Hey readers. I'm writing this note some time after I published my work, but I forgot. I hope that you like my story, and a big pardon for my mistakes, but I'm just entering the amazing world of freelance writing / fanfiction and I'll try my best to make this fun to read and follow. Please, whether you would like to express an opinion, or to throw some well deserved criticism my way - do so. I promise to read and take notes on anything you would suggest as I continue to update this story with more chapters! :)
The chains around his arms were too tight. The more he struggled to get himself free, the more the metal was sinking in, leaving long bloody trenches of cut flesh. But how could he resist trying, now that everything has gotten so much worse? The thought of surrendering to his captors was too shameful.
The monotone of the creaking wheels of the carriage he was locked in was maddening. The sharp sound of wood, scratching on the stone road was interrupted only by the short phrases exchanged by the knights, leading the prison carriage. Soon it became clear that they were near the end of the journey. The bustle of a large crowd was catching the ear of the young prisoner.
A city, perhaps? Or was this some large crowd passing by? He could not tell, because there were no windows, holes, or even small cracks, to help him determine his surroundings.
"Halt! You are approaching the outer garrison of Val Royeaux! State your business!" – shouted a clearly irritated person.
"Orlesians" – thought Stefan, and sighed – "... So it begins."
The man with the heavy orlesian accent started shouting orders to his fellow guardsmen. A dozen iron boots started hitting the ground, covering the bustle of the garrison completely.
The Templars stepped away as the guards started to search though the carriage they were escorting. All the bags were searched for stolen goods.
"There is no need-"
"There is all the need! You look like Templars, but do you know how many posers pass through here? How many smugglers, thieves and whores are trying to get inside the capitol?" – the orlesian commander cut off one of the Templars
"We are on official Chantry business and we have the documents to back this up! Tarry all you want, but the-"
"We are at war, messere – Suddenly a stone cold voice, heavy with accent, cut into the conversation. – Unless, the Holly Chantry forgot that. At war, with those, whose leash was entrusted to you! So, let's not make a scene. Let us do our work."
A slight moment of silence crept and took hold of the situation outside the carriage. The bustle, coming from afar was reaching this place once more.
"Yes s-s-sir!" – stuttered the other guard, his voice full of fear.
A moment of silence yet again, this time different that the last. Somehow young Stefan was aware of the strange effect this new man had on the knights escorting him. It was as though a shadow, surrounded in cold winds was passing through.
"And what do we have in here?" – suddenly his voice came, not from afar, like a while ago, but right from the direction of the closed wooden doors of the carriage.
The man had moved, yet no sound came from that. Stefan shuddered as the presence of the orlesian man could be felt. It was as though cold winter winds blew through the walls of the wooden prison and enveloped the young mage.
"A mage... From Ferelden... Sir!" – answered the scared Templar.
"A mage? A live one? Hmm... Quite intriguing" – the man started talking in a low tone, as though making remarks just to himself. – "And why would you taint our city with such filth? Or did the Chantry decide to have a bit of torture, pardon me, fun, with this mage? Is it a girl? Maybe a lustful lord has been bored of his love life of late and needs a new plaything?... Well?" – he raised his voice, not even moving from his place for a second.
Stefan could feel the cold gaze of the man, staring right towards the door.
"It's a man, s-sir. A-and no, he's not to be tortured, or given to a lord. He's-"
"Sorry sir Malwyn, but that's official Chantry business." – the first Templar cut off his talkative companion.
The presence faded away. The shadow at the door, this Malwyn, crept away. One of the Templars inhaled deeply, as though he was just about to leap into a pool of cold water.
"Who the hell is that guy?" – thought young Stefan.
"Very well. Commander, let them pass. If nothing else, we have the information. The Empress will be content to know that should something happen to someone by the hands of this mage, the Chantry will answer... to the Maker, of course!" – He added and disappeared, his presence completely vanishing from the outside. Or, at least the mage did not feel it anymore.
"Still, Templars or no, we still need to check out what is going on inside. Open the doors boys."
Keys rattled, the locks turned and the doors flew open as light blinded Stefan. The darkness of his temporary prison fled, as the space was violently intruded by the piercing light of the gurards' torches.
"Hahaha, look at the boy! Hahaha, scared senseless..." – remarked one of the guards.
