Chapter Text
9:30 Dragon, 18th Day of Cloudsreach (The Fifth Blight Begins)
Dear Brod,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Between the increased coursework Enchanter Mahariel sets after her apprentices turn seventeen and the Knight-Commander cracking down on rule violations it has been hard for Ser Oswyn to get letters out for me. I hope he finds you well when he delivers this one.
Life continues much as it has. I miss you, and Mama. But that’s nothing new. I was glad to hear that your –
The candle on Asha’s small writing desk guttered out. “Shit,” she muttered. This room is always so damp. She snapped her fingers almost on reflex, pushing out a tiny amount of her will to re-light the candle wick. Light filled her corner of the room she shared with three other apprentices, all of whom were either asleep or out past curfew. Asha set down her quill and stretched. It had been a long day, filled with lessons and running errands for Enchanter Mahariel. But Asha couldn’t rest yet. Ser Oswyn was leaving in the morning to go into the city, and so she had to finish this letter tonight in order for him to be able to deliver it to her brother. Asha picked up the quill and resumed writing.
I was glad to hear that your betrothed was not what you feared. The way you describe her, she sounds perfect for you. I hate that I won’t get to see your wedding. I can scarcely imagine you as a husband, but I have faith you will rise to the occasion! It is sad that I will never be allowed to marry. I am still not sure why that is; perhaps the Templars believe that if we mages had families of our own, we might have more reason to fight against their control. As if we didn’t have enough reasons already! Having magic is all well and good, but to be under such scrutiny almost every minute of our lives…in my darkest moments, I almost believe giving in to the demons would be preferable to suffering another abuse at the hands of a Templar. Just last week –
A soft knock on the door interrupted Asha’s writing. Is it that late already? Asha got up from her desk – carefully, so as not to wake her roommates – and peered out the crack created as she eased the door open. The hallway was dark as they were in an inner part of the Circle that had no windows, but Asha could still make out the slender frame and wild spiky hair of Tristan, her closest friend in the Tower. She opened the door wider, motioning for him to step inside the room, and then eased it closed behind him.
“Give me just a minute. I have to finish this letter and then we can go,” Asha whispered. Tristan nodded and sat down on her bed. Asha reseated herself at her desk, crossed out the beginning of her last sentence, and dashed out a few final words to her brother. Asha sanded the page and then blew carefully on the ink so it wouldn’t smudge. The flame on the candle flickered and guttered out again. Asha shook her head but didn’t bother re-lighting it. She folded her letter but didn’t seal it; she never minded if Ser Oswyn read her letters, not that she thought he actually would. He respected her privacy and trusted her judgment. It was one of the reasons he carried letters for her in the first place.
Asha touched Tristan’s sleeve to let him know she was ready to go. He stood up and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and giving them a light squeeze. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her and blushed. Together they moved toward the door. Tristan bumped his knee on one of the bedposts, and they both froze. One of Asha’s sleeping roommates gave a light snore and rolled over, but neither of the two fully woke. Asha and Tristan tiptoed to the door and out into the hallway. After checking to make sure the way was clear of Templars, they headed toward the end of the hall, keeping close to the wall. Asha counted the steps in her head, stopping when she had taken thirty-two. She felt along the wall for the handle to the door, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. Tristan stood close behind her, and she could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. The consequences for apprentices caught out of their rooms after curfew were severe, but that was part of the thrill. Mages in the Circle subsisted mostly on small rebellions and the hope that things would one day be better. Her time with Tristan was what kept Asha going.
Her hand finally found the door handle. She turned it and pushed, then darted inside the small closet beyond, pulling Tristan with her. Once the door was closed, Asha allowed herself a small giggle.
“Are you all right?” she breathed to Tristan.
“Yeah, nothing but a bruise. I’m sure I will forget about it soon enough,” he whispered back. She couldn’t tell but she was pretty sure he winked when he said it. She felt herself blushing again.
“Come on, night’s wasting.” She knelt down at the back of the closet and felt around until she found the catch that would open the wall just enough for them to crawl through. The Circle at Ostwick was housed inside a very old castle that used to belong to a noble family who lived in the city. No one was quite sure what happened to the last members of that family, but somehow the castle was empty and ownerless, and the city’s Viscount gifted it to the Templars. Whoever it was that built the castle had incorporated several hidden tunnels that lead to spaces underneath the lowest floors, probably intended to be bolt holes in case of invasion. It was to one such space the apprentices were headed now. Asha and Tristan had found it by accident a few months ago, when they had been hiding out in the closet together.
The two of them crawled through the space in the wall. It was only a few feet before they were able to stand. Tristan was slightly shorter and was able to stand up nearly straight, but Asha, who was tall for a girl of seventeen, had to hunch her shoulders to fit. Tristan murmured a word and summoned a small light that floated above his palm. He turned to Asha and grinned.
“Mind your head, ye mighty oak,” he teased her in a low voice. Asha swatted him on the arm.
“Oh, stuff it and get a move on!” she replied, although she couldn’t help grinning herself.
Tristan chuckled and turned to lead the way down the tunnel. It took them about five minutes and many twists and turns to reach the space they had claimed as their own. It was small, barely large enough to be called a “room.” There was enough room for them both, and that was all that mattered, really. The ceiling was low and mostly smooth, although whoever had originally built it hadn’t bothered with plaster or any other finishing materials. They were underground, but somehow the air wasn’t damp. The two of them had managed to smuggle some small comforts down from upstairs: a few pillows, some small taper candles and a single holder, and two worn but comfortable blankets they had spread on the floor. The bedding had been Asha’s idea. Every few weeks or so, she would approach one of the Tranquil mages who were in charge of the Circle’s stockrooms and ask for a replacement pillow. “…Because I accidentally burnt mine to cinders doing a magical experiment! I promise I will be more careful next time!” Tristan acquired the blankets; she never asked him how.
