![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Dear everyone: the next chapter of Bereskarn will be titled 'my lord who hums'
Because I like Mirah far, far too much for my own good.
Ice hisses. Thunder crashes again, rolling off the stone to mask the crackle of electricity. Steam billows around them all.
And then, at last, it ends, just as quickly as it began.
"Please," the last living blood mage begs. "Please don't kill me."
Sens places her foot on the woman's wrist. "Tell my why I should spare your life."
"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn't mean for this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves."
Sens looks away from the mage, pointedly turning her gaze to the dead blood mages who surround them, then jerks her head toward the hall. Her expression remains the same grim mask throughout. Despite that, her question is clear: Do you think it's worth this?
"To free yourselves," Wynne echoes. "How could you accomplish that with blood magic?"
"Uldred had plans. He told us that the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry."
"Ah, Loghain again," Zevran sighs. The blood mage shoots him a confused look, while Sens merely turns to face him for a moment, expressionless as usual. He decides to let the mages handle mage business, with no commentary from lowly non-mages.
"You understand, don't you?" The blood mage looks to Sens, her expression even more pleading and desperate. "You remember what it was like. The Templars always watching, just waiting for any excuse to kill us all."
Sens's only reply is silence. It's Wynne who asks, "So you turned to forbidden magic, giving them a pretext to destroy the entire Circle?"
The woman on the ground twists to look at Wynne. "The magic was a means to an end. It gave us... it gave me the power to fight for what I believed."
Sens looks away. Her face softens, but into absence rather than than tenderness. "Power."
"Fighting for what you believe is commendable, but the ends do not always justify the means."
"You don't really believe that, do you, Wynne?" The blood mage's tone is pitying, and for all that he dislikes Wynne's insistence on philosophizing, the maleficar's tone irritates him. "Did Andraste fight the Imperium with sternly-worded letters? She reshaped civilization and gave us the Chantry, but people died for it. And we thought we had to take the first step, to force a change, no matter the cost."
"So the end justifies the means." Sens words it neither as a question nor as a judgment. It's a place-holder, an invitation for the maleficar to say more.
"Do not," Wynne says, voice taut, "even begin to agree with that logic, Sens Surana. Nothing is worth what they've done to this place."
"Our dreams might have been. We had hoped..." The blood mage chuckles bitterly. "But now Uldred's gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs. Our hopes are ended, before they'd even begun."
Self-pity. He supposes he should have expected it; he heard plenty and more of it when those targets who had the chance begged for their lives.
Despite this woman's pale skin, the rounded ears, the red-gold hair, the scene echoes another woman's plea.
But no. She did not speak of pity, of dying hopes and past pains; she merely denied guilt. Denied it honestly and earnestly – and it yielded her nothing.
Sens steps back just far enough to free the blood mage's wrist and then kneels. She removes the knife from the blood mage's grasp; the mage tenses like a frightened animal, despite the gentleness of Sens's movements.
"Before I decide," she says, quietly, "answer three questions."
"Please. I just want my life."
"If I let you live, what will you do?"
The mage says nothing for a moment. At length, she says, "I would like a chance to atone for what I've done. If you spare me, I could escape and seek penance at the Chantry."
"How would you leave this tower?"
"I'll find a way. Please... I swear I'll do something good with my life."
Not a very satisfactory answer. Not at all an answer that inspires confidence, even if 'something good' wasn't such a nebulous, abstract concept.
Sens apparently agrees with him, for she repeats the question in a flat tone.
"They wouldn't know that I'm a blood mage. I'd go downstairs and join the apprentices, and then in the confusion after everything was sorted... I'd slip out the doors when the guard was lax."
Sens's frown deepens, but she nods. She moves a little closer to the blood mage, brushes the back of her hand against the other mage's cheek. "Final question."
"Please," the blood mage says.
"Was Jowan involved in this?"
The blood mage trembles, looking sickened, and then shakes her head. "I don't know. He wasn't in my cell, and only Uldred knew all of us. I never knew for sure that he was a blood mage until..."
"I see," Sens says.
"So you'll let me go?"
"There are half a dozen dead neonates in the apprentice quarters. Seeking penance in the Chantry won't bring them back."
The blood mage's eyes widen in shock and she jerks away, begins to rise as if to run.
Sens is too fast for her. Perhaps her speed comes from a plan, or perhaps it comes from greater experience in battle. But she doesn't falter as she reaches out to grab the other woman by the hair.
The blood mage's knife rises once and again.
"My warden, forgive me if this advice is unwanted, but try to go from ear to ear in just one cut next time," he tells her when it's done. "More than that just makes a bigger mess."
Wynne turns to stare at him. She looks in shock, as if she can't quite grasp the flow of events that led to this. Or perhaps she can't grasp their reactions.
