Chapter 1

Haring, 9:20 Dragon

Winter had come to the Free Marches.

The city of Kirkwall sat beneath steely grey clouds that threatened to add to the blanket that already covered the ground. The streets were vacant, no one daring to venture outside, save the unfortunate merchant's assistant who had forgotten to lock the stall and the pious few who trudged their way through knee-deep snow to attend morning services at the Chantry. The Rest of the city took shelter indoors; those in Lowtown huddled around their hearths or warming themselves with cheap whiskey at the Hanged Man, while the nobles of Hightown barricaded themselves inside of their manors, a fire roaring in every available room.

It was in one such estate that Miora Amell sat, gazing out of the window of the Amell estate's study. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and glanced over at the clock in the corner of the room, groaning softly when she saw that it was only part way through the eleventh hour.

"Miora, are you done with those lines yet?" snapped a voice from across the room

"No Sister Beatrice," Miora replied, "but I'm almost done."

"Well hurry along then. We still have to cover arithmetic, and if we do not get to it by the end of this hour then you will have extra problems next week."

Miora glared at the back of the woman's head before looking down at her paper. The parchment was covered in her awkward scrawl, barely legible lines copied from the Canticle of Transfigurations, and she had to squint to even be able to make out a few bits and pieces. Dipping her quill in the inkpot, she glanced over at the copy of the Chant lying open beside her.

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever.

But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world,

And boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's laws and creations,

She shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."

"Miora!"

Sister Beatrice's voice sounded in her ear and she sent the inkwell at her elbow falling over. Dark ink seeped across the desk soaking her lines as well as the Chant of Light, the pages of the old tome absorbing the ink. Before she could make a move to clean up the mess, a sharp pain hit her as the back of her head was introduced to Sister Beatrice's measuring stick.

"Stupid girl," the priestess ranted, grabbing the ruined book off of the desk, "do you have any idea how long this copy of the Chant has been in your family? It was given to your great-great grandfather's father on his son's naming day, and now you've ruined it!"

"I-I didn't mean to," Miora argued, eyes watering, "you scared me and my arm slipped!"

"Honestly, it was bound to happen," Beatrice scoffed, "you never pay any attention to anything going on around you."

"But-"

"Just wait until your mother hears about this. I wouldn't blame her if she has you locked in your quarters until you can act like a functioning person-"

"It was a MISTAKE!"

Suddenly, Sister Beatrice let out an earsplitting scream before throwing the Chant away from her. Miora watched as flames devoured the tome, astonished as the pages turned to ash before her very eyes.

"You!" Sister Beatrice exclaimed, her features twisted in rage, "you would dare attack one of the Maker's servants, burn the Chant to cinders!"

"I didn't do anything-"

She was interrupted with a fist to the face, sending her to the floor.

"Silence Mage! I shall not listen to your lies." Beatrice hissed, grabbing one of the candlesticks off of the mantle

Miora looked up just in time to see the candlestick coming down before a horrible pain exploded in her head and she was plunged into darkness.

Miora awoke to something scurrying over her legs. A large furry something. She screamed, shooting to her feet and sending the creature flying a few feet away from her. The rat hissed before vanishing into a hole in the wall. Catching her breath, Miora looked around and managed to make out a few barrels in the dim lighting, as well as a few sacks of what seemed to be grain. She ran her hands along the walls, jerking away when she realized that they were covered in a thin and wet coating of sludge. She was in the cellar, though she could not remember how she got there. The last thing she remembered was Sister Beatrice coming at her with the candlestick. She winced as the pain in her head pulsated, and she sunk to the floor.

After the pain had subsided, she made her way over to the cellar door and pushed against it, only to find it barred from the outside. Growing panicked, she threw herself against the door over and over before crumbling to the floor in a sobbing heap.

Where is Mother? She thought, pulling her knees to her chest, she must be wondering where I am by now.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that it had been hours since breakfast. Around now, she would be bothering the kitchen Elves for sweets, keeping on until they rewarded her persistence with a piece of pumpkin bread and milk.

