I awoke to the sound of clinking metal. Something was restraining me. Still crawling out of a dazed dream, I pulled again and met resistance-cold, metal resistance. My mouth slurred into something of a murmur for Irving, but then decided it was too much work. Why did I feel so tired?
"It's best you refrain from moving, mage." A cold, unmoving voice I did not recognize. I rolled my eyes open from under heavy lids and found the blurry outline of a templar standing over me. I was lying down.
I tried to sit up again, on instinct, and felt my body coiled back down against the mattress.
"W-What..are.." I wanted to work out the most insulting phrase I could, but my voice could barely manage a whisper. I felt like I'd been slammed in the chest with a bucket of ice. Breathing was cold and painful. I gritted my teeth and tried moving again, and felt the presence of the templar move closer.
"Do not resist. It will make it more painful." I groaned and felt the pain become suddenly fierce and cold. Magical restraints.
Thanks for the warning.
"W-Why?" I managed. I tried opening my eyes again to look at him-he didn't look familiar. His sympathy was seemingly next to none; he took a step back and crossed his arms.
"How about you answer that question," he replied in a more demanding tone. Suddenly the voice became quite familiar to me. Ser Alden the templar-a former templar I had associated with a year or so back. Truly, I just lost interest.
"A-Alden-" I begged. I heard shifting metal. My lips were dry. "Y-You jerk," I hissed, trying again to get up. Greagoir had done this on purpose, he had to. Tormenting me with such childish antics. Did he think it would hurt me more to have someone I knew enforcing my restraints? It was his way of spitting in my face, I was certain.
Cowardly bastard…
"What in Maker's name were you thinking, Isthalla?" Alden interrupted my spiteful thoughts. I felt surprised, and even managed to turn my head and try to smile.
"Are we on first-name basis again, then?" I murmured. My voice was beginning to come back-as long as I didn't struggle. I did not much favor being helpless. It made my skin prickle; agitated me.
Alden tried to catch himself by pointing his chin to a more airy position and frowning. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his uncomfortable armor shifting.
"No, we are not."
"Yet you just called me by my name?" I tested. I shouldn't talk so much; I felt myself weakening by the second.
"I was trying to make a point to you. I don't think you will get out of this one so easily, Isthalla." He sounded genuinely concerned. I worked my expression into a frown, eyes still closed.
"Since when do you care?" I laughed. "Last I remember you called me-" I paused to breathe. "What was it? 'Cold-hearted, viperous witch' if I remember correctly?" I managed to throw a little bite in the end of my words. Feeling satisfied, I leaned my head back on the pillow and breathed in deep. Why did it feel like I had an entire bookcase resting on my chest?
"This is not retribution, Isthalla."
"I am aware of that," I cut in. Silence. More shifting armor.
"You may be a the cruelest woman I know but you most certainly are not stupid!" he raised his voice. Great, now he thought scolding me like a little child would make things better. I snorted.
"I cannot say the same for you, templar." I imagined a peculiar look of undignified fury and shock seeping into his face at that moment. I waited to hear him absorb my words, then explode into anger-a well-remembered trait of Alden's.
"This is serious, Isthalla!" he barked. "Greagoir wants your head on a spit now; and I think at this rate he's going to get it a lot sooner than he expected!" I could hear him aggravatedly pacing up and down the rug.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"My problems are none of your concern, Alden-" I bit back. "And I don't need your petty, misplaced concern to know that." I felt my strength returning-or perhaps his magical focus being temporarily distracted-and managed to raise my head and open my eyes.
"Did Greagoir send you in here in hopes you might scold me to death before he had to get his hands dirty? Typical." The weight began to lift more. I could sit up.
"I'm trying to help you, mage!" he jutted a self-important thumb at himself, his face red and eyes wild.
"I see we've switched back to indifferent titles again," I scoffed, crossing my arms. Alden was stalking the room like an caged mabari now, shoulders hunched, fists clenched.
"And anyway," he spun back to face me. "It was Irving that sent me, not Greagoir! You should thank that man for sticking his neck out for you all the time, you ungrateful bit-"
I was on my feet in an instant, my hand clamped over his mouth and other, more menacing right poised and ready to strike his chest at any second. He froze under my grasp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head with the quick power of the spell seeping into his blood. I snarled and raised my lips to his ear.
