Thank you everyone for the feed back on the first chapter! It was so lovely to read! :D

Here is the next one, I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think!


Morning at Denerim Palace came with roars and the sounds of chairs hitting the flag stones.

"GONE?" Alistair bellowed at one of the palace guards. "What do you mean, gone?" He demanded, throwing his arms out in frustration. He was at breakfast, with Arl Eamon, Teagan and Kellar. All his other guests had departed back to their own places of accommodation. Normally Isha joined him for breakfast – today she had not appeared as she normally did. At first Alistair had thought she was angry with him and avoiding him, but had asked two of the guards to summon her anyway.

She was his Chancellor, she had a job to do. It did not matter whether she was happy with him or not.

That was when the news had been delivered. Her door had been unlocked and many belongings had disappeared. The bed had not been slept in, the fire place was undisturbed. She had not been in her room.

Hearing the news Alistair had risen from his chair at such a speed, the chair had fallen back and crashed onto the floor, clattering.

"Exactly that, Your Majesty," the guard spoke, he seemed to be quivering. His name was Jack, he was a new recruit, this was only his fourth week and the first time he had spoken directly to the King. He wished it was better news he was delivering. He had never seen the King angry. "Chancellor Amell is... missing."

Alistair growled, resting his hands on the table and clenching the table cloth beneath his fingers. He had suddenly lost his appetite and waved his had dismissively. One of the elven servants dashed forth and took the full plate of food from his place.

"Have you informed Captain Ingus?" Alistair asked, staring up at the young guard from beneath furrowed eyebrows. Arl Eamon and Teagan were continuing to eat in awkward silence. Kellar was observing the exchange. Staring at the soldier, Alistair noticed a surprising resemblance to his Antivan elf companion, Zevran. His hair was startlingly blonde, and he had the same amber eyes. But not the tanned skin.

"I have not, Majesty." Jack replied tentatively, "I thought it best to inform you first!" He added quickly, not wanting to anger the King further.

Alistair sighed loudly. "Right."

He growled to himself, and took a deep drink from his goblet. Why would she disappear? They had fought before, they had exchanged heated words. What had been said in the garden yesterday had been nothing in comparison! And if anything he should have been angry with her. He had at least tried to find out what was wrong with her. She had rejected his offer to help, rejected his gift. Rejected him.

For some reason that bothered him far more than anything else. That she had rejected him. She had never done that before.

"Stupid wench." Alistair hissed, slamming the drained goblet on the table. He turned his eyes on Jack. "Why are you still here? Go, inform Captain Ingus of Chancellor Amell's disappearance. She must be found."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Jack bowed, "right away, Your Majesty." He bowed again and quickly left the room, relived to be out of the tense situation. Last he had seen, the Captain – a Redcliffe soldier who had risen through the ranks – had been in the barracks, checking on the new soldier recruits, putting them through their paces of getting their armour on and keeping their barracks neat. Ingus was a stickler for neatness. Jack had already had his area ransacked because it had not met his high standards twice. He did not want it to happen again.

The large door slammed behind the retreating soldier and it echoed through the vast room. Alistair was pacing, running his hands wildly back and forth through his blonde hair. He paced when he was a vast array of things, anxious, angry, disturbed, confused. For now he didn't know what he felt, but he traced the same set of flag stones for the same amount of steps each time before he turned and tracing the same pattern again, huffing crossly.

"Leave us!" Alistair shouted suddenly aiming his cry at the servants who waited around the room, as still as status trying not to be intrusive. He surprised Kellar so much that she toppled her own goblet. Teagan gently grasped her hand, kissing her temple. The act of affection caught Alistair off guard when he saw it.

He felt a pang of jealousy.

Since Teagan had got married he had been a picture of happiness. He had a strange, almost unearthly glow about him. He said it had come from finding someone he loved and marrying them. Arl Eamon had agreed he had felt the same when he had met his late-wife Isolde for the first time. Alistair had never felt jealous of Teagan before. He had been over the moon for him, finding Kellar. And more so when they had announced they were expecting a child. If anyone deserved happiness of a family, it was Teagan. He was a hard working, devoted man. Devoted to Redcliffe, devoted to his family, devoted to his King.

