Circle Tower, Kinloch Hold, Monday Morning Fandom Time

[not_every_mage]

The sun was still rising when a Templar summoned Anders to Irving's office. He went with decidedly mixed feelings: He had no idea what he was going to hear. Surviving his Harrowing was a source of some pride, yes -- but it also felt like a chain binding him to the Circle for life.

He noticed during his walk that the number of Templars standing guard outside his cell had diminished considerably from the day before. He supposed that was a good sign.

"Good morning, ser," he greeted Irving, as the man seemed uninterested in looking up from his reading. "You wanted to see me?"

Irving smiled apologetically and set his papers down. "I did," he said. "Sit down, I'm sure it's not a surprise that we still need to talk."


Anders shook his head, usual sense of humor entirely absent from his expression and bearing. He slid cautiously into the offered chair. "Not at all."

"It's like this, child," Irving said. "You passed your Harrowing, and we now have no reason to think you're any more likely to deal with demons than any other mage here." (Anders was painfully aware that wasn't much of a vote of confidence.) "But you ran away and stayed away. For two years. We can't just send you off to live with the other young Enchanters as if you'd done nothing wrong."

"N-no, I suppose you can't," Anders acknowledged, stomach tightening, and couldn't resist the urge to amuse himself a bit with his response. "It would be a bad example. Put ideas in their heads."

"Exactly," Irving said, blandly ignoring the sarcasm. "However, we can't ignore that you're one of the better young spirit healers here, and you've lost years of your apprenticeship. Letting you rot in a dungeon where you won't learn anything would be a waste. Even Greagoir had to agree."

He seemed to want a response there, but Anders couldn't fathom what it should be. He nodded, waiting for the First Enchanter to continue.

After a pause that could accurately be described as pregnant, Irving sighed and tugged at his beard. "Normal punishment for someone with your history would be a year in solitary confinement," he explained. "But because we see greater potential as well as greater risk in you, Senior Enchanter Wynne has agreed to instruct you in spirit healing. She'll be at your room two afternoons a week, and we'll rely on her judgement as to when you're ready for more interaction with your fellows."

Being personally taught by Wynne was an honor any mage in the Circle would be proud of. Anders would have been in a much better position to appreciate it if Irving hadn't started off by saying --

"Hang on, did you say you're going to lock me up for a year?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes," Irving repeated, compassion behind his eyes despite his firm words. "But, as I said, you'll be taking regular instruction from Wynne, and we'll see about letting some of the other spirit healers, like Finn, train with you. If you actually behave yourself this time, I wouldn't be surprised if you were back in the dorms with the other mages by First Day." He lowered his voice. "I had to argue Greagoir down from a year in true solitary. Don't make me regret it."

"... I'll try not to," Anders said, trying to act obedient even though he didn't feel obedient. Crushed was what he felt, mostly, with a fury -- at himself, at the Circle, at Kathy for being so selfish as to die and start him on this path -- buried deep underneath the sorrow.

(Sweet Andraste. A year with little to do but think and study magic. Anders could already see the lonely hours stretching out before him like an endless rope.)

"That's that, then," Irving said with the slightest smile, and nodded to a Templar. "Edmond will see you back. May Andraste grant you peace."

As Anders went back to his tiny room, he wasn't feeling much peace -- Andraste's, or anyone else's.

[OOC: NFI and NFB due to distance.]