9:27 Dragon, Kinloch Hold
Month of Firstfall
~Akarra~
Anders spun himself around in his chair, offering her a saucy grin. Keeping her eyes down, Akarra scribed on, her quill never leaving the page but continuing its steady skritch skritch across the vellum. Anders leaned in closer, brown eyes smoldering with mischief. He cleared his throat, and when she still didn't look up he drummed a rhythm on her desk, his fingers skittering across the paper, narrowly missing her dancing quill.
"What, Anders," she murmured, fully aware that she was the only one in the classroom who was even pretending to work. Tiny wads of vellum, moistened with spit and rolled between idle fingers, arranged themselves in a gooey pattern on one wall as four young men contested to see who could launch them the furthest from makeshift tubes. No magic was allowed - they used nothing but their own lungs for this competition. Opposite, a gaggle of young ladies whispered and squealed, tossing their hair and arranging their robes as they judged the spitball event. A few other young men and women sat in hushed, intimate conversation, their fingers laced and faces close. Kinnon and Rella were doing a bit more than talking, though they'd retreated to one corner of the classroom to do it. Judging by the earthy noises that were coming from that corner, Akarra hoped for their sakes that Enchanter Wynne truly was gone for the rest of the hour. All they needed was a templar to walk through the door. Who in their right mind left teenagers alone in a classroom?
"You're being boring again," Anders chided her, then yanked the vellum out from under her quill when she raised it from the page. She shrieked, but he jumped up on a chair and held it high, grinning like a shadowcat.
"Anders!"
"All work and no play, Akarra," he scolded, then yelped when a tendril of flame licked his fingers. The vellum fluttered back to the desk, and Akarra snatched it up before Anders could ensure its recapture.
"You're the one whose Harrowing is in a month-"
"Exactly! So why in Andraste's name are you studying when we could be doing anything else?" Anders dropped down into his chair again with a hefty sigh. "Face it Akarra. You're old before your time."
Akarra rolled her eyes. "Healing doesn't come as easily to all of us, Anders. Unlike you, I have to work for every bit of ability."
"Why you bother, I'll never know," Anders shook his head. "You can blow things up with your brain. How is that less excellent than closing a gaping wound?"
"Because people need healers," Akarra pointed out with a lopsided smile. "The lowliest cook can set a fire."
"Not with his mind though." Anders stretched, shooting a covert glance at the huddle of girls across the room. "Keili's gotten better looking, don't you think?"
"Maker's sake, Anders. Keili? The virgin? She'll never sleep with you." Akarra tucked the parchment into her shoulderbag, safely away from questing fingers.
"Sounds like a challenge to me..." Anders' eyes gleamed. "But what about you? You've been rather chaste lately. Where's Finn been?"
"Finn and I are on the outs." The words tasted bitter. "Since his Harrowing he's been completely smug - he thinks he's too good for an 'unharrowed apprentice'. Like passing that stupid test has turned him into a full adult, and I'm beneath him now."
"Ass," Anders said simply. "He doesn't deserve you."
Akarra shrugged, not really wanting to linger on it. Relationships came and went in the Tower, and as much as she didn't like to think she was as promiscuous as the rest, she was no chantry maiden.
"So, I think I'll go talk to Keili..." Anders threw her a wicked grin as he stood.
"Unless you plan on raving about the evils of what we are, I doubt she'll be interested," Akarra quipped. "She spends more time in the chapel..."
"A good tumble might be just the thing, then. And you know me, all I want to do is help." Anders considered, then pulled a sheet of creamy vellum from his desk. "Do the thing, will you?"
"Maker, Anders, you really need a new opening line."
"Come on, Akarra... no one does it better than you."
Akarra groaned, tipping her head back and shooting Anders a pained glance, but after another sigh she took the vellum and closed her eyes. The paper rolled, creasing and shaping, folding itself to her whim. A bit of color, and the stem of the makeshift rose darkened to a hunter green, the budding petals flooding with crimson.
"Brilliant," Anders breathed as she handed it to him. "One of these days I'll make you show me how to do that."
"Yeah, right. You keep promising to show me the electricity thing, too."
Anders winked at her. "And I will." He slipped the rose into the folds of his robes and sauntered over to Keili, who sat a bit apart from the other girls.
Shaking her head in amusement, Akarra pulled a tome from her bag, determined to have the layout of the human heart committed to memory before the bell rang. She was meeting First Enchanter Irving for lunch, and she wanted to be able to tell him about her progress.
Month of Haring, 19th Day
"I can't do it." Akarra giggled, snorting a little at the hilarity of the moment, her head swimming with the effects of the wine. Who'd have thought that Enchanter Wynne kept a still? Trust Anders to find out, and to filch a few bottles. And really, it wasn't half bad. She took another sip, rolling the heavy liquid over her tongue.
"Sure you can," Anders encouraged her, the candlelight flickering over his golden hair. He'd kept from cutting it for nearly a year now, and it brushed his shoulders in soft waves. "Come on. I won't bite."
"This is dumb," Akarra complained, setting her cup down. "I can't kiss you. You're like... my brother."
"I can't show you otherwise." Anders pointed out, his voice thickened with wine. "And why haven't we ever kissed, anyway?"
"Because you're a man-whore," Akarra snickered. "You'll do anything on two legs, and you've filled my ears with tales of your conquests too many..." she hiccuped. "...times."
"Oh. Right. Hey," he protested. "You're not exactly a Revered Mother."
"I never said I was," Akarra agreed. "But I've had, what..." she thought, searching back through her addled memory. "Angelo, then Renold. Then Finn. Three." She held up three unsteady fingers, waving them before Anders' face. "For the tower, that practically does make me a Revered Mother. You... you're becoming a legend. Tell me truly - did you really sleep with Cera, that elven ambassador mage? They say you did, but she was only here for a day - did you?"
Anders grinned. "I'm running out of women, Akarra. I need to get out of here."
"What, so you can get some kind of... rarified... slimy... disease-thing? What're they called, the ones you get from having sex with sailors?"
"I'm... a healer," he pronounced with care, his eyes deadly serious. "Anyone I sleep with leaves healthier than they started."
"Not everything can be cured with magic, Anders," Akarra replied in a sing-song voice, tapping her finger on his nose.
"Everything worth catching can," he cackled. "Come on. You said you wanted to learn. I have to kiss you to show you. One kiss."
"No! Is this how you start all your conversations with women you bed?" Akarra picked up her cup again and drained it, holding it out for more wine. "I'm not drunk enough for this."
"Too drunk and you won't enjoy it," Anders cautioned her, but poured another share of the wine into her glass. "Look, it isn't as if I want to kiss you, either."
"Why? What's wrong with me?" Akarra demanded, forgetting that she'd just told him that he was practically her sibling.
"Nothing. You're gorgeous. You've got the most beautiful black hair, did you know that?"
"Stop it." Akarra plunked the cup down again, then closed her eyes and braced herself, trapping her hands beneath her legs. "Do it. Just... do it."
She heard Anders' chuckle, and then the smell of his skin and gentle pressure as his lips brushed hers. The stupidity of what was happening almost dissolved her into giggles again, but then his tongue glided along the seam of her lips, a tiny, tickling vibration sending a ripple of sensation down her spine.
Akarra jumped back, her eyes flying open. "What-"
"Oh come on, that wasn't a kiss, only the beginning of one," Anders protested. "That's what I'm trying to show you!"
"Do it again," Akarra commanded, some of the fog clearing from her head.
Anders leaned in, one hand rising to tangle itself in her hair. She swatted it away, uninterested in romantic gestures, preoccupied with learning what Anders called his "electricity trick".
Anders' lips were soft, sweeter than she'd imagined - or maybe that was the wine. She found her mouth opened quite naturally under his, another small tingle speeding the way. His hand rose once more, and this time she did nothing to stop it from weaving into her hair. The most delicious feeling shivered through her, the joint connection of his hand and tongue almost more than she could take - it felt more... alive than any kiss she'd ever experienced, and Akarra wondered why she'd never thought of using her powers this way.
Electricity wasn't really her strong point, though; it came much more naturally to Anders.
They broke a moment later, Akarra gasping, Anders laughing at her flushed cheeks. "Now I see why they all fall into your bed," she muttered.
"Blech. Glad that's over," Anders teased her. "Awful, wasn't it? Maker, kissing my sister. You're lucky I love you, Akarra, because there's no way I'd do that otherwise."
