Hi folks!

After a brief foray in the universe of Mass Effect (a most brilliant game, if you are not currently freaking out about the endings in a widespread panic), I am back to write more Dragon Age stuff.

This story is a sequel to my Dragon Age 2 novel 'Tranquility' and post-DA2 story 'Survivors of Kirkwall'. Both can probably be found via my profile or something.

Just a brief reminder of where things stand, in case you have forgotten and/or can't be bothered to catch up: Ferelden is under the rule of the Grey Warden Maythre, a devious elven blood mage, who has freed the mages, dissolved the Circle and kicked the Chantry out of Ferelden for good. After the events in Kirkwall reached their culmination, Maythre sent her right hand Ser Cauthrien to seize Hawke and bring her to Denerim. Unable to learn anything useful from Hawke, the Warden Queen eventually allowed her to leave Denerim, and Hawke did so in company of Nathaniel Howe, following him to Vigil's Keep. On the other side of the Waking Sea, after defeating Corypheus, Bethany has set out on an adventure of her own, seeking answers and looking for her missing sweetheart, Merrill, who unknown to Bethany has been pulled through the eluvian by the dangerous Xebenkeck the Undying... (come to think of it, this makes a lot more sense if you actually read the stories. This summary makes me appear like a real crackpot of a writer.)

By the way, even if you folks start a petition and gather more than 4000 signatures, I'm telling you in advance that I won't change my endings under no circumstances. I invoke artistic integrity and proclaim my right to write shit if I want to. (I'll try not to, I swear!)

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Road near West Hill, Ferelden, Present Day

Cauthrien would never have thought of herself as a nosy, overly curious type of person. But on this one occasion, against her better judgment and against the Queen's insistence that Cauthrien truly did not wish to know the real truth, curiosity got the better of her. In retrospect, she wished she had trusted her gut instinct more and had kept her mouth shut.

It was a peculiar thing, to be sure. This war-torn land, ravaged by Blight and several bloody civil wars in quick succession, had made such a speedy recovery, its economy thriving and finances apparently in a healthy state, allowing to bring in a stream of supplies from foreign lands, revitalizing the trade business. The pastures of the Bannorn were still in a sorry state and the fertile farmlands around Lothering blighted and unusable for decades to come, cutting the supply of grain, meat and vegetables, forcing them to import some of their food stores.

More so, maintaining Queen Maythre's Royal Guard required very large funds. The loyalty of these well trained and highly skilled soldiers depended on considerable wages, and yet whenever Cauthrien approached the Queen, asking for more and more sovereigns, Maythre just waved her off, looking bored, telling her to simply take what she needed from the treasury and warning Cauthrien not to inconvenience her with such trivial matters ever again.

For the past year, this one question was eating Cauthrien from the inside. Where is all that gold coming from?

Maythre had been evasive at first, telling her to try and put the whole line of questioning out of her head, but Cauthrien had not relented. Seeing that Cauthrien was unable to let go of the issue, the Queen eventually succumbed to her demands and agreed to let her in on the whole secret, but not before warning the general that she might yet regret her stubborn insistence.

And now, without any explanations, Cauthrien found herself traveling the Imperial Highway in the company of the Queen and a dozen of the Royal Guard. The only vague hint of their destination were the three chained prisoners dragged along by the guards, all three of them mages. Two of them had been caught willfully summoning demons, reported by their peers, successful result of the Queen's much praised self-policing approach towards the mages. Cauthrien was not sure of the crimes of the third mage. Perhaps he had simply grown too powerful, too influential or too rich. Perhaps he had been instigating some talks of insurgency. Maythre didn't need much of a reason to place someone's head on the chopping block.

It only surprised Cauthrien that these mages hadn't been cast into Fort Drakon to rot with the rest of 'the enemies of the throne'. For some reason, Maythre was taking them to the former Circle Tower near Lake Calenhad. The further they rode, the more obvious it became that Kinloch Hold was their destination.

Late in the evening of that day, Cauthrien caught the Queen up late, sitting at the fireplace with a thoughtful expression on her face. "There's only one place in Ferelden that makes you look pensive like that," the general remarked, sitting next to the Queen. "We're going to the old Circle Tower, aren't we?"

"Of course," Maythre replied without taking her eyes off the brightly burning flames. "I spent most of my life there, as you well know. The memories are hard to erase, much as I might wish to."

"How old were you when they took you in?" Cauthrien dared to ask. The Queen never spoke of these things, and showed great distaste when asked about her past, but the mood seemed different tonight. Maythre appeared unusually melancholic for some reason.

"I was six when I was brought to the Circle. Sixteen long years without ever stepping outside of that damned tower."

"Were you taken from the Denerim alienage? I have trouble imagining you among the Dalish, or the templars actually bothering to take one of the Dalish alive..." Cauthrien pressed on, encouraged by the earnest reply, lacking any hostility or venom.

Maythre gave a bitter chuckle at that. "Neither of those. It is curious, I was thinking back to those times before you approached me." She turned away from the flames to face Cauthrien. The emotion, a sense of fragility in her eyes, it seemed almost unreal, shocking to the general. "I can see you wish to hear the tale." Cauthrien nodded. "So be it. Considering what else you will soon learn... perhaps it is for the best that you know."

Bannorn of Oswin, Ferelden, Twenty-five Years Prior

The battle had been hard fought, even if the Dalish were outnumbered by about three to one. The elves resisted valiantly, with great fervor, men and women, young and old, but in the end it had been all for naught. They had refused to surrender, even when the outcome had been clear, and now they all lay dead.

It was a pity that things had come to this, but Bann Valdric knew that the Dalish had forced his hand in this confrontation. This particular group had encroached on his lands several months ago, hunting his game, harassing his hunters and farmers of the nearby homesteads, refusing to leave his lands, and finally sending back three of his men, sent to the Dalish with an ultimatum to leave, dead, filled with arrows and tied to the backs of their horses.

While he was still appraising the grim view of the Dalish campsite, littered with bodies of elves and men, one of his hunters shouted at him, trying to get his attention. "Bann Valdric! Over here, Bann! You have to see this!"

He hurried over immediately. "What is it, Wendal?" he asked. Wendal simply pointed downwards. Behind a tree stump, there was a shape of someone small. A little elven girl, with short dark hair and small pointy nose sat there, leafing through an ancient looking tome, seemingly oblivious to all the fighting that had taken place moments earlier. "By the Maker, what are we going to do with her?" Valdric sighed.

The elf girl looked up from her book, the keen intelligence in her intense stare taking the Bann aback, not quite what he had expected from a child not more than six years of age. "If you are going to kill me then please be quick about it. Otherwise, could you please step aside, you are blocking the light," she spoke in an unwavering voice.

Bann Valdric and Wendal stared at each other, mouths agape from surprise, until they inexplicably complied with the request, moving away from the girl. Only after a good while Wendal regained ability to speak. "Well… it don't seem right thing to do… but what the kid says, well, it's gotta be one solution too, right? I mean… no one's going to miss her, ey?"

Valdric shook his head. "We can't kill a child, Wendal," he said. "Elf or no elf, she is still an innocent child. Now, I have no idea what to do with her, but for now, I suppose we'll take her with us."

"Are you in charge of the fortress to the north, the big human settlement?" the girl spoke up, not hesitating to interrupt two grown-up, armed men who had just slaughtered dozens of her kin, likely including her parents.

"Yes, child. I am Bann Valdric, ruler of these lands, and that fortress belongs to me," he replied.

"Then yes, take me with you. I will be good, I promise," the girl rose from the ground, putting the book aside and reaching out to brush some pine needles and straws off her simple linen dress.

"…very well," Valdric replied. "Do you have a name, child?"

"You may call me Maythre," the girl replied, then extending a tiny arm for a handshake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Bann Valdric."

Campsite near West Hill, Ferelden, Present Day

"...so you were with the Dalish," Cauthrien felt very surprised. This was not what she had expected. "Did you lose your parents in that battle?"

"My father, I think," Maythre replied. The small shrug of her shoulders indicated that she truly did not care about their fates. "I do not remember much, but I think my mother was of another clan for I have no recollection of her. I recall the tales of the elders about her being less than complimentary. Apparently she somehow lured my father away from his clan, and his betrothed. When he returned to the clan, he was carrying me on his back. I guess my mother had no interest in raising me."

"And then the Bann took you with him, what happened after that?" Cauthrien asked, her breath catching in excitement.

"Oh, Bann Valdric really did treat me well," Maythre smiled serenely. "I was an unusually bright child, and he was quite fascinated by my intelligence. With time, he grew very fond of me. If I hadn't been a Dalish elf, feared and distrusted by the rest of his people, he might have even adopted me as his daughter. But that is irrelevant, for I had no plans to stay with him."

"What do you mean by having plans? Don't tell me you were already plotting as a six year old?"

"And what do you think?" the Queen looked at her again, slightly reproachful. "Of course I had a plan. I wanted to be taken to the Circle, Cauthrien."

"But... but why?" Cauthrien's face was full of incomprehension. "Most mages want to escape the Circle and the imprisonment in the tender care of templars!"

The Queen's face darkened for a moment, but then it cleared, settling into exasperated expression of patience, as if having to explain something trivial to a child. "Most of those gifted with magic do not realize their own potential at first," she started to explain. "Often the talent manifests itself in a catastrophic way under great stress or other strong stimuli, shocking the magically gifted child and becoming a source of sorrow for their families when the templars come calling. The tale is all too familiar, but my case is different."

Cauthrien listened in silence, allowing the Queen to continue after a slight pause, as if she still wasn't certain whether she wanted to share all of this with the general. "For as long as I can remember, I have always felt magic flowing in my veins." She raised her delicate hand with long slender fingers, snapping them swiftly, a small blue jolt of electricity passing through them and dissipating just as quickly. "Magic itching at my fingertips, demanding to be given free reign. I felt its power and calling as a small child, Cauthrien. But I also felt that I needed help to work this gift, to shape and develop it into something more. I needed someone that could instruct me how to use this magic."

"The Dalish have their own mages, don't they?" Cauthrien asked. "I seem to remember you telling me about them. Keepers, weren't they called?"

"Yes, that's right," Maythre nodded. "My clan had lost their Keeper some time after my birth, and she had not completed the training of her successor, her First. We looked to the other clans for aid, but nobody was eager to part with their First. I think it was around that time when I learned about the mage Circles in human lands. Whoever told me about them, made them seem like everything I craved for, dozens, hundreds of mages sharing a pool of knowledge and power. I decided that I needed to gain entrance to this fabled Circle."

"Whoever told you that, left out a few important bits," Cauthrien remarked.

"Indeed, I did not learn the whole truth until I was actually admitted to the Circle," Maythre continued the tale. "That winter was harsh. There was little game for hunting, and the clan was starving, struggling without the guidance of a Keeper. I made a mention to my father that the lands of the wealthy humans on the edges of the Brecillian Forest might be richer in game and other much needed supplies. As he laughed and brushed me off, I... I sensed something... something in his mind. If I only concentrated hard enough, I could reach out and feel his thoughts, not read them as such, but... I felt that with enough effort I could seize and control them."

Cauthrien again remained silent as the Queen continued. "For many nights, while he slept, I sat beside him, concentrating the best I could, trying to guide a certain idea to his head, trying to compel him to act on it. I was pleasantly surprised that soon afterwards, I heard my father speak passionately to the other hunters, pleading with them to raid the human lands, or else the clan would perish."

"You... manipulated your clan into pillaging Bann Valdric's lands?" Cauthrien felt herself shaking slightly as she asked her question. She thought she was immune to whatever atrocities Maythre might perform, but for this revelation she simply hadn't been prepared. "Didn't you know what would happen?"

"Oh yes," Maythre's grin felt all the more disturbing as she again turned to face Cauthrien. "In fact, I counted on it."

"You sent your own clan... your own father to die, just so that you could leave the clan and get admitted to the Circle?" Cauthrien shook her head in disbelief. "That is... completely mad! The humans could have easily killed you as well in the massacre!"

"True, I'm not going to claim it was my best plan ever," Maythre admitted with an amused chuckle. "But I felt that it was worth taking a certain risk. I knew I had no future with my clan. They avoided me, they feared me, they called me 'demon-spawn' when they thought I was not listening... no, I rejoiced in watching them getting cut down before my eyes." The Queen paused again, giving Cauthrien a sidelong look. "Truly, after all that we have done, why does this surprise you?"

