Character Narrative: 365 Days in Aeonar (Part One) Who: Deidre "Dee" Aisli NPCs: Ser Jonathan Vardic, Sister Justine Where: The Northern Fortress-Prison of Aeonar, in an undisclosed location in Ferelden When: 9:42 Dragon; From 27th of Solis to 14th of Parvulis Rating: Safe Summary:
A Chantry investigation reveals that Deidre has withheld information from her superiors, namely encountering the Keeper's First, Faer Arandil, in the Brecilian Forest and not reporting his whereabouts to the templars. She is suspended from Chantry expeditions for a year. For 365 days, her usual haunts are bereft of her presence, most of those close to her unaware as to where she had gone.
Some say her official sentence was too light, her punishment too lenient.
The followers of Andraste, however, are not so forgiving when one is suspected of being an apostate-sympathizer.
---
27 Solis, 9:42
When her blindfold was finally removed, she was treated to her very first sight of Ser Jonathan Vardic.
The light from his obsidian stare was quiet and cold, scalpel-like in his scrutiny as he watched her from across his desk. The mahogany surface was neat and orderly, a chessboard paused mid-game situated to the side and sheets of blank parchment and a quill positioned in the center. The signature armor of the Brotherhood donned him that day, fitting him so perfectly he may as well have been born in it. His dark hair was damp, pushed backwards from his forehead by the careful strokes of a comb. Regardless of the careful arrangement of patrician lines that made up his face, enough to give him the look that most aristocrats favored, dressing him in anything other than what he wore now would not have been enough to hide what he was.
True to form, Deidre spoke first.
"I thought you were a mainstay at Kinloch Hold." It wasn't a question.
He smiled, but there was neither warmth nor humor in it. "I'm assigned here for the time being," he replied. "A few days until a suitable replacement to oversee the fortress is found. Ser Christopher retired a week ago." He fell silent, taking the time to observe her yet again with his sharp regard. "I take it you've heard of me."
"Your reputation precedes you," the archaeologist returned, her voice neutral. "You're one of the best mage hunters in the Brotherhood. I heard you're also the one who recommended the terms of my punishment to the Grand Cleric and the Revered Mother of Denerim."
Vardic leaned back at his seat, fingers absently scoring the grain of the wood before him. "I trust you understand that it is nothing personal," he said. "I've heard of you, Sister. While this isn't the first time your defiance has landed you in this position, this is the first in where you're here now for something particularly grievous. As you know, your actions in this matter have labeled you at the very least a sympathizer for rogue mages or at most, secretly one yourself. You know as well as I do we cannot allow that in the Faith."
"I'm no covert apostate," the Sister retorted bluntly, the intensity of her own gaze searing the space between them. "And those who believe it are being ludicrous. I know very little about the principles of magic and as much as I wish for the power to do so sometimes, I can't shoot fireballs from my eyes."
His brow lifted at her reply. "Then you have nothing to worry about in regards to staying here, have you?" he asked simply.
Deidre pressed her lips together, falling quiet.
"You are a historian," Vardic continued. "So perhaps you'll find some appreciation in what I am about to tell you. The fortress is Tevinter in origin -- the site of many magical experiments. It was converted into a prison geared towards housing the enemies of the Maker and his Bride. Parts of it are....sensitive. Should there someone be innocent wrongfully arrested by the Brotherhood, that sensitivity is instrumental in weeding them out from the guilty. Demons, in particular, are attracted to the true sorcerors. If you're not one, you won't receive any visits....and perhaps staying here for several days will finally impress upon you the seriousness of your infraction. Maybe whenever you encounter another situation such as the one you found yourself in a few months ago, you'll remember this and think differently."
The woman's fists balled tightly on her lap. "We destroyed their home twice," she began. "They rely heavily on their Keepers to remember their culture -- where they came from. The Faithful have broken them beyond repair-- "
"And despite these lessons, they continue to worship their pagan gods and practice unregulated magic," the templar interjected coolly. "They're heathens, Sister. A race of blasphemous creatures who refuse to be enlightened by those who carry on the tradition of making certain that mistakes of the past never happen again....something which I believe you have dedicated your life to, yourself. I'm certainly no history expert, but from what I remember, it's the worship of questionable beings that nearly destroyed us all in the first place."
"You're a fool," the priestess ground through her teeth. "If you think that the two cases are even the same."
He waved a hand dismissively at that, pushing away from his chair. Moving towards one of the windows, he linked his hands behind his back as Deidre glared at him from where she sat. If he noticed, he blatantly ignored it.
"You are to be housed in the upper levels of the Isolation Tower," he informed her, looking out the window panes with a contemplative expression. "You are not to have any visitors. You are not to corresponded with anyone outside, and nor will you be receiving letters here in turn. You will remain confined to your chambers for a year. You will be fed, and none of the brothers stationed here will be allowed to interact with you save for the times you need to be nourished, much less punish you in the way real prisoners here often are. You will spend the year reflecting on what you've done, and for the sake of your soul, I hope you'll repent."
Liar. The word was acidic, scorching deep inside the cleric-to-be's memories as her eyes bored at his back. She was aware of her own reputation in the Chantry, how seriously she took her freedom and how she believed that her rebellious nature was intrinsic as a true Fereldan. A man like the templar in this office knew the value of doing homework, of finding weaknesses and exploiting them to their utmost ends to make a point.
The door leading inside the room opened. A pair of templars stepped inside as scheduled, to take her to where she would be confined for the next year.
"And Sister?"
She paused in her tracks, turning to glower at him from where she stood.
"Something about you is a little familiar," Vardic remarked casually, inclining his head at her. "Have we met before?"
"No," Deidre replied shortly, spinning on her heel to stride down the hall and forcing the two templars escorting her to catch up. "We haven't."
* * *
29 Solis, 9:42
A bloodcurdling scream echoed in the depths of the Isolation Tower, jolting her awake as cold sweat broke out over her forehead.
The dim, blue-white light of the full moon outside filtered in the single small window installed in the small chamber she was confined in, not enough to chase the shadows that surrounded her. All she had for illumination after lights-out was the round, celestial sphere outside, and the thin shaft of light that bled through the gap between the edge of her door and the stone floor. Held where she was, Deidre found the Tower to be silent most of the time -- it had only been forty-eight hours since her confinement, and already the minutes were starting to blend together that it became indeterminable as to when a day ended and another day began. But at the very least, in those first few spaces of time, it was quiet until now.
The unruly were usually kept here as punishment for doing something particularly egregious in the main complex. No one was allowed to accompany one another in the same chamber, which was the reason this part of Aeonar was named the way it was. To hear all this now was alien, and more than just a little disconcerting.
After a short bout of silence, the screaming continued, the staggering cacophony bouncing over thick masonry and overtaking its accoustics. Over and over. Ceaseless. Neverending. What had started as a human voice grew in depth and treble -- more otherworldly than its origins. She saw nothing, but she heard the change with horrifying clarity. It pierced the air and coaxed her skin to mottle with goosebumps, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end. Her hands reached upwards, clapping them over her ears and closed her eyes in an effort to shut it out -- only for her efforts to be ultimately futile as the sound continued to reverberate in the depths of her skull.
It felt like hours before it was silenced abruptly.
In the long and numerous days following, they would continue on intermittent intervals.
* * *
14 Parvulis, 9:42
She didn't even look up when the door to her chamber opened, sitting at the far corner and staring at nothing.
Deidre had no recollection as to how long it had been, what with her days spent the way they were. She did the best she could with her time in isolation -- she exercised however she could in the cramped space, she boxed her own shadow and skipped rope she made herself by tearing the underlying layers of her mattress apart and braiding the strips together. Physical activity, in some fashion, was the only way she could manage to get through the long hours since she had been brought to Aeonar...however while doing so saved her during the daylight hours, it wasn't enough in the evenings.
Her nerves were frayed, and Maker help her, she didn't know how to keep them intact with so few resources at her disposal. She saw wraiths at the corner of her eye and whenever she spun around to take a better look, there was nothing to be found. She jumped at every sound, and when the sun started sinking into the horizon, she begged whatever may be listening to keep it up for just a bit longer. Nightfall had become a terrifying experience -- it felt like an eternity since the last time she slept.
It was a mystery to her as to how she was able to keep herself from crying.
She wasn't aware of the figure moving towards her once the door had closed yet again, a quiet thump of something heavy landing on the single desk in the room. It was only when gentle fingers reached for her shoulders that she started, her hands jerking upwards defensively as a familiar face floated before her eyes.
"Dee?"
It couldn't be real. She couldn't be real. Vardic said she wasn't allowed any visitors. However, when the addled scholar reached up to trace fingertips over a worried and tender expression, her heart beat faster -- a surge of adrenaline accompanied the realization that there was someone with her electrifying dormant nerve endings. For the first time since her confinement, she felt really, truly alive.
"Justine...?"
She crumpled forward. Her arms wrapped around her neck as the older woman gathered her in, her face burying in the space between her neck and shoulder. She couldn't control the tremors rippling through her fingers as she clutched at the other cleric desperately, clawing fingernails into the fabric of her robes as she did her best to contain the full measure of her misery. "I haven't been sleeping," Deidre whispered. "I'm too afraid to. Some of them....I hear them change. It's in their voices...and they scream, and scream, and scream until they stop. Until they're made to stop... I don't know how...I don't know if I can..."
The only mother she ever knew tightened her grasp on her, her mouth buried against her hair. It was almost enough to make her weep, and perhaps she was and didn't realize it herself. She still wasn't certain whether Andraste, in her divine providence and pity, sent her this delusion to keep what remained of her sanity alive.
Justine pulled away, the warm imprint of her palms hovering over her skin as she cupped her face. "I'm not allowed to stay here long," she murmured. "But I managed to pull some strings. Someone in the Grand Cleric's office owed me a favor. I have fifteen minutes with you, but then I have to leave."
Fifteen minutes. "Just...." Deidre said, her fingers tightening over the fabric of the other woman's clothes. Her head started to shake from side to side -- slowly at first, until they grew in vehemence. "But I haven't seen...it's not..."
"Deidre, listen to me." The cleric strengthened her grip on her face, forcing her to meet her eyes. "You cannot lose yourself in here. Do you understand? You can't." Her jaw set, tears dewed over her lashes. "You must keep your mind intact. I brought you your things...your materials and your research. Your book is due next year, remember? Work. It's all I can do for you. All that they've allowed me to do and I hope with all my heart that it will be enough. Finish it while you're here. It will help, it will."
The younger woman tilted her head downward, finding the crest of the Maker's sun at the center of Justine's robes. "...are you sure you can't stay longer?" Her voice sounded small, and while she would normally hate herself for sounding so pathetic, she didn't have the strength to deny that to herself.
Justine embraced her again, smoothing back her hair. "The Revered Mother," she said after a pause. "Bid me to try and tell you that they can commute the sentence if you repent. If you promise never to do something like this again and keep it. You can be released today with a signed statement. Will you do that?"
"No." Deidre's voice was muffled against her shoulder, her response unhesitating in its delivery. "No. I did the right thing. I did."
The quiet sigh she heard above her head was exasperated, underscored by hints of relief. Despite herself, Justine couldn't help but smile at hearing her charge's recalcitrance in the matter. It told her that her mind was not completely and utterly stripped of what she knew and grew to love of her.