"It was the worst. I love you too. Now shut up," Akarra commanded him. "Give me your hand."
Twining her fingers with his, Akarra kneaded the flesh, coaxing his fingers backward as she stretched the muscles in a hand massage - something Finn had shown her. It was cold in the cellar room, and Akarra urged a bit of heat into his chilled digits, relaxing the muscles further. He sighed, then cocked a brow when lightning sparked between their hands.
"Practicing," Akarra murmured. "It doesn't just have to be with your tongue, right?"
"No, but what's the fun without it?"
Akarra grinned. "So little imagination!"
They grew quiet, finishing the wine as Akarra worked first his left hand, then his right.
"Are you nervous at all?" she murmured. In a few hours it would be morning, and the templars would take her best friend to the Harrowing chamber, and Maker-willing, pass him into full-mage status. No one knew just what happened behind those doors, only that not everyone made it out in their right mind.
"A bit," Anders admitted, the joviality gone from his handsome face. Leaning back against the cellar wall, he fed her a small, quirked smile. "Thanks for meeting me tonight."
Her shoulders lifted for a long moment as she drew breath before they dropped again. "You're my best friend, Anders," she said. "Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?" She sat up on her knees, gesturing. "Come here. I'll rub your shoulders."
Anders maneuvered himself into place, letting his head rock forward as Akarra sent flickerings of heat into muscles gone tense with worry and fear. Touches of her newfound electric ability helped as well, though Anders yelped the first time she did it, cautioning her about too much. "Start small, and work up," he mumbled, and she soon had him purring. "Sweet baby Andraste, woman. Tell me again why Finn left you?"
"Because he's a jackass," Akarra snapped, her thumbs digging a little too deeply into Anders' shoulderblades.
"You should show him what you learned tonight. He'd be putty in your hands."
Akarra's movements slowed. By this time, most of the wine had evaporated from her veins, burned off with the exertion of magic and the tension that came with thinking about Anders' Harrowing. "Do you think?"
"But he's a jackass, right? Why would you want him back?"
"Because he was my jackass."
"Trust me, there's at least twenty others who would adore you, Akarra. More if you count the upper echelon."
"Ew, Anders. That's just wrong."
"A beautiful young woman like you? Stranger things have happened."
"There's no way I would ever, ever have a relationship with anyone more than... I don't know. Ten years my senior. That's... just..." Akarra shuddered, thinking of some of the senior enchanters. "They're probably all... wrinkly..."
"True, it would probably be more enjoyable for them than it would be for you."
"Ugh." She finished with a generalized gliding of her hand, then tweaked his shoulders. "Better?"
"Much." Anders sighed, raking a hand back through his hair, his eyes falling to the floor. "Did you ever read Sister Petrine?"
Akarra's brows rose as she eased herself down beside him again. "That's random. Why?"
"I was reading this book she wrote - something about folklore. She's a Chantry scholar. Anyway, it was about the Chasind. Those people... they're free. As free as they can be. They're not ruled by anyone but themselves." He looked up, a fierce light in his brandy eyes. "Don't you ever want to get out of here?"
Akarra swallowed. Anders had grown restive in recent years, rebelling against even the simplest of Kinloch Hold's many rules. Was he actually thinking of trying to escape?
"It's just a book," she hedged. "And they're barbarians... there's a reason they're called Wilders."
Anders nodded, but he didn't look convinced, his eyes falling back to the floor.
They chatted a bit more, lingering on simple things, sharing a few precious memories, taking pleasure in the closeness that comes with long years of friendship grown into adulthood.
A small chime rang - the alarm Akarra had rigged, attaching it to the great clock in the hall. Only an hour remained til the waking bell, and they'd pushed their luck as far as it could plausibly go. Rising from the dirt floor, Akarra offered him a hand up, both of them brushing dust from their robes. She wound her arms around his neck.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered, turning her head to brush his cheek with her lips.
Anders' arms tightened around her as he let go a deep breath. "I promise," he whispered back.
Month of Haring, 20th Day
Akarra's knee jiggled beneath the desk, her toes pressed taut against the stiff leather of her boot as she listened to Enchanter Loreah drone on about the many usages of panacea. Potion-making, while important for would-be healers, was something that Akarra continued to struggle with. Anders had been helping her for years...
