A/N: This story was inspired by me messing around on a prompt generator a couple of days ago, and this combination of characters interested me. Please, I really do need feedback, so don't hesitate to leave a review.
Harrowmont/Irving: Lost and Found
Leah dragged a forearm across her brow, grimacing as it came away streaked with blood. She glanced ruefully at the still smoking body of the former Prince of Orzammar. Bastard got a good swipe in there, didn't he? she thought as she felt a trickle descend maddeningly down the side of her face.
The deshyrs were picking themselves up and dusting themselves off—the ones who were still alive, at any rate. Leah daintily lifted her robes and trotted to King Harrowmont. She could hear the loud clanking as Alistair moved up behind her, and suppressed her urge to wince. No matter how many weeks she'd spent out of the Tower thus far, she would never get over the discomfort of having a large, heavily armed and armored man clank around where she couldn't see him.
"Many thanks, Warden," the new King began in his gravelly voice. Leah grinned at him. "I admit, I did not think even Bhelen would defy the word of a Paragon, nor that so many would follow him. But most of Orzammar has seen him for what he is, and I trust we will bring this insurgency under control."
"It was nothing, King Harrowmont, just doing my job," she chirped, and heard a snort from someone in her party.
The old dwarf chuckled tiredly. "Regardless, you have my gratitude, as well as Orzammar's forces against the Blight as soon as I can muster them." Leah's grin widened. One faction down, three to go, she thought, but even the depressing thought didn't quell her relief at being able to leave the underground city. Orzammar was lovely, and actually warm, but had far too much lyrium for Leah's tastes. She watched with curiosity as Harrowmont retrieved a staff from where it lay forgotten on the ground. He patted off the smooth metal, freeing it from the grip of nonexistent dust, and fixed the Warden with a serious gaze.
"This is the staff I carried as King Endrin's second. Take it as a reminder of your place in Orzammar." He held out the long metal staff. Leah examined it with a trace of awe. It was smooth and surprisingly light, while the head was etched with all the calculated geometric beauty of Orzammar's own halls.
"I wish you luck against the Blight, Warden," he continued, formal as ever. "May we foster another four centuries of peace." With that he dipped his head respectfully and strode towards the door. Leah smiled and gripped the staff eagerly.
"It's time for us to go, too," she said, turning back to her companions. "We may as well visit the Circle and see what troops we can drum up there."
oOo
Leah and her group walked into the halls of the Circle Tower slowly. She didn't know about the others, but she still felt a bit lake-sick over the turbulent ride to the Tower. It wasn't just that though… along with the nausea, she couldn't describe the butterfly feeling in her stomach as anything other than panic. Not that she hated the Tower, exactly… she just liked being outside a bit better. Or, rather, a lot better. Leah imagined not being allowed outside these stone walls again and shivered. Leliana gently patted the Warden's shoulder, for which Leah smiled gratefully at the bard as she marched up to the Knight-Commander.
Tactfully, because she didn't want to start things off on the wrong foot again, she waited until Greagoir was through giving orders to a junior templar decked in full plate. Leah heard a small whisper as Alistair mumbled something ominous.
The Knight-Commander shook his head tiredly. "Now we wait, and pray," he murmured.
"Knight-Commander Greagoir," Leah called happily. The least she could do was lift some of the depression in this gloomy place. The Knight-Commander didn't seem to get her drift, however. Leah leaned towards him to catch a low "Maker preserve me" coming from the gray-bearded templar. Leah pasted on her most winning smile.
"How lovely it is to see you, Knight-Commander!"
"Amell," he greeted her curtly. "What are you doing back here?"
"Well, as I'm sure you noticed, I am a Gray Warden now…" she began, trying to keep her mouth in check for once in her life. "And as such, I've come to request the mages' help against the Blight."
Greagoir sighed and began to explain the sorry state of the Tower. Leah glanced around with wide eyes as she finally noticed the haggard appearances of the templars and the evidence of fighting. She grew pale as he mentioned the abominations and demons running amok in the Tower—for Andraste's sake, the Tower had been her home—and her bright smile faded from her lips.
"How could this have happened?" she asked quietly. Greagoir shook his head in defeat.
"We don't know. We saw only demons, hunting mages and templars alike…" His face took on a haunted look. "I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee."
Leah's eyes blazed and she fought to remain civil. "You should have fought them," she murmured. She met his angry stare with equally accusing eyes. "It matters little now, however. What is your plan?"
"I would destroy the Tower, raze it to the ground," he growled venomously. "But… I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and protect us for now."
Leah tried very hard to hold her tongue. He had shut innocent mages in there along with hordes of abominations? The thought made her sick with pain and anger, and Leah was sure it showed. Greagoir, at least, seemed discomfited by the expression on her face. The Warden had no doubt it was strange, but it was better than telling off the Knight-Commander in front of his troops.
"I have also sent word to Denerim calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment," he continued quietly. The silence dragged on and his words became more heated. "The situation is dire. There is no alternative—everything in the Tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again."
"Knight-Commander, ser, the mages are hardly defenseless," Leah finally said, and looked up with a chilly smile.
"If any are alive, the Maker himself must have shielded them. No one could—"
"Knight-Commander, please," Leah said, and was surprised at the steel in her own voice. "If you haven't bothered to check, then let's assume the most positive outcome—that being, of course, that at least some mages have survived. And, of course, I would be more than willing to help with your little problem."
