PARALLEL CONTENT: GENESIS OF A DRAGON CHAPTER 28
Nira Surana
9:30 Dragon, 9th of Harvestmere
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
So why was she here? Sitting in the endless silence of her solitary cell with nothing but her own thoughts to accompany her, with nothing to do but count the hours as they crawled by?
Nira wasn't even sure how long it'd been since her confinement as all her attempts to track time were susceptible to a great deal of error. But it had to have been weeks now, surely. She didn't bother trying to mark her guess at days passing on the walls—the cell's previous occupants had already covered much of the available surface with hashes and lines of their own; there was scarcely room for her to add to it.
Just looking at those tallys turned her stomach with… indignation, trepidation, or shame, depending on the day. She wasn't like those other mages, the ones who'd caused problems and landed themselves in this cell out of their own error. She'd done everything right. But… she was like those mages, because she was a mage.
Every mage had personal rules they clung to in order to navigate life within the tower, whether they knew it or not. It was an unspoken sort of thing, one Nira had grown acutely aware of perhaps because she had never known a life beyond the walls of the tower.
Some had a Rule of Obscurity: remain in the background, stay unnoticed and problems will pass over you. She'd thought Jowan a mage of that cut… but clearly she'd never known him as well as she thought she did. In that obscurity he had found something dark, something powerful, and a promise that he didn't need to live by that rule any longer if he let it in. It made her sick, and anger boiled in her at the memory of what he had done.
Others, the Rule of Spectacle: never let their eyes leave you. The exact opposite of obscurity. Edmund had always been one such mage, the sort to purposely make sure the templars and senior enchanters never forgot he was dangerous. He always pressed the line, reaching further than he should, even despite the reprimands he faced. But that confidence gave him a power of his own, the sort that meant he need not cow his head. Perhaps she should not be surprised then that he leapt at the chance to leave the Circle behind.
To leave her behind.
Nira's was the Law of the Ladder: ambition isn't just a motivator, but a safeguard. Climb the hierarchy of the Circle and it's structure, and at the top you would find safety. Security. Peace, even.
But now that ladder had been ripped out from under her mid-climb. No, more than that—in her haste she'd missed a rung and fallen all on her own. Even once she was released from confinement, it would stain her record like an ugly smear, and should she resume her ascent it would cling to her still like an anchor. Even if she reached the top, she'd never be free of it's weight.
Some small and sensible part of her whispered that perhaps she was fretting over nothing. Overreacting, despairing due to lack of anything else for her confined self to ponder on. Maybe this was just a minor scandal in the grand scheme of things. No one lived free of drama, other mages had surely been able to arise to prominence despite mistakes in their past.
And surely Irving would wipe her record clean once she was released. Yes, he would, wouldn't he?
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
The dull quiet of the dungeon was interrupted by distant shuffling. The small slat at the bottom of her cell door slid open and in was pushed a simple tray with a bowl of gruel and a cup of water. Mealtime, once again. Another day passed.
"Do you have any word from Irving regarding my release? Or the Knight Commander?" Nira posed the question to the figure on the other side of the door knowing full well the answer would be silence. It always was.
The tranquil who served her meals and carried away the chamber pots never replied. They'd likely been instructed not to by Gregoir and thus no amount of pleading on her end could convince their singular focus to sway otherwise in her favor.
But still she spoke anyway as the silent footsteps retreated away and down the hall. It helped to reassure herself of her sanity, hearing her own voice break the eerie gloom in some effort at conversation. "How fares the investigation? Surely it's been long enough now that they're satisfied."
The footsteps faded until she was left with nothing but silence once again. Nira eyed the miserable meal before her, trying to count how many of these sad bowls she'd consumed and desperately missing eating in the mess with the other mages. The friendly banter at neighboring tables, the debates of magical theory, all of it.
Never in her life had she been so truly alone. There was always someone else around. If not other mages, then at least templars watching from their quiet posts or tranquil attending to their tasks. But now without either she found herself genuinely without any form of company her heart throbbed with something hollow and sore.
It was the strangest thing—she'd always regarded interacting with her peers something tedious and tiresome, more a chore than a source of enjoyment. She was hardly popular with the rest of them in turn, aside from Edmund and Jowan. But here she was missing them all so terribly it ached. Keili, terrified of her own power but so devoted in her faith. Eadric, and his ill-advised research into old magics. Leorah, recently promoted to Senior Enchanter and so proud to have made it there. Senior Enchanter Sweeny, Senior Enchanter Torin, Godwin, Cullen…
Nira's train of thought cut abruptly at the picture of curly hair and golden eyes. She thought of him with a frequency that bordered on the embarrassing while sitting in that cell. But to some degree she wasn't surprised—the space she'd occupied these dreadful days did resemble the closets and storerooms where they often met in secret.
Her fingers fumbling in the dark with too much cloth and plate, his hand over her mouth to quiet her moans lest she give them away to be discovered… or simply the stolen moments where they shared in one another's company after a trying day. Gentle awkwardness giving way to a more assured confidence as her templar found the courage to pull her in for a stolen kiss—
No. Not her templar. He couldn't be her anything. He was a casual dalliance and a shield against other more unsavory elements that prowled the tower. And she… she did not know what he might regard her as, but surely he knew as well as she did that she could neither be his anything.
There was no room for such sentimental attachments in the Circle. It was not so uncommon for mages and templars to find one another in seek of the company of a warm body and erotic adventure, she knew that. And it was another one of those unspoken laws that it could never go past that into the realm of something… more.
She was a mage. Mages were not permitted to have something more.
That had been Jowan's failing. She sneered, scoffing at the thought. One of his many, as she'd come to learn the hard way. He hadn't the sense to know when enough was enough. He'd gotten too involved with Lily, too close, wound his heart into the ordeal, and when the time came to cut the strands and separate them they were too entangled to escape. He'd gotten greedy. Asked for too much, for more.
Mages were not permitted to have something more.
Perhaps… perhaps this was a sign. A call to wake up in the wishful dream she and Cullen had been allowing themselves. For her and Cullen to agree to end their dalliance and continue forward as… something different. Friends, hopefully, but if not that then at least amiable acquaintances. Better to part before they broke than let their indefinable liaison blow up later for further damage.
