Dragon 9:29, Cloudreach 28
Amell
It was the first warm day of the season. Temperate breeze from Lake Calenhad wafted through the windows of the library that had been thrown open, the faint scent of daffodils tickling the senses of the apprentice who sat watching the templars sparring in the courtyard below.
Solona had been reluctant to pursue any more pranking after their last, glorious ruse from weeks earlier – Cullen had been banned from evening services for a week, and he'd taken to eating meals in his room. All-in-all, she was feeling rather badly for putting the poor recruit through so much – although, admittedly, she would never forget the look of horror on his face as he fled to the first enchanter's office that fateful night.
While the faint sound of chatter from the men drifted up from the courtyard below, Solona stared at the lapping waves on the shore and twisted the bracelet on her wrist, her thoughts wandering aimlessly. The simple piece of jewelry had been one of the only items from her previous life that remained with her – she'd been too small as a child to wear the token, and even now the intricately woven strands of silver ivy rode loosely on her slender arm. Though she didn't remember the mother who had sent it with her, Solona liked to think that maybe this faceless woman had cared enough to bestow this small piece of affection on her daughter.
Shouts and clashing metal brought her attention back to the present. Glancing down, she saw that Cullen had been called upon to spar next. She shifted in her seat to afford herself the best view possible – for some reason, the young templar intrigued her more than any other ever had. There was something about his hesitant assertions of authority and bashful comments that… endeared him to her.
Cullen was circling another of the newer recruits that Solona couldn't place a name to, both of their helms removed and heavy plate armor switched out for light leather padding. With a yell, the other man charged forward at Cullen, all brawn and little finesse as far as Solona could discern. She smirked with satisfaction as the blonde man side-stepped the brutish charge, parrying the short-sword thrust with ease. This game of cat and mouse continued for some time, and soon Cullen's opponent grew obviously tired, a scowl plastered on his drenched face.
From her vantage point, Solona barely made out his challenge. "Come at me, you nimble little arse, and stop dancing around like a bleeding elf – if you dare."
Cullen darted forward with surprising speed for a man of his build. Solona watched the play of muscles in his arms with appreciation – and a bit of embarrassment – as he moved to engage his opponent once more. Within moments, Cullen had deflected the man's blade with his own, the force enough to knock it from his hands. With the point of a practice sword angled at his face, there was little the brunette could do but concede defeat.
Solona smiled to herself. Well, well – it looks as though he isn't just another pretty face, after all.
Watching Cullen chivalrously offer a hand to his fallen comrade, Solona jumped at a tap on her shoulder. She turned with wide eyes to see Anders' grinning face, his shoulders shaking with ill-concealed laughter.
"Don't do that, Anders! You know I hate it when you sneak up on me."
He ignored her, instead moving to stand beside her seat. "What's caught your attention so thoroughly that you didn't hear me coming, huh?" He leaned out of the open window, and, seeing the templars standing below, a wicked grin stole onto his face. "No way, 'Lona – don't tell me you actually were actually batting your lashes at one of them?"
Solona's cheeks grew hot, and she resisted the urge to raise a hand to them to cool the flush that surely burned red on her traitorous flesh. "Of course not. A templar, Anders – that's a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"
The mage simply peeked out of the window once more. "Well, he is rather good-looking for a mage hunter. That is, if you're actually into the whole big-muscle-He-Man-little-brain act, I suppose." His amber eyes danced with amusement.
Though Solona couldn't deny to herself that she had been openly gawking at Cullen from the safety of the tower only moments before, she wasn't about to give Anders the satisfaction of knowing his thoughts were close to the truth. Plus, there was no way that anything would happen between the two of them – flirting with the occasional templar was fine, as was admiring them from a distance, but she wouldn't dare allow herself to actually develop real feelings for one of the stoic guardians of the tower.
Her eyes narrowed and lips curved up as she stood to sashay closer to the blonde mage. "Well, Anders," she cooed, hoping to stoke some jealousy into her notoriously brazen friend, "he does fill out that heavy armor rather well… better than any of the boys in the tower that I've seen around, anyway. Plus," she added innocently, giving his long hair a flick, "that short hair suits him awfully well. I've always liked a clean-cut man, myself."
Anders laughed off her ribbing remarks. "Sweetheart, I know my hair looks good, so if you think a comment like that is going to get to me, you've got another thing coming." His voice trailed off, and his eyes became unfocused. Solona looked at him curiously.
"Uh, Anders?"
"I'll meet you later tonight. I've got to go… talk to someone." He darted off without another word, leaving Solona confused in his wake.
