Vivienne's backstory (what little we know of it) intrigues me. I decided to write it. Here follows what I think could possibly be part of Vivienne's background, based off dialogue and the small bits of information that we have. Not guaranteed to be canon nor to be perfect. Some characters are made up. Everything else belongs to Bioware and Vivienne is written by Mary Kirby. Please review, but be constructive and kind.
Hollow
She remembers the time she froze the pail of water hanging from the side of her mother's jewelry stall. She remembers the time that she lost her temper and accidentally set fire to the fine bolts of cloth and satin her father was planning to sell. She remembers the lightning that ripped through her fingers in retaliation when that boy pushed her to the ground. She doesn't remember how she did it, just that she did and that there seemed to be an energy about it; something that crackled and hummed with power.
She thinks sadly of that day with the boy. She hurt him because she didn't understand. Her outrage – her lack of control – harmed him. It was a terrible thing for her to do, but she did not know what she was doing. That day was a day of misunderstanding.
And it was also the day that began her on a path. A path to relevance and fear and admiration.
Four years old. That was how old she had been when the Templars took her from her parents to the Circle in Ostwick. If there was any memory that she once had of them – their faces, their voices, their scents, or the warmth of their embrace – it was long gone. It had been many years since that day and she had forgotten them. She remembered more fondly the men and women of the Templar order who had delivered her to the tower, as well as one woman; one who compared to all others and who had taught her everything she needed to know.
"My name is Enchanter Lydia," said the woman standing in front of her. A hand was offered. "May I take you to meet the other children, darling?"
She took the woman's hand, shaking slightly, pondering as to whether or not she should trust her. The hand was effervescent with energy, the same kind that she herself possessed; but it was also soft, steady, calm.
"Welcome to the Circle, my dear. What is your name?"
"Viv… Vivienne," she replied.
…
"Vivienne, my dear, will you be sure to put all these books back where they belong? I would so hate to see them end up in the wrong place."
"Of course," she replied, trying to imitate the woman's tones of succulent and sweet and commanding.
She was a work in a progress, Enchanter Lydia had told her.
As Vivienne filed the books, the Enchanter inquired about her upcoming Harrowing. "How do you feel about it, darling? Do you feel ready?"
"I am…not sure what it entails, Enchanter."
"It will put you to the test. You have ample skills, my dear, don't forget that. You have become quite proficient in your ice spells, Enchanter Seamus tells me."
"He is a good teacher."
"Ah, and you are so humble too, darling."
Vivienne looked up at the Enchanter – her mentor and friend – and smiled. It gave her great pride to hear such admonition from Enchanter Lydia.
Lydia was Antivan by birth, a fact reflected in her accent and appearance. She loved to wear fine silk and dark samite, adorn herself with gold baubles and jeweled rings, and parade around in the tallest pair of leather heeled boots Vivienne had seen in her life. Vivienne often wondered why the First Enchanter let Lydia wear such finery and how the Templars never seemed to care that she was dressed so well. Lydia did as she pleased with no repercussions. Or so it seemed to Vivienne, at least.
"You will make a fine Enchanter someday, dear girl. Perhaps even First Enchanter. Now, wouldn't that be something?"
Vivienne hid the rush of warmth to her face beneath a coy change in her posture. She returned to her task of placing the books back on their shelves. As she did she thought to herself about how wonderful it would be someday to become First Enchanter. At the Ostwick Circle, First Enchanter Hadrian was a respected man. The Templars, who were constantly rumored among the apprentices to be hard and unkind beyond the walls of Ostwick, seemed to like the man. It had even been whispered that Knight-Commander Madrigal herself regularly drank tea and discussed the comings and goings of the tower with the First Enchanter.
Perhaps, someday and Maker-willing, Vivienne might be First Enchanter; a woman of power and respect, like Enchanter Lydia and First Enchanter Hadrian. The thought gave her hope.
"When you're done with the books, Vivienne dear, you are free to go. I do not have any further lessons for the day."
"Yes, Enchanter."
Vivienne completed her task quickly. As she left the Enchanter's study she saw a Templar walking towards her. She recognized the woman as a close friend of Lydia's, someone who regularly dropped by after Vivienne's lessons. Vivienne moved out of the Templar's way and let her pass. The Templar woman remained silent, but her eyes bore into Vivienne's as she walked. A small part of Vivienne inwardly cringed. But the Templars were there to protect the mages, she reassured herself, and moved into the hallway, avoiding the woman's gaze.
Vivienne wended her way through the tower to the apprentice quarters. There, a cluster of teens her age sat on their beds playing cards. Several others lay on their bunks reading books or practicing small spells. One little girl, the youngest of them all, was playing in the corner with a glowing white wisp. Vivienne went to her bunk and sat down, hoping that she would be able to sneak in a quick nap before the evening's supper.
"Viv!" called a familiar voice while a petite hand nudged her shoulder.
"Petyr, I just closed my eyes!" Vivienne complained, opening them and sitting up to stare at the boy perched on the bunk across from her. "What is it?"
"Did you hear?"
Mages in the tower – particularly the apprentices – loved gossip and loved circulating it even more. The Free Marcher boy with blonde fuzz on his upper lip wearing wrinkled robes was no exception.
"Hear what?" Vivienne herself was not immune to such things either.
"Lyssa went in for her Harrowing two days ago, but hasn't returned."
Vivienne remembered Lyssa, a sweet elvhen girl. The two were not close companions, but they were close in age. Lyssa came to the Ostwick Circle a few days after Vivienne had been delivered. She claimed to have been saved by the Templars after the humans in her alienage threatened to burn down her family's home, just because it had been discovered that she had magic. She and Vivienne grew up together, had all the same lessons, heard all the same lectures, and even exchanged class notes every once in a while.
"I'm sure she's fine, Petyr. You know how sometimes it takes a few days for the ones who pass to wake up."
"Not what I heard, though," Petyr whispered, moving in closer. At this close distance, Vivienne spotted more downy blonde fuzz on his pudgy cheeks and a few hairs on his chin. He continued, "One of the little ones said that she saw the Templars moving Lyssa to the Tranquil quarters last night."
"Don't be absurd!" Vivienne chided, trying again to sound the way Enchanter Lydia did when she reprimanded anyone.
"Well, what if it's true, Viv?"
She didn't like the Tranquil much, to be honest. They scared her. To live without emotion, without magic, without power… The thought was horrifying for Vivienne. If Lyssa had been made Tranquil that was a terrible fate. Vivienne would not wish that for any mage.
"We don't know if it is. It's pointless to put stock in a rumor like that until we know the truth," she huffed and then lay back down.
She shut her eyes – squeezed them tight – and heard Petyr sigh and leave her to her nap. Vivienne rolled over onto her side. What if it was true? What if that kind girl who passed Vivienne notes on the nature of the Fade and the alchemical uses of lyrium was gone? Not truly here nor truly there. A fate worse than death. It was a thought that churned Vivienne's insides and turned her heart to ice.
Please review with constructive criticism. Vivienne is a challenging character for me to write so I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts.