Thanks to all the reviewers so far! You're all name checked below, and i hope to hear more from all of you. you make this worthwhile.
We could blame, the worlds forever/
we could just escape together/
So are we just breaking out or are we breaking down?
We can't escape this world forever, this world forever.
-Bullet for my valentine - Breaking out breaking down-
"So what's a pretty Mage like you doing in a place like this?"
Layla gave a sour laugh. The stone was cold under her bare crossed legs, and her naked spine was grinding slightly against the grey iron bars she was leaning on, yet she was strangely comfortable.
What was she doing here?
Good question, Layla reflected glumly, looking around at her surroundings.
The cell was small, perhaps three or four long strides from stone wall to stone wall. The grey iron bars were thick, solid and built tightly together, the gap was too small for her to even fit her hand through. A small pile of leathery rags made up her bed, and dust and cobwebs were her bed mates.
And Maker…was it boring down here. The lack of sunlight quickly caused her to lose track of time, with only meal times allowing her to keep a mental note on the passage of time.
Twice a day, a Templar came and gave both her and Anders a small bowl of some sort of grey gruel, that Anders had cheerfully said was an improvement on the standard Circle cooking.
"I don't suppose you have any salt?" he had asked the faceless Templar tartly when the winged knight had pushed the bowl of grey stuff into his cell.
Layla had eyed her own "meal" apprehensively.
"Charming as a rabid Deepstalker with a variety of interesting skin diseases, that one." Anders had yelled after the retreating Templar.
Layla had laughed and also joined in the fun, yelling:
"And that goes the same, for your MOTHER!"
Anders had broken into applause. "Well played. Well played, indeed."
When Layla had first awoken, she had put every fibre of her being into figuring out some way to escape. She had tried blowing the bars off, but Anders had glumly told her that the cells were warded.
"No magic, I'm afraid," he had said, picking lumps unenthusiastically out of his gruel and flicking them out of his cell.
"Stops Mana then?" Layla wondered, running a finger over the stone.
She was sure that far above her head, Knight-Commander Greagoir was filling out the paperwork to have her thrown into the proverbial fire, and that Irving was doing his very best to forget she had ever existed.
That bastard Jowan had done this to her. He had left her to die like some sort of bloody martyr…
She had kicked her uneaten bowl of whatever-it-was away and slumped against the bars to Ander's cell, and he had asked her how she had gotton here in the first place.
Her sour laugh had echoed quietly around the prison, bouncing and rebounding off the stone, sounding increasingly hollow.
"I helped a mage escape," she told him. "Didn't go so well for me."
"Good days work," Anders said, he was also sitting with his back against the bars in his own cell, mirror image to her position. Their heads were separated by just an inch of metal barring. She could almost feel the heat from his body through the cell bars.
Almost.
"Who was it?"
Layla told him the story, Telling it mostly as it had happened, perhaps adding a few more sentinels and Templars for good measure, with Anders listening quietly throughout, interrupting to only ask a question about the talking Tevinter statue.
"This Zinovia woman, was she a Magistar as well?" he had wondered.
Layla had shrugged. "Possibly. She said she was consort to one of those-What are they called?- Arch-er-on people,"
He had then remained quiet until she finished her story.
"Jowan was a blood mage? Jowan? The nervous one who jumped at loud noises?"
"Yup,"
She felt Anders shake his head. "Moron. Good on him for escaping, but… moron."
"He was never the brightest wisp in the fade." Layla agreed.
"What? No! He's a moron because he left a pretty thing like you behind! Seriously, what the hell was he thinking!"
Layla gave a snort as Ander's muttered "moron" again.
"And what about you? Last thing I heard from Finn, you were sightseeing in Orlais! Did you enjoy the sights? I've heard they have some really nice wine."
Anders gave a snort. "Orlais? I didn't reach West hill! Forgot my map, you see. Rookie mistake. I've a terrible sense of direction at the best of times. I was aiming for Amaranthine, but I'm going round in circles and I stumble across this little village. Very quaint it was as well, pretty as a painting. So there I was, in this village full of shifty looking merchants and stuck-up wives and I walk over and ask this tall guy for directions-"
"He was a templar wasn't he?"