Alistair, at that moment wanted the simplicity of Teagan's life.

A wife, a child.

He didn't want to be King any more.

Teagan cleared his throat, and squeezed his wife's hand, "with all due respect Alistair," he said sternly, "if you are to roar like an injured mabari, I would like Kellar to leave, so she does not excite herself and cause any harm to the baby." His eyes were narrowed at the young King. He did not approve of Alistair's outcry. And neither, it appeared, did Arl Eamon who was also quietly angered with him.

Alistair cleared his throat, "of course. I apologise, Kellar." He bowed to the red head.

"Majesty," Kellar curtsied, unable to bow and quickly left the room with the remaining elves. She ventured to the rooms put aside for herself and Teagan where they were quite, the windows open above the herb garden, letting with warm summer smells swirl around her room like a calming scent. Kellar lay back on the bed to rest. She had not slept well.

Back in the dining room, Alistair had found pacing to be pointless and had slumped back in his chair after picking it back up from the floor.

Teagan and Eamon exchanged looks.

They had both spoken to Isha the evening before though Arl Eamon had not witnesses the things Teagan had, he was an astute man and had noticed how far off she had seemed. How she had not seemed herself, like her mind was elsewhere – as if she was in pain and wanted to be elsewhere. The brothers had discussed things after the revelry had wound down that night.

Eamon had met Teagan in the corridor outside his own quarters after Conner had gone to bed. They had retreated to Alistair's study and spoken seriously about things. They did not often speak on the personal lives of others – after all the lives of others were none of their business. But as Alistair was practically family and they both cared for Isha as a friend and also as the Hero of Ferelden they had been concerned.

Their discussions had led them to the conclusions that she was unhappy. And, even if he did not realise it for the moment, so was Alistair. He was not happy that had was being denied the right to marry the woman he wanted; that was why he had not yet taken a wife. And while he knew he needed to take one to ensure an heir, they reasoned he was not likely to take one, unless it was the missing Grey Warden. But there was no way to approach the King about this. After all – as they had agreed – it was not their place.

They had felt like a pair of gossips as they had talked.

"Alis- -"

"Why would she go?" Alistair shouted, his voice echoing around the room and off the walls until it was swallowed by the tapestries. "Where would she go? Did she take Argor?"

"Alistair- "

"It just makes no sense." Alistair sighed loudly, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenched shut and his jaw so tight that a muscle twitched. "If she was unhappy, she should have come to me..."

"So you knew she was unhappy?" Eamon asked briskly. To him it seemed as Alistair had become a better King, he had lost the things about him that had made him Alistair in the first place. He had come to understand the politics of Ferelden, the way to handle the Nobles, he was an enthusiastic King, undoubtedly. But it had seemed over the last nine months he had put so much into becoming a good King who understood everything to do with ruling a Kingdom, he had lost... himself somewhere.

Alistair's eyes opened, "I knew."

"Did you say to her?"

The King shook his head slowly from side-to-side. "No... Maker knows I should have. I had no idea why I didn't."

"Perhaps you were worried about why she was unhappy." Teagan suggested. He was leaning back in his seat. He looked relaxed but had hawk-like eyes trained on the King, watching for his reaction, for the tiniest movement of a muscle anywhere. "Could it have been you did not want to discover the reason for her unhappiness?"

"I..." Alistair stared incredulously at the Bann, "no. She is... was... my friend. Of course I would want to know." He rubbed his forehead slowly, thinking back to the night before, and times before that. He had noticed the mage becoming more and more distant in recent months: mainly since the members of the Landsmeet had been introducing him to their daughters. She had made excuses not to dine with him, avoided him. Left rooms when he had entered, started answering monosyllabically. She had not smiled or laughed as much as she had used to.