She was pulled from her thoughts of food by noise outside of the door. The door to the cellar opened and there stood her mother as well as her cousin Leandra, her uncle Aristide and a group of guardsmen.

"Mother!"

Miora launched herself forward; only to be propelled backwards with so much force that she would have fallen had Leandra not reached out to steady her.

"Revka!" Leandra exclaimed, "How could you? She's still your daughter-"

"She is no child of mine," Revka replied icily, " this mage is an affront to the Maker. My daughter died the moment that book burst into flames. The only reason I'm here instead of with my children, is because we can't keep it in the cellar forever."

"Cousin, you cannot be serious-"

"Enough!" Aristide interrupted, glaring at the two women before turning his gaze on Miora, "Child, can you tell me what happened this morning, during your lessons?"

"Well…I was writing my lines, and I accidently spilled some ink. But only because sister Beatrice startled me! And then ink got all over the Chant of light and she started yelling at me and she hit me in the back of the head!" Miora felt her face flushed with anger at the injustice of earlier, "She just kept yelling and yelling, even though I said I was sorry a million times. Then…Then the Chant got caught on fire. I don't know how, but it did. Sister Beatrice got really mad and hit me in the head with a candlestick. I- fell asleep, I guess, because I woke up in the cellar. And a rat ran over my legs!"

Aristide sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "That's what I thought."

He knelt down so that his eyes were level with hers before continuing, "Do you know why the book burst into flames?"

"I said I don't-"

"And I believe your child, but I will tell why it did. You are a mage, Miora. Do you know what that means?"

Miora stared at him, her eyes growing wide. A mage? Her? That couldn't be right. Mages were not eleven-year-old girls, they were evil blood mages who summoned demons and killed people. She couldn't be a mage.

"No, I'm not." She said, glaring at her uncle, "there's no way I could be. I'm good."

He sighed again, shaking his head, "I know you are Miora. Now, how about you go up to your room while your mother, Leandra and I talk hm?" he glanced over at the guards, "please escort my grand-niece to her room. Oh, and get her a cup of warm milk and some of that nut bread she's so fond of."

Leandra waited until the guardsmen had led Miora away before rounding on Revka.

"Maker's breath Cousin," Leandra swore, "What has that woman been teaching her?"

"The truth, Leandra." Revka replied

"She is a child! Your child, and you are perfectly alright with her being locked away for the rest of her days and believing that she is cursed by the Maker?"

"It's for her own good, Leandra." Aristide interjected, "As well as for the good of the public. She needs training and the mage Circle is the only place for her to get it. As for believing herself cursed, that is sure to pass in time. Miora is a smart girl, she will see that whether her magic is a gift or curse depends upon her."

"I still do not see how you could do it. I would never allow my child to be taken from me. By the Circle especially, Revka, don't you know what goes on in the Gallows? The Templars are known to do awful things to the mages, the female mages in particular. Is that what you want for your daughter?"

"Those are vicious rumors and you know it, Leandra," Revka snapped, "the Templars do their duty to the Maker by keeping the mages in check. They would never forsake their vows to lie with one."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now," Leandra hissed, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "how can you be so blind?"

"Leandra," Aristide put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, "please calm down."

"Father please, you cannot let her be taken there. I understand that she must be trained, but can she go to a circle outside of Kirkwall? Surely, you could speak with the Knight-Commander and ask for her to be sent elsewhere?"

Aristide looked down at his daughter and then over at his niece, "What do you think Revka? Miora is your daughter, after all."

"I do not care where she is sent, so long as she is out of here." Revka said, turning to leave, "now, if you will excuse me, I must tend to my children."

Leandra watched her go, holding back the urge to drag her back by her hair. Taking a deep breath, she turned to her father.

"So, will you do it?"

He nodded, "I shall speak to the Knight-Commander in the morning. Pray that he is in a listening mood."