Of Wardens and Pariahs ch26--Right Call

Reluctant as she may have been to leave Owain defenseless, there really wasn't any choice. They had to keep moving if they were going to find Irving. Besides, the same principle applied as with the children; nothing could hurt him if nothing got past them. But that was small comfort in the face of their odds.

"There's nothing here!" All of them froze at the voice, human and desperate, that issued from one of the side rooms.

"There has to be!" That voice Trinne recognized. Damarys, or something like that. "Uldred said-"

"Uldred said a lot of things," a third person cut her off. "And now he's abandoned us in favor of whatever he's doing upstairs."

Trinne started listening more intently. Maybe they could find out what Uldred was up to, if Irving was still alive-

Alistair sneezed. He tried to muffle it as best he could, she could tell, but there wasn't really any background noise to cover it.

"Who's there?" three voices demanded in chorus, underlined by the crackle of magic.

"No one special," Trinne shot back, stepping brazenly into the room, ignoring Alistair and Cousland's dismay at the reckless move.

"Then no one will miss you," one of the men countered, his staff flaring as he started to cast a spell.

"Actually, I've gotten kinda used to having her around," Alistair said, stepping into view as well. Trinne couldn't help but notice he strode far enough into the room he was between her and the trio of mages in the brief instant before they attacked.

Alistair somewhat easily deflected the opening salvo with his shield, lunging forward as Trinne waved one hand. A hazy, weakening miasma settled over their foes, making their response times slower when lightning spidered from Trinne's staff and Alistair and Cousland moved in for the kill. They made quick work of the two men--robes didn't provide protection against blades--but Damarys kept dodging, backing away until she was pressed against the wall. She stood there, back arched in a defensive stance as magic flared and flashed around her hands.

"Stay away!" she demanded, eyes darting between the advancing group. "I'll take all of you with me, I swear it!" One hand brushed over a small gash on her arm, and for the briefest moment her magic tinted red.

Trinne felt a knot settle in her stomach. This wasn't going to end well.

"Stay back!" Damarys insisted, voice distorting slightly. "Don't make me hurt you!"

Alistair's expression flattened, as if concentrating very hard on something, and the magic faded some.

"Templar bastard!" she screamed, upon realizing what he had done. Without another word, she renewed the spell's power and aimed it at Alistair as she unleashed it.

At exactly the same moment Trinne summoned a lightning spell aimed at her. The two magical attacks collided midway and exploded, throwing all five of them to the ground. 

Trinne scrambled to her feet, vaguely aware of Cousland standing as well, and stepped lightly on Damarys' wrist as the prone mage rolled over and rubbed her forehead. "Don't even think about tryin' anything. I am so not in the mood."

Damarys winced and held held up her hand pleadingly. "No, please, please, don't kill me."

"Why not? You were trying to kill us," Trinne snapped back, feeling the start of several aches.

"I know I don't deserve mercy. We... we were just trying to make things better."

Trinne snorted, tossing a glance over her shoulder as Cousland helped Alistair to his feet. "Better? You really think this is sodding better?!"

"You used to lived here," Damarys retorted, almost angrily. "You know what it's like... Can you really blame us for trying?"

No. She couldn't. The results were awful and reprehensible, but with her feelings about templars, she couldn't blame them for trying. "But is it worth this?" A gesture at the destruction around them.

"Nothing is worth what they've done to this place," Wynne said frostily as  she and the others stepped up behind Trinne.

"Do you really believe that, Wynne?" Damarys asked quietly. "After all, change rarely comes peacefully. Andraste waged war on the Imperium. She didn't settle for writing them a strongly worded letter. We... we thought... someone has to take the first step. Force change. No matter what the consequences."

"Nothing is worth what  you have done to this place," Wynne repeated, arms crossed and a stony glare fixed on the young woman. "And why should we spare you? What would you do with your life? More blood magic?"

"Yeah, we really shouldn't leave a blood mage alive," Alistair muttered. "But this is your home, so I'll leave this call up to the two of you..."

Trinne glanced at Cousland, but he just shrugged, apparently sharing Alistair's sentiment. She turned back to Damarys. "I'm also curious what you would do if we let you go."

"I... I could go to the Chantry," she faltered. "Spend my life atoning for my... crimes."

"Y'know, they'll never take you," Alistair drawled. "Harlots or murderers, sure, fine. Have some cheese, maybe something to drink. But maleficarum?" He shook his head. "No way."

None of them argued his assessment because they knew it was true. Trinne stared at the girl lying before them, dependent on their mercy, and tried to figure out what to do. Tweak the circumstances slightly, and that could be her--survivor of a failed rebellion, hoping for mercy, a whisper away from death.

Tweak things even less and it could be Jowan.

Trinne swore under her breath. "I'm not going to help you escape. But we won't kill you, either." When Damarys' eyes widened in surprise, she shrugged. "Like you said, I used to live here. We had classes together. This... isn't you." You woulda said that about Jowan, too. "So you get a second chance. If you blow it, I'm not gonna save you, or stop the templars or anything. It's on you to do better."

"Really?!" Damarys scrambled to her feet. "Thank you! I won't waste this chance, I swear!"

