Chapter 1

Shaya lay curled up under her covers, the soft blanket hiding her from the discriminatory gazes of her fellow mage Apprentices. She hugged her knees to her chest, in a fetal position on her bed. She could hear a group of girls a bit off from her, gathered around in a circle as they exchanged juicy bits of gossip. Everyone was still reeling over the recent escape of the mage Jowan. Shaya had moved around the tower in awe since then, trying to collect as much information as she could without looking suspicious. She tried to look casual about it, snickering with other girls when they were more welcoming to her, but on the inside she was desperate. All she wanted was to be out of this tower, to be free from its confining walls. Sometimes the hatred for this place was so great she ran from the room to find an empty class, where she threw all the rage she had as a wall in the form of bursts of flames or shards of razor sharp ice. Then she'd bundle up into a ball and sob until her body had no more tears to cry. Then she'd pick herself up and wipe her face clean. She'd grip her clan's amulet around her neck and pray to the creators that they'd rescue her from this place.

Shaya's dalish heritage was something she had to reframe from sharing with the other mages here, human or elf they were shocked by the thought. Though she didn't kid herself in thinking that no one knew. She had no doubt that any alianage elf who saw her would notice the intricate blood writing on her face and point her out. Sometimes she heard their harsh words "barbarian, outlaws, criminals." Sometimes even cannibal was thrown into the mix. And Shaya hated it, though sometimes revelled in it. On days when she was most furious, she'd muttered made up curses to an apprentice who called her a barbarian, sending him running in fear. She'd then laugh so loudly until a watchful Templar was forced to scold her impudence. That was another thing she disliked, the templars, always the templars. In each room, down each hall, wielding their shields and swords of their chantry and keeping their eyes on her. She was always careful when she suspected that they were watching, her own beliefs she tried to hide away, though Never give it up. Once she remembered a woman coming to sit beside her when she sat alone in the library. The mage had been an elf, recently harrowed and she watched Shaya in wonder. She asked her questions about being Dalish and Shaya asked her about the alianage. The mage had been named Dania and she had grown up in the alianage and had come to the tower at around ten years old. Shaya got the impression that her life in the alianage was not pleasant. Shaya told her about her clan, about the Halla, about her mother and father, her closest friend, Mutaar and her brother, Kidrah. Danai sat in silence, hanging on each word she spoke. She then asked Shaya about her tattoos and what they meant. Shaya explained the coming-of-age ritual to her, known to her people as Vallaslin, or blood writing, how she remembers going through hers at twelve. It was a ritual done in total silence. Shaya remembered having to hold back whimpers of pain on occasion but had never been more honoured when it was over. She was a woman now, she could compete to be first or marry or become a healer. So many choices for her. Then they were taken from her. After that Dania and Shaya became more friendly, though they hardly saw much of each other as she had moved quarters and Shaya was still training. Then eventually they stopped talking and Shaya had been sad about it for a while. Then she accepted it and returned to introvercy, only speaking when spoken to, which was only ever with her teachers or the first enchanter. She liked Irving, though she couldn't open up to the elderly human like she had to the young elf.

One of The only solace she ever took in the tower was in practising her magic. Her own talents greatly surpassed the other apprentices and they all knew it. Even some of her teachers looked on the sixteen year old elf as she cast spell after spell against the enchanted barriers. Though lately, she had felt the need to dumb herself down a bit, start making mistakes and messing up spells to through their gazes from her. She often saw the smug looks on the other teenagers when she "messed up" and the looks of disappointment on the faces of her teachers. But she knew she couldn't risk it. She couldn't go through her harrowing yet, couldn't let them take her phylactery away before she found a way to get to it and be rid of it. Then she'd find an escape. She had a plan... she just needed to put it together.

So for now she lay in silence, hearing the girls talking about one of the templars, one named Cullen. Shaya didn't dislike him as much. He was a young, relatively attractive human who seemed far more sympathetic to the mages then most. She had never spoken to him herself, but she knew that many of the other girls had spent many days fawning over him. She tried to bite back a snicker as she listened to their talk, it moved from Cullen to Ostagar, about a battle with darkspawn. The thought sent chills up her spine. Then the topic changed to her, they must have not known she was present and her body went stiff with fear and rage. They were calling her words like "knife ears" and "savage". It was enough to cause her to scream. But she kept quiet, hearing them mock her and call her a show off. Then she heard the comment on how she arrived.

"I heard the templars found her in the forests, amidst a decimated camp. Heard it was slavers who attacked them. Killed a few of them. I think she fought them. I heard Cullen mention that she was holding a body in her arms, a savage elf like her..." She recognised the voice as one of the human apprentices, a girl who usually ignored her.

"Please, no one knows with those savages, I bet she maybe killed them, went nuts I'll bet..."

Shaya took a deep breath and slowly sat up, pushing the blanket off and rising up. She walked out the room with her head held up, staring straight ahead and as she passed the girls, who now stared at her horror struck and sick with embarrassment. She turned her head to them and nodded politely before leaving the room. The moment the door closed behind her, she broke into a run, sprinting from the quarters as fast as she could, tears streaking her face and eyes burning red with rage and sorrow. She found herself pushing through into the library once more. There was no one there except for a young human girl, bent over a book. Shaya closed she eyes and straightened up, walking as best she could to the other end of the room, finding a small spot to hide between two book shelves. She leant against the wall and slid down to the floor. As she touched the floor, she let out a heart shattering sob as she brought her knees to her chest, crying and sniffing back tears as memories of her clan rushed into her head.

They were all but decimated and she knew it. Bandits or slavers had attacked them. Slashing aravels and shooting fiery arrows at everything they had. She was certain that many fled, mainly woman with their young children. The hunters had been out at that moment, following a group of scouts who said they had found a massive relic buried in the dirt. They had been defenceless. When they attacked Shaya and some of the others and fought back, eventually most realised that they were outnumbered and ran. Shaya couldn't run. Her twin brother had been sick and couldn't fend for himself and her mother and Mutaar were with the hunters, and her father had just been struck down. Eventually she found her brother, still alive and stumbling through the flames. When an attacker ran at her, she struck him with a short blade she had wielded since a young age. Despite her magic, she could fight hand to hand and right then this unfamiliar talent had saved her life. She found Kidrah and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him out of the remains of their camp. But she was too late. A group of bandits caught them both and slew her brother there and then, eyeing her with lust and greed. As her brother fell, she screamed bloody murder, rage filling her up and giving her strength. Her hand found the hilt of a man's blade and she drew it, attacking them in fits of fury and throwing balls of fire at the five remaining men who had stayed to strip her precious camp. As she fought, she felt a red hot stab of pain and spun around, slashing her blade and letting a wave of ice erupt towards the man who had stabbed her. When all lay dead she fell to her knees, sobbing as she dragged herself to her brother's body, his head lulled to the side and lightless eyes rolled into his skull. She cried and screamed in rage until she had nearly bled to death. Then the templars found her. She didn't know how but they told her they'd help her, heal her wounds and she so unwittingly believed them. When she begged them to help her find the rest of her clan, they simply looked away, daring not tell her that she may never see them again.

The thoughts of if filled her with anger and she gripped her amulet, her sobs growing softer and softer. When it was finally done, her legs slid away, sprawled in front of her. She wiped her face refusing to go back to her room. She sat on the floor for what seemed like hours and slipped into a dreamless sleep.