PARALLEL CONTENT: GENESIS OF A DRAGON CH 31
Nira Surana
30th of Harvestmere
And you… you are just the same as all of them. Fire alive and a demon asleep. I was a fool to ever believe you were different.
She did not recognize the man in the cage. Cullen was kind. He was uncertain but gentle and understanding. The way he'd looked at her with such… such hatred. And he blamed her for this—how, how could he blame her for this?! He didn't mean it. He couldn't. It was the stress and the fear making him say such things. It couldn't be him, not really. The Cullen she knew wasn't a man who could demand the deaths of innocent mages.
Things could start to get better now. She'd saved the Circle—what was left of it, at least. Nothing could ever go back to the way it was… but maybe they could all find some peace now that they were safe from Uldred.
Nira did not flinch at the boom and burst of blood as she detonated the arcane bomb she placed inside Uldred's skull. The blood mage's scream cut short as the pieces of him rained down like grotesque hail across the chamber. She didn't hear any of it, not really. Every fiber of her being was buzzing in the backlash of energy she'd just unleashed, and it was all she could do to stay standing.
I intend to inflict Uldred with such severe bodily harm that there will not be a soul left here or in the afterlife capable of recognizing what remains.
Well. She'd certainly made good on her word. Maybe too good, she thought, as she reached for her dropped staff on the ground and spied one of Uldred's fingers on the ground beside it. Nira's stomach flipped and bitter bile crept up her throat, but she swallowed it back.
The Wardens were there but they're a secondary element her frayed focus discarded. She locked eyes meaningfully with Senior Enchanter Wynne, and in an unspoken agreement they both moved directly to the First Enchanter.
"Maker… I'm too old for this," Irving attempted to stand, but struggled as a cough wracked his body.
"Are you alright, Irving?" Wynne asked, even though it was plain to see that he was not.
"I've… been better," Irving groaned.
Nira's heart broke for the hundredth time that day when she looked upon his beaten form. In her mind, Irving had always been… untouchable. He'd been a central pillar in her life for as long as she could remember. It was more than just the blood and the bruises. She'd never known the First Enchanter as a young man, but he suddenly looked twice his age from the exhaustion on his face alone.
Healing spells rushed across her mind, many of them the result of the spells carved into the walls of her solitary confinement spell, but her power would not respond as she beckoned them into being. She had nothing more to give. And so Wynne worked instead, casting a mass heal over the assembled hostages, tending to the worst of their injuries.
"I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that's your doing, isn't it, Wynne?"
"I wasn't alone," Wynne said with a warm smile, finishing her spell and reaching to assist him to his feet. "I had quite a bit of help."
"Ah, child. I prayed you survived, and it does these old bones good to see you have done so and much more," his eyes lit up with more life in them as they finally met her own. Though his smile was pained from effort, there was something proud in it. "Well done, Surana."
All at once the buzzing rush of leftover adrenaline from the battle broke inside her, and it was all she could do to hold back tears. Her body took a half-step forward before her mind could catch up, like she was about to rush forward and embrace the First Enchanter, but she arrested the motion. She was suddenly extremely aware of the number of eyes watching her—the other rescued hostages in front of her, the Wardens surely assembling close behind her. So instead she clasped her hands neatly in front of herself and nodded respectfully, as is fitting a pupil and a master.
"I only did what was right," she said, straightening her back. She glanced and saw indeed that the Wardens had moved to join them—most of them, anyways. The dwarven woman was still picking through the pockets of the slaughtered bloodmages in the background, which struck Nira as being exceptionally disrespectful. "Neither Senior Enchanter Wynne or I would've stood a chance against Uldred and his accomplices without the Grey Wardens supporting us."
"You sure about that?" Muttered the Warden with templar abilities, quiet enough that without her keen elven hearing Nira wouldn't have caught it. The man shook his foot, discarding a greasy smear of flesh from underneath it, as if to punctuate his point. Nira's stomach turned again.
The dwarven man straightened and stepped forward as Irving took stock of their assembly—Aothor, she recalled his name, the leader of this team of Wardens.
"The Circle of Magi owes you a debt we will never be able to repay. I believe I speak for myself and all the survivors in this tower when I say thank you, Wardens." Irving said. Despite the rough, cracked edges of his words he managed to still summon the authority that followed his station.
"Don't thank me until Gregoir opens those doors for us and we're truly in the clear," Aothor said with a wry smile. "Still plenty of time for things to go wrong between here and the bottom."
"True, but we were rather thorough," the one-eyed elf said. "Apart from a few notable non-threatening exceptions, everything down there's dead."
"Yes, but given the way our luck trends I find it most efficient to assume the worst and operate from there," said Aothor, rubbing his brow tiredly.
"Then we should waste no time," Irving said decidedly. "Let us make haste to the base of the tower. We should inform the templars that the Circle is once again under control."
Together they moved towards the stairs and waved for the rest of his companions to join as well. The elf with the painted face began shepherding the few remaining Tranquil along with them while the rest guided the now-freed and extremely confused and pained ex-thrall mages with a careful eye, no doubt wary due to Cullen's warning of how the mental corruption from blood magic could stick.
