I stared hard at the angled, stone ceiling above, crossing my hands behind my head. So far they had not changed shapes from an hour ago, or the hour before that. To be dismissed from duty for a day was one thing, but to be confined to the templar's dormitory was another matter entirely. I had no say in the matter, nor was given the chance to explain-simply orders that meant next to nothing to the other templars. As far as they were concerned, what they had done was an act of the Maker-a righteous retribution.

I believed otherwise.

Maker's blood how much longer could I stand this? I was itching to get up, to run downstairs and at least see that she was all right. I was entirely tempted to do so, but the same, threatening voice rang in my mind, securing me back to the bed.

It's your fault.

I felt my jaw tick as I recalled her face for the hundredth time-so angered and hurt-and felt my stomach twist over itself once more. I should have told her, Maker, I should have told her everything the first night I met her. This was not the Maker's work, and nor was it righteous in the eyes of Andraste. Every bone in my body screamed out against this treachery, this inhumane lie I was continuing to let happen the longer I laid in my bed and stared pointlessly up at my ceiling.

It was not her fault. The blame lay in the Commander. His inability to protect and inform her led to her destruction; how dare he try to shift it to her, when she was the one suffering? How could he lie to her?

It is our job to keep them in line, not to befriend them.

The ignorant, chastising phrase echoed in my mind from the less-than-light conversation we'd held earlier. I had never in my years imagined I would raise my voice to a superior officer, much less Knight-Commander Greagoir.

"How can you sit there and SAY that?!" I yelled, horrified. "She's not some bloody MONSTER wreaking havoc in the tower, for Maker's sake she's a living BEING! The fact that she is blessed with magical talents does not make her any different from you or I!"

"Of COURSE it does, you ignorant boy!" he snapped back. I recoiled into my posture, feeling my fists tighten at my sides and eyes narrow. I gritted my teeth.

"Her 'talents' are a CURSE blighted upon us because of our ignorance to the Maker! It is because of her magic she is deemed as an abomination! Magic is a stain, a reminder of our failure to respect the Maker!"

I was so enraged I could not speak.

"And you would do well to remember that while you spend the rest of the day dismissed from duty and in your quarters asking forgiveness for your choice of words!" he snarled. With that, he slammed the door behind him and strode down the hall.

I could feel my pulse quickening as I continued staring up at the ceiling, the anger slipping under my skin once more. He called her an abomination; how dare he.

The longer I laid there, pointless and seething, the more I felt my blood boil. Greagoir treated the magi like stupid, disobedient dogs-he had no right to treat them in such a way. The longer I laid there, listening to his spiteful words ringing in my head, the less I could stay still.

"Power-mongering and mindless BEASTS, all of them!"

I was on my feet in an instant, fists clenched and snarl gripping my mouth. I had to stop this. Isthalla deserved better, Irving deserved better than this wretched fate for his own kind. Maker forgive me, but I would never forgive myself if I let her walk out those front doors now. My soul be condemned.

Andraste give me wings.

I stepped out into the cool shadows of the hallway, glancing left and right. Empty. It was supper; my growling stomach reminded me of that much. I could not eat, I could not sleep-not until I found retribution for this. Maker's blood, what was I going to do?

Storm the castle? Take down your brothers?

I wasn't sure what I was doing, only that something had to be done. My gut twisted and clenched up against me the more I hesitated. It made me feel sick every second I stood in the hallway waiting, expectant. An unsure breath shuddered from between my clenched teeth.

Muttering a short prayer to Andraste, I slipped down the hallway and began to quickly descend the stairs to the lower levels. My heart was in my throat as I rounded another set of stairs-third floor, then the second-and was halfway down the steps to the first floor when a blood-curdling scream froze me in my tracks and made my blood run cold.

Isthalla..

I stumbled into a run as a hundred, panicked questions raced through my mind. My heart thrashed in my throat, hands shaking as I took the last few steps in a leap and broke into a full sprint into the main hall.

"I-Isthalla?" I choked out in a disbelieving whisper. There she stood, bracing herself at the entrance of the basement with her right hand raised, parallel to a templar who floated off the ground a foot, twitching amidst a powerful, paralyzing spell. His screams of agony deafened the sounds of the other templars streaming in behind me. I could not move.

I couldn't breathe.

"RESTRAIN HER!" Ser Weston yelled. Two more ran forward, then abruptly were flung against the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. Isthalla's other hand raised threateningly into the air.

"GET BACK!" she snarled as the glow around the templar in front of her increased, as did his thrashing and screaming. Greagoir stood at the front of the line, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword while raising the other.

"Don't, Isthalla-" he growled under his breath, the threat of his tone cutting her down with intent. I glanced, horrified, as I saw the three templars behind draw the swords all at once. Greagoir's eyes darkened as he began to pull his own.

He meant to kill her.

I turned around, begging for some sign, some miracle to stop this. I turned to find Irving stepping quietly to my side, the same horrified awe written on his face. My gaze jerked back to Isthalla.

"ISTHALLA!" I screamed, futile. She paused mid-preparation for another blow and turned directly to me. The light left her eyes instantly, and for a moment I felt everyone else in the room melt away. She was looking at me-directly at me-and no one else. My brow creased together in confusion and pain as I stared at her, still trying to understand what I was seeing.

I shook my head, disbelieving, as the horror began to leak back into my features. I saw such unmatchable anger in her eyes, but the moment she met my eyes it was replaced by a distinct fear that sent a cold chill into my stomach. Something told me she was about to do something she was going to regret..

What has happened to you?

"No, p-please," I begged, but it barely came out as more than a breathless whisper. Irving's hand was on my shoulder before I could signal my legs to step forward. I stood rooted to my spot, frozen in my shock, as I watched the scene unfold and crash at my feet. Greagoir's sword was raised in front of his face, his hands beginning to glow with his dispelling power.

"May the Maker have mercy on your soul," I heard the heavy words pound through my skull, spoken from the Commander's grave lips. My heart stopped.

I jerked from Irving's grasp and rushed forward, hands reaching out to grab Greagoir before he could strike.

A loud, piercing burst of light. A male's shout.

Red.

So much red, then blackness. Her voice was the last I heard.

"JOWAN!"

I saw him standing in front of her, a knife embedded in his right hand as the blood poured into his palm and rose into the air, weightless.

Then my world went away.