And he hadn't heard her sing for months.

He missed that.

The nights spent in camp where she and Lelianna would sing together, harmonising to Lelianna's lute playing. How Oghren would try to join in drunkenly with burps and hiccups, songs from Orzammar. Those had been evenings of pure enjoyment in a terrible time.

Alistair was suddenly plagued with memories. How Lelianna had forced Isha to help her entertain children in the Chantry in Redcliffe when they had waited for the undead attack that night after organising the town. Isha had been red in face, she had hated the bard at that moment as she had grimaced at her and made faces all the way through.

Morrigan had made harsh comments throughout but Alistair had enjoyed their singing. And they managed to calm the minds of the children and some of the townsfolk of Redcliffe, even if it was just for a short period of time.

"What were you two talking about in the gardens last night?" Alistair asked, turning to Bann Teagan. Teagan shifted in his chair. He had thought this would come up. "Did you upset her?"

"I didn't need to. You did that alone." Teagan replied primly. He was still a little angry with Alistair for scaring his wife so.

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "I-" He paused, "I what?"

"Kissing Elina," Teagan reminded him, "she saw it and disappeared. I followed after her about half an hour later and found her with the mabari shaking so violently I thought she had been poisoned. In truth, she was crying." Teagan was stone faced as he explained what had passed between himself and the dark haired mage the night before. Alistair was silent for some time. "She loves you Alistair. And the thought of you marrying another... it is tearing her apart. If you had paid attention – you would have seen that."

"Easy, brother." Eamon interjected. He could sense Teagan letting his passions getting the better of him and decided to step in there. He somehow doubted accusing comments at the King would help the situation.

"Why..." Alistair ran his hand over his short beard, "why didn't she tell me?"

"From what Teagan told me," Eamon explained, "she believes there is no hope for the two of you. She is a Mage, and not a Noble."

"But she is the Hero of Ferelden!" Alistair argued, "if she had not been here there would be no Ferelden."

"Hero or not, she is not of Noble birth... as far as those in the Landsmeet are concerned she is not eligible to be Queen. And the Chantry would never allow a Mage to stand beside the King as anything more than an advisor." Eamon explained.

"But-" Alistair paused. What could he say to that? Everything Eamon said was true. He knew the Nobles only wanted another Noble to rule. Why they let him be King then was still a mystery. After all he was a bastard. His mother had been a scullery maid; if Arl Eamon had not informed him of who his father was, he would have remained a common bastard. "Andraste's Flaming Sword!"

"If I may," Bann Teagan spoke up, he was calm now. "Perhaps it would be wise to seek her out, and while you do that, myself and Eamon will seek out a solution to the problems arising from her being a Mage and a commoner. We are well liked with the Landsmeet, and you are well liked by them too."

Eamon agreed, "I have a feeling winning over the majority of the Landsmeet, convincing them that having the Hero of Ferelden on the throne was a good strong move, would not be a problem. It would be the Chantry who would have the most issue."

"Quite." Alistair decided, "I would suggest bringing the First Enchanter from the Circle to discuss things with the Revered Mother."

"We shall do that." Teagan confirmed. Alistair rose from his chair. "Where do you intend to begin your search?"

The King paused, he truly did not know. She had only left the night before so could not have gotten very far... if she was travelling on foot that was. If she had 'borrowed' one of the Calvary horses then she could have covered much more ground and more quickly. Alistair chewed his lower lip. If only she hadn't taken Argor! That mabari could track her for miles and miles. He had found her from Ostagar after all. It was like he had a honing ability on her blood.

Blood.

Her phylactery.

Mages had blood drawn when they entered the Circle.

That meant Isha would have had blood drawn too. And she was a fully fledged mage, it would have been moved to the Denerim vault.

Her phylactery was in Denerim.

"Her phylactery!" Alistair almost burst. Teagan and Eamon stared at him curiously, "I can use it to track her. It'll lead the way with her blood! It'll be here in Denerim!"

