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Chapter Text

The eve of Amell’s eighteenth birthday was also the eve of the eighteenth year of the Dragon Age, and if her life had gone as it should she would have been putting on a beautiful silk dress trimmed in silver and gold, and making up her face, and preparing for the Amells’ annual First Day ball, where she would dance and flirt and gossip and eat the sweet poppy cookies that Cook always made, out of season, specially, just for her.

Instead she was standing in First Enchanter Irving’s office, eyes downcast, listening to him argue with her least-favorite teacher, Enchanter Wynne, over her chances of surviving her Harrowing.

“She still has a year or so to prepare. I’m sure she can improve her Elemental skills during that time.”

Wynne scoffed, “What Elemental skills? The girl can’t light a candle! Much less put one out. She needs at least three additional years of intensive tutoring, at least three years, in order to successfully undergo the Harrowing. I think Torrin has room in his schedule to take on another student.”

Amell doubted that three additional years of study would make more difference than the past seven, but said nothing and continued to listen.

Irving smiled at Amell indulgently, “I have faith in apprentice Amell. Some young mages only need to have expectations raised higher in order to learn to meet them.”

Amell gave him a small flattered smile, and privately hated him.

Wynne obviously still disagreed, so she ignored what Irving said. “If you schedule her Harrowing for this year, you are setting her up for failure. She will not be able to pass. I am certain of it.”

“Amell,” Irving said, finally remembering she was a sentient being that could speak for herself, “Do you think you’re prepared for this final test?”

Amell didn’t bother to remind him that she did not, as an apprentice, know what manner of test the Harrowing was, only that those that refused to face it were made Tranquil, and those who failed it did not return at all. So there was really only one possible response to Irving’s question, though perhaps it made him feel better about himself to ask it. “I will try to succeed at any task you put before me, First Enchanter.”

Irving looked proud of her response, the kind of pride that was more accurately called self-satisfaction, and had little to do with Amell herself. 

Wynne gave Amell a strange, unreadable look, and was about to say something more when the clank of Templar armor and clink of heavy chains announced the return of the Circle’s mage hunters to Kinloch Hold.

Irving’s brow furrowed in confusion. “That was fast…”

Amell was surprised as well. Last time he escaped, Anders managed a full fortnight of freedom before Rylock dragged him back, but it had been only four days this time.

When the door opened, it was not to the sight of Anders being dragged back to the Circle by Rylock and her team of mage hunters. Rylock was there, flanked by two Templars, but instead of Anders between them in chains was a Dalish girl, about Amell’s age and height.

She looked in rougher shape than Anders had when Rylock brought him back last time. Her hair and clothes were disheveled, she was covered in bruises and mixed splatters of mud and blood. But she walked with the same unbowed defiance that Anders had, and surveyed Irving’s office and its occupants as if they were the strangers who intruded in her home.

Amell remembered not to stare a moment too late, and found herself trapped as the subject of the girl’s icy gaze for a mortifying moment before being disregarded.

Rylock cleared her throat.

“Ser Rylock, welcome back to Kinloch,” Irving said, as if he had not needed to be prompted to offer niceties. “I see you’ve brought us a new student.”

“Yes, we tracked your escaped mage nearly to Crestwood when we ran into this young Dalish mage, by the Maker’s Grace.”

“Be careful,” said the mage hunter to her right, “she bites.”

The young Dalish mage in question was paying no attention to the Templars behind her, and was fixing her stare directly at First Enchanter Irving. He frowned at her, and adopted an air that Amell always thought of as “fake-compassionately infantilizing.” He smiled in a way that never reached his eyes. “Well, young lady, welcome to your new home.”

The girl remained impassive.

“She also doesn’t speak,” the mage hunter added, unnecessarily. 

Rylock nodded to confirm his account. “I’m not sure if she understands Trade at all. She’s certainly Dalish by the marks on her face, but I don’t think she has a clan at all. She was only with one other elf, and they gave us a bit of trouble, but she came along without much fight once we put down the archer.”

Amell cringed at Rylock’s dispassionate account. She certainly hoped the other girl didn’t understand after all, as the Templars spoke so casually about killing her companion. She didn’t seem to, she still watched Irving with unnerving intensity.