Surely he would understand that. Perhaps he already did… he had not attempted to visit her here, after all. The last she'd seen of him was when he helped place her in this cell at the Knight Commander's order. It'd all happened so fast, they hadn't even had the chance to exchange a word with one another. But there'd been something in his eyes… something shaken, and maybe afraid? Of the situation, or Jowan, of her?
Even replaying the moments over in her mind endlessly as she meditated through the days, she found she had no answers. And she wouldn't until she was released and could have a conversation with him properly, rather than turning over half-imagined interactions in her mind.
That was perhaps the worst part. When she left solitary confinement… even if her record was cleared and her climb up the ladder unimpeded… it would never be the same.
Amell was gone. Gone without even a backwards glance towards her, focused solely on his path out without a single care for what he was leaving behind. How could he be so cold? Sometimes they were more rivals than friends, sure, competing for top marks and trying to outperform one another in some way, but always they pushed for each other to do better. To be better. Much as he was an obstacle and a nuisance, he was also her greatest supporter.
"If anyone can make meaningful change around here, Surana, it's you. Just remember us little people once you're Grand Enchanter, alright?"
He'd said that to her, one night in the library when they should have been studying for their upcoming examination on accelerated abjuration spellbinds but instead found themselves debating Circle politics. It'd been just days before her own Harrowing… and strangely those words had given her confidence when facing her demon in the Fade as it tried to tempt her. Why would she need power from a demon to achieve her dreams when she already had the force of her friends behind her?
But now those same words rang hollow and dead in her head as she sat meditating in the dark. Had it all been a lie? An elaborate ruse to cover his own true desire to just… leave? When Jowan came to them with his ridiculous half-cooked plan… Edmund hadn't even hesitated.
And Jowan—Jowan! If it'd been a simple matter of love, a desire to leave the restrictive rules of the tower, then perhaps there would be room in her heart for sympathy. Even if it'd been about fleeing Tranquility, that too she could have understood.
But her stomach turned violently at the memory of the sensation of his use of blood magic, a violent force that erupted out from a man she had until that moment regarded as docile and mild. How many times had the three of them spoken ad nauseum on the evils of blood magic? How they would all die before ever turning to such an atrocity? And there he was, all this while, practicing the power in secret.
And what she couldn't understand was why. Why, why would he do it? And why… why did Edmund defend him for it?
She didn't have a family. The concept of one was as foreign to her as the sky to an Orzammar dwarf… but if she thought of brothers, she thought of them. And both of them had betrayed the Circle. Betrayed her.
Now she was left with the horrible knowledge that perhaps she'd never really known either of them. And both of them were long gone, fled from the consequences of their actions with her holding the bag. Abandoned to take the fall for all of their choices.
It wasn't fair.
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
. . . . .
9:30 Dragon, 20th of Harvestmere
Over a month. Maybe… two months? More? Maybe.
She'd started marking the walls now. Not with tallies, but with symbols for spells and runes, diagrams of the mnemonic patterns she used to challen her power, and equations she'd memorized for the casting of wards.
Even if she couldn't cast magic there was no reason she should stop practicing her gifts. It kept her mind sharp, and if nothing else provided distraction from the endless quiet and numb madness creeping at the edge of her senses.
She wasn't the first occupant of this cell to do so. Indeed, between the clusters of tally's there were runes and instructions for many spells. Most of them seemed to be from the spirit tree… many of them even meant for highly complex healing that even she hadn't yet delved into in her own research. The more she studied them—and study them she did, practicing the motions and incantations even if she could not replicate the power—the more she began to suspect that all these pre-carved spells were put here by one individual.
Someone else had been imprisoned in this place long enough to put the entirety of their personal spellbook on display. Not an inconsiderable length of time, considering the sheer volume of spells and the detail of their record carved before her with likely nothing more than a little metal spoon as a chisel.
Between studying the carved glyphs on the walls and her stretches and light exercises she did to allow her body some form of movement, she lost most of her hours to meditation. Attuning herself to the press of the Veil and the ambient power of the tower around her. When she slept her dreams were troubled with ominous cloud and dark energy… an energy she hoped was simply coming from herself and her own despair instead something she was sensing with the quality of the magic.
"'The first of the Maker's children watched and grew envious of life. They could not feel, could not touch. In darkest jealousy were the demons born. I shall not be left to walk the drifting roads of the Fade, nore death either, nor…' hm. How does that one end?" She asked the stone walls, as if somehow it could grow a mouth an answer her.
For all she heard the Chant in the tower chapel, Nira did not know it as well as she should. Her head had been too full of her magical studies to make much room for it. Even now as she was recalling the verses from memory alone and had no reference to compare against, she was certain she was butchering the order and the wording such that the Revered Mother would surely scold her.
Edmund had always been the pious one. He knew the Chant by heart, all the benedictions and prayers. Despite his troublesome nature and headstrong attitude, no one would ever question his devotion. She'd always thought that if he ever leveled out he would do quite well as one of the Divine's Knight Enchanters. Now, as she sat in the dark reciting the Chant in effort to keep her mind sharp, she had to wonder numbly if that too had been a facade. If he was seen being obedient to the faith, he would have more leeway for his behavior. She supposed it didn't matter, now.
Jowan's options had never been so lofty as that. He lacked the talent and the drive to climb those great heights, but she'd never thought that weak or shameful of him. In fact, Nira always thought he'd do quite well as a teacher for young apprentices.
He was her first friend in the circle. He'd been so young when he arrived… and she barely more than a toddler when they'd met. She didn't remember much of those early years, but he did. He teased her about it often. She'd been skittish and scared of her own shadow, terrified of the power that leapt forward from her fingers. He'd been the one to help her overcome her fear. And she'd wondered if it'd been helpful for him as well, to have someone to look after and nurture in order to make his transition to tower life less painful. Even though she'd outpaced him in classes and placements by the time they met Edmund and turned their duo into a trio, Jowan was only ever glad to see her finally happy and confident.
While her tutors instructed her in her power, Jowan was the one that sat with her in her bunk while she sobbed because the letters got switched up in her head when she tried to read, brought her meals when she forgot to eat because she was too absorbed with her studies, stayed up with her to the wee hours of the morning as she practiced cantrips in order to impress Irving and hear him say, "Well done, Surana!"
Always, no matter what came, no matter how far she went she could always look over her shoulder and Jowan would be there.
