Already Over, Sweeter Place, Origins Theme, Scar to Your Beautiful
Echoes of Arlathan
Mage Telaren
An'eth departed from Vigil's Keep by the middle of that week. Her assignment was routine for an Amaranthine Grey Warden: she was to take a patrol of Wardens into the silverite mines which supplied the Arling and the Order with the metal and ensure that the dwarven doors and devices used to block off the mine's Deep Roads access point were holding firm.
An'eth explained to him prior to her departure that if she and the others sensed the Darkspawn lingering too close to the barrier, then there existed the possibility that they would open the doors to combat the beasts and rout the monsters before they could spawn nests or recognize how close to the surface they really were. Opening doors specifically meant to lock Darkspawn in the Roads carried no small amount of risk.
As with any assignment, regardless of how routine, there was the possibility that she would not return. For her mental and emotional sake however this simple fact was not announced and Jylan similarly refrained from explaining to her that he was not worried, concerned, or otherwise burdened by the suggestion of her impending danger. He was tranquil and opted for silence which the Warden interpreted as thoughtful and suggestive of emotion. She was incorrect in this assumption, but Jylan understood that any efforts to correct her at this point would only harm her capacity to focus and safeguard herself from danger.
She kissed him, made promises of returning with gifts of some manner, and departed the next morning without requiring intimate company from him. He was as incapable of relief over this final point as he was of frustration over one key aspect of their final conversation: Amara's amulet. An'eth claimed not to have it.
This was improbable. This was highly unlikely. This was a claim which bordered on outright falsehood. Jylan had possessed and worn the amulet before entering An'eth's room to return her handkerchief. He had left her room without it. The amulet was either in Warden Athras' room or on her person, meaning she was either ignorant of this fact or deliberately avoiding it. For the sake of avoiding further conflict with her it was preferable to consider only the former as a viable option.
He permitted himself to carry this preference because despite the harsh reminder presented from the Warden Commander concerning his status and inabilities as a tranquil to fully participate in normal society: it was too difficult to correct himself. Attempts to recondition himself to more acceptable behaviour had resulted in outright conflict with nearly every person he had encountered during the exercise: his brother, the midwife, Vessa, the kennelmaster, the quartermaster, Master Arainai, Seamstress Correlay, Mistress Stockard, Natalie Stockard, Lady Guerrin, Warden Velanna, and, most keenly, Warden Athras.
Barred from returning to Amaranthine by An'eth's command, he conceded the point as lost and deferred the eventual destructive consequences of his actions until a later date. Eventually the Archmage would punish him for transgressing and imitating proper relationships and emotional bonds, for cheapening the legitimate and cooperative forms of these interactions, and he would be summarily dismissed from the keep at that point.
Until then, he resumed his habitual behaviour around the Vigil. The workshop was managed; his brother was interacted with; Mistress Valora was visited and permitted to give him food; Lady Rowan continued her studies with his supplementary aid; Mistress Stockard acquired his skill and focus with the embroidered patterns and borders for the repaired banner; Dirth was tolerated.
Jylan received an uncharacteristic summons a week after An'eth's departure from Vigil's Keep. He was not clear on the meaning or necessity behind his present request to appear in the Keep's rookery, but a message from Master Arainai was not one he was permitted to ignore. After the noon bell, he arrived at the designated tower location.
The Vigil's rookery was housed in the tall single tower which capped the top of the fortress from a distance. There were few cages but rather several coops and dozens of perches, the wooden floors strewn with fresh rushes that were regularly cleared and replaced. A simple iron stove heated the space directly behind a large writing desk and several cabinets of important items, but otherwise the tower was cold and open to the air around the Vigil. But it was not wet. Cold, yes, but not wet.
This was where Master Arainai worked.
Master Zevran Arainai was Archmage Surana's close friend and body-guard. He shadowed the Arl and kept an eye on both Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine Arling in general. He had accompanied and aided Archmage Surana during the Blight, earning himself the respect and accolades of a hero in his own right. His nature was guarded, but friendly, and his skills as an agent of the Warden Commander's reach had seen him adopt great responsibilities during the war with Redcliffe. Since the war, Master Arainai and Jylan had not spoken directly to one another on any noteworthy occasion.
"Compounder Ashera, thank you for coming up all this way to meet with me!" He was greeted by the Antivan elf and did not pause at the change in surname, merely crossed his wrists and performed a short bow. It was how he greeted the Archmage when spoken to, therefore it was reasonable to assume that similar respects should be paid to his spymaster, protector, and friend. Jylan's gaze rested on the other elf's chest and did not rise. "Could I interest you in a cup of mulled wine? I always keep a bit of something warm up here, miserable as it is in winter."
"No thank you, Master Arainai." Jylan answered. "How may I be of service?"
"Sit, Ashera, sit, there's no need to stand there so stiffly." Jylan was presented with a chair. He settled his weight on it and Master Arainai climbed up onto the corner of his desk, leaning down onto his elbows and over his dangling boots. "I've not asked you here for any sort of trouble, merely to speak."
"My presence may be required in the Apothecary workshop until evening bell, I had not interpreted a social aspect behind your summons."
