Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins and Dragon Age II belong to Bioware. This is a piece of fanfiction and the author makes, nor intends to make, profit from it.
Note: This story contains dark and mature elements including injustice, implied rape, and situational sexuality.
"Don't go too far, Da'len!" The Keeper called after her, and the six-year-old Dalish redhead turned back to give her a playful red-eye before running off. There was a human village nearby, and Myfanwy wanted to see how the shemlen lived. She wondered if it was true that they lived in little mud-and-wood huts that never moved, and that they kept tame wolves instead of halla.
Behind her, the Keeper just chuckled to herself. That girl was going to be trouble, some day, she knew.
Myfanwy ran through the woods, leaving not a trail. It wasn't far to where the shemlen made camp. Did shemlen children have to stay inside all day with silly books? Or was that only the really stuck up ones?
Half an hour later, she creeped into the village. It looked dull. Everything was brown or beige, there was no colour anywhere. Grim-faced shemlen wandered around apparently aimlessly. Some of them wore armour, and talked a lot. Maybe it was true about the children staying inside... or maybe not. She grinned as she saw a group of boys playing with one of those massive wolves the shems kept as pets.
"What are you playing?" She asked them, startling the closest. He looked even stranger up close, with a bloated face and little eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" He growled, and she twitched back.
"It's a knife-ear." One of the others realised.
"Don't be stupid, Clark, there aint no knife-ears in Bogend." A third commented. "She musta come from somewhere else."
"You reckon she's Dalish then?" The first asked.
"Probably. Dad says the Dalish are a bunch of thieves and murderers." The second, Clark, pointed out. "Wonder what she stole."
"I didn't-" Myfanwy started to realise she might have made a mistake.
"Yeah, Dalish, what'd you steal? Anything good?" The third jeered, moving closer. Myfanwy's nerve broke, and she ran from the three eight-year-olds and their heavy-set wolf.
She ran straight into the legs of a Templar.
"What's going on here?" He asked, looking at the boys. "Are you alright, child?" He asked Myfanwy. She shook her head, swallowing, and he glowered at them.
"Chasing a little girl around, and you call yourselves men?" He admonished the locals. His accent wasn't the same as theirs. Myfanwy realised he must have been a traveller.
"She's a thief!" One of the boys accused.
"What did she steal?" The Templar asked.
"She's a n'elf, she musta stole something!"Clark pointed out.
"I didn't steal anything!" Myfanwy yelled at him, losing her temper. She was as surprised as the rest of them when blood started running from his ears, wild magic reaching out at her untrained whim to burst his eardrums.
"Regardless, little one, I think you're going to have to come with me." The Templar told her, gravely. "My name is Greagoir. Where do your parents live, child?"
"I- did I do that?" Myfanwy asked, looking up at him. "I... don't have parents. Shems killed them last year..."
"I see. Will you take me to where you've been staying?" Greagoir asked, but was unsurprised when she shook her head. For Myfanwy's part, she knew she mustn't lead the Templars back to the camp. Not knowing this, Greagoir jumped to the only conclusion he could – that she was living wild. He started making plans to take her back to Kinloch Hold in his head, even as he took her back to the Templars' camp. By the time Myfanwy had realised what was happening, it was already too late to escape.
"Myfanwy, where are you?" She could hear Enchanter Leorah calling, but the twelve-year-old elf-maid didn't respond. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed, after all, but she'd found that a little effort could get her on top of the stacks in the ground floor library. As long as she stayed in the corner against the walls it was stable enough, and she'd built a nice little nest for herself.
Myfanwy loved to read. Myfanwy especially loved to read about advanced Primal spell manipulations. The magic itself was far beyond her, she knew that, but it was still interesting to read about. She knew the Enchanter would be mad when she found her, and knew that she had to give herself up soon or the Templars would get involved, but she just wanted to finish the section she was reading. Really.
"Myfanwy, I know you're in here. Come out where I can see you, or I'll be calling ser Carroll, and you'll get your library rites revoked." Leorah called again, and she knew her time was up. With a sigh, she bookmarked her place and hid the tome – 'Thunder and Stone, The Unknown Synergy' – in a crack in the stonework and jumped across to the ladder on the opposite shelf, before sliding down.
"I'm in here, Enchanter." She called back, her Dalish lilt quite unlike Leorah's circle-born accent. Leorah had a face like a thundercloud, and wasted no time coming round the corner and putting her hands on her hips.
"Myfanwy, what have you been told about sneaking out after curfew?" The older elf admonished, not expecting an answer. "Come on, back upstairs. It's time for bed."
"Yes, Enchanter..." Myfanwy sighed. She was already twelve, she wasn't a little kid any more. "Right away, Enchanter."
