Chapter 2

"Congratulations, Orelia."

Orelia staggered back from the dais of Lyrium, head spinning. Flashes of Mouse's melting face obscured her vision of the Circle tower. Her knees buckled and she felt rather than saw the floor rushing up to meet her. A pair of metal covered arms snuck under her shoulders and held her upright.

"You have passed your Harrowing."

That was Irving's voice, dancing to her through dust motes and the mutters of sleepy Templars. Orelia struggled to clear her vision, blinking rapidly over glassy green eyes.

"I," Orelia shook her head and focussed on the First Enchanter's heavy beard. "I did it. I killed Mouse."

"What's she blathering about?" demanded Greagoir.

Irving shook his head, watching as the young mage's eyelids fluttered shut. Greagoir shook his head, muttering something about "fainters" under his breath, and began calling out instructions to the gossiping Templars.

"That was one quick Harrowing." Muttered the Templar holding up Orelia's torso.

Irving looked the man over. He was a boy, really. A hesitant peach fuzz was only just beginning to sprout across his jawline.

"Indeed. She will be a remarkable mage." Irving gazed at the young face fondly. He cleared his throat with a blush when he noticed the Templar watching. "What's your name, son?"

"Cullen, sir."

"Cullen. Could you take Orelia back to the dormitories? She needs to sleep."

"Of course, sir."

Irving watched as the Templar hoisted the young girl into his arms and headed back down the stairs to the Circle's inner sanctums. The girl had done extraordinarily well. Better than Irving at his own Harrowing.

Greagoir paused in his instructions to glance at Irving, staring into space after the new mage. The Templar frowned.

Orelia sat up in bed, woken by the pounding of her heart. Mouse! She leapt sideways, the touch of hot breath on her face and a dripping yellow tongue…

"Woah! Hey! Slow down there, Amell."

Orelia skidded on her knees across the stone floor and banged into the wooden bed posts of the bunk across from hers. She whirled around to see Jowan leaning across her bed wearing a sheepish expression.

"Didn't mean to startle you. Usually you're such a heavy sleeper we have to magically amplify the tower bell to wake you." Jowan chuckled and sat on Orelia's rumpled sheets, waiting for the new mage to finish waking up.

Jowan's hair was still long and dark, tickling the jawline of his face. His nose still lifted up like someone was tugging its string and his hands were still dry and cracked from the cool autumn winds blowing through the tower. Jowan still looked like Jowan. The dorms still looked like the dorms. Orelia had thought things would look different after she became a mage.

"Jowan." She said with a sigh, clambering back onto the bed beside him.

"That's me." Jowan shoved her shoulder playfully, sending her sprawling back on the bed. "Congratulations! A full blown mage in the family. Well, the Circle family anyway." Jowan leaned forward eagerly, his chewed nails catching threads in Orelia's bed sheets. "So what was it like?"

"What was what like?" Orelia skirted the question.

Jowan rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed, black hair spilling out across the white sheets like spilt ink.

"You know perfectly well what I mean. The Harrowing!" He sat back up, eyes burning in his gaunt face. "What did you have to do? Did they test your magic? Was it dangerous?"

Orelia shrugged uncomfortably. "You know I'm not supposed to tell you, Jowan."

He huffed and stood up, walking away from the young mage. "And I thought we were friends."

"We are friends! Oh, come on, Jowan." Orelia scooted to the edge of her bed and jerked a finger beneath the elastic rim of her slippers, covering her soft soles from the cold stone floor. "Don't be a jerk."

Orelia grinned at her old friend, waiting for his face to lighten up in response. It didn't. Slowly, Orelia took in the boy's figure. Shadows bruised the soft skin beneath his dark eyes and a layer of grease sat sticky in Jowan's unwashed hair. His robes were crumpled and it looked to be the same pair he had worn yesterday.

"What's going on, Jowan? You look terrible."

Jowan's jaw worked furiously, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Orelia reached out a hand and pressed it against his arm, feeling the wiry muscles beneath his thin robe tremble. Jowan sighed and returned to her bed, face ducking between his raw hands.

"I'm scared, Orry."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared they're going to make me Tranquil." Jowan's eyes focussed unseeingly on the purple and gold throw rug Orelia had woven a few years ago, spread out on the floor by her bed.

"Why in the Maker's name would they make you Tranquil?" Orelia ran a small hand through her knotted hair, grimaced, and grabbed a brush.

"Because," Jowan shuddered and watched his old friend part the red waves of her hair. "I should have had my Harrowing by now! I've been here at least three years longer than you and I've mastered all the apprentice level controls."

"I don't know, your fireballs could still use some work." Orelia teased, biting a copper pin between her teeth. "Wasn't it only last Wednesday you burnt down the Circle's stock of fungal remedies?"

"That was an accident." Jowan frowned. "I'm serious, Orelia."

Orelia gave pause, it was often Jowan called her by her full name, and examined the apprentice again. Jowan often thrilled himself on tower conspiracies, but this would be the first time he had lost sleep over them.

"Don't worry about it, Jowan. I'm a mage now. Maybe I can talk to the First Enchanter about it. I'm certain your Harrowing is just around the corner."

"Oh!" Jowan jumped up, smacking a hand to his forehead. "I forgot! Irving wants to see you."

"What, now?" Orelia asked. Her hand slipped and scraped the pin across her scalp.

