Chapter I
The Tranquility of Repetition
Silence fell upon Kinloch Hold, the great Circle tower of Ferelden. The old stone rumbled comfortably on it's foundations, standing tall and vigilant as a beacon for travellers on the nearby road, heading out from Redcliffe or, more rarely nowadays, Orzammar. The tower was, however, rather avoided these days, as the horrific rumours of it's demonic infestation were still fresh in the commoner's mind, even a year later.
It's great, peaceful, empty halls resonated only with the occasional, surprisingly light tap of leather boots hitting the ground, and heavy plate clanking rather unceremoniously. Dusty, cobwebbed statues of both great templars and mages of old, as well as more typical Ferelden idols, ranging from mabari to... well, more mabari littered the hallways,. The empty, and yet overwhelming quiet of the circle tower unnerved some of the templar knights, but others would remind them that mages usually weren't that loud even when awake, though that argument was made mostly as regard to the Tranquil.
A lonely speck of light desperately fought off the encompassing darkness surrounding a single, impromptu desk made from a footlocker, the leg of a nearby, broken bed frame, and piles upon piles of scrolls, towering clumsily up over the single candle. The sad, diminutive thing offered but paltry lighting for the great tome; unadorned by any title nor cover, with only a small rune encrusted on the bottom of it's spine. Few words on the first page once opened, humble words. "Theoretical Heresy, by Dagna"
A few breadcrumbs littered the 'desk', all that was left from a quick, unsubstantial supper. Over three hundred pages in and not even halfway through the brick. Pryth's hope – and patience – Were waning, and after he had snuck the thing out of the library, past a dozen templars to his quarters, too. Dawn was still a ways off, but his candle was at half-mark already. He'd have to sneak it back to it's proper place soon, past the templars again. Thankfully, there weren't as many this late, but it was common knowledge among the apprentices that after their Vigil, they could see perfectly in the dark for up to sixty feet and sense the magical energies of mages by their sense of smell. He stood very little chance.
"Damn it all, how did Amell ever slog through this? Entertaining enough, but Maker, it must go through the Deep Roads and back again twice to ever get to the point."
With a thumb and index, he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, letting out a deep sigh. His fingers touched the corner of his eyes which then burned rather agonizingly. He had never even heard the clanking, stomping footsteps behind him, not until they were towering above his little book nook beside his bed, at the far corner of the dormitory chamber. He froze as he felt a firm, gauntleted hand grip his shoulder, and slowly looked up.
Leather boots, robes, mark of the Chantry at the waist... A sister? If only. The figure wore a great helm with flaming swords carved into each cheek, it's regalia gleaming in the candle's light, with a similar flaming sword crested upon it's breastplate. The templar looked down at him, unmoving, unrelenting and it's grasp on his shoulder beginning to ache, it's eyes were obscured by the darkness and the helmet, but something told him it was glaring daggers at him.
Oh, why couldn't it have been a demon?
The gleaming armour spoke. It seems there was a person inside the suit after all. The young mage had been half-worried one of the armours had been possessed and came to scold him, something a regular, living templar was perfectly capable of doing, thank you very much. From within the helm came a metallic, echo-laced voice, calm, yet firm, and distinctly feminine.
"It's thirty minutes past midnight, Pryth. I've conveniently ignored you for time enough. Return the book to the library now."
Direct, imperial, verging on the abrasive, but while the inflection was cruelty, hardness and impatience, the voice was drizzling honey, warm, sweet, thick and deep, yet not unladylike, completely uncharacteristic for her, if you asked him. A light twinge of a Ferelden's accent clung to her words, along with the typical warmth and honesty a Ferelden's dialect would evoke.
There was nothing he could do. His time was up and if he resisted, a less compassionate templar would come and take the book by force, probably make him Tranquil to boot.
"Five more minutes? He dared, a sheepish smile painting itself across his lips."
The templar did not look amused one bit. Granted that could have just been the lighting, or the oversized bucket covering every feature she had. Regardless, she stood there motionless, perfectly statuesque, save for a subtle raising in the chest, a mark she was breathing. A good sign, to be certain!
"Oh certainly! Came that voice again after a brief, but noticeable pause. And why don't I give you free reign of the phylactery storage as well? Don't need those pesky things dragging you down, do you? Oh and here, have the key to the lyrium storage, too!" She mimicked pulling something invisible from her robes, and offered it to the apprentice.
