A/N: This one-shot is a companion to Chapter 47 of "Rend Asunder" and also serves as a prequel for both RA and the upcoming sequel "Retribution." Bioware owns all; I'm just a fan with an imagination.
"Everyone, can I have your attention?"
Warden Commander Lhiannon Amell had just taken her chair behind the desk in her office. Her Second, Grey Warden and Teyrn of Gwaren Loghain Mac Tir stood next to her chair, offering his quiet support for the woman who was not only his Commander, but his betrothed.
Grey Wardens Sigrun and Velanna stood near a map of Amaranthine mounted on one of the office walls. Sigrun twirled one of her throwing knives in her hand while she waited for the meeting to begin. Velanna stood stoically, almost statue like, her eyes roaming the map. Her expression actually looked bored.
Seated in chairs across from Lhiannon's desk were King Alistair Theirin and Queen Anora Mac Tir Theirin. Anora was carrying the heir to the line of Calenhad, her stomach showing her advancing pregnancy. Alistair sat next to Anora, his hand resting on her protruding stomach and gently caressing it.
Grey Wardens Nathaniel Howe, Anders, and Jowan stood in a loose semicircle near the door to the office. The three had become fast friends; they were currently snickering amongst themselves at something Anders said to break the tension in the room. Anders was supporting himself with his magic staff, still weakened from the massive healing spell he had cast earlier in the day on Seneschal Varel to save his life after being mauled by an ogre. Nathaniel and Jowan stood close by, ready to support their friend should he need help.
Grey Warden Oghren propped himself up on the wall opposite the map. He was currently staring at both Sigrun and Velanna, his eyes wandering lustily over both of them. Lhiannon snorted to herself; if the ladies knew what Oghren was doing, both would likely want to gouge his lecherous eyes out. Slowly.
"I called you all here so we could go over our plans to confront the Architect and the Mother," Lhiannon said, looking about the room to each of her Wardens. "But first, we could have issues with the Revered Mother from the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer in Amaranthine."
"What kind of issues?" Sigrun asked, her brows furrowing in confusion. She never understood this 'Chantry' or their 'Chant of Light'. At least the ancestors and the stone were real; who knew if this 'Bride of the Maker' ever really existed. Sigrun had her doubts.
Loghain snorted from where he stood next to Lhiannon. He made a slight gesture toward Alistair, Nathaniel, and Anders. "While we were in Amaranthine, the Revered Mother said that this recent incursion of the darkspawn was a 'trial'. A trial forced upon us by the Maker for some of the recent actions the Crown has taken."
"Oh, let me guess," Jowan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It's the whole 'magic must serve and never rule' bit again, isn't it? I swear, the Chantry thinks we are all a heartbeat away from turning into screeching abominations just because we can wiggle our fingers and make things happen."
Lhiannon nodded. "That's exactly it, Jowan." Her eyes roamed the room, landing on each Warden in turn. She sighed wearily; memories of her childhood were not exactly pleasant. "I think this Revered Mother could be a problem."
"But why?" Sigrun asked. "What makes you so worried?"
"Because she isn't the only one with those beliefs. There are whole communities of people who believe the same thing so fanatically, so completely, that it makes them very, very dangerous," Lhiannon explained. A shiver crept down her spine as she began to recount her tale of an event that took place mere days before she was dragged off to Kinloch Hold.
The sun sank low in the sky, reflecting off the high, thin clouds and turning them from white and light gray to brilliant pink and orange, similar to the color of the flames dancing in the hearth of the fireplace in the home Lhiannon shared with her parents and older brother in the small, reclusive community of Greenwood Vale. It was nestled in a valley west of the shores of great Lake Calenhad and near Gherlen's Pass. The majestic Frostback Mountains could be seen in the distance, lending a picturesque quality to the quaint village.
She heard her father clear his throat impatiently, waiting for her to finish the recitation of the chant. Returning her gaze from the window to her father, she spoke.
"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."
"What chapter and verse is that line from, girl?"
