The Vial smashes to the ground. Contents spilling and rushing from glass giving way to the frozen ground. Sloshing and clinking, both the vial's contents and the hard shell soon were useless pieces dirtying the floor beneath their feet. Frost raged and covered the glass and cool liquid, now rendering it as useless as the body it had been forcefully taken from. What little magic was in the vial soon wisped and spluttered into the air, dissipating and expired as the magic floated away.
Thus, Jowan was free.
Ion stared. Transfixed at the blood that was slowly hardening on the floor. It was not hard to hear the whispers of the soul that had once paced and beaten against the cage of glass—and she was captivated by the maroon liquid that concord and beat back the frost before submitting and becoming frozen on the ground.
Jowan didn't care about his blood. Only that he was free. A small victory he shared—kissing Lily passionately before she too joined him in softer celebration. She could not understand, never understand the cage that had been blown off it's hinges this day. The leash laying on the ground, chain links broken and spent.
But Ion knew all too well the collars and horrifying truths of this mission—this false hope was not to last. It was why she had turned away, pretending to study something uninteresting and unsatisfying to her.
A hand touched her. She flinches—knowing physical contact can be dangerous to her current mood.
"Thank you my friend," Lily says.
"I am not your friend." Ion snorts—shrugging off the hand and picking up her staff.
They are waiting. Top of the stairs.
Ion thinks she could smell them—not now since the blood was staining her nostrils—but she could before. Smell useless, she resorted to her ears—peeked and primed, she could just hear the noise of boots pounding against stone, too muffled for Jowan and Lily to pick out amongst their obnoxious celebrating.
Keep them both at arms length, for this is far from over.
"We must go. There is a spell on the vials, magic well spent when thinking of all the traps we had faced. It is only a matter of time before they have the forces to storm the place. I must go back to my room—and you must escape."
Lies slid easily off her tongue.
Ignoring Jowan's shout, Ion took several long strides to the door, previously locked, and threw it open. Whatever enchantment which had kept it shut was long gone. As she should have been. It had been foolish and foolhardy to be down here, for she knew when the Templars sprang their trap—she would not escape the wrath and example made out of both Jowan and Lily. For she would be seen either as a Templar Dog, or a Mage who thought she could go to far. Either way, punishment was laying ripe in wait.
Even those who follow orders must be punished for breaking laws and rules.
"Wait my friend! We should take our time in our victory!" Jowan calls, stopping Ion at the base of the stairs.
Her hands clenched as her teeth sunk into her lower lip. Lowering her head for a second, bangs sweeping over her eyes, she rounded on the fool. This would not be over so easily—nothing would ever be this easy. She was right to name him for a fool if he believed that this task was done and complete.
"There is no time! Have you even the faintest idea of what I just sacrificed to gain your freedom! I cannot believe you wish to jeopardize us more because you are enjoying yourself."
Her snarl brought Lily to Jowan's side. A protective hand took his while her other reached for the weapon at her side. Ion followed her hands and barred her teeth in a snarl.
A moment was spared before the tension broke and Lily removed her hand from her weapon's handle. Ion did not breath easily, but she knew that a fight had been averted. It would not matter, Lilly was bound for punishment down here or up there.
"She is right my love, we must move quickly—please!"
"Yeah, yeah you're both right. Sorry Ion—my Lily."
Jowan seemed confused. Ion was angry. Lily had the level head in this situation, pushing and pulling all three of them to abandoned this hall, how starting to stink of blood, and the faster they could all put this adventure behind them.
And so Ion continued her path up the stairs. She did not wait to see if they followed behind or not. It did not matter, her room was peace. Her room would wash away those thoughts and horros currently pacing at the corners of her mind. Jowan may have been a fool, at one time a friend, but his screams when they put him to the sword and rope would break what fragile ice Ion had placed over her heart to follow orders.
"I thank you my friend," Jowan confides in Ion as they reach the first door. "I cannot begin to express my gratitude."
"Do not think to mention it then," Ion growled.