"Fine, fine." He replied with a frown, closing the book and sliding the scrolls into a pack with his forearm. "I didn't even have a chance to find what I was looking for." He whined, slugging the pack over his shoulder.
"How absolutely tragic. You know this book is perfectly readable in daylight? Why not give it a try tomorrow?" She snarked, effortlessly raising him up from the chair, holding him by the arm now, as she lead him back through the halls, heading for the library.
"Kilner always gets his grubby paws on it before I even finish breakfast. Either that man doesn't eat, or he wolfs it down like a bronto."
"Kilner... Is that the one who froze and shattered a library ladder?"
"The very same. You remember how hot it was that day."
"Maker, yes. I thought the plates of my armour were going to melt onto me." She replied dryly, but with a certain, implied humour.
"Well, he tried to add a layer of frost to his robes to try and keep cool, right? Worked too, for a whole of about ten seconds, until he climbed up the ladder to retrieve a book. The whole bloody thing froze solid and shattered under his weight! Funniest thing I've ever seen in the Circle. Even the templars couldn't keep their composure!"
"Huh. Figures that with my luck, I'd be someplace else when that happened."
Silence grew between the two as she ended the conversation without a whole lot for Pryth to follow up on. All the best, really, considering the circumstances. Templars fraternizing with the mages wasn't exactly considered healthy for knights of the Order, especially in the dead of night, when mages weren't typically allowed to just wander. However, conversation came naturally to him, as he was one of the more social mages of the Circle and well-loved by most of the apprentices. After the battle of Denerim, many mages did not return, which made the Circle tower all the more sombre. The mages mourned and the more empathetic templars understood their grief. Still, their duties remained unchanged, and the mages were kept ever under scrutinous eyes, although their part in ending the Blight earned them the respect of every templar in the tower. The senior mages were overjoyed to see levity and camaraderie return to the Circle, in small part thanks to Pryth.
The two continued their walk in silence, growing more distant from each other as they passed other templars who gave them little more than a questioning glance as they passed by. None actively stopped them.
"Here we are. Finally." She said, still holding onto his arm and resting her hand on her plated hip.
Two hundred or so steps later, the library doors stood before them: massive, iron-clad, impregnable and... locked, obviously. That was one thing the young mage hadn't taken into account when he hatched his brilliant plan.
"Alright. You have the key to the library, right?" He asked, doubtful but hopeful nonetheless.
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'?"
She did not reply, but the helm pivoted towards him and tilted to the side, quizzically.
"Who would have it?" Came another question.
"The Tranquil, most likely."
"Well, what are we waiting for?"
The mage had begun walking towards the Tranquil's quarters, but did not get too far before the hand grasping his arm pulled him back and kept him sternly in place.
"I'm sticking my neck out very far for you, Pryth."
"I know that!" He rudely exclaimed, impatience getting the better of him. He took a moment to collect himself and continued. "I know, believe me, and I'm thankful beyond words. But we can't give up now! If they find me with the book, they'll slaughter me! Or worse, they might make me Tranquil."
"I don't know. You'd be more agreeable as a Tranquil, I'd wager."
The comedic value of that quip was lost on Pryth. To him - to all mages - the threat of Tranquility was very real, and horrifying. His eyes just gazed into the black slits of her helm, silently pleading her for help.
A metallic sigh escaped the helm.
"Would that I'd be coerced by every mage with a pair of dog-eyes, I would make for a poor templar indeed..." She paused for a moment, reflecting on the consequences her actions may bring. She would be thrown out of the order in a second if this came out. "Fine. Stay here and hide and don't move an inch. I'll be back shortly. Don't make me regret this, Pryth."
He smiled with gratitude and rushed behind a statue, protected by deep darkness against prying eyes while she wandered off into the dimly lit halls, her silhouette progressively disappearing into the shadows.
Luckily, the Tranquil's quarters were only a short distance away. She did her best to rush without attracting attention, or worse, suspicion from her brothers and sisters in the Order. As she made her way through the halls, all the way to the Tranquil's chambers, she took a deep breath, opened the door with a creak and strode in with the same authority you'd expect from a templar who actually belonged there in daylight hours. The Tranquil's quarters were as quiet as any other part of the Circle tower at this hour, the lights had been turned off, all but one. It was a lonely room, devoid of any plants, windows, paintings or any other decorations, save for a few statues not unlike the same other hundred idols erected throughout the tower. The beds were aligned closely, but with enough room for decency, and most of the tower's Tranquil were, as expected, already enraptured in their dreamless rest. Only one Tranquil was awake at this hour, a robed gentleman bearing the sunburst insignia upon his forehead. He looked up from his book whilst sitting at a desk, looking over to the intruding templar with an expression of honest disinterest.