"'Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named M… M-Maleficar, accursed… they shall find n-no…'"
The Canticle of Transfigurations dissolved at her lips as she broke into heavy sobs. Her body shook as she hunched forward, wailing into her hands as she rocked forward into the cold stone floor.
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
Her own breath pounded in her ears as her pain poured out of her, seeping into the uncaring stone of the cell and echoing back across her mind. Her eyes burned as she allowed herself to cry for the first time since her confinement. The sobs gave way to hyperventilation and her vision started to swim.
"Slow your breathing, or you'll make yourself pass out."
A voice cut through the dark and quiet to pierce her like a burning bolt.
"Who… who's there?" The words came out quick and slurred. Was she hallucinating, or was there really someone out there?
"Calm yourself first," said the voice, a man's voice that was just this side of familiar. "Pinch your nose, hand over your mouth for fifteen seconds, hold your breath."
With a shaking hand she did so, manually forcing the flow of her breath to cease.
"Good," he said as the seconds passed. "Now, let yourself breath again, slow, deep, and from your gut."
"Whether you're a hallucination or not… thank you," she said, now acutely aware of how unsteady her voice sounded after such long periods of disuse. Sense started returning to her as she gained control of her breathing. Also, she had the hiccups now, an annoyance that undercut the meltdown sharply.
"Ah, I recognize that voice. You're Irving's assistant, aren't you? I heard rumors you were locked up down here, guess it was true after all."
"Well, seems you know me," she said, using the already dirtied sleeve of her robe to whip her face clean. "Who are you?"
"No hallucination, certainly, though I'm surely a dream come true. Anders. I'm sure someone like you is aware of my infamous reputation around here," he said brightly. "Probably not a visitor you wanted, but well, here I am. Good timing for you, huh?"
"I'm just glad to hear another voice beside my own. Doesn't matter whose it is." Nira said, just barely managing to swallow back her hiccups. "What's the date? Can you tell me? It's been so hard tracking time…"
"You don't need to explain it to me, I know firsthand what this is like," he said, and though she couldn't see him she could imagine a sort of sympathetic look on his face. "20th of Harvestmere."
Harvestmere. It'd been August when she was imprisoned. The realization left her head spinning.
"It does get terribly lonely down here, doesn't it? Especially with Mr. Wiggums gone."
"Gone? What, where did he go?" Nira asked. She'd never particularly liked the old ginger cat, though mostly that was because she was allergic and her eyes would itch whenever he got too close.
"Rage demon possessed the poor thing. Took out three templars though, so at least he did rid the tower of a few more pests before he went, bless him. Always was a good mouser."
"Maker, that's awful." Nira's jaw dropped in mild horror, partly at the cat's fate but mostly at Anders's cavalier tone when regaleing it.
Anders had always been a subject of simultaneous fascination and disapproval for Nira. He was a mage of the Spectacle, and with that meant he was inherently a tumultuous person to know.
On the one hand, there wasn't a mage in the Circle who came and went from the tower as often as he did. Years ago she'd stand by and listen as Edmund and Jowan pestered the older mage with questions about what he'd seen while beyond the tower walls, wonder at the places he'd been and the things he'd seen.
On the other hand, it was all but Irving's stalwart insistence that Anders was ultimately harmless that prevented his rash actions from landing him with a sunburst brand or worse. It was chiefly Nira's fear that his behavior would have a bad influence on her two friends. A fear that now, in retrospect, was not quite as unfounded as Irving would have had her believe.
"What are you doing down here? I didn't think the dungeon was a usual haunt of yours," Nira asked carefully.
"Ah, I was just feeling a bit nostalgic. Missed the old cells. Sooo many memories, can't help but reminisce sometimes." he said with unobscured sarcasm. "No, this is a good place to hide and wait for the window between templar guard shifts around the tower. If you time it right, you can actually slip by quite a few of their posts without anyone being there. Terrible oversight in their system, but I'm not about to correct them."
"You're trying to escape again." Nira shook her head. "They're just going to catch you again. They always do."
"Ah, but maybe this time they won't," he said brightly. "Won't know until I try, right?"
"I believe the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results," she deadpanned.
"Then I must be the maddest of them all," he chuckled. "Say, I could get you out. With you as my clever little partner in crime, I think we'd have a real chance of getting away for good."
Nira blinked in surprise before quickly shaking her head—not that he could see the gesture. "What? No, that's demented!" What was it with potential escapees looking at her of all people for aid in their efforts?
"Oh, come on. You already tried to escape once and botched it, right? It's all anyone's been talking about—Irving's perfect little pet 'pulled and Anders' and tried to get out of the tower."
"I'm nothing like you," she said immediately, a touch of venom at her tongue. "And that's not what happened."
"Cute, you think that matters," Anders said, entirely too patronizing. "Whatever the truth may be, the fact is that the rumor mill's gotten ahold of whatever happened and spun it into the new hot gossip of the season."
Her heart sank. Of course what happened had been taken by a whirlwind of re-tellings and over imaginings. Salvaging her reputation would be even more arduous now, if possible at all. Stories that percolated through the Circle were hard to unstick, even if they weren't true.
"I only did as I was told," she said the words she'd repeated to herself internally aloud, searching for the truth they held as she heard it in the air. "I did everything right. Whatever the gossips may be saying now, once I'm released and Irving straightens out the record, everyone will understand that I'm nothing like that. This… imprisonment, it's nothing even to do with me really. I didn't do anything to deserve it."
The unspoken comparison being that Anders certainly had done something to deserve his—subtext the older mage did not at all miss.
"Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Surana," Anders said with condescension that bordered on the insulting. "If you want to lick their boots, don't complain when you're kicked in the teeth."
Disbelief gave way to rage. How dare he? How dare he?
"It's only because of mages like you that I'm even in this mess!" She shouted, her words bouncing across the surrounding stone and rattling the inside of her skull. She surged forward, banging her raw fists against the door. "It can never be enough for you, can it? Your ignorant notions of freedom, your toiling against so-called oppression. Ha! Your selfishness is what spoils this for everyone else! For me! Because no matter what you're given you will never be satisfied."
"They kept me in that cell you're sitting in for over a year," Anders bit back, the bitterness in his voice rising to match hers. "Don't you hold up your privileged experience then look at me and dismiss my suffering as ignorant supposition. You don't have the right."
She recoiled like he'd somehow managed to strike her through the solid metal of the cell door. For a second his words curled over in her brain. She balled her hands into fists, overgrown and untrimmed nails cutting into her palms as her whole body shook with contempt.
"The nerve—privileged? Privileged!? To the Void with you, Anders!" She shot back in a low voice. "I hope they catch you. I hope they drag you back every time no matter how hard you try to get away."
"I've always pitied you. You're so used to the weight of your chains, you don't even realize you're wearing any. I figured once the finally started choking you, you'd wake up." The mage had the gall—the absolute audacity—to sound disappointed. "Guess I was wrong."
And without another word he was gone.
Nira stood there, pressed against the door, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
She wasn't like Anders.
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
. . . . .
9:30 Dragon, 26th of Harvestmere
She smelled lyrium.
It was a scent associated usually with intense ritual casting, tranquil deep in runework, or certain templars who took heavier doses of the blue stuff. And given her surroundings she could immediately eliminate the former two options.
Metal thunked against metal as the key turned the mechanism in the lock. Nira stood, straightening her posture and dusting herself off as if that would by some miracle tidy her appearance. This was it. Finally, after all this waiting, it was over. The door opened.
"Well, you've certainly seen better days, haven't you? Congratulations. Your time's done."
Nira blinked at the sudden brightness of the torchlight of the hall. For a second she looked at the templar and saw Cullen—but that was wrong. The voice was different, the build not as broad at the shoulders, and as her eyes adjusted from the darkness they'd grown accustomed to she saw his hair was entirely too straight.
"Carroll," she said as she recalled his name. "I… I was expecting the Knight Commander."
Carroll huffed. "What, the likes of me isn't good enough for you? What makes you think Gregior would take time out of his busy schedule to release you personally?" he asked mockingly.
Nira sighed. Why did no one nice ever visit her in prison? "He was the one who ordered me in here, so I just thought… I don't know."
"Well he ordered you released, didn't he? Suppose that means he figures you've served your sentence," Carroll shrugged, then breathed a short laugh at some secret humor. "Or maybe he just reckons he'll shortly need these cells for more serious offenders than your small-time scandal."
"Has something happened?" Nira asked. Was it Anders again? Or had they found more blood mages in hiding, like Jowan?
"Whole lot of somethings, from all the arguing coming from the First Enchanter's study these last few days. Bloody headache." He adjusted the keyring he held and made a sharp motion with his head, indicating she was to follow him. "Let's get on with it then, I have things to do."
Nira stepped out of the cell, and even in the cramped hallway she was already relieved for more space. "I need to speak with Irving."
"You'll have to wait in line. There's quite a queue forming already." Carroll said, leading the way through the hall and towards the exit.
Irving would make time to see her. He always did, no matter what else was going on. Nira was sure of it.
After everything that happened he owed her an audience, at the very least.
Carroll's eyes lingered overlong on her ragged form for longer than was strictly necessary or comfortable as he escorted her out of the dungeon. He had always been one of those peripheral elements her more cautious side remained permanently aware of. Just close enough to predatory that it prompted her idea to seek out Cullen as a shield in the first place.
"Get yourself washed up before you try and talk to anyone—you smell like sin." He finally said, unlocking the last door of the cell and gesturing to the stairway.
He was, regretfully, correct.
Carroll split off from her, heading towards the great doors. She'd have thought it to his post, if she didn't hear him distinctly muttering under his breath about 'ale' and 'the tavern.'
And with what felt entirely like too little ceremony… she was free.
She didn't know what time it was, but it was dark outside the tiny barred windows set high in the walls. Late evening, or night? But it was a mercy. Whatever the hour, it was well past the Circle's busiest times of activity. The apprentices had been sent to bed and the templars had taken their nighttime watch posts.
But the Circle was not all quiet. The tower never truly slept, and no matter the time there was always bound to be some groups of mages scattered here and there buried in research and spell practice.
Eyes filled with curiosity and prying questions followed her through the library. Whispers seeped across the air to tickle her ears with hinted accusations as she passed through the stockroom.
What were they saying? What did they make of her? What had they told one another, what wild rumors had spread? Would she ever make it past this?
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
Tears stung painfully at the corners of Nira's eyes but she stiffened her lip and refused to let them fall. The more she seemed affected by this, the weaker it made her appear. So with as much confidence and dignity as she could muster, she continued her march unstopping towards her quarters.
True to his word, Anders was long gone. The second mage—technically third, if Amell counted—to escape the tower in nearly as many months. Gregoir must be absolutely fuming. While walking through the halls of the tower to her room she'd already overheard a group of apprentices placing bets on how long he'd manage to evade the templars this time.
She huffed a bitter laugh. Good riddance, at least for now. He'd be back. He always was.
"Well, well. If it isn't Irving's pet apprentice," the snide voice drawled.
"I am a harrowed mage," Nira said, turning in place and facing a bald mage who leaned against one of the tower's many ornate statues of Andraste with thick tome in his hands. "I've not been an apprentice for some months yet, Senior Enchanter Uldred."
"Hm. And yet you've spent more months out of your apprenticeship in a cell than you have in the tower proper," Uldred said, and despite his casual tone there was a pointedness to his gaze. "I trust you know our First Enchanter has long tasked me with rooting out the blood mages in our midst."
"Indeed." Nira said. She kept her voice, face free of sentimental affectation. To someone like Uldred, especially, she could not show even a fraction of weakness. "Jowan studied under you for a time, didn't he? I'm sure you as well must be disappointed by his foolish choices."
"I was the one who alerted Irving of his dabbling in the dark arts, in fact, and advised him that Tranquility was best before he caused real damage. If only I'd been here, rather than the front," he bemoaned, but there was no real regret in his eyes, "I'd have been able to stop him before it reached such desperate extents. Perhaps this whole mess could have been avoided. You were rather fond of the boy, were you not?"
"It was my understanding that the war effort at Ostagar was to last a long while yet," Nira said rather than answer the question. "I admit, I'm surprised to see you here. I assume that means the rest of the Senior Enchanters and the templar detachment have returned as well?"
Uldred chuckled, like there was some hidden humor in her words. "Those that survived, yes. Suffice it to say the plans did not hold in the face of unexpected trials… and many things may change as a result. In the tower, and beyond. It's all rather exciting—it's a pity you weren't there to witness history in the making."
"I haven't the inclination for the battlefield," Nira said cooly. "My magic is best put to use in scholarly pursuits here in the tower."
"Come now. A bright, beautiful young thing like you? Your talents are wasted at Irving's side, running errands and annotating research." The flattery that dripped from his lips was sickly, and his smile turned sly as if laughing at some private joke with himself. "You could do more, be more, have more, if only you opened your mind to the possibilities… I could show you."
No. Mages were not permitted to have something more.
The intensity of his eyes on her face made her skin crawl, and in the quiet of her mind she reminded herself that while templars were the most obvious danger that roamed the tower they were far from the only one. Threats wore robes as well as armor.
"Think on it, why don't you?" Uldred moved to pass her by and headed the opposite way down the hall, his hand resting and lingering a moment too long on her shoulder as he did so. "Your potential reaches beyond the burdensome limits you imagine for yourself."
"A limit is only a burden if you make it so," She responded, more to herself than to him, and she continued her path to her room at a pace that bordered on fleeing.
She never liked Uldred. It was the way of things—mages of the ladder often grated against one another, which was at least one commonality they shared, and the Senior Enchanter was nothing if not ambitious. And though Nira found the man a bit… slimy, Irving counted him as a trusted confidant.
There had been something layered in his words as they'd spoken, hidden meaning twisting behind a surely forked tongue, and if Nira were riding out on anything more than her very last frayed nerve she might have the mental energy to divine it.
Once she finally arrived in her room she found it nearly undisturbed—save for the desk, the contents of which were gone, likely confiscated during whatever investigation Gregior had conducted in her absence.
She wanted to collapse into the mattress of her bed and never rise from it again. She wanted to turn right around and go speak to Irving, make her look at her in this state, force him to see what he'd made her endure had done to her. She wanted to run and find Cullen, either to find comfort in his embrace or to look him in the face and tell him what they shared had to end, but at least just to find him.
She wanted to do all these things at once and at the same time absolutely none of them.
So instead she drew a bath.
Nira dumped the bucket over her head. The water was cold but she didn't care. Normally she heated her baths by magic, but the magebane was not yet clear from her system. She'd need a proper meal and a good night's rest before she got back to anything approaching normal.
But despite the frigid temperature the water was clean, and after over sixty days in that cell something as simple as soap felt like a luxury.
Nira rose from the bath, finally satisfied now that the grime of the dungeon was removed from her person. Dry and in a fresh set of robes, she almost felt back to normal again.
And then she passed the mirror.
She stilled at the sight of her reflection. Dark bags hung under her eyes and her cheeks were colorless and gaunt. With her hair loose and hanging damp around her she looked more like a ghost than a woman.
There was no helping it. Nothing to be done about it but allow her body to recover. She wrestled her hair into her customary bun in an effort to fight the more cadaver elements of her visage. Whether it worked or not, she couldn't say, but it did help her feel better.
Irving. She needed to talk to Irving.
She heard the commotion at the First Enchanter's office as soon as she reached the stairwell to that floor, raised voices echoing across stone halls as arguments raged. The surge of sound died away slightly as Nira neared and one voice broke clear and commanded their attention.
The voice that spoke belonged to an older woman, and it was a voice she recognized: Senior Enchanter Wynne.
"... but in light of these claims I could not stay silent. If our lot is cast with him we will bring upon our heads judgment, death, and much more worse," Wynne said, though Nira was only able to make out the closing end of her address.
Nira peered in the doorway to see an assembly of mages and templars the likes of which was rarely observed. Most of the tower's Senior Enchanters and more highly-ranked templars stood in a gathering before the First Enchanter and Knight Commander. If the expressions on their faces were anything to go by, this was not a happy meeting.
"Ser Cullen, find Senior Enchanter Uldred and bring him back here," Gregior said, his command rising above the clamor of voices that collided with one another at Wynne's words. "If even half of this is true, that mage has a lot to answer for."
Cullen snapped to attention and saluted over his chest. "At once, Knight Commander."
Her heart leapt into her throat. Cullen. He took five purposeful strides across the room but stopped short as he spotted her lingering in the doorway. His brows raised in sharp surprise before knitting together as his eyes softened.
"Nira… you're… here," he said, the sound of his voice slightly strangled as he fumbled over his own thoughts.
"... unless this has just been a particularly elaborate dream of my release, then… yes," she said. Her breath felt caught in her throat and it took a great deal of self control to stop herself from crossing the distance between them and embracing him. He was real, he was here.
He opened his mouth but spoke no words and quickly closed it again, clenching and unclenching his hands awkwardly at his sides as his eyes left hers for a moment to dart back to where there were currently many pairs of eyes watching them and something warm blossomed over his cheeks.
"On the double, Ser Cullen, we haven't got all night," Gregior shot in their direction.
Nira ducked her head and stepped to the side to make a clear path for Cullen down the hall. "Uldred was in the library last I saw him, 'round an hour ago."
"Then it could already be starting," Irving intoned gravely, stroking his beard and shaking his head slowly in the way he often did when he was vexed.
Nira watched Cullen go, the air between them electric with a thousand things that neither could say when he passed her by. A silent promise of a later conversation… whatever it would hold.
She skirted around the edge of the now heavily arguing crowd to where Irving stood at the head of it all alongside Senior Enchanter Wynne, the two locked in their own private discussion she managed to hear as she drew close.
"... and you've endured these proceedings for hours. Take a break, Wynne. You look like you could do with a good cup of tea," Irving said, resting a hand on the woman's shoulder.
She only shook her head, tired but still clearly determined. "I'll pour a cup for you as well, my friend; you've been at this for just as long. And you're not getting any younger."
"Pot, kettle," Irving sighed, but there was no denying the dark bags clinging under his eyes.
Nira inserted herself at her usual place at his side. "First Enchanter, I—"
"Later, child," he said, and despite his gentle tone the dismissal in the wave of his hand felt like a slap in the face.
"But it's been months," Nira insisted, taking a step after him as he started to turn away from her and towards his desk. "The least you can give me is a few moments—"
"Later," Irving said, harsher this time. He didn't even look at her. "I have more important matters to deal with that demand my full attention. I must attend to my priorities."
