9:28 Dragon, Kinloch Hold

Month of Wintermarch, 1st Day

~Akarra~

Akarra was awakened from a dead sleep by a pounding on her door. Her head jerked up from the pillow she'd curled herself around, a sudden indrawn breath forcing her bleary eyes open. Her heart raced, the sudden wake-up startling her body into foggy alertness. How late had she stayed awake? Not very... the tenth bell had chimed shortly after she'd locked her door.

The pounding sounded again, reminding her of the reason she'd been jolted out of her sleep. Drool dampened one corner of her pillow, and she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping any traces away before she stumbled off the bed and to the door. She'd fallen asleep in her robes, and the fabric was creased and rumpled, her normally sleek hair ratted. One would think that when one lay still for eight hours, one's hair wouldn't tangle into a bird's nest.

The pounding interrupted her muddled thoughts again, and she fumbled the lock into submission before cracking the door open.

A templar in shining armor stood on the other side, the squared helmet concealing his identity. Akarra's stomach wrenched, but when he spoke, his voice wasn't Bran's. She'd become a touch terrified of all of them after what had happened in the library.

"Akarra Amell?"

"Yes?" she managed. Her morning alarm hadn't sounded yet - what time was it?

"Come with me, please." He stepped to the side, clearly expecting her to open the door and follow him through.

Instead, Akarra was tempted to slam the door and throw the bolt. Her heart jumped into a new cadence, mind racing to figure out why she might be summoned from her room by a templar. Every scary story she'd heard poured back into her memory - horrific tales of other circles, templars punishing mages for the least of transgressions, mages turned Tranquil for daring to question their guardians... but Kinloch Hold wasn't like that. In all her years, only two had been made Tranquil, both because they'd chosen it voluntarily. Ser Bran wouldn't have been able to accuse her of anything... would he?

"What is this about?" she asked carefully.

"No questions. I am to escort you to First Enchanter Irving's office."

"I... should dress," Akarra hedged. "And comb my hair. Will you allow me a few moments?"

The templar hesitated, then nodded. "Five minutes, and I will remain outside the door. Do not lock it."

Akarra swallowed, but nodded and eased the door quietly shut. Pure adrenaline shot through her, fear trembling her hands as she shrugged out of her day-old robes and clothed herself anew, choosing a set of casual robes with no buttons or clasps - she doubted her fingers could work such intricacies at the moment. She dragged a comb through her dark tresses, then splashed a bit of water over her cheeks, washing away the sleep and drool. What in Andraste's name could they want her for?

It was only a few moments in total before she slipped out of her room, nodding to the templar who waited without.

He nodded back, his right hand lifting to grip the sword hilt at his side. "A warning. I have instructions to restrain you, should you show signs of resistance. It will go better if you do not fight."

"Please, what's going on?" Akarra begged, fear raising her voice a bit higher than she intended. "I won't struggle, I'll go with you, but... can you tell me?"

The templar shook his head. "Walk before me, please. Your hands will stay at your sides, and you will maintain an even pace the entire way. Should you run, I will be forced to take precautions."

"Precautions?" The word slipped out even as Akarra realized what he meant. He would smite her. After experiencing it in the library, it was the last thing she wanted to happen.

"No more questions. Proceed."

Akarra nodded, her palms slick with sweat. Her legs wobbled, balking at her attempts to move them in a rhythm that would appease the templar who stalked behind her. It was a nightmarish journey up the many flights of stairs, and when they finally stood before Irving's door Akarra wanted to sob with relief. If there was something she hated, it was feeling as though she was in the wrong, especially when she'd done nothing but what she was supposed to do.

The templar reached in front of her to knock, then when Knight-Commander Greagoir's voice echoed, his gauntleted hand pushed open the door. He bowed to those within, leaving Akarra to step through before the door fell shut behind her.

"Akarra," Irving's voice was gentle, but tempered with steel. "Please, sit."

"Irving - I mean, First Enchanter, what's going on?" she asked in a whisper, lowering herself to the plush chair she'd perched in so many times. Irving's office had never felt threatening before, but with Knight-Commander Greagoir taking up half the room in his menacing silver armor, she'd never been more afraid. I did nothing wrong! she cried within her own mind, butterflies batting madly at her insides.

"Akarra Amell. Age seventeen, fire affinity, healing and force magic. You have been here for..." Knight-Commander Greagoir consulted the book in his hand. "...eight years. Half your life. You often associate with the mage Anders, is that correct?" the Knight Commander said in a clipped voice.

