Hawke lay still, staring up into the inky darkness that was the ceiling. To hear the occasional deep breath of one of his "roommates" was disconcerting to say the least. It really shouldn't be: After all, he'd shared a room with Bethany and Carver since they had been born ten years ago. But these were total strangers and he was separated from them by a mere wall.

Sitting up and tossing his feet over the edge of the admittedly quite comfortable bed, Hawke stretched his arms above his head, winced and sent a dose of healing magic to the dark purple bruises on his upper arms. Damn those bucket heads.

The chilly air cooled his heated skin and aching head. Now, in the veil of night, he was but a little boy, frightened by the demons under his bed and wishing desperately that his parents were near. He snorted self-deprecatingly.

Just then the double doors swung open with a loud creak and then there were noisy footsteps. Templars. Hawke couldn't see them because of the walls surrounding his little 'private area' but he sat very still, not daring to breathe.

"On the bed."

"Scum doesn't deserve the bed."

A little, muffled sound.

"I don't understand why the Knight-Commander doesn't just kill him."

"Not our decision to make, my friend."

They left the room, muttering to one another. Hawke let out a breath and stood. His bare feet met the cold floor and he took a few steps forward, to the entrance of his 'room'. His long years of hunting at night had made it easier for him to see things in the dark but even he would have been lost if not for the few candles in the hallway.

He came to a stop in front of the neighbouring room. A limp form lay on the bed, head bent at an angle that was sure to give him an ache later on. But his chest rose and fell and that was good enough for Hawke. He padded back to his bed, lying down again. He hoped that sleep would be coming soon. He didn't like the thought of lying awake and thinking about everything he'd saved by losing it. Because he really wasn't that kind of person and he didn't intend to change now.

-DEAR TO ME-

Somehow the room was brighter when Hawke woke up after a few hours' worth of sleep. Puzzling, considering that there was not a single window. It was silent; no people were bustling around or talking. He stood up slowly, raking one hand through his loose hair and stretched, wincing as his shoulder popped once.

Then he took a long look around. Last night it had already been dark when the templar had brought him in here; there hadn't been time for detailed examinations.

The little space was filled with a rather big bed, a closet, a mirror and a bowl of water for hygienic purposes. He made use of the latter at once, splashing his face with the cold wet and leaving his eyes closed for a few seconds afterward. He felt like a caged bird, struggling, trying desperately to unfold his wings but the bars wouldn't permit his feathers. He rubbed his face dry firmly with the cloth lying next to the bowl.

For father. For Bethany. You don't run. You won't run.

He straightened and glanced at himself in the mirror.

His hair was a tumble of waves that passed his shoulder blades, the dark, nearly black colour a courtesy of his mother. The aristocratic, arrow-straight nose and high, defined cheekbones were his mother's also, while the strong jaw and those intense, turquoise eyes were his father's.

Hawke had no doubt that the healthy, dark tan he'd acquired over the years would vanish quicker than one could say "No sun", as would the muscles he'd developed while working on the farm with his father and practicing with a hunting bow.

The doors opened.

Turning on his heels, he glanced at the surprised face of an elderly woman.

Hawke looked her over. She was clad in a red Circle robe, her staff bound on her back, a bundle under her arm. Her face was slightly crinkled but she still looked rather young, despite the grey-streaked hair. Her blue eyes offered him a smile and he relaxed almost subconsciously. And promptly tensed up again. She's dangerous.

"You're already up. Good. I'm Wynne and I'll be showing you around the tower. Your name is Hawke, yes?"

"Yes," he confirmed. Wynne smiled kindly and gave him the bundle.

"Your mage robes. I'll be waiting outside for you."

Hawke stayed still until he heard the door fall shut before looking at the clothes provided. They were partly yellow, partly grey and black and he wasn't very thrilled at the prospect of wearing a dress.

Sighing, Hawke stripped out of his oversized clothing – it had belonged to his father – and put on his new attire. It was uncomfortable and his only solace was the fact that every mage had to wear one of these embarrassing things. Hawke snagged the leather strap he'd pulled out of his hair the last night and bound his hair again.

It turned out that navigating the tower would prove to be very difficult. There were very few landmarks and each tier looked the same to his eyes. The mages they passed stared at him with wide, sometimes suspicious eyes. He stared right back until they looked away – and they all did.

Wynne was quite pleasant company, not asking too many questions and seemingly content with the silence that reigned between them save for the few words of explanation she gave him from time to time.

"We are constantly watched by the templars," she said as they passed through the extensive library that awed Hawke immensely. "But sooner or later you won't notice anymore and it will be as natural as breathing."

Somehow he seriously doubted that.

They stopped to watch two mages, apparently teacher and student, as they tried to perform a ward that would shield the user from harm. The student failed terribly and shrieked as the spark of lighting his teacher had sent hit its target.

Hawke felt his lips twitch and looked away quickly, not saying a word. Wynne led them on.

"When do apprentices usually get to attempt their Harrowing?" Hawke finally asked as they ascended the stairs to the last tier – the chambers of the apprentices.

Wynne sent him a surprised glance and he didn't fault her: He hadn't said a single word since he'd exited his room.

"It varies from apprentice to apprentice. Most of them get called at the age of nineteen or twenty, though, it is rare to witness someone significantly younger go through it." Wynne led them through a door, right into what seemed to be a large, shared bedroom. About a hundred bunk beds were squeezed together tightly, leaving open spaces in between that were just broad enough to walk through.

