Augmentum Fier

She strained against the fatigue that weighed down on her whole body, silently praying that she could maintain control over the spell as flames danced mere inches from her skin, cocooning her in a second layer. This particular form of magic did not have much application outside testing strength of will and stamina, but the concentration it demanded to force flames to form this close to her body without having them cook her alive and at the same time keep them confined within several inches of where they originated without having them flare outward was monumental. Beads of sweat ran into her eyes, her hair was clinging together and to her face; her robes were soaked from the exertion.

Finally, after what seemed another eternity the First Enchanter nodded. Celestine released the spell and, panting heavily, fell to her knees, weary arms barely managing to stop her from falling all the way. The flames themselves had flared up briefly and then dissipated into nothing; they did not even leave traces of smoke.

The room they were in was near the top of the tower, where, due to it getting thinner, there was no space to have as many chambers next to one another as there were on the lower floors. This meant that the rooms were ideal for the practicing of magic and the more hazardous of experiments, since there were minimal adjoining rooms that could be affected if something went wrong. Concerns for the main structure of the tower were negligible, since the ancient magics and engineering techniques that had been used in its construction made it nearly impervious.

Celestine wondered about the tower's origins - not for the first time – as she lay there gasping, the cold, smooth stone pressing against her hands and knees. She had been training here under the tutelage of First Enchanter Irving since the first few weeks of her arrival at the tower years ago, always under the close scrutiny of several Templars. But hers was not a common lot; Knight-Commander Greagoir had specifically asked for it as soon as they had made it to the tower, in response to what had transpired during their journey there; the events that had wiped out a whole caravan and killed the other Templar escorting her.

He had not been Knight-Commander at that point, but he and the First Enchanter had ever had an understanding of sorts and their mild temperaments made it somewhat easier to liaise between watchers and watched. When the lyrium Templars imbibed to grant them the powers they needed to watch over mages began to take its toll on the previous Knight-Commander's mind, the Grand Cleric had promptly appointed Greagoir to the role.

"By the Maker, Celestine! I still cannot grasp how you manage to do it, even after all these years," Irving exclaimed as he walked over to her hunched form. The First Enchanter was an elderly man with long grey hair and a thick beard that hid most of his face, but did not quite manage to hide the gauntness of his cheeks, or the dark rings around his eyes; the eyes themselves, though, sparkled with keen intellect. He wore robes that were a fresh green with tasteful white accenting and had a great deal of golden embroidery. "Your spells seem to have an unbelievably high natural power threshold but you still manage to maintain them for unbelievably long periods considering that drain, and with astounding control."

The apprentice finally managed to gather the strength to try and stand. She wearily pushed herself to her feet, making for a table and chair that were standing against a wall. Once she successfully shuffled to the seat she gratefully dropped into it, resting her head against the cold wall, closing her eyes and waiting for the throbbing to recede. Once she could open her eyes and not think that the dim light in the room would stab right through them into the back of her head, she looked around. Irving had sat down on the other side of the small table and she gratefully noted the cup of water he had poured her from the decanter that had been set aside for such occasions. Grabbing it, she gulped down the contents, the slight trembling of her body that had started settling down as the wet coolness seemed to flow down her throat and infuse her.

After downing another two of these, Celestine decided that it was worth trying to risk speaking. "I wish I didn't have all that power…I mean I'll be cooped up in this place my whole life anyway, why make the reason such a bitch to control."

She placed the cup onto the tray with the decanter again, "If I had my way, I'd be happy with a puny smidgen of power so I can live the easy, lazy mage life."

Irving chuckled good-naturedly, "Believe me, my girl. If anyone here had their way I doubt we'd have any mages to begin with."

The dark-haired apprentice looked out onto space contemplatively. "I suppose. But then again, a world without magic would be so boring!"

"Even the ordinary has its own magic if you know where to look."

"I suppose…."

After a short silence Celestine spoke up again, "First Enchanter?"

"Yes?"

"Robes suck."

~o~

"Erik, you take your men and circle around from the left. Eliza, you go with him," the Teyrn said to them, the tone of his voice clipped. He was loath to send them to battle, but they were his children and the welfare of the land would be in their hands once he was gone. Best they learn now while he was still around to teach, than have them stumble around and learn from their own mistakes once the responsibility was theirs.

Erik and his sister clapped their right fists to their chest in salute. This would be the younger Cousland's first command and he hoped to make his father proud. Their army was split into three, the main force led by their father, each of the others commanded by one of the brothers, Fergus and Erik.

The soldiers and knights commanded by their father were the most trained and experienced. Fergus led the archers and scouts, the soldiers that would blend into the battlefield and harass the enemy. Erik was to lead the auxiliary troops, those that had been conscripted from the freeholders and commoners, they had the least experience when it came to war; as such theirs was not a duty that would require a great deal of skill, but their numbers were required so that the others would not be overwhelmed. Rory Gilmore accompanied the twins as Erik's squire and to lend another experienced arm to the battle on their side.

After the battle plan had been laid out, Erik and Elisa headed out of their father's pavilion. "So much for sleep," the young man muttered. Elisa punched his armoured shoulder, the clapping together of metals making it seem to have been harder than it actually was.

"Don't be like that," she was grinning broadly. "If you have any real issues getting sleep I'll just ask Alfie to breathe in your face until you pass out!"

"Maker, no! Anything but that"

The two headed to where their tents were pitched and after conferring with Rory about the morning's plans headed off to get some rest.

~

The following morning was greeted by a camp that was already bustling with activity. The distant horizon was glowing with the promise of a rising sun and a clear day. Erik groaned and pushed his blanket aside, swinging his legs over the side of the cot so he could sit up. He was busy rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his sister burst into the small space. "Gooood mooorning, Commander!"

The only response she got was an old tunic in the face. "Urghmph!"

Pulling the garment from her face she scrunched it up. "I swear that you and that dog are becoming more and more alike in not only mannerisms, but also scent."

Alfonse, who had been sleeping on the floor next to the cot, whined in protest.

Elisa was already dressed for battle, wearing a light set of armour that consisted mostly of leather and chainmail. Her long blond hair had been tied up into a low bun so that it wouldn't get in the way and she could still put on a helmet.

Erik was donning his own as fast he could; it would not do to be late on his first day in a position of command. After a while of trying to fix some of the more obscurely located straps Elisa sighed heavily and slapped his hands away, fixing them herself. "Thanks Lisa, now let's go see where this squire whose job you're doing is."

They both exited the tent and almost ran into Gilmore who was carrying a plate of food. "Ah there you are! You should thank my sister here for helping me dress; otherwise I'd still be running around pantless." Erik said as he finished buckling on his sword belt.

The red-headed squire chuckled. "My lord, that was my intention. Best way to lift morale is to see one's commander in a state of undress they say."

"Yes, yes…but we can't have the soldiers not follow an order for rolling on the floor in laughter!"

Erik grabbed a loaf of bread and the tankard of water from the tray Gilmore had been carrying and started making his way to the section of the camp where his troops were located. The banter between lord and squire continued like that for most of the journey, Elisa silently following after them with an amused expression on her face. She would soak in these moments while she could, for soon they would be in battle and, being no fool, she knew that there would be little cause for levity at the end of the day.

~o~

Quarterstaff clapped against practice sword, the smoothed wood weapons pushing hard against one another. Then as fast as they came together they flew apart again and clashed again, the quick rapport of the contacts ringing through the clearing; on the edge of it stood a man slightly past his prime and a young girl. She had the same dark hair as him, but his had shocks of grey on the side already, belying the youth that seemed to dance in his golden eyes. The girl on the other hand had the same sapphire eyes as her two siblings sparring in the clearing.

"Alright, that's enough you two." Malcolm barked.

Sorana and Carver, who were once again locked together, relaxed at their father's command. They both staggered to the other two's sides and collapsed on the fresh green grass, panting from their exertions. After her breathing had calmed, Sorana reached for one of the waterskins they had brought along and took a long draught from it. She splashed some onto her face and passed the rest to her brother who did pretty much the same.

"Carver, you need to work on your footing, make sure that you are able to shift your position at any point, but still be stable enough to make a stand if needed," Malcolm said, looking down at the lanky boy. "Take into account what weapon your opponent is using, whether it be another blade, two, an axe, mace, or a staff. Every one of them requires a different approach for you to come out the victor."

He turned to address his eldest, "Rana, you are using a staff, don't use it the same way your brother uses the sword. You do not have the physical strength to make the most of it, nor the chance to recover quickly enough if you make a mistake. Remember that when wielding a pole you have two sides from which to attack; you might even weaponise them at some point if you feel the need to do so."

But then, belying the stern tone of his lecture, he stooped down gently and ruffled both their hair. "Details aside, you've both progressed marvellously."

It had been some years since the night where Carver had gone missing, a harrowing experience for the close-knit family. But they had come out the stronger for it. Malcolm had decided that it was time for Carver to learn how to defend himself and Sorana had taken to her training with a renewed vigour and conviction.

It was an experience that had coloured most of their actions since then and would no doubt continue to do so, the only reminder of the event being the blood-red streak across Rana's nose that did not seem to want to wash off. As Carver got older he tried to continue to prove that he no longer needed his sister's protection, while Sorana worked that much harder to protect those she held dear. Those opposing desires were often the cause of tension in the household.

Bethany, who had not been there during those pivotal events, simply idolised her elder sister, who like her, was born with magical potential. Bethany had only recently started studying its use though, while despite her young age Sorana had already mastered most of its aspects. This led to Malcolm spending most of his time now teaching Bethany, while Sorana practiced magic on her own, or trained with her brother.

"Beth, your turn; let's see if you remember what we went through last time," the Hawke patriarch stated as he headed to the centre of the clearing, his youngest hurrying to keep up with his long strides.