Ice hisses. Thunder crashes again, rolling off the stone to mask the crackle of electricity. Steam billows around them all.
And then, at last, it ends, just as quickly as it began.
"Please," the last living blood mage begs. "Please don't kill me."
Sens places her foot on the woman's wrist. "Tell my why I should spare your life."
"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn't mean for this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves."
Sens looks away from the mage, pointedly turning her gaze to the dead blood mages who surround them, then jerks her head toward the hall. Her expression remains the same grim mask throughout. Despite that, her question is clear: Do you think it's worth this?
"To free yourselves," Wynne echoes. "How could you accomplish that with blood magic?"
"Uldred had plans. He told us that the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry."
"Ah, Loghain again," Zevran sighs. The blood mage shoots him a confused look, while Sens merely turns to face him for a moment, expressionless as usual. He decides to let the mages handle mage business, with no commentary from lowly non-mages.
"You understand, don't you?" The blood mage looks to Sens, her expression even more pleading and desperate. "You remember what it was like. The Templars always watching, just waiting for any excuse to kill us all."
Sens's only reply is silence. It's Wynne who asks, "So you turned to forbidden magic, giving them a pretext to destroy the entire Circle?"
The woman on the ground twists to look at Wynne. "The magic was a means to an end. It gave us... it gave me the power to fight for what I believed."
Sens looks away. Her face softens, but into absence rather than than tenderness. "Power."
"Fighting for what you believe is commendable, but the ends do not always justify the means."
"You don't really believe that, do you, Wynne?" The blood mage's tone is pitying, and for all that he dislikes Wynne's insistence on philosophizing, the maleficar's tone irritates him. "Did Andraste fight the Imperium with sternly-worded letters? She reshaped civilization and gave us the Chantry, but people died for it. And we thought we had to take the first step, to force a change, no matter the cost."
"So the end justifies the means." Sens words it neither as a question nor as a judgment. It's a place-holder, an invitation for the maleficar to say more.
"Do not," Wynne says, voice taut, "even begin to agree with that logic, Sens Surana. Nothing is worth what they've done to this place."
"Our dreams might have been. We had hoped..." The blood mage chuckles bitterly. "But now Uldred's gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs. Our hopes are ended, before they'd even begun."
Self-pity. He supposes he should have expected it; he heard plenty and more of it when those targets who had the chance begged for their lives.
Despite this woman's pale skin, the rounded ears, the red-gold hair, the scene echoes another woman's plea.
But no. She did not speak of pity, of dying hopes and past pains; she merely denied guilt. Denied it honestly and earnestly – and it yielded her nothing.
Sens steps back just far enough to free the blood mage's wrist and then kneels. She removes the knife from the blood mage's grasp; the mage tenses like a frightened animal, despite the gentleness of Sens's movements.
"Before I decide," she says, quietly, "answer three questions."
"Please. I just want my life."
"If I let you live, what will you do?"
The mage says nothing for a moment. At length, she says, "I would like a chance to atone for what I've done. If you spare me, I could escape and seek penance at the Chantry."
"How would you leave this tower?"
"I'll find a way. Please... I swear I'll do something good with my life."
Not a very satisfactory answer. Not at all an answer that inspires confidence, even if 'something good' wasn't such a nebulous, abstract concept.
Sens apparently agrees with him, for she repeats the question in a flat tone.
"They wouldn't know that I'm a blood mage. I'd go downstairs and join the apprentices, and then in the confusion after everything was sorted... I'd slip out the doors when the guard was lax."
Sens's frown deepens, but she nods. She moves a little closer to the blood mage, brushes the back of her hand against the other mage's cheek. "Final question."
"Please," the blood mage says.
"Was Jowan involved in this?"
The blood mage trembles, looking sickened, and then shakes her head. "I don't know. He wasn't in my cell, and only Uldred knew all of us. I never knew for sure that he was a blood mage until..."
"I see," Sens says.
"So you'll let me go?"
"There are half a dozen dead neonates in the apprentice quarters. Seeking penance in the Chantry won't bring them back."
The blood mage's eyes widen in shock and she jerks away, begins to rise as if to run.
Sens is too fast for her. Perhaps her speed comes from a plan, or perhaps it comes from greater experience in battle. But she doesn't falter as she reaches out to grab the other woman by the hair.
The blood mage's knife rises once and again.
"My warden, forgive me if this advice is unwanted, but try to go from ear to ear in just one cut next time," he tells her when it's done. "More than that just makes a bigger mess."
Wynne turns to stare at him. She looks in shock, as if she can't quite grasp the flow of events that led to this. Or perhaps she can't grasp their reactions.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject