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Ellandra groans, eyes fluttering as she’s pulled from the Fade, eyes still half closed from sleep as she hears another small knocking sound. She rolls over, squinting into the darkness, thinking perhaps a Fennec had found its way onto her roof again – it wouldn’t be the first time.
Another small scratching noise, and her eyes suddenly adjust to the darkness surrounding her small cabin in Haven. The figure moves closer, creeping silently across the aching floorboards, the small scratching coming from the figure moving too close to the walls.
She blinks once, feeling cold fear clutch at her throat, ice coating her body as she sees the knife flicker in the moonlight, catching across her assailant’s masked face. He or she hadn’t realised that she had awoken. Years in solitary confinement in the Circle did that to her, startling awake at the slightest sound, afraid that the Templars were back to torture her some more.
Her staff is laid beside her bed, but any movement from her would give it away to the attacker, they’d know instantly she was awake and strike, she’d have to use her magic.
Heart beating furiously in her chest, pounding out a frantic drumbeat against her ribcage, hands shaking, trembling as she moved them slightly, zoning in on the assassin’s chest. She takes a slow, deep breath, pulling in as much air as she can before she reaches forward, slowly inching her hand away from the blankets.
She moves her focus inwards, forcing her thoughts to turn to her mana, to the well of magic inside her that would protect her, allow her to escape with her life. She makes to draw upon the familiar warmth of her fire, the burning in the pit of her stomach that would work its way up, burning a path down her arms as it spews forth.
Her body freezes over when she realises she cant.
A thick wall surrounds her mana, the flow of magic, the current that makes her who she is stunted, slowly trickling through her body like melted toffee. She knows this feeling well; her time in the Circle has made this an almost daily occurrence for her when her necromancy first appeared.
She’d been silenced, her magic restricted and barred. She was defenceless.
Ellandra quickly re-evaluates, the assassin is too close now, she’s going to have to make a break for it, hold them off until she can get help, or at least put the assassin down. She stiffens as the assassin crosses a patch of moonlight, before she jumps into action.
She leaps from her bed just as the knife comes down, a muffled noise of surprise breaking from the assassins mouth as she tumbles, rolling across the floor with a loud bang as she scoops her staff up, holding it in front of her like a double edged sword.
The assassin laughs, deep and throaty – a man then – before advancing on her.
She had the blade at the bottom, as well at the thick metal tip to protect her; she’d have to use her staff now as a proper weapon instead of a focuser. The assassin pulls another dagger from his back, twirling it with a finesse she’d only seen from Crows… or the House of Repose.
They both advance, clashing together with a loud grunt from Ellandra, she’d only just managed to catch both blades on the oak of her staff, the blades sharp enough to create deep grooves in the wood. If she wasn’t careful she’d be split in half before she knew it.
She shoves him back, glad enough for the muscle in her upper body, gained through strenuous hours of practicing staff techniques. He stumbles back into the table near her bed, toppling over potions with a loud crack that surely one of the guards must have heard.
He hisses as glass nicks his arm, turning to her with pure rage in his eyes. She heaves a great breath, trying to steady the violent trembling of her hands, to push down the heartbeat pounding in her ears, all she heard was the rushing of her blood as he jumped, sending her crashing to the floor, her head catching on the side of her bedside table.
Hot blood pours from the wound, obscuring her vision as she rolls to her feet, sighing with relief as a nearby guard knocks on the door. “Herald?” comes the concerned, albeit a little muffled voice. She palms off another attack, ducking under a wide swing before she retaliates with a swing of her own, aiming for his legs, which he jumps easily.
“Get the Commander!” she screams, knowing the guard isn’t nearly prepared enough to combat this assassin. The guard takes off immediately, she can hear his footsteps crunching through the snow as he sprints towards the Chantry.
She grunts again, her staff just grazing the assassins thigh as she swings again, twirling her staff behind her to catch another dagger as she whirls. She stumbles further towards the door, trying to move into more manouverable space, when a second pair of arms snake around her throat, squeezing tightly.
These arms are thin, delicate and slender like an elf, there isn’t much body mass behind her so it has to be a woman, but she has muscle in her arms like Ellandra, from years of honing her skills. “This is where you die Herald.” The second assassin hisses into her ear, sending shockwaves of terror careening down her spine.
She takes in a deep breath, trying to preserve what little oxygen she has left as the first assassin stalks towards her, twirling the blade once again as he moves closer, chuckling as he does. As he moves closer Ellandra squeezes tightly around her stomach, using the weight of the woman behind her to lift her legs, slamming them into the first assassin’s chest, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The woman behind her is slammed into the door, eyes narrowing in anger as the alarm bells sound all around them from the Chantry. Ellandra uses this distraction to grab her dropped staff, trying to shake off the blurred vision; she’d have bruises around her neck tomorrow.
She takes another jarring strike on her staff, her arms trembling as she tries to gasp for breath, knocking the daggers away as she turns, swinging her staff high around her neck, the blade attached glinting with anger as it strikes hard, meeting the neck of the woman who’d tried to strangle her.
Blood erupts from the wound, spraying across the door and Ellandra’s cheeks, a bright swath of crimson that stains her porcelain coloured skin. She blinks in shock, before a small gurgle erupts from her mouth, followed by a bubble of blood as she collapses in a pile of limbs on the floor.
Ellandra takes a second to pull in several deep gasping breaths, trying to steady her swaying body, when the world tilts forward and she’s slammed hard against the door in front of her, before she’s thrown onto the floor with a loud crack that must be her head.
She groans in agony, white lights flashing before her eyes as the man straddles her, hands coming down over her throat, tighter than his companion as he squeezes. She bucks beneath him, scratching uselessly at his hands as he holds her down, pure glee written across his dark eyes as he stares down at her, watching her life fade before his eyes.
Ellandra falls limp, her vision blurring as she feels her body growing weaker, the world around her dims and fades to black for a second. She feels her eyes fluttering closed, her body slowly shutting down as she resigns herself to her fate, wondering if her family would even mourn.
The weight of the assassin is suddenly lifted from her, and she feels hot liquid stain her neck. ‘More blood.’ She thinks, but cant bring herself to care as cold hands caress her cheeks, a voice calling her name, she couldn’t quite make it out, they sounded far away, muffled as if she was miles beneath water.
She remembers hearing her mother calling for her the same way at Ostwick, calling her back from the sea when she was a young child, smiling as she rushes from the water, stumbling into her mothers arms with glee.
Ellandra finally comes around, eyes clearing as she realises she’s propped up, held against a sturdy chest, warmth radiating from the body as she moves closer, groaning and taking huge gasping breaths, trying to cool the fire burning around her throat.
“Ellandra.” The person holding her breathes, relief coating her name as she looks up, wincing at the pain in the back of her skull, the cut on her forehead still stinging. Cullen’s face swims before her, but she makes out the shining amber of his eyes, looking down in concern at her.
She smiles in relief, her thoughts foggy as she tries to shift herself, but he stops her, a large hand coming up to hold her waist down. “Lie still, the healers are coming now, I think you might have a concussion.” He whispers, she groans, trying to keep her eyes open as he chuckles.
“You gave m- us quite a scare Herald.” He whispers, she looks up in surprise at his stutter, his blush stained cheeks giving him away. She smiles softly, she’d only just recently gotten past her hatred of Templars, seeing the way he’d broken up a fight between a mage and a Templar outside the Chantry. She knew now he didn’t see himself as one of them anymore, it would take her longer to truly trust him, but for now she was content to not snap at him every time he talked to her.
She studies his face then, the arch of his nose, the crag of the scar that split his lip slightly, the way it moved, bending and stretching as he spoke. She looks up at his hair and tries to restrain her giggle at the mussed curls that now lay ontop of his head, far from the well groomed locks he presents every morning. She thinks he must take longer than her in the morning to tame them.
“I don’t-“ she cuts herself off with a hacking cough, fire blazing up her throat as she groans, reaching up to touch the aching flesh. “I don’t know how they slipped past.” She croaks, wincing at how horrid her voice sounds.
“I’ll be looking into it myself, the guards on duty are all going to be rounded up and questioned.” His voice is hard, unforgiving and full of anger as he glares at a point somewhere inside her cabin. They call him the Lion, she knows why now.
“Cullen.” She whispers, feeling the walls around her mana release, sighing in pure relief as magic once again pours through her body, but she’s too exhausted and banged up to even think about healing herself. He looks down at her curiously, a half smile curving onto his lips as she blushes after realising she’d used his first name.
“One of them had Templar training… they silenced my magic.” She whispers. His eyes grow wide, before his brows draw together in concern, small hills on his forehead revealing just how worried that fact made him.
“We need to figure out who sent them immediately… this isn’t good.” He whispers, looking down as she groans again, the back of her head throbbing with lances of white hot pain, scorching down her body as she tries to shift again, anything to get rid of the pain.
Cullen makes to speak, but he’s cut off by Dorian rushing in, he was still relatively new to their inner circle, but what they’d gone through in that horrible future was enough to create a fierce bond already.
“Maker look at you.” He starts, eyes narrowed as he scans her battered body, hands on his hips as he purses his lips. She rolls her eyes and tries to sit up, but Cullen restrains her, holding her down with a glare. She sighs and leans back into his arms again, letting him prop her up as Dorian begins looking her over.
“I’ve searched the grounds as well, there’s a fair amount of residual magic, it’s left a stain here, whoever they were they had help – powerful help.” Dorian says, looking up at her. He does an admirable job of trying to hide his concern, but her practised eyes are well versed at reading hidden emotions and thoughts, anything to help contend against the Templars in the Circle.
“Get Vivienne on it as well.” She rasps, hand twitching in pain as he softly runs his finger above her cut, testing how deep it was before his mana pulls forward, healing her wounds as best he can. He nods at her words but doesn’t say anything else, eyebrows pinched in worry as he heals what he can.
More mages arrive soon after, relieving Dorian as they take care of the back of her head. She knows its bad by the look in their eyes, and the pool of blood where she’d landed. They make to patch it back together and she cries out in anguish as the skin tries to knit back together.
