14. Philosophical Differences

Marianne sat up, glaring around her as if her difficulties controlling her magic were someone else's fault. Her eyes fell on Alistair and she snapped, "What are you looking at, pretty boy?" Then, anger in every line of her body, she said, "If you ever do that again, I'll kill you."

Sherry saw Alistair wince at the obvious mockery of his remaining facial scar. Stepping in to head the confrontation off at the pass, she told Marianne, "You'll die right after him." She crossed her arms and gazed directly at the other woman. "I won't tolerate your nasty behavior in my compound, Marianne. This is not his fault."

"I won't allow anyone to hit me and get away with it," Marianne retorted.

"You need to learn to control yourself, or that will happen a lot more often." Sherry wasn't going to argue with her. She couldn't stand Marianne—never had been able to. Even as a child, she'd been sharp and spiteful.

"From whom would I learn that?" Marianne crossed her arms and glared at Sherry belligerently.

"These are mages from the other world. At least a couple of them are instructors. They can—"

"They couldn't even stop me from destroying the Commons, you really think they're able to teach me anything? I'll figure it out on my own!" She got up and started towards the door.

When Alistair moved to intercept her, Sherry told him, "Let her go. She's not one of my people, I can't and won't hold her."

"An untrained mage is dangerous," Alistair's face was wreathed in concern.

"She's someone else's danger, then," Sherry told the older mage. "I won't hold people against their will. It's not how things are done here, and it won't be." She ignored the look on Alistair's face, and turned to Marianne. "You get out of my compound immediately. Don't come back until you're under control. If you do, and you hurt even one person, you're dead on sight."

Marianne's eyes clashed with hers, but she was surrounded on every side, as well as outside, and she knew it well. "Fair enough," she said finally. She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Wynne objected in Ferelden, "You're just letting her go?"

"I won't hold someone against their will," Sherry answered in kind.

But as Wynne made to answer, the door banged open and a group of metal-clad men stomped in.

"Oh look, it's the Grim Reaper Brigade," Sherry said wryly. At the peculiar looks it brought her, she shook her head slightly and turned to face the man in the lead.

"Sharon—"

"—Cullen," he corrected her with his typical stony glare.

"—how nice to see you!" She crossed her arms. "I'm a bit busy, what is this about?"

"I understand the mages have awakened." He looked around him at the assortment of robed people sitting at the tables. "I have come to take them into custody. They will need a—"

"I'm sorry, you've done what? And under whose authority?"

"The Chantry demands—"

"There is no Chantry here, Cumin," Sherry told him.

Impossible as it seemed, his scowl deepened, "Cullen. The Maker intends—"

"You and this 'Maker'. Let's get something clear between the two of us right here and now. My world was destroyed by the war between the Christians and the Muslims. Allah never bothered to show up. Jehovah never bothered to show up. Your Maker bailed on your world. All of the Gods are gone, it's just us humans now. In this compound, I'm the boss of you. I'm the boss of everyone here." Sherry was angry in large part because she didn't want religion in her compound. She turned a blind eye to it provided it didn't harm anyone and it wasn't evangelistic, but she kicked out those who proselytized immediately.

And she'd never liked this guy. He refused to learn English, he was truculent and abrasive, and he carried on constantly about this 'Maker'.

"The mages must be controlled. They cannot be allowed to run around. They are the most dangerous people you'll ever see," the stoic Templar argued.

"Sit down," Sherry told him.

Over the next few hours, she listened to Wynne, then another mage, then Cullen. They each explained from their own perspectives who and what mages were.

"So the consensus is that mages are dangerous—"

"And they MUST be controlled!" Cullen's plate-clad hand slammed down on a table. At Sherry's glare, his hand dropped away.

"—and that the danger they pose is through an accident of birth, not any fault of their own."

Cullen broke in again, "That doesn't matter. It doesn't make them any less dangerous—"

This time, Sherry cut him off. "It does matter. These are human beings, and they will be treated like it. I have heard your story and I have great sympathy for what you've been through. But when you let it turn you into a monster, then you become what you hate."

He subsided, but his angry glare didn't retreat in the least.

"This is my home. You are among Americans, and as long as there's been an America, we've been innovating and figuring out ways to survive, just as we survived the religious holocaust. We'll find a way that offers mages a degree of human dignity and freedom, yet also provides the rest of us with a degree of security. When we forget that any group of people are human beings, we become our past and are doomed to repeat it."

She got up and paced. "The first thing that will happen is that all of you will learn English. Even you," she pointed directly at the recalcitrant, belligerent Templar. "If you can't communicate with the people around you, you can't get help when you need it. Learn it or leave."

"We'll leave. That's the best idea, anyway," Cullen growled.

As he stood, Sherry told him, "You are no prisoner. You are welcome to go. But you won't be taking the mages with you, unless they want to go."

"They are under our—"

His argument was cut off as Sherry swiftly jerked his sword from its scabbard and crossed it over his neck with her katana. "Not anymore."

Another Templar moved forward, his sword flashing out of the scabbard with a ringing 'shing!' sound. Sherry slapped his hand hard with the flat of her blade to disarm him, whacking his thumb so hard that even through the plate, he lost his grip. Then she sliced easily through the leather buckle straps on his plate skirt and dropped it to the floor. Without hesitation, she kneed him in his now unprotected groin.

Before he even hit the floor, Sherry's sword was at Cullen's throat again. "I am the boss here. You don't dictate to me. Ever. I'll sooner kill you than hand these people over to your 'tender' mercies. However dangerous they may be, you are cruel and harsh. They deserve to be treated like people. You were hurt, and I get that. But while you may cause it to turn you into a monster, I won't allow the monster you're becoming to take these mages into his 'care'."

He glared at her with mindless hatred for several moments. Then she saw something shift in him, and he spread his hands. "Fine. We'll stay here and watch over them from here."

"You'll find a way to do it in cooperation with them, not as bullies and controllers."

He sighed. "We'll try."

"Not good enough. You'll do it."

His eyes narrowed. It was clear he didn't like her, and Sherry didn't care. "Yes, Ser," he finally answered. As he turned to walk out, the group of Templars with him glared at her and followed.

She sighed and sat down. She looked at Wynne. "Do you think it can be done?"

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "You seemed pretty confident a minute ago."

"Feral people are like feral animals. Never show fear or uncertainty."

"Isn't that a bit unfair?"

"I don't think so. In fact, it may be a conservative estimate. That is a broken man. He's not just a feral animal, he's a wounded one, and those are actually the most dangerous kind."

She turned to Alistair then. "In other news, Alistair," she said in English, "I got word that your friend Loghain is amassing an army in the Portsmouth area. It would seem that his animosity has spread from you, to my entire compound. Would you care to explain to me why he's after you?"

She watched him squirm and wondered at the reason for it. It seemed she wasn't the only one with secrets.