Lhiannon paused, her brow furrowed in thought. She was not entirely sure; she knew it was from the Canticle of Transfigurations of course, but what verse? It was somewhere near the beginning...
"Um, chapter one, verse…three?"
Her father, Roddick, rapped her knuckles with a piece of roughened wood. Lhiannon grimaced at the sharp pain that ran up her hand. She looked down at her fingers and saw that they were bleeding…again…from the newest strike against her knuckles, reopening the wounds that were constantly there. This is stupid; I don't even want to be a Chanter.
"Wrong, daughter. What verse?"
Lhiannon sighed. "Chapter one, verse two."
"Correct," Roddick said, giving his daughter a terse stare as her mother, Iris, and brother, Edwin, looked on disapprovingly. "However, you will never be a Chanter if you cannot memorize the Chant of Light. You must keep studying."
A scowl crossed Lhiannon's young, teenaged face. A Chanter was not how she wanted to spend her life. She wanted to live a life outside the rigid doctrines of her family, her village, and the branch of the Chantry that they followed. She wanted to see what the rest of Ferelden was like; she had heard stories of life outside the village from the few merchants that delivered goods to their little hamlet. From what she had gathered from the merchants, the communities surrounding them thought the residents here insular and overly strict in their teachings of Andraste and the Maker. Lhiannon was a curious girl, seeking to learn more about the world outside of Greenwood Vale, the Chantry, and the Chant of Light. She wanted to see the lush farmland of the Bannorn, the bright blue of the Amaranthine Ocean, and the capital of Denerim. Her parents had moved here when she and her brother were small, not saying much about the outside world other than those on the outside should be pitied for not knowing the Maker's true love.
"But I don't want to be a Chanter, Father."
The sharp intake of breath she heard from her mother signaled that she had most definitely said the wrong thing. Her father was quickly out of his chair and moved to grab Lhiannon by the collar of her modest dress, hauling her out of the chair and toward the root cellar door. She yowled in protest, clawing at her father's hand to try and break the hold on her collar. "Let me go!"
"Girl, you will serve the Chantry and the Maker as your Mother and I say you will," he sternly admonished her, pulling her through the kitchen of their modest home toward the root cellar that lay beneath the floor. He opened the door and shoved his only daughter down into the dark recesses of the cellar, closing the door behind her and running the latch. "While you are there, seek forgiveness from the Maker for not following His will." Her father paused for a moment before continuing, his voice pleading. "I would not see you denied His love in the world beyond ours. I would do you a disservice as your father for such a thing. You know you are to be turned over to the Chantry in just a few weeks; you must have the Chant memorized by then!"
Lhiannon quietly wept as she sat up, brushing the dirt from the floor off her face and hands. She angrily banged her hands once on the door above her, sending dust and dirt to flutter down around her. Did she not deserve a say in what happened to her life? She was not a young child any longer, but nearly an adult. In only a few short years, she would be of age to marry and have children, but that future would never happen if her parents' wishes came to fruition. The thought of speaking in only verses from the Chant of Light for the rest of her life both dismayed and depressed her.
"Lhiannon!"
Lhiannon quieted her weeping, looking up at the cellar door above her. Through the cracks in the door she could see movement; Edwin was peeking through the crack to try and see her. He was three years her senior and had been studying with the templars for several years. He would soon be taking his vows and apprenticing with an older templar to learn more of their ways. He was excited to join the templars on the hunts for apostates and maleficars.
"Go away, Edwin. I don't want you to get into trouble too."
Edwin scoffed and Lhiannon heard him settle onto the floor next to the door. Even he knew not to tempt the wrath of their parents by opening it. "Why can't you just accept that this is what Mother and Father want for you? What the Maker wants for you? They want me to be a templar and I am perfectly happy to do that. If that is how I am to best serve the Maker, then I shall gladly do it. You should be happy with the path the Maker has chosen for you. We'll all be welcomed into the Maker's arms in the beyond and watch as the heathens and mages wander in oblivion."
Lhiannon held her head in her hands, shaking her head. "Is hunting people all you want to do with your life, Edwin? Mages are people too! You seem so eager to kill those who can't help what they are. Besides, you're not surly and nasty like most of the templars are."
"Mages are not people, Lhiannon," Edwin snarled, pounding his fist on the door above Lhiannon's head and causing more small bits of dust and dirt to fall onto her head. She scoffed and tried to brush the bits out of her hair. "Mages are an affront to the Maker! They are the ones who made people turn away from the Maker and worship the Old Gods. Mages are the ones who invaded the Golden City and turned it black with their corruption. They don't deserve to live among the Maker's chosen! Send them to their towers where the templars can make sure they stay away from the Maker's faithful. If the templars were truly faithful, they would gather all the mages, put them in the tower and then light it on fire to be purified in Andraste's holy flame!"
He sounds just like Mother and Father now, Lhiannon thought bitterly. Suddenly, Edwin scrambled to his feet as footsteps sounded on the floor nearby; they were the heavy footsteps of their father.
"Lhiannon, pray for forgiveness. Memorize your Chant. You will be happier if you do, and the Maker will smile upon you," Edwin whispered before quickly moving away.
With a sigh, Lhiannon turned to light the small lantern that she knew her parents kept down in the root cellar. She did not need light to find where the lantern or the matches lay; she spent a lot of time down in the cellar, being punished for not memorizing the Chant correctly or questioning her community's view of Andraste's teachings. Other than the root vegetables and the lantern, the only other object in the cellar was a copy of the Chant of Light; she was expected to read and memorize its passages while she was trapped in the cellar.
Her village prided itself on following the Canticle of Transfigurations, even having the entire Canticle carved onto the front and back of a slab of granite in the village square, preaching their own views regarding the Chant of Light to all who entered. Many templars made pilgrimages here, seeking knowledge and enlightenment before they were sent off to hunt apostates and maleficars. During the festival celebrating Andraste's ascension to the Maker's side, an effigy of the Maker's Bride would be burned on a stake just behind the granite slab, celebrating the release of her soul to join the Maker.
Occasionally, when a resident of the village would show magical abilities, the templars would quickly drag them away, either to the Circle or elsewhere. Those people were never heard from again. The mayor and Revered Mother would proudly claim that there were no mages in their village to corrupt their teachings and worship of Andraste and the Maker.
There was also a dark undercurrent to the village, one that she had not been aware of until later that evening, after she had been released from the cellar; her knowledge gained that night was purely by accident and frightened her to the core.
Every so often, her father and the other men of the village would be called out of their homes during the night for a special meeting they had dubbed "The Releasing." Lhiannon had asked before what went on during those late night meetings, but her father would shush her, telling her she was never to bring that up again and especially to never mention it to anyone not part of the village. She was curious about the meeting, but knew asking her father again would only result in further punishment.
Late that night—the night she had been released from the cellar—she had crawled out of her bedroom window and crept into the barn behind their house to play with a new litter of kittens that had been born recently. She had to be very careful though, as her parents had sharp ears and would surely punish her for the transgression. The squeak of the house door drew her attention; she quietly rose from where she had been watching the kittens sleep and peeked through the wood slats of the barn wall.
The barn faced the village square and she could see the large granite slab in the center. The men of the village had gathered around the square along with several templars that had been visiting. She could see Edwin among the men, but her father was nowhere to be seen. Another small group of templars approached the square carrying a large wooden pole that they hefted upward and settled into a hole near the slab made specifically for that purpose. Lhiannon's brow furrowed; it was not time for Andraste's festival yet. Why would they be burning an effigy of her in the middle of the night?
She caught movement from the corner of her eye; she saw her father and another man come from the chantry, dragging a bound and gagged man toward the village square. The Revered Mother followed close behind holding what looked like a long branch. A young priest was also among them, holding a lit torch in her hands. Lhiannon's eyes narrowed in confusion before it dawned on her; the man was a mage and the Revered Mother was carrying what appeared to be his magical staff. The mage, a young man dressed in brightly colored robes, struggled furiously against the men dragging him, his eyes wide with fear. Even in the wan light, Lhiannon could see the large bruises and dried blood on his face; at some point, he had either been in a fight or was beaten into submission. They dragged him toward the pole, standing him upright and securing him to it tightly. Once he was secured, the Revered Mother secured the mage's staff to the pole and other men spread dried twigs and wood around him, piling it as high as the mage's knees all the way around. The mage watched helplessly, his eyes wide with fear as he silently beseeched anyone for help.
A murmur went through the crowd of men gathered around the square. Lhiannon could hear that they were speaking the words of the Canticle of Transfigurations, the canticle that spoke of mages and the perversion of magic. While they chanted, the mage struggled furiously against his bonds, trying in vain to free himself. As Lhiannon watched, the priest with the flaming torch stepped forward and handed it to the Revered Mother. She held it high overhead and began to speak.
"Magic exists to serve man and never rule over him. A soul has been trapped in this man's body, ruled over by the blasphemous magic within him. Magic is a curse; a curse that allowed the Tevinters to attempt to usurp the Maker from his golden throne in his golden city. It was the curse of magic that made the Maker's children turn away from Him to worship the Old Gods. It was magic that sundered the Veil and caused the Tevinters to invade the Golden City, corrupting it with their very presence.
"This apostate came to us as he fled from the holy templars. He was fleeing into the countryside, no doubt wanting to practice his perversion in secret. His very presence is an affront to our ways. Can you not hear the soul within this abhorrence calling out for release? For freedom from the bonds of magic? It is the magic within him causing him to resist the Maker's light and it is our duty and obligation to release his soul!
"As Andraste was sent to the Maker by holy flames, let us now release this trapped soul to join Her and the Maker in unending joy and freedom from magic."
Lhiannon had to cover her mouth to smother a gasp as the Revered Mother tossed the torch onto the kindling surrounding the mage. She watched in mute horror as the flames caught and the mage struggled violently against his bonds. With wide eyes, she covered her mouth with her hands. She turned and ran from the barn, barely remembering to keep to the shadows as she ran for her home and to the open window leading to her bedroom. She quickly pulled herself up through, barely able to hold her screams in check. She could not scream; no one could know what she had witnessed. Quickly looking about her room, she saw a small pile of clean clothing on her vanity, ready to be put away. She quickly grabbed a rolled pair of socks, shoving one in her mouth to stifle her horrified cries as she quietly closed the window and ran the latch, finally pulling the curtains over the window to shut the glow from the fire out of her room.
Picking up her pillow and spitting out the socks, Lhiannon scrambled onto her bed and crawled to the corner, where the mattress butted up against two walls of her room. She sat there, her pillow grasped in her arms and knees brought up to her chest. She stifled her screams into the pillow. That her father and brother willingly participated in the barbaric ritual chilled her to the bone; could she ever look at them again without seeing the looks of hatred on their faces? Her heart beat madly in her chest and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. What the men and the priests had done to that poor mage frightened her. If that was what the Chantry did to people, she wanted no part of it.
Maker help anyone living in the village who manifested magical abilities.
A/N: So why didn't Lhi's father condemn her in "Hide Me" to the same fate as the other mage? For one, that man was a runaway apostate; you know the Chantry takes a dim view on them. My thought is that Roddick couldn't kill his own daughter. Let the Maker punish her in the beyond for her magical ways. Even at Kinloch Hold, she would be under the watchful eye of the Chantry and templars. The main goal here was to establish that there are fanatical Andrastians in Thedas with beliefs that may not be within the mainstream of the Chantry's doctrine.
I had a great brainstorming session with Gene Dark a few weeks ago. During that session, she mentioned that she would like to see more on Lhiannon's tub thumping parents. This is what the muse whispered to me. Now we see where Lhi's trepidation with the templars and the Chantry comes from.
Thanks for your help and awesome ideas Gene!