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Dreams were, in Ellistine's mind, the best part of the day. Other apprentices wasted the time spent asleep frolicking in whatever idle visions came to them, manipulated by spirits.
But not her.
Over the years, she had learned to stride the figments of the Fade with purpose, to seek out the wisps and spirits, and to wander even the dreams of others. The secrets of the Fade revealed themselves to her with ease. Some spirits fled shyly; others rebuffed her and chided her for bothering them. But some would stay and chat for an evening, and Ellistine would learn something new. A spell. A secret history. A vision of a long-gone landscape.
This was not taught in any class or by any professor, and she did not speak of it to anyone but Jowan and Anders, who both thought she was imagining things. Jowan, barely interested in the magic he could use, didn't believe her at all, but she suspected Anders, who yearned to be anywhere but here, had been a little jealous —
Until he escaped.
She did not like to think about that, about her dear friend lost in the wilderness, soaking wet in the rain, shivering as he hid from pursuant templars. She did not like to think about what would happen if he was forever lost. She did not like to think about what would happen if was found. So she did not think of it.
Tonight she found no willing company in the Fade, and she sat alone by a stream that flowed backwards. It was simple but a very specific place, cherished, and while small details about it shifted as soon as she took notice of them, it was quite an intact little scene — which made it a memory. A memory of someone alive, and probably quite recent. Whose? She might never know; she couldn't see anyone nor sense anyone nearby. As if it had been made and then abandoned for other dreams, kept intact by her will alone. Bored but unwilling to wander further tonight, she decided she would guest here until either someone found her or she awoke.
It was someone's respite, their refuge. A squat but broad tree granted shade from an unknown sun. Small blue flowers poked up between soft grass. Cicadas groaned and betrayed the season. Distantly, crops swayed in a warm breeze. And far above, a dark city floated, a permanent fixture.
Ellistine strained her eyes and ears to try and solidify the memory as much as possible, to make it real, to capture the shifts before they happened and make it assert itself. Briefly, the stream flowed in the right direction. Then she lost the fight with the Fade and it resumed its backwards gurgle. She was getting better at it, but not as fast as she hoped.
She plucked a blade of grass and threw it resentfully at the stream. It hung in the air instead, refusing the command of nature.
Then something in her senses distorted. A change, unseen, but palpable. The dream did not transform, but something was different. She found herself standing.
"Hello?" she called across the empty fields. "I am a visitor."
It was only polite to greet a host, after all. If that's what it was.
Nothing called back.
Strange, she thought. Most nights she could find at least one spirit or another. Once she'd found a being that communicated only through pulses of light, and she'd spent the whole night learning its patterns and trying to replicate them with lights of her own. Not even a whisper tonight?
Dejected, and a little insulted, Ellistine studied the dark blemish in the sky until a motion caught her eye behind the tree. A creature's head poked out, then its whole body. It was white-furred with blue eyes, and by its size and snout she could see it was a wolf and not a dog. It was longer than she was tall, though she was rather diminutive so perhaps that said more about her than the wolf. It sat at the roots of the tree and curled its tail around its paws, watching her thoughtfully.
Clearly not presenting as a threat, she smiled lightly at it. "Are you the one driving away my spirit friends?" she asked it.
The wolf tilted its head as if to evade an answer.
"Well, your company is welcome regardless." She curtsied. "I am Ellistine."
The wolf tilted its head in the other direction.
She sighed and lowered herself back down to sit, tucking her skirts underneath her knees neatly. If it wanted to attack her, it would have already. Whether it wanted to pointlessly bargain for control of her body would become clear soon enough.
She continued, "It's usually quite busy, but tonight I can't seem to catch anyone's attention."
The wolf opened its mouth and an unexpectedly calm, neat voice emerged — not very wolf-like at all. "It is rare for a mortal to encounter spirits so often in the Fade."
Ellistine straightened her sleeves. "Is it? I suppose I wouldn't know, but I assumed most mages encountered spirits nightly." Except Jowan, or so he claimed. He claimed he dreamed nearly in silence, that the spirits had no interest in him. She had overheard First Enchanter Irving once say he feared Jowan was an empty mage.
The wolf's mouth smiled in a way that was not very wolf-like. "Only if deemed of interest. Having magical abilities does not automatically render one compelling to the spirits. An active, creative mind is often more appealing."
"Or immense amounts of power and emotion," she added.
"Ah — that can bring the wrong types of attention. But you seem quite composed."
"Hm." Compliments were always suspicious. She was competent; she wouldn't have called herself powerful. But where else did power come from, if not composure? If not focus and purpose? "So you find me interesting?"
"That remains to be seen, I suppose."
She frowned. She didn't like that. She was a good student but that only really mattered to the enchanters. Aside from that, she was plain: an elven girl, small, not all that different from anyone else, as far as she could tell. Save for the dreaming. But the idea of proving herself as interesting to a strange spirit, potentially a demon? Hm. She didn't trust that.
"What was it that drew you here, then?" she asked.
"I have heard of you and your curiosity, and I wanted to see for myself. Not many young mages converse so freely with spirits. You claim you find them? They do not seek you out?"
She tilted her head in return. "Sometimes they find me. Sometimes I venture out into the Fade and find them." More and more often the latter. It was like wandering paths in the woods; for safety, she did not deviate, but she could see there were more trees and clearings off the paths. Someday she would venture into unknowns.
The wolf focused on her, a glow of keen scrutiny appearing in its eyes. She didn't feel like prey, but she didn't like being so closely observed, either. She held her ground and met the wolf's gaze. It continued its line of questioning: "Do you encounter other mortals as they sleep and dream?"
"I do. They sometimes see me, but other times, I am simply a background element. I pass through unseen."
Its tail unfurled, swishing, before wrapping around its paws again. She restrained the urge to reach out and pet it, though it looked so soft. She did not wish to be rude.
"Ellistine — is that right?"
She nodded.
"Have you heard of this ability before? Dreaming? Not as the average mortal does, or even the average mage, but something more."
She hesitated but nodded again. "The somniari. An art practiced by ancient Tevinter magisters. The ability to enter the dreams of other sleepers and peer into their minds, or to find spirits. They have absolute control over the Fade independent of spirits." She paused her recitation. "It is… not favored across Thedas." It polarized the Circles. They did not speak of it. But some texts still held references, if one was a careful reader.
The dragon gods of Tevinter had spoken to the magisters in their dreams and taught them dreaming and blood magic. Then the magisters had broken open the Fade, stepping into the Golden City, destroying it. Now it hung above them, an ominous scar visible from any point in the Fade.
But as far as she knew, no dragons had ever spoken to her. Only spirits.
Only wolves.
"Tevinter?" It shook its head. "No. This art once belonged to the People."
"The people? What people?"
"The People." When she didn't react in recognition, it clarified, with some irritation, "The elves."
"Oh?" She wasn't sure what to make of that. "But not anymore, it seems."
The ears flicked backwards, catching some unknown sound. The corner of its mouth twitched up, exposing sharp fangs. "The elves are the root of all that is practiced today, and even more lost to time. There would be nothing without them."
Her mouth twisted doubtfully. She folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"You are an elf," it pointed out, surprised by her frown and silence.
"I am. And so? I study and train to the best of my ability. I cannot be proud of something I have not earned. If you must laud me for something, laud me for my healing spells, or my summonings."
The wolf seemed irritated with her, its jaw working and nose scrunching. "Dreaming is not unearned. It is something natural to you that many like you have been… denied."
How she wished she could take notes that could accompany her back into the waking world. "Well, then, why don't all elves do it now? How did it come to be known as a Tevinter practice?"
"As all of our magic has been — lost to time and theft." Our magic? "I would advise you not to disclose this ability to many, but do not abandon it. Embrace it, for the sake of those who cannot anymore."
Her brow wrinkled but she nodded slowly. It wasn't expressly forbidden but that was likely because there was no one to forbid it to. It was forgotten. A lost art. A rumor, at best. "Is there more you can tell me about it?" She leaned forward, eager.
"Only that to find more interesting things, you must become an interesting person. Venture far and wide in the mortal world and you will find more in your dreams, as well."
She sat with that a moment. That wasn't particularly helpful to her but sometimes spirits didn't understand what sort of concrete advice she was asking for. Not that she could venture anywhere at the moment anyway. "Can I find specific people's dreams?" She ventured rather blindly.
"With enough time and practice, yes."
"Could I find you again? I will have more questions."
The wolf's tail swished briefly. "Likely not."
