Chapter Two: A Soldier Now
Okay. I liked blood magic even less now.
My eyes fluttered open and, once I blinked away the spinning double vision, I looked around to find that Jowan had already vanished, but Lily stood in the corner by the basement door, hands folded to her mouth, sobbing "I'm so sorry".
I was surprised that she hadn't taken her chance to flee too, knowing that execution or Aeonar were all that awaited her. I guess Jowan's blood magic had been news to her too, shocking her into staying, or she felt she deserved whatever punishment the templars had in store. Brave, for a Chantry initiate. I had to wonder if she was feeling the same wrong-footed, hollowed out chill I was feeling inside.
Something was digging into my hip. I shifted, almost pitching over off of the uneven surface.
By the Maker...
Looking down to see what on Thedas I was laying on, I found that I must have been thrown into Greagoir. Slamming headfirst into his breastplate had knocked me out, before the force of Jowan's spell had knocked him out, and I had landed on top of him. With a strangled yelp, I threw myself to the floor. Thank the Maker he'd still been unconscious. I propped my elbow on the stone and rested my head on my palm.
Excitement just didn't go well in the Circle.
"A-are you okay?" Lily stammered when she saw that I was moving.
I nodded vaguely, sitting up and reaching over to Cullen, pressing my fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. I mentally chided myself for the anxiety that choked the back of my throat.
"They're not dead, are they?" Lily sounded breathless. Yeah, the more I saw of her, the more I believed she'd had no idea at all about Jowan.
I felt Cullen's pulse throb against my fingertips and I sagged in relief. The Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter, they were people important to the Circle, yes. But not people important to me. They were merely transitory figures. Cullen was no transitory figure.
"No, no, they're not." No sooner had I said that then Cullen stirred. I jerked back so fast my knuckles rapped painfully against the neck of his breastplate. Shaking them out, I watched in silence as first he, then Greagoir and the other templar roused themselves and began to look around, to take in this new scene.
They weren't going to like this.
"The blood mage," Greagoir pressed urgently as he hauled himself to his feet. "Where is he?"
I followed their lead and stood, moving over to check on the still-downed Irving as he gave a pained groan. Old man might have broken a hip in the fall or something.
"Jowan got away," I told the templars as I helped Irving – who was, surprisingly, completely fine, if winded – to his feet. "But he couldn't have gotten very far just yet. You guys might wanna hurry up and get on that." Yupp, and pay no mind to me or poor Lily, please and thank you.
Unfortunately, I might as well have left out the suggestion. Which was probably a good thing, as the templars tended not to take well to smart-mouthed mages.
Or... Maybe not such a good thing.
"You helped a blood mage escape!" Greagoir snarled. "And you expect us to believe you had no involvement in his actions?"
Wait, what? How did I help Jowan escape? And sure, I was certainly the one who had summoned a Warden to the tower, for the express purpose of giving Jowan the distraction he needed to destroy his phylactery and run off with his lover.
"Of course!" I smacked my forehead as though I was remembering some crucial detail. "Yes, Knight-Commander, I was Jowan's accomplice. Arrest me now and let my execution be an example to naïve mages who think they're above the law." Offended sarcasm dripped from my tongue, and Greagoir's dark expression told me he heard it and didn't appreciate it in the slightest.
"Really," I sighed, speaking earnestly now. "I had no idea he was going to do any of this. Certainly no idea he was tapping into blood magic." Hurt seeped into my voice at the end there, I couldn't stop it.
"But you didn't move to help us capture him either, did you," Greagoir pointed out. Though I knew the Knight-Commander was much more fair than this when he wasn't pissed off, I couldn't help but feel myself falling to the defensive. The serpent of hatred lurking beneath my heart hissed.
"No. He's my friend, I wasn't about to hand him over to his executioners. Besides," I shook my head. "Just because I didn't throw myself at a blood mage doesn't mean I am a maleficar myself, or that I approve of blood magic." I just happened to believe that loyalty didn't disappear, years of friendly history didn't erase, because of one stupid little mistake.
Well, maybe his mistake wasn't exactly "little". Oh well, my point stood.
"And yet you moved to defend him?" the templar pressed, anger hardening his words. Cullen's eyes flicked to him, but he wisely said nothing. I didn't blame him. Ha, more like I was thrilled for that little evidence that he didn't believe I would do such a thing. Greagoir was his superior, and he wasn't about to listen to any words condoning what I'd done. It would only make him angrier to hear one of his own men supporting me.
"That barrier was to protect you from whatever spell he was trying to cast," I tried for patience. There was no way the non-mage templar could tell what my spell had been. "It wouldn't have done the least bit of good against your blades." I leveled my gaze at him and continued icily, noticing Duncan seeming to morph out of the shadows from the hall. "Do not presume to tell me what spell I was casting, Ser."
Cullen looked relieved, taking my words at face value as confirmation of what he had originally believed, but Greagoir – thankfully ignoring my shot of insolence – looked to Irving for confirmation, and didn't turn his attention until he got the First Enchanter's nod of assurance.
"You don't seem to regret his escape."
"You're right." I held Greagoir's returned gaze, fighting down the way his stare made me want to cringe. "Jowan's been my friend for years. He made a stupid choice, and considering what you and your Chantry would have done to him for it... If my standing aside gives him a chance to turn around... Well, I'd do it again."