"It is rather late, ser-knight." He stated matter-of-factly, in an icy, apathetic voice, devoid of any and all emotion whatsoever.
"This is an important matter, Owain." She replied imperially, with a coldness to almost match his own.
"I see. And what is so urgent that it could not wait until the morning?"
"I need the key to the Library." Not quite a request, nor a command, but somewhere in-between. It was implied she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer, but the Tranquil wasn't about to let such a precious thing out of his possession for so little.
"You did not answer my question, ser-knight. What matter would be so urgent as to have need of a templar at this late-night hour?"
His cold demeanour and monotone speaking was starting to wear down her nerves, not to mention his quite obvious apprehension to handing the key over. She couldn't leave without it, and she certainly couldn't bully the key out of him. She took a moment to think, she dared not pray to the Maker for guidance, as she was currently violating her sacred charge.
Perhaps I shouldjust let Pryth burn... What business is it of mine if he is made Tranquil..?
It then, of course, occurred to her that she was already in far too deep to sell him out. She had already broken the rules by allowing him to smuggle the book out of the library in the first place and to look the other way while he studied it in the middle of the night. She had no other choice but to help him. Meanwhile, the Tranquil sat there patiently, staring her down. It unnerved her, as she was never comfortable around the Tranquil, but she couldn't falter now. She raised her voice slightly and closed the distance between herself and the Tranquil.
"It is no business of yours what I seek in the library, Owain. I am a knight of the Templar Order, and by the authority that such a title bestows upon me, I demand you hand over the key at once!"
Anger, irritation, impatience, she was beginning to buy her own bluff. How dared he question the word of a templar? She was his protector- no, his better! She deserved to have it for no other reason than it was her right to have it!
"Very well, ser-knight." the voice finally came, as cold as ever, not a hint of intimidation, anger or resistance.
The Tranquil reached into the desk's drawers and pulled out a slightly tarnished silver key. As he rose up from his chair, the wood creaked and moaned in displeasure, the bones of his knees and joints made a 'snapping' sound, as if he had been sitting there for an indeterminately long time.
"Under normal circumstances, I would ask that you have a requisition form signed by a senior mage, but there are no requisition forms for the key to the library. Please return the key as soon as you have finished your business in the library. Thank you."
Her right eye twitched and her right hand balled into a fist as his monotone monologue carried on, seemingly endlessly. The words were slow and came out so deliberately, with care to enunciate every syllable with clarity. The conversation was so unbearably dull, She found herself wishing for some way to simply skip the dull conversation and get right to the part where the key was in her possession. She blanked out for a second before the key was placed in her gauntleted hand, which snapped her back into the waking world.
"Wha- Oh! Yes, thank you Owain." She replied with a more diplomatic, polite tone, and then made off with her treasure.
I've more influence than I thought. I can't imagine I would have gotten anywhere without the flaming sword crested upon my breastplate...
As she returned to the library, passing more of her brothers and sisters who stared her down with ever increasing suspicions, a chill of dread passed over her. What if this had been a ploy of Pryth's to get her in trouble? What if this whole ordeal was a trial placed upon her by the knight-lieutenants to test her loyalty to the order, and indeed, the Maker himself? If it was, she obviously failed, and quite miserably at that. She mentally flagellated herself as she walked the lonely halls of the Circle tower, her eyes lowered and her head hung in shame; how could she be so weak? The honour of a templar, bought for such a vulgar, meaningless nothing, a fleeting pleasure worth less than dust in the eyes of the Maker. She had failed, and she would be rightfully expelled from the order, she would-
Something caught her eye in the dark as she reached the library's great door, as she looked up from her turmoil, she could spot Pryth still hiding behind one of the statues. A rather pitiful attempt to hide, even with the shadows on his side. She thanked the Maker the mage could not see her anguish and anxiety, for it took everything she had to keep herself from trembling like a leaf in a cold Harvestmere's day. She tried to hide the dismay in her voice as she spoke in a clear, direct manner, clearing her throat before doing so:
"Well, you're still here. Good, I was worried you had been caught."
"Technically I was, just now. My heart stopped when I saw you head straight for me, I thought I was dead. You templars don't exactly leave room for variety, if you know what I mean."
"What, the fashion sense behind bucket helms and a mountain of metal is lost on you?" She crossed her arms, the metal plates scraping against each other making an unpleasant, but momentary ruckus.
"Must be. A shame, that, isn't it?" He smirked at her "But onto business. You've got the key, I trust?"
"You were expecting any less?" She asked rhetorically as she climbed up the short staircase to the library. The templar slid the key within the hole and turned it, a satisfying 'click' resonated and the massive library doors swung open.
"Strange." Pryth thought aloud.
"What?"
"I was just thinking, isn't it strange that there wouldn't be at least one templar guarding the library door? In case of someone trying to do... Well, precisely what we're doing?"
"With templars guarding the halls leading up to it? And the fact the key to it is stored away with the most stubborn Tranquil I've ever met, and the fact you'd have to climb all several hundred feet up to reach the closest window? Short of fighting your way past a half-dozen knights and bashing the door down, I don't think anyone could make it through. The only reason you did is because you have a templar escort, remember?"
"So you're an escort now?" the mage snickered as a growing grin painted itself onto his lips.
Now more than ever, the templar thanked the blessed Maker her helm did a fantastic job of hiding her features. She was not about to allow Pryth the satisfaction of seeing her face overcome with red as she flushed. Anger, embarrassment, incredulity, surprise.
She was completely stunned. How could a mage, an apprentice at that, find the gall to refer to a Knight-Templar in such a manner, even in jest? His levity was inexcusably inappropriate. The picture painted of her was absolutely priceless: A suit of templar armour, frozen in stupor.
You cheeky little shit...
Her blood was boiling. How to deal with this? Beat him to a pulp and the plan is ruined, chew him out and the plan is ruined... She desperately grasped at straws until something sharp popped into her head.
"Save that clever tongue for your Harrowing, apprentice, you'll need it to beg the templars not to cut you down once a demon takes hold of you." She finally retorted coldly, but with a hint of amusement.
Pryth had no clever rebuttal, or if he did, he refrained from using it. He may not have been the wisest of mages, but he was smart enough to realize when a line was drawn. The witty banter he had attempted to engage had morphed into uncomfortable silence as he entered the library first. The templar closed the door behind herself.
As they entered the library, the sconces of fire lit up on their own, a sight that would have surely given anyone else pause, but Pryth and the Knight-Templar have both been in and out countless times. In truth, they had barely noticed, being so accustomed to magic, as it was part of both their daily lives: one as a user, the other as a suppressor. Pryth took a moment to pull up a chair, set the pack down and take a moment's rest. He was sweating, his nerves were shot, despite his delight at this rogue scene, stolen straight out of a storybook. He liked to imagine himself as a master thief, returning a cursed object back to it's proper place or some similar nonsense. The fact that his armoured accomplice did most of the actual work was conveniently omitted from his boyhood fantasy.
The library was something truly astounding, one of the greatest collections of arcane knowledge in Thedas, second only to the White Spire of Val Royaux, in Pryth's opinion anyway. Rows upon rows of bookcases spanned every corner of the large chamber, towering up to a seemingly unending ceiling. Regal crimson carpets and tapestries, towering statues of templars and mages alike, dozens of desks, set up one after the other with enough chairs and space to house every mage in the Circle at once and beautiful, crystal-clear windows, allowing the moon's sliver embrace to shine into the massive hall and whose light reflected gently off the many bookcases and desks. The horrors of the Veil's sundering at the hands of the traitor Uldred the year prior was now but a distant memory, as the great library was restored to it's old glory, but more than that, even improved upon.
