Dylan groaned as harsh light pierced his eyes. He flung an arm over his face to block out the source of the stabbing pain in his retinas. He turned onto his side to hide his face, but sometime during his trance the Templars must have moved him back into the apprentice quarters.
With a yelp worthy of a surprised mabari, Dylan tumbled to the floor, landing flat on his face with an ignoble splat.
"Huh, so I see you're finally awake," said the equally surprised and amused voice of Jowan, who stood before Dylan's sprawled form with his arms folded over his chest. The shaggy mop of black hair nearly covered his shining eyes and impish grin.
"Very funny, Jowan" he grumbled, grabbing the side of the bunk and hefting himself to his feet, slipping into his leather boots with the ease of years of routine. As he laced each one carefully with nimble fingers, Jowan asked, "So you passed your Harrowing, huh? I know I'm not supposed to know, but what's it like?" At Dylan's warning glare, he raised his hands in surrender with a protest of, "We're friends! What's a little secret between friends?"
Dylan softened his glare into a worried glance, before directing his gaze to the toes of his boots and sighing, running a hand down his face, noting the thick build-up of stubble across his jaw. "I'm not sure you'd handle it Jowan" he admitted, almost ashamed of himself for that simple confession. He felt more than saw Jowan stiffen as he seated himself on the bunk, the shame and guilt tightening in his gut like a very large snake.
"Not sure I'd handle it? I'd have to know what 'it' was before I could say if I could handle it or not!" came Jowan's indignant reply, the mage throwing his hands up in frustration and began to pace. Dylan began to feel worse and worse after each step Jowan took, the tension building by the second.
"You're sent into the Fade!" he blurted, unable to handle the strain on his conscience any longer. That was a downside to putting the welfare of your friends before your own, a conscience the size of a bronto and twice as loud. Jowan immediately brightened, the glower lifting from his face as he stopped his pacing to stand at the foot of the bunk.
"Really? That's it?" he asked, almost disappointed at the apparently simple test. A very familiar smirk found its way onto Dylan's face, his eyes all but shining in his skull.
"And you have to face down a demon, not get possessed or fall for any other Fade-spawned stuff and, oh, if by chance you fail, the Templars cut you down instantaneously. Y'know, all the normal fun stuff of life in the Circle." The priceless look of shock on Jowan's face immediately made Dylan collapse in laughter, tears forming in his eyes as he rolled on the floor, clutching at his sides.
His laugh had the bonus effect of alerting others of his waking, and suddenly the door of the chamber burst open, followed by a black-haired form colliding heavily with his chest.
"You're alive!" Neria all but sobbed into his shoulder, her lithe arms constricting around his chest like the jaws of a blight wolf, crushing the breath from his lungs.
"Soon won't be," he grunted as he squirmed slightly, "air is kind of vital to living, is it not?" The she-elf's eyes widened in surprise as she released him, watching as he heaved in great gulps of air he had once took for granted, her mortification fading as colour returned to his flesh, trying to ignore the semi-hysterical laughter of Jowan from the other side of the bed. Neria indignantly threw a nearby pillow at him, with the bonus result of it landing square in his face, not only muffling his surprised cry, but also knocking him to the floor.
"Irving wanted to see you when you woke up" was all she said before departing, effortlessly gliding across the floor. With one final glance at Jowan, still on the floor with a faceful of pillow, Dylan rose and headed for the stairs to the upper levels. He walked, quite calmly compared to the pounding of his heart, up the stairs and towards Irving's office. It was a calm, self-assured countenance.
It barely lasted a minute.
"Neria!" He called after her, racing past and shouldering through any groups that stood in his way as he caught up to his friend, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around to face him.
She glared up at him, emerald eyes burning like small suns in her skull, before softening into the familiar green orbs he knew and loved. She smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of auburn hair away from his eyes.
"You look good for a man who just looked death in the eye," she said, a mischievous gleam twinkling in her eyes, the beginning of a smirk brushing at the corners of her mouth. Dylan smirked in response, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side.
"Just another day, darling." he quipped in the most atrocious Antivan accent he could muster, his voice all but purring at the end. He grinned like Mister Wiggums after he caught the pair of canaries in the Circle stockroom.
Neria immediately burst into peals of laughter, her voice echoing down the hall like liquid silver, as they strode towards Irving's office. As they entered the second floor, Neria's eyes were immediately drawn to a certain armoured Templar standing nervously by one of the arches. Cullen glanced at them before immediately looking away again, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
Dylan noticed the evil smirk on Neria's face too late, as she wriggled out of his hold and began a sensual walk towards the already-flustered Templar, accentuating the sway of her hips through her robes, the hems swishing around her ankles. Dylan almost felt sorry for Cullen as the she-elf seductively ran a hand over his breastplate, whispering into his ear (dirty things, judging by the amount of blood infusing the poor man's face).
Almost.
He couldn't help but laugh as Cullen all but bolted from Neria's tempting grasp, nearly tripping over his own boots as he fled, and the adorable pout on her face as she watched him go.
Chuckling, he grabbed her gently by the arm and all-but dragged her down the corridor towards Irving's office. As they approached, raised voices could clearly be heard from within, one of them all too familiar.
"…many have already gone to Ostagar- Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages!" Greagoir's voice resonated like a drum, each word a single beat, with the fervour of belief them "We've committed enough of our own to this war effort-" The rasping chuckle of the First Enchanter stopped the Knight Commander mid-speech, a look of amusement creeping over the old man's face.
"Your own? Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir?" Irving's beard quivered with barely-restrained mirth, his eyes alight, cutting years from his face. Dylan felt a responding grin twitch at the corners of his mouth, mirroring his mentor's own amused smirk. "Or are you afraid of letting the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?"
The question threw Greagoir off-guard, the flash of rage in his eyes impossible to miss. "How dare you suggest-" he began, pointing an accusing plated finger, before being interrupted by a third person, bringing attention to the other group already there.
There were four in total- a lightly armoured, swarthy looking man, with obsidian hair and a sword-and-dagger pair across his back; two dwarfs, one with fiery ginger hair and beard; alongside a carefully braided moustache, mimicked by the braids around his temples, clad in fine mail with a targe on his back and a rather large mace tied to his belt, and another clad in patchwork leathers, with faint chestnut stubble and hair in short braids, a crossbow and quiver of bolts across his back, with a large, vicious-looking knife in his belt, alongside various pouches filled with Maker-knew what.
The final member of their party was an elven woman, clad in leathers with flaxen blonde tresses that fell to her bosom and piercing grey eyes, with a wicked pair of daggers sheathed at her slim waist. All of them stood somewhere in the office, either casually browsing the tomes along one of the walls, or perched precariously on the side of the desk.