If he is hurt by her unfriendly words, he does not show it in his face. Maybe he is used to her temper when thrown into this situation—filled with stress and death. Or it may be something else that drives him to speak of words of gratitude to cover the stench of lies and blood.
Either way, Ion did not wish for his thanks. Because she did not deserve such a role. He would soon die, and their world would be shattered, she would be left to sweep away the pieces and pretend such a fragile piece of art had never existed.
"Come with us," Lily asks Ion.
Ion tries not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.
"You really do not understand, do you?" She chides.
Lilly looks fearful, for this is not the first time she treads somewhere she does not understand.
"Ion—maybe you should," Jowan warns her, but Ion is too busy snarling at the Chantry Sister.
"I am not allowed to leave. Do you understand what it means to be a Mage in this tower? It means this plan would and should only work on an apprentice. Because my phylactery is not in this place anymore. So instead of speaking of impossible things, you should be thinking of the present. On how you plan on making it out of here alive!"
Hot tongue was slippery when coming into contact with conviction. Ion held back her words of death and destruction by only a fraction. She knew if she truly had cared, the deal had not been made, then she would hunt for that vial of blood in order to break her own collar and chain.
As soon as hot words were thrown and it burned away their childish intent of knowing that everything was going to be fine—they began to plan. Whispering too low for even Ion's keep ears to pick up on their plans. A smart move, for she would be the only loose end to tie up in this place, and would not hesitate for a moment to throw the wolves onto the scent of their trail. Not for personal gain, but because of duty to Irving.
The spoken words were silence at the top of the stairs. Ion made sure she was last, crouched with her head peeking over the final stair in order to seek out the eyes of those hidden in the shadows. The library was silent, the adjacent library was also cleared of any who would be able to see or step into this planned ambush. It was all they needed to see, a blood mage conspiring with an initiate.
When they attacked, they did so in a way to incapacitate the three who had come from the forbidden place. Swords were freed from their sheathes, shields protecting shoulder to thigh, and helmets held cold eyes—eyes that knew how and when to strike a mage down. Those eyes could kill.
Jowan pulled Lily behind him, arm at the ready. A spell already sparking in his hand.
"What is the meaning of this?" He gasped.
He was distrait that his foolish plan—doomed to fail at the beginning—had come unraveled and burned before his eyes.
A moment later, the fizz of a different spell was heard. It was felt in Ion's body, as well as doubly in Jowan's own. Lily watched in wide eyes as magic soon became useless, as the strength was drained from limbs. A smite was a strong attack—stronger still as Ion felt her eyes drooping before something came clawing to the surface of her body.
New strength bloomed where her magic failed. Ion was a healer, not an elemental. She would have her strength drained to lower suspicion but never any other ill effect it would have on her. Other strength was still at her fingertips, just waiting for the word in order to break out and destroy those in her way.
"What do we have here?" the Knight-Commander sneered. "A blood mage, and an initiate."
His armor moved silently as he came out from behind his men. Ion slowly came from her hiding place up the stairs as the First Enchanter made his own appearance. A small spark of some strange emotion burned in her chest as Jowan looked between her and the First Enchanter, because a few moments later, his slow mind pieced together why he had been caught.
Ion's eyes bore into his depleted frame. Pity was apparently the only emotion she was capable to fling at him. Fury was what he slapped her with. It didn't matter now, and would not matter much more.
The pride the First Enchanter gave Ion did nothing to boost her already low mood. Now that this was over, the tension she had felt in her body drained way and she felt tired. Wishing for this to end so she could turn her back on it once and for all.
"You were right this time Irving, and I apologize for what I said earlier."
The First Enchanter gloats when he hears those words, and again shoots another prideful look at Ion—as if she was the reason for it all. Betrayal was not something to feel accomplished about—even if the man you are betraying no longer has that connection with you.
"She's shocked, but in complete control of her actions."