"Got it in one," Ander's replied. "It was that Ser Grayshaw. Didn't recognize him without that armour they're so fond of, and he stared at me, then-"
"He slugged you, didn't he?"
"Yep," Ander's said brightly. "And here I am!"
"And here you are!" Layla finished over brightly. "With me! Oh, we'll laugh about this one day."
"Got a plan on escaping then? I'm game."
Layla rose to her feet and gave one of the grey Iron bars an experimental poke.
"Give me three hours," she said happily. "Seriously, they'll write ballads about how the brave, clever and lets face it -completely gorgeous- Layla and her sidekick Anders escaped the dreaded Circle dungeon!"
"I resent sidekick! I prefer… lover."
The Interior of the Spoiled Princess was dark and empty, only a small smouldering fire providing a faint flickering glow in the room. The Inn's occupants included Three Templars, all in their heavy Grey Iron armour, winged helmets lying temporally forgotten by the fire. They had been sitting in heavy silence for twenty minutes, moodily gulping their drinks; and the Innkeeper himself, who had been watching the Chantry soldiers out of the corner of his eye, rubbing the same glass with the same filthy rag as he did.
"Two weeks," One of the Templars growled. He was clearly the senior of the three, his short hair was a mottled grey, matching his cold grey eyes which flickered and glittered menacingly in the weak firelight.
He took a glug of his beer and slammed down the glass.
"Two-blighted-weeks searching for one maleficarum!"
The other two Templars looked fidgety, clearly waiting for the other to answer.
"I had to travel all the way to Wurtherford." The youngest of the Templars replied glumly after a moment. He was glinting through his murky glass with one eye.
The oldest gave a snort. "Yes, and we all know why you went there Carroll!"
The one called Carroll almost dropped his glass, and started to practically whither into his armour under his seniors fierce glare.
"Ser Grayshaw, I-"
"Save it," Grayshaw retorted, casting his steely gaze back to the fire. "Some of us take our duty seriously."
Carroll started to splutter his apologies, and was practically glared into silence.
The Innkeeper noticed the third Templar had said nothing since they had arrived, he had looked easily the glummest of the three and had kept his eyes fixed on the fireplace, watching the diminishing flame as if it was the most interesting thing in the whole of the Maker's creation.
Grayshaw gave him a rough kick under the table.
"Cullen for the love of Andraste, will you stop moping!"
Cullen lapsed from his daydreams, his eyes hazy.
"I'm sorry Ser Grayshaw." he mumbled. "This hunt has been rather draining."
Grayshaw clicked his hands and the Innkeeper nodded and began making them some more drinks. A moment later, two full glasses sat in front of Cullen and Grayshaw; Carroll looked to say something but bit his lip when he didn't receive one.
"You're young Cullen," the old one growled. "You still have the weakness of youth. Stop seeing them as people to be befriended and trusted. They are not to become either. Sometimes I think we should just perform the Rite of Tranquillity on the lot of them."
Cullen's eyes widened. "A-all of them?"
"They're a virus," Grayshaw hissed, his hands clenched into fists. "A virus at the hear of Thedas and it is our Maker-given duty to… quarantine the threat."
Cullen gave a small nod, sipping his new drink with the utmost care. He mumbled something after a moment.
"What's that, boy?"
"I thought Lay- Amell... was better than that," he said slightly louder.
Grayshaw have a snort, taking another two gulps of his new beverage.
"You'll learn, Cullen. They're all weak. All of them. It is our duty not to guard them, but to guard others from them."
Cullen gave another nod, and cast his glazy eyes back to the rapidly disappearing fire. The flickering orange was slowly crawling towards it's source, plunging everything behind it into shadow.
"I heard some rumours about Ostegar, About the king." Carroll suddenly muttered, quickly quailing under Grayshaw's gaze.