She sat back on her heels, displeased. Then what had been the point of speaking to her? "You still haven't introduced yourself," she noted archly. Jowan accused her of having a professorial voice that often made him feel he was in trouble, but she didn't know if it would work on a spirit. Surely it was a spirit.
The snout twitched in amusement once again. "Quite right. I apologize, Ellistine."
The outline of the spirit's shape glowed. The light suffused it until it was bright and shapeless. Ellistine squinted against it, determined to watch as it lengthened upwards and distorted, then redistributed and solidified into the shape of a bare-headed, middle-aged elven man sitting cross-legged. He was dressed simply with no distinguishing features save an amulet of a wolf's jawbone around his neck. He smiled, pleasant, suspiciously plain.
Our magic.
Was he another dreamer? Or an ancestor of some kind? Or the strangest demon she had encountered so far?
"Some mages are resistant to the presence of spirits. They are taught to refuse any interaction, no matter how beneficial. I thought it might be best to observe at first. You conduct yourself respectfully." He inclined his head. "I am called Solas. A pleasure to meet you."
Solas. Not a typical spirit name. Or perhaps, given his appearance, it was Elven. She did not know Elven. A few other apprentices did, some of their faces marked with tattoos in the Dalish style, and chattered amongst themselves when they were out of the earshot of the enchanters, but they shunned her if she tried to listen. It had somewhat put her off from any interest in learning. Her secret wish was to learn Old Tevene, but that wouldn't happen until she passed her Harrowing. They were a little prickly about the ancient texts.
How long had this Solas been observing her? How had she not noticed? It seemed she had much to learn still. She offered a polite smile in return, not willing to expose her misgivings. Demons would latch onto anything, and she was not yet sure of his nature. Plenty of demons were polite and enjoyed discourse before opening their giant maws. But he had yet to offer her anything. In fact, she had asked him directly for information and he had refused.
"Likewise." Her expression shifted as she studied him. "This alternative shape of yours is so… mortal."
He barked out a short laugh. "Were you expecting horns? Claws?" He paused. "A demon?"
She gave a sideways bob of her head. "A little. Often when spirits take a more mundane shape —"
"Mundane," he repeated with another chuckle.
"— they choose someone from my memory. As if to establish rapport and comfort, though honestly, it's uncanny and off-putting. But I don't know this face. This shape must either be unique to you or dear to you." She tilted her head curiously. "I had assumed you were a spirit, but are you?"
"Among other things," he said, an elusive grin on his face.
She couldn't help but smile back. A mystery! She leaned forward with interest again, earlier irritation forgotten. "What else?"
He tipped his head back and studied her in return. "I admit, I am surprised. Not many mages of the Circle show such enthusiasm. I am often met with fear and rejection."
"Oh?" She frowned. "You won't tell me what else?"
"It is unimportant."
To you. She glowered quietly, then sighed. She wanted a polite conversation; agitating a spirit only turned them mean. They were determined to be what they were. "If you come to everyone as a wolf, that may not send the right message, ser."
The corner of his mouth tipped up. "A fair assessment." Then his expression grew solemn again. "But more and more these days, it seems the Circle encourages mages to assume the worst, rather than to embrace the possibilities."
She arched a skeptical brow. "Most of what I know, I know from the Circle."
Although every Circle was different, and she had never been to another.
First Enchanter Irving was kind, but even so, not all the mages agreed with his leadership. But nor had they all agreed with the previous First Enchanter, who she had been too young to remember much about other than his harsher stance on the rules. There were politics involved, but apprentices were told little. How that manifested in other Circles across Thedas was unclear to her. Some wanted more Chantry influence, others less. Full independence, no independence, and many things in between. And although things seem to sway now and again, nothing ever really changed, except whether the templars loomed near or far that year.
And Tevinter — little was said about it that was not said with anxiety. What those Circles did, she did not know. She knew fear did not tell the truth, however. Fear, envy, and pride could make liars out of mortals, too.
"They are all prisons of a sort, even if some are gilded. You are an apprentice, I gather?" Solas seemed disapproving.
A prison. She held back a scoff. She relished the safety of the Tower; she wanted to be a mage. It made all else about her just a little less important — her big eyes, her strange nose. As a mage, she was more than elven. Anders had chafed against its walls and could not come to terms with the fact that he was only ever seen as a mage. It had rendered him less than human.
Playing within the Circle's rules was easy enough for her, and her compliance was rewarded. For now.