"I'll require assistance with the stairs…" Irving said as they approached the steps. Nira was at his side immediately with one of his arms guided over her shoulders. The old man chuckled softly as the two of them followed Aothor down. "Ah, these old knees. Curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower."
Cullen knelt in the exact spot where they'd left him, so lost in fervent prayer that he'd yet to realize that the magical barrier keeping him prisoner was dispelled. The fact that she was using her body to support Irving's was the only reason she did not immediately rush to his side.
Maybe the Senior Enchanter had seen the tormented look in her eye, or maybe it was her own compassionate nature, but Wynne gave her a sympathetic smile and approached the young templar with healing magic ready at her hands. She uttered a few gentle words only for the sound of her approach to startle him so badly that he bolted to his feet and backpedaled wildly.
He stared at them all with wide glassy eyes, and despite the vacantness of his expression somehow terror still clung about him like a darkened shroud. Cullen took one step forward, then another, then slowly extended his arm past where the line of the barrier had once been like he was testing the truth of what he saw. When his hand was unimpeded he released a shaky breath and tears began to well in his reddened eyes. Those eyes locked with hers, and the tears vanished.
Nira flinched as he knelt and picked up a broken blade from one of his fallen brethren and stepped forward as hatred mixed with his fear.
"You let them live?" Cullen asked, low and dangerous. "I told you what could happen! They could be demons, maleficarum—"
"Put the blade down before you do something unwise." Aothor cut him off before he could continue his raving. Despite being several heads shorter than Cullen, the dwarf stood between Cullen and the rest of them with something imposing in his presence that made him still.
"They all need help. As do you," Isefel said, stepping forward and reaching out her hand to slowly but insistently pull the sword from Cullen's grip. He flinched but relented as she pried it away. "Let's reunite you with your comrades."
Cullen kept his fists clenched and averted eyes but lowered his head, a defeated breath escaping him as the strength for the argument failed him—at least for now. He joined the procession and followed docile through the halls. Isefel and the Warden with templar abilities walked watchfully at his sides.
Nira's eyes stung but she focused herself on putting on foot in front of the other, supporting Irving as they followed the stairs down. Space. He just needed some space. After some rest and proper care, he'd calm down, and things could go back to the way they were before.
No new threats emerged as they made their way down, but that didn't mean there were no problems waiting for them. Nira's new focus of concern was Edmund. When last they'd left him he'd still been trapped in the Fade. Had he managed to wake yet? Surely he had. His Harrowing had been one of the fastest in Kinloch Hold's history, even faster than her own.
She tried not to worry. She knew her friend and what he was capable of. In terms of raw potential he was the more powerful between them—though, she'd never admit that aloud, should his already inflated sense of ego grow larger.
And more than anything, she just wanted to see him again. Yes, she was angry at him… Maker, she was so furious she could strangle him. But after everything that had happened, after everything they'd just lost, she needed the comfort of knowing that he was alright. And for him to come back to the Circle only to see it like this, surely he would need that too.
Edmund would wake up. He would be fine. And even if it was more complicated than that, maybe the First Enchanter would know what to do—
Quiet voices echoing softly off the stonework of the halls. The mabari abandoned their designated posts and raced into the hall to greet them.
Edmund was okay. He was up and speaking with the woman they'd left behind with him as they all regrouped in the chamber together. Nira breathed a sigh of relief—she almost couldn't believe it. He was okay. After everything that had happened, she and him were both okay. Maybe the Maker was looking out for them, after all.
But her relief quickly turned to a painful sting. He bantered easily with the Wardens as they all regrouped, and suddenly Nira was an outsider. Edmund hadn't even looked at her yet. Like he hadn't even noticed she was there.
"How hurtful. And here I thought we'd had a bonding moment—" he started, but failed to finish the thought. Nira moved forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Edmund froze stiff as a board, stalling a moment before finally reaching an arm awkwardly around to pat the elven mage on the shoulder. "Ah, yeah. Glad to see you, too…?"
"You unbelievable prick," Nira said with a shaky breath as she finally released him.
Now that she'd held him, confirmed that he wasn't a figment of hopeful imagination and that he was alive and fine, all of the reasons she was furious with him rushed back to the surface of her mind. Why did you leave? How dare you come back! You scared me to death! You betrayed me, betrayed the Circle! How could you? She wanted to shout, to scream, to grab him by the front of his clothes and throttle him until it kicked his brain back into gear and he had the good sense to apologize.
But she bit her tongue. He stood right in front of her but he felt like he was a thousand yards away from her. There was nothing in his eyes when he looked at her—no hint of remorse or apology, and she doubted yelling at him would compel any of that in him.
"I thought we'd find you dead down here, or worse, and that's all you have to say for yourself?" She said instead, shaking her head at him. "What even happened? What were you doing in there?"
"Hero shit, mostly. I'm just glad the rest of you were able to rescue the survivors. Feeling alright there, Irving?"
The dismissal was as obvious as it was insulting. So that was all she got from him? After everything she'd endured because of him, she just got a shrug and a non-answer?
Edmund and the Wardens spoke with Irving for a while, something about his accolades and what he's accomplished for the Wardens, but Nira had a hard time processing any of it. And the worst part was, Irving was glad to see him. The First Enchanter wasn't upset at all, there's not even the vaguest hint of disappointment.
The hurt feeling sharpened to anger. Nira endured weeks, months, of solitary confinement, suffering the consequences of his and Jowans actions when she had done as she was told, but the moment Edmund turns back up Irving has nothing for him but "It's good to see you again dear boy, let's let bygones be bygones."
It wasn't fair.
Hot angry tears stung in her eyes but she blinked them back and refused to let him fall. First the situation with Cullen, and now this… she just wanted it to stop. She wanted it to go back to the way things were.
Maker, she was sick of feeling like this.
. . . . .
Wynne was leaving. And somehow Nira knew that one way or another, the Senior Enchanter was never coming back.
Most of the templars had moved into the halls of the Circle proper, double checking for any hidden threats and collecting dead. Flames, the dead. They could do a dozen funerals a day and still it would take weeks to properly send them all off to the Makers side. There was no time for that—the bodies were already beginning to stink. Likely they would all be burned together in one great pyre, their ashes mixed together until you couldn't tell which charred bones belonged to which mage.
And more than any mourning she felt at the deaths of her fellow mages or the templars that'd fallen along with them… more than any sadness, Nira was glad. Glad she was not one of them. Overjoyed that her heart still beat and her lungs still drew breath. And then mired in with all that joy was insurmountable shame that built behind it.
How could she be so happy, so relieved? Many of these people she'd known for almost her entire life. She should be more upset about it than this. That she wasn't meant surely she was despicable.
She resolved that she should make her survival mean something. She would rebuild this Circle. Maybe it would never be the same again… but maybe this was a chance to make it better than ever before. Irving was right—the survivors would learn from this tragedy and safeguard against any chance of repetition in the future. And she would be an active participant in creating that future.
But between the rubble and the corpses there was nothing she could do about that today. Nira wanted nothing more than to find a dark, quiet little corner to disappear into for a few hours, but every place it occurred to her to go felt… dirty. Like the filth of the blood mages and demons had violated every stone of the structure. Even if they scrubbed this place a thousand times over… she might always feel it.
The only place of comfort that felt unstained in her heart wasn't a place, but a person—Cullen.
She doubted he even wanted to see her. But maybe she should try anyway.
Cullen hadn't been one of the templars sent to sweep the tower. Gregoir had sent him straight to the barracks to get some much needed rest. She'd intended to give him his space, but at the same time she couldn't help but think it must be terribly lonely, to endure what he had and survive by himself. It might be good for both of them to not be alone right now.
Besides, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. The situation was less than ideal and the timing was atrocious… but wasn't that also the circumstance that had brought their not-quite-relationship together in the first place?
The templar barracks were normally a place off-limits for mages, but currently it seemed a rule no one could be bothered to uphold. The interior of the room was dark, lit only with a single candle, but her elven-eyes could clearly discern Cullen sitting alone in the empty room on the trunk at the end of his bunk.
He'd removed his outer layers of armor and changed into plainclothes. Aside from their hasty trysts in cramped closets, Nira had never seen him out of his uniform before. Maybe it was just the weight lost from recent events, but without his armor he looked so much smaller than before.
His dead-eyed stare ahead at the vacant wall before him startled along with the rest of him at the creaking hinges as Nira pushed the door open further. When he recognized her he shot straight to his feet, and any notion she had about him being somehow small vanished. There was a tension in his posture that made her pause in her advance towards him, suddenly uncertain of what to say.
"Why are you here?" Cullen didn't move to receive her. Instead he looked to the door that'd fallen closed behind her, a flickering movement about him like he might try and run past her and out of it. "What do you want?"
Her heart shattered once more at the sound of his voice. Away from the chaos when she'd first found him and the rush of adrenaline still holding her senses when the fight was done, she could finally take in how hoarse he was. His voice was dry and cracked like desert stone, no doubt from hours of screaming.
And Maker, he was so pale.
"I came to see you," she said, taking a slow and careful step towards him. "I… I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Well. You've seen me." There was no light in his eyes as he stared at her, none of that warmth and familiarity that she didn't realize until now she'd been so fond of. "Leave."
No, she couldn't leave, because he wasn't okay. He was trying to push her away, but she wouldn't budge easily. With his armor gone she could clearly see the wounds still lingering on his body from his torment. They were bandaged, but not healed. Why had no one healed him yet?
"You're hurt. Let me help you," Nira said, motioning for him to sit on his bunk. "I'm going to take care of you."
Cullen did not sit. If he wanted to be difficult, that was on him, but she wasn't going to leave him to fester in the dark. She cast a spell of healing, weaving the silver magic across her fingers before stretching out her hand to cast it towards him—
Nira gagged, physically recoiling. She stumbled and coughed as the sensation of something metallic and dry overpowering her. She blinked away the shock and stared at Cullen as a feeling of betrayal took over her. Had he just silenced her?!
Cullen's hand was outstretched from the motion of the silence and his face composed in stony determination. "Take your foul magics elsewhere, mage."
"Cullen, I just want to help—why…?" Nira grappled with the words but the sudden dizziness in her head made it needlessly difficult. He'd silenced her. Cullen had silenced her.
"If the Maker has not abandoned me for my sins, then surely he is laughing at me. I shall spend every day of the rest of my life repenting for each time I so much allowed my eyes to linger."