This probably wasn't going to go over well for me. If I wanted to escape execution myself, in the name of "someone must be punished", then I really should have been telling the templars what they wanted to hear, bowing and scraping. But... I couldn't. Greagoir's accusations were really pissing me off.
And I was beginning to suspect I might be tired of being the good little Circle mage that cowered before the templars. Do with me what they will, I was tired of eating my pride.
"Then you know what the consequences for your actions are," Greagoir said, finality weighing heavy on his voice.
Yes, indeed I was familiar with the punishment for those who aided in a blood mage's escape. I crossed my arms across my chest and shrugged, silently telling my racing heart to shut up and take it like a mage.
"Wait, Knight-Commander," Duncan interjected carefully, stepping forward. "I say you let the girl come with me."
Greagoir did a stunned double take. "What? Why in the name of Andraste would I do such a thing? This mage's actions – or inaction – led to the escape of a maleficar, a dangerous criminal! She and the initiate are to be punished! Why would I allow her to walk away from here, and rewarded, no less! That is the exact thing she came to us asking for!"
"You plan to execute this mage. She wishes to join the king's army to fight darkspawn. In all likelihood, that will result in her death as well, as Irving said earlier. In this way, wouldn't she receive the punishment you deem fit, and serve her country in doing so?" Duncan shrugged a little. "Besides, I see no crime here. Merely loyalty to a friend that stands fast in the face of almost certain death. We need that kind of brotherhood. There should be more people so loyal in all of Ferelden."
Greagoir's gaze was hard. I had to give Duncan some silent applause for not backing down, not even flinching. "And if she survives?"
"Then I would say she has earned the right to a second chance, but in the end, that would be your decision, as all mages will be returned to the tower," Duncan replied diplomatically.
The Knight-Commander hesitated, eyeing me up in silence for a long, agonizing moment.
"All right," he conceded at last. "She can go."
An hour later, I was back in my quarters, staring at my reflection in the mirror, taking in all the features that clearly marked me as my father's daughter. Everything that served as a daily reminder of the man who had given me up: pale skin, chin length night black hair, and eyes such a pale, piercing blue they were almost a colorless silver, all in a face identical to Queen Anora Theirin.
Anyone who had even the quietest whisper of knowledge could tell that I was Loghain Mac Tir's younger daughter. I was stamped, plain for the eye to see, as the Hero of the River Dane's mage child, and that was probably what had kept Loghain away, to lessen the chance of someone putting together the pieces. Anora, my elder sister and mirror image with the coloring of a summer sunrise to my winter night, had not contacted me either. I was an embarrassment for the Teyrn of Gwaren and the queen, and, as a mage, potentially even politically dangerous.
And I was about to leave the tower and come out to play.
I shoved the bitterness under once more, turning and grabbing my small pack off of my cot. There would be no place for those emotions on the road with Duncan. With so much to prove, I couldn't afford to behave like some spurned child, as good as my gut kept telling me it might feel to act like one.
I tucked the little pack into the satchel at my hip and went to find Duncan and the troop of other mages. We would be setting out for the south soon.
I almost walked right into Cullen.
I staggered back a little, both in surprise and to get a better look at him. It was... Startling to realize that this may be the last time I would see him. Comforting, though, to see that he looked as awkward as he always did when he was around me.
"Hey, if it isn't my favorite templar," I said lightly, making him blush. Maker, it was wrong to tease him, but so damn easy. "What can I do for you, Cullen? You know I need to get going."
"I-I know," he mumbled uncomfortably, fumbling at his sword belt. "I just... Here. This will be more useful to you on your journey than it will be to me here."
He dropped into my hand an ice cold silver flask, the holy flaming sword of Andraste's templars embossed on both smooth sides.
I felt my brows raise of their own accord. This was a gift from the First Enchanter to every templar recruit, a flash that would always ensure they had cold water, no matter the weather.
"You sure about this, Cullen?" I asked, feeling a bit of a blush creeping onto my own cheeks. "What happens if someone finds out you don't have this?"
Cullen shrugged, avoiding making eye contact with me. "Nothing. And, regardless, I don't think anyone's sending me mage hunting anytime soon."
Unspoken words hovered between us then. They've seen how I look at you.
Mutely, I nodded my thanks and tucked it into my satchel.
"Rowan?" I looked up into those honest eyes. "Take care of yourself."
Damn it, no. he would not make me cry. I was leaving this place. It was a good thing. That he'd refrained from giving me the Maker's blessing or anything was funny enough to me that I managed to keep my senses.
"You too, Cullen." I was proud to note that my voice was steady, letting the goodbye lie unspoken.
And that was the first time, in far too long, that we shared a smile.
Duncan and the other dozen mages were already by the doors.
"Ready to depart?" the Warden-Commander asked briskly. At my nod, the templar guards swung open the massive front doors of the tower and Duncan led the group of us down the sloping lawn to the docks under the blinding afternoon sun.
Many of the mages in our little band shielded their eyes with their hands and cast their eyes down, hiding from the brightness after the eternal gloom of Kinloch Hold. I squinted my eyes against the onslaught of natural light and threw my head back to feel the warmth of the sun's rays beating down and the countering chill of the fishy breeze off Lake Calenhad, grinning like a fool. Finally, everything I had spent eleven years hoping for.
Freedom.