The Harrowing.
Stepping into the large, circular room was like stepping into somewhere completely separate from the rest of the tower—like stepping into a place far away and distant, high in the clouds.
The tower had never been lively or cheery, but it had a sense of life to it; it breathed, and in it, Wynona could feel the presence of all the other young mages, so close she always had the sense she could reach out and brush her fingers against one of their robes. Here, she didn't have that feeling—for one, the room was unbelievably cold. Wynona rubbed her hands carefully against her hips, trying to stir up some heat in them. It was airy, she thought, except there were hardly any windows except tall ones, high up above her head, so tall she could barely see them. She craned her neck back to catch a glimpse and felt Irving's hand press into her shoulder, urging her forward. Greagoir, the head Templar of the tower, stepped forward out of the mass of grim faced Templars, who all looked at Wynona as though she were already dead. Wynona lowered her gaze at them, snapping back to attention only when she felt Irving's nails dig a bit too deep into her shoulder.
An annoyed look was on Greagoir's face. "Surana," he snapped, his voice ringing like a drum in the small space. Wynona squinted, her fingers twitching to reach up and hold her ears. "Repeat what I have said."
"I…" Another squeeze of the shoulder; Wynona bit her tongue, lowering her head ever so slightly. Irving's hold on her shoulder loosened, then released.
A smug look crossed Greagoir's face, as he crossed his arms and turned his body away, as though to face the other Templars. "Magic exists to serve men, and never to rule over them." Greagoir repeated the old phrase as Templars often did—with a loud, booming voice and a tone of obvious pride. Wynona bit her tongue as he went on. "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…" By now, Wynona was no longer listening; all she could do was study and stare at the small pedestal the Templars surrounded, which glowed and shined and brilliant blue. Wynona's fingers twitched, and she gripped the sides of her robes; excitement bubbled in her chest, and it was all she could do to remain still. Her expression remained the same, even as Greagoir ended his speech and turned back to Wynona, as if remembering she was the one he was to be addressing. His expression was unreadable as it ever was. Irving stepped forward, as if on cue.
"This is why the Harrowing exists," Irving said, looking deeply into Wynona's eyes, holding her full attention. "The ritual sends you into the fade, and there you will face a demon, armed only with your will."
Wynona nodded once. "I understand," she said, making her voice as loud as the other Templar's had been. Greagoir scowled as her voice echoed across the tower. Irving only showed a small smile. Wynona made a move toward the pedestal, which Greagoir stopped with a quick snatch at her sleeve.
"Know this apprentice," he said, his eyes boring deep into hers. "If you fail, we Templars will perform our duty. You will die."
"I understand," Wynona said, a slight edge rising in her tone. The two stood staring at each other, a heavy silence present in the tower. Greagoir released her arm, stepping back amongst the Templars. He made a guester at the pedestal, a tired, angry look still on his face.
"This is lyrium; the very essence of magic. And your gateway into the fade. Tread carefully, mage." Wynona made another move towards the pedestal; again she was stopped, though this time the hand was gentler. Irving turned her to face him, pulling her aside slightly, towards the stairs. His eyes were caring, yet firm as he looked at her.
"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child," he all but whispered, "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you, and know that the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real."
"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Greagoir snapped, taking a step forward and brushing his fingers lightly over the blade at his side. Wynona tensed, keeping her small body squared in front of the First Enchanter. Irving's eyes narrowed, and he released Wynona's shoulders, arms dropping back to his side. He stepped back.
"Some good advice will do her no harm, Greagoir," Irving said calmly. He looked back at Wynona, who was staring up at him intently for her next move. A small nod; stiffly, Wynona turned away from the First Enchanter, ignoring Greagoir's waving hand as she went for the pedestal.
It was an impulse she moved so fast; one section she was by the First Enchanter, another she had her hand plunged deep into the blue liquid, pulling it out as it shimmer and shined, shining so bright that it all but blinded Wynona, until she could see nothing at all.
