Chapter Text
“Andraste’s Tits, Delilah!”
“Tsk, tsk, already profaning at this early hour!”
“You know I was up late.”
The red head tugged at the edges of her blanket, but found the weight of the woman on top of her had already ensnared the covers. The red head gave out a soft whine.
“Well, I didn’t plan the rebellion to start just yet.”
“Is this another one of your ideas that can’t wait until I’ve slept? Or a normal hour?”
“I’m not joking.”
“Maker’s ball sack!”
“Guin, really, we need to go!”
The shuffling of feet and sounds of commotion were starting to suddenly hit the Trevelyan’s ears. With a shake of her head, her arms braced to lift a heavy head from the bed. Delilah was up and pacing, brushing a hand through her lush black hair.
“What did you do?”
“Me? Nothing?” Sarcasm not managing to hit the falsetto usually achieved.
Guinevere felt she knew better, but ignored it due to the panic starting to set like ice in her veins.
“Where are they?”
“They are all headed to the Senior Enchanter’s quarters. That’s why we need to go!” Her tone grew further impatient.
Delilah had prepared for Guinevere evidently, handing her a set of clothes she was not familiar with. The scowl must have alerted Delilah to Guinevere’s thoughts.
“We can’t look like mages if we are leaving the circle. We’ll be detained on sight outside the city.
Now hurry!”
Guinevere changed quickly, as the building grew louder. As the last leg was finally through her pants screaming erupted through the building.
“Del-” The name was unfinished as Guinevere was pushed from the room, stumbling to catch up with her feet.
“Go!”
In the grog of sleep, Guinevere ran on blindly, only managing to turn on the command or nudging of her friend. Until a steel wall had implanted itself in her way. But this metal wall was friendly, and caught Guin before her body decided to hit the floor. Blinking back some of the sleep in her eyes the wall began to mold into a face with black hair, and soft brown eyes.
“It’s one of them!” Panic caught her throat into a knot.
“No, he’s with us!”
“Del, what’s going on?”
“We’re getting out of here, is what. The other Templars have begun slaughtering any mage they come across.” The Templar gripped tighter to Guin, but looked squarely at Delilah. “You’re late.”
“Missy Trevelyan here sleeps in the nude, I had forgotten that!”
“Del!”
A blush crept across the Templar’s face, but his grip relaxed. “Either way, we have enough time. Linnea and the others are already waiting and ready.”
“Del?” Guinevere’s arms crossed over her chest, suddenly aware that she was lacking a breast band. Her neck craned up, “You’re helping?”
“Not all Templars need be bad,” Kell answered softly, daring to run his fingers through the scraggly red hair of the mage before him. It was answered softer than expected, with but a simple glare.
Delilah cleared her throat.
The trio then rushed to the bottom level of the circle, their pace increasing as the screams and heat behind them grew. As promised a group was waiting for them, three more Templars, and at least ten other mages.
Linnea was the first to speak. “It’s good to see your highness finally decided to grace ourselves with her presence!” The mage with short brown hair sneered.
Energy cracked between the Trevelyan’s fingers, as Delilah placed herself between them.
“We can do this after we leave this death trap!”
As this short challenge concluded as the Templars, cracked the door open as a dying body toppled from the stairs behind them. All arguments stopped.
— — — — — — — — —
The sun burst from the horizon in a dazzling display of orange, pinks, and purples. Even after months are being free of the circle, Guinevere never missed one. Not once. Even after endless teasing, she woke up early for each one of them.
The group that had started at a sizable force, had been growing daily from the moment they had left Ostwick. Mages of all kinds- from the circle to the apostate. In size came protection, but so had increased the intensity of their problems. Mostly Templars. Well, almost exactly all of them were Templars… Either by oath, or general ignorance none of the Templars among them knew where any of the phylacteries were located. Making any mage in the group a way to track them.
By suicidal goodwill, they had not decided to oust any mage that had a known phylactery used to trace the group.
Well, by mostly the command of Guinevere Trevelyan. Yet the only among them to have a name with any power attached. It certainly wasn’t popular, and certainly being able to decree such a thing entitled her to a certain amount of unwanted responsibility within the small movement. The dawn was the only quiet moment Guin was allowed.
“'Ello!” Cooed Kell softly, taking a bold position beside her. His legs stretched out into the grass.
“Kell.”
“Guin.”
“You nervous?”
“I wasn’t, but I see that will change now.” Words spoke in jest, the tip of her tongue prodding in his direction.
Kell reached across himself to grasp at her tongue, laughing as he did so. But as the muscle had retreated the hand settled on her cheek as the prize, drawing her face closer to his. Foreheads settling against one another.
“Can I?” His mouth moved closer, awaiting the positive answer he expected.
“Kell, I-.” Maker did she ever wish to kiss this man. Her stomach upturned in what she could only expect were butterflies. His warm breath, smelling slightly of oranges and lyrium was the most enticing thing imaginable to this mage. The display of this new day was even perfect.
Yet Guinevere was still unsure. Her lips quivered, head slowly beginning to tip without her permission. An adverse reaction her gut bubbled, all the mage in her saw a Templar.
“No!” Guin tore herself away.
“No?” Kell removed his hand, his expression looked hurt.
“I mean, I want to- but I, we need to sort this out you’re…a… one of them.”
“Oh, I get it. Especially with the Conclave today, you have a lot on your mind. Not just some meat-headed Templar.”
Guinevere smiled, pulling her crossed legs over his.
“This okay.”
Kell nodded, shifting over to place his arm behind her.
“Will you go with me?”
“Always.”
Guin settled her head in the crook of his arm. This was by far less repelling, even familiar.
“After the Conclave, can we try again?” Kell gulped as he spoke.
“Yes, after the Conclave.”