9:36 Dragon, Harvestmere
Chapter 1The leaves are turning from green to golds, reds, and oranges, and the air is cooling as the year flows gracefully from summer to autumn. I'm riding in a carriage currently, relaxing against the cushioned seat within as I gaze at the countryside slowly rolling past. Every year, Ostwick holds a harvest ball, and my family is always invited, as are the other noble families in this portion of the Free Marches. Thankfully, Ostwick's chantry has a relaxed policy when it comes to family visits, so I'm allowed to leave the circle and attend. In the company of at least two templars, of course.
I am a mage, and I came into my magic very young, at around five or six. For a long time I thought that little fairies were what made my dolls float and dance, but it was just me, wishing it to be so. Luckily I didn't cause any harm with my nascent powers, and I was delivered that year to Ostwick's circle of magi. For a lot of gifted children, the transition from home to a circle is scary – many circles are like a prison, institutional, antiseptic, and oppressive. Ostwick wasn't like that at all, plus many of my relatives had taken it upon themselves to join the templar order and serve locally. I was lucky – friendly and familiar faces were waiting for me there, and whenever I erred, my reprimands were always gentle. My childhood, though cloistered, was a happy one.
There isn't much more to say about the years between then and now, really. I made friends with the other children, and when I was older, I befriended some of the templars, though of course they had to maintain a professional distance. Despite that, it wasn't difficult to see how at least one of them, a noble young recruit, watched me with innocent longing whenever I passed by. His name was Thomas, and I liked him too, but dared not say anything. Maybe it's natural to long for something or someone you know you cannot have, and for me that's a templar. Perverse, I know.
In the spring of this year I underwent my harrowing. I, of course, can't say much about it, but it was a trial laced with temptation and anxiety. In the end I came out of it just fine, and was awarded my ring of study, which I wear even now as I ride this carriage back to my family's estate. The little thing is silver mixed with lyrium and is very pretty, wrapped around my pale, slender finger. Indeed, as I've grown older, my skin has paled, and my hair has darkened. While I used to be a fair-skinned, brown-haired child, now my skin is the color of milk, and my hair has darkened to black. My eyes, formerly brown, have lightened to something near the vibrance of autumn leaves, with golden halos around my pupils. It happens to some mages – our physical appearance can change just a little depending on how much lyrium we take, or how involved we are with our magic. Or perhaps this metamorphosis was always meant to happen. Either way, I think it looks fetching, but I'm feeling somewhat insecure about how the rest of the family will react to it.
Sitting across from me in the carriage is one of my handlers, a templar named Cecilia. While not nobility herself, Cecilia serves at the Ostwick circle, and has often taken assignments to chaperon myself and my other magically-inclined cousins on our trips back home. She's quiet and inoffensive, with short blond hair and brown eyes, and she doesn't look at us like we might burst into flames at any second. The other templar assigned to mind me, who is currently sitting up on the bench with the driver, is Reginald, who I don't care for nearly as much. With his tanned skin, black hair, and dark, sharp features, he almost looks like he was shipped her from Tevinter. He's one of the younger recruits from a noble family that has fallen from their fortunes of late. Rumor has it that unfortunate weaknesses run in their family – inclinations towards fits of anger, impulsiveness, things of that nature. Reginald's father might have maintained their standing if he hadn't risked so much on fool's errands. It's because of this that Reginald gives me a hard time – jealousy, and his position of power over me.
No matter. The harvest ball will be attended by many noble families, and even Reginald will have to be on his best behavior. That, and Cecilia already knows to keep on eye on him. Despite that fact, I nervously turn the ring on my finger as I look out the window. My travel clothes are discrete, meant to look like any other traveling noblewoman. A pair of black suede pants are tucked into my black boots, and a red tunic covers my slender torso. Black lacing keeps it fitted well, and thin, supple black leather gloves keep away the chill this far north. At least when I wear them – now they're resting on my lap. Over all of it is a black wool cloak, heavy and warm, and I keep it pulled up over my hair, which is still long and wavy. I've been meaning to cut it down to something quite short, but haven't quite dared to yet. I do have a staff, a lovely, simply thing with a slender blade at the top, but it would be gauche to bring it to a family party. Of course, the templars in the family bring their weaponry and armor to show it off, but the good people of the Free Marches aren't quite so worried that templars will murder them by turning them to solid ice.
The carriage climbs its way up the lane, and I know that we've just crossed over the boundary of my family's estate. I can smell the apple trees already, and the familiar sounds of the woodland and brook that flows through it makes me smile. Granted, the circle isn't that far away, but I'm not allowed many opportunities to leave it. Each time is very special, and not many of the other mages or apprentices in the circle are given the opportunity to visit their families at all. For their sakes, I try to enjoy my outings as much as I can.
It takes about an hour to travel by carriage from the border of the estate to the main house, and I can already see that many other carriages and carts have been parked and are being unloaded. The manner house that my family lives in would be more rightly called a castle, and it's more than large enough to hold a huge number of guests. Because of this, every year they are the ones to put up visiting guests and far flung branches of the family who would otherwise have to find lodging in a local tavern. Nice as those inns are, it doesn't compare to staying in a castle.
Our carriage pulls up in the courtyard, and I wait for Cecilia to get up and open the door first. We've had this talk before – random passersby may not know me for a mage, but those who do will feel unnerved if I'm leading and my templar handlers follow. It's just not done here, and I don't want to create waves. Not on so festive an occasion. I slip out of the carriage after Cecilia, pulling on my gloves to hide my new ring. Reginald gets down from the top bench and calls over a steward to see to our luggage. I don't mind carrying my own – I pack very light, after all – but again, this is how things are done here are home. In the circle I despise being treated any better than the others, especially by the other mages. I just want to be like them, to earn my rewards through merit and hard work. That's the life I'm used to. This life of nobility and pampering just feels increasingly alien with every passing year.
I don't like how Reginald's barking at the poor steward, a man twice his age. I can tell that the servant is intimidated by Reginald's templar armor and sword, unsure what to do first because his commands conflict. Ultimately I step in and pull down my satchel, running the strap across my torso and resting it on my shoulder. "I'll tend to my own things. Thank you, Reginald. I hope that clears up any confusion." The steward looks relieved, but Reginald just fumes. We're in the middle of countless witnesses, so he can't do much. But he still puts a gauntleted hand on my shoulder, gripping it harder than he needs to.
"Don't test my patience, Sulwyn!" he hisses, his lips far too close to my ear.
"It is inappropriate to harass my family's staff, Sir" I counter calmly, not meeting his eyes. For some templars, eye contact makes them angrier. I can only imagine such a thing results from their lyrium use. Those predisposed to anger only suffer worse from the drug.
His grip tightens for a moment, but then he just scowls and releases me, turning away to go and vent his displeasure on a stable hand. I breathe out slowly, closing my eyes for a moment. Whoever decided to send Reginald along with us... perhaps they had it out for me. His behavior has been getting worse and worse. Hopefully this is his last chance, and if he causes a scene he'll be removed from his placement at the Ostwick circle. One can only hope. Or, conversely, he might behave well. Either way, such a scenario would be a win for me.
Cecilia, in her typical quiet way, gathers my attention and leads me out of the courtyard to my room. I'm always happy at the gesture of it. I'm home so seldom, but even so, this room has always been reserved for my use, stocked with a bed that I like, linens that I like, and furniture that I prefer. I even see the book I had been looking at for the winter solstice gathering I'd been home for – the book mark is still in the same spot. While I dither, Cecilia excuses herself to see to her own quarters and Reginald's, and informs me that so long as I stay within the house, I don't have to inform her of my location. If I want to leave the house, I'll need her to accompany me. It's a touch oppressive, I know, but for a circle mage it's extremely lenient.