"Everyone's heard," he said, draining his glass, rising to his feet and snarling at the Innkeeper to fetch "That damn fool Kester" from his bed.
Cullen watched the last ebb of life fade from the fire, plunging the room into the dark.
"Maker help us all if it's true…" he said into the dark.
Grayshaw scowled at Ferryman Kester as he stomped towards the docks. Kinloch Hold was in the distance, proud and aloof; and the lake itself was calm and quiet. That's why he heard the hooves of a horse galloping in the distance. The Templar whirled around to see who it was. - One of his Templar hunters running late perhaps - when the horse and it's rider strode down the hill and into sight.
Grayshaw's stony face descended into a scowl as the rider trotted over to him. He was no Templar.
He was in mages robes, well worn and faded; his pointed face looked down at the Knight-Templar with distaste.
"Ser Grayshaw," drawled Senior Enchanter Uldred. "What an unpleasant surprise."
"I don't think I can take much more of this…" Layla said quietly. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her cell, staring at the iron bars as if trying to bend them. Her hair was dirty and matted, her body was bruised and sore from the frequent Templar visits to her cell, and her frequent escape attempts.
"This is so FUCKING BORING!" with a scream of frustration, she launched herself at the bars of her cell, punching and kicking like a feral animal.
Anders watched the disintegrating mage from his own cell. He decided trying to stop her would be idiotic, like trying to stop a priest being Sanctimonious.
She then rounded on the walls as if they had done her a great personnel wrong, her entire body feral and rabid. Clawing, biting. After another minute she relented, and slowly slid down Ander's cell bars collapsing to the floor with a light thump.
"Mell?" he said quietly, sitting himself down beside her cell bars.
She sat up slightly. And turned to face him, her face dirty and pale; but her eyes glittering brightly.
"Sorry about that," she said gasping. "Better now,"
"Wouldn't be the first time I've sent a woman into a frenzy," he remarked, smiling weakly.
Layla clicked her tongue. "You want to know why I'm down here, Anders?"
"I'm all ears,"
"I'm down here because the Templars are scared of me! You know that? Because they're fucking scared of me. When the others were trying to light candles with magic, I was throwing fireballs with my eyes shut and one hand behind my back! I was the quickest to do pass my Harrowing since- well, ever! They don't CARE that I helped Jowan escape, they CARE because I'm too fucking powerful! They care because I'm too fucking good!"
"You scare them," Anders pointed out. "We all scare them. I don't want much from life, just a pretty girl and the right to fire lightning at fools…"
"I just want a dog," she pointed out miserably. "The right to have a dog and to throw fireballs at Templars who are checking out my arse… Am I asking to much here?"
"You have a fine bottom, My lady. One of the best. Andraste herself must-"
"Are you trying to compare my arse with that of holist Andraste?"
"You'd wipe the floor with her. I mean, She's got a pretty nose, but…"
"I have a better arse," Layla smiled at him with puckered lips, then turned her back to him, back against the bars.
Uldred was in a good mood. His arrival and the news he had bared had certainly sent the vengeful cat amongst the proverbial pigeons. The meeting really couldn't have gone better, with fellow Mages and suspicious Templars alike believing him almost without question, and He was surprised by how quickly his carefully edited tale of Ostegar had spread throughout the circle.
Loghain was going to be pleased. Uldred had taken a liking to Loghain during their brief exchanges before the disastrous battle. They were both men of vision, and both their visions included more freedom for the Mages of Kinloch Hold.
And freedom was worth any price. Even the life of a king.
Would Cailan have stood tall if the Chantry had allowed a few more mages to travel to Ostegar?
Seven Mages could break an entire army with fire and ice and lighting.
The Chantry's insane paranoia would be crushed under Loghain's heel, and the mages would be allowed to use their powers to actually defend their country. No more pathetic whittling from the reverend mother, no more Templars tearing innocent mages from the fade and wiping away their souls in the name of "peace". No more gilded cages. No more…
Uldred gave a sour chuckle. He could feel himself growing angry, even thinking about it. He recalled the war council before the battle.
