Chapter Five

The things that make her are complex. She has the tragedy of her past, less in focus these days. What she did as a child still holds weight but she doesn't think about it. About them, her family. It's better this way. She is built more fully on her last years in the Circle: learning about the judgment of other children and the eventual friendships that are born.

Her friends have defined her for five years. She had thought, simply days earlier, that they would define her for many years to come. All five of them would make it through their Harrowings and move up to the mage's quarters and discover a whole new world of magic. Solona thinks that maybe she could discover a way to fix the maleficars and wouldn't that be something.

As she listens to the screams floating down the stairs, though, she thinks that perhaps she's been very naïve. Her grip on Neria's hand tightens and both of them are so very close to tears. They don't cry, though. There are three templars standing at the stairs leading to the Harrowing Chamber and they're watching the small group. Too much emotion, on a day like today, could get them all killed.

Another scream comes, but it no longer sounds human. "O Maker." Keili is huddled behind the other two girls and she falls to her knees at the sound. Prayer springs from her lips easily these days, Solona thinks.

Shouts ring down the stairs. The three templars turn. The door opens up and Knight-Commander Greagoir steps out onto the stairs. In his hand he holds a bloody sword, still dripping on the stones at his armored feet. Nothing needs to be said.

Shuul is dead.

Keili can't help shouting out in dismay, crying her bitter sadness. Fierce sobs shake her huddled frame. Irving appears at the top of the stairs behind Greagoir and there is real sorrow on his face. More templars filter out. Finally the last few emerge. They are bloodier than the rest and Solona knows that these are the templars that struck the killing blows.

The realization that one of the templars is Ser Emic, with a disgustingly satisfied smile on his face, makes her sick, literally. She runs to the washroom and empties her stomach of her breakfast.

The eternalism of youth has been fractured and Solona cries.

-!-

The days following a failed Harrowing are tense in the tower. No one speaks too loudly for fear that the templars will spook. Apprentices haunt the halls with empty expressions and lessons are wasted. No one has the energy to summon enough will, not at first. The templars watch with renewed vigilance and those that struck down the abomination are usually given a wide berth.

There's little in this world of stone and magic that is more disturbing than watching a mage transform into something so demonic, or so she's heard.

Solona feels as though she is floating these days; she still expects Shuul to come bounding up to her with a hug at any moment. He never comes and she doesn't allow anything to penetrate the haze in her head. Nothing of great import, at any rate. Lessons are a blur; Silas tries to teach her concentration and she is so distracted that she can't, just cannot, find the will. He scolds her; she's been around long enough to know that some mages don't come out of the Harrowing Chamber. She's lost fellow students before.

Not friends though. None of them were. Why does this feel like it should hurt so badly yet doesn't hurt at all?

Apathy has settled into her soul, firmly.

This death has fractured their group.

The other three withdraw from each other in their own ways. Keili spends almost every waking moment in the Chantry. She's on her knees praying for deliverance from her magic. Solona tries to sit with her for a while, just to run through the Chant. She hopes that the familiar words will comfort her. She makes it all the way to Transformations and gives up. It no longer makes her feel better.

Jowan spends more time in the Chantry as well; just not in the same way. His eyes are constantly focused on a new lay sister. He falls into the girl with desperation born of despair; self destruction framing his perceived noble intents. Solona talks to him, once, about the relationship and he shoots back a comment about her and Cullen. Glass towers and all.

Solona had forgotten about Cullen after everything. Just his name makes her cheeks burn red. Jowan's laugh is cold as it follows her out of the room and away from his judging eyes. She will never mention what Jowan is doing, not to anyone. Another death will solve nothing and she owes it to him, to their friendship, to allow him to make his mistakes. She prays to the Maker that nothing comes of the romance; that the two part amicably with no one else the wiser.

Neria seems to be the best adjusted. She still has moments of sadness, times where she looks at Solona with an emptiness in her eyes. The glances never last long; Neria is ingrained with the necessity of the Harrowing and accepts it. She is brave because the Chantry made her so. The elf, having lost one of her own kind, throws herself back into her studies. She must prepare, she says. So that she doesn't follow the same path that Shuul did.

Worst of all, Solona just misses Shuul. She misses his presence behind her as watches her back during elemental practice. She misses the hugs he would give when she was frustrated with a text. She even misses his instructions about the art of love making, long over but still close to her heart. They never saw his body after the failed Harrowing and Solona is pretty sure that was on purpose. The drawings she's seen of abominations aren't pretty.

The four of them stop eating together and in the mornings Jowan no longer walks her to class. He practically disappears from her sight; she doesn't care.

When the grief finally stops tearing her apart and she learns a slow acceptance, she's called into Irving's office. Greagoir is there as well. Solona thinks that maybe the two of them are secretly in love and unable to part from each other's side. They are always seen together, the solid front of the Chantry and the Circle in her life.

"Come in, child." It has been a long time since Irving called her child. His tone indicates compassion. Perhaps it's time for her to hear the inevitable speech about the necessity of the Harrowing and the sadness of Shuul's death. "Please, take a seat."

She does so, perched uncomfortable on the edge of a chair. She looks expectantly at the two older men. Greagoir has his arms folded but he stands tall. Not a whole lot of room for leaning and comfort in the heavy armor he wears, she supposes. He looks bored, though. His eyes wander around the room, inspecting individual items for a moment before moving on.

Irving looks calm and collected. He, clearly, is no longer affected by what's happened to Shuul. Solona is not surprised. The First Enchanter has been around for a very long time and has seen this happen before. He leans forward at his desk, his elbows planted on the wood firmly.

"We've been watching you very carefully these last years, as I'm sure you're aware." Instantly the thought of Cullen flares up in her mind. She can't help but blush. The way Greagoir looks at her tells her that he catches the sudden heat on her cheeks. Does he know, she wonders, about the kiss and how her eyes follow Cullen everywhere? She wouldn't be in an office though, right, if they knew. Surely she'd be in much more trouble. "A mage with your beginnings has to be watched after, you understand." Irving says the word beginnings with a hint of delicacy.

Burning her family to death when she was six is a fairly delicate matter.

"You've shown yourself to be a good scholar and a good worker of magic despite your childhood. Knight-Commander Greagoir and I have agreed that your time has come. We've scheduled your Harrowing for the week after next. We'd prefer to do it soon, for various reasons, but in light of the recent loss of your fellow Apprentice Shuul, we thought it best to wait."

She shifts in her seat, both when he mentions her Harrowing (O maker she doesn't even want to think about that) and when he says Shuul. He does so in a way that negates any sort of compassion she thought he might be feeling. Irving just sounds cold and calculated even as he continues, trying to reassure her. "We have every faith in your ability. You're going to be a very good mage, Solona. And your scholarly endeavors have merit as well; perhaps even a chance to research in the field, if we feel it appropriate."

There's no way she can say no. She will not allow herself to be made Tranquil and death is still a frightening concept to her. Irving must have known this. He must have known exactly what to tempt her with, in order to gain her agreement. Field research; she's only dreamed of doing such a thing. Never really considered it a possibility.

The First Enchanter's office feels like its closing in on her; the two men in the room are crowding her. Solona pulls in on herself and only gives a miserable nod of assent when Irving asks her if she consents.

When she walks back to her dorm she feels like she's walking to her execution. Rationally she can accept that the Harrowing shouldn't be too difficult. It's a well guarded secret, yes, but not so well guarded that her hours of research haven't given her warning. Refusing a demon should be a walk in the park. Another voice in her head asks, if it had been so easy why had Shuul failed?

It makes another wave of misery flow over her.

She doesn't hear Neria's approach until the elf is holding on to her arm. She almost jumps in surprise as the added weight pushes them both down the hallway a little faster. "You're never going to guess who called me into their office today."

Considering the lack of actual offices in the Tower, six by her last count, and the excited expression on Neria's face, Solona can guess. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say: Irving. And Greagoir was there too. Do you think something is going on between the two of them? I can't shake the feeling." Solona pokes her friend in the ribs, earning a squeal.

"You too then? Both Harrowed and the illicit affair between the two heads of the Tower. I think they're in love." Neria draws the word out and both of them laugh at the silliness of it. "So, I guess you're not the first to fall for a man in a nice suit of armor. Shouldn't be surprised though; you always were a little slow on the social uptake."

Solona pulls the elf to a stop and turns to glare. "What in Andraste's name are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't give me that crap. I saw the two of you, last week, outside the dorms. Not the best place in the world to be sucking face, Lona."

She turns bright red. She is going to die. Either from embarrassment or beheading, she doesn't know. If Neria starts telling others . . . this could end very very badly for her. "You can't tell anyone."

Neria pats her cheek. "Don't worry. You know my lips are sealed. I'm honestly surprised at you. Usually you're a stickler for the rules. But, I can't really blame you. One of the mages told me that she caught a glimpse of him in the lake once and that his armor hides magnificence." Solona tries hard, really really hard actually, not to think about it but the idea of Cullen, sans armor, is . . . breathtaking.

"Cullen is . . . different. He's very smart you know." She pulls Neria into motion again and slips into analytical mode. "He didn't arrive at the Chantry until he was almost fourteen. He's got lots of experience in the world outside of clerics and templars."

"Yes, I am so sure that you admire him just for his mind. Tell me; were you trying to get inside his brain last week? Strange way to go about it, and all, with your tongue you know."

She will never stop blushing. Not ever. Remembering their kiss makes her blood rush and her head go all dizzy. Remembering the moment right after their kiss makes her serious and displeased. "I think that might have been a one-time-only sort of thing. He wasn't exactly happy about it."

"Yeah, I saw the way he ran. But, honestly Lona? That boy has it bad for you and you just scared him, is all. I bet if you applied yourself, should you want to apply yourself of course, you'd be able to see exactly what's under that armor in no time."

Solona tips her head to one side, contemplating. "Do you think so?"

"Oh, you bet." They're nearing the dorm now and to Solona's horror she sees that Cullen, of course it's him, is positioned outside the door. As the two approach the templar, he turns his head slightly. She can see his eyes through his helm and they don't look terribly pleased. "Good afternoon Ser Intellect!" Solona could strangle Neria with her cheerfulness. And then dump her body in the lake for her jabs.

Cullen turns his gaze straight forward once more and declines a response. He seems stiffer than usual. She hasn't really seen him since that night; he'd made himself scarce and she'd heard whispers that he'd asked to be assigned to the mage's quarters after Shuul. She knows avoidance when she sees it.

Though they say nothing to each other, Solona feels his presence as she passes like an electric current. He shifts, maybe feeling it too. She'll give him some time to calm down before approaching him again. After all, so long as she passes her Harrowing, they've got all the time in the world.