A completely new story for the, on my part, long forgotten Dragon Age Origins. But someone triggered my interest and rekindled my love for the game. She gave me some very intriguing suggestions and I fell for it. I never wrote Origin stories before, I always stuck with Fenris, and so this is a new and exciting challenge for me.

This is dedicated to 1. And to all the mails we exchanged and hours of thinking and frustration and sudden understanding we shared. I can only hope you'll like it.

Enjoy!

The Dragon and the Nightingale

It was a cold, crispy morning and last night's frost had painted a delicate still life of beautiful white frozen flowers on the windowpane. Darinius tried to look outside through the frosty crust, but it was hard to see anything of the lake that surrounded the tower and impossible to discern anything of the picturesque village that lay on its shores. How much his intense dark blue eyes tried to pierce through the icy decoration, he couldn't see more than a distorted blur. He let out a sigh. He didn't long for a nice view as such, he only wanted a distraction. And no matter how agile and adaptable his mind was, the frozen delicate flowers got boring within minutes.

His long slender fingers tapped restlessly on the windowsill while incoherent thoughts swirled through his mind. He hadn't expected to be escorted to his old room. In fact, he hadn't expected to return here at all. It only made things worse and far more complicated. Out of the sudden his fingers went into a cramp. He cursed silently and try to flex the digits. They longed to caress the delicate strings of his harp after so long being forced to wield the demanding arcane blade. But, to his dismay, his pride and joy had been taken from him, together with his backpack. Right now it would have been the perfect distraction and he could only hope the instrument would be treated with the care it needed and deserved.

For a moment he allowed himself to wallow in memories.

A voice like a nightingale ... the silver tones of the harp that floated in harmony with the words she sang so beautifully...

It had been the last time he had played his instrument, to accompany Leliana while she performed one of her favourite songs, a few nights before things went so terribly wrong.

The sound of the door being opened startled him out of his contemplations and he turned to see Greagoir enter. To his surprise the Knight Commander of Kinloch Hold was alone. It could be a good sign insofar that the man, apparently, trusted him enough to believe he wouldn't attack him. On the other hand, he hadn't taken First Enchanter Irving with him to allow the man to plead for his cause, as he had done more than once in the past. Then again, Darinius thought, Irving held no longer authority over him and, strictly speaking, neither did Greagoir. Anyway, Darinius was at least pleased he didn't have to cope with the overzealous, near to hysterical attitude of that young Templar Cullen.

'You got yourself into an enormous amount of trouble,' Greagoir greeted him without further ado. 'In fact, you made a disastrous mess of it. How could you be so stupid?!'

Darinius straightened his shoulders and retorted haughtily, 'More of a disastrous mess than you managed to make of this Circle? I don't think you're the one to criticize, Knight Commander.'

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. As Knight Commanders went, Greagoir was a good sort. He was far from lenient, but he was righteous and fair and would never abuse his power, nor tolerate any malice towards mages from his Templars. But Darinius had tasted freedom and, besides that, had always objected to treating mages as inferior beings. Or as ill-intended walking bombs who would explode at a wrongly spoken word. Nevertheless, noticing the badly suppressed twitch in Greagoir's face, he added apologetically, 'I'm sorry. I suppose that was a low blow.'

The Knight Commander glowered at him. 'You were always too smart for your own good.'

'Too outspoken for a mere prisoner, you mean,' Darinius corrected him. He simply couldn't help himself, but the twitch didn't return. It had always been hard to get under Greagoir's skin. He smiled thinly. 'A real prisoner as it were; not someone locked up just for his dangerous capabilities.'

'No,' Greagoir bit back, 'for his dangerous actions this time. Have you any idea what kind of turmoil you stirred up?!'

Since the Lord Seeker Lucius Corin in person had stood yelling at him, Darinius damn well knew what he had stirred up. No need to reply to this rhetorical question.

In a dark tone Greagoir went on, 'You know very well they had all the authority in the world to sentence you and the only reason they didn't was because Wynne stepped in. Due to her interference they agreed on sending you back here, because the Grey Warden headquarters in Weisshaupt Fortress is simply too far away.'

'Indeed,' Darinius reacted, tilting his head and regarding the Knight Commander with cool eyes, 'you hold no sway over me. I am no longer a prisoner of your Circle; I am a Grey Warden. You have to let me go.' Annoyance was simmering beneath the surface but he willed it down.

'Were it that simple.' Greagoir pulled a hand through his beard, a sign he felt uncomfortable with the situation. 'You may be a Grey Warden, but even Grey Wardens aren't allowed to commit murder.'

Darinius stepped away from the window, his hands clenched to fists. 'It wasn't murder!' he flew up with hardly reined in fury. 'It was a rescue attempt! And I really don't see why the Seekers thought they should get involved with it! It had nothing to do with them!'

'You are a mage.' Greagoir sounded tired. It should have been a warning for what was to come, but Darinius ignored it for the time being.

'They are no Templars,' he spat heatedly, 'they had no reason at all –'

'A Fereldan mage makes amok in Val Royeaux, the capital of Orlais, of all places; they had all the reason –'

'If they consider what I did an act of war, they should have sent the army! Not the Seekers!'

'Don't interrupt me, boy!' Greagoir growled. He knew very well Darinius had a valid point, but also that the Lord Seeker would seize every opportunity to wield his authority, if only to extend his power. As a simple Knight Commander of a minor Circle, he had little means to waylay him. To his surprise the mage before him backed down.

Slowly it started to get through to Darinius that things weren't as simple as he had thought they were. As he had expected, Greagoir was angry with him. But something in the other man's eyes told him the situation was not only complicated but bad as well. He suddenly feared what was afoot.

As to underline that fear, Greagoir's expression went from stern to sad, although he tried to hide it, which made it even worse. 'The Lord Seeker demands tranquillity in this case.'

'What?' Darinius stared at the Knight Commander, not trusting his own ears. 'He can't do that! He has no right!' His voice, normally warm and sonorous, went hoarse and sounded suffocated.

'Perhaps not, but I'm afraid I've little choice in the matter.'

'Worried about protecting your own skin?'

The twitch returned but Darinius took no pleasure in it.

With a last unreadable look Greagoir said, 'I'd prepare myself if I were you.' And with that he swept out of the room.

Just before the door shut, Darinius saw two Templars move in the corridor to stand guard. No way could he escape just like that. He sank on the small cot, trembling all over his body. He had never believed it would come to this. He had been confident his status as a Grey Warden would protect him. How naïve he had been! He should have known that with the collapse of the order at the Battle of Ostagar that protection had seized to exist in the eyes of the likes of the Lord Seeker. He should have known that the honourable viewpoint of the dwarfs, of the Arl of Redcliffe and even of this very Circle, weren't exemplary for the rest of Thedas nowadays. More the reason to hate general Logain Mac Tir who had made that happen.

And where were his friends? Did they know about this? He had been dragged from Orlais to Kinloch Hold in a closed carriage with barred windows as a common criminal, escorted by a company of the Val Royeaux Guard. The City Guard, not the Orlesian army, probably to avoid any hostilities with Ferelden. Though at least one Seeker had come with them. A young one, fierce and keen and probably still in training. Her name was Cassandra Pentaghast and she would without doubt rush through the ranks in times to come. He suspected Lucius Corin had sent her with them to give back a full report.

He closed his eyes to prevent the gathering tears from falling; he would not allow himself to sob like a little boy. His friends wouldn't leave him to his fate, he was certain of that. He wouldn't be surprised they had followed the carriage and were already hatching a plan to free him. And what about Wynne? She had stood up for him in Val Royeaux; she wouldn't abandon him now, would she?

Knight Commander Greagoir returned to his office where First Enchanter Irving and Wynne were waiting for him.

'I strongly protest against the way this affair is being handled,' Wynne said, even before Greagoir could utter a word. He wasn't surprised to see her here. She hadn't been a part of Darinius's escort but he had already anticipated she wouldn't be far away.