"Merely to speak of important things, Compounder." Master Arainai handled his words with a smooth, soft voice, regarding him with half-lidded eyes that communicated things Jylan was inept at understanding for himself. He dropped his eyes again when he realized he had transgressed and looked at the assassin's face. "It will not interfere with your work. I have questions which you seem to be the only person in Vigil's Keep capable of answering."
Master Arainai was a skilled chemist in his own right, however his recipes normally dealt in the realm of pain, inflammation, and debilitation. Jylan had acquired nearly two dozen recipes from Master Arainai over the previous calendar year to help free the former assassin from the tedious burden of preparing his own agents and solutions. It was logical to assume that this meeting now would deal with similar matters, but that logic felt flawed by their location.
Master Arainai had not spoken again. He required Jylan's verbal confirmation:
"I will answer to the best of my ability, Master Arainai." The other elf swept a wide grin across his face and shifted from leaning on his knees to swinging his arms back and planting his hands on the desk, leaning comfortably back.
"I would speak to you of your time in Kinloch Hold." An unfortunate topic, but Jylan kept his gaze on the brass buttons and fine black velvet of his warm doublet. "Compounder Ashera, how many elves lived among you in the Circle of Magi? In general, across the ranks and distinctions."
This was a question Jylan pondered for several minutes. The faces and names were blurred by time, by lack of contact, by things best left unremembered.
"There were five other elven apprentices younger than I during my tenure. I believe there were five or seven mages. Enchanter Elorah was the only elven Enchanter. Senior Enchanter Fissher died the same winter as First Enchanter Irving. In strictly technical terms, Archmage Surana maintained an association with Kinloch Hold." Master Arainai was numbering off his fingers.
"I suppose there would have been more before the Blight," he spoke in a tone indicative of self-speak, not something Jylan was expected to respond to. "But that is not so poor a number, nearly twenty. Were there any other elves among the Tranquil?"
"Not in Kinloch Hold, ser."
"And you say the other apprentices were all younger than you, by how much?"
"Several years," he answered. "I was the first apprentice brought to the Circle of Magi after the Blight, and the only elf for nearly two years."
"Do you think your experiences as an apprentice were much affected by your elven nature?"
"Yes, ser."
Master Arainai dropped from his desk and walked with loud, clicking steps to fetch something. Heel-toe, heel-toe, not the way most would walk unless they meant to draw attention to the sound. A pair of wooden cups, the throaty draw of pouring water, and then the deep glug of something warm and fragrant. Master Arainai returned and held a cup to Jylan which held a pale golden liquid with several herbs floating in it: knotted cloves and curls of cinnamon.
He had verbally declined the drink but understood that an outright refusal would be taken as offensive. Master Arainai was not someone to be offended. Jylan accepted the warm cup, and the fragrance of the heated and spiced wine was pleasing when he breathed them in. He did not drink from it, but the aroma was very agreeable.
"How were elves treated differently from humans in the Circle, Compounder?" Master Arainai reclaimed his spot and sipped his wine after speaking, but Jylan answered him directly.
"Archmage Surana's reputation was considered deeply burdensome before the Rite absolved me of my obligations to him."
"What- they? They held you up to the Hero of Ferelden?" Arainai phrased the question as something funny or an exaggeration.
"The Hero of Ferelden was highly regarded within the Circle of Magi." Jylan explained the matter more thoroughly. "His reputation as a peerless and devastatingly powerful Archmage garnered him great respect and commendation from his fellow mages. For elven apprentices newly brought to the Circle in his wake, the expectations were overwhelming but distinct. I was repeatedly derided as an unfit successor to his reputation by nearly every faction in the Circle."
"Nearly every?" Arainai pressed.
"The Tranquil did not concern themselves with the abilities or struggles of apprentices."
"So your teachers were rude about it, the Templars as well?"
"Yes."
"The Chantry?"
"In my second year I was made to stand at the front of the Circle Chantry as the Revered Mother cast me in relief to the Hero of Ferelden. It was not a flattering appraisal." He had cried for several nights after the fact, and had taken great pains to keep that fact hidden from his bedmates in the apprentice dorms. Warm water poured over breathing blankets and sleeping legs had been sufficient to keep more troublesome or belligerent apprentices too embarrassed and preoccupied to bother with him.
"Maker's mercy," Arainai swore, rubbing a hand over his face. "I already know you're going to mention the other apprentices, butI'm amazed Connor would have allowed them to carry on about you."
"Warden Guerrin was an especially vocal critic of my behaviour." Jylan had poured many cups of water onto his sleeping bed to stave off lectures, hurtful comments, and regaling tales of the Hero of Ferelden. He did not reveal this fact to Master Arainai.
"You're shitting me!"
"Our later friendship was a product of forced proximity, Master Arainai, not early chemistry or complimentary natures." Jylan remembered the burn of anger, but not the words themselves, that had finally motivated him to cast two beads of golden light under his own bed and over Connor's: he had mimicked demon's eyes and scared his cohort so badly in the night that he had woken the entire dormitory and then vomited from his own screaming. Jylan had never repeated the exercise nor revealed his guilt to the Templars who had dragged Connor into the dungeons for a day and night to calm him down. Connor had doubtless been too humbled by his terror to dare evoking memories of Redcliffe for the many months that had followed.
Master Arainai was rubbing his face with both hands, his mulled wine sitting next to him on the desk. Jylan permitted himself to look at the other elf now. His blond hair was neatly braided behind his head, his dark skin warm and smooth despite the few faint pale lines cut across his cheeks and fingers. His complexion was more even than Jylan's, his skin darker but richer, his hair liberally threaded with gold and a few teasing strands of grey. His ears were sloped more back than up or out, delicate but not long, and he wore a polished gold earring in the lobe of one.
"…fuck." Jylan's gaze returned to the array of fine brass buckles on the assassin's jacket sleeve. He had observed but not been caught doing so. Arainai pulled in a slow breath and let his hands fall from his face, looking up with an expression Jylan did not gaze at. "Drink some of that, will you? It won't make the truth any sweeter but at least it will warm you."
Jylan had been sufficiently warm after climbing through the fortress to reach the rookery, but now that he had sat so still for so long he was indeed becoming cold in his extremities. The wine was rich and spiced, with a dryness to it that kept the drink from being cloying with its sweetness. It was warm across his lips and filled his mouth and nose pleasantly with the herbs, then passed smoothly when he swallowed. The water Master Arainai had added to the drink was purely to keep the strength of the wine from becoming intoxicating.
"I'm sorry for how they treated you because of Soren," Master Arainai's apology was misplaced and held no bearing on Jylan any longer: he was tranquil. "He was only doing what was necessary to end the Blight. The Circle should not have taken his exceptional skills and then used them to berate and harass children. I'll be sure to give Connor a proper tearing down when he comes home as well: better it come from another elf than just stay something only you and he are aware of."
"That will not be necessary, Master Arainai."
"Oh yes it will be." No, it would not, but Jylan remained silent. "Don't worry I shall not hurt him, merely frighten him a little."
"Was this all you wished to discuss with me, Master Arainai?" If so then Jylan would take his leave and consider a proper method of dissuading violence towards Connor.
"No, keep your seat." Jylan did not move. Arainai sighed and drank his wine again, then folded his hands in front of him. "Connor might know the answer to this next question, but after what you've told me I think it far more likely that you will know the details. Compounder Ashera, do you know anything about a Circle Elf named Eadric? He would have been older than you, a contemporary of the Archmage's."
"Yes, Master Arainai."
"Truly?" His voice was pitched with surprise. "And off the top of your head?"
"I was reminded of him recently when speaking to the Warden Commander in his laboratory."
"Mm." Arainai grunted behind closed teeth. "Yes, that was when I first heard the name as well. Who was he? I assume he is no longer among the living."
"Magi Eadric Telaren of Kinloch Hold died during the Blight, Ser. He was the Hero of Ferelden's cohort."
"So you never met him?" Arainai pushed, "Then how do you know about him?"
"Mage Telaren was elven like myself. During their tenure within Kinloch hold Surana and Telaren were the only two elven apprentices and were harrowed within several weeks of each other." Surana had been harrowed first, Telaren had followed him, and their third cohort had been a blood mage escapee threatened by his classmates' mutual talents with magic.
"Did Telaren survive his harrowing? You call him mage, so how did he die?"
"Mage Telaren survived his harrowing but was killed during the uprising and revolt of the blood mage Uldred a number of months later, an event instigated by Teyrn Loghain." Arainai showed a hand to him.
"I am aware of what Uldred and Loghain did. Were you ever told which side of the conflict Eadric found himself on?"
"It has been an assumption, credited to the conversation of several Templars, that Mage Telaren fought against the blood mages and was used as an unwilling vessel for a demon. He burned himself to death with his own magic to prevent possession and was aided in that effort by the Templars who witnessed the event firsthand. He was posthumously absolved of participation in Blood Magic and his name was carved into the memorial wall of Kinloch Hold for death in service to the Circle."
"Then let it be that Andraste helped guide his spirit to the Maker's side…" Master Arainai seemed gravely disappointed in all that Jylan had said, and they both drank the fragrant wine. Several quiet minutes passed with only the tapping of rain on the tower shingles, before the assassin spoke again.
"He was an elf like you and I, Ashera, but why did I intrude on a conversation about Templars that used his name so freely?" It would not be tactful to answer this question truthfully, but Jylan was tranquil and thus did not possess the social skill of tact in any great capacity.
"It is an unpleasant consideration."
"I would hear it anyways, unless it would upset you personally to speak of it."
"I do not experience the conflict and anxiety of upset emotions, Master Arainai, I am tranquil."
"You're anxious enough to warn me, however." The words smiled at him but Jylan considered it a flaw in progressive logic.
"I am not anxious, ser, but I am not ignorant of emotional distress in others. If you are decided then I will not withhold the answer." Master Arainai considered his words in deep silence for several minutes, then interrupted the moment by standing and walking to the iron stove behind his desk. The front grate was opened, a split log inserted into the mouth, and then the elf walked back and reclaimed his place on the corner of his desk. He spoke with a firm, ready voice.
"What did the Templars do to Eadric Telaren?"
Jylan answered him.
"He was sexually exploited by a member of the Templar Order who claimed deep and earnest affection for him. The arrangement endured for several years but ended when Telaren was killed, and his Templar abandoned the Order presumably from his staggering grief over the matter."
"How do you know about this?"
"When I became tranquil I was assigned the role of Templar Liaison because I am elven, and this fact inspired several veteran members of the order to recall and share the tale of the Knight Captain and his Gold-haired elf. I was often summoned for these tellings so that my physical appearance could be described in contrast with Mage Telaren's. That many of Kinloch Hold's Templars had seen Archmage Surana and knew of his connection to Telaren usually contributed to the description of his dead cohort."
"They say the Knight Captain loved him?"
"With much derision and little confidence, yes." Jylan elaborated this point further: "There existed an age difference of some twenty or more years between the two of them, casting doubt on claims of mutual love. That Telaren was an apprentice made the story intolerable in Knight Commander Greagoire's presence and he once had a junior Templar lashed for repeating the tale in his hearing. That Telaren was a mage and not one of the Tranquil caused further derision from others. His presumed suicide during the Blight was not often described as romantic, but as a product of either guilt or delusion."
Master Arainai's breaths were tight. He was taking slow, controlled breaths and letting them out with great control and tension. His hands were gripping the front edge of his desk, his ankles crossed but legs hanging stiff.
"What I am going to ask you now is not to leave this chamber, understood?"
"Yes, Master Arainai."
"Did anyone know what was happening to Telaren while it was happening, or only after?"
"I understood that the matter was treated much the same as if Telaren were to be made Tranquil: widely known but never spoken of."
"Did the Templars ever, and I do mean ever, so much as imply, that the same thing happened to Surana?"
"With confidence I can say that no, Master Arainai, the Warden Commander of Ferelden was not sexually exploited by the Templars of Kinloch Hold."
Master Arainai let out a slow, long, uncomfortable breath. His hands flexed to ease their grip, but he was shaking his head.
"May I ask where this confidence comes from?"
"Several junior Templars often made similar inquiries and were either hushed or laughed at. Surana was too ugly."
"What?" He was shocked again, the dimming daylight reflecting off his polished buttons. "I mean- good, but- blond hair and blue eyes? He would not have had any of his scars yet- I do not know what he would have looked like in his adolescence but-? Ugly? Are you quite serious?"
"In comparison to Mage Telaren, and based on the accounts of the Templars, then yes: Surana was considered plain and displeasing." He ended his statement here, but Arainai was not satisfied, he gestured to ask if there was anything else to be said. Therefore, Jylan spoke: "His manners were too contrary; he did not speak or smile or play; his skin was pale and his hair was very white and the victim of clumsy scissors and dull knives which kept it short. He himself was very short, therefore it was occasionally stated that to touch him would have been to lay with a frozen, poorly tempered child. More flattering accounts of the Hero of Ferelden's appearance usually served only to highlight Telaren's comparable beauty."
"I'm sorry for making you discuss so many awful things with me today…" Master Arainai's second apology was abrupt and as unnecessary as the first one. "Maker, I knew the Circles could not have been how he always described them, but to have the reality be so different from the stories is just… I almost do not want to ask this, but you were sent from the room last time and as much as I know I can infer, on this matter I would have it stated plainly. Compounder Ashera, forgive me for these painful memories, but were you also abused in this way by the Circle?"
"I am not in pain, Master Arainai, I am tranquil." It was necessary to make this statement first. "And no, as an apprentice I was not sought after or taken advantage of. As you stated a few moments ago Arl Surana follows an ideal for elves: he is blond, and pale, with blue eyes. The only comments made to me were before I was given the Rite of Tranquility: that it was unfortunate that they should choose an elf who did not match the ideal. I believe the final word on the matter was 'The Maker Provides as the Maker Sees Fit'. What followed only came after the completion of the Rite."
"And because you were Tranquil they could pretend that their actions had no consequence?" There was a thickness in his voice, and the words were muffled by the fall of his fingers across his mouth.
"Consequences require an effect to follow an offending action. As their actions had no effect, no, there were no consequences."
"I once thought as you do, that if I had no power or control over what was happening then the only inch I could keep for myself was to refuse to be hurt by it at all." His statement betrayed a strong sense of intimacy: that he would imply a mutual trauma between them. Jylan was not unaware of the possible implications, of the act Master Arainai took of seeking to build an emotional bond, but it was a flawed effort. "That is not how you have to live, Ashera, not anymore."
"You are not tranquil, Master Arainai." Jylan told him, rebuffing the effort. "Mental and emotional fortitude may hold or fail you, but as you are not tranquil you do not understand the absence and ineffective nature of hurtful or harmful behaviour. Once an unpleasant event is passed it is done, and all that remains are lingering physical signs of exertion or discomfort which are easily mediated by rest and food."
"It was-"
"I was not raped, ser." Jylan interrupted him. "Rape would require a sense of violation or humiliation, neither of which affect me or are present. Rape would imply that what occurred was resisted, or unwanted, when I am incapable of forming desires and forbidden from resisting. If one cannot feel warm then one will never be cold. If one cannot feel love then one can never be lonely. If one cannot feel desire then one will never be compelled."
"Sex is not hot and cold!" Arainai shouted at him, his temper quickly igniting as he dropped his feet and stood. The sudden volume of his voice was unpleasant. "Sex is not love- but it is desire and the opposite of wanting something isn't to just not want it, it's to refuse! There is no middle ground with sex, Ashera, you either want it or it is rape. You either want your partner with you and on you or it is rape. You either agree or you are violated and there is no way around that!"
"It is apparent that this topic has inspired keen feelings of distress and a powerful but negative emotional reaction in you, Master Arainai. Therefore, it is necessary that I-"
"Don't you dare weasel your way out of this! Look at me!"
"I will not engage with your aggression, ser." He kept his eyes down.
"Look at me!" Jylan stood, but he kept his eyes down. He would leave now. "Ashera!"
"I must return to the workshop." He turned away and took a step, but his arm was snatched and pulled. He lost his balance and his weight rocked to his heels, turning him and nearly bringing him into a tumble but for Master Arainai's harsh grip above his elbow. He was held fiercely and in a twisted position, his eyes directed up at the assassin's angry gaze.
He had made a mistake: he had attempted to leave without being dismissed. He would be punished.
He would be struck, likely across the mouth. He would be pushed down the rookery stairs. He would be shaken and shoved, or his wrist and fingers would be painfully twisted to cause him great pain. He was not afraid of these things but he was aware of them. He was tranquil.
"It has to bother you," Master Arainai stated in a hushed voice, still holding his arm tightly. The angle of the hold changed, began to relax and permitted him to stand properly again. He was not released, and Master Arainai was not calm. His eyes were searching Jylan's face over and over, his eyes rimmed with red, teeth locked, and he gently began to shake his head. "It has to."
Jylan considered silence. If he permitted the quiet to hold Master Arainai then it was possible that he would release Jylan's arm and allow him to leave. If he spoke, it risked instigating the expected violence.
Master Arainai's grip began to loosen. When his hand left Jylan's arm completely, he spoke:
"The only one who is capable of being bothered by this is you, Master Arainai." He spoke softly, in a low voice, and held eye-contact with the deeply distressed elf in front of him. "I am tranquil, ser. Archmage Surana understands and may explain my condition in full to you at his leisure. May I return to my duties?" Arainai curled his lips into his mouth, pursed them until they turned white. Then he nodded and gestured with a hand for Jylan to leave.
He took that dismissal and went directly back to the workshop, his brother Samar, and his obligations to the keep. He did not discuss his conversation with Master Arainai.
"I had a talk with your favourite Tranquil today."
Soren frowned hard at him but Zevran did not keep the hurt sound from his voice. His friend dismissed the clerk he had been speaking to with a hand, and with a tight huff inclined his head for Zevran to walk through the corridor with him. Zevran accepted the offer, and fell in step beside his friend.
"I thought we were past this?" Soren asked him, walking to Zevran's right so his pauldron's high silver wing wasn't in the way between them. "What did he tell you?"
"A lot more than you have." Zevran was hurt, and he wanted it known, and he took just a touch more speed so that he was the one directing the two of them around the next corner, and up the right set of stairs. They came to an alcove with three lattice-woven windows, a view down into the Vigil's gardens open to them through the bubbled glass. It was quiet and it was private and the cold seeping through the windows offered a coolness against Zevran's cheek and throat that was welcome. "I know about Eadric."
Soren turned and rested his back against the window sill, folding his arms and crossing one ankle over the other in a very casual way. His armour caught the pale grey light and shimmered down the silverite weave of his tunic, his gauntlets tucked into his belt and the red of his scarred fingers bright where they held his arms. He shrugged and shook his head at the statement.
"Then why are we here?"
Zevran stepped right into his space, crowded him on purpose, and the act made Soren startle and look at him properly. No dismissive side-eye or half-lidded gaze. Look at him.
"Was he your friend?"
"What-? Yes." Soren dropped his arms and used his hands to push on the sill, regretting his casual lean now as Zevran stayed too close for him to climb out of it properly. "Zevran, yes he was. Stop this."
"Did you know what was happening to him?" Soren put a hand on his chest, braced it hard, and made Zevran take a step back so he could stand the way he wanted to. Zevran kept pushing on him however, refused to stop crowding him. "All those years- did you know?" Answer him.
"Yes." Soren's voice was hard, but his eyes were all over the place. He would not look at Zevran's face, he was looking at his shoulder, then his arm, then off down the stairs, then back to him but at the buttons down his chest. "Of course I knew, his bed was below mine."
"Then why didn't you help him!?" It came out with the hateful blast of thunder and cold pain. Soren recoiled from his voice completely, his pauldron scraping the window when he jumped. "He was your classmate! Your friend! You knew what was happening and you did nothing to help him!"
"I did not!" Soren shouted back at him, but it was thin and brittle like the glass behind him. "You have no idea what you're talking about- and neither does Ansera!" Liar.
Zevran grabbed him, shook him, gave him a hard slam against the window and held him like that.
"He was elven and you sold him out to the Templars," Zevran accused with a black and boiling hatred in his chest. "You said it yourself: who could want icy little Surana when there was his golden-haired brother right below him in the dark? It benefited you! It kept them away from you! You knew and you let it happen!"
"No-" The hundred things Soren could have done between his magic and the taint to get Zevran off of him never happened. Soren grabbed his wrists and tried to pull him off, but it was not enough. "Zevran- stop-" He did not fight back because he was guilty. He was a liar. He'd let it happen!
"You treated him exactly the same way you treated Jowan-" Backstabbed to further himself in the Circle, complete and utter betrayal just to curry favour with the First Enchanter. Soren's reasons for Jowan's anger with him had been hidden and ignored until the Guardian of Andraste's Ashes had spat out the truth for them to hear, and now years later it was a Tranquil who brought Eadric's story to light! "The same way you would feed me to the dogs if you thought it would benefit you in some way!"
Soren's hands dropped. He went limp and his eyes came up searching Zevran's face. Let him feel blinded. Let him be shocked. It was only fair after what Zevran had learned today and what he had to put up with never knowing about the bastard in front of him.
That hurt look was fake, like the rest of him!
The tug and peel of his thin lips- another fucking ruse!
The tears that- tears?
"I switched beds with him." He was too proud for tears. They glistened but did not fall, the blue of his eyes veiled with pain, his jaws finding their place to lock as the muted tremble in his lips was reigned in by how tight he pulled them. His words were harsh things, barely spoken from the depths of his rattled chest. "After the Revered Mother bruised and broke my fingers for slander against the Order. For disrespecting a man so deeply committed to his holy calling for my protection. 'How dare you? How dare you? How dare you?' And when I was allowed out of the cell they put me in, and my fingers were put back together, and I knew what was happening, Master Arainai, I switched beds with him."
Zevran eased his grip, stopped pushing him against the window. It had taken so much to break his silence and Zevran let his hands slowly fall from Soren's armour.
"And then what happened?" He asked quietly, a cold thread of fear weaving through his lungs. Ansera had told him no, nothing had ever happened to Soren, but Ansera had only had heresay of Templars who had not been there to inform him. Soren's eyes fell briefly to the collar of Zevran's shirt, then shook and carried their way back up to gaze at him properly. He shook his head, gave a shrug.
"What? You think he couldn't tell two knife-eared brats apart?" Soren asked him harshly, cutting at him on purpose. "I don't remember what happened; I woke up in one of the Healers' apartments with a scar beaten into my scalp. No one talked about it after that. It was settled after that. I was thirteen years old, Zevran, and I did everything I knew how." Thirteen-?
"Soren-"
"Get away from me." Vicious words hissed between his teeth, his eyes red and washed with those stubbornly held tears. He wasn't angry enough to be angry, it was a front Zevran had seen before but never to cover this emotion specifically. He realized it far too late: he'd hurt him.
"Soren, I'm sorry-"
"No you're not!" Soren escaped from the window but turned on him harshly before going a step further, teeth bare and fury colouring his cheeks, but his eyes were still weeping. "You're just embarrassed because your 'gotcha!' moment didn't work! You'll accuse me of stabbing you in the back when the only knives here are yours! Did I harass you over Rinna? Did I chase and yell at you about your fucking mother? No! But who gives a damn about that when you've got delusions of holding the moral high ground!"
"You're not yourself-" Zevran pleaded and he regretted how he had brought them to this corner and not somewhere safe within the apartment's private doors. "I had find answers, how can I help you without-?"
"What good is having you around when I can't trust you to listen to a Maker-damned word I say!" Soren screamed over him and brought his anger to bear and shroud his pain. "You're not helping me! You don't want to help me! All you've ever wanted is to keep your own skin safe, so now that there's blood in the water you won't stop biting and biting until you've got enough of me left raw to control me how you like! You'll go interrogating a puppet that wouldn't know the first sign of intrigue if you jammed a knife between his ribs, and Maker Preserve Us if you'll stop and give a single moment's pause to wonder why I don't want anything to do with this! This is how you wanted to hurt me?"
"No-" he managed to croak only one word.
"Well pat yourself on the back, Zevran!" Soren had wept. Only one tear from each eye, but it was still too much. His voice fell from its raw yelling to a vicious hiss meant to threaten and strike thin and lethal through his heart: "Now walk away before I can find a pack of dogs that can handle you."
"Brother, I'm sorry," he pleaded back in his mother tongue, Antivan words that-
"I don't give a damn!" Soren snarled back at him in the same tragic language. "I'm not Taliesen! I won't be cut down just to prove you're somehow better than me!" It hurt-
"I'm sorry-" he choked again. He'd done enough damage; he should have gone to Morrigan first. He had made a mess of things. This was not how trust was meant to work. "Soren, I'm…"
Trust was when you told someone about a part of you that still ached sometimes, and knew they would not cut you again in the same place. Trust was the willingness to say something, which Soren had not been and Zevran had not respected. Trust was agreeing not to open old wounds when starting a new fight, something neither of them had done today.
Eadric; Jowan; Rinna; Taliesen; each name an old wound disrespected. Zevran had struck first. Maker, he wanted the words back.
It was Zevran's turn to flee this time. He took his shame and the sharp way Soren pointed for him to walk away, and left.
He'd made a mess of this.
Maker Preserve Him, he'd made an awful mess of this…
-.-
The week resumed and Jylan was not called upon by Master Arainai or the Warden Commander again again. Instead, he received a letter from Guildmaster Owain regarding several matters of acquisition and business, penned most of his reply, but then neglected to complete and send the letter back to Amaranthine. He did not forget; he neglected it. He turned the duty aside and did not complete it.
Two days later a second letter arrived from Owain:
With regards to correspondence dated the 24th day of Harvestmere, 9:44 Dragon: it is pertinent to offer a reminder at times that extended periods of delay in correspondence may indicate a waylaid messenger or illegibility of the letter due to rain, fire, or other damage. In such instances, it is prudent for either party to submit a second copy of their correspondence and re-establish contact.
The following pages were a copy of the previous letter, the same one partially answered and folded into one of the locked drawers of the workshop. Jylan compared the two from the Guildmaster to ensure no additional information had been included or otherwise changed. He then withdrew his unfinished reply from the same drawer and re-read it, reminding himself of the unwise wording half-way down the third page which had halted him from replying the first time. He had truthfully, but unwisely, made mention of his period of struggle and the words had become ungainly and difficult to order beyond that point. He was not certain the struggle had completely resolved itself, he was uncertain of how to proceed with correcting his improper behaviour, he did not know how to complete the letter.
If he did not make his response properly, then the Guildmaster may deem it appropriate to recall Jylan from Vigil's Keep: something he had been commanded by An'eth not to facilitate. However, he was not prepared to lie. He had not yet decided if his response regarding guild business would simply omit any mention of Owain's statement: 'The guild has been made aware of noteworthy conflicts between your posting and the Chantry of Vigil's Keep. Please provide elaboration of this matter.' If it was omitted, it would only serve to delay the matter of exposition. If it was answered incorrectly then he would be recalled to Amaranthine. If it was answered tactfully, nothing would change.
They were tranquil: neither Jylan nor Guildmaster Owain possessed the social grace of tact.
As he was now obligated to reply to the new letter and not the old one, Jylan fed the old pages to the fire. He withdrew fresh parchment, ink, and the smooth brass-nib pen from Connor's writing supplies and copied the new letter from Owain in proper guild fashion. He would send this new letter with its reminder back to the Guildmaster along with his reply to facilitate the process of record keeping.
He completed copying the letter before turning aside from writing and completing the task of setting two batches of soap, finishing the extraction process on a batch of blood lotus, and then shredded and pickled a vat of elfroot. Jylan ended his day when Samar and Dirth returned from an extended walk around the keep just before the evening bell.
He dined with his brother, returned the hound to the kennel, escorted Lady Rowan to the keep's gardens until the twilight grew too dim and cold for her spell-work, and then retired for the evening.
The next day, after the morning and afternoon bells had passed, a third letter arrived from Amaranthine:
Persistent delays of correspondence are an unusual and therefore noteworthy change in behavior. Respond at once by the 28th Day of Harvestmere; tomorrow, before additional steps become necessary to re-establish contact.
The words were not intended as a threat however there was a looming sense of urgency over the two simple lines sandwiched between Jylan's address and Owain's signature and seal.
"You okay?" Samar inquired from his seat at the end of the worktable. To stave off his boredom Jylan's brother had acquired a set of blank paper cards and whittled himself a thin stylus from discarded wood. The ink he used was the residue from a previous batch of black ink, and he made delicate, careful marks with the stylus. He was building himself a new deck of cards for when he inevitably returned to sea, and the work kept him in a pleasant mood throughout his hours of lingering in the workshop.
Samar also became better acquainted with Mistress Valora, Lady Rowan, and Warden Velanna at the close of his third week in Vigil's Keep. The women were not present this morning.
"Yes." Jylan's answer was preceded by a period of silence that had violated social custom. "I have been remiss in my duties to the guild, but it will not take long to rectify the matter."
"Anything I can help with?"
"Not unless you desire to return to Amaranthine City to deliver a letter to the Guildmaster."
"I could check up on my ship," Samar entertained the idea with more thoughtfulness than Jylan expected. "You finally ready to ask them about what was troubling you last week?"
"No." This time his answer proceeded far too quickly for him to consider properly first. Samar frowned at him but offered no criticism of this announcement.
"Well, you get whatever it is written and I'll get it there. Any chance I could get a horse or hitch a ride on a wagon for it though? Walking." The journey to Amaranthine City was considered a day-long trek on foot, a half-day by wagon, or a little less by a cantering horse or team-pulled carriage.
"A horse would not be unreasonable."
However, before he could complete his letter to Amaranthine, the lonesome, feathered song of a deep horn reverberated through the keep. It was unexpected and noteworthy for what it signalled: the return of a Grey Warden company.
It was not An'eth.
At the time of Connor's departure from Vigil's Keep, several other companies had also left on errands to Antiva City and the seats of the other Warden Commanders of Thedas. Among the members who sailed to Antiva was Warden Sephri once of the Starkhaven Circle of Magi.
Jylan was not overly acquainted with Warden Sephri, but she entered his workshop later that afternoon with the ceramic, glass, and wooden pots from her company's duties in Antiva. Each one was clean and in good condition, and the lids were all accounted for. The few which had been lost or broken the Grey Warden had taken the liberty of replacing.
"Thank you for your considerations."