Cullen took a step towards her and she reflexively moved back. That she did so puzzled a distant part of her mind. She had nothing to fear from Cullen… right? The sudden doubt worried her.
Cullen had once said that if he were ever in a position where he needed to subdue her or otherwise do his templar duty, that he would, but with much regret. Looking at him now… there had been no cause for him to cancel her spell of healing, and there was no remorse in his eyes for doing so.
Nira might very well be an exceptional mage. All the powers of the Fade might be at her disposal… but to a templar, she was just an ordinary woman. And that left her feeling very exposed.
"Please, just lift the silence," she entreated, raising her hands in a motion she hoped was non-threatening. "I only want to help you."
"If you want to help me, then die. That would help me."
Maker, she was sick of feeling like this.
"You—you don't mean that. You don't know what you're saying," Nira shook her head as she repeated what she'd said to him at the top of the tower. It had to be true. He couldn't really mean it. He couldn't. "Once you're healed, you'll feel better. So please just lift the silence."
"For someone so smart, you do take a while to catch on, don't you?" He glared at her, and Nira could no longer bear to meet his gaze and she looked away. "Wake up to reality. You are a mage, and I am a templar. What we had was less than a dream—it was a lie."
A templar. Not her templar. Not her anything. The sinking misery that had been her constant companion in solitary confinement returned in full force as a familiar realization returned. She could not refute Cullen's claim… because part of her believed he was right.
"That's… that's fine," she lied. It wasn't fine, not at all. "We can be strangers to each other going forward if that's what you… what you want. But what you need is to recover, and you won't be able to while your body is injured."
"These injuries…" Cullen made a sound that was half laugh and half snarl. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head and off. His exposed torso, which normally boasted a fine soldier's physique, was now a tapestry of pain. "... are the result of magic. Why would I allow my body to be further defiled by it? By you?"
Nira could no longer lie to herself and say he didn't know what he was saying, or that he didn't mean it. Not when he spat the words with such conviction. She should go. Just leave. It was what he wanted, after all. She should open the door and leave.
No… no, why should she be the doormat for his pain to tread upon? She'd done everything right. His suffering didn't give him the right to say such things to her. She didn't deserve this. Nira was beginning to suspect that just like Edmund, and just like Jowan, perhaps she'd never truly known Cullen at all.
Emboldened by indignation, Nira straightened her posture and took another step into the room towards him.
"Get a hold of yourself. I'm not the one who hurt you, Cullen. Uldred and his bloodmages are dead. I killed them. But if we let the seeds of division they sowed fester, their ghosts still win. And then everyone who died will have died for nothing." Nira said. "I am not your enemy, so don't treat me like one."
"Lover, enemy, friend, threat, ally… mage." The words came out hurried and slightly slurred, like he was trying to pick out which ones were real. His eyes were glazed over and glassy, like he wasn't even there anymore. "'Mage' is the only thing about you that will never change. Enemy, ally, none of that matters. It's my duty to oppose you because you'll always be dangerous."
She wanted to offer a rebuttal, but she couldn't say he wasn't correct. She was no bloodmage, no mad maleficar on a power trip intent on mass murder… but she was a storm come to life. Lightning trapped in flesh. She thought of those tiny chunks of Uldred still in the Harrowing chamber and was once again sick to her stomach. She'd done that. And it'd felt… good. To let her power blossom into destruction. Like stretching a limb that'd been stiff for far too long.
Nira would always be dangerous. Because she would always be a mage.
Mages couldn't have something more.
This wasn't the closure she'd wanted. If they were to part, she hadn't wanted them to crash and burn, but amidst this wreckage there didn't seem to be anything worth recovering. The best thing for her now would be to pick up what pieces of dignity she had left and—
"Did you…?" His whispered question stalled her as she reached for the door to go. Nira glanced back and saw him staring at her, only… not. More through her, or at nothing. Even though he stood there right in front of her, he was suddenly sucked a thousand miles away, trapped in some torment twisting inside his head. "How could you?"
The silent alarms in her head fired off and her hairs stood on end. Something was wrong.
"Do what…?"
"You can't tell a bloodmage by sight. Can't identify one until it's too late." Cullen's eyes snapped back into focus but retained the haunted shadow. He closed the gap separating them "Did you do it? Use bloodmagic to mold my mind, to cause my infatuation with you?"
"Are you mad? No!" Nira protested in horror.
They stood inches away from one another now, crowded in and breathing in eachothers air as they glared into each other's eyes. She buzzed with energy that couldn't rise to the surface through the pressure of the silence. Something frightened in the back of her mind whispered that she shouldn't be this close to an angry templar while silenced, especially not while physically backed into a corner.
"That must be it. There's no way I could've loved a mage by my free will." Cullen narrowed his eyes at her and Nira stood frozen still, unable to process the words coming out of his mouth. Love. Loved. Past tense was important. Someone who loved her would never accuse her of something so terrible. "You controlled my mind, contorted my will. You must have, you witch."
A tear slid down her cheek.
Her body moved faster than her mind and her hand wound back. Cullen flinched back, but he wasn't fast enough. The air cracked with the collision of her hand against his face. Her nail scraped and caught against his mouth, cutting into his top lip. Cullen backed up a step, his tongue darting out to taste the blood and his hand quickly following to feel the injury.
"No." she said. Anger and fear and shame boiled together so violently she couldn't tell where one emotion started and the other ended. "You can take your accusations and shove them right up your ass, Rutherford. I didn't go through hell to save this Circle just for you to turn around and paint me as one of the villains who ruined it. Regret what we had all you like. Hate me for it, fine. But have the balls to own up for your part in it! Take responsibility for your own actions instead of imagining me as some maleficar seductress so you have a shelf to shove your shame onto instead of bearing it yourself."
"But I'm right that you were using me. I know it, you know it, don't bother trying to deny it," Cullen hissed. "Is it really such a leap, that you would use blood magic to ensnare my mind? I was already just a pawn to you."
"You were never a pawn. I—" I love you. And I'm going to save you. It was a foolish notion she'd promised to his copycat in the Fade. Words she could never say to the real him. Not after this.
"Don't patronize me. You were the one that sought me out. You saw me as a convenient tool, so you took advantage. Using me and grooming me to suit your needs," he accused. "And for me to be so thoroughly twisted by you… fowl play is more than suspect."
He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right. But she'd never explained to him her reasoning for pursuing him as she did, back when they began their entanglement. She could never find the right words. And now that silence was coming around to bite her.
But how was she supposed to explain the fear that motivated her? The whispers of how templars abused pretty mage girls and nothing was ever done about it. Nira had her connection to Irving to protect her, but Irving wouldn't be around forever. She needed a shield. Something to keep the unsavory elements that prowled the tower away. And Cullen had been just that. A golden shield that nearly guaranteed her safety. And the fact that he'd been kind, and gentle, and handsome, and funny, and endearing, and adoring… how was a girl like her ever going to hope for anything more?
Mages couldn't have something more.
"If you're going to make me your villain, at least give me due credit. You really think I would've needed blood magic to control you?" The rhetorical was dripping with venom. She wanted her words to hurt. "Please. As if I would need to go through such effort. All I had to do was show you the slightest attention and you would stumble over yourself to keep it."
"Stumble because my feet knew better," he rebutted, his voice cracking under the weight of his own anger and shame. "Because the guilt of allowing myself to be so tempted by you burdened my soul, even then. And you… you saw my naivete as a tool, fashioned it into a leash and used it to drag me along."
"Now somehow I'm the bad guy for noticing you fancied me and deciding to act on it?" Nira said, unable to help but laugh at the absurdity of it. "We both know you wouldn't have had enough spine to do so yourself. You would have stood on the sidelines pining for ages, moping and staring. Maker, now I can't imagine what I saw in you. You don't even have enough backbone to admit that you fucked a mage out of your own desire. You're desperate to be my victim."
She chose her words specifically to hurt, hoping to wound him as he'd wounded her, and she'd struck the nail on the head.
Her eye caught the beginning of a sharp motion, and she closed her eyes and flinched from an instinct of fear. She'd never been afraid of Cullen before this encounter, never had any reason to be. She blinked her eye back open and saw that his hand had flown to his belt, palm grasping for where the hilt of a sword would normally rest.
Though there was no blade on his person for his hand to find, Nira still felt like he'd pierced through her heart.
The door to the barracks opened. Nira and Cullen both jumped and retreated from one another, blinking suddenly at the light that flooded into the dim room.
"I heard raised voices," said the figure in the door. It was the elven Grey Warden, Isefel. Her face was carefully neutral. "Everything alright here?"
Both mage and templar were silent before the Grey Warden. Nira took a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing heart. The pressure of the silence lifted, as Cullen was startled out of maintaining it, and she could breathe easier now.
"Everything's fine," Nira said, speaking up before Cullen could. "Ser Rutherford and I were just discussing what comes next for the Circle."
The Warden raised her brow at the obvious lie.
"I see," was all she said with a small nod. "Nira, I have some questions about the library I was hoping you could answer. Do you have a moment?"
"I… I believe I have some time." Nira turned away from Cullen and left the barracks without a single look back.
She didn't want to know what kind of face he might make as she walked away, didn't want to know if he would reach out for her to stay or spit on the ground where she'd stood. She closed the door behind her and left him in the dark.
She didn't care. She was done.
She walked with the Warden down the hall, both of them quiet as they passed the activity of templars and mage survivors around them occupied by their tasks.
"How much did you hear?" Nira finally asked as they came to a break in the business amidst the books of the library.
"Enough to know it was good I came in when I did," Isefel answered simply.
Nira groaned and covered her reddened face with her hands. She was hesitant of outsiders of the Circle as a general rule, but now this woman had an inside look at not one, but two highly sensitive and embarrassing moments between her and Cullen. Maker, what must she think of her…
"Do you want me to kill him for you?" Isefel asked.
Nira blinked, sure she must have heard her wrong, or that the Warden was joking, but there was a very real air of seriousness about her. The question itself was alarming enough, but the calmness and sincerity with which it was delivered made it even more concerning.
"What. What?! No!" Nira said quickly. "That's insane, why would you even offer that?!"
"Hm. Alright." Isefel shrugged, glaring down the hall where they'd come towards the barracks. "If you change your mind, the offer stands."