The interior of the house is warmer than the outside, at least because the stone walls keep the wind away, so I leave my cloak in my room and walk down the familiar hallways and stairwells down to the kitchen. I have someone I need to see, after all.
My Nan, the nurse who'd helped raise all of us children, now spends her days helping in the kitchen. She enjoys baking, but what she enjoys more is watching others work while she knits with a cat in her lap. And that's where I find her, in her typical sunny corner, a cup of tea on a small table nearby, and an orange tabby cat fast asleep on the window sill. Despite her need for glasses, she spots me right away.
"Sulwyn! My tiny Sulwyn!" By the time she creakily gets to her feet, I've slipped past the other busy workers to give her a warm hug.
"Hello Nan! How are you feeling? Well?" This close, I notice a few more wrinkles by her eyes, and her snowy hair is just a touch thinner, pulled up into a bun like it is. That makes me sad, but I don't let it show in my face.
Her gnarled hand pats my arm, and she just smiles. "The same – well enough, my dear. How are you? I've heard that you've passed your test."
I nod, beaming like a little child. "Yes, Nan. I'm a true mage, now."
Nan lowers her voice and looks at me seriously. "Does that make you happy, Sulwyn?" All I can do is nod. It's so complicated – within the narrow confines of a mage's future, passing the Harrowing is one of the best things that can happen to us. Nan's expression softens, and she pats my arm again. "I'm so glad for you, my dear. I was thinking perhaps you would be bringing me good news, so I made some cherry tarts, just for you."
She gestures to a cooling rack by a window, where I see several small tarts steaming on a tray. I also notice one of the kitchen elves just shaking her head, smiling a little as Nan takes credit for her work. I'll be sure to give the girl a nice word when I get a chance. I've always liked the kitchen elves we employ. Their wages and hours and working conditions are far better than what's on offer from other families and establishments, and I think they know that.
I quickly catch up on the gossip from Nan, and then I figure I should probably be a good and decent daughter and see my father. Bann Trevelyan is, as always, in the thick of sorting out the rest of the family. Like any noble house of merit, we have plenty of headaches as well as heroes, and we all rely on the leaders of our families to help sort out these disputes. Despite being busy, he catches sight of me, holding up a hand to ask me to wait. I nod and wander over to one of the tall windows looking out at the grounds. Now and then a little pink nug frolics in the grass – how they'll handle winter I'll never know. Every year I'm surprised the species doesn't die out.
"Sulwyn," I hear at last, and when I turn back to look I can see my father approaching me, leaving the crowd of sulking aristocrats to cool off for a while.
We embrace briefly, and I smile a little, gesturing towards those waiting on him. "The fun starts early this year, I see."
Father just sighs and gestures for us to head out of the main hall to a side corridor where it's quieter. I'm happy to walk along beside him. Being the youngest, and having been sent away at such an early age, I've never spent a lot of time with him. I know him more by reputation than as an actual father.
"You've passed your Harrowing." It's more a statement than anything else.
"Yes, Father. I'm fully a mage now."
He nods as we stroll, our path taking us to the garden. At this time of year most of the plants are closing up and preparing for the snow, but even so, the starkness of the grounds and the little white pebbles of the walkways are pleasant. At long last, Father says uncomfortably "Sulwyn... I'm sorry that you were born with this magical affliction."
Ah, this again.
Like many people in Thedas, my family is terribly wary of mages and magic. Some think it unnatural, though my parents have proven to be at least tolerant, if not utterly welcoming. It's always difficult to know how to respond to that. He really is sincerely sorry about the state of things – that I had to be sent away when my siblings could be raised like normal children and not potential criminals. "Father, it's not your fault, or mother's fault. Some people are just born like this, and I'm grateful that our family had the means to assure I was cared for and educated and kept safe." That's the canned response I've developed through the years. It's about as inoffensive as I can get on the matter.
Still, it doesn't seem to suit him. "You're still young, Sulwyn. You deserve a life, a chance to be married and have children if you want them. I can't see you being allowed that in the circle."
My arms fold over my chest, and I look over at him. "Does this have anything to do with Owen's engagement to that girl from Nevarra?" Father's non-committal shrug means that yes, it is. "Father, Owen is ten years older than I am, and your first child. Of course that sort of thing will make you think of the rest of us."
His eyebrows lift, and he looks out past the iron gates of the garden to the rolling fields beyond. "Yes, I know. And I even believe that Owen will be happy with her. Bronwyn and Bran are both doing well in their templar training and seem happy. And Evan's studies in Antiva are going well."
So I'd heard. Evan and I are six years apart in age, but even so I feel closer to him than anyone. He's my second oldest brother, and I know that father has hopes for him to continue the family line if anything happens to Owen. Given some of the private talks I've had with Evan, however, I'm not sure his heart would be in it. He hasn't made it an openly-known fact that he prefers the company of other men, but he's told me in not so many words. I think it helps for him to have told someone, and the fact that we're both different, at least in terms of our family's expectations, has helped us to grow closer, despite the distance.
Father rubs at his well-trimmed gray-streaked beard and smiles a little. "I suppose I just worry that you feel forgotten. Because you were sent to the circle so young, you might think we're ashamed of you."
Yes, I worry about that all the time, but my expression is well-schooled, and I casually respond with "Are you, Father?"
He approaches, shaking his head. His large hands rest on my narrow shoulders, and he pulls me into an affectionate hug. "No, my little girl. I love you very much."
I admit that as I embrace him back, I hug him tightly, tense with relief. Never have I wanted to make it a big deal, but I've been needing to hear that. "Thank you, Father" I mumble into his shoulder.
The hug is parted as he pushes me away gently, and he pats my arms. "And you've passed your Harrowing! I read the report from the circle – your superiors are all very impressed with you, Sulwyn. An exemplary student, that's what they all say of you. Your achievements there make me very proud."
My cheeks feel warm. "Thank you, Father. It's very important to me to do well and set a good example for the other apprentices."
His expression softens, and he asks "and you have friends there? You're happy?"
I give him a reassuring look. "Yes, Father. I have quite a few friends. And I even tutor some of the younger apprentices. Feeling included is important at our circle. We... receive reports from time to time about what's happening in Kirkwall. How the mages are treated there is terrifying, but luckily the templars that watch over us in Ostwick are far kinder, and see us as people." To alleviate his guilt, I say softly "I'm well-looked after, Father. I don't expect I'd be cared for any better in the Chantry, which was probably going to be my first destination, had I not made my little dolls dance."
That seems to put him at ease and he nods with a smile, and we continue our walk along the paths. We discuss what's happening in Kirkwall these days, and how after the Qunari invaders killed the Viscount two years ago, the city has been under templar rule. With all of Thedas recovering from the blight, tensions have been high everywhere. It's difficult to face what might be the end of the world, then come out the other side and know what to do. It forces everyone to re-evaluate their lives, and traditions that were previously good enough suddenly aren't. Privately, that's what I think is happening with the circle mages. Of course, if other circles are anything like Kirkwall, and mine is one of the blessed exceptions, I can understand why there has been unrest.
What this all means for Ostwick itself is hard to tell. With tensions in Kirkwall rising, and that city being one of the primary landings of trade from Ferelden, scarcity might take hold if that city falls to pieces. War might break out, depending on who allies with whom. I can understand father's worrying – there's so very little keeping the Free Marches together as it is, without all of these other dark clouds looming overhead. There's not a lot of guidance I can offer him, being only 16 and a cloistered mage, but I like to think that it's a relief for him to discuss things like this with me. For the last two years he's treated me like an adult, wanting to make sure that I'm as grounded as his other children. I appreciate that, and always enjoy our talks, seldom as they might be.