A/N: This chapter is the final chapter in the Circle. The next chapter will encompass all of Ostagar.
After Jordan managed to compose himself, he left to go to Irving's office. Bethany was left by herself, feeling confused and helpless after the news. Eventually she decided to get up and walk out of her quarters, and find something to do. Perhaps she could go back to tutoring Eadric, if the young elven boy wasn't already busy with something else. Somehow, it felt selfish for her to go back to what she had been doing before, after hearing about Jowan's predicament. A part of her wanted to go and track Jowan down and talk to him, but she had no idea where he might have been.
She got lost in her thoughts as she ambled slowly through the corridors. She hadn't been paying attention to where she was going, choosing to drift naturally to wherever her feet brought her. That was the reason she bumped head-first into Cullen on the way down the staircase to the apprentice' dorms.
"Oh!" She cried out. She flailed back from the hard surface of Cullen's breastplate, but he caught her before she fell to the ground. When his hands grabbed onto her, she felt her chest constrict like a belt had been tightened around it. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."
"No, it's alright, it's my fault," assured Cullen, keeping her steady with a gentle grip on her upper arms. They stared at each other for a few moments before he let go, and Bethany suddenly felt very awkward without rightly knowing why. She had steadfastly refused to believe any of Jordan's nonsense about Cullen and her - no, there was no relationship, no infatuation. Nothing. They couldn't be. It didn't help her denial that his hands were so warm on her arms that she felt their warmth even after he had let go - nor did it help her denial that he had nice hair, and a nice smile. It didn't help that he was nice to her all the time, and took the time to say hello when even the other mages (outside of Jordan and Jowan) didn't do such a thing. It didn't help that he was the only templar she bothered to know by name, aside from Greagoir (though she did remember Ser Bryant's name, but he was still stationed in Lothering, and thus didn't count). No. All of these things were very unhelpful when she was busily trying to deny being at all attracted to Cullen.
Mentally, she reprimanded herself when she caught herself staring at Cullen after he had let go of her. Why couldn't she have developed a crush on Niall? Or Anders? (Because Niall is boring and Anders is insane. Cullen is nice and forbidden and nice—stop it, say something, self! You're being weird!) "It's good to see you," she blurted, and focused steadfastly on her feet. She started picking at the hem of her sleeves to make it look like she was busy and distracted.
"Oh, uh, y-yes, it's, um, it's good to see you too," Cullen stammered out. She continued picking at her sleeves and refused to look up, because she knew exactly what she would see. Cullen's stammering didn't help her non-crush either. No, it didn't help at all. An inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Jordan Surana went off in her head, 'he only stammers when he looks at you! He only blushes when he's talking to you? You know what this means! Act on it, girl! Seize the moment!' No, she told that voice. No, no, no. "S-so, uh, where are you headed? I-I could e-escort you, if you like," he offered. She imagined that if she looked up, she would see him rubbing the back of his neck, which would undoubtedly be red from embarrassment. She didn't look up - she couldn't - because she knew that she would think it was cute, and she didn't want to entertain these thoughts. He's a TEMPLAR, Bethany. Don't let what Jordan said about him get to your head! You're better than that. 'Ah,' said the voice that was like Jordan, 'but the forbidden fruit is the one we always want the most, isn't it?'
"Oh, no, I'm fine," she said lightly, forcing herself to look away from her feet and stop picking at her sleeves. She stared at Cullen's breastplate instead, focusing on the flaming sword. It was a good reminder of who she was talking to, and a good thing to focus on. Absently, her hands went up to her mother's pendant and began worrying it with her fingers. "I'm just out for a stroll after sitting in the library too long. I don't want to keep you from your duties. I'll, um, see you around?"
"Oh, alright," he said, somehow sounding both disappointed and relieved. "I'll, um, see you." And then they both shuffled awkwardly around each other and walked on in opposite directions. Bethany counted the steps Cullen took away in her head, finding an odd sort of comfort in cadence. A few seconds later and about six or seven steps in, he turned around and called out her name. "Bethany, wait, I, uh…"
Bethany turned around and made the mistake of looking up and making eye contact. His eyes had never looked so green - she wanted to look away, no, she wanted to run away because it was suddenly too warm in the corridor for comfort. Her robes were almost suffocating her. How did that make sense? The Tower was always drafty. "Yes, Cullen?" She asked, trying to keep her voice even. Why wouldn't her voice be even? Even her voice was betraying her now! Traitorous thoughts, traitorous voice, traitorous body temperature. What was next? It was like her own body couldn't be trusted to hold itself together in Cullen's presence. Oh, Bethany Amell longed for a time when she didn't have to worry about this… a few years ago, her body didn't do any of these things around templars. Sure, when she first came to the Tower, Cullen had been nice to her… but it hadn't been like this before. No, come to think of it, it hadn't been like this at all until Jordan had started crowing on and on about forbidden love. Surely, he was just getting to her head. That was all. Bethany Amell wasn't ill or sick in the head. Jordan was. He was the one who had planted the idea in her head, and that was why she was feeling this way. The crush would pass, like all things did.
Bethany was suddenly aware that the two of them had been staring at each other from across the hall for a few uninterrupted seconds while she had been lost in thought. Oh no. Say something! Luckily, Cullen saved Bethany the trouble of blurting out something socially awkward, and said, "you look, um, nice today. That's all." And then walked away, his face beet red.
Bethany Amell stared after Cullen for a while, just waiting for her body temperature to go down, and her good senses to return. 'Because that wasn't awkward at all,' Jordan's voice said. Oh shut up, Jordan. You're only in my head. You're not even really here. 'You know he liiiikes you!' Shut up! It's just a crush, nothing can ever happen, that's all. 'Yes, but it's your first crush. And he likes you back!' La-la-la-la not listening.
Annoyed with herself and with her mental-Jordan, Bethany ducked into the Chantry for some privacy with her thoughts. She glanced around for a bit to make sure no one like Keili was around, because she couldn't stand that Loyalist, always prattling on about what a curse her magic was, and upon not finding any Keilis lurking, sat down in one of the pews to have a think.
In the pew furthest from the stone idol of Andraste, Bethany Amell bent her head down, closed her eyes, and pretended to pray. She never honestly prayed anymore. She could remember when she used to go to the Chantry with her mother and feel that sense of fulfillment as a child, before she was discovered to have a talent with magic. After then, she was always afraid in the Chantry. She remembered trying to pray, trying to achieve that same feeling, but it was never the same as it was. Still, she had prayed, because it was what people did. Since her father's death, Bethany had stopped praying altogether, failing to see the point when the Maker wasn't there. The child in her her wanted to believe that her father was at the Maker's side… but the adult had seen the Fade, gazed into the black Void, and known the darkness that awaited her. This life was the only certainty, and now that her father was gone, her life had lost a slice of its meaning. The grief wasn't as crippling as it used to be, granted. She didn't spend her days in solitary mourning. Everything tasted different, though. Things looked less lustrous, somehow, knowing Daddy was gone. The sun didn't shine like it used to. Colors were less bright. It was as if some of the light in the world had vanished when she heard the news, and that was just the way it had to be. Nothing would ever be the same. The Chantry that she had once enjoyed she'd grown to resent, just as the magic in her that she once suppressed had begun to flourish.
Bethany sighed, and wished to whatever god was listening that something would come along to quiet her thoughts. Anything would be preferable to dwelling like this… I'll even take Cullen's awkward stuttered flirting over my own dark thoughts.
"Bethany!" A familiar voice hissed from across the Chantry. Bethany perked up, her hair swishing as she turned and faced a frantic-looking Jowan. Startled, her breath caught in her chest. Jowan's worried face broke into a tight smile as he slid into the pew next to her. "Andraste's knickers, am I glad to see you here. Listen, I need your help with something. I-I asked Jordan, but he refused, and… I don't know why. Will you?"
Bethany was having a difficult time breathing while looking at her doomed friend. "Jowan, I talked to Jordan earlier," she said quietly.
Jowan's face fell. "Oh."
"Is it true?" She whispered. "Are the papers signed?"
