Conscripted.
Betrayal didn't even begin to describe how Wynona felt in that moment.
Anger, more like it. Hurt. Her blood was boiling, long after the effects of the blood magic had worn off. She felt as if she'd been thrown from the top of the tower—a shattered mess on the ground. Despite this feeling though, she stood and quickly went to the First Enchanter's side, crouching down and taking a hold of both his sleeves to steady him.
"First Enchanter," she said hurriedly, her tone desperate, "First Enchanter, please—you have to believe me, I—"
Urgh... he got away," Irving muttered, holding onto Wynona's arms to steady himself. He raised his eyes tiredly up to look at her. "Are you alright, child?"
She wasn't. "He lied to me," she said, feeling the anger boiling once again, "he said—he swore to me, First Enchanter. He swore he wasn't a blood mage."
A sad look entered the First Enchanter's eyes; kind, but helpless. "I believe you, child," he said, "but I'm afraid the matter at hand has become far more complicated."
"Ehg…" Wynona whipped her head around to look at the Knight-Commander, who'd risen, leaning most of his weight against a younger Templar, who looked in just as bad shape. His face was twisted up and angry, eyebrows furrowed still in slight pain. He had a hand over his stomach, though there were no wounds. "I knew it… blood magic. But to overcome so many…" he paused, as if to make a gesture to the Templars lying on the ground, never to get back up. He didn't look at them, instead choosing to take a shaky breath. "… I never thought him capable of such power."
"None of us expected this, Greagoir," Irving said, using Wynona as support as he stood up. Though he stood still rather hunched, he seemed in better health then the Knight-Commander was. He turned to Greagoir, a look of genuine concern on his face. "Are you alright?"
"As good as can be expected, given the circumstances," Greagoir snapped, pushing off the young Templar's help. He pointed an accusing finger at the First Enchanter. "If you had only let me act sooner, none of this would have ever happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down."
"This isn't the First Enchanter's fault," Wynona protested.
"Wynona…" There was warning in the First Enchanter's voice.
"You're right. It isn't. It's yours and the antics of your friends," Greagoir snapped, turning his rage onto the elf. His eyes flickered over her shoulder, seeming to glance around the area for something. "Where is the girl?" he demanded, tension seeming to rise in his voice as each second passed.
"I… I am here, ser." The initiate's voice was weak, ragged from crying. She stepped forward carefully from behind one of the pillars, obviously shaken. Wynona turned to look at her, her chest tightening; she wished desperately Lily had left with Jowan, if only she wouldn't have to face the trouble here now.
"You," Greagoir hissed, moving past the First Enchanter and Wynona to snatch at the frightened girl's arm, who yelped and trembled in surprise. "You have done a great dishonor to the Chantry- you helped a blood mage! Look at all he's hurt!" He made a wave to the Templars and blood on the ground, still refusing to look their way.
"She didn't know," Wynona snapped, moving to defend Lily. The First Enchanter simply grasped her arm, shaking his head at her somberly. Wynona stared at him, bewildered, and then turned to look at Lily again. Lily's eyes were sad when she looked at Wynona.
"You've been a friend, but you need not protect me any further," she said.
"Lily-," Wynona said, her voice pleading. If she heard her, Lily pretended not to.
Lily swallowed, turning her complete attention back to the Knight-Commander. She bowed her head shamefully. "It… it is true. I helped a… a b-blood mage. I will accept any punishment you see fit. Even… even Aeonar," she said, barely able to choke out the name of the mage's prison between her sobs. Greagoir turned his head away, looking disgusted.
"Take her," he snapped at the few remaining Templars, who moved quickly at his orders, albeit through much limping and groaning.
Wynona glared at the ground, holding back hot tears. Irving's hold on her shoulder loosened once Lily was out of sight, his expression still rather grave. Greagoir turned back to look at Wynona, his expression no less satisfied.
"And you. Your antics have made a mockery of the Circle! You… what are we to do with you?"
Wynona's head whipped up. She looked from Irving to Greagoir, as if looking to plead to one of them. "I told you—I had no idea Jowan was a blood mage!"
"It doesn't matter!" Greagoir snapped back. He pointed an accusing finger at Wynona, jabbing her shoulder roughly so that she stumbled back a small step. "You helped a blood mage! All of our safety precautions, our prevention measures—all for nothing! Because of you. A punishment must be given."
"Greagoir, she's just a girl…" Irving said, his voice soft.