In the clear, golden, blinding light of the library, illuminating the cold stone and uncovering the uncountable books, all stored in perfect order in dozens upon dozens of bookcases and podiums, the knight-Templar could see Pryth's features with better clarity as the mage sat with one leg crossed over another. She noticed that, despite the discouragement of physical activities beyond flipping through pages and wrist-crippling writing, the apprentice somehow managed to keep himself in relative good shape. His build was far from that of a warrior, in truth she very much doubted he could wield a sword and bear shield for any extended period of time or march through Ferelden's countryside day in day out in full-plate, but he carried a certain natural strength you would see among peasant folk or labourers. His straight, black hair was kept in a neat, thick ponytail which dangled down about an inch above his broad shoulders, his vast forehead sported a light, barely noticeable scar which began to the west side of his brow, and travelled upwards past his hairline. His piercing, intense, tired eyes were of a particular colour; green, brown? Hazel. A slightly hooked nose sat in the middle of his face, plain and pink. Black mutton chops clung to his cheeks and upper lip, meeting up to sideburns which closed the gap between the hair of his head and face. His overall complexion was decisively pale, she had attributed it to the darkness of the hallways, illuminated only by a scant number of sconces and moonlight, but in truth, her eyes had not deceived her: he was considerably paler than the other mages. Who knows, maybe he was sensitive to sunlight.
"Uhh, hello?" he asked, a mix of confusion and playfulness in his voice.
"W-what?"
"You were staring at me for a good ten seconds there. Am I that handsome?" he struck a more heroic pose, or tried to, anyway. The picture painted was rather ridiculous.
She made a disgusted noise and waved him off.
"Just find wherever your precious tome's rightful place is and let us be off. We've wasted enough time."
It just so happened he remembered precisely from which bookcase he had taken the tome. With a grunt, he lazily rose from the chair and dragged his feet to the back of the library. On an unassuming row of a large, high bookcase, a single, thick space separated two dusty lines of various books, most of them covering the theoretical and practical uses of both spirit, and entropy spells. He placed the book back into the empty space, which welcomed it as one would an old friend after a long absence.
"Goodbye, my friend. May Kilner's grubby paws treat you with respect." he whispered to the book, sighing as his head hung low.
He turned his back from the book and walked back towards his templar escort, his robes gathering dust as they dragged on the dusty floor.
"It's done, then? Good. You'd best be off to get some shut-eye, and I... Well, I hope Alec hasn't taken my watch yet, else I'll be up to my heels in trouble with the Knight-Captain."
"Up to your heels? Doesn't sound so bad." He responded, tilting his head at her.
"Normally, it wouldn't. Except I jumped in head-first."
Her quip fished out an earnest chuckle out of the mage, which drove spreading warmth through her. She allowed herself a moment to share in with the humour, and let out a resounding, metallic giggle from inside her helmet. Their levity remained, but all laughter ceased after a few moments, when they realized they were still very much at risk of discovery. As they opened the great doors of the library anew and stepped out, the sconces all extinguished themselves, with the same automation as when they lit. Pryth popped his head out of the ajar doorway, scanning the area. When everything seemed clear, he nodded at the templar, who then pushed the doors open so he could descend the short set of stairs ascending to the massive doorway. She closed the doors behind her, locked them and slipped the key within a small, previously empty pouch at her side. She then climbed down the same stairs and joined him a few paces in front of them.
"I'll get you back to the dormitory. Once you're there, get to sleep, or at least pretend to, it's no longer my problem. I'll hand the key back to the Tranquil on the way and pray to the Maker my watch isn't up." She instructed rather clearly, while jabbing a plated finger his way.
"Will do." He said, taking a few steps forward before turning back to add: "And thank you. I guess you're not all bad."
"None of us are bad, Pryth." She corrected, pausing for a moment before shrugging. "Except for Alec. He's a prick."
He snickered as they wandered back towards the dorms.
A templar who swears. I'll have seen everything!
The walk back to the dorms resumed with little interruption. A quick, polite return of the key, with the express intention to give Owain as few opportunities to talk her ear off as possible, coupled with a few exhausted templar knights, too tired to ask, or even care about the duo's frolicking throughout the Circle's halls made for a smooth ending indeed. At this point, Pryth and the templar treated the knights guarding the hallways as one would a suit of empty armour: Statuesque and glorious, but completely harmless. She walked alongside him throughout the great halls, not even bothering to keep a grip on him anymore. When they finally reached the sanctity of the mages' chambers, Pryth practically crawled back to his bed, slumped into it and fell asleep almost instantly, snoring soundly and peacefully.
The templar felt an odd sense of joy at seeing her post still abandoned, though not without a certain pang of guilt laced with that duty-breaking joy. She walked over to her usual area of vigil; a clear, open spot in the chamber where she could see every sleeping mage with little strain of the eyes, as she was now accustomed to the darkness of the room.
