9:19 Dragon, Kinloch Hold

~Akarra~

The rowboat rocked, paddles splashing in the water as they pushed off, leaving the shore of Lake Calenhad behind. Akarra Amell stared up through the rain, small mouth twisting petulantly, a thick fringe of dark hair plastered against her forehead. Shining drops beaded her lashes, and she squinched her eyes shut. More than anything, she wanted to open them and see the docks leading to the markets of Hightown. This was a bad dream. Not real, not real... she held her breath. On three, she'd open her eyes and her mother's smiling face would be there. One, two-

Her eyes flew open when the bottom of the boat scraped, jarring her out of her seat. She'd never seen just how close they were to the shore. Her wishing had not worked, and she stared disdainfully up at the tower... Kinloch Hold. One turret? That was all? Compared to Kirkwall's chantry, it was puny! The shiny statue of Andraste in the inner sanctum was much bigger, and it was only a statue, not a building. And why was their bridge all smashed up? She would have walked, but instead she'd had to ride in a tippy rowboat with splintery edges. A sour taste filled her mouth as she realized this horrid tower would be her new home. Til she died.

Akarra swallowed a sob, her blurred eyes clearing as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Not that anyone would notice, not with it being so cold and wet. If her nose got red and puffy from sniffling, the stupid templars would probably think she just had a cold.

The two templars chatted and joked the whole time, laughing as they climbed from the boat, their voices rough to her delicate ears. Akarra scowled, angry at them for laughing while she cried. There was nothing to be happy about. She'd been scared of them at first, but after five days of them not talking to her she mostly just hated them for taking her away from Kirkwall.

"Out, young miss," one of them said, not even offering to help her. She didn't know their names and she didn't care if it was rude. They didn't know hers either, and not once had they called her 'Lady' or 'Young Mistress', or even bowed as they should have to a noble girl. With an icy glare worthy of her mother, Akarra clambered out of the rowboat, her knees wobbling as she landed in the wet sand.

"See you next week, Kester," one of them said, then took hold of Akarra, his metal-clad hand wrapping all the way around her thin arm. "Come on, then. Rain's not letting up anytime soon. There's fires in the tower, and they'll get you some dry robes soon as you've been fitted."

"I've got my own dresses," she shot back, then bit her tongue. A lady did not show distress, only coolness and perfect poise. Even when things were as awful as they were right now.

The other templar flicked a glance at the one who held her arm, his expression unreadable. They said nothing, however, just gathered her valice and led her across the short stretch of beach to the great oaken door. The hinges groaned in protest as the door was forced open, and she gasped as the templar dragged her through, her feet slipping a bit on the polished marble. Akarra winced when it boomed shut behind her, eyes darting backward to catch the last sliver of gray sky before she was eternally isolated from the outside world.

She knew what happened to mages, and it scared her terribly. Mages were evil, so bad they had to be locked up forever and never see their families again, because they might kill them by accident. Her chest got tight, and it hurt thinking about what had happened.

"I'm afraid there is no room in the Gallows, Lady Amell. Your daughter-"

"I have no daughter," her mother said stiffly, elegant hands folded atop her striped taffeta skirt. The Revered Mother glanced up from her record book, the quill stilling in her fingers. Her gaze slid from Akarra to Lady Amell, absorbing the wall that had sprung up between woman and girl. Akarra tipped her chin down to her lap, her shoulders quivering as she tried desperately not to cry like the baby she knew her mother must think she was.

"Young Mistress Amell-"

"Perhaps you did not understand me. Call her Akarra - this girl is no Amell." Her mother stood, a heavy purse clutched in her hand. Her arm extended, the satin pouch clinking with an ungodly amount of coin as it shifted in her fingers. "I trust the Chantry will accept our donation? I know just how greatly you must need it." With a golden jingle, the purse landed on the desk, and Lady Revka Amell hurried from the room without a backward glance.

Mother Elthina ignored the pouch as she set her quill down, lacing her fingers on the desk. As tempting as it was to look back, to chase after her mother and cling to her skirt, begging her not to leave her, Akarra did none of these things. Instead, she merely sat, tears dripping from her nose as the door slammed behind her mother. A frightened sob choked past her guard, her throat hurting terribly with the strain. She was so scared to let Mother Elthina see her cry.

"How old are you, my dear?" The voice was soft and kind, but Akarra refused to look up.

"Nine," she whispered.

Papers shuffled on the desk. "You were observed using magic in the markets of Hightown. How long have you known of your powers?"

Akarra looked up, her eyes pleading. "Please, ma'am-"

"Just answer, my dear," Mother Elthina admonished her gently.

Akarra swallowed. She wasn't sure she could talk all that well, but she would have to try. "I didn't know I was a mage. I never knew. Please, please believe me."

"I do, Akarra. Tell me, what happened?"

"New girl! Hey, wait!"

Akarra clutched her books to her chest, her heart stopping at the voice of the boy who called to her. She turned, blinking as he jogged toward her.

"You're Amara, right?"

"Akarra," she bit out. She hated when people got her name wrong. It wasn't hard.

"Oh, sorry. Akarra. I'm Anders." He stuck his hand out, his brown eyes wide and warm. Akarra hesitated, then shifted her books to one arm and shook his hand awkwardly.

In her three days at the tower, she had yet to make a friend. None of the other girls would talk to her, but whispered and stared, giggling behind their hands. She ignored them, well aware that they were probably low-born anyway. Nobility is a lonely responsibility, her mother had often said. So she would be alone. Who needed friends?

But this boy seemed kind of nice. She rolled her lip between her teeth, wondering if he only wanted something from her, like maybe her notes.

"What's your next class?"

"Um, elements," she managed. "What's yours?"

"Anatomy." He made a face. "They say I'll be a good healer if I study. But there's so much you have to know to be a healer... it's dumb. I'd rather be a force mage. They use lightning and earth all the time and it's awesome."

"How old are you?" she asked, taken aback. How could anyone know what they might be good at? They were just kids... did they get tested or something?

"Eleven. And you're nine. I heard. Everyone's talking about you, y'know. They say you have no idea what you're doing."

"Oh..." She swallowed, tears threatening again. It was true - she didn't have any idea what she was doing. She must really be evil if the Maker were punishing her this way, if her own mother hated her enough to get rid of her.

"It's okay. I've been at the tower for years, I can help you." The two of them began walking down the hall, Anders chatting her ear off the whole way. For her part, Akarra stayed quiet, nodding or mumbling when he asked her about things. He dropped her off at her elements class, saying he'd be back at the end of the day to take her to the dinner hall.

And just like that, Akarra had a friend.

"It was bad, Anders," Akarra whispered. "So bad."

"Oh, come on. It can't have been that bad. I hear," Anders leaned in, his brown eyes getting big, "that if you're really bad, they make you Tranquil."

"What's that?"

They were sitting in an empty classroom, taking advantage of the last hour before the eighth bell and lights out. Boys and girls weren't allowed in each other's dorms, so meeting there wasn't an option. But at their age hardly anyone had friends of the opposite gender, so this wasn't usually a problem.

Anders propped his hands on his knees with a knowing look. "Tranquil means you can't do magic anymore. They take a red-hot iron and press it to your forehead, and you can't feel the Fade."

Akarra scoffed. "That isn't true. Mages are always mages."

"It's true," Anders insisted. "You know Alvin, the one who carves the apprentice staves? He's Tranquil."

"He is not. Quit scaring me, Anders."

Anders shrugged, picking a bit of lint from his pants. "Fine. Don't believe me. But have you ever seen Alvin do any magic? Or Vendra?"

"I've seen Vendra do magic. Now I know you're making things up."

"She doesn't do magic, she brews potions. It's the herbs that do that, not her own magic. Miss Wynne says that Vendra's the best potion maker we have because she can't get distracted." He frowned. "I think she might have been saying I get distracted easily."

Akarra hesitated. Could it be true? Anders had yet to lie to her...

She'd been in the tower a month now. Her classes were getting easier, and some of the girls had stopped looking at her like she had three eyes and green skin. A few had even gotten friendly, and she no longer tagged after Anders like a lost puppy. But he continued to check on her, popping into study hall when she was supposed to be reading, or showing up outside her last class and walking her to dinner. Just why he'd chosen to befriend her she couldn't be sure, but she was grateful.

"So anyway, it can't have been as bad as all that, 'cause they would have turned you Tranquil instead of bringing you to the Tower."

Akarra stared at Anders, wondering if she dared tell him what had happened in the market that day.

"Come on," Anders wheedled. "It's gotta be good, or you wouldn't be so weirded out."

"You first," she whispered.

Anders shrugged. "I was five. I found this cat, and it was hurt, really bad hurt. Maybe a dog got it, because everyone told me it was going to die. I took it home, sat there petting it... and sort of... willed it to get better. And then it did."

"You healed it?"

"Yup. I thought it was just great, but my parents were upset. They tried to hide it and told me not to do it again, but someone saw the cat following me through the village. The templars arrived not long after. They say I'm the youngest ever to be brought here," Anders finished, sounding almost proud. "But I wish they'd let me bring the cat."

Akarra nodded. A cat would be a nice thing to have. She'd had a kitten once, but the servants had complained it was inconvenient, so her mother had gotten rid of it, much as she had Akarra.

"Now you," Anders prompted. Akarra wriggled, wishing he hadn't lived up to his end of the deal so easily. Anders crossed his arms over his knees, raising his brows. "Go on."

Her heart pounded, the memory of her shame bringing the hurt back. But she had to tell him... she'd sort of promised. Swallowing, Akarra began. "Mother took me to the Hightown market..."

"Akarra!"

She waved, bouncing on her toes. Seamus Dumar and a group of other noble children were milling about in the center of the square, organizing a game of some sort while their parents talked and shopped. "Mother, please may I go?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, but don't tear your dress." Revka turned away, resuming her gossip with the Comtesse.

"Yes'm." She bobbed a quick curtsy and skipped over to Seamus, who grinned and scurried up to her.

"We're playing team-tag. Be on my team?"

"Akarra's on our team," Flora insisted, hooking her arm through Akarra's. "Boys against girls."

Seamus' face fell, but he turned and jogged back to Kelder and Cyril. Flora dragged Akarra off toward Petrice, where the three of them whispered and giggled while the boys began shoving playfully. They got so caught up with giggling that they didn't notice the boys sneaking up on them.

"You're it!" Cyril cried, slapping Petrice on the back. She rocked forward, wide-eyed from the blow, then spun with a shriek.

"I'll get you for that!"

And they were off.

The children tore through the square, the girls hiking their skirts, all of them shouting with laughter It was a mad, disorganized chase, where the only rule seemed to be not to get caught.

Akarra risked a glance over her shoulder as she ran from Seamus, who had the misfortune of being "it". The other boys herded the girls, trying to keep them from scattering, giving Seamus the chance to take the victory back for their team. Her foot caught a loose stone, sending her spinning to the ground with a gasp. Seamus bore down on her before she could rise, snagging her ponytail and continuing to run.

"You're it!" he bellowed, but forgot to let go.

Akarra screamed, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. Her eyes clamped shut, and flushes of heat seared around her, the light behind her eyelids burning bright red.

"Seamus! That HURT!" she cried, opening her eyes at last. What she saw stopped her heart.

The market had gone lifeless as a painting, every eye trained on Akarra Amell, who sprawled on the ground in a ring of flames that burned without fuel. She was untouched, unhurt by the fire that surrounded her, though she could feel the deadly heat.

"She's a mage," someone whispered.

Anders' eyes had gotten big.

Akarra swallowed again, the memory tightening her throat. "After that, the templars showed up, and I went to the chantry. I got sent here."

"Wow..." Anders whistled. "You're an elemental adept!"

"I'm what?"

"A fire mage! Akarra, that's so... excellent!" Anders looked excited.

"What's so great about it?"

"What's so great about it?! You can light things on fire! You'll never be cold, because you can warm up with a touch. You can even cook food just by holding it! I've seen some of the older mages do really neat things with fire... Akarra, this is awesome!"

"I'd rather be a healer," she mumbled. At least that would be useful. Who needed a girl who could light a fire with her fingers? That's what flint was for.

"Oh, you can learn that too," Anders said dismissively. "We all take a couple of specializations. This is so excellent!"

Akarra shrugged. If she had a way to lose her magic, she would. Then she could go home, and her mother would love her again.

Tranquil means you can't do magic anymore...

Her breath caught. Anders continued to babble, but Akarra barely heard him, her mind too full of what her friend had told her, and what it might mean.

Long after the eighth bell, Akarra snuck from her room and ghosted down the hall, her feet whispering over the stone. She should have put her shoes on; it would have been louder.

There! She ducked behind a bookshelf, her fingers peeking around the edge as the templar rounded the corner. He walked on past, and she drew heat with her mind, aiming for the hem of his tunic beneath the silver armor.