What was he doing right now? Was he even alive? Had she seen him for the last time?
"Panacea is only one of many herbs that are beneficial, but one must always take side effects into consideration." Enchanter Loreah's voice grew drier by the second, and Akarra resisted the urge to flop forward onto the desk. The class would never end!
Somehow, she made it through the hour, and dashed from the chamber the moment the bell rang. Dodging and weaving through the crowds of students, she raced to the dormitories, wondering if she dared sneak into the boys' side and check Anders' room.
"Sully!" Waving frantically, she caught the eye of her best friend's roommate. The lanky youth waved back, jogging over.
"Hey, Akarra. Seen Anders?"
"No, I was hoping you had," she nibbled at her lip. "Can you check your room? I feel like he ought to be out by now."
"Sure thing. One sec." Sully disappeared down the hall, and Akarra slanted against the wall, clutching her books to her chest. She had only a few moments before her next class, and-
"Akarra?"
Her head swiveled to the side, and she paled at the look on Sully's face, a cold chill spreading over her skin. She swallowed. "What?"
"His stuff's gone. All of it." Sully shook his head, confusion and fear carving lines into his forehead. "You don't think-"
"Maker," Akarra whispered. What could that mean? Why would his things be missing? "I... I don't know, Sully. But... I'll find out." To the void with her classes. She marched back the way she'd come, climbing the stairs one resolute step at a time. Icy dread flooded her bones. As much as she didn't want to admit it, there was only one thing she could think of... if Anders had failed, and they'd... made him Tranquil... they might have cleared out his things. One person could tell her, and she had no intention of waiting to find out with the rest of her classmates.
To the top of the tower she went, ending her climb at the entryway to First Enchanter Irving's office. Pursing her lips, she blew out an anxious breath, seeking to calm her fraying nerves before she lost her thin semblance of control. Palms sweating, she lifted one hand to rap knuckles against Irving's door.
The familiar voice called for her to enter, and she pushed open the door.
"Akarra," Irving said in surprise, rising from his chair. "My dear, aren't you due in elemental studies in a few minutes?"
"What happened to Anders, Irving?" She kept her voice low and calm, but her tone brooked no argument. Even among the senior mages, not many would dare come directly to Irving's office - it wasn't that the First Enchanter was a cruel or disciplinary man, but merely a very busy one. A chain of command existed within the tower for a reason, but Akarra had long ago learned how to cut past all of that.
Since the night in her childhood when he'd caught her trying to burn down Kinloch Hold's extensive library, Irving had taken a special interest in Akarra Amell. Their relationship had blossomed into close friendship, her coming to him with her small triumphs, him taking joy in her advancing studies. They lunched together several times each week, and often sat atop the roof in the evenings, stargazing and chatting, keeping up with each other's lives. Anders joined them on occasion, but the young man had never become what Akarra was - akin to his own flesh and blood. He'd taken the place of the father she'd always longed for, her own having died before she was born. She knew just how much Irving loved her, and she loved him, as well.
It was this love she was counting on now.
Irving frowned, lowering himself to the desk again. "Anders was taken to the Harrowing Chamber at dawn, as all are in their nineteenth year."
"Yes yes. He was. And now his things are gone from his room. What happened to him?" Akarra's fingers kneaded over the tomes she clutched, her shoulders tight as she awaited Irving's answer.
To her fury, her mentor chuckled. "He means a great deal to you, this young man. Tell me, why is it you and Anders have never taken an interest in each other, my dear?"
"Irving!" Akarra cried, infuriated that he would redirect her at a time like this. "Where is he!"
"Such temper! You're normally much more level headed..." He held up his hands, chuckling at the small shriek of exasperation that flew from Akarra's lips. "Your friend is in his new quarters. The mages do not bunk with the apprentices, after all." A twinkle shone in Irving's eye as he reached into his desk, retrieving a creamy sheet of vellum and laying it on the desk before him. Keeping his eyes on the parchment, he reached for the fancy quill on the corner of the desk, penning something in swirling script as he spoke. "Give this to the templar on guard. You'll be shown to his room." His steady fingers creased the vellum, handing it over.
Akarra snatched at the parchment, her heart singing as she spun and dashed back toward the door. Fingers curving around the handle, she halted at the sound of Irving's voice.