Asha knelt and set a taper in the holder, and then lit it with her will. The light was soft but enough to fill the small space, and now she could see Tristan more clearly. She smiled a little; his brown hair was always so unkempt – another of his small rebellions. Most of the mages in the Circle wore their hair longer, but he was forever cutting his before it grew too long, usually choppy cuts with odd angles that he would then cause to stand on end. The result was striking, especially when paired with the serious apprentice’s robes they were all required to wear.
Tristan waved his hand and dismissed the wisp he had summoned earlier. “Alone at last!” he said sotto-voice as his eyes crinkled in amusement. Maker, his eyes. The grey-blue color of storm-tossed seas, Asha could lose herself in them forever. Sometimes she felt like she did. Asha laid back on the blankets.
“Care to join me?” she asked, patting the space next to her. Tristan considered for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide grin. He fell on top of her, catching himself before his weight could hurt her.
“I prefer this space, thank you very much,” he said. She giggled as he ducked his head to her neck and began to nibble there. They stopped talking for a while.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms in the darkness (the candle had long since gone out). Asha sighed contentedly as Tristan’s hand stroked her hair.
“We have to go back soon. The others will miss us eventually,” she said. Even as she tried to keep her tone matter-of-fact, she was sure he could hear the wistfulness in her voice.
“Bah! They would have to turn themselves in as well as us if they wanted to get us caught. The first question out of any Templar’s mouth would be ‘Why didn’t you notice when they left?’ We can stay a while longer.”
Asha snuggled in closer to him, quiet for the moment, just enjoying being with him.
“We could run away, you know.”
Asha sat up, startled. “What? You’re mad! We would never make it! The phylacteries, not to mention the extra watches they’ve set in recent weeks due to the news out of Ferelden!”
“We could! I’ve been doing some research, and I think I know a way to block the phylacteries from being used.” Tristan’s voice grew more urgent. “I want to be gone from this place. I want to leave the Free Marches. I want my own life,” he growled the last. “And I want it with you.”
Asha’s heart leapt at these words, even as dread began growing deep in her belly. She pushed her will at the candle and flame sprang to life on the wick. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What research?”
Tristan met her gaze steadily with his own. His storm-tossed eyes flashed defiance. “There is a way. It requires effort, but it can be done.”
Asha’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, Maker, not him. Not my Tristan. Out loud: “It’s all well and good to dream, Tris…”
“I am not dreaming! I am deadly serious,” Tristan cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Come with me.”
Asha found herself shaking her head. “No, Tris, I can’t…You know what that means? Blood magic, opening yourself to the Fade and the things that live there? You would lose yourself!” She grabbed his hand, her eyes pleading. “Please, can’t things just stay as they are?”
Tristan shook his hand out of her grip and stood. He started pulling on his robes. “No, Ash, they can’t stay as they are. I shouldn’t have told you. I had hoped you would’ve wanted to leave this place behind. But I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t want to leave, what with your excellent marks and your precious Ser Oswyn,” he spat his name like a curse.
Asha bristled. “That’s not fair! Don’t bring him into this! He’s nothing to you,” she said, her voice rising.
“No, but he’s everything to you,” Tristan fired back, almost shouting now. “What is it about him, anyway? Doesn’t it mean anything to you that he stole you from your family? Made you come here and live in this damnable castle, all for the crime of being born the way you are? Doesn’t it anger you?”
“Of course I hate it here, but…Ser Oswyn was only doing his duty,” Asha began.
“Doing his duty!” Tristan snarled, his beautiful face made ugly with contempt.
“Yes, his duty! He took vows! He’s an honorable man! And he has been kind to me, more than I deserve. He’s not like the other Templars; he sees us as humans! If you were not so biased you might see that!”
“Hmph. He is still your oppressor. You should want away from him.”
“He did bring me here. He did take me from my family. But he was doing it to protect me, and to protect them. And if he hadn’t…”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t have met you.”
Tristan’s shoulders slumped. He knelt back down beside her and took her in his arms. Asha felt her eyes welling with tears.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m just so….this whole system is flawed. We should be able to be together, and not in this dank hole. I want to be with you in the sunshine, in a field, on a farmstead, working the land and raising children together in the middle of nowhere where no one can bother us. I just want…anything but this.” His voice caught in his throat.
Asha felt those tears spill over onto her cheeks. She hugged him tighter. “I know, Tris, I know. But blood magic…that’s too far. The cost is too high.” She felt him relax a little under her hands.
“You…may be right. I will keep working on it.” He pulled back and met her eyes. “If I find another way, will you come with me?”
“Yes.” Asha couldn’t help herself. She nodded and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yes, if you can find a different way, a less dangerous way, then yes, I will come with you. Of course.”
Tristan smiled then, and seemed to return to his usual cheerful, don’t-give-a-damn attitude. He stood and offered her his hand. “Well, then, that’s settled. At least, for now! Let’s get you dressed and back to bed, my lady. We wouldn’t want you to be missed,” he said with a wink.
Asha smiled back and took his hand, but her heart was still disquiet. Hopefully this would be a passing phase, another outlet of his rebellion against all the injustice he saw around him, real or imagined.