Cullen reaches down to grasp her trembling hand, giving her a gentle smile and a nod when she looks up at him in shock. She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand tightly, whimpering against the pain as her flesh heals back together, burrowing her forehead into his shoulder, bare of his usual fur pauldrons.
She takes deep, shuddering breaths, though they sound raspy and stunted past her bruised throat, she knows that she’ll have their handprints stained onto her flesh for some time, the evidence of her attack etched into her skin for all to see.
“She’ll have a mild concussion after that, one of us will have to stay with her, keep her up for a bit and then wake her every two hours.” She hears one of the healers say. She grits her teeth, trying to hold back her anger, she was done being watched, she swore that she’d never again have someone stand over her while she slept, waiting to strike her down should a demon emerge from her body.
“I’ll do it.” She hears a soft voice say, expecting it to be Dorian she looks up to realise that it was Cullen who had spoken. He’s looking now at a healer, who purses her lips in concern but nods stiffly. She helps him pick up her still bruised body and lift her into her bed, setting her down as gently as possible, but still stuttering out apologies when she groans in pain.
When they’ve all left, the bodies cleared out and the blood mostly mopped up from the floor she turns to him, leaning against the wall opposite her bed with his sword grasped tightly in one hand. She shakes her head at his nonsense, smiling a little as she shifts.
“You don’t have to guard me you know, I got enough of that in the Circle.” She states, her tone soft though, gently trying to get him to relax. His posture is too rigid, his eyes narrowed and scanning the room, watching the windows and turning at every small noise.
His eyes meet hers, watching her curiously. “You did just get attacked you realise?” he asks, one eyebrow raising. She sucks in a sharp breath, trying to implant the image of that facial expression in her mind, heat rushing through her as his eyes burn through her.
She lets out a shaky laugh, trying to relax. “I do, but after two of them have just been killed by the Herald and her Commander, I don’t think they’ll be attacking twice in one night.” He sighs, realising the truth and sits down on the chair close to her bed.
“For them to make it all the way to you, they almost had you. If anything had happened to you I-“ he stops, his hands clenching into tight fists as his eyes light up in rage. She smiles again, feeling her heart flutter at his words, before reaching over and laying a hand gently over his.
He looks up at her quickly, eyes wide as she smiles. “But nothing did, I’m fine… you got here just in time.” She whispers, before drawing back and laying back against her pillows with a loud yawn. She hears him chuckling and blushes deeply, covering her mouth in embarrassment ,which causes him to burst into deep laughter, a bright grin across his face that she can’t help but reciprocating.
“I’m supposed to keep you awake for a few hours just in case.” He starts, looking at her as she sits up curiously. “I don’t suppose you play chess?” he asks. A smile creeps its way across her features, her eyes lighting up.
“I do” she says excitedly, leaning forward on her arms slightly. “I used to play a lot when I was in Ostwick… when I was let out of course.” She stops ,realising her folly as she looks down, biting down on her lip to stop herself from saying anymore.
“Let… out?” he says, his voice slow, like he was speaking to a wounded animal that he didn’t want to bolt at the last second. She lets out a deep breath, knowing she can’t escape it now and turns to him, trying to mask her pain with a bright smile, but he sees through it instantly, throwing her a pointed look that has her smile crumbling.
“I was kept in solitary confinement for six years straight.” She whispers, hands tightening around her bedsheets. “They let me back when Enchanter Lydia took me on as her apprentice, I was 13.” She hears him suck in a deep breath, its pained, as if he can’t imagine such a thing.
“Anyway!” she cries brightly, pulling her lips into another tight smile. “Shall I ask one of the guards to go get the board from the library in the Chantry?” she asks, standing before he can answer as she throws off her covers.
He’s standing almost immediately as she sways on her feet, vision blurring once again as she stumbles, his hand catching her arm and lowering her back to the bed. “I’ll go.” He whispers, setting his hands gently on her shoulders.
She nods, holding one hand to her forehead as she tries to fight off the nausea. He walks to the door, pulling it open and whispering something to one of the guards, who nods and immediately sets off towards the Chantry, glancing back in worry every so often.
Ellandra sighs deeply, one slip of the tongue and everything had come out, he still didn’t know much, but it was enough for him to be wary now, he’d walk like he was on eggshells around her, tip toeing around conversations about her magic, about Ostwick. It was the one thing she didn’t want.
So for the rest of the night she resigned herself to distract both of them, asking him questions about his time as a Templar, about where he came from and the village he’d grown up in. She laughs at stories about his time in training, about him as a young child.
She finds herself relaxing more and more around him, where she feels comfortable telling him about her own family, from before she was sent away, stories of the sea and how she spent hours every day in the water, about Enchanter Lydia training her, the friends she made in the circle after she was accepted back.
They spend hours together, laughing and getting to know one another as they play, sometimes he lets her win, sometimes she lets him win and the one time they actually play properly against each other the game lasts an hour and a half, and they don’t realise just how long they’ve been talking until the sun crests over the mountains and streams through the room.
He laughs about it, but she can’t help but blush when the sun hits his features.
His hair looks like golden fire, angelic around his features as he grins at her, taking another one of her pieces.