Aftermath.

"Hello? Can you hear me? Please Wynona, open your eyes…"

Wynona opened her eyes weakly at the familiar voice, shutting them almost instantly again, her eyes unprepared for the bright lights and number of shapes and shadows. "Jowan…?" she mumbled, lifting a hand weakly to rub the stars from her eyes.

A hand clamped around hers, stretching it out and resting it against something solid. A heavy sigh; a number of quiet murmurs.

"Thank the Maker, Wynona—I worried you'd never wake up!" Wynona opened her eyes a crack, focusing her gaze on Jowan's shape, who sat sheepishly at the edge of her bed, clinging to Wynona's hand like a small child would with his mother. Beyond Jowan, a number of apprentices stood at Jowan's shoulders, leaning forward as if ready to cling to Wynona's every word. She sat up groggily, feeling her body ache and grown in protest as she did. She shook Jowan off as he tried to help steady her.

She was in the infirmary now; she could hear the bustling of nurses and healers, a group of them circled around her neighbor, who, despite the spell being placed on his burnt flesh, seemed more interested in Wynona's presence—or more likely the crowd she'd gathered.

Wynona lowered her gaze, brushing hair out of her face and mouth; she began to draw her hand away from Jowan's, but his hold only tightened, practically hugging her small hand to his chest. He leaned forward and, like the mother hen he was, brushed some loose strands of hair away from Wynona's face.

"How was it? Are you alright, do you need anything? How was it?"

"Jowan," Wynona muttered, his voice making her head throbbed. Jowan sat back, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just—we're curious, you know? Everyone is saying your Harrowing was the smoothest, quickest Harrowing they'd ever seen—ever!" Jowan's voice caught at the strained look on Wynona's face. "Right, sorry." He lowered his voice.

A small smile crept its way onto Wynona's face, her eyebrows rising ever so slightly. "The quickest, eh?" Ha. For Wynona, it'd felt as if she'd been there for hours.

Jowan nodded feverishly, and then stopped. Glancing around at the small crowd they'd gathered, he released Wynona's hand, much to the elf's relief.

"Alright," he addressed them, voice a bit sharper, as to capture their attention, "you've seen her and now she's awake. Move on with you all, you're not even supposed to be in here."

As if summoned, the spirit healers began ushering the young apprentices out, who muttered and groaned and cast curious glances in Wynona's direction; Wynona simply ignored them. Jowan cleared his throat, catching another hold on Wynona's hand.

"Now that that's out of the way—" he said, and leaned forward, eyes shining. "How was it?" He whispered it as if he were sharing a secret.

Wynona leaned back against the head board, smirking in a devilish sort of way. "You mean the Harrowing?"

"What else would I mean?" Jowan asked impatiently. "So?"

"It was… harrowing."

"Oh, ha ha, you're so very clever. I'm being serious here."

"Jowan—"

"I know you're not supposed to tell me, but c'mon Wynona, we're friends," he pleaded, "Just—any kind of hint."

Wynona sighed, rubbing her forehead with her one free hand. "It was—I don't know, exhausting? I had to fight a demon."

"A demon?" Jowan sat back, eyes wide. "And that's it?"

"'And that's it'…" Wynona grumbled sarcastically to herself, then to Jowan, "Look, you'll just have to see for yourself when your time comes."

"Right. Whenever that happens." Jowan released Wynona's hand, standing up and beginning to pace the infirmary space. "I've been here longer then even you have."

"Maybe they just think you're not ready yet."

"Oh yes, because that's also very reassuring," Jowan said sarcastically, then sighed. "I don't know, Wynona—it feels, sometimes—I think they just don't want to test me."

"You worry too much," Wynona said, her eyes moving with Jowan as he paced. "Everyone goes through the Harrowing."

Jowan stopped, a serious expression crossing his face. "The Tranquil don't," he said, "like Owain—you either do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility, or you die."

"They aren't going to kill you, Jowan."

Jowan scoffed, sitting again at the edge of Wynona's bed. "Yes, well they might as well, if they plan to make me Tranquil." A pause; Jowan turned to face Wynona, his eyebrows knit together in worry. "You've seen them around the Tower, haven't you, Wynona?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "They're so cold—you can barely call them human anymore. If they were to make me like that…"

"Oi." Jowan stopped, as though snapped out of a trance. Wynona stared at him, frowning. "Don't talk like that. Not today."

Jowan swallowed and nodded, pursing his lips. He pushed himself off Wynona's bed.

"I- I shouldn't be stressing you about this. It is a day of celebration, after all," he said, his tone sheepish once more. "The First Enchanter wanted to see you when you awoke—if you awoke. Which you did. "

"Where is he?" Wynona asked, slipping herself carefully off the edge of the bed.

"In his study, with Greagoir no doubt. Don't keep them waiting, alright?"

"I never do."

An amused smile lit Jowan's lips briefly, and then vanished, replaced by a sad, almost somber look. Lately, that was the only way he looked at Wynona. Wynona looked away, maneuvering around him carefully and exiting the infirmary.


Cullen.

Cullen straightened, adjusting his position as Wynona came down the hall his way. She stopped by him, offering a weak wave as greeting.

"Cullen."

"Miss Surana," Cullen said politely, his face slightly flushed—from the heavy armor, Wynona had no doubt. She lowered her hand back to her side.

"I—" a pause. Cullen made a motion towards the door he stood beside, where muffled talking could be heard. "The First Enchanter requested your presence earlier. Best not to keep him waiting, yes?"

Wynona sighed. "Why does everyone think I'm always keeping people waiting?"

A look of alarm crossed Cullen's face, his neck and ears growing even redder.

"I-I meant nothing by it," he said hurriedly, "nothing ill, that is—w-what I meant to say—"

"Cullen." Cullen clamped his jaw shut, looking miserable. A small smile twitched its way onto Wynona's face. "I was kidding." Cullen blinked, looking dumbfounded.

"I… see. O-oh. Forgive me, Miss Surana." Wynona chuckled, her smile almost impish. Cullen's face flushed even more.


Duncan of the Grey Wardens.

When Wynona opened the door to Irving's study, she was immediately hit by Greagoir's loud, booming voice, which bounced and echoed off the First Enchanter's stone walls and into the halls.

"—already given enough to this blasted war effort," she heard Greagoir say as she shut the door, "Already we've sent our best—Wynne, Uldred. How many more do they expect us to give?"

"I'm surprised to see you align yourself with our fellow mages, Greagoir," The First Enchanter said, edge building in his voice, then softening as his eyes fell on Wynona. "But let us discuss this another time." Greagoir scowled, but was silent as Irving beckoned Wynona forward.

Between the First Enchanter and Knight Commander stood a man Wynona had never seen before. He was tall and well built, with brown skin and dark eyes which studied Wynona with mild interest—yet those weren't the things Wynona noticed first.

The first was his armor, a mixture of blues and silvers and grey metal; on his chest engraved was a lion—or perhaps an eagle? Either way, it was large and powerful, wings spread out wide and head thrown back, and studying it, Wynona almost didn't notice the First Enchanter clear his throat a second time. Wynona blinked, and came forward. A small smile lit the stranger's lips.

"Ah and here is our newest sister of the Circle," Irving said, his tone rather fond. "Awake at last, I see." Wynona straightened her shoulders proudly, though she nodded politely.

"You called for me, First Enchanter?"

"Ah yes, child. There was someone I wanted you to meet," Irving said. The First Enchanter cast a glance toward the stranger, who straightened and bowed his head respectively. Irving made a small gesture with his hand. "This is Duncan of the Grey Wardens, a dear friend of the Circle."

Wynona's ears perked in interest. "A Grey Warden? Here?"

"Grey Wardens go wherever they are called to," the stranger- Duncan- said, "And at the moment, we've been called to aid the king at Ostagar. My time here will be brief."

Irving smiled, looking proud as he spoke. "Duncan and his forces shall be assisting the king in the coming fight."

"Who are we fighting?" Wynona asked.

"The darkspawn grow ever closer," Duncan said, his expression grave, "I fear this battle is only the first of many to come."

"Now, now, Duncan," Irving chided, "This is a happy day for the girl! We shouldn't scare her with talks of darkspawn and war…"

"I don't mind," Wynona said, momentarily forgetting her manners. A flicker of irritation crossed Irving's eyes; he turned almost completely away from Duncan to look at Wynona.

"Regardless," he said, "That isn't the only reason I brought you here. I also wanted you to know your phylactery has been taken to Denerim. You are now an official mage of the Circle. Congratulations, my child."

Excitement bubbled in Wynona's chest, and she smiled widely, bowing her head in thanks. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

Duncan turned to Irving. "I'm sorry—what is this phylactery?"

"When new mages come to us, a small portion of their blood is taken and stored in small flasks, in the ill chance…" Irving trailed off; Duncan's eyebrows furrowed.

"So they can be hunted down like wild animals if they turn apostate?"

