In League With The Wolf - The Elves of Fen'Harel Book 2 (Dragon Age)

Collapse of the Circle

"To your rooms, Mages! All of you now!" Ser Arnaud snapped, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes flashed unpleasantly as they travelled over the irritated face of Tilda Hadvan, "That includes you, apostate." He snarled, taking a menacing step in her direction.

With a sigh, Tilda turned and fled, almost tripping over her ill fitting robes. "Careful." Claudette Jarvain warned, steadying her. "Don't show too much fear."

Tilda wasn't frightened. She was angry. They all were. No one knew exactly what was happening within the halls of the White Spire, but things were tense, and the reports leaking out were distressing.

It was the year 9:40 Dragon, three years since the apostate Anders had blown up the Chantry in Kirkwall, and causing the mass rebellion of its mages. The Templars had clamped down since then, and conditions within the Circles of Magi had become ever more harsh.

Matters had been worse when several mages had been murdered within the Spire, and kindly, charismatic Enchanter Rhys blamed. He had vanished for a time with another mage, a Templar, and Wynne, hero of the Blight.

From them had come the news that Tranquility, the Templar's threat against the mages, their way of cutting them from the Fade, and rendering them helpless, could in fact be reversed, and the order was suppressing this.

A conclave of the senior enchanters, sanctioned by the Divine, had gone badly wrong, people were whispering. The First Enchanters were locked in the dungeons, awaiting possible execution, Enchanter Rhys among them. Wynne had escaped.

Tilda wanted as little to do with the madness as possible. She'd only been at the Spire for three years, and had few friends among the mages. Claudette, a gifted healer, was perhaps the closest thing she had to a friend.

"What's happening?" Tilda asked, as mages moved in all directions, away from the abrasive Templar voices.

"I don't know." Claudette answered, "But I heard that Grand Enchanter Fiona is one of those imprisoned." Her eyes were wide, "They have our leaders. They have everything."

"Meeting in Jorwyn's room." Someone muttered to Claudette. Tilda nodded.

"Not you, apostate. You're more trouble than you're worth." The hooded mage said derisively, hurrying off.

Claudette gave Tilda a sympathetic glance. Outside of the Circle, she'd have been an outcast as an elf, but such racial differences meant little within it. What set Tilda apart was that until three years previously, at the age of fifteen, she had been an apostate, an illegal mage, on the run from the Templars.

"They don't trust hedge mages." Claudette explained softly. "Don't worry about it."

With a sigh, Tilda went to her room. It was stark, bare, just a bed, a bucket and an armoire for her robes. Even after three years, she still couldn't become accustomed to the enforced servitude and confinement of a Circle mage.

The White Spire was visible from anywhere in Val Royeaux, glowing with magic. Initially the tower served as the fortress of Emperor Drakon I, founder of the Chantry. The tower's main entrance was once a throne room. Drakon had constructed numerous dungeons with ancient torture chambers in the lowest levels of the tower, an area the mages and templars referred to as The Pit, hundreds of cells. Other levels were almost collapsed, and flooded below, hiding many secrets, or so the mages liked to gossip.

It was in the Pit that the First Enchanters were being held, some direly injured, if rumour was to be believed.

The politics of the Circle mattered little to Tilda. She had little interest in the different factions: Loyalists, Aequitarians and Libertarians, all fighting for their own agendas. Her quiet disdain for them all was perhaps another reason no one tried to befriend her, she thought.

She and the others lived on the middle levels of the tower, the Templars above them. They reserved the view of the city for themselves. Kitchens and armouries resided below the Mages Quarters and below that the archives.

Hearing Templars stomping past her door, Tilda shivered. She detested them. Her door opened without a knock. Arnaud, her least favourite Templar, the Knight Captain stuck his head in, raising his eyebrows at the sight of her tucked up on the bed.

"Where you should be for once, eh Apostate?" He smirked. "Shame. I'd have enjoyed hunting you down."

Leave me alone, she wanted to growl. At least she wasn't one of the pretty girls. At eighteen, she was small, ordinary looking. She had the typical olive skin of an elf, and the tapered ears, her nose and cheeks dappled with faint freckles. Her hair was messy, a shock of gingery red, with green eyes to go with it. "I'm just doing as I was told, Ser." She answered submissively.

"That's what I like to hear. Don't want any more of you people getting ideas above yourselves." Thankfully, he left her then.

As night fell, the tower became quiet. And then, there was an almighty boom. The explosion shook the tower, the walls and floor rattling. Tilda toppled sleepily from the bed, struggling up and opening her door. In the distance, she could hear screaming and shouting, but there was not a Templar in sight.

Leaving her room, she ran towards the sound. It occurred to her that most sane people would run away from conflict, not to it. But she needed to understand what was happening. If there was a chance of escape, she would take it.

Her footsteps skidded to a halt near the Phylactery chamber where a group of mages were standing, mouths open. The first strange thing was that the door was open. It could only ever be opened by a mage and Templar together.

It contained the vials of blood from every mage in the Spire, including herself as well as those of the First Enchanters of every Circle in Thedas.

And now, the room was gone.

The phylacteries were shattered, all of them. Fragments of glass and wisps of blood floated through the air, filled with magic. They were the only means the Templars had to track mages; a magical leash to keep them in their place.

Within the room, a huge stone creature resided, a golem, and beside it was Wynne. Every mage had heard of her, the old lady from the Fereldan Circle, released to fight the Blight at the side of the Hero of Ferelden. And now she had destroyed their phylacteries, it seemed, her face filled with a furious, righteous power.

With a roar, the Templars charged, and the mages attacked in a fury of power. "Tilda!" Claudette caught her arm. "We have to go!"

Jorwyn, a swarthy older mage, pulled at her friend. "This is our chance. We can overpower the dungeons, get the Enchanters out!"

"Where are the Seekers?" Tilda asked, "The other Templars?" It was unnaturally quiet, and the mages were winning this fight.

"I don't know." Claudette shook her head, "But this is our time to stand and fight!"