Irving retrieved a blue leather-bound ledger from the shelf next to his desk. Nearly seven years ago, he had recorded Amell’s admission to the Circle in its pages.  He flipped to the first empty page and wrote the date with a flourish. 

“Name?”

His question was met with stony silence. (They would call her “the Dalish girl” for weeks after this meeting, until Anders was brought back to the circle and convinced her to use a real name, lest “the Dalish girl” stick. She eventually gave the name “Neria Surana,” but no one in the room knew that at the time.)

“We’ll just come back to that one, hm? Age? You look to be about ready for your Harrowing, aren’t you, girl?”

Wynne scoffed, “She can’t be more than sixteen, look at how small she is!”

Irving frowned, “Well, the Dalish are all pretty short, aren’t they?” He looked at her critically.

There was a book on Dalish legends and culture in the library. It was well liked by the younger apprentices because it had five woodcut illustrations of unwary Keepers falling victim to the plots of the Dalish trickster god. The illustrations were quite vivid. If you read the actual text, however, there was an entire chapter on Dalish coming-of-age rituals, including how they had to get their facial tattoos in perfect silence. 

Surana had vivid purple lines on her face that had nothing to do with the bruises on her cheek and jaw. She had to be at least Amell’s age, but if Surana was said to be sixteen, she wouldn’t be forced through the Harrowing right away. As far as Amell knew, none of the successfully-Harrowed mages of the Circle had been brought in as adults. A few of the Tranquil had.

Wynne doubled down on her obvious lie, apparently hoping that Irving had never bothered to look at more than the woodcuts in that book. “If you won’t wait for a proper assessment of her skills, why don’t you put down sixteen for now. Even if she does poorly at first, that will leave plenty of time for us to train her in the proper Circle schools of magic,” she argued, wearing down Irving’s patience.

“Yes, yes, all right.” He scribbled this down, and went to the next question, “Were either of your parents mages? Grandparents? Do you have any siblings, and have they shown any signs of possible magic?”

Surana continued to stare, the only sound she made was the slight clinking of her shackles as she swayed minutely where she stood. Amell thought she must be so tired. Her arms and legs ached in unintentional empathy.

“Irving,” Wynne interrupted, “Why don’t you and the Knight-Lieutenant work on the parts of the intake we don’t need her here for, and we can fill in those blanks later, when she’s had time to clean up and may be a bit more… talkative.” Wynne gave Surana one of her strange looks. She clearly did not believe that Surana couldn’t understand Trade, and was willing her to understand every word spoken as well as those left unspoken.

Irving blinked at Wynne, as if he had not considered Surana’s well-being nor state of mind before she suggested it. “Ah, yes, of course, we must record the circumstances of her discovery, and that will allow Ser Rylock to return to her pursuit of the fugitive Anders.”

Rylock nodded in agreement, maintaining the constant facade that Irving had authority over any Templar, even those of low rank. She signaled for the other two to remove Surana’s chains.

There was a moment of apprehension as everyone waited to see if Surana would try to fight or flee. Amell silently willed her to not be a fool.

She remained unmoved.

Finally, someone remembered Amell was still in the room, as Irving decided her fate, “Apprentice Amell, You’ll have two more years of study under Enchanter Wynne. That’s one year more than most apprentices get, so I hope you make the most of it. Wynne, I expect you to have this Dalish girl ready by that season as well. It should be plenty of time, as you said.” He waved to dismiss them.

Wynne agreed with grace and poise, but Amell could see the tension in her jaw. She had not come to this meeting expecting to be saddled with responsibility for one apprentice, much less two. But one extra year of study was better than none.

Amell was surprised that Wynne had argued to save her, and argued to save Surana, who she had never met before. Then she accepted the responsibility for training them without a single noise of protest. Amell made a mental note to reconsider her opinion of the Senior Enchanter.

Wynne nodded her goodbyes to Irving, and to the Templars. “Amell, won’t you accompany our new apprentice to your quarters, and get her washed up and settled in? She can use Lina’s old bed, I believe that one is still open.”

Lina had slept in the bunk above Amell’s, until she did not return from her Harrowing last month. The bed had lain empty since, still made with Lina’s exacting neatness.

When Amell did not move, Wynne swept over to gently corral both young mages past the Templars and out the door. 

