*A/N* For a refresher on my gnostic interpretation of Andrastian theology, see Chapter 28.

Chapter 36: Saunière

The fade-being stared at Saunière with her spectral green eyes, flickering like a peculiar lamp through the shadows. She was still perched atop the mahogany cabinet, her bare feet dangling off the edge. A thin smile had formed on her face, one that seemed to acknowledge the professor's presence and was inclined to tolerate it. This was the oddest sort of fade-being that he had ever encountered—and he had seen plenty over the years. Demons, according to the esteemed Professeur Saunière's estimation, were clumsy and lacking in sophistication. Indeed they were violent, driven by insatiable destructive instincts, but they never put much care into their appearance, or had any foresight into the consequences of their behaviour. They rarely survived their conjuring, which was the beauty of blood magic. But, this little thing, although dirty and frail, had an exquisiteness about her that initially caused Saunière considerable pause. His first instinct was to bundle her up in his arms and coddle her like a lost kitten. However, when she had invoked the name Sasule, the name of the true creator, Saunière quickly concluded that she was a creature unlike anything damned from the Fade. He guessed she was a type of djinn, a spirit neither benevolent nor evil, but clever and oftentimes mischievous. Where mortals and demons seemed perpetually at war, the djinn, tended to shy away from both human and demonic affairs. He made a mental note to investigate what little was known about these beings when he was afforded the pleasure of visiting a library.

The dog's relentless barking and his scratching at the cabinet broke their eye-locked spell and returned Saunière to the commotion within the well-appointed quarter galley aboard the Good King Maric. The storm outside even seemed to play along, as the rain lashed the lead-lighting, and the wrought-iron chandelier swayed and cast shifting shadows against the highly ornamented paneled walls. Wood creaked and thunder rumbled, reminding Saunière of his intense hatred of the sea and of ships, no matter how well-appointed.

Time had slowed for the old man, just like it had when he was a practicing templar. In a corner not far behind him, nearest a massive globe, he could hear Nuraya's soft, yet firm voice, assuaging the panicked young mage who had conjured her. How did he do this, Saunière wondered. Magelings rarely had the skill or wherewithal to summon spirits from the obscure corners of the Fade—especially the djinn, who were normally quite reticent, if not repulsed, by the dealings of the human realm. Demons tended to clamber for an inexperienced mage's attention—they were always first to pounce. In Saunière's understanding, a djini with knowledge of Sasule, wouldn't be interested in attaching itself to the likes of an escaped apostate, especially one so young and inexperienced.

He extended his arms to stay the Knight-Commander and Ser Hawke. Under their breaths they attempted to thwart her with passages from the Chant. The words of the prophetess had no obvious effect upon her. She wiggled her little toes under her dirty dress and chewed her knuckles nervously and continued to watch with cool detachment. Obviously, these templars lacked the kind of sophisticated training that Saunière had come to expect from the Order. So quick were they to jump to conclusions, without serious inquiry or investigation. So quick were they to violence.

"Stand back, old man!" Cullen bellowed, holding out his hand, his fingers splayed and at the ready. Saunière had no idea if a templar's power had any effect upon the djinn, but had no intentions of conducting any such experiments at the present.

Saunière, sighed with a loud and exasperated huff, turned and pushed the Knight-Commander back with both hands, disengaging him from his aggressive stance. He used a little more force than he had intended, but Cullen acknowledged the message and stood at ease, placing his hands behind his back and tipped his chin down slightly. His patronizing gaze was palpable; his cheeks were flushed with anger.

"I did not take you for a fool, Professeur Saunière," he said with a sneer.

"And I did not think you as a lyrium-addled knuckled-headed recruit, frothing at the bit to engage in violence whenever enigmas from the Fade present themselves!" His tone had turned shrill, but he had too much experience behind him to be condescended by the likes of Kirkwall's newly minted Knight-Commander.

Breathlessly, the boy squirmed between them. "Don't hurt her! Please! Don't harm Endra. I brought her here. Punish me! She means no harm." He fell to his knees and clutched at Cullen in desperation, his blonde hair falling to his shoulders and knuckles white as he pulled on the templar's surcoat.

Nuraya chased after her charge, her expression of concern giving way to one of frustration, as she tried to coax him from the heart of the commotion. In the background, Endra started humming. It was an old lullaby he had once heard Tassilo's mother sing. Apparently, the drama that unfolded below her, the classic struggle between mage and templar, was of little interest to her. Instead, she chewed the side of her thumb, hummed quite out of tune and stared at the ceiling, swinging her feet up and down.

"Come away, leave her to the templars," Nuraya shielded the boy, tucking him under her chin, draping both arms firmly around him. Her whisper had a tender lilt that was in stark contrast to the dissonant song. The boy looked up and implored her, insisting that she must not be harmed, that she had something to tell her. His eyes were wide and wild. Nuraya answered with a shush, like that of a mother soothing her child from a nightmare.

Abruptly, the singing stopped. "I wish to speak with the She-mage!" Endra beseeched a second time, her tone suggesting that whatever patience a djinn might possess, was beginning to thin. Now standing atop of the cabinet, her spindly arms planted firmly on her hips. Her head was tipped down and her ethereal eyes stared through ropes of greasy hair.

"You shall hold your tongue, demon!" Hawke barked. He approached the cabinet tentatively, holding a chair by the back legs, in absence of a sword. A grown man at odds with this frail thing amused the professor. The scene, to any passive observer, might be construed as ridiculous and an embarrassment to Ser Carver Hawke. Saunière thought that his brother would derive great enjoyment from this moment.

Saunière took a step forward and turned toward the templars. "Let me handle this and perhaps we shall prevent a good many of us from taking an unnecessary swim in some very rough waters."

"And you'll be floating on your back, if you give voice to this foul creature." Cullen growled.

Exasperated, he turned from the templars. "You wish to parley with Lady Amell?" Saunière turned to the cabinet again, only to find empty shadows. She giggled from across the room, lying on her belly atop a buffet, kicking herself playfully in the rump.

"A parley implies a desired truce between two avowed enemies. The Endra bears no grievance toward the She-mage." Her official tone turned to that of a whine. "Andraste's Soldiers, just go away! Off with you!"

"Either leave this room or bite your tongue. This is no demon. Obviously your former Knight-Commander lacked the intellect to teach her charges on the many varieties of Fade-beings." Saunière hissed at both templars and pointed to the door. The templars looked to each other with apprehension. "Truly, your better sense might suggest that a former templar and the Université d'Orlais' preeminent scholar on Andrastian history and theology would know of such things. I will call upon you if your assistance is required. And will someone shut that mutt up!"

With renewed vigor, he approached Nuraya, tapped her on the shoulder and encouraged her to follow. She blinked at him wonderingly, but followed, taking the mageling by the hand. He could hear the templars in the distance try and quiet the dog and confer with each other in mumbled tones.

Saunière placed a hand on Nuraya's shoulder, causing her to stiffen beneath his touch. He offered her the most reassuring smile he could conjure and held out a hand, inviting her to speak. "Please, Lady Amell. If I might prevail upon you to trust me, I assure you that her intent is not to harm you."

Nuraya crossed her arms, unconvinced. She turned to Endra, speaking with authority. "Are you the being that killed the mages in the Collective?" She gave a sideways glance to Saunière. "Not that I expect her to be honest." Her young charge was obviously upset at the accusation, but she silences him with a pointed finger and a serious glare.

"Ding Dong McKagan, Kalvindir started gagging! Was it me or was it he?" Endra sang.

Saunière and Nuraya looked to each other in bewilderment, but let her continue.

"Ding Dong McKagan, it was… Order of the Dragon."