It was better than she'd hoped for. As easily as breathing, a flame lit the cloth, and Akarra bit her lip in nervous anticipation. The templar yelped, spinning and batting at his rear end. Akarra forced a jeering laugh, though her heart was pounding and her palms sweating. The templar spotted her instantly, his face going red. He strode forward, snatching her wrist and pulling her along. Akarra whined, shoving at his hand, but not trying all that hard to escape... she wanted to be taken to the First Enchanter.

Would this be enough? Attacking a templar was bad... wasn't it?

To her disappointment, she was given a week of bread and water for meals and was locked in her room when she wasn't in class. Harsh, but not harsh enough. She spent the week in planning, and when she was free once more she struck again.

Her target this time was Vendra's stillroom, the place where she concocted potions. The Tranquil worked there throughout the day, and her pattern was easy enough to learn. When she'd gone to lunch, Akarra slipped in and set fire to the desk. She stayed just long enough to get caught.

A month of solitude for that stunt.

Akarra despaired. What would it take?

When she came up with her next plan, she was a bit taken aback with how evil it was. Would a good girl have such wicked thoughts? No. If anything, her ability to come up with such nastiness was further proof that she belonged in the tower. But there were no Tranquil children here - so they must have gotten sent home. Akarra imagined her mother's surprise when she showed up at the door, the beautiful sunburst on her forehead. There would be no more classes, no more being alone, no more feeling ashamed for being what she was. It was worth it.

Akarra concentrated, and the new lock on her door heated, reddening to a molten glow. Ice was mind-numbingly difficult but she struggled, and the metal frosted. She repeated this a few times, until a hard smack with a book knocked the now brittle lock from the door. Free now, she scurried down the hall, headed for the great library.

Here was the true wealth of the Circle. Knowledge uncountable filled the shelves, thousands upon thousand of books, all painstakingly copied by hand, passed down through generations. Fragile vellum pressed between wooden boards and bound with sinew and leather.

It would go up in minutes.

Akarra centered herself, well aware of the energy this spell would cost her. She might even die of it - at the least, it was likely that when she woke up, she'd already be Tranquil. Concentrating, she prepared to cast, summoning her link to the Fade.

"Akarra... what are you doing?"

Her heart leapt, and the flames guttered from her mind, quenched in an instant by First Enchanter Irving's voice. She hadn't noticed him reading in the corner of the deserted library, folded into one of the great easy-chairs. He set his tome aside, rising to glide toward her with hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm setting fire to the library," she said in a breathless voice. She felt ill, like she might throw up, but maybe First Enchanter Irving would be so shocked he would have her made Tranquil right away, without her actually having to commit the awful crime.

The First Enchanter's lips pursed, and he nodded. "I shall help you."

"What?"

"Here, let us start small." Irving gestured, and a piece of paper floated from the table by his easy-chair. It hovered in the air before her, curling and dancing, twisting on itself. "Burn it, Akarra. It's not much, but even I cannot destroy all of the books all at once, so we must begin with something small and work our way up. This isn't much - the spell for turning broccoli to chocolate. But it's a good place to begin I think."

"Uh-" There was a spell for that?

"Here, I shall do it." Irving gestured, and the vellum caught, combusting to cinder in seconds. Akarra's heart twisted... what had she just destroyed?

"Another." Irving gestured, and a second paper floated toward them. "This spell is for magical bed-making. Normally, it's taught to fourth-year students, because at that juncture in your education there is less time for paltry things like chores." He sighed, then gestured once more.

"No-" Akarra blurted, but it was too late, the paper crumbling to ash before her eyes. The sick feeling in her stomach increased. What would the fourth-years say when they discovered they could no longer learn to enchant their beds to make themselves?

"This spell," Irving murmured as another paper twirled itself through the air, "is for folding paper."

"What do you mean?" Akarra found herself interested, and Irving raised a brow at her curious tone.

"Oh, nothing much. Paper folding has been an art for centuries. If you know how, you can make animals or flowers out of paper. But no one will miss it-"

"No, I... please, can you show me?" Akarra held her breath. A pleased look filled the First Enchanter's eyes, and he murmured, his hands forming small gestures.

