Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good
of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better
to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral
busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep,
his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who
torment us for our own good will torment us without end
for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.
~ C.S. Lewis
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Chapter One
The Good of All
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Kinloch Hold,
Dragon 9:26
The dormitory smelled of incense thrown into the fireplace to freshen the air, and sounded of children sleeping, coughing, and rustling in their bedclothes. Blue globes of iridescent light sat in the corners of the room, meant to alleviate any lingering fears of the dark and to protect the shins of those who might require the privy in the night. Now and then soft footsteps passed through the dormitory, an older, taller figure in a robe who would stop to soothe or scold in quiet tones, keeping all the younger ones in bed and shooing the nightmares away.
The chimes rang in the hall and the children slowly woke, rubbing at their eyes and blinking as heavy booted feet and lantern light entered their room. Men in gleaming armor with scarlet tabards routed them from their beds and sent them out into the hall to lean against the curving interior wall of the tower. Down the corridor, people could be heard arguing while, inside the dorm, chests were opened, wardrobes searched, and beds tossed. One of the senior enchanters stood near the children, shooing them to quiet now and then and clucking as a few of them folded down onto the floor, sleeping with their heads upon their knees.
Templars walked along the line, watching the children for any abnormalities, but most were yawning and half awake at best, tousled heads and blinking eyes at the metal clad men walking through the halls - Kinloch Hold had only a few female Templars and none were on duty that night. Eventually the Warden Commander came down the hall with the First Enchanter on his heels, the two men were frowning - Ser Greagoir with anger and Irving with worry. Neither paid much attention to the line of children, going instead to the Knight Captain who had searched the dormitory.
"Any sign of him?" The Knight Commander demanded.
"No, Ser. We found nothing of value," the Captain answered. "Wherever he's gone, I doubt he's in the Tower."
"Lara, get the children back to their beds," Irving said to the senior enchanter who had been keeping the apprentices in order. He sighed heavily, watching as they filed past - some very small and others grown lanky and loose limbed with puberty. One of the last, a small elven girl with a long braid of bright red-gold hair bumped into him mid-yawn, and stood for a moment, blinking up at him with vivid green eyes. He laid a gentle hand on her head and smiled, though his eyes were troubled. "To bed, Enara. Sleep well, child."
She padded past him in her stocking feet, a shawl pulled round narrow shoulders, her nightgown almost too long for her. One of the Templars was still in the dormitory, lifting children to upper bunks and helping Lara tuck small bodies into beds. The elf, one of two in the entire dormitory, climbed into her own bed and pulled the quilt to her chin, yawning widely and curling into a ball beneath the covers.
"Melori," a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. "Melori! It's time to get up, my dear."
"I'm tired," the elf mumbled, burying her face into her pillow, burnt autumn curls scattering in a tangle over her back where they had come loose from her braid.
"You must get out of bed," the sweet voice urged, fingers pushing her hair out of her face and a pair of warm brown eyes set in mocha shaded skin appeared next to her become visible when the elf opened her eyes. "I know you're tired, but there are classes today, and Sister Eugenie expects you all on time in the Chapel."
The tousled head that lifted from the pillows blinked slowly at the human mage, one eye half-closed yet, and both ears twitching in irritation. "Is there breakfast?" Melori wanted to know.
"Of course! There is always breakfast," Enchanter Orienne laughed, her bright eyes and quick smile flashing with humor as she folded back the covers and made sure the apprentice was up and about. "You have just enough time for a bath, so hurry on now."
Melori vaguely remembered Templars in the night, loud boots and tense voices having wakened her from a sound sleep, but she didn't ask. In her five years in the Tower, she'd learned better than to pester with questions, preferring instead to sit quietly where she could overhear the instructors gossiping, instead. Nodding her head, she drooped from her bed to the bath with several of the other children, using her magic to heat a fresh tub of water with one hand before undressing and climbing into it. She'd just got dressed in her breeches and knee-length tunic when a tow headed boy poked his head around the doorway.
"Melori! There are berries for breakfast!"
"What kind?" She asked, frowning at her hair in the mirror - a messy braid was all she'd been able to manage without help. Ten year-old fingers not up to the task of anything more elaborate.
"Raspberries and strawberries," the boy, David, enthused as he led the way between the bunk beds. Melori paused at her bunk and slipped her feet into her soft soled shoes and followed along behind him. They were dressed alike in short versions of the regular mage's tunics, though theirs were made of sturdier materials for running and playing when they were not in classes.