"And none of that lip, young lady." Leorah told her, sharply, leaving her grumbling. It just wasn't fair! "You know it's for your own good. Over-tired mages are sloppy mages."
"And sloppy mages are dangerous mages," the child sighed, leaving off the implication as was custom. "Sorry, Enchanter. I won't get caught out of bed again."
"See that you do not." Leorah told her, seeing her back to the apprentice dormitories and locking the door behind her.
"Did you hear about Jowan?" Amell, one of the other apprentices, hissed to Myfanwy at breakfast one morning.
"No, what?" The fifteen-year-old elf replied, blinking at her human friend.
"He duped Surana and went Apostate! I overheard the Templars, they reckon he's gone blood mage!" Amell told her.
"No way." She squeaked. "Wasn't he completely gaga over Sister Lily? Why would he go rogue?"
"I heard they decided to run off together." Evelina commented, sitting near the younger apprentices. "Things went wrong. Oh, Myfanwy. Senior Enchanter Leorah was looking for you earlier. She asked me to pass along a message – you're to report to the First Enchanter after breakfast."
"Did she say why?" Myfanwy asked, blinking at her.
"Nope." She shook her head. "I got a pretty good idea, though." She winked, conspiratorially.
"Harrowing?" Amell asked, a little more loudly than was wise, and everyone on the table looked at the human. "Um... sorry."
The other mages muttered among themselves as they looked away from the young human.
"You think it might be.. that time? For me?" Myfanwy asked, quietly. Evelina nodded.
"Could be. You're way ahead in your studies, its getting to the point where they have to make a choice." She explained.
"I understand." Myfanwy nodded. "No way would I ever choose Tranquillity... so. What happens?"
"You know I can't talk about that." Evelina sighed. "Stop pushing. You'll find out soon enough."
"But I don't want to wait and see!" Myfanwy pouted. "I want to know now."
"Your curiosity will be the end of you." Amell muttered, darkly. "Maybe the end of us all."
"Thanks a lot." The elf whined. "I'm done. I'll see you all later." She told them, standing. She returned her tray to the racks then went to change into her formal robes to talk to Irving. It was a long walk, by Tower standards, from the Apprentice dorms on the second floor to Irving's office just beneath the Harrowing Chamber, and she was so tense from anticipation she barely noticed Cullen standing outside his office with a carefully neutral expression on his face.
There wasn't always a Templar on duty there, though, so it was worth noting. Myfanwy lifted her hand to knock on the First Enchanter's door, but it opened before she could touch it. First Enchanter tricks.
"Come in." He invited her with a smile. "You've probably guessed what this is about." He didn't stand, inviting her to sit in the plush chair opposite his desk. Myfanwy entered, closing the door behind her before sitting down.
"Is it... time for the Harrowing, First Enchanter?" She asked, cautiously.
"Indeed. I know you're a little young, but your progress is remarkable. You must be one of the great talents of your generation. Or perhaps it's just dedication, hmm?" He gave her a knowing look, and the elf blushed slightly. Of course he knew about her continued curfew-breaking. He was First Enchanter.
"I'd rather be knowledgeable than talented, First Enchanter." She replied, leaving the admission of guilt implicit.
"An enlightened stance." He nodded with a smile. "Well. I think I already know your answer, but I have to ask anyway. The Harrowing will send you into the Fade to face a demon. You will be armed with naught but your own will. If you are to continue to practice magic, you must do this. The other option is the Rite of Tranquillity, which will sever you from the Fade. This is your choice, Myfanwy Sahaquiel."
"My will is stronger than my magic, First Enchanter." Myfanwy responded, happily. "I could never give up magic for Tranquillity!"
"I thought as much. Ser Cullen!" Irving raised his voice, and the Templar outside opened the door and stepped inside. "Take Myfanwy to the Harrowing Chamber. I will join you shortly."
"As you command, First Enchanter." The Templar agreed, waiting for Myfanwy to get up and walk in front of him. Irving rose, leaving behind them, and went the other way to find Greagoir.
"So are the rumours true?" Myfanwy asked Cullen as they walked.
"I am not permitted to speak to apprentices." Cullen replied, shortly.
"Come on, not even a little secret?" The elf wheedled, but her guide/guard refused to reply again. He practically frog-marched her up the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber, then joined the other four Templars standing around the lyrium font in the middle of the room. A minute later, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir joined them.
"The Harrowing is a ritual through which all mages must go," Greagoir began. "It is a secret withheld from Apprentices for their own protection. Irving has explained what you must do?" He directed his final question to Myfanwy.
"Magic must serve man, and never rule over him." She replied. "I understand. I am ready."
"No-one is ever ready." Irving murmured, sorrowfully. "But it must be done."
"Do not fear, girl." Greagoir told her with a kind smile. "If you fail, we are here to do what must be." He patted the sword at his side, as though the knowledge that she would be killed were a remeasurement.
"Well, that's a relief." Myfanwy muttered, finally feeling fear through her excitement.
"Approach the font." One of the helmeted Templars ordered, and she obeyed, reaching out to touch the liquid lyrium within. Its glow transferred to her hand, and she felt a moment of pain that forced her eyes closed in a full flinch.
When she opened them again, she stood in the Fade. She focussed her will, and robes formed upon her body, a staff taking shape in her hands. They were the armour of her contempt and the blade of her knowledge. No demon was apparent, and she began walking. She could almost feel the minds of the Templars, so close and yet so distant through the false-space of the dream realm.
"What is it you want?" A soft voice asked her, and she looked around. No-one was there.
"I want to understand." She replied, continuing her brisk pace along the twisting path.
"Then your vice is lust." The voice commented.
"No, her vice is pride." A deeper voice argued. "She knows what is right."
"Her curiosity is insatiable." The first voice whispered. "She belongs to me!"
It began to dawn upon her that she was hearing the whispers of demons fighting over her. The Harrowing had begun.
"I belong to no-one but myself." She told them, and Pride laughed before departing. "I desire no evil. Begone." The first demon cackled, but its presence faded just as opponent's.
"A wise decision." A third voice, slow and lethargic commented. "Nothing worthwhile can come from dealing with those fools. Much better to just rest. Good things come to those who wait."
"Lazy fiend! What have you ever accomplished?" A fourth voice growled. "You're just a slave at the moment, studying magic as if it meant something! What do you think will change if you go back empty-handed. You'll just be a minion of the Templars. A dirty secret to do their dirty work." The demon of Rage snarled like a taunted dog on a leash. "Take my power and we'll show them what Mages are worth!"
"Oh, shut up. So tiresome." The third demon, Sloth, yawned. "Just stay here with me, Myfanwy. Let it all just... fade away. You can never be rid of us. We are aspects of yourself, after all. That's what the Templars don't understand. Demons are just aspects of the humans that spawn them. We are what we are because you make us so."
"Someone's feeling chatty." A fifth voice commented, and this figure showed itself. A golden man, wearing worn clothing. "I am Love. Each of these demons wishes to merge with you. They tempt and ply, but truly all they seek is self-gratification. You have real friends. Go back to your body, Dreamer. This is no place for you."
"Ah, Love. Still preaching that happy-go-lucky idiocy?" Desire returned, appearing as a 'physically developed' Myfanwy, whose skin was covered in writing, wending her way around the golden spirit sinuously. "Magic is our friend, our lover, our inspiration."
"What use has she of lesser mages and cruel Templars?" Pride asked, appearing behind Myfanwy as an elder version of herself, a haughty smirk upon her lips.
"None!" Rage snarled, appearing to her left in the form of a growling beast with Myfanwy's face. "Burn them all. Together we are stronger than they can ever be!"
"I see." Myfanwy murmured, turning to her right. "And what of you? What do you offer me?"
"Meh." Sloth appeared as Myfanwy did now, laying on her back with her head pillowed on her arms. "It's all too much effort for me. Stick around a while, take in the sights."
"Ah." Myfanwy couldn't help but be amused by the lazy demon. "And what of you, Love? Do you not wish to make an offer to me?" She asked, turning to the golden spirit.
"I am no demon. I do not desire to see the other side. If we were to merge as these wish, I would become twisted by your lust, blinded by your pride, and driven by your rage. I would be Love no longer, but Obsession." The golden man shook his head. "Your time is nearly over. You must choose now."
"Very well." Myfanwy nodded, looking at Sloth. "I have no use for sloth. You will hold me back." She told the lounging doppelgänger, and cast it away with the sacrifice of her robes. She turned to Pride. "Arrogance will blind me to knowledge. I have no use for pride. You will hold me back." She cast the demon away with a gesture, sacrificing her staff, and it vanished with a shocked expression. She turned to Rage. "Anger will lead only to damnation. Acceptance will allow my to fulfil my ambitions far better. I have no use for Rage. You will hold me back." She cast the third demon away with her will, before turning to Desire and Love, now standing side by side.
"You have no weapons left with which to fight me." Desire told her, and stepped forward, only to find herself blocked by Love's arm.
"Untempered curiosity will lead me into destruction – of myself, and of my fellows. I have no use for lust. You will hold me back." She told the demon, and Love took the demon into his hands, before both vanished. Myfanwy closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, it wasn't the Harrowing Chamber she looked upon as she had expected. It was her own dormitory – and it was dawn. She had been asleep all day and all of the night.
