Chapter Text
“And remember not to take too long. Have you eaten? I hid some extra muffins in my bunk if not.”
“Stop fussing, Jowan. You’re making me nervous,” I berate my friend gently, offering him the smallest of smiles to show I’m not truly upset. “And your food stash isn’t as secret as you think it is. The whole tower can smell that something went putrid weeks ago.”
Jowan’s big brown eyes search my face. He is perched on the bunk opposite mine, knee bouncing compulsively. The sound of his foot hitting the stone echoes across the apprentice dormitory, apparently disturbing one of the other apprentices. The very loud and deliberate noise of a page turning causes us both to glance over our shoulders.
“I don’t know how you’re so bloody calm. This is your Harrowing, for Andraste’s sake!” Jowan hisses, lowering his voice to barely a whisper.
Even the word sends a chill down my spine. Harrowing. Nearly two decades I’ve trained in the Circle for this moment. It always seemed this far-off, looming event, a point so distant in the future that surpassing it wasn’t even a consideration. It still hasn’t sunk in yet; all the preparations, all the tests, and there is only a hollow space where my anticipation should be.
“I’m screaming on the inside,” I say, deadpan.
Jowan facepalms.
“I don’t know why I bother. We both know you’ll pass. The worst that will happen is you missing dinner,” he scoffs. A hint of resentment colors his words, resentment that has become more common once the rumors of my Harrowing date spread through the dorm.
I try to ignore the twinge of hurt that follows.
“I’m sure your Harrowing will be soon. I’ve seen your spellwork—you’ve really improved,” I urge, but Jowan only shakes his head. We both know he has been falling behind.
They should just make him Tranquil and be done with it, we overheard two of the older apprentices whisper on the way back from the mess hall last week. I had placed a hand on Jowan’s shoulder as we walked past them, trying to chase away the terror in his eyes and reassure him they meant someone else, but the apprentices fell silent the moment they caught sight of us. The fear had never truly fled his eyes since.
“I’m not an idiot, Surana. I’ve been here longer than you have and they still won’t test me,” Jowan retorts. “But never mind that. You have to find me afterwards and tell me how it went! Promise?”
The request is such an innocent one. I can’t help the amused smile that lifts my face. Jowan is several years my senior, but still boyish in many ways. Broad shoulders and patchy facial hair he insists makes him look dashing have not wiped away the impish apprentice I met so long ago. It’s hard not to picture him as my little brother sometimes. Or a lost puppy, as some of the others like to tease me about.
But before I can offer an answer, the telltale clank of templar armor sounds just outside the door. The bulky square of metal pauldrons yields to a friendly face, curly blond hair, and golden eyes that shine in the candlelight. Ser Cullen: one of the newest templars. It didn’t take long to learn the sound of his footsteps in the corridors; he is about a year younger than me and hasn’t filled out yet in the tail end of his teenage years, causing the armor to fit awkwardly on his frame. It causes a lot of extra noise when he walks.
Normally Cullen’s presence is a comforting one. He is one of the only templars we have convinced to join in on card games with the apprentices, whereas most others stand as motionless guards in the background. I keep meaning to ask if he has heard from his sister since last holiday. Today, though, his arrival can only mean one thing.
“Surana Amell, you are to report to the Harrowing chamber,” he says stiffly.
All semblance of humor drips off Jowan’s face.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks, the words seeming heavy on his lips.
My throat feels too tight to answer. I nod. No more time for goodbyes, or just-in-cases, or doubts. I rise and head for the door. Jowan’s gaze bores into me from behind as I go.
Cullen does an unnecessary salute before rounding the corner with me, making me chuckle to myself. He throws me a confused glance.
“Nothing,” I reassure him, bumping his shoulder with mine and regretting it after the pauldrons dig into my robes. “I’m just glad you were assigned to my ceremony. I’ll feel better with you there.”
Cullen’s cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink before he answers.
“Yes, well. Uh—Knight Commander Greagoir insisted I attend. Not that I didn’t want to see your Harrowing,” Cullen backtracks, stuttering. “I just—”
“Don’t worry. I know.”
A heavy silence fills in the words neither of us want to say aloud. Our fears fill the space between us like brushing fingertips, a small comfort in knowing they are shared.
“Do you feel ready?” Cullen asks as we pass the last of the dormitories and ascend the steps to the upper tower.
“As ready as I can be,” I sigh. In the absence of details about the ceremony, my mind has filled in every possibility a thousand times. I wish I knew what spells I would be asked to cast, what temptations to spurn, something.
“I regret that I can’t tell you what to expect. If I was permitted to, I would,” Cullen continues as if reading my thoughts. His face betrays concern. “But I have no doubt that you will see this through, Lady Amell.”
He believes in me. The sentiment sticks in my brain and then it’s my turn to blush. As fumbling as conversations may be with Cullen, he always knows how to set my heart at ease.
“There again with the formalities,” I joke. The battle to convince Cullen to use my first name has proven a futile one, but I like to tease him all the same. If only to see how red his ears can turn.
This time, though, Cullen’s face remains pale and determined. He stops as we reach the top of the spiral steps. I halt beside him, puzzled, but the sorrow in his eyes holds me captive.
“Surana?” he prompts.
I nearly fall over from shock.
“I wish you luck,” Cullen says softly, and then opens the double doors to the Harrowing chamber.
The topmost floor of the tower is the only one that I have never entered. Walking into the vast open space of the Harrowing chamber feels forbidden somehow; no more grey stone walls and blocky, creaking wooden furniture. The ceiling is a dome of stained glass, tinted silver and gold that casts odd moonlit patterns on the floor. The air tastes stale with dust and yet sharp in a way I don’t understand—like the remnants of something powerful lingers in the air. The hair on my arms stands on end.
“Good. You are here,” a familiar, rasping voice emanates from a lone mage standing beside three other templars. First Enchanter Irving has looked about as old as the Maker since the day I arrived in the Circle and hasn’t changed since; dark circles beneath his eyes meld into a wrinkled face, a peppered black-and-grey beard, and hair that is loose and greasy more often than it is slicked back. “If that is all who will be joining us, we are ready to begin,” he says to the templar at his shoulder.
Knight Commander Greagoir embodies the average templar to a T—stern brow, hard-set jaw, and eyes so walled off from any emotion that his laughter is as rare as raining gold. His armor, his hair, his demeanor, all as grey as the stone beneath us and twice as cold. I fight a shiver as he strides towards me.
“Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him,” he begins, the angles of his armor glinting sharply in the coming moonlight. “Your magic is a gift, but it’s also a curse. You must never become complacent with your power, lest you serve as a gateway into this world for a demon and cause the deaths of innocents. This test will ensure you have the strength of will to fend off temptation.” Greagoir’s hard shell exterior cracks for just a moment, sympathy winking in his eyes. “You have always been a bright girl. You understand why this is necessary.”
I nod.
“Remember to breathe, Surana. You are more than prepared for this.” Irving places a hand on my shoulder, meeting my gaze until I take a deep enough breath to loosen the tension in my posture. Is it that obvious that I’m nervous? “This ritual will send you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon armed with only your will.”
Wait, what? I pictured how this test might go every waking moment since I knew it was coming. I imagined being asked to cast a healing spell, or a ward, or told to recite verses of the Chant. Never something like this.
“You…want me to dream?” I ask, trying to find the catch. It can’t be that simple.
“Not precisely.” Irving gestures to a table at the far end of the room with a large goblet in the center. On closer inspection, there is a bright blue liquid in it that it takes me a moment to recognize.
Lyrium?
“We will send you into the Fade using this. And there, with your waking mind intact, you will face whatever demon you find there,” Irving explains.
I’m not sure whether that sounds like the easiest test in the world or something I’m doomed to fail from the start. It seems Cullen isn’t sure either; unlike his stoic counterparts, his brow is pinched when he takes up position at Greagoir’s side.
“Every mage must go through this trial by fire. Keep your wits about you,” Irving says hurriedly, quietly, as if trying to escape Greagoir’s notice. “And remember: the Fade is a world of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real.”
Greagoir holds up a hand and steps between us, frowning.
“The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter,” Greagoir warns. He levels a long look at Irving before turning back to me. “When you’re ready.”
Every day of my life has been leading up to this. I am ready. I have to be. I raise my chin and approach the table. The goblet and its lyrium beckon like a familiar voice. I reach into the goblet, cupping all that vibrant blue in my palms as it reflects silver light onto my skin. That light expands in a flash, a ringing in my ears overtakes every other sense, and then it fades back to reality. In fact, it doesn’t seem like anything has changed. The lyrium goblet sits on the table, just as before. The stained glass windows tower overhead.
“First Enchanter, I don’t think it—” I pivot to find myself alone in the chamber. No retreating footsteps reach my ears. No distant voices betray their whereabouts.
Did I just space out? Is this part of the test?
I pace about the room, coming eventually to stand at the mouth of the staircase. The double doors at its base are wide open, but I don’t dare think of leaving the room without express permission.
“Hello? First Enchanter? Knight Commander? Anyone?” I call, flinching as it echoes loudly down the hall. No one answers.
My attention is caught, however, on a tiny brown mouse that scurries into view. It rounds the corner on the level below and takes the stairs two at a time, making a beeline for me. I step aside to let it pass. Coming across any rodents on the upper levels of the tower is rare, but not unheard of. But the mouse reaches the upper landing and stops just before me, whiskers twitching, and then it speaks.
“Be quiet, will you? Are you trying to draw every demon in a mile radius?” it snaps in an indignant, unmistakably human voice.
