There is little for Cadeyrn to do at the Circle. He has no task other than to read, and all the mages and apprentices seem to do is practice or research or gossip.
He doesn’t like the mages. They’re all so… different. Some are too friendly, some too cruel. During mealtimes he prefers to sit with the ones who ignore him. The few children he meets are all younger and irritating.
He keeps to himself, and slowly learns to read.
Cadeyrn knows that he should ask the Enchanter for help, but he doesn’t like her, either. She thinks him lazy and unmotivated, which is fair enough. He still does not understand why history matters. He does not need to know about where swords were first made centuries ago in order to use them. It feels a waste of time, but apparently time is something he has plenty of to waste.
Days pass. He finds himself waking earlier and earlier in the morning; he sleeps early, too, and so by the time the moon is high in the sky he wakes fully rested.
He has gotten in the habit of sneaking out when he wakes up. The templars stationed outside the dormitories go on short breaks every other hour. He dashes out of the room when they leave and makes his way through the library to the circular classroom with the staircase leading to the Senior Mage Quarters. He then curls up with his book underneath a torch and behind one of the bookcases lined tightly around the room. It was a nice, private place where no one noticed him, hidden as he was. What he really liked was that after a few hours he could eavesdrop on the magic lessons meant for older apprentices, at least until he had to leave for his own history lessons.
It seems, however, that he has been waking too early.
Today the halls are half silver with moonlight. He continues his routine of dodging the templars and heading to the circular room. He settles into his spot, cracks open his book, and reads.
He’s already made his way through most of the first page, now. He has to skip over some words, but he thinks that the first page is about different types of mages in Thedas. It talks of elves and people and witches.
Cadeyrn traces the unknown letters with his fingers, reads the words he does know aloud. He’s stuck on one of the words, though, and it keeps appearing over and over. He groans and rereads the page from the beginning, hoping it will make more sense after.
“No one knows who first dis-co-er-ed magic,” he reads slowly, tongue tripping over unfamiliar words, “but it has been a part of the world of Thedas for as… long as people can remember.”
He continues, “From the elf-es to the mages of… something, both humans and elf-es have been known to, um…”
A door bangs open. Cadeyrn drops the book with a thud, his heart pounding. A templar moves from behind the bookcases, armor clinking, and booms, “Who’s there?”
Cadeyrn shrinks into himself, hoping he won’t notice, but it’s futile. The templar rounds the bookcases and sees him.
The templar sighs in his helmet. “A child. It’s past curfew for apprentices. You should be in bed. What are you doing back here? Reading naughty books?” he asks, noticing the tome lying on the floor.
“No,” Cadeyrn defends vehemently.
“Reading illegal books then?” the templar asks, severe. He picks up the book. “The History of Mages?” Flipping through the pages, the man hums, unimpressed.
Eventually the man sighs and closes the book. “Okay,” he says. “What’s this?”
“History.”
“I see that,” the templar remarks patiently. “But why are you reading it at the dead of night instead of sleeping? Did you have a bad dream?”
“I just woke up early,” Cadeyrn explains, hugging his knees.
“At midnight?” the templar asks dubiously.
“I went to bed right after supper.”
The man crouches and holds the book out to Cadeyrn, who doesn’t reach for it. The templar puts the book on the floor instead. “Well, if you can’t go to sleep, go back to the apprentice rooms and read in there. You can’t be out here at night.”
“I can’t read in there. It’s dark,” he mutters.
The templar drags an armored hand over his helmet. “I am sure they won’t mind if you light a candle or two. Just go read in your room.”
Cadeyrn knows that he shouldn’t argue, but he really does not want to read where the others would watch him and laugh at him. He doesn’t mind being bad - he can’t help it - but it stings all the same when he hears the snickers. Biting his lip, he makes no effort to pick up the book or move away.
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“I will move you by force if I must,” the templar warns.
Cadeyrn’s hands tighten on his sleeves, and he ducks his head.
“Oh, Maker,” the templar mutters to himself. “All right,” he continues at normal volume. “Why are you being so stubborn, little mage? Is there a reason you’re so set on staying here?”
He hesitates, but nods jerkily. Noticing that the templar waits for an explanation, he mumbles, “It’s quiet. And I’m alone. No one bothers me and no one…”
“No one?” the templar repeats.
Cadeyrn finishes softly, “No one laughs at me.”
“Why would they laugh at you?”
He exhales harshly. “I don’t know how to read. The others think it’s funny.”
The templar pauses, then says, “Well, they’re terrible. There’s no shame in learning, especially when you’re actually trying.”
“I know,” he mutters stormily.
The templar remains silent. Cadeyrn fidgets with a loose thread in his sleeve, not looking at him or the book. He hopes that he won’t be forced back to bed. He hates being stuck in there, with all the snoring.
“What’s your name, little mage?” the templar asks suddenly.
Cadeyrn glances at him, but doesn’t answer. The templar sighs as if thinking this insufferable child and takes off his helmet. He looks… young. Brown curls hang around his square face, and his eyes are large and light-colored. He looks like a knight from a story, and Cadeyrn is quietly envious.
