This fic is a partner to 'Kicking and Screaming.' While it is not necessary to read either together, eventually there will be a little bit of overlap, especially in sequels. This is a sort of 'AU', in that Solona Amell is present for the events happening in the Tower, instead of becoming a Grey Warden. Enjoy!


They called her Sol, an old Tevinter word for sun. Solona Amell was her real name, as real as mattered in the Tower, and she was a curious apprentice, always looking in old, musty places for things no one wanted to read anymore. So it was that she found many things interesting that others did not, and had a great deal of pursuits that were not magical in the slightest. She was not especially good at them, not like her natural affinity for the Fade. Her paintings and sketches were boring, uninspired, or downright unrecognizable. Her efforts at knitting were snarled and tangled, unusable except as dishrags or toys for the mousers to shred. Her attempts at cooking were…unappetizing, to be kind. Plants did not fare well under her care.

But there was one area Sol was able to excel in, that did not come as naturally as her magic. This was music. She was a natural, with an excellent ear for it, and the ability to recreate it on any instrument she could get her hands on (in the tower, this was few, indeed). She could sing, as well, (but not dance, Maker forgive her), and she was heard to say that, the trick of it was, to find the magic in the music.

Needless to say, she made the templars somewhat uneasy, when she said things like that.

This was the only thing she did or said to make them watch her, though. She was a good girl. Never a toe out of line, never an unkind word. She was not a mage to lose her temper, or have breakdowns. She seemed serene, calm, in complete control. It was maddening for some, who found it unnerving for someone to never be upset over anything. Her friend Jowan found it comforting, a nice foil to his constant neurosis (as well as his time spent with Neria Surana, a real terror of a mage).

Her focuses in schools of magic were considered odd as well, eclectic, mixed. Most expected her to be offensive, as many mages who manifested with lightning tended to be. But she barely knew any. Her proclivities tended towards Creation and Spirit, but were not confined there. She was most adept at manipulating mana; clashing it, absorbing it, nullifying, creating magic. Her other skills lent her the ability to shape with her mind, using her will to create barriers, shields, or sharp edges. She was a passable healer, and her spell blooms were always rather beautiful. She was considered to be, possibly, the least dangerous mage in the tower. Barely any of her skills could be used offensively at all.

That, more than anything, made Irving worry about her Harrowing. What if she did not know the answers to the sloth demon's riddles? Could she win against him, his strength? What about the rage demon, or even just the fade spirits with a less-kind bent to them? She would have to be Harrowed soon, or Tranquil'd. Solona was getting older, it would have to be done. Greagoir wouldn't let him put it off any longer, for all he looked upon her just as kindly.

He hoped she would be all right.


Sol sat, nervously, in the library, her outward calm doing nothing to give away her agitation. She waited, twisting the waves of her russet hair around a finger in what looked like idle distraction. She needed to get work done, but her concentration for destruction had always been somewhat…lacking. And she had other worries today.

"Didn't think you would come, you know." The mage's light tone made her look up from the book she had been busy not-reading. "Surprised me, that you'd even offer to help. For all I've heard, you're the templars' little pet, always following the rules."

She swallowed, perhaps the only indication of her nervousness. Outwardly, the serene mask did it's job, giving him the shallowest of smiles as she gestured for him to sit next to her. Their meeting was odd, but since he had been called to teach some Creation classes, and she was in sore need of a new mentor, with Wynne having gone off to Ostagar, it could be assumed this was what they would be speaking about. Templars couldn't fathom little Sol doing anything otherwise, with a mage of ill repute like Anders.

"This is all I've known, Anders, since I was three years old. Is it so surprising I would be good at surviving in here?" She asked, softly. Her voice was never anything but soft. "What would you need me to do, to help you?"

"Simple, really. There's a store room, a small one, on the first floor. It's got some loose stone that'd provide a good escape point. Thing is, it's where some important artifacts, and lyrium, are stored. So, it's always got one templar guard, you know." The apostate grinned at her in his off-hand, rogueish way, and only her good sense and years of practice kept her from blushing. "So, I just need you to take him away from his post for a bit. I think you know the one, Cullen? Just ask him to carry your books; I'm sure he'll trip all over himself for you."

She did color, then, a little from anger and a little from shame. Cullen had a crush on her at one time, it was true, though the latest rumors pinned him as pining after Surana. He was a sweet man, one of the nicest of the templars in the tower, for all that he didn't really know her. She swallowed. Having him leave his post, and Anders escaping, would get him in a great deal of trouble. Sol opened her mouth to refuse, when the mage across from her added, "Unless, you know, the rumors are true, and you really are dallying with him. I could see how you wouldn't want to get your lover in trouble."

She snapped her mouth shut, swallowing again. The rumors were not true, they'd barely even spoken before, but refusing to help Anders now would certainly lend credence to them. And there was no greater shame in the Tower than being a templar's pet mage and secret flame. You were considered a traitor to your own kind to even think of it (though, it was impossible to not think about it, sometimes, as those things generally went), and Solona was not that indoctrinated.

"I…I will do it, then." She grimaced, the first break in her mask, and Anders seemed almost surprised to see the emotion. "When?"

"This evening, directly after supper. I'll be waiting for you in the library; as your new mentor, I'm going to have to help you pick out some suitably heavy tomes, you know." He winked at her, excusing himself from his chair. "I suppose the others were wrong about you; you're not quite as brainwashed as we all thought."

"Oh, goody." She murmured under her breath. Nice to be rewarded for being so obviously manipulated, certainly.

"It's a shame you can't escape, too." He grinned. "Though I suppose since this is all you've ever known, you'd be a mess outside the tower."

"I suppose I would." She agreed, a little sadly. It was sad to not know how to function outside of a small, singular place in the world.

"Well, no use crying over it! At least one of us will have our freedom. And hey, you and Cullen could even get a little closer! Can't say I would mind some extra time to get out." Was he leering? He was leering! She shuddered, more from his expression than his implication, which made him laugh as he left, calling out to her, "I'll meet you in the library after supper, then! Have to get you all ready for your instruction."

This was said loudly, of course, so the templars would hear. No more assumptions on their part; he was simply her replacement mentor. Nothing out of the ordinary for her to be speaking with him, then.

Sighing, she conjured a spell wisp to float around her head, a little…exhausted. Dealing with Anders was more draining than she had expected. Rather than drain her further, the act relaxed her. Its lazy circles made her…calmer.

She smoothed her apprentice robes out, stood up…and nearly smacked nose-first into a solid templar collar. And plate would be a very painful thing to hit one's head on.

Looking up to see who it was, she smiled slightly. "Hello, Cullen."

"Er, h-hello. I…ah, I need you to come with me." The red head stammered, taking a few steps back, uncomfortable with the proximity. She was suddenly tense; had someone overheard her conversation with Anders? Was she in trouble? Her face cracked in apprehension and Cullen seemed…startled. "It's…it's nothing bad! H-how could it be, I mean…you're a model student and…well, I mean, it…it could be bad, but I'm sure you—"

"Cullen." Sol cut in, as he started babbling, placing a hand on his forearm briefly. "Where are we going?"

He went scarlet and nearly shook off her hand with his violent retraction, more out of self-consciousness than revulsion. "Er…th-the…Harrowing chamber." He swallowed, the words laced with apprehension. She understood then.

"I see." Her heart went stone cold with sudden fear. "I…yes, all right. Shall we?" One couldn't prepare for the Harrowing. You simply…attended. And survived, if you could.

"I-I'm sure you'll be fine, you know." She wondered who he was trying to reassure more. For her part, she stared at the floor as they walked, scared into silence. "Y-you're a very strong mage, a-and I'm…I'm just sure you'll be fine."

She tried to say thanks, but her throat had gone dry. He seemed upset, himself. "I…I'm sorry." Sol nodded; neither of them had any choice in the matter, anyway. This was just…something that had to happen.

A heavy gauntlet on her shoulder startled her, and she nearly stumbled. It tightened painfully to steady her, Cullen clearing his throat in embarrassment. "You…you know, I don't th-think I've ever seen you so…well, you've always been so calm."

She reached up and gently touched the gauntleted fingers with her own, unguarded ones. She felt them twitch, but he didn't pull away. She took one deep, shuddering breath, rearranged her face, and then presented him that nice, serene presence she was more used to. "I'm fine, Cullen. Don't worry about me. Whatever comes, I'm certain I'll be all right."

He didn't seem reassured, but he let her shoulder go, and they continued towards the Harrowing chamber and her deadly test.