This day, I had awaited, and dreaded, for a long time.
She must never know.
Many had been ushered in my time, with patient hands, into the guidance of the Fade. After years under my watchful eye, and after my confidence had grown enough in them that they were indeed prepared to approach the darkness, and conquer it, I would send them forth unto the unknown to meet such a face. A duty I had long forgotten when it first began, decades ago. A eternity past.
But she-I had been so sure of her success, so positive-changed it with a singular look of fear cast back at me from the pedestal. I saw a small child's face, barren and lost of expression, standing once more amongst the blood and carnage of an orphanage fifteen years ago. Wondering what had happened to everyone else? Why were they lying down? Were they asleep, she asked.
Were they asleep.
My eyes wearied by the candlelight, straining to memorize the lines over once more. I listened to every faint noise, each small change of sound in the air. Faded footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of a distant order from one of the stationed Templars. Yes, it certainly was a busy day, wasn't it? I was rubbing a temple in apprehension when a soft footstep at my door drew my eyes up.
"Am I interrupting?" a placid, familiar voice asked. I raised my eyes level with her own, recognizing the face long-embedded into my memory, before flickering my eyes back to the parchment stretched over my desk.
"No, I'm afraid," I sighed while shutting close the dusty book beside the parchment. I offered a weary smile at my old friend's approach. "Just a few things to contemplate over," I added. She accepted my answer with a gracious nod, but yet I still found a troubled frown that threatened the edge of her lip. A tell-tale sign she had come with a purpose, and did not intend to leave without it fulfilled. I breathed in deep. Before I had the chance to ask, she spoke up.
"I have a bit of a concern regarding the Harrowing today, Irving," Wynne politely offered me. I could hear the tone in her voice, the concern and slight indication of uneasiness that willed me to listen further. I nodded in understanding while making a slow, shuffling rise to my feet.
"As do we all, I imagine," I mumbled in hopes to brush the subject away. I could feel it in my bones what she intended to ask, tentative and relentless woman that she was. A good reason I trusted her so avidly. She placed a hand flat against my desk, stopping me and bringing my attention back to her.
"Irving, I cannot willingly let you thrust this apprentice into her Harrowing when she is clearly not prepared for it," Wynne breathed out all at once. I took a moment to let her concern sink in, and consider it, then weighed my own choices. A slow rumble rose in my throat.
"And are you to determine whether she is ready or not?" I asked in a light, gentle voice. I had no intentions of arguing with her, but neither would she drop the issue until some form of assurance was given. I had hopes of deterring her from the subject, but knowing her-well, she was a stubborn woman to say the least-I would be long dead before a conclusion could be reached. I, instead, offered a pleasant grin.
"I apologize," she nodded while casting her eyes down. I had hoped it would be the end of the conversation, but she would not back down, essentially becoming the Mabari that would not release a shoe to it's master. Her eyes flashed back up a moment after the falter.
"I understand that you may believe she is ready, but because of your… position, I am not as apt to believe so, Irving," she gently chided me. I took into account her words with a small chuckle in my throat while stroking my chin.
"Do you think I am not aware that she has been my apprentice for the past fourteen years, Wynne?" I said, amused. Wynne worried her expression more and frowned, crossing her arms.
"Of course I know, but I cannot be the only one who plainly sees it-she's unmanageable, Irving. If you intend to let a mage that dangerous simply go into her Harrowi-"
"Wynne-" I cut in, quieting her with a gentle glance. "I do not believe I spent all this time training her without knowing when she may be ready for her Harrowing. I took her as my apprentice in full understanding of this, and I have not changed my mind." I chuckled and tipped my head back a little.
"And I certainly remember that a senior enchanter came in here once saying the same thing about you when you were an apprentice," I added with a fond smile. Wynne held her expression for a moment more before letting it finally sift away, then sighed.
"Then I suppose I have no right to question it, if you truly believe she is ready for this. I just hope you know what you are doing, Irving," she relented with a final, wary glance in my direction. I offered a chuckle.
"Well I certainly hope so as well. Wouldn't want demons roaming the Circle all hours of the day, now would we?" I joked while following her to the open doorway of the office. I took a moment to glance both ways down the hallway for any signs of other mages or Templars about, and turned back to Wynne, my smile slightly faded.
"I suppose it is time to begin preparations, however," I noted while stepping out of the doorway and into the carpeted hall. Wynne turned to me with a final frown of disapproval, still voicing her contempt over the situation even in silence. I creased my brow together and felt the smile wash away completely as I turned back to her.