“Let’s start over. Hello, my name is Aedelric Welford, but I go by Dell.” He holds out his armored hand. “May I ask what your name is?”
Cadeyrn stares at him, unmoving. The templar waits it out, his expression remaining open and calm and his gaze never leaving Cadeyrn’s.
After a minute of this he breaks. “I’m Cadeyrn. Cadeyrn Cledd.” The templar grins.
“Well then, nice to meet you, Cadeyrn.” He puts his helmet back on and stands up. “Now, my job is to guard the door to the Senior Mage Quarters, make sure no funny business is going on, especially after the… incident. I’ll be standing right by the stairs. If there happens to be an apprentice reading behind the bookshelves over here, well, I couldn’t have known, because he was very quiet,” the templar stage-whispers the last few words. “All right?”
Cadeyrn blinks up at him, and nods.
“Good.” The man makes his way back around the bookcases, but then pauses. “Oh, and one more thing. Just talking to myself here, but I find people who put their best effort into learning to be very admirable, even if they mess up. So if there were someone like that around here, they wouldn’t have to worry about me laughing at them.”
“You’re talking weird,” Cadeyrn says.
“No, I meant - never mind,” the templar cut off. “Just go read and keep quiet if someone else comes around.”
So he does. He reads until the sun rose in the sky and moonlight turned to daylight. True to his word, not once does the templar snicker at Cadeyrn’s stumbling tongue.
The next morning-late-evening when the templar ducks his head behind the bookcase, he sighs when he sees Cadeyrn, but doesn’t tell him to go. It’s a victory. Cadeyrn finds that he doesn’t mind the templar’s company, especially since he never bothers Cadeyrn other than a hissed “Quiet” when another templar approaches. Sometimes, when the sun rises and Dell leaves, he finds that he misses it.
So life continues. Weeks pass, and Cadeyrn still doesn’t understand the point of the history lessons, but at least he’s getting better at reading. The Enchanter likes to talk about things and places he has never heard of, but he thinks those are explained in the book she gave him. For example, the Tevinter Imperium she always mentions when talking of mage-isters and darkspawn is the same Tevinter with mages who rule like kings. He only found this out after asking Dell what the strange long word in the book was was, on a day where he had been particularly frustrated and desperate.
Dell had told him that he should be asking the Enchanter for help, but he explained what the Tevinter was anyway, and he was better at it, too. So after a while, when he was sure there weren’t any other templars around, Cadeyrn would move to sit at the side of the staircase and ask Dell to read out and explain some words for him. The templar did so hesitantly, but never refused.
Cadeyrn can proudly say that he knows all of the letters of the alphabet now, even the strange cross-sticks like Z and X. He learns how to write, too, after the templar brings him a journal and a pencil. He practices writing down some of the words the Enchanter says during the lessons, secretly at first, but then she caught him one day. She had looked oddly pleased, though, so he didn’t bother hiding from then on.
He feels for the first time since arriving at the Tower a sense of capability. He might not be particularly good at anything here, but he is getting better at reading, at least. If he keeps trying, he might even become decent. He still aches to wield a sword, to feel its reassuring weight as he swings, but he thinks if he could learn how to properly use magic it wouldn’t be as bad. That won’t be for a long time, however; the Enchanter made it clear that they won’t start magic lessons until the history is completely and fully explored. He wishes there were a way he could be a skilled swordsman and a skilled mage, so that he wouldn’t be stuck with this unfulfilled ache to do more in his chest.
The only swords in the Circle Tower belong to the templars. Cadeyrn would even settle for a sword-like stick, but when he asks Owain for something like that the Tranquil docilely tells him that only mages with the permission of a Senior Enchanter can take things from the Circle’s stockroom. Cadeyrn leaves disappointed and bitter.
That night, he finds it difficult to concentrate on reading. He fidgets, turns pages when the letters blur and jump around, then finally drops the book and gets up. He walks behind the bookshelves toward the side of the staircase, and asks Dell if he can practice swinging his sword.
“What? No,” the templar immediately rejects, sounding bewildered.
Cadeyrn scowls down at the ground, scuffing his boot against the stone.
“Listen, I absolutely can’t let an apprentice run around with a sword for fun. It’s dangerous, and it could get me in serious trouble. More than I would already be just for letting you be here right now.”
“Okay,” he grumbles, and storms back to his book.
He struggles through the next few paragraphs, learning about how after the prophet Andraste rebelled against the Tevinter Imperium and died, the Chantry was made and later banned magic. All the mages had to live in the Chantry and couldn’t do anything except light candles and clean. It frustrates him. They have all this power, enough to rule almost all of Thedas, but they’re not allowed to do anything with it. Why couldn’t they let the mages do something else instead of magic then? Why are they stuck being worthless, useless?
He buries his face in his knees. He hates this. He really hates this. No one needs him and he can’t do anything. He’s never going to be a proper mage, or a swordsman, because he’s too stupid and weak, and they’ll make him tranquil and take even himself from him. He’s locked up in here because the Chantry hates him, and the world hates him, and his mother and father -
The only things that want him are the demons. He hates everything.