"I rather expect you'll be missing the rest of today's classes..."
She turned back, guilt written over her features.
Irving chuckled. "Don't fall behind."
"Thank you," she said fervently, and slipped from the room, feeling light enough to fly.
The templar on duty hesitated before letting Akarra into the mage quarters, his helmeted face showing nothing but a pair of warm brown eyes through the shadowed visor slit. After an impatient moment, he stepped aside, returning Irving's letter to her waiting fingers. Nodding her thanks, Akarra scurried down the hall, trying not to look like a teenager as she covertly gaped at the senior mage quarters. So much nicer than the apprentice rooms!
Anders' chamber was sparse yet, with bare walls and nothing but the standard bed, desk and chest of drawers. His things had been packed into a few crates which he'd shoved against one wall. Akarra had offered to help him unpack but he'd waved her off.
Now she sprawled on her stomach across Anders' bed, her chin pillowed on folded hands. Anders perched backward on the lone chair, his arms crossed over the back, legs akimbo.
"How does it feel?" Akarra asked.
Anders grinned. "Good! I mean, fine, I guess." He shrugged. "I don't feel any different than I did last night. Well, exhausted - I haven't slept in a day."
"Neither have I," Akarra scoffed. "And I had classes."
Anders chuckled. "Where you sat and stared. I did a bit more than that. You're currently winning on who's less tired."
"So tell me about it." Akarra flipped around, hiking her robes up to allow a cross-legged seat on the quilt. "I want to know."
To her surprise, Anders shook his head, a guarded expression transforming his face. "I can't, love. It's against the rules."
Akarra groaned. "Oh you've got to be kidding me. I was sure you of all people wouldn't care. Come on... it isn't like I'm going to tell anyone."
Anders only shook his head, refusing to divulge the details of what had happened in the Harrowing Chamber. After a few more minutes of cajoling, Akarra gave up in a huff, and Anders found something else to tease her about. To their happy surprise, dinner was delivered to Anders' room - a gift from Irving - and they spent another few hours in silliness and friendship.
"You're not going to get all weird now that you're a full mage, are you?" Akarra asked as the hour grew late. Anders had joined her on the bed, the both of them cross-legged, facing each other.
"All weird?" Anders cocked a brow.
"Like Finn."
"Never," Anders promised. "I'll be here for you, I promise..." he hesitated, that guarded look returning to his face. "At least, I'll do everything I can to be here for you. And you study hard." He tapped her nose with his forefinger. "I expect you to waltz out of the Harrowing Chamber, and the two of us to make something of these lives we've been given." He leaned in, his eyes fierce. "I mean it, Akarra. I don't intend to chain myself to some.. neanderthal ideal that the chantry's forcing on us."
"Um... okay," Akarra said, puzzled by the sudden intensity of Anders' words. After another searching look, Anders sat back, offering her an apologetic grin.
"Sorry. Time for big serious conversations another day, no? The point is, I'll do better for you than that walking bookworm... you can't get rid of me that easily. Truly, he doesn't deserve you, Akarra. I wish you'd stop fixating on him."
Akarra scowled. The breakup had just been so... incomplete. She wanted the last word. Finn had dropped her like a hot potato, and her pride smarted over it. Just because she was younger, suddenly she wasn't good enough for him?
"What time is it?" she asked suddenly.
Anders glanced at the wall, where a clock was mounted. This had fascinated Akarra as well - imagine, knowing for yourself what time of day it was. Freedom from the bells... an incredible perk of being an adult. It had been years since she'd known what the hour was without listening for it.
"Not long til the tenth bell," Anders said. "We've been here all day. You should go - it was amazingly excellent of Irving to give you that pass but I doubt it'll protect you if you're here after curfew."
Akarra sighed, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Anders wrapped her in a quick hug before she scurried out the door, ignoring the templar who stood duty at the entrance to the mage quarters.
On her way back to her room, she passed the library - the sudden thought that Finn was likely within became too tempting to resist. Her steps slowed as plans formed in her mind. She would corner him, say something sassy and cutting, then swoop in and kiss him - the electricity thing should knock him for a loop. Then she would smile and walk away, leaving him with something to think about. He'd regret his cavalier treatment of her.