Endra had turned over on her back, a knee bent and the other leg resting upon it. Absently, she twirled a finger through her hair.

"And you are not part of this Order?"

Endra turned her head toward them, rolling her eyes and then shook her head. "The Endra belongs to no one. Only the One. The Endra belongs to the One."

The young mage piped in. "She's not part of the Order of the Dragon. I'll tell you everything… but just trust me on this."

Nuraya raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but cleared her throat. "You have something to say to me then?"

The djini sat upright, crossing her legs. "I have a message for the She-Mage."

"Indeed? From who?"

Endra chewed her fingernails, then stared at the ceiling, not speaking. Nuraya looked to Saunière and shrugged her shoulders.

"The Endra has a message for the She-Mage. This she is certain."

"Care you to share this message, Endra?" Nuraya said with a sweet tone.

Endra's expression fell, her frown deepened with sorrow. She shook her head.

"You have a message for me, but you do not wish to tell me?"

There was another pause. Endra chewed her bottom lip then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "The Endra must deliver a message to the She-Mage. The Endra—"

The young mageling interrupted. "It's okay Endra, you can trust her. She won't hurt you."

Saunière noticed a single tear stream down Endra's cheek. It seemed to catch the candle light. Her face flickered in blue, reflecting the lightning outside.

"The Endra cannot remember the message. The Endra is sorry."

As thunder cracked, rumbling over the angry swells of the Amaranthine sea, the djini disappeared.

Saunière jumped with an audible exhale. Nuraya turned to him, her brown eyes wide with astonishment, her lips pursed with worry. Both templars dashed down the length of the room, over the crimson woven carpets.

"Where did it go?" Cullen demanded, looking to the young mage. "What did you do to it?"

"Her name is Endra… and you scared her!" The mageling said with an accusatory tone. Saunière was surprised the boy had the gumption to speak out at the templars. He wondered where he had come from, and of his connection to the Hero.

"Hey! Bring her back!" Hawke cried out.

Saunière sniggered and leaned back on the buffet table where Endra had sat. He crossed his left leg over the right and patted the front of this coat until he recalled which pocket where he had stashed his pipe. As he stuffed tobacco into the ivory bowl, noting that it was a little too dry for his liking, he listened.

"Why did she leave?" asked Nuraya, frantically looking around as if she expected Endra to manifest somewhere else in the quarter galley.

The boy shrugged and stared into the empty space. "I don't know. She's been nagging me for days to find you."

"Do you suppose she has left for good?" she asked.

The blonde mageling with the mop of wavy hair traced a finger along the smooth polished surface of the table. Saunière struck a match and ignited the small nest of tobacco and continued to observe the boy, who had squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to be concentrating.

"No," said the boy after a moment. "She's… she's embarrassed. Ashamed."

"For the love of the Maker, we don't have time to placate the feelings of a demon!" Cullen interjected.

Saunière cleared his throat. "Have you not heard one word I have said?"

"Dr. Saunière, if she isn't a demon? What is she? I once knew a mage that had a connection with a Spirit of Faith. Is she something like that?" ask Nuraya.

Cullen chortled derisively. "And we both know of a mage who had a connection with a Spirit of Justice. Look how that ended up. This cannot be safe—for any of us, including the boy."

Saunière crossed his arms in front of him. "She is neither of those things. I am almost certain that she is a form of djinn."

"A genie? But they are nursery stories. Surely you cannot be serious." Hawke sputtered, half laughing.

The old man answered the templar with an eye roll.

"What's a djinn, Ser?" the boy asked. He was contrite, but Saunière could see the insolence behind it. He had been young once.