Due to the early hour, most of the beds were still occupied and the few apprentices that were awake greeted them politely, gracing him with a curious glance only and continuing on their way.

The Tranquil gave Hawke the creeps. With their soulless eyes and monotone voice, they asked Wynne if she needed something from the stockroom. Though he was most unwilling to show weakness to any Circle mage, Hawke couldn't help but shy away from them. Wynne noticed and ushered him away quickly.

"You are in no danger of being made Tranquil, Hawke," she told him later with a reassuring pat on the shoulder – which caused him to take a step away from her – and a sympathetic smile. "Not even the templars have the right to Tranquil a mage who has gone through the Harrowing."

How reassuring.

"And now off to breakfast. You must be starving."

Hawke didn't feel like he could stomach any kind of food but he didn't say anything and simply followed the woman as she led the way to the dining hall.

Surprisingly, many mages were already seated, most of them talking to one another while eating. Hawke counted ten templars watching the goings-on warily.

"This is the table where the mages eat who have gone through their Harrowing but haven't begun teaching yet." Wynne came to a stop in front of a sparsely occupied table in the very middle of the room and gestured to a seat. "Make yourself comfortable. I expect that you will find your way around afterwards?"

Hawke nodded, keeping his face blank. Of course he wouldn't find his way around. Maker, this place was a maze!

Wynne seemed convinced and smiled once again. "I'm sure I will see you around, Hawke."

And with that, she went to sit at a table on the other side of the hall. Hawke turned away. The table moaned under the enormous weight of the dishes. There was porridge, broth, soups, fruit salads, various kinds of cheese, bread and meat and several carafes filled with water, milk and tea – none of it quickened his appetite.

The others seated at the table did their best to avoid looking at him. Suddenly they were all very deeply involved in their food or conversations. He didn't mind, pouring himself some tea, sipping carefully and grimacing slightly at the stale taste.

He didn't linger in the hall for too long. Seeing that a steady trickle of mages both left and entered the room, he soon deemed it safe enough and slipped out into the hallway.

Hawke decided to simply wander around until he miraculously found some piece of wall or carpet he recognised. Snorting to himself, he set off.

Somewhere, the giggles and screams of children having fun erupted, startling him somewhat. The sound seemed awfully out of place around the sombre-faced mages and rather oppressive atmosphere. It reminded him of Bethany. Without really meaning to, he smiled wanly.

Bethany who could always find something beautiful and worth laughing about in any situation.

Maker, he missed her already.

And like that, the smile was gone.

He took the next flight of stairs upwards. The cheerful laughter came nearer and nearer but this time Hawke grew ever more moody. So when he rounded the corner into another hallway and someone smacked right into his middle, he barked: "Watch it!" and cursed himself for the slip-up almost immediately when several eyes landed on him.

Looking down, he stared into achingly familiar light-grey eyes. Mother.

But these eyes belonged to a small, doll-like girl who was apologising profusely with an alarmed look on her face. And who had, as he noticed when he looked closer, the exact same Amell-nose, Amell-eye shape and Amell-curls he had and the pouting lips his mother and sister had shared. There was no doubt that she was a relative of his.

Her companion stood a few feet behind, watching the scene warily.

"It's alright," Hawke interrupted her incessant chant of 'I'm so sorry'. "No harm done. Just watch where you're going, mite."

The girl was visibly puffed up, her apologetic demeanour instantly changing into indignation. "I'll have you know that I'm twelve!"

Hawke blinked, smoothing his face back into a carefully blank expression lest she detect his amusement. From experience he knew that little girls absolutely hated jokes made at their expense.

"Of course, mite."

Now she just pouted. And then, faster than he could raise an eyebrow, her mood did an about face once again.

"I haven't seen you around here before, ser. I'm Esanne Amell, pleased to meet you!" His cousin offered him her hand and this time when he shook it, he didn't hide his amusement. He hadn't expected her formal language.

"They brought me in just yesterday," he was proud to notice that he sounded rather indifferent. And as he found no harm in telling her that he was family, he added "Hawke Amell."

Her reaction was slightly louder than his had been and it didn't lessen her shock and enthusiasm when he told her that no, he was not her brother and he had never met her side of the family. Which was true.

Esanne seemed to remember her hitherto silent companion only when the boy cleared his throat quietly. She dragged the boy forwards with a big smile on her face. "Oh yeah, this is Jowan."

Shy Jowan didn't meet his eyes and mumbled something incomprehensible before blushing right to the roots. The corners of Hawke's mouth twitched but he refused to actually smile.

"Greetings," he simply replied.

Esanne did her best to convince him of joining them at breakfast but he declined quite clearly. Already he knew that that hall would be one of his least favourite places, what with the many templars in there, and as effective as his cousin's puppy eyes could no doubt be on lesser men, he didn't cave in.

So she retreated with Jowan, slightly disappointed but content with the promise of following conversations.

Hawke sighed and continued his mindless stroll. She reminded him so much of Bethany that it almost physically hurt. If he'd been the type to brood over everything he'd lost, he was sure that now would have been the time where he would have looked for a silent, preferably dimly lit room to sit and grieve.

As it was, he banned thoughts of his family from his mind and was pleasantly surprised and confused in equal measure when he found himself in the library. In here it was easier to ignore their overseers and he browsed through the countless shelves until he found the section he was most interested in.

Schools of Energy: Spirit and Primal.