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Aylin snapped upright at the heavy sound of metal on wood, fear curdling in her blood. What did the templars want with her? The last few days flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong. The offenses you didn’t realize were always the worst, though, and hesitating would only make it worse. She opened the door.
It wasn’t Elisse. The old silver-haired templar was quick with the whip, and Aylin had the scars to prove it. But she wasn’t there. Instead, half a dozen templars in full armor were waiting outside. One held his helm under his arm, and she recognized him as one of the higher-ranking guards. She’d never seen this many templars at her door before. Perhaps she might prefer the whip.
“Can I help you?” At least her voice came out steady.
“Aylin. You will come with us.” His face and voice were utterly emotionless.
“Should I bring anything?” She half-gestured back to her desk, littered with papers and notes.
“No.” He placed his helm back on his head and turned to go, in step with another of the templars. As she followed them, the others closed around her, pinning her in. She didn’t let the fear show on her face.
They walked her towards a hallway she’d passed often, but never been down. She knew what was there anyway - the chamber of the Harrowing. This couldn’t be right. She was too young. She’d never met nor heard of anyone who had been Harrowed before their twentieth birthday. Maybe, she thought wildly, something had gone wrong, and they needed her help - but then why bring an apprentice? No. It was her time.
How many apprentices, just like her, had walked down this same corridor and never come back? She glanced up at the templars, but they were staring straight ahead. Suddenly, she was twelve years old again, walking with the templars away from the Pelican’s Nest, towards the Gallows. Her mind skittered away from that memory and started cataloguing everything she’d learned in the past four years. History and spells and lore and runes… It was a test, after all. Wasn’t it?
The only thing anybody knew about the Harrowing was what happened to the apprentices who failed: they vanished. Some of her more optimistic (or naive) classmates claimed that the failures were sent to other Circles to try again, or shipped off to Tevinter, never to return. Those with more sensationalist temperaments told lurid tales of butchery, torture, and blood magic. She had her own opinions, though; the Gallows was awfully close to the docks, and the ocean had plenty of its own dead. What were a few more apprentices compared to the shipwrecks? She took a quick breath, savoring the weight of the air in her lungs. She might have only so many left.
Finally, they came to an elaborate wooden door, carved with runes of binding, silence, and secrecy. The templar ahead of her raised his hand and knocked three times, and the door swung open.
Perhaps under other circumstances, the room would have been beautiful. A complex pattern was set into the stones under her feet, and someone had managed to set red and amber stained glass in the arrow slits that served for windows, bathing the room in an unearthly glow. She felt the odd tang of iron on her tongue, and realized she’d bit through the inside of her cheek.
Another pair of templars waited inside, flanking the First Enchanter. Aylin had only seen them a handful of times on holidays and special occasions - and when they’d drawn the blood for her phylactery four years ago. Careful, cold hands that had nearly matched the temperature of the lancet - and then the brilliant swirl of magic had burned bright in her mind. The First Enchanter was masked, but the half-dozen Senior Enchanters waiting behind them were not. She recognized a few faces, here and there - Horvath’s scowl, Mina’s pale stare, and - yes, there, a gentle smile when she needed it most.
Slightly reassured, her eyes found the First Enchanter again. An unwavering steel-gray gaze watched her through the mask. “Aylin of Kirkwall, you have been brought here for your Harrowing. You will be cast into the Fade with nothing but your will and wits. You will fight a demon, and you will prevail, or die by our hands.” They gestured around them to the other enchanters and the templars. For the first time, Aylin noticed their drawn swords. “Do you understand?”
“I do, First Enchanter.” Her throat was dry, but the rasp of her voice sounded too loud in the room.
“If you do not wish to undergo this trial, you may choose to be made Tranquil. Do you understand what that means?”
“I do, First Enchanter.”
“Do you wish to be Harrowed?”
Time stopped, and spun, and stretched. She heard her own voice say, “I do, First Enchanter.”
“Then drink.” They gestured, and one of the other enchanters placed a goblet in their hands, the white smoke of lyrium spilling over the edges.
As the First Enchanter approached her with the cup, everything slowed to a crawl, giving Aylin space to let her mind wander. Arlen would be nearly done with his apprenticeship now, she thought distantly. Would he return to their inn or go work somewhere else for a while? It would be his someday, after all. She wondered idly if Jamie even remembered her. He’d only been a babe when she’d been taken. If she died today, he might forget he ever had a sister. Perhaps it was for the best.
In this brief window of time that might be her last on earth, she could feel everything. Blood pulsed through the veins in her neck, pressing against her skin from the inside. Her hair, bound back in her usual long braid, tugged at her scalp. The soft cotton of her robes whispered against her arms as she reached out to take the chalice, and the silver was almost sweet against her mouth. Then her vision went white, and she crumpled.
Aylin blinked awake, feeling the almost-familiar sensation of the Fade prickling in her mind. She knew this; she went there every night, after all. This part of the Fade looked like a wasteland spotted with occasional scrub and rocks. The wind whistled in the distance, but she couldn’t feel it on her face. There was nothing here.
Not sure what to do, she started walking, quickly hardening her will, and casting out her awareness to see if anything was nearby. She caught a hint of motion behind a nearby rock, and whirled around, spells ready on her tongue. A figure detached itself from the rock and approached, hands up in surrender.
“Aylin, thank the Maker you’re here! It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”
The voice was familiar. She lowered her hand, spell still at the ready, and peered closer at them. They wore a cloak over the usual Circle robes, with the hood up. “Show yourself.”
“Alright, just don’t panic.” They pulled the hood down, and she recognized one of her former classmates - a primal mage, specializing in ice.
“Karl? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“I had to talk to you, and nowhere else is safe. They’re always listening.” The haunted look on his face stopped her in her tracks. “If they knew I was doing this, they’d kill me, but I have to. Aylin, I know you hate it here as much as I do. You take more lashings than anybody; I don’t know why they’re so hard on you. But there’s a way out! We can leave, I’ll show you how- ”
The tiny flare of hope in her chest collapsed. No. There was no way out. There were templars with their swords at her heart right now, and beyond them, a bustling tower of loyal mages and enchanters, and beyond them, more templars, waiting for their charges to slip. Impossible. She could never leave the Circle. Which meant he was lying. Why would someone sneak into the Fade in the middle of her Harrowing just to lie to her? They wouldn’t, which meant -
She didn’t have to complete the thought before releasing the spell. A blue-white bolt of energy sank into Karl’s chest, and he shifted. The robes and cloak disappeared, and his worried face stretched and twisted into one of the demons she knew so well. It shrieked, and lunged at her, but she had another blast at the ready. As it stumbled, she reached out and pushed down with her mind, feeling the Fade shift around her as the demon slammed into the ground. Its arm shot out, wrapping around her ankle and wrenching her off her feet. She felt it beating at her mind, trying to get in, but she sloughed it off and fired another bolt at its arm. This one severed the demon’s hand at the wrist, and its scream of pain burned her ears. She scrambled back, getting her feet under her just in time to see the demon trying to do the same.
Her mind went quiet for a moment, and she knew exactly what to do next. She’d never tried it, but she’d seen it done and read about it in books her mentor had given her (books that apprentices weren’t supposed to have). She found the column of force she’d used to knock it over and shrunk it, narrowing the circumference. The same amount of energy over a much smaller area would have a far greater effect. Without hesitation, she threw the rest of her mana behind the attack - a gamble, she knew, but worth it.
She couldn’t see it hit, but she heard the clean snap of what must have been its spine. The demon buckled, twitched, and stopped moving. Warily, she circled around to check if it was actually dead, and she saw its chest all caved in, ribs splayed out like wooden splinters. She recoiled in disgust, and -
She suddenly felt stone beneath her palms and her knees, biting into her skin, but it was solid and real. She sucked in a breath, and felt her physical lungs expand. It was over. Oh Maker, it was finally over. She was alive. She opened her eyes, and saw the templars above her, swords at their sides. She pushed herself up and looked past them, hoping she would see him - and she did.
He smiled and held out a hand, and she took a few shaky steps towards him and clasped it in her own.