2. The Last Homely House

The Tower was tense, had been that way for a couple of weeks and Tasha's magic was more unpredictable than usual because of it. She'd taken to spending most of her free time in one library or the other, but she preferred the one on the first floor because she could watch the apprentices practice spells. Their concentration and nervousness was familiar and comfortable, giving her a moment's respite from the buzzing energy of the Tower.

The apprentice she was currently watching was working on a shield spell. James was on the verge of bolting and only the fact that there was a Templar glaring at him kept him rooted to the ground. His teacher, an enchanter who had gone through his Harrowing a few years after she was dragged to the Circle, sighed.

"I am not your enemy. Fear is your enemy," he gently scolded when the apprentice's incredibly unstable shield wavered under the tiny fireball that the enchanter sent at him and knocked James to the ground. Tasha perked up at his words, eyes brightening. "It is a weakness that can be exploited. Should you face a demon with your will wavering so, it would consume you. Is that what you want?" Worry.

James on the other hand was, on top of being afraid of the fireball the enchanter was sending at him, terrified that he would never get shielding down. "N-no?" he stammered. Tasha blinked sympathetically but even though the three months had passed, she still had nightmares of her Harrowing. The apprentice needed as much as help as possible. Remembered rage slithered down her back and she shivered.

"Then stand firm and know you can resist whatever I can throw at you. Again!" A pleased smile spread across Tasha's face when, despite the fear trying to paralyze him, the young apprentice managed to stay on his feet. The enchanter too smiled. Neither compared to the triumphant grin that radiated from James' face.

"I-I actually did it!"

"You're not done yet. But I think you've figured it out enough that you can work at it on your own for a little bit before I come see your progress." James scampered off at the dismissal, whooping. The enchanter finally chuckled, shaking his head before walking over to Tasha.

"I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Artaemus, or Art if you'd rather. I know it's a mouthful." He offered a hand for her to shake.

"Tasha Amell."

"Ah, yes. The newest Circle mage. I heard good things about your Harrowing. I heard it was one of the most textbook ones we've had in a while." Art smiled dryly, a secret between the two mages that wasn't shared by the apprentices around them. Interest.

Tasha looked at him curiously. He was one of the only full Circle mages she'd spoken to since she'd joined their ranks and she didn't dare ask Rebecca if what she was going through was normal; the other woman was a hysterical breakdown waiting to happen and the only thing keeping her stable was Tasha's presence.

"Can I ask you a question about it?"

"Of course." Instantly, he was back in teaching mode.

She lowered her voice, not wanting to draw attention to the question. "How long did it take you to stop having nightmares?"

Understanding. "You should be getting close to the stopping point although I've noticed that when I drain myself too much, the nightmares come back."

That was the problem, then. "Ah. Okay. Thank you."

Concern. When she went to turn away, Art grasped her upper arm. She tensed and sparks reflexively skittered across his hand. He released her with a wince. "Are you okay?"

She met his worried brown eyes. "Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

He hesitated. "Nothing. No particular reason," he said finally. Tasha's eyes narrowed.

"I should go," she said slowly. There was a slight flash of inward irritation and regret before he turned away.

As she went to leave, her attention was grabbed by a different enchanter, one with which she was familiar. Mentally, she growled but went over. As she approached, she took stock of how they were feeling. Dennet was nursing several burns already, but that was more than she'd been able to produce. He was also nearly in tears, both from the pain and fear of his magic. Fortel was not paying any attention.

The Templar nearby shifted uneasily when she waved a hand, cooling the air over the apprentice's burns to soothe them. Her eyes met Fortel's in a glare. "I'm sure you've met Miss Amell. She seems to be everywhere these days," Fortel said, smiling at her. "But I have never seen anyone as singularly gifted with ice and utterly terrible with fire, as normally, if a mage's magic exists most happily in a particular school, the mage has access to all branches of the school." Fortel peered down at Dennet through his bifocals. "You have learned about the schools of magic, yes?"

Dennet reddened. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly with a glance at Tasha.

"Fortel, why did you want me to come over?"

"I want you to explain how you control your magic."

She could have rolled her eyes. Instead she looked at the apprentice mildly, knowing what she needed to do. "I'm going to do something, okay? It's going to feel weird, but it's going to help."

Trust. When he nodded his permission, she gestured for him to sit on the floor and she plopped down in front of him. One hand rested on his knee, giving her the opening she needed and then she reached out with the other part of her gift, the part that was far too active those days to keep close readings on Rafe. Instead of simply brushing against him, like she normally did, Tasha gently slid her gift inside him, wanting this to be as painless as possible. He shivered. Alarm. Comfort.