"Gentlemen, please," The leader- or so they assumed from his intricate armour- tried to ease the growing tension in the room, gently pushing the two men apart "Irving, someone is here to see you." All attention in the room was now focused on them (and wow, wasn't that unnerving). As Neria all but shuffled inside, Dylan valiantly trying to stifle his laughter as he too entered the chamber.
"First Enchanter?" was the first phrase out of his mouth, suddenly curious as to the reason behind his invitation. Irving's eyes softened slightly, losing the hostile edge that appeared whenever he was in the presence of the Knight-Commander, or any snobbish Templar for that matter.
"Ah, if it isn't our new brother in the Circle. Come, child." Dylan stepped nervously forward, looking back over his shoulder at Neria for support. She gave him a quick grin, before returning her gaze to the newcomers. Their leader stepped forward to stand at Irving's shoulder, glancing pointedly between the two mages. "These are…?" he trailed of, turning to Irving for confirmation.
"Yes, these are they." Was Irving's rather cryptic response, which was apparently all the newcomer needed. "Well Irving," came Greagoir's rather sarcastic response, "you're obviously busy. We'll discuss this later."
Irving watched with no small amount of amusement as the Knight-Commander stormed out, though not without getting the last word in. "Of course." Then he turned his attention back to the ones who remained. "Well then…where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens." Dylan and Neria shared a look of surprised awe before returning their gaze to Duncan.
"Pleased to meet you Aedilis Nobile" Dylan replied, bowing slightly with the Ancient Tevene honorific sliding in unconsciously. This did not go unnoticed by the others, as the dwarves each raised a curious eyebrow, the she-elf turned her gaze from the ring in her hands to his face, even Neria seemed surprised at his knowledge of an rather vehemently acclaimed 'dead language'.
Irving and Duncan however, took it in stride, calm as you please.
"And you, my good man," Duncan followed, his voice smooth and friendly, inclining his head in a gesture of both acknowledgement and respect. Dylan found himself liking the man more every second. Then Duncan noticed the glances they were shooting at the others of his group, and a small smirk slithered onto his face.
"Ah, I see you noticed my other recruits," he said before beckoning the others over, waiting for them to all gather round before beginning introductions.
The dwarf in fine mail was Duran Aeducan, second son of King Endrin Aeducan, cast into exile after a rather nasty batch of 'Dwarven Politics' as he called it (air quotes included, apparently it was that momentous)
The other was Faren Brosca; ex-Carta thug, part-time smuggler, part time merchant, crossbow marksman and self-proclaimed 'bomb-creator extraordinaire', chased from Orzammar after murdering the crime boss Beraht. Clearly, he landed into the waiting arms of the Grey Wardens, allowing him to put his knowledge to good use rather than wasting away in the slums of Dust Town, apparently unconcerned for the brutality of his past exploits.
The she-elf introduced herself as Kallian Tabris, a young girl from the alienage of Denerim, conscripted by Duncan on her wedding day after 'unforeseen circumstances', and some rather nasty interference from a member of Denerim's nobility, as she later explained.
Neria blinked slowly at the last one, her face turning slightly pale, no doubt remembering her close encounter with similar kinds of men, all those long years ago. Or maybe the reaction was more due to the entirely too flippant and evasive tone the elf used to describe what an undoubtedly horrific experience that was
Kallian quickly noticed the parlour of Neria's face, and her stony expression softened to one of pity and understanding whilst pursing her lips in mutual acknowledgement.
Neria glanced up at the change in expression, before seeing the gesture for what it was and shaking her head slightly. Dylan raised a silent eyebrow in question, waggling his eyebrows at Neria's innocent shrug, setting Faren snickering and Duran to shake his head in mock despair.
Irving sighed, before retrieving some items from behind his desk. "Your Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle." Dylan scowled at the mention of the 'blood tie', as some of the more vocal apprentices called them.
"My leash, you mean!" he snarled, his good mood shattering as quickly as it arrived. Irving and Neria winced, they knew of his opinion of the practise of the phylactery, the hypocrisy of the whole situation.
"Now child" chided Irving, choosing his words carefully so as to avoid setting off Dylan's infamous temper "you know the reasons for this, deplorable as they may be."
At this point, Duncan had waited with an expression of polite inquiry on his face, but he couldn't help but ask "I'm sorry, what exactly is this phylactery?" Neria grimaced as the other recruits also took an interest- this wasn't going to end well.
Irving sighed, apparently mirroring her thoughts. "When an apprentice joins, a sample of blood is taken, and placed in an enchanted vial" Irving explained, before going into the details of the process.
Whilst the others listened, Dylan silently seethed. He understood why the Chantry outlawed blood magic; it was too easy to fall into the many dark traps the bloody path held, to give in to the greed that such power cultivated. What he didn't accept- couldn't accept- was the fact that whilst they vilified it, they in turn used it to trap every mage that passed through the great doors of the tower.
They don't like it when we use it, but somehow it's fair when they bind us to this gilded cage with it? his furious mind questioned, the first embers of his burning rage beginning to smoulder.
The candles in the office began to glow brighter, their flames growing steadily larger in response to his anger. Duran noticed first, eyeing the flames warily, edging away from the candles nearest to him.
The dwarf looked Dylan dead in the eye from his place atop Irving's desk and glanced pointedly at the rising flames edging closer to his spectacular beard. "Lad, I don't know how they do it topside, but some of us aren't exactly very receptive to our faces bursting into flame." The sudden wisecrack snapped Dylan from his inner musings with a snort, the flames suddenly dropping back to their normal height, restoring balance to the room.
Neria let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Faren glanced around nervously, whilst Kalian looked around almost impassively. Irving, somehow used to the bouts of flame-growth his apprentice caused, wiped a gnarled hand down his face.
Gesturing to a nearby chair, he elaborated "There are your Circle robes and staff, alongside a little something I scrounged up" Dylan glanced at the chair in question, saw the staff resting on the wall nearby and smiled. Then he grimaced at the yellow robes, looking down at his own, well-worn sapphire ones. He took both, hanging the robe over his forearm whilst slinging the staff over his shoulder.
He began to turn away, to changed robes, but Irving grasped his shoulder before he could leave. Into his empty hand the old man placed a single gold ring, the symbol of the Circle emblazoned on its surface, before closing his fingers around it.
He drew a slightly shaky break and, nodding his thanks whilst slipping the ring onto his right hand, slipped away into a side room to change.
Neria watched as Dylan slipped away, a soft smile adorning her face at the spring in his step. She noticed the others watching him carefully, and felt the beginnings of worry knotting in her gut. She hadn't survived this long as one of the Terrors without some kind of early warning system present in her brain. This could end one of three ways she thought, eyes flitting between the armoured figures lounging around the First Enchanter's office. Duncan and Irving were still deep in conversation, discussing topics unknown.