Eamon understood. First Enchanter Irving had explained phylacteries to him when Conner had entered the Circle tower, so he understood how they worked. For the most part they were used by Templars to track mages who had gone rogue and become Apostates. But there was no rule saying they could not be used for this purpose also.

"You must get her phylactery then, and follow her. Hopefully she has not ventured far." Eamon explained, "myself and Teagan will summon First Enchanter Irving here to talk with the Revered Mother, and we will try to use our influence on members of the Landsmeet that the Hero of Ferelden should be a just and valid choice for Queenship."

Alistair grasped the older man's hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you." He did the same to Teagan.

"Maker watch over you." Teagan advised. Alistair nodded once more and left the room as swiftly as he could. He had so much rushing around his mind he could barely think straight.

What had he been thinking?

He did not need to marry a noble, that was what everyone else wanted him to do. He was the King, he should have been able to marry anyone he wanted. He had been convinced by the Landsmeet as soon as he had opted to become King that he would not be able to marry Isha, that had been his plan all along after confessing how much he cared for her. They had said she would have been a fine advisor, but her lack of high birth and her magical ability did not make her a suitable Queen. Alistair had been so easy to influence then, he had believed them.

The conversation he had had with Isha, those few days before the final battle suddenly invaded his senses. He remembered it so well. How her expression had stayed stoic, like she had been taking lessons from Sten. But how all colour had drained from her face. She had held herself gracefully and without letting her emotions control her. At the time he had thought she had taken the news very well – now he thought back he could remember the way her body had shaken a little, how she had chewed her lower lip and how she had had trouble meeting his eyes, despite the schooled expression she held.

She had been breaking inside. Just as he had been.

It should have been obvious. After all their final kiss, an impromptu one before they had entered Fort Drakon, she had quivered and trembled. He recalled the sensation of her lips against his, how tentative the kiss was, not like the way she had kissed him before. It was as if she had known this would be their final kiss; that after that he would be someone else's and she would be forced to watch him carry on his life with someone else.

He recalled mentioning he would need to find a wife who could provide him with an heir when he had been telling her how impractical it would have been for them to be together.

Alistair wanted to hit himself.

Had he truly told her he was going to find a wife? In the midst of breaking her heart? And ignoring his own cracking in two?

"Alistair, you fool." He scolded himself. He was more than a fool. He was an ignorant fool who did not deserve the love of one so fair, kind and selfless. And yet he wanted her love... and he hoped, despite everything, she would accept his in return.

He carried on down the hallway. He needed to assemble a small troupe of guards to travel with him, he would not be allowed out of the castle without some. He needed to get her phylactery, and get horses ready. If all was organised, he and a band of soldiers should have been ready to leave within hours.

He hoped this would work, and that Eamon and Bann Teagan could somehow get the Revered Mother on his side.


Leaving the palace had been so much easier than Isha had anticipated. She knew the hallways and corridors so well, it was easy for her to avoid guards who patrolled in the dead of night, watching for trouble.

She had left the party shortly after Alistair had gone up to bed. It had been late by then. Argor had followed her obediently and waited by the door expectantly as Isha had calmly moved about her room, collecting items she felt she would need and placed them all in a knap sack. She took tomes, a few clothes, salves and lyrium potions and changed from her robes of state back into the dark blue Robes of Witch she had worn for so much of their time travelling. They were comfortable and allowed her easier movement. She had also covered herself in a dark cloak with a deep hood which covered her face almost entirely. After strapping her staff to her back, she left the room and did not look back.

Down the hallway and passed the main stairs, she knew the location of the secret door the servants used to get to and from the lower quarters of the palace without being seen or disturbing anyone. The stairwell was a spiral, and it descended for several floors until Isha reached the ground floor. She slid into the kitchen and picked up a few food supplies to keep her going until she reached her first location and could restock. She also took a few mabari crunches for Argor.

