Samira Trevelyan reminded herself that all she had went through to get out of the Ostwick circle was worth it as she fought down the urge to wince, while Keeper Hawan applied the black blood ink to her face. If she so much as grimaced at the pain of the needle poking into the delicate skin, Hawan would see it as a sign of weakness and automatically fail her. If she failed now, all her hard work over the last few years would have been for nothing. To distract herself, she recounted her own history in her mind of how she came to be where she was now.
Suffering five years of the most boring prison ever was more than enough for her to take. Samira counted herself lucky in some ways though; she discovered her affinity for magic at the age of eight, and while joining the Circle of Magi was a better option than eventually having to join the Chantry (as her family had made clear at a young age, since she was Bann Trevelyan's youngest), both ideas left a sour taste in her mouth.
She had a noble upbringing, and along with that came an education on how Thedas worked. Even as a child, Samira was well aware of how mages were treated, so she knew she would have to hide her magic for as long as possible to avoid being sent off.
That worked for about five years, until father walked in on me healing a cut I had suffered.
Although her family was somewhat sympathetic, they gave her no choice in the manner; they even chastised her for hiding her abilities for so long! Samira learned how to guard herself from then on, as losing control was about to irrevocably change her life forever. Shortly after her thirteenth birthday, they came for her. Her parents were stoic as always, reminding her to honor House Trevelyan and do as she was told.
I wanted to resent them, but I couldn't. Instead, I just felt empty. Like there wasn't any more attachment to my family. Besides, it's not like they ever acted like they cared that much. That was always reserved for the precious eldest. Forget them! I don't care anyways.
After that, Samira had five more years to plan some way to freedom when she came of age at eighteen. She didn't want to have to go through a Harrowing; she wasn't sure what scared her more, the possibility of being made Tranquil if she failed it, or the possibility of becoming possessed by a demon while in the Fade. Through those years, she studied and learned, showing exceptional restraint and control that impressed her mentor, but that did not dispel the worry Samira felt loomed over her shoulder.
While most mages are consigned to their fate, I wasn't. Living the rest of my life like this because some mages can't control themselves and the greater good was more a priority was unacceptable to me. I hate being tied down.
Samira thanked the Maker when her plan had finally come to fruition. One of the servants daughters she had grown up with was a Dalish elf and had ties to clans that were still remaining in the Dales. It took time, but her friend convinced the Keeper of a clan in the Exalted Plains to take her in as an apprentice. The only thing that was holding her back was safely leaving the Circle. Samira pulled a lot of strings, and at long last, just as her eighteenth birthday was not far off, she was able to transfer. The templar in charge of her circle reminded her they still had her phylactery, so becoming an Apostate would prove futile if she was trying to run away.
Oh, I'm definitely running away. I'm just getting away with it on a technicality!
Samira couldn't help but muse to herself as she rode her horse alongside an accompanying Templar. It was 9:33 Dragon, two years after the Hero defeated the Blight, four years before the mage rebellion in Kirkwall would inspire the start of a bloody revolution. In those four years Samira spent with the Dalish, it was not easy. They treated her like a typical 'shem' but still accepted her more than they would any other outsider.
I've had to work hard to prove myself, not only as a mage, but as an experiment of goodwill between two totally different races.
Eight years in with the clan (by 9:41, the circles were basically nonexistent, leading Samira with mixed feelings if it was safe to finally go out on her own) Keeper Hawan surprised Samira; apparently being impressed by her loyalty to the clan, she was to be elevated and no longer looked at as a 'shem'. Samira privately surmised that this would help distance herself from the mage rebellion that was all out war with the Templars.
"I like to think my wit and charm is what got me to this point!" Samira joked to Hawan, who always acted like being a sour pus was a job requirement as Keeper.
Since she was not of the Elvhen by birth, Hawan gave her a human version of blood writing, as he did not believe he could compromise on that, so it was not a direct translation. The Vallaslin were used not only as a coming of age, but to pay homage to certain Elven gods.
"Keeper, you haven't told me who I'm paying homage to yet." Samira calmly said once she pulled herself back to reality in the present.
"I suppose since I am nearly done I can tell you now. Which one do you think it is?" The Keeper asked as he made his finishing touches to her face.
"I rather like Falon'Din. If I'm ever in a pinch, being a friend of the dead has its virtues." Samira had a healthy respect for the dead; she didn't have many friends in this life, so she found some comforts in the spirits of the dead for some reason.
"Interesting. With all the flirting you've done with the village boys, I would have had you pegged for the Goddess of love, Mythal." Hawen started to clean up and beckoned for his second to bring him a mirror.
"Oh, you definitely know me too well, Keeper! Alas, I don't think I could do the All-Mother justice." Samira rose from her seat, sore from sitting for so long and ran her fingers through her cropped raven hair.
"Look for yourself, Samira." He held a mirror up to her, and it took a moment for her to guess who the tattoo was dedicated to.
"Is this Sylaise?" She brought a finger to delicately trace over the ink.
It was shaped like half a circle that started from the upper right corner of her right eye, sloping under and to the left corner of the same eye. The other side of the ink broke off there and finished at the start of her left eyebrow. Parts of the ink had lines that broke off downwards, reminding Samira of rays of light.
"The Goddess that brought us fire. Does it not fit?" He asked, although Samira knew that it wasn't up to her as custom but still appreciated the inquiry.
"It's perfect. I can't express how honored I am to receive this, Keeper." Samira's voice was full of gratitude for everything he had done for her.
"I have heard news of the Divine holding a peace summit between the mages and templars very soon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I know you are of noble birth, it may be wise to go."
"Am I going as an emissary of House Trevelyan, or as a spy for the Dalish?"
"My dear, that is for you to decide. I have learned from you many things and I don't consider you in any debt to this clan, but know this: you will always be welcome here." Hawan crossed his arms as he always did, looking like a stone statue.
"You know, one day I'm buying you a drink!" She swung an arm around him, not caring how awkward he always was when she displayed her boisterous affections.
"Perhaps after you return from the conclave, my dear." He patted her hand, then retreated to check in with Ithiren about how the Halla's were doing.
This made her think of her horse, named Raven for the color of her coat. She walked over to the black beauty and began brushing her, deep in thought.
I'm twenty-six years old now and finally getting true freedom. Living in the Dales away from the sheltered life of my family and circle was a freedom to breathe fresh air, but I still haven't done anything with my life. After this, my life finally begins. I suppose I should start preparing us for this trip, it's going to be long and this conclave probably even longer and boring.
She had no idea how wrong she would be.