Fic: Control (Short, K+)

[lenticularstudy]

{The Chantry has many different methods of control - the templars are as much prisoners as the mages.}

 

~o~

She whirls round to face him, seething. Shouts at him about how he cannot possibly know what it is to be imprisoned by the Chantry, controlled. It takes all he has in him to be calm, for... he does. Very well.

~

Both of them found themselves leashed by a vial.

She gazes in a mix of horror and wonderment at the small tube of red liquid - blood. Her blood, to be precise. "Phy-lac-te-ry." The word is new to her young tongue, and tastes... odd. She is too young to realise that this is what will be used to hunt her, to restrain her. Perhaps to kill her. She is, after all, only four years old.

~

The boy, just turned fifteen, cannot help but stare at the liquid inside the glass: blue, gently glowing. He is neither stupid, nor ignorant - despite what the others seem to think - and can recognise lyrium easily. He looks to the drug-addled templar holding it, realising he is looking at his future. It is then that he knows he has to escape.

~

The staff feels uncomfortable in her small hands, too heavy and too long. She is close to getting splinters, and the wood is softer in places where it has begun to rot. She looks to the mage, who looks down at her sternly. Having no choice, she pulls up the sleeves of blue robes that are far too big for her, and concentrates.

~

The weight of the sword pulls his shoulders down, and, catching the look his instructor gives him, he braces his legs to straighten his posture. He looks around to see the other boys - for they are boys, not adults yet and almost certainly too young for this - doing the same, and receives a nod of acknowledgement from another initiate.

~

The Tower has no windows; she has never seen the outside world. She relies on what she reads, on the rumours carried back by those allowed out on the official visits, to understand. She has come to know that she will never live the way she wants to - never have a family, never walk along a street without worrying about how long she's allowed to be there. Unless she finds an excuse, some "out-of-Tower business", she will never even feel the rain on her face.

~

His hair is soaked, and scratchy wool tunics feel even worse when wet, but he doesn't go in. It would feel too much like... admitting defeat, somehow. Just for a minute, he can forget the place he is trapped in, the duties forced upon him. Leaning on the wall, he wonders how something so simple can separate them from the people with... a life, he supposes. He used to be one of them. Lightning flashes, illuminating the horizon. He sighs and begins to climb the wall, heading... somewhere. Anywhere but here.

~

She lies in her bunk, hair fanning out on the pillow. In the darkness of the dormitory, she contemplates escape, knowing it's impossible. She conjures a point of light, picks up the book she has taken here, without permission, from the library, and begins to read; it's the closest thing to a way out she has.

~

Elsewhere, he does the same, having been captured and dragged back here, listening to the rain on the roof. Maybe it's time to admit defeat - he has no home, isn't wanted anywhere. He has finally given up hope of ever leaving, of ever having a normal life, let go of a dream he has been clutching tightly since he was a child.

~

Of course he knows. He gazes into the campfire, studiously ignoring her, until he sees her approaching, and steels himself for another round. Instead, he tries not to seem too surprised when she mutters an apology. She sits beside him, and, for the first time since he's known her, she offers him a smile.