"Are you alright? Say something, please..."
Melwiliel was back in her bunk, still in her robes, and judging by the light filtering through, it must have been mid-morning. A very anxious and concerned apprentice was kneeling beside her.
"Please talk to me, Mel?", he implored.
"Jowan, I... oh... ouch." Her head throbbed.
"Thank the Maker, you're alright!"
"My splitting headache would suggest otherwise", she chuckled as she rolled onto her side to face her childhood friend and fellow apprentice. Or perhaps no longer a fellow apprentice; with the Harrowing complete, she was now a full mage.
"Well, I'm glad you're not dead, at least. You were gone all night, and I'd heard that some never come back from their Harrowing. Was it dangerous? What was it like?"
A pang shot through her chest as she considered Jowan's questions: the rules were very clear on the matter, she was not to breathe a word about her Harrowing to those who had not undergone the ritual themselves. Yet she yearned to tell him about the Spirit of Valor, the Sloth demon, and the Black City, always in the distance, hanging in midair.
She frowned and chose her words carefully: "Jowan, I... please don't do this, you know I'm not allowed to speak of it. I would tell you everything if I could, but..."
"So you're going to be like that, huh? So much for friendship," he pouted; but Melwiliel refused to yield to his demand. "It's just not fair! You've passed your Harrowing, and you're going to get to move upstairs, and get your own room, and I... I'm still stuck here."
For the first time ever, the elven girl regarded her friend in a whole new light: he was reacting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Nevertheless, she attempted to comfort him the best she could.
"Don't worry, I'm sure it'll be any day now. Just keep working hard, and they'll come for you one night, as well."
He looked up at her, and there was real fear in his eyes. "You don't understand, Mel. What if they come and fetch me, but not for a Harrowing, but for... a Rite of Tranquility." His voice was almost muted as he spoke those last words with a shiver of horror. She understood, now, what he meant. After all, he had been at the Tower longer than she had, and she was Harrowed, now. The thought of Jowan becoming a Tranquil was like ice in her veins, and yet... the alternative was even direr.
"I'm sure your Harrowing can't be far off. Try not to think too much about it, it does you no good."
He shrugged. "I guess I shouldn't waste your time with this. Especially since I'm supposed to tell you to go see Irving as soon as you're up."
She jumped. "And you tell me this *now*?"
He grinned as he got to his feet to leave, "You'd better hurry; can't keep the First Enchanter waiting."
"You... you toad!" she hissed good-naturedly as she gathered her wits and sat on the side of the bunk.
Jowan's smile vanished and he looked somber once more. "I'll... I'll see you later, then? To talk." The elf simply nodded and rushed off to the adjoining washroom, while the young man returned to his duties.
Melwiliel was dragging a brush through her hair when two voices wafted in. It was Rhinna and Katherine, two younger, human apprentices, and the latter disliked the elven girl vehemently. Melwiliel ducked behind the vanity and hurriedly finished her preparations, while the two girls settled on a bunk at the far end of the women's dormitory, their voices barely audible.
"Did you hear anything? Is she alright? Is she awake?"
"Why do you care? Are you best friends now?" The scorn in Katherine's voice was palpable, and Melwiliel winced.
"I'm just curious," retorted Rhinna. "That templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he'd ever seen! He says she's very talented and very brave."
"Ha! Well, he would, wouldn't he?" Melwiliel arched an eyebrow as she surveyed her general appearance in the mirror: what, in Andraste's name, did Katherine mean by that?
"I just know that I'll be terrified when my time comes. Like Wendell was. He was throwing up every day for the next week just thinking about his Harrowing..."
Finally ready and unwilling to eavesdrop any longer, young Mel got up and dashed out of the dormitory, ignoring confused stares as she ran past the apprentices.
