Chapter Text
She should have been reading the text on entropic theory in front of her, but she was distracted by the sparkling aquamarine lacquer that adorned her nails. For her sixteenth birthday, her dearest friend and co-conspirator, Tomas, had recruited Owain, the Tranquil in charge of the supply room, and the two of them had helped her create it. It was one of her favorite things.
It’s possible she should have held off on trying it on until after she’d completed her exams for this quarter, but how could she have waited? Absurd!
As she moved her hand to watch the light scatter off the lacquer, her assessment was interrupted by the subtle, masculine clearing of a throat.
She looked up to see the gleam of Templar armor, big and broad as ever, and she canted her head to one side.
Though he was roughly of a height with most of the other Templars here -- perhaps a bit taller -- he was young. Leaner.
“Hello,” she said politely.
“Hello,” he said, looking remarkably unsure for someone with a greatsword strapped to his back and bedecked in full plate. “My name is -- that is, I am Knight-Templar Cullen Rutherford.”
She blinked up at him. She was seated in an alcove with the entropy tome in her lap. She couldn’t recall a time when a Templar had introduced themselves to her since she’d first arrived at Kinloch Hold. When she’d been small, Knight-Commander Greagoir had, and a few others; many seemed either to expect her to know their names already or didn’t care if she did. As the years passed, when new Templars arrived, they rarely addressed apprentices directly unless to give or enforce orders.
After a beat too long, she shook her head.
“Oh! Sorry. Raina. Surana. I’m an apprentice.”
Then she laughed. “Sorry, awkward, aren’t I?” she said, shaking her head.
He shook his head. He seemed about to say something, then didn’t. After a moment that seemed quite long to her, he said,
“Good day, Apprentice Surana. I wonder if you could direct me to Knight-Commander Greagoir?”
She blinked again. He was polite. Very, very polite.
“You must be new,” she said with a smile, closing the rather inconveniently large tome and hopping down from her perch.
He cleared his throat. She scrunched up her face a bit; she felt heat rushing to her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she said. “He’s probably either in his office or in First Enchanter Irving’s, on the second floor. I’ll show you.”
With that, she started walking toward the end of the library to the stairs.
“My thanks,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.
“You’re welcome, of course,” she said with a smile. “Where are you from?”
“Honnleath,” he replied as they climbed the stairs. “It’s a little village to the south.”
“Near the Wilds, then?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Not quite that far,” he replied. “Just a bit south of Redcliffe.”
She felt heat rush to her cheeks again.
“Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t been many places outside Kinloch. Not any, really, since I got here. I mostly look at maps.”
He gave her a slight smile.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t been many places outside Honnleath. That is, I hadn’t. Before now. Not that this is many places. It’s a place, definitely outside Honnleath.”
She giggled and grinned up at him -- his cheeks were flushed, and he cleared his throat.
“In any case, I look forward to serving here.”
As they reached the second floor, she took him through the stockroom, waving to Owain as they went. The Tranquil raised his hand in greeting with a nod.
“This is the stockroom, and that’s Owain,” she told him. Knight-Templar Cullen nodded.
Right, as though he cared about the stockroom just for mages. She felt heat in her cheeks again.
“Anyway, this floor is where the senior mage quarters are,” she told him as they left the stockroom. “If you go right, you’ll find all those. But you’re going left, to First Enchanter Irving’s office, right at the end of the hall on your right.”
She smiled up at him. “I’ve got to get back to studying, but… well, welcome to Kinloch.”
“Thank you, Apprentice Surana,” he replied with a bow.
“You’re welcome, of course,” she said. A beat.
“Right then,” she said. “Off I go. Good luck!”
With that, before she could feel any more like an idiot, she near-raced back to the stairs.
She could almost hear Tomas laughing at what a little git she’d really been all the way from Orlais.
--
It had taken time to learn how to be here. Time and the help of a slender, graceful Rivaini boy with ink-dark curls and mischief in his black eyes. All the discipline and lecturing from her human captors had left the angry, rebellious, little elven urchin she was unmoved. She couldn't have been more than seven, possibly eight summers, but she was determined to carry her hate with her for the rest of her life.
It had been Tomas who'd taught her how mischief worked here. Where the wonder hid here. How even on this island, behind these walls, they were still a part of the greater world, and reminded her of all the little bits of fun in it.
Like in nail lacquer that sparkled aquamarine.
Yesterday, a fortnight after successfully completing his Harrowing, Tomas had left for a research position he’d secured in the Orlesian Circle.
“Don’t be sad, little git,” he’d said to her with a grin. “Circle mages don’t have to stay at the Circle in Orlais. Hurry up and get through your Harrowing, and by the time you get here, I’ll have already found all the best parties.”
She huffed a breath, thinking about Orlais.
The dream had always been to somehow get back to Denerim and get mamae, but there was no doing that from Kinloch. Tomas had pointed out that she’d likely have an easier time helping her mother from the Orlesian Circle than the Fereldan one.
Tomas was two years older; she had two years to go . She’d already been through nine summers without mamae; she could get through two more.
She squinted a little, pressing her lips together against what would have been a distinctly daft smile at the thought that given the right new company, they might be just a bit less tragic than she’d imagined.