The mabari followed her silently, his paws padding softly on the stone floor behind her. He was on full alert, and growled quietly whenever he sensed guards or servants nearby who could blow her cover. Isha would hide, and Argor would find something to duck under until they were both sure the danger had passed. She left the kitchen through the side door, and it closed softly behind her as she rose the latch from the outside and made sure it was locked.

Leaving the courtyard was slightly harder than escaping the palace building. Guards were littered everywhere, in pairs or small groups. They spoke to one another about the menial things waiting to be relieved by more guards.

Keeping to the wall, hidden in the shadows thanks to the dark colour of her cloak, Isha was able to pass mostly un-noticed. It was only if she accidently stepped on a dried twig that she resorted to using a minor Mind Blast spell to stun anyone. Reaching the stables had been easy enough once she'd left the court yard and found her way around the outer wall to them. No one guarded the horses at night, and the only people who remained near the stables were their elven grooms.

Argor had waited patiently as Isha had saddled and bridled a dark brown mare she favoured, Uriel. At first the horse had been nervous and skittish, not knowing the scent of Isha and disliking how she was being moved from her comfortable stable so late. Isha had shushed the uneasy animal with soft words and warm hums from her voice. She stroked the horse's nose and neck, talking in a calm voice while she had saddled her so that she became accustomed to her.

Once fully tacked up, Isha had led her away from the stables with Argor and out of the stables. One hand connected to the bridle she led the way away from the palace, away from any guards ears that could hear them, keeping to the grass verges kept neat by the gardeners to prevent Uriel's hooves from making more noise than necessary.

At a safe distance Isha had mounted the mare and disappeared with Argor into the night.

Cantering through the city gates of Denerim, hiding her face from those who guarded them it felt like an invisible chain and lock that had been engulfing her for the past nine months had suddenly dropped off her body. She felt instantly lighter for leaving the city; it no longer had any hold on her now she had left.

She had been so determined to leave she had not thought on Alistair, not on the duties she was leaving behind. The people and the few friends she had at court. What she was doing, leaving the way she was, it was an entirely selfish gesture – so unlike her. During their journeys she had done her utmost to be a good person. Do the right thing, even when her gut instinct had been the exact opposite. She had wanted so much to please Alistair that she had put her own thoughts, wants and desires to one side.

And for what? To be thrown aside like nothing.

Her thoughts were still bitter as she rode. She squeezed her legs around the horse, pushing her easily into a full gallop as they reached the grass fields surrounding Denerim, littered with roads leading to her heart. Isha's hood fell back from her head, she had let her hair down and relished the feel of it pulling against her head, pushed back by the wind.

The feeling of the air rushing by her, screaming passed her ears as she rode – she loved it. It was like a type of freedom she didn't know existed. Here she was, for the first time not bound to anything or anyone. She had left Denerim, she had nothing there for her any longer. She was not bound to the Circle... she did not have to unite Ferelden under a common goal.

For the first time, ever, Isha could honestly say she was free.

And... that scared her.

She had brought Uriel to a smooth trot and finally to a walking pace. The mare panted from her exertions and Isha climbed out of the saddle. She undid the girth several notches to let the horse regain herself. Pulling the reins over her head, she led the way on foot for a time, thinking to herself. Uriel followed at her own pace, and Argor kept to her side listening and smelling for potential danger.

Here she was in the wilds of the countryside bar two animal companions and free for the first time. Her own person. She was still a Grey Warden – but what of that now the Blight was ended? There was no need for the Grey Wardens for the moment. Not until another Blight and that would be long after her own death.

She was no longer shackled to anything. And she had no idea what to do.

The whole situation was incredibly ironic to her, and soon Isha was laughing to herself. Loud and hard, gripping her stomach as her breath struggled to remain in her lungs. Argor stared at her curiously in her hysterical state. Tears were forming in her eyes and started to fall as her laughter turned into sobs and she crumbled onto her knees.

This whole thing was... idiotic. She had run away – basically – left Denerim, left everything she knew and had no clue. No plan, no ideas what she was going to do! She had been so desperate to leave her unhappiness and find her place in the world she hadn't even stopped to think what she would do.