"It's just... not how a child is supposed to think or reason..." Cauthrien stumbled.

"Not any normal child," Maythre clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "I know, I was supposed to be emotionally attached to my father, feel kinship to my clan, that would have been considered 'normal'. Perhaps my father's attitude towards me was to blame. I was certain he and my mother had parted on poor terms, and it felt as if he resented me for it, felt saddled with this inconvenience of a little girl. He showed me no affection nor love, and I grew up feeling none in return."

"I guess that explains some of it," Cauthrien nodded. "But you ended with the Bann, not in the Circle, or at least not right away. How did you get to Kinloch Hold?"

"Oh, after I had earned Bann Valdric's affections to the extent where I felt he would protect me, I made my magical abilities manifest themselves in a spectacular way. A complete accident, I am sure!" Maythre smiled, this memory obviously more pleasant to her. "Some of the other children made an effort to make my life miserable when the Bann wasn't there to look out for me. When the time was ripe, I set several of them on fire. Just a little bit, I didn't kill them!" she added with a mirthful laugh, having seen the expression on Cauthrien's face.

"The good Bann didn't have any option but to send for the templars, I take it?"

"The good Bann did no such thing. He took me to Kinloch Hold himself, and demanded an audience with First Enchanter Irving," Maythre explained, fond smile on her lips. "Bann Valdric was... a truly good and honorable man. Whatever he said to Irving must have made an impression on the First Enchanter. Irving took me as his own apprentice and I was in his care for my first five years in the Circle... but my first memory of Kinloch Hold is not that of First Enchanter Irving. It was the forging of my phylactery, a nasty surprise in store for me. I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday... the creation of the leash that would hold me for sixteen long years..."

Kinloch Hold, Ferelden, Twenty-three Years Prior

With morbid fascination, Maythre watched the drops of blood flowing from the small incision in her finger. It looked so pure, so delightful, a sort of primal beauty, she was somehow disappointed there wasn't more of it. But with his practiced hand, the grim-faced mage had made the cut very tiny to get just enough blood to fill the small, odd looking empty crystal that he then sealed with a complex sounding incantation and together with Irving they had taken it away for storage.

They both returned soon, Irving's voice shaking Maythre out of her reverie. "You are still bleeding, child! Give me your hand, let me heal that."

Maythre quickly took her hand away. "It is not necessary. The cut has nearly closed on its own."

The First Enchanter looked a little puzzled at her reaction, but said nothing. "What was that thing he made with my blood?" she asked. During her first two weeks at the Tower, she had learned enough to suspect the answer already, but she still wanted to hear what Irving's explanation would be.

"It is something called a phylactery, which is like… essence of an individual, a mage," Irving told her. Her face was like an essence of curiosity that was hard to resist. "You see, sometimes mages… they cannot control the forces they possess, they succumb to the lure of the Fade spirits and do terrible, awful things to innocents. Every apprentice that has ever come to this tower has had his phylactery created for this very possibility. The phylactery enables the templars to track this rebellious mage down and bring him back under control."

"Are you sure she should be hearing this?" the grim, balding mage asked, looking displeased at Irving's openness.

"She would learn of this all eventually in any case, Uldred. I am certain this won't do any harm at all," the First Enchanter said.

"I am sure the templars will never have a reason to come hunting for me, Uldred," Maythre spoke up, staring defiantly at the other mage.

Uldred stared at her, then shrugged and threw another displeased glance at Irving. "Do as you will, she is your apprentice. But do teach the girl some manners at the very least, no respect for senior enchanters at all," he scoffed.

"She is just a child, Uldred," Irving smiled. "But we shall trouble you no more, come Maythre, let us leave the senior enchanter to his studies. Goodnight, Uldred."

"Irving," Uldred nodded in return, then resuming his work all the while muttering about how 'this girl will bring nothing but trouble' under his nose.

First Enchanter Irving chuckled at himself as he led his young protégé back to the apprentice quarters. It was rather amusing that Maythre managed to spook even a grim, cynical bastard like Uldred. She had a special gift for magic, that was certain, but above all, she was just a child, pure and innocent. She would grow up to be the pride of the Circle. Of that he had no doubt.