The two dwarves were glancing at the door that Dylan had exited through, their gazes a little too inquisitive than she liked. Since the infamous 'Night of Flames'- as many of the younger apprentices had referred to it as- when Dylan had first truly lost control, Neria had sworn she would protect him from any and all threats, even from himself, should the circumstance demand.
She had trained herself to read people, to see what they didn't want others to see, to look past the lies and false faces people often wore to disguise true intentions. She had been told by her tutors that she would make a good royal advisor, and many mages held her in high esteem for her apparent insight into the inner workings of the mind. Unfortunately for her, this also led to increased scrutiny from the Templars, many of which held Dylan responsible for the set of restrictions they had enforced upon them. He, being the sly devil everyone else knew and loved, drove them off with curt phrase or- should they push their luck- small jets of flame.
So she had acted as the buffer between him and any untoward threats, monitoring anyone and everyone for any deception or indication of harm. She was brought out of her reminiscing when Kallian shook her lightly by the shoulder.
"Sorry" she started, her thin face bashful and hazel eyes wide and curious, almost obscuring the threads of steel woven underneath. "Just wondering what that guy's deal is"
Neria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The Maker surely had a warped sense of humour, didn't He?
"Dylan has had a troubled life thus far" she explained, not wanting to go into any great detail, details that often led to further investigation and eventual exploitation attempts. Kalian cocked an eyebrow, noticing the evasive tone in her voice, but before she could capitalise on it the dwarves approached, their eyes alight with the joy of discovery.
"How do you live here lass?" Duran asked, one hand stroking down the length of his beard, his bushy brows furrowed in deep concentration "All these fancy robes at every turn? And what's with the weird guards glaring at everyone? Looks like they want to grab you and haul you off somewhere."
Neria's face closed off with frightening speed, like the falling portcullis of a city keep.
"You get used to the stares," she mumbled, her gaze wandering the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but the faces of the visitors. "you have to, or you spend the rest of your life paranoid of everyone." Seeing as she didn't want to talk about it, the dwarf carefully dropped the subject, asking instead about the amount of supplies the Circle needed, and where they got their funding from.
"The supplies get ferried over here from the shore," she explained, waving them over to a nearby window and pointing to the jetty across the lake, "I couldn't tell you how much we receive, half of what they contain, or how they move it from the caverns at the base all the way up here."
As she turned, she saw Dylan re-entering the study, clad in his new robes, with his ring glittering upon his finger. He nodded in their directions before motioning towards the door, finally getting underway.
"So tell me lad," Duran began, the ends of his beard jumping as he spoke "how does one end up here? Besides having magic of course." Dylan glanced down at the dwarf prince as they strode down the hallway, Duncan behind them as Dylan led them to the Warden's quarters.
"Well, it depends on how the magic manifests first" he explained, looking at the dwarf from the corner of his eye, not wanting to run into stray Templar or mage on the way "if the first instance is gentle or non-violent, the Templars arrive with another mage in tow, mainly to ensure the poor sod doesn't get accidentally possessed on the way back."
For some reason Duran found that remark quite humorous, his chuckles echoing off the stone walls like granite boulders. On his other side, Dylan caught sight of a smile forming on Faren and Duncan's faces, once again proof that the rumours of Grey Warden apathy were completely false. He also noticed Kalian and Neria chatting away quite happily behind them, if the amount of hand motion on Neria's part was any indication. He smiled at that, a small wan smile, but a genuine one. Neria was often shy around strangers, even more so after her attempted rape those few short years ago. To see her making friends so quickly was heart-warming.
"You mentioned another circumstance lad" Duran's gravelly voice brought him back to the present, the here and now, whilst his words shattered whatever good mood he'd had. "Ah" and just like that, he face closed off, the gates of his mind booming shut. His hands clenched at his sides in half-remembered rage, memories hammering against his skull "that." The silence hung heavy in the air, all eyes riveted to Dylan's form.
"In the case where magic is released forcefully..." His voice gaining an icy tinge "or under duress, any Templars sent are ordered to restrain the child, by any means necessary. Ropes, pretty lightshows, candy." His voice was a carefully controlled exercise in sarcasm. Years of practice allowed him to keep the terrible roar he wanted to unleash well buried in his mind. One day he'll be able to release it with a force matching an entire army's battlecry, but this wasn't the time or place, nor the company. His voice was deliberately cheerful as he continued. "You know, anything and everything that would prevent further instability or odds of possession by demons." No matter if he's pulled from his mother's arms in the street, or taken from his home in the dead of night. Dylan carefully didn't vocalize his true opinion regarding children dragged by merciless hands to a gilded cage. It's not like mages are people anyway, he internally scoffed. Or was it a sneer? Still, he was sure that the heart of the matter had been more than clear. Dylan didn't need to look behind to know Neria had probably stiffened defensively, eyes darting between each of the new arrivals, gauging them with a fake smile, guessing their deductions and anticipating responses.
As Dylan walked, he distracted himself with the probable reactions of the others in the fantasy where he had gone ahead and blown his top, something he worked each day to restrain himself from. Kalian would have probably just stopped open-mouthed and wide-eyed in incomprehension, Faren would have grimaced, possibly drawing parallels to Dust Town if Dylan's estimate of his life was any indication. He wondered if Duran would have started to shake with anger. Considering the fire carefully contained behind his eyes, the mage didn't have trouble believing his rage could be every bit as hot as his own if pushed.
As it was, the dwarf prince spoke heavily but somehow not revealing just what he felt. Not to anyone who didn't already know what was there. "Then it is as I've heard," he rumbled. "After a thousand years one would think someone would have come up with a better method." There was hidden passion there, Dylan felt. It made him like the dwarf, this forgotten prince, so much so he decided to walk closer, pointedly ignoring the smirk that must have been on Neria's face. The group continued down the corridor, chatting amicably about safer topics as they walked, ignoring the strange and sometimes downright hostile stares they were attracting.
"Thank you for escorting us" was Duncan's polite dismissal as he began herding the others inside once they had reached their chosen chambers, offering one last warm smile before closing the door. Dylan and Neria looked at each other, smiling as they turned around…and nearly ran head first into a very anxious Jowan.
"There you two are!" he panted, having apparently ran up two floors just to find them "Have you finished talking to Irving?" Immediately alarm bells went off in their heads, they'd done this before- Jowan this casual wasn't just unusual, it was a sign that said 'Sweet Maker, Jowan's gone mad again'- so they sudden caution was, at least in their eyes, completely justified.
"Why are you whispering?" Dylan asked as Neria checked both ends of the hallway "What's going on Jowan?" The nervous glances the young mage sent around the corridor didn't help his shifty image. "I need to talk to you" he whispered, glancing pointedly between the two "both of you. Not here though" he raised a forestalling hand, trying to prevent the bombardment of questions he knew would come.