'You should have stopped the boy,' he said reproachfully. 'You let him completely go out of hand.'

Wynne bristled. 'He's not some kind of puppy I can hold on a leash!' she reprimanded him. 'Even if you like to consider him such. And he stood in his right.'

Greagoir snapped. The last thing he wanted right now was to be chastised by a senior mage, even if that mage was Wynne, whom he held in high esteem. 'He was so foolish as to interfere with that idiotic play the Orlesians call the Grand Game! He and you and all who were with you should have known nothing good could come of that!'

'He tried to prevent a great injustice being carried out! Perhaps it was a rash action, especially in the current circumstances, but I, and all who were with us,' (she nearly spat those words), 'backed him in his decision.'

They stood nose to nose by now, Wynne with her hands on her hips and her eyes flaming. Greagoir had never seen her this furious; she behaved completely out of character. Secretly he wondered if she felt as some substitute mother; she surely defended Darinius with the ferocity a she-bear defended her cub. With a pang of remorse he remembered how she, years ago, had to give up her child, as all female mages who accidently became pregnant. Along the years he had steeled himself against those heartbreaking events because he had had no other alternative. But because he had always harboured a warm spot for her he had especially been moved by her grief. Relations between Templars and mages were always reserved but from the moment she had been brought to the Circle, Wynne had been a bright and happy woman and it had been hard to not get infected by her everlasting positivism. She was liked by everyone, Templars and mages alike. But she had changed after her son had been taken away. The warmth she had so easily and generously radiated had chilled down to a careful, though still friendly posture. But, more importantly from his sight of view, she had distanced herself from him. It had hurt him. More than he cared to confess.

With that painful memory suddenly swirling at the surface of his mind he, without thinking, blurted harshly, 'He will be tranquil by tomorrow on order of the Lord Seeker. That's where your thoughtless behaviour has led to. So I recommend you better think twice in the future.'

Wynne blanched. She heaved her hand and for a moment it seemed she would slap him in the face. But then her arm fell and she staggered back. Wide-eyed she stared at him. 'And they wonder why mages turn to blood magic?' she whispered. 'Such cruel punishment.'

Irving took her arm. 'Wynne,' he said softly.

Wordlessly she let him lead her out of the office. She didn't even deign to cast a glance upon the Knight Commander when she passed him.

Greagoir rounded his desk and crashed down in his chair. He buried his face in his hands. It had been a terrible day and the day of tomorrow promised to become even more dreadful.

Darinius lay on his cot, his hands folded under his head. He stared at the ceiling without seeing any of the little spots and smudges that had triggered his imagination in the few weeks he had been able to call this little room his own, after he successfully had passed his Harrowing. Back then, it seemed a lifetime away, he had imagined he looked at some star sprinkled universe and he had invented his own constellations.

But at this moment his universe was pitch-dark. He trusted his friends, he wanted to trust them, he really did, but even so, the future looked bleak. What could they accomplish in such a short time? Come tomorrow, he could be a walking and speaking puppet without feelings, without a conscience, because a tranquil didn't need a conscience. Would he be unhappy? Of course not. A tranquil wasn't unhappy. A tranquil wasn't anything. Just an empty shell drifting on the waves of time, waiting for his death. Even death wouldn't be terrifying. Wasn't that terrific.

With two hands he irritably pulled at his long thick black hair and made himself yelp. He wasn't tranquil yet, damn it. Wake up, you idiot! Everything could happen. He mustn't give up hope, this wasn't like him.

But the expression in Greagoir's eyes had put him off balance. He realised he had never been in such great danger before. Not even when he fought through the hordes of darkspawn in the Deep Road trenches, with a cursing and belching and reeking of alcohol dwarf fighting at his side. Despite everything he smiled at the memory. And then he thought of her. He had wanted to avoid it because it was so painful. But now he found it brought him comfort.

So he thought back at the moment he first met her. It had been one of the most wonderful days of his life.

Thank you for reading.

And, of course, I'd like your ideas on this chapter!