9:10 Dragon
"You're sure?" the man asked, anxiety lacing his voice, a small babe nestled securely in his stiff arms, swathed in an overwhelming amount of soft blue silk. A young boy stood at his feet, tossing small stones about to battle his boredom.
Concerned eyes looked back at him as the elf hesitated with his response. That alone was enough for his grip to tighten around the baby, a small whine of discomfort escaping her lips. "There is no doubt, Marlowe. Her ties to the fade are strong."
"Damnit!" he exclaimed, causing a startled cry to escape from where his daughter lay in his arms. "Is there anyway to remove it? Any way for her to live a normal life?"
The elf blanched, a glimmer of offense crossing his features, fingers tightening on the robes that marked him as a first enchanter. "Would you truly make your daughter tranquil? To live without the fade for her would be like asking an injured warrior to fight after he had lost his sword arm. No. I would not suggest removing it."
Red heat rose to Marlow's cheeks as he advanced on the enchanter, fierce frustration evident in his tone. "I will not have a mage in this family! Tensions are high enough as it is within Kirkwall. We're barely holding the city together as it is. A mage would just drag this family down further. The house of Dumar cannot fall any further than it already has!"
"If your family's stance within the nobility is really so important, then disown her and lay no claim to her. Send her to the circle! We would care for her as a family should there. And she wouldn't need to be made tranquil unless she does not pass the Harrowing."
"No child of mine will be common!" Marlow argued. "Everyone knows of her birth already. It would further darken our reputation if it became known that we sent our one and only daughter away. No, Orisino, I will not send her to the circle. And I will not have an apostate with my name."
Orisino glowered at him, "And I refuse to submit a newborn to the templars to be made tranquil."
"Then mark my words, elf," Marlow leaned towards the enchanter, a menacing expression upon his features, "I will make your life a living hell. I cannot believe you would disrespect me so as to know follow through with my request. If you will not do this, then I shall do it instead. As soon as day breaks tomorrow, I will go to see the Knight Captain. Surely she will be more…agreeable." And with those words, Marlow grasped his sons hands and stormed from the enchanters garden.
Tears streamed down her face as she hid in the shadows, listening in on her husbands request of the Enchanter Orisino. How dare he? She is not but a week old, and already he seeks to do whatever it takes to gain rank in the nobility, even if it is his daughter who suffers? If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have the power he has now! My dear daughter. Phyllida glowered at his retreating form as he rushed out of the garden, her maternal instincts warring with the love she had fer her husband. As she stepped away from the alcove, she glanced at the elf.
"What can we do? I do not want to see her made tranquil."
Orisino shook his head, "Nor I, dear lady. When your husband sleeps tonight, return with your daughter. In the meantime, I will look into what we can do to ensure her safety."
Phyllida nodded, and then bowed her head in respect to her former enchanter, as she had been a part of the circle prior to her marriage, and quickly left the garden, her mind focused on her daughter.
Later that night, as promised, the Lady Dumar returned, her daughter tucked safely in her arms. Upon arriving at the enchanter's estate, she had been directed to go the Enchanter's study. Memory led her footsteps through the estate, as not a thing had changed in the years that had passed. When she reached Orisino's study, she found it littered with open tomes, papers, herbs, and used lyrium bottles, with the enchanter sitting in the midst of the room, a pondering expression on his face. He glanced up as soon as he heard her enter.
"Have you found anything?" she asked of him as she glanced about worriedly, her fingers fidgeting at the fabric swathed around her child.
The elf grimaced as he responded, "Yes, but you will not like it."
"Well what is it?"
"We must send her through the fade."
Shock crossed Phyllida's face. "I will not have my daughter sent to the fade. How can you even suggest such a thing?!"
"Phyllida," the enchanter said, raising his hands before him in a placating gesture. "I said through, not to. We can send her through the fade to a safer place. There she can live a life without the worries of becoming tranquil, and she would be free from the grasp of the circle."
"Truly?" she asked, hope creeping into her voice. "You think she would be safe? And loved for?"
Orisino laid a calming hand on her shoulder, peering down at the young baby's face, as bright brown eyes stared up towards him. "I would not lie to you, dear friend. Though we should do this soon, before the sun rises, lest your husband suspect. Do you remember how to open a tear?" Phyllida nodded. "Good, I will need your help in doing this. I would suggest saying your goodbyes while you can."
And so Orisino began to clear the center of the room, as they would need it to perform the ritual, and Phyllida went to the corner of the room. She gently rocked her babe, humming a soothing tune, whispering sweet hopes and wishes for her beautiful daughter, and as she did so, she felt as if her heart was being ripped in two. And as it ripped, she knew, there would be no forgiving her husband.
Sooner than she'd have liked, Orisino hesitatingly approached her, "It's time." She nodded, tears trailing down her cheeks as she approached the center of the room, clutching her daughter to her breast for what she knew would be the last time. After a moment, she placed the child where the enchanter indicated, tucking a small slip of parchment in the folds of the blanket that swathed her child, and lovingly traced the face of her daughter, trying her best to memorize her face.
Beautiful brown eyes blinked owlishly up at her as she and Orisino began to chant and in a bright flash of green light, she disappeared.
She had been snuggled closely with her husband as they watched that evening's news on the telly, curled up to his side in hopes of leaching some of his warmth, when she heard the loud crack of what could only be compared to as thunder. But this couldn't have been just thunder, it shook the house, and startled both her and her husband alike, and it appeared to come from the front of their home. She looked up at her husband with an alarmed expression before they both sprung from the couch and raced towards the door.
"Do you see anything, dear?" she asked of her husband, as they both peeked through their windows to their front lawn.
"You would have that it was an explosion, but I don't see any fire. How peculiar."
Her husband made to open their front door, and once he had down so, he'd gasped. "Love, come here."
"What is it, Phillip?" She approached the door to find her husband crouching, and in his arms was a bundle of cloth.
"It's…" He began, "It's a baby."
She scoffed. "Are you saying that that great clang of thunder that shook our very house came from a baby?"
He shook his head as he glanced down in awe of the child in his arms, "No, Jean. But she was on the porch. And she doesn't seem startled in the least."
"What person would do such a thing?" Jean asked, peeking over her husband's arms at the baby he was gently rocking. "She can't be more than a month old."
A small fluttering caught her attention from the corner of her eye, a small peace of paper seemed to be trying to escape on the wind. Jean quickly snatched it from the babe's swaddling blanket, and brought it into the light. There was but one line of script on the scrap of paper, but it was in no language she could understand. And then, before her very eyes, the script shifted, and formed one line in English.
"Her name is Hermione. Love her well."