"Meet me in the Chantry in an hour!" With that he vanished down a dark side passage, leaving two very confused and slightly apprehensive mages staring after him.
Dylan sat cross-legged at the foot of one of the many statues of Andraste in the Tower's small chapel. His hands rested on his lap palm-up, cradling a small flame just a fingers-breadth above his flesh. Ancient mantras of the Old Gods resounded in his mind, a fact he made sure to always keep deeply hidden.
He had been thus for a good twenty minutes, eyes closed to the outside world as his mind worked overtime to process all that had happened, using the flame as a focus. He had learned this trick when he had just turned thirteen, and all the problems associated with such a turbulent time had become too much. In a valiant effort to find some measure of peace for a few minutes, he retreated to the chapel, and accidentally disturbed the Revered Mother there.
Instead of screaming at him as he expected her to, she simply smiled and patted the pew beside her. Despite her advanced age- or because of it, to this day he still wasn't sure- she was a remarkable listener, calmly letting him vent and rant to his heart's content as he spilled all his problems in one long tirade. After allowing him a fortifying breath to calm his racing heart, she calmly and methodically probed him for the source of the problem, thus stumbling upon the subject of meditation and banishing his immature hatred of Andraste's faithful.
The world is never black and white, he thought wryly, never truly clear cut. There is no one Truth, no definite answer to the universe. Just as perfection is impossible, so is true enlightenment. He shook himself from his reverie as the sound of footsteps echoed from the doorway, cracking his neck and knuckles. He banished the flame and rose just in time to see Neria entering and, before his mind could fully process the action, hastened to her side.
"So" he began, looking around "did Jowan actually say where he'd meet us here?" Neria simply shrugged, casting discreet glances across the room as though Jowan would materialise out of the stone at their feet. It was then they noticed them, huddled together in a shadowy alcove.
Jowan, and a Chantry sister.
Kissing.
The sight was strange enough for the two mages to experience a sudden case of jawdrop, one that warranted significant effort towards scraping them off the flagstone floor. Dylan, after shaking many a disturbing image from his mind, cleared his throat loudly enough to be heard by the couple.
And boy, did they hear him. They leapt apart like their skin was scolding, eyes widening as blood infused their cheeks, mouths forming perfect 'O's as they stared at each other.
"Sorry to interrupt…" Dylan threw in, not sounding sorry at all. His gin widened when Neria tried and failed to muffle a giggle behind him. "But I'm supposed to meet someone here." Of course, his signature wit caused the last of Neria's control to crumble. Her laugh bounced off the walls like a silver hurricane, light and tinkling. The sound jarred the two from their stupor, the sister's cheeks flushing a very bright red whilst Jowan glared daggers at them.
Dylan merely grinned, his eyes positively alight with mirth. Rocking back slightly on his heels, he folded his arms over his chest and waggled his eyebrows salaciously. Hiding his true feelings behind humour and sarcasm was the first thing he learned in the Circle, but sometimes it felt good to make jokes simply because he could and not as a defence mechanism. Eventually, Jowan brought down his glare and reigned in his anger. The blush faded from the Sister's cheeks as well, and so the explanations began.
Lily- the Sister's name that took far too long to coax from an apparently now stiff-lipped Jowan- had seen the authorisation form to turn Jowan Tranquil on Irving's desk and, horrified, fled to her lover's side to pass on the terrible news. Jowan had, predictably, panicked and immediately began planning to destroy his phylactery in order to escape. All he needed was a way into the repository; a rod of fire from the stockroom could melt the locks off the door and let them in. And he needed their help to do it.
Neria had instantly agreed, with no thought to the consequences. Dylan, however, had to think about it. Consider every possibility; every angle, every consequence. "Alright" he eventually agreed, noticing the subtle-yet-not brightening of Lily's face, and the sagging of Jowan's shoulders "we'll get the rod, and meet you back here." The others nodded as Dylan and Neria turned on their heels and left.
He grabbed Neria gently by the shoulder and bent slight at the waist to whisper in her ear "You go the stockroom, I need to see Irving" She tilted her head in mild confusion, narrowing her eyes slightly before nodding and running off. Dylan sighed as he watched her go; he envied such serenity, such collected calm. He set off at a brisk pace; not quite running, but walking with purpose, towards Irving's office.
Neria worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she watched Dylan round the corner towards the First Enchanter's study. There was something fundamentally wrong with him, ever since his Harrowing. He had become more withdrawn, more subdued, more wary. It worried her greatly, such a profound change in behaviour was never a good sign in mages, normally resulting in a catastrophic emotional breakdown somewhere down the line.
Mentally shelving the topic, she all but skipped her way down the hall towards the stockroom, desperate to get this entire plan over and out of the way.
As she turned the corner she spotted a familiar Templar standing almost awkwardly to one side, and her heart fluttered slightly. Ever since Cullen had rescued her amid the chaos of the Night of Flames, her opinion of him had changed drastically. Things she would not normally have noticed became prominent; the set of his jaw, the way his hair swept over his brow just so, the firmness of his muscles, the list was almost endless. It would be a grand understatement to say she had to quell a few not-so-innocent thoughts about the Knight in question.
And why not, she pondered, eying Cullen in her periphery, he's so adorable when he blushes. Changing her course, she sauntered towards him, consciously adding additional sway into her hips and slightly widening her eyes, making them more innocent, and all the more inviting. Cullen noticed her immediately, as did the two Templars with him, who began to chuckle at the poor man's imminently sweet yet torturous conversation.
As predicted; blood immediately infused Cullen's face at Neria's expression, the shade darkening at the sight of her swaying hips. "Hey" she said, gliding up to him and stopping at his elbow, slanting her head up to look into his ocean-blue eyes. So beautiful she thought, her cheeks heating at the thoughts of what effect she could have on them flickering through her mind.
She barely heard Cullen's stammered greeting, barely acknowledged the words that past her lips in reply, only just recognising her own hands as she dragged him into a nearby storeroom. The one thing that stood out clearly was the feel of his lips on hers, and the bliss that followed.
She sighed into his mouth as her eyes slid closed, all but collapsing against his armoured chest, hands resting where his pectorals would be. When she opened her eyes, she immediately blushed at the look of pure need that stared back at her, mixed with equal traces of surprise, mortification and, to her eternal delight, something that looked suspiciously like contentment.
"Um" she began, licking her still-tingling lips "I should really be going…" and before Cullen could respond she fled out of the door, fingers lingering on her lips as they tingled pleasantly, trying to stifle the growing smile that threatened to engulf her face.