"Was the whole thing a dream?" She wondered softly. Her eyes fell upon an amulet on her trunk that hadn't been there before. An Enchanter's amulet. She was an Apprentice no longer. "I passed." She smiled, relieved. "Thank the Maker."
"The Darkspawn are almost at Lake Calenhad." Evelina told her, quietly. It was the middle of the night and they sequestered in the bathroom. "We have to go. The Tower can't hold against that many."
"Where will we go? The Templars will declare us Apostate." Myfanwy pointed out. "Don't you remember what happened to Anders?"
"I remember." Evelina scowled. "But we have no choice. We'll go to another circle and ask them to take us in. Kirkwall is closest. They'll send the Phylacteries up and it'll all be fine."
"You're the political one." Myfanwy sighed. "If you really think it's a good idea..."
"Definitely. Everyone's on edge here, and Uldred's making some dangerous waves. I think he might go over the edge any day." The human told her. "Pack what you can. Just one backpack."
"One?" Myfanwy swallowed. She hadn't been outside the Circle since she was caught by Templars when she was six! "What should I take?"
"Change of clothes. Steal some Chanter's robes if you can. You know the Chant almost as well as the Sisters, it'll be safer to pretend we're on Chantry business." Evelina told her. "And Myfanwy? Just one book."
"If the tower falls, the library will be destroyed." She pointed out. "We should save what we can!"
"One book, Myfanwy!" Evelina insisted, and the elfmaid sighed and acquiesced.
"Fine." She grumbled, before sneaking off. She knew she'd have to get supplies for both of them – Evelina was a good mage, but a terrible sneak, unlike the rebellious redhead.
"Ey, you know what they say about Chantry Sisters, eh, Joe?" One of the sailors commented with a smirk, two days out of Amaranthine.
"No?" Joe blinked, cluelessly. "What do they say, Jim?"
"They're all chaste, 'cept when it comes to other Sisters!" Jim smirked. "Whaddya reckon that cutie's hiding under that hooded robe?"
"Ooh..." Joe grinned. "Well, it aint like this lot'll be seeing Kirkwall anyway. May as well give 'er a go! Aint like anyone'll know the difference!"
The sailor-slavers grinned and clasped hands to seal the deal, before going belowdecks to find the young-sounding Sister who was treating so many of their 'passengers' for the various illnesses picked up aboard a cramped refugee ship.
"Can I help you gentlemen with something?" She asked as they approached, standing. Her accent had a slight lilt to it that neither of them recognised, but the Chantry took people from all over.
"Yeah, sure you can, love." Joe smirked. "Come back to the stock room, we need you to check something." He grabbed her hand and led her, startled and stumbling against the roll of the deck, aft. Jim smothered a chuckle and followed, watching her back move through the robes. They concealed a lot, but there was plenty to look at none the less. He shut the hatch behind them as Joe threw her against the back wall.
"Take it off, bitch." He told her, pushing her hood back. "What the?"
"A knife-ear? They don't let knife-ears in the chantry." Jim scowled. "Looks like we got a thief."
"I'm no thief!" Myfanwy replied, hotly.
"Ah, I don't care. Knifeys are tighter anyway." Joe smirked, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her robe off it. "Eh, that's that..?" He wondered when he saw the pendant peeking out from under the robe.
"That's a Circle amulet." Jim stammered. "Shit, Joe, she's a mage!" He backed away, quickly. "Please, miss, we don't mean no harm!"
"A mage? Like shit, she is." Joe smirked. "Everyone knows Circle mages don't leave the tower without a Templar. She musta nicked it."
"I assure you, I did not." Myfanwy pushed at his chest. When he didn't move, she called lightning into her hands, blasting him back into the hatch. The wooden door cracked under the impact. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" She asked, looking at Jim.
"Uh... no, miss." He swallowed. "Please don't turn me into a rabbit. I won't tell no-one, I swear!"
"Good." Myfanwy told him, pulling her hood back up. The ship lurched, suddenly, sending her staggering across the floor. Jim took the opportunity to flee through the damaged door, leaving Joe where he lay. Myfanwy made to follow him, only to pause at the sounds of fighting from above. She couldn't get anywhere with the refugees starting a panic, so calming them down had to be her first priority.
She had just managed to get everyone together and organised when a pair of booted feet set themselves upon the companionway ladder. They were followed by long, tan legs topped by an indecent white tunic.
"Just as I thought." The woman smirked. She was Rivaini, as far as Myfanwy's limited practical geography could tell. "I'm captain Isabella of the Siren's Call. You can just call me 'hero' for rescuing you from Tevinter slavers like this."