"As soon as you woke up you were supposed to go." He grinned sheepishly.

"Jowan!"

Orelia yanked the final tie through the base of her French braid and dashed out of the common room. Jowan sank back to her bed, forehead creased with worry.

Orelia wheeled through apprentices and masters practicing spells in the library. She took the stairs two at a time, heading for the First Enchanter's quarters. Orelia slowed when she entered the hall reserved for Masters and guests. A few apprentices gossiped as they sorted shells in the laboratory.

"I heard that Templar, Cullen, say it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he had ever seen. She was in and out in a matter of seconds! I didn't know you could even get into the Fade that fast."

"Well he would say that, wouldn't he."

Orelia paused behind the wall, a strand of red hair wiggling its way out of her braid to curl about her ear.

"What do you mean?" The woman's voice was echoed by the light chink of seashell against wood.

"Well, rumour is that Templar has a thing for the little green-gilled mage." The other woman said with relish.

"Tessa! Romance between mages and Templars is forbidden! And Cullen is heading for top of the order. No way would he damage his reputation by dabbling with a mage." The clinking became louder, as if the woman was trying to drown out the chance for further discussion.

"Well, that's the rumour anyway. Not much goes on this Circle without me finding out about it, you know."

"Yes, and not much comes out of your mouth without you making it up first."

Orelia walked past the laboratory, noting the click of teeth as both women clamped up. She rounded the curving hallway and knocked twice on Irving's door.

"Come in." Irving's gravelly voice barely made it through the heavy wood.

Orelia entered. Inside she was greeted with the spacious grandeur of the First Enchanter's quarters. Bookshelves covered every inch of the smooth, stone walls, jammed with tomes on spells from all over Thedas. Elegant rugs softened the floor in varying shades of blue and purple and hangings covered the scant spaces of wall left above the bookshelves. In the centre of the room stood a hand carved oak desk, piled high with books and scrolls. Irving stood behind it, an irritated Greagoir looking over his shoulder at Orelia. In the far corner of the room, leaning against a poofed armchair, was a dark stranger.

"Welcome, Orelia." Irving sat down at his desk, ignoring the sour looks Greagoir shot his way.

"You wanted me, sir?"

Orelia's eyes flicked between the obvious tension in the Knight Commander's shoulders and the Senior Enchanter's wrinkled face. The stranger at the back regarded her with black eyes, bright with curiosity.

"Yes. Formal congratulations are in order. You have passed your Harrowing and are now a fully-fledged mage. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim this morning."

"Heavily guarded, I might add." Greagoir said, shifting with a clink in his heavy armour. "Don't want any mishaps."

Irving ignored the interruption. Orelia wondered if the Templars ever wore comfortable outfits.

"I'm sorry but," the man at the back straightened and walked forward. "Her phylactery?"

"A vial of blood, taken from every apprentice on their admittance to the Circle. If a mage leaves the Circle and needs to be found the Templars use the phylactery to track them down." Irving explained. The man nodded contemplatively.

Orelia examined the stranger. Judging by his sleek armour he was obviously not a mage, but he didn't look like a Templar either. He had long black hair tied at the base of his scalp in a tidy braid. A trimmed black beard accented his sharp jawline. His skin was tan and wrinkle-free, except for a shallow emergence of smile lines around his eyes.

Orelia looked at Irving with confusion, rocking back on her heels in the doorway. She had never met someone from outside the Circle. She had been so young when she was brought in. Who was there to remember?

"Apologies for my rudeness." Irving waved the man forward. "This is the Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens."

"Please," the Warden Commander stretched out a hand to Orelia. "Call me Duncan."

"Nice to meet you." Orelia's voice crackled between normal volume and a whisper.

"The honour is all mine. I was just hearing from Irving that you hold an extraordinary Harrowing time. The Grey Wardens could use a power like yours to help fight in the blight." Duncan's voice was warm and generous in tone. Orelia felt like she was listening to sunshine.

"The Blight? You mean the darkspawn attacks?" Orelia looked over at Irving for confirmation.

"Correct." Said Duncan, drawing the mage's green eyes back to his black ones. "We wardens are recruiting from all over Thedas, trying to find more talented people to help us fight. Talent like yours."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Orelia's voice squeaked, green eyes widening in fear. "You want me to fight? Fight monsters?"

Mouse's melting face flashed once, blocking out the warden. Orelia's breathing quickened into shallow pants.

"Calm now, child." Irving stood up and walked over to the young mage; Greagoir huffed in the background. "What Duncan is saying is that they are looking for possible Grey Wardens here in the Circle."

Orelia shook her head, red curls falling fast from her braid.

"But not new mages." Greagoir said, stepping forward. "She is strong yes, but not well trained enough to leave the Circle." The Knight Commander's eyes were steely on Duncan.

"I don't want to leave the Circle." Orelia squeaked. "This is my home!"

Duncan's eyebrows furled with confusion as he surveyed the young mage's distress. She was actually trembling in her violet robe, fear draining all colour from her face. Maybe she really wasn't the best choice for this…

"My apologies. I did not mean to frighten you." Duncan bowed. "Of course I would not force you to go unless it were absolutely necessary, and it is not."

Irving nodded, his hand patted reassuringly on the girl's shoulder.

"Of course. Now Orelia, could you please escort Duncan to his quarters?" the girl nodded. "And once that is done, take the day for yourself. You have earned it."