"Finish that sentence ever again and I will cut out your tongue," I hissed before letting his limp, unconscious body drop to the floor. A harmless paralyzing spell; it would wear off in an hour or so. I frowned down at his motionless body, crossing my arms.
Stupid man.
Irving's office was not far. They had placed me back in my quarters with Alden as watch, making the fifteen or so feet to his office a rather ridiculously simple ordeal. No guards lined the hallway, and even the stairwell had no templar or magi to speak of leading to the lower levels. It must be supper. Which led me to the off-colored idea-
"Come in, Isthalla," Irving offered without looking up from the parchment strewn across his desk as I opened the door. I slipped into the room, shutting the door wordlessly behind me before strolling up to his desk.
He glanced up, studying me in an attempt to perhaps make sure I was unharmed, then nodded to a nearby chair. I took my seat and rested my chin on the weight of my thumb, staring him down.
"You're quite clever for an old man," I commented. Irving continued to scratch across his parchment paper, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he leaned forward to read the letters under candlelight.
"No-" he answered after a large pause, "I simply understand your character, Isthalla." My hand slipped from under my chin and brushed across my face before I dropped it back on the arm of the chair. He glanced up.
"Is Alden all right?" An honest, calculating stare that demanded my obedience. I nodded.
"A simple sleeping spell. He will be fine." Irving seemed to accept this, nodding to himself, and shifted some of the strewn papers around on his desk. I notice one of them slip and fall to the floor, and felt a cold, sharp prick of recognition as the title 'Famous Maleficar' carefully scratched across the top caught my eye. My eyes shot to his desk, now searching hungrily over the naked display of pages, books, and assortments of resources that had seemed entirely unimportant a moment ago.
"'What are you doing with those?" I asked in an instant, my eyes widening as I scanned every label of the stacked books, recognizing some form of blood-magic related topic in the titles. I screwed up my face, turning a demanding expression to Irving.
"Oh, these?" he seemed mildly surprised as he leaned back and surveyed the papers on his desk as if they had just appeared there. He tapped his quill against the wood of his desk.
"Yes-" I butted in, feeling my anxious temper rise. I had asked him about these just the other day, and yet he'd lied to me. I frowned. "You said we didn't have them!"
"Correction-" Irving interrupted my rising accusation, flicking his eyes to mine. "I said they were none of your concern, Isthalla. I did not say they were missing," he interjected. I held my tense posture for a moment longer before sinking back into my chair, glum.
"Why do you have them, then?" I asked. I still felt aggravated he would keep them from me. It wasn't as if I intended to practice it.
"As a precaution." he stated. I creased my brow in confusion and sat forward in my chair.
"What do you mean? Not because of me-"
"-No," he quickly replied, looking up. "This is another matter you are, thankfully, not involved in." I made a note of the weight he put on the word, feeling a slight bitterness he would so easily pin me to every bad situation that happened at the tower. A frown pulled onto my lips.
"Is someone practicing blood magic?" I stepped back into the conversation with full force, my eyes penetrating Irving's forehead with great intensity. I willed him to look up, to give me answers.
"That is none of your con-"
"-Are they?" I demanded. Irving's quill fell silent as it absorbed my bold order, then was set on the edge of the desk before he finally looked up at me, scrutinizing.
"If you must know, then yes."
"Who?"
This was something Irving would refuse to answer, no matter how many times I pestered him about it. I knew I would not get a name, but I could not refuse the temptation to at least try. Curiosity compelled me to.
Irving narrowed his eyes on me, silently asserting his authority, before I finally sunk back into my chair and sighed.
"There is, yes, a rumor of possible blood magic practice in the tower, but who or why is not something for you to concern yourself with. The matter is being dealt with by our Knight-Commander," he answered vindictively.
"As well as he's 'dealt' with me too, I'm sure-" I mumbled. Irving glared from across his desk.
"Supper will be over in around a half-hour, meaning Greagoir will be back upstairs to check on you in fifteen. I would suggest you make it back to your quarters before then." I waited for him to look at me-ensure I would obey with a flicker of his eyes-but instead he continued writing. I frowned.
