This is the Morgana of Control and News, by the way, just at a slightly different point in her life.

This was started in May, and has undergone some revision and improvement since then.

These little "a memory" interludes are to expand on a character's origin story.

The game never explains how you met Jowan, so I thought I'd try and fill in a few gaps. I don't know if it's the same worldwide, but giving an orange seems to be an old Christmas tradition.

Dragon Age, its world and its characters are all copyright BioWare and the game's writers (as you'd expect, I suppose).

A Memory

Jowan

The Eve of Satinalia, some years ago

He'd seen the little girl as the Templars had carried her in. Kicking, screaming, sobbing, yelling for her parents. Trying to wriggle out of their grasp, small sparks flying from her fingers, face red and tear-stained. Even as a little boy, it was easy to see that a small girl against several fully-grown men in heavy plate armour didn't stand a chance of... doing whatever she was trying to do. Escape?

He was half-asleep when she was carried into the dormitory and placed gently on the bed next to his. The templar crept out (a difficult thing to do in heavy plate), leaving the door slightly ajar for the corridor's candlelight to slip into the room - for Ser Bran knew that some of the very young apprentices, including Jowan, were scared of the dark - and the room was once again shrouded in half-darkness. He rolled onto his side, pretending to be asleep, to sneak a look at the new arrival.

She was facing away from him, but he saw light brown hair, clashing with the blue of her new apprentice's robes, which, even though they were a children's set - she was lucky; he'd had to wear men's robes for his first few weeks in the Tower and had looked even more ridiculous - quite obviously didn't fit her. There were odd snuffling and hiccuping sounds coming from her. Was she still crying? To his very-nearly-six-year-old mind, this made no sense. The templars had let her go, hadn't they?

He was too scared to approach her, but her crying kept him awake all night, and made him feel... sad?

This was his childish mind's first taste of pity.

Satinalia

Every child in the Tower looked forward to Satinalia, even though all they received was one orange each from a scowling templar. A simple gift was better than nothing, after all. He was sure the templars hated giving them - he'd heard them grumbling about "Irving and his bloody oranges. Giving the little monsters gifts. Making them feel special..."

Jowan woke in the morning to find the girl sitting on her bed, rubbing her (still slightly red-rimmed) eyes. She looked up when she saw him stir and get out of bed. Frowning, she watched him reach to the bottom of his bed and pluck an orange out of the sock hanging off his bedpost. She did the same, only to find nothing there. Her face fell just a little more, and his heart sank. It didn't occur to him that she was new to the Tower, and might not have been given one because many templars didn't know she was there yet - he was five, and his reasoning was simple: every child got a gift at Satinalia. That was just how the world was. No gift was just... wrong.

He reached out and offered her his orange. She took it gingerly, offering him a tentative half-smile. He'd never seen her smile before; she had a nice one.

"I... I'm Jowan," he said, offering his name as shyly as he had the orange.

"'M Morgana," she said - since she had half an orange in her mouth, speaking clearly was impossible. She swallowed it. "How old are you?"

"Very nearly six," he said, proudly.

"Very nearly five," she replied equally proudly, and they shared another smile - a proper one, this time.

"Mother always used to give me Satinalia gifts," she said, sadly. "She was so sad when the men came and took me. She cried, too."

He thought she was lucky - her parents had loved her. When they'd found out what he could do, his had treated him like a monster. They'd called the templars immediately, keen for him to be shipped off to the Circle as soon as possible. Of course, he only grew to resent them for it when he was old enough to comprehend what they'd done - for the moment, he was just sad, and sometimes cried when he thought of his family.

She looked up, and her face brightened. "You're... quite nice," she said, in wonderment. "Will you... be my friend?"

He nodded, and went and sat on her bed.

For that half-hour in the early morning, before breakfast and lessons, they weren't two mages - they were a shaggy-haired, awkward little boy and a smiling little girl, sat sharing an orange on Satinalia morning.