I stare at the mouse for a long moment.
“What. The actual fuck,” I whisper.
The mouse lets out a sigh that heaves its tiny flanks.
“I swear, the Circle doesn’t teach you youngsters anything these days.” And in a flash of blinding white light, a man appears in the mouse’s place. He stands at average height, a few inches shorter than me, with hair like straw and eyes with a wild glint to them. He adorns mage robes similar to mine, but his appear to be made of pure velvet and the metal seal on his chest is not one I recognize. “But it’s not your fault. You’re in the same boat I was, aren’t you?” he asks, appraising me with a look.
“Who are you? Where is everyone?” I ask, trying to stem the panic rising through the numbness.
“You can call me…well, Mouse,” the man says. “Allow me to welcome you to the Fade.”
The Fade? That can’t be. I pinch my arm hard, but nothing changes.
“I don’t remember falling asleep,” I protest.
Mouse only chuckles.
“You won’t. Not for this test. This is how it works, you see. The templars throw you to the wolves, fresh and unprepared, and they don’t even give you the decency of proper instructions,” he quips.
Wow. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone gripe so openly about the templars before. At least he’s honest. Even if his words seem harsh.
“Then you know how to pass the Harrowing?” I ask.
“You must seek out the demon that rules this part of the Fade, then resist it, if you can,” Mouse explains darkly. “That’s your way out. Or your opponent’s, if the templars wouldn’t kill you.”
There’s that reminder again. I wonder if the templars are standing over my body right now in the waking world, swords drawn and ready to strike. I wonder what’s going through Cullen’s head.
“How am I supposed to find one spirit in the Fade? I’d have better luck finding one apple in a whole orchard,” I ask.
“Trust me. This one isn’t hard to find,” Mouse reassures me, although his tone suggests something more sinister. “But there are other spirits in the area. They may even help you, if you can believe anything you see.”
Even the thought of running afoul of other demons makes my heart lurch. The halls of the Circle are so exposed; taking shelter from wandering enemies will be nearly impossible. Mouse must have done it, though, to get here.
“Can you teach me how to become a mouse too?” I inquire.
“I fear you are too attached to your current form,” Mouse replies, seeming taken aback by the question. “That school of magic is not one that has been taught in your culture for centuries, at least.”
“But it would help us avoid detection,” I point out. “Besides, I—” Shame brings a rush of heat to my face— “I don’t know any offensive spells if we were to get caught.”
Mouse facepalms.
“Of course you don’t.”
I try to push the shame aside as it stings.
“Please?”
Mouse looks at me through his fingers before pushing out a long breath.
“Fine, kid. I’ll go over the basics,” he agrees. “Where to begin…ah. Since this is the Fade, you aren’t really here in your human body. You look like that because you think you do.” He motions nonspecifically at me.
So it’s like lucid dreaming, I infer. It’s not something I’ve ever been able to accomplish, but I know the basic gist from one of my mentors.
“So I just imagine myself as a mouse and that’s what I’ll be?”
“No. It’s not enough to imagine. You have to know,” Mouse argues, sounding faintly annoyed. “Picture yourself seeing through a mouse’s eyes. Know that the next time you blink, you will be able to smell all the sharp scents around you. That having four legs is just as much a part of you as the two you are using now.”
It’s all about willpower, as Irving always says. Every ounce of control we wield as mages is through exerting our will. I close my eyes, take a breath as the raw power of the Fade courses through me, and will myself to change form. Still, several seconds pass and I feel just as human as ever.
“Bring your hands over your heart,” Mouse instructs, his voice shifting as he paces around me. “You are not human here. You are a soul, and a soul can express itself in more than one form.” There is something deeply contemplative about his voice now. “You can do this, kid. You will do this.”
And as my concentration deepens and my surroundings fade, I believe him. I feel my body dissolve in the next moment, returning to the energy within, before shifting outwards to something I have never been before. Or perhaps always have been. Or perhaps will only be for this singular moment in time.
I pull my consciousness back to the present with a rush of sensation. The strong smell of something like lyrium bombards my nose. It twitches in a vain attempt to dismiss the sensation. The attached whiskers whip through the air, so sensitive to touch that the air feels as solid as a hand. I shift my gaze to Mouse, first to his boots at eye-level before traveling upwards to his face. And to my surprise, he looks genuinely proud. Gentler. More at peace.
“I had forgotten how much I loved teaching,” he murmurs. “It has been a long time since I was anything other than…this.”
Curiosity sparks in me again. What is his story? Is he like me, another mage here for his Harrowing? How long has he been here? But something tells me we’re running short enough on time that a long heart-to-heart would cost us too much. I tuck my questions away.
Mouse shakes his head as if to clear it and turns into a mouse again, nudging me with his nose in something like affection. “Come on. Let’s find this demon before it’s too late.”