"Yes, he's been a good friend of mine for years, ever since I came to Kinloch Hold," Akarra said, some of the fear lifting now that she heard Anders' name. It wasn't her they wanted - it was Anders. But still, what did Anders have to do with anything?

"You spend a great deal of time with him. What is your association?

"We're friends," Akarra said, mystified at the question. "Anders helps me with my studies sometimes. He's an adept healer."

"The day of Anders' Harrowing, you spent the day in his quarters, did you not?"

Akarra hesitated, her eyes darting to Irving. Nothing had gone between herself and Anders - but even if it had, what business was it of the templars?

"I did give Akarra a pass for the senior mage quarters that day," Irving put in. "Your own guard reported that she was there most of the day, and left close to the tenth bell."

"Answer the question, mage."

Irving's brow flickered in irritation, but he nodded at Akarra to answer.

"I was with him all day," Akarra agreed. "And I left before the tenth bell, as Irv - First Enchanter Irving says."

The Knight-Commander made note of something in his book, then closed it, setting it on Irving's desk. "The mage Anders escaped Kinloch Hold this morning, before dawn. He subdued a templar and destroyed a batch of phylacteries - your own among them."

Akarra's breath caught. Anders had... oh no.

"She doesn't know anything, Greagoir," Irving said with a note of pleading. "Observe her face - she's stunned."

"Your own relationship with this girl is well known, Irving," the Knight-Commander snapped. "Stay out of this. Akarra, tell us where he's gone."

"I - I don't know-" Akarra faltered, her fear now so strong it was nauseating. "He said nothing to me, I swear!"

"Then why was your phylactery among those destroyed?" Knight-Commander Greagoir circled the back of her chair, his gaze burning into her skull. Akarra cowered, mentally cursing Anders for dragging her into this. She cudgeled her terrified brain, seeking something Anders had said - anything - anything to appease this templar...

"He said - he said he wasn't going to be chained," Akarra stammered. "He said the chantry had - had neanderthal ideas. He - he said I should... study hard... and that one day we would do something better with our lives." Oh, Maker. How had she not seen it? And he had spoken about the Chasind, about how free they were... said that he was running out of women - she'd taken that as a jest, for the love of Andraste!

Knight-Commander Greagoir's lips thinned, cold authority settling into place. Leaning down, he pinned Akarra to the chair with frigid eyes. "Where. Did. He. Go."

"I don't know," Akarra quavered. "Please... I promise, he didn't tell me he planned to run. I had no idea!"

A thin breath hissed from Greagoir's nostrils. Akarra shivered in her chair, certain he would continue to question her, that he wouldn't believe her. It was with some surprise that she heard him say, "You will be escorted to your room, and locked within until Anders' recapture."

"Greagoir-" Irving's voice protested.

"I must, Irving," Greagoir cut him off. Suddenly, he didn't sound like a stern inquisitor - merely a tired man who wished he didn't have to do an unpleasant job. "All of the mages whose phylacteries were destroyed must be sequestered until new ones can be created."

"Sequestered," Irving insisted. "The phylacteries will take less than a day to make. Akarra should be free after that-"

"This is not your authority, First Enchanter," Greagoir warned. He pushed open the door, calling to the templar who stood guard without. "Escort this mage back to her quarters, and lock her within. A guard is to be stationed outside her chamber at all times, until I have authorized her release."

"Yes, sir,"

Akarra's limbs seemed to be made of wood. Greagoir gestured impatiently, and the templar entered the room, wrapping one steely claw around her thin upper arm. She whimpered, cringing away as she was hauled to her feet.

"Please, Greagoir-" Irving was begging. Akarra glimpsed the Knight-Commander as the flat of his hand shot out toward her mentor, halting any further speech.

"Once Anders is found, Akarra will be released."

She barely registered the walk back to her room, the way she was pushed through the door, the snick of a lock behind her. Standing frozen within the walls that had become her prison, for the first time, Akarra began to understand just why Anders had wanted to run.

It was two days before they caught him. In retrospect, Akarra supposed she should have been grateful it wasn't longer.

The only thing that broke the monotony was when a cadre of senior mages, accompanied by Knight-Commander Greagoir himself, showed up at her door a few hours after she'd been locked in. They took her blood for a new phylactery, cutting her palm with a ceremonial knife and pressing a glass phial to the cut. Akarra looked away as the ruby liquid dripped, her stomach turning a bit. She hadn't actually progressed to the point of working with real patients yet; it had all been study so far... how could she have thought she wanted to be a healer, if the sight of blood turned her stomach?