"The djinn are a spirit race, which inhabit the lesser known areas of the Fade. Rarely do they interact with the human realm and, according to legend, act as messengers between other Fade beings and the living. They hold no allegiances and are neither good nor evil. Perhaps this is why the Chantry has little interest in them—they serve no higher being. The Alamarri once thought that the djinn were intermediaries between the Creator and the tribes, but that role," the professor said as an aside, "is currently filled by her holiness the Divine. For as long as there has been a chantry, the djinn have kept pretty much to themselves. But from time to time, they make themselves known. Ever wondered why only one sock goes missing after they have been laundered? Or why a set of keys are never in the last place you left them? That is the djinn. Tricksy little things they are."

"Any idea why a djinn might have a message for me? Are they connected to the Archdemon? Suppose she has a message for the Grey Wardens?" Nuraya asked.

"I doubt it. But you can never be completely sure, either. Besides the Avvars, there are similar folktales amongst the Dalish that tell of a curious sort of Fade being, a type of harellan that had interacted with Shartan. According to legend, those messages directed him to aid Andraste."

"Well, for my sake, I hope the message is more benign, something akin to don't forget to pick up more milk." Nuraya grumbled.

Saunière sucked on the pipe with three successive quick breaths, then exhaled slowly. The tobacco was dry and therefore harsh, but better than nothing. "And how about our fine templar companions, are you still in doubt?"

"I'm unsure I trust anything conjured by blood magic." Roughly, Cullen grabbed the young mage's arm and pulled back his sleeve of his cotton tunic to reveal several thin silver scars.

"Blood magic is merely a means to an end. Blood and magic connect this world to the next. If you wish to lay blame about the connection between demons and blood magic, then I suggest you speak with the Divine. From what I have learned through all my years of painstaking research, that it is sheer ignorance which attracts demons to mages. The Fade presents a vast and mostly unexplored world of long forgotten knowledge. If mages were taught this power properly, then…"

"I would be unemployed." Cullen said flatly. "And we would be dead. For a Chantry scholar, your views are excessively liberal."

Saunière chuckled. "I've been told that before. As a historian, I let the facts inform my views and opinions. I have merely reiterated all that I have learned of the djinn. It is not my place to argue doctrine to the Divine. That is the Synod's role, not mine."

"And what now?" Nuraya asked.

Somewhere on the deck of the ship, something crashed, a sound more akin to splintering wood than the thunder that had rolled in the background for the past few hours. Everyone looked to the door, unsure what to say, or what to do. Saunière half-wondered if Endra might have made herself known to one of the Good King Maric's crew members, which would have been expected form the likes of a djinn, but altogether unwelcome considering the tentative trust that he had cultivated with Nuraya and the templars. There was no further commotion, so Saunière chalked up the sound to a wayward bit of cargo that might not have been lashed properly.

"I suppose we will just have to wait." Saunière said, tapping the ash from his pipe into a crystal ashtray.

Just as Saunière was about to suggest retiring for the evening, looking forward to a crackling fire and a warm feather bed at the Silver Knight Inn, Captain Lashley burst in, swinging the door open wide. Over his shoulder, Saunière could see sailors running about, the glint of iron and steel swords catching the light from inside the quarter galley. With the commotion on the ship's mid-deck came the acrid smell of lyrium flame. Quickly, the Captain bolted the door behind him. He was in full military regalia: a red coat with gold chording, white breeches and a cocked hat. The feather was limp and wet, and for a second, Saunière wished he had left his own prized hat back at the Inn. He reached for his own to ensure it sat snuggly on his head

"We are under attack," he announced, sizing up both templars. "We could use your help. Mages." He caught his breath.

"We have no weapons on us. Arm us and we will gladly lend assistance." Cullen replied.

Captain Lashley nodded and marched to the bay windows. Rain lashed the darkened glass. As lightning flickered, highlighting his silhouette, he scattered the fringe carpet with a polished black boot, then pulled up a floorboard. Beneath was a hidden weapons cache. The Captain tossed a modest sword to each of the templars. He was all business and returned to the door, pausing in order to pull his sword from its scabbard with a swish of clean and sharp metal. "I am sorry, but that is all that I have. Someone has been dispatched to alert the Chantry. Back-up should soon arrive, but in the meantime, let us prevent these malificars from tearing this ship apart." He turned to speak to Saunière. "I suggest you find a place to hide, and given the size of this vessel, there is no lack of spaces where you might take cover. Does anyone have a theory as to what might have provoked such an attack?"