As Amell did as she was bid, she realized Surana was just as unlikely to cooperate with Wynne as she was with Rylock or Irving. Amell didn’t care for Enchanter Wynne’s tough-love teaching style, but even she knew that Wynne was devoted to the survival of every apprentice in the tower.

When Amell passed near to Surana she purposefully walked just a bit too close, and brushed two fingers over the back of her hand. 

She was caught again in Surana’s ice-blue eyes, and she tried to communicate without words two separate yet equally true statements. “You can trust me” and “The only way out is through.” 

Surana may not have been able to read Amell’s mind, but still, she did turn and follow her lead. They walked down the hall, side-by-side, in perfect step, and perfect silence.

Chapter Text

Warden-Commander Amell wouldn’t shut up about the new First Enchanter’s visit for weeks before she arrived. 

“This was the plan all along,” She tells Howe, in her office, smiling proudly. “One of us had to become First Enchanter and there wasn’t a chance it was going to be me.” She laughed, “So the plan was she would be First Enchanter and appoint me as her personal secretary. That way we could travel, some day, together, outside Kinloch Hold, visiting other Circles and advising the Crown and such. Surana’s brilliant compared to me, you’ll see.”

Amell makes arrangements for rooms to be made up for the First Enchanter and her contingent of visiting mages. Velanna notices her spending extra time checking over Surana’s guest quarters, but says nothing. “She appointed Eadric as her secretary. He hates me. Actually I think he hates all humans. He’s not bad though, good at Primal spells. He’ll ask you a million questions about your clan, probably. I’d say you could tell him to shut it if he gets on your nerves, but you’ll do that no matter what I say,” Amell rambled as she double-checked that everything was perfect.

“Surana was injured in Uldred’s uprising,” she confides to Sigrun, in a more thoughtful moment. “I thought she might die. I thought she did die. She can’t use her right arm anymore, had to relearn to write, to cast. But she doesn’t like people to mention it. She doesn’t like people to purposefully not mention it either, so…”

“Surana and I once got–” Amell begins, while practicing with Anders.

“I know this story already,” he says, and rolls his eyes. “I was there, remember?” 

He’ll hear it again before the Circle mages arrive.

So, although Amell did not say outright that they were together romantically, everyone in Vigil’s Keep, and quite a few outside of it, knew. It was just like how they knew she was also romantically involved with the former Crow assassin who turned up, like clockwork, to “lend a hand” to the Wardens of Amaranthine.

“So. I hear your girlfriend’s coming to visit.” Oghren said, barging into the Warden-Commander’s office without knocking, as usual.

To any other Warden, Amell would have denied it. Even to Anders, who had once caught them in a clinch behind a shelf in the library. There was still so much vulnerability in her position in the Wardens, and more importantly in Anora’s court, that she couldn’t risk a public relationship with Surana, as much as she wanted one. If the mage Arlessa of Amaranthine ( acting Arlessa) was known to be too close with the mage leader of the Circle of Ferelden, it would impair both of their abilities to influence the Crown, and by extension the Chantry, into giving the mages of Ferelden more freedom.

But Oghren knew already. He had been there when she tore through the broken Circle tower, decimating every blood mage, demon, and abomination, pushing beyond mortal endurance with only the slimmest chance that Surana was still alive somewhere.

Oghren had heard her screaming, had helped Leliana pull her bodily away from Surana’s cold, still form, had stopped Amell from continuing to cast regeneration spells beyond the limits of her mana. Had cursed and sworn, “You can’t kill yourself to save her.”

Amell wouldn’t have listened to anyone who hadn’t learned that lesson for themselves.

Oghren had given her the flask of liquor that burned strong enough to allow her to sit by and watch as Wynne finished the delicate work of healing. The drink numbed her so that she could endure the sight of Wynne’s magic knitting new skin and flesh to replace what the blood mages flayed from Surana’s right side.

So, for Oghren, Amell was honest. “Yes, I haven’t seen her in person since… since Uldred’s uprising.”

Oghren grimaced and took a seat opposite Amell. “Since she nearly died, you mean?”

She nodded, “Since she nearly died, since most everyone we knew died, since I almost–” Amell cut herself off. It didn’t bear thinking about what she might have done to save Surana. It especially didn’t bear thinking about what vengeance she might have wreaked if Surana died.

“That was a steaming heap of a day.”

