Crow's Mercy

18

XVIII | Hostage

9:35 Dragon

Anastasia thrashed and snarled, hatred in her eyes. She'd never imagine her brother would be dragging her into the prison. The heavy steel doors caught her eyes as soon as the entered the large building. The Circle of Magi was isolated from civilisation, as to keep the citizens of Ostwick safe from those held within it.

"Ana, calm down." Eric sighed. 

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

The man looked at another of his comrades, shaking his head. The Templar turned and called to a young man in mage robes. "We're ready."

The mage gave her a sympathetic smile, holding a pen in his hand. "Name?"

"Anastasia Treveylan," Her brother answered for her.

Ana's glare softened into confusion and fear at the mage's apologetic expression. "It's better to just cooperate with them," He told the girl. "It'll only hurt for a moment."

Eric grasped a small blade in his hand, a tool Anastasia would imagine in a surgeon's possession. He took ahold of her hand, struggling to keep her still. The Templars watched without an ounce of sympathy as Eric made a thin cut across her palm. Anastasia gave a pained cry as a vial was held out to catch the blood dripping from her hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" She hisses.

"This is your phylactery. Your blood will allow us to track you if you make a run for it."

Anastasia's eyes narrowed again as the vial was handed to the young mage, who gave her a half-hearted smile. "Every mage has one," He tells her, before turning his attention away to mutter a strange incantation.

"So you put a leash on me?" Anastasia growls.

Eric sighs in irritation. "Just listen to your mentors and don't try anything. I'll see you soon."

The noble girl was shoved towards the thick steel doors, her brother walking away. "Eric?" She mutters. The Templars stood on either side of her, two tugging on the iron chain beside the door. She heard the metal clink of a mechanism moving under the floor and the doors slowly opened. 

The young mage stepped up beside her and took her arm. With one last tight-lipped smile and a wary glance at the soldiers, he leads her into the Circle of Magi. 

-

"How's she doing?"

The abandoned building was creaking under the elf's feet as Zevran paced across the room. He could hear muffled voices from the docks below, the stench of fish all too close. The cot they laid Ida on was only inches off the ground, Yavana kneeling beside her.

"She's not going to improve without a real doctor," Yavana whispers tiredly, holding her hands over the warrior's torso. "It feels like my magic is barely getting through to her."

"Does that mean she's stable?"

"Barely. If magic doesn't work then we have nothing," Gaharel mumbles into the wooden floor. The teen exhales slowly, unable to lift his head from the ground. His limbs are like lead, his body drained of energy. Gaharel used all his magic to keep Ida breathing and was beginning to regret not investing in lyrium potions. At the very least he would be able to stand instead of lying face down on the dusty floor.

Yavana held her head in her hands, forcing back tears. "Please just shut up, I need to focus while I still can."

Cesar paces with a cold glare, though he does lower his voice. "Does anyone have a favour they can cash in?"

Zevran tugs a hand through his hair roughly, blonde strands wrapped around his fist. "I had to pull a lot of strings just to get all of you into the Free Marches. Now that we're back, no one will help us."

"My Orlesian contacts are useless then," Vittorio murmurs, rolling a silver coin across his knuckles. "There's a bounty on you in Orlais, by the way. Cesar."

The elder man grunts and waves a hand dismissively.

Yavana's chin drops abruptly and she jerks, blinking rapidly. She quickly regains her balance and swallows the lump in her throat. "I can't hold out much longer." She murmurs.

Nuncio helps to steady the apostate, looking at the eldest siblings hopefully. Zevran takes a deep breath. "We surely have enough coin for potions. Where's the nearest apothecary?"

Cesar tilts his head. "I know one, but they won't sell to me. I can take the twins."

Zevran nods, gesturing for Vittorio and Nuncio to stand. The pair bounce to their feet, eager to be of use.

"Is that the best we've got?"

"I don't hear any better ideas," Zevran remarks, glancing over the group.

Cesar leads the younger siblings out of the rickety building, using the moulded and swollen wood to descend down to the lower level.

Zevran crouches at his sister's side, a hand brushing against Ida's cheek. "Wake up, these idiots will be the death of me."

Yavana exhales with an amused smile, before falling limp against Zevran's side. The elf braces against her weight and lays her down carefully. Gaharel snorts and closes his eyes, passing out in the dirt. Zevran grits his teeth, surrounded by three of his siblings, all unconscious. He swallows thickly, keeping a close eye on Ida's breathing. He feels the warmth of a tear rolling down his cheek and quickly wipes the moisture away. "Fuck."

-