She was tired of the smell of the sea. Of its endlessness. Of the constant movement of the ship, unforgiving of her unsteady legs and trembling stomach. Of the stone-like biscuits and stale water that made up every meal. Of the smell of bodies and waste and vomit that curdled the air of the hold. Of the wailing babes and hacking coughs of the ill. She felt light from hunger and heavy from lack of movement. The day that the watchman called out "port ho!" she did not quite believe that her sea journey was near its end. She joined the other passengers on deck, watching the land grow nearer, the cliffs of Kirkwall towering over the horizon.

There were gasps from the passengers as they passed under the massive swinging chains that spanned the channel, from bluff to weeping colossuses. Sinead was in awe. The ruins in the Brecilian forest were remnants of what people could create, crumbling reminders of another time. She would sometimes imagine what a sunken tower would have been like when whole and new, or the decaying bricks of an old bath. These statues, covered in centuries of grime, still stood, enormous and complete and a testament to the crafter, as horrible as they were.

The ship docked, one of dozens in the large port, and the gangway was lowered. There was a rush to disembark, people pressing past her. She instinctively checked her hair to insure that her pins were in place, and then joined the flow that poured her onto the docks and toward the city gates.

The gates were blocked. Soldiers posted at the barricaded entrance stared stonily at the influx of people from the ships.

"We are taking no more refugees," one of them announced, pushing one of the braver crowd members back from the door. "There are camps a few miles outside the cities. Go there if you wish, but you will not stay here!"

"We traveled for weeks!" A woman screamed. "My child hasn't had a dry bed since the blight took our home!"

"That's not our problem." The soldier crossed his arms and ignored her barrage of insults.

Sinead pushed through the crowd and stood before the soldier. When she began her journey, she feared what she had to do once she reached Kirkwall. Now exhaustion, seasickness, and hunger removed any feeling but the desire for a steady bed and a good meal. She looked up at the soldier with a blank face.

"I'm a mage," she said quietly.

The soldier looked down and frowned. "We aren't taking in children either, lass. There are chantry sisters in the refugee camp. Go pester them."

"I'm a mage," she said, raising her voice.

"Yes, yes, we've heard that one, too." The soldier waved her away. "Do you know how many people the Circle sent back to us after giving up a free meal and a night's sleep? Run off, girl!"

Sinead laughed a little in disbelief. She held out her hand and willed a flame to light in her palm. The soldier leaned back, shocked. There were gasps in the crowd.

"Maker, that girl was on the ship with us!" she heard someone mutter.

Sinead closed her hand, extinguishing the flame. "Can I go to the Circle now, please?"

The soldier pulled his sword. "Murphy, go fetch the Templars! You stay right there, missy. No tricks from you."

Sinead smiled in relief. Maybe the Circle would have fresh bread.


"Name?"

"Sinead."

"Surname?"

"I don't know."

A bored Templar made a note in a thick book. Sinead sat at a desk in a sparely decorated office, the daylight coming through the arrow slit window enhanced with a few large candles. Another Templar sifted through her pack, unrolling her stockings and examining what was left of the coin Eluard had given her.

"You were an apostate in Ferelden?"

"Yes."

"But you were taught?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

Sinead tried to answer, but Eluard's name stuck in her throat. A wave of panic overtook her. She shoved his name away and breathed deeply.

"By whom?" The Templar repeated firmly.

"My Master," she said with a shrug, confused. Why couldn't she say his name?

The second Templar reached over and took her pins from her hair. Sinead tried to grab them, but the Templar slapped her hand away, stinging her.

"All possessions will be returned to you when they've been deemed safe," the bored Templar intoned. This was clearly a common occurrence. Sinead rubbed her hand where red marks appeared.

"Have you ever been tempted by a demon?"

"No."

"Have you ever practiced blood magic?"

"No." Sinead hoped that she hadn't answered too quickly. Or too slowly. She continued to rub her hand to hide the trembling.