Smirking, Akarra sauntered into the library, heading for the corner where Finn typically resided with a stack of books. Finding his normal plush chair empty, she frowned, wondering if he'd actually managed to find something else to do tonight. Many an evening the two of them had been escorted from the library at the tenth bell by the templars, fingers entwined. He'd read poetry to her, and shown her fantastic stories of knights and swooning maidens. Til Finn, Akarra had never known just how pleasurable reading could be, and had taken a liking to the printed word for its own sake, and not just as a means of perfecting her craft.
Well, if he wasn't here, he had to be somewhere, and likely was sequestered between the shelves, seeking a specific tome-
"Well. Akarra, isn't it?"
She spun, her heart in her throat. A templar stood behind her, free of his helmet... she frowned. So few of them showed their faces, she had no idea who this man was.
"I'm sorry, you've got me at a disadvantage," she stammered. Templars never spoke to mages - not socially, in any case.
"Bran," he offered, stepping a bit closer. "I... guard the doors to the apprentice quarters." Running a hand over his dark hair, he shrugged. "You wouldn't know me."
She lifted her chin in a slow nod. "Good evening to you, Ser Bran." Moving to step around him, she was halted when he slid in front of her.
"Up late, aren't you?"
"The tenth bell has yet to chime," she said, growing impatient. "I have a few minutes."
"Hmm." Bran pursed his lips, then bowed his head and stepped out of her way. Akarra attempted a smile, but there was more irritation than friendliness in her expression as she pushed past him.
When a cold, shattering blast of draining struck the center of her back, she dropped like a stone.
Blackness greeted her when she opened her eyes next. Deep murk, and the sound of a key turning in a lock. Her heart sprang to her throat, fingers falling against a stone floor as she struggled to rise from her prone position. Where was she? What had happened?
Shaking her head, she searched her memory for the last few minutes. Everything was hazy. She'd been in the library, looking for Finn, and then...
The sound of flint and steel, the bright flash of sparks drawing her attention to the left side of the room. Everything faded into blackness again as the sparks died, then a second try sounded, and a bright candle flame bloomed.
"You're awake... good." He smiled at her, the expression kind... but somehow, hard and sinister.
Bran, she thought. Cold panic overtook her as the pieces fell into place. She'd heard stories, disturbed whispering behind closed doors, but never had she actually thought...
"Now, we can do this easily, or you can fight me. Personally, I like a girl with a bit of... moxy," Bran continued, slow steps bringing him within reach. Akarra scrambled backward, hands and feet digging into the stone as she cornered herself against the granite walls. Her breath shortened to quick pants, panic racing through her limbs as Bran crouched before her, concern furrowing his brow.
"Come now, it doesn't have to be difficult," he crooned. "Really, you won't have much to complain about - not if you cooperate."
"Maker curse you," Akarra rasped, drawing a ragged breath and spitting on his boots. His face darkened with displeasure, and he rose, feet taking a step back in disgust. Launching to her feet, Akarra dashed to the door, but a hand clamped her shoulder, spinning her around before she could twist the key and wrench it open. Bran's steel gauntlet cracked against her cheek, snapping her head to the side, a pained gasp slipping from her lips. Stars swam before her eyes, and Akarra staggered, falling on her elbow against a small table.
"Bitch," Bran hissed, and rough hands fell on her waist. Akarra battled the haze settling over her mind, grasping for a bit of the fire magic that always came so easily to her. This was the first time she'd been hit with a smite, and the powerless feeling of the missing Fade connection nauseated her. She felt empty... her knees wobbled, stomach heaving... she was terribly, terribly afraid.
The templar manhandled her over the table, pushing her chest flat against the wooden surface. Skillful hands rucked her robes up to her waist, lingering on her bare thighs. Akarra writhed, but another crushing blow landed at the base of her skull, knocking her forehead against the harsh wood of the table. Panic clouded her vision, sheer terror stilling her voice. But one weapon remained to her, and if she were to have any hope at all she needed to use it - she screamed, sucking in a gout of air to aid the sound and push it higher, louder. She didn't bother with words, just poured every bit of her flagging energy into volume, the shrill piercing ringing in her ears.
Of course she was silenced, her klaxon hushed as Bran flipped her over and delivered another skull-knocking blow. Akarra felt her lip split, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she moaned into the pain.
