Inliberalis Excipio

"It's been two whole days! Three, if nothing happens today."

Sorana looked up at Carver from where she was sitting on the steps outside the Gallows. She did not say anything. She had not said anything since she had last spoken to the Captain with the blood of her countrymen still slick on her hands. What a welcome. She thought to herself, chuckling humorlessly. Not even a day here and we greet the place with blood on the stones. It's almost worthy of a blood-magic ritual.

Carver shot a withering glare at his sister, not picking up on her abstract line of thought. "Right. Of course you could find a way to mock me using those words."

The oldest Hawke just shot him a pointed look, not saying anything while she slowly shook her head. He always managed to surprise her with his ability to take offence at her actions. But she could not afford to make some witty come-back, some snark-laden comment that would just show him how unnecessarily prideful he was being...how it exposed that same pride to barbs.

She had been in a form of meditation of sorts, ever since they had settled in to wait in the Gallows. The Kirkwall Circle of Magi. If only the Templars here knew whom they were host to. That they had an apostate squatting, right on their doorstep. But that anonymity cost her.

Sorana had always had a powerful connection to the Fade and hiding it had been one of her father's first lessons. It had been easy in Ferelden, where the land itself seemed to accept her as its own. Here...here she was an outsider, the cobbles below her feet, the smooth stones of the buildings screaming at her, even while the grief at little Beth's loss churned her pool of mana into something ragged and choppy - like a stormy sea tugged at by strong winds.

Her father had warned her how the Templars were able to identify mages. She did not know how he had discovered it, but somehow the Chantry's so-called 'shield' were able to hear lyrium. She had often wondered what that might be like. To hear it in others. She knew that the substance gave off something that, with a great deal of metaphorical embellishment, might be a song. She knew how the power thrummed through her veins, but to her, it had never been a song, it had always been a current. Like a dried-up creek bed when she had expended too much, or a river bursting at the banks after consuming a lyrium potion.

To hide from the Templars, she would need to tune her current to produce a song that melded with all others. To meld with the song of blood coursing through a body. To meld with the life of a city. To do this, she would need to hear this noise, pick up on it so that her addition would not stand out. She had to find a way to bury her so-called song below the cobbles that so rejected her and funnel the broad river that was her magic into an underground waterway. Meanwhile, she could not afford creating any additional noise of her own, with her own heartbeat already so loud in her ears. She could not afford to have her chest vibrate with her voice - at least, not yet, not until the city accepted her.

Until then, she would need to remain silent around Templars and focus on being songless .

Part of her laughed at the simple picture it all painted. That one of the more feared Templar abilities: a Silence , was precisely the state of being she had to achieve to avoid being on the receiving end of the power. As if a Templar casting the ability on a mage were simply telling his target's lyrium to shut up.

Aveline interrupted her thoughts by agreeing with Carver's original statement: "Carver's right. We can't stay out here forever. Is this family of yours even coming?"

"Gamlen will come!" Leandra stated emphatically. "I'm sure there's a reason he's so late. Perhaps the Captain couldn't find him."

Aveline rubbed her brow, "I'm not so sure. Everything we've heard so far indicates that the Amells no longer reside in Kirkwall. Or at least those that you were related to."

Sorana had to agree with the former officer. Despite her mother's claims of certainty, she was beginning to doubt this noble heritage of hers, as much as it hurt her to think of her mother in that light - admittedly, she could not be sure how little Beth's death may have affected her. It had seemed an extremely unlikely set of circumstances, considering where they came from: Ferelden farmer-apostates. Yet another part of her argued against those ideas. Their mother had always been a strong woman. She had to have been, to survive as an apostate's wife; she would not break from this.

A bell tolled from the towering, no, looming structure of the Gallows proper. Sorana had to admit, she was impressed.

Kinloch Hold, the Ferelden Circle, was an actual tower that stretched hundreds of yards into the sky like a spire trying to pierce the heavens. She had marvelled at it often while escorting caravans past Lake Calenhad. Compared to that, the Gallows were a short, squatting structure, yet it loomed far more effectively - as if the air around it were a miasma of gloom and hopelessness. The Ferelden apostate was mentally labeling it as 'The Kirkwall Effect'.

The bell was clearly some means of imparting the time of day, as the portcullis form one of the various entrances opened and a troop of Tranquil pulling carts came out, moving to pre-allocated market stalls where they began unpacking their wares.

Sorana had watched them the previous two days and thought she could feel the city lift its eyes to the Circle: scholars, nobles, surgeons, herbalists, merchants and artisans would now come to the Gallows to purchase enchanted wares from the Formari and sell their own to fill the Circle's day-to-day requirements.