Nira raised her hands in exasperated defeat. She was at the end of her rope—she didn't have it in her to deal with a Warden's crazy offer of murder. She needed to lie down and pretend she didn't exist for at least the next three days before she was going to feel anywhere near functional.
She turned with the intent of finding her way up the stairs to her room, but the Wardens quick hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"Look, I need to talk to you," said Isefel. "And I'm going to apologize in advance, because I know the timing is atrocious. So… I'm sorry. I don't want to put more on your plate but I don't know when we'll get another chance if I don't take this one now."
There was more. Of course there was more. Because heavens forbid she have more than five minutes of peace, right?
"Fine. Please, just make it quick."
"You're Nira Surana, right?" Isefel asked, and Nira nodded in response. "Was your mother Lastara Surana?"
Nira took a hasty step away from the Warden and suddenly wished she were still back in the barracks with unstable Cullen. "How do you know that name?"
Isefel smiled, like her acknowledgement of the name gave her some kind of relief or joy. "Our mothers were sisters. You and I are cousins. We're family."
Nira started laughing. What else was there to do? It was just that sort of day. Isefel was right: the timing was atrocious.
"Well. Congratulations to you. Now please, go away," Nira said coldly. That explained why this particular Warden had been supporting her through this. Some family connection that meant something to her but absolutely nothing to Nira. Isefel seemed thrown by that response, though Nira couldn't possibly imagine what the woman expected her to say in reply to that revelation.
"Wait, please, don't go."
"What do you want from me?" Nira huffed.
"I… I don't know. Nothing, I suppose," she said with a small and faltering smile. "I just never imagined I'd be able to find you. And now that I have, I thought I might be able to give you some connection to your family outside the Circle."
"I don't have family outside the Circle. Just strangers who share blood. And I want nothing to do with them." Nira shook her head.
"You could come with us." To the Wardens credit, she was impressively unperturbed by the harshness of Nira's tone. "Leave the Circle with us, travel around Ferelden. It wouldn't be an easy life, but you would be free. We could go to Denerim… did they ever tell you that you have a sister? Her name's—"
"I do not care!" Nira said heatedly, cutting her off. "I do not care, and I am not leaving. Maker, what is it with people and assuming I want to 'escape?' First Jowan, then Anders, even Uldred, now you! I don't want to know anything about your family or that woman who birthed me. As far as I'm concerned, you should forget that I exist. I certainly plan to forget about you as soon as possible."
"But… why?" Isefel asked, blinking in genuine confusion.
"I had to spend most of my life shaking off Lastara's reputation. People would assume because I was the spawn of a chronic escapee that I would be a troublemaker like her," Nira said bitterly. It came with the circumstances of her birth. Mage-born children in the Circle were relatively rare, but they were always watched with special scrutiny. She was no exception. Her mother had been a cautionary tale, a worst case of what happened to feral apostates the Circle took in but couldn't domesticate. "I followed the rules twice as well, obeyed better than everyone else, because otherwise people would think I was like her. And sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not like her. I'm a loyal mage. A good mage."
"I… I see," Isefel said. Nira doubted that she did. "I think… I was naive, to presume upon how you might feel about the Circle. I suppose you've never known anything else. I'm sorry you've never had the chance to."
"What did you think would happen by telling me?" Nira asked, gesturing widely as she posed the hypothetical. "That I'd rush into the arms of my long-lost family? That I'd beg you to rescue me from this tower like some princess in a fable? That isn't how this goes. My life is here, not out there. There's nothing out there that could tempt me to leave. Not you, not some supposed sister, nothing."
Isefel said nothing in the face of her tirade, but somehow that was worse than if the elven woman had tried to argue with her or prove her own point. That calmness in the face of her own turmoil wasn't… wasn't fair.
Even worse, Isefel looked at her with… pity. And Nira hated her for it. What right did she have, to pity her and her situation? She couldn't stand to look at her, not in that eye that was the same shade of silver as her own.
A family would be something more. Mages couldn't have something more.
"I won't trouble you any further. But can I just ask… where is Lastara? I'm assuming they wouldn't house both of you in the same Circle."
"She was sent to a different Circle. One of the ones in the Free Marches, I think, though it's not really something I've bothered to remember." Nira said coldly. She walked past Isefel towards the door to go. If she never saw this Warden again, she would be glad. "If you're going to try and look for her, I wouldn't bother. They made her Tranquil before they sent her off. She's not worth finding."
She left the Grey Warden behind with a quickness that bordered on fleeing.
Nira passed the hall beside the apprentice's bunk room as she did, and the sound of familiar laughter forced her steps to stop and her eye to peek in. Edmund sat one one of the bunks beside the dark haired and scantily clad woman from before, the both of them chuckling as they watched the Warden with templar abilities flail under the weight of one of the mabari which had plopped itself on top of him and started drooling all over his face.
Something jealous and angry prickled deep inside her. Her whole world had been flipped on it's head. Everyone she'd ever counted on had either died or betrayed her or left her. And there Edmund was, relaxing with his fellow Wardens, completely unaware of the turmoil she was enduring. He hadn't even bothered to seek her out or try to talk to her. Ever since his return he'd been all but ignoring her.
It wasn't fair. Why did he get to be happy, free of consequences, and she was stuck like this? She had half a mind to storm in and start yelling at him for everything he'd done or hadn't done, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a dramatic scene. That, and she felt so emotionally fragile she didn't know if she could handle it.