"I… understand." She swallowed hard and looked away from him, from the front of his dismissal of her. Don't take it personally, he's just doing his duty. It's poor timing, that's all. It was nothing to do with her, there were simply… more important things going on.
More important than her, clearly.
"I think I will go make that tea, on second thought," Wynne said after a moment, taking a few steps to leave the office. "Won't you join me, Enchanter Surana?"
Nira couldn't shake the numb feeling that washed over her even as Wynne gently escorted her away from Irving's office. She couldn't bring herself to feel… anything, in that moment. She just didn't have anything left to give.
Wynne brought her to the kitchens. It was abandoned by the staff at this our, but with the ever active nature of the tower there was always a kettle on to provide tea for any mages caught up late in night time studies.
"It hardly takes any great powers of observation to see you are troubled," Wynne said. She poured the tea and offered a cup to her. "I would advise you put such things from your mind, but I know you are not the type to do so easily."
Nira cradled the cup, just letting the warmth seep into her hands as she blew gently on the steam."I just… imagined my release going differently."
The version of events she had concocted for herself was very different indeed, and included heartfelt apologies from both Irving and Gregior. A foolish notion, she'd known even when constructing the fantasy, but a girl could dream.
"I fear our arrival back from the front may have spoiled your return for you," Wynne said with a sympathetic smile. "This tumultuous drama is hardly the welcome back you deserved, if you have endured such trials as I have heard."
Nira flushed with an intensity that colored all the way to the tips of her ears as her ears burned as feeling retuned in the form of shame. Wynne hadn't even been in the tower when Jowan made his escape, and she couldn't have been back from Ostagar for more than a few days, and already she knew. At this point, Nira only wondered what version of the story she'd been told.
She remembered the curious eyes and malicious murmuring she'd already endured in the few short hours since her release and shame mixed with… something else. An anger deep and bitter at the injustice of it all.
"They all think I'm… I'm some wanna-be-escapee. An accomplice of a blood mage. But I'm not, the Circle is my home." The explanation rushed out of her, almost unbidden. "I did as I was told. I did everything right," she repeated her private mantra.
"I believe you, child," Wynne said soothingly, reaching out and resting a comforting hand against her forearm. "And what is important is that you must as well. Show them that these cruel whispers have no basis. When they look at you in accusation, hold your head high with the confidence that you know and the Maker knows you have done right."
"Will it work?" Nira asked, wondering if there even was an answer to such a question. "Does this feeling… ever go away?"
"Perhaps it never goes away, the regrets, and the pain… but in time it does get smaller. And enduring gets easier," Wynne said, eyes turned down as her thoughts drifted somewhere nostalgic. "You remind me a great deal of myself in my younger years. If I can be of any aid to you child, you need but only ask. You will overcome this, as you will surely overcome many more obstacles in your life."
Nira wanted to be comforted by the older woman's words—truly, she did. But the distant ache of the loneliness in that cell and the frost she felt in the tower at her words stung too closely for the counsel to bring any real warmth.
"There are more troubling matters brewing beyond one young mage's rumored hand in a blood mage's escape attempt," Wynne said heavily, setting aside her own half-drunk cup of tea and starting back towards the hall.
It was not lost on Nira that the Senior Enchanter's eyes drifted upwards, whereas on the floor above them Irving still argued with the other mages and Uldred had surely arrived with Cullen by now to face whatever accusations Wynne had brought against him.
"You think the Circle is in trouble?" Nira asked slowly. "Because… of what happened at Ostagar?"
If Carroll was to be believed, a reason behind her release was that Gregior was planning to possibly imprison more mages down there and needed the space. Uldred had hinted at a change coming for the Circle, a possible altering of the existing structure. Irving refused to take even a few moments to speak with her as he couldn't turn his back to the brewing crisis for even a minute. And even Wynne, who was amongst the most level and assured women Nira knew, was worried…
The pieces of the puzzle were lining up, but she still couldn't picture what it would look like fully assembled. A small, selfish part of her was relieved—if something more drastic happened that overshadowed the scandal of her involvement in Jowan's escape, her own drama would more quickly fade from public recollection.
But more than that she couldn't shake the beginning bite of anxiety on her brain.
"We may find ourselves beset by more trials, yet. But I trust Irving will see us through." was all she said. "You should get some rest. That lot will likely hold up the First Enchanter well into the night with their grievances. Once he is free of them and has time to speak with you, I will make sure you are notified, and a night in a proper bed will do you some good."
Nira drummed her fingers along the edge of the cup and sipped the warm herbal tea. Much as she disliked it, Wynne had a point.
"Thank you for your guidance, Senior Enchanter," she said numbly. "Have a good night, and good luck with… everything."
. . . . .
9:30 Dragon, 27th of Harvestmere
"... one of Irvings… or with us…?"
Words drifted across her semi-conscious mind. She turned away from them, burying her face in her pillow—and how good it was, to have a proper pillow again.
"... better not to risk it… could still be of use…"
"... the spell, just as you were shown… don't fear the blade…"
Nira opened her eyes slowly, blinking the sleep away. And then she saw two figures looming at her beside and her heart lurched with fear.
She sat bolt upright, hands outcast with a spell gathering in her fingertips.
Her arms dropped limply to her sides. Her body went still. Her mind railed against the strange sensation, seeping whispers of someone else's will creeping along the corners of her thoughts. She eyed the long, intentional cuts along one of the mage's arms and the slow dripping of blood and understood.
For a split second in her mind's eye she was back there, standing in front of the repository doors and watching Jowan take out that knife and cut into his palms. The rush of power she felt from him, the dark curling intent.
And then she was back in the present, locked into that horrible moment. Though her eyes were open she felt like she was sleepwalking. Legs and arms moving unbidden of any intent on her part, obeying the pull of invisible strings from some malicious puppeteer.
Blood magic. And unlike before, this time it was targeted against her in the rawness of it's influence.
"This should break Irving's spirit," the mage, the blood mage, controlling her chuckled darkly. "Seeing his pet apprentice as one of us. And maybe Uldred will let us keep her once we're done here."
She walked like a doll in the hands of a vindictive toddler.
"What about all the templars?" asked one of her puppetmasters, the younger of the two he seemed less confident.