"Hey! Hurry up!" Anders waved Solona into the library after dinner, careful to keep his voice down while Petra was near. The older mage had passed her Harrowing only days earlier, and had taken to haunting the library in her new, golden robes and angling herself to show off the brightly polished iron staff at her back. She was currently looking about with her chin held high and a maddeningly superior look on her face – no doubt scanning the area for any signs of misbehaving. She'd already told off some giggling younger apprentices for disturbing the peace, and her former comrades weren't about to give her an excuse to flaunt her authority with them.
It's not as if she's never caused a commotion in here before – I swear, when I pass my own Harrowing, I'll help the apprentices cause havoc!
Solona smiled as she thought of all the fun she could have with her own staff and access to the upper-tier crafting items that were granted to full mages. She'd at least find something better to do with her time than skulk around and harass the apprentices.
"Why are we meeting in here, tonight?" Solona asked as she entered a study room on the opposite side of the library that she and her friends normally worked in. "Our other room is bigger, and it has better candlelight."
"Shh!" Anders said, glancing around nervously. "Keep your tone down – we don't want him overhearing this."
Solona rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Anders. I think we should give Cullen a rest – he's already had a harder time of it than most, even Darren." Two years earlier, they had snuck an un-washable itching powder into Ser Darren's armor – the poor man hadn't stopped fidgeting for over a week!
Anders glanced meaningfully at Jowan, his lips twisted in a smirk. "I told you she's soft on him. Apparently, they're on a first-name basis, too!"
The brunette began laughing, but the moment he caught sight of Solona's glare, he cut off his mirth with a cough.
Anders groaned, clapping a hand to his brow and shaking his head. "Andraste's holey knickers, Jowan – would you just make your own opinions for once in your life? I swear – you laugh if I think something's funny, but the second another person disagrees, you go along with them. If you don't actually commit to something one of these days, you'll never pass your Harrowing."
The little color that was in Jowan's pale cheeks vanished, and he stammered out a weak defense.
Neria looked daggers at Anders, and laid a gentle hand on Jowan's arm. "Don't listen to him – Anders likes to think that he's above fear or doubt, but he'll probably be babbling like a little baby when it comes time for his Harrowing. Plus, we don't even know what happens when they summon you – for all we know, it could just be talking to the first enchanter without sassing off. In that case, you'll surely do better than Anders."
The blonde just rolled his eyes in response before turning back to Solona. "Anyway, as I was saying earlier, we don't want to be overheard by that templar, since most of us have decided that it's high time we pull out prank number three."
"Fine," Solona sighed, resigned to the fact that Anders wouldn't give it a rest until she'd at least heard the plan. "What's it to be this time? Perpetual belching? Uncontrollable stammering? Itching powder, again?"
Anders just turned to Neria with a wicked smile. "Would you care to tell her, sweetheart?"
The blonde elf glanced at Solona, a hint of a smile in place. "Well, Anders actually gave me the idea. He mentioned how much you like Cullen's hair…"
Solona scoffed and turned to Anders. "In case you hadn't picked up on it, genius, I was having a bit of a laugh at your expense – I wasn't serious. Your hair really is a bit of a mess, though," she added as an afterthought, flicking the short bundle of flaxen hair Anders had tied back.
"In any case," Neria continued, waving off Anders as he began to retort, "I've got an idea for the next prank, but you'll need to meet me tomorrow afternoon during free crafting time. I've already signed us up, so just be there three bells past lunch."
Dragon 9:29, Cloudreach 29
Countless odors assaulted Solona's senses as she entered the crafting hall: the acrid burn of deathroot, the subtle, floral notes of belladonna, a woodsy aroma that hinted at hawthorn, and overlying it all, the cleansing and minty scent of elfroot. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the aromas that she rarely experienced any more – past level three, apprentices began to break into their specialty areas, and crafting was largely used by the creation mages and rarely by primal. Neria had elected to take additional creation classes, and crafting was one of the components that was emphasized at her level.
Solona smiled, thinking that it was not uncommon to see the older apprentices feverishly stirring a random concoction, nor were billows of multicolored smoke or sudden, small explosions in the hall. Upon arriving, she saw her friend working at one of the end stations, several herbs already meticulously organized on the preparation table. Several springs of rosemary had been stripped, the stalks discarded, and dried lavender had been crushed to a fine, fragrant powder that now sat in a mortar. Finally, she saw thinly sliced burdock root already boiling in a solution over the fire.