Nuraya spoke up. "My guess would be the mages that attacked the Collective."

"What are they after?" Captain Lashley asked.

"Me." She replied.

Saunière turned to Nuraya. "Unfortunately, we have little time to hear the interesting tale behind that. Let us get you off this ship."

Nuraya pulled her fingers through the crown of her hair. "But this was our means of escape. Where shall I go? I cannot stay in the city."

"I'll take you to South Reach. There I should meet my party." Saunière offered. She blinked, as if trying to calculate her options.

Cullen, Hawke and Lashley listened at the door and when the Captain nodded his signal, he pulled it open a crack. The frenzied cacophony on deck magnified. With a wave of his hand, Cullen silently beckoned Saunière, Nuraya and the mageling to come closer.

Nuraya straightened, turning to Saunière. "I will not leave this ship without my belongings. I have weapons. And lyrium."

"There is a back ladder that will take you down to the hold without running full sight on deck. Follow the rail outside the quarter galley. The stern ladder is on the port side. Climb down and you will find a gunnery porthole. The cannon there is currently under repair, but it will be a tight squeeze if the crew replaced it sooner than was expected." Captain Lashley said.

"Let's not dally here any longer. We are mice in a cage here. Cullen and I will create a distraction while you get below deck," Carver said. Then he whistled and Shasta rose to attention, stumpy tail wagging. "I'll take Shas—seeing as dogs are not known for climbing ladders."

There was no time for good-byes and Saunière felt as if he were making a big mistake by leaving the dog with the templar, but he had little choice. The three men, cautiously, with weapons drawn, crept out of the quarter galley, holding the door for the remainder of the group. As Saunière stepped on deck, he heard the clang of metal on metal, the grunt of mages cutting their flesh, the stench of burning lyrium and the unearthly howls of their conjured demons.

Saunière turned to Nuraya. "I'll go first. You take care of the boy." Not sure how long he should wait, he pulled the door open a crack to survey the situation. It was pure mayhem on the ship's mid-deck. The rain poured a steady unrelenting shower, making the deck dangerously slippery.

Sailors were beating back the deformed forms of demons, as mages hurled fireballs at them. They all seemed quite occupied with one another, a tangle of dark forms amongst the rigging, and Saunière felt somewhat assured that they would be able to sneak from the galley without rousing too much attention. Cullen and Hawke had already jumped into the fight and were attacking a mage that was protecting his brethren with wards and healing.

Beckoning Nuraya and the boy with his gnarled finger, he made a run for the railing, his speed seriously hampered by the puddles forming on deck. At the rail, he turned stern-side and stepped onto a small walkway between the gallery and the ship's rail. It was so narrow that he kept his back along the forecastle wall and side-stepped toward the back of the ship. Mistakenly, he looked down through the vortex of pouring rain and saw the angry ocean churn and froth below. For a moment his head swam, and Nuraya inched beside him, urging him on with a reassuring thrust of her chin.

"Is everything alright, professor?" She whispered.

Locating his courage again, he continued shuffling until he spotted the rope ladder, rolled up onto the deck. He picked it up and let it drop, watching it tumble down, swinging madly against the ship's hull. His reluctance threated to rear its ugly head again. With the most courageous tone he could muster, he stepped up to the railing. "Let's make haste."

