Few things could strike more fear into the heart of a newly-Harrowed mage than the sound of their own name as it crossed the lips of Knight-Commander Meredith. Seasoned members of the Circle had, over time, grown marginally less timorous, had a way of suppressing the urge to visibly jump when she snapped, as did some apprentices (rumor had it that some of the mentors gave extracurricular lessons in Meredith management). No matter their station, however, no mage dared let their guard down completely; to survive in the Gallows was to live a life of constant vigilance, to await with dread the day when the templars took notice of a real or imagined infraction and the shout that arose from Meredith's office was a name all too familiar.
For a certain elven First Enchanter, that day came at least once a week.
"Orsino!" came the fervent cry, one that no longer startled its namesake in the slightest. More surprising would be a singular day of peace, he thought.
"You will present yourself in my office forthwith," she continued, each syllable emphasized with the shattering fury he'd always found so unflattering on an otherwise beautiful visage. "I have no wish to involve the city guards again!"
"Yes, Meredith," the enchanter replied, his tone rife with scarcely-restrained bemusement. He'd long since overcome his initial fear of her; wary as he still was, the times when she set his heart a-flutter and his skin a-shivering were another matter entirely. As per usual when the templar demanded his immediate presence, he committed a slight insubordination by taking his time; it would drive Meredith mad with frustration, no doubt, but even she could hardly call it a hanging offense. Carefully marking his page, stacking his books and papers, tightening the lid on his ink, he made the (only partially) necessary preparations and smiled at the thought of how things had changed. It'd been years since he'd addressed her as Knight-Commander, decades, ages -
"At once, mage! And unless you're inclined to spend the evening wiping up the entrails of your charges, keep your insolence to a minimum!"
Oh, dear. This was admittedly an agitated tone, even for the Knight-Commander, one that Orsino had only witnessed in person a few times; he was almost convinced that only he had the capacity to elicit such a level of rage from her. His day had mainly consisted of monotony after monotony, though, so he couldn't imagine what he'd done now... well, there was no time to spend pondering it. Meredith did not think or speak in approximations, and was probably already lining up his punishment for failing to materialize the instant she wished to see him.
He walked the 10 feet to her with some trepidation, only to be greeted by Meredith's tensed-into-knots back and an instruction to close the door behind him, his uncertainty only growing as he did so. In the moment she turned to face him, however, he understood completely; were the day to conclude without a war tearing Kirkwall apart at the seams, he'd count himself blessed by Andraste.
Before him stood a tragically defaced imitation of the vision that once was, a divine beauty tainted by magic and marred beyond recognition, oh, the horror -
Or, simply, Meredith Stannard, her twirling golden locks singed black at the ends. Unmistakably the work of a woefully imprudent young circle mage who should have never been allowed near a rod of fire.
"I will not give them the satisfaction of appearing in person, so you will search the Gallows in my stead. Interrogate every last mage and search them thoroughly until you locate the culprit and bring them to justice, or so help me, I will see this Maker-forsaken Circle annulled!"
Orsino never thought he'd see the day anyone dared commit a trangression against the head of the templars herself. It became clear quickly that she'd already yelled herself hoarse, likely at the back of a quickly retreating mage, by the broken-glass twinges and barbed-wire breaks in her voice as she proceeded with shouting the room down.
"Yes, Meredith, alright," he murmured, not entirely sure if his words were intended to comfort or appease her; in this instance, it seemed perhaps both would be necessary. "I will see that they are suspended from the stockroom and lose their outside privileges for as long as you see fit, but even you have to see that this is far from punishable by death."
His gaze was compassionate but unyielding; her own was undiluted, absolute, and alive with anger. Her entire arsenal of obscenities and insults were probably swirling to the surface behind it, but Orsino would not, could not falter. Carefully, gently, he reached for her with a single gloved hand, taking light hold of her blackened ends and twisting them idly.
"I think it's quite charming."
A beat of rigid, static, electric silence.
Another.
The knight-commander's eyes narrowed.
Her crow's feet deepened.
Her lips pursed. Yet even her best attempt at a threatening countenance couldn't keep the corners of her taut lips to curl upwards, unbidden, until she relaxed into a briefly satisfied smile.
"Very well, Orsino. They're your mages; I'll leave them for you to discipline."
Painfully aware that the door remained closed, the enchanter met Meredith's severe gaze with a placid one of his own - a quiet assurance, in its own way, that he would serve as whatever she found herself in need of. In moments like these, a stabilizer, a buffer between her wrath and those who might suffer it, and a lowly knave to admire her regal beauty no matter what kind of turn it took.
He returned her smile, nodded once, and left to carry out his Knight-Commander's orders.