Neria had her back turned, and Solona smiled to see her normally meticulously-kept hair falling out of its traditional knot – no doubt from the heat and frantic pace of the crafting room. The elf noticed her, smiled, and pushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind her delicately pointed ear.
"I think we're just about ready," she said, eyes darting over the assembled reagents.
Solona cocked an eyebrow, her mind racing over her limited knowledge of crafting. "Neria, you're going to have to clue me in here. All I remember is that lavender is included in some sort of tonic that's given to the templars who get insomnia."
Her friend's innocent expression changed to a mischievous smile. "Well, that's not all lavender's good for. I've done a bit of research, and after prodding some of the senior mages for help, I think I've got a good feel for how to develop this potion."
"Oh? And what potion might that be?"
Neria glanced around quickly to ensure they would not be overheard. "A hair-growth tonic."
Solona felt her jaw drop.
Hair growth? For a prank? Oh, Maker – if we manage to pull this off without getting caught we deserve some sort of award.
She swallowed hard, not sure that this was the brightest idea they'd ever had – she couldn't see how they would manage to actually get it in Cullen's hair? "All right. What do you need me to do?"
For the next two hours, Solona was put to work carefully stirring the less-than-innocuous concoction, watching as various amounts of the required ingredients were added in what Neria assured her was an essential order. The addition of rosemary caused the translucent liquid to turn a deep, forest green. Solona gagged at the smell coming off of it – billows of grey, acerbic smoke clogged her nose and she swore that the fumes would damage her sense of smell forever. With a cloth pressed to her face that did little to filter clean air through the offending stench, she watched her friend dart around, snatching various bottles off of the shelves in the room.
"Neria," she called, her voice muffled behind her protective layers of material, "why don't you take a turn stirring, and I'll chase after ingredients for a while?"
The elven woman ignored her, pausing long enough to add three drops of an unknown red liquid to their brew. The smell abated to some extent, but the smoke persisted and Solona felt the stirring rod slow as the solution thickened substantially.
"Almost there," Neria mused as she returned to the station.
Solona just gaped at her before whispering her concern. "If we try to put this on anyone – let alone a templar – they'll notice we did something right away just by this smell. Maker, it must smell as bad as those nugs we've read about in historical books on Ferelden and Orzammar!
Again, Neria offered no response other than a small smile. She picked up the lavender that had yet to be added, and began to sprinkle small amounts into the potion. The tar-like substance immediately turned clear once again, and the angry plumes of stinking smoke gave way to soft pink tendrils. Expecting to detect the distinctive scent of lavender, Solona was stunned to find that the addition of the flower actually caused the mixture to smell very faintly of vanilla as well as the flower.
Neria smiled, her arms crossed and her entire being radiating satisfaction. "All we need to do now is bottle this up and test it to make sure it does what we want it to."
Solona grinned at her friend. "You know, Neria, for someone who pulls off the whole sweet-and-innocent persona perfectly, you can be surprisingly evil sometimes."
The elf's melodious laugh rang softly through the almost empty room. She capped the last of their three bottles of tonic with a cork before speaking again. "Before we use this for our prank, I've got the perfect person for a trial run."
Late that night, Solona crept out of her dormitory, her dark blue dressing robe over her nightdress. Knowing that the templars were on shift change, she closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed rapidly down the abandoned hall, the flickering light from the torches casting shifting shadows on the stone walls. The corridors, so bustling with life and cacophonous chatter during the day, were eerily silent at night. Hearing the tell-tale sound of metal boots on stone, she quickened her pace, aware that she had very little time to reach the dormitories of the creation students.
She finally reached the heavy oaken door and edged inside. Looking around, she saw the soft glow of Neria's alert eyes, and crept to her friend's side. The elf motioned for her to follow, and the pair of them crouched down and slid past the sleeping forms of the other apprentices. Arriving at the door that led to the boys' wing, Neria pushed the door open a crack and peered into the darkness for any sign that their wanderings had woken anyone.
Feeling a soft tug on her cloak, Solona slunk in after her friend and glanced around for their target. There, snoring loudly on one of the first beds, was Anders. His mouth gaped open, and one long leg had escaped the confines of the blankets and was dangling down, his bare toes almost touching the cold floor. Likewise, one of his arms also hung over the edge of the bed, and his normally immaculate hair was askew on his pillow.
Solona glanced and Neria, and both of them stifled giggles at their friend's less-than-graceful pose. Her lips still pulled into a grin, Solona nodded and Neria pulled out one of their prepared potions from that afternoon. Careful not to spill any on herself, she cautiously dripped the solution onto Anders' forearm and waited. Seconds later, it was clear that Neria's smarts and their combined hard work had paid off.