“Yeah,” Amell agreed, then pushed away from the difficult past to talk about the present. “I’ve only been able to write to her recently, and I’m actually a bit nervous to see her again, face to face.”

“We can tell. You won’t shut up about her. You’re more annoying than you are when the Elf comes to visit.” Oghren had what was, in his mind, a stroke of genius. “Oh, you’ve got a type , don’t you? You sure you’re not going to sleep with Velanna next?”

“Absolutely not. And you should really call Zevran by his name, from time to time. You’re not exactly strangers.”

“Nah, that Elf’ll get funny ideas that we’re friends.” Oghren grinned ironically while he said it, and Amell rolled her eyes at him. She wasn’t in the mood to tease him about his friendship with Zevran, nor about Oghren’s general inability to admit to caring for his friends.

“It’s different when Zevran visits. With him I worry that something outside the two of us will go wrong, something will come up with the Keep, or the Wardens, or the city, and we won’t be able to spend any time together, even though we’re in the same place. With Surana visiting, I’m worried she’ll decide she doesn’t love me as much as she once did. That she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Oh, are you really asking me for relationship advice now?”

“No, no. I can figure this out on my own.”

Oghren laughed at her, “Good, because I don’t have any. Well, except that you gotta tweak her–”

“Get out,” Amell said, without rancor, and laughed as he obliged her. Even without advice, she felt a bit more positive about Surana’s visit.

Amell’s worry was all for nothing. The reunion with Surana went perfectly. Amell was anxious when she met her at the gate, but felt every muscle relax with the first breath after “Hello.”

The other mages in Surana’s party were suitably impressed with the keep, and even sour Eadric didn’t have any criticisms of his assigned guest room. They all dispersed to their various accommodations after their journey, leaving Amell alone in the empty hallway with Surana for the first time in years. 

They were alone, though not with any particular privacy, but still they embraced more tenderly and for far longer than they ever would have dared to in the empty hallways of their younger days.

Surana’s ice-blue eyes shone brighter than they had in Kinloch Hold, and Amell couldn’t tell if that was because time had dulled her memories or if they shone with Surana’s triumph in achieving what she could of their plans for the future. Their lives had taken so many turns they could have never expected, but here they were, exactly where they planned to be. 

Surana was First Enchanter of Ferelden, with as much freedom as any Mage could hope for once they were brought to the Circle. She could travel nearly as she wished, as long as she could manufacture Circle business at her destination.

And Amell was by her side. Not always, as they had hoped, but for this moment, and many others still to come. 

“Aren’t you going to show me to my quarters, Warden-Commander?” Surana asked, with no small implication.

“Of course, First Enchanter,” replied Amell, “follow me.”

They walked down the hall, hand-in-hand, in perfect step.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until the next day that Surana was able to meet any of the Wardens. She and Amell were laughing over their shared anticipation of the look on Anders’ face when they instead met Velanna and Howe as they left his office. 

Nathaniel saluted smartly, but Velanna looked as though she had been given a vision of her own death.

Amell was just about to speak some words of concern when Surana spoke instead. 

“Velanna?”

Before the thought of “Oh, you know each other?” could form in Amell’s mind, Surana had launched herself at the other mage, throwing her good arm around her neck and dragging her down into a crushing embrace.

Velanna’s arms wrapped around Surana’s waist like they were returning home after a lifetime’s journey. She closed her eyes as if she had been given a divine gift. She might have been trembling.

Surana’s enthusiasm at what must be a lovers’ reunion was much more overt. She pressed kisses over every part of Velanna’s face and neck that she could reach without loosening her hold.

“You were dead.” Velanna’s voice was cracked and haunting.

Amell and Howe shared a look, and recovered from surprise enough to retreat into Howe’s office.

He shut the door behind them as quietly as possible while Amell sat down heavily in his guest chair.

Howe gathered some loose papers from a cabinet, and tossed them onto his already covered desk. He sat down and set up his inkwell and dip pen, but didn’t write anything. Since Varel died, Nathaniel had been unwillingly appointed Seneschal-pro-tempore. He resisted having any kind of formal authority in the keep that used to belong to his own family, but was overruled by the simple fact that none of the other Wardens knew the first thing about running an Arling. 

It wasn’t as though their nominal Arlessa had learned much about leadership while locked in a tower for nearly twenty years. She had always thought she would become a secretary, not the most politically powerful mage in southern Thedas. (In actuality, she was the second-most politically powerful mage in southern Thedas, but she was proud enough and Ferelden enough not to admit that Madame de Fer could probably have her crushed like a bug.)

“I thought you weren’t supposed to get jealous.” Howe said, only half intending to provoke her.

“I’m not,” Amell snapped, “not like that.” She looked down, unseeing, at the paperwork on his desk. “Anyway, we’re not in a closed relationship. Obviously . I’m not jealous if she kisses Velanna, or anyone else. And it’s fine if they had a relationship. Have? Of course she had relationships before we met. I knew that! I’m just surprised that it’s Velanna. That is all. I didn’t know they used to be… used to know each other.”

Amell didn’t look back up, but she felt like Howe’s eyes were on her, either pitying or judgemental. “I just didn’t know,” she repeated.

He regarded the papers as well, but made no move to do any work on them, or pretend that he and Amell were doing anything other than giving the two Dalish women privacy for their reunion. After a few minutes of silence, he tried a more conversational tone, “I wonder how Velanna didn’t realize they knew each other from before? You certainly talked about Surana enough. And Velanna never mentioned knowing anyone from that clan.”

Amell was silent for a moment more before answering. “Her clan name isn’t Surana. There is no clan Surana. I found that out a long time ago. During the Blight I asked the first Dalish I met if they might know her family. They laughed at me. Apparently a surana is a Dalish word for a kind of tree nut. It’s not a name at all. I think Neria is an assumed name, too.” She paused, as if flipping through her last year of memories. “I don’t think I ever mentioned Velanna in my letters to her. I didn’t think… Maybe I should have. I could have spared them a few additional months spent apart.”

Howe knew enough to keep silent, and not ask any silly questions like “Why didn’t Surana ever tell you?” or even sillier ones like, “Why didn’t you ask?”

If he did, she would have to admit the truth out loud. She had asked, at first. In their first few months together she had asked all the questions she could think about Surana’s clan and her family and her name, and had never been answered. Eventually, she stopped asking, and learned instead to value the things Surana told her of her own accord.

Her favorite food was a dish of flat egg noodles, stir-fried with greens and served in a rich, dark, sauce.

Her vallaslin was chosen to honor the goddess Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper.

The hunter who was killed by the Templars while trying to protect her was her mother’s cousin. (He was related to Surana in exactly the same way that Amell was related to her cousin Gamlen. When Amell’s magic manifested, it was Gamlen who had to walk her to the Gallows, and bid her goodbye at the ferry dock.)

Amell usually tried to ignore the fact that the woman she’d been in love with for well over a decade kept hidden nearly everything about her life before they met. Surana had never told her about any previous lovers, never told her about her surviving family, never given her true name. It made a cold hole open in Amell’s heart, the kind that she thought demons might whisper out of. The word “jealous” didn’t begin to touch it.

“I don’t think it signifies,” said Howe, breaking through her spiraling thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“You knew she was from a Dalish clan, you just didn’t know which one. And you said you knew she had lovers before, you just didn’t know their names. What good would her lover’s or clan’s name do you when they were out here and you were in the Circle?”

Amell frowned. She had to admit that Howe had a point. 

Shared secrets were endangered secrets, Leliana had explained to her, once, as they cooked over a campfire with certain doom all around. She even had a song about it. Amell didn’t recall the first part, but it ended with “three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

“Anyway, what would you have done differently if you had known?” He finally picked up his pen, and began scribbling something in the margins of one of his papers.

“I would never have let Velanna become a Grey Warden.”

Howe’s pen stopped for a moment, then he started writing again, continuing on with the work started by the only man to stand up to his father’s atrocities. “You can’t change the past, and if you didn’t recruit Velanna we’d all of us be dead a dozen times over.” He set his pen back down, blotted the page, and looked up at Amell. “I still don’t think it signifies,” he repeated.

Amell took a steadying breath. If their lives had gone as they should…

Her own thoughts echoed back at her through the years.

You can trust me. 

“You’re right. If Surana kept this from me, there was a good reason.”

Another breath. 

The only way out is through.

“This doesn’t change our relationship. I need to stick to our plan.”

Two mages, haunting the halls of Kinloch Hold. Side-by-side, in perfect step, and perfect silence.