Hello and welcome to my very first Dragon Age Fanfic, and also my first fanfic in many years. Basically this was a story in my head that wouldn't go away so I thought I'd try writing it out. Hopefully you enjoy it. Please feel free to leave feedback and suggestions as I'm a little rusty and don't have anyone to proof read at the moment.

Aryana Trevelyan was 11 when the first signs of her magic appeared. She'd been sparring with her older brother Darren in the training room, him with his wooden practice greatsword and her with her wooden daggers. They were too young then to practice with real steel. Darren had knocked her on her back with a move she'd been trying to learn to defend against, the impact knocking her practice blades from her little hands. He'd laughed then, the point of his greatsword resting against her chest, gloating in his victory. She'd narrowed her eyes at him, wishing she could wipe the smile from his smug face. And then, to her amazement, his wooden sword had suddenly shot out of his hands, flying into the far wall with such force that it had broken. Darren had looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. Not frightened of her, but frightened for her. She'd starred back, eyes just as wide, still on her back on the stone floor.

"I... Dar I didn't... I didn't mean to..." She'd stumbled over her words, eyes filling with tears as she looked up at her brother. She knew what this meant. But Darren had shushed her, quickly regaining his composure. He'd carefully helped his little sister to her feet and pulled her into a tight hug.

"We'll never speak of this again. Tell no one," he'd whispered to her. Then he'd let her go and starred sternly into her eyes. "No one." He'd repeated. Then he'd gone to fetch another practice sword as if nothing had happened. As if the entire incident could simply be forgotten.

But of course, nothing is ever that simple, and magical ability cannot be ignored. As Aryana had hurtled into puberty, her body softening and growing curves, her magic only began to manifest stronger. Strange things would happen around her, candles snuffing out on their own accord, decorations falling off the walls, people tripping on unseen objects. Suspicion grew among the other members of her family but no one wanted to admit the truth. No one wanted to lose the only Trevelyan daughter to the Circle.

She was 14 when the Templars came for her. Darren had stood protectively between her and them and refused to let them touch her. She'd laid a hand on his arm and told him in the most soothing voice she could muster that everything would be alright. That he would see her again. That this was for the best. There had been tears in his eyes as she'd stepped past him to allow the Templars to take her away. But he didn't let them fall. Darren Trevelyan didn't cry.

It wasn't as if she could have stayed. She'd knocked her mother over with an accidental force push during an argument and that had been the last straw. It was undeniable, what was happening, and the noble family couldn't risk the consequences of harbouring an apostate. Besides that, her mother was with child and Aryana was a danger to the unborn babe. She was too big a risk. So in the end her own parents had sent for Templars.

As she was walking through the front gates for the last time, doing her best not to look back, to hold in her tears, Darren had come running up. He held up his hands to her Templar guards to show he had no weapon and explained that he merely wanted to say goodbye. He'd taken Aryana's hand and pressed an amulet into it, an amulet with the Trevelyan crest engraved on one side.

"You'll always be my sister." He'd told her, before squeezing her hand one last time and then running back to the family estate. Through her tears, Aryana had smiled sadly at his retreating form.