ă€ŠPhoenix Origins [Dragon Age Fanfiction]ă€‹


 1 | The Mage Among Us

    Those who oppose thee

    Shall know the wrath of heaven.

    Field and forest shall burn,

    The seas shall rise and devour them,

    The wind shall tear their nations

    From the face of the earth,

    Lightning shall rain down from the sky,

    They shall cry out to their false gods,

    And find silence.

    ˇŞAndraste 7:19

    Sometimes called the School of Power, the Primal School is the second of the Schools of Energy, balanced by Spirit, and concerns the most visible and tangible forces of nature itself. This is the magic of war: Fire, ice, and lightning. Devastation.

    This is what the vast majority imagines when they hear the word "magic."

    ˇŞFrom The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus

    <hr>

    Dragon 9:21

    Evelyn

    In the Ostwick countryside of the Free Marches resided the heart of the Trevelyan family. Their ancient bloodline had survived wars, Blights, Qunari invasions, and various conquests from Tevinter and Orlais, among other efforts to tame and control the barbarian tribes of the Marches. As the melting pot in the north, cultures, and customs collided to produce a loose confederation of city-states who, in the case of war, would combine their strength to combat the enemy. No longer did they wish to be subjugated to a monarch or empire, they simply wished to prosper on their own. This in turn made the Marches and its cities some of the greatest trading and commercial markets in Thedas. With plenty of port cities and a vast fleet of ships, many Southerners looked at them as if they were pirates in the early years of the Confederacy. Now, they were simply businessmen and women with enterprising ventures in capital and goods. Even foreign investors from Orlais, Antiva, and Nevarra sought opportunities to make extra coin from the innovative Marchers. With little restrictions on trade, anyone could profit if they worked for it and knew the market for their services.

    Yet, for all the progress, there was a deep reverence for religion at the heart of every true Marcher. The Chantry was a force to be reckoned with in the north, and rightfully so, as some of their wealthiest donors hailed from there. Though not the wealthiest of the great families, the Trevelyans were a name every Chantry cleric knew. It was they who the Mothers in Ostwick depended on when they needed coin, and the Trevelyans never disappointed them. Aside from funds, they also provided the Chantry with new blood either in the form of Templars or bureaucrats. Wielding wealth and religious influence for generations, the family had built itself a sustainable future, and thus was the world Evelyn Althea Trevelyan was born into.

    The fifth and youngest child of Bann Drexford Trevelyan and Lady Rhiannon Orianna Trevelyan, Evelyn was expected to either marry advantageously or join the ranks of the Chantry with her cousins. With this expectation looming over her entire childhood, her mother and two older sisters endeavored to mold her into their image. Both sisters, Odette and Ariella, chose to place themselves on the market as eligible brides for the highest bidder, wanting nothing to do with a spartan and chaste life of service in the Chantry. They were well-suited for the life of nobility enjoying parties and gossip, actively learning the rules of The Game. Fortunately for them, they were figures of feminine beauty and charm thanks to their mother''s rigorous training from a young age.

    As ten-year-old Evelyn sat in the salon of their country estate listening to her mother brag about her two eldest daughters, who sat on either side of their mother like perfect porcelain dolls, she couldn''t help but make a face of disgust as she stirred her tea noisily. The clanking of the fine porcelain garnered attention from the matron who eyed her intensely until she stopped.

    "And how is young Evelyn progressing in her schooling? Will there be yet another Trevelyan lady the unwed girls of the Marches will have to compete with? My, Rhiannon, I do believe you will monopolize the marriage market in the next decade, I must congratulate you." Great Aunt Lucile was her father''s aunt and always had a pulse on the political machinations of the Trevelyan family. With Odette out in society at the age of sixteen and Ariella close on her heels at fourteen, the high precedence they set in the sphere of influence would weigh heavy on the expectations set forth for Evelyn. The thought of which made her antsy, as she now tapped her foot causing her fine dress to silently wave.

    "You may need to save such praise until I break this one like one of Drex''s Rangers," mother and daughter met eyes with fierce hostility, "Evelyn refuses to cooperate. I fear she''s a lost cause and better off in the Chantry." The older women both sighed despairingly and Evelyn''s sisters huffed a snotty glare at her. Odette and Ariella were as hard on her as their mother, offering her no sisterly affection or sympathy. The youngest Trevelyan turned towards the window to lean on the arm of the plush chair with a huff of her own wishing she truly was one of the family''s horses. At least then she could run free in the pastures basking in the hot sun. Even they would be off having more adventures than she ever would be stuck inside the estate, fighting Tevinter Magisters and bandits with her father''s cavalry.

    "Young lady," her great aunt''s tone was haughty and arrogant, as she leaned on her cane, "you understand that if you do not want to live a life of privilege, you will be sent away to one of service. One way or another you will serve this family. Look at me when I speak to you." The child simply turned her head over in her arms. "While you share more resemblance in appearance with your father, I suppose it has its own charm, and there will still be plenty of men still interested in you. You have the Trevelyan name after all, and that will overshadow your flaws." The aging woman looked her over as if she were a mare they were thinking of breeding. Her wrinkled leathery skin puckered about her over powdered face. The act caused Evelyn to turn her fiery glare at her, being subjected yet again to more scrutiny and criticism, as if her mother''s daily tirades weren''t enough. Lucile balked back in feigned indignation, "Maker, she''s like a wild animal, perhaps it would be better to cut your losses and focus on Odette and Ariella. Forget the clergy, send this one to the Templars with that temper! They''ll purge it from her." The woman stabbed her cane in her direction trying to make her finch, but instead, she lowered a predatory look at her, making her great aunt look truly fearful of her.

    Having lost patience, Lady Bann Trevelyan ordered her daughter out of her sight. Without care, Evelyn threw down her tea on the table, nearly breaking it, stuck out her tongue at her two sisters for good measure, and stormed out. There was no doubt that she had a temper, one that she equated to the frustration over her hopeless situation. In the hall, Evelyn kicked off her polished shoes at the wall and went running and sliding in her stocking on the marble floor in an attempt to quell her rage. Deep in her heart, she knew she''d have to serve the family, but she had yet to accept it. Her imagination was filled with tales of slaying dragons and harrowing adventures. Marriage? Gross.

    Holidays were starting to become less fun the older she grew, for she was no longer allowed to play with the other children. Instead, she was to accompany her mother and sisters as they mingled, occasionally being introduced to the great families with whom her mother wished one day to be joined with for one advantage or another. Thankfully, Odette and Ariella were the focus of much of the attention, making it easier for Evelyn to sneak away to find Owayne. The two trouble-making Trevelyans liked to spy on Hector as he blushed after all the eligible girls, providing them with much amusement later on when they teased him.

    Yet, despite the age difference, he enjoyed his youngest siblings. He was eighteen and every bit the spitting image of their father; tall and slim with the famed modest temper of their family motto. Modest in temper, bold in deed. Evelyn couldn''t say the same about herself, for she had a fiery temper hidden within her small frame. Often, their antics played nicely in helping him speak to the young women of Marcher high society. He suddenly became more desirable having a good handle on children and a fierce family loyalty. Evelyn and Owayne were lookouts on a number of occasions when Hector was required to dole out justice for a slight against Odette as she navigated through matches. Unfortunately, their mother had taught the eldest sister how to entice men, and paired with her beauty, it led to many lewd comments about the type of woman she''d be. Hector and some of their older cousins were bound by honor to brawl at balls or in the city, which always caused their father to give the same lecture at dinner after his heir would come home with bloodied knuckles. After which, his ire was leveled on Rhiannon for teaching their daughter such things.

    Oddly, Evelyn enjoyed it when her father raised his voice at their mother, for she felt it validated many of her own grievances with the woman. Usually, after he''d storm off and she was left with a satisfied smirk on her face, she''d earn herself a whack from the matron. Yet, it only made her laugh more, causing her mother to yell all sorts of insults her way. Commanded out of her sight and left to her own devices around the estate, it gave her an excuse to find trouble with Owayne.

    Evelyn and Owayne were the closest of the Trevelyan siblings, nearly alike in every way. From their looks to personality, most believed they were twins, but he was two years her senior. Being the youngest and at times forgotten by their parents as they schooled the older three Trevelyans, the pair were thick as thieves and always up to their own mischievous machinations. Pranks were their favorite pastime, whether they played them on others or each other, there was always some daily uproar at their Ostwick country estate as to something the dynamic duo had done. Yet, for all the similarities, there was one large difference... Evelyn was always the one to get caught. No matter how much she tried, she was always finding more trouble than she made. The common joke about the household was that the girl could find trouble simply walking to a Chantry service. Her brother was roguish and slippery, with the uncanny ability to sneak about anywhere and away from any situation, leaving his sister to whatever punishment awaited her.

    "Drexford! Would you do something about this child of yours? I cannot stand to be in her presence!" Rhiannon''s shrill cry did nothing but raise her husband''s hackles. Though her mother despised Evelyn, her father doted on her. The man had very little in common with his other daughters - as well as his wife - but his youngest was his darling due to her vast difference from the other females. For one, Evelyn loved her father''s horses, not seeing them as filthy disgusting creatures as her mother often said, despite them being their prime source of income. "She was supposed to be taking tea with myself and the Teyrn''s wife! I wanted to present her as a future candidate for their youngest son."

    "Isn''t the boy two? Why on the Maker''s green earth would the Lady be thinking of marriage for him now?!"

    "She wouldn''t be, but she will in the future, and when she is, Evelyn must be her first thought. How else will we rid ourselves of this child? At least married to them, so long as they stay in power, she will secure our standing here in Ostwick while her sisters make greater advances elsewhere."

    Standing in her soiled and horse-smelling dress from her morning grooming the horses and dogs in the stable, Evelyn wriggled her toes in her mucky shoes, shifting her weight from heel to toe contently, knowing that her father was not about to scold her for how she chose to spend her morning. Granted, she was explicitly told about taking tea with the Teyrn''s wife, but the girl chose to ignore the command. Leveling her mother with a heated glare she aimed to mimic often, Drexford took any snub at his profession harshly, most of all from his wife. Rhiannon was the middle child of lesser nobility whose mother had been just as shrewd in landing her an "advantageous" marriage. As she heard it whispered at parties, her mother had been overjoyed at the match until years later it began to lack the luster it once had. The more she dabbled in politics, the more she realized her elevation to the wife of the most prestigious Horsemaster in all the Free Marches, was still less desirable than that of the fine vineyards and luxury goods of the other nobility. Now, she was determined to raise her daughters up, and in doing so make her own status more desirable. As was the way of all the noble houses around Thedas, but that never made it right in Evelyn''s eyes.

    Before her father could speak, the child in question decided to seal her mother''s coffin in this fight, "Father, what''s a spinster? Mother said if I continue to help with the horses, that I''ll be the wretched spinster she locks in a closet for every party she throws." Drexford was livid, sputtering like a volcano, while her mother grabbed and hit her. The girl laughed slightly at the hit, for she had received harder while fighting with Owayne. Evelyn deserved it in a sense, but she''d be lying if she said she hadn''t completely been ignoring her mother''s lessons about The Game. It was the one thing she found would be most beneficial from the matron''s teachings since she was always getting into trouble. Catching Rhiannon''s hand and pulling Evelyn behind him, the Bann swallowed his temper. Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed.

    "Why you little cretin!" Her mother seethed.

    Surprised by her harsh language towards the youngest Trevelyan, Drexford''s brow drew down, "Rhiannon, calm yourself! You will not speak to any child of mine in such a way."

    "Oh, she''s your child alright! Fine, keep her out of my sight! We can hire her for a stable hand when she comes of age, for if her mother can be repulsed by her so, no man could stand for her as his wife!" Her mother spun on a heel, the fine silk of her ostentatious gown billowing about her legs.

    When she was out of sight, her father turned and looked down at her. While his rectangular face gave her a stern stare, she detected the slighted hint of amusement, "Why must you provoke her so? She is just looking out for your future. And I''m sure you know what a spinster is, for I heard Hector explaining it to you the other day when you asked him after she threatened you with it." A tight cheeky smile spread on her face up at her favorite parent. "You know, I do believe you''re too clever for your own good at times. It must come from being the youngest with something to prove, I suppose."

    "I don''t want to prove anything, why can''t I stay and help you here?"

    "You are still young and do not yet know what you want from life."

    "I know I don''t want to sit through another one of Mother''s lessons or stupid tea parties."

    "Yet, this is what you were born to do. Not all have such a privileged upbringing as you and your siblings. Your belly is always full, you have shoes on your feet, and you have more choices than most. You should be grateful the Maker has been good to us and embrace this life. You only ever get one." They walked over to one of the garden benches and sat under the pergola''s shade. The Trumpet Vine was in full bloom twisting and hanging heavily about the wooden frame. "Think of the Greene family."

    "The farmers?"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    The gentle wave of his steel and auburn hair bobbed as he nodded, "Mhm, they work considerably harder than us to earn their living, and despite having to do back-breaking work, they are paid less for their services. Thus, they do not own such fine things as you, nor do they eat as well. They will be stuck under the label of ''lower class'' and looked down upon all their life by people like us."

    "But, do we not treat them well? I always greet them as I would anyone."

    "We do, but other nobles would spit at them as they pass. We Trevelyans understand that without the Greenes we would not have feed for our horses or flour for our bread. You live a comfortable life at the expense of others'' sweat and toil. "

    "All that just to make horse feed and flour?" The Bann nodded sympathetically. "I always enjoy playing with the other children, and Master Greene had been kind enough to show us the mill once. I wish we could help them?"

    "We do, by buying their goods. I purchase feed from others as well, to spread the wealth, but doing more than that would insult the man''s honor. Not many would take charity willingly, which is why we give regularly to the Chantry. They distribute food and other goods to the needy in Ostwick with our coin. As a great lady, you could do a lot of good by having the freedom and wealth to do so. You may have to bind yourself in marriage, but you''d have plenty of time outside your marital duties to find a way of spending your time... and money, as your mother does." He laughed and rolled his eyes amusingly at his own expense.

    "I suppose that isn''t too bad, but why must I leave you?"

    He smiled sweetly, hugging her shoulders, "That is not for a long time Evie, and by then you may want to have your own life. But I''ll not part with you unless I absolutely have to knowing you''re in good hands, that I promise you."

    Yet, despite his promise, the Maker had other plans for young Evelyn...

    It was a hot Marcher day as Evelyn hid from her mother and her guests in their expansive garden. Even though the sky threatened to open up above them, rain was the least of her concerns. In particular, she had been avoiding Lady Thindrel''s daughter, Anika, who was visiting with her mother. The lesser noble was several years older than Evelyn and rotten to the core. Cruel as she was lacking in femininity, despite being wrapped tight as a sausage in finery, the girl had it out for Evelyn for some reason.

    Upon arriving, Anika stepped from their carriage with her latest new toy - a whip. Evelyn was a small child, with no small amount of courage instilled in her by her two older brothers, yet the hulking figure of Anika made her tremble - and she knew it. She knew it when she taunted Evelyn with it when their eyes met; when she tested it on one of the horses; and then again on an elven attendant. That was enough to send Evelyn flying through the garden lest she be next.

    When the storm suddenly blew in, she knew she''d have to return to the house. Passing by the stables on her way, she heard some of their animals making a ruckus. She figured it was due to the storm, but she''d try to quiet them anyway. She loved animals, every kind, they were just so honest and unconditionally loving. Her father was the largest and most well-known Free Marches Ranger breeder on the continent. The Trevelyans fielded the finest company of cavalry this side of the Waking Sea. They had acres of rolling fields and forests to breed and train Rangers. Aside from horses they also had several species of birds, cats, and dogs.

    As she entered she heard the whimpers and nervous shifting of the animals coming from the far side of the barn where the kennels were located. At this time of day, the dogs would indeed be there before their feeding time. She picked up the pace breaking into a jog as lightning flashed followed by that loud crack of thunder. She jumped, though it was not at the thunder, but the illumination of splattered blood sprinkled along the dirt floor. Worry overcoming her petite features, she cautiously rounded the corner as an all too familiar laugh echoed through the stables. The sight made her physically sick, stifling a scream from her mouth with her hand. There Anika stood hulking over several of the dogs she had released from their kennels. They were bloodied, whimpering pleadingly for an end to their torture. The horses nearby had not gone untouched either, kicking their legs about. Anika cracked her whip making the dogs skitter and yip from one corner to the next upon seeing Evelyn.

    "Finally, something more fun to try this on than your stupid animals." Evelyn stood paralyzed with a flood of emotions overwhelming her little person. Terror, rage, and sorrow were all ten-year-old Evelyn could comprehend at the time, and her body didn''t know which to act on. She felt as if she was going to explode while watching Anika stomp ever closer to her.

    She locked eyes with one of the wounded dogs. She loved all their animals, but Arrow, as they called him, was special to her. He was born the runt of the litter. Not knowing if he''d survive, she visited him every day to tell him she believed in him, that he''d make it. That just because he was small like her, didn''t mean he couldn''t grow up to become the greatest hunting dog. Sure enough, he became one of her father''s best, to which he gave Evelyn full credit for and allowed her to name him. He was light cream with pure white paws and an angular marking between his eyes. She thought about naming him after one of her favorite desserts but then thought the other dogs would make fun of him for having such a sweet name. He was to be a fierce hunting dog, not a pastry. What about Ghost , she thought, no, too scary . Looking into the pup''s bright eyes, the mark on his face became more prominent to her. It only took her a moment to decide upon ''Arrow.'' It was perfect and so was he.

    Now he was hurting. The memory and the present collided in her mind, and it became clear there was only one thing she could do. No more running. The fear on her face was replaced by primal rage. It became so hot suddenly she felt as if she was on fire. Whatever change Anika saw come over Evelyn made her stop dead in her tracks. Now, Evelyn stalked towards her.

    "Stay back! I''m warning you..." Anika''s voice sounded rattled. She raised the whip, but seeing that Evelyn wasn''t deterred, stumbled backward making her way for the door. Taking a strange pleasure from seeing the fear on Anika''s face, her pace quickened and she felt the sting of the whip hit her. The first strike just grazed her cheek. The trickle of blood was liquid fire as it dripped down her face. The second strike she was ready for and she caught it around her forearm. She looked down at the tanned braided leather coiled tightly around her. She hated it. Hated what it did and who wielded it. She pictured it burning so clearly in her mind it was as though it was real. An odd smell wafted into her face, making her blink a few times. The whip was burning, it was actually on fire!

    Flame shot up the whip to Anika''s hand. She screamed and dropped it after it singed her hand. Evelyn concentrated on the destruction of the whip. She knew she should have been afraid of what was happening, but the release of the flame felt so natural. She didn''t hold the rage back, she let it flow freely until ash was all that was left of the torturous whip.

    "You''re a monster!" Anika screeched at her.

    "No." Her voice was strong and calm. "You''re the monster." Anika tried to run. Out the door she flew, slipping in the puddles as her heavy footfalls landed clumsily. Evelyn caught her with little effort, taking her down as her brothers had taught her to do. She muddied their expensive dresses, rolling them so she landed on top. Immediately she began throwing punches down on Anika. Rage consumed her as she failed to understand why anyone would want to hurt animals - her animals. Why was it so hot? The world went red as the sight of her wounded furry friends burned in her mind. She deserves this and more . The smell of burning cloth and another unfamiliar scent entered her nostrils. She looked down to see it was Anika''s dress and arms that were on fire. Evelyn jumped off her immediately, but the damage was done.

    Anika''s face was bloodied, the hem of her dress on fire, and the skin on her forearms burnt badly. If it had not been pouring rain, Anika most definitely would have still been aflame. Evelyn wished she still was. It wasn''t enough, her rage boiled on, but she knew deep down she had to stop. Her mana threatened to lash out again, but with no target to direct it at, it engulfed her instead. Screaming, a flame shot to the sky as it enveloped her.

    After what felt like an eternity, Evelyn dropped to her knees exhausted as the grip of her newfound power diminished. Upon looking up she saw her father, mother, sisters, Lady Thindrel, and several others from the household and the Thindrel servants. Her father was the first to approach, gesturing to the rest to keep away. She watched him carefully studying the concern on his face.

    "Evie?" He stood a few feet from her waiting for a response. "Evie, say something, sweetie."

    "I''m sorry father!" Evelyn sobbed. He leaped to her embracing her as she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. He hushed her, letting her know that there was no reason for tears, he just wanted to know what had happened. Between sobs, she told him about the scene she stumbled upon in the barn and what she had done to Anika, but more importantly that there were animals in need of care. His face was one of pure disgust. He turned to his stable hands and told them to see to the wounded animals before shooting a glance at her mother''s company. Evelyn''s mother was gesturing wildly ordering servants about and trying to help Lady Thindrel comfort her daughter. "I failed you. I am a monster!"

    "No, you made me proud," whipping tears and the blood from her cut cheek away, "I don''t think a monster would have put herself in harm''s way to save innocents."

    "But... I''m a ... I''m a mage!" She sobbed harder. "Mages are evil. How can I do good when I''m inherently evil?" He pushed her back at shoulder''s length, studying her hard.

    "Who told you that?"

    "Mother Maeve, she speaks to us often at the Chantry about the evils of magic and those who wield it. She says mages cannot help their wicked nature and that even the Maker''s light cannot save them." He shook her head at her slowly, and another disgusted look overtook his features.

    "Now don''t you listen to her. You know I once saw her mount a horse backwards. Would you ever trust the word of someone who can''t seat themselves on a horse properly?" A small, but audible laugh broke through her sobs. "I won''t lie to you that some mages are dangerous, but I don''t believe they are inherently evil. I believe the world has done something to them to make them so. You are good, and will do good my Evie." His eyes glimmered lovingly at her and she knew his words would be forever part of her.

    "Drex!" They heard her mother approaching. Her heels clicked, scattering the small pebbles of the courtyard about as she trotted along. "Drexford, I''ve called the Templars from the Circle. They should be here presently to take that creature away."

    "You did what!?" A very familiar rage erupted in her father. "Maker''s breath Rhiannon, this could''ve waited another day or so! Can''t you see that Evie is in shock?"

    "She almost killed sweet Anika, how can you say that?! The poor girl will never find a husband with those burns on her, she''s ruined her!" The two fought back and forth for a bit while the reality that the Templars were coming for her sunk in. To take her away from all she knew. She snapped out of her numb state to hear her father definitively end their spat.

    "I want the Thindrels off my property immediately and I never want to see them here again! And I expect a full apology made to me for my damaged property!" She huffed at him but turned and followed his command. He didn''t say anything, nor did his scowl waver away from the flabbergasted looks the Thindrels shot his way. Evelyn watched from beside him as the wailing Anika was carried to their carriage. When they were out of sight, her mother and sisters, stomped into the house. Family lines had been drawn.

    Evelyn and her father then hurried over to the barn to assist with the animals. They were happy to find that the situation was well in hand, with only superficial injuries to contend with. Arrow greeted her upon entering and she bent to give the dog a big long hug, knowing it could be the last. When things were settled, they made for the house. As they reached the door, a small cart with the clanking of heavy armor skittered to a stop behind them. The Templars had arrived. With a motion for her to stay put, her father went to speak with them. Their private conversation seemed civil and good-humored, ending with her father attempting to discreetly push a coin purse to the senior officer before waving her over.

    "Evelyn, this is Knight-Captain Tobias. I''ve explained what has happened and he''s agreed to come back tomorrow." She looked shyly up to the Knight-Captain. He had kind eyes from what she could tell through his graying bushy eyebrows.

    "Lady Evelyn, please don''t be afraid, though we aren''t mages we understand a bit of what you may have experienced today. I''ll be back tomorrow to travel with you to the Ostwick Circle, but until then just keep yourself calm and your powers will not endanger you. I am going to quell your powers. It will make you feel tired but you won''t be a danger to anyone." Closing his eyes a faint blue glow enshrouded him, and when he opened his eyes, she felt the energy drain from her. She wobbled but her father steadied her. "Templars can suppress magic, as I''ve just done. Once at the Circle, you''ll receive training there to help you control your abilities. Myself and fellow Templars will be with you to make sure no harm comes to you as you learn. Until tomorrow, good evening." He nodded to the two of them and spurred their horse back the way they came. She gave her father''s hand a squeeze looking up at him with a smile. He had bought her one more day. One more day to say her goodbyes, soak in her freedom, and ready herself for her new life. To do good.

    The next day while she savored her last few minutes at home, Evelyn watched her things be carried and packed on the cart. It was a wonder the rickety wooden wagon could hold two armored men, let alone a scrawny 10-year-old girl and belongings. The horses pulling it were nothing special, probably the cheapest the Chantry could afford just for carting people about. In the pasture across from the courtyard and road, a herd of her father''s Free Marches Rangers kicked and bolted playfully in the warm sunlight. Their white and cream coloring stood out against the vibrant green of the grasses and that of the trees in the background. She sighed heavily knowing the horses were to enjoy more freedoms than her in their lifetime.

    "Are you ready to go, child?" Unlike what Mother Maeve had always taught her of Circles, Knight-Captain Tobias was kind and gentle. He had not rushed her or treated her as a cursed creature for the few hours he had been on the Trevelyan estate. The other younger Knight accompanying him was happy to sit and wait in the wagon, reclining in the driver''s seat and basking in the hot sun.

    "May I await my father''s return? He went to fetch the rest of the family to say goodbye."

    "Of course," he studied her face, all the while keeping a wistful smile aimed at her, "I know this is difficult for you, but you''ll find others your age in the Circle who will become as close as family." She knew he was just trying to help alleviate some of the misery clearly painted on her face, but her eyes lingered downwards toward her shoes.

    The rhythmic clicks of shoes on the marble floors of the foyer signaled the arrival of the rest of her family. She looked down the line of her kin standing before her wearing a mixture of expressions, though one notable member was missing. In the shadow of the doorway stood Lady Bann Trevelyan glowering over at her.

    "Rhiannon, are you coming?" Her father called over, but the woman simply turned on her heel and walked back into the house. Evelyn''s brow drew slightly down, and her father was quick to take a knee before her, "Your mother just needs time to accept this. I''m sure by Satinalia she''ll come to her senses."

    "Father, may we go back inside with mother?" They turned to see both Odette and Ariella looking at their youngest sister up and down with disgust and apprehension. Part of her couldn''t blame them, for it was what their mother taught them; to fear mages was the popular opinion. It was her fault.

    Drexford''s tone verged on a firm command, "You will wish your sister well until we see her next."

    "Very well," Odette huffed dutifully, her pretty face conveying no emotion, "may the Maker bless you and keep you, Evelyn."

    "Goodbye sister, I hope the Circle isn''t as bad as what they all say it is," Ariella added. Scolding the two, their father shooed them back inside, clearly not intending her send-off to be going this poorly.

    Hector tried to distract away from the last comment, "Many mages have been a benefit to Ostwick. Remember when fever swept through the city? It was the mages who went door to door healing the sick when the physicians were too afraid."

    "Yeah, don''t listen to those tea-toilers, Evie. I bet you''ll make a great mage!" Owayne seemed the most excited and awed by her new abilities, "I bet throwing fireballs is going to be wicked fun!" She gave him a half-hearted smile knowing he was just trying to cheer her up.

    "Thank you, I will try not to disgrace the family further," she looked sheepishly up at her father.

    "My Evie," he cupped her cheeks, "I knew you were always special, never destined for this kind of life." He tilted his head back towards the estate making his point. "In the Circle, you''ll be free to be as you are, even if it comes with some added security. I know you''ll make me proud in whatever path you choose, so long as it is on the side of good." His face drew down the way he always did when he was lecturing them, "You will feel as if you have been condemned as a prisoner, but remember that magic is dangerous, and it is your duty to make sure you are protecting others from it. People will fear you, hate you even, but rise above that and you''ll find inner peace."

    "Your father''s right," the Knight-Captain had been hovering close by, "the Circle, while it will feel confining is one of the finest places to receive an education - expand your horizons. Our job is to help you as you learn to control your magic and your instructors will help show you all the possibilities for good there are for mages. It''s not an easy task, but it''s not impossible either to become more than what they label you as." He looked up towards the sun, "I do apologize, Lord Trevelyan, but we need to reach the Circle to get her settled in before super. It wouldn''t do to miss your first meal, would it?"

    She shook her head and looked at what remained of her family. They embraced with kisses and hugs, promising to see each other at the first opportunity. She smoothed her bell-shaped purple dress down over her legs after being lifted into the back of the wagon.

    "Be strong, my girl. You''re a Trevelyan, never forget that, and my daughter. That carries weight no matter what they may say." There was an intensity in his stare; a resolve that she would need to replicate and she would, for she would not be the cause of embarrassment for the family. He blew her kiss, which she returned holding back the tears, for at this moment of parting she couldn''t bear to cry in front of her father and brothers. She was strong as they taught her to be, and she''d show them. She''d show all of them and be the greatest mage in all of Thedas, even if she didn''t quite understand just what that meant yet.

 2 | The Ostwick Circle

    Report on Retrieval Mission

    Knight-Captain Tobias,

    I write to inform you of the successful retrieval of Sorin Cyrus from his family residence, following allegations of uncontrolled magical activity.

    Upon receiving the summons from the Cyrus family, I proceeded to their domicile with all due haste. The family had reported a distressing incident wherein the boy emitted a bolt of lightning upon sneezing, inadvertently striking his father. On arrival, I conducted a thorough assessment and confirmed the veracity of these allegations. The boy, Sorin, indeed possesses innate abilities indicative of a mage.

    The family, comprised of his mother, Eliza Cyrus, and his father, Thaddeus Cyrus, exhibited a palpable sense of relief at our arrival. Thaddeus Cyrus disclosed additional personal information during our conversation. He revealed that Sorin is not his biological son but rather the result of an extramarital affair between his wife and an elven heretic formerly employed at their residence. Despite this revelation, Thaddeus, adhering to the principles of Andrastian forgiveness, had endeavored to raise the boy as his own. He lamented that despite his efforts to instill proper values and suppress any potential heretical inclinations, Sorin''s manifestation as a mage rendered those efforts futile in his eyes.

    The retrieval was executed without incident, and the boy is currently en route to the Circle of Magi for further evaluation and training. The Cyrus family is not expected to pose any future complications, as their relief at our intervention suggests compliance and cooperation with our cause.

    I remain at your service and ready to undertake further directives as required.

    May the light of the Maker shine upon us all,

    Knight-Templar Boris van Meer

    <hr>

    Dragon 9:21

    Evelyn

    A hard jostling from the potholes in the cobblestone just outside of the Circle of Ostwick made her emerge from the safety of her shawl. She had been hiding there since getting a rotten piece of fruit thrown at her by some children when they entered the city. Knowing the Templars were carting in another mage, they were shouting things like ''demon'' and ''monster'' while making scary faces at her, uncaring of her finery. It seemed becoming a mage was a social equalizer when it came to the fear and hate the populace harbored against them. They ran alongside the wagon hounding her until the Knight-Captain shouted at them. Before that moment, she didn''t think the man was capable of making such a roar. Had her brothers had been there, they''d truly know what a monster was if they got their hands on them, but as it was, she was alone.

    Her father had said people would hate her, so it should''ve been easier to accept, but she was away from her protective males and with strangers. Alone. The tears wanted to fall scrunching into a tighter ball trying to block the world out, but she could still hear the people speaking about her. As if they knew her, how dare they? She was a Trevelyan. If they knew, they''d not insult her so.

    "Hmph, another mage? Will the Maker not spare us from these monsters?"

    "The Templars would do better just killing the lot of them."

    The curses haunted her for what felt like an eternity. When the cart slowed to a stop, she heard a metal creak as the gate slowly opened and the Templars exchanged salutes to their Knight-Captain. "We''re here, miss. You can come out now," having done this many times before, Tobias must''ve been used to coaxing young frightened mages out after such a gauntlet. His voice was low and soft, "You''re safe behind the gate. They cannot enter here, not without being met by us, and few would dare stand against Templars." He smiled, offering her his armored hand to help her out. Grasping it, when her foot hit the ground, a blinding glare off the armor of the men manning the gate and those stationed about cast them in a heroic light. With flaming swords embossed on their chest plates, she was inclined to believe Tobias'' words that she was safe.

    Yet, the world waited behind that metal gate. A whole bustling city was carrying out their daily business, and one she''d never be a part of again.

    As they unloaded the cart she looked about the vast walled complex that was to be her new permanent home. The sandy stone walls around the buildings were thick and high, assumingly to keep its residents inside. In the very back positioned atop a cliff overlooking the crashing waves of the Waking Sea, was the Tower. It was the focal point of the walled fortress, soaring high above any building she had ever seen. To the left were all the Templar buildings, from the barracks, training grounds, and small chapel. To the Tower''s right, was a smaller area seemingly for mages. A lush herbal garden provided some much needed color to the stone structures and dirt yards. There was a small training yard as well, but nowhere near the size of the Templars''. In the far back right was a long hall of sorts, which one could guess was where they fed all the Circle''s residents.

    "Come, we need to go meet with the First Enchanter and get you robes." Tobias motioned to her to hurry and catch up with him.

    Passing through the large doors into the Entry Foyer, the bright light of the sun was replaced by the cool bluish hue of the magelights lining the walls. She supposed it made sense that there was no real fire inside a building that had little ventilation, but all these questions on how the Tower worked would answer themselves in time. For now, her eyes took in everything; the rushing of the students out of the Mess Hall to get to classes; the steady beat of Templar boots patrolling the halls; and the alien crackle of magic everywhere.

    They climbed the winding and seemingly never ending staircases to the upper floors where the First Enchanter waited for them. With a courteous knock, he called in to her to announce their entrance. "Go on inside, I''ll wait for you out here." She nodded and as she strode forward, he called in, "This is Novice Trevelyan, newly arrived, First Enchanter." With that, the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

    "Come in, child, do not be afraid. Though I suppose it is all very overwhelming." A petite, spindly woman with dark olive skin stepped out from behind an array of alchemy equipment. Her black hair was streaked with silver, pulled back into a ponytail. Approaching her cautiously, Evelyn clasped her hands in front of her, as her mother taught her. "Welcome to the Ostwick Circle of Magi, Lady Trevelyan - though I suppose you better get used to being called by your skill rank of Novice. I am First Enchanter Lydia, and I manage all of the mage affairs here in the Circle. My counterpart, Knight-Commander Golan Drader, commands the Templars here. I assume your knowledge of life in Circles comes from what the Chantry has taught you?" She nodded with a grimace, but the older woman''s face smiled knowingly, "Well, I suggest you go about your orientation with an open mind. Our Circle is one of the most harmonious in all of Thedas, so consider yourself blessed to find yourself here."

    There was another knock at the door, followed by the reappearance of Tobias and a young boy. "Hello, again Novice Trevelyan, allow me to introduce you to Master Byron Henley. He''s been with us for four years and will help with showing you around." The boy, Byron, had neat thick black hair and light tanned skin. His eyes were a deep woody brown hue, but a small closed-lip smile brightened his face. She returned his smile, even if her''s lacked some mirth.

    "Yes," the First Enchanter continued, "we find that pairing new mages with our young Templar recruits helps to foster a better understanding of each other and your roles here. Well, I suppose you should be off, the dinner bell will ring soon and you''ll need to change into your robes. It was nice to meet you, Novice Trevelyan. Welcome home."

    "You''re in good hands. Master Henley, make sure you conclude your tour before curfew," the Knight-Captain added.

    "Yes, ser!" Turning to Evelyn now, he bid her to follow and with that, they began their descent down the tower. It almost felt odd to be left chaperoned with another child her age. Back at the family estate it seemed like she was always trying to get away from someone. If she had to guess why, she would assume it was because they were being watched at every turn by the statuesque Knights lining the halls. "So, what happened when your magic appeared? Did you freeze your bath? Start smoking from the ears? Zap someone you didn''t like?"This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "No, I badly burnt the girl who was hurting my animals, then was almost swallowed by a firestorm."

    Expecting him to call her a monster or keep his distance, she was surprised when he blinked wide-eyed a few times. "Wow, that''s a new one. You''ll have to tell me the full story sometime."

    "You aren''t frightened of me?"

    "Well, magic is to be feared, but from you, no, not here surrounded by Knights." He caught her uneasy frown, "You don''t need to be frightened of Templars, we are here to keep everyone safe."

    His words bumped about in her head, feeling like she saw the Order in a new light being on the other side of things now. She was a mage. This was permanent. This was her new home forever. As her spirits drooped listening to the boy prattle on as they walked and found her a bunk in the girls dormitory followed by a short tour, she had to force herself to eat when the dinner bell rang. Henley explained to her that while everyone had different class schedules, no one was excused from meals. As he went to eat with the other Templars, Evelyn found herself standing alone before at least a hundred mages in her new robes. As the new girl, she just sat at an empty end of one of the tables people watching.

    When a few other quiet mages sat near her, they gave a friendly hello, but ultimately buried their nose in a tome. Some gathered in groups viewing and conversing about curious alchemical ingredients and others simply laughed and chatted to their friends. If it weren''t for the robes and the armored guards, one would''ve thought they were at a normal school.

    Over the next few days, Evelyn made an attempt to speak with some of her peers both in her classes and in the Mess Hall. Though they were a bit too bookworm-like for her more active interests, she came to terms that she really had no choice. These were to be her friends. So many choices had been taken away from her. Thumbing through the Circle rules, it mentioned that mages were not to fraternize with anyone. They could not marry, nor bear children, which to her was inconsequential having happily escaped her mother''s schemes. Yet, she was to be a prisoner for the sake of the people of Thedas because she was a danger, as she had demonstrated against Anika back on their estate.

    A broiling frustration began making her blood heat thinking about how people could ever think she was evil. That any of the mages were inherently vile. Despite being new, all she saw were people forced to live together under the guard of Templars. If they were so uncontrollably bad, why weren''t they tearing each other apart? Between what the Chantry taught and what she was experiencing in the Circle, clearly there was some kind of misunderstanding. Perhaps, she could show people mages were more than abominations. Her father told her to learn to control her power for everyone''s safety, that it was her responsibility.

    Evelyn took that to heart as she began her formal training. Her first few months of classes were an introduction to all the different forces of magic. As her instructors all told the novices, most mages had at least one school in which they excelled in. As it happened, most of the mages in Ostwick were accomplished healers, able to all but regenerate limbs - which she heard they were working on. It was a noble calling to specialize in Spirit Healing, being called in when traditional medicine could do no more or they helped assist with battlefield wounds. That particularly struck a chord with young Evelyn who wanted to change people''s perspective on mages, but there was one huge problem...

    ... she was the worst healer Ostwick had seen in an age.

    "Oh dear, Novice Trevelyan, would you please... just, cease your spell!" Senior Enchanter Ingram''s politely tense face was a familiar one of late. She had paired the students up to practice healing spells, when Evelyn had inadvertently caused her partner to pass out. The Enchanter''s voice was one of patient frustration, "How many times must we go over this, you are to soothe, not slay your patient." A quick wave of her hand brought the girl back from the Fade, blinking lazily as she tried to orient herself. Evelyn huffed with angry frown, she had been practicing this simple spell for months and still could not get her mana to join correctly with her patient. "You cannot just overpower them, you must ease into the spell."

    Slowly, Evelyn was starting to believe she was not meant to be a battlefield healer. Her mana ran hot, and as the Senior Enchanter told her in the past, her temperament was not suited for healing. Yet, the youngest Trevelyan continued to believe that this was the path to showing her family and the world that mages were good... but she couldn''t do it by failing her Spirit Healing courses.

    Alchemy was easier as were her lessons in defensive wards, but it was the Primal School of the Elements where she excelled. Though she could not for the life of her freeze a cup of water, nor give someone a light shock, she could wield fire. Evelyn could do it so well, her instructors commented that had they not known she only just arrived months ago, they would''ve thought she had already received training. Because of her aptitude and the manner of which she came into her magic, Enchanter Callum agreed to tutor her privately to hone her skill and make sure her mana did not threaten to consume her again.

    Callum, with the assistance of a Templar, would have her release her inner inferno. Her mana was so elemental that it made her veins glow as if they were lava flows. Her brown eyes flickered with an orange pulse, and even the Templars were weary of her resemblance to a Rage demon. Yet, for each time they broke her control, the stronger she built up her resistance against such a slip. It was a long and painful process, but a necessary one. As her confidence grew, so did her understanding of the magical forces pumping through her. Callum even mused that her mana was like fire, which made her a poor candidate for a healer. But how then was she to show the world the good mages could do looking like a Rage demon?

    "You know, I take back what I said before. I may be slightly afraid of you." Henley had approached her in the garden one day, as her alchemy class went out to gather supplies for their potions. He was shadowing one of the Knights and had seen her inspecting the Embrium.

    "Why is that?" She eyed him while still continuing in her task.

    "The other Knights talk about your mutation, you know the glowing veins, and if it scares them then what chance do I stand?" His carelessness spiked the forge in her chest making it ignite. "Whoa , is that it?" Evelyn''s hard glare at his amusement was answer enough. "I thought it would be worse. It''s just a bit freaky."

    "Gee, thanks Henley. I feel so much better now," her words were laden with sarcasm. "I can''t help it. Enchanter Callum says it''s because my mana is all but actual fire. I''m not sure what kind of good it''ll do me. Everyone just seems to be afraid of me now."

    "Well, I''m still not, you''re just a girl," Byron crossed his arms looking down at her a bit smug.

    "And what''s that supposed to mean?" Evelyn stood slowly, cradling her basket of plants, "That you''re better than me?"

    "Probably at a lot of things," he looked at her matter of factly while her jaw dropped, scoffing at him.

    "I''d like to see that! You name the contest and I''ll beat you every time!"

    He gave a wide toothy grin, "Yeah, how about running? Jumping? Push-ups? Sword fighting?"

    "Anytime, Henley! You''re just a wannabe Templar anyway, at least I''m already a full-fledged mage. What are you going to do with that practice sword against my flames?"

    Having a good sense of humor, Byron was more amused by her taunting than angry at it. He chuckled, "Well, some of us have to work for things in life, Lady Trevelyan , they aren''t handed to us."

    "That does it," she threw down her basket and tackled him, throwing wild punches. The whole time the boy laughed as they rolled before the Knight he was with pulled them apart. Having not used her magic with no harm done, she was written up and would have some form of punishment in the form of menial labor, while Henly got off without even a slap on the wrist. The Knight did scold her harshly, letting her know such behavior was unacceptable and that in other Circles it was a serious offense. From then on, Evelyn tried hard to control her temper, but it proved harder than she expected - especially since the young Templar recruit seemed to like picking on her.

    Oddly enough, through the crucible of their teasing, they found themselves fast friends. They learned to keep their fist-fighting, contests, and sibling-like behavior to the shadows where they couldn''t be caught. Her favorite were rounds in the Library; the first one to cry out to stop not only lost, but had to come up with a good reason as to why they were shouting. Only they were allowed to pick on each other, for if anyone else did, they were not just subject to one but the two of them. As the Ostwick Circle encouraged healthy relationships between mages and Templars, they often found themselves in each other''s company as they grew older. There were still rules that accompanied their friendship, but being young and innocent they played along not fully understanding the larger picture of the Templar-mage dynamic. Henley was taking on more training as the Order forged him into a model Knight, while Evelyn continued to try and find her place in the Ostwick Circle.

    In a world terrified of magic, there was very little Evelyn could do with her gift that wouldn''t frighten people. While discouraging, Enchanter Callum tried to help her find ways for her to help. His best suggestion was to simply study the properties of the flame and keep a journal of her development as a pyromancer. According to him, anything more violent would not bode well for her in the future if she didn''t want to be made Tranquil. It was the threat held over every mage, to forever be severed from the Fade and all their emotions. Mages who could not conform, could not be controlled, those too dangerous, or those unlucky enough to get caught breaking rules were made Tranquil. There were only a handful of Tranquil in their Circle, yet none of them were actually from Ostwick. She did hear the stories about them being dangerous mages, wielding powerful magic.

    "That one there was a pyromancer," Henley whispered over to her.

    "Are you joking?"

    His brow creased down, "No, I''m serious! As I hear it a lot of mages who are gifted in the Primal School just can''t control their nature. It''s like the elements take control over them and they just can''t help their inherent violence." He paused thoughtfully as she peered up at him, "You won''t be like that though, I''ve heard the Knights say you have talent."

    "And what of them? I''m sure they were just as skilled." She shook her head, "I need to find a purpose for my magic or I''ll end up like them; too dangerous to be around." It was a clear warning, one she''d heed. If she could prove herself to be beneficial to the Order, she''d be safe.

 3 | The Pyromancer

    Knight-Enchanter Gavril Croft,

    I write to you today, ser, in the hopes that you can help me find the proper tutelage for a young mage we have been keeping a close eye on. The girl is extremely gifted in the Inferno School, and none of us quite know what to do with her, having never seen one of her natural talents before. The novice in question has literal fire in her blood as if she were born a firebird. While I understand that boys are preferable to train over females - especially high-born ones as she is - this one is different, for there is an unbreakable resolve in her for one so young. If I didn''t think she was capable of the physicality or mental fortitude it takes to become a Knight-Enchanter, I would not be wasting your time.

    I implore you to consider young Evelyn Trevelyan as a candidate for the Order of Knight-Enchanters. At least let us send her to you to assess her potential. It is my gut feeling you will not be disappointed. I await your favorable reply.

    Knight-Captain Walter Tobias

    Ostwick Circle of Magi

    <hr>

    Dragon 9:23

    Evelyn

    Over the next two years, Evelyn tried to expand her knowledge of the purpose of magic. Knowing that she was an odd puzzle piece that needed to find her place amongst a wide range of schools and specializations. Henley tried to aid her in her hunt for a purpose, but there were only so many options for someone like her.

    "What about working at the forge with the blacksmith? Your magic could get it to the perfect temperatures?"

    Evelyn sulked, resting her cheek on the wood of the bench she was laying across in one of the enclaves of the Tower. "That''s not at all exciting."

    "Well," Henley pushed her legs off, causing her to sit up making room for him, "there aren''t many thrilling options. People are scared of fire for obvious reasons. One spark from you could raze the whole town!"

    "Yes, but I can control the flame, even quell it. If there was a fire, I could be very valuable, save some lives even."

    He gave her a hard stare from beside her, "Yes, but they''d never let you out of here to do it." They gazed at each other with frustration.

    Despite everything he was taught, Henley never seemed to treat her any differently since they met. They were best friends, which wasn''t so odd in Ostwick but everywhere else it was frowned upon. They were both in the Circle not by their own choice but by circumstance. Byron was the son of a family who he explained to her was "poorer than dirt." Unable to properly care for him, his mother gave him up to The Order at six. Judging from the distant look he always got in his eyes upon talking about it, Evelyn concluded it was a traumatizing experience for him. She had had a time of it herself, but to be so young and torn from a parent was a pain she could sympathize with. Worse was that they promised to visit him, and they never once showed. Henley was alone in the world with no one but his brothers and sisters of The Order - and now, Evelyn.

    Slumping back with a huff, she crossed her arms, "Why did I have to be a mage? My father was going to let me join the Templars! I''d be with you and it''d be great hunting down demons and maleficar! But, no! If it wasn''t bad enough, He gives me lava for mana! Why does the Maker hate me?!"

    He fell back beside her, his rich brown eyes taking pity on her, "There must be some reason for it. You''re unique, all the Senior Enchanters and Knights say so."

    "They also are afraid of me, Bry." She turned her head to look up at him. Even though they were both twelve, he was already much taller than her. "Why can''t they just trust me like you do?"

    He shrugged, "I don''t know, but I have faith in you. You''ll come up with something. You''re the smart one after all." He nudged her playfully trying to get her to smile.

    "Yeah, and what does that make you?"

    "The strong one!" He flexed his arms and puffed out his chest. Unable to resist, she poked him hard in the ribs making him deflate and they shared a laugh. When the hour bell rang he shot up, "Maker''s balls, I got to go! I''m late for lessons." He mussed her hair, making her swat and growl at him. "See you at midday, Evie!"

    Leaving her to fix her hair and contemplate her future, it was becoming clearer that she needed help from someone with more experience than a Templar recruit. She had already spoken with her instructors, but none offered her anything she wanted to hear. While she might have to accept such a life in order just to have one, she wouldn''t rest until she had all the facts. In one last attempt to find a place in the Circle of Magi, Evelyn wrote to the First Enchanter asking to meet about her dilemma.

    One day during breakfast, a summons was delivered to her to go to the First Enchanter''s office immediately. Without delay, Evelyn made her way up to Lydia''s office, flashing the note to the Templars who gave her a funny look as she jogged up the steps. Out of breath by the time she reached the top, she stood there a moment trying to catch her breath before knocking on the heavy wooden door. Her knocks echoed both in the hall and within the room beyond it. Beckoned to come in, Evelyn tentatively entered.

    The office was heavily decorated, as if First Enchanter Lydia was trying to forget she was high up in a sandstone Tower. Large tapestries covered three walls, as did bookshelves with various items ranging from books, collectibles, alchemical oddities, art, and everything in between. A spicy scent lingered in the air, reminding her of the market in the bustling city right outside their gate. Sassafras, earthy elfroot, and notes of nutty spices wafted about. Her alchemy station was bubbling away and was no doubt the source of the aroma. Evelyn had heard Lydia was one of the best alchemists in all of Thedas and her workspace spoke volumes of her skill. Around it were painted matching bowls with crushed ingredients, along with a well-used ceramic mortar and pestle. Dots of the colorful dried plants, roots, and nuts were sprinkled about in trails along the wooden table.

    "Don''t be shy, my dear, come in, come in!" The aging woman''s eyes were bright and her deep voice was both commanding and soothing. She chuckled, "I always love how students walk into my office as if I''m a witch of the wilds preparing my cauldron for my next victim! I assure you, child, I have much better taste than to eat the likes of you. From what I hear, Novice Trevelyan, if I attempted it, you''d burn my mouth, isn''t that right?" Evelyn was slightly taken aback, only having spoken to the woman once since arriving.

    Swallowing hard, having been taught better than to be rude, she found her voice, "Yes, First Enchanter, it seems the Inferno School has claimed me."

    She hummed, musing on the thought, "Fire: primal, scorching, violent, catching. Yet also, comforting, warm, and protective. Are these words in which you''d describe yourself, dear?"

    The young mage''s lips pouted out sideways as if she was about to endure another lecture like the ones she used to get back home regarding her temper. "I... um, yes."

    Lydia''s head swiveled to her, her tone cheery, "Why say it as if it is a burden? All of us quirky mages have a place in this world. Just because you don''t seem to fit the mold of the Ostwick Circle of quiet and obedient healers, does not mean you are hopeless." Evelyn studied the mage as she waved her over to her alchemy table. Removing a flask from over one of the burners, the flame straightened and the two of them watched it. "Since receiving your note, I''ve thought about your predicament and share your concerns. Tell me, have you heard of the Knight-Enchanters?" The young mage shook her head, for this was the first time she had heard such a term. "Knight-Enchanters are the most devoted of the mage specializations doing the Maker''s work. To become one, you must pass the most rigorous tests of faith and discipline. They are a rare breed of noble and mighty warriors who work side by side with the Templars to keep the people safe from magical dangers. While the Templars'' skill is great, some enemies can only be defeated by magic." The girl''s eyes glistened, enraptured by her words. "Demons, apostates, maleficar, arcane anomalies, and even pitched battles between kings are all dangers that require offensive spells. Does that interest you, dear?"

    Shaking her head excitedly, Evelyn couldn''t help but feel the forces of destiny at work. "Yes! It sounds like everything I''ve ever wanted!"

    Lydia chuckled knowingly with her deep raspy voice, "Aye, but to achieve it, as I said, you will have to be subjected to grueling training. The Order will seek to break you, then rebuild you in the image of a perfect obedient mage. For this reason, most Knight-Enchanters are men, with few exceptions. Unlike us of the fairer sex, men are less emotionally and physically tough, whereas we are smarter ones. We use our brains over brawn." Lydia tapped her head giving her a cheeky wink. "It''s the life of a soldier, but you will see more of the outside world than the rest of your fellow mages while doing the Maker''s bidding. Your quick mastery of fire makes you an excellent candidate. Most have to develop the skill, but you have possessed it since birth."

    This could be her chance to prove to the Templars she could be useful; her chance to survive. "Please, First Enchanter, this may be my calling! I want to become a Knight-Enchanter! Please!"

    "It''s not a decision to take lightly, Evelyn. However, from what your instructors say, you''ve got the talent and temperament." Surprised, the young mage gaped at her. "That''s right, I''ve already spoken to them. So, I will make inquiries as to who is taking students. We do not have a resident instructor, but should you one day become a full-fledged Knight-Enchanter, perhaps we will. In the meantime, I would read everything you can of the history of the profession just to be sure it''s for you."

    "I will, First Enchanter, thank you!" Evelyn''s eyes were bright and her spirits lifted as she resumed her day.

    Following her meeting with Lydia, Evelyn did just that and raided the library. There was little material in the instruction of Knight-Enchanters, but plenty of historical battle records. Each scroll she flattened was its own battlefield shaped by the words stained across it. Evelyn had read enough to know that mages stood at the back of the battle line, ready to shield or heal soldiers. Knight-Enchanters, however, were mixed in with the foot soldiers. Their fellow soldiers granted them respect as they stood beside them, and revered them after seeing them cut through the enemy with finesse. Though their weapons differed, they became united by a cause and their will to prevail. Account after account inspired her, and she knew then she was destined for this.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Completely obsessed, Evelyn fell asleep among the dusty tomes only waking when a Senior Enchanter found her and told her it was time for the sunrise morning Chantry service. Hurrying down the winding staircase and out into the early light, she slipped into the back of the Circles Chapel. The soft glow of candlelight cast long shadows across the worn stone walls. The air was thick with incense, a sweet, cloying scent that clung to her clothes and hair. As the sermon had already begun, she found a seat near the exit and settled quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

    Her eyes drifted over the congregation of mages, a sea of bowed heads and clasped hands, and the Templars who stood vigil at the corners of the chapel. At the front, Mother Lucia''s voice rang out with overly enthusiastic devotion, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd with scrutiny. Evelyn''s gaze followed those piercing eyes until they landed on a small figure near the middle of the room. The boy couldn''t have been more than ten, with unruly dark hair and a thin, wiry frame. His slight frame hunched forward as he tried in vain to stifle a yawn. Then his eyelids fluttered shut and his head drooped to his chest. Evelyn''s heart tightened as she watched him. He must be new here; everyone knew that Lucia did not take well due to a lack of interest during her speeches.

    For as sedate as the Ostwick Circle liked to claim to be, Mother Lucia was the exception. She reigned Andraste''s fire and brimstone down on anyone out of line. It was all posturing, as Evelyn knew too well from her cousins, no doubt hoping one day to be the next Divine. Until then, her tyranny over the mages would have to suffice.

    As Evelyn feared, the Mother''s voice pierced the air, cold and unyielding. "You there, boy!"

    The chapel fell silent, all eyes swiveling toward the disturbance. The boy''s head jerked up, eyes wide with fear as he realized he was the target of Lucia''s wrath.

    "Sleeping during the sermon, are we?" Lucia''s voice dripped with disdain as she descended from the altar, her robes whispering against the stone floor with a menacing grace. She reached the boy in a few swift strides, looming over his trembling form. "You ungrateful little wretch," she hissed, her words cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Don''t you understand that through my words, I am offering you a chance to find His light? Don''t you appreciate the favor I bestow upon a mage and a foul half-breed like yourself?"

    Evelyn''s breath caught in her throat. She had witnessed Mother Lucia''s harshness before, but this was beyond reason. Much like her raven locks, her heart was black as the night. The boy''s face crumpled, his eyes brimming with tears as he shrank from the venom in her words.