"We must always assume any mage will be a danger to the Circle, Wynne. Isthalla is just as much a risk as any other; no different and no less," I carefully told her, though in the back of my mind the words felt shallow and unfulfilled. I feared the uncertainty had slipped into my voice as I spoke, because the look she gave me in the next instant was anything but relieved. I decided nothing more needed to be said or added to weigh down the conversation, and instead bared a small, unsure frown before turning down the opposite hall and striding away before she had another chance to argue.
If I do not try now, she may never have a chance again.
A great, deepening pit was beginning to settle in my chest. The longer I stood there, waiting, and watching, the more I felt the uneasiness of Wynne's words creep up into my mind. I had never been a very unsure man, nor one who would so quickly doubt the ability of my own pupils, yet I knew why I had such doubts for this one. Many knew why.
"Maker save us!" a Templar cried while streaking away from the gates like a frightened child. I had been called from the Circle to an unsettling incident going on in the Alienage, yet I did not know what to expect. Frightened, suspicious people that they were, I did not expect any "uprising" in the Alienage to be a largely important deal, much less true. We were sent handfuls of children every month labeled as a "witch" or "devil-child", yet less than half turned up true in the end. My impression of the nobles and humans of Denerim was a little less than faithful, considering their retained views over the level of humanity in their so-called "Alienage" district.
Yet, watching clusters of bloodied Templars streaking out of the gates for reinforcements settled something knotting and cold in my gut, telling me to be wary. I could already hear the faint screams, and the smell of death and blood. The taint of fearful magic-dangerous magic. What I encountered was beyond what any of us had expected, much less been apt to try and swallow once we walked through that forsaken door in the Alienage.
I closed my eyes and willed the ever-vivid memory away, reminding myself I could not ignore this opportunity for the sake of my discontent. Any later and she would never have the chance to try, nor would she ever be able to control it. I had spent weeks, if not months, debating this. There was no other choice. I had done all I could for her, and now-the rest was left up to her sheer willpower and strength. Maker, I prayed she had the strength to conquer this. To control it, as well as herself.
This could be put off no longer.
In my same, conclusive moment, I heard muffled voices outside the large double doors, followed by the sound of wood creaking as four Templars lined up to open the only entrance and exit to greet the apprentice and accompanying executioner, should things go wrong. I wanted to offer a bitter smile to myself at the sight-Isthalla, looking as brave and strong-willed as ever, accompanied by the most unlikely-thought Templar of all, Cullen, who seemed positively upright about the situation. I hoped she at least had comfort in the knowledge it would be someone she was familiar with, and seemed to tolerate more than most Templars. That eased my mind to some degree.
All went well and as planned, performed in the ritual I had seen and recited one too many times in my day. The Templars seemed to shadow her every move, even so much as a tiny step over to where I stood before the ritual took place. She glanced at me.
"I don't suppose you have any last-moment advice for me, First Enchanter?" she asked, the undercurrent of her voice betraying a slight fear I was not accustomed to hearing. I perked and turned my thoughtful gaze on her, letting her face embed into my memory as a final keepsake in another moment of streaking doubt. I felt a pang when I realized just how similar she was to her mother-the same dark, raven-black hair, lovely and pale young face, and challenging eyes that spoke of wisdom and strength. Yes, she'd always had such potential and confidence, but then again… so had her mother. So had her mother…
I tried to ignore the similarities, or the fact that the red markings etched into her face like a long-buried symbol of her past did not exist. The telltale, blood-red symbols that stood for something and represented a part of her I never wished upon her to know. As strong and fierce as she was, Isthalla had always been a very soft girl at heart. I could not ignore that, and did not wish upon her such tragedies as what those same symbols that had been on her mother's face represented. Isthalla frowned and looked at me again.
"First Enchanter?" she tested again, this time quieter. I broke from my thoughts to turn, surprised, back to face her. I took a brief moment of curiosity before offering a smile down at her-a pleasant, comforting expression as my last thoughts.
"I have taught you all I can, dear girl. The rest is entirely up to you," I reminded her. She nodded in understanding and said nothing more, but I could see the growing anticipation in her eyes. I had hoped for every confidence in her the day of her Harrowing, yet as she stepped up to the smoke of the lyrium, I could see it reflected in her eyes as fear. She looked as a small girl once more, as the frightened child I'd seen the day in the Alienage. I frowned, and in that moment she looked back at me, giving away all of her obscurities and questions in one single look. I had nothing to offer for comfort back, and instead worried my brow and frowned, waiting for her to take the plunge, and silently praying the Maker would have mercy on her soul. But as she reached out to touch the white glow, I felt a sudden jolt of panic rush through my old bones in sudden, dropping, horrifying doubt that this might have been one of my worst mistakes in my long life. Seconds after she had made the connection to the Fade, a long, blood-curdling scream tore open from her mouth and echoed through the entire chamber as she twisted to the ground in pain.
No, not again.