Owain dismissed, returning to his other duties in the stockroom before Solona could say anything else, not that she could have added much while she clacked her teeth together, grinding the elfroot to a flattened, pulpy mass on her tongue.
At least some of the senior enchanters had stayed behind in the Tower. She stalked off to the nearby library, this one smaller and more intimate-and advanced-than the one downstairs; she figured her best chance of finding someone to sign the ridiculous form would be there. She stopped just short of the entrance, futilely attempting to smooth down her hair, then looked around for a senior enchanter likely to grant her request. To her chagrin, her palms were already sweating, the knowledge that at least this part of her involvement in Jowan’s escape would be recorded in Owain’s logbook.
Fortunately, her eyes fell on Senior Enchanter Sweeney, who was well-known for promoting mischief among the apprentices. He noticed her coming toward him and offered a somewhat wobbly smile, still holding a book open as if wondering if he could read and talk to her simultaneously. “Oh… hello, Solona,” he said. “You look… different. Can’t place it…” He scratched at the top of his balding head in his confusion.
“Passed my Harrowing,” Solona offered, holding out her arm so he could better notice the orange sleeve of her new robes. As she stretched, she also shook the parchment in her hand. “Could you sign this form for me?”
“Oh… ah… um…” Sweeney reached out and took the paper, squinting at it through short-sighted eyes as his lips silently read what was written. “A rod of fire?” He laughed, rubbing his chin. “I remember when some of the junior mages I mentored asked for some of these. Turns out they were burning peepholes in the girls’ dormitory.” He cleared his throat when Solona’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “But, ah, you wouldn’t be involved in anything like that, would you? Of course not.” He pulled a stick of writing charcoal from behind his ear, leaving a smudge behind, and began to scribble on the parchment. “I’ll sign this if you burn a big hole in the seat of the templar who patrols the library-bastard’s always giving me the stink eye.”
Solona started to laugh, but nausea warned her that this wasn’t the best course of action to take. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks.” Sweeney was already turning back to his book, so Solona turned and went back to deal with Owain, who issued the exact same greeting and handed her the rod. “And now comes the hard part,” she grumbled, ducking back into the chapel as soon as she could without drawing any notice to herself-particularly since she rarely ever went there. “I’ve got the rod,” she announced when she was within earshot, then, “We should probably go down to the basement one at a time.”
“Good idea,” Lily agreed. “Jowan, you should go first-you’ll be out of sight.” Jowan nodded, paused as if he wanted to add something, then thought better of it and left for the basement, brushing Solona’s elbow with his fingers in thanks as he passed by her.
Suddenly uncomfortable about standing in the chapel with an initiate, Solona cleared her throat and looked around, counting all of the candles she could see until she figured enough time had passed for her to follow Jowan’s lead. She kept her footsteps measured and calm as she finally went downstairs, even though her heart was racing, her migraine worsening as she ran over every possible thing that could go wrong-grabbing the pouch of elfroot on the way down probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.
The basement of Kinloch’s Hold was actually a dungeon, a maze of unrelenting stone and prison bars designed by Tevinter mages; most of the expanse below the Circle Tower had since been converted for storage purposes, although some of the holding cells remained, sealed off by magical wards of repulsion and misdirection to prevent intruders from finding them. The corridors were dark and foreboding, littered with cobwebs, and the air was damp and freezing. Over the years, the Chantry had erected statues of Andraste to light the long halls, as well as replace the idols that had once represented the Old Gods Tevinter had worshiped.
Solona passed the first of many holy braziers, trailing her fingers just over the tip of the flame as she did so, taking in its warmth and trying to visualize it filling the rest of her body, fighting against the cold already seeping into her bones through her new robes. She closed her hand into a fist, holding onto that warmth, and rounded a corner at the end of the hall, coming to a stop just behind Jowan, who gasped and sprang away from her. Solona smirked, crossing her arms around herself as much to mock him as to protect herself from the chill.
Jowan scowled, shaking his arms to try to keep his blood flowing. “I hate waiting; it makes me nervous.”
Solona nearly retorted that everything made him nervous, the action almost as automatic as breathing, but this time the stakes were higher and getting caught meant there was much more to lose. Instead, she asked, “How did you meet Lily?”
Jowan’s eyes lit up, and he brought his arms around himself so he and Solona mirrored each other perfectly, each leaning against an opposite wall at the basement’s entrance. “She was reciting the Chant one night as I passed by the chapel. And… you hear those verses all the time here, all hours of the day until they seem to pour out of your ears. But Lily was kneeling in front of the brazier, and her face looked so soft in the firelight… I heard her saying those words I knew by heart and they sounded beautiful.”
Love turns even Jowan into a bard, Solona thought derisively, then grimaced at her own bitterness. Love was rare in the Circle, but if Jowan and Lily had managed to find it with each other, then it was a shame that they couldn’t be open about it without planning elaborate escape schemes. However, the trouble didn’t stop once they were out of the Tower, and if anything it would only become worse as templars were dispatched to hunt them down. “What do you intend to do once you’re out?” she asked.
Jowan looked stricken, uncertain. “I… we can go to the outskirts of Ferelden or even Orlais. We could live on a farm-”
Solona snorted, amused not only by the image of someone like Jowan on a farm, but also his notion that the templars wouldn’t hunt them as vigorously in Orlais, home of the Divine herself. They were rushed, Solona understood, but they had no money, no prospects, no family to help them hide-not many mages had loved ones to return to after their magical talent was discovered, and Jowan was one such exile. However, her doubts angered Jowan, who pushed away from the wall to whisper harshly, “We can’t manage much else, and unlike some mages we won’t just be locked up for a little while if the templars find us.”
Jowan had never kept his dislike of Anders-as well as Solona’s friendship with him-a secret, but this display of contempt was absolutely ridiculous. “‘A little while?’ He’s locked up by himself somewhere in these dungeons for a year!” Solona snapped. “And I brought up the exact same concerns with him every damn time he tried to get away, so take your childish… pissing contest and shove it up your ass.” She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as she willed the cool stone to ease her aching skull.
“They call this entrance ‘the Victims’ Door.’” Lily’s awed voice seemed to come from nowhere, prompting Solona to gasp and spring away just as Jowan had earlier, biting her tongue in the process. “Sorry,” Lily apologized as she strode toward the heavy door barring the way into the rest of the basement. She stopped at Jowan’s side, and they clasped hands again before she returned her attention to the door. “This door is made up of over two hundred planks, one for each original templar,” she intoned, reaching out until her fingers almost touched heavy, worn timber. “It’s a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose.”
Pain and anxiety made Solona slightly less inclined to sit through history lessons, especially from an initiate who regarded magic as a curse. “So how do we get past it?” she asked, digging her fingernails into her elbows in her effort to keep her tone neutral. Lily seemed like a nice enough girl so far, even for a sister, and her complexion was already pallid-there was no need to put her even more on edge.
Lily licked her lips, then turned to Solona. “The door can only be opened by a templar and a mage, entering together. The Chantry primes the door with a password, and the mage touches it with mana to release it.”
Solona frowned. “So, if it needs a mage, couldn’t you have just come here with Jowan?” She tilted her head to brace it against her palm, her thumb massaging her temple; she wasn’t sure how many spells she would be able to cast, her inner reserves already depleted by the Harrowing and the imbalance of lyrium use.
“The ward only responds to Harrowed mages.” Lily’s explanation was soft but significant, her eyes downcast. Had Jowan only come to Solona because of her Harrowing? Solona recalled Lily waiting in the chapel that night, and the door of the boys’ dormitory clicking shut-if Lily had seen the notice for Jowan’s Tranquility, she could have also seen an order for a Harrowing.