When the door closed again, Akarra cradled her palm, swallowing the bile that rose. It was only blood... only blood. Focusing her energy, she concentrated on sending healing energy to the cut. Nothing complex here - no muscles to knit, no bones that needing mending. Skin, superficial capillaries... slowly, the skin closed, becoming a reddened weal, then whitening, then fading to a healthy pink at last. A small smile crept over Akarra's face... one triumph for the day, at least.

Time crawled. She studied, read, paced the floor, gravitated between rage and worry. How could Anders have done this to her? Was he okay? He could be anywhere - on a ship somewhere, traveling away from Ferelden, or tucked into the back of a noblewoman's carriage on his way to Rivain. The ass! He could be lying on the frozen ground, hurt and hungry, blanketed with snow, with more wounds than one could count...

Akarra scowled - Likely, Anders was fine, seated in a tavern with a girl on his knee and a tankard in his fist. When she saw him, she'd sock him for making her worry like this. Her imagination had gotten morbid since she'd begun reading those fantasy stories Finn had hooked her on.

She was curled into her blankets on the afternoon of the second day with a book she'd borrowed from the library when the rasp of the outer lock sounded. Her head snapped up - it wasn't mealtime, her tray wasn't due for a few hours yet. Could that mean...?

She scrambled off the bed, flying to the door and fumbling her side of the locks open.

First Enchanter Irving stood beside a templar, his hand raised to knock when she wrenched the door open. "Ah, Akarra," he said, as calmly as if he'd been about to ask her to lunch. "Your release has been granted. Anders has returned."

"Is-" she blurted, but his eyes flashed warning, and she dropped her head in a nod. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

"Attend your classes, keep to your studies," Irving continued, his voice smooth and even. "Oh, and you might be interested to know - your new phylactery has been completed."

Akarra nodded, her mind racing. "I am glad to hear it, First Enchanter. It was never my intention to escape, so I am happy to hear that the failsafe has been secured."

What a ridiculous dance they were enacting, this coded speech for the benefit of chantry ears. You cannot escape, so don't follow in Anders' footsteps, Irving's words said.I won't,Akarra's words replied.

"If you'll excuse me, Akarra. Shall I see you for our regular appointment later on?" Irving's eyes flashed again, and Akarra nodded, dry-mouthed. She and Irving had no regular appointment.

"Excellent. Oh, but I'm afraid our usual classroom will be unavailable - let us meet in the divination chamber at the seventh bell."

"I'll be there," Akarra promised, thoroughly flummoxed. "Shall I... bring my books, First Enchanter?"

"Yes, the normal ones," he said offhandedly. Without another word, Irving strode from her door, leaving Akarra to stare after him, wondering what was going on.

It wasn't until she shut her door that it occurred to her - Irving was arranging for her to meet with Anders.

The seventh bell chimed as she hurried up to the divination chamber with a few random books in her arms - how was she to know what Irving was supposed to be teaching her? - and nodded hello to the templar guard who stood without.

"Uh - Akarra?"

She slowed, glancing back with furrowed brows... she knew that voice. "Cullen?"

The helmet dipped in shy agreement. His voice was muffled by the steel, but it didn't hide the quaver. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. Thanks to you," Akarra said. Nibbling her lip, she cast for something else to say. It wasn't often to spoke to templars. "How's... guard duty?"

"Boring," Cullen offered with a bit of a chuckle. "The divination chamber isn't much used. First Enchanter Irving's already in there, though... I'll make sure your studies are undisturbed."

"I thank you," Akarra said, then gave him a tight smile as she murmured "Good evening, ser templar," and scurried through the door.

Irving was within, and embraced her warmly after the door had fallen shut. "What I am about to show you must remain a secret," he cautioned her, and she set her books down, fascinated that Kinloch Hold might have secrets the templars knew nothing about. Who else would Irving speak of keeping things from?

Irving moved to the far wall, his hands clasped before his chest, his soft murmur muted by the chamber's heavy velvet curtains. For the first time, Akarra really looked around... she'd had little call to be in the divination chamber before tonight. To promote clarity of thought, it was sparse, the stone walls draped with blood-red curtains. A low table sat in the center of the room; low enough that one would have to kneel at it. A few cushions sat in the corner. Why aren't things dusty, I wonder... but it was probably magic that kept them in good repair. Or perhaps the Tranquil dusted when they got bored.

Magic felt heightened in this room... Akarra's senses sang, power crackling through her blood. It was almost... like the room itself was charged. Was such a thing possible?