Downy blonde hair began to grow at an alarming rate up and down Anders' arm – soon, it appeared as though some sort of sandy-haired animal had wrapped itself around the entire limb.
Solona doubled over in silent laughter, holding onto Neria's shoulder to prevent herself from falling over. With a sudden burst of inspiration, she looked at her friend who had tears of mirth streaming from her eyes, and motioned at the boy's exposed leg and mouthed her intent.
"His leg, too!"
Neria shook with laughter and nodded her head, carefully walking to the other side of the bed. She repeated the process, and they both watched with bated breath for the tonic to take effect. As soon as his leg began to sprout copious amounts of hair as had his arm before, Solona and Neria were so overcome with hilarity that they had to leave for fear of waking anyone up.
They made their way back into the ladies' wing and collapsed against the wall, gasping with ill-concealed laugher.
Between heaving breaths, Neria whispered, "And the beauty of that tonic – providing I've done it right – is that even if you cut or shave the hair off, it'll keep growing back for three days!"
Solona buried her face in her hands to stifle her giggling – some of the girls nearest to them were stirring faintly in their sleep from the noise the two of them were creating. "That's perfect! What's even better than that, though, is that if Anders wants us to actually be able to pull of the prank, he can't show anybody what's happened, otherwise the deed will be pinned to all of us – including him!"
With a last laugh, Neria went to bed and Solona cautiously returned to her own dormitory, excited to see Anders' reaction the next day.
Dragon 9:29, Cloudreach 30
"I hate you both!" Anders hissed as they left their morning class together and headed for the Great Hall.
Solona and Neria glanced at one another and dissolved into gales of laughter.
"I'm serious," he continued, "all this hair itches like a dwarf's backside! And why did you decide that I was the lucky test-subject?"
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Solona mocked. "You were the one who gave the idea to Neria, plus you're awfully vain about your own luscious locks. We figured that with hair like yours, more was better!"
Anders just scowled at her.
"Well, what with this rather successful test run and all, do you think we're ready to implement the official prank number three?" Neria asked, one delicate eyebrow arched in question.
"I should bloody well hope so!" Anders emoted, clearly disgruntled about his part to play in the most recent events of their gauntlet of pranks.
"I suppose so," Solona said. "How exactly are we going to get this in his hair, though? We all just have bars of soap for our baths, so we couldn't exactly swap this out without raising suspicions. Could we just dump it into some bathwater?"
Neria shook her head. "No, it works best when undiluted. Too much water will render this ineffective."
"And Maker forbid this be any less potent than it already is," grumbled Anders, glaring at Jowan who had just remained smiling throughout the entire plotting session. "No, I think out best bet is for one of us – that means you, Solona – to sneak back up through the tunnels and into the templar quarters again."
Solona froze. She knew it was the logical idea – she was, after all, the only one of them who had actually ventured into the templars' hall before. Aside from that, she knew exactly which bed was Cullen's. No, the reasonable choice was certainly her. The inexplicable feeling remained that she was beginning to feel sorry for tormenting the man so much. Glancing around at the expectant faces that watched her, she pushed the troublesome feelings aside and nodded her acquiescence.
"Excellent!" Anders cried, glancing down to make sure that his fist pump hadn't jostled his robes enough to reveal the mass of hair underneath. "It's got to be tonight, too – today's the last day of the month, and the templars will have gotten their schedules for Bloomingtide. Make sure to either take his or write down a copy while you're there, 'Lona."
Sighing with resignation, Solona nodded.
The four of them walked into the dining hall to finish plotting, Solona feeling curiously apprehensive about the whole ordeal.
That night, Solona snuck out of her dormitory for the second time in as many days. She moved soundlessly through the halls, and reached the storeroom entrance after narrowly avoiding being caught by the templar stationed just down the hall from the room. She'd only escaped notice by diving into the crafting room and hiding behind a shelving unit just as he poked his head in the room to check on the small noise she had made in her panic.
After her heart calmed, she entered the damp caverns of the storeroom, the bottle of tonic clutched tightly in one hand. She paused at a barrel of dried violets, and smiled to herself as she gathered up a handful of the delicate blossoms.
If I'm in this prank, I might as well go all the way.
Time raced by as she sped through the humid passages, and she soon found herself at the hidden entrance to the templars' rooms. She listened carefully for any tell-tale sign that anyone was awake beyond the wall before sloughing off her heavy dressing robe and cautiously pushing the slab of stone outward. She paused after she entered the room, ready to make a quick escape back into the tunnel if any of the sleeping forms stirred.