"Don't intimidate him" – said one of Stefan's captors. – He's dangerous.
"Dangerous? This little boy? I doubt that! Look at him!" – the guard started laughing
"Let me see" – said another guard, making his way though, only to burst out laughing as well.
The light was painful to behold, after so many hours of darkness. The chains were attached to the floor, allowing little movement. The young mage stretched one hand, then both, to cover the light.
The laughter spread through all of the guards around the carriage. Voices were shouting insults, some were making bets on how quickly they can kill the prisoner, while others were telling each other about the misleading reputation of mages. "Let me see!" some shouted through their laughter. "Swat him on the head with the sword, see how he reacts!" –someone added.
"Stop!" – shouted the cold voice of Malwyn from afar.
"Maybe he's still close by?" – Stefan thought
All the commotion stopped as soon as the shadow had returned.
"You must not intimidate the mage men, he's dangerous!" – shouted the second Templar!
"You should listen to them, friends." – Stefan said, surprised how strong his own voice sounded, after the terrible trip he had.
"Or what? Do you think we can't handle you better than them robe knights?"
"Well they are a hundred skilled mage hunters... Oh wait, only two are left, my bad..." – Stefan added.
Silence fell around the carriage. Slowly Stefan heard receding steps, backing away from the wooden prison.
"Is... is that right? I swear, by Andrestes' pyre, if this little bastard is joking-"
"We were one hundred soldiers of the Chantry when we left for Ferelden. One died on the way, and the rest..."
Awes and gasps flew in the sky. Many more people responded, some that maybe just arrived, others belonging to the laughing figures in front of the open carriage. Swords were unsheathed, shields were raised and bow strings started cracking under the pressure of the bowmen.
"This boy is demanded by a much higher instance then you can imagine." – said a new voice, old and wise.
"Carahold? What are you doing here?" – Malwyn said, clearly irritated by the newcomer. Stefan was amazed, either the shadow man was not scared at all, or he has hiding it well – his voice had not changed.
"I'm here on Chantry orders, to accompany this young man and the two knights back to the-"
"They are on the Empresses' doorstep! This is my territory, and unless you have been living under a rock, let me inform you – the Chantry has no rights above the crown any longer, so stand down old man." – Malwyn stated, his voice now even colder and lower. Stefan could barely hear him.
"He is a mage, and by right..."
The two men started arguing. Many people were stopping around the carriage, not being able to pass forward.
"So we are at the gates of Orlais' Capitol. Why have they brought me here?" – Stefan started to wonder.
The two men were joined by the commander and two lieutenants, backing up Malwyn, while the two Templars and a Chantry sister joined the side of Carahold.
The argument was heading for a bad ending. Suddenly Stefan opened his eyes. He could see clearly. He blinked twice and focused on the doorway. No one was there.
The truth was that he did not kill any of the 99 Templars. He had hurt them, while defending himself, some were turned to stone, others to small rodents, but none were killed. And he could not thank the Dalish enough for their uncalled help. In the end, Stefan ran away, but a log he had jumped over led to a steep fall, leading the mage to a head bump and loss of consciousness. That's how he ended up in Templar hands.
Now, all the guards had gone to the side of the argument. By the reaction of the others he guessed that Carahold and Malwyn were people, who had the respect of the commoners and lowborn.
But this was not the time for thinking – he had to act! The trick to the anti-magic ward that the Templars had placed over the "prison on wheels" was a trinket of ancient Tevinter. A small idol, locked in place by a strap of leather. But the guards had removed that. At least Stefan did not feel constrained any longer.
He lifted the chains and they slid through his wrists, as though they belonged to a ghost. They fell into the mages' lap.
He stood up, stretching silently, yet some bones of his did sound like they were braking. His legs were sore, after the ride, but now he was free to make his move.
The mage crept to the edge of the carriage and peeked outside, from the cover of the slightly bent doors. No one was paying attention to the boy.
He jumped outside and looked around, then ran straight forward. From what he saw, a small forest was in front of him. He went inside. Soon he heard the frightened screams of the passers. Then Malwyn shouted something and metal boots started chasing the mage.
Stefan stopped and turned to face his pursuers. He raised his hands and stretched them forward, lighting a wall of fire that set some of the trees ablaze. Then he made a swooping move with one of his hands and the wind blew from behind his back, sending the sparks and heat right towards the now panting guards. They started receding back, cursing the mage.