    "You should work twice as hard as the others here because of the heretical blood in your veins," the Mother continued, her voice rising in intensity. "You need to repent for what you are during the sermon, not sleep."

    Evelyn could bear it no longer. She rose to her feet, driven by a surge of anger and compassion. "That''s enough!" She shouted, feeling her mana come to life at the injustice, spreading heat through her frame and manifesting in her veins and chest glowing with a fiery light.

    All eyes turned to her now, the mages murmuring in surprise, the Templars placing their hands on the hilts of their swords, their expressions hardening into a mix of suspicion and readiness. The boy she was defending looked at her in horror, his wide eyes reflecting the hot aura that surrounded her. "Rage demon!" He screamed, his voice cracking with fear. In his panic, bright lightning charges erupted from his fingers, arching wildly and striking the walls and ceiling.

    Chaos erupted around them. Some mages hastily cast barriers, their spells forming shimmering domes of protection, while others fled, their robes billowing behind them as they ran. The air filled with the sounds of shouting, the crackling of magic, and the hum of defensive wards springing to life. Then, without warning, the cold, dead force of Silence hit her. It was like the very essence of life had been sucked from her body. Evelyn gasped for air, the fiery light around her snuffed out as if by an invisible wind. Her knees buckled, and she fell backward, the hard stone floor rushing up to meet her. The impact was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the nauseating, withering sensation of having her magic forcibly stripped away by a Templar''s silencing spell.

    As her vision dimmed and her strength ebbed, she saw the Templars converging on the boy, their faces grim with determination. They relieved Sorin of his mana with the same ruthless efficiency, and he collapsed to the floor, his small frame trembling. Evelyn''s last conscious thought was of his terrified eyes before everything went black.

    As she slowly came back to consciousness, her mind emerged from the fog of the Fade with agonizing slowness. The first sensation she registered was the biting cold of the stone floor beneath her, seeping through her robes and into her bones. Her cheek pressed against the rough, damp surface, and she shivered involuntarily, the chill mingling with the musty scent of the air around her. Her body ached with a deep, bruising pain, a testament to the rough handling that had landed her in this place. Slowly, she forced her eyes open, blinking against the dim light that filtered through a small barred window.

    Her gaze drifted, unfocused at first until the dark outlines of the cell''s walls came into view. Each wall bore the same verse from the Chant of Light inscribed in a stark, unyielding script, each word etched deeply into the stone:

    Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

    She shivered again, but this time not just from the cold. Pushing herself up with trembling arms, Evelyn managed to sit, her back resting against the rough stone wall. The dampness seeped through her clothes, but she barely noticed it now, her mind fixated on recalling what had happened.

    She vividly remembered the sermon, Lucia''s venomous words, and the look of terror on the boy''s face as he called her a Rage demon. How long had she been unconscious? Hours? Days?

    Suddenly, a faint sound reached her ears, barely audible at first. She strained to listen, her heart quickening as she realized it was the sound of someone crying. The sobs were soft, desperate, filled with the kind of hopelessness she supposed people felt at the gallows.

    She pressed her ear to the wall, the jagged stone biting into her skin. "Hello?" She called out, her voice hoarse and trembling, "Can you hear me?" The crying stopped abruptly, replaced by a fearful silence. Evelyn waited, her heart pounding in her chest. "It''s alright," she whispered, "I''m... I''m a prisoner too. Please, if you can hear me, say something."

    For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a hesitant voice replied, wavering and small, "Who are you?"

    Evelyn''s breath caught in her throat. She recognized that voice. "My name is Evelyn," she said softly, not trying to frighten him more than she already did, "I... I was the one who scared you. You''re the boy Mother Lucia... scolded. Aren''t you?"

    The silence stretched out again, and then the boy spoke, his voice turning desperate, "Go away demon, you will not tempt me!"

    Her voice came back, gentle and soothing, "I am sorry to have frightened you. But I am not a demon. The light that you saw is from my mana, it''s a mutation of mine."

    The boy''s voice wavered with uncertainty, "Your mutation?"

    She smiled, though he couldn''t see it, and adjusted her tone as if speaking to a startled animal. "Yes, some mages have a mutation. My veins just happen to glow like a Rage demon, but I promise you that I am not one."

    The boy''s voice grew hopeful, yet still laced with doubt. "You swear?"

    "I swear on my father''s honor I am no demon!" Evelyn replied earnestly.

    A long silence followed, and then the boy spoke again, his voice a little stronger this time. "I... believe you."

    Relief washed over her, mingling with a surge of determination. "Are you hurt?" she asked gently, pressing her hand against the cold wall as if she could somehow reach through it and offer comfort.

    "I don''t think so," He replied, his voice shaking. "Just scared. Will they make us Tranquil because of what I did?" His voice wavered with fear and guilt. "I''m sorry, Evelyn, if only I wasn''t such a coward..." His words dissolved into sobs, the sound of his crying breaking Evelyn''s heart.

    "No, don''t worry," she said quickly, trying to infuse her voice with as much reassurance as she could muster. "What''s your name?"

    The boy sniffled, his breath hitching, "Sorin. Sorin Cyrus."

    "Don''t worry, Sorin. I promise you, they won''t make us Tranquil. We haven''t committed a crime grave enough for that. Besides, my father is a very respected man by the Chantry. They wouldn''t dare to do it to his daughter."

    "Your father will protect you, but what about me? My real father is an elf and a heretic, and the man I thought was my father hates me for it. He won''t lift a finger to help me!" Sorin''s voice was filled with despair.

    "I will make sure my father helps us both," she comforted him. "It''s my fault that you and I got into this mess in the first place."

    "You... you don''t hate me for being a half-breed?" he asked hesitantly.

    Evelyn frowned at the ridiculousness of the notion. "No, and neither will my father. We are all the Maker''s children, after all."

    "I''m also a freak. I shoot lightning each time I sneeze," he added hastily as if wanting to test her resolve.

    Evelyn chuckled. "If you are a freak for shooting lightning when you sneeze, then what does that make me?"

    "A fiery freak?" the boy asked tentatively.

    She laughed wholeheartedly, the sound echoing in the small cell. "I''d rather we stick with the original Rage demon, thank you."

    A small, hesitant laugh echoed back from the other side of the wall, and for a moment, the oppressive atmosphere of the cell seemed to lift. Evelyn felt a spark of hope ignited within her, small but steady.

    "We''ll get through this, Sorin," she said firmly. "We just need to stay strong and keep our spirits up."

    "How can you be so sure?" the boy''s voice wavered with uncertainty.

    "My father always says that faith and determination can see us through the darkest times," she replied. "He believes in the Maker''s light, and so do I. We''ll find a way out of this."

    Silence fell between them, but it was a more comfortable silence now, filled with the unspoken bond of shared struggle and mutual reassurance.

    After a few moments, Sorin spoke again. "Evelyn, do you think... do you think the Maker is watching over us mages as well?"

    "I believe He is," she answered softly. "The Maker knows that we are not all evil power hungry monsters, I just wish that more people also shared that opinion...especially in the Chantry."

    "Me too..." the boy added so quietly she barely heard him.

    Time passed slowly in the cell, the darkness pressing in from all sides. But with Sorin''s presence, it felt less suffocating, less hopeless. They talked intermittently, sharing stories and fears, their words a lifeline in the oppressive gloom.

    "Sorin," he hummed in reply, "have you heard of the Knight-Enchanters?" When he responded with a no, Evelyn excitedly babbled on about everything she had read. By the end, all the boy could utter was an astonished ''Whoa.'' "I''m going to be one someday, you watch!"

    "Trevelyan," came a familiar echoing voice, "you know, our Circle was quiet until you came along. And now it seems you''ve found a friend to make trouble with." The Knight-Captain was not pleased. Not at all.

    "Ser, please let me explain¨C"

    When he came into view of her cell, she jumped up and ran to the door. Without an explanation, he was already unlocking it. When the door swung open he let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, "You better because I just laid my arse on the line before the Knight-Commander and Revered Mother vouching for you, girl! My career is on the line here!"

    "I swear, I meant no one harm, but you know how it looks when my temper flares. Sorin, the boy over there," she pointed around the corner, "only reacted because he thought I was a Rage demon as I''m sure Mother Lucia did. Neither know of my mutation and you know how people freak out when they see it." Evelyn''s gaze drifted to the ground in shame. She knew better than to react that way, but she couldn''t help it and Tobias knew it too. It was her mana; the insufferable and unyielding fire within that she struggled to fully control and understand. The same spark gripped her suddenly, and his eyes shot up to meet his bushy glower. "What she did was wrong and I could not stand by and let her shame a Child of the Maker just because he''s half-elf. I appreciate your faith in me, but the only thing I''m sorry for is frightening them."

    The Knight-Captain''s tone was grave, "Wrong or not, the Templars on duty Silenced you, that means they saw you as a clear threat. If you do not apologize and take your punishment, they could threaten you with Tranquility."

    "No," he balked back at her refusal, "and the Revered Mother will not lay a finger on me or Sorin unless she''d like to explain to The Divine how she lost the support of House Trevelyan." His eyes narrowed on her waiting for her to continue. "I may be a mage but I am my father''s favorite daughter and when he hears I''m to be made Tranquil, not only will our cavalry be at the gates but Mother Lucia may have the honor of telling Divine Justina why one of her wealthiest Chantries is now devoid of funding over such a trivial matter. With all due respect, Knight-Captain, tell them that."

    Within the next few hours, she and Sorin were released and no more was said of the matter.

    When he came to release them, his scolding look was back, "Be careful, Lady Trevelyan, you''ve made enemies today."

    "I''ll keep that in mind, Ser, but so has she."

 4 | The Templar

    A letter scribbled in a hurry

    Templars,

    Ye must come to our aid, we''ve a mage living amongst us! Me name is Jo, and I''m the butcher in Honnleath . There''s a woman in our village living with her boy - a mage! I''ve seen the proof with me own eyes.

    Now, I ain''t no scholar, but I know trouble when I see it. And mark me words, that boy is nothing but trouble. Ye can smell it in the air, feel it in yer bones. Every time his mother comes to me shop, something goes wrong. Last time, all me meat went bad overnight. Good meat, mind ye, not the kind ye''d expect to rot so quickly. That''s dark magic, plain and simple.

    We can''t have that kind of evil lurking in our village, bringing curses and misfortune on honest folk. It''s bad enough dealing with the usual troubles of life without some cursed abomination running loose. So, I''m begging ye, Templars, come and take that boy away before he brings doom upon us all.

    I don''t care how ye do it, just get it done. We can''t afford to wait until it''s too late.

    Jo

    <hr>

    Dragon 9:22

    Cullen

    Cullen was eleven when he saw his first Templar.

    It was a bright late spring day when they had come to take one of the children from the village to a Circle. He didn''t know the boy well - being older than he - but Honnleath was a small place, where everyone was in each other''s business. Standing beside his mother in the market, holding a basket of miscellaneous goods that she was bartering back and forth, he nearly lost his grip on it as the Knights appeared in the village square. There were two of them, almost painful to look at in their glittering silverite armor. Words, rather than full thoughts, floated through his mind:

    Mighty.

    Righteous.

    Dedicated.

    Heroic.

    It was like watching his imagination come to life after obsessing over stories of Templars since he was younger. The two men clanked as they strode through the throng of people, carefully scanning their faces. They halted briefly to admire the stone golem at the center of the market, unsure of what to make of the statue. When they turned walking up to the stall he and his mother were at, their haggling stopped abruptly and she pushed her fair-haired son back two paces.

    "What can I help you with, sers?" The stall owner, Ms. Roache sounded nervous.

    "Is this your home?" The man''s valiant voice had a rusty edge to it, but his tone was congenial from behind his helmet.

    Following the Knight''s finger, the woman paled, "Y-yes, it is, ser."

    The two Templars looked at each other sharing an unreadable glance before facing back. "You''ve got a mage in there." Ms. Roache rounded the stall to plead with him, but the Knight held a hand up. His voice was softer this time, "We are not here to hurt them, but you know Chantry law, they must live in the safety of a Circle."

    The woman was on her knees sobbing, "Please ser! He''s all I have in this world! There must be another way!" A crowd had begun to form at the display. "He''s a good boy, he wouldn''t hurt anyone!"

    "He''s a monster!" The butcher had poked his head out the window of his shop next door, his cheeks flushed with anger. "He can''t stay, not unless we want to sleep with one eye open!" The redhead and bearded man shook his cleaver at her.

    Shaking a fist back at him, Ms. Roache hysterically screamed, "You bastard! I bet it was you who sent word to the Templars! You''ve always had it out for us!"

    "His father was a mage you know?" One of the more irreputable women of the village, one that his mother had always told he and his siblings to stay away from, grasped the tall Knight''s polished arm. "Lived as an apostate for years, as I hear it." Surprised by this, the tall Knight turned sharply back to Ms. Roache with a narrowed glare.

    "You harlot!" The mother of the mage hollered, and the market suddenly erupted into senseless yelling until it was quelled by a booming voice.

    "That''s enough! All of you!" The Knight ripped his helmet off in outrage revealing a similar shade of golden hair. His sharp blue eyes snapped to the crowd at their backs, "This is Templar business. By Andraste, if I hear one more insult thrown at either the mage or his mother, I''ll give you all something to remember me by." His fist clenched and the metal of his gauntly squealed as if he was actually crushing it. "Now, go about your business and I''ll go about mine," he growled. Cullen''s mouth parted in awe at the authority that the man possessed to command people in such a way. The word of the Knight was respected, and even Jo, the stubborn butcher, retreated into his shop.

    Cullen''s mother was frozen, still holding him by his shirt, when the Templar wheeled around and gave her a once-over. Seeing that she was no threat, his demeanor relaxed as she went to explain her lingering presence, "Apologies, ser. T-this is what I was... um, I can come back."

    He held a halting hand out, "Stay, I have no wish to deprive the woman of her income as well as her son today." His words were somber and he nodded to his associate. The other Templar had gone to guard the door of the home during the brief uproar. "Ma''am, this is Ser Randall, he will speak with your son and explain what will happen. You may join them if you wish, but no trouble, mind you. Your son will be leaving with us with or without a goodbye from his mother." The woman sniffled and hurried behind the other Knight into her home. "Randall, I''ll stay out here." The edge was back in his voice, making Cullen''s blood run cold for a moment, especially when he turned to glare at some of the villagers.

    As the respective parties separated, Cullen and his mother found themselves in an uneasy silence beside the Knight. After seeing life had moved on, the blonde Templar peered over at Cullen, seeing him still gawking at him. "Is that your sword? A stick?"

    Cullen grasped the thick branch tucked into his belt from the oak tree by their house. He had had a time trying to break it off but managed to after several minutes of hanging and pulling on it. It was the perfect size for him and was thick enough to land a good hit against a groundhog or any of the vermin around the farm. Despite his age, his mother still refused to let him have his own blade, thinking he''d fall on it while playing and skewer himself or one of his siblings.

    "Yes, ser."

    Looking back to the mage''s house with a heavy sigh, the Templar held his hand out signaling to pass it over to him. Handing it over without another word, he looked it over, "I suppose I could work with this." Pulling out a knife and leaning against the stall, he stripped the branch of its bark before shaping the wood into a crude sword. "My father was a blacksmith, so I know the shape of blades intimately." He didn''t look up as he spoke, "Why is it boy you don''t have a blade of your own?"

    He and his mother exchanged a glance, "I''m not allowed. My mother believes I will hurt someone or myself by accident." Her pointed look of agreement came with a nod.

    "Well, I''m sure your mother will not be happy that I''m doing this, but it''ll teach you some valuable lessons. A boy your age ought to be able to defend his mother properly. Is he your eldest, ma''am?"

    "No, but he is my eldest son."

    The Knight nodded, still focused on his work, "What''s your name boy?"

    "Cullen Rutherford, ser."

    "Well met, Cullen. Now, this gift comes with lessons in responsibility. The first is to respect the authority of those who give it to you, who will be your mother. You do your duty, such as chores and listening to her orders, then you may keep it, otherwise she''ll revoke it. Ask any Templar and they''ll tell you about how they had to scrub chamberpots before they wielded a sword. The second, that with power comes responsibility - to do right by the world. It will make you have to choose right from wrong and live with the consequences. Lastly, it''s a dedication, as devout as reciting the Chant of Light. You have to practice every day and care for your equipment."

    Passing his newly crafted weapon over to him, Cullen went to take it but the Knight still held it firmly. "Yes, ser, I will."

    Relinquishing the wooden sword to its owner, the man held his gaze, "I''m Ser Donnelly. I''ve been assigned to this region for the foreseeable future, so if I come back here, do you think I''ll find you still caring for that sword?"

    The boy''s eyes lit up, "Yes, Ser Donnelly!"

    "Good, I''ll expect a full report Master Cullen on your good deeds in the service of Andraste." The chiseled features of the man''s face stared at him hard, before softening ever so slightly with a wink. When the cottage door opened, any mirth was whisked away. Ser Donnelly stood tall glancing again around him with his hand on the pommel of his sword - his real sword. "It''s safe," he spoke in a low voice to Ser Randall. "The cart is down the way, let''s be quick about it. Ma''am, we''ll see your son safely there. He can send word to you once he''s settled in."

    Saying their goodbyes, the Rutherfords watch on quietly. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder protectively as if they were going to take him too. More interested with his gift, Cullen placed the sword in his belt and placed his hand on its pommel to rest like Ser Donnelly. It felt so natural as if he had been doing it for years. Still awestruck, Cullen couldn''t help but see himself in the Templar armor, made easier by the shared hue of his hair with the Knight.

    As they passed, Ser Donnelly turned back, "Duty, Master Cullen. Remember your duty."

    And so he did. Every day, without fail, during the quiet hours before dawn, when the world was still draped in shadows, Cullen would slip out of his bed and into the dimly lit barn behind their humble home. With only the soft glow of a lantern to guide him, he would carefully unsheathe his gifted sword, the familiar weight grounding him in purpose. In that sacred solitude, he trained tirelessly, his imagination ablaze with visions of himself clad in the resplendent armor of a Templar, defending the innocent and battling against the sinister forces of darkness that lurked in the shadows. Branson, his younger brother, would soon join him, his eyes alight with excitement as they sparred together in mock battles, their laughter echoing softly in the pre-dawn stillness. Sometimes, they would entice Rosalie, their spirited younger sister, to join them, casting her as the reluctant apostate in their imaginary conflicts. At first, she would grumble about being roused from her slumber, but soon she too would become swept up in the thrill of their make-believe adventures, her scowls melting into smiles as they enacted daring rescues and valiant stands against imagined foes.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The next summer, another mage came into their magic from their village, followed shortly by the arrival of Ser Donnelly. Cullen had not heard until too late that Templars were seen and he rushed through the market, wooden sword on his side, down the path to the travelers'' road. The Maker had smiled on him that day, for getting ready to leave was the Templar himself staring the young man down having startled them.

    "Well, well, I was wondering if I''d see you before I left, Master Cullen." The Knight relaxed the grip, moving his hand to the pommel.

    "You... you remember me?" He struck the dumbfounded look from his face and stood up straight, to mirror the stance of the Knight. "I mean, yes, it is I, Ser Donnelly."

    "I never forget a face. And have you kept your word?" The tall blonde Knight crossed his arms with an eyebrow raised.

    "I have! I practice every day and have given my mother no reason to take the sword from me." He lied, though it was only one time. He had hit Branson with it in anger a few times after ruining his game of soldiers in the yard one day. Cullen had found acorns and sticker balls from the Sweet Gum trees to use as soldiers and was in the midst of a pitched battle when Bran kicked it all to oblivion. In anger, Cullen reflexively took a swing, cracking him across the back. Naturally, once his younger brother ran to his mother crying that he was hit by the sword, she took it away for a week, though not before suffering his own whack from it in punishment.

    "Is that so? Well, I''m glad to hear it! Come, give me your best!" He drew his sword and the two engaged in a quick spar as the other Templar finished loading the wagon. After settling on a match draw, Ser Donnelly gave him an appraising look, "It''s been quite a long time since I was last here and to be honest, I''m surprised you held fast in your duty. That is a rare and coveted trait. Tell me, Cullen, where do you see yourself in five years?"

    "My father owns the farm and mill here, and one day it will be mine."

    "Is that what you want?"

    Pursing his lips in a pouty frown, he knew he should say yes. "No." The Knight simply raised an eyebrow in question. "Not since I''ve met you."

    He nodded, taking a step closer and giving him a stern look, "It wasn''t my intention to recruit, but the Order does ask me to report on any youngins who show potential. I believe you may just have the potential." Cullen''s eyes lit up at his praise. "The problem is, you may be too old. We start physically training recruits by eight years of age. And you are...?"

    "Twelve, ser." His disappointment was plastered on his face and imbued in his words.

    With a heavy sigh of his own Donnelly thought hard, shifting his weight in the heavy armor. "Look at me, Cullen," the younger blonde obeyed, "if it''s what you want, I can ask my superiors to make an exception for you. Make no mistake though, your training will be harder than the other recruits. Some were given to the Order at birth, and they are expected to be the scions of Andraste''s Knights; the very best and likely officers having only known the Order as their only family. Have you any formal education? Training of any kind that could recommend you?"

    Still crestfallen, he replied, "Only farm work, ser, but I can read the Chant of Light well enough."

    "I suppose if you''re to be damned, make it doubly damned." Donnelly chuckled then ran a gloved hand down his face. "Well, first things first, I need to clear it with the Knight-Commander. No sense fretting if he''s just going to say no, but I''ll make a good case, you can count on that." The Knight gave him a confident smile easing some of the shame away from his shortcomings. "I''m going to ask once more because I''m going to go through a lot of trouble for this: Do you want to join the sacred order of Andraste''s Knights? You''d be leaving your family forever to give your life to protecting mages and normal folk alike from magic. This is not something you can quit."

    "I''m sure, more than sure!" The strength in his tone was almost unrecognizable.

    "Alright Cullen, I hope I don''t let you down."

    "You won''t, ser, and neither will I."

    Ser Donnelly chuckled to himself before walking back to the wagon. Hoping up onto the driver''s seat, he called back as he steered it around, "Til next time, Master Cullen! Do me a favor and grow another foot, you''ll be easier to sell if I can boast of you coming from strong Ferelden breeding!"

    Another year passed without seeing Ser Donnelly, as no others from Honnleath showed signs of magic. Becoming more and more discouraged, at thirteen his father was readying to give Cullen more responsibility around the farm. Despite it all, he had kept his side of the bargain and felt accomplished and worthy of his gifted sword. The wood was stained, dented, and chipped in places, but having tried sanding them out, he found peace of mind in the task. Yet, Cullen contemplated leaving it in his bedroom, as his father saw it as a hindrance, but it didn''t feel right to do so. Clinging to his dream by a thread, he kept wearing it.

    "Cullen, I don''t think he''s coming back. I''m sorry, son, but things are as they should be." Even his father harbored some sympathy for him after moping for weeks. "The Maker works in mysterious ways, and while things didn''t go how you wanted, it doesn''t mean it won''t all work out in the end. You still have a future here with us." Though his words were meant as comfort, Cullen couldn''t help but think Andraste saw him unfit for Her service.

    His parents hadn''t been the most receptive to his wish to become a Templar. For one, they tried to scare him by telling him stories of the harm lyrium could do to a non-mage. Memory loss, addiction, and nightmares, among other horrid side effects, were always slipped casually into stories and conversations. While weary of what its usage could do to him, part of him hated more the idea of being maimed or dying meaninglessly on the farm. At least if either would happen to him while in the Templar Order, it''d be in the service of Andraste. It was a more honorable fate, than being simply the week''s gossip amongst Honnleath.

    The biggest inconvenience to his father''s grand plan was that it left him short one Rutherford to work the farm. Not only that but as the eldest son, he was poised to inherit the whole business one day. Though still young, Cullen had a prolific work ethic and dedication to his family obligations. Even Ser Donnelly had seen and commented on it. Yet, even with his future secure in Honnleath, he couldn''t help the incessant nagging feeling that he was meant for something more. His mother was always commenting on how much he resembled his father the more he grew, but part of Cullen resented the fact that it only validated his condemnation of the family business.

    One warm summer day, Cullen made the walk up to the large oak tree; the parent of his wooden sword. Unsheathing it, he held it in his hands as if it were a dying animal; in a sense, it was the death of his Templar dream. He could no longer hold on to the hope of Ser Donnelly''s return, for the more time that passed, the more painful carrying the symbol of his aspiration became. Gazing out across the fields and homestead, reality began to settle into his mind.

    This land would be his; he would live the rest of his days in this one place; doing the same thing day in and day out; he would have a family of his own here and pass it on to his children; he''d marry some boring village girl; and live the rest of his life regretting it all.

    Carrying the sword over to the base of the tree, he posed hovering the blade a few feet from the ground, ready to bury the point in the earth. With it, he''d resign his desire to be a Templar. He''d entertain the dream no more. Squeezing his eyes shut tight and gritting his teeth in one last defiant attempt to hold on to his hope, he was about to plunge it deep into the dirt when a voice called to him from the house.

    "Cul! Some Templar is here to see you!" Mia called up to him. Freezing in place, his breathing quickened and a smile began to spread on his face.

    Racing to the house, scaring the whole bloody chicken coop as he dashed through them, he skipped the two steps up the porch and barged inside. Startling his mother and earning a harsh look from his father, Cullen stood panting on the threshold.

    "Hello, Cullen. My, you took my parting words seriously, you''ve grown into quite a young man."

    He tried to hide his excitement but it was hard, and he felt his eyes would pop from their sockets. "Good to see you, Ser Donnelly!" He wondered for a moment if he''d notice the drop in his voice as well.

    "Sit, Cullen," the stern command came from his father who sighed with a forlorn displeasure. "It seems, son, the Maker has seen fit to grant you your wish after all." He turned to their guest, "Since he was about eight, he''s been saying he wanted to be a Knight. Up until your arrival, it was just a passing daydream." Cullen''s heart leaped at his phrasing and hope began to swell in his chest. Despite having sat, he was still breathing out of his grinning mouth.

    Donnelly was relaxed, but Cullen could see his excitement at his reaction just barely hidden beneath this facade. "Cullen, I have here a Writ of Conscription into the Templar Order should you feel you are willing and able to uphold the Order''s sacred duty. Keep in mind, to become a full Knight you will be given lyrium. For mages, it''s fortifying and refreshing, no different than drinking water; for non-mages its long-term use is detrimental, yet it gives us our abilities. It is a sacrifice we gladly pay in the service of the people of Thedas, to keep them safe from magic." He paused, staring at him with his steel blue eyes, judging if the gravity of his words was being considered seriously. At the mention of lyrium, Cullen''s smile had faded. "You also have a duty to mages. They don''t have it easy, as you saw two years ago when we first met. Our abilities help them learn to control their powers so they can live as normal of lives as possible in the Circle. Demons and maleficar threaten to take their souls for evil, yet it is the Templar Order who is their first line of defense. It is our holy calling, and only the best and purest of heart are considered worthy of knighthood."

    His father''s hard amber eyes carried the weight of this decision in them. It would not only affect him but the whole family. "Son, I trust in the Maker''s guidance, is this what He has planned for you? To be taken from us?" His appeal was impactful, pulling at Cullen''s love of his kin, but something in his core held fast against it.

    "I''ll ask only once," the Knight took a deep breath, "Are you prepared to leave this life behind in service of the Maker and Thedas? I''m afraid in your case, time is not on your side to delay in making a decision."

    Cullen looked to his parents, both seemingly knowing what his choice was going to be before he said it. His reply was nothing but reflexive, coming straight from his heart, "I had years to think it over. I''m ready. I know the risks; I know what will be expected of me. I don''t care that I''ll be the oldest, for I''ll work anyone under the table."

    "Hand over your sword," Cullen paused, blinking a few times slowly surrendering it to him as if it was made of glass. After receiving it, it was promptly thrown into the fireplace. Reaching out as if to save it from the flames, he froze and looked at the Knight incredulously. "You''re trading your wood sword for a metal one." Cullen ignored the pained expressions on his parents'' faces. "We leave in the morning. Pack only clothing, for the Maker will provide you with all else."

    The hours leading up to dawn passed for him in a blur, moments slipping away almost imperceptibly. Anxiety and excitement coursed through him, intertwining with a twinge of guilt as he witnessed his mother''s tears and the pallor of his father''s somber face. Despite the heaviness of the house, his siblings were brimming with joy. Mia was happy to indulge Cullen''s excited prattling over one last game of chess, simply listening and savoring her last hours with him. Bran was particularly thrilled, eager to boast about his brother''s new status as a Templar to his friends. Meanwhile, Rosalie, too young to grasp the full weight of the situation, clung to the simple joy of having her brother''s dream come true.

    Finally, the time had come for him to leave. Cullen gave his mother a tight hug as she wept, her sobs wracking her body. "Don''t cry, Mother," he murmured softly. "I''ll write often, I promise."

    She reluctantly let him go, her hands lingering on his arms for a moment longer. "Be safe, my boy," she managed to say through her tears.

    He turned to his father, who offered a brief, stiff hug, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Take care of yourself, son," he said, his voice strained with emotion he was trying hard to conceal.

    Cullen nodded in acknowledgment. "I will, Father."

    Next, he embraced Bran. His brother''s grin was wide, a mix of pride and excitement lighting up his face. "You''re going to be a great Knight, I am sure!"

    "I''ll make you proud, I promise," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

    Rosalie was next. Cullen lifted her into a tight hug, her feet dangling off the ground as she giggled. "Be good, Ros," he said, setting her down gently. He ruffled her hair, eliciting a laugh that was a sweet melody amidst the bittersweet moment.

    "I will, Cul," she giggled. "Come back soon!"

    After the embrace with Rosalie, Cullen turned to his older sister, who enveloped him in a tight hug. "You take care of yourself out there, little brother," she said softly, her voice tinged with both concern and affection. "And don''t get too good at chess. I''m sure you''ll want a rematch after last night''s loss."

    He chuckled, feeling a sense of warmth amidst the sadness. "Count on it," he replied, returning her hug just as fiercely. "I''ll miss you."

    "I''ll miss you too," Mia said, pulling back to look at him with a grin. "But don''t worry, I''ll keep Bran and Rosalie in line while you''re gone."

    Cullen smiled, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. "I do not doubt that," he said, giving her one last squeeze before reluctantly letting go. "Take care of them all, okay?"

    "I will," Mia assured him, her smile softening.

    Holding back his own tears, Cullen turned to leave. As he was about to close the door behind him, his brother called out to him. "Wait!" Bran rushed over, pressing something into his hand. "For luck, when you really need it."

    Cullen opened his palm to find a simple coin, probably something Bran had randomly in his pocket. "Oh, but I can''t¨C" He stopped himself. The affection in his siblings'' eyes was enough that he slipped the coin into his pocket, despite being told he could only pack clothing. Such a normal and mundane thing as a coin could go unnoticed. Yet, it was anything but that. "Thank you, I''ll keep it with me always," he whispered, the gesture touching him deeply. Giving his family one last, lingering look, he tried to burn the image into his memory, remembering every small detail. With a final, determined breath, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. His new life was about to begin.

 5 | The Transfer

    A worn diary excerpt

    O Maker, I find myself in the depths of despair once more, and it is to You alone that I can pour out my soul. Today has been another day of solitude and fear, an existence I have come to know too well. My magic mutation made me an outcast, shunned by those who should be my brothers and sisters in the Circle. ''"Bloody Miri," they hiss, their words dripping with contempt. The Templars watch me with wary eyes, ever ready to strike should I show the slightest sign of corruption. Why, O Maker, why have You willed it so? What lesson am I to learn from this?

    The loneliness gnaws at me, a relentless, hollow ache. In the quiet of my chambers, I beg You, Maker, to send me friends, companions who might understand my plight and share in my burdens. I crave connection, the simple joy of a shared smile, or a comforting word. Yet, such solace remains out of reach, as elusive as the dawn in the darkest of nights.

    Still, I hold on to my faith. I believe that You have a plan for me, even if I cannot see it....

    <hr>

    Dragon 9:25

    Evelyn

    Satinalia was almost upon them, heralded in by the festive decor decking the halls of the Tower. Evelyn was looking forward to finally spending the holiday at the Trevelyan estate, her father having talked down her shrew of a mother into letting her join them. It had been four years since she had been home or seen any of her family. Her father and brothers wrote regularly, but she had not once heard from the other females of the family. With something to excitedly look forward to for once, along with the break from her studies, her stomach was jittery all day and night in anticipation.

    From what she heard, Knights were fighting over the privilege of becoming her Sentinel while out of the Circle. A Sentinel was a Templar guardian for a particular mage. Whether they were a serious troublemaker or, like Evelyn, one traveling outside of the Circle, knowing they would be in for a lavish holiday at the Bann''s sprawling estate, it had become a heated battle of favors and brown-nosing. Yet, for all the bribes and deals being made, it was Knight-Captain Tobias who pulled rank and took the opportunity. When he had informed Evelyn of the decision, she couldn''t help but mimic his cheeky grin, knowing he had just pulled the rug out from the Knights'' feet to spend Santinalia in luxury. In her opinion, no one deserved it more after the kindness he showed to her and every new mage.

    Two days before her father came to rescue her for a few days, a strange memo was passed to her at the midday meal. Sorin looked up expectantly waiting for an explanation, "What is it?"

    Drawing in trembling breaths, she couldn''t bring her eyes to move off the parchment, "I... I''m being transferred."

    "Transferred? What do you mean?"

    "They want to send me to Ferelden to Kinloch Tower to train under a... Knight-Enchanter Gavril Croft."

    "When?!"

    "It says... in two days." The two shared a look of foreboding doom. Since they had been locked up together in the Circle''s cells, they had been as thick as thieves. Henley even took a liking to Sorin despite their huge personality differences.

    "What''s with the grim faces?" Henley''s sudden arrival stirred more butterflies in her stomach. With a frown, she handed him the letter. His dark mahogany eyes flicked down to the parchment in his hand reading it over. The new dark stubble on his face helped deepen the intensity of his displeasure the more he read. "Seriously, Evie?!" He threw the paper down on the table and threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?! I''m not sure if you know, but you''re kind of my best friend, besides Sparky here." Sorin rolled his eyes.

    "I don''t like any more than either of you, but... if I don''t there''s no place for me here ¨C for someone like me. I have to go."

    The silence that followed felt heavy. Sorin picked at his sleeve, his expression unreadable, though his tension was evident. Henley, however, was never one to hold his emotions back. He leaned against the table with a huff, his voice lower now, almost pleading, "You really think there''s nothing for you here? With us?"

    Evelyn bit her lip, glancing between the two. She knew Henley''s question wasn''t just about training or finding a place in the Circle. It was about their friendship, their bond, something that had grown deeper than she could have ever anticipated. But she also knew her path was leading her away from this place, whether she liked it or not.

    "It''s not that I don''t care about you two," Evelyn said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the crack threatening to break through. "But I can''t stay. If I do, I''ll just be another mage stuck here, waiting for... for whatever scraps they throw my way. Or worse, decide I''m too dangerous to keep my mana. This is a real opportunity, a way to be more."

    "More than us?" Sorin''s question was blunt, though not without a hint of sadness. It wasn''t meant to sting, but it did. She could tell from his tone that it wasn''t jealousy, but fear ˇŞ fear of her growing beyond their little world, of her leaving them behind.

    "No," she said softly, her heart aching at the thought. "Not more than you. Just... more than what they allow us to be."

    Henley scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I still think this is bullshit. You''re not some Knight-Eenchanter type. You''re our Evie. The one who burns the pants off people when they annoy us."

    Despite herself, Evelyn laughed, the tension easing just slightly. "I''m not going to stop that just because I''m in Ferelden, you know."

    Henley grinned at that, but it faded quickly, replaced by a frown of frustration. "I just... I can''t believe you''re leaving."

    "Things don''t always work out the way we want them to." Evelyn could feel her throat tightening as she spoke. Since she had come into her magic people had been patronizing her with the phrase so it felt odd to use it herself. "But I need you two to promise me something."

    Sorin raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. Henley leaned forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "What?" he asked, his voice gruff but curious.

    "I need you to be okay. Both of you. I can''t be worrying about you while I''m trying to figure out how to be a Knight-Enchanter." She forced a smile. "So keep an eye on each other, alright? You can''t let Henley here get too wild."

    Henley let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, sure, because I''m the one who needs supervision. Not the broody one over here."

    "Hey," Sorin muttered, shooting him a glare, but there was no real venom behind it.

    Evelyn stood up, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "I''m going to miss you both," she said, her voice soft now, vulnerable. "More than you know."

    Henley shot up, wrapping his arms around her before she could protest. His embrace was tight, almost desperate, as if holding her a moment longer might keep her from leaving. "I am going to write," he murmured into her hair. "Constantly. I''ll send you the worst jokes I can think of, and you''ll laugh because you''ll miss me too damn much not to."

    She laughed, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Deal."

    When Henley finally let go, Sorin stood awkwardly to the side, looking as if he wasn''t sure what to do with his hands. He wasn''t one for goodbyes or emotions. But after a brief hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, stiff hug. It lasted barely a second before he pulled back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

    Evelyn felt a surge of warmth in her chest. She knew how much Sorin hated physical contact, how hard this was for him, and yet he''d done it. For her. That meant more than any words he could have said.

    "I will write too," Sorin muttered, his eyes flickering away from hers as if the moment was already too much.

    As the three of them stood there, a bittersweet silence falling over them, Evelyn felt the weight of the looming departure settle more heavily on her shoulders. She was sad ˇŞ heartbroken, even ˇŞ but there was also a flicker of excitement, a small thrill of what lay ahead. Ferelden, Kinloch Tower, the unknown path she was about to tread. She was terrified but also ready.

    Finally, Evelyn stepped back, taking a deep breath. "I think I should go and start packing," she said, her voice steady once more. "I''ll see you before I leave."

    Henley nodded, though the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. Sorin gave a curt nod, his usual stoicism slipping just a little.

    As she turned to leave, the sound of Henley''s voice stopped her in her tracks. "Hey, Evie?"

    She glanced over her shoulder.

    "You better come back. If you don''t, I''m hunting you down."

    Evelyn grinned, her heart swelling. "I wouldn''t expect anything less."

    With one last look at her friends, she left the dining hall, her mind already racing ahead to the journey that awaited her ˇŞ and the people she was leaving behind.

    ***

    As their caravan entered through the gates of Kinloch Hold on Lake Calenhad, she couldn''t help but think back to when she had first arrived at the Circle in Ostwick. The layout of the complex was about the only thing similar to that which she had known for the past four years. Ferelden had shown her nothing but foul weather since making it to port in Jader.

    Unceremoniously taken to the Entry Foyer of the Tower and made to wait for quite some time, her feelings for this Circle had not improved. It was cold; the type of cold that seeped into one''s bones. Naturally, her want for any kind of warmth from magic to her sorely missed friends she left behind in Ostwick grew exponentially. It was a teary goodbye between her, Sorin, and Henley ¨C though they''d all deny it, trying to keep the mood light. Despite being torn apart, Evelyn feared missing her friends was going to be the least of her worries as she prepared to start again in a new Circle.

    At the age of fourteen, Evelyn was still short and skinny, despite her average growth. She had yet to officially become a woman, to which the healers simply told her that she was a late bloomer. Her breasts were still unremarkable and the constant annoyance of pimples made her look like she had the pox. Though she and her other teenage counterparts all were going through the change, it didn''t make her feel any less like a hormonal freak. Some days she looked in the mirror and wished her looks favored that of her mother, who seemed to pass her feminine beauty on to her sisters, with their soft supple curves befitting of their sex. Evelyn''s jaw was square and her chin was strong. While she looked more fierce than feminine, at the age where she wished boys would notice her, she wanted to be noted as pretty, not formidable. And yet, the whole reason for being transferred to Ferelden was to train under Knight-Enchanter Croft to see if she had what it takes to join their elite ranks.

    "On your feet girl," came the command in a stout Southern accent. The source of the voice was from a tall bearded man with light brown hair, "I take it you are Novice Evelyn Trevelyan from Ostwick?"

    "Yes, sir." She folded her hands in front of her looking him in the eyes. Her father had always taught her to do so, for it both reassured people of one''s attention and asserted dominance over the conversation. Her attention, however, was diverted for a moment by a tall young man with wavy blond standing to the side of his superior. His face was unreadable, though his amber eyes moved about avoiding her direct stare.

    Turning her attention back to the older man, she watched as he studied her for a moment, "I am Knight-Captain Greagoir. Forgive my curiosity, but I expected you to be taller considering how Knight-Captain Tobias described you." She just continued to look at him with indifference, his eyes still taking measure of her. She was used to the scrutiny of others thanks to her upbringing, and stood strong and proud against it. "Well, let''s get you up to the First Enchanter''s office so he can welcome you. Recruit," motioning the young man forward, "carry her bag." As he reached for her belongings, his eyes finally met hers, "Ah, forgive me, this is Master Rutherford. He is helping me with a few tasks today." Both just nodded to each other in silent acknowledgment.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Leading her up the endless staircase to the upper floor where the First Enchanter''s office was located, everything was eerily familiar. The construction and layout of the Circle Tower were the same but it was undeniably Ferelden. Cold, damp, dark, uninviting ˇŞ everything she had seen so far including the people could be described as such.

    When the door to the First Enchanter''s office opened before her it was surreal seeing a completely different room from Lydia''s. Compared to her''s the mage''s office was sparse with few"Irving? The mage from Ostwick is here." Greagoir called to the man seated at the large wooden desk.

    "Ah, yes, come in Novice Trevelyan." He stood and rounded the desk. His eyes sagged with a heaviness, yet tried to summon some mirth. "Welcome to Kinloch Tower on Lake Calenhad. A beautiful view, was it not?" Despite nodding, their murky swamp of a lake didn''t measure up to the blue of the Waking Sea and the sunshine of Ostwick. Continuing on he rambled, not having much more pertinent information since she was not new to Circle life.

    "Until you pass your Harrowing, you will bunk with the other Novices in the girls'' dormitory." He shuffled through an unruly stack of parchment on his desk. Finding what he was after and handing it to her, she saw that it was her old class schedule from Ostwick, just with different instructors and the added training in the yard. "You are here to be accessed as a potential candidate to train to be a Knight-Enchanter. Should Knight-Enchanter Croft accept you as a student, you''ll become a permanent resident here, but if not you''ll be sent back to Ostwick." The crow''s feet by his eyes deepened as he looked her in the eyes intensely. Another scrutinous stare was enough to ignite the fire in her eyes at the constant annoyance. Seeing the spark that resided there, Irving snorted a laugh looking over to Greagoir, tilting his head and sharing a look. "I''m sure it''s been quite the long and arduous journey here, so take the remainder of the day to rest, for tomorrow you meet with the Knight-Enchanter. Good luck to you, Novice Trevelyan."

    The curving dormitory was just like that of her last home. The Templar recruit ¨C who she had already forgotten the name of because he was so quiet ¨C dropped her bag beside her with a glance and nodded before leaving her to the wolves. Hesitating in the doorway, a voice with a heavy accent called over to her before pushing her to the side to get in, "Ye lost, or wot?"

    She turned to find an elven girl, perhaps a little older than herself, standing there, the mop of wild red hair reflecting the ambient light. There was a scrappiness to her, her features telling tales of rough life and misadventures. Freckles dotted her face like a sprinkle of cinnamon, framing eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint, bright green and full of street-smart savvy. She had the air of a kid who''d seen more than her fair share of the world''s twists and turns.

    "I''m new actually, just arrived. You don''t happen to know of an empty bunk do you?"

    "I ''reckon I do," the elven girl eyed her suspiciously, "do you have any odd magey traits?"

    "My veins glow like fire when I''m mad, but I don''t believe that would disturb your sleeping."

    "I suppose. Do ye bathe regularly or have any other smelly habits?"

    "Yes, of course, and no."

    "Most importantly, do ye snore?"

    "No, I sleep like the dead and I''m a heavy sleeper."

    The elf hugged her about the shoulders with an arm, pulling her further into the dorm, "Yer bunkin'' with me then! Can never be too careful, sorry for the interrogation, um...?"

    "Evelyn."

    A gap in her front teeth peeked out from her grin. "Nice to meet ye, I''m Rhetta. Yer a bit old to have just come into yer magic." The girl didn''t seem afraid at all speaking her mind.

    "I didn''t, I transferred here from the Circle of Ostwick to train with Knight-Enchanter Croft. Our Circle is better known for its instruction of the healing arts rather than the offensive. As it is, it has no resident Knight-Enchanter."

    The mage gave her an odd look of scrutiny, "Hmm, ye must be pretty talented then. Croft is one salty bastard, I wish ya luck with that. Say, ye talk all fancy, ye one of them nobles?"

    "I am high-born, yes, of House Trevelyan. And yourself?"

    "No shit, really? Look at me makin'' friends with the fancy shems. Typically, all the snoots stick together like fleas on a rat''s arse." Her face scrunched up as she rolled her eyes. Evelyn was well aware of the cliques that formed within Circles. At first, she subscribed to the idea out of the comfort of familiarity, but after a while, she met friends and broke from the other nobles. "I''m from the Ailenage in Denerim. I traded one prison for another. At least they feed ye here though." Evelyn didn''t quite know what to say, and an uneasy look drew her face down. "Oh, don''t give that look, it''s all good, ''innit? Suppose I should be a bit more grateful." Coming to a halt at a nondescript bunk in the middle of the dormitory, Rhetta gestured with her hands, "Ah, here we are, ye can put your stuff in that trunk there at the foot of the bed."

    "What bed do you typically take?"

    "The top, never did like sleeping down low where the critters could get ya."

    "Critters?" Evelyn paused her unpacking to look up curiously at her.

    "Oh, not here. Back at the Ailenage, there were rats so big they could eat cats. Nasty blighters." The two cringed, and just as he had finished the dinner bell rang. "Perfect timin''! Shall we? I have another mage for ye to meet. It''s always good to have friends, right?"

    Walking the dark stone hall of her new home Circle, she followed Rhetta into the Mess Hall. When she was met by savory smells, it was as if her nerves were replaced by her hunger as her stomach growled like a Rage demon. Evelyn followed the elf''s lead on what dishes were the best from the assortment of foreign food. They sat with another girl who had been off in the corner alone with her back to the room as if trying to ignore the bustle. As they approached her, Evelyn studied her delicate features sitting across from the two mages.

    She was around thirteen years old and appeared frighteningly thin. Deep-set eyes of pale blue peered out from beneath heavy lids while her dark brown hair, braided in a single plait, cascaded down her back, nearly touching the floor. In a general sense, she might have been considered unattractive, yet there was a vulnerability to her that softened her features, lending an air of fragility. As they approached, she tensed, her posture betraying a sense of fear. However, as her gaze met Rhetta''s, recognition sparked in her eyes, and a semblance of relaxation washed over her, like a candle flickering back to life in a gentle breeze.

    "Miri, this is Evelyn. She''s a high-born like you. Just arrived from Ostwick." Rhetta wasted no time in divulging the highlights of their previous conversation.

    "It''s Miriam, but Rhetta enjoys her pet nicknames for everyone. Welcome to Kinloch, Evelyn." Her voice was soft and serene, almost how she''d imagined The Divine would talk.

    Evelyn gave a smile, "Thank you, Miriam. It''s nice to have made some friends so quickly only having just arrived."

    "Was there a specific reason for your transfer?" Her eyes flickered with concern for a moment to her elven companion, no doubt wondering if she had just been introduced to a troublemaker.

    "Oi, wait til'' ye hear this!" Rhetta''s response did nothing to bolster Miriam''s confidence in her innocence. "Go on, tell ''er!"

    "I''ve been recommended for Knight-Enchanter training. I''m here to train with Knight-Enchanter Croft." Miriam stopped chewing and Rhetta bit her lip holding back a snort of a laugh.

    Dabbing her linen to her mouth, composing herself while ignoring her neighbor beside her, she inquired brightly, "That''s... quite something. I don''t think the Knight-Enchanter has taken on a pupil since Abraxas. Rhetta, for instance, is currently honing her skills in the healing arts, while I... by the grace of the Maker, aspire to follow in her footsteps one day." Her voice trailed off wistfully at the end, a faint echo of longing lingering in her words.

    "I don''t bloody want to be honin'' anything, mate. But they''re makin'' us study somethin'', aren''t they? And I reckon it''s better than spendin'' all day flingin'' fireballs and icicles around," the redhead grumbled, resting her head on the table while playing with her fork.

    "You mentioned another mage training to be a Knight-Enchanter?" Evelyn was curious as to who she would most likely be getting well acquainted with soon.

    Miriam nodded, "Apprentice Abraxas, he''s been Croft''s only student for several years now. He''s--"

    "Fuckin'' gorgeous," the elf interjected.

    "Language!" Miriam scolded her, "What will Evelyn think of us?"

    "It''s alright, my father was a soldier, so I''m used to a bit of colorful talk." The Marcher couldn''t help but chuckle at the dynamic of the odd couple. "I suppose I''ll be meeting him tomorrow then along with Croft. Thanks for the warning though, I''ll be sure not to gape at him now." The three shared a laugh as a Templar walked by shaking their head at the three. "Miriam, Rhetta said you''re high-born as well. What House do you hail from?"

    Her smile faded quickly, replaced with a somber sadness, "Well, I... " S he paused with a distant look in her eyes. "My family couldn''t abide the notion of magic tarnishing their lineage, so they swiftly expelled me, as if I were nothing but a stain to be scrubbed away from their esteemed history . Though it''s been two long years since it all happened, and with much soul-searching and countless prayers, I''ve managed to find it within myself to forgive them," she concluded softly. Yet, despite her attempt to convey a sense of closure, the lingering pain of rejection remained unmistakable in her voice.

    "I''m sorry to hear that. It''s common in the Free Marches as well, and my mother has yet to speak to me since I entered the Circle. My father, thank the Maker, still writes though."

    A wan yet genuine smile appeared on Miriam''s face, "You are blessed, truly. I can count the number of high-born mages here who still correspond with family on one hand, and that includes you. Ferelden attitudes are harsh when it comes to magic." Gazing into her pale blue eyes, the two shared an unspoken understanding of the disappointment heaped upon them at the emergence of their magic.

    "Can we get back to the topic of Brax?"

    The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes at Rhetta, "Truly? That''s all she ever talks about, boys. May I hope, Evelyn, that our conversations might be graced with a touch more academia and less hormones?"

    Chuckling, the Marcher replied, "I think I can speak on both subjects, so long as you can put up with my inevitable whining over my upcoming training. That''s if I last long enough, for according to the two of you I shouldn''t unpack my bags just yet."

    "Well, I''ll be rootin'' for ye. You''ll be my ticket to speakin'' with Brax." Rhetta''s large green eyes and red brows bobbed up and down as the other two mages exchanged looks.

    As they conversed, a group of other mages passed by, their chatter momentarily breaking the tranquility of the scene. One of them, initially inclined to join the trio, caught sight of Miriam and recoiled in horror. "Maker preserve me, didn''t see ''Bloody Miri'' there," he muttered, prompting the others to murmur a protective prayer.

    Rhetta''s fiery spirit flared up at their disrespectful behavior. "Oi, bugger off!" she snapped, her tone sharp. The offenders, taken aback by her sudden hostility, quickly retreated, casting wary glances over their shoulders as they departed.

    Evelyn watched the exchange with surprise, her expression reflecting her bewilderment at the unexpected hostility directed towards Miriam. Meanwhile, the girl in question simply smiled and waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush off the incident. Nonetheless, Evelyn couldn''t help but wonder what this was all about.

    "Don''t ye be listen to those lob cocks¨C"

    "Language, Rhetta! Please. " Instead of looking at the elf, Miriam flicked her gaze at Evelyn clearly seeing the question on her face. Her expression faltered once again. "Maker, I truly wished you would have had the chance to know me better before I had to tell you this, but it seems He had other plans," she lamented. Straightening her posture and clearing her throat, she began talking in a slightly unsteady tone. "You see, when I wield my healing magic, an unsettling phenomenon occurs, my eyes begin to bleed. It''s exclusive to the healing school of arcane arts, no other branch triggers it. I want to assure you, I am no maleificar. Andraste herself can bear witness, I would sooner perish than dabble in forbidden crafts," she asserted, her agitation palpable as she sought to reaffirm her innocence. "I underwent rigorous scrutiny by the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander himself, repeatedly tested and even confronted a demon in the Fade without faltering!"

    Evelyn recoiled in shock. "But children are forbidden from enduring the Harrowing!"

    With a bitter smirk, Rhetta interjected, "Ye wouldn''t believe the stuff they pull off just by slappin'' on a different name."

    Miriam quickly interjected, clarifying, "It wasn''t the Harrowing per se, but rather a test of resistance against demonic influence, designed to safeguard the Circle from any apprentice displaying maleficarum tendencies." She sighed softly, her gaze momentarily dropping before meeting Evelyn''s eyes once more. "Despite my best efforts to prove my loyalty and innocence, I cannot deny the truth. Other mages here still fear and avoid me, casting wary glances whenever I pass. I would understand completely if you, too, chose to keep your distance," she admitted with a tinge of resignation in her voice.

    Evelyn''s expression softened, a flicker of empathy crossing her features as she recalled the challenges she faced due to her own mutation. "Though for different reasons, I can sympathize with people looking at you wearily," she explained softly. "Besides, my father taught me not to judge people based on hearsay or superstition. Until you prove otherwise, I will treat you just as any other fellow apprentice."

    Miriam blinked at her in confusion, her disbelief evident in her expression. "Oh, you would? Truly!?"

    Rhetta, observing the exchange, slapped Evelyn''s back with a hearty laugh. "I hadda good feelin'' about ye from the beginning girl, and ye didn''t disappoint!" The three girls shared a smile content with the addition to their group of misfits. "Glad to see ye don''t raise your nose at us knife-ears either. Suppose that''s just as bad as bein'' spotted like a blighted toad."

    "Spotted? You mean your freckles?" The Marcher cocked her head to the side.

    "Nah. Me back is literally spotted from the neck to arse." Turning her head away, she lifted her hair to reveal oval speckles that grew smaller in size the further from her spine they were. The largest were about the size of a coin. Letting her fiery hair fall to conceal the mutation once more, Rhetta huffed in annoyance, "It''s ugly¨C I''m ugly. Why did the Maker have to curse me so? I don''t got a lot goin'' for me, but what boy will want to tumble wit'' me looking like some creature out of the swamp!"

    "Please do not doubt that the Maker loves you, Rhetta. He would never curse His child. All that you have, all that you are, is a gift from Him and should be treated as such," Miriam''s voice was gentle, imbued with conviction. "Besides, in His infinite grace, He has granted you the loveliest shade of hair. It truly is a rarity."

    Evelyn was quick to echo Miriam''s sentiment, her tone warm with sincerity. "Indeed, your hair is a marvel, Rhetta," she chimed in, offering a supportive smile to the elf.

    Rhetta, taken aback by their words of reassurance, couldn''t help but blush, a bashful smile gracing her lips. The weight of self-doubt momentarily lifted from her shoulders as she absorbed their genuine compliments."Well, if you two insist it''s that beautiful, then I guess it''s true." Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she turned to Evelyn. "You know, E, can I call ye E?" Before she could answer, the elf continued eagerly, "I think ye are good enough to be our friend! What do you say?"

    Evelyn, caught off guard by the sudden offer, looked at the girls in perplexity for a moment.

    "You shouldn''t put her on the spot like that," the Ferelden interjected, her brow furrowing with concern. "Do not feel pressured, Evelyn."

    The Marcher was a little bewildered, but she couldn''t deny the warmth that bloomed in her chest at Rhetta''s earnest invitation. To find companionship so quickly after her transfer was both unexpected and relieving. "Sure, I mean, yes, of course," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity.