[hey folks, early update this time. I've been working hard on a buffer so I don't miss an update any time soon, since I'm back and school and getting slowly crushed by homework :'D. And yesss, the Circle. Gosh, some very heavy stuff happens in this chapter. Hell, very heavy things will happen in the next few chapters. The Circle really kicks poor Veira's butt. I hope I have done it some justice at least!] [some of the content may be triggering, so I will be putting a trigger warning here, for suicide and other disturbing content]
Veira realized it was cruel that she wasn't happy to see Owain. But the shudder would not go away, the fearful tingle that ran up her spine at the sight of the sunburst brand on his forehead. Her cautious footsteps were unwarranted; the Tranquil were completely harmless, as that was the point of their existence. Harmless... so unlike mages. Owain stared back at her with dead eyes.
"Please refrain from entering the stockroom," he said in his monotone, "it is a mess and I have yet to clean it."
Veira broke away from his forehead, opting to stare at his cheek instead. "Hello, Owain."
He nodded once. "Greetings. You are the mage who sought out a rod of fire yes? And left to join the Grey Wardens?"
She smiled nervously. "You remember."
"I do not forget those I have spoken to."
Veira did not know why that made her so sad, so she said nothing in reply. Wynne tilted her head at her, then looked at the Tranquil. "Why have you stayed out here, Owain?" she asked gently, as if regarding a friend.
"I left once only to find a barrier in the way," he stated, "so I returned here. It is familiar here."
Wynne sighed. "If you had said something, I would have opened the door for you!"
"Er, unless I am missing something and this man has an enviable amount of bravery," Zevran pitched in, his eyebrow raised, "why are you so calm about the whole demon situation?"
Wynne turned to the assassin. "He is one of the Tranquil. They do not have emotions."
Zevran was put off about that just as much as Veira was, his eyes widening and feet moving back a few steps. Since Alistair was all too aware of what the Tranquil were, he looked away and said nothing. Still though, Owain was in a bad place. Usually being calm in a situation such as this was desirable, but his Tranquility was putting him in danger. Veira swallowed the lump in her throat, and pushed down the fear she felt over him. "We...we cleared the way, so it is safe to leave. It's best if you aren't out in the open."
Owain nodded. "Yes, that is true. I would prefer not to die. I would prefer the tower returning to what it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed in his mission, and everything will return to normal."
"Niall?" Wynne asked, "he was at the meeting. Did he tell you his plan?"
Owain shook his head. "No. All I do know is he took the Litany of Adralla with him."
Niall was a name Veira recognized, but she could not recall a time when she spoke to him. But the Litany...that confirmed it. Bloodmagic was being used. Wynne let out a long sigh, rubbing her forehead. "I was afraid of this."
"Yes," Veira agreed dryly, "the nightmare is complete."
"We should find him," Wynne said quickly, "the Litany will protect us against mind domination." She turned to Owain, a small smile on her face. "Go towards the barrier and ask Petra to lower it for you. You can help protect the children."
"No, I cannot," Owain replied, shaking his head. If he had not been Tranquil, Veira would have sworn there was a hint of shame in his voice as he said it. "But I will find them. Good day."
When he was out of sight, Veira let out the breath she did not know she had held. Wynne eyed her as they continued on. "I see you are afraid of the Tranquil." Her tone wasn't accusatory or harsh, but it did imply that she was being a bit foolish.
Veira bit her lip, ashamed that she felt that way. The Tranquil were tragic and did not deserve to be feared. In some cases, Tranquil were born because a mage was too afraid of their magic. But she obviously could not deny her feelings. "Yes. I am."
"There is nothing to fear from them, child." Wynne said soothingly; perhaps she had this conversation before with other apprentices.
"Nothing from them, no."
Wynne said nothing after that, having understood her meaning.
The stairs in the tower were ridiculously long and tedious, something Veira did not miss. While she was in great shape physically and unhurt, Wynne had to stop once in a while to rest shortly; the effects of her prolonged barrier had still not worn off, and the stairs were not helping. Zevran had offered to carry her in what appeared to be a mix of jest and complete seriousness, but Wynne shot that down immediately. While they waited, Veira rummaged through the papers she had collected, the newer ones she had not glossed over yet. Sure, the papers were not heavy, but if she had collected potion recipes or anything of the sort, there was no point in carrying them. She brought one crinkled letter out, scanning the contents.
-ate it. I've been here for five years and they still treat me like a child!
No, they treat us all like children, even the elders.
I know for a fact that adults outside the Circle don't have a curfew.
Bloody ridiculous.
Veira nodded slightly at the paper. Indeed, unknown apprentice, they did not have a curfew for people past the age of fourteen (as far as she knew anyway) outside the Circle. It was strange to have a voiceless conversation with someone who wasn't even there, but the letter gave this mage life in a way, or at least proved that they existed at some point in time. Perhaps that was why she collected these bits of writing. To feel like these mages still lived, in some small way. To acknowledge their life. She was positive this would just hurt her in the end, but she couldn't throw them away still.
The wheels in her mind began to spin. Didn't she have a similar conversation about curfews with that mage before? She blinked, unsure of where that train of thought came from. What mage was she thinking about? She frowned, a headache starting to throb.
She flipped over to the next letter as a distraction.
That Templar Jacob will not stop staring at me.
I know that's their job, but I feel like he's targeting me specifically.
Even when I'm alone, in my bed trying to sleep, or in the bath, I get this creep up my neck
that Jacob is there.
I must be paranoid. But what if I'm not? Who do I go to for help?
Her eyes widening in shock, Veira quickly scrunched that one away, feeling disturbed at what she had just read. Her heart would not stop pounding, her mouth dry. Something like that had never happened to her personally, but...what if-?
"I am ready to continue," Wynne smiled softly at her companions, grateful that they had waited. Veira swallowed slowly, willing herself to return the smile. As much as she wanted to, now was not the time to be swept away by such dire thoughts. There were enough of those as it is.
Though she could not prepare herself for what happened next.
As they opened the door to the next level, frantic whispering was heard from the corner of the room. Three mages stood hunched over in a circle, their body language rigid. Veira could not hear exactly what they were talking about, but the way they clutched the sleeves of their robes suggested, unsurprisingly, that they were in trouble. One of the mages noticed them, and she cried out in surprise. Veira didn't react, as she still wasn't sure who they were or if they were bloodmages.
Horrifyingly, it turned out they were.
Panicked, one of the mages took out a knife and sliced into his palm. The blood pulsated and grew, exactly as it had when Jowan did it. Her stomach lurching in fear, Veira grabbed her staff to defend herself, but she was not quick enough. Just as Irving and the Templars had been hit by Jowan's bloodmagic, she felt the powerful, sharp magic cut her down. Arms, legs, torso, and her face were not spared, and she screamed in pain. The dagger Zevran had given her was manipulated out of her belt by bloodmagic, the mage holding it just above her left eye. In desperation, Veira summoned all her strength and sent a harsh lightning spell towards the mages, not able to aim carefully. She did manage to hit someone, however, as there was a yelp and a loud thud as whoever hit the floor.
The cuts on her body were deep and very painful, so it was up to her companions to take out the other two while she attempted to heal. Zevran immediately disappeared into the shadows when Veira fell, and Alistair dusted off his old Templar powers, using the spell cancellation technique they were taught. The mages' bloodmagic, while not entirely cancelled out, greatly diminished in his hands. He looked at Alistair with a mixture of terror and anger, and Veira's dagger fell from the mage's magical grasp.
That was when Zevran reappeared behind the mage. It was a quick death.
The second mage cried out at the death of his friend, reaching to grab a knife in his belt to slice open his hand. Wynne acted quicker, sending a powerful bolt between his eyes. He fell to the floor ungracefully, and in his rage, stabbed his hand. Instead of using the blood as a weapon, the floor erupted in flames, a new rage demon summoned. Zevran gritted his teeth and threw his dagger, stabbing into the mage's forehead.
The demon roared and went after him, but Alistair jumped in the way. Using his shield to protect himself, he held back the demon, but it did not stop the flames. Wynne summoned a small sized icy wind to put out the fire growing around Alistair, which gave him the chance to bash the demon with his shield. When the demon was disorientated by the damage, he finished it off by running it through.
The last mage was still on the ground, attempting to crawl away. She clutched her chest in pain, a trickle of blood running down her nose. Veira's lightning spell must have hit her hard in the chest. The elf's injuries were still serious, but she healed them enough to move again. She slowly got to her feet and made her way over to the bloodmage, whose eyes widened in fear as they drew closer.
"Please," she coughed, "please don't kill me."
At those words, the rage Veira felt before at the sight of the dead mages boiled over. "Want to know who else didn't want to be killed?" she snarled, "the mages who died because of you!"
The bloodmage recoiled, looking down at the floor. "I-I know I have no right to ask for mercy. But we were trying to free ourselves!" She looked back up at Veira, her eyes brimming with tears. "But I never wanted this! I never wanted all this death!"
"I find that hard to believe," Veira glared. The more she looked at the defeated bloodmage the more anger she felt.
"Uldred told us that if...if we pledged ourselves to Loghain, we could be freed! No more Templars. No more Chantry!" By this time the bloodmage was crying. "I-I remember you! You were Irving's apprentice! Don't you remember what it was like living here?"
It was true Veira longed to go outside and have a life without the Templars watching over her. It was true that she dreamed of a family of her own, of being allowed to do whatever she wished just as anyone outside the Circle could do. That is why she jumped so quickly at the prospect of leaving with Jowan and Lily, until his bloodmagic destroyed any hope of a life outside. But people feared mages. They feared what they could do. It wasn't something that could be changed easily, not in a hundred years. What hope would they have if they did exactly what the world feared? "What you've done here is just convince everyone that we are not to be trusted," Veira said, her hands clenched.
The bloodmage looked into Veira's eyes, the tears stopping. "Someone always has to take the first step. No matter the cost. Have you never wished things could be different?"
"I never turned to forbidden magic to do my bidding!" Veira yelled, "now the Templars want to annul us for this! How could you think this was a good idea?"
"The magic was a means to an end!" the bloodmage cried, "it gave me the power to fight for what I believe in! Not everyone has raw talent like you! Not every mage has the confidence you have! And as long as we remain passive, nothing will change!"
"Fighting for what you believe is commendable," Wynne said calmly, before Veira could interject, "but look around you. The ends don't always justify the means."
The bloodmage's eyes narrowed. "I don't think even you believe that, Wynne. When has change ever come about peacefully? Andraste waged war upon the Tevinter Imperium. Countless wars have been fought for the right change. And people died for it."
Wynne continued the conversation, but Veira didn't hear it. All she could hear were the distant screams above them, of innocent mages being hurt or even killed. She could only hear the voice in her head that said she had spared one too many bloodmages already. This mage was guilty. This mage caused all of this. This mage put all her friends and teachers in danger. It was personal.
"You are guilty," she heard herself saying, hardly believing it was her own voice, "for almost destroying the Circle, death should be your penance."
The bloodmage got on her knees, raising her hands up in defence. "No! Please, please spare me! I-I will spend the rest of my life making up for it! I promise!" Tears ran freely down her cheeks once more. "I made a mistake! I didn't want all this death, plea-"
Neither did the mages who died! Veira wanted to scream. The anger was too much. She grabbed a dagger that had been discarded in battle, thrusting it harshly into the bloodmages stomach. She tried to mouth something as she keeled over, not looking away from Veira. The elf watched the life leave her eyes, before her eyelids closed over them. Veira stared at what she had done for a few moments, wanting to hear the voice that approved of this decision to give her some reassurance that she did the right thing.
But now there was a new voice. One that screamed 'HYPOCRITE' over and over.
For a while, she said nothing. It wasn't until Wynne tugged at her shoulder that she tore her eyes away from the body of the woman. "You are still injured," the senior enchanter said gently, "come over here and I will help."