The Templar sighed and closed the book. "It's good that you finally found your way to a Circle, girl," he said. "For all you know, your master was a blood mage. Or an abomination. Your life may have been in danger, and the lives of everyone around you, and you would have never known it. In a way, the Blight has saved your life."

Sinead's face burned. It killed my mother, she tried to shout, but again the words were trapped in her throat by a cascade of panic. Why could she not say it? Scream it? It troubled her, scared her. Was it a spell that she did not know?

The Templar left his desk and opened his door. "Ivy, can you prep the new apprentice, please? Make sure she meets with the First Enchanter and finds a place in the dormitories." He took her hand and ushered her out. "Welcome to the Kirkwall Circle, Sinead. I look forward to ensuring your safety."

The woman Ivy led her down a long, curving corridor and up a flight of stairs. She did not speak, and her walk was smooth and flowing.

"In here," Ivy said, opening a door. There were a number of copper tubs in the room, one filled with steaming, sudsy water that smelled of lavender. Ivy closed the door behind them and began removing Sinead's ruined blouse.

Sinead jumped back. "What are you doing?"

Ivy looked at her blankly. "I must prepare you for the First Enchanter," she said, her voice a smooth monotone. "You must bathe."

Sinead examined the woman, noticing for the first time the sunburst Chantry mark on the woman's forehead. She backed up a step. "What's wrong with you?"

"Ah, I see now. You have never met a tranquil." Ivy motioned at the tub. "There is nothing to fear. I care not for the naked form. I merely wish to do my duty and see you readied for the First Enchanter. Please undress." She turned around.

Sinead hesitated a mere moment before stripping the clothes from her body and sinking into the tub. She could feel layers of filth dissolving from her skin. A deep sigh was cut off by a bucket of water thrown over her head. Ivy attacked her hair, neatly unbraiding it and massaging it until her scalp hurt.

"I can do that," she said, trying to pull away.

Ivy's strong hands refused to budge. "It is my duty."

Ivy finished with her head and scoured her down, scrubbing every crevice until she was red from the brush and from embarrassment. The tranquil woman backed away and picked up a towel, holding it out to Sinead. Sinead quickly stood and wrapped the towel around her body.

"Will it be like this every time?" She said, unable to quell her blush as she stepped out of the tub.

"Some of the mages find it relaxing," Ivy said, leading her to a chair where she picked out her tangles with a wooden comb.

"What is a tranquil?" Sinead asked, wincing at Ivy's efficient and painful detangling.

"I was considered too dangerous for magic, so I was cut off from the Fade," Ivy replied with that same monotonous tone. "Before, I remember anger and tempting voices in my head. Now I cannot dream. I cannot do magic. I cannot feel. It is simpler this way."

Sinead swallowed her horror. For the first time that day, she felt true fear. This is what Eluard hated about the Circle, not just the fact that they were "gilded cages". Why didn't he tell her of the tranquil? Was he afraid she would refuse to find a Circle if they were separated?

Ivy finished with her hair, weaving it into a thick braid, and handed her a set of stiff blue robes. Sinead dressed quickly, lacing up the soft leather boots, and Ivy led her again through the curving hallways and up another flight of stairs. Ivy knocked on a door, nodded, and left her in the hallway.

"Enter."

Sinead peeked around the door. An elven man in gold robes looked up from his desk.

"Ah. The new apprentice. I am First Enchanter Orsino." He placed his quill in its inkwell and motioned at the chair across from him. "I just received notice of your arrival. News has already spread, I'm sure. Can't keep much secret in a Circle." He chuckled as Sinead sat. "So you were trained when you were an apostate. That's good news, though I'm sure the Templars don't see it that way. You wouldn't believe how many untrained mages your age end up burning to death or twisting into abominations, simply from lack of understanding of their powers." He pulled a ledger from out of a drawer and raised his quill. "The instructors will give you a battering of tests to see what holes are in your training, but it would be helpful to know of any skills you excelled at, if any."

"Healing," Sinead said slowly, unsure of what to share and what to hide. Aside from the blood magic, of course. "Fire."