"What do you mean we can't get in?" A Fereldan voice was demanding as she approached the city gates from the Gallows' dock. "We paid every penny we had just to get here!"
"Is there a problem here?" Myfanwy asked, making sure her hood was hiding her ears as she approached.
"I'm sorry, Sister, but we've got orders not to allow any more refugees into the city. You'll have to wait on the docks or find another ship." The harried guard told her.
"I understand, but I have business with the Circle." She told him, before showing him her Enchanter's amulet surreptitiously.
"Er..." The guard hesitated. "Present yourself to Templar Thrask." He ordered her, pointing at the next gate along. "He'll direct you."
'Of course,' Myfanwy thought. 'Make it someone else's problem.' She sighed to herself, then nodded. "Thank you." She told the guard, leaving the refugees to argue.
"Can I help you, Sister?" The Templar she had been directed to had red hair a shade more orange than her own, and the beginnings of a beard.
"I am from the Circle in Ferelden, seeking asylum." Myfanwy told him, quietly. "Is there space within your Circle?" She showed him her amulet. He looked quite taken aback.
"I- Um. Yes. Rodrick!" He called over another Templar. "Take this girl to Orsini. Watch her very carefully, she may have been exposed to Apostates during her journey."
"Yes, ser." The other Templar wore his helmet, and saluted Thrask before turning to Myfanwy. "This way, Sister." he spoke gently, guiding her with his arm towards the gates, which opened just enough to allow the two travellers through.
"Myfanwy? Oh, it IS you!" The elf looked up from her studies, blinking at the girl who had just been pushed into her cell.
"Evelina? I'm glad you're okay!" She stood, rushing over to hug the other girl. "What took you so long? I was afraid you hadn't made it. The ship I was on nearly slaved me out to Tevinter, I thought something similar might happened to you."
"I – No, nothing like that. I didn't turn myself in straight away. I picked up some orphans on the way, I had to make sure they were okay." Evelina told her. "They should be safe in Darktown now though."
"What happened to your face?" Myfanwy asked, pulling back to look at her friend. There was a large bruise, with some small cuts, on her temple.
"The Templars decided not to risk me freaking. They knocked me out as soon as they found me." Evelina grimaced. "It was unnecessary, but they do what they feel they must, I suppose."
"This place isn't like the Circle in Fereldan." Myfanwy admitted. "I haven't seen another mage since I was put in here. There are servants who bring all our food, and we're not even allowed out of our rooms without an escort."
"The Templars consider me Apostate." Evelina admitted. "They probably decided the same for you. They must be crowded, though, putting two of us in one room. From what they were saying, it's a special treat." She let Myfanwy lead her over to sit on the single bed.
"Well, I'm glad of it at least. I was getting very lonely." Myfanwy admitted. "They won't even let me have more than one book in here at a time. How am I meant to learn anything without cross-referencing?"
"Don't worry." Evelina smiled, patting her hand. "I'm sure once they've seen we're not Apostates, they'll let us out to mingle with the rest of the mages of the Circle."
"Yeah..." Myfanwy nodded. "It's only been a month. I'm sure things will get better when they've seen they can trust us."
Myfanwy was woken by the sound of the door opening. Eighteen months and the only change was Evelina being moved into another cell as it became available.
"She's in here." A man's voice said – it took her a moment to place it, sleepy as she was. Templar Iwan.
"From Fereldan, you said?" A second voice asked, and she realised with a twinge of fear that it was Cullen – the sulky Templar from the Circle Tower.
"Yes. Pretty one, too." Iwan replied, and the two Templars stepped down into her cell. Cullen lit a torch and moved it to see Myfanwy's face.
"Yes, I know her. Myfanwy. She was always getting into trouble. Still, she passed her Harrowing." Cullen told him.
"Pfft. Harrowing's not worth the paper it's written on." Iwan replied. "Seen enough?"
"Yes. What about the other one?"
"Evelina? You mean Evelina, right?" Myfanwy asked, sitting up and pulling the cover with her.
"You will be silent in the presence of Templars." Iwan told her, sneering, and Myfanwy scowled back.
"Listen here, you ape. I am a Circle Mage, and you have no right to speak to me that way." She told him, standing up. In response, Iwan backhanded her, knocking the nightgown-clad elf to the ground.
"I told you to shut up, knife-ear." He sneered again.
"That was uncalled for." Cullen told him, disapprovingly, before glancing back at Myfanwy, who was picking herself back up. "Go back to bed. I'll let you know how Evelina is when I've seen her."