Solona’s eyes slipped closed in resignation, understanding necessity. “I’m assuming you have the password?”
She opened her eyes and met Lily’s gaze, who gave her the hint of a smile in return, her relief evident. Lily nodded and turned back to the door, her hand outstretched again as she recited, “Sword of the Maker, tears of the Fade.” Her words held power, and the door began to emit a soft, whirring sort of noise. Solona straightened and left the support of the wall, taking her hand away from her head so she could simply draw a bit of her magical energy to her fingertips, frost coming naturally as she touched the magical barrier just in front of the door. She felt more drain from her inner well even as she heard the ward disperse, granting them entry into the Circle’s basement.
Jowan ran past her, urging them to hurry as he crossed the distance to the door guarding the phylactery chamber. Lily seemed to take more notice of Solona’s weakening state, and kept pace with her as they followed more slowly. Solona saw the locks Lily had mentioned, and she retrieved the rod from the belt of her robes, glad that the tool would do most of the work for her. She held it out so the tip touched the metal of the simple lock and flicked it to activate a stream of intense heat…
…except nothing happened. She heard a low buzzing that meant the rod was trying to work, but for whatever reason not even a spark issued. She tried once more to activate it, just in case the rod was older and needed time to warm up or something, but she achieved the same lack of results. She noticed the wards carved into the stone around the door the same time Jowan did: “Lily, I can’t cast spells here.” Fuck. Solona considered the pros and cons of kicking the door.
Lily placed her hands on the wards as if she could pull them off, and slumped against the wall. “Of course… why else would Irving and Greagoir use simple keys? The templars warded this door. That’s it then, we’re finished.” Her voice broke.
“Or we could see where that door leads,” Solona suggested, pointing to their right. She might have found the way Lily and Jowan’s heads whipped around comical if her body hadn’t begun to really insist that she stop running around and just take it easy like Gwynlian had told her. “Of course, with our luck, it’s probably guarded.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Jowan said, his voice oddly deep and grim as he set off down the hall, his arm entwined with Lily’s as he led them to Plan B. Solona sighed and followed, her limbs beginning to feel shaky; she popped another two elfroot pieces into her mouth, doubting they would help her much now. She touched the rod of fire to the lock of their last hope without preamble, and a stream of fire promptly burned through the door, the handle falling out so Solona merely had to push the door open.
She was just stepping through the doorway when she heard it, a muted clank from somewhere behind her, and she turned just in time to see what she had thought was an empty suit of armor swinging a sword at Lily’s head. Lily saw her eyes widen and turned as well, moving quick as lightning to duck below the arc of the blade and slam into the animated plate.
Solona drew from her magic, managing to freeze the armor in place, but the action disoriented her. She staggered back through the doorway, falling to the floor clumsily just as Lily braced herself on one leg and kicked out with the other, knocking the top half of the armor to the floor. Solona had just enough time to note that a corpse had been inside the armor, long-dried blood staining the ice she’d encased it in, just before Jowan unhelpfully lit the fallen sentinel on fire.
Dragonlings in the templars’ quarters, corpses in the basement… what in the Maker’s name is in the cavern storerooms-giant spiders?
Lily watched the corpse long enough to confirm it wouldn’t rise again, then hurried over to Solona to help her rise to her feet. She kept her arm braced against her back to support her weight, and Solona draped her right arm over Lily’s shoulders, each of them keeping their grip as loose as possible in case they had to battle more of the guardians as they explored the basement for an alternate entrance. Lily’s voice was hushed, trembling, “Was that… blood magic?”
Solona shook her head. “That was spirit magic: an animated corpse. Some ward was probably set up to keep its activation dormant until an unauthorized trespasser tripped it. Jowan-” Her gaze tore away from the still-burning body to look up at Jowan, who was studying the fallen sentinel with an odd expression on his face, intense and… something indiscernible. Solona didn’t have the time or the energy to puzzle it out at the moment, however, so she repeated his name, more forcefully to get his attention. “Chances are good that someone upstairs set up that guardian, and he may have felt the ward activate.”
Lily’s nails bit through the robes over Solona’s back. “These things are… not of the Maker. We need to get out of here, fast.”
Normally, Solona would have pointed out that these guardians were most likely approved by the Chantry, as was the magic used to activate them, but the corpse on the other side of the door was just a little bit too… gross. Instead, she took an unsteady step back, forcing Lily to move with her or risk dropping her. Jowan’s soft footfalls followed behind them, still silent as they slowly made their way down the corridors to circumnavigate the repository.
More sentinels stood watch, attacking them in increasing numbers, and Solona used nearly all of her reserves, her migraine refusing to abate as she slumped further and further into Lily’s hold on her. Jowan provided meager support, weakening the sentinels with entropic energy, but most of their progress was achieved by Lily, who was able to attack when Solona broke out of her grip to lean against the wall; she lifted one of the swords from the attacking corpses and confirmed Solona’s suspicions that she’d had at least the basic training of a Fereldan noblewoman.
Gradually, they circled the repository to wind up at the opposite the entrance, and Jowan conjured enough of a flame to light a few of the torches braced along the walls so they could manage another brief exploration for a way into their destination-all three were beginning to feel more than a little desperate as they ran out of rooms, and out of time. Lily and Jowan all but carried Solona over to the wall shared by the phylactery chamber, and to their utter relief they almost immediately noticed the crumbling mortar behind an old bookcase. “We need… something,” Solona wheezed, her head resting on Lily’s shoulder. “Anything that’ll knock these bricks down or… blow them up… something.”
Jowan looked around, his eyes fixing on a stone statue of a dog not too far away. “Solona… that artifact, isn’t it Tevinter? An augmentation device.” He eased Solona against the wall, motioning for Lily to do so as well so they could drag the heavy statue across the floor to the wall. “We can use the rod of fire,” he panted in explanation, his words punctuated by each shove against the statue. Solona nodded, too drained and ill to do anything else, relying on Jowan and Lily to pull the bookcase out of the way as well.
Solona stumbled over to the statue, her hand shaking as she held the rod in front of the dog’s open maw, and activated a stream of fire: the flame coalesced, gathering power, and then blasted against the old wall, crashing through stone. Solona covered her ears at the volume of the explosion, the pain in her head shrieking in protest, nearly blinding her as it seemed to stab the backs of her eyes. She cried out, dropping the rod, and clutched her head until the worst of it ebbed away, and she realized Lily and Jowan were supporting her again, holding her upright. “Solona…” Jowan’s voice was gentle, heavy with regret.
“Don’t waste time,” she hissed, unable to manage anything else. She braced herself on their shoulders, giving Jowan’s a squeeze to try to reassure him, and they almost spilled into the Circle’s phylactery chamber, tripping awkwardly as they struggled to coordinate their steps. It was Lily’s cry that announced the presence of more sentinels, and Solona was dropped unceremoniously on the floor as the other two rushed to counterattack. There were four guardians, outnumbering them, and both Lily and Jowan were disadvantaged by the abrupt close-quarter combat.
Solona closed her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows, and tried to think of something, anything that could handle four animated corpses, preferably something that wouldn’t take everything she had… Solona’s eyes snapped open, taking just a moment to judge the scene, then shouted, “Jowan!” before reaching out and flicking her wrist in an upward twist, turning a guardian’s blood into a corrosive poison. The spell was dangerous, risking herself and her accomplices, but fortunately Jowan seemed to perceive what she was doing and yanked Lily away from the sentinel, which was now hunched over, jerking unnaturally as its own blood turned against itself.
There was another tense second as the unaffected sentinels continued to bear down on them and Jowan and Lily fought to beat them back, but then the infected corpse suddenly froze, locked at a grotesque angle, and Solona was sure if it had a voice it would have screamed. Then, horrifyingly, it burst into unidentifiable pieces, eliminating the other three enemies as well. Blood and flesh covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and Solona didn’t want to contemplate what was still in the armor as it clattered against stone.
They stared, wide eyed and pale, before Solona pitched herself forward and vomited over entrails, crouched on hands and knees in gore as she dry-heaved, her stomach empty. She couldn’t stop, and her head pounded, roaring in her ears; it had all been too much, one thing after another without any respite, and now she couldn’t leave the repository without Lily and Jowan dragging her back upstairs. She felt Lily’s hands on her head, pulling her short hair back away from her mouth; she heard Jowan moving around the room, probably searching for his phylactery, and eventually she heard the shattering of glass.
“Hold on,” Jowan said as he rushed back into the storeroom, and after a minute he came back, a vial of pale, glowing blue liquid in his hand. “Here, sip this; it’ll help your body adjust.” Solona took the lyrium potion, her hand trembling as she brought the lip of the vial to her mouth. She only took a small sip, gagging as it went down and nearly throwing it back up again, but Jowan was right: the lyrium bolstered her energy, lessening the intensity of her migraine just enough to quell the overwhelming nausea.
“Thank you,” she gasped, choking on the taste of bile and lyrium. She wiped her mouth clumsily with the back of her hand and gave the vial back to Jowan for him to hold, and Lily and Jowan helped pull her away from the carnage of the sentinels-her robes must have been saturated with blood by now. She gagged again at the thought, but she forced a slow, deep inhale through her nose, closing her eyes and leaning back against Jowan until she was able to breathe normally.
“I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to repay you for this,” Jowan said, pushing Solona forward just enough for him to rise to his feet-they couldn’t afford to linger any longer than they already had. Lily followed suit, her hands clutching Solona’s left arm just a little too tightly as she too fought the urge to retch over the damage done to the sentinels.
Solona’s grin was wan, barely there, as Jowan tugged her to her feet. “Just get me up the stairs and we’ll call it square,” she whispered. She may as well have been asleep as Lily and Jowan carried her out of the basement, every movement jogging her senses. When they reached the door to the landing of the first floor, she nearly sobbed in relief.
Jowan closed the door behind them and Solona was just about to suggest they leave her on the bench nearby so she could try to get to Gwynlian, when Lily gasped, and Solona’s eyes shifted, woozily, to see what had startled her: templars, a band of them, and at their head were the knight-commander and Irving. Solona had nothing, no ideas, no excuses, no energy-she could barely comprehend what their presence meant. All she could do was stare at them, her face blank of expression as Greagoir walked toward them, stern and grim.
“So what you said was true, Irving,” he said, his voice flat as he scrutinized them. “An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed.” He stopped in front of Lily, who was white as a sheet, and Solona probably looked worse. “She’s fully aware of her actions. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then,” he confirmed, peering into Lily’s wide, tearing eyes. “The Chantry will not let your betrayal go unpunished.”
“And you,” he continued, his gaze now pinning Solona to the spot-not that she could have moved much as it was. “Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle.”
Irving moved quietly to Greagoir’s side. “You could have come to me with this plan,” he said, eyeing Solona with a disappointment that sparked a small, brief flare of anger deep in her core: she could have helped him sentence someone she knew to a fate worse than death?
Before she could say anything, Jowan abruptly broke away from her, releasing his hold and sending both her and Lily stumbling as they struggled to adjust to the shift in balance. “You don’t care about the mages here! You just bow to the Chantry’s every whim!” he yelled. Solona winced, ducking and trying to cover her head with the arm that wasn’t holding onto Lily.
“Enough!” Greagoir shouted, and Solona couldn’t stop the moan of pain that slipped out from low in her throat. “As knight of the templars assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death.” He looked at Lily, his eyes sharp with the sting of her betrayal. “And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”
Wait… what? Solona’s mind tried to wrap around Greagoir’s words, unaware of Lily letting her go until her knees slammed against hard stone, and she bit her tongue again, tasting blood. She looked up at Lily, in a daze, as the sister backed away from the advancing templars, her arms outstretched as she begged for understanding. The mages’ prison… home to preying demons as much as it was mages, where the Chantry claimed a mage’s guilt was affirmed when he was inevitably possessed.
Solona was absorbed with the enormity of Lily and Jowan’s fate, registering on some level that Jowan was yelling while Lily still pled for mercy, when Lily suddenly began to scream in earnest. Without a warning, the air around Solona turned vile, the sickly sweet scent of carrion filling her nostrils, tinged with the ozone of magic, and Solona’s head snapped up to see the dark red energy of blood magic… around Jowan. She choked on her breath, shocked and disbelieving, as Jowan turned his own life force against the unsuspecting templars, lifting them up and making them twitch and scream as the same blood-red power swirled around them.
The sight, the smell, the sound of their agonized shrieks, it was all too much and Solona couldn’t stand it-she had to make it stop, somehow it had to stop. She planted her hands on the floor, bracing herself on all fours, and threw all of her weight to the side, knocking against Jowan and breaking his hold on the templars as he stumbled. He whirled around to glare down at where she was sprawled helplessly, and for a moment Solona thought he would strike her before Lily sobbed, drawing their attention to her tear-streaked, horror-stricken face. “I was going to give up everything for you… You said… you said you never-”
“I admit, I dabbled! I thought it would make me a better mage…” Jowan scrabbled frantically for an excuse, trying to move closer to her and halting when Lily all but threw herself away from him. “I’m going to give it up! All magic! I just want to be with you, Lily! Please!” he keened as Lily continued to back away from him.
Instead of swaying her, his begging only seemed to strengthen Lily’s resolve, her gaze steely as she pushed Jowan away from her. “I don’t know who you are. Stay away from me, blood mage.”
Jowan stood, wavering as templars stirred on the floor, confirming they’d survived. The noise spurred Jowan into action, and after one last glance at Lily, he turned and fled, presumably for the tower’s exit. Lily remained where she was, her back against the banister as she sobbed into her hands. Solona lay there on the floor, her heart racing in terror, betrayal, rage; she did the only thing she could do, and her cries joined Lily’s as the events of the day finally overpowered her.
She felt, rather than saw, as someone knelt beside her, feeling her forehead for a fever. “Are you all right?” Irving rasped, his other hand trailing over her robes-he must have been checking if any of the blood on them was her own. He seemed satisfied after a few seconds, and hauled Solona to her feet, leading her over to the bench she had intended to sit on in the first place.
Solona’s thoughts were broken, loud and jarring her senses, as the templars dealt with the aftermath of Jowan’s attack. She could hear Greagoir, but couldn’t understand anything he said, words distorted and echoing against her ears. Her heartbeat seemed to rip through her body, thrumming fast and loud, supplying: your friend Jowan is a maleficar, years of ridicule convincing him blood magic was his best chance to advance. Now he’ll be hunted, killed.
This is your life.
“I knew it… blood magic. But to overcome so many… I never thought him capable.” Greagoir’s voice ripped through the pounding in Solona’s head, adding a jarring counterpoint as she recounted Mouse’s warning: preconception, careless trust, pride. A sob tore from her throat, animalistic as she willed Jowan to return so she could strangle him with her trembling hands. The templars will not overlook their fear of you now, and you’ll be imprisoned like Anders, like Lily.
This is your life.
She watched as templars took Lily by her arms, dragging her away as she continued to sob, broken and defeated. Solona shuddered, spent and silently begging that Greagoir would relent, that a girl who had served in the Maker’s house would be spared the horrors of Aeonar. Her lips moved soundlessly in a desperate apology, one that Lily couldn’t see through her tears. A mage’s life is cursed, and curses everyone it touches; the Chantry taught you this.
This is your life.
She was only minimally aware when Greagoir’s attention turned to her, furious and accusatory, and her mouth opened and closed, but no words would come. “You’ve made a mockery of the Circle! You helped a blood mage escape; all of our measures for naught! What are we to do with you?” She could only peer at the knight-commander from between her fingers, her hands clutching her face, the side of her head, as she tried not to retch again. Jowan’s blood was not like the sentinels’; corrupted, congealed with a power that pulled at your very core, and you’ve set him free.
This is your life, written by those around you, and this is all you’ve ever known, all you have left.
“…mages are needed. Worse things than blood mages exist. I will take this mage as a recruit for the Grey Wardens, and bear all responsibility for her actions.” Solona realized her eyes had been closed, and she jerked out of her despair, recognizing that voice… Duncan. He was standing in front of her, his hand held protectively just over her shoulder as he spoke… about her? Solona blinked, willing answers.
“A blood mage escapes and the mage responsible not only goes unpunished, but is rewarded?” Greagoir was nearly toe-to-toe with Duncan, pushed to the brink by the threat that had managed to slip past the control he tried so painstakingly to maintain.
Irving was off to the side, only partly invested in their argument as he continued to assess the damage done by Jowan-the maleficar. “We have no say in this matter, Greagoir,” he reasoned, his tone heavy. “If the Wardens have need of her, then we have no choice but to let her go.”
Solona breathed, in and out, her body still wracked by sobs. Her shock made everything unreal, a dream. “I’m to be a Warden?” she asked faintly, barely audible through her hands. “They would have me after what I’ve done?” You were told the walls of the Tower protected you from superstition and fear, from loathing and misunderstanding.
“A young woman who risked everything for a friend in need?” Duncan’s voice was serious, but gentle, a blessing after Greagoir’s anger. “You will carve out your own place in this world.” His hand finally descended on her shoulder, and he turned to the first enchanter. “We’ll wait until morning to leave; she’s in no state to travel tonight.” Your life is being rewritten, but will you allow another to write it?
Irving nodded, and Solona didn’t think she’d ever seen him appear as old and gray as he did then. “She may sleep in the apprentice quarters. Her friends will look after her there, and I will send for Enchanter Ceeley.” He picked up the vial of lyrium that Jowan had dropped in his haste to escape. “You will need this, and you will need rest.” He waited for Solona to take the vial, then he sighed and looked over the templars and spattered blood again. “I will need to address the Circle, and try to keep everyone calm once this is known.”
Solona watched him leave, regretting her part in the unrest that she would be leaving behind, and she jolted as Duncan pulled her to her feet, easily carrying her weight toward the girls’ dormitory. This is your life, her heart told her, quieter now, slowing. This is your life. Exhaustion overcame everything else around her, blanketing her senses and dragging her down into sleep she could no longer delay; she vaguely registered worried murmurs around her, hands helping her to the bed that would no longer be hers.
Tomorrow, you will live your life.
Author: kel_fish
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Alistair/Amell
Rating: M (so far for violence and language)
Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to people who aren't myself; I just enjoy playing with the characters they created.
Author's Note: I wasn't sure what the rating should be for the story, but since there's quite a bit of gore and language in this chapter, and there's bound to be more of it before the adult content comes into play, I figured I'd just make it M now. Let me know if you think this is unnecessary--I'm never sure with the system. A special thanks to dasque for this chapter, if only because I would've forgotten to post it otherwise.
Summary: A templar, a crazy mage, a Witch of the Wilds, a war dog, a bard, a qunari warrior, a healer, an elven assassin, a golem, and a drunken dwarf throw themselves at a giant dragon on top of a prison tower; they had to win, they were the punchline.
This thing has been cross-posted like you wouldn't believe. Sorry if it crowds your flist.
Prologue, 1
Part I
Solona nearly jumped into the wardrobe as Jowan’s voice came from almost directly behind her, instead digging her nails into the already-nicked wood and slowly turning her head to face him. “Were you following me?” she demanded, certain that Jowan’s timing was too perfect.
“Does it matter?” he responded evasively, and while Solona might have answered yes, as sneaking around behind her drew the notice of templars, he pressed on, “I have to talk to you. Do you remember what we were discussing this morning?”
“Jowan, can’t this wait?” Solona asked, exasperated as she looked down at the bed that was just there, waiting for her… especially now that the frustration Jowan usually brought with him was already making her temples throb.
“No, I need you to listen,” Jowan insisted softly, his eyes darting around for eavesdroppers. “We should go somewhere else.”
“Andraste’s ass, Jowan, this better be fucking important,” Solona hissed, opening the wardrobe to grab her new robes-if she was still going to be running around the tower, then Jowan was going to damn well wait for her to change into something less wrinkled and worn. Her glare as she strode over to the changing screen ensured that Jowan kept any complaints he might have had to himself. She shimmied out of the blue robes that had been altered over and over again until they threatened to fall apart, yanked her nightdress off over her head, and quickly pulled on her new robes before the cold could reach her skin.
When she stepped back out from behind the screen, she noted the brief flash of jealousy that twisted Jowan’s mouth before he jerked his head and motioned for her to follow him. “You do realize all of this whispering and skulking is more suspicious than just talking about it?” Solona asked wryly. Jowan opened his mouth, as if he were about to retort or at least tell her to shut up, but then he snapped it closed again and shook his head minimally, silently leading them along the corridor; honestly, sometimes Solona believed their relationship would improve immensely if Jowan would just say what was on his mind once in awhile.
Solona became increasingly puzzled as Jowan led her into the chapel, of all places, particularly when he approached a familiar sister: the girl Solona had seen the night before. “We can speak here,” Jowan announced. Solona pinned him and the sister with another shrewd gaze, unwilling to draw things out when she had no more elfroot to spare unless she went back downstairs; not to mention Jowan thought they could discuss a problem in the chapel, the templars’ favorite haunt.
“A few months ago I told you I… met a girl,” Jowan fumbled. “Uh… this is Lily.” Solona merely raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms against her chest, waiting for him to continue and silently swearing that if he only brought her here to show off his new girlfriend, she’d set his robes on fire-a fair trade for the numerous times he’d singed her hair, back when she used to let it grow long.
Lily offered a timid smile while Jowan looked uncomfortably at each of them in turn, but both continued to simply stand there and wait for Solona to say something. She bit down on her cheek as well as the root tucked away toward the back of her mouth, reminding herself that starting fires in the chapel was generally frowned upon, even if there were braziers lit everywhere the eye could see. “My condolences,” she deadpanned to Lily, then to Jowan, “Are we discussing love, or could this have waited until tomorrow?”
“I… no.” Jowan glanced at Lily nervously, then cleared his throat and leaned in closer to Solona so he could speak quietly. “I’ve been sneaking out at night to meet Lily… I must have been seen, I guess, but they’ve got it all wrong…” He gulped, his eyes closing as he inhaled deeply, and Solona’s annoyance began to lean toward worry. Her expression must have belied her shift of opinion, as Jowan started to rush through his explanation with more confidence. “They’re going to make me tranquil, take away all of my dreams, my love, everything… Lily saw the order on the knight-commander’s desk.”