She didn't blame him for being a little conflicted. So she began talking, keeping her voice at an even tone and keeping her own emotions settled and her shield tightened. As intimately as they were joined at that moment, she didn't need outside emotions bleeding into him other than what she wanted to give him. "This isn't something most mages are capable of doing and I've had to fight long and hard to understand it as well as I do. Can I learn more? Of course. But it's not the learning that is important, not necessarily. It's trusting that I will be in control of it and it won't control me." As she spoke, she transferred to him the feeling of calm joy for magic and soothed away some of his fear. "Magic should be feared only as one would fear skill with a sword or a bow. It is not inherently dangerous, if you can control it. Yes, we have the risk of possession-" she paused at the sharp flash of fear that ebbed to a dull throbbing.

"I knew this was a good idea," Fortel muttered, grinning broadly. Tasha ignored him and the bright pleasure that threatened to call her attention, tightening the shield.

"It's understandable, and I think all mages share that fear with you," she said softly, staring into the boy's eyes.

He blinked slowly. "Even you?'

Tasha laughed softly, throwing up a wall between him and the bitterness in her soul that flared up. "Yes, even me."

"Then how do you do it?" he asked.

She paused in her work, trying to ignore the headache that was developing. Slowly, mulling the words over in her mind, she replied, "By trusting in myself and my gift. Sometimes it's easier than others. But I always remember why I shouldn't fear what is as much a part of me as my left hand."

"So…" he paused, a small crinkle developing between his eyebrows. "Magic is a good thing?"

She didn't try to hide or mute the joy that made her smile and warmed him through the connection she'd formed with him. "It most certainly is. The Chantry teaches that magic exists to serve man, but never to rule over him. That doesn't mean it's a punishment or a curse. It's simply a different tool that we can use to help other people." Despite her lack of faith, she knew that most people in the Circle were fairly devout or believed on some level.

"Like you're doing right now, with me?"

That was when she shrugged. "You needed help and I was able to give it. That should be how everyone behaves, not just mages because we seem to need to prove to everyone else that we are not a danger." He flinched a little at the loss of her presence when she withdrew but it was mostly subconscious. She rose to her feet, noticing already how much more settled he felt and dipped her head to Enchanter Fortel.

Before either of them could say another word, she nearly fled.

She'd just made it to the steps leading up to the next floor when a timid voice behind her said, "Tasha?"

This time she did growl as she spun around. "What?"

The girl was young, probably a new apprentice and by the startled and almost awestruck look on her face, she'd probably already started hearing the tales about the older mage. "F-First Enchanter Ir-Irving wants to talk to you," she stammered.

Tasha sighed, immediately repentant though she could feel everything in her sparking. "All right. Thank you for telling me."

Tasha turned and headed to Irving's office. She was nearly snapping by the time she barged into the room, interrupting an argument between Irving and Greagoir. She stopped dead as three sets of eyes landed on her.

Greagoir's anger and frustration slide over her like burning fire and she had to fight not to flinch. "We will finish this later," he growled as he shoved past her.

"What was that about?" she couldn't stop the question before it slipped out.

"Nothing that concerns you at the moment," Irving answered. The old man was not nearly as volatile as Knight-Commander Greagoir but even he was frustrated by whatever she had interrupted.

The third man, Tasha didn't recognize. He was a stranger in a place where strangers were almost nonexistent. And what was even more startling was when she brushed up against him with her empathy, he felt...wrong, like she had to fight through something thick and oily to reach him and even when she did, she could barely feel anything, even though they were close in proximity.

Irving followed her curious gaze to the dark stranger and for a moment, his satisfaction distracted her. "Is this-" the stranger asked.

"Yes, this is she." Now, she jerked her head around to stare at him. There was no doubt that was pride in his voice. Pride? In her?

The stranger looked her up and down and Tasha stiffened slowly, feeling like she was being judged. Something flickered in his dark eyes. Her own flashed in response and she lifted her chin defiantly. "I can see why you've spoken of her so frequently."

"This is Duncan of the Grey Wardens. Duncan, this is Miss Tasha Amell, newest mage of the Circle of Ferelden," Irving introduced the two.

Tasha had to fight to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. That was when she eagerly took in the griffin embellishments on his armor. She had devoured the stories of the Grey Wardens and their sacrifices during Blights, dreaming of one day being as important as they were and serving in a way that few other people, let alone mages, ever did.

And now she was in the presence of one. Amused. "If I'd known this was all it would take to render you speechless, I'd have asked Duncan to come years ago," Irving said.

She swiveled her head towards the older mage before refocusing on Duncan. "A Grey Warden? Here?" She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. "In the tower?"

Irving smiled and the Grey Warden, Duncan nodded. "Grey Wardens go wherever duty sends them."

"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect?" Irving asked. She nodded in affirmation, eyes fixed on this Duncan. "Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."

"So, that's where all the enchanters have been going."

"You noticed?"

For a second, she could taste freedom. Her eyes gleamed fiercely as her mind began to churn. "Of course I did. I want to defend Fereldan too."

"Tasha," Irving scolded the young mage quickly but she took it like she would a puppy jumping on her.

"I'm a strong mage. Irving knows that. Let me come with you."

"With the darkspawn invading, we need all the help we can get, especially from the Circle," the Grey Warden said slowly. Duncan was very calm for needing all this help. Outwardly at least. Inwardly, he was worried, and Tasha could tell that even through the murkiness that surrounded him.

"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"The power you mages wield is an asset for any army. Your spells are very effective against large groups of mindless darkspawn. I fear if we don't drive them back, we may see another Blight." Her jaw tightened a little as she mentally acknowledged that her particular gifts weren't the most efficient against large groups but she wasn't going to point that out.

"No, I meant, what exactly do you mean?" she pressed. There was something else there and she couldn't ask something she didn't know what to ask for. Tasha caught a glimmer of respect from him but it was slippery as a fish.

"Duncan, you worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and darkspawn," Irving didn't let Duncan answer. So that was what Irving and Greagoir had been arguing about.

"We live in troubled times, my friend," Duncan said solemnly.

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times." Her head snapped up and she fixed Irving with a glare. He was hiding something.

"Irving, what did you want?"

"I simply thought that you would like to meet Duncan. Would you mind escorting him to his room?"

Hope. She smiled, though it was a little bitter. "I would love to." Irving realized why she was being so agreeable and sighed.

"Do come back after you have done so."

She chatted with Duncan on her way there, carefully and curiously monitoring him and trying to understand why she couldn't read him. The Grey Warden was polite though there were several moments when she got a sense of the same fire that lit her.

But she dutifully dropped him off and then returned to Irving's office. On her way there, though, she overheard a conversation that had her stopped in her tracks. "Did you hear?" Geoffry asked quietly. The apprentice was almost never soft-spoken.

"Hear what?" His best friend, Anthony, asked. Anthony and Geoffry were essentially opposites but it was good for Geoffry to have that stabilizing presence.

His voice lowered even more and she had to strain to hear it. "I heard they suspect someone of dabbling in blood magic."

Distress made Tasha twitch and it was echoed in Anthony, fueling her own feeling. "Why would anyone do something so stupid? That's a death sentence." She may not agree with pretty much everything the Chantry said, but it was common knowledge for blood magic to be a dangerous thing and she almost agreed with the death sentence part. It was almost as bad as working with demons.

"Because blood magic is powerful? You can bend others to your will and...and...force demons into your service. That's what I hear, anyway," he added hastily, understanding how it sounded. Anthony gave a snort and walked away. He actually walked past Tasha and she leaned into the shadows, trying not to be seen. She waited for a few more seconds and then walked past Geoffry, who was staring broodily after his friend.

The news was troublesome, but between that and the fact that Greagoir and Irving were arguing, it explained why the Tower was so tense. For a moment, she felt a dark undercurrent flowing just beneath the general unpleasant strain that felt so entirely wrong that for a moment, she felt sick. And then she stopped. Horror filled her heart when she remembered the day after her Harrowing, she'd walked down the halls with blood on her wrist. She had no interest in blood magic. But Templars tended to behead first and ask questions later.

It was then that she forced herself to keep going, simply because Irving had wanted to talk with her. When she got back to his office, her eyes were drawn to a stack of books on his desk that she hadn't noticed before. Books on blood magic, the ones from the library. She hadn't understood when she started to read them five years ago how wrong blood magic felt but she hadn't finished even one and hadn't returned to them. Even though she was interested in just having knowledge for knowledge's sake, she recognized that that was a dangerous thing to have knowledge of and so had redirected her attentions. She hadn't gone back to them.

To see those books sitting on Irving's desk was worrisome. She met his eyes. "Why are the books on blood magic taken from the library?"

Irving glanced behind him at the books. Worry. "I have been advised it would be wise to remove them from where prying eyes could see them. They will be put away somewhere very safe." Her heart sank. "But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about. How is Rebecca doing?"

"She could be better. She's a little stressed and hasn't been sleeping particularly well since I moved in, though I've been doing what I can to help her out. She also has been able to get a little more sleep the past couple of weeks than she has been so that's good for both of us."

Irving nodded. "Good, good. And how are you doing?"

The desire to tell him about her nightmares flared up but she swallowed the words down and instead chose to tell a different truth. "Honestly, I want out of the Tower. Not that it ever particularly felt safe to me, but it doesn't feel right anymore. It feels like," she paused, searching for the words, "right before a storm, a big one, the kind where thunder shakes the tower and I hate those." Irving chuckled despite the half-hearted glare she turned on him.

"Tempers are running a little high but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he replied mildly.

She gave him a flat look that clearly spoke of her disbelief. "And I'm queen of Ferelden."

"If anything changes, you'll be sure to let me know?" he asked.

Tasha didn't answer him for a long while, simply studying him. Finally she nodded and turned on her heel to walk off.

AN: I hope y'all enjoyed the second chapter. And I'd like to give a shoutout to The Byronic Writer for following.

Let me know what you think, even if you absolutely hated it. Peace! But...not literally.