A/N: 1. I'm not dead. It's so shocking, I know. 2. Naughty language at the end. 3. The term 'lobotomy' doesn't belong in the DA universe, but I don't care, so... deal with it?
My dearest daughter,
If you are reading this, then I am gone from this world. I fly to the arms of the Maker and his Bride; however my passing came to be, I would ask that you do not allow yourself the unnecessary weight of its guilt. Raising my three children has been my greatest joy in this life, and I am glad that I have left this world before I lived to see my children pass before their times.
I am preparing these letters for my will hopefully many, many years before they are read. I have given one to each of you, bequeathing what few earthly trappings I had and what responsibilities I have regrettably left behind.
To my children, I leave my legacy, my hopes, my wishes, and my unfulfilled dreams – all that is best in me, and all that I treasure, is within you.
Bethany. Would that you I had not passed the curse of my magic onto you, and I could have provided for you a better life – but this world is not a fair place, where the good are rewarded and the wicked are punished. The world is a dangerous, cruel, and unforgiving place, and I tried my best to shelter this from you so you could have the kind of life that I always wanted, the kind of life I was never given. I was taken to the Tower at such a young age that I cannot recall my birth mother's face. I have only the faintest of memories that I desperately cling to; a certain flash of color that reminds me of her auburn tresses, a sudden haunting melody, or even the faintest smell will take me back to that simpler, more innocent time before I knew of templars or magic. I am not unique in the world – my story is one of a million mages from every Tower.
You, however, are unique, my daughter. I wanted to give you the life I never had but always yearned for, free of the Tower and the corrupting, overbearing influence of the Chantry. The Divine will label you forever as an apostate, will demonize you, because living apart from the Chantry is unjustly deemed a crime. I tried to teach you better. I wanted you to live and breathe free and unfettered, and learn what I never learned – to love the magic that is innate in you, rather than resent and squander it. I have always held resentment in my heart towards my gifts, but I have tried not to pass this impression on to you. I have tried to raise you under the belief that although magic is a dangerous, finicky tool, capable of great damage and even abuse in the wrong hands, it is not something to be feared. Magic it is a part of you that should be embraced. It can be glorious, if you wish it to be.
It is up to you, my dear, to decide if I have done a good job of this. All a good father can do is try the best he can. Part of being a parent, perhaps the biggest part, is accepting that sometimes trying is all you can do. Sometimes it is not enough, but we keep soldiering on. Maybe one day you will learn this for yourself. I hope I live to see that day.
I leave you my books, and my staff, which has carried me as I have carried it through many lands and adventures. I'd caution you to use them wisely, but I know you will. Unlike your brothers, you were always the most cautious, the more even-tempered. That quality, I think you inherited from your mother. Yet, at times, there is a boundless enthusiasm and a kind of wide-eyed, wondrous curiosity to your nature that I find myself in awe of – there is a hopeful adventurousness in you, child, that I do not think you inherited from Leandra or myself, but is a quality that is wholly your own.
I had many dreams for you, Bethany, but none of them compare to your own dreams. I am gone now, and there is nothing left for me to teach you. The rest you will learn as your journey on through your life, without me looking over your shoulder. I have said that the world is a dark and unforgiving place, and this is true . . . but the world is also a marvelous place, full of beauty and light in equal measure. I do not regret that you have been sheltered, though I know a large part of you wishes it were not so. If you have been sheltered, it was out of necessity – we could not, as a family, ever live out in the open due to ever-present threat of discovery by the templars. We lived on the road, never settling, always moving too quickly to call any place home, which is no life for a family. No life for a child. In this aspect, I fear that I have failed as a parent. Because of this, I know you have many fears – the same as I. The fears of discovery, of the templars, the fears of judgment, of prying eyes, of demons in the night, of blood magic . . . It was I that gave you these fears, in the hopes that your fear would temper you in the absence of the wisdom that comes with age. It breaks my heart to recall the night terrors you used to have, and I can remember when you were a child first beginning to study magic, and entering the Fade myself to ward off the demons that haunted your dreams.
Fear is a powerful tool, and your fears are good fears to have, as they keep you out of sight and out of harm. Yet, never let your fears stop you; sometimes, the best qualities in us only shine when in the face of adversity, so I would urge you to use your fear to weigh your steps. The writing of this letter signifies that I will be, or am not with you any longer, and soon there will come times in your life when I am not there to carry you through or battle your demons for you. You will face things and see things you are not prepared to see, know things that you are not prepared to know. Life will soon become a never-ending test. Right and wrong will not be so clearly defined as they were in youth. You must use what tools you have to decide for yourself what manner of person you will be. I am so proud of you. Never doubt that.
When I was still a young man, escaping from my imprisonment at the Tower, I met a very conflicted, but wise man. Without his aid, I would never have survived to meet your mother and escape to Ferelden. This man I counted amongst my dearest of friends, and frequently wrote to for the years while I was still on the run. I vowed, after my escape, that should the Maker bless me with a family, that I would name a son after him. He died many years ago; his legacy lives on in your twin. This man's name was Ser Carver. He was a templar. One of the Tower's very own, who believed that although magic was dangerous, the Circle was not the solution. Ser Carver remembered that templars were never meant to be our wardens, but our protectors. He was someone who, like myself, did only what he could with what he had, though rather acting as I did - rebelling in spite of my situation - he acted nobly despite his situation. The difference between the two is a subtle one.
Not every story ends in tears, not every mage is a blood mage, and no man is inherently evil or good. Each of us, whether we be scholar, templar, mage, or farmer, decides for ourselves what to believe, and what we stand for. Even still, some of us are never given a choice in this matter and choose to blindly follow the path that has been set before them without question, simply because it is easier. It is the truth; an easy life can be had by simply following the common laws of society. I went against the grain, and because of that I have lived a full life – a glorious life, to be sure, but it has been full of hardship and heartache. I believe that it was worth it, a thousand times over.
I ask, my love, that you keep an open mind and an open heart to all, but use your innate caution, and decide for yourself who and what is worthy of your trust and belief. Although I see myself in you at times, I know that you are your own mind and person, and I have come to love and trust in that person to do what she believes is right and just.
Ah, Bethany. Maker willing, I will live to witness the magnificent woman you will one day become. The Maker commanded men to let their magic serve, not rule; I pray that your magic will only serve what is best in you, not that which is most base. Chances are you have heard me repeat this phrase many times over; in truth, I was not the one who first said this. This principle, upon which I have attempted to found my morals, was first presented to me by my old mentor, the First Enchanter of the Circle from my youth. I was impetuous in those days, and did not take the words he said to heart. He was a wiser man than I, by far. Maybe someday, I will tell you about him. Even as I write these words now, and you are but a bright-eyed, pig-tailed girl, I can already see a great wisdom in you – and a bright fire that lights the lives of those around you. Never let that light die, Bethany. Never let them take it from you.
Malcolm Hawke
The demon was a beast made of fire and rage, but that was all it was and nothing more. It craved life and breath, so it could be free of shackles of the Fade; Bethany knew that she was the key to its release. All it required was one, simple word of consent, and the tiring fight could be over:
"No, no, I don't think so."
It seethed. It raged. It burned. She laughed, unconsciously; it was a sad and pathetic thing, really. Here she was, a mage of no small ability – a complex creature of thought and dream and form, and here this small thing was. She told the demon her opinion of it and it raged at her some more – even threatening violence. It wasn't the first demon she'd encountered in the dream-world and it wouldn't be the last, she knew. She felt like should would have been more frightened had they been in the physical world, but knowing that it was only a dream significantly lowered its threat level.
"Leave me be," she finally commanded. "Go on now. You have no sway over me and you're not welcome here. I've no desire to become some big, ugly, gross abomination only to get cut down by the templars that are assuredly waiting over my comatose body in the real world, with a sword having over my neck."
That seemed to quell the rage demon, who visibly cooled. After letting off one final, enraged roar, the beast of fire melted into the ground and disappeared for good. She let out a huge sigh of relief, slowly unwinding the tight, buzzing ball of mana that she'd instinctively stored in the event that the demon had chosen to attack, letting the energy flow into her feet and out of her, into the dream-ground. The Fade was a dangerous place. You had to prepare for anything and everything. She'd faced down a spirit of Valor and challenged him for his weapon, she'd traded riddles with a lazy demon of Sloth, and talked down a demon of Rage.
All that was left then was Bethany Amell, the ground she stood on, the staff in her hands, and Mouse. Mouse, the mage she first encountered. The helpful little Mouse. Eyeing him now, after her anticlimactic "battle" with the rage-demon, Bethany could sense her most insidious test yet – the enemy of misjudgment, and overconfidence. She'd yet to encounter anything in the Fade in all her life that was exactly what it seemed to be, and she saw no reason for the Fade to start being inconsistent now.
"Well now." Mouse grinned. "You made short work of that one!"
"Oh . . . it was nothing," Bethany commented idly.
Pride.
One of Enchanter Wynne's lessons came to mind: Understanding is one thing, trusting is another. Never trust what you see in the Fade - it is a realm of illusion and dream. Nothing is ever as it seems. Not even yourself - in the Fade, what you perceive as your own body is nothing more than a projection, like a familiar coat that your mind will don, to make your passage through the realm of dreams easier. The Fade shapes itself around you whenever you enter it, just as much as you shape it. Remembering this is paramount.
"Not for a mage of your power." The apprentice mage beamed at her, and his tone could not have been more complimentary. Bethany resisted the urge to shudder – honestly, couldn't these demons do better? Given that it had taken her quite some time to figure it out – her first instinct upon encountering the unassuming Mouse wasn't 'oh look, there's a demon trying to get me to trust it, quick, I'd better shoot lightning at it and ask questions later,' but it hadn't taken very long after the fact for her to figure out that he was not all he appeared to be. Really, after conversing with him for more than a few minutes she had the inkling, and after her encounter with Sloth, that had pretty much sealed the deal.
"Right," Bethany pretended to agree. "So, now, my Harrowing is over . . . what then?"
Mouse glanced up at the green-and-black streaked sky, his roving eyes finding purchase on the distant floating black isles that perpetually dotted the horizon of the Fade. The Black City, supposedly. The place of Man's ultimate transgression, where the Tevinter mages were cast down and the first darkspawn were made. The Seat of the Maker. Bethany had always wondered why the Maker would choose to live in such a place - it seemed gloomy, from a distance. Couldn't he just build another Golden City? Why would a god claim responsibility for a place of such darkness? Why not just tear it down? She certainly couldn't imagine his Bride being comfortable with the supposedly cursed place . . . But this was far from the point, wasn't it? "Well, now, you return back and become a newly Harrowed mage. You defeated the demon, you won the prize, and maybe . . . you'll remember me when you get back?"
Bethany tilted her head ever so slightly, feigning her best innocent expression. "Remember you?"
"Unlike you, I'm stuck here in this forsaken realm," Mouse went on bitterly. "The templars offed my body and I've been here ever since, wandering aimlessly through the Fade . . . I long to return back, but I can't – not without a little help. All I would need, to live again, is a small consideration . . ."
"A foot in the door," Bethany murmured.
"Exactly! Just a foothold in your realm. That's all I ask."
She couldn't let this go on any further. "The rage demon wasn't my test, was it," she said sadly, and it wasn't a question. "You're more than a Mouse, aren't you?"
Mouse spluttered for a bit, throwing up a defense, but eventually gave up, settling for a devious smirk. The 'mouse' façade dropped immediately, and when his eyes met hers again, they were anything but mousy. Her 'friend' had been replaced with a sinister and clever thing. "You are a smart one, aren't you." It was not a question, just an honest observation.
"I don't fancy myself a fool," she replied, trying not to sound too blasé without also letting her nervousness into her voice, "and you weren't exactly opaque. I've encountered a pride demon before, in a dream – my fa- I learned what to look for. You can't trick me, and you have nothing that I want. I'm sorry."
"Believe what you will," the demon said smoothly, his form growing and stretching and stretching until Bethany's wide eyes could follow it no longer, so high did he tower over her. Mouse had been replaced with something else altogether – Bethany's senses went berserk and, for the first time since entering the Fade, she did feel fear, icy and cold, traveling up her spine. "The real dangers of the Fade are not what they appear, girl; any creature can wield a stick against another. True folly lies in careless trust . . . in pride. Take care, little mage . . . for true tests never end."
Mouse disappeared in a flash of light, and Bethany's world went black.
Bethany awoke to the sound of screaming.
'Squealing' perhaps would be a better word. Jordan Surana's squealing.
After she got her bearings and realized that she was no longer in the Fade, nor in danger, and was in fact perfectly safe back in the apprentices' dormitory surrounded by her sleeping friends, she calmly asked Jordan to stop his bloody squealing (it was giving her a headache) and tell her exactly what had happened.
"Well," he began, "they dragged your carcass back in some time around midnight. I wasn't really paying attention, I was kind of out of it, but you were tossing and turning a lot, and then you woke up. Jowan's been on the edge of his seat, like literally, as you can see," he pointed. There was Jowan, nearly falling off the edge of his bunk, snoring softly. "He fell asleep an hour ago. I stayed up to watch you so I could pester you with questions! So what happened? What was the Harrowing like?"
Her Harrowing . . . Bethany Amell was done with her Harrowing. She was finally a mage. A fully blooded Circle mage. The thought gave her some thrill - a feeling of victory, but also slightly bittersweet. Now her phylactery would be taken away from the Tower, to Denerim, with the other mages' phylacteries. There was no escaping the Circle. Every mage ends up here, one way or another. She tried to find the right words to describe her experience for her friend. "It was . . . harrowing?"
He glared daggers at her. "And?"
"And what?"
"And what else? Details, woman! I demand details!"
"Alright, alright!" She laughed, assenting. "But you know that I'm not supposed to talk about the Harrowing with the apprentices. It's a strictly kept mage secret."
"And it will continue to be top secret," Jordan said dryly, crossing his heart with his index finger, "now spill."
She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a near-whisper. Of course she was breaking the strict rules, but since when had Bethany ever kept anything from Jordan? The elf read her family's letters over her shoulder. He knew all about her, and all her little secrets by this point, just like he'd promised three years ago when she first came to the Tower when he gave her his 'best friends' speech. She would never keep anything from him. She had been uneasy about having such a close friend initially, but when she realized that despite Jordan's careless and easygoing nature, he was actually a highly private person, and he had kept all of her secrets, and was there for her when it counted most. He was truly a good friend to have. "Well, the templars and Irving took me to the Harrowing Chamber. Greagoir gave me a speech much like the one he'd given when I first came to the Tower, the same old 'magic exists to serve man' thing he always gives. It reminded me of a sermon. In the middle of the room there was this little pedestal, and on top of it, a bowl of pure lyrium."
"Why?" He pressed. "Wait, are you telling me they don't force you to eat six pounds of cheese, strip naked, and do the Remigold while balancing a pole on your head?"
Bethany blinked, processing this. "W-what? No! Where on earth—"
The green-eyed elf glared at a spot on the floor, shaking his head in disappointment. "Niall, you lying bastard! So you're telling me I practiced all that dancing and pole-balancing for nothing? And all that cheese I ate was worthless? I gained weight for no reason? Niall is so getting a fireball in his breakfast."
"You didn't actually do any of those things, did you?"
"What do you think?" He offered enigmatically.
"I think you're very full of yourself," Bethany said with a smile.
"Your vicious words wound me!" He cried dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. His voice almost woke one of the nearby sleeping apprentices, and Bethany had to hush him so she could continue with her recount.
"The lyrium was to send me into the Fade. That's what they do, Jordan. The templars send you into the Fade, so you can face a demon, and you have to fight it off. If you don't, it takes over your body, turns you into an abomination, and then they kill you."
Jordan was silent for a few moments after she finished, rubbing his chin in thought. "So . . ." He drawled. "That actually explains a lot, doesn't it? Makes sense."
Jordan's nonchalant attitude to the reality of the Harrowing confused Bethany. "Makes sense? They force apprentices to fight off a demon, or die in the attempt. You don't think that's cruel? Extreme? Unusual?"
To Bethany's frustration, Jordan just shrugged. "Not really. You grew up outside, so I can see why you might think something like this would be harsh. To me, it's totally seems like something the templars would do. I thought the Harrowing would be a rite of passage, like they would force you to take a written exam, lecture you about Andraste, and then a group of templars would smite you into the ground and if you survived it, you'd be a mage. This makes a lot more sense. Like why Howard chose to become Tranquil instead? The idiot used to quiver at the mere mention of demons, and now he's talking furniture . . . I wonder how that works . . . Well, anyway, thanks for telling me."
"Jordan, you're my friend," she confessed. "I would have told you anyway, if only to prepare you for your own Harrowing."
He shrugged his blue-robed shoulders, and she saw a flash of white from his eyes that glinted off the dim torch light as he rolled his eyes in the darkness of the dormitory. "It'll be any day now. I'm not worried. Shit, we're both Irving's star pupils. You're a prodigy and I'm a total badass - if yours was tonight, then mine can't be far behind. It's Jowan whom I'm more worried about."
"His will come soon," she assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged it off, scowling. "He's been here longer than both of us, Beth. He's older. And you're an apostate. Well, former apostate. And yet you were Harrowed before him? Don't get me wrong, I ain't angry about that - you deserve it, you're awesome - but why? And lately he's been sneaking around - I think he's trying to hide something from me, and it isn't working. He's so stupid!"
Bethany frowned at the suspicious portrait Jordan was painting of their friend. Sure, he was two years older than Jordan and Bethany, but they were part of the same group of friends, and were in the same classes. Jowan was not an incompetent mage; he was better by far than the majority of the other apprentices. Jowan would be the first to admit that he wasn't on Jordan's or Bethany's levels, but surely he would be Harrowed soon… wouldn't he? And Really? Jowan? Sneaking around? Being suspicious? Anyone else she would have believed it, but he was the most mild-mannered mage that Bethany had ever encountered. Jowan didn't sneak around. That was more Jordan's area of expertise. Jordan's and Anders'. "If he was planning an escape attempt, he would tell us," she told him flatly.
"I'm not worried about him escaping. I'm worried he's going to get caught doing . . . Whatever or whomever it is that he's doing, and someone will get the wrong idea and that'll be the last we see of him. I know at least a dozen apprentices who would gladly turn over their own, even if the things they say aren't remotely true, just to get in bed with Greagoir. It's bullshit, but it's true," he snapped, seeing that Bethany was about to protest to that. "You don't have to worry, Beth. You're the token apostate, which Greagoir hates because you don't fit into his perfect little mage mold, but you've at least got one templar who thinks the sun shines out of your ass."
She scowled at the grinning elf. "Now don't you start up with that again!" she hissed.
His eyes lit up in delight, and Bethany instantly resented whatever was coming next. "Oh, by the way, Cullen was the one who brought you back - imagine my surprise, waking up to the big armored goof, carrying you into the room, like a bride, and putting you gently back to sleep. You should've seen the look on his face - I don't think that shade of red even has a name. Like, maybe carnelian? Is that the right word? A mix between amaranth and carnelian red. Ama-nelian. Point is, that was one red-in-the-face templar. That kind of blushing should be illegal, it's so adorable. He tucked you in and everything! I nearly died! Died laughing."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Bethany planted her hands over her ears and hummed, trying to drown out Jordan's story (and to control the heat in her own cheeks).
"Awww!" He cooed, shoving an accusing finger in her face, "lookit you! You're blushing! That's so adorable! It's twoo wuv, I know it. The forbidden love between a templar and a mage . . . This is classic. I'm going to write a book about this romance one day, and it'll sell in Orlais, and then I'll be rolling around in piles of gold."
"La la la la, not listening—"
"You can't deny it! You know it to be twoooo—"
"WILL you two SHUT UP?" A voice suddenly roared, startling the two mages into silence. An infuriated, scarred, messy red head suddenly swam into view, belonging to a young woman Bethany recognized as Suriah. "It's the arse-crack of dawn! Some of us are trying to bloody SLEEP, damn you!"
"Aw, sorry Suriah," Jordan sneered, "We didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep. We'll try to tone it down, yeah?"
"Shut up, Surana, just shut up and go to bloody sleep. And YOU, Amell - shouldn't you be upstairs the Mages' quarters?"
"I-I suppose so," Bethany stuttered, surprised that the furious Suriah recognized her at all, "since I did just past my Harrowing—"
"Well, CONGRAT-u-fucking-LATIONS," she growled, her left eye twitching. "We'll all very bloody proud of you! Now for the love of Andraste, be QUIET and go to BED!"
"Yes, ma'am," Jordan muttered, giving the crabby woman a mock-salute. Suriah growled something under her breath and slunk back to her bunk.
Jordan and Bethany looked at each other in silence, and both shrugged. "Well," Bethany finally said, "good night, I suppose?"
"Oh no," Jordan shook his head, "I am way too excited to sleep now. That woke me up."
"Well, I'm actually kind of drained . . . The Harrowing took a lot out of me, despite the fact that it's technically done while you're asleep . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever." The elf stood up and stretched, while Bethany yawned despite herself. I suppose I can always just move into the Mages' quarters tomorrow . . . "Sweet dreams, Beth. I'mma go lurk around the corridors a bit and see if I can't catch Anders doing the deed again . . . Or maybe I'll prank Torren again . . . "
"Good night, Jordan." The last sight Bethany remembered seeing before succumbing to a, thankfully, dreamless sleep, was a madly grinning Jordan Surana waving over his shoulder as he stepped out of the dorm and closed the door silently behind him, the epitome of a sneaky mage.
Sister,
It's been a while. Looks like it's my turn to write for the rest of us. Good thing too, since I think I'm the only sane one in this house these days.
A lot has happened. I'll get the bad stuff out of the way first: we buried Father on a knoll outside Lothering. Sean has been slowly taking over his responsibilities, managing the house and what all. It's made him even more insufferable than usual, and he's been driving me up the bloody wall with his puffed up attitude. He hasn't cracked a joke in weeks. It's just, "do this, do that, you have a responsibility Carver, bah bah bah" day in and day out, never ending. Mother hasn't spoke much since the funeral, but I know she's noticing the change in Sean. I don't know really what to do about it. Sometimes I hate the git, and his jokes drive me crazy, but he's not himself when he's not being an arse. I'd rather him be an arse all the time than be bossy and annoying. I really hate him like this.
I don't really hate him, I don't. He just drives me nuts. I can't tell him I'm concerned, because he'll either ignore me or make fun of me; either one'll piss me off, and then it'll start an argument. Can't explain to Sean that the last thing Dad would want is for him to be a grump for eternity. And since Sean is depressed, that means that Chomper is depressed too - and have you ever seen a depressed mabari? It's the saddest looking thing. The phrase "puppy eyes" doesn't even begin to cover it. I hate seeing Chomper depressed more than I hate seeing you cry. I know how to handle upset people - growing up surrounded by girls (you, Mum, and Sean) taught me that when someone's crying, the most they really want is a shoulder to cry on and a good hug. Grief is different, though. It's not just tears and crying. We're all grieving in our own ways. What Sean's going through, what I'm going through, it's more deep than anything I've ever felt. I haven't cried yet and neither has he, and I don't know if that's normal. I just feel bad for Chomper. And for you. And Mum. I don't know. I feel like I'm getting pulled in every direction at once, and at the same time, I feel completely useless. I wish I was there with you, or you were here with me.
I don't mean to complain for the entire letter, though. It's just that there isn't much else to do but complain. Dad . . . it hit us all. Obviously. And the fact that you weren't there, but in the Tower, that made it that much harder to cope. I don't think that Mother went into a lot of detail about the events leading up to . . . Well, this. If you don't want to know the details of what happened, you can skip this part of the letter. You deserve to know, though. Dad took ill and it progressed pretty quickly. He's a skilled healer himself, but it was the wasting sickness, Beth. For a while he just brewed himself his own cures, but when he didn't have the strength to do that, he had to write down the recipes for Mum to do it for him. I couldn't do anything, and Sean stomped around, got drunk, and punched holes in walls. That's how we found out that Sean is useless in a crisis, but you probably already know that. We took Father to a hospice in Denerim for the remaining weeks . . . He was too weak to feed himself, so I had to do it. I had to feed him stew and soup like he was a baby. I'll never be able to get that image out of my head. I was glad that I could help in some way, because at that point, I was feeling really useless. By then, the Mother in charge told us he was beyond the help of magic, so all we could do for him was make him comfortable while he died. It was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. You don't know what it's like, to watch someone you love pass before your eyes and be unable to do anything. We had to sit on hands and pray. Up until then, I had kept telling myself that he was going to live, that he was going to wake up soon and be stronger, that he'd hear Sean's voice when he read to him each night, and he'd hear Mum whispering sentiments in his ear, and he'd hear me when I told him he was going to be okay . . . and then he just died. He just stopped living. I don't know.
It might sound strange, but I'm glad you weren't there, Bethany. I'm glad that you didn't have to see it and go through that. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not my twin sister. I know it sounds stupid, but it's how I feel. For the first time, I actually found myself happy that you weren't here, because you didn't have to suffer the agony of watching father die and being helplessly unable to do a goddamned thing about it.
Maybe I just have a different grieving process than Mum and Sean, but I don't think I'm as sad as they are still. It still hurts just as much, but it didn't change me, you know? I'm actually thinking of joining the army. Not any time soon, but maybe next year or so, when I'm eighteen. Mum and Sean need me here, to pull things together. Sean's got his head up his arse and he can't do everything by himself. I don't want to leave Mum with just him for company unless I know they're going to be okay. But when Dad died . . . A lot of other things hit home too. I think I've been living in shadows - in Sean's shadow, in Dad's shadow, even your shadow sometimes. I know this hurts you more than it hurts us, because you were closer to Dad than we could ever be, because of your magic. I wish I was there to comfort you. Maybe it's all that's happened that's making me want to say sentimental things, but I never resented you for it. You know me better than that, but it's a fact, isn't it? You were close to Dad in a way that even Mum wasn't. You had your magic, so that left me and Sean to sit back and figure out how we could be useful to keep you and Dad away from the templars. Sean was always better at everything than me, though - fighting, talking, even writing . . . I've had to measure up to him and I always fell short. Both of you know that, it isn't news. I never tried to hide that I resented Sean for that, even though as my brother I still care about him. Can't help that. Family is family.
When Dad died, and I felt so empty about it, about being unable to do anything while he died, it hit me. I have to do something with myself, Bethany. I have to find my purpose. I can't stay with my family for my whole life. Maybe Sean's comfortable with being tied down to that kind of life, but I'm not. I have to find what I'm meant to do, and I have to leave in order to do it.
And don't you try to talk me out of it. I know you. I've discussed joining the Kings' Army with Sean and Mum to death and they didn't dissuade me. You won't either.
I'm not leaving to enlist tomorrow or anything. A year or two down the road, and I can figure out when I should leave. For now, family comes first. Always. But soon, I've got to start figuring out myself.
I said I wasn't going to spend the whole letter bitching, and look what I did. Oh well.
This letter might be a little late because we just had our first snow. It's officially winter. I'm writing this on Father's old desk - we didn't get rid of any of his things. Mother wouldn't have it. There's a few things he left you, including a letter he left for you in his will. I'm sending it with this letter. Yeah, I know, normally talking about this stuff in a letter is taboo because it might get screened by the templars, but I don't think there's any danger anymore. Oh, and his books and his old staff are technically yours too, but since we can't send them to you without the templars confiscating it (you know that's just the sort of thing those bastards would do), we'll keep them safe for you here. Unless you want us to do something specific with them? The staff's propped up against the wall by the door now. I kind of like it there. Make me feel like Dad is watching over us. Maybe he is, if the Chantry is right.
I had to take a break in writing this to help Mum break out the furs and start up the hearth. It's not freezing yet, but it's chilly. I hate cold weather. Someday, I'm going to break you out of the Tower and we're all going to live in Antiva, where it never snows. How does that sound?
Carver
P.S. Picked these jasmine seeds for you before the snows fell. Should still be good.
P.P.S. At least I think they are jasmine. Don't give me that look, I can see it all the way from here. If you wanted to be sure, maybe you should've asked Sean to pick them instead! You know I'm rubbish with plants.
P.P.P.S. Look, I'm ninety percent certain, all right?
Life as a Harrowed mage wasn't too different from life as an apprentice, for Bethany Amell. She had a few more privileges than she did before and had unrestricted access to the stockroom and the library at all hours, but that was about the only change.
Bethany changed a great deal after her Harrowing. The following evening was when she received a rather fateful letter from her family, with the news that her father had passed away, along with a copy of a letter he had left in his will for her.
She did not cry, then. She simply sat there, stunned, for a few hours. In silence.
Bethany passed from room to room, lesson to lesson, listlessly. If her mentors or friends noticed any change in her, they did not comment. Jordan Surana had caught himself several times attempting to cheer her or inquire as to her mood; he had been in the room when she received the letter, and knew better.
She had ceased attending the evening services in the Chantry. They could not force her to go, really, so she simply spent the time in the library, reading.
Bethany hadn't been able to sleep for the past few days, her mind too active to let her rest. Going through the motions wasn't easy, when you were trying to control your thoughts all the time. Any little thought about her father she abruptly squished. Every time she thought of him, she felt a stabbing sensation in her gut; thus, thoughts of family and friends were pushed out of her mind until she could think no more on them. She was not ready to feel.
One restless evening started much like the others before it, but Bethany found herself wandering aimlessly by the Chantry. 'Why go in here?' she thought. 'There's nothing for us there. No Maker or Andraste . . .' Against her better judgment she found herself setting foot inside and heading towards one of the private nooks. Sometimes she would see Keili here; Keili was one of the Apologist apprentices, a fanatic girl that Bethany personally thought would be better of Tranquil. She loathed the idea of Tranquility and as a personal rule opposed its application within the Circles, tolerating it only a necessary evil (what else could anyone do?), but Keili was a miraculous exception to her personal rule. The girl was obsessed with the Chantry and the worship of Andraste, and at any hour could be found in or near the Chantry, murmuring prayers frantically under her breath for the Maker to take the curse of her magic away.
Bethany had never understood people like Keili, but there had a been a time, not so many years ago, that she had felt the peace of prayer. Maybe she'd find it again. It was better than spending yet another sleepless night staring at the ceiling or trying to focus her tired eyes enough to read.
The Chantry was empty, and silent. She sat down before the statue of the Maker's Bride, and felt nothing. Of course she felt nothing. There was no Maker; what Maker of hers would allow a world to exist where her father could die? What meaning was there, in this life that had been chosen for her? Still, she forced her knees to bend and her eyes to close in prayer, if only for lack of anything else to do. She couldn't force herself to pray to the Maker; it was just too much. So instead, she painfully forced herself to pray to her father, because she was lost without him.
"I'm lost without you, Papa. I don't know what to do. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I wasn't there, if I failed you, if I . . . I can't be here any more. This place is cold and dead. Andraste is dead. The Maker, if He is even there, doesn't care. I don't know what to say. I'm so lost. Please . . . If you're there . . . If there's anything there at all . . . I need help. I need to be free. Help me find the strength to stay, because I cannot do it on my own. I've tried so hard follow your principles, father. I've tried so hard to live by what you taught me, but nothing makes sense anymore. You can't just leave me - it can't just end. You can't just be gone! When I said goodbye, I didn't mean goodbye forever! You can't just, you can't . . . Leave me! I wasn't there, and I'm trapped here now because of my own stupidity. I'm so sorry, Daddy. This isn't the way things are supposed to be. I should be with Sean and Carver and mother, and we should all be happy and alive. Some stupid sickness doesn't just kill you. Not Malcolm Hawke. Maybe it sounds childish; I'm not a stranger to death. People die. But you just don't die. Now you're gone and we're all lost. I can't believe in a Maker that would let this be the end. Not like this. There has to be more . . . There has to be something after all of this suffering. At the very least, a place where we can meet again. I hope there is, even if it is only in my dreams. I hope with every part of me. But, I have so much doubt in me too."
Bethany Hawke clutched frightfully at the worry-worn pendant at her neck like it was a lifeline. "Please, Father, I'm not ready to say goodbye," she uttered in a choked whisper, finally feeling those cathartic tears begin to well up. "I'm s-so scared. Help me find the strength I cannot find on my own to carry on."
And she knelt there, for several moments, quietly crying before Andraste in the silence of the Tower's Chantry, for the first time in several years letting herself feel. She wouldn't cry, not in front of them - she had promised her brother Carver that she wouldn't let them see her tears. But here, she was alone. Very, horribly alone, with only the edifice of Andraste for company. She cried for her father, for her brothers and mother, and also for herself. She cried for the faith she had lost somewhere along the course of her life. She wept for the girl that had been slowly dying ever since the templars had brought her to the Tower. And the tears simply would not stop, so she gave in to them, allowing herself to finally feel bitter helplessness. It wasn't pleasant, but it felt like it was necessary.
Unknown to Bethany, a templar lurked in the doorway, his eyes shadowed as he witnessed the nineteen year old girl in her singular moment of weakness. Though he knew in his heart he was wrongfully intruding on a very private moment, part of him could not bear to look away. The same part of him could not bear the thought of this fragile, confusing, beautiful girl being absent from his life. Consciously, he was aware that it was a sin to feel such a thing for a mage, and it was his duty as a templar to rid himself of such feelings. Yet, he did not feel in his heart that he was in the wrong, and as a result, he found himself lost in between the realms of doubt and faith. He eventually found the will to slip away unnoticed, figuring the Maker could do without his evening prayers for one night, for the sake of Bethany Amell.
Jordan found Bethany in the library, as usual. If she wasn't attending a lesson, teaching a lesson, or eating, that was where she was sure to be found. His apostate friend never did much of anything fun these days, it was just eat, sleep, learn, rinse, and repeat. He'd resolved months ago to pull her out of this funk if it was the last thing he ever did, but that was months ago. Ever since she'd received news of her father's death back home, she'd been both depressed and depressing. Even Jordan's ordinarily high spirits were starting to dim around her, and that just wasn't right. He'd talked about it with Jowan, but Jowan was a useless font of platitudes and diatribes. It was always, 'Jordan, you shouldn't do that,' or, 'Jordan, Bethany's going through something, maybe it'd be best to leave her be,' or, 'Jordan, that's not appropriate, you really shouldn't say such things about the Queen's posterior.' Jowan used to be fun. Bethany used to be fun. Bethany was trapped in her grieving; Jowan had a stick up his arse for some unnamed reason. Now, Anders was the only one who was any fun anymore, and then Anders had to go and get himself locked in a dungeon cell in the Tower's basement by the templars, after his last failed escape attempt. As amusing as it was to watch Anders constantly rile up the templars, even his antics got old after a while. Now Jordan Surana was was faced with a newfound, and unpleasant conundrum: he was bored with life.
His Harrowing could not come soon enough. Even getting trussed up by the templars and thrown into the Fade to face a demon, or die, would be a welcome reprieve from his profound boredom.
"Beth," he greeted as he ran over to his human friend, perched as she was with her nose stuck in a book two times the size of her head. She looked up at him, smiled weakly, and said nothing.
He plopped down in front of her and gave her the best impression of puppy eyes he could. They were pretty good puppy eyes - Jordan had always prided himself on his good looks, and his large green eyes were perfect for mimicking puppy eyes. When he was younger, he used to be able to throw the puppy eyes at anyone and get whatever he wanted. Now that he was older, he discovered that some people were slightly creeped out by his puppy eyes. They usually worked on Bethany Amell, though, but not this time.
How boring. Ugh! "Beth, come ooooon, you don't need to be studying! Entertain me! Please? Come ooooon, I never ask you for anything!"
"Hmm? I'm sorry, what was that, Jordan? I was reading." She finally looked up at him from her book, and that was the first time that Jordan noticed the bags under her eyes. He could've hit himself for not noticing them sooner, but he knew he wasn't always the most observant. If something didn't keep him occupied, it very quickly lost his attention, and as much as Jordan had been attempting to devote his attention to cheering Bethany up these last few months, a man had his limits. The girl had been determined to close herself off from everyone and everything. Strangely, the only person who she seemed to keep any extended interaction with was Cullen . . . Not that anybody was supposed to know about that. Technically, it was forbidden for templars and mages to interact on a friendly business. Jordan had been spying on her for a while and knew for a fact that she talked to the blonde idiot on a pretty regular basis, though, even if it was only in the halls when no one else was around (no one else except for Jordan, anyway . . . Not that they knew that). What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for those conversations. What could the two possibly be talking about? Their conversations were never very long, as far as the elf knew, and it wasn't as if they had too much in common except for the fact that they were both clearly in twoo wuv. Well. One of them was, at any rate. The thickness of Bethany Amell's head was the envy of Dwarven siege engineers.
"Finally, some attention! Maker's balls. Let's go do something fun for once, I'm sick of being bored! Let's go and wreak some havoc - this stupid place needs some excitement, don't you think? I've been itching to get into trouble."
He wouldn't dare talk about the bags under Bethany's eyes. Jordan may be a lot of things, and he'd admit to most of them without compunction. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a sense of tact and common courtesy, though it was only geared towards those who were closest to him. He knew for a fact that Bethany had terrible nightmares most nights, and rarely if ever got any restful sleep, and walked around each day in such intense emotional pain that it now was physically affected her posture. She used to walk around with a careful, light step, and now her shoulders were slumped from exhaustion. She trudged through her day to day as if it were a trial even to amass enough effort to breathe. He knew all of this, because Jordan knew how to use his two Maker-given eyes, and because he'd been slipping her some sleeping draughts in her drinks whenever he got the opportunity to do so. She didn't need to know that - Jordan kept all of his worries to himself. He knew from personal experience that talking about the dark things on one's mind rarely wound up being a good thing, unless it was for cathartic purposes, and even then only in a journal. Some things should be buried and stay buried. Some pains couldn't be shared. He cared about Bethany as a friend dearly, and he respected her need to keep her fears and concerns on the inside; she never once showed fear to any of the templars, nor to any of her fellow mages, not even him. He knew the front she put up, and how much she valued it, and would never dare become the one who shattered it.
He would wager money that Bethany was closer to shattering than she had ever been, these past few months.
What she needed was not a heart-to-heart talk, like Jowan suggested. She didn't need a lovesick templar stumbling over his words and putting his foot in his mouth every time he spoke to the poor girl. She didn't need a friend. What Bethany needed was a distraction, something to pull her away from her grief so she could think clearly, and Jordan specialized in distractions. That was what best friends were for.
That was why Jordan wasn't surprised when Bethany almost refused, stopped herself, changed her expression from resigned reluctance to careful consideration, and then spontaneously stood up and declared, "you're absolutely right, Jordan. You always are. I don't know what I was thinking. Let's go and have some . . . Fun." She spoke the word 'fun' like she didn't even know what it meant - like it was some new land that had yet to be explored. Her tone was uneasy, but in her eyes, Jordan saw an achingly familiar gleam. He'd missed his friend so much.
And so, grinning like a madman, Jordan leapt up, snatched Bethany's arm in his own, and marched out of the dreary library towards a new adventure. "I knew you couldn't resist," he taunted, feeling victorious.
"Don't know why I ever bother to try," Bethany said back, and there was the smallest smile on her face that made Jordan Surana's heart skip a beat. Maybe this would be the first step, to crack the icy shell that the mage had built around herself since her father's death. Jordan could only hope.
And Jowan could kiss his arse. Who needed that buzzkill around, anyway?
Jordan Surana was going to kill Jowan. He'd had a bad feeling about his fellow mage all that morning, and had tried his hardest to put it out of his mind. Jowan's sneakiness and general weirdness all day hadn't helped Jordan's paranoia that something was off about the mage. He'd just known all day, just known that the human bastard was going to do something that would piss him off. He just hadn't known what, until now, and now that he knew, he was definitely going to kill Jowan.
"I'm going to kill you, Jowan," Jordan insisted. "Kill you. For this. You idiot. You stupid, stupid, dumb, idiot shem."
Jowan's eyes widened in surprise at the seriousness of Jordan's tone and the added epithet 'shem,' which he had never heard Jordan use before, and started to splutter. "I-I know that this is all so sudden, and seeing Lily must be a surprise, but—"
"You poor, stupid, dead idiot. I am so sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry you met him. He's a bad, bad man."
"W-what? I don't—"
"Oh, no need for your apologies," Lily chirped, hooking her arm through Jowan's and patting it gently with a smile. "He may be an idiot, and a bad, bad man, but he's mine now." Jowan looked up at Lily with a big, stupid, dumb grin. Jordan was definitely going to murder him.
The elf pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the stress-induced headache he could feel coming on. "Of all the girls to hook up with . . . I mean, didn't you have a thing for Beth for a while there? What happened to that?! You two would have had cute babies! Babies which would have been baby-napped by the Chantry, granted, but still!"
Jowan shifted uncomfortably at Bethany's mention, and Lily looked over at him suspiciously. Jordan couldn't suppress a grin - apparently, he'd found the sore spot between the couple. "You did?"
"Lily, it's nothing - I had a crush on her when she first came to the tower, but it was pretty obvious that she wasn't interested in anything that didn't have a leather-bound cover. It was just a crush."
"Like you would have even had a chance anyway," Jordan dismissed, rolling eyes eyes, "she totally has it going on with Cullen, and he's way cuter than you. Like, so cute I could die."
The Chantry Sister's nose scrunched up in confusion then. "Cullen, that templar? Wait, what?"
"Jordan, could you stop?" Jowan pleaded, exasperated. "For a second? Just stop? I have something important to ask—"
"Something important to ask? What about telling me you're dating a Chantry Initiate? Was that important enough to tell me?"
"I'm telling you about it now, shouldn't that account for something?"
"It accounts for nothing!" Jordan roared. Jowan had crossed the line. The final line. "I've been trying to figure out what you've been up to for months. I was hoping it was something innocent, like blood magic, or demonic summoning, but no. You're sneaking off to have trysts with a Chantry girl. This is . . . Hilarious! The funniest, dumbest thing you've ever done. I don't know whether to be laughing or cackling. Is there even a difference between the two? And what were you going to ask? You drop this on me, and then expect to ask something of me? Oh dear sweet elven gods of yore, you want me to be your best man!" Jordan's expression changed rapidly from indignation to excitement. "That's it, isn't it! I knew it! You're going to get secretly married and you want me to be your best man, because you don't trust anybody else and I'm your bestest friend! I knew it!"
"Wait, Jor—"
"Yes, Jowan, a million times yes!" Jordan jumped and squealed for joy like a child.
"Is he always like this?" Lily wondered, looking bewildered by Jordan Surana's one-eighty-shift personality shift.
"I hated you five minutes ago for being a sneaky shit and being stupid enough to date a Chantry initiate, but that's okay because I forgive you now, because you want me to be your best man. I accept. I also demand to be the godfather of your firstborn. Gotta stake my claim early, you know? I'm okay with sharing god-parent-hood with Bethany, if you want her to be the god-mother, but—"
Jowan finally had enough and clamped his hand of Jordan's runaway mouth. "Jordan," he began slowly, like he was speaking to a small, hyperactive child. Which, was close to the truth. "That's not what I was going to ask, but when Lily and I do get married," he added with a flush, and Lily stared at the back of Jowan's head with shock, "you can definitely attend the wedding. And you can be the godfather of my first child, if you help me with what I'm going to ask. I'll even name my firstborn after you if you want. But first, you need to stop talking and listen, because you're going a mile a minute, and I have to ask you this without you causing a scene and bringing attention to it. This is important."
Jordan nodded, and bit Jowan's hand. Jowan winced, but accepted it with grace. "Yuck," the elf spat, "Jowan-flesh . . . Okay, what is it, you love-lorn dolt?"
"I have no right to ask this, I know I don't. I haven't been a good friend lately." Jowan sighed and looked back to Lily, who offered him a hand on his shoulder in support. "Lily saw, in the First Enchanter's office, papers - already signed by Greagoir and Irving - that say I'm to become a Tranquil. I'm not going through the Harrowing."
Jordan Surana's blood ran cold, which was a stark contrast to how hot his blood had been running seconds earlier. He didn't know what he was feeling in that moment - rage, at the templars, anger at the First Enchanter . . . Or was it directed at Jowan? "Tranquility," Jordan stated, numb. "Why?"
Lily was the one who spoke up this time, worried and frightened, quiet and hushed. "We don't know, but according to what I saw, they seem to think that Jowan is some kind of danger. He's been sneaking around to be with me, and someone must have seen him and suspected him of doing something awful. Greagoir thinks he's a blood mage and they want to make him Tranquil, to control it."
Jordan breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He wasn't an idiot, but Jowan was. He caught his best friend's gaze and held it for some time.
"Lily," he finally said, not bothering to look at the girl. "How long have you been dating Jowan?"
Jowan was the one who answered. "For the past three months."
Which meant that was around the time he had been caught. Lily, the innocent girl, just a cover. Jowan stared at Jordan with pleading, wide brown eyes. Strangely, an image from his childhood in the alienage came to mind, of when he was turned into the templars by his aunt . . . She had been a witness to his first victim. The victim of his first outburst of magic was a shemlen man who had tried to force himself on his older brother . . . Why that image? Maybe something about the color of Jowan's eyes reminded him of his brother's eyes, or the shade of Lily's robe that reminded him of his aunt's amber hair. It was a confusing thing to think about, especially since he hadn't thought about it in over ten years.
Three months ago; Jowan had been sneaking around for a lot longer than that. Looking at the couple, Jordan could tell that they cared for one another. Truly, they did. Poor Lily didn't know her intended very well, though. She didn't know how much of a sneak and a liar Jowan could be. After all, he had been friends with Jordan since they were children. They knew each other better than anyone. Jowan as like a big, replacement shemlen brother to Jordan; brother or no, he knew the truth. After all, Uldred had once been his mentor too, before Irving had taken him under his wing upon noticing his gift for primal ice magic. He and Jowan had studied together, for a time, before Jordan had turned away from blood magic and into the more legitimate study of spirit magic. Jowan, with his aptitude for entropy magic, had been easily taken in by the forbidden, and now it was coming to bite him in the ass. He knew Jowan, and knew the mage would never do anything that would hurt anyone else, but blood magic by its nature was harmful and destructive. The stigma alone would warrant Jowan's execution, if he were found out. The fact that they were willing to consent to Tranquilizing him meant that Greagoir didn't really consider him a threat. If Jowan were a threat, he wouldn't have a head. Tranquility was the templar's sick idea of mercy. Lily, innocent Lily . . .
Even Jordan was shocked when the words that came out of his mouth were, "I can't help you."
"W-what? You don't even know what I'm going to ask! But you're ready to abandon your best friend just like that? After everything you just said?"
"I can't, Jowan. You know damn well why I can't. You are my best friend. We grew up together. But, you're also a fucking idiot. Best go to Irving and try to talk him out of it. I'm not helping you do whatever it is you want to do. Not while she's a part of this," he added, pointing at Lily.
And with that, Jordan Surana walked away, washing his hands clean of idiocy. So why did it feel to him like a dirty move? Why did he feel like he was the one betrayed? Why did it feel wrong? It was true, Jowan was his best friend, and always would be . . .
At least he still had Bethany. He comforted himself with that thought as he walked out of the Chantry, ignoring the sickening feeling in his stomach. He was as much at fault for Jowan's state as Jowan himself was, he knew that. He would never let his friend become Tranquil - Jowan had to know that. Jordan would fight tooth and nail before he let that happen. Hell, he'd die for him if he had to. Jowan had been his only friend for years. But whatever it was that the shem had planned with Lily, Jordan wanted no part of. Lily was an innocent. Maybe if Jowan had come to him before . . . But that was wishful thinking.
Bah. Bethany. He focused on finding Bethany. His ex-apostate best friend was probably in the library. Even though they hadn't grown up together, he still felt Bethany was as close a friend as he could have - and he definitely felt closer to her now than he did with Jowan. She had managed to pull herself out of her grief over the last year, and had acclimatized to Mage-hood with a grace that belied her deep-seated hatred of the Circle. Jordan was the only one she had talked to about it, the only one Bethany could trust with her true feelings. Her grief had turned to rage after a while, and had then simmered down into a slow-burning resentment over the Tower and her place in it. She had thought about escaping and even made plans, only for Jordan to talk her out of it. He'd never tell anyone why he had talked her out of it. Of course he hated the Tower just as much as anyone else. The reality was that Jordan was a selfish person, and didn't want to be left alone. He would've escaped with Anders a while ago - the mage had finally managed to escape and stay gone - but the truth was . . . He was scared.
Yes, the great Jordan Surana was scared. Scared of templars, scared of blood magic. Scared of change. Scared of shemlen prejudice on the outside. Scared of himself. You'd never know it, though, and that's the way he liked it.
"Bethany!" He was hushed by several studious mages when he called out for the girl in the library, but he paid them no mind. His eyes sought out the long dark hair and pale face of Bethany Amell, who poked her head out from behind a desk, where she was seated with an apprentice mage that she appeared to be tutoring. She smiled, wide and happy, and he smiled back. Yeah. Who needs Jowan?
It had been a year and two days. Bethany Amell hadn't been able to stop herself from keeping a morbid track of all the time that had passed since her father had died. A year since she had become Harrowed. She had spent months stewing in a mix of self-loathing and self-pity. Now she only stewed in the regular sort of loathing, which she directed at templars like Greagoir who were responsible for her being separated from her family. The few thoughts that she did not dedicate towards her studies were dedicated towards calculating escape plans. She knew that she had to bide her time, if she wanted to be able to escape and stay free. Her phylactery was a problem, but Bethany knew that there had to be some way around that. There had to be. Her father had done it once when he was close to her age, which meant that she could do it too.
Life went on. Bethany Amell discovered this the hard way. Malcolm Hawke had died, and the world did not pause for him. While she had wallowed in grief, and the world marched on.
Then, the oddest thing happened. It was not the words of her mentors, nor the distractions of her friends, nor the support and connection to her family outside of the Tower that snapped her out of her grief-induced stupor. Instead it was a rather innocuous letter that she received from the only normal friend that she had ever made - someone she had completely forgotten about over the last three years. That girl with the golden hair and the dark, dark eyes from Lothering, Melissa Thatcher.
Bethy
Never figured you for a sparkle-finger. Guess you never know, right? First thought when I heard was, 'why didn't she tell me?' Then I thought, 'silly git, you were a sparkle-finger in hiding, you wouldn't tell no one neither,' right? Then I got mad because you were gone and I didn't have no one to talk to anymore. Right annoying that was. Didn't care for your brothers back then, but yer mum was nice. So I'd drop by after you were gone, ask her how she was. She seemed lonely. Me mum didn't like it none, but me mum's a bitch. You know. She didn't want no one talking to the mage girl's family, right? Mum started talking to the neighbors and getting anyone she could in a tizzy bout it. So I went to the Dane to look for yer brother, told him what me mum was up to. He didn't like it none neither, so we got all riled up, me and him, got pissed, couple of ales. Next day me mum went down to the Chantry and tried to yell at yer mum for something or other, don't know what, but Sean got all mad and I got all mad. Then that lay sister Leli floated in, calmed everyone down quick with that pretty accent 'o hers and smoothed it all over. Point is, I stuck up for you and yers. Meant what I said though. Just couldn't stand the way me mum and those blighters she got all fussed up talking bout magic being evil. I thought 'Bethy's not evil and it's not her fault she got locked up.' Course, always hated the Chantry, never agreed with that shite in the first place, but whatever.
Me mum's a bitch, that's not news. I know I get it from her, but least I'm not all narrow-headed like she is. None of that was news neither. That all happened month or two after you left with the templars. Yer mum's good people. I go and help her out with her garden now that yer gone. She asked me if I wanted to write to you long time ago. Didn't. Never did, til now. Don't know why I didn't. I guess I was scared. Maybe I was mad. You left me all alone down here 'n this bloody village. Thought we were good friends. Then, after I didn't write for a while, figured it'd be better if I never did. Figured you'd forgotten about me. Figured, right, she's got magic and whatall to worry bout now. Don't need me none.
Then yer da got sick. Shite. That was awful. Sorry. You don't need me reminding you. Everyone was sad bout it, even me. I liked yer da. He talked funny but he was alright for a Marcher. Been spending more time with yer mum since, I'm figuring she could use the company. She's upstanding, yer mum, proper-like. Wished I had a mum like that. I still put up with me mum too, but since I realized I was sweet on yer brother, had more cause to stick around the Hawkes.
Kinda just threw that in there, I guess. Sean, I mean, he's the one I like. Surprise, eh? Well there's not too many good-lookin lads here, most folks look like the sod they dig in. Can't be picky in Lothering. Course, yer brothers were always turning heads. Those Hawke boys. I talk to Carver sometimes, he gets me, but it's not like that. Don't worry, Sean doesn't know he's sweet on me too, but I know. I know. He likes how I can out drink him sometimes. He makes me laugh.
Yer family tells me a little bout what it's like in there. I like to picture it like a big, dark castle with all these spikes and nasty imps guarding the gates and like. Maybe a moat. There a lake where you are? Calenhad, right? You swim in it? Do templars let you swim innit? I love swimming. Hey, you sweet on anyone in there? What do they do in there all the time anyway, just study? You always had yer nose inna book. Nothing wrong with that. Wish I'd had more book learning. You think if maybe you write back to yer mum, ask her if I can read some of yer books? Yer da left a bunch, but I can't read the titles. All written in funny talk. Boring.
Lissy
The letter had arrived in the monthly package of other letters that she received, completely innocent looking and totally unexpected in every way. In it, Melissa had written to Bethany from a perspective Bethany had never even considered. It was refreshing. After writing back, Bethany found her step a bit lighter than it had been in months, and the stabbing sensation that she felt whenever she thought of her father or her family was . . . Lessened. She couldn't explain why, precisely, but it made her feel better.
Jordan Surana had passed his Harrowing in normal Surana fashion - with record-breaking time and in flying colors. He blew her performance right out of the water. She made sure that she saw him as soon as he had woken up from his Harrowing, feeling she owed him, as his friend, after he had waited on her for her own trial. He excitedly reported every last detail to her upon awakening, and she smiled and nodded. She helped him move his things out of the apprentice dormitories. She had looked around for Jowan, hoping to see him around, but no such luck. Jordan had complained to her a lot recently about Jowan's strange behavior. Bethany felt like reaching out to Jowan more instead of dismissing him like Jordan did, hoping that Jowan would come around. She didn't have the same worries that Jordan had over Jowan's Harrowing, but his worries had affected her somewhat.
A few days after Jordan's Harrowing had seen him get settled nicely into the new quarters. Jowan had still shown neither hide nor hair. Bethany was tutoring an apprentice in Arcanum in the library when Jordan, per his idiom, burst into the room yelling for her, slamming the doors open in a dramatic flourish. She rolled her eyes and smiled when he caught her eye and walked over to her, ignoring the glares from all of the other mages at his loud entrance.
"You never do anything halfway, do you?" She mused as the blonde elf perched himself across from her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jordan snapped. Bethany blinked, startled by his tone.
Eadric looked up between the two older students, confused.
"Miss Amell?" He inquired.
"I'm sorry, Eadric," she said, giving the other, younger elf her full attention. "Would it be alright if I spoke with my friend Jordan for a while? We can always continue later."
He smiled and nodded, drawing the large book in front of him closer to his person. Bethany smiled as she got up from her seat and made to leave the library, motioning for Jordan to follow her. "Come on, we can talk in the Quarters."
As soon as Bethany shut the door to her portion of the Mage's Quarters, Jowan started yelling. It took her a good while to calm him down enough for her to make sense of what he was saying. "What about Jowan, Jordan? Calm down and tell me."
"He's such a fucking, pig-headed idiot!" Jordan practically screamed, tearing at his hair. "Ugh! I didn't realize how mad I was about him until now. I mean, I was mad as hell earlier when he talked to me, but UGH! Jowan! Stupid, idiot, dumb, idiot shem!"
Bethany Amell sat down on her bunk and stared at her elven friend in awe. She'd never seem him lose his temper, ever - even when he was being dramatic, it was all for fun. This time, he seemed genuinely upset. She'd never seen him any kind of upset, either. Nothing ever ruffled Jordan Surana's feathers, not ever. "Jordan, are you alright? What is this about?"
The elf took a few deep breaths and started to pace in front of her bed. It took him a few seconds to compose himself enough so that he could talk at a normal volume. "Jowan is dating this Chantry initiate. He's seeing her behind everyone's back, and he's doing it for the stupidest reason ever, and then he had the gall - the absolute gall - to ask me for help! I stormed out on him. I didn't want to hear any of it."
The dark-haired mage brought a hand up to her head to run it through her hair as she processed this information. "A Chantry initiate? One of the girls who does the prayer services? Is that . . . Bad?"
"Bad? BAD?! Oh," and then he calmed down, "you genuinely have no idea. Right. Yes, it's very bad. Sometimes I forget you don't know about a lot of the rules here still. It's totally forbidden. Just like templar-mage relationships."
Bethany frowned. "I overhear rumors about those all the time, though."
Jordan rolled his eyes and plopped down next to Bethany on her bed, and flopped back with his arms above his head. "Yes, but it's still forbidden. The point isn't that he's dating some Chantry idiot. It's that he's doing it for the wrong reasons. This girl is totally in love with him, and I think he's using her as an excuse so that she can spy on Greagoir for him."
Bethany twisted in her spot to look Jordan in the eyes as he was sprawled out on her bed. "Why would he do that? And has it maybe occurred to you that perhaps he's in love with her?"
The elf rolled his eyes and groaned. "Because he's totally paranoid about his stupid Harrowing." He paused, and then an odd expression came across his face. "I don't hate Jowan. And I'll acknowledge that he probably does have real feelings for Lily. I'm just mad at him because he's being an idiot and I think he's manipulating this girl, who is totally innocent. Even if his feelings are real, it doesn't matter, because it paid off. He found out when his Harrowing is going to be."
The ex-apostate smiled and patted Jordan on the leg. "But that's wonderful news, isn't it Jordan? We should be congratulating him!"
Jordan's expression didn't change as he sat up and looked at Bethany. He was more serious than she'd ever seen him before. "Yeah, except it's never happening. According to a note Lily found on Greagoir's desk, Jowan's scheduled for a lobotomy. They're going to try to make him Tranquil, Bethany."
Bethany couldn't tell if it was the world that was suddenly frozen, or just her. Everything seemed to stop for moment that was split apart from time, and Jordan's words rang over and over in her ears like a bell toll while Bethany stared into the space in front of her, feeling numb. A sharp knife of dread stabbed its way into her heart, breaking her composure and shattering her frozen moment as she sat back, blinking away hot tears that had suddenly formed in her eyes. "Oh, Maker," she murmured, a delicate hand moving up to cover her mouth as her mind raced.
It is said that there are fates out there that are worse than death. Bethany had never been confronted with any of them until now. Tranquility was one of those fates - it was the worst sort of hell for a mage, to be cut off from who and what they were, and becoming an unfeeling mockery of who you once were. Death would be preferable. Bethany didn't want to see Jowan die, though. She wanted Jowan to be safe and happy and Harrowed, like she and Jordan were. How could things have gone so wrong? How could this have happened?
Jordan let his friend stew in silence for a while over the news. When she finally stopped panicking, she looked to him and simply asked, "why?"
The elven mage sighed, looking thoughtful. "Because Jowan's a fucking idiot, that's why. It doesn't matter, in any case. I feel bad for saying what I said earlier, but my mind hasn't changed. He's planning something stupid, I'm sure, and he's going to get that innocent girlfriend of his caught up in it. She doesn't know him like I do. I know Jowan, he's been my best friend for years. He should know that I wouldn't let him be made Tranquil, if it came down to it. I'll probably go talk to Irving once I've calmed down and pull a few strings, since if I can't get him out of it."
"Why, Jordan? Jowan, he's…" Bethany trailed off, the tears once again forming in her eyes. She thought of all the smiles she had shared with her friend Jowan, of all the nice things he had done with her, of the times they'd practiced spells together. All the meals he brought her in the library when she skipped out on them, lost in her studies. "He's the nicest person I know, Jowan would never hurt a fly - why would they want to make him Tranquil?"
Suddenly, Surana sat up on Bethany Amell's bed, shuffling to the edge. He bowed his head, putting his elbows on his legs and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, which shielded his face from Bethany's eyes. Still looking away, he said, in the same flippant tone, "I don't know, they think he's a blood mage or something stupid. I-I don't know where they got the idea. Like I said, I'll talk to Irving, he'll set things straight." Bethany put her hand on her friends back and rubbed small circles into it. She'd never seen him this distraught, and it wasn't hard to guess why - Jowan and Jordan were her friends, sure, but they had been friends long before she'd come to the Tower. They had grown up together, practically like brothers. It had taken her a long time to adjust to the camaraderie between the two, and even longer to feel like she wasn't intruding on their friendship anymore. She had different friendships with the two of them, but cherished them both equally. She didn't want to know what her time in the Tower would have been like, without the two of them to keep her sane. She owed them so much . . . And now it looked like they were being torn apart.
She couldn't let this happen. No, she wouldn't let this happen. As she comforted a sniffling Jordan Surana, who kept making empty promises to 'smooth things over with the First Enchanter' between his hiccups, Bethany made a silent vow that she would save Jowan from this fate even if it was the last thing she ever did. No one deserved Tranquility, no matter what they had done.
"Bethany?"
"Yes, Jordan?"
"I-I don't know what to do."
"I don't know either."
"Jowan… Maker…"