Without even thinking, because the alternative would have had him running headlong into a group of sparring mages mid-deck, he stepped down onto the ladder, the soft rung bending beneath his boot. It felt unstable, like it would not bear his weight, but he continued to climb down, not knowing whether the stomach-rolling lurching sensations were due to the sway of the ladder, the raging sea or his vertigo. With white knuckles he clung to the rungs, feeling the sharp fibres of the hemp chafe his palms. Each step downward was an exercise in his resolve, to find the courage to remove his foot from the safety of the rung to find another. The ladder felt like it went down forever. When he thought he had made it halfway through his climb, he looked up to see Nuraya looking down at him, her big brown eyes blinking back at him encouragingly and long braid swinging in the storm.

From over the howling wind he could hear her voice, "You're almost there, professor!"

Tipping his head down to brace against the driving rain, he watched the steady movement of his feet. Step by each unsteady step he descended, until he saw the copper-framed gunnery porthole. The cannon, thankfully, was absent, and based on the porthole's size, Saunière knew it would be a tight squeeze. Using the weight of his body, he swung the ladder sideways, careful to not apply to much of his weight. He caught the edge of the porthole and steadied himself in front of it. Without overthinking the task, with shaky arms, due in equal parts to nerves and the fact he was drenched, he hoisted himself up and into the belly of the ship, tumbling onto a pile of straw. He rolled to a stop, narrowly missing a stack of cannonballs and a barrel of powder.

Getting to his feet, he brushed himself off and quickly surveyed the lower deck. The room was small, shrouded in shadow, save the dim light that streamed in through the porthole. After a fortuitous flicker of lightning that fully illuminated the space where he had landed, he spied a lantern hanging from a ceiling beam and used one of his few remaining matches to light it. Unhooking it, the flame wavered and then lengthened to illuminate the small empty galley.

Returning to the porthole, he stuck his head out, wincing as the cold rain lashed his face. He looked up to see the bottom of the young mage's feet taking a shaky and tentative step. As the young boy climbed down, Saunière reached out and steadied the ladder for him. The boy, his wet blonde hair stuck to the side of his face, eyes wide with fear. Saunière grabbed for him as soon as he was in reach and pulled him through. He braved the cold rain one more time to call up to Nuraya, ensuring her that the coast was clear.

When Nuraya finally landed into the pile of straw, Saunière offered her a hand. "Do you know where your cabin is?"

She stood up, straightening her long damp cloak. "Lower, towards mid-ship, I think."

Making their way to the crooked doorway, Saunière checked both sides of the long narrow hall outside, hearing the thumps and rumbles from above. He hoped that Cullen and Hawke were faring well, and had the blood mages under control. It seemed relatively quiet at this end of the ship, but Saunière never liked coming to that conclusion, because invariably, something altogether terrifying would pop out from behind a corner. All those years with the Order had taught him that.

He and the young mage followed Nuraya through a maze of twisting passages, without incident, seeing not even a rat. She fully admitted not knowing the way, but eventually, just as Saunière was about to concede that they were hopelessly lost, she announced, "Here it is!"

They all felt the pressure to hurry their pace, "Get me the armor in the trunk, Connor."

Saunière furrowed his brow. He distinctly remembered being introduced to the boy as Marcus. Had he the time, he would investigate further, but in the meantime, stood back and let he and Nuraya collect what she had come for. She worked quickly and swung her full pack over her shoulder, took the armour from the boy and hastily threw it over her head, not bothering with the many fine buckles that dangled at the side.

She passed Connor a staff. Saunière quirked an eyebrow, believing that she acted in poor judgement, given the drama that had unfolded that evening (What sort of madwoman would arm a young blood mage?). But he kept the criticism to himself. After all, she was his guardian, and a woman who had led a motley group of rebels to defeat the Archdemon must know what she is doing. She continued to rummage through the trunk, buckled a scabbard and sword around her hips and passed the professor a long dagger. It was unornamented, but sleek, utile and very sharp. He accepted it graciously and attached it to his side as she stuck another inside her boot.

"Let's go." she said.