Argor had whined at her side and nudged her face with his muzzle. Isha had regained her composure, wiped her face and unsaddled Uriel. The horse would be able to gallop faster if she was not laden down with more weight than was necessary. Isha was an accomplished rider, riding bare back would cause her no problems. She had led the horse on with the bridle and walked for a while longer, thinking of her options.

She supposed she could go back to the Circle of Magi, see how things were there. Or maybe just become a mercenary for hire. She was a strong mage. Smart too. She was a good strategist and had good, strong healing abilities too and decent Primal powers. She could come in useful.

Eventually she had wound up on the outskirts of a small town named Bilthwells, just as the sun was peaking up over the horizon.

After she had rented a room to rest in, and stabled Uriel she had slept soundly for a most of the day. She would stay for that night too, and then move on in the morning unless there was something for her to do in this small town like quests from the Chanter's board perhaps. After waking up, washing and feeding Argor, Isha ventured outside with her mabari.

The town was very much like Lothering, small, and tightly packed together. There was a small river with a bridge leading to the other side of the town. A Chantry, tavern. A collection of houses and some shops for basic necessities. Places such as these rarely had need of weapon shops or places like The Wonders of Thedas in Denerim.

Isha took a book from her knapsack and left the room. She intended to enjoy the last of the evening, relish the sense of freedom she suddenly had to get used to. She had discarded her cloak in her room, and it was as if no one knew who she was as she wandered around, getting her bearings. No one stared at her, no one whispered to one another that she was the Grey Warden, or that she was a mage... though out here mages were known more as witches. To the villagers, she was just another traveller. It was an anonymity she was not used to.

Finally settling on a patch of grass away from the main throng of shops and houses, and far away from the Chantry Isha thumbed through her book. She was a good mage, but kept up the studies of her art all the time, not wanting to be left behind on the times. She also enjoyed reading about the histories of Ferelden.

The pages fell open at a point she knew well and the dried rose fell into her lap. Despite its dry state the petals that remained had lost none of their colour. They were still a rich, vibrant red. The same colour they had been when Alistair had first given it to her.

Isha fingered the flower gently, stroking the petals with her fingertips. Argor sniffed it.

"You remember this, don't you?" she asked the dog, who barked in reply, sitting back on his haunches. She leaned against the fence, keeping sheep in a field. The rose had meant so much back then. And now? Now it still meant something to her, but it just felt like the sentiment behind it when she had first received it was had been a lie. Isha sighed and discarded the rose to the ground. "Fool girl." She muttered to herself.

Argor whined beside her nudging the rose with his nose, but she ignored him. The mabari was far too intelligent for his own good at times.

By the time darkness came, Isha had grown tired and made her way back to the tavern which was a bustle of activity. She checked on Uriel quickly. She had been fed and watered and now slept with one hoof lifted gingerly off the floor.

Entering the tavern Isha's ears were bombarded by the sounds of shouting, loud talking, burping and a group of drunkards singing songs loudly and out of tune. It hurt her ears and Argor growled beside her, also not being a fan.

It seemed all the villagers crowded into the tavern when evening came to drink themselves into a stupor. Isha was not comfortable with this, and in fact wanted nothing more to disappear up into the room she had rented and sleep. Being asleep was the only time she gained some form of respite from her feelings. Try as she might she was not happy with how she had left, and being away from Denerim... being away from him did not put a stop to the way she felt. In fact it seemed only to make it worse. Like his absence made her feelings ten times more powerful, and consequently, made everything hurt more.

Feeling like this was tiring.

She eased through a stumbling group of men, dodged another who fell from his stool, drunk to the point of sleep, aiming to reach the stairs. A group of five or six men blocked the way, all with their arms around one another, singing a sea shanty – at least that was what it sounded like. She recognised their armour as one of the rogue groups of Knights from Denerim, the Oars... Crimson Oars?