"Any cream?" She wanted to know as they followed the hall along. "Because they only ever give us berries if there's porridge."
"I don't know, Melori," David answered, rolling his eyes at her.
They made their way past the stationed Templars to the small dining hall just beyond. It was already half full of older apprentices and a few of the instructors - enchanters who were considered skilled enough to teach what they'd learned over their years in the tower. Orienne, a spirit healer and one of the main caretakers of the younger children, was already seated at their table with the very youngest of the apprentices, helping smaller hands to pour milk into their cups and cleaning off messy chins with a soft cloth.
"Ah, good," she said with David and Melori appeared. "Sit down, you two. You've got only a little time before Sister Eugenie rings her bell for the Chant."
They all knew the part of the Chant regarding magic, of course - it had been drilled into their heads from the first day they'd got to Kinloch Hold and almost every day since. But that was not the only part of the Chant they were expected to know. Sister Eugenie had made it her purpose in life to make certain that every apprentice in the Tower memorized Transfigurations from beginning to end, at least, which Melori didn't mind so much. It was the prettiest and most hopeful of the entire collection. The rest were ... well, not as comforting, but they were Eugenie's favorites.
As the good Sister droned on and on about how the Tevinter Magisters ruined the Golden City, Melori counted the cracks in the stone floor at her feet. The Mages did not have to attend lessons in the chapel every other day the way the children did, and she was looking forward to that. Most mages didn't go through their Harrowing until they were nearer to twenty, and, at ten, it seemed ages and ages away. Sighing, she kicked her feet and listened to Eugenie drone while poking David in the ribs now and then with her elbow. He gave her a sideways glance and glared, then grinned.
After chapel, they attended a lesson in elemental magic in one of the stone rooms on the first floor. Long scarred round the edges with the remnants of previous lessons. Today, they were summoning ice within a circle. Each student would step forward under the watchful eye of their instructor, focus very hard, and summon ice into the center until it formed a jagged spike up from the ground.
"Enara," Enchanter Willen said firmly when she was able to summon no more than a frost across the stone tiles. "I really think you aren't trying hard enough. Think about what it feels like to be cold, how the frost creeps across the ground in winter and climbs the glass in the top of the tower. Remember last year? When we could walk out on the lake?"
She did remember, so she closed her eyes and thought very hard about it, imagining the ice and frost and the cold ...
"Whoa! Ah! Stop! Stop!" Willen took hold of her shoulder and she opened her eyes, the magic ceasing abruptly. In front of her, inside the circle, was a jagged sheet of ice and cold that looked as though it had erupted from the stone floor in a wave.
"Well," said Willen as he summoned a gout of flame to clean up the mess she'd made. "That's not exactly what I wanted, but ... it'll do. I'll have Wynne talk to you about focus and control, I think. Well, when she's done with the current mess ... ah, nevermind that last. Now! I believe we're having soup for lunch. Everyone line up and follow me."
They played outside the tower, among the arches at its base along the shoreline of the crescent shaped island. There was little greenery there, but it was still nice to be outside with the wind in one's hair and the light rain on one's face. Melori and David chased each other around with sticks, pretending to be heroes from one of the tales they'd read. Wardens of old, riding griffons as they fought an Arch Demon and shouted heroically at one another as they slipped and slid across the muddy, rocky terrain. The Templars stood at the doors to the tower and on the docks below, watching them impassively. The children didn't notice, lost in their games.
"And then ...," Melori gasped, turning to hide behind one of the flying buttresses that arched up to the side of the tower. "The Arch Demon fled before the might of the Grey Wardens who flew up and up! Until there was a great battle in the sky!"
"Melori," David said, breaking off in the game. "Your hair is lighting up again. I think it's going to storm."
"Oh ...," She dropped the stick and looked at her hands, watching as lines of energy spidered across her skin and fled up her arms, snapping and cracking almost painfully. "You go first," she told him, remembering the last time this had happened. The lightning from the storm had targeted here as though she were the tower. He ran off and she followed more slowly behind, noticing that the Templars were eying her and shivering a little. She couldn't help it any more than she could make her hair lie straight or her freckles go away.
"Enara," said one of the door guards when she approached, reaching to push the door open for her. They'd seen what happened when she touched metal like this in the past. "Go inside and stand still."
"Yes, Ser," the elf said miserably. "I will."