“Because of… this?” Solona gestured awkwardly between Lily and Jowan, bewildered that Greagoir would approve of Tranquility simply because an initiate of the faith had fallen in love with a mage. Sure, he was a templar, but the knight-commander was usually a fair stick-in-the-mud templar-there would have to be more to it before he would sign off on something so grave.
“I… no. No, there’s… something else. The people who’ve seen me at night, they think I sneak around to practice… blood magic,” Jowan whispered, barely audible.
Solona scoffed, a short burst of laughter, and she shook her head. “How can anyone believe something so ridiculous?” Jowan struggled to simply light a candle; how could he have managed to practice blood magic without killing himself? She noticed Jowan’s eyes narrow in indignation as she continued to grin, and she quashed her amusement, acknowledging the seriousness of the accusations, at least. “Can’t you just… I don’t know, tell Irving the truth?”
Jowan’s voice raised an octave to achieve its usual whine. “If we tell anyone, Lily will be punished!” He reached out to take Lily’s hand in his own. “I need to escape somehow, destroy my phylactery. I can’t just stand here and let them strip me of my identity.”
Solona assumed he had brought her here to ask for her assistance, as this was no simple plan. But was she willing to risk her own livelihood to get him and Lily out of the Tower? She stared at them both, at their clasped hands, at Lily who had yet to say anything to her-not that Solona had been particularly inviting so far-and Jowan, whose eyes were wide and desperate. She thought of the Tranquil she and Duncan had just passed minutes before, dull and practically lifeless as they took inventory and enchanted weapons and laundered sheets… she couldn’t stand the thought of one of those men being Jowan, someone she knew. “What do you need me to do?”
Lily finally spoke, relief making her voice faint. “Thank you, we’ll never forget this.” Her fingers gripped Jowan’s hand more tightly, and her nervousness was put aside as her demeanor became more business-like. “I can get us into the repository, but there is a problem: there are two locks on the door, and the first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one of the keys.” A hint of a smile graced her lips, trying to reassure Solona as well as herself. “It is only a door, however; what’s a lock to mages?”
“I doubt it’s that easy,” Solona muttered, looking down at her shoes as she pondered their circumstances.
“What if it is?” Jowan persisted.
“Experience dictates that type of thinking will get you face-to-face with a door that will try to kill you,” Solona snapped, bringing both hands up to her temples to massage them, the stress of their situation making the room start to spin again despite the elfroot. She sighed, dropping her hands, sure that her hair was an absolute mess by now. “A rod of fire might melt the locks,” she suggested dubiously.
“You could get one from the stockroom!” Jowan jumped on the idea. “The Tranquil will release one to you.”
Lily cut in before Solona could throw Jowan’s nonsensical envy back in his face. “We should stay here-an apprentice and an initiate would only draw more attention.”
Solona nodded, once, biting down on both cheeks in her frustration as more of her day of rest was taken up by other people’s expectations. “I’ll be back soon,” she said shortly, walking back down the hall to the stockroom as calmly and inconspicuously as possible. She hesitated as she approached the Tranquil in charge of the Circle’s stores: Owain, she recalled.
She watched the Tranquil as they worked, trying to picture twitchy, whining Jowan amongst them, and her heart ached along with her head. She found her resolve in that awful possibility, and addressed Owain, who issued the greeting he’d been trained to say to every mage no matter how many times they had done business with him. “I need a rod of fire,” Solona said, pointing at one of the rods as if to emphasize her request.
“A rod of fire?” Owain repeated impassively. “Rods have many uses; why do you require this particular item?”
Solona was taken aback for a moment. “Uh… I, um, need the rod for research into… burning things.” She could practically see the templars dragging Jowan upstairs to brand his forehead with the rune that would negate his magical talent, her lack of finesse doing him in even as she spoke.
Owain eyed her blankly, then reached for one of the many forms stacked on a table in the alcove behind him. “I’ll put your need down as a personal matter,” he droned, writing something down on the parchment before holding it out to her. “Have the form signed by a senior enchanter and I’ll release it to you.”
Solona wondered if the Tranquil would be affected at all if she screamed where she stood. “Can’t we just take what we need?” she ground out through clenched teeth. Now she needed to bring a senior enchanter into this mess as well? She recalled Mouse’s parting words in the Fade: true tests never end. Well, no kidding.
“It is procedure. I need permission from a senior enchanter to release the rod. Thank you,” Owain dismissed, returning to his other duties in the stockroom before Solona could say anything else, not that she could have added much while she clacked her teeth together, grinding the elfroot to a flattened, pulpy mass on her tongue.
At least some of the senior enchanters had stayed behind in the Tower. She stalked off to the nearby library, this one smaller and more intimate-and advanced-than the one downstairs; she figured her best chance of finding someone to sign the ridiculous form would be there. She stopped just short of the entrance, futilely attempting to smooth down her hair, then looked around for a senior enchanter likely to grant her request. To her chagrin, her palms were already sweating, the knowledge that at least this part of her involvement in Jowan’s escape would be recorded in Owain’s logbook.
Fortunately, her eyes fell on Senior Enchanter Sweeney, who was well-known for promoting mischief among the apprentices. He noticed her coming toward him and offered a somewhat wobbly smile, still holding a book open as if wondering if he could read and talk to her simultaneously. “Oh… hello, Solona,” he said. “You look… different. Can’t place it…” He scratched at the top of his balding head in his confusion.
“Passed my Harrowing,” Solona offered, holding out her arm so he could better notice the orange sleeve of her new robes. As she stretched, she also shook the parchment in her hand. “Could you sign this form for me?”
“Oh… ah… um…” Sweeney reached out and took the paper, squinting at it through short-sighted eyes as his lips silently read what was written. “A rod of fire?” He laughed, rubbing his chin. “I remember when some of the junior mages I mentored asked for some of these. Turns out they were burning peepholes in the girls’ dormitory.” He cleared his throat when Solona’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “But, ah, you wouldn’t be involved in anything like that, would you? Of course not.” He pulled a stick of writing charcoal from behind his ear, leaving a smudge behind, and began to scribble on the parchment. “I’ll sign this if you burn a big hole in the seat of the templar who patrols the library-bastard’s always giving me the stink eye.”
Solona started to laugh, but nausea warned her that this wasn’t the best course of action to take. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks.” Sweeney was already turning back to his book, so Solona turned and went back to deal with Owain, who issued the exact same greeting and handed her the rod. “And now comes the hard part,” she grumbled, ducking back into the chapel as soon as she could without drawing any notice to herself-particularly since she rarely ever went there. “I’ve got the rod,” she announced when she was within earshot, then, “We should probably go down to the basement one at a time.”
“Good idea,” Lily agreed. “Jowan, you should go first-you’ll be out of sight.” Jowan nodded, paused as if he wanted to add something, then thought better of it and left for the basement, brushing Solona’s elbow with his fingers in thanks as he passed by her.
Suddenly uncomfortable about standing in the chapel with an initiate, Solona cleared her throat and looked around, counting all of the candles she could see until she figured enough time had passed for her to follow Jowan’s lead. She kept her footsteps measured and calm as she finally went downstairs, even though her heart was racing, her migraine worsening as she ran over every possible thing that could go wrong-grabbing the pouch of elfroot on the way down probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.
The basement of Kinloch’s Hold was actually a dungeon, a maze of unrelenting stone and prison bars designed by Tevinter mages; most of the expanse below the Circle Tower had since been converted for storage purposes, although some of the holding cells remained, sealed off by magical wards of repulsion and misdirection to prevent intruders from finding them. The corridors were dark and foreboding, littered with cobwebs, and the air was damp and freezing. Over the years, the Chantry had erected statues of Andraste to light the long halls, as well as replace the idols that had once represented the Old Gods Tevinter had worshiped.
Solona passed the first of many holy braziers, trailing her fingers just over the tip of the flame as she did so, taking in its warmth and trying to visualize it filling the rest of her body, fighting against the cold already seeping into her bones through her new robes. She closed her hand into a fist, holding onto that warmth, and rounded a corner at the end of the hall, coming to a stop just behind Jowan, who gasped and sprang away from her. Solona smirked, crossing her arms around herself as much to mock him as to protect herself from the chill.
Jowan scowled, shaking his arms to try to keep his blood flowing. “I hate waiting; it makes me nervous.”
Solona nearly retorted that everything made him nervous, the action almost as automatic as breathing, but this time the stakes were higher and getting caught meant there was much more to lose. Instead, she asked, “How did you meet Lily?”
Jowan’s eyes lit up, and he brought his arms around himself so he and Solona mirrored each other perfectly, each leaning against an opposite wall at the basement’s entrance. “She was reciting the Chant one night as I passed by the chapel. And… you hear those verses all the time here, all hours of the day until they seem to pour out of your ears. But Lily was kneeling in front of the brazier, and her face looked so soft in the firelight… I heard her saying those words I knew by heart and they sounded beautiful.”
Love turns even Jowan into a bard, Solona thought derisively, then grimaced at her own bitterness. Love was rare in the Circle, but if Jowan and Lily had managed to find it with each other, then it was a shame that they couldn’t be open about it without planning elaborate escape schemes. However, the trouble didn’t stop once they were out of the Tower, and if anything it would only become worse as templars were dispatched to hunt them down. “What do you intend to do once you’re out?” she asked.
Jowan looked stricken, uncertain. “I… we can go to the outskirts of Ferelden or even Orlais. We could live on a farm-”
Solona snorted, amused not only by the image of someone like Jowan on a farm, but also his notion that the templars wouldn’t hunt them as vigorously in Orlais, home of the Divine herself. They were rushed, Solona understood, but they had no money, no prospects, no family to help them hide-not many mages had loved ones to return to after their magical talent was discovered, and Jowan was one such exile. However, her doubts angered Jowan, who pushed away from the wall to whisper harshly, “We can’t manage much else, and unlike some mages we won’t just be locked up for a little while if the templars find us.”
Jowan had never kept his dislike of Anders-as well as Solona’s friendship with him-a secret, but this display of contempt was absolutely ridiculous. “‘A little while?’ He’s locked up by himself somewhere in these dungeons for a year!” Solona snapped. “And I brought up the exact same concerns with him every damn time he tried to get away, so take your childish… pissing contest and shove it up your ass.” She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as she willed the cool stone to ease her aching skull.
“They call this entrance ‘the Victims’ Door.’” Lily’s awed voice seemed to come from nowhere, prompting Solona to gasp and spring away just as Jowan had earlier, biting her tongue in the process. “Sorry,” Lily apologized as she strode toward the heavy door barring the way into the rest of the basement. She stopped at Jowan’s side, and they clasped hands again before she returned her attention to the door. “This door is made up of over two hundred planks, one for each original templar,” she intoned, reaching out until her fingers almost touched heavy, worn timber. “It’s a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose.”
Pain and anxiety made Solona slightly less inclined to sit through history lessons, especially from an initiate who regarded magic as a curse. “So how do we get past it?” she asked, digging her fingernails into her elbows in her effort to keep her tone neutral. Lily seemed like a nice enough girl so far, even for a sister, and her complexion was already pallid-there was no need to put her even more on edge.
Lily licked her lips, then turned to Solona. “The door can only be opened by a templar and a mage, entering together. The Chantry primes the door with a password, and the mage touches it with mana to release it.”
Solona frowned. “So, if it needs a mage, couldn’t you have just come here with Jowan?” She tilted her head to brace it against her palm, her thumb massaging her temple; she wasn’t sure how many spells she would be able to cast, her inner reserves already depleted by the Harrowing and the imbalance of lyrium use.
“The ward only responds to Harrowed mages.” Lily’s explanation was soft but significant, her eyes downcast. Had Jowan only come to Solona because of her Harrowing? Solona recalled Lily waiting in the chapel that night, and the door of the boys’ dormitory clicking shut-if Lily had seen the notice for Jowan’s Tranquility, she could have also seen an order for a Harrowing.
Solona’s eyes slipped closed in resignation, understanding necessity. “I’m assuming you have the password?”
She opened her eyes and met Lily’s gaze, who gave her the hint of a smile in return, her relief evident. Lily nodded and turned back to the door, her hand outstretched again as she recited, “Sword of the Maker, tears of the Fade.” Her words held power, and the door began to emit a soft, whirring sort of noise. Solona straightened and left the support of the wall, taking her hand away from her head so she could simply draw a bit of her magical energy to her fingertips, frost coming naturally as she touched the magical barrier just in front of the door. She felt more drain from her inner well even as she heard the ward disperse, granting them entry into the Circle’s basement.
Jowan ran past her, urging them to hurry as he crossed the distance to the door guarding the phylactery chamber. Lily seemed to take more notice of Solona’s weakening state, and kept pace with her as they followed more slowly. Solona saw the locks Lily had mentioned, and she retrieved the rod from the belt of her robes, glad that the tool would do most of the work for her. She held it out so the tip touched the metal of the simple lock and flicked it to activate a stream of intense heat…
…except nothing happened. She heard a low buzzing that meant the rod was trying to work, but for whatever reason not even a spark issued. She tried once more to activate it, just in case the rod was older and needed time to warm up or something, but she achieved the same lack of results. She noticed the wards carved into the stone around the door the same time Jowan did: “Lily, I can’t cast spells here.” Fuck. Solona considered the pros and cons of kicking the door.
Lily placed her hands on the wards as if she could pull them off, and slumped against the wall. “Of course… why else would Irving and Greagoir use simple keys? The templars warded this door. That’s it then, we’re finished.” Her voice broke.
“Or we could see where that door leads,” Solona suggested, pointing to their right. She might have found the way Lily and Jowan’s heads whipped around comical if her body hadn’t begun to really insist that she stop running around and just take it easy like Gwynlian had told her. “Of course, with our luck, it’s probably guarded.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Jowan said, his voice oddly deep and grim as he set off down the hall, his arm entwined with Lily’s as he led them to Plan B. Solona sighed and followed, her limbs beginning to feel shaky; she popped another two elfroot pieces into her mouth, doubting they would help her much now. She touched the rod of fire to the lock of their last hope without preamble, and a stream of fire promptly burned through the door, the handle falling out so Solona merely had to push the door open.
She was just stepping through the doorway when she heard it, a muted clank from somewhere behind her, and she turned just in time to see what she had thought was an empty suit of armor swinging a sword at Lily’s head. Lily saw her eyes widen and turned as well, moving quick as lightning to duck below the arc of the blade and slam into the animated plate.
Solona drew from her magic, managing to freeze the armor in place, but the action disoriented her. She staggered back through the doorway, falling to the floor clumsily just as Lily braced herself on one leg and kicked out with the other, knocking the top half of the armor to the floor. Solona had just enough time to note that a corpse had been inside the armor, long-dried blood staining the ice she’d encased it in, just before Jowan unhelpfully lit the fallen sentinel on fire.
Dragonlings in the templars’ quarters, corpses in the basement… what in the Maker’s name is in the cavern storerooms-giant spiders?
Lily watched the corpse long enough to confirm it wouldn’t rise again, then hurried over to Solona to help her rise to her feet. She kept her arm braced against her back to support her weight, and Solona draped her right arm over Lily’s shoulders, each of them keeping their grip as loose as possible in case they had to battle more of the guardians as they explored the basement for an alternate entrance. Lily’s voice was hushed, trembling, “Was that… blood magic?”
Solona shook her head. “That was spirit magic: an animated corpse. Some ward was probably set up to keep its activation dormant until an unauthorized trespasser tripped it. Jowan-” Her gaze tore away from the still-burning body to look up at Jowan, who was studying the fallen sentinel with an odd expression on his face, intense and… something indiscernible. Solona didn’t have the time or the energy to puzzle it out at the moment, however, so she repeated his name, more forcefully to get his attention. “Chances are good that someone upstairs set up that guardian, and he may have felt the ward activate.”
Lily’s nails bit through the robes over Solona’s back. “These things are… not of the Maker. We need to get out of here, fast.”
Normally, Solona would have pointed out that these guardians were most likely approved by the Chantry, as was the magic used to activate them, but the corpse on the other side of the door was just a little bit too… gross. Instead, she took an unsteady step back, forcing Lily to move with her or risk dropping her. Jowan’s soft footfalls followed behind them, still silent as they slowly made their way down the corridors to circumnavigate the repository.
More sentinels stood watch, attacking them in increasing numbers, and Solona used nearly all of her reserves, her migraine refusing to abate as she slumped further and further into Lily’s hold on her. Jowan provided meager support, weakening the sentinels with entropic energy, but most of their progress was achieved by Lily, who was able to attack when Solona broke out of her grip to lean against the wall; she lifted one of the swords from the attacking corpses and confirmed Solona’s suspicions that she’d had at least the basic training of a Fereldan noblewoman.
Gradually, they circled the repository to wind up at the opposite the entrance, and Jowan conjured enough of a flame to light a few of the torches braced along the walls so they could manage another brief exploration for a way into their destination-all three were beginning to feel more than a little desperate as they ran out of rooms, and out of time. Lily and Jowan all but carried Solona over to the wall shared by the phylactery chamber, and to their utter relief they almost immediately noticed the crumbling mortar behind an old bookcase. “We need… something,” Solona wheezed, her head resting on Lily’s shoulder. “Anything that’ll knock these bricks down or… blow them up… something.”
Jowan looked around, his eyes fixing on a stone statue of a dog not too far away. “Solona… that artifact, isn’t it Tevinter? An augmentation device.” He eased Solona against the wall, motioning for Lily to do so as well so they could drag the heavy statue across the floor to the wall. “We can use the rod of fire,” he panted in explanation, his words punctuated by each shove against the statue. Solona nodded, too drained and ill to do anything else, relying on Jowan and Lily to pull the bookcase out of the way as well.
Solona stumbled over to the statue, her hand shaking as she held the rod in front of the dog’s open maw, and activated a stream of fire: the flame coalesced, gathering power, and then blasted against the old wall, crashing through stone. Solona covered her ears at the volume of the explosion, the pain in her head shrieking in protest, nearly blinding her as it seemed to stab the backs of her eyes. She cried out, dropping the rod, and clutched her head until the worst of it ebbed away, and she realized Lily and Jowan were supporting her again, holding her upright. “Solona…” Jowan’s voice was gentle, heavy with regret.
“Don’t waste time,” she hissed, unable to manage anything else. She braced herself on their shoulders, giving Jowan’s a squeeze to try to reassure him, and they almost spilled into the Circle’s phylactery chamber, tripping awkwardly as they struggled to coordinate their steps. It was Lily’s cry that announced the presence of more sentinels, and Solona was dropped unceremoniously on the floor as the other two rushed to counterattack. There were four guardians, outnumbering them, and both Lily and Jowan were disadvantaged by the abrupt close-quarter combat.
Solona closed her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows, and tried to think of something, anything that could handle four animated corpses, preferably something that wouldn’t take everything she had… Solona’s eyes snapped open, taking just a moment to judge the scene, then shouted, “Jowan!” before reaching out and flicking her wrist in an upward twist, turning a guardian’s blood into a corrosive poison. The spell was dangerous, risking herself and her accomplices, but fortunately Jowan seemed to perceive what she was doing and yanked Lily away from the sentinel, which was now hunched over, jerking unnaturally as its own blood turned against itself.
There was another tense second as the unaffected sentinels continued to bear down on them and Jowan and Lily fought to beat them back, but then the infected corpse suddenly froze, locked at a grotesque angle, and Solona was sure if it had a voice it would have screamed. Then, horrifyingly, it burst into unidentifiable pieces, eliminating the other three enemies as well. Blood and flesh covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and Solona didn’t want to contemplate what was still in the armor as it clattered against stone.
They stared, wide eyed and pale, before Solona pitched herself forward and vomited over entrails, crouched on hands and knees in gore as she dry-heaved, her stomach empty. She couldn’t stop, and her head pounded, roaring in her ears; it had all been too much, one thing after another without any respite, and now she couldn’t leave the repository without Lily and Jowan dragging her back upstairs. She felt Lily’s hands on her head, pulling her short hair back away from her mouth; she heard Jowan moving around the room, probably searching for his phylactery, and eventually she heard the shattering of glass.
“Hold on,” Jowan said as he rushed back into the storeroom, and after a minute he came back, a vial of pale, glowing blue liquid in his hand. “Here, sip this; it’ll help your body adjust.” Solona took the lyrium potion, her hand trembling as she brought the lip of the vial to her mouth. She only took a small sip, gagging as it went down and nearly throwing it back up again, but Jowan was right: the lyrium bolstered her energy, lessening the intensity of her migraine just enough to quell the overwhelming nausea.
“Thank you,” she gasped, choking on the taste of bile and lyrium. She wiped her mouth clumsily with the back of her hand and gave the vial back to Jowan for him to hold, and Lily and Jowan helped pull her away from the carnage of the sentinels-her robes must have been saturated with blood by now. She gagged again at the thought, but she forced a slow, deep inhale through her nose, closing her eyes and leaning back against Jowan until she was able to breathe normally.
“I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to repay you for this,” Jowan said, pushing Solona forward just enough for him to rise to his feet-they couldn’t afford to linger any longer than they already had. Lily followed suit, her hands clutching Solona’s left arm just a little too tightly as she too fought the urge to retch over the damage done to the sentinels.
Solona’s grin was wan, barely there, as Jowan tugged her to her feet. “Just get me up the stairs and we’ll call it square,” she whispered. She may as well have been asleep as Lily and Jowan carried her out of the basement, every movement jogging her senses. When they reached the door to the landing of the first floor, she nearly sobbed in relief.
Jowan closed the door behind them and Solona was just about to suggest they leave her on the bench nearby so she could try to get to Gwynlian, when Lily gasped, and Solona’s eyes shifted, woozily, to see what had startled her: templars, a band of them, and at their head were the knight-commander and Irving. Solona had nothing, no ideas, no excuses, no energy-she could barely comprehend what their presence meant. All she could do was stare at them, her face blank of expression as Greagoir walked toward them, stern and grim.
“So what you said was true, Irving,” he said, his voice flat as he scrutinized them. “An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed.” He stopped in front of Lily, who was white as a sheet, and Solona probably looked worse. “She’s fully aware of her actions. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then,” he confirmed, peering into Lily’s wide, tearing eyes. “The Chantry will not let your betrayal go unpunished.”
“And you,” he continued, his gaze now pinning Solona to the spot-not that she could have moved much as it was. “Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle.”