"No, I cannot allow that," Greagoir began again, only to be cut off by the Warden again.
"I must try. It's the right thing to do." Leah smirked coolly. "And besides, this was my home once, right?"
Knight-Commander Greagoir sighed and nodded. "Very well… a word of caution, however. Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe." Leah dared a relieved smile. The Knight-Commander held up a hand. "I will only believe it if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen… then the Circle is lost and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide."
Leah took a deep breath and nodded gratefully. She didn't hesitate as she walked towards the great metal doors, only grasping the beautiful staff Harrowmont had given her tightly before she nodded for the templars to open the doors. Her heart thumped frantically. The Warden walked through the giant steel barricades steadily, head held high, and didn't flinch when the doors slammed shut behind her. All she allowed herself was a fleeting expression of pain at being locked away in this airless place once more.
And then she was her smiling self again as they pushed their way through the bloodied and blackened apprentice quarters of the Tower.
oOo
"Leah, look out!" Alistair's voice cut through the angry shrieks of the rage demons. Leah threw herself out of the way, narrowly missing a stack of books as he barreled into the fire side of the demon. Almost hissing with indignation, she cast frost spells in their direction. The way they fizzled out under the cold was immensely satisfying.
Arrows zipped into the side of a rage demon's face and Alistair managed to sink its blade into one while Leah was preoccupied magically conjuring rocks to throw into the other's face. It was just about dead when her eyes widened in horror and it exploded into a fireball dangerously close to the precious tomes contained in the library.
"No, no, no," she growled, leaving the others to finish with the other demon as she put out the flaming books.
"Really, Leah?" Alistair began, irritation evident in his voice. Wynne sniffed disapprovingly. The Warden paid them no mind as she checked the books for damage.
"Look at this… the Treatise on the Magical Artifacts of Thedas is ruined!"
"Leah!" She turned distracted blue eyes on the almost-templar. He raised an eyebrow and pointed. "This probably isn't the best time for recreational reading." She sighed and put the damaged books down… and was promptly blindsided in the side of her head by something hard thrown by an abomination. Maker-cursed, nug-humping son of a… she cursed silently as she looked for what he'd thrown. Her eyes blazed.
"That is not how you treat a priceless copy of Spirit Healers through the Ages!" she yelled. She narrowly dodged another large book as if flew towards her head.
"Ha, you missed!" With a frightening growl, it dashed towards her, hardly pausing as she shot frost spells and arcane bolts at it. Leliana gave a frightened gasp audible from across the room as Harrowmont's staff was knocked from the Warden's grasp. "Damn it," she cursed. Sorry books, she thought, and unleashed a massive bolt of lightning that she could just feel singing the fragile sheets of vellum. With a crash, the abomination flew into a bookshelf that toppled with an incredibly loud medley of booms, crashes, rumbles, and swishes as the books tumbled everywhere. Leah thought she might faint.
Alistair whistled from right beside her. Leah jumped with an undignified squeak. "Don't do that," she wheezed. He chuckled, but then his face grew serious.
"How are we going to find your staff under all of that?"
Leah sighed and shook her head. She pulled her spare staff from the holster on her back.
"We don't have time," she said mournfully. That staff really had been beautiful. Alistair, in a moment of unusual kindness towards the mage-Warden, patted her shoulder.
"Come on, everyone, let's go kill some more demons," he said, and led the way out of the scorched library.
oOo
First Enchanter Irving wandered through the library, trying not to see all the scorch marks and bloodstains on the walls. The body of some poor apprentice, covered in a white cloth and awaiting her turn for the funeral pyre, was laid out in the middle of the room in one of the few spots free of tattered books or rubble or… other substances.
He sighed and picked up a book, turning it over in his hands. In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi. That one was hardly ever in the library. His eyes suddenly grew moist. Irving began stacking books on the long table angrily. He carved a path through the cluttered floor, sorting and organizing to escape the crushing weight of the sorrow that lurked in his desecrated home.
The First Enchanter worked his way to a shattered, toppled bookshelf. Trying not to strain himself too much, he painfully shoved the bookshelf aside and stopped to catch his breath. He noticed that a pair of templars had come to take the apprentice's body away. Dashing away his tears, Irving returned to his labor.
He stacked and organized and sorted until his hands grew numb and books tumbled from his grasp. "What's the use?" he muttered, throwing himself down near the stack. He grimaced in pain as something jabbed his back. It definitely wasn't a book.
Irving pulled the object out from under the books and gazed at it. It was a staff, of dwarf-make and obviously well cared for. The smooth metal was light and cool to the touch, and the head was intricately carved in the elegant geometric style of the dwarves. He could feel enchantments singing through the metal, enchantments that were obviously new. Whomever had lost this staff was likely distraught; the item was beautiful and powerful.
No matter, Irving thought to himself, cracking his first smile since Warden Leah had departed. It would do well in the hands of a new apprentice once they rebuilt. Yes… the First Enchanter thought as he reflected on his promise to Leah Amell. We must rebuild— sooner rather than later, I think. Irving used the staff to help himself up and strode out of the library, knowing that somehow he had found what he was looking for.