(Notes:

I've updated the cover image. It's a scene from way forward in Chapter 41, but, with this many Wardens running around, I figured you guys could use the visual reference.

EDIT: Or, if you prefer, the lovely OlKaJa-Hime747 has drawn up fanart of each of the seven Wardens. This website is a jerk that doesn't allow outbound links, so you can view it by searching the ElizavetaH213 profile on DeviantArt.

On that note... while it's true that the story is largely written, I am tweaking details as I go. So, if you see something you like (or don't like!), feel free to drop a review, and I'll see what I can do! :) )

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7. The Prodigy

Jowan hurried through the corridors of the Circle Tower, his shoes scuffing loudly against the stone floor.

Whispers had passed through the tower mere minutes ago: Kazar was awake, and, apparently, not as demon-possessed as several of the Templars had been wagering. One of the Templars had even joked that he was 'tempted to stab that uppity knife-ears anyway, and claim he was.'

At least, Jowan hoped it was a joke. Please Maker, let it have been a joke.

The apprentice ran his right hand absently along the tiny scar on his left wrist as he walked. Jowan hadn't even found out that Kazar had been taken away until early that morning, when he'd returned to the apprentice quarters to find Kazar's bunk empty. Jowan had been out of bed all night himself, first with Lily, and then practicing his… new hobby.

Not that he meant anything bad by it, of course. It was just supposed to give him the edge he needed to be submitted for his Harrowing.

He entered the quarters and headed to the last row of bunks down the line. Sure enough, Kazar was awake… and staring at the brand new mage robes in his lap as if they were a poisonous asp.

"So…? How does it feel?" Jowan asked, coming to rest against his own bunk, which was opposite Kazar's.

The elf wrinkled his nose. "How is it that something can feel like both a badge of honor and a leash at the same time?"

Finally, Kazar looked up and met Jowan's eyes, and Jowan was surprised to see no real happiness in his fellow's expression. Instead, those grey eyes held only their usual cynicism and hints of that ever-present temper that the elf was so infamous around the Tower for… expressions that were ill suited to such a young face.

And Kazar was young. At sixteen, he was—as of this morning—one of the youngest mages to ever pass the Harrowing. He looked it, too: he was small and delicate, even by elven standards. His strawberry blond hair was styled in a boy's cut: cut short and feathered... though he claimed he kept it like that so it didn't get in the way during spellcasting. The way Kazar Surana approached spellcasting, Jowan believed that.

The elf's face was traced with light tattoos that suggested a fire dancing across it, fearsome and beautiful at the same time. Many of the younger apprentices believed that the elf had been given those tattoos before he came to the Tower, and that it meant he was Dalish. Older apprentices, like Jowan, remembered well that this was not the case. Kazar had simply shown up to class with them one day when he was twelve. When asked about them, the elf offered no explanation.

Besides, Kazar had been brought to the Tower when he was four. Everyone knew he didn't remember his real family, so what would it matter if he was Dalish?

Jowan sagged against his bed, discouraged at his young friend's lack of enthusiasm. "I admit, I would have thought you'd be more excited."

"Tch." Kazar picked at a stitch in the mage robes. "Sure, I am. Now I get to walk on the second floor of the Circle Tower without getting funny looks. Hurrah and huzzah, I feel the world opening up before me."

"Well, at least your Harrowing's over and done with, right?" Jowan paused to check that they were out of earshot of any other apprentices, then leaned in. "What was it like, by the way?"

Kazar arched an eyebrow at him, a knowing smile flickering across his tattooed face. "You really want to know?"

"Of course I do!"

"Nah, I don't think you do. Better to just let you sit and wait for your own. Half the fun is the mystery, you know."

"You are a very cruel little elf. Just so you know."

Finally, Kazar barked a laugh and beckoned Jowan forward. Jowan's heart was in his throat as he leaned over his smaller friend, even as Kazar's eyes danced with secrets. "They make you fight a demon."

Jowan's heart stuttered, and distant guilt flashed through him, quickly shoved aside. "Wh-what? You're… you're putting me on, aren't you?"

Kazar grinned, his eyes lit with excitement in a way Jowan had rarely seen from the younger apprentice. "I'm serious. They make you fight a demon." The elf laughed giddily and motioned for Jowan to step back, which he did.

Then, Kazar spread his hands in front of him, palms facing one another, and conjured a roaring flame between them. Jowan flinched back, momentarily taken off guard by the sudden heat and light. When he looked back, Kazar had shaped the fire into a creature that Jowan had seen only in books: a Rage Demon. While Jowan watched, Kazar made the manifestation gesture and swipe, like a puppeteer playing with a rather deadly puppet.

Then, just as abruptly as he'd summoned it, Kazar dismissed the flame and leaned forward again. "Did you know that Rage Demons are immune to fire?" he said, his voice picking up speed in obvious excitement. "I didn't. I kept blasting it with flames, but the demon didn't even feel it. So then, I switched to lightning, and zap!" Kazar illustrated the story by sending a thin bolt of lightning arcing over Jowan's head, making the older apprentice duck on reflex. "Dead demon!"

"Why do I get the feeling," Jowan said, hesitant to uncurl from his protective hunch, "that you enjoyed fighting the demon?"

"And why not?" Kazar snapped indignantly. "It sure as the Fade made a better target than a couple practice dummies or a shielded enchanter who's pulling his blows. With that demon, I didn't have to worry about being scolded for being too 'enthusiastic'." He rolled his eyes. "I ask you, how am I supposed to know what I can do if the only place I'm allowed to do it is in the Fade, which is literally in my dreams?"

"Perhaps now that you're a full mage, they'll let you practice a bit more freely."

Kazar fell back on his bed as he snapped, "On who? The Templars?" He paused, his eyes narrowing with a smirk. "Though I certainly wouldn't mind that. Just for curiosity's sake, of course… see how effective their so-called anti-magic disciplines are when they're simultaneously turned to stone and on fire."

"You have a rather disturbing imagination, my friend."

"It'd be funny, though, right?" Kazar's smirk broadened. "I think I'll write my first paper about it. 'The study of the effects of the Templar Order pissing me off'. I'd have to do some in-depth research… test it out on lots of Templars."

Jowan chuckled. "And to think that some people were suggesting they make you Tranquil."

Kazar laughed. "If they tried, I'd give them good reason to: nothing says 'Tranquilize me' like a fireball to the face, right? If they tried, I'd take this entire damned tower down with me." He smiled sharply, apparently getting lost in imaginings of doing just that.

Jowan bit his lip, his right hand once again going to that little scar on his left wrist. The mention of Tranquilling reminded him of why he'd sought out Kazar in the first place this morning.

However, it could wait. When Kazar was in one of his 'I like to burn things' moods… it… was not a good time to ask for favors. Then again, it rarely was.