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The candles flickered, dim light scattering between the stone pillars of the small cloister. It was late, well past lights out, but Nathalie Surana found herself here once again, knees bent and head bowed before the female effigy before her.
“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide,” she breathed, hands clasped before her and eyes closed in prayer, “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.”
“For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light,” murmured a voice behind her, low and rolling like thunder, “and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”
She stood and turned slowly, recognising the voice to be that of the templar that often patrolled the halls during mealtimes. He watched her, amber eyes glinting in the soft light, one hand on the pommel of his sword, but devoid of any disapproval in his features.
“Trials 1:14… An... interesting verse,” he spoke more clearly, fingers flexing around the weapon at his side.
“My apologies, Ser, I- I could not sleep…” Nathalie’s eyes lowered to the ground. Mages weren’t supposed to be outside of dormitories at this time of night, much less in the Tower Chantry. Her fingers curled around themselves, drawn in toward her stomach as though she had already sustained the killing blow. She was sure she would be taken to the Knight Commander to be flogged for her insubordination.
“You’re the one who has their Harrowing next week, aren’t you? Surana?”
Her skin prickled at the sound of her name on his lips and she nodded, unsure of why the templar had not marched her to Greagoir’s office already. This situation did not fit the tales told by other mages about the policing of the tower.
“Nathalie Surana, Ser, yes.”
“Well then, I, uh, quite understand you’re being here, personally. I’m- I’m not supposed to talk to the mages here but I can stand by if you wish to continue your recitations?”
The templar spoke softly, his full voice belying his young years. Nathalie surmised he could not be much older than herself. When she looked up again she swore she saw a flicker of a smile, cleverly hidden in the shadow.
“Thank you, ser..?” She questioned against her better judgement. Asking the names of templars wasn’t done, but somehow he seemed different. He seemed calm, no- kind? The nervous swallowing showed he was not comfortable or calm around her. This was against his better judgement also.
“Ser Cullen, i-if you must know. If you have any last prayers make them quick; the changeover is in a few minutes.” He coughed lightly, and looked back toward the doorway to the cloister.
She turned away and knelt before Andraste once again, whispering her prayers for strength; for quick wit, for remembrance, for the Maker’s hand in her hour of need. The Harrowing held only the Unknown, a test that not every mage could survive. She knew she was not the strongest mage; she fared better teaching the young children how to read and make simple healing salves to sell outside the Tower than she ever had commanding the elements. Still, Irving had decided she was ready to face this obstacle, no matter how much the fear and dread clawed at her.
Through her prayers she could feel the templar’s presence seeping into the intimate space around them. She wondered if he looked at her the way some templars were known to do; undressing the young girls without touching them, pulling some away into locked offices for minutes at a time… one girl - Mara - she’d been transferred when they found her with child. She never told them who had spoiled her, and Nathalie last saw her in chains, flogged, led out of the Tower by her bound wrists. Nathalie wondered what had become of that poor babe, and of Mara.
With her thoughts cleared, she stood once more and faced Cullen, who looked away for a brief moment before gathering his thoughts.
“I… I should escort you back to your room. Y-you’ll be safer,” he murmured, clearing his throat and gesturing for her to walk beside him. There was silence for a few minutes, save the creak of leather braces and her own heartbeat. At any moment she felt he would lead her back to the templar office and hand her over to face punishment for her being out so late.
“I have to wonder: you truly believe in the Maker? In Andraste?” he thought aloud.
“Why would I not? He has given me a roof over my head, a place of safety, and warm meals each day. Andraste’s grace has given me the young pupils here, and my talent for healing. I exist to serve man, just as my magic does. Andraste has shown me that path. Does it seem so odd to you?” She sneaked a look upward as she spoke, her slender frame a stark contrast to the broad-shouldered young man at her side.
His hair was like spun gold, not like her own ash blonde locks, and his eyes were so warm compared to her own, like butter candies. Her own eyes reminded her of stormy skies, changeable as the weather. Sometimes they were pale grey, almost white when the sun hit them the right way. In the evenings before bed they were almost violet. Many times she had been told she should have studied electrical magic, but she insisted she study herbs and poultices instead. It seemed far more practical, for as long as they were in the Circle she would never have the chance to practise the more violent magics.
“Well, it’s just.. you’re an- I mean, that is to say- I don’t see many elves in the Chantry.. Oh Maker, that sounded rude. Forgive me, forget I asked.” Cullen’s cheeks flushed as he spoke and one hand rubbed awkwardly at his neck. Nathalie let out a small giggle, careful to place one hand over her mouth. She dared not be too loud, should it attract more trouble.
“While there is certainly a history between elves and the Chantry, do not surmise that all elves hold a connection with their ancestry. I never knew my parents, nor my birthplace. I am an elf in appearance only, though many would disagree.”
The words slipped out of Nathalie’s mouth involuntarily, and she paused in shock for a few moments. She had chastised a templar, and the templar that had already caught her sneaking around the Tower in the dead of night. She was sure now that he would march her to Greagoir’s office. He would be promoted for this, and Maker only knew what would happen to her. To her astonishment, however, Cullen merely stopped beside her and chuckled.
“I, I- I’m so sorry, I’ll never speak again, that was rude of me-” she began.
“N-no, please, it’s.. it’s good to talk. Perhaps we could talk another time?” His hand had raised to the back of his neck once more, and a sheepish smile appeared. Reassured that he wasn’t going to smite her to ashes right there, she looked to the door behind them.
“Th-this is.. this is my room. But yes.. talking would be nice. I don’t- it gets lonely, sometimes.” A heat rose in Nathalie’s cheeks, and she had to resist the urge to lean forward slightly. Cullen poorly hid the licking of lips as he looked down at her.
“O-on Thursdays I monitor the library. Would you… Will I see you there?”
“I’ll try. Perhaps I’ll bring some cakes. In the morning I help in the kitchens…”
“Ah yes, I’ve... seen you in there.. I like.. uh, it’s nice to see- I think.. I think you should get inside, I hear others. Thursday,” He nodded once more in affirmation, and pushed the door open just wide enough to allow a sliver of light to touch her bed. She slipped past him, her hip brushing against his for a moment and dove under the covers just as the voices of two men came around the corner.
“Ah, Cullen, something the matter?” She heard Greagoir’s voice loud and clear through the open crack of the door.
“Knight Commander, I thought I heard whispers, I was checking on the mages. Everything seems in order, Ser.” She could see his grip tighten on the pommel of his sword once more, tension returning to his frame. The second man spoke, old and wizened. First Enchanter Irving.
“We were just discussing you, as it happens. Greagoir has recommended you for the next Harrowing; a young mage girl. Maker willing, she’ll be just fine, but if necessary the Knight Commander has asked for you to deal with any unfortunate consequences.”
“If that is what I am commanded, I shall be there.”
The door closed and Nathalie heard the three mean leave the hallway. She rolled over in the bed and sighed. Whatever they had just discussed, she was not meant to hear it. She knew, however, that the kind templar would be at her Harrowing. At the thought of his face she smiled, his warm eyes a comfort before sleep finally claimed her.