Himself, with the revered mother watching him with an eagle eye; King Cailan, looking somewhat resplendent in his golden armour but really didn't have a clue for the battle outside his boyish fantasies; Loghain, trying desperately to control the fool of a king and that Duncan man with his latest recruit. Uldred paused briefly on the last two; Duncan was the commander of the rag-tag group of Ferelden Grey Wardens, a group of that Uldred had always been fascinated by due to their unique and practical view on mages. A Mage who became a Grey Warden was free of the Chantry's ire, and was actually encouraged to use their powers… Even Blood magic! Blood magic was just seen as a simple tool, just how Uldred saw it; his latest recruit had seemed desperately out of her depth, perhaps even more than Cailan himself…
The plan had been simple.
The Grey wardens and a small portion of the army would hold the main entrance to Ostegar and draw the main brunt of the Darkspawn horde, and when they had been signalled, Loghain would charge the black horde's flank.
The signal was the torch at the top of the tower of Ostegar.
Uldred could have lit the thing from the bloody ground.
But no: he recalled with distaste on his face what the dear old Reverend mother had thought of that.
"We shall not trust lives to your spells, Mage! Save them for the Darkspawn!"
Uldred wasn't ashamed to admit, he wanted to suck the life out of that old croon at that moment. Because of her fear and ignorance, Cailan sent a green warden recruit instead.
And….
Well. What a total mess. But perhaps… perhaps it was for the best.
All really ironic, really. The Chantry constantly preached to the ignorant about the need to fear magic and the risk of Demons influencing them, and the poor fools were completely unaware the true demonic influence was the one preaching at them from the pulpit.
He lent back in his chair, taking a moment to study his reflection in the small mirror on his desk.
Ostegar had certainly aged him, dark circles were present around his eyes like to cloudy moons and the screams still whispered and echoed in his dreams.
"Senior Enchanter?"
Uldred's wandering thoughts were dragged back to his present situation, sitting at his desk in his small office. He recognised the voice instantly, of course.
"Good evening Oliva," he said, looking up at her and smiling through his dark mood.
Uldred had never really been one to teach, he was unwilling to tutor young apprentices about how to accept their prison and how to train in "Chantry Approved" ways. But Oliva was the exception. A newly harrowed mage, she had been a clever young woman and consistently scraping with the Templars for a number of petty offences. He had taken her under his wing, and she had flourished under his guidance.
She was rather pretty to look at as well, but at the moment she looked rather on edge
"You look tired, my dear." he said simply.
Oliva nodded and sat herself down when Uldred gave a bored motion of his hand.
"I havnt been sleeping," she said, her deep brown eyes were awake and full of dangerous light. "it's hard to believe that after all this time…"
"I know," Uldred agreed, allowing himself a smile. "But we still have much to do, dear girl."
"That's why I have come," she replied, fixing him with a fierce gaze. It was not entirely unpleasant. "Do you know Layla Amell?"
"Amell?" Uldred repeated, turning the word over with his tongue. Then he gave a snort. He had only met her on a few brief occasions, he recalled a cool confidence, and the fact that she obviously hated
the circle was certainly of interest… But she didn't hate the circle, she just hated the fact that she was… contained.
"Irving's star pupil, if I recall."
"Perhaps not," Olvia replied, leaning forward. "Greagoir threw her in the dungeon a fortnight ago. She helped a blood Mage escape…"
Uldred lent forward on his desk. "Did she now…?"
Now that was something to consider.
Cullen couldn't sleep. He had been tossing and thrashing in his sweat since the early hours, his entire body felt like it was being pressed against a thousand white hot needles and it took all his strength not to scream out loud.
He shot up in his bed, gasping. It was a miracle his agony hadn't awoken every single man and woman in the tower, let alone any of the dozen fellow Templar knights he shared a room with. What was wrong with him? He wondered if he was having some sort of seizure…
Lyrium.