"I don't care how much you favor her, Irving," Greagoir said, "She is an accomplice to a serious crime. This cannot be overlooked."
"And I'm not saying it should, but let us—"
"Knight-Commander, if I may…" Wynona turned her head at the sound of the familiar voice. Duncan came to stand beside Wynona, stepping over one of the fallen Templars without even a second look. He cast a small glance at Wynona before turning his complete attention to the Knight-Commander. "I didn't just come here to seek mages for the king's army… I am also in the process of recruiting for the Grey Wardens." Duncan clamped a large hand on Wynona's shoulder. "Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks."
Greagoir's face flushed red as he stepped forward, drawing his face uncomfortably close to Duncan's, who barely moved. "No! Absolutely not," he snapped. Duncan hardly looked surprised; Irving, on the other hand, did.
"Duncan, this mage has aided a maleficar, and shown a great lack of respect for the Circle's rules."
"It is few who would go to such lengths to aid a friend…"
"Are you serious?"
Silence fell over the group; all eyes turned to Wynona, who stood wide eyed, eye brows furrowed in something like confusion. She blinked several times, trying desperately to keep the hot tears from falling. Inside, her stomach was doing all sorts of flips and turns; she had no idea how to feel. The words Grey Warden echoed around her head, so loud she could hardly hear her own thoughts. How intimidating and loud those words were. Strong words; words fit for a warrior. Not someone like Wynona, despite all her talk.
"I'm… no Grey Warden," she said, sounding almost as if she were trying to convince the three, "I'm a mage. My place is here."
Duncan reached out and took a sharp hold of Wynona's arm, his fingers digging deep into her forearm. "Don't be a fool," he said, his voice level, "You have aided a blood mage. Do you not understand the fate that falls to you if you remain?"
"But I've done nothing wrong!" Wynona protested.
"You may see it that way, but many could disagree." Duncan paused, taking a slow breath. He fixed Wynona with a level gaze. "Do you expect things to go back to the way they once were? Because I can assure you, they won't. And I can also assure you, your chances to live are much higher amongst the Grey Wardens then here."
Silence. Duncan loosened his hold on Wynona's arm, until she could just pull it free. She didn't. Instead, she simply stood there, as if in shock—staring at her shoes with furrowed brows, as if unsure what to do or say.
Wynona let out a slow, shaky breath. She shook her head. "Then I suppose… I'll let my fate be decided for me," she mumbled, too tired to give any more fight. Duncan frowned, looking almost disappointed; Wynona relished in that, as she knew it wasn't the answer he'd hoped for. He turned his attention back to the Knight-Commander and Irving.
"Very well. Irving, I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens."
"And I, as First Enchanter, take witness to this conscription," said Irving with a sigh. Greagoir looked from the Grey Warden to Irving, expression confused but alarmed.
"What? What is happening here? What do you mean 'conscript'?" Greagoir snapped at Duncan. Irving folded his arms across his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Grey Wardens are given the right to conscript any and all persons they see fit for their order," Irving told him, his voice calm, "so there's nothing more that can be done here, Greagoir."
"So that's it then?" Greagoir asked, his eyes wide in bewilderment, "This mage aids a blood mage, and instead of being punished, she's rewarded? This cannot stand!"
"It can and it will," Irving snapped, the levelness in his voice suddenly gone. Greagoir fell silent; Irving paused, as if to readjust himself, and then he sighed, looking suddenly older than his years. "There is nothing more to be done here," he said again to Greagoir. Greagoir looked as if he had more to say, but he kept his mouth shut, glaring instead at the plates of his boots.
Wynona looked up at the First Enchanter. He smiled at her, albeit sadly, as if to reassure her. It didn't.
"Here you are. Newly a mage and off to be a Grey Warden," Irving said, sounding almost proud despite the circumstances. Wynona wished she could feel as confident as he sounded in her. Her heart was too heavy.
Wynona lowered her gaze, not wanting to look at him. "Will I never be able to return to the tower?" she asked, though apart of her already knew the answer. Irving was silent; his silence was Wynona's confirmation. She let out a shaky breath that was close to a sob, raising her head then bowing it again, respectively. "Thank you for everything, First Enchanter." Irving hesitated, and then bowed his head slightly as well. When his head rose again, he would not meet Wynona's eyes.
Duncan outstretched his hand to Wynona. "Come. Your life here is over," he told her. He turned and moved toward the archway leading toward the exit of the tower. "And a new one begins."