"I've caused a rather large disruption," I stated, not making a question out of it. I knew the facts-whether or not it had started out in my control, it was mine now, and I had done well to ensure my demise. I frowned, grim, and looked up at Irving. I met his gaze briefly-a troubled, weary expression-before he turned back to scribbling on his papers.
"I can't come back, can I?" I asked after a pause. The strangest phrase ever to leave my mouth-a detection of sadness that I would not be allowed to stay in my cage any longer. I screwed up my face in confusion, trying to decipher my own feelings, when Irving set down his quill.
"No," he spoke up, folding his hands together and setting his eyes on me. I felt wounded by his expression but refused to let him see it. I looked away.
"What has happened cannot be undone, nor can your actions in response to the events," he said plainly. I heard the disappointment in his voice as he shook his head and looked down. "Honestly, Isthalla, I had hoped better of you. You are a smart girl-" He sighed and rested the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
"Cullen, of all templars-" he shook his head. "I didn't expect that." My attention rapidly shifted as I sat up straight in my seat, distracted by the recollection of the previous day-or whatever day it had been.
"Where is he?" I demanded.
Why should you care? Let the lying bastard rot in his misery.
Irving frowned deeply and picked up one of the parchments. "That is none of your concern right now, Isth-"
"-Where is he?" I demanded, this time more importantly. Irving raised his eyes to mine. I dared myself to stare back as long as I could, and finally gave in when I couldn't hold it anymore. My anger towards Irving was not justified-it was blind.
"Until you can learn to restrain your anger, you are forbidden to go near that poor man. He has suffered enough on your behalf," Irving dismissed the conversation.
Irving was most likely the only man (or woman) capable of sending me into gut-wrenching guilt from scolding. I felt wounded and kicked-a dog that had eaten it's master's shoe and regretted it entirely. Alden was right. Irving had stuck his neck out for me and this is how I repayed the man. I felt slightly disgusted with myself.
"I'm… sorry," I forced the words out. They felt too heavy to be spoken; numb. I raised my eyes to the First Enchanter's face, which softened slightly when I met his gaze. He sighed.
"Isthalla, I have known you since you were a small child," he sighed. "You are a brilliant girl, but too bold. Your lack of fear can and will keep putting you in danger if you do not stop this. I cannot protect you forever." I saw sadness in his eyes, a type of sadness that made me feel overwhelming regret. I clenched my jaw.
"I-I know," I muttered, feeling the sting of his words still pierce my skin. He raised his index to me, knowing.
"Power is desired, but humility is a necessity in life. For your sake, please, remember that, Isthalla." I nodded and he seemed satisfied, nodding back, before taking a seat back at his desk. I stood and shifted from one foot to the other in a bout of nervousness.
"Irving?" I asked. He looked up and raised his brow, waiting. I pressed my mouth together.
"Is there.. any way…?" I began, but couldn't finish it. What would I say? Is there any way to undo all of this? Why did it matter?
Because you don't want to leave.
I shut my eyes before he could finish his grave response of rejection. I knew the answer; no matter how many times I asked, it would stay the same. I had to leave-soon-or I would be in real danger.
"There is nothing I can do, Isthalla. Greagoir's decision is final," he started. I could feel the knot instantly form in my chest as he breathed in deep and looked up at me.
"You will go with Duncan and the Grey Wardens. There is no longer a place for you here at the tower. I'm sorry." A knife in my chest.
Tears pricked at my eyes.
"Thank you, First Enchanter.." I looked down so he would not see my blurring vision. He nodded to me.
"I believe you have a short time to say goodbye to Jowan before Ser Alden awakes. You are to be escorted at midnight by Greagoir, so prepare your things." He looked up once more, grim. "Good luck, Isthalla.." I nodded, unable to form words on my trembling lips as I turned and quickly strode from the room before he saw the tears slip down my face.
In the darkness of the hall I could run. I sprinted past the torches on the wall, hearing the hiss of the fire going out as I passed each one. My vision was blurring, barely visible as I stumbled my way down the south corridor and into the hallway. I found myself running to the only place no one would look for me, and the only place I felt safe to go.
The Chantry.