Soft moonlight streamed through the one, small window in the room. Though it provided little illumination, Solona was able to make out the lumpy shapes of the sleeping templars whose deep, even breathing reached her keen ears. She slowly shut the entrance, leaving a lone petal behind in the event that she needed to find her way back with as much urgency as the last time she'd ventured into these chambers. Though she could not make out the color of the flower in the gloom, the outline was clear and would be easy to spot should the need arise.
Before heading to the far room, Solona turned to her right in the hall and walked to the closed door of the knight-commander's office. Luck was with her – as she'd suspected, the duty rosters for the new month had been posted on the board just outside of the heavy door. She quickly rifled through the tacked-up sheets of vellum until she found Cullen's. Grabbing the spare parchment and quill she'd brought along, Solona quickly scratched down his schedule. She noted with what couldn't possibly be a twinge of regret that he no longer was on duty for morning Primal Level Four. He did, however, still have evening library duty, just in a different wing.
Careful to keep the rustling of her papers to a minimum, Solona turned to leave for the opposite end of the hall.
She crept down the corridor, careful to walk only on the carpeted areas that would muffle her already quiet footfalls. She froze at any wayward sound – the innocent rolling around of a sleeping templar, the breath of wind through an opened window – all of these echoing through the high-ceilinged rooms at a volume that was deafening to someone on a stealthy mission.
At long last, she reached the last room where she had found Cullen's schedule weeks before. She walked in quietly, leaving the door slightly ajar so as not to cause old hinges to creak or wood to thrum against the door jam. She knelt on the side of the bed where Cullen slept, facing the other two bunks in case either of the other men in the room happened to stir.
She paused for a moment to look at the sleeping man in front of her. No lines of strain were evident in his features, and his full lips were parted slightly, not held in the characteristic straight-lined grimace of the men of the order. She smiled at how peaceful he looked, and thought that relaxed, he seemed years younger than he appeared during waking hours.
Giving herself a shake, Solona returned to the task at hand, chiding herself for taking precious time to gawk at a templar. She eased the cork from the bottle, grimacing at the quiet pop from the release of pressure. Pausing to ensure that none of the sleepers had woken with the noise, Solona quickly spread the potion throughout the unconscious man's hair. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the faint scent of Neria's creation.
If only our plain soaps smelled this nice. I suppose consistently hot water would also be a plus, though – at least when I'm a full mage I'll be allowed to use magic to heat my own bath water.
Pocketing the now empty bottle, Solona froze as Cullen stirred, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. She dove underneath the bed to avoid any possible notice, certain the pounding of her traitorous heart was louder than the clanking of templars marching in formation. After what seemed an eternity, the crunching sound of straw in the mattress abated, and Cullen's breathing above her hiding space evened out once again.
Creeping out from her makeshift hiding place, Solona peeked above the edge of the bed. Long, lustrous strawberry-blonde hair had begun to grow rapidly, and did not cease until it hung past where his shoulders would be. Soft curls that were only hinted at in his closely-cropped style were now apparent, and Solona gaped openly at how silky it was.
Surely most of the female apprentices would die for hair like his!
Glancing furtively around, Solona reached her hand forward tentatively to draw her fingers through the soft tresses, marveling at how thick and smooth it was. Retracting her hand, she turned to leave, but remembered the last part of her plan. She turned back to his sleeping form, and with a smile, began arranging the dried violets through the locks of his hair. She leaned back to admire her handiwork and clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to break through.
From root to tip it looked as though a sleeping fairy might be prone on the bed, but looking past the hair, the effect was nothing short of hilarious. Cullen's face – though softened in sleep – was decidedly masculine and completely at odds with the overtly feminine styling of hair that now crowned his head. She reached forward to arrange the last few strands of stray hair near his left ear, still kneeling next to the mattress. Cullen shifted once more, and turned his head so that his cheek lay against her hand.
Solona was frozen in place – his warm cheek against her cool hand and the tender gesture, no matter that it was unconsciously done, sent a warm pool of inexplicable pleasure to her chest. After the space of a few heartbeats, Solona very carefully and slowly extracted her hand. She turned to leave the room with one last glance at the templar and his new hair-do. Smiling with satisfaction, she left to navigate herself back to her own bed.
As she lay sleeping that night, she had yet to discover that flowers and hair weren't the only tokens she had left Cullen with – a small, silver circlet of ivy lay upon the floor next to the templar's bed.