Irving moved quietly to Greagoir’s side. “You could have come to me with this plan,” he said, eyeing Solona with a disappointment that sparked a small, brief flare of anger deep in her core: she could have helped him sentence someone she knew to a fate worse than death?
Before she could say anything, Jowan abruptly broke away from her, releasing his hold and sending both her and Lily stumbling as they struggled to adjust to the shift in balance. “You don’t care about the mages here! You just bow to the Chantry’s every whim!” he yelled. Solona winced, ducking and trying to cover her head with the arm that wasn’t holding onto Lily.
“Enough!” Greagoir shouted, and Solona couldn’t stop the moan of pain that slipped out from low in her throat. “As knight of the templars assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death.” He looked at Lily, his eyes sharp with the sting of her betrayal. “And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”
Wait… what? Solona’s mind tried to wrap around Greagoir’s words, unaware of Lily letting her go until her knees slammed against hard stone, and she bit her tongue again, tasting blood. She looked up at Lily, in a daze, as the sister backed away from the advancing templars, her arms outstretched as she begged for understanding. The mages’ prison… home to preying demons as much as it was mages, where the Chantry claimed a mage’s guilt was affirmed when he was inevitably possessed.
Solona was absorbed with the enormity of Lily and Jowan’s fate, registering on some level that Jowan was yelling while Lily still pled for mercy, when Lily suddenly began to scream in earnest. Without a warning, the air around Solona turned vile, the sickly sweet scent of carrion filling her nostrils, tinged with the ozone of magic, and Solona’s head snapped up to see the dark red energy of blood magic… around Jowan. She choked on her breath, shocked and disbelieving, as Jowan turned his own life force against the unsuspecting templars, lifting them up and making them twitch and scream as the same blood-red power swirled around them.
The sight, the smell, the sound of their agonized shrieks, it was all too much and Solona couldn’t stand it-she had to make it stop, somehow it had to stop. She planted her hands on the floor, bracing herself on all fours, and threw all of her weight to the side, knocking against Jowan and breaking his hold on the templars as he stumbled. He whirled around to glare down at where she was sprawled helplessly, and for a moment Solona thought he would strike her before Lily sobbed, drawing their attention to her tear-streaked, horror-stricken face. “I was going to give up everything for you… You said… you said you never-”
“I admit, I dabbled! I thought it would make me a better mage…” Jowan scrabbled frantically for an excuse, trying to move closer to her and halting when Lily all but threw herself away from him. “I’m going to give it up! All magic! I just want to be with you, Lily! Please!” he keened as Lily continued to back away from him.
Instead of swaying her, his begging only seemed to strengthen Lily’s resolve, her gaze steely as she pushed Jowan away from her. “I don’t know who you are. Stay away from me, blood mage.”
Jowan stood, wavering as templars stirred on the floor, confirming they’d survived. The noise spurred Jowan into action, and after one last glance at Lily, he turned and fled, presumably for the tower’s exit. Lily remained where she was, her back against the banister as she sobbed into her hands. Solona lay there on the floor, her heart racing in terror, betrayal, rage; she did the only thing she could do, and her cries joined Lily’s as the events of the day finally overpowered her.
She felt, rather than saw, as someone knelt beside her, feeling her forehead for a fever. “Are you all right?” Irving rasped, his other hand trailing over her robes-he must have been checking if any of the blood on them was her own. He seemed satisfied after a few seconds, and hauled Solona to her feet, leading her over to the bench she had intended to sit on in the first place.
Solona’s thoughts were broken, loud and jarring her senses, as the templars dealt with the aftermath of Jowan’s attack. She could hear Greagoir, but couldn’t understand anything he said, words distorted and echoing against her ears. Her heartbeat seemed to rip through her body, thrumming fast and loud, supplying: your friend Jowan is a maleficar, years of ridicule convincing him blood magic was his best chance to advance. Now he’ll be hunted, killed.
This is your life.
“I knew it… blood magic. But to overcome so many… I never thought him capable.” Greagoir’s voice ripped through the pounding in Solona’s head, adding a jarring counterpoint as she recounted Mouse’s warning: preconception, careless trust, pride. A sob tore from her throat, animalistic as she willed Jowan to return so she could strangle him with her trembling hands. The templars will not overlook their fear of you now, and you’ll be imprisoned like Anders, like Lily.
This is your life.
She watched as templars took Lily by her arms, dragging her away as she continued to sob, broken and defeated. Solona shuddered, spent and silently begging that Greagoir would relent, that a girl who had served in the Maker’s house would be spared the horrors of Aeonar. Her lips moved soundlessly in a desperate apology, one that Lily couldn’t see through her tears. A mage’s life is cursed, and curses everyone it touches; the Chantry taught you this.
This is your life.
She was only minimally aware when Greagoir’s attention turned to her, furious and accusatory, and her mouth opened and closed, but no words would come. “You’ve made a mockery of the Circle! You helped a blood mage escape; all of our measures for naught! What are we to do with you?” She could only peer at the knight-commander from between her fingers, her hands clutching her face, the side of her head, as she tried not to retch again. Jowan’s blood was not like the sentinels’; corrupted, congealed with a power that pulled at your very core, and you’ve set him free.
This is your life, written by those around you, and this is all you’ve ever known, all you have left.
“…mages are needed. Worse things than blood mages exist. I will take this mage as a recruit for the Grey Wardens, and bear all responsibility for her actions.” Solona realized her eyes had been closed, and she jerked out of her despair, recognizing that voice… Duncan. He was standing in front of her, his hand held protectively just over her shoulder as he spoke… about her? Solona blinked, willing answers.
“A blood mage escapes and the mage responsible not only goes unpunished, but is rewarded?” Greagoir was nearly toe-to-toe with Duncan, pushed to the brink by the threat that had managed to slip past the control he tried so painstakingly to maintain.
Irving was off to the side, only partly invested in their argument as he continued to assess the damage done by Jowan-the maleficar. “We have no say in this matter, Greagoir,” he reasoned, his tone heavy. “If the Wardens have need of her, then we have no choice but to let her go.”
Solona breathed, in and out, her body still wracked by sobs. Her shock made everything unreal, a dream. “I’m to be a Warden?” she asked faintly, barely audible through her hands. “They would have me after what I’ve done?” You were told the walls of the Tower protected you from superstition and fear, from loathing and misunderstanding.
“A young woman who risked everything for a friend in need?” Duncan’s voice was serious, but gentle, a blessing after Greagoir’s anger. “You will carve out your own place in this world.” His hand finally descended on her shoulder, and he turned to the first enchanter. “We’ll wait until morning to leave; she’s in no state to travel tonight.” Your life is being rewritten, but will you allow another to write it?
Irving nodded, and Solona didn’t think she’d ever seen him appear as old and gray as he did then. “She may sleep in the apprentice quarters. Her friends will look after her there, and I will send for Enchanter Ceeley.” He picked up the vial of lyrium that Jowan had dropped in his haste to escape. “You will need this, and you will need rest.” He waited for Solona to take the vial, then he sighed and looked over the templars and spattered blood again. “I will need to address the Circle, and try to keep everyone calm once this is known.”
Solona watched him leave, regretting her part in the unrest that she would be leaving behind, and she jolted as Duncan pulled her to her feet, easily carrying her weight toward the girls’ dormitory. This is your life, her heart told her, quieter now, slowing. This is your life. Exhaustion overcame everything else around her, blanketing her senses and dragging her down into sleep she could no longer delay; she vaguely registered worried murmurs around her, hands helping her to the bed that would no longer be hers.
Tomorrow, you will live your life.