Fic: Dreams & Books, part 1: A Handshake

[lenticularstudy]

{If you save Connor with lyrium from the Circle, he becomes a Tower apprentice. This, a study of life in the Tower, follows his, Morgana Amell, Anders and Jowan's childhoods. Ties into the Morgana Amell series.}

Dedication: karebear, for many interesting conversations on this topic.

 

Dreams & Books

- I -

A Handshake

He sits on his bed, feet idly kicking at the mattress as he thinks. He was sent off to his room after... after something. He doesn't quite know what happened - the memories are still blurred and broken in his head - but people keep acting as if he's been ill, as if he needs rest. He's not tired, his mind protests.

He looks up at the clanking of mail, sees the two Wardens standing in the doorway; there's a moment of silence as he stares at them, noticing how far he has to look up to do so.

He remembers what Teagan said: one of them was brought up here, like him, knew his father. The other...

She walks toward him slowly, almost as if she doesn't want to frighten him, and the words fall from his lips in surprise. "Are you... are you the one who saved me?"

She smiles, but her eyes are sad, and he wonders why. "I suppose you could say that." She holds out a hand, and he pauses for a moment, confused - then he remembers what his father used to say about it being polite to shake someone's hand; he didn't know women did it, though. His palms are still a little sweaty, and she's still wearing rough leather gloves, but he reaches up and shakes it awkwardly - he's never done this before; usually it's all baby talk about how much he's grown and pats on the head.

He spots the way the other Warden - he thinks the man's name is Alistair, from what he's heard, but he might be wrong - looks at her as if she's doing something very strange, but she doesn't seem to care; she's still smiling. "I'm Morgana. And you're Connor, I assume."

He nods, knowing he looks stupid staring at her. Most of the women in the village wear pretty dresses, are all perfume and giggling; there are some in the guard, he's heard, but he's never really seen them. She wears metal armour, has a sword, and he thinks there's blood in her hair. He tries not to look at that too hard.

He thanks her for taking the confusion out of his head - for so long, he's been muddled, his mind not quite working, as though something is trying to stop it, and every time he could see and talk again, it felt like he was being dragged back into darkness. Her smile looks a little shakier now, but she nods, and she leaves with the words, "I think I'll be seeing you soon."

•

He certainly hears her again, voice raised, arguing with Mother, saying something about freedom, about prisons and innocence. He doesn't want to listen, so he simply buries his head in his pillow and... doesn't.

•

The door creaks open what seems like an awfully long time later, and he rolls over, expecting to see his mother, but instead it's Morgana who enters the room, armoured steps loud in the quiet room, looking at him with concern, her smile gone. He notices that she's carrying a book under one arm, thick and bound with black leather, and wonders why. He sits up, pushes the covers off him and looks at her, waiting for her to speak.

"Connor..." There's a pause, and she sighs. "The things you can do, did Jowan ever name them? Call you anything?"

He frowns, and it takes a moment for him to understand. "He... he said I was a mage, like him."

She nods. "I knew Jowan. He was... is my best friend. We grew up together in the Tower. I... I'm also a mage."

There's a pause as he stares at her sword. A mage with a one of those?

She sees where his eyes are directed, seems to know what he's thinking, and with a movement of her fingers, a light dances around her hand, moving upwards to slowly hover around her head.

He tries to remember what Jowan had called them. "That's a... whisk, isn't it?"

A soft nearly-laugh, and her smile from earlier returns, smaller this time. "A wisp. You're nearly there." She clicks her fingers, the light flickering out, and then she walks across the room, sits on the floor close to his bed. Oh, Mother would hate that - she always says he has to give guests chairs. He looks around hurriedly, but there isn't one, and she keeps sitting there, on the ground.

"Mages usually grow up in the Tower, but I'd think Jowan's already mentioned that."

He nods. "And Uncle Teagan, but Mother and Father wouldn't talk about it..."

"You're going to grow up there, too. It will teach you to understand the things you can do, better than Jowan himself ever could. And what happened, what made you confused - the possession. It won't happen again."

He thinks about it for a moment, then he remembers what Jowan said about the Tower, and he's frightened. "Will I see my family again?"

There's a long silence, Morgana looking at the floor, and there's something wrong with her voice - it comes out a little broken - when she speaks. "No, Connor. I'm sorry. I went into the Tower when I was four, and I... can't remember mine."

Suddenly, the Warden who freed him, who everyone has been telling him to respect and be extra-polite to, looks up, and he realises that she's just as scared as he is; she isn't old and angry, like General Loghain, and she isn't wise and calm like his father - her eyes are wide, frightened, and she isn't the strong woman in the armour he might have been just a little scared of. She's just... Morgana, and she's a mage too, and maybe she'll understand.

"Can I say goodbye?" he asks, hesitantly, and she stands, metal creaking as she does so.

"You're not leaving yet. Not for a few days, at least. Try and get some sleep; it'll do you good." She places the book she's been carrying in his hand, walking to his door; he opens the cover and reads the title, not understanding. Practical Healing.

"Why...?"

She turns, and he wonders at the shine to her eyes as she gives him one last smile. "It might help you, in the Tower. And when you read it... remember that you aren't the only one. That some of us got out." Before he can ask her what she means, the door clicks softly shut, and he hears her footsteps fading down the corridor.

He lies back down, running a hand once more over the letters and breathing in the musty smell of old paper, deciding that it must be important if the Warden herself (who's secretly just Morgana, he knows now) has given it to him. He closes it carefully, placing it by his bed, and blows out the candle, sleep soon taking him.