He realised what was happening to his body in one single painful wave of agony. Maker, he had heard the older Templars complaining miserably of "Lyrium Withdrawal" before. Was this what that was?
He rose to his feet gingerly, taking a few moments to slide on a vest and trousers over his small clothes before staggering out of his dormitory, hand over head.
His vision blurred slightly as he walked, causing the circular corridor to temporarily descend into abstract colours and noisy whispers; but he was slowly starting to recover faculties, noting that the unbearable pain that had been wracking across his body was fading away.
He took a deep, calming breath and took in his surroundings. It looked like he had staggered all the way to down to the first floor. It was a miracle no one had spotted him and stopped him in his Lyrium induced tracks. He stumbled into the deserted library and collapsed into one of the chairs, usually reserved for studying apprentices.
He still winced as his muscles gave the occasional twinge, but he seemed other the worst.
"Cullen, you fool," he mumbled to himself. Over the past two weeks, he had slowly increased his Lyrium dosages. He had told himself it was to make him a more efficient hunter in tracking Jowan but that had been a stupid, stupid lie.
It helped him forget… her.
"Enjoying a midnight stroll, Ser Cullen?" a voice asked behind him, causing him to practically jump out his skin. He whirled around to find himself face to face with Knight Commander Greagoir.
"K-knight Commander, I-" he stammered. But Greagoir snorted and sat himself down opposite the young Templar.
"At ease, boy." he chuckled. It took Cullen a moment to register that Greagoir wasn't wearing his armour either, and he looked surprisingly small and old.
"What are you doing awake at this hour?" the Knight commander wondered.
Cullen couldn't tell him. He couldn't bear the shame.
"I was thinking about what Uldred said about Ostegar," Cullen lied, looking down at his naked feet.
Greagoir gave a solemn nod. "I think that cursed place is on everyone's mind at the moment,"
He agreed, glinting at Cullen with grey eyes. Cullen didn't like it, it was like Greagoir was scanning his very soul.
"What is going to happen to Layla Amell?" Cullen asked, his eyes concentrating on the bookshelf just over Greagoir's shoulder.
"I confess, I have no wish to kill the girl, foolish as she has been" Greagoir conceded. "she has been applied to go through the Rite of Tranquillity."
"When?"
"Tomorrow evening,"
Cullen felt an icy spear go through his heart.
"B-but-" he began to stammer. What was he going to say? He really had no idea, but at that moment both Templars heard the sound of heavy footsteps.
A Templar rushed into the library and stopped dead when he spotted them.
"Knight-Commander!" he called, rushing over. Cullen didn't recognise his voice. Someone new possibly.
"What is it?" he replied.
"Senior Enchanter Wynne and the other survivors have returned from Ostegar and-"
Suddenly, Wynne burst into the Library with surprising speed. Her years certainly hadn't done much to slow her down just yet.
"Ah, Senior Enchanter Wynne!" Greagoir called, smiling at her. "Welcome back. Senior Uldred has already explained the situation, and we-"
"The situation?" Wynne butted in, her eyes glittering fiercely. "What Uldred has told you is complete nonsense!"
And as she told them what really happened at Ostegar, Cullen really wished he had stayed in bed.
"Catch me, Jowan! Catch me!" Layla giggled, jumping over one of the dormitory beds in an effort to escape the older boy's grabbing hands.
"I'm going to catch you Amell!" he shouts, chasing the fleeing girl.
She laughs and shrieks, a large smile over her young face as she ducks and weaves between the bunk beds, her apprentice robe flapping behind her like wings as Jowan rushes just behind her.
He makes another grab for her, but she throws herself forward avoiding his touch. Jowan starts to slow, small beads of sweat present on his smooth forehead.
"What's the matter Jowan?" she says playfully, shooting the breathless boy a saucy smile. "Am I too quick for you?"
"Can I play?" a new voice behind her asks. Layla whirls around to see another boy. He is small and thin, a ratty pointed face with mousey brown hair and bright green eyes.
"Can I play with you?" he asks again.
"You may not," Layla replies tartly. "You are not allowed to be here. Go or I shall tell the Templars!"
The scrawny boy doesn't move. But looks at her with renewed vigour.
"Please!" he begins to beg. "I just want to play,"
"We could do with another player, Layla." Jowan gently rebukes her, coming to her side.
"It would be nice for someone else to be It for once." he adds, smiling at the other boy.
"No!" Layla shrieks, pushing the new boy backwards. "He's not supposed to be here! I don't want him here!"
"Layla!" Jowan exclaims, astonished at her.
He turns to the boy. "You can play with us," he says kindly. And a small smile spreads over the boys lips.
"What's your name?"
The little boy's smile widens a little, "My name is Mouse."
"You can't play! she screamed.
"Layla! What's wrong?"
Layla shot up and opened her eyes. "Where?" she asked dumbly, thoroughly bewildered.
"You're in the circle, remember?" Anders said. His dancing brown eyes were eying her with concern. "You were having a nightmare! You just wouldn't wake up!"
Layla felt dry tear marks on her cheeks, and brushed them off with a single, rapid movement.
"Fine," she said curtly, her mind reeling.
Just a dream. She told herself.
It had been a stupid dream.
Uldred paced his study, his mind reeling. Why had he been summoned back to the Mage council chamber? Why had the message been delivered by three heavily armed Templars instead of one of his fellow enchanters? Something was wrong, very very wrong.
That's why he had sent for Olivia, and to her credit she had arrived as quickly as he had hoped.
"Enchanter?" she asked, her eyes following his pacing figure. "What has happened?"
"A little insurance policy," he drawled, still moving back and forth. "I have been summoned to another meeting, but something is clearly off. I am not a blind fool. Head downstairs and gather our fellow Libertarians. Have a small group position themselves within eye-shot of the chamber, and the rest wait downstairs."
"Enchanter…?"
Uldred stopped his pacing and silently cursed himself. Olivia may be a Blood Mage, but it didn't make her some sort of battle hardened killer. He was making the girl nervous, so He smiled at her weakly.
"I do not wish to cause you panic. This may simply be me assuming the worst. But I will not go into that chamber knowing that the possibility is there."
Oliva gave a small nod. "I understand, Senior Enchanter. I will gather everyone."
"Good girl," he muttered, and clasped her shoulder. "You remember the plan, yes?"
Oliva nodded, an apprehensive glimmer in her eye.
"Good. Then go, and remember your teachings."
Oliva scurried out to collect his allies. He knew it wouldn't be enough, of course. That's why he wasn't going to the meeting straight away. He had one last ally to call on. An ally who may just tip the balance in his favour.
He grabbed his staff from the wall, an exquisite Lyrium infused piece of art created by the Tranquil, and swept out of his office.
The sound of a door creaking open caused Layla and Anders to temporally put aside their favourite game of "Where to stick the staff in Knight Commander Greagoir" and look up. Layla felt slightly embarrassed of herself that hearing the door to the prison creak open was one of the highlights of her day. Anders was looking up as well, his gorgeous brown eyes giving her a quick glance of "who the hell is it?". They heard footsteps, not heavy clunking Templar footsteps, but gentle and clipping. The sound of sensible shoes.
The sensible shoes clipped into sight. It was a mage.
"Ohh! Look Anders!" Layla exclaimed tartly. "We've got a visitor!"
"Did he bring grapes?" Anders wondered, twirling a finger through his long, filthy hair. "I like grapes,"
"Did you bring grapes?" Layla enquired of the man sweetly.
The mage ignored their jibing and smiled at them.
"I'm here to make you an offer." Uldred drawled.
"How would you like to join me in a little revolution?"
Special thanks to Cali, Dumat's claw, Myst, ItsADrizzit (three times!) and De1tin for the reviews!
You are all total stars!
If you have any ideas where you want this story to go, want to give the next chapter a beta-read or have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me!