If it is possible to become very pale in a matter of moments, Lily had done so. Trembling behind Jowan's shaken frame, she opens her mouth for words that seem to freeze in her throat. A sense of hopelessness and dread seems to have bore into her gut, leaving nothing more than tears sparkling in her eye.
With a shake of his head, he tosses Lily to the same fate of Jowan, sparing her his last words spoken to her. "You disappoint me Lily."
A deft breath floats out of soiled lungs as Lily struggles to remain on her own two feet. Knowing that the Knight Commander was not going to waste his time in saving her. It was the last words that condoned one to death.
A metal hand closes on Ion's arm. The useless will to struggle overtakes her for a second, but it was before she knew who had caught her in their iron grip. Cullen—his scent of Templar soap and too much polish for his armor. It was not meant to be a gentle grip, it was an act, and a show as he dragged Ion into the center and circle of armored men. Submission was demanded and appeased as Ion allowed his hand to become a temporary leash—savoring and gloating in his taming of her person, Cullen's grip softened just for a moment, to show he did not wish her any harm. Restraint was accomplished either way.
"Sir? What shall I do with this one?" He says.
The helm on his head was not something Ion was used to seeing. A new accessory that had to be done with before he got used to wearing it. Scent alone was hard enough with the Templars, but should Cullen, her favorite, start wearing a helm, then he would blend in and become something she would turn her nose up at entirely.
The Knight Commander paused for a moment. Weighing what would happen should Ion choose to stay. In his mind, no matter what one should think or do, a Mage would always be the enemy. Not something to have more than one of in the room, never to have a chance of overpowering the powerful force. Ion was indeed powerful—and the Knight Commander knew this better than anyone else.
So he made his choice. Dismissing both of them, Cullen quickly dragged Ion out of the door so she could no longer be pinned by the hurt gaze of Jowan. It took a few moments before he trusted himself to allow her use of her arm. Instead, settling to walk beside her, as one would an equal. Gloating her into forgiveness for his earlier actions.
"Did you agree to this because—"
"I knew, if that was what you thought." Ion interrupts him. With narrowed eyes, Ion glares at the floor, fists and nails drawing half moons on her palm.
"He was a fool. I stopped trusting him the moment I smelt that vile magic in his veins."
He doesn't take offense. Her nature would be the only consistent thing he would hear from her. It was one thing to speak civilly to Ion, it was quite another to become friends or on her good side. He had yet to know of a mage or Templar who did not coax Ion to show her teeth and foul temper to the surface.
A shield and sword made of entirely different materials than the ones strapped to his belly and back.
But when Ion gave pause, Cullen had little choice but to follow suit. Staring at her fuzzily as her eyes became wide as saucers and her lips pursed. There! A shift, a large one at that. The Fade! Something dark was coaxed out of the tear, with a swell of power to have her vibrate at the scent of challenge and glory. Turning her body to look over her shoulder, waving away Cullen's concerns she hissed him quiet so she could smell and scent the air.
"Ser? Do you feel that?" Ion asks.
Cullen pauses. He does not. Ion's respect for him dwindles just a fraction. As capable as he was naïve, he could not sense nor could observe what was not place in front of him. Making him an almost useless protector and never able to grip her as a friend.
"No I do not. But I can smell it. Magic. The mage, is he putting up a fight?"
So he is not as stupid as Ion once thought. Until his next words reach her ears.
"Look, 'tis died down. He has been subdued."
No.
Ion's thought was almost happy. What Cullen could not sense, she could. Jowan was moving, him and Lily. They had fought and done the impossible. Leaving Ion with the ultimate decision. Give freedom or pull the rug out from under their plans and stop them herself. With a tight fist gripping her heart, Ion chose the latter, snarling and running.
She had put too much on the line for them to escape now. All this mission was about was handing over two in order to gain trust and a little slack in her leash. Should they accomplish this, it would be taken away and Ion would be left with less than what she had before. It could not be done.
Jowan was using blood magic. Ion smiled, fangs already sprouting in her mouth.
Foolish boy.