"Thank you, Templar." She told him with deliberate politeness intended to show the Kirkwall Templar up. She waited for the two men to leave, listening to the heavy bolt sliding home to lock her in again before slipping back into bed and casting a low-powered Healing spell to soothe the already building bruise on her cheek. No library. No Evelina. Poor food. She was starting to wish she really had gone Apostate.
Closing her eyes, Myfanwy rolled over, drawing the blanket around herself for comfort and protection.
"Wake up, Apostate." A man shook the elf-maid roughly. She opened her grey eyes to blink at the sneering face of Templar Iwan. "It's time for you to earn your stay."
"It's the middle of the night..." She objected., and he cuffed her for her trouble.
"Think I care?" He hauled her out of bed bodily. After two years of bad nutrition and no exercise in Kirkwall, after six months on the run and travelling, there was very little meat left on Myfanwy's already slight frame. "Now you be a good little girl and we won't have to do anything regrettable, yeah?"
"What do you mean?" She asked, frightened by his size as much as his Templar magic-resistance.
"If you don't behave and follow the rules, you get punished. That's how it works. Evil, disobedient Mages get punished. Isn't that how it's meant to be?" Iwan told her, roughly.
"Maleficar, y-yes, but I'm not-"
"You're Apostate. You ran away from the Circle. We took you in, but you're still just the same troublemaker." He shoved her down onto her knees. "Now, get to work. Maybe if you impress me, I'll let you have some Lyrium."
"What? I don't understand!" Myfanwy looked up at him, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. When he started undoing his breeches, she recoiled from him, but there was nowhere to go.
"I think you do." Iwan smirked down at her. "Smart girl like you has got to have read about it. Now get sucking!"
With little choice in the matter, and barely an inkling of what the Templar wanted, Myfanwy leaned forwards to obey his commands. Surely things would be different in the morning when she told Watch-knight Karras about this.
"Radagast's Might combined with Tempest and Blizzard create the Storm of the Century." Myfanwy whispered to herself, eyes closed, as she sat on her bed. Her only remaining robe had been torn when Karras had visited her last night, so she hugged her knees close in an attempt to cover herself. "Horror upon Sleep leads to Nightmare." She continued reciting spell combinations to herself.
They'd brought a new girl in yesterday, she'd seen her through the little slit in her door. She was pretty, with black hair and a little red scarf. She looked nice. Myfanwy hoped she wasn't.
Tears leaked unbidden from her eyes as she thought about the black-haired girl, and Evelina. She still saw Evelina sometimes, when a Templar or one of their clients felt adventurous. Myfanwy wondered if she would see the new girl sometimes, too. Probably not for a while. She looked too healthy for the Templars to bother with yet.
There had been a boy – a man, really. A fully accredited Enchanter – who had refused the Templars. He had been strong enough to work, so they took him away. The next time she'd seen him he was there to scrub her clean for a 'special appointment'. Lifeless. Tranquil.
Myfanwy couldn't bear the thought of being made Tranquil. So she accepted. She obeyed, and in her spare time she recited spells and combination.
She barely noticed the door opening. "Crushing Prison and Forcefield create Shockwave."
"Stop that." The Templar commanded, descending into the cell with the clanking of armour. "Get dressed. I'm starting to wonder if Alrik was right about you."
"I'm sorry, ser." Myfanwy stood, incapable of shame. Then she saw who addressed her. "K-knight-Commander Meredith! Please, forgive me, messere. S-ser Karras destroyed my robes to punish my clumsiness last night."
"Hmm. I will have to have a word with him. That is not an approved punishment. Very well." Meredith looked down at the rather pathetic specimen before her, before making her decision. "I do not have time to wait." She told her, before removing her cloak and tossing it at Myfanwy. "Wear that for now." She told her, before turning and marching back up the stairs.
Myfanwy hesitated for only a moment before pulling the cloak on and wrapping it around herself to follow the Knight-Commander towards the commissary.
"Roget, find this girl an enchanter's robe." She glanced at Myfanwy, "Unless you would prefer a Chantry habit?"
"A- a habit... please..." Myfanwy replied, nervously. Was she to be taken outside? Or made Tranquil at last? "M-might I ask... please, messere, what's going on?"
"Ser Cullen tells me you are knowledgeable on the subject of Lyrium." Meredith told her. "I need your help with a... project. Prove sufficient, and it will be your chance to expunge yourself of the taint of your Apostasy." She spoke as though offering a great gift, and Myfanwy was no longer certain that she was not.
"Yes, knight-commander." She replied, managing to put a little smile back into a voice that had done nothing but repeat spells and scream for so many years. It felt fake, even to her, and from her frown it was obvious that Meredith heard it too.