"I-I-I think so," he said glumly. Jowan faced forward and stared blankly at Andraste's feet. "Lily wouldn't lie. Did he tell you about Lily? Of course he did…"
"He didn't tell me her name," she explained, "but he mentioned a girl you've been seeing. I'd say that I was happy for you, but the circumstances…"
Jowan said nothing, only nodding.
She couldn't stand to see him like this. Jowan was one of her first friends at the Circle. He was part of the reason she was sane. Jowan's kindness and Jordan's humor had served to keep her grounded during her worst times at the Circle of Magi. The thought of him being made Tranquil made her literally nauseous. The logic in Bethany Amell told her that interfering in Jowan's fate would only make matters worse for her in the Tower… but the Hawke in her yearned to stretch her wings. Too long had she languished in the Tower, caged with the rest of the mages like animals in a zoo. She'd made her peace with her fate at first… but everything had changed.
All of the things that mattered before paled before Jowan's plight. "I'll help you," she told him matter-of-factly. "Whatever it is, whatever you need. Just tell me."
He stared at her like she was something he'd never seen before. Then he engulfed her in a hug, which she happily returned. "I can't believe this… I can't ever repay you for this, Beth."
"You don't have to," she whispered back. "Just promise me one thing," she said as she pulled away. "Please, don't blame Jordan for what he said earlier. He's in denial. You know how much he cares for you."
"He's—" Jowan opened his mouth to shoot something back, but seemed to rethink his remark. "It doesn't matter," he decided. "We don't need him to pull this off. I have a plan."
The plan was simple, yet elegant. Lily, the initiate that Jowan was dating, had learned the password to the repository. In the repository was Jowan's phylactery. As an apprentice, his was still kept at the Tower. Bethany's phylactery had been transferred to Denerim the day she was Harrowed, which made escaping essentially useless - not that that stopped many mages. She'd heard of some that managed to track their own phylacteries and destroy them. Still, the repository door needed the magic of a Harrowed mage to open. After that, there was a second door with a much simpler locking mechanism that would be easy enough to melt with a rod of fire. The rod of fire was easy to obtain - Bethany had been teaching elemental magic to a few apprentices, so it wasn't unusual for her to file requests with Owain for a wand. Really the only difficult part was getting Torrin to shut up long enough to agree to sign her form for her. Normally she would have asked Irving, but she didn't want to draw any suspicion. Irving knew very well that she was good friends with Jowan, and the wise old man would know if she was lying - he had that preternatural ability that all elderly people seem to have, to stare into your soul and sense the bullshit. Torrin was too full of himself to look that deeply into others, so she felt safe asking the Nevarran Enchanter.
After acquiring a fire wand from the Tranquil in the stockroom, the only challenge would be dodging the templars. They had to sneak about separately, to avoid suspicion. Going into the basement itself wasn't exactly prohibited, but it looked highly suspicious if you were seen doing it. Especially with a wand of fire in your hand. People might start to talk.
The three were careful, though, and managed to pull off the first part of the plan without any hitches. The first door into the Tower's repository became primed by Lily's key words, and some lightning from Bethany's fingertips knocked the door inward on its own, lowering the enchantment. For a moment, Bethany wondered if a passive runic alarm had been set up, but she didn't spy any defensive or protective runes on the door beyond the ones pertaining to the locking mechanism. Still, she was no expert, and remained on her guard. The last thing Jowan and Lily needed was to be caught by the templars from carelessness.
The second part of the plan was the death of the plan, though. The main door into the phylactery storage chamber didn't respond to the wand of fire whatsoever, leaving the three confused and worried.
"What's happening?" Jowan was panicking. "Why isn't it working?"
"This is it," the auburn initiate bemoaned, "we're doomed. We'll never make it!"
Carver's voice snarked in Bethany's head about Jowan's taste in women. Quitting at the first sign of danger - that's a winner, right there. Hawkes never quit. With a careful eye, Bethany examined the door frame for rune-work. While Jowan and Lily worked each other into a panic, Bethany studiously ignored them and focused on the scratches and etchings on the door - old, but deliberate, and spotted a pattern. Jowan noticed her attention and shushed Lily. "Bethany? What are you thinking?"
"There's an anti-magic field around this door," she said, and pointed towards the old Tevinter etchings. "No magic is going to work on it."
"So the rod is useless," he spat bitterly. "Damn it, we were so close!"
"It would work on a normal lock on a normal door," Bethany said, "just… not this door. I don't suppose either of you have the key for this one?"
Lily and Jowan shook their heads. Lily sighed. "Greagoir is the one who has the key to this door. I couldn't very well pickpocket the Knight-Commander. What do we do now?"
"We can't just quit," Bethany insisted. "We've come too far for that. We'll have to head further into the repository and see if we can't find another way into the phylactery chamber."
Jowan's eyes lit up. "Of course. The rod should work on that door! Let's go." And he marched off, leaving Bethany and Lily to trail after. Carver's voice went on in Bethany's mind: he changed his tune pretty quickly. Some plan, couldn't even account for a damn locked door. Bethany shushed her inner Carver and stepped up to melt the lock with the rod of fire on the repository's door, which was down a short hallway from the phylactery chamber.
When the lock was melted, Bethany used the rod to poke through the new hole she'd made and used it to leverage the door open to avoid touching the molten metal of the door. Just as it was pried open, a loud series of clanks sounded from the other side of the door. Terror momentarily paralyzed Bethany as she immediately identified the sound of armor clanking against itself - the sound she had come to permanently associate with templars. Yet there were no templars on the other side of the door - and the three of them watched, amazed, as three suits of armor ambulated from their stands and drew rusty swords to face the intruders.
Without thinking, she turned the rod of fire onto the suits of armor and channeled a portion of her power through it. Jowan, behind her, threw a ball of energy at one of them and sent it stumbling to the ground. When the three suits of armor were apparently downed, Lily ran forward and kicked off their helmets and movable parts, to ensure they wouldn't spontaneously reanimate. Bethany looked down at the rod in her hands and wondered if she oughtn't to get a few more later on down the road - apparently they were multipurpose. She hadn't considered they could even be used to open locks until Jowan suggested it. Why hadn't that occurred to her before? Or to use them as a weapon? The circle only ever used them for educational purposes, but they had very good defensive capabilities. They were probably useful while setting up camp on the road - she would probably have to insist that Jowan take it with him when he escaped from the Tower. They could probably cook meat in a pinch, and it would save her the drain of constantly throwing fireballs.
"Apparitions," Jowan needlessly confirmed, toeing the downed armor. "Why would they have these guarding this place?"
"Probably to stop us from doing exactly what we're doing," Bethany surmised. She pushed a lock of hair out of her face with her breath. "Have I mentioned how much I like this rod?"
"It's very useful," Lily agreed as she stooped to pick up the least rusty sword from the downed armor.
"We can probably expect there to be more of these further in," Jowan went on like they hadn't said anything. "We'll have to be on our guard."
Because we weren't on guard before. We're only breaking into the Tower's bloody repository to steal a bloody phylactery. No cause for bloody alarm at all. Bethany's inner Carver was very active today. Sighing, she pocketed the road in one of her in-sewn pockets in her robe. "Let's hurry and get this over with. Getting in was the easy part of this plan. We still have to get your phylactery and get out."
Bethany ended up taking lead, if only because she was the stronger mage of the two. That, and her elemental magic was specialized for destruction, and they encountered more than a few animated armors along the way.
Eventually, the three made their way through the repository's winding halls and storerooms to a separated, heavily locked storeroom that was just happened to be the one closest to the phylactery chamber. It was also the room that stored the most dangerous artifacts that the Tower had in its possession. Bethany saw what looked like a Chasind hedge-witch's staff mounted on the wall next to an ancient Tevinter statue that gave her the shivers whenever she looked at it.
There were more than a few Tevinter artifacts, but nothing immediately useful that would help them tear down the wall into the phylactery chamber. It was made of thick stone, and no amount of fire from the wand would be able to break it down. "We need a battering ram," Jowan insisted. "This wall isn't exactly stable."
"Oh, right, let me pull out my battering ram," Bethany joked, "I keep siege weapons in my pockets for situations just like these."
Jowan rolled his eyes and smiled while Lily criticized her for joking at such a serious time. Then it was Bethany's turn to roll her eyes and smile. Lily, if you only knew the family I come from…
After a few more minutes of searching, she and Jowan were able to identify an amplifier housed in a heavy Dalish statue - the runes were elvish, and unusual, but Bethany's studies helped them out once more out of the tricky situation. It took all three of them to move the statue in front of the weak wall that led to the phylactery chamber, and with some more use from the rod of fire, what originally was merely a small stream of flame came out the size of an oversized fireball, and blasted the wall apart. The three of them coughed in the dust left behind by the rubble and eyed each other with mixed feelings.
Bethany coughed. "That, uh, was loud."
"I-I didn't expect it to be that loud," Jowan said in-between coughs. "Or that big!"
"If they weren't aware of our break-in before, they're going to be now," Lily snapped. "We have to hurry!"
Bethany wasn't sure how Jowan knew which phylactery was his. Somehow, he knew. She didn't question him. She felt nothing looking at all the red glass phials, lining the walls and filling shelves. Every one of them was a collar. A part of her wanted to blow up the entire chamber with the wolf statue, just because it was disgusting to keep a mage tethered to the Circle with what was essentially a modified form of blood magic - and then tack on the hypocrisy surrounding the taboo of blood magic to that. Bethany never disagreed with the taboo on blood magic itself - it was harmful and dangerous, after all - but she'd always despised the hypocrisy ever since she learned about what a phylactery actually was. (It had only been after she was Harrowed that Irving had explained to her, in detail, what having a phylactery really meant. She'd been thoroughly disgusted, but had managed to conceal her feelings from her mentor.)
Jowan tossed his phylactery to the floor and stomped on the glass for good measure. After he was done, Bethany sent some fire from her wand to burn the blood, to ensure that not a single drop of it could be used. "We should go," she said immediately afterward and made for the exit. "Now."
Jowan grabbed Lily's arm to leave as the initiate was staring at the walls around them, lined with apprentice blood. "This whole room should be burnt to the ground," she whispered, horrified. "It's… it's wrong."
A part of Bethany felt like it was wrong to hear such sentiment from a chantry initiate. Yet, here was one, in love with Jowan, helping him escape the Tower so that the two of them could start lives of their own. She had to smile. It reminded her of her mother and her father, of hearing their story when she was just a girl. The thought of her family set a pang in her heart that caused her smile to drop. She was reminded of the cold reality surrounding them. The three of them had broken into the repository to destroy an apprentice's phylactery, and they'd caused quite a loud bang while doing so. She ran for the stairs, motioning the two of them to follow. Before they reached the top, Bethany held up a hand. "Run if they try and stop you," she whispered back to the eager young couple. "Run, and never stop running, because they'll never stop chasing you."
"Bethany," Jowan hissed back.
She shook her head. "Don't worry about me, Jowan. Just run."
Lily reached out and grabbed Bethany's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Bethany was sure she saw the woman's eyes glistening. No more words were exchanged. None were needed.
Bethany led the couple up the steps, eyes darting furtively back and forth. The corridor was empty. Was it possible no one had heard the loud bang? Surely they couldn't be that lucky. She hissed for the two of them to run to the exit as fast as possible, and threw the wand of fire into Jowan's hands. It only had a few charges left, but he'd find a better use for it on the outside world.
It wasn't until they reached the entry corridor of the Tower on the bottom floor did it occur to Bethany that the lack of guards was at all strange. If she'd been in less of a panic, she would've seen it as downright suspicious. It was too late by the time she noticed any thing at all, and the clanking, ominous footsteps told her all that her eyes had failed to see.
They'd been caught.
They were surrounded. The clanking of armored steps drowned out the sound of Bethany's own heart in her ears, pounding like a drum. All of them were helmeted, but for Greagoir, who stepped forward with the most profound combination of disappointment, and disgust that she'd ever seen on a human face. Suddenly, Bethany felt nauseous.
Lily began to cry.
"No," Bethany whispered to no one, a feeling somewhere between nausea and panic making her gorge rise. She stood in front of her friends, unable to think, unable to act. The templars. Always on the prowl. Always aware. Always watching. Never safe. Always running. Caught. Caught. Caught. Again. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid girl! How could you be so stupid?! "No, no, no, no, no—"
A hand with skin that felt like paper grasped her own and held it firm, pulling her up back into the world of wakefulness. Bethany blinked, bleary-eyed, at the First Enchanter's wrinkled, stern, sad face looming over her own. "Are you alright?" her mentor asked.
Bethany blew a bit of wavy black hair out of her face that had fallen into her line of sight. She was careful not to put all of her weight on the old man as she steadied herself on her feet, trying to piece together what had just happened. Everything was a little fuzzy. She looked around and saw the girl, the Chantry initiate, weeping on the floor. Two templars were unconscious in heaps, being attended to by two other brothers. Greagoir was barking orders at three other templars, who stood at attention. It felt like she could halfway understand what the Knight-Commander was saying, but it still sounded garbled. Irving's voice, at least, was clear. "Where… Jowan?" she asked, trying to shake the dizziness away from her head.
Suddenly it hit her like a brick to the side of the skull. Blood magic. Oh no. Jowan. How could you?
"Jowan escaped," her mentor told her quietly. "He ran away during the confusion after his outburst."
"He… he really was a blood mage," she whispered. "I-I don't belie—I can't, he… He…"
Somewhere in her, Bethany pieced together the signs. She pieced together all the broken fragments of conversation into something that resembled the truth. Jowan hadn't outright lied to her, but he'd lied by omission and had avoided telling her the truth - Jordan as well. He must've known, that was why he'd refused to help. How long had Jordan been protecting his friend's habits? How long had this been going on under everyone's noses? "How long have you known?" She asked lowly. "How long have you known that he was a blood mage?"
"We had our suspicions, the Knight-Commander and I, for several months now," he answered candidly. "An initiate spotted him practicing just a week ago. The order was signed this morning. Young Lily must have seen it on my desk. She had no idea."
"She's not to blame," Bethany immediately insisted. There was a helpless part of Bethany that saw her own mother in Lily. The romantic notion of Lily and Jowan running away, living on a farm somewhere with goats and babies, had captured her. She couldn't help but defend Lily, even though she barely knew the girl. "I-It was my idea, helping them escape. She just… she just loved him, that's all — that's not something she should be punished for—"
"She aided an abetted maleficar in escaping the Circle of Magi," Greagoir boomed from behind them, causing Bethany to nearly jump out of her skin. She couldn't help but defensively cower before the imposing Knight-Commander. Knowing someone could smite you on the spot for defying them was rather intimidating. She'd seen them smite Anders once during an escape attempt… it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen in her life. There had been an Anders-shaped puddle on the ground where the defiant mage had once stood. She'd felt the tremors of mana radiating outward the poor mage's prone form - chilling, stifling, dominating. She never wanted to feel anything like that up close and personal. Afterwards, they'd literally dragged him by the arms down to what she assumed was the same magic-proof observation chamber she'd once been kept in, when she'd first come to the Tower. He'd been kept there for weeks. Yet there was still a defiant, Carver-esque bone in Bethany's body that caused her back to straighten while she faced the Knight-Commander. Stay strong, Bethany. She imagined her father would have wanted her to stay strong.
Why was it always hardest to be strong in the face of nightmares? And, did it ever get any easier? If you survived facing those fears, would you just develop new, worse fears? Or would you one day become immune and fearless? She'd always pictured her older brother as strong and fearless. He was the brave one. Brave, clever Sean Hawke. How she wished he was standing beside her now. She'd give anything to be back with her brothers, to take back all the time wasted here at the Tower…
The initiate's sniffle brought Bethany out of her morose thoughts. Lily, poor, poor Lily. Lily stood, and wiped away at her eyes. She looked so tired, so different than she did when Bethany last saw her. Consciously, she knew that only moments had passed, but Lily somehow looked older than she did moments before. She was a beautiful girl, even when she was sad. Perhaps Jowan really did love her… but why did he leave her behind? "Ser, I admit to aiding in the escape of a mage, but I did not know he was a maleficar. I had no way of knowing—"
"You knew enough," Greagoir snapped. "You made your choice. Take her away to Aeonar."
Aeonar? Bethany's eyes widened.
"NO, please!" Lily cried as armored hands clasped her arms and two white and red robed templars dragged her away. She did not kick or scream, though she did momentarily struggle. "Not there!" She cried. "Please! I'm begging you, no!"
"No, stop!" Bethany cried. She reached out a hand to object, but withdrew when she saw Greagoir's hand reach to his sword in defense. "She didn't do anything wrong—it's not fair! It's too much!"
"It is justice," Greagoir insisted. Bethany looked to Irving, who seemed too tired to object. He shook his head sadly.
How was it only moments ago, Bethany Amell had been filled with such hope for her two friends? How was it that mere moments ago, they had been inches away from starting a new life outside the Tower? How had Lily's life come to this? Was it just? As far as she knew, Jowan had never hurt anyone, despite apparently being a blood mage. Then again, he was a maleficar. She just discovered that she barely knew her good friend at all. How is it that she could still justify his actions in her mind? How could she not see the fault in her own actions - in Lily's actions? Was she wrong? Or were they wrong? How had the lines become so ill-defined?
Greagoir's booming, commanding voice brought Bethany out of her reverie. "As for you," he went on, and Bethany realized with a start that he was now addressing her directly, "you, a recently Harrowed mage, barely a few years out of observation, have been caught in the act of aiding a maleficar escape from the Circle. Do you know what the punishment for this is?"
Suddenly, she was no longer sure of anything. What was the punishment for aiding an abetted maleficar? Especially since she was a mage, after all. A cold, logical part of her addressed the possibility of death or Tranquility, as her punishments. She wasn't sure which she'd prefer. Death, probably. (When did things suddenly become so cold? So bleak?)
"I'm going to die, aren't I," she blurted. She stared at the wall behind Greagoir and a small, sardonic smile came across her face. "I see. I think I'd prefer death over being made Tranquil, if that's well with you, Ser." Suddenly, she couldn't see clearly. Everything became blurry again. Why was her face so warm? Her cheeks felt… she brushed her cheek and saw her sleeve come back wet. Oh. She was crying. When did that happen? Have I been crying all this time? Crying in front of the templars? Carver would be ashamed of me… Then again, if I'm about to die… a keening sob tore out of her throat against her will, and Bethany found herself falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands to avoid her elders seeing her in such a state. She keep telling herself to stop, but nothing seemed to work. Against her will, tears poured out in a torrent she didn't know she possessed. After her father, she'd thought she was all done with tears.
Jowan, Jowan… why did you have to lie to me? (Would you have helped him if you'd known?) You didn't have to lie… Oh, poor Lily! Why did this have to happen? Maker… (Does it matter now? He's gone and never coming back. He's free and you're not. You'll never see them again.) At least he's free. (You set a blood mage free into the world.) He would never hurt anyone. Would he? (Look at what he did. At what you did.) I'm pathetic. (Trapped, like an animal.)
Kneeling there, helplessly crying against her own will, Bethany was not aware of much that transpired in the next few moments. The only thing she was certain of was that she was doomed to die for helping her friend, and that the stone floor of Kinloch Hold felt bitingly cold against her knees even through the thick padding of her robe. It reminded her strangely of the first time she'd come to the Tower, when they'd taken the sample from her, and Greagoir had introduced her to her new 'home.' She wasn't aware of the third individual who joined the scene from the stairwell until Greagoir shouted a loud objection that forced her to look up to see what it was about.
With red, swollen eyes, Bethany Amell gazed up from her prone position and saw a strange bearded man dressed in strange armor and clothes. He was clearly no templar, judging from the lack of Suns on his armor, in addition to the two non-standard weapons he had strapped to his shoulders. She spied a few more of what looked like daggers strapped to various portions of his body. Why was he so well-armed, running through the relatively safe Tower? Even most templars avoided carrying their swords on duty, unless they were overseeing a Harrowing or were guarding the main entrance. Or they were in command. Who was this man? Strangers didn't ever enter the Tower and mingle with the mages, yet this one wandered freely…
"You cannot! This girl has been exposed to blood magic! Bad enough she came to us an apostate at such an age, and now this? Irving, I must draw the line!" Greagoir was shouting. It felt like, for a moment, that he was talking about some other girl. Bethany Hawke would never do bad things or be exposed to blood magic. Nor had she ever been called in apostate in such a derogatory manner. It suddenly occurred to the girl that Greagoir was indeed referring to some other girl. After all, Bethany Amell was just as mask that Bethany Hawke had worn to fit in. She wasn't real. None of it felt real. It felt like it was all a bad dream, from the moment she'd saved that little boy, to her father's…
Oh, Daddy.
"Then I'll invoke the Right of Conscription," the man replied in a calm, even voice that was at odds with Greagoir's angry tone. His voice was deep and accented, not Fereldan, but something else. Bethany couldn't quite deduce what it was, but it was just slightly off. Who was he? Who was this man? What was he speaking about? Curiosity overcame her panic. She wiped away at her cheeks with her sleeve, and gazed up at the spectacle of one armed human man staring down the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander - two of the most powerful people in all of Ferelden.
Irving sighed and stepped between the two armed soldiers, a gesture that would look comical if one didn't realize that Irving was probably the most dangerous person in that room. He placed a gentle, wrinkled hand on Greagoir's armored pauldron in a calming gesture. It didn't seem to be effective and only earned him a glare from the belligerent Knight-Commander. "It is Duncan's right, as the Warden-Commander, to recruit whomsoever he pleases," Irving reasoned. "It isn't our place to object."
Warden-Commander? Was this the Warden Jordan spoke of? Bethany wiped some more at her eyes, which were now wide with wonder and confusion. Slowly she stood up on creaky, shaky knees. Hugging herself, she stared between Greagoir and the bearded Warden man. A Grey Warden. Here! The legendary warriors! The two seemed to be engaged in a very intense staring contest, which the Warden apparently won as Greagoir turned away and practically spat in disgust. "I seem to not have a choice in the matter," Greagoir muttered. "My objections have been made known, I trust. You, apostate." He know looked Bethany Amell-Hawke straight in the eye, and suddenly it was like she had just come to the Tower all over again. Greagoir's stormy blue-grey eyes bore into Bethany's soft brown, but rather than quivering as she had years before, she found her back unable to bend, and met his gaze unflinchingly. She refused to look away from the hatred in Greagoir's eyes. "In any other world, you would have been locked away in Aeonar with your accomplice, or worse. As it stands, the Warden-Commander has decided you are worth recruitment. I disagree with this assessment vehemently."
Bethany blinked. And blinked again. "W-what?"
Irving kindly took her hand and patted it gently. "My dear, Duncan came to this Tower to look for mages to join his Order against the darkspawn in the south. He's chosen you."
What? "Bu-but I th-thought Jordan…" Hadn't Jordan said there was a Warden around, recruiting? Why hadn't it occurred to her that he was recruiting mages? In the back of her mind, Bethany had assumed that the Wardens didn't allow mages into their ranks. After all, there were no mages allowed outside of the Tower. They were all branded apostates. Weren't they? Clearly she had some reading to do about the Wardens.
Her eyes sought out the Warden-Commander's. They were a shade darker than her own and reminded her of her older brother's. Not because of the color, but of the kindness in them. At least, next to the Knight-Commander's hateful glares, they looked kind. She'd been around too many unfriendly faces for too long to trust anyone's eyes anymore, though. "You want… me?" She squeaked. "But I, I just helped Jowan escape… me? Are you sure you don't you want J-J-Jordan Surana? He's much better worth words and spells and… I-I'm just m-me!"
What Duncan said to her in that moment resonated with her throughout the rest of Bethany Hawke's life. "It is not everyday that I find someone willing to risk everything for a friend in need. That you aided your friend in his escape, or that he performed blood magic, is inconsequential to me. The Grey Wardens are people of excellent skill and fearsome drive, and you have shown that you possess both of those qualities."