Dylan stormed into the First Enchanter's office like a hurricane, mages and tense Templars parting before him. He flung the door open with a flick of his wrist, magic almost shattering the hinges. Irving merely glanced up from his desk, exasperation clear in his eyes. But this time, Dylan didn't care for his mentor's mood. This time, he had his own problems.
"We need to talk," he hissed, the serpentine tone matching his narrowed eyes, both dripping and loaded with venom and betrayal he couldn't quite mask.
Irving sighed, laid down his quill and stood, hands clasped lightly behind his back. "I assume this is about Jowan being made Tranquil?" the calm tone the old man used only fuelled Dylan's rage.
"I need an explanation, First Enchanter." Dylan managed not to snarl, barely. "tell me something that will not make it seem like you've only been pretending to care about you fellow mages. Because from where I'm standing you're sitting there calm as you please as if you just assigned one of us to oblivion like it's routine!" As the young mage's rant began to build, so did the brightness of the candles, their flames rising ever higher in response to his anger.
However, the First Enchanter hadn't gotten to where he was by ignoring a direct challenge. His spine stiffened, his eyes hardened, and his gained new strength. "Jowan is too weak to pass the Harrowing, he would never survive."
Immediately, Dylan's rage reached new heights at the slight to his friend "Say that again!" The flames glowed almost unbearably bright. "Say it to me who's actually watched him, who knows his worth! Say it, I dare you."
Nothing. Not even a change in those eyes.
"Fade above, you're worse than the Templars! At least they don't know any better!" Dylan bellowed, his voice cracking under the constant strain. "If you'd actually watched him, you would see his talent!" He breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. Then his face contorted into an arrogant sneer, his contempt shining in his eyes. "What next? Are you going to adopt the rest of their mindset? I suppose it would be easier to see us as less than human! Would certainly make it easier to sleep at night when you don't know you've condemned innocent lives to torment, only removed another 'troublesome mage'!"
The goading worked. For all of Irving's patience even he had a limit. Drawing himself up to his full height he pinned his apprentice with an icy glare before slowly drawing all of the heat out of the air. A complex exercise of will that reinforced his status as First Enchanter. Dylan could have fought the claim on the ambient magic but he didn't feel in the mood.
"Enough!" Irving didn't even have to raise his voice to be intimidating. Dylan let his bluster die with his flames. "This will happen. Jowan will be made Tranquil."
Dylan sagged under an invisible weight, his spine drooping under the strain. "I…understand." It was all he would grind out on the matter without doing anything he would regret. Or wouldn't regret at all.
Apparently dismissing the implications of someone who had looked like they were about to assault them in their own office, Irving relit the candles and gestured to the seat opposite his desk. "Now," he mused aloud, reclining in his own high-backed armchair. "Perhaps we should discuss the real reason you came here."
Dylan fell in the indicated seat. He could guess what Irving meant – he'd been more prone to emotional displays since the previous night, and when he wasn't refraining from blowing his top he had to find a distraction in his friends or meditation lest he dwell on the way the Harrowing ended. The relatively mild strain of the confrontation they'd just had was enough to bring out all the residual fatigue from the Harrowing. It made him feel like he could sleep for three days.
His mind could not quiet though, refusing even the notion of silence. Maybe that was why he didn't think mentioning it aloud would make matters any worse.
Irving's reaction to the demon's final warning was quite visible. All conversation to came to a halt for one, tense moment. Then Irving all but pounced on the words, demanding explanation and word-for-word repetition. As he repeated the message, word for word, Dylan watched the blood slowly leech from the First Enchanters face, intrigue replaced with horrified awe.
"Always fear the unknown, child…" he had said at last. Moving to his old chest, he heaved it open and rummaged around it. "Whilst it holds many secrets, some are better left where they lay, lost to the ages." Apparently finding what he sought, he closed the chest and returned to the desk, depositing a large black leather-bound tome on its surface. The cover was adorned with many dragons and seven crowns.
"What…"
"The Dracones Principum Demensum," Irving answered the unstated question. "One of the few Ancient-Era texts to have escaped the purge of the Transfiguration."
Dylan stared at the tome like it was delivered by the Maker's own hand, eyes tracing every contour of the dragons, every decal of the crowns, every tiny detail. Irving quickly flicked through the aged pages, not even reading the words on the ancient parchment, then carefully removed the crimson ribbon from the index and replaced it at the first page. That done, he slid the closed book towards the younger mage.
For a moment, there was only the desire to accept and dive into the secrets of the book… then he carefully pushed the tome back towards the First Enchanter, claimed a more pressing engagement and all but fled the office.
Dylan wiped a hand down his tired face as he left, already doubting the wisdom of his decision. Not only had he betrayed his friends' trust in him, he had also knowingly condemned a perfectly innocent girl to unknown horrors. Their argument was still clear in his mind, branded into his memory. He had all but shouted their plan to the First Enchanter and, knowing Irving like he did, Dylan estimated it wouldn't take the old man long to line the pieces together and unveil their plan, alert the Knight-Commander, and come to detain them.
From there, he ran to the Chantry, where he saw Neria scurrying in with a rod of fire under her arm. From there, they collected Jowan and Lily and hurried on down to the basement, constantly looking over their shoulders for over-inquisitive Templars.
Whilst the others busied themselves unlocking the door, Dylan spotted Duran skulking in the shadows - although how someone could skulk in that much metal was beyond him. When the dwarf saw him looking, he raised his large hand with a thumb raised to the ceiling, his teeth shining in the darkness.
Dylan couldn't help but smile back before descending into the bowels of the tower, leaving the well-lit floors behind.
They hurried to the doors, their footsteps echoing down the silent halls, ears straining to hear any other noise from the depths. They unlocked the first door easily enough (Lily had palmed the key before leaving the chapel, and what responsible person leaves a key on a lectern anyway?) before scurrying across the corridor towards the phylactery chamber. But as they approached the door Dylan felt a tingling just beneath his skin, and an increasing chill seep into his bones.
That was never a good sign, as the warmth of his magic kept him running hotter than most mages his age. With that sensation gone, that meant his magic had gone with it. In a panic his wild eyes scanned the stones, looking for some cause to his distress. There! Engraved into each stone, enveloping the door and the surrounding masonry, were runes.
Dylan narrowed his eyes, remembering days spent in the library studying such iconography and their meanings. His eyes widened as everything clicked into place. Why would a door need a mundane key when surrounded by mages? When magic was no longer a factor. "Go on!" Jowan urged, still oblivious to the inherent danger "Use the rod. Melt the locks off!" Neria removed the rod from beneath her robes and offered it to Dylan.
"Only fitting really," she jested, shrugging as a smirk weaselled onto her face. A smirk the so-called 'Master of Flames' returned.
That was a title he had earned after sculpting a length of fire into a perfect replica of the sunburst symbol of the Chantry, and forging a sword of flames that spun lazily through the library for a good hour. All that after his typical stunt of sending a stream of flames around the library disguised as a dragon, pushing the other denizens into a near-panic while grinning the whole while.
Already knowing what would happen, Dylan nonetheless raised the rod and tried to ignite the locks. Nothing happened. He tried again for the others' benefit, with the same result.
Which was none.
"What? Why is it not working?" Lily, the poor girl, had no clue about the nullification runes etched into the stones or any knowledge of the fundamentals of magic, so thus was blind to the futile nature of their endeavour. Then the blood drained from her face, from all of their faces really, as the runes ignited, glowing a light blue as they drained any and all ambient magic from the door and walls, stilling the air around them.
The nullification of magic wasn't painful, despite what some mages believed. It simply removed the magic from the air and disrupted spellcasting, not actively draining the mana from the mage.
"Lily, something's wrong, I can't cast anything here." Jowan's blind statement of the obvious brought them all back to the present, his hand motions stunted and useless barring some sparks that never made it closer than two feet of the door and walls.
Lily released a groan of despair. "It's over then, we're finished!" She buried her head in her hands.
The other two scanned the surrounding area, oblivious to the slight panic of their fellows. When Neria's eyes landed on a door at the other end of the passage, she moved so quickly she put striking Cesti to shame. Dylan's mind barely had time to register her hand wrapping around his bicep from she was merrily hauling him behind her, determination shining brightly in her eyes.
"Neria, what are you doing?" So maybe his voice sounded far too relaxed for the situation, but then again there was no law that said he was forbidden to act as though this was the most natural thing in the world. "This door isn't magically sealed, is it?" Was all he got from her as she manually adjusted his hand so the rod was pointing towards the locks of the new door. With a glance over his shoulder at his bemused fellows, he lightly shrugged before channeling a fraction of his power into the rod. It erupted in flames, a thin jet of fire roaring from its tip like water over the Lyrium Falls. With the precision of an artist with his brush, Dylan melted through the bolts sealing the door in place before ending the stream with a flourish of his wrist, letting it slide gently into a pocket of his robes.
Jowan quickly shoved the slightly smoking door open and scurried past, oblivious to the three Sentinels standing guard just beyond the archway. Lily was just as careless, barreling after her love without an ounce of self-control (or self-preservation for that matter), pushing past the others non-too gently. That was when the clicks started. Dylan and Neria shared the look of third wheels everywhere before following after their charges, if only to stop them from getting brutally stabbed, smashed, eviscerated or otherwise mauled in their haste.
They entered just as the first sentinel awoke. The helmet swiveled before a sword was drawn. The animated automaton advanced, the clanking of its armor more than slightly intimidating. Its motion immediately awoke its two brethren, and they too began their advance, shimmering in the light cast by the sconces. Lily produced a dagger from within the folds of her robes, Jowan raised his hands in a casting gesture whilst Neria raised her staff. Dylan, however, was looking intently at the sconces, specifically at the five burning merrily behind them. He twitched a finger, and the flames leapt in response. He felt his signature smirk slide its way onto his face – not quite manic but definitely full of dark promise – as he raised his hands, with his left slightly behind his right, and said quite calmly. "Everyone down."
She knew that smirk. Everyone in the Tower did and agreed he only wore it before he did something any sane person would consider irredeemably irresponsible and stupid, though he seldom held the same opinion himself. She had seen his furtive glances at the surrounding sconces so she knew exactly what he was about to do next. Flinging an arm behind him Dylan began channeling fire into his palms, using not only the flames in the sconces but summoning his own alongside.
The second both palms each held a considerable fireball, he slammed the heels of his hands together, funnelling the flames outwards into a cone of fiery death as it fed off the surrounding sconces, small streams of fire connecting each one to the inferno. The resulting stream engulfed the sentinels, setting their armour ablaze and heating the air around them to almost unbearable temperatures. Neria could feel the sweat sliding down her brow, could see the shimmering haze through the fire, yet she dared not interfere.
Breaking a mage's concentration was risky at the best of times; any crack in mental defence could be an opening for demons to exploit, but this was something else entirely. Dylan had the unique ability to concentrate so deeply, so tightly, on any one task that to try to break it was to invite disaster.
So, as she and the others watched the dancing flames through wide and cautious eyes, they begun to look past their foes and began plotting their route.
Dylan glanced furtively down the hallways, mindful of the armoured sentries they had woken. They had dodged down many a corridor to avoid the sentinels, not wanting to draw any further attention to themselves. They had stopped here, in a small storage room, to catch their breath and assess the damage taken thus far. Neria was busy mending one of Lily's more serious wounds on her shoulder, whilst Jowan was rummaging through one of the numerous storage crates that littered the area.
None of them had escaped from the sentinels unscathed; Neria's robes had a couple of reasonable tears down the back and across the thighs, Lily's had completely lost the left sleeve, even Jowan's had torn in several places. Of course, Dylan was not exempt either, his own robes bearing multiple scorch marks and tears from his own encounters. Once everyone had rested and had their wounds seen to, they set off again, weapons held low and ready.
They crossed the remaining corridors before Lily screamed as she was grabbed by a sentinel's hand. Everyone sprang into action, Jowan throwing a spirit bolt directly into the enchanted suit's face whilst Dylan flung a stonefist into the thing's knees. Neria froze the armour in place once Lily was free, and they regrouped around her to prepare. Bolts of energy from staves struck nearly every surface of the sentinel's armour, yet it did not fall until a lucky hit from Neria knocked its helmet to the floor.
With what little reprieve they had they swung, as one, to the face the other door. With wary steps they approached, ever careful of what might be inside. Yet when the door opened they could only stand there, amazed. Before them lay the Circle's repository, its vault of wealth and precious artifacts deemed too dangerous for use. Tevinter tablets, Avvar statues, even a few Chasind idols stood in cabinets lined with enchanted glass, whilst other strange contraptions stood on marble tables or raised pedestals.
At the back of the chamber, pressed against the far wall, was a gold-inlayed chest, with runes painstakingly inscribed into its surface. There was also a broken lock. Dylan, being the impulsive and foolhardy person that he was, casually threw open the chest and began to rummage.
"Don't need that" he muttered under his breath as he carefully moved some object out of his way "or that, or that. Ooh, need that! Oh yes, this is a must." This carried on for some time, all the while Neria stood, hands on hips, her head tilted slightly to the side, trying to mimic the motherly glare Wynne had used whenever he had strayed during her lessons. Dylan's rummaging eventually led to him gaining a new staff (he donated the other one to Jowan) a few health poultices, and a set to new robes for Neria to try (she did always look good in green). Then, as they passed what appeared to be a Tevinter statue, something caught their eye.
"There's something odd about that statue" Jowan said, tilting his head to examine the humanoid stone closer, for once not just stating the obvious. There was a palpable aura of venerability around the statue, one that demanded respect, yet did not intimidate to enforce it. Dylan approached the statue, Neria at his shoulder, examining the face of the statue as close as he dared. It was obviously feminine, with a kind of regal grace to its features. "I wonder who you were" he murmured, stepping back to the others, his need to know burning in his eyes. And just when they thought it couldn't get any stranger, the statue spoke.
"Greetings" it said; its voice flowing and eerie, as though speaking from beyond the Veil, the regal lilt still present. They all jumped, surprised beyond measure.
"Maker's breath, did it say something?!" Jowan's shock was understandable, talking statues were uncommon to say the least, and most of them were the dwarven golems.
"I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius, prophecy my crime. Turned to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's House." The figure continued, as if they had not spoken.
Dylan and Neria shared an incredulous, if scholarly curiousity-fuelled look of amazement."Archon Valerius?" he questioned, the name unfamiliar to him, despite all his studies into ancient Tevinter.
Jowan perked up, like the student who finally had the answer to a troublesome problem."I'm not sure" he said, screwing his face in an expression to extreme concentration "the Archons were the lords of the Imperium. Hessarian's predecessor perhaps?"
Continuing as though they hadn't spoken, the prophetess continued. "'Forever shall you stand at the threshold of my grand fortress' he said 'and tell your lies to all who pass'." Here her voice turned harsh and vindictive, as though proud of her actions and prophecies. "But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies, and his once-proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold." Dylan felt a chill run up his spine, the amount of venom in those words cutting deeper into his soul than it should have been able to. As Lily tried to drag them away, Dylan spoke, softly so as not to be overheard. "How did they do this to you?" He gently ran his fingers down her stone cheek.
"Weep not for me, child," she replied, voice soft and ageless. "Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling, and I shall endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again." Neria turned, having heard the final part of their dialogue, face curious yet wary. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jowan replied with something approaching ridiculous, whilst Lily ridiculed him for it. Yet Dylan dared not leave, not yet, as something in his heart told him their exchange was not over.
Finally, words seemed to appear in his mind, Tevene and ancient, yet somehow fitting. "Conlucent ignes tua longissima nitidum nigrae succedere nocti frigore." he said, voice low so only the old prophet to hear his words. And as he turned, he only just made out her response.
"Et ut vestrum adolebit clarissima , et immarcescibilem, venit diluculum praeparatus."
Smiling, he walked towards the others, as Jowan and Neria moved the bookcase away from the crumbling far wall magically, laying it to rest in the far corner. Neria waved him over to explain the stone mabari. Apparently it acted as a magical lens, increasing the power of any spell cast through them. Removing the rod of fire from its pocket, Dylan stood behind the amplifier statue and, with a nod of Jowan, channeled energy through both the rod and the statue. With a thunderous roar the statue ignited, spitting a fireball the size of a dwarf's head at the crumbling masonry, shattering it completely. This had the downside of waking the repository's sentinels, whom began to quickly march towards them. Sighing, Dylan pocketed the rod and turned to Jowan. "Want to do the honours?" he asked, raising a hand the three rapidly approaching suits of armour.
Grinning, Jowan immediately began firing arcane bolts at the helmets of the sentinels, aiming to the necks so as to knock them off. It took a while, and after leaving many holes in the walls of the phylactery chamber, the final sentinel fell at their feet, its sword clattering to the ground. They looked around, sighed in the relief, then rushed in. As they rummaged through the collection to vials, Dylan wondered where his used to stand, before disregarding that line of thought completely. With a cry of victory, Jowan found his vial, raised it in the air, and threw it on the ground, breaking both the glass and the chains it had bound him with.
"Good!" Neria breathed, leaning against a wall to catch her breath "now let's go!" But as they left the chamber and headed towards the upper levels, Dylan couldn't help feeling that by telling Irving, he had made things a whole lot worse.
"So, what you said was true, Irving." For any mage, there was no sight more fear-inducing than the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter staring them down, surrounded by other knights of the Order in full armour. This was the sight they had walked into, blundering out of the basement door and straight into the group before them now.
Lily was all but hiding behind Jowan, trying to hide from Greagoir's piercing gaze. Neria was glancing around in worry, large elven eyes scanning the crowd of helms, searching for Cullen no doubt. Dylan was surprised at the swiftness of their response, his eyebrows vanishing into his hairline and his hands rising in a placating gesture.
"Gentlemen" he began in his 'I'm-completely-innocent-please-don't-hurt-me' voice "I assure you, this isn't what it looks like." He got a few snorts and chuckles for his troubles, so it wasn't too bad. Greagoir was unmoved, gaze running across them hard and unyielding.
"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage, I'm disappointed Lily." Lily gasped as the Knight-Commander advanced, grasping her chin and staring into her eyes. "She seems shocked, yet fully in control of her own mind" he continued, sounding as if he was drawing his report up already in his head "not a thrall of the blood mage then." He strolled back to the group, a disappointed frown on his face. "You were right Irving. This initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished." Then his gaze swung to Dylan and Neria, standing at the side. "And these two, newly mages and already flouting the rules of the Circle!"
Whilst Neria's eyes widened, the only indication of her horror, Jowan immediately leapt to their defence with a cry of "It's not their fault! This was my idea!" Yet Irving put all that to rest. Seeing the worried glint in Neria's eyes, he made a rapid decision to spare them both.
"They are here under my orders, Greagoir. I take full responsibility for their actions." The sudden announcement left the room silent as Greagoir took in this new information; Neria boggled at the First Enchanter, then at Dylan as realisation set in. Jowan's gaze snapped to them, betrayal and grief brewing in his now-watering eyes.
"You-you led us into a trap?" If his glistening eyes hadn't moved them, the pure note of broken pain in his voice might've. Neria was almost in tears herself, her lips drawn as she realized exactly what she had done. Dylan, however, only raised his hand with the ring that Irving had given him. The glyph shone a dull green in the firelight, revealing the tracing spell left on it. "I had no choice Jowan," he said, voice weary and resigned "I'm so sorry."
Anger bloomed across the apprentice's face, rage replacing the pain in his voice "Don't you dare speak to me!" Immediately Neria lost her battle with the tears, though she did not sob. Dylan's face hardened as he dropped his hand, the surrounding flames rising with his anger.
"Enough!" Greagoir's stern command shattered the hostile tension that had been rising in the air. And as the remaining Knights closed in around Lily, they heard Greagoir say "As the Knight-Commander of the Templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows." With his eyes focussed purely on the poor sister-to-be, he declared "Take her to Aeonar." The knights moved in. Lily's face was one of pure terror, and her voice could barely be heard over its quivering.
"The...the mage's prison. No...please no. Not there!" Jowan, in a feat of immense stupidity, cried "No! I won't let you touch her!" and slashed his palm open with a hidden knife. As the blood began to swirl and coalesce around him, everyone backed away, even his friends. Jowan raised his arms high, then flung them forwards, throwing everyone in range to the ground, including the First Enchanter. "By the Maker...blood magic!" Lily summed up the thoughts of everyone still standing who had witnessed that display
"H-how could you! You said you never..." and trailed off as the truth unveiled itself before their eyes. Thus began Jowan's half-hearted attempt to defend himself and convince Lily to go with him, and her slow realisation that she never really knew him. It all ended when her face and tone hardened, becoming sharp as steel, followed by the words "I don't know who you are, blood mage, stay away from me!" And in the face of that rejection, that sudden shift of power, Jowan ran.
Dylan left Neria with some of the injured Templars as he hunted for Irving. His eyes scanned the room, landing on his mentor's body near where Greagoir had landed. Kneeling down, he shook the First Enchanter gently by the shoulders, trying to hasten his waking. With a coughing splutter, the old man woke, surging to his knees before the fatigue set it, sending him down again.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice still hoarse from lack of air. "Where's Greagoir?" At that exact moment the Knight-Commander himself groaned and rose to his feet. "I knew it, blood magic. But to overcome so many..." Dylan could barely hear them, as four words repeated themselves, over and over, in his head.
"He lied to me…" he breathed, his grief and regret at tricking his friend washed away by that one fact, that one trust-breaking act.
"None of us expected this." Irving, knowing an explosion when he saw one, tried to stem the tide of his anger. "Are you alright Greagoir?"
Greagoir had finally reached the end of his tether, it seemed, for as he whirled on the elder mage, his hand was already clamped around the hilt of his sword.
"As well as be expected given the circumstances! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down! If you had let me act sooner this would not have happened!" Dylan glanced at Irving's knowing face, whilst trying to force down his anger at the stubborn Templar.
"He just ran out to the door, he can't have gone far."
"Where is the girl?" Greagoir demanded, his temper diverted temporarily. Lily emerged from the shadows, nervous and skittish. After a lengthy scolding from the Knight-Commander, interrupted by Dylan harsh yet quite charming attempt to defend her and lessened by Irving's calming words, she was escorted away to fate unknown. Then his gaze returned to the wayward mage. Neria scuttled over, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Both of you were in a repository full of magics that are locked away for a reason!" Greagoir's anger this time had merit, for although they didn't know why the items of the repository were sealed away, both the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter had to both agree to any new additions. Here Irving turned his ageless eyes to them, cutting through any witty comebacks they could think to make. "Did you take anything important from the repository?" he asked, in a tone that brokered no stalling or back-tracking. Dylan and Neria exchanged a brief glance, followed by a brief headshake, before Neria- the currently most trustworthy of the two- said "We never touched anything." Irving stared at them for a while longer, as though judging them.
"Very well. I believe you" was all he said to seal the matter. Greagoir, on the other hand, would not be denied. "Yet your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! Ah" as his anger began to fade, Greagoir's fatigue became obvious, as did his age "what are we to do with you?" Dylan quite quickly responded with the wit he was known for. "Nothing? We were just doing as we were told." Irving's sigh was part exasperation, part parental amusement, and Neria's eye-roll only added to the familial image they had painted all those years ago. "As I said, they were acting under my orders" For all his faults, the First Enchanter had an extraordinary level of patience. Greagoir, however, was almost his polar opposite, quick to anger and to action.
"And this improves the situation? The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me!" Irving, however, would only give a cryptic "I had my reasons" as an answer, crossing his arms and standing resolute. "You're not all-knowing, Irving! You don't know how much influence the blood mage might have had. How are we supposed to deal with this?" Then, as if by divine providence, Duncan approached.
"Knight-Commander, if I may?" Duncan slid into a conversation like he was always meant to be there at that moment. "I'm not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens." He let his gaze linger on the two mages before him, both so young, so full of potential. "Irving spoke highly of these mages, and I would like them both to join the Warden ranks."
Greagoir was almost spluttering with rage, they could almost see the steam emerging from his ears.
"What! You promised him a new Warden?!" Greagoir snapped, as though insulted he wasn't consulted first.
Irving was calm throughout. "They have served the Circle well. They would make excellent Wardens."
Duncan once again faced the two mages, whose eyes were as wide as dinner platters. "We look for dedication in our recruits," he explained, "fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."
Greagoir, however, was determined to have the last word. "I object! You say they operated under your instructions, but I do not trust them."
Dylan sighed and let his head fall against his arm.
"I must investigate the issue," the Knight-Commander pressed on, looking terribly smug. "and I will not release these mages to the Grey Warden."
In his head, Dylan began chanting Rite of Conscription, Rite of Conscription, Rite of Conscription like a prayer, anything to escape.
Thus he was surprised when Neria spoke before anyone else could. "If the Grey Wardens will have us, we'll gladly go."
Watching the Knight-Commander get shut down by an elf half his size was entertaining to say the least.
"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan explained patiently "these mages are needed. Worst things plague this world than blood mages, you know that." Duncan stepped directly behind the pair, enforcing his claim almost. "I take these young mages under my wing and bear all responsibility for their actions."
The Knight-Commander, stubborn as a mule, refused to see reason, and even resorted to the petty "These mages do not deserve a place in the Order!" to try and make his point.
This time, Irving's patience was being truly strained to its limits, as shown by the deep furrows in his brow." Why?" he asked, his tone slipping from curious to accusatory "Do we not reward service? These mages have served the Circle well." Once again, he turned his gaze to his apprentice, his face softening by degrees. "You have an opportunity few even dream of. Do not squander it."
Dylan felt a lump form in his throat at the note of finality in his mentor's voice; like this would be the final piece of advice he would give to anyone.
"So is this it? We are to be Grey Wardens?" Dylan didn't quite sound tentative but wouldn't have cared if he sounded childish; to him he was losing his father all over again, only this time of his own volition. Irving's face softened again, once again resembling the face of the father he never truly knew.
"Yes. Be proud child." He laid both hands on his shoulders, gnarled fingers pressing gently into the cloth of his robes. "You are luckier than you know."
Dylan tried to ignore the cold feeling that stayed behind when Irving let go. Had it been even a few days earlier, he might have even felt tempted to refuse the offer completely just to stay a little longer.
As it was, he turned to Duncan. "Give us some time to pack and say farewell," and with the nod, he turned again back to Irving. "Thank you, First Enchanter. For everything." And with those words, he fled to his chambers to pack what little worldly possessions he had, and to say his goodbyes to the only home he'd ever known.
...
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