It wasn't abnormal for the apprentices to have outbursts of magic - one of them had accidentally set fire to her bed a few months ago, but it was always humiliating and sometimes painful when the Templars decided to step in, rather than letting one of the instructors handle it. Fortunately, Orienne was waiting inside when she crossed the threshold, David red-faced and panting at her side. He'd run the whole way, she realized with gratitude.
"Ahh, the storm called your name, did it?" Orienne smiled, kneeling down in front of Melori, who was still only about as tall as some of the youngest human apprentices. Even Surana, who was two years older, had been a little taller at this age. The spirit healer reached out with gentle hands and a sweet smile, "Think about a calm day on the lake, Melori. Sunshine and warm breezes on your face ... yes, just like that. Very good."
"You won't be needing me then?" The Templar standing a few feet behind Orienne smiled, arms folded across his chest.
"Thank you, no, Ser Myrden," Orienne replied, taking Melori's hand in hers as she stood. "It's better for us all if we do it this way, so she can learn how to control it in the future."
"She's like a lightning rod," he said, still smiling, though the look he gave Melori was a considering one.
"The two of you are covered in mud," Orienne observed as they walked down the hall. She was eying their muddy clothing with a lifted brow. "To the baths, then. And make sure you put everything in the baskets or I'll be having words with the both of you."
"Will you help me braid my hair?" Melori asked, feeling less miserable with Orienne's hand tight around her own. The enchanter had been there since the day, five years before, that the elf had arrived at Kinloch Hold. Whenever nightmares came or the magic went wrong, whenever hair needed braiding or scraped knees needed mending, Orienne was there to soothe the hurt and the fear.
"I will, if you wash it well and get all the mud out," the mage answered, eying the long mess with a raised brow. "Use the soap I gave you last month. It will help smooth it out a bit more, all right?"
"All ri-"
"Enchanter Orienne," a deep voice said as they rounded a corner, three templars and Knight Commander Greagoir standing across the hall. "You will come with us."
The soft brown hand holding Melori's squeezed tight for a moment, trembling a little, and the girl looked up to see Orienne's face had gone very still, the flush draining out of her cheeks. "What is this about?" she asked, very calmly.
"You know very well what's going on, Orienne," Greagoir answered. "Please do not make us force the issue."
The hand let go of Melori's and the mage looked down at the two children. "Go along then, both of you. Ask ... ask Wynne to braid your hair tonight, Enara. I ... I will likely be late."
David grabbed Melori's hand and they stepped back as the Templars surrounded Orienne. They watched as the group moved down the hall, and Melori said, very quietly, "They're angry with her."
"Is she in trouble?" David wondered. They shared a look, the same tightness twisting both their bellies. One did not spend five years in the Circle Tower without becoming acquainted with that particular sick feeling when something went wrong. They'd developed something of a nose for it. "Come one," he said, pulling Melori down the hall. "We need a bath, like she said."
"But ..." Melori stared after the departing figures. "Orienne."
He didn't say anything, just tugged her down the hall and, after a moment, she followed without protest.
As tired as she was, Melori did not sleep that night. Lying awake in her bunk, she stared at the slats above her, and thought about how Orienne had not come to tuck them in that night. There'd been no lullaby, no kiss on the forehead, no gentle hand on the brow. How could she sleep without them? Wynne had done her best, braiding Melori's hair into a tight, practical braid and giving her a swift, impersonal hug, but it hadn't been the same. Eventually she did drift to sleep, restless and dreaming of storms and disasters.
"Why?" A voice wailed in the middle of the night as it passed the dormitory doorway. "Why would you do that to her, of all people? She did nothing wrong! You fools!" It was followed by the sound of weeping followed, mixed with curses .
Melori left her bed and slipped across the floor, glancing through the blue-lit shadows into the hall. There were five or six templars dragging a blonde-haired man between them. He was bent and shuddering with weeping, his hands manacled behind him. Melori swallowed as they passed, recognizing the mage they dragged along - Anders, one of the spirit healers who had healed the leg she'd broken while playing outside. As gentle as Orienne, but with a sadness in his eyes that always made it feel like one should give him a hug.
"Melori? What are you doing?" Lara, the mage who kept the night watch, asked and Melori jumped, putting her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. They stared at one another for a long moment, and the human shook her head, reaching out to tousle the elf's red curls. "I see. Come along with you, then. Back to bed."