A strong hand grasped at her wrist and jerked her back. Her first instinct was to reach for the hilt of her sword, which she did with lightning reflexes. Before she could draw her blade, however, she was turned to face her attacker: A fellow templar, garbed in a similar, but noticeably thicker plate of armour bearing the sunburst insignia upon the robes and the flaming sword upon the breastplate. At such a close distance, she could see into his eyes past the darkened slits of his helm: confident, but wicked eyes, full of malice and dark satisfaction. He held a powerful grip on her forearm, holding her firmly against her will.
"Enjoy your midnight stroll through the tower, Arlene?" came a deep, rumbling voice. It escaped the helm, with a similar, but horrifically twisted metallic echo, as if torn from the jaws of a creature of nightmarish evil.
She could not respond. Paralyzed in fear, surprise and anguish. There was Alec, holding her captive at her own post. What could she do? How would she talk her way out of this? What price would she have to pay for her crime?
"Abandoning your post to help a disobedient mage return a book he stole from the library? What will the knight-commander think? Do you reckon you'll be flogged? I reckon you'll be flogged. Perhaps thrown out of the Order outright!"
The awful, sadistic mocking in his voice scraped at her sanity. He had her trapped like a hare, he knew it, and was taking particular pleasure in taunting her, lording it over her head as one would a bone over a starving bitch.
Arlene narrowed her eyes at him behind her helmet, masquerading a mighty brave face indeed. Her poor legs shaking within her plate boots, however, resounded with a traitorous, constant rumbling of plate against plate, which only earned her a contemptuous chuckle from her aggressor.
"Laughable. Cowering like a lost pup in the Korcari Wilds." He sneered, shaking his head snidely. "The Maker himself could not make you a decent templar."
The power he held – the power he thought he held was more invigorating than any dose of lyrium. While he held her leash, he was in control. The things he could do without repercussion...
She would continue to stare at him in silence, overwhelmed, but attentive.
"Since you've miraculously lost that silver tongue of yours, allow me to do the talking." He took a brief pause to let everything sink in for her. Quite courteous of him, wasn't it? "I caught you in something quite catastrophic, haven't I? Your penance would be great if this came out. But I'm feeling particularly charitable tonight, so I'll cut you loose for a pittance..." The insufferable arrogance in his tone did not dwindle. On the contrary, it only seemed to rise with each word. It was clear he intended to milk this moment for all it was worth.
"What do you want?" she crowed, her throat dry and her hands sweating profusely. The sensation she felt was atrocious, as if someone had dipped her head in molten metal.
"Your allotted lyrium – all of it." Alec cooed as he leaned in, their faceguards almost touching as he drew out each word deliberately.
"W-what? You can't-" the templar started. She could not believe what she was hearing. He was blackmailing her for her lyrium? Here, now? What sort of knight-Templar would abuse their own brother in the Order in such a way? Then again. What sort of knight-Templar would allow themselves to be coerced into breaking their vows in the first place? They were both at fault here, she could not deny that.
"I've made myself perfectly clear. Your lyrium – all of it. When you're scratching yourself bloody and begging the Knight-Commander on your knees for more, maybe you'll remember your mistake. Tomorrow, bring it to me, or I swear upon my name I'll have you banished from the Order."
Then, and only then did he release her with a jerk. He circled around her and kicked his foot up behind himself to rest it against the same piece of wall where she had be standing watch, and leaned up against it. Ignoring her completely now, he resumed his duty, scanning the room silently. His eyes were scrutinous and cruel, there was no doubt in her mind he was actually hoping for a mage to try and sneak out of his quarters so he could make them Tranquil, or cut them down without hesitation. Such unapologetic cruelty, condensed into a single person. There was truth in the old saying: "Evil greater than any demon lies in the hearts of Men."
Without a word, she took a deep breath and left the mages' dormitory, slouching in shame as she made her way to the templar quarters, at the penultimate level of the tower. There, she proceeded to her chamber, undid the straps of her armour and began the lengthy process of removing one's armour. It took much longer than she would have hoped, as she had nobody to help her take the full-plate off, but finally, after five or so agonizingly long minutes, she managed to slip out of the suit, which crashed onto the floor with a fracas so horrific, it would have woken the dead as sure as the curse that gripped Redcliffe. She disrobed, leaving her pristine, sunburst robes behind, recklessly allowing them to crumple up near the armour, and slithered beneath her sheets, her face buried into her pillow.
It's going to be a painful week.