Nira was about ready to take a page from Godwin's book and find a closet to lock herself inside when Irving found her. She surely looked in quite the state—eyes red and puffy, hair disheveled, tear tracks on her cheeks. There's no way he failed to notice. But he mercifully did not comment, sparing what little dignity she still had left to her person.
"You have done well, child. And you deserve to rest after your struggles," Irving said, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that gave her a measure of reassurance.
"I'm guessing a 'but' comes next, First Enchanter," she said apprehensively.
"Astute as always, my dear girl," he said with a solemn nod. "I'm afraid I must once again ask too much of you. The ritual to save the child in Redcliffe will be intense, and I must make use of every able-bodied and sufficiently powerful mage at my disposal. I need you to accompany me to Redcliffe."
Her heart dropped into her gut. At any other time, an ask like this would be an honor. An honor she would refuse, but still an honor. Now refusal was not viable, and her selection was born from nothing but a lack of other options.
"No. No, you cannot ask this of me. I won't do it," Nira said, shaking her head quickly. She'd just told Isefel she wouldn't ever leave the Circle, and she meant it.
"A life is at risk, and the Circle owes a debt that must be repaid. We all have our part to play." Irving said. He reached out and held her by her shoulders, which she only just then realized had begun to tremble. "I would not ask this of you if I did not think you were able. You shall make both me and the Circle proud once more, I am sure of it."
Ordinarily his confidence in her would a boost, but it did little in the face of the weighty despair lingering on her heart.
"You're not really giving me a choice about this, are you sir?"
"We leave in just a few hours. Try to get some rest before then," Irving smiled regretfully, giving her a gentle pat before releasing her. "And child… I am sorry about Cullen. I know he was dear to you. Some time away from here might be good for you, for just a while."
"Yes. Well." She said shortly, blinking quickly to quell the tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. "It was never meant to last. No use fussing over it."
"Take heart, child. This too shall pass."
Nira only walked around the next corner before ducking into the first broom closet she could find. The confined space reminded her of her cell in solitary confinement, but there was a strange comfort in that. Her breathing quickened as she struggled to get it under control, the weight of everything finally piling up and overflowing.
She crumpled to the ground in the dark. If she'd really won and saved the day, spared the Circle from catastrophe… then why did she feel so miserable?
Maker, she was sick of feeling like this.
. . . . .
Nira had been outside before. There used be weekly outdoor exercises for apprentices. Granted, they stopped allowing those a few years ago after Anders used it as an opportunity for one of his idiotic escape attempts. She personally shed no tears when those exercises were canceled. She didn't like being outside, and only partly because she was susceptible to sunburns.
She'd never felt smaller in her life than she did sitting in that boat. Vast water around, open sky above, distant horizon beyond… the world was too big for her. She was made for bookshelves and staircases and library tables, for parchment and ink and halls lit by sconces.
The scale of reality felt much more manageable when she only had to face what she could see through a window.
So Nira sat frozen in her seat, fingers clutching her staff like a lifeline, staring back at the tower as it slowly got smaller and smaller and smaller. She fought back panic when it finally vanished smaller than a blip on the horizon, reminding herself over and over that her home would still be there to go back to once this was all over.
She might be home by tomorrow, even, if they were swift in saving this possessed child. Nira found some comfort in that. She would personally see that this process went as quickly and efficiently as possible so she could go home, and Maker help anyone who got in the way of that objective.
There was also the small mercy that that Isefel woman wasn't accompanying them. She was out leading the rest in the Wardens in some mission or other. Which meant the only irritating presence she currently had to contend was one with which she was already quite familiar—Amell.
She kept waiting for him to make the first move. To say the first word, to start the conversation. He always had in the past. Whenever the two of them argued—which was honestly rather frequent—he was always the first one to come back later to open up the follow-up discussion to talk things through. She kept thinking this time would be the same as every time before.
But clearly it wasn't. Edmund seemed perfectly content to not say a thing, to completely ignore the chasmous divide between them. It was infuriating.
If he wasn't going to take the first step… then she would try. After sitting in near-silence for hours, she decided to try.
"Was it… was it the same for you?" Nira asked quietly. If he wasn't going to take the first step… then she would try. "When you left the Circle."
Edmund fidgeted uncomfortably. He didn't meet her eye. "Not… really."
That was all he offered. He couldn't even be bothered to look at her. What was wrong with him?
"Right. Of course you'd have no trouble." Nira huffed and rolled her eyes. Had he really changed that much in these last months that he couldn't even be bothered with her? "What've you even been doing out here since you left?"
She regretted asking as soon as the words left her lips. Edmund launched into an explanation of his adventures, and Nira realized very quickly that she didn't even care. She didn't want to listen to him talk about the wonders of the deep city of Orzammar and it's Proving Arena or the bustle and noise of Denerim. She didn't want to hear about betrayals by evil lords or even cursed magic mirrors. She stared to tune him out long before he reached his explanation of the Warden's part in the battle of Ostagar.
She wanted to talk to her friend. Her brother. But there was the inescapable feeling, as he regaled the battles and encounters, that he was keeping her at arms length. And it was driving her mad.
When the dwarves spotted land, it was the most welcome distraction of the entire ferry ride. And then they docked.
Before this, the most strangers she'd ever been around at once was waking up from Sloths prison to meet the Grey Wardens. Now there were so many. Villagers rushed to greet them as they pulled in, waving excitedly at the heroes who had saved them from death at the hands of the undead. Nira shrinked back, so hesitant to leave the boat that Wynne had to turn back and assist her by the hand, almost dragging her onto the dock.
The village had so many buildings. Nira's head was stuck on a swivel, trying to take in everything around her. There was too much, it was too much, she was too overwhelmed by it all—
Her rising panic was aborted by a sudden outcry and a loud splash. Aothor was in the water suddenly, pushed by the dwarven woman who was now doubled over laughing. Then only moments later, she was in the water too, pulled in by the dwarven man in playful retaliation. There was something in their eyes as they looked at each other that made Nira think of how she'd felt about Cullen and suddenly all her trepidation was replaced by bitterness.
Bitterness. She could work with that. It was more useful than fear.
She steeled herself enough to move forward.
The town's mayor began showing them the way to the castle. Nira did her best to narrow her focus, to block out all the new and upsetting stimulation of a new environment. She'd seen the world outside the tower only ever in illustrations, and she decided definitively that she preferred the ink-and-parchment version of a town. The real thing was… less than fragrant.
She took Irving's arm as they started up the hill to the castle gates. It was under the pretext of aiding him, since he was still recovering physically from Uldred's harsh treatment, but it was surely obvious by the intensity of her grip who was getting support from who. He gave her arm a reassuring pat, and they passed through the dropgate.
Nira felt better the moment they were inside the castle. It was nothing like the circle, but just having the security of walls around her helped her feel more at ease.
The main hall of the castle was quiet when they entered, but it didn't stay that way for long. Especially once guards brought word of their arrival to the Arlessa, who promptly rushed in and began all but screeching at them in shrill voice that had Nira fighting the urge to cover her ears.
"Where are the Wardens?" She demanded, wringing her hands frantically. "My son, he sleeps, but his strength is waning. You are the mages, no? Save my child, I cannot bear to wait another moment—!"
"Isolde, please, calm yourself," urged a man who came hurrying in after her. Nira didn't know who he was, but he was dressed in fine clothes, so she assumed another noble of some sort. "These good people are surely weary from their travels. Let them get across the threshold first."
"I understand the urgency. Every second is precious, in a case such as this," Irving said gravely. "Fortunately, we are able to assist. Maker willing you will have your son returned to you by the dawn, good woman."
Isolde's relief was so immense she burst into open tears of relief, wailing into her hands. The nobleman escorted her to a chair, beckoning them further into the hall.
"We were expecting the Wardens to return along with you. Will they be along?" he asked.
"They remained in the village to tend to a few matters, but I am sure they will be along shortly," Irving nodded. "In the meantime, I request you allow us to begin our preparations. The sooner we are ready, the sooner the child may be saved."
"Y-yes, anything, anything!" Isolde said through her wavering breaths. "Do whatever you must."
Irving had instructed them before their departure on what would be required of them for the ritual. With a nod and a directing wave from the First Enchanter, they got into position and set themselves to work.
The two attending templars provided the case of lyrium, and with it they would have all the power they needed. So much power that a lone mage could not channel it alone safely. It had to be done in unison, in perfect harmony with the other casters. Ordinarily, a spell like this needed several powerful mages who were all well-suited to casting together. In this case, all they had were mages tired from torment and combat and not used to casting in concert with one another.
Nira looked at the other mages assembled for the task. She knew them, their strengths, their weaknesses, their potential. She understood then why Irving had brought her—in this ritual, she would be doing the heavy lifting of the raw energy. She was the only one capable of sustaining it for long enough to give the mage in the Fade any chance of success.
With no further preamble, they began. Casting and channelling power from one mage to the next, passing the power around in a ring, each adding to it in their turn while the others kept balance.
Nira lost herself in the feel of it. It was like sinking into a warm bath after a long day, the assurance of the energy that defined her identity.
She was a mage. She would always be dangerous. But she would also always be powerful. If she could not have something more, at least she could have that.
Nira could have lost herself in the rhythm of the ritual, easily slipped into a trance state and feel for at least a short time a measure of peace. But like all good things in her life, that too was short lived. Edmund's voice, distant to her consciousness, brought her back to the present.
"Jowan will be the one to face the demon."
The ambient energy in the room buckled and snapped as suddenly every nerve in her body was on fire. The meticulous spool of energy she and the other mages had curated began to spiral, and so did she. Her eyes snapped open, every figure in the room came into stark clarity but she only focused on one.
Jowan. Dressed in peasant cloths, hands bound in chains, entering from the far end of the hall accompanied by a knight.
Power gathered around Jowan, and when he unleashed it, all the templars and the First Enchanter collapsed like puppets cut from their strings. A pool of blood started forming around Cullen. Jowan fled.
Uldred was the one responsible for ruining the Circle. But Jowan was the one responsible for ruining her life. From the moment he pulled out that dagger, everything had gone wrong.
"You." Nira snarled.
She cracked the spiraling energy, sharpened it to a point, and aimed it directly at him.