The Chance

There's a door in Ferelden where a hole used to be,
the Straya Gate they call it (at least unofficially).
It was blown there by an elf, when at the age of sixteen
she was knocked up by a Templar in a violent, hidden scene.
Elven whore some called her, ignorant of the facts,
but even if they knew the truth I doubt they'd take it back.
She had tried to keep it secret, keep her belly under wraps,
but there's not a lot of room to hide in a frame so small as that.
She bent no knee to the bigotry, but his threats were enough to snuff her:

"Tell them how this happened, and I'll be sure to make you suffer."

So the lie was made that a harrowed mage was the one who left her swelling,
but he lost against the demon thus he couldn't prove the telling.
At first she wished it gone and welcomed the chantry's stance on mages:
All children born to the magic ones shall readily be taken.
But a couple months in utero was enough to quickly shift her,
she'd grown attached to the little one as it wrestled with her innards.
Her mentor was the first to hear her plea for family,

"I cannot help you, Straya." Grimacing, said he.
"I wish I could make it happen, but no power lies with me;
Give up, just accept it, it just isn't meant to be."

Straya didn't waver, she was determined to have her way,
today she'd gain a family, in the circle locked away.
She begged the First Enchanter-

"Would you even have the means?
Think about this Straya, and accept what's always been.
I may be in charge here but there are things I cannot do;
Your child will be the chantry's when it gets to leaving you."

In misguided desperation she sought out the baby's father,

"If you do not help me keep her, then I'll tell them what you did!"

"You think they care you elven bitch? They've locked you in a tower!
We rule you 'cause you're made of sin- you're dirt and cursed with power!"
What possessed her to even try this, I truly cannot say,
but he beat her with a gauntlet until again he had his way.
He left her in the darkness of the room he shoved her in,
she rocked there in a fury with a split upon her chin.
Then screaming like a demon she made for the chapel door
where the mother sat in silence, as she'd done the hour before.
She started with the crack that rung out just behind her back,
jumping in a turn that seemed to occur with a heart-attack.

"By the Maker!" screamed Aretha, "Please respect Andraste's shrine!
A little quiet is all I ask for, must I say this all the-"

Her eyes were wide.
Bloody lipped and blackened eyed stood the child she saw with a child inside,

"Who did this to you? Who committed this crime?"

She demanded (in rhyme) as she held her.
Straya calmed inside the comfort as she gathered up her stuff,
and was about to out the Templar when behind her in a huff appeared

"Ser Marco! Summon Greagoir! There's justice needed here!
Some heinous brute has done a thing to horrible to hear."

Straya started shaking (Yes, Marco was his name),
Aretha didn't know it but there was a rapist there to blame.

"Mother, stand away!" hissed the snake with falsing charm,
"I've been tracking her for days- that's a bloodmage in your arms!"

The air became thick, and her pulse felt like snow
as a trifecta of panic simmered and rose.

Was she truly a blood mage?
Was she damned there in grief?
Would his tale become lofty in a lie half believed?

No time to worry! No time to wait!
If she wanted her family, there was a chance here to take!
The rapist ate wall with a blast from the mind
as she ran for the hall with compassion behind;
her fate was now signed as she booked for the gates-
destiny awaited just one floor below.
In her wake were books flying and an apprentice was thrown,
the Templars alerted when her flight became known.
Marco was running, 'twas an ease to catch up-
scot free- this was easy! Soon he'd kill the poor slut!
His crimes would go unpunished with a maleficar to chase,
he was already smugly jogging with a smirk upon his face.
They caught her in the lobby as she crackled in a rage,
a cold ring of armor and stony walls a seeming grave.
Greagoir out front and Aretha out back,
Marco alongside and Irving in track.

"Straya!" Shouted Irving with that First Enchanter tone,
"Greagoir wait a moment, these lies aren't worth a stone!"

Marco raised his voice before the commander shot a word,

"Straya is a blood mage! As Aretha will concur."

"I concur with nothing, Marco! I would like to hear the truth,
Straya's never been a one to live with lack of ruth.
Tell me it isn't true dear girl, tell me it's a mistake-"

"If you let her speak she'll get you, and you'll lose your mind, your grace!"

Straya's mind was racing with the apostates that they'd bled,
she had to solve her problem before the Templars killed her dead!
A cloud formed in the lobby and a wind began to blow,
a rain then formed a drizzle, and the drizzle changed to snow.
Too wet to feel her water break she blew a mighty blizzard,
a Templar shot an arrow but numb fingers made him miss her.
A storm for all the centuries was raised inside the lobby,
sending Templars in a flurry with the fire she was lobbing!
The blood that Marco bled from her was out to feed the fury,
no amount of clemency would now convince her jury.
Straya was a horror as she tossed them in the air,
blasting at the stony walls with summoned rock and flare.
The cinderblocks were cracking and she hastened up her feet,
she bolted through the hole she made past Templars in defeat.
Quite the feat for an unharrowed mage, and I think we can agree
that in the wake of what she'd been through, I'm surprised she took more than three.
With a cone of cold before her she traversed a sheet of ice,
from isle to shore lake Calenhad was crossed in half a trice.
Too full of rage and panic to feel the pangs of birth beginning,
she ran with magic flight and the adrenaline of winning.
The Templars followed warily across the frozen line,
Greagoir led his company with Marco at his side.
The path she fled was quick to find with a streak of burning grass;
the commander knew she was getting weak and her rush was soon to pass.
But on he ran with purpose, there was an apostate out to find,
he only hoped he was correct and his purpose matched her drive.
Drenched in sweat and rain young Straya chilled 'round the heat inside her,
thinking thoughts for templar traps as if she were a spider.
Soon she slowed to jogging and then she stumbled to a halt;
there was a pressure in her hips, and the bubbling taste of salt.
What was forgot in fleeing was now a weight too great to bear,
the child desired freedom too and would have its birth right there.
She fought to keep from screaming, and keep her heaving form unseen-
kneeling there in the underbrush she was glad her robe was green.
A rustle in the leaves! She bit her cringing lip,
and croaking from the silence came a playful question quipped:

