The Tower hadn't felt right to Ellion in years. The displacement had begun with the chaos of the Blight, when he had been a trainee and witnessed mages being consumed by demons before his very eyes. The chaos of that year had taken a long time to fade, and even now patches of Blight could be seen from the highest chambers, a foul stain on the country around Lake Calenhad. The chaos hadn't even stopped there, though, not for the young Templar. Almost immediately after, it seemed, he had been wrapped up in a blood mage conspiracy, and sent away for reconditioning.<br/><br/>Memories of that time were distant, at best. He could only barely recall some details, which the knights and acolytes had promised were the foul effects of blood magic. No, not the lyrium, they had sworn. The lyrium helped him. The lyrium helped them all.<br/><br/>Still, Ellion had taken his philters and returned to his service, to a tower much reduced by both mages and Templars. Many had died in the effort to stop the Blight alongside Warden Amell, and others still had departed for further places, which meant that despite his relatively lacking experience Ellion had been promoted swiftly from a mere Knight to Corporal. And his responsibility? Why, the gates, of course. It didn't much matter to him that the gates would likely see more traffic now that the bridge had been rebuilt; the only ones who ever came to Kinloch Hold were mages, or soldiers meant to contain them.<br/><br/>He had been on watch for the better part of the last six hours, a staggeringly dull amount of time. His lance and shield sat against a stack of crates that had yet to be sorted and carted, though the tower's Tranquil was working his slow, steady way through it all. Ellion looked up from the meal he'd been brought, half-stale bread and lukewarm beef with a tankard of ale, and shook his head at the shuffling man. "Don't you ever get sick of doing this, Owain?"<br/><br/>"No, sir."<br/><br/>He waited half a beat for the former mage to say more, but no conversation was forthcoming. Which only made sense, he supposed. The Tranquil weren't known for their social skills. Still, he was so bored he would take what he could get. He was about to try again when a voice from outside cut through the thick door, muffled and distant but audible.<i>"I must speak with Knight-Commander Korbin, I have discovered a mage who wishes to do harm to the very world we live in and I must see them stopped."</i>Ell stood and snatched up his spear, scowling at the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but...<br/><br/>"Owain, go find Halwell. Tell him to get the Knight-Commander."<br/><br/>"Yes, sir."<br/><br/>The Tranquil turned and shuffled serenely away, and Ell closed his eyes. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter," he whispered, a prayer for strength. He pushed the doors open with a single solid heave, the well-balanced stone swinging slowly outward. He stepped out into the afternoon light, his spear held ready, and stopped short. Flashes of memory ran through his mind, flashes of moments stolen on the shore, of a soft hand in his own, of a Templar commander screaming in his face that he had been<i>compromised.</i>He leveled the weapon toward her as another pair of Templars rushed to support him, likely sent by Owain.<br/><br/>"Castelana Aragorn. You are hereby under arrest as an apostate and known blood mage." His hands tightened on the spear. "Come quietly or be slain where you stand. The Knight-Commander will be very interested to speak to you." He approached and took one of her arms in hold, marching her stiffly ahead through the doors. One of the other Templars glanced sidelong at his fellow, then cleared his throat.<br/><br/>"Corporal, would you like me to escort her?"<br/><br/>"No. Man the gate. Maker willing, I won't be long." His tone was clipped and severe. "Halwell, come with me." The second Templar fell into step as Ellion guided the apostate toward the stairs, seething with a rage he didn't fully understand. "Why did you come back?" he hissed as they neared the stairs that led down to the basement. He couldn't exactly march an apostate through the entire tower in plain view. He didn't know why it mattered to him all of a sudden that she had, but it did. "Andraste's breath, Lana, you are a fool."