makinglies | AU: Mended Circle

It's quiet in Kinloch Hold.

Far too quiet for Adalwolfe, curled in the corner of his bed and trembling. There are no crickets, no night birds. No wind through drafty windows or his siblings' breathing from their shared bed across the room. Instead it's a hollow quiet. There are voices in it, soft whispers that he knows are other mages but instead sound a susurrus of demons to him in their unfamiliarity. Hushed enchanters' voices become that of rage and pride. And fear. Fear that he'd faced in his harrowing and was a thousand times worse than his father had even made it sound.

He'd thought himself ready for it because he knew what was coming, but even his father's stories of his own Harrowing could not have prepared him. Malcolm's Harrowing was different. A demon of pride, one that tempted him with power and taunted him with failure. But the demon for Adalwolfe was a soft, insidious thing, giving voice to every insecurity as he walked the Fade, trying to find it, telling him in hushed whispers what a disappointment he is, how he'd gotten caught. Stupid child, fearful child...

And then it had him.

Fear that stood over him and screamed, it's breath like rotting paper and grave dirt and the legs like needle pointed spindles protruding from its back and gripping his arms and shoulders, holding him in place so it could devour his mind and wear him like a second skin.

And in a burst of frozen magic, it didn't have him any longer.

He flung spells at it until he could no longer cast, until his mana ran near completely dry and long after the thing was done.

When he woke up, he was here. In silence save for far off voices through stone walls and solid book cases, around corners. It's all at once too private and not private enough and he trembles in the dark, unable to go back to sleep for fear of the demon again, but unable to will himself to get up and face the realities of his new life either.

Instead he lays there, huddled in a ball, and trembles in the dark.

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His expression falls to concern and a deep sympathy as his words aren't met with any sort of comfort but a sudden, icy fear. He'd seen it plenty of times in new apprentices, he'd worn it himself once, and now it was here in this boy's face. Officially a mage of the tower without any of the acclimation of having been here longer. He'd known freedom and now he was facing a cage.

Anders curled his fingers over Adalwolfe's, tight and firm and his other hand moved to trace lightly at the side of neck, his fingers chilled with aimless mana. "That's alright...you're alright...I'll stay here." At least until he slept. He shored up what shreds of courage he could find and offered a softer look, one he reserved for the patients sometimes brought before him. "I could...work some magic? Make it so your sleep is pleasant. I promise, no demons, not tonight. If you'll let me."

This was foolish and silly, he didn't owe this boy anything, not his attention, not the loss of sleep, not the spirit healing he tried to keep largely unmentioned for how some people reacted...but that look of fear, that grip on his hand...he couldn't ignore those.

"How do you do that?" He asks in a voice thick around the lump in his throat. That's not anything his father had ever taught him. Barriers, control, attack and defense, those he'd been tutored in, drilled over and over for his survival - fat lot of good that it did. But nothing that could soothe away dreams. Perhaps tomorrow the spark in him that loves to learn will kick in and he can pursue the question that had fallen from his mouth without him thinking about it. "Nevermind"

Tonight, he simply lets out a breath and nods, begging with his eyes. "Please. I can't-..." He worries at his lip and looks down. "Just... please."

His mind turns with lies he could offer and thankfully none are needed as Adalwolfe lets go of the question himself and leaves Anders to his secret for now. "Alright. Lay back, get comfortable."

He offers the direction gently, his mana gathering and then releasing into a gentle aura of a light glow that radiates from him. He lets it spread and fill the room and even a slight, almost imperceptible shift of the armor of Ser Della in the hall tell him it's bled through to her as well. It wouldn't leave the thick stone walls and she wouldn't say anything, he knew, for now they could just exist in the comforting, healing, ease of the feeling of a warm blanket on a chilly dawn. A drink of something cool in the sun. A mother's hug. Not for the first time, he wishes he could feel it himself, the only way he even knew what outside of the epicenter felt like was from Wynne and description, but it would help ease into sleep and keep dreams pleasant and offer what little help this poor apostate would find.

"Sleep, Adalwolfe, and things may not seem so dark in the morning." That Was a lie, but a harmless one to offer once.

AU: Mended Circle

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