Suddenly, Irving's hands flew apart, and the curtain melted away, revealing a murky tunnel. "It leads to the cells," Irving murmured. "Stay here, Akarra - I shall return shortly. If I do not - close the passage, and return to your room." With this bit of frightening instruction, he hurried into the tunnel, a golden glow lighting his upraised fingertips.

Akarra glanced back at the door, worried that Cullen might have felt the sudden power surge... but then, even if he had, Irving was supposed to be teaching her something, was he not? Would it be stranger if there were no magic performed within the room? The room is charged, she realized suddenly. It throws off the feel! The brilliance of whoever had planned for this room scared her a little.

Twisting a lock of hair around her fingers, she stared down the tunnel, wondering, waiting, worrying. Minutes passed before she heard the faint patter of booted feet, and then -

"Come," Irving whispered. "There isn't much time."

Wordlessly, Akarra hurried after him, summoning her own light to hover before her, a wisp of bright flame that danced near the ceiling, whirling to its own joyous rhythm. The rough floor sloped downward in a tight spiral, and Akarra trailed one hand along the wall to help her balance.

"Irving,"she hissed. "How many such tunnels exist in Kinloch Hold?"

Her mentor did not answer, merely shook his head and continued forward. Akarra's lips pursed... many were the secrets she would never know. Just as well, she thought.

They passed out of the tunnel after only a few more moments, coming out into the dungeons. If what Akarra had heard was right, they were actually below the lake, now, and from the spreading sprawl of the cells before her, she had to assume it was true. Maker's sake, how many mages did they expect to keep down here?

"The guard won't be out long," Irving murmured. "I hit him with a bit of a sleep spell. It wouldn't have worked, but he was already half asleep anyway. They've gotten too trusting down here."

"Akarra," she heard.

"Anders!" she gasped, and launched herself toward the sound. Through a wooden door slatted with a small window, she saw him - looking hale and well-rested, the bastard.

Tamping back her annoyance, she slipped her fingers through the bars to touch his face. "Anders, what were you thinking?" she whispered. "And now you're in here."

"For a month," Anders agreed with a shrug. He reached up to grip her hand. "It was worth it!"

She sighed, her eyes growing stern at the fierce glow that lit his eyes. "Anders-"

"Glorious. Simply wonderful. It snowed, Akarra!" His eyes danced, amber flecks lighting the brandy in the wake of her fire-light. "It's been fourteen years since I saw snow! And the woods... they smelled like... things growing... and! There was a winter celebration going on in Redcliffe-"

"You made it all the way to Redcliffe?" she said, incredulous. "That's leagues away!"

"Hitched a ride with a caravan," Anders shrugged. "The horses walked all night, and in the morning I was there."

"Well, it was all just such a jolly adventure, wasn't it," Akarra hissed, growing angry. "Do you know what they did to me, while you were off on a lark? And why did you have to destroy my phylactery!"

"Oh come on, Akarra, don't be a stick in the mud," Anders scoffed. "If they think they can get me down with a little month of solitude-"

"Akarra," Irving said warningly.

"I've got to go, Anders. I'll see you soon," Akarra promised, giving his hand one last squeeze. "And when I do, I'm hitting you - really hard."

"You hit like a girl," her best friend mocked as she darted away. Anders' laughter followed her back up the tunnel.

"I doubt I can bring you here again, my dear," Irving told her when they'd returned to the divination chamber. "But I knew how worried you would be for him, and I wanted you to see just how fine he really is."

"Thank you, Irving, truly..." she reached out to take Irving's hand, then hugged him, brushing a kiss on his cheek. "You spoil me."

Irving chuckled. "A pleasure I would risk much more than this for. But... Akarra... Anders cannot do this again." His eyes were steady, serious as they locked with hers. "If you have any influence at all with him, tell him he cannot run. A month may not seem like much, but for a secondary offender, the punishment is much worse."

"Do they..." Akarra whispered, but Irving shook his head.

"No. The Rite of Tranquility is not a punishment for escapees... only for those who cannot control their magic," Irving reassured her. "But... he seemed rather..."

"Arrogant?" Akarra suggested, that annoyed note creeping back into her voice. "Like he couldn't give two bits for the rules? Like he barely realized what havoc he's wreaked?"

Irving chuckled. "He reminds me of me."

"Well, you turned out alright, I suppose, so I guess there's hope for Anders," Akarra teased.