"The templars aren't letting anyone out yet," Trinne warned, raking hair out of her face. "But the apprentice dorm are clear--or were--so you can wait there 'til we find Irving."

Damarys' eye twitched. "Irving? Uldred took him up. I don't know how far, or why, but I don't think it was for anything good. Be careful."

"As we can," Trinne said softly. "Now get going."

"I hope you don't regret that," Wynne murmured as Damarys retreated down the stairs.

"Everyone deserves a second chance," Trinne replied. "It's if they screw that up I get a little less merciful."

"Everyone?" Wynne raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone who's repentant and wants to make it right," Trinne clarified. "Some people don't think they're wrong, and there isn't really anything to be done about that. But don't we have more important things to do?"

"Yes, of course," the older mage nodded. "These sorts of discussions can wait. The longer we delay, the greater the danger to Irving."

As they searched the room for anything useful, Alistair sidled up to Trinne and asked in an undertone, "Did you really know her?"

She sighed as she wedged a couple scrolls in her pack. "Alistair, I lived here for over a decade. Of course I knew her. It's not like we were best friends or anything, but we sometimes would share notes on primal magic, she would snicker at my jokes in Sweeney's lectures, and her bunk was in the same dormitory as mine. Is it really that hard to believe I knew her?"

He shrugged, shifting through debris and handing her the small vials of lyrium he found. "It's just hard to picture you knowing a blood mage. They're bad and scary and they hurt people."

"They teach you that in templar training?" Trinne asked caustically, irreverently jamming the lyrium vials in a belt pouch. "They're people, Alistair. Yes, some--most, even--may have selfish motives and be bad people, but some are just scared and desperate and have no idea how far in over their heads they're getting. Damarys was always a good person. Void, her brother's a templar. Blood mages aren't all nasty, guffawing villains who just want to watch the world burn because no one ever loved them."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her impassioned outburst. "Next you're gonna tell me you're a blood mage."

"No, I never went that far," Trinne said as she stood up, convinced they'd found everything worth saving. "The entropy spells; weakness an' all that are the closest I get. C'mon, we need to get moving."

He frowned at the abrupt end to their conversation but didn't protest. Cousland and Wynne were already waiting by the door to the tower hallway. But that was only part of her motivation for cutting things short. She was getting perilously close to saying Things she didn't want Alistair knowing, especially now, seeing that he'd hung on to just enough of that templar training to butt heads.

>>X<<

The rest of the floor proved to be more of what they'd already seen and fought; abominations, walking corpses--decayed past recognition, thankfully--the occasional blood mage. Every room, every death set the knot in her stomach and the icy claws around her heart a little tighter. Trinne was a fairly optimistic person most of the time, but the rampant carnage was chipping away at her hopes of finding the First Enchanter. No. No. He's powerful, and the leader. Whatever Uldred's doing he probably has Irving with him an' is keeping, him alive 'til the end, if only to gloat. Uldred always had issues with pride; gloating was absolutely something he'd do.

Her self-pep talk was interrupted by a muffled thump from inside a wardrobe tucked in the corner of the room they'd just cleared.

All four of them swiveled toward the sound, Alistair half-drawing his freshly sheathed sword.

"Wait, wait." Wynne held up a calming hand and addressed the wardrobe. "Is there someone in there? It's safe to come out now."

There was something that sounded very much like a whimper, followed by, "B-But the demons..."

"They are all dead," the Senior Enchanter promised, tone gentle. "Please come out of there, friend."

"Well..." he hesitated. "If you're sure it's safe..."

"Quite," Wynne promised, and the wardrobe doors inched open, disgorging a pale, gangly man in the yellow robes of a Harrowed mage.

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck as he surveyed them. "Well, it's--ah!--very nice to meet you--ow. Nice to meet anyone who's still alive, if I'm honest."

"Are you alright?" Trinne asked, frowning in concern.

"Ah, just a crick in my neck and a numb bottom from sitting in there for so long," he shrugged. "Nothing serious. Who're you?"

"Trinne. Amell," she tacked on, and watched the recognition flash through his eyes(not the good kind, either, the 'weren't-you-best-friends-with-a-blood-mage' kind). "And who're you?"

"Godwin." He didn't seem the least bit surprised she didn't recognize him.

"What were you doing in there?" Alistair queried, still looking slightly guarded.

"Hiding," Godwin retorted. "I didn't see the start of it, just abominations in the hall, and decided getting out of sight and being very, very quiet was the best course of action."

"Good thinking," Cousland muttered, and for once Trinne agreed with him. She was all for doing something and facing your fears, but one mage against multiple abominations wouldn't be bravery, it would be stupidity.

"We've killed everything behind us," she offered. "You could go down to the apprentice quarters. There are some others we've... rescued down there. You'd be safe."

"In a roomful of potential abominations?" Godwin shook his head. "No, thank you. I'll stick with my closet."

"Suit yourself," Trinne shrugged. They had enough to worry about, and he was capable of making his own choices. If he wanted to be paranoid and hide here instead of joining the other mages, it was his call. "Come on, there's still a couple more levels to search."

Godwin climbed back in his closet as they filed out of the room, and Trinne couldn't help hoping he was making the right call.