"You do enough work without having to chase us Wardens for simple housekeeping duties." Warden Sephri was human with a dark Rivaini complexion, ropes of black hair and smooth cheeks and thin dark brows. Her left eye and down her cheek were bleached white in a starburst pattern; some kind of scar Jylan had never inquired after. The event had left her eye itself undamaged, though the long black lashes of the one eye were not equal on the scarred one. She was equal to him in height and came to the workshop after cleaning and resting herself from her long journey, dressed in many folds and twists of wrapped white and purple-slashed fabric. She wore trousers and a woven shirt to protect herself from the cold, but the robe was her main garment and she wore it with comfortable pride.
Connor and others had claimed repeatedly that Warden Sephri was unfriendly and standoff-ish. Jylan's experiences with her did not match this description, but his interactions with people rarely carried through how other people expected. She smiled to him cheerfully, introduced herself to his brother in a friendly manner, and then thanked Jylan for his enduring work.
"Are you properly taken care of without Warden Guerrin around?" She did not ask him if he was emotionally unsettled or make any reference at all towards things which did not affect him.
"Yes, Warden Sephri. I am well."
"What about that nasty business I heard about you and the Chantry? Is it resolved?"
"I have not been updated on the situation. As I have not received commands from the Seneschal to resume fulfilling requisitions for the Vigil's chantry, it is prudent to assume the matter remains outstanding."
"You and I are not in the Circles anymore, Compounder." She folded her arms and adjusted her weight with a swing of her hips, chewing the inside of one dark lip for a moment. "Is reasonable for me to expect you to come to me if you encounter any further conflicts with the Chantry?"
"If that is what you desire and you feel your presence would be beneficial under such circumstances, then yes."
"How-" Samar's head came up from his cards at this point, and he blinked repeatedly before focusing on Warden Sephri and speaking to her. "How did you do that? You just got through to him in five minutes, when I've been asking the same thing for weeks."
"Did you ask him if he wanted your help or if he thought your help would actually mean anything?" Warden Sephri asked Samar, then looked at Jylan again. "I'm not trying to belittle you, I just know it's easier to speak factually of things especially when they might be difficult for you, Compounder."
"You are correct in this assumption, Warden Sephri." It was a matter of some relief to have Warden Sephri returned to Vigil's Keep.
"But how?" Samar complained again.
"I used to work with the Tranquil when I lived in the Starkhaven Circle," Sephri explained. She had been a facilitator; in charge of making sure the Tranquil who had serviced Starkhaven's mages and magi quarters had done their jobs efficiently and well. She had spent a period of three years in the Kirkwall Circle trying to do the same job there before the murder of the Grand Cleric and Annulment of that Circle, but had experienced only the hardship and oppression of the Kirkwall Templars.
Jylan had first been made aware of, but had not met, Warden Sephri when she had arrived in Amaranthine City with twenty half-starved Tranquil from the Free Marches, all of them seeking refuge in the fledgling guild hall. The mage herself had continued on to Vigil's Keep, but only after seeing her charges settled under Guildmaster Owain's guidance.
"You learn to change how you talk to people like you brother, Master Ashera." She continued now, speaking with a hand on her waist and the other one playing with the violet hem of her ruffled robes. "He's not stupid, none of them are, but if you wanted to ask me a question about magic then you wouldn't start by blithering on about what you had for dinner last night. When speaking to a Tranquil, you should only ask about what's relevant to the matter at hand, not get yourself tied up about feelings and wanting."
"I can't say I'm too fond of that word some days…" His brother grumbled in a petulant way, but then softened and warmed up again with a small smile. "Any chance I could ask you to help out if he starts acting squirrely the way he does sometimes?"
"What?" Sephri pulled a face at him, frowning with her lips curled in marked distaste. "I… suppose so? Compounder, what is he referring to?" Ah, it was perhaps not as fortunate as previously implied that Warden Sephri had returned.
"I experienced a pronounced period of struggle earlier this month," he replied, aware that Sephri would understand the implication behind that statement. And she did: the Warden displayed an automatic sense of shock. "I described it to him as a sensation similar to drowning."
"Did you send word to the guild?" She asked. "They should have sent someone to be with you, or you could have taken leave and gone home."
"No, I did not."
"Next time then," she admonished him rather than berate him for previous inaction. The event had passed, it was over, and he was restored in most capacities. "I'll leave you to your work, Compounder. Master Ashera, yes, if he starts acting… what was it? Squirrely, you said? If he begins to act strangely again then come and find me in the Warden quarters. Otherwise, I'll leave you two to your day. Compounder."
"Warden Sephri." Jylan crossed his wrists and inclined his head to her, then resumed his work. He was only moments into his next task when Samar spoke up from the table.
"She's awfully pretty." Jylan considered this statement before answering.
"Yes." Warden Sephri was very beautiful.
"When's yours coming back though? It's been a fortnight."
"It is difficult and often futile to estimate the exact time of a Grey Warden company's return to Vigil's Keep."
"Okay… are you going to work on that letter?"
"Not presently, no."
He resumed his duties, and neglected to answer his letter.
Zev had it down right until he got mad whoops bad decision :O MORE SAD ELVES FOR THE SAD ELF STORY
ALSO SEPHRI IS BACK
LIKE 10 CHAPTERS LATE BUT SEPHRI! IS! BACK!