She is running before Cullen has a chance to stop her. Thin slippers slapping against stone, Ion does not give pause to those moaning and voicing their wounds in the library she had just been in, but instead races to the front doors. They had been throw open and Ion catches a flash of yellow from the cloak Lily was wearing. Ion's smile turns dark.
Not stopping to check the necks of the felled Templars, she had almost no mana, and her healing magic would cost her more than just mana, time was of all essence in this moment. They would survive, the ones Ion was pursuing would not.
Vengeance is as what Vengeance does.
The outside was almost as foreign as the doors even being allowed to crack open. Wind, so sweet and unfiltered hit her nose. The outside air wrapped around her body like a protective blanket and for the first time in forever—Ion paused and tilted her chin to the wind. Hair fluttering in the breeze that reminded her of the childhood her once had. Playing with Hawke and Bethany—her cousins.
The path was nothing more than carved rocks, and her shoes would not make it an easy journey. Left with little choice, Ion knew she would have to resort to that. Jowan and Lily were already too far ahead for Ion to continue on two feet. So she knelt and summoned her other half.
The warmth flooded her body. Clothing shattering and sacrificed to wind and spray from the shore, her skin was warmed by white fur sprouting around her body. Blunt teeth were morphed into white points as Ion settled on four legs. Eyes flooded with gold and nose exploding with all the scents her body could not find , she plunged onto the rocks with a snarl. Following her nose and trusting it to lead her where she needed to go.
Ion was on the hunt and would not stop until she had blood.
Lily decided to fight rather than hide this time. Ion applauded her ability to not completely piss her self as she stood in the wake of the giant wolf standing before her. A missed swing left exposed throat—something Ion took complete advantage of. The throat was torn open, before Lily could get her weapon ready for another blow.
Jowan was more of a disappointment than a surprise. He cowered. Knowing it was the end and welcoming it with open eyes and arms. Despite his lover being killed, he did not seek vengeance, but rather accepted his fate. If he had seen this end coming—he had not been surprised.
Ion lunged at him. Blood splattered in the air as it mixed in with salty spray and tasted like hot coppers on her tongue. Again and again she ripped into him, never letting up in her strikes. Soon, he was just a lump of flesh for the gulls to feast on, while his blood turned the small corner of tide red and angry. Ion walks away with a huff, white jaws painted crimson while turning her back on the lump of flesh she once named friend.
The friendship had slipped through cracks, not that Ion had ever expected it to stand on its own feet. The blood magic he had dabbled in—he saw it as power—Ion had seen it for what it was. Idiotic and an opportunity. She just had to wait for him to come back smelling of both blood and a new lover.
Irving was all too happy to play the game. Something Ion liked very much.
A shout drew her to the top of the path. Knight Commander and Irving were coming to her. Carefully picking their way along the smooth rocks. But even as they moved, Ion narrowed her eyes. They were not becoming any closer to her. Shaking off the dread of what this in told, Ion began to run.
It didn't take long for the dream to fall and like grease on mirror, Ion's vantage point blurred until she was opening her eyes to a chamber foreign and not her own. Three booming knocks threw her into a small spiral. Glancing at the door, the dream still rippling behind her eyes, she had a choice to continue or embrace the waking reality.
Three more knocks made the choice for her.
Ion gets out of the tangled mass of blankets on the bed to answer the door. Her gaze came up when faced with the abdomen of a bronze soldier traveling with their group. Sten looks down at her disapprovingly.
A similar look would be painted on his face for every time Ion has to heal the group, he is picked last and does not wish for her magic to touch him for too long. Mages have their own risks when choosing to use their magic, and as much as she would love to believe the foundations of forming the group was strong—she does not wish for the taller man to reach over and snap her spine when she is least expecting it.
"Wolf." He says.
"Sten." She answers. "Mind if I ask what you are doing here so early?"
A question he does not wish to answer, so he doesn't.
"You are late." He says instead.
If Ion wished to have an explanation, then another question would have to asked, and this one would more than likely be ducked and avoided as well.