"It seems unfair that you know so much about me and I know so little about you, ser."
"It is the Fade; you can wear clothing other than your apprentice's robes, if you wished. Then you could lie, and I would be none the wiser."
"You did spy on me," she pointed out.
He had the grace, at least, to look admonished. It seemed her voice did work on spirits (among other things).
She looked down at herself, then back up at him. "I suppose. I never thought about it." It was important to be clean and neat, but other than that, she gave little regard for what she looked like.
"In fact," he ventured, "you need not even appear as yourself. You could be —"
"A wolf?" she suggested.
He inclined his head. "Among other things."
"That's true," she said thoughtfully.
She was little more than spirit, here, herself, wasn't she? What was to stop her? She knew the basic anatomy of animals. Or even if she didn't, what did that matter? She could grow horns or wings or dissolve into light.
Perhaps another night, she would attempt it. When she did not have an audience so that she might perfect it on her own and not embarrass herself.
"But yes," she said with a nod, "I am an apprentice. Not for too much longer, I suspect."
The man frowned, judgement in his eyes. Of her? "Do you not feel trapped? Constrained?"
He sounded like Anders. She missed him, even though they'd argued. Often.
Why are you content to be locked away?
Why can't you appreciate what we are given? The education, the safety?
We would be safe if only people didn't fear us.
He was the only person in the world that could upset her, to the point of screaming and disruption, both of them very nearly flinging spells. First Enchanter Irving had been so disappointed in her. You set such a good example for the others. Why does he agitate you so?
Because she loved him dearly. Her very first friend. She hated that he felt so badly in a place that made her so happy. That in trying to flee the Circle, he seemed to be trying to flee her.
Then Anders grew quiet for a while.
Then one morning, he was gone, not even a note of goodbye, and the Knight-Commander had questioned her and Jowan for days.
She shook her head, both to disagree with her visitor and to shake Anders out of her mind before it shifted the peaceful little scene from sunshine to clouds.
"I have learned to read, write, do arithmetic. I have learned to interpret the constellations, to cast spells, learned of infinite possibilities and spirits, and the strange secrets you keep." She smiled, pleased at the luck in her life. "And in practical terms, I have a bed and hot meals. I would not have had that in the alienage I was born in."
She had few memories that were not the Circle. She had been young, quite young, barely able to speak, when her magic showed and her parents had no choice but to hand her over to Geagoir — not yet Knight-Commander back then — and away she had gone. If she had resentment about it, she did not remember. Even if she could remember them, they could not read nor write. What would she do with the memory but be miserable?
He seemed unmoved. In fact, he seemed saddened. "And in exchange, they have locked you in a tower like a dangerous relic."
She had left the Circle Tower less than a handful of times. This did not grate on her as it did others, humans who would have had the world at their human fingertips. What did the world outside hold for a young elven woman, small and seemingly fragile?
Kinloch Hold had once been a Tevinter research outpost, long ago; it had endless mysteries, lingering spells and magics and artifacts that transfixed her but had not meant anything to her friends.
"Not for long," she said firmly, proudly. "I'll pass my Harrowing and then be able to go on just about any posting or field research I want." She was a phenomenal student and First Enchanter Irving favored her. She had heard of the most fascinating spirit magic in Nevarra's Grand Necropolis. Occasionally King Markham took foreign mages for his court. "And until then, I'll wander in dreams."
"Ah, yes, the Harrowing," he scoffed. "Another unnecessary torment."
She straightened her shoulders. "Torment? Hardly. It is a test. Any mage that's been practicing and studying should be fine."
"The events of the Harrowing are kept secret from apprentices, are they not?"
She sighed. "Yes. But almost everyone I know has passed. Even the…" She searched for the right word. "…less adept apprentices."
"And those who do not pass?" he asked. He tilted his head, an imitation of his wolf form.
She opened her mouth and then closed it. "I'm not sure," she admitted.
"And you're not interested in finding out?"
"Of course I am. You think I haven't asked?" She crossed her arms. "It is a closely guarded secret. None of the mages will disclose what it is. They're not permitted to."
"And why do you think that is?" he pushed.
She lifted her chin and frowned at him. What was he implying? "You're quite judgemental for a spirit. Are you offering to free me from the chains of my captors?" she asked, voice tinged with sarcasm. It occurred to her that he hadn't mentioned what kind he was.
He shook his head. "I am offering nothing. I am merely interested to know why someone so bright and capable and curious is so content to allow a secret like that to stay undiscovered. Why don't you question it? Demand answers?"
Because she didn't have a choice. But if she said that, it would play into the narrative he had invented for her that she was trapped and chained rather than willingly present to study and become the best version of herself. "Do you know what it is?" she asked.
"I do, in fact."
"Tell me," she commanded immediately.
He chuckled, his canines showing, and she frowned again.
"Please," she added, in an effort to be polite.
His expression straightened and grew solemn. "Will you tell your fellow apprentices? They all deserve to know and you all deserve better."
"That depends on what it is," she said. "I would not needlessly frighten them."
That answer seemed to displease him. "Telling them is my only request. But I suppose I cannot force you to do so." He shifted, as if his leg had fallen asleep, though it was the Fade and he was a spirit and that was impossible.
She leaned forward, eager.
"Your teachers study you throughout your training and identify a significant flaw. A sharp temper, for instance, or a tendency towards melancholy. Then they find and summon a spirit corresponding to this flaw and force you to contend with it in the Fade. If you fail or even take longer than they prefer, they sever your connection to the Fade. Thus they ruin a mage and a spirit alike for this macabre little test."
Ellisitine did not react, waiting for the initial shock of the information to pass. The warm breeze ruffled her hair. Solas stared directly into her eyes as if pleased that he was the one to deliver the chilling news.
That was a lie. It had to be a lie. That seemed so unusually cruel, and First Enchanter Irving was not a cruel person. He would not permit that. Her jaw tensed briefly.
But it would explain why no one was allowed to share the details; it would scare the apprentices, and they would fail out of fear alone rather than on the merit of their skills.
The intimacy of selecting a demon unique to the apprentice seemed to be the worst part to her. Apprentices trusted their mentors. All they had in the tower was each other, and she, like many other students, had disclosed personal details to her teachers — her anxieties, her wishes. Was that being used against her?
She did not fear the Tranquil. They were polite and did good work. But most importantly, she was a good student, and thus did not think she needed to fear becoming Tranquil. That was really the root of the fear: not the Tranquil themselves, but the risk that you might become one. It was true that they always came from other Circles. She had never questioned why that was, assuming that Kinloch Hold did not produce any because they simply had the best education.
She felt a little silly now. Obviously at least some of the abrupt departures of mages and apprentices would have been to make them Tranquil and send them to other Circles or on assignments.
This was all quite horrifying. Of course it was.
And yet, the idea of the challenge was enticing to her. She wanted to prove herself. Not to anyone else. Not to her classmates or teachers, or even to Irving. To herself. Facing a demon that corresponded to her greatest flaw? She would love to know what that was. She would love to overcome it.
Solas frowned as she contemplated.
Finally, she nodded. "Is there something I can give you in exchange for this information?" She should have asked before demanding an answer but she had been too eager. Spirits liked to barter knowledge and memories; surely there was one she could give him.
"No," he said. "This is freely given. I can only hope your nature is decent and just."
"Thank you for telling me."
He gave her a sidelong glance of uncertainty. "I admit, I was expecting a greater reaction. Will you tell the others, as I have asked?"
Ellistine frowned. "I would have to think about the consequences of that."
That answer didn't make him happy, either, but he couldn't seem to summon an argument against simple caution. "Do you have questions about it?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "you claim to have been observing me. What demon do you think they'll give me? I'd be quite interested in such a test, myself."
His expression dropped, then contorted into a disgusted snarl. He opened his mouth but before he could berate her, someone shook her awake and yanked her out of the Fade.
She let out an involuntary groan.
"Shh— sorry," a man's voice whispered. "Sorry to waken you."
She opened her eyes into the darkness and could only make out the gleam of armor, one person by her bed and the other by the door.
"I'm to— I'm asked— First Enchanter Irving requests your presence."
Judging by the stuttering, it was Ser Cullen.
Because she was eager, because it was on her mind, she asked, "Is this my Harrowing?"
"I— uh— y—"
"I'll get dressed. I'll be out in a moment."
He hesitated, then stepped away hurriedly, as if singed by fire, and left the room. Ellistine dressed excitedly, pinned her hair back neatly, and grabbed her staff. She would find out about her demon.