From nooks and crannies in the shelves, drawers and baskets set in desks and tables, sheets of vellum rose and twirled through the air, spinning around them in a chaotic circle. Paper flew, a blizzard in more colors than Akarra had known existed. Irving's eyes closed, his chin lowering to his chest, and the papers began to fold themselves, writhing in the air. She watched, goosebumps rising as the vellum took on life of its own. Excitement flooded her, delighted laughter spilling from her lips as flocks of paper doves took wing, one of them landing on Akarra's shoulder and nuzzling her cheek. A crinkly tabby-cat wound around her legs as a cluster of stiff green frogs hopped across the floor, hiding in the paper garden that sprung up around their feet. Blades of grass and wildflowers sprouted, rustling as they shredded into the proper shape. A brilliant peacock bloomed before her eyes, dozens of papers creasing, all of them twisting and interlocking until the tail plumed in a scalloped, iridescent rainbow. Tiny butterflies rippled in clouds, coming to rest on the shelves, the walls, the rim of Irving's teacup. Pastel wings fanned, so lifelike they took Akarra's breath away.

She spun in a circle, awed by the power that Irving spent on such a casual thing. Never had she imagined that something so beautiful could be created out of thin air. And to think, this very power was within her. Her. A scarlet butterfly alighted on her finger.

"You can destroy it with a thought, my dear." Irving's voice was gentle. "I know how much you want to. A thought, and all of this will vanish..." He seemed sad, and the butterfly's wings drifted back and forth. "Let us do it together. On my count - one-"

"No!" Akarra cried, cupping her hands protectively around the butterfly. There was no way she would allow this to be destroyed!

The First Enchanter raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to burn down the library?"

Akarra shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. "I just..." Scalding drops coursed down her cheeks, and the words came out in a wail. "I want to be Tranquil!"

Irving paled, then knelt before her, his hands clasping her arms. "Oh my child... why would you want that?"

"The Tranquil... children... must go... h-home..." Akarra hiccupped, sniffling. "I d-don't see any...of th-them h-here."

"Do you miss your home very much?"

Akarra nodded, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes.

Irving sighed. "I wish I could say that you could visit them, my dear, or that they could come to visit you... but it simply isn't possible."

Akarra shook her head, calming a bit now that the initial outburst had passed. "My mother wouldn't come visit. She didn't want me to be a mage."

"I'm sure she would come if she could," Irving began, but Akarra cut him off.

"No. She hates me now. She doesn't... doesn't want me anym-more because I'm bad. Mages are bad. I want to be Tranquil so she'll love me again... please, First Enchanter! I don't want my magic!" Akarra drooped into Irving's arms, leaning her raven head on his shoulder as she sobbed. After a moment, his arms went around her, and Akarra cried her heart out, rocked gently by the elder mage.

"We never make children Tranquil, my dear... that is why you don't see any, not because they've been sent home to their families. But Akarra... your magic is a gift. Not a curse. Please believe that," First Enchanter Irving said, drawing her away from him. "Tranquility is a last resort for mages who cannot tame their gifts. To be Tranquil, you aren't just cut off from the Fade, you are cut off from your emotions. Your feelings. And you cannot dream."

Akarra wet her lips, her small brows creasing as she considered this. "I wouldn't feel anymore?"

Irving nodded, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "The world turns gray for those who are Tranquil. No more sadness, but no happiness, either. No anger, but no laughter. No fear, but no excitement. Every day is the same for them, there is no such thing as art or love or joy. No dancing, no singing, no playing." He tipped her chin up with gentle fingers. "I don't want that for myself. Do you?"

"No..." Akarra mumbled. It sounded like something out of a bad dream.

Irving stood, offering her his hand. "Are you ready for bed?"

She was tired... yawning, she nodded, and slipped her hand into his. The two of them shuffled down the hall, and the First Enchanter knelt once more when they reached her room, locking her young gaze with his old one.

"You are a talented girl, Akarra. You're smart, and pretty, and perfectly deserving of love. If what you say is true and your mother did not want you because of your magic, then she is not worthy of a daughter such as you. You are very special, my dear...I hope you believe me."

He looked so serious and so kind, Akarra lost her fear. He was such a nice man, with a gray beard almost like her Grandfather Fausten. Her heart ached for familial closeness... there was no touching in the tower. No hugging. No parental figures who tucked children in or kissed their foreheads goodnight. The little bit of affection he'd shown her had broken down her walls.

Following her urge, Akarra put her arms around his neck and squeezed, her firm cheek pressed against his wrinkled one, then slipped into her room and shut the door.

The paper butterfly crawled from the hem of her sleeve and flew to her bed, alighting on the pillow, its wings fanning gently. She curled up to sleep a few moments later, watching it until her eyes closed.