The fledgling of a mage found herself in front of the First Enchanter's study, right hand raised to knock, and yet, she hesitated. From within, the source of her hesitation, came the muffled roar of arguing. In all likelihood, the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, she surmised. It was common knowledge, at the Circle, and in the rest of Thedas she assumed, that mages and templars rarely, if ever, got along. Apprentices weren't expected to have an opinion, but the constant watching had always made her feel uncomfortable: in the library, in the classrooms, even in the Great Hall during meal times! Perhaps even while they slept... *especially* when they slept...
Melwiliel shook her head, and knocked twice on the oak door. When the reply came, she entered. To her surprise, Irving and Greagoir were not alone: a tall, dark-haired man was with them. As all three men turned to examine the new arrival, the elf hurriedly lowered her gaze.
"You sent for me, First Enchanter?"
"Ah, there is our newest Sister of the Circle. Come here, child." Irving smiled kindly and motioned for her to approach. Beside him, the Knight-Commander scowled.
"We'll talk later, Irving."
"Of course, Greagoir." The First Enchanter retrieved a few things from his desk before turning back to the newly Harrowed mage. "Let me be the first to officially welcome you to the Circle, here are your robes, your staff and your ring bearing the Circle's insignia. Wear them with pride, for you have earned them."
Melwiliel accepted her new possessions with no small measure of emotion, emotion which she tried to keep from filtering through as she spoke. "Thank you very much, ser."
The tall, bearded man beside Irving finally spoke: he had a rich, deep voice, a voice accustomed to commanding men on the battlefield, yet soft like velvet. "Allow me to congratulate you as well, my lady."
Never, in all her life, did she recall anyone calling her "my lady", and that flustered her a bit. "I... thank you, ser."
"Child, this is Duncan, a Grey Warden," explained the First Enchanter, and the Warden bowed a bit from the waist. "He leads the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden, and came to recruit mages for the King's army massing at Ostagar."
Mel gave a start of surprise. "Are we at war?" asked the young elf. Rumors seldom made it across Lake Calenhad to the Tower, and this was news to her. She intently awaited a response. This time, the Grey Warden spoke.
"In a sense, we are. Vast hordes of darkspawn have been gathering in the Kocari Wilds, and I fear we may be facing a Blight. A few mages have already left, but it may not suffice. I seek to strengthen the King's army, and perhaps... add to our own numbers." Well, that certainly explained much, yet raised more questions. Melwiliel was puzzled when she noticed the Grey Warden seemed pensive, but there was no time to ask more questions when the First Enchanter dismissed her.
"Well, run along now, child. This day is yours and yours alone; do not squander it with old men's talk of darkspawn, Blights and wars."
She did as she was told.
Melwiliel's few possessions had already found their way into her new room, as she discovered to her delight. The Tranquil made her skin crawl, yet she could not deny that the Circle of Magi would not feel complete without them. As the mage donned and appraised her new robes, a soft knock was heard. It was Jowan, and he seemed even more sullen than he had appeared this morning.
"Admiring yourself, are you?"
"There's nothing wrong in a little pride, Jowan. This is a special day for me, you could at least *try* to be happy for me!" Somewhere, on the fringes of her consciousness, Melwiliel wondered if her Harrowing would create a rift between them, at least until Jowan was Harrowed himself. Things certainly seemed irreparable at this time, though.
Oddly enough, Jowan's expression softened at her harsh words and looked almost... hesitant. "I'm sorry, I've been snapping at you since you woke, but I'll explain everything. You see..." Jowan wrung his hands together, "they're going to make me Tranquil."
"What?" Melwiliel's knees gave out and she sank unto the bed. It was one thing to know that the Tranquil were necessary to the Tower's survival, but quite another to have her bosom friend become one. "Are you sure? Wait a minute... how do you even know?"
Jowan sat beside her and took her hands between his and held her gaze with his own. "Mel, please, I'll tell you, but as my childhood friend, my sister, you *have* to help me."
The young elf shuddered once again at the thought of her dearest friend undergoing the Rite of Tranquility and nodded emphatically. "Of course, Jowan, I'll do anything I can."