Zevran and Alistair decided to look around the room, to scout out any more dangers that could come up when they continued on. If they had any opinion on what happened, they said nothing about it. Veira sat up against the wall, far away from the bodies of the bloodmages, while Wynne knelt beside her. The cuts were still quite deep and bloody, Veira flinching in pain as Wynne took her arm slowly to examine a gash. Then, she took a long, deep breath, and her eyes glowed a deep blue. Veira gasped as the incredibly warm light engulfed her body, the cuts slowly disappearing. She had never before felt healing magic as strong as this, and after a few short minutes, the cuts were gone.
"A-amazing," Veira breathed, "there are no scars or anything..."
"Hah," Wynne chuckled, "I've had a very long time to practice."
Veira rubbed her cheek, where a gash had been. She turned her head at the bodies. "Wynne...was I-?"
"I do not have that answer I'm afraid," Wynne sighed, knowing what she would have asked, "but I do believe those who turn to bloodmagic should be prepared for the consequences."
Veira had no choice but to accept that for now. They had to move on. The Circle would not be saved by someone consumed by doubts. With one last look after grabbing her own dagger that she lost, she shut the door leading to the next room behind her and the rest.
They picked up the pace on this level. Irving's office was at the end of the hall; Veira hoped that he was hiding there for an opportunity to strike back. Before they could get close to the office, a door swung open from one of the living quarters, a Templar bursting out. He turned to take one look at Veira and yelled, his eyes oddly glossed over. Her heart skipped a beat when he grabbed his sword, and then several other Templars, all with the same eyes, spread into the hallway.
Alistair deflected an attack with his shield as Zevran gracefully dodged one. They were both clearly confused as to why the Templars were attacking them with such ferocity. That was when Veira heard a giggle.
A horned creature in the shape of a buxom woman floated inside the room the Templars came from, skin purple and eyes as black as ash. She danced where she levitated, seductive and highly influential in her movements. With each arm thrust she made, the Templars did obey. Veira gritted her teeth. A desire demon. One of the most powerful types of demon, they captured their prey by assuming the form of their victim's deepest desire, while devouring the life out of them. And through that bond, the desire demon could control their actions.
"Alistair, Zevran," Veira screamed as she prepared a earth spell, "the Templars are possessed by a demon!"
"Shit!" Alistair yelled, knocking a Templar over with his shield, "any cure?"
"They are too far gone!" Wynne pressed, her fingers glowing, "we must be rid of them all!"
The two mages concentrated their efforts on the demon, who flicked her eyes hungrily on them. Veira hurled an enormous boulder at the demon, which smashed apart at contact. The demon seemed winded, however, but it got the attention of the Templars who did not appreciate their mistress in pain. They broke apart from the warrior and assassin to pursue her, who backed away at the sight of several angry Templars coming straight at her. She gripped her staff in fear, this scene straight from her nightmares. Wynne yelled her name, and suddenly there was a wall of ice between the young mage and the Templars. Any physical contact with the wall froze over.
The demon was on the move in the meantime. She flittered past Zevran, who was still busy with a Templar, heading straight for Alistair and latching onto him. He yelled out in surprise, but he was cut off as the demon began to whisper in his ear. He tried to resist her voice, but his knees began to buckle. Veira noticed what was happening when he fell to his knees, and his eyes beginning to close. She snapped out of her fear in that moment.
"Oh, Maker, hold on Alistair!" She slammed her staff onto the ice wall, shattering it into thousands of shards. The force knocked the Templars that were trying to break through the ice over. With a heavy motion with her staff, she sent the shards flying towards the demon. She gasped and immediately dropped Alistair to flee, but she was not quick enough; the ice shattering at contact with Alistair's thick armour. The ice pierced her through, and she crumpled to the floor. As soon as the demon fell, so did her puppets.
They rushed to Alistair's side, who was unconscious. Wynne attempted to wake him up, and she closed her eyes to feel if the demon had succeeded in corrupting him. When his eyes fluttered open, he muttered a 'scary monster lady has cold hands,' then fell back into unconsciousness. The three were relieved that he had not, in fact, been taken over.