Yes, that was it. The Crimson Oars, who had been chased out of Denerim for their incorrigible behaviour.

Isha hoped they would not recognise her as she tried to squeeze passed them to get up the stairs. Argor had bounded through them to the landing, where he now waited for his mistress. The soldiers had barely noticed him.

Stepping through two of the men, Isha felt a hand grasp her thigh, and another had reach underneath the back flap of her robe and was grasping her backside.

"How much?" one of the men slurred. He looked like he could barely stand.

Isha's eyes flared, "unhand me." No one touched her. No one. She was the property of one man, and would not allow anyone else to defile her in any way.

She was yanked into the lap of one of the men, his arm over her waist, pinning her in place. "C'mon lovely – name yer price!" He leered. His friends were doing the same, laughing and a waitress came and delivered more tankards of ale. Isha struggled, but was held tight in place. The stench of alcohol was so intense it stung her nose.

"I said: unhand me." Isha snarled fiercely. "My final warning."

"Ah, love." The one with his hands on her backside squeezed her flesh. Isha's hand went flying before she would stop it. The sound of skin meeting skin flashed in the tavern, causing a stop to merriment. The Crimson Oar solider seemed to sober quickly. He grabbed her wrist and threw her up onto her feet, rising after her. Despite his drunk state, he was able to stand easily. His companions rounded on her. Argor barked wildly crashing down the stairs and stepping in front of his mistress. His back arched he snarled dangerously.

"Heh, a mabari and his bitch." The one holding Isha in place sneered, "you should learn your place, love."

Isha glowered, "you have no idea who you are dealing with." She warned. She was not afraid of drunken ruffians. She had magic on her side, and Argor. That was more than enough to deal with men unable to see straight.

The soldier pulled his sword from the sheath dangling from his waist. His brethren did the same. There was a pause, then he lunged.

Argor bounded forward, knocking two of the men to their feet with his massive paws. He bit into the throat of one of them. Isha took a moment and released a Mind Blast spell from her finger tips. The four remaining men were stunned. Another spell erupted from her hand, coating two of the men in ice, freezing them in place, then a massive fist made of stone appeared, careering into the two frozen men. They were knocked back into a table. One of the shattered on impact.

A sudden pain careered through Isha's shoulder where a dagger had pierced through her skin. She turned quickly, snatching the dagger from the hand of her attacker. Argor leapt at one man's back, Isha swiftly dodged a laboured two-handed sword swing, crushing the dagger blade into the side of her attacker's neck. Blood drained from the wound, staining her clothing.

Two men remained standing, their swords dropped to the floor and their faces aghast.

"I did warn you." Isha hissed, "now get out of my sight." They departed in a rush, leaving the stairs free for her to ascend. The tavern was still silent and Isha turned to see the faces of the patrons staring at her. She sighed, waiting for the onslaught of comments to come.

"You're a witch-" One person cried. Isha winced, she hated that term.

"Someone needs to get the Templars here-"

"Quick go to the Chantry-"

"An Apostate-"

"Maker's Breath." She pinched the bridge of her nose, the Templars would know who she was. She would no longer been another no body. So she remained where she was, not making any sudden movements, the last thing she wanted to do was panic the common folk any more, and waited for the Templars to arrive. Which they did, along with a sister from the Chantry. Isha's eyes widened, recognising the short red hair and the warm face of the bard.

Lelianna instantly saw her and pushed through the Templars.

"Isha!" The two women embraced, Isha's body shook. The relief of seeing someone she knew was immense. Argor was barking happily, pawing at Lelianna's robes wanting her attention to. "What are you doing here?"

Isha shook her head, "it is... a very long story."

Lelianna eyed the dark haired mage carefully, holding her shoulders. Her expression was vague and unreadable. It made Isha nervous. Lelianna was searching her face for some clues to the reason she was there. She didn't want to explain it all. Yet Lelianna after some long moments smiled, "that is all right. You know how I love stories!"