12 Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon
The death of summer was an overwhelming presence, after so many days traveling through Blight ravaged lands. Bright sunlight brought the colors of the leaves to life: vivid reds, oranges, and yellows glimmered in the light autumn breeze. Browned leaves, dried by the sun, crunched beneath Arais' feet, and those of the horses the templars rode before her. Softer footsteps beside her halted for a moment, and so did she, turning her gaze to the young boy beside her.
"Do you think the leaves will ever look this way again in Redcliffe?" Connor's eyes met hers. A glimmer of pain shone in beneath feigned strength—he already missed his home; that much was obvious.
"It may take some time," she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "but Ferelden will recover from the Blight. Redcliffe wasn't tainted as long as some of the surrounding areas of the Bannorn, so its recovery will be even faster." In fact, most of the damage done to Redcliffe had been caused by the undead the demon had sent to terrorize Redcliffe, though she hardly thought it was appropriate to make that distinction to Connor.
He nodded his head, but made no other response. Instead, his eyes returned to the leaves, to the decay of the world around him. She wondered if he understood the extent of the damage done to Ferelden during the Blight, and just how lucky Redcliffe had been to only be targeted at the tail end. Since the darkspawn had made Denerim their primary target by then, only a token force had been sent to Redcliffe. The soldiers that remained in the southern arling easily overpowered them.
Part of her was certain that Connor couldn't possibly understand. Then again, he was twelve years old, and the circumstances under which they had met forced him to grow up much faster. Perhaps he had asked Isolde about the Blight while Eamon and Teagan marched to Denerim with Arais, but how much did even Isolde know? And the woman was so protective of her only child, she would likely have avoided giving him any details that might have frightened him.
No, it was unlikely Connor knew anything of the Blight outside of the fact that it happened. If he were anything like Arais, he was more concerned about what would happen to him now that his magic was a matter of public knowledge, and if the Circle of Magi was truly as bad as everyone made it out to be.
The silence, broken only by the crackling of the leaves, continued until they crested a hill and the towering spire of Kinloch Hold came into view, its reflection wavering in the dark waters of Lake Calenhad. Connor gaped up at the tower with all the wonder one would expect from a child. But, for all the amazement, there was still apprehension, maybe even fear, for what that tower might mean for him.
"What's the Circle like?" Connor looked up at her, and showed no sign that he had noticed her watching him.
She furrowed her brows and focused ahead of her, unsure how to answer. She couldn't tell him the whole truth and risk scaring him, nor could she lie and be able to live with herself when he found out otherwise. Kinloch Hold had been nothing short of terrifying at times, but the templars weren't overbearing. Nothing like the men and women who she had seen walking the streets of Kirkwall before she had been brought to Ferelden, or the majority of the templars who had actually brought her to Kinloch Hold.
Realizing she had been silent for too long, she said, "I lived there for almost sixteen years before I was recruited into the Grey Wardens. I was given a bed in the apprentice quarters on the first floor of the tower, where you will be staying once you settle in. The senior mages will be your teachers, and will aide you in your training."
"Like Jowan did?" His voice was taut, and when she looked at him, his body was just as tense. No doubt, he didn't trust these mages to be better teachers than the one he already had.
"Jowan hadn't completed his own training when you met him; he was barely of age, and escaped the Circle before he could. He wasn't prepared to teach anyone else how to master their powers, because he had yet to master his own."
His shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. "I understand." His eyes met hers briefly, and then he looked away, frowning. "Did you have any friends?"
"I—" She was taken aback by the question, but, in all honesty, it didn't really surprise her that friendship would be a concern for a boy his age. "Yes, I did." She pursed her lips, and decided against mentioning Jowan again. And, as far as he knew, Anders had disappeared during the coup, so there was no point in mentioning him, either. She swallowed back a sigh. "Not very many, but I kept to myself, a lot of the time. My best friend was my mentor, Wynne. You met her during the Blight." He nodded. "There are many children at Kinloch Hold who are your age. You shouldn't have any trouble meeting new friends."
"What if they . . . find out what I did?" His frown deepened. "To help Father? Won't they be afraid?"
She remembered the destruction of her own former home at the hands of blood mages, and the room full of children that Wynne had cut off from the rest of the tower. They had seen horrors that no child should have to see, but Connor had experienced them first hand.
"I don't think they will be, if they find out. You might even be able to help them."
"Help them? How?"
"The Circle only teaches mages that demons are dangerous, and that all mages who are possessed become horrible abominations that cannot be helped. You are living proof that is not the case. You survived, and now, if they ask, you can tell them what it's like. You can help them understand."
Again, he was silent.
A whinny from one of the horses brought her attention back to the templars, who had stopped just shy of the docks. Kester, standing where she had once encountered Carroll, had his back to them, but turned rather abruptly when the templars' heavy plate armor clanged as they climbed down from their mounts. He seemed unnerved, at first, but when he saw Arais—her hand on Connor's shoulder—his face broke into a relieved smile.
"Ah, Warden! Pleasure to see you back here."
"Hello, Kester." Arais smiled pleasantly.
Connor backed up a step, and Arais squeezed his shoulder to set him at ease.
Kester glanced down at the boy beside her, his eyes softening. "What's your name?"
Connor blinked, then squared his shoulders. "Connor Guerrin."
"The Arl of Redcliffe's boy?" Kester's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the shock evident in his tone. When Connor nodded, Kester bowed. "An honor to meet you, milord."
"You don't need to call me that, ser. I'm not a noble anymore." Connor looked up at Arais, unsure. "Am I?"
She frowned. "Not technically, no. But you're still of noble birth, regardless."
"And, if it's all right with you, I would still show you the respect you deserve." Kester winked at Arais, and she realized he was fully aware of the implications that came with a person of noble blood being a mage. He was treating Connor no differently than he would any other nobleman's son, and she was grateful to him for that.
The older man clapped his hands together, looking away from Connor and Arais to the armor-clad men behind them. "I take it you all need a ride across the lake to the tower?"
Ever the silent guardians, the templars merely nodded, and once again Kester seemed to tense up, his jaw clenching visibly. Clearly his reinstatement as ferryman had not gone over well in some way. Perhaps his transition back into his duties hadn't been smooth? Arais wasn't going to ask about it in front of the templars, though. As it stood, Kester was back in charge of the docks, and maybe only time was needed to get everything back to the way it was before the coup and the Blight.
"There isn't enough room for the both of you on the boat, what with your armor," Kester said, his voice terse as he spoke to the armored men. "One of you has to stay here."
Though his tone suggested he would brook no argument from them, one of the templars replied, "You don't have the authority to make that decision, ferryman."
"That's all well and good, but I won't have you sinking my boat. I'll only ferry one of you across. Take it or leave it."
The templar who spoke went to step forward, but his brother-in-arms held him back. "Fine, but you'll be hearing about this from the Knight-Commander."
Kester shrugged. "So be it."
The templars spoke among themselves for a time, presumably deciding who would go to the tower. The calmer of the two walked toward the boat; the hostile templar gave an impatient wave of his hand to indicate Arais and Connor should follow. Kester stepped aboard first, reaching out his hand to help Connor, then Arais onto the boat. He left the templar to fend for himself.
The small rowboat dipped dangerously when the armored man came aboard, but found its balance again once he sat. Connor moved closer to Arais and gripped her arm, his small fingertips digging into her flesh. She patted his hand, trying to reassure him as best she could without speaking, because she understood his fear.
She remembered more vividly now what she had once tried to explain to Teagan: how terrifying it was to be torn from her family and forced to travel with complete strangers. It had been so important to her to have one person treat her like a human being, with respect and dignity. Someone to actually care about her well being as she traveled to Maker only knew where, with only the clothes on her back. Thrask had given that to her, and now she hoped she had done the same for Connor.
Connor rested his head on her arm as the tower began to loom ever higher above their heads, his eyes focused steadfastly forward. Soon—too soon, perhaps—Kester was tying the boat to the dock. She stood when Kester gave the okay to do so, helping Connor out of the boat and again watching the templar struggle to do the same on his own. The armored man lost his balance and fell to his knees on the hard stone floor of the cavern. She heard Connor choke back a laugh, and Arais was forced to do the same. Kester merely smiled.
When the templar got to his feet, he turned to Connor and Arais with a deep scowl, and the smile fell from her face. She found Connor's hand again and squeezed gently, and held fast as they moved toward the tunnel that led to the entrance. Kester nodded his goodbye as she passed him, and bowed to Connor.
The tunnel was narrow, claustrophobic, lit only by widely spaced torches that lined the uneven walls. As they approached the door, the templar who stood guard pulled it open and stepped aside, allowing them to go inside. The entrance hall was quiet, empty but for the two guards who stood vigilant at either side of the door.
"I have to report our arrival to the Knight-Commander," their templar companion stated. "Stay here until I return." Without waiting for a response, he left, and the silence of Kinloch Hold began to close in on Arais immediately, as familiar as it was suffocating.
Connor's hand left hers, and she focused on him, watched as he walked over to the chess board set up on the other side of the room, likely for the templars who were on guard during the night watch, to pass the time. He touched nothing, only staring at the board, which seemed to have been left in the middle of a game. After a moment, he turned and looked around the room, his eyes—wide and nervous—never lingering on any one thing for more than a few seconds.
The scrape and clang of armor caught Connor's attention, and he hurried back over to Arais and took her hand once more as Knight Commander Greagoir came into view. He was followed closely by Cullen, who, even months after the coup, looked haggard and worn. His eyes were sunken, dark circles casting his eyes in eerie shadows, and his cheeks were gaunt and sallow. When he saw her, his amber eyes flared with recognition and . . . something else. Anger?
Her stomach churned uneasily.
"Warden," Greagoir said by way of greeting, his tone brusque. Arais returned her attention to him. "I take it this is the boy?"
"Yes, this is Connor."
He gave a tight nod. "I thank you for aiding in his transport. We'll take it from here."
Connor's grip tightened in hers. "Wait, you're not coming with me?" he asked, frightened.
"I'm sorry, I can't," she said, and her heart tightened in her chest when she saw the worry in his eyes; she hoped it wasn't reflected in her own. "It will be all right. They just need to do some preparations that I can't be there for." She couldn't remember how long the phylactery ritual took, only that her hand ached afterward. "There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. They'll take good care of you." She looked up at the Knight Commander and Cullen, a challenge in her silver-gray eyes. "Right?"
"Of course." Greagoir motioned to the templar at his side, who approached Connor and Arais without hesitation.
"Will you be here when they're done?" Connor asked, ignoring Cullen's silent gesture to come along.
"Absolutely. I'll come to the apprentice quarters once I've handled some business of my own." She knelt and gave him a brief hug. "You'll be okay. Just do as the Knight Commander says."
He nodded, and hugged her again. "Thank you, Arais."
"You're welcome, Connor." She debated for a moment, then added, "They're going to need to take some blood." Her eyes briefly met Cullen's, and she saw his anger, plain as day. Well, there was nothing he could do to stop her from warning Connor, so she pressed on. "Just a small prick of a dagger and a few drops into a vial, and you're all set. It's nothing to be worried about." She gave him a small smile, and though he seemed apprehensive about the blood, he returned it. "Now go. I'll see you again before you know it."
She stood and watched as he followed the Knight Commander out of the entrance hall, Cullen's hand heavy on his shoulder. He held his head up and kept his shoulders squared, but she knew how scared he was. When she was brought in, she didn't know, couldn't know what they had in store for her. Arais hoped that warning him about the blood they needed to take would help ease the stress of orientation for him, at least a little, but she barely remembered her own. Only the point of the dagger pressing into her palm, and the pressure of the previous Knight Commander's fingers as he squeezed the blood out and into a small vial, sealing her fate as a prisoner of the Chantry.
She shook her head to clear it from the unpleasant line of thought she had followed, and she walked through the doorway she had just watched Connor disappear through. Silence gave way to voices, growing louder as she passed the open doorways that led to the various apprentice dormitories. As she entered the library, the sound of voices, belonging to children and adults alike, was joined by the sounds of spells being cast and meeting the barriers erected by instructors.
The atrium was clear of the blood that had caked the floors and spattered the walls on Arais' last visit here, and the bookshelves stood tall and towering once again, but the unpleasant tingle in the air that was left behind in the wake of so much blood magic still lingered. Her body trembled slightly, and as she approached the steps to the mage quarters, she became light-headed. Was it like this for the mages who still lived here, or had they become accustomed to the sensation?
Arais took a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass before she ascended the steps. When she pushed through the door that led to the second floor, the number of voices decreased dramatically. It was hard to face, the loss of so many talented mages to a war they shouldn't have had to fight so soon after surviving another. The empty, unmade beds she saw as she passed the dormitories were a harsh reminder of the toll the Blight had taken on more than just the soldiers who had been bred for war.
She passed the last dormitory and knocked on the door to the senior mage quarters. There was quiet shuffling, followed by a soft thud, then footsteps before the door swung open, revealing a rather disheveled Wynne. Tendrils of hair hung loose from her normally pristine bun, and the lines on her face were deeper, more pronounced. She seemed… tired, but her eyes lit up when she recognized her visitor.
"Arais!" Wynne pulled her into an embrace. "How wonderful to see you again." She stepped back and gestured toward one of the beds. "Please, come in and have a seat." After closing the door behind her, she asked, "What are you doing here?
Arais settled herself down "I'm helping Connor Guerrin get settled in."
"Ah, yes, I remember hearing he was coming today." Wynne sat on the unmade bed across from Arais. It seemed the only bed in the room that was made was the one on which Arais sat. "Though I hadn't heard anything about you accompanying him."
"I offered, as a favor to Arlessa Isolde. After the debacle with Jowan, I don't think anything would have put her at ease, short of coming here with him herself." Arais sighed. "Since that's not an option, I offered to escort him. To be honest, I was planning on doing it, regardless. After what he went through, I couldn't be sure the templars would have been . . . kind if I hadn't been there."
"I don't doubt they would have been more cautious with a mage who had already been possessed." Wynne frowned in agreement. "How were they in your presence?"
Arais didn't even need to think to answer. "Quiet."
"No doubt they expected to simply cart the boy off to the Circle and that would be the end of it." The elder mage smiled. "Instead, they traveled with the famed Hero of Ferelden, and were forced to be on their best behavior. In front of yet another mage, no less."
"If I hadn't been so focused on Connor, I'm sure I would have been amused by their silence. They hardly spoke a word after we left Redcliffe, except to make sure we kept up with the horses." She smiled, remembering the docks. "And to gripe with Kester when he wouldn't let both of them ride over on the boat with us."
Wynne's laughter filled the room. "Why does that not surprise me? Kester has always been at odds with the templars, even more so now that they've tried to give his position to a templar, for 'security purposes.' Or so they claim."
"Is that why Kester was so tense when we arrived?"
"I expect so. Kester put up quite the fuss when Ser Carroll told him he would be retaining his position as ferryman indefinitely. I believe the Knight Commander only relented because Kester threatened to raise a militia against the templars if his livelihood was threatened any longer. Of course, any militia he raised wouldn't stand a chance against the might of the templars, but with Kinloch Hold in the state that it's in, Greagoir had to choose his battles wisely. An old man with a rowboat was not a worthwhile fight to be had."
"Definitely not," Arais said, a smile tugging at her lips. "I am glad that he was there today. He certainly helped set Connor at ease. He's a charming man, when he chooses to be." Arais' voice trailed off, and she let out a slow, somewhat ragged breath.
"That he is." Wynne eyed her, concerned. "What's on your mind, my dear?"
"It's just . . . I got placed so far from my family when I was taken away that, before I even knew it was not possible, I didn't expect to ever see them again. Ferelden was a whole different country, a sea away from my family in Kirkwall. I can't imagine how it will be for Connor, being less than a day's boat ride away from his home, but still not allowed to see his family again. How in the Maker's name is that fair to him?"
"It is how it has always been, Arais. My son was taken away from me the moment he was born. I barely had a chance to hold him before he was shipped off to Orlais, and I only know of his whereabouts now because of my influence as a senior enchanter." Wynne frowned. "I have heard from him, a few times. He and I will never be what we could have been, had things been different, but it is enough for me to know that he is alive and well, well on his way to becoming a senior enchanter himself in the White Spire."
Arais' eyes burned with unshed tears. "Just because we possess magic doesn't mean we should be cut off from the lives we had before we even knew about it. All I know of my family is from the three letters I received from Kirkwall. One from my father telling me my sister was taken to Starkhaven," Arais's voice cracked, but she pressed on, "another, from my mother, telling me that my brother was taken to Ostwick, and that my father had left her soon after Seona was taken away." She paused, as the next words caught in her throat. "The last," she murmured, "was a . . . quite formal missive telling me my mother had taken her own life. From the grief of losing three children she would never be allowed to see again." She caught the older woman's gaze, her own vision blurred with sudden tears. "Tell me, Wynne, in what world is that fair?"
A tear slid down Arais's cheek, and then another, and another, her heart aching for the family she barely knew before she was ripped away from them. How much it still hurt, even after all this time. Yes, she was grateful for all she learned in the Circle, but she hated what it had done to her family. How the fear of what she was, of what all of the children had been, had torn her family apart.
She felt movement beside her, and then Wynne's warm arms pulled Arais into a hug. "Shh, I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to upset you." She leaned away, and held Arais at arms' length as if to study her face. "Maybe, in time, things will improve for the mages, and they won't be so isolated from their families. But, at this moment, we must be grateful for the few privileges we are allowed.
"That you were able to accompany Connor here is a shining example of what we, as mages, can achieve if we strive for better. As a Warden, you are granted far more freedoms than the rest of us, so use that to your advantage."
"What more can I do?" She roughly wiped the tears from her face. "I'm not allowed to involve myself in matters not pertaining strictly to the Wardens."
"But you are also above many laws that would hold those who are not Wardens back. And you have many friends in high places, thanks to your efforts during the Blight. Queen Anora, for instance. Or even the Knight Commander."
"But what can I ask of Greagoir? That Connor be allowed to see his family? I'm not sure that would be for the best, in the long run. Yes, I'm sure the boy would enjoy those visits, but would it come at the expense of making friends? It could inspire resentment among the other mages. They would see him as a pretentious noble. How would that make things better for him?"
"Well, what of Anora? Is there nothing you can think to ask of her?"
"Not anything that would genuinely help." Arais had asked herself this question dozens of times, but still, no easy answers came. "I can't just waltz into Denerim and ask her to uproot the laws the Chantry has placed on the Circle, can I? " She sighed, trying to release the frustration she felt. "Oh, I don't know. I'm getting all worked up over something that I really can't do anything about. Today isn't the day for this fight, and it will never be simple just because I wish it to be."
"You may be right, but I do believe you will think of something." Wynne smiled, tenderly brushing a strand of hair out of Arais' eyes. "You always did manage to do the impossible during the Blight. This will be no different."
"You are painfully optimistic." Arais rested her head on the older woman's shoulder. "I think you're exactly what I needed today."
"I am glad to help any way I can."
Arais smiled, mostly to herself, happy to know that she still had her mentor to fall back on if things got difficult. Realizing how much time had passed, however, she sat up, aware that Connor was probably done with his orientation. "I should go back down to the apprentice quarters. I told Connor I would meet with him."
Wynne nodded. "I'd like to come with you, if you don't mind. I haven't seen Connor since before the march on Denerim, and I'd like to greet him personally."
"Of course."
Arais led the way out of the senior mage quarters, the door to which Wynne locked as they left. "Are you the only senior enchanter here now?"
"Oh, heavens, no. Marianni and Dorian were promoted to senior enchanter after the coup. Faylin and Joria were promoted, as well, but . . . they were lost at the battle of Denerim."
"Joria is . . . dead?"
Oh, Maker. Arais had no idea. In the aftermath of the battle, things had been so chaotic that Arais had never had a chance to make certain everyone was all right. But now, a memory of Joria's warm smile, her clear blue eyes, swam into Arais' mind, and she fought back fresh tears.
Wynne put a comforting hand on Arias' shoulder. "Yes. I'm sorry; I thought perhaps you knew." She squeezed gently, and then let her arm drop back to her side. "In any case, Jainen is sending replacements as soon as they are properly trained."
Arais pushed her grief aside. "Then why are you the only one staying in the senior mage's quarters?"
"Marianni and Dorian insisted on remaining in the mage dormitories." They descended the stairs leading into the library's atrium. "I think they wanted to remain close to their friends, for a time. I can hardly begrudge them that choice."
They passed Marianni, a stout elven woman with dark brown hair and sharp, green eyes. She was at work with a young apprentice, barely into his teens, who was having difficulty casting a base level entropy spell. She offered him words of encouragement, correcting his form and pronunciation as he made the mistakes.
As they left the library and rounded the corner into the large room where Jowan had made his infamous escape, Greagoir came out of the hall that led to the apprentice dormitories. His eyes landed on Arais, and the lines around his eyes tightened.
"Warden. The boy is settled in the dormitory with the other children. I believe he's waiting for you."
"She has a name, Greagoir," Wynne chastised. "You could use it, every once in a while. It won't kill you."
He made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and walked off, and Arais stifled a laugh. "Only you could get away with talking to the Knight Commander in that manner, Wynne."
"I have known Greagoir since he was an initiate. There was a time when he had a sense of humor."
"I find that hard to believe." Arais began to walk again, Wynne at her side. "I don't think I've seen Greagoir smile, much less laugh at a joke."
"What you just witnessed is as close to laughter as he gets, of late. I can hardly blame him; the coup took its toll on mage and templar alike. Laughter is hard to come by."
They passed in front of the apprentice dormitories, and the solemn faces of the children and teenagers within showed exactly what Wynne meant. There was none of the laughter and merriment that children usually found together. Instead, it had been replaced by silence and muffled whispering as they talked among themselves. There were fewer empty beds than in the mage dormitories, but the fact that there were any at all was enough to make Arais physically ill. Connor was remarkably lucky to have survived his ordeal, when children who were trained within the Circle had not been so fortunate.
Connor sat on one of the beds furthest from the door, isolated from the other children, though how conscious a decision that isolation had been, she couldn't know. When she passed through the door, the children who had been speaking went silent, their gazes focused on the two harrowed mages. One girl whispered to a boy not much older than she, and his eyes went wide. It was entirely possible many of these children were new to Kinloch Hold and had no idea who she was or what she had done, and that for some, her deeds were simply a story that had been spread among the mages.
She slowly approached Connor, who was staring blankly at the wall. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage, and he stroked it idly with his left. Had they not been gentle with him? She hardly expected the Knight Commander to listen to her when she had made her challenge, but she had hoped, perhaps foolishly so.
"Connor?" He looked up at her, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile, but he made no response otherwise. "You remember Wynne, don't you? She was with me in Redcliffe."
He nodded, but again, he said nothing. Wynne stepped up beside her, and smiled the matronly smile that always set Arais at ease. "Hello, Connor."
"Hi." His voice was soft, and he flinched when he brushed his hand over the bandage once more.
"Are you all right?" Arais prompted, and she frowned with concern.
"My hand hurts where they cut it," he replied as his hand stopped moving over the injury. "But I guess I'm okay."
"Here." Arais knelt in front of him and took the injured hand, unwrapping the bandage to get a look at the wound. It was just over an inch long, and deeper than it needed to be, and the edges were already red and swollen. They hadn't even put a salve on it to ease the pain. She hoped it was just an oversight on the templars' part, but she knew it was a naïve hope. The cut was too long, and too deep. They had intentionally harmed Connor.
She glanced up at Wynne, whose baffled expression mirrored her own. She pushed back her growing anger and laid her palm over the cut, and focused her magic. Blue tendrils of healing light reached from her hand and into the wound, ethereal sutures pulling it tight and closing it, slowly but surely. After a few moments, all that was left was a thin, white scar, hardly visible on his hand, so pale against her dark skin.
Arais looked up and smiled. "There. How does it feel?"
"A lot better." He hugged her. "Thank you, Arais."
She held Connor tight to her and looked to Wynne, frowning. Cullen had done this, she was sure of it. His ire at her warning probably spurred him on . . . but what could she do?
She held Connor at arms' length. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to talk to Wynne."
"Okay."
Wynne followed her into the hall, her eyebrow arched. "What is it?"
"I know who did this to him." She glanced down the hall, to ensure she would not be overheard. "Cullen was with Greagoir when he met us."
"Maker's breath." Wynne frowned deeply. "I knew Cullen would present a problem somehow. He would hardly interact with the mages before the coup, but recently a number of mages have gone to Irving with their concerns about his behavior."
"What has he done?"
"Apprentices have said that he has backed them into corners if they so much as look at him in a manner he deems unacceptable, and that he has been heavy handed on more than one occasion. I don't know how much truth lies in their stories, since they have said he has gone so far as to threaten them with tranquility, and that is difficult to believe, but their fear does seem quite genuine." She put a hand over her eyes. "I cannot believe Greagoir allowed him to perform the orientation ritual. He is obviously not in his right mind, even if the rumors of his transgressions might be exaggerated."
Outrage bubbled in the pit of Arais' stomach. "There must be something we can do. I promised Isolde that I would do everything in my power to protect Connor. It's going to be hard enough for him to adapt with the stigma of his possession following him; I will go to the Void before I allow Cullen to take out his prejudice on any child, especially Connor."
"Greagoir must have witnessed Cullen's behavior during the orientation. Perhaps I can speak to him, convince him that something must be done to keep Cullen away from the mages until he has recovered completely from the trauma of his incarceration."
"Do you think that would work?"
Wynne shrugged. "I don't know. But if I can convince Irving and the senior enchanters to speak on behalf of the apprentices, perhaps it will be possible."
"What about Connor?"
"I'll keep an eye on him, until we can sort out this mess." Wynne squeezed Arais's hand gently. "I promise, no further harm will come to him under my watch, if I can help it."
Emotions swelled up inside of Arais into a wave that crashed against her resolve, and again, her eyes swam with tears. She was worried for Connor, and for all the other mages who were forced to live there, forced to lives with armed men who hated them. Had she known the threat Cullen would be to the mages when she met him in the tower, she might have said something to Greagoir, and prevented Cullen from being allowed to serve in Kinloch Hold. But she hadn't, and now she was faced with the consequences.
She looked back into the dormitory, and saw that Connor still rubbed his hand where the cut had been, his cheeks stained with tears, and her heart broke for him. Before she could go to him, however, one of the children who had stayed with Petra during the coup tentatively approached him. She had long, dark hair tucked behind pointed ears, and skin the color of mahogany. She was young, though possibly older than Connor, and though Arais couldn't hear exactly what she said, the lyrical cadence of her voice suggested she was Antivan.
The girl sat on the bed beside him after a time, and something she said made Connor smile. It was a small, hesitant smile, but a genuine smile all the same, and for the first time since they had arrived, Arais felt like Connor might actually be all right. He was far from safe, and it killed her that she couldn't be sure that her promise to Isolde would be easily kept, but at least it looked as if Connor would have a friend. And with Wynne keeping watch over him, she knew that he had the best protection that could be afforded to him.
Perhaps, for now, that could be enough.