"Yes, well… the circle must take its precautions," Irving said, seeming uncomfortable with the discussion. He turned again to Wynona. "Your robes, staff, and ring of study have been placed in your new quarters; you may fetch them once you are done here. Besides that, the day is free to you—you may rest, or read in the library."

Wynona's ears perked. "May I leave the tower?"

The First Enchanter's eyes twinkled. "In due time."

"And what about the matter at hand, Irving?" Greagoir suddenly snapped, glaring at the First Enchanter, "We are not done discussing what I originally brought up."

The First Enchanter sighed, as if tired. "Yes, yes," Irving said, then paused. He looked back at Wynona. "Child, would you mind seeing Duncan to the guest quarters?"

"Can Ser Duncan not find his quarters on his own?"

The First Enchanter crossed his arms. "Being difficult now, are we? You are a mage of the Circle—I expected you to act like it."

"Then I'd be happy to see Duncan to his quarters."


Grey Wardens.

"Thank you for assisting me," Duncan said, moving past Wynona to inspect his new quarters for the night. He glanced back at her slightly, noticing she continued to stand in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Wynona said, suddenly feeling shy, "I just… what is the symbol on your armor? The eagle… lion… creature."

Duncan turned to face her, a twinkle of amusement now present in his gaze. He tapped his finger lightly against the image. "It's a griffon," he said, "in times before, Grey Wardens were said to ride them as men now ride horses. Sadly though, they're all extinct now."

"Oh."

Another pause; Wynona rung her hands nervously. "May I ask you something else?"

"Certainly."

"What… exactly are the Grey Wardens? I've read very little about them—they're a league of heroes, aren't they?" Duncan almost smiled.

"In a way," he said, "Grey Wardens are a class of warriors, called on to fight the darkspawn menace. We are elves, humans, dwarves—"

"Elves?"

Duncan paused; he smiled. "Yes, elves. Many of our greatest warriors have been elves; in fact, Garahel, the last Grey Warden to end a Blight, was an elf. The Grey Wardens do not distinguish between the races; we value our men by the quality of their spirit over anything else." A somber look crossed Duncan's face. "Has being an elf in the Circle caused you much difficulty?"

Wynona wouldn't look at him; she shrugged half-heartedly. "Hardly," she mumbled, even as the world 'knife-ear', a word thrown at her by young Templars, rang in her ears. Duncan seemed to read her expression.

"It is hard to change the mindset of the many. When you always grow up believing others are inferior, it is hard to change that view."

"I'm a mage now," Wynona mumbled, digging her nails into her palms. "People should fear me."

Duncan nodded. "A true statement, although I'd be careful to who you express that to." Wynona lowered her gaze.

"I'd love to discuss this more, but I really should get to my other duties," she said.

Duncan nodded. "Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you." He turned back to inspecting his quarters. Wynona stood there a few more seconds, her head still buzzing with questions she wanted to ask. Instead she exited the guest quarters, shutting the door softly behind her.


A New Mage.

It was a weird feeling knowing she was a mage; even weirder wearing the robes that marked her as one.

Wynona adjusted the clasps around her waist, twisting and turning in front of the long mirror, the golden color shining and bouncing off the surface of the mirror. The fabric was fine and beautiful; it felt so light between her fingers. She felt she could twist and turn in front of that mirror all day long—but she was a mage now. And mages didn't twist and turn in front of mirrors all day, trying to make the flecks of gold shine.

Carefully, as if afraid to break it, she slipped her ring of study onto her finger—a size too big, as her fingers were small and thin. She closed her palm, so that it wouldn't fly off.

A quiet knock came from the door, and turning her head, she was met with Jowan, standing nervously in the doorway, ringing his hands. She smirked and twisted around to look at him, making sure to swish her skirt so he could see the golden color move.

"What do you think? Pretty, isn't it?" she asked, and did another twist. Jowan barely looked at her.

"Hm? Yes, yes, lovely…" he murmured, and then raised his head. He beckoned her come closer. "I need to talk with you. Do you remember what we discussed this morning?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"Why are you whispering?" Wynona whispered back jokingly, a smile playing on her face, "It looks very suspicious."

"Shh!" he hissed, expression alarmed. He paused, crossing his arms protectively. He looked wary. "I just—want to make sure we're not overheard. We should go somewhere else. I don't feel safe talking here."

The smile vanished from Wynona's face; her eyebrows knit together, and she frowned. "You're starting to scare me, Jowan," she said, no longer whispering. "What's going on?"

"I've… been troubled. I'll explain, please, come with me. I need your help. I'm in danger."