"He will wake soon enough," Wynne smiled, "take a few moments to rest yourselves."
While Alistair recuperated, Veira and Zevran checked inside the room where the demon had stayed, in case there was anything helpful. There were only the scattered papers and wall damage that were common everywhere now. With her mind clear of danger, the voice that yelled 'hypocrite' over and over was only getting louder, so she grabbed a few papers to concentrate on something else.
After reading through a few uninteresting documents, and a few journal entries that made her smile slightly, she flipped to one that she would never forget.
I want to die.
I hate the Circle. I hate magic. I hate what I am.
The Maker hates us because we are too powerful, too ambitious.
The Chantry can only offer so much comfort. And they tell us we are monsters.
I want it to end. There is nothing for us in this world.
I can't take it anymore.
Veira's stomach seized up, tears welling in her eyes. She racked her brain for any confirmation of something like this, any instance that even alluded to someone doing something like that. Only to come up with nothing. Why couldn't she remember anything? She had been there, hadn't she? It was like there were holes in her memory, or barriers that would not let her pass. Once again that mage she recalled earlier came back, which only frustrated her. After everything that happened earlier, she couldn't take it, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Zevran turned his head quickly at the sound of her sobs, crouching in front of her. "Are you well, Warden?"
She averted his eyes, berating herself for crying at a moment like this. Her companions didn't need her to fall apart now. "Oh-no, I...I'm sorry, it's just-"
He looked at the papers in her hands, then back to her. "I have noticed you collecting those. I can assume there is something particularly saddening on them?"
She nodded pathetically. "Zevran, th-this place is killing me. I don't know what to do."
"Yes, I can see that," he chuckled, but not cruelly, "I would suggest you are being masochistic, but that does not seem appropriate now."
Veira let out a sob-laugh, shaking her head. It was like she had heard that from someone before. "Have you ever...slowly seen a place or thing show the truths you never saw? Even though in your heart you always knew they were there...but your mind did everything in its power to ignore them? Because you didn't want to believe they could happen? Or that you were a part of it?"
Zevran looked away for a moment, contemplating his answer. After a few moments he said, "I suppose I have, in a way."
Her eyes grew haunted, her headache worsening. "I think that's what's happening to me. It's...more painful than I could have ever imagined."
Zevran nodded in agreement, a small smile on his face. "Here," he said gently, slowly wiping under her eyes with his thumb. "I'm afraid my words may not offer you the comfort you need," he continued, "the only thing I am good at is kissing and love-making. But I am willing to try." He then winked at her. "Or all three, if you wish."
Veira was surprised she could manage a full on giggle, but Zevran seemed to have a calming effect on her nerves. Maybe she could giggle because he did not include assassination as something he is good at, considering how they met. It certainly did not take away the problem, and she was sure everything would come back and hurt her some more, but in this moment, she felt a little bit better. Which seemed a miracle to her mind. "You are a wonder, Zevran."
The Antivan laughed. "I would argue that more fits yourself, but I do not mind the compliment. Thank you."
She folded the papers amongst the rest, then got up from the floor. He tilted his head at her, pointing at her pack. "May I ask why you keep them when they upset you so?"
Before she could answer, Wynne called them. "He is awake."
Veira left the question unanswered.
Alistair looked up at the two, a small grin on his face. "Hey."
"Hey," Veira repeated, her own smile warm. "Are you feeling alright?"
"It just so happens that Wynne has excellent bedside manner, so I feel fine." Alistair said, grinning at the Senior Enchanter. Wynne chuckled at that.
"Come on," Veira said, "let's go to Irving's office. I expect either Irving to be sitting there, or have some horror waiting. Either way, I do not wish to face them alone."
As they walked, the truths she talked about before spun through her mind. She had not fully remembered it yet, but a truth in the form of a woman was breaking through. That mage. Veira could somewhat recall her, but in a more abstract way than normal memories. She had locked the memories away for so long that they had floated around her mind for years, not to be touched. A masochist, this woman would call Veira, when she would take on too much work for Irving. But the memories stayed back still, her mind not ready for them yet.
Not yet.