Just as Saunière reached for the iron latch, the door burst open, nearly taking it off its hinges. The sound was fantastic, sending Saunière fleeing involuntarily to the back of the very small cabin quarter. In the doorway stood an elven mage with a smug and vicious grin slashed across her face. For the most part, she was bald, save a crop of hair at the top of her head, red like flame, bound with a thick golden band. Her pupil-less eyes glowered, rimmed in red and half-blind with demonic rage. She bled freely from the wrists, rivulets of red, twining around her bare arms.

Upon seeing Nuraya, she opened her mouth and with a hiss, held out her hand, as if grasping the air. The blood mage clenched, her fingers trembling with effort.

Just as she was about to reach for her sword, Nuraya grabbed her throat, grasping for air. Dagger in hand, Saunière lunged for the blood mage, but as he drew closer, some unseen force threw him backward. He landed against the hammocks, dropping the dagger with a clang to the floor. While he worked to disentangle himself, the blood mage returned her attention to Nuraya. She was still fighting for air, her eyes rolling back in her head. Had he access to lyrium, Saunière might try and use his long forgotten templar training. But the middle of the crisis was not the time for such experiments. He also regretted parting with his sword so willingly. As soon as he was back on his feet, he retrieved his weapon, gripped it tightly, feeling his palm slick with sweat. As he determined how best to strike again, the boy shouted, instructing Saunière to stand back.

The boy stood before the blood mage, brazen and fearless, clutching the staff firmly with both hands in front of him, holding it slightly askew. Its embedded crystal shone brightly, an unearthly glow that reminded him of Endra the djinn. With clenched teeth, he muttered something under his breath that Saunière could not discern from his position at the back of the room.

Saunière inched toward Nuraya, her face a very troubling shade of red, but as he drew closer, the mage's grasp seemed to tighten. He held his ground, still working through the many possibilities that would offer the best chance for success on his next attack.

The young mage held his palm forward and shouted, invoking what Saunière recognized as a mind blast spell. As the mageling released the brunt of the force, he groaned, almost as if in pleasure and the blood mage winced, not incapacitated, but was jarred enough to loosen her grip. Nuraya wheezed loudly, coughed and took a welcomed gasp of breath.

Before the blood mage could counter, the boy stepped forward, renewed his grip on the stave and extended his arm again, shaking from whatever roiled inside. The blood mage shrieked, frustrated, bared her teeth like a vicious dog and then hurled a fireball at him, but the boy was quick and dove out of the way, the fire erupting in a blaze in a corner and consuming itself almost instantaneously. The acrid scent of lyrium smoke hung thick in the air, burning Saunière's throat and eyes.

Blinking past stinging tears, the professor seized his chance and threw his dagger, watching it wheel through the air as if in slow motion. It stopped mid-air. The mage took control of it and sent it flying back. Saunière was spared only a moment to duck before he heard it whistle past and land with a thwack into the rough wooden wall behind him.

This must have been enough of a distraction for Nuraya and the mageling. Without the benefit of his templar abilities, he was not sure what they were about to cast. But what he could ascertain was that they were a natural pair, their strategies complementing each other effortlessly, without a word needing to be spoke between them.

Whatever they did, the blood mage stiffened, with eyes wild and panicked. It squirmed, as if she was trying to wiggle her way out of the spell's effects, then shuddered and crumpled to the floor.

Without a pause, Nuraya pulled out her blade and with a finesse he had not seen for a very long time, grabbed the bloodmage by the crop of hair, raised her head and drew a blade across her throat.

As blood seeped onto the floor, she turned to Saunière with a stony gaze. "Let's get out of here."

This story is based on Bioware's intellectual property. Much thanks goes to Kira Tamarion for beta-ing this chapter. Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review. I thank all of you as well. Shakespira takes the honour of being my 200th reviewer. I am plotting a Nathaniel-inspired one-shot for her. Stay tuned for that, I've got something interesting in store! And for all the new readers, I bid you welcome!