"I trust we will not have any problems? Ser Alrik seemed insistent that I use Tranquil for this, but I need a mage capable of independent thought and intuitive leaps."
"No, messere." Myfanwy shook her head. "No problems." She hesitated. "Does... this mean I won't need to serve the other Templars any more?" She asked in a small voice.
"I'm sure you will be far too busy to run any errands." Meredith told her, sounding slightly confused by the question – or perhaps the tone with which it was delivered. "You will answer only to me, now."
"Thank you, messere." Myfanwy looked up at the tall woman's neck, still knowing better than to dare meet her eyes, feeling pathetically grateful. "I won't disappoint you. I promise."
"Good." The knight-commander seemed genuinely pleased as the Tranquil Roget returned with a Chantry habit – possibly even the same one Myfanwy had worn upon arrival at the Circle – and offered it to the knight-commander. At her direction, he gave it instead to Myfanwy, who pulled the rough robe over her head and settled it into place over her meagre frame, before drawing the hood over her ears to hide her shame. As though her elven heritage were the only shame she bore.
"Follow me. First, we are going to meet a Dwarf named Bartrand. Then we shall see what we shall see, hmm?" Meredith gave her acolyte a smile, and Myfanwy returned it, tentatively, before following her out.
"This is useless." Knight-commander Meredith growled, tossing the blade back onto the workbench. Myfanwy flinched away from the bouncing sword.
"I don't understand, messere." She admitted, trying not to cringe too much. It annoyed Meredith. Things had gotten a little better in the last six months, but the knight-commander was mercurial where her underlings had been reliably cruel. It was a relief to no longer be required to service the Templars directly, and the knight-commander had, in fact, never touched her. "The lyrium is laced through the blade. Any more and the steel would be too greatly weakened..."
It was making Myfanwy more and more nervous as she waited for the hammer to drop – for the knight-commander to tire of her failures, or to decide that she was more useful in a cell than at a workbench. Or, worse, that her failures were due to not being able to work directly with the liquid Lyrium they were attempting to alloy the metal from the idol with to make it workable. Only Tranquillity would solve that.
"Perhaps it is the iron that is weak." Meredith mused, sitting on the edge of the work bench with a sigh. She was in her arming coat, bereft of her Templar's plate as she usually was in her own quarters. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't blame you. Your designs are good. That sword is as good as any with a Celerity rune, and we didn't have to go to the dwarves to get it. It's just not-" She stopped, growling in frustration.
"It's not the sword you need, messere." Myfanwy finished, understanding. She turned to look where the knight-commander's gaze led, towards the idol that sat in its transparent, lead crystal case. A sixth of the idol was already gone, used in the three prototype blades that rested against the wall in a row and the latest attempt, sitting on Myfanwy's workbench. "Maybe..." She hesitated, uncertain of what she was about to suggest.
"Go ahead." the knight-cmomander told her, smiling slightly.
"What if it's the Lyrium we're using that's the problem? The processed stuff isn't anywhere near as potent as the material of the idol. Maybe we're over-diluting it." The elf-maid suggested. "It would take everything we have left... but what if we forged the blade from the idol itself?"
"It would have to be big." Meredith frowned. "That stuff doesn't weigh much."
"Let me draw up a design, at least." Myfanwy smiled at her mistress. This was the biggest change. She was finally researching again.
"Very well." Meredith nodded, standing. "I will be in the almsroom if you require me." She started towards the door, then paused and looked back. "Oh, and Myfanwy. I know that little cell you're in at the moment can get draughty at night. You spend most nights in the workshop here in any case. There is a servant's bunk in the small room off my receiving area. It's unoccupied since my armourer was killed by an apostate. You're welcome to it, if you wish." She smiled, then left.
Myfanwy felt a fist clutch at her heart, and knew that once again it was going to be time to pay for the privilege of living in the Gallows. Somehow, with the knight-commander, who had pulled her free of the hell that was the apostate quarters... it didn't seem so bad to service a true hero. Somehow, she knew that the knight-commander didn't know what happened in the cells. Something told her that she was just too pure to understand what Myfanwy and the others had gone through, or she would have stopped it.
That night, she waited in the knight-commander's bed, clad as she was when they first met. If the knight-commander was surprised to see her there, she gave no indication of it, and welcomed her efforts with pleasure.
"I don't understand." Myfanwy growled to herself. "I'm so very close... why won't it work?" She glared at the stubborn hunk of pure lyrium before her. It refused to allow itself to be worked, even after three months of attempting to shape the idol itself. She knew there was a way to find out, though – she just wasn't sure if she was willing to take the step, even for Meredith.