"What have we here? I wonder." And a sister left the bush,
the white haired woman smiled as Straya fought the urge to push.
"Deny her not her right to breathe, you've got her out this far,
one day she may even thank you if she learns you fought this hard."

"A-are you here to take my baby?" whimpered Straya in a fright.

"I think my fill of daughters will last me several thousand nights!
Relax little mother," the woman stroked her tangled hair,
"you've less to fear from me than from the Templars stalking there.
At their side's a man who wronged you, did it twice but made a right,
just look at what alone you've proved as he forced your hand tonight.
You've come much farther than you think, be calm and pass the child,
you'll be safe here till the morning as they hunt you in the wild."

The birth was long and painful and she felt, and looked, like death;
but her spirit reawakened when she heard her baby's breath.
The squealing babe was passed into the arms of her apparent friend,

"and now they come to take you-
but you'll be laughing by the end."

Marco emerged from the dewy bush with Greagoir there in tow,
and there was Straya, weakened, with a sister they didn't know.

"Sister, stand away!" Shouted Greagoir in a stance,
"You've a blood mage at your feet and I won't leave you there to chance."

The wizened sister laughed and she cooed at the little babe,

"If your mother's a maleficar, then I'm the Maker's ape!"

Greagoir dropped his guard as he watched Straya try to rise,
for all the despair and fury, her body just couldn't support her drive.

"That's a good lad, she's not a threat, she was driven to these actions;
but I believe there is a compromise that can please the circle's factions."

Marco went for his sword, but Greagoir stopped him with his eyes,

"I am not without compassion, she shall be tranquilized."

They dragged her screaming to the tower, what was two now just a one,
her child was with the chantry and she was back where she'd begun.
Marco felt that either way he'd had his fun and won,
Straya would be passive once the drive from her was shunned.
I'll not bore you with the details between the middle and the last,
truth is they're rather boring and it's best we skip on past.
If such a thing insults you then need I remind they made her numb?
I'm sure if I took you through it, we'd find the sands of sleep succumbed.
Instead I'll remind you of a rumor that came whispered down the line,
that somewhere quite a ways from here a tranquil came alive.
Awakened for a moment by an abomination's shine,
shortly killed thereafter by the mage it lived inside.
Now I hear it was a spirit, not a demon, 'twas involved-
but really what's the difference in the power those two hold?
With news of such a happening there was a mystery to solve:
Could a Tranquil be awakened and regain her lost resolve?
(This would have been for the history books had it not been for the war.)
The Ferelden circle would test it out and see if dreams could be restored.
Now they weren't going to force a mage to fail a harrowing!
Why just the thought is heinous, how could you think of such a thing?
Straya was selected to stand within the harrowing hall,
to await the burst of magic if a demon breached the wall.
Marco stood there with her, she was never off his side;
a little, secret trophy in a secretary's guise.
The harrowings proceeded as they always had, until finally one day
a poor young mage had lost the fight and the demon had its way.
No one ever questioned why so many Templars were in the room-
truth was if they hadn't the surplus then they feared a sudden doom.
The Templars held it down with Straya shoved an inch from dying,
the creature burst in a howling rage and sent some Templars flying!
Now this is where the rumor proved as true as true can be,
she staggered in the chaos and her eyes regained their sheen.
The span of years was nothing between then and the state she left,
they had cut off her lividity and left her soul bereft.
She was free then to resume it, and really that was their mistake,
they should have chosen them tranquil who was a far more calmer mage.
(I would have went with Owain- didja ever meet that guy?
He chose to be a tranquil 'cause he was too afraid to die.)
Anyway, her gaze met Marco's eyes, and in a horrid, shrieking instant
she ripped the sword right off his back,
rammed it in his gut,

and twisted.

Not too bad for elven bones on a plate of solid steel!
Marco puked in disbelief but the blood he spilled was real.
The Templars took the creature as she watched him bleed and choke,
she hadn't time to enjoy it,
but still it was nice and slow.
She felt her old self fading, and it was harder to recall,
she thought of the little daughter whom she gave no name at all.
She jumped upon to the sword and she died in there in elation,
they couldn't take me from her despite the distance of a nation!
Memories were all she had and in a dream she held me closely,
she finally had the family that they took those years ago.