She is confused to his choice of wording. "What do I owe this accusation? I have nothing that I need to do today, unless you know of something I do not."
Careful words had to be thrown to the winds before questions could be asked. In this, Ion had skillfully kept the horse in her court until it was needed to be pushed back in his. He could choose to ignore her question again—or he could show her why she was ignorant and stupid. Something he did quite often, when not admiring her ability to change into a wolf the size of a large horse.
"Have you so little space in your head?" He scoffs at her.
Ion's blood flows to her cheeks, not of anger, but of the thought she had forgotten something obviously important to the Qunari.
"I do not, say what you will, but I do the best I can with what I have!"
He raises and eyebrow. "Then tell me what you promised the Elf and I this morn at sunrise."
Ion thinks. Ion knows. Ion feels like hitting her head against a metal chest plate for her stupidity.
"Did you forget it is not sunrise yet?" She asks.
Her crafty eyes has spotted a reflection in a mirror in the hall, showing her the dark night out of her window.
Sten crosses his arms. "I was recurring to the answering of the door, Wolf. You took several minutes, and it looks as if you did not use it wisely."
Ion did not get his meaning. An eyebrow was raised on her part. Sten seemed to enjoy the morbidity of speaking in straight truth riddles. Never once did he every say something that didn't have a double meaning. Giving Ion a hint, his eyes traveled up and down her body.
It was never sexual when it came to Sten. His gaze was professional, like picking out a war horse that could bear his weight, Sten glared at her body, looking at it up and down. So Ion's gaze traveled down. Wearing noting, completely naked. The only thing she had thought to cover herself with was the blanket of long white hair adorned with grey tips.
Never underestimate the perks of sleeping as a wolf compared to a human. No need for warmth—and she had needed it. The Arlessa had forgotten to relay her order to the maids again—Ion liked to be warm. No firewood had been delivered to her room, and as closed off as it was, with a drafty window thrown wide open, and the first night she had shivered and not gotten a decent nights sleep.
She dare not repeat something like that again.
Sten clears his throat. Ion doesn't have the decency to blush.
It takes her a moment to realize he's waiting for an answer.
"I was too deep in thought and too concerned to answer the door to think of slipping on a dress."
He nods, as if this is completely understandable. "It would seem so."
Ion's blush spread. "Hey! I do wear clothes when I answer the door, you were just so damn persistent."
As one should be when waking Ion before her time to wake. Nightmares made it hard for one to sleep soundly, and Ion often took more watches at camp in order to compensate for those horrible dreams—seemingly worse than demons following her every step in the fade.
Sten does not show any change in stance. "We have a task."
This gives Ion pause. Forgetting anything she was about to say, she instead asks, "What type of task?"
"Does it matter?"
Of course it did!
"Yes. If we are going out for a stroll, like the last time, I would prefer four legs, should we have human contact, I would need to put on clothing."
Sten snorted. "We are going to the town pub. The Warden, Bard, and Elf had yet to return from their activities from the night before."
Ion gave a shrug. "And this is different from the previous night?"
A small quirk in the Qunari's lips. "The Arl has asked for this directly. It his not a suitable task for us—but it does require our attention. The Elf should have thought and known better than to spend his night this way—he will surely regret it when the morning comes."
Of that, Ion had no doubt. Hangovers were not easily cured and remedied and overexposure to alcohol would cause the Zevran to become almost useless to their morning exercise.
Ion stepped aside. Allowing Sten into her room as she searched for clothing. Mages robes laid out on a nearby chair, Ion scowled at the vile things. No, she would not choose to wear such things today. Instead—she pulled a small outfit she had bought from Bodan and his son. Enchanted tunic and leggings. Not a fair price but they were better than robes she had chosen to cast aside. Too bad she could not have Warden robes like Alistair—but they would paint a blood target to her back as well as exposing her to the world as a mage.
So Ion dressed. Leaving her boots beside her bed—for she sensed a small change in the air. In her head, the wolf yawned and her entire being twitched. The wolf and Ion were one and the same, but there was a different connection—a friend always in her head—so the wolf would not act alone, yet Ion would have someone by her side should she need it.
Deemed her ready, Sten marched out of the room while Ion follows close behind.
Redcliff had yet to fully come alive—so many of the shops and streets were near deserted. Ion remembered coming here, after the battle of Ostigar she had almost wished to walk Alistair to the tops of these cliffs just to push him over the edge, because of his insufferable wining. Duncan this, Duncan that.
The man who had arrived at the tower, who had saved Ion from a fate most terrible. Now, Ion was not so sure he had rescued her rather than changed a leash and collar. Because there was a Blight coming, and no one in Ferelden was ready to face it.
When they had escaped the Wilds—they had not done so alone. A mage by the name of Morrigan had shown them out of the bogs. Alistair hated her. Ion was not so sure where she stands when it came to the mage, at first they were on rocky territory—but now, it seemed all a distant dream. When they reached a small town—three more were recruited. Bodan and his son Samuel would follow their traveling campsites. Alistair had gladly welcomed the hand of a Chantry sister by the name of Leliana, who seemed to know more ways to kill someone than Ion was entirely comfortable with. The last person, but certainly not the least was a Qunari by the name of Sten, he was the one who Ion felt the most close to—because of his bulking form and neutral eyes, she had felt comfortable sparring with him.
There was still a single person they had met on the road from there to here. An Assassin, sent by the crown in order to stop the progression of Grey Wardens. Sufficient to say he had failed—and became one of those Ion trusted more than the rest—Sten still holding a number one place in Ion's trust.
Alistair surrounded himself with the better natured of the group, for friendship no less. Ion had surrounded herself with the solid foundations—completely clear in their intent and values, she trusted them for their words and truth above all else.
Something Ion needs. As she walked the dirt roads, through shoeprints of those who had walked this path before her, eyes drifting to those shops usually bustling with people, Ion knows she cannot allow herself to be betrayed by those she names friends.
So she does not give them chance. When the Wardens reached Redcliff, Ion had made her mind clear—she would not trust unless the person told truth. Something easily sniffed out.
They were honored guests. Eamon—someone who had not come to the kings aid—welcomed the travelers with welcomed arms. Ion trusted him about as far as she could toss him without magic. He had yet to prove himself to her, and it was not something she gave out easily. Trust had to be earned, and granted he had given them safe harbor and shelter, but Ion had yet to judge his intentions. For he held secrets that could take this fragile group and rip it to shreds.
A walk up the larger hill in Redcliff, next to the Chantry, was the local pub. If Ion had to pick the most despising place to be, it would be the pub. Sensitive was her nose, and these places were not often clean. Stench wafting from the very road and wood itself burned through her and more than often she found it hard to concentrate through the fumes.
Ion still passed through the front door.
Alistair was the first to be spotted. His head tilts over the back of his chair and his snores ring Ion's ears. A crown of badly shaped iron rests sideways on his head.
The rest of the group was right around him. They had drank themselves into a slumber so deep, they did not respond to the rough prod of Sten's sword nor when Ion picked Zevran's head up by his hair. He muttered but did not awaken, so she released him to have his head slam to the table. He continued muttering, cooing like a child, and slipped into deeper sleep.
Even more appalling than their appearance was the mess they had left for someone to pick up. Bottles and tankards littered the floor and overflowed the table, cards and money were stacked where the bottles could not fit.
"Sten, humor me." Ion says, kicking a bottle to the side. The noise does nothing to the sleeping crew but did make enough noise for the barmaid to come out of her back room.
Rather than stop Ion—she leans against a wall to watch the show. For Ion was known for them whenever someone misbehaved or behaved poorly.
"Yes Wolf?" He asks, a slight twitch of his lips lets her know he finds her mood amusing.
"If I cure them, will they learn a thing?"
"No, Wolf."
Ion sighs, running a hand through her hair, knowing it was still tangled from her sleep.
"Then if I leave them with splitting headaches and burning insides, will they learn not to do this again?"
Sten crosses his arms. "The lesson did not stick the last time they did this."
Ion thought as much.
"If I do though, do you think the pain will help them?"
"If we left them in their current state, we would have to carry them back to the castle, the Arl was persistent when it came to speaking to Alistair when the sun came up into the sky."
"We should have brought Morrigan down with us," Ion smirks.
"And why is that Wolf? Are you not suited for the task?"
Ion glanced at Sten. "Of course I am. It just would've been easier to carry them back if they were toads, but I would not wish to carry them as is."
Sten did not like magic. So Ion gave him the option of leaving or staying. This magic, healing was different than Ion changing forms, for the wolf was a part of her soul, not a part of the Fade. Morrigan's transformations angered Sten more than Ion's healing magic, for she had many forms and none of them seemed to feel correct to the Qunari. Ion's form was natural, but matched the height of the bear form that Morrigan had taken at one time. It still did not change any facts that Sten did not enjoy magic.
He stood still, arms still crossed. "I will stay."
If ever a moment was taken to appreciate how Sten was slowly getting used to those things he didn't like, this was one that she never through he would allow happen to him. Ion nods, taking a stance and gathering her energy. Blue light gathers in the palms of her hands, but did not erupt until she savagely grip the back of Leliana's and Zevran's heads.
Twin yelps echoed as both their eyes flew wide. The feeling she is told, is like getting a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads, making the task of waking them that much simpler, for no one wished to be woken up with water dumped upon ones head. Looking around blurry eyed, they yawned and stretched in their seats, for now not seeing Ion until she walks to the other side of the table to wake up Alistair last.
Both hands gripped the back of his neck. Yelping higher than the others, his quick reflexes drove him from the chair to crash to the ground in complete stupor. Looking at his hands and shaking slightly, he grins at Ion sheepishly.
"Hey…" he says.
Ion glares at him, pointing to the door.
"Next time you get drunk I will not be down here to save you from your fate, next time I send Morrigan and you can explain why you had to meet the Arl as a toad!"
Alistair winces. "Sorry Ion."
Ion glances at Sten, then at the barmaid.
"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." She says, taking time to look at all three of them, they carefully avoid her gaze. With a slight curve to her lips, she thinks of her mother scolding her when she was younger—a blurred memory that is barely there, but the lessons stick with Ion nonetheless. "All three of you get out of my sight."
Alistair scrambles to his feet, walking with Leliana out of the pub. Zevran tried to grab a half bottle of wine. He found his way blocked by seven feet of Qunari and Ion's threatening growl.
Thinking better of it, he lets the bottle go and leaves the pub. Sighing and scooping up the money on the table, she found almost five sovereigns worth. Grabbing it and weighing it carefully, she found it was from the trio's own pockets, and would not be missed.
Giving it to Bella, Ion gave her sincerest apologies.
"For the mess, miss, I am sorry for my friends." Ion says.
Bella's laughter is full of sunshine and glee. "Don't worry 'bout it hon, they're harmless compared to some of the locals, no furniture was wasted so I am always happy to have them in 'ere rather than other local scum."
"Still, I am sorry for any trouble." Ion tries again. Bella laughs again.
"Alright, just let me know if you ever need a pint or anythin' else darling," Bella says with a wink.
It coaxes a smile from Ion.
"I appreciate the gesture, but I do not drink."
"Of course, I Lloyd said it would be fine if we stocked juice from time to time, freshly squeezed will do you right." Bella grins, then lowers her voice and leans close to Ion. "If you ever want to, come in the other form, Lloyd said it'd be alright and it'll keep out those undesired ones."
Ion takes her hands. "I am truly grateful for the offer, I must remember to come before we leave this place. Thank you again for putting up with my companions!"
"Of course dearie! You and your tall friend are welcome anytime!"
Sten has sweat coming down his face, and he called pause to their training in order to wipe it and get water. Ion appreciated the break, for she was panting and her joints were beginning to tire from the blocks and throws to the stone below her thick pads.
The sun was just barely rising, and they were already into a three hour session. Neither had the good sense to stop, and soon provided entertainment for those soldiers trapped on the walls for another few hours.
Having trained with many, Sten never went too easy on Ion, and she tried hard to never scratch his training armor. Drinking from a fountain, cleaned out by the servants in the castle, Ion allowed herself to be pet by those small hands of the servants who were doing laundry nearby.
"Wolf." Sten calls.
Reluctantly tearing herself away from the pool and kind hands, Ion readies herself for another spar.
When Sten had allowed her to leave, Ion walks to her favorite spot. Plopping down next to the grand fire in one of the entrance halls, Ion slept a dreamless sleep. Sometime during her sleep, Morrigan woke and came down with a book in hand, leaning against Ion's prone form provided warmth and some comfortable bed.
Ion laid on her favorite carpet in Arl's home. It had been claimed as soon as Ion had first landed her eyes on it, and she stayed here for as long as she possibly could. The only thing stopping her from slumbering here all day was the Arlessa, who would come into the hall, tisk her tongue, and shoo Ion out like a common animal.
Which is why Morrigan had taken to sitting with Ion. Not because Ion had asked, but because Morrigan did not like the noble lady—and often loved the trouble it would cause her when an argument sparked between Mage and Noble. Ion suspected the spark of these fights was not Morrigan's only reason for spending so much time with Ion in her wolf form.
Many times Ion had coaxed tales from Morrigan, mostly about her time in the wilds and how she would spend more time as an animal than a human. Spending time with other animals was more rewarding and joyful than with humans, and so drawn to the animal Ion was, Morrigan had no choice but to lay and enjoy the quiet Ion provides with her sleeping form.
If Ion was quiet, Morrigan would read to her, and if Ion was on her best behavior, she'd wake to find Morrigan stroking her fur. Being quite tired form the harsher training lesson, Ion had both done to her, either out of empathy (because Morrigan never seemed to have sympathy) or she seemed to be in a good mood this morning.
Unfortunately, it would not last that way. Ion sighs when the Arlessa comes down the stairs, pausing to wrack her eyes up and down the two relaxing by the fire. Ion lifted her head, showing her teeth to dare the Arlessa to try to stop her from sleeping where she would sleep.
The closer it was to winter, the closer Ion would get to the fire. Should the Arlessa send her out in the cold, and it would make Ion very angry if she was put out.
There were other reasons why winter was a sore subject among the entire party. The greatest one being the four treaties burning a hole into Ions mind. On the four corners of the world, there stood a chance at gaining a piece of their army. No mistakes could be afforded.
The Arl was also doing his part. Gathering enough support for a Landsmeet—a gathering of nobles and Arls who would agree to help or damn the land to darkness.
Alistair was still angry at Ion. A refusal to return to the Circle Tower put a large wrench in their plans. She could not face anyone after what she had done to Jowan and Lily. The Knight Commander had not been happy to learn that Jowan was a blood mage, but Ion had not been punished harshly to the lax of information. No the punishment did not come from the Templars, instead it came from the other mages. For being what they called a Templar Dog.
The others knew of what she did. Approving of her actions, Blood Magic was evil, and onl Morrigan had asked why she hadn't killed all on the shore and escaped her bloody cage. It was because Duncan had been there too. Ion did not wish for innocent blood on her hands, so she had bleakly bowed her head and waited for her fate to be sealed.
Ion thinks to what will eventually happen once this is done with. Will she go back to her cage? The one in the island, a tower filled with glares, collars, and bars? A dark cloud bloomed in Ion's lungs as a low growl vibrated through her—Morrigan mistakes it for something she aimed at the Arlessa, but Ion is growling at fate.
Because she will not return to that cage, nor will she ever submit to their rules again. The Wardens were fools to think she would confide by their rules, because if Ion had to, she would run off the edge of the earth in order to be free from all.
So this time, after the Arlessa left Ion be, she lowers her head to the ground to dream. Ion dreams of the promise of her freedom.