"Creation and elemental, yes. Not uncommon."

"I was getting better at walking the Fade before." She stopped. Again she could say nothing of the Blight. She had to figure out what was stopping her words. It was both frustrating and worrying.

"You walked the Fade?" Orsino frowned deeply. He made a long note in the ledger. "That is certainly…unconventional. But you seem unaffected. For now." He rose from his seat. "Come."

Again she was led through the halls, again up a flight of stairs. It may be a cage, Sinead thought, But it is a BIG cage. The First Enchanter opened the door to a long room filled with bunks. A number of girls ranging in age from 12 to 17 looked up from where they sat on the floor or their beds.

"Girls, this is the new apprentice," Orsino said, pushing Sinead gently through the door. "I expect you to treat her kindly as she gets used to the rules around here. Sinead, you will have the rest of today free to explore the tower, but tomorrow your lessons begin." He patted her shoulder and closed the door.

The girls rushed her. She backed close to the door, unused to so many people with such hungry expressions aimed at her.

"Your name is Sinead? That sounds elfy, but you aren't elfy. Weird."

"I heard all Fereldens have dogs. Did you have a dog?"

"Were you running from the Blight? Did you see darkspawn?"

"Oh, that's a good question, Tess. What do darkspawn look like?"

The girls stared at her expectantly. "Awful," she choked out, unable to say more.

"So you have seen darkspawn!" One of the girls squealed. "You're right out of a story!"

"Oh wow, did you have to fight? With magic?"

"Yes."

The girls sighed with jealousy. "Can you imagine using magic so freely?" one of them said. "Just boom! Lightening! Take that, evil darkspawn!"

"Fire everywhere! Sucking them into the void!"

"I wish I could have been there. So much better than this boring tower."

Sinead's patience frayed and snapped. "You're an idiot," she snarled, pushing the girl away. "You're all idiots!"

The girls looked at her in shock. She tried to say more, to explain, but the words refused to come. She growled in frustration, which caused the girls to back away fearfully.

"You think she may be an abomination?" one of them whispered.

Sinead fled the room. She ran up another flight of stairs and ducked into an open door. Shelf after shelf of books greeted her – they lined the walls, circled in on themselves, towered up to meet the lofty ceiling. She ran into the stacks, losing herself in the maze of books, reached a dead end, then huddled up against a shelf and wept. The last few weeks of her life tumbled out of her in sobs. Finally she had no more tears left in her, and she wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Are you feeling a little better lass?"

Sinead looked up. An older man stood a little ways from her, leaning against his white staff. She looked away.

"I'm master archivist Norwin. And you are Sinead, I believe. I heard a new apprentice had arrived. Only a new apprentice would hide in my library – the other apprentices tend to avoid it. Reminds them of lessons, you know." He stepped closer and offered her a handkerchief. She took it and wiped her eyes. "Sinead. Lovely name. Elven in origin. Rough translation is The Maker is gracious. Or the gods are gracious, I suppose, given the religious inclinations of the elves." He laughed hoarsely.

Sinead handed him back his handkerchief. "How do you know all that?"

"I'm an archivist! It's my job to know everything," he said stoutly. He began searching the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of the books. "I also know a thing or two about weepy apprentices. I've seen a few in my time. Been one myself once. D'you know what I used to do when I was your age and everything seemed impossible? Ah!" He pulled a book from the shelf and held it out to her. "I'd get lost in lore. The world is a messy place. Lore? Well, lore is also messy, but with enough study one begins to find answers. Connections. It's quite comforting. You know how to read?"

"Yes." Sinead took the book.

"Then I highly recommend that title! It has everything – adventure, love, betrayal. You will be enthralled, I promise you. Well!" Norwin looked her over and nodded. "Back to my duties. Be well, young lady."

Sinead watched him leave, then studied the cover of the book. It was old, and the leather was cracked around the spine. A wolf was branded on the front, abstract and blocky. She stared at it a moment, then opened the book and began to read.