The month passed. Classes went on, and Akarra rejoined them as if nothing had happened, as if Anders were not locked in a cell below Lake Calenhad. Her friends questioned her about her disappearance, and she told them what had happened, garnering sympathy support from the girls and, to her surprise, a few exclamations of unfairness from the boys. One or two asked shyly about Finn, who remained a stupid pain in the ass, so Akarra finally burned the poems he'd written her in effigy and washed her hands of him. There was plenty of male attention to be had, clearly - why worry herself over someone who couldn't see what was right in front of them?

She took to studying most evenings with one or more friends, though she remained wary of walking alone through the tower, and managed to glue herself to someone's side whenever the time came to move from one place to another. One young man she'd never really spoken to before offered to walk her back to her room after one social evening, and she accepted. Jowan seemed nice... a bit ordinary, but nice.

Though he did take offense when she refused him a goodnight kiss outside her door.

Akarra sighed, watching as Jowan stalked off, red-faced. He'd told her she was nothing but a flirt. Was she using him? Had she led him on? Not exactly, but...

She was about to lock herself into her room for the night when a familiar voice called from down the hall. "Miss Akarra... fancy meeting you here."

Akarra turned back from her door, a puzzled smile stretched over her face. "Ser Cullen. No helmet?"

Cullen shrugged. "It got hot." A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth, his eyes gleaming with warmth. That caramel-colored hair shone, wavy in the lamplight - if he were to let it grow out, Akarra imagined it would curl.

"Are you strictly... allowed to go without one?" Her eyebrow rose, and Akarra realized with a touch of panic that she'd sounded almost like she was flirting with him. He's a templar, she admonished herself.

"Well, not really," Cullen admitted. "Are you going to turn me in?"

She chuckled. "No. I don't suppose so."

They stood silent for a moment, Akarra's hand on her door, then Cullen cleared his throat. "So... going to bed?"

"I have a bit more studying to do," she said. "But then, yes."

"I... had an offer for you." One hand rose to touch the back of his neck, then fell again, his fingers working against the palm of his hand. "I know you like to study late, sometimes, and I wanted to offer to escort you back to your chambers each night. When you've finished."

Akarra eyed him, her brows lowering in suspicion. "Don't you have duties?"

"Actually, I've just been moved to the midnight shift... so I'll be asleep most of the day, and then waking up not long before you'd be going to bed. It would be no trouble... I just thought you might still be nervous, after..." Cullen trailed off, then studied the floor.

Akarra hesitated. He was a templar! ...but she felt no innate distrust, no warning bells, nothing that twisted her stomach. Nothing making her want to refuse. Nothing but... Sweet Maker. Attraction.

No, she thought. It was a symptom. She'd been stressed - she'd been in trouble - he'd come to her rescue. Likely, he was a complete idiot, or told horrible jokes, or made off-color remarks... She'd be smarter to refuse him, to tell him she was fine on her own and shut the door in his handsome face. Mages and templars didn't... couldn't...shouldn't...

"I... would appreciate that - a lot," Akarra admitted, the words tumbling out before she could think too much harder on them. Cullen's eyes lifted, locking with hers and fluttering her heart. Such a rich brown... an involuntary shiver coursed down her spine, and she startled, realizing she was staring. "It's been nervy business." She gave a short laugh, irked that her stomach filled with butterflies and tingles raced over her skin.

"Then... tomorrow?" Maker damn him, he took a step closer. "Shall I meet you in the library?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Tomorrow, then," he said softly, then touched one hand to his heart, giving a courtly nod. "Goodnight, Akarra."

Her name was a caress on his lips... full, soft looking lips...

"Goodnight, Ser Cullen," she returned, dropping a small curtsey. It seemed the right thing to do - as though they were not protector and protected, templar and mage, gaoler and prisoner... but two of the gently-born, bidding each other good evening after some fine social event. Cullen would have been at home in the finest salons of Kirkwall... this she was certain of.

He left then, and Akarra stared after him, only stepping through her door after he'd rounded the corner.

A/N: Thanks go to my amazing beta, Jaden Anderson! Hugs to you, reader! Hope you are enjoying - please do leave me a review!

A/N the second: This story is on hiatus. I *want* to finish it... but at this point in my writing life, I can honestly say I don't know if it will ever happen. I know the story, it's all in my head... but finding the time to write it is the thing. As of this note, I have 6 (!) fanfic stories in the works, and several more hovering on the sidelines. So as much as I want to continue this (because Maker, I adore Alistair and Akarra...) it may not ever happen.

But if you've read and enjoyed, I hope you'll check out my other works, as well. Thanks for reading. Maker's Blessing, friends. :-D