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enby-hawke · 3 years

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For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

Tw: elf fetishization bordering on non-con but not a major theme, homophobia

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra, Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

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Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him place well enough.

“I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm had gone. He had been humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

And Carver was scared for them.

Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

“So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

“So what do you know?”

Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind.

“It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

“Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care, what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell.

Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

“The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

“Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

“Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

“It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw.

“It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

“Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

“I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

“But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

“I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die, soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping.

Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

The door to the Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them. Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

“Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the De Lancets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

“Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

“Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm.

“Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”

Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

“But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

“Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line.

The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

“I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

“You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

“The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

“That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith sneered.

Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”

The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or De Lancets.”

Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist.

Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

“Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and De Lancets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera.

Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions.

She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her fiancé and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

“He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

“Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”

“Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara.

Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

“How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

“Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

“Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

“I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

“But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

“I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a real headache.”

Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

“I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”

She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

“I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before?

But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

“Actually come to Mara’s.”

Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.

She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm.

She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling.

Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out.

Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

“Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

“Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

“I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

“That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

“Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

“You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.”

This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand.

“Of course I do! Do you?”

“I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

“Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, actually filled with what he needed for his day's study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy.

He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

“Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

“How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

“I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

“You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

“You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

“They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

“Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

“They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

“I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

“My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

“Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone.

Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.

Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

“Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

“Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.

He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

“Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

“I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong.

She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.

When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Messere Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

“Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

Malcolm blinked. “What?”

“Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

“Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

“So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

“Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

“Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

“Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

“Her family’s Cleansing and her fiancé ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

“He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

“Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there.

The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun.

The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

“Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

“The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

“Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

“As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

“No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response.

Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

With that Carver abandoned him to class.

The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.

Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

“We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.

The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

“Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

“That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand.

“Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

“Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

“Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

“So Malcolm was it?” The creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

“You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

“Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

“Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

“So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”

Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

“Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

“Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

“Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled.

But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and De Lancet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups.

Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the De Lancets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

“Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

“Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

“Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

“Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

“While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

“Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

Lady De Lancet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

“Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

Lady de Lancet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”

Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Lancet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Lancet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

Lady de Lancet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.

On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

However Lady de Lancet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

“Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make.

Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

“Messere Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

“Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

“Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

“For she was reborn to us in flame

And so flame we consume to be reborn

May, He Who Burns The Brightest

Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

So that we may know true peace.”

Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Lancet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

“My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

“Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Lancets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

Lord de Lancet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lord de Lancet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

“And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.”

But Lady de Lancet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

“I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

But Lord de Lancet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.”

Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

“Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

“What!?” Lord de Lancet cried out his face paling.

Lady de Lancet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

“Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

“Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

“Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound.

“Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Lancet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

“Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

“You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

“Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Lancet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

Shit.

Lord de Lancet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree forthwith. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

“Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Lancet twisted her fingers into a promise.

Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Lancet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

“Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

“And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Lancet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

“Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.

#da fic #dragon age fic #malcolm/leandra #hawke #da2 #my writing #homophobia tw #elf fetishization tw #non-con language tw #lady de lancet is a demon but malcolm is ok

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