Melwiliel Surana's eyes snapped open as someone shook her by the arm. "Come, Child. It is time," hissed a low voice. The young apprentice crawled out of her bunk and swiftly slipped on her robes. In the darkness that permeated the apprentices' quarters, she could barely make out the silhouette of the templar waiting for her by the entrance of the dormitory. With a sigh and a shiver, she donned a pair of leather shoes and followed him.
The Tower's corridors looked much the same as they did during the day, and yet the young elven girl found herself intimidated by the shadows shrouding the familiar statues. The knowledge of what she was about to experience chilled her to the bone, and Melwiliel hugged herself as she hurried along, trying to match the templar's stride. It was always cold in the Tower, but it felt colder still now that she knew that she was to face her Harrowing.
All of her life at the Circle of Magi, the young girl had absorbed as much knowledge as possible, devouring tome after dusty tome, spending long evenings in the Tower's library. So perhaps it was the not knowing that she now feared. Not knowing what would happen. Amongst the apprentices, there were always whispers of the Harrowing entailed, but those were always rumors, nothing more. Some said one would have to fend off waves of summoned creatures, others said one would have to withstand the combined might of several instructors, while others still claimed that the apprentice would be compelled to enter the Fade and face a demon. Each theory seemed more fanciful than the next to Melwiliel who truly did not know what to think or expect. Apprentices were not allowed to read accounts of Harrowings past, and that was that. She would just have to deal with it, one step at a time.
Shaking the stray thoughts away, the young apprentice pushed her shoulder-length hair behind her slender, pointed ears and paid attention to her surroundings. They had long left behind the apprentices' quarters, as well as the senior mages' quarters, and were now entering the templars' quarters after having passed through the Great Hall. She had never set foot on this level of the Tower, and peered with interest around each corner as she passed. A few more torches lighted this corridor, but as it turned out, there was very little to see. When the doors weren't closed, all she could see was more bunks. Reining in her curiosity, the young girl sighed and followed her escort up the steps that led to the Harrowing Chamber.
The First Enchanter Irving was standing behind the Knight-Commander Greagoir, and there were two more templars beyond them. One of them wore his helm, just as her escort did, but the other she recognized as Cullen, a young templar who often stood guard in the halls of the apprentices' quarters. Melwiliel had a profound dislike of all templars (they were *always* watching), but this one never seemed... quite as stern.
As she neared the center of the Chamber, the Knight-Commander's voice echoed off the walls: "'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' Thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for the demons of the Fade, the dream world, are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." She had expected this preachy tone from the templar, but said nothing. The young elf had always viewed magic as a tool, not a curse: a knife could cut your bread for you, but you could also cut yourself.
The First Enchanter laid a hand on her shoulder and guided her towards a fount with a silver bowl: its contents shimmered slightly. "This is why the Harrowing exists. The ritual sends you into the Fade, where you will face a demon, armed only with your will. Remember, child, the Fade may be the realm of dreams, but your will is real, nonetheless." The elderly mage smiled kindly, and the elf felt a wave of calm wash over her. Irving radiated kindness and confidence in her abilities, and it was a comfort of sorts.
"The apprentice must face this alone," snapped the Knight-Commander.
"Yes, yes, Greagoir," said the First Enchanter, before turning to the apprentice once more. "This is a trial by fire, one that we have all passed, one that I'm confident you will pass."
"Enough. Let us get on with it, Irving."
The First Enchanter only smiled and nodded, as Melwiliel took a step and placed her hand in the basin containing pure, unrefined lyrium.