Stefan turned and ran. He passed many trees. It felt like he had been running for quite a while, before he stepped on a road.
The mage was dressed in a torn robe that covered his torso – his sleeves were torn apart. He had leather pants, and ragged boots. His feet sore from the forest terrain.
Just as he was catching his breath he saw a small cavalry advancing from afar. He panicked a bit.
The men were coming at him, fully armored. This sight terrified the young mage – he had never seen Orlesian chevalier before! They wore heavy armor that reflected the light of the moon. And they had horses, – that was a great boon for them – they were going to reach him very soon.
He took a deep breath. Stefan started walking backwards. His hands started to sparkle. Lighting formations started to ripple around his wrists, connecting to his body. He was shining with his own light now!
He stretched his left hand – a tree before the chevalier fell down. They jumped over it. His right hand stretched forward – and hit one of the men. He was sent backwards, while his horse stood on two legs. A scream of pain escaped the man, as his fellow knights trampled him. Yet they kept advancing.
Stefan let his rage overtake him and started sending lightning after lightning, taking down trees and men, shattering rocks and scorching the earth.
The horses were many, as were their riders. They were nearly there. He had to escape.
The mage took a deep breath and let the lightning burst from him, sending a terrifying sound that shattered his immediate surroundings, scaring the horses. That was only a delay for the knights. As soon as their steeds settled down, they took towards him.
Stefan raised his hand with great effort - the weight of something heavy was expressed on his face. Then just as the knights reached him, he lowered his hand with a loud exhale, completing his spell.
The horses and the men fell to the ground, as did those that came after the first wave. The spell belonged to a mage, who studied the magic of the earth – the natural gravity of things. He taught himself how to manipulate the earths' pull and explained it to Stefan at the Circle Tower in Ferelden.
Now the boy had crushed his enemies, forcing them down. At a great cost though – the boy was exhausted. Such a spell was not a hard one, but he has had quite the night, and needed rest.
He turned and slowly descended into the forest, on the other side of the road. He was stumbling over the roots of the trees and the rocks, but he kept going on.
After a while he sat down to catch his breath. He dozed off, only to be awoken by the sound of a crushed twig. He opened his eyes and scanned the surrounding forest. He had walked quite a lot. The fires that were spreading from his wall and the lightning strikes were expanding. Horses could be heard in the distance, but as soon as the winds changed their course, silence fell again.
Another twig broke, followed by a hissing whisper. A slight verbal insult was let out by a young man.
Stefan waited a bit. His ears were able to hear the boots now – they were surrounding him slowly. Then the sound a glass, hitting against iron indicated that his phylactery was used.
"Damn it..." – Stefans said, as he made the first move.
He raised his hands and hit the ground with his fists. A Shockwave spread outward, knocking most of his pursuers. He stood up, but the lack of rest hit him in the head and he swayed left, almost stumbling over a big tree stump.
"Now!" – Shouted a familiar voice.
A dozen Templars ascended and attacked the mage. Stefan knew direct attacks wouldn't work. He grabbed hold of the stumps' sides. Dead roots had risen from the grass, wrapping around the men. Some were disarmed while others started hacking away at the trees' remains.
One of them – a knight without a helm attacked the mage. He had long gray hair that connected to his short beard.
Stefan raised his hand and sent a bolt of energy towards the only one left, despite his knowledge of Themplar defenses. It was over... He had fought valiantly, yet lost.
Now all that Stefan was hoping for was that the Chant of Light was right and that there was indeed a place to go after death. They wouldn't spare him, not after this escape.
The older invader raised his shield. The bolt crashed into it and dispersed. The Templar shouted and sent a wave of energy forward, rendering the magic of Stefan useless. The roots were dead again.
The man rushed forward and knocked the boy on the ground, forcing the breath from his lungs. Stefan lost all awareness.
"Maker... Protect my loved ones..."
...
- Come on, wake up! – A cry, then water crashed into him.
Stefan started coughing then inhaled as he felt chains around his ankles, wrists and neck. Cold water was dripping down his chest, causing him to shudder.
He took a deep breath. He was alive? Or was this the Makers' judgement?