"Uldred's got a plan for the ones caged at the top," said the older assuredly. "The rest, we can count on the demons to take care of."
"As long as it's taken care of quickly," said the younger, "The only way I see this working is if it all happens quickly. If the take-over's too drawn out…"
Nira's mind clawed back some form of clarity. The younger one was the one who cast the spell on her—and his hold over her only held when his will was stronger than hers… and he was wavering.
The older blood mage clapped his back, entirely too good nature for the horrific nature of their crimes. "Have some faith—Uldred has a vision for the future, and we're going to see a new day where mages are independent."
They continued their conversation, but Nira didn't track it. She turned her consciousness inward and focused herself, emboldening the presence of her own will. It was much the same as she felt on the darker days of her solitary confinement, where her sense of self just felt so far. And like in those moments she reminded herself of what she knew to be absolutely true.
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
Mages were not permitted to have something more.
Her blood boiled inside her as she suddenly became acutely aware of the sensation of magic holding her physical form, manhandling her veins and muscles to mold her like clay in the face of another's power.
No. She would not let this indignity to her person go on, this base violation of her rights as a living, thinking being. The hold and the pain broke as her will overcame, and Nira stopped walking.
She blinked, the world coming into sharp and blinding focus with a force that inflicted a headache. The two blood mages walked ahead of her, their hands stained red and smiles wide and cruel. Neither had looked back yet, unaware that she was no longer their thrall.
For just a step more Nira followed in feigned obeisance as she quietly wound her power across her hands. Quick as she dared but quiet enough to avoid detection
"Maker spit on you, maleficar," she cursed and let a wave of ice crash forward from her hands. There was a rush of something relieved and borderline blissful as she dipped into her magic after months of muted energy.
The two blood mages screamed as the magical frost assaulted their bodies, but Nira did not relent the glacial torrent. As she reached the end of her active energy she cut the spell off, taking a stumbling step back and breathing heavily in the sight of what she'd done. These men would die, either from the conjured cold or lack of air as the ice completely encased their faces.
Good.
From one of the mage's frozen-over fist she wrenched his staff free and took it as her own. She did not allow herself a moment to stop, to think about what she had just done. The tower was under attack. All other dilemmas could be bottled away and dealt with later.
Nira looked around, trying to gain a bearing on her surroundings. She wasn't far from the study halls on the third floor… where had the blood mages been taking her in the first place…?
Safety was the current objective, but in that moment she wasn't so sure safety even existed anymore.
She pieced together what she knew—blood mages, lead by Uldred, had staged a coup. These two… had they said something about using her to break Irving? What were they doing with him? And… and…
Templars, caged at the top of the tower.
Irving sent Cullen to bring Uldred to them. Cullen would have been with Irving—with Uldred—when the pressures finally ignited into the chaos surrounding her now.
Maybe he was fighting somewhere on the higher floors of the tower. Maybe he had escaped and was helping protect survivors. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe he was a prisoner. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
It was a funny thing. In the weeks of her isolation Nira had convinced herself it would be beneficial to leave Cullen behind. Healthy, even. But seeing him again even for a brief moment had shattered that resolve. They still needed to talk about what exactly they were, and maybe establish some boundaries… but maybe it need not be so drastic as her despairing imagination had conjured.
But there could be nothing if he was gone, slain by blood mages or worse.
She could not leave him behind. Because he was all she had left.
Nira took pride in being someone who made sensible decisions. She was not someone who acted rashly—but she had no plan, no strategy, only motivation and desire urging her forward. She would find Cullen. Find Irving too, and maybe if she was lucky something to put help put a stop to this madness. She'd set this right. And then everyone would see.
She wasn't like these blood mages. She was a good mage.
She'd done as she was told.
She'd done everything right.
A climb up the tower that on an ordinary day would have taken less than an hour now took several. She slipped through secret corners that only she and a few others knew of. Held her breath behind bookshelves as shades slinked past. She couldn't fight them all, but she could avoid most of them.
Nira knew the tower better than almost anyone. It had been hers, from the cradle to the Harrowing chamber. She would not let these demons and maleficar take it from her, not like this. The Circle deserved better than this. She deserved better than this.
She hesitated in a hiding place as she spied a group of bloodmages in a ring around the butchered body of a tranquil, and Nira's stomach lurched as she realized she knew most of them. Old classmates, project partners, even faces she only knew because they frequented the library at the same ungodly hours as she did, peers of every stripe fallen low to the depravity of power.
"... so long as Loghain keeps his promises, we won't have to bow to the Chantry ever again…" she heard one say as she dodged quietly from shadow to shadow.
"... the era of the templars is over," said another. "Independence here is just the first step, and next we'll…"
She spotted many templars on the next floor. Most of them thralls of blood mages and demons… and thankfully, non of them were Cullen. It mollified some part of her that templars as well as mages had been sealed in to be slaughtered by the Knight Commander… but there was no real comfort in it.
With a lucky break where the hall was free from demons or rebels she made a break for the staircase to the fourth floor.
Muted as her arcane gifts still were from the magebane, she could sense something beyond the door at the top. Something powerful. But there was only one way to go. Onward, and upward.
Nira opened the door and—
. . . . .
—and sat up in her office chair.
The familiar scents of parchment and ink filled her senses as she took a deep breath that quickly morphed into a yawn. She stretched out her arms, working out a soreness in her neck that had likely developed from falling asleep at her desk again.
Nira rubbed her eyes and blinked away the tiredness. She didn't remember falling asleep, but surely she must have, else she would not be groggy like she was.
She set to reorganizing her desk surface, as her meticulous system had been rendered askew by the resting of her head. An inkwell had spilled, but thankfully none of the soiled documents were particularly pressing or matters she hadn't already dealt with. She stared at the mountain of work before her and shook her head—she'd made all the progress she likely would in the battle with paperwork this night. The rest would be best addressed with tomorrow with a focused mind, as even after waking her thoughts felt… clouded.
She'd been so worried about something a moment ago… but for the life of her, she could not remember what it was. It would come to her in time if it was important. She wasn't the sort to forget things casually. Still, it irked her that she couldn't quite remember what she'd meant to be doing.
But all such concerning thoughts were banished at her realization that the office door had opened, and standing illuminated by candlelight before her was a handsome man in polished armor with curly golden hair. Her heart swelled as their eyes met across the chamber.
"Knight Commander," She said with a nod and a secret smile growing across her lips.
"Grand Enchanter," Cullen replied, smiling wide and brazen as he crossed the space to stand opposite her desk.
She couldn't help but laugh. "Still First Enchanter, I'm afraid. The vote in Cumberland's not for a few weeks yet."
"You say, as if you're not all but guaranteed to secure the position." he shook his head fondly, moving around the desk to her side and leaned against it. "The competition pales in comparison to you, my love." He bent at the hips low enough to plant a tender kiss at her forehead.
"You are biased, I'm sure. The other First Enchanters the College holds in consideration are individuals of remarkable character and intellect," she said, but her smile turned sly. "So we must at least act surprised when they announce that I have outclassed them all, darling, if for nothing more than decent mindfulness of their dignity."
"Ah, and there's the ego," said a new voice from the doorway. Nira looked past her templar to see an old friend leaning there, decked in Knight Enchanters robes with the rune-inscribed hilt at his belt. "Glad to see you haven't changed while I've been away."
"Edmund! I thought you were meant to be in Val Royeaux for months yet, at least!" she said brightly, rising from behind her desk and rushing to embrace her brother. She pulled back after a brief moment, studying his face with sharp eyes. "Why are you back? You didn't get kicked out, did you?"
"By miracle alone, not yet. In fact, the Divine has been keen to put my many skills to use." He said with a sly smile.
"Please don't tell you you've seduced the Divine." Cullen asked with mild horror.
"Again I say: by miracle alone, not yet!" Edmund laughed. "Hah, but no, I have nothing but the deepest respect for the Most Holy. Really you'd be surprised how little time I have these days for chasing skirts. Well. Sometimes the maleficarum I hunt wear skirts. But I'm not really trying to seduce them, either, though I know I am rather irresistible."
"Well, if you haven't been kicked out, why are you back?" Nira asked. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, of course."
She wouldn't have caught it if she didn't know him so well, but for a moment he actually looked bashful before his bravado took back over.
"I came to check on you, of course! It's a big thing, being considered for Grand Enchanter, and I was worried you might crack under the pressure," Edmund said.
"What a stupid lie. Nira never cracks, you know that," Yet another voice added. Jowan, passing through the hall, stopped in when he saw all of them congregated together. Jowan reached out and clasped Edmund's arm in greeting before giving him a light shove. "You're homesick, you loon, admit it."
"I am not," he protested hotly, "Indeed, I am here for you as well—your wedding date is approaching and what kind of friend would I be if I'm not here to get you absolutely sloshed beforehand?"
"Edmund, I can safely say Lily would not appreciate you getting her groom drunk before their big day," Nira chided. And Jowan was anything but an elegant drunk.
"Heh, it's what I did for Cullen when the two of you got hitched," he said mischievously. "Though you wouldn't have known, your man has the constitution of a bronto. He woke up the next morning for the ceremony without a problem."
"I wouldn't say without any problem," Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as her surprised eyes fell on him. "The headache I had was something legendary."
Nira glanced down idly to the wedding band on her finger. Strange—she'd forgotten she was wearing it at all.
"I don't know," Jowan said hesitantly, "I want to be a good example to my students. What kind of model am I to them if I behave in such a way?"
"A human one, my friend," Edmund said, slinging an arm over Jowan's shoulder and shaking him in a playful way. "We can't all be infallible like our illustrious First Enchanter. Show them that it's alright to live a little."
"Speaking of behaving well for the young ones," Cullen said, looking beyond them all and to the door once again. "It seems we have a little eavesdropper."
A fourth and final figure arrived to join in the gathering—this one a child, a young girl, who was peering an eye from the room. She retreated briefly once she was caught, but emerged fully into their view once she realized the jig was up.
"Little lass, you should be in bed at this hour," Jowan scolded, his tutor's voice in full effect.
"But 'm not tiiiiired," she whined, swinging her arms in a pout. "An I have something to show you! I promise is not a snake this time."
"Well, as long as she's not brought us a snake, I don't see why she can't stay up with us for just a little while longer," Cullen said with a small smile, beckoning her nearer. She eagerly ran forwards to him.
"That girl has you wrapped entirely around her little finger," Edmund chuckled.
The child giggled and clung to Cullen's leg and stuck her tongue out at Jowan. Cullen only shrugged, unable to protest the accusation, and ruffled her hair.
Nira stared at the child and her bouncing curls of golden hair and recoiled a step back in retreat.
"What's wrong, Mama?" The sweet little thing asked, head tilted adorably in confusion at her hesitant behavior.
"This isn't right," she said, voice barely a whisper as something akin to dread filled her.
"You're not making any sense, love," Cullen said, reaching out and stroking her cheek with a tender hand and too-sweet a smile. "This is right, isn't it? Everything's just the way you want. Isn't it wonderful?"
He was right. He was, wasn't he? Yes, he was. She was silly, for thinking anything different.
She nodded numbly as his reassurances sunk in. Yes, this was all right. The way things were meant to be.
"Papa, lookit! Lookit I can do!" The girl reached up, spread her fingers, and bright bursts of amethyst light leapt from her palms. "Like Mama!"
Jowan gasped, Edmund cheered and pumped his fists in the air, and Cullen scooped the child into his arms and spun her in the air.
"A mage! Just like your mother!" Cullen said, resting the girl on his hip and nuzzling her nose with his. "I'm so proud of you, sunlight, so proud! Nira dear, isn't this wonderful?"
No. This… this was something more.
Mages were not permitted to have something more.
She looked at them—at all of them—and saw them for what they were.
She looked at the little girl, whose eyes were so silver it was like looking in a mirror. The joy at the discovery of her power rather than fear. She drew close to Cullen and placed a hand on his cheek. He was warm beneath her fingers, warm and present and here.
But they were not real. He was not real. Not hers. Because he could never be hers, no matter what her heart wished.
She pulled his face down and kissed him, lingering in the press against his form against hers for just a moment more.
"I love you," Nira whispered as their lips parted, a horrible secret truth that could never leave this perfect realm of make-believe. "And I am going to save you."
She rubbed a thumb over his cheek as a tear slid down her own. Power laced into her fingers and lanced through the demon's skull.