The second time Minas tried to escape the Tower, it was an accident of sorts. She had been tasked with helping Enchanter Torrin in loading and unloading the monthly trade.
It was the first time she had been allowed outside.
The sunlight glittered in a thousand golden shards across the surface of the lake and the morning breeze stirred her hair—back then, she still wore it loose, and it whipped in little strands around her shoulders. The air smelled of water and grass and fish and electric traces of lyrium.
The boat that brought the supplies was much larger than the one that ferried her across three years prior. This one had sails as well as oars, and smelled of wood and sweat. There seemed to be only two men aboard, moving crates from the dock to the island, and three other apprentices moved the crates and baskets indoors. It wasn't a ship like she had read about, but it was certainly close enough to stir something in her heart.
By holy Andraste, Mythal, and Andruil, it was beautiful.
Minas worked quickly, speedily dropping the items inside so she could rush back through the great doors and turn her face to the bright sky. The breeze tickled and whistled past the tips of her ears, and she was quite sure it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
"Ay, elf!"
She turned her eyes to one of the bronze-skinned humans, blinking the sunspots out of her vision. Her stomach dropped. "Yes, messare?"
He chuckled. "Nah, I'm just Marcus. Mind giving us a hand with this last one? Cain is a little afraid to touch it—something magic for ya'll to study."
"Of course, Marcus." She smiled. "My name is Minas," she told him as she stepped across the plank ,careful not to catch her robes on the wood. When he'd addressed her as 'elf,' she'd been worried, but…
"Good to meet yah, Miss Minas. The last box is right here…"
It was an ordinary-looking crate, though Minas could feel a trembling hum from within; she could see no sign that Marcus could feel it as well when they lifted it together to the dock. There were three apprentices at the ready to take it to the Tower, guided by Enchanter Torrin. She began helping the sailors move the empty crates back onto the deck.
One of them was just the right size for her to clamber into, there on the deck of the little ship. If no one noticed she was missing…
The breeze stirred Minas' hair. It air was sweet and wet. Was this not what everyone sought? Anders, each time he escaped, only to be dragged back by Templars? The Senior Mages as they clambered for assignments, for leave to continue their research? Students that went into the healing arts, even if they had no aptitude, hoping to be sent to a clinic? The famers in her village who awoke before dawn to watch the sun rise over their fields? The Templars looking forward to combat training under the open sky?
She glanced around. The others were distracted, the sailors speaking with the Enchanter.
Minas clambered into the crate, legs tucked beneath her. A good fit. It was stuffy, but the timber smelled new, of sap and lake-water. She dragged the lid overhead and found herself in semi-darkness, sunlight glowing through the slats. The boat turned and rolled gently beneath her.
She wondered if she would notice when they began sailing—the boat seemed to be moving quite a lot now—perhaps there would be no difference? Minas tried to quell the excitement building in the pit of her stomach, lest it manifest physically. The last thing she needed was to be found out because she was throwing off sparks.
She could hear a lot of shuffling outside. Perhaps they were preparing to depart? Setting the rigging and finding the wind? Minas imagined climbing out of the crate in the dead of night at the next dock, the moon bright on the water, the breeze ruffling her hair again. Jowan would—
Minas frowned. What of Jowan? She would disappear and he would not know what became of her. He'd understand, she thought. He'll have a chance.
She imagined catching sight of Jowan in a market, a little taller, just as disheveled as she remembered him. Minas would creep up behind her old friend, tug on the back of his tunic and grin when he spun around "Just as good as the stories, isn't it?" she would say. They'd laugh and embrace and she'd take him to the wilds to meet the Dalish clan she'd befriended, take him to visit her parents, and they'd find the grand library of Orlais, get into trouble with the Antivan Crows, venture—
The lid of her crate was gone. Minas squinted against the sunlight.
Her eyes finally focused on the livid visage of Enchanter Torrin.
"Surana!" he snapped. "Out!"
Cheeks reddening, Minas obeyed, catching her robe on the rate's planks and tumbling to the sun-warmed deck. Both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander were there, frowning. Minas' heart sank. She'd never been so embarrassed.
They did put her solitary this time, as threatened.
It was not terrible, at first. Minas' room was small—she could cross it in ten paces (and her stride was not large, at twelve years of age)—and included a cot, a scratchy carpet of blue and grey embroidery, and no windows. It was the last detail that bothered her the most during the first two days. Nothing but dull, grey stone every time she turned. The room was curved, so she knew that opposite the door was the outside wall of the tower—the room had been constructed this way on purpose. It could have had a window.
Somehow, that knowledge made it worse.
Food came three times a day through a slot in the bottom of the door, and it was the only thing that gave her any sense of time. She never saw the person who brought the food, and often did not notice the food had come until the flap was already firmly closed. It was enough to question whether a person was assigned to bring the food at all.
The third day, the real trouble began. (Or, close to the third day? Everything seemed like ages. She'd had six meals and slept twice, anyway). More than a simple window, Minas missed her books. A book would have given her a view.
She knew that was exactly why they would not provide her even the simplest, most boring text on magical theory. There were no books for the same reason there were no windows. It would have been a comfort, a distraction when she was supposed to "meditate on the dangers of magic and the word of Andraste." She couldn't even practice minor magics to pass the time—the room closed around her like some dark void, a sucking hole within a circle of runes that rendered magic useless, effectively exterminating any trace of connection to the Fade within the space—cold and empty without the touch of magic to comfort her. Minas felt naked without it. The crawling void was like an itch inside her skin.
Minas thought about Anders again, and Jowan. Had they told Jowan what she'd done, where she was? Rumor would reach him. How did Anders keep himself company up here? How many times had he been given this punishment?
She was certain she did not like it at all as she curled up on the stiff cot and tried to reach a chilling, dreamless sleep, her stomach turning in anticipation of either an unconscious grasp at the darkness as she slept, or dull, grey stone as she lay awake.
The fifth day marked the end of her sentence. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander found Minas curled on the prickly rug, tracing an aimless pattern in the sparse embroidery with her finger.
She was later told that it took three attempts to get her to acknowledge their voices.
"What were you thinking?"
But Minas just smiled and caught Jowan in a crushing hug. He stiffened, but did not struggle.
"Minas—why?"
The elf hugged him tighter in response, so he sighed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I understand why, but why would you leave me here alone?"
When her tears began to soak through the shoulder of his robe, Jowan asked her no more.