The Tranquil selling enchanted jewellery finished setting up his stall a few yards away. The lyrium in his wares would hopefully drown out hers if her practiced suppression failed.

"If he doesn't show up by tomorrow evening, we'll head to either Ostwick, or Starkhaven."

~o~

Samantha sat bolt-upright.

The robes she was still wearing from when she had first been brought into the Seeker's chamber were soaked in sweat and she had the strangest feeling of something fading from her chest - receding back to the void. In mere moments it was gone. Curious.

She turned, swinging her legs until they hung over the edge of the bed onto the floor. She slipped her feet into her shoes and stood up, lifting her robes at the collar a bit so the sweat caught under the heavy fabric could dry and help prevent her from catching a chill later.

She had not been standing for more than a few minutes when the door burst open, light flooding in and temporarily blinding the former mage. She blinked against the brightness to try and make out the silhouettes before her. There looked to be two, one having stopped just inside the doorway while the other quickly moved further into the room, not having stopped since their energetic entry.

As Samantha's eyes adjusted she recognised who the room's new occupants were: the female Seeker that had been questioning the First Enchanter and Martin. Both were breathing somewhat heavily. The woman had rushed right past the Tranquil and begun rifling through the books in the shelves, muttering to herself.

"Lady Cassandra, do you truly believe this to be a feint?" Martin asked, leaning slightly to look out of the door back into the passageway. "Should we not first wait for word from Darren and Neal? They might discover something that aligns with the Jacque's claims…."

"No. This was all a distraction. He means to draw attention away from Montsimmard while he makes his move. He's feeling threatened by Senior Enchanter Vivienne's speedy climb through court."

The Seeker identified as Cassandra had pulled several tomes from the shelf and was paging through each; and once having found what she was looking for, opening the next and paging through that. This continued until all the books were lying open on top of each other in front of her. She huffed and propped her fists on her hips while shaking her head.

"There's nothing here that could possibly incriminate Madame de Fer. Only the usual trainer's feedback which just highlights how much she's progressed. Maker have mercy on that pig, for I will not."

"That may be so," Martin agreed, "but I still feel there is something not quite right going on here. Both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander are hiding something."

Cassandra wheeled on the man, her tied-back hair whipping around and making the movement seem far more dramatic than it truly was. "That may be so Seeker Martin, yet that is not our assigned case." The armoured woman marched up to Martin and poked his leather cuirass with a patronizing finger. "There may be something here that needs looking into, but we Seekers have not yet been called to look into it and we can not afford to do so unless our primary objective has been dealt with." She stepped back from him and crossed her arms, continuing in a softer voice: "The Lord Seeker's directive needs to be carried out and the Divine has seconded this by appointing me to it. We cannot afford unrest so close to the Chantry's heart; if you care to recall what happened the last time…."

"Yes, Seeker Cassandra," Martin replied, cowed.

"Personally I'm not particularly fond of this case. It is too closely tied to the Game, but we do what we must in service to the Maker."

"Not too fond of our Orlesian patrons, Cassandra?" Martin teased as he moved to close the door to the chamber.

Cassandra took bedding from the dresser and dropped it onto her claimed cot. Sinking onto the mattress she took her head in her hands, making a noise that seemed to convey years of exasperation, impatience and attempted tolerance all in one go.

"If I hear one more noble trying to tell me how I did something, it will be the end of them."

Martin chuckled to himself as he also readied his bed.

Only then did Cassandra seem to take an interest in the Tranquil in their quarters, waving a dismissive hand in the wine-haired girl's direction. "So, Martin, this is the Tranquil you retrieved when we searched the First Enchanter's chambers?"

"Yes, uhm...she's his research assistant as well as this Circle's lyrium authority."

"What's your name, girl?" Cassandra ordered.

"Samantha Augustine Trevelyan, Lady Seeker."

"Hmph, used to be a noble. Explains the healthier...well everything. Tell me Trevelyan, what was the First Enchanter having you do for him?"

"I was assigned to the First Enchanter as administrative aide, to assist with any day-to-day dealings of the Ostwick Circle of Magi. These duties encompass, but are not limited to: record-keeping of the Circle's day-to-day dealings, periodical information gathering and reporting, tracking of the Circle's finances, inventory supplies and perishable stock levels. The First Enchanter also used me to assist in any personal research, investigations and additional Circle-operation monitoring."

Cassandra looked thoughtful for a moment before she nodded to her fellow, "We'll take her along, perhaps she may shed some light on what's been happening in this Circle. Will that assuage your concerns, Martin?"

"That will hopefully be enough, Lady Cassandra."

"Good, catch some sleep, we leave tomorrow."