"They can't hear you," her attacker sneered. "Try it again, mage. I dare you."
The sound of someone beating on the oaken door made Akarra want to weep.
Bran clapped a hand over her mouth, and Akarra's eyes flashed with hatred over the silvered glove, wishing he were bare-handed so she could bite him.
It did no good - the pounding continued, and then the door crashed open, another templar silhouetted in the dim light of the hallway.
"Release her," a tremulous baritone sounded - it was no voice she knew, but the sound of rescue was sweeter than anything that had ever graced Akarra's ears. She shoved at Bran as her savior strode into the room.
"This is no business of yours," Bran grated.
"She's a mage. You're a templar. And she doesn't seem to be enjoying your attention," the mysterious man said in a hard voice. "Leave, before I have you reported."
"You know, we could share," Bran offered, making one last attempt. "She's a sweet thing, isn't she? I'll let you go first-"
The templar's fist drove across Bran's jaw, sending him staggering. Akarra backed away, her eyes drawn to the door and freedom. She should go, while she had the chance...
Bran growled, drawing himself back up, his body rocking back as he prepared a swing of his own. A sword sliced the air, and Akarra's aggressor reeled, windmilling back from the naked blade.
"You'll pay for this," Bran snarled.
"As I said... leave, before I have you reported." The silvered edge touched Bran's neck, and glowering, Bran marched from the room.
Akarra smoothed her robes, still feeling shaky, as her rescuer sheathed his sword. Her eyes flicked to the door, but the arresting voice froze her before she could run.
"Are you alright?"
"No lasting damage," she uttered, attempting a cheerful smile. Her mouth betrayed her, and she hid behind quivering hands as her lips turned down, face crumpling.
"Hey, um, oh..." the templer stammered as Akarra's shoulders rounded, her body folding in on itself as she strained to tamp back the flow of emotion. "Let me... come on. I won't... I won't hurt you." A tentative arm curved around her shoulders, and she allowed herself to be led away and back to her own quarters.
Breathless sobs wracked her frame, her gut twisting with leftover fear and tension. She shook like a leaf, aching, her muscles screamingly tight. The templar barely touched her, guiding her along with gentle touches and murmured words. Akarra's arms hugged her chest, her dark hair swinging forward in an ebony curtain as tears streaked her face.
In what seemed like no time they arrived at her door, and her mysterious savior reached to push it open for her.
"Thank you," she gritted, her voice rough. "Really."
He nodded wordlessly, the lamplight dancing over his helmet. "Goodnight, Akarra."
At these words, she turned back, pinning him with a searching look. "Who are you?"
"Oh," he blurted, quick hands rising to lift the helmet away. Softly waved carmel-colored hair, the shadow of a matching beard covering his chin and upper lip. Brown eyes glinted, warm as a winter's eve by the fire, so serious as he met her gaze. He cleared his throat, and Akarra's eyes were drawn to the mole on his right cheek... it fit him, a small imperfection in an otherwise beautiful face. Such worry - her heart softened to see the concern lining his brow, her fear dissipating in the wake of such a sweet expression.
"Cullen," he said. "I'm Cullen. I just arrived last week - finished my training in Denerim not too long ago."
She nodded, her memory tugging at her. There was something... "Thank you again. Goodnight, Cullen."
He bowed, walking away without another word, and Akarra shut the door firmly, sliding her lock into place and stumbling to her bed, curling herself into the sheets for a soul-cleansing cry.
It wouldn't be until later that she placed him, his warm eyes having caught hers from the confines of the templar's helmet outside the mage quarters. It wouldn't be until a few days after this that she would realize he'd known her name.
All of these things gave Akarra much to think about, but ten days later, on the first day of 9:28 Dragon, Anders escaped Kinloch Hold, turning her world upside down.
A/N: Oh goodness, I love this story. I've just... fallen in love with Akarra. Anytime I get under a character's skin, I love them. I can't help it. And I hope you love her too. ;-)
Thanks go as always to Jaden Anderson, who approved this message... (sorry, political humor. Anyone else glad the election is over?) I mean, who approved this chapter and gave it a thorough beta. :-D
I hope you enjoyed, my lovelies! Please leave me your thoughts in a review - I love getting them! :-D Hugs and kisses, ~Eve