Todrith was dying. He was an old man and his health had been declining steadily, but death was like that annoying relative nobody liked to talk about. Everyone was aware of it, but most people pretended not to notice it until it was at one's doorstep. The visitors who came to his bedside all had meaningful looks on their faces and offered platitudes of hope and healing. He smiled and nodded in the manner that old men learn when they know they're being lied to, particularly when the lies rode on the coattails of good intentions. Todrith had gotten very good at knowing when he was being lied to. Every mage did.
"Pay yer mum no mind, lad. She's jes bawlin' cause she's gunna miss her baby, an yer not a babe anymore, right? Yeh see the tower? Thas yer new school, Toddie! Yeh gets ta sleep in every day and no muckin out tha pens a'fore breakfast anymore. Plus they gots some smart types. Types that'll teach yeh how to do all sorts of clever things. Me an yer mum will come and visit all the time..."
His eyes opened as Todrith blearily realized one of the Tranquil was tending to his leg. The girl had been freshly through the Rite as the starburst on her forehead still looked red and angry from the brand. She was pretty, or at least may have been pretty at one time before the light was taken from her eyes. She probably had a pretty smile once.
He had never kissed a girl before, yet the motions came naturally for both of them. They had a minute at best and she just wanted something that made her not feel so alone. He held her tightly, feeling the softness of her lips and the damp tears on her cheek. It was a bright moment that stretched on forever and yet was over far too soon. And just as quickly she had torn herself away and vanished, scurrying out of the little alcove she had snatched Todrith from and drew him into. He had never even bothered to ask her name. It was easier not to ask. The kiss told him that he would never see her again.
It was hard to pay attention to the Knight Commander as she droned on about how well he had served in the tower and how difficult it was making final plans for him. She knew better than to ask about family, but did he wish his ashes interred anywhere, and if he could possibly recommend a replacement for his now vacant teaching position she would be most pleased. Todrith muttered a few names and nodded quietly. None of his input truly mattered, of course, but he had gotten used to the trials and rituals of it all. Dying was just another trial along the path.
Demons tempt with lies, they had told him. They would offer him everything and then take his body and soul, forever destroying both if he so much as thought of giving in. Yet when he stepped into the fade and found himself looking into the warped face of such a creature, there was none of that. The demon simply smiled and strolled around the trap it had been summoned to for the mage's Harrowing, and instead of temptations it had told him truths. Why would it want to possess a man whom it knew would be struck dead the moment it showed any signs of turning into an abomination? It even laughed and mused out loud how many innocents had probably been put to the sword by an overeager Templar because they had twitched the wrong way or made a face while their minds were in the fade. No, it told him. There would be mages enough who would come to him willingly, eagerly even, for it to even bother with him. Todrith didn't have to reject the demon, in the end it had rejected him.
The Revered Mother's face was one of pity. Pity for his pain, pity for his impending death, but most of all pity for the simple fact that Todrith was a mage. The Enchanter couldn't bring himself to hate her, she came in and spoke to everyone in the hospice and prayed over them every day without fail. It didn't change the fact that her sunrise sermons were ones that were often meant to put him in his place, intentional or no. He was too old for hate, but the love she professed felt as distant as the Maker Himself.
For all the years he had lived in the tower, he'd never bothered to really look at the statue of Andraste. It was hard to look at the face of His bride and not feel resentment well up. One alabaster hand was resting benevolently against Her bosom, and the other was outstretched in a beckoning gesture. The massive height of the statue meant that both seemed to be focused on something far away, while Todrith was utterly forgotten under those sculpted eyes. Andraste fought the Tevinter Magisters, was a slave to one, and eventually put to the sword by one. But how long would every mage have to suffer the Maker's punishment for their sins against His bride?
He had known he was dying for a good long time. He had taken an injury that never quite healed, and as the years stretched on he found he grew weaker and weaker. First he needed a cane when he walked. Then walking in any form became a trial, and then one day he found he could not summon the strength to leave his bed. Healers had been called, but they could only numb his pain and soothe his fever. There were some injuries that not even the best magic could heal.
As the Wardens and their army went to fight the Archdemon, the lesser mages had stayed in the city to clean out the pockets and hold the gates to keep more from flowing in. The monsters were utterly single minded in their assault, sometimes breaking their bodies against the barricades in order to make the push of their brethren easier. One of the vile things had sunk its sword into his hip as it lunged for him. Todrith hit it with every ounce of power left to him and the beast shriveled into ash while its twisted dagger remained imbedded in his hip. His final thought before blacking out was that the next time this happened he needed to remember to save a bit of magic to heal himself with.
And now, near the end, it seemed that there were more Tranquil than mages. The news of Kirkwall had spread like wildfire and had caused so much change in his world. He had felt hope in one manner, hope in knowing that it was possible for a Mage to change the world... and at the same time he felt despair because he knew that his kind would not find their freedom so easily. There was a time, not too long ago, where he had argued the case for mages himself. He may have even been put to the sword for saying it had he not been a dying cripple when the cries of revolt began to ring out across Thedas. Ironic that the wound may have extended his life rather than shorten it.
"You say we must be watched and guarded because we are dangerous, because we have the potential to turn into demons. But every man and woman has the potential to become a monster, your Grace. The only difference is that non mages are allowed to live free and make their own decisions in life. While we are convicted and jailed and often executed before we have ever even committed a single crime. Yes, we have power, but so do you, your Grace. With a single word you could have my brethren in the tower wiped out and most would be glad to be rid of us. Every man and woman has within him the power to kill and destroy, and the power to build and heal. All I ask is that we be given the chance to pick our own path. If a mage consorts with demons or uses blood magic, by all means deal with them harshly. But any man, mage or no, will eventually give in to despair when they are jailed and told daily that they are evil... and that despair is what creates monsters and abominations, not our mere birthright as mages."
His once strong voice was now a gravely croak. He barely registered the words as his own when he spoke them. "Young lady, if you're still here?"
"Yes." The tranquil couldn't even seem to manage the slight little twist needed to make the word sound inquisitive.
Todrith forced his arm to move. It flopped weakly like a dying fish. "Come here and take my hand."
The young girl stared at him with those dim eyes, eyes that could no longer dream or love or cry. She moved to his side and threaded her fingers through his. There were some who compared the Tranquil to rocks or furniture, people turned into lifeless things, but her grip was gentle and her skin was as soft and warm as any maiden's.
He tried to smile. Could the Tranquil understand emotions even if they were incapable of feeling them? "I'm going to go to sleep. And I doubt I shall be waking up this time. Someone will come along and bundle me up and take me away soon, but until then, stay with me."
She caught a stool with her foot and pulled it close without breaking contact. Todrith knew she would stay as asked. The Tranquil were honest and reliable, but he still wondered what it must feel like. A soul muffled underneath that hideous brand. Was it a balm that erased all the pain and anger that came with the curse of magic, or was it a cage even tighter than the one he had lived in all his life?
There were no answers, and he was too tired to think about them anymore. He had done what he could with the lot he had been given. He prayed it had been enough.