Even before they reached the circle tower it was growing more and more obvious that something was wrong. Merchants and traders would cross their path and grumble about being turned away. The local Templars were being called back to the tower but refused to discuss why. Then when they had to convince Sten to 'persuade' the knight guarding the ferry to take them to the tower it was plain enough that something was definitely amiss.

Lyria huddled in the blanket as she squinted through the mist covering the lake. Ferelden was always too cold, but the addition of water made it even worse. Sten seemed unaffected despite what she had heard about the Qunari being from a warm country. Alistair also seemed at ease. Perhaps because he was a native or else he was just too lost in his thoughts to realize he was cold. Zevran on the other hand was huddled up and shivering, but continuously declined any offers to share the warmth of the blanket.

"Are there lakes underground?" the Antivan asked. "Or is riding in a boat a new and novel experience for you? I cannot imagine the dwarves have rafts that can ride the lava somehow, although if anyone could engineer a means of doing so it would be the stout folk." He scrubbed an arm across his face and blew into his hands.

Lyria kept her eyes fixed on the mists. "There's rivers and lakes here and there, but the Darkspawn have corrupted most of them and they aren't safe to go out into. The Shaperates have stories recorded about some of them. Waters the color of emerald with little glowing fish swimming in their depths, making it look like a living magical thing." She frowned. "Now they're nothing but stagnant pools of black poison or dried out husks."

Zevran laughed. "You know, my friend, I am starting to see why dwarves drink so much. Although I have also heard that you have many fine brothels as well. So drinking is not your only option, yes?"

"Only if you're a man, Zevran," She hugged the blanket tighter around her as bits of cold kept creeping in. "Brothels are full of dishonored servant class women and casteless brands, all hoping to have a child with someone of a higher caste. Of course nobles didn't need to visit them at all. The lower classes pay for the privilege of visiting the noble men, most of the time."

He clucked his tongue in disappointment. "So you were not even allowed to go and enjoy the pleasures of another woman? And here I had hoped that the dwarves of Orzammar would be a bit more enlightened than that."

Lyria smirked. "Not interested so I couldn't say for sure. But it might be amusing to see how far the Shaper of Memories' jaw would drop if I asked for records on it."

"Ah, not that I am a firsthand expert on the pleasures women feel, but you should not deny yourself at least the consideration of the company of..."

The Templar guiding the boat coughed loudly. "We're almost there, sers. Best get yourselves ready."

The entryway into the tower was a madhouse, although Lyria could discern a certain amount of order to it. In a battle there was always a place to drag the wounded and decide what to do next, and the chaotic floor of the tower had become just such a place. Wounded men lay on makeshift beds while armored templars dashed about, following the orders of what was probably the commanding templar.

Lyria also couldn't help but notice that for a mages' tower, the mages were notably absent.

"Unless you bring word from Denerim about our requested Annulment, you have no business being here," the commander muttered without looking at her. His eyes were fixed on a doorway that two men were standing guard over.

Zevran scratched the back of his neck. "I thought Templars were not allowed to marry-OOF!" The dwarf's elbow somehow hit his stomach, purely by accident surely.

"Annulment is a last resort," Alistair whispered to her. "It means they plan to lock all the doors and kill anything that moves beyond them once enough soldiers get here."

Lyria tried to stand a bit taller to give herself as much air of authority as she could manage. Not easy since she was the shortest person in the room. "My name is Lyria Aeducan and I'm here on behalf of the Gray Wardens. We're seeking the Circle's aid as compelled by their treaties."

That got his attention and he whirled around to glare at her. "Again? You abuse us with these damned treaties, you know." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "It is of no matter. The Circle is compromised. Abominations run rampant in the halls. They cannot help you."

She suddenly regretted releasing the blood mage from the dungeon. Still, she had partially done it to resist the temptation to use him. "Surely there must be survivors. Have you tried rescuing any of the mages at all?"

The commander scowled. "There are demons and monsters through the halls of the tower. You can see the few men who escaped with their lives amongst us. Do you think you could fare better?"

Lyria glanced over her shoulder. Alistair was ringing his hands worredly, Zevran waggled his eyebrows at her, and Sten was looking around the room coldly. "We don't have a choice in the matter. If there are mages to be saved, then we need to save them. I'll take the risk of none of you will." She managed a faint grin. "Besides, as a dwarf I probably stand a better chance in there than you do."

Sten snorted. "Paashara. Perhaps the witch is correct when she speaks of your desire to leap into the jaws of death."

"You can always march right back to Lothering and lock yourself up in that cage again, Sten," Lyria growled.

The Qunari grunted under his breath but nothing in return.

"Very well, Gray Wardens. Let us hope you fare as well against Abominations as you do the Darkspawn." He stepped aside. "I am Commander Gregoir. And I suggest that you prepare as much as you can before you enter, because we will lock the door behind you and keep it such until I feel it is safe to open once more."

Lyria sighed and nodded grimly. Why was the right solution always the hardest one?