Closing her eyes, she resigned herself. Of course she was willing. Meredith was so good to her. She owed her so much... it was just a case of when. She would need to get up to the Harrowing chamber and use the lyrium font to fadewalk. There she would be able to get her answers. The spirits of the Fade knew many things, surely this would be amongst them.
Myfanwy smiled to herself. She would make Meredith's sword, and it would be everything she wanted. It wasn't a matter of the joys of research any more, or even of the gratitude she held for her freedom. It was because an amazing Templar required an amazing sword, and Myfanwy couldn't bear the thought of letting her beloved mistress down.
"Myfanwy?" The knight-commander called out as she returned to her quarters. They were unusually quiet, and the workroom was dark.
"I'm in here." Her artificer called back, and Meredith followed the voice to her living quarters. She did not really know why the girl had come to bed her two years ago, and she certainly wasn't sure why she had let her stay. She hadn't had cause to regret it, however. The initial edge of nervousness in the girl's action had faded into familiarity, though what she was scared of was as much a mystery to Meredith as her motivations. She thought of the elf with a fondness that surprised even her, and squashed the feeling ruthlessly. It would do no-one any good if she began sympathising with the mages. When the sword was finished, she would return Myfanwy to the Circle proper. That was it.
To say that she was surprised when she entered her bedchamber would have been understatement. Her elven companion was kneeling on the hardwood in front of the bed, a massive, two-handed sword sitting across her bare knees. She was naked, but her skin was etched with small characters. The tip of the lyrium blade was still wet with blood.
"I finished it, Merry." She told her with a slightly vacant smile and a tint of madness in her eyes. "Towards the end, I think it decided it wanted to be made. It helped me write the scroll. See?" She offered her hands to the knight-commander. Even her palms were etched with blood-runes.
"Myfanwy... what have you done..?" Meredith asked, pausing in the doorway. "This is blood magic."
"It's anti-blood magic, emma sa'lath." The elf corrected her with a shake of her head. "The idol... the sword... it hates us. Just like you do. It hates magic and mages. It's so old..." For a moment, a glint of sanity showed in Myfanwy's eyes. "Older than the Darkspawn... Merry... Meredith. Knight-commander." The moment faded, and she smiled again. "It's perfectly attuned to you. There's just one thing left it needs, Merry, then you'll have a power no blood-mage can defeat. You'll be the bane of abominations."
"What does it need, Myfanwy?" Meredith asked, quietly, slightly disturbed by the elven address. From the tone of voice it was complementary, but even so... "What could you possible need that would turn you into... this?"
"It needs a life, beloved. I have done all the preparation. The sword needs to be quenched in the blood of a maleficar." Myfanwy suddenly looked haunted, terrified as she had when Meredith had first laid eyes upon her in that apostate's cell. "Is it not- did you not want this sword? Have I been a bad girl?" She asked, shaking slightly.
"Myfanwy..." Meredith whispered, aghast. "Yes. Oh, Maker. I wanted a weapon, but not like this. Not at this cost. It's too high." She shook her head. "Why did you..?"
"To make you happy, emma sa'lath. My one love... Ma'sa ar'lath, the only one who loved me. It was the only way." She trailed off, starting to cry despite her glued-on smile and glassy, demon-touched eyes. "I know how it has to be. I am maleficar. You must kill me, beloved, as a Templar. Please, love me again. Take this lyrium blade and my life with it."
"I understand." Knight-commander Meredith hardened her expression, then let herself relax again, showing her dangerous fondness at last. It no longer mattered to keep it hidden. The mad elf-maid was correct – she had to be destroyed before she merged with a demon. The choice was simple. Either she could take the sword, and kill poor Myfanwy with it... or she could use her own blade to end her life, wasting it.
As though she could read the knight-commander's mind, Myfanwy lifted the blade towards her, hilt-first, and pointed the tip at her own heart. Meredith took the hilt in both hands, pulling it back slightly before thrusting the blade forward, and through her chest. The blade came alive in her hands, glowing for a moment as Myfanwy's head tipped back with a sickening crack. A hideous cry issued from her mouth, the sounds of death and ecstasy melding in monstrous fashion. Meredith twisted the blade, though it was hardly necessary.
Myfanwy's body fell, exsanguinated and lifeless, to the floor. Meredith went to clean the sword, but there was no blood there either. Truly it was a weapon worthy of hunting blood mages.
"Don't worry, Myfanwy." She murmured, stroking her fingers down the blade. "We'll get them all. No-one will ever have to worry about maleficar ever again." She smiled, softly, "I'm glad you found a use for your curse, Myfanwy." She rested the sword against her shoulder, pressing the flat against her coat with her bare hand. "If the lives of two maleficar can produce the answer to their evil, then it is their price to rightfully pay."
End.