Adjusting to life in Tevinter was not a simple affair.
After her first, rather exhausting day, her life had fallen into a simple routine; wake up, eat breakfast with Elloril, attend her lessons with Elias, practice spellcasting in the garden as Voss kept a watchful eye over her, eat dinner, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat for a week.
She hated every moment of it.
She hated her lessons with Elias, hated the magic, hated every moment being away from home. She hated the feeling of casting spells, feeling the speck of magic creeping down her arms that she struggled to control. Her life back home hadn't been perfect, not by a long shot, but at least she knew what was happening around her, and didn't feel like an alien masquerading as a human.
The only interesting time of her day was when she dreamed. Elias had taught her about the Fade, how mages could reshape it to their will when they dreamed. He'd taught her how to set wards around her room, made her practice it herself so that she could safely explore the land of dreams. She loved it every moment of it. She supposed it was like lucid dreaming, yet with so many more possibilities. She hadn't seen any entities like spirits or demons yet, which surprised her, since Elias warned her the more she explored the Fade, the more attention she would attract. Yet even then, as she pushed the boundaries of her dreams each night, she hadn't encountered anything.
I will protect you inside the Fade... it is up to you to guard yourself when you wake, is what the strange being that spoke to her the first time she had dreamt in Thedas had said.
She hadn't seen it again after that, despite her best efforts to seek it out again. She wasn't entirely sure what it was; a spirit, maybe, yet it didn't match the description Elias had given her during his lessons. Spirits, and even demons, seize upon a single facet of human experience, in which that one emotion or idea becomes their very identity. No matter how many times Clare replayed their conversation in her mind, she still could not identify a single emotion to it. It hadn't been a particularly curious creature; at least, it hadn't been curious about her emotions, but rather her existence, her presence. It didn't seek to understand her like spirits tended to do; it gave her instructions, told her outright it was responsible for pulling her through the Fade; that it had latched itself onto her. Which raised a terrifying question: what was it, and how exactly was it connected to her? She had debated asking Elias about it, but quickly dismissed the thought; she had no intention of arousing his interest or suspicion. For now, this would be her secret, and hers alone.
"-are? Clare? Are you listening to me?"
The sound of her mentor's voice instantly made her straighten her back in her seat, a sharp inhale the only indication of her lack of interest on what Elias had previously been saying. His head was tilted sideways, a greying eyebrow rising as a slow, almost knowing smirk spread across his lips. No point lying to him when he looked like that; like he knew everything there was to know about her.
"Sorry, Elias. I was just… distracted."
He was a strange man, Elias. At first, she had simply thought him unhinged, slightly deranged in an odd, subtle way. Now, she understood he was not so easily categorized.
There was definitely something eerie about him; she had been right on the mark about that, at least. Sometimes, she caught him staring at her in their moments together during lessons or dinner, far too long than what would be considered necessary. It wasn't lecherous, not by any means, but rather more like he was dissecting her with just a stare. Like he was trying to understand her, wanted to see what made her tick.
She wished she could say that was all; that he was simply the cardboard cutout of a crazy, deranged villain. But he wasn't. In the seven days she had come to know him, he showed sudden bursts of kindness, and doted on her as though she were his own daughter. Despite his strict lessons and cold mannerisms, he showered her in gifts, presenting her with fine robes to wear and jewelry when he got the chance. She had been unenthusiastic about them, but accepted them as graciously as she could, still remembering his reaction from when she had tried to refuse his first gift, Voss. Her first slave. It still made her sick to her stomach to think about.
Despite this, there was little kindness in his eyes when he presented her with things; even when she had accepted his eyes did not light up with happiness, but a sense of victory, like he had just ensnared her into a trap and she was not yet aware of it.
Her best guess was that he was trying to butter her up. Make her like him. It might've worked, too, if not for Elloril's warning and the fact that he let his mask slip every now and again. It didn't take a genius to know Elias wasn't exactly a people person. He seemed to spend most of his time in the left wing, rarely leaving it if not for her lessons and to eat. She doubted he got out much; not once in the time she had been here had she seen him step outside the estate's gates.
Her attention was brought back to the same man that invaded her thoughts as he waved off her poor excuse, either unwilling to push the issue or simply not caring. Either was a plausible explanation for him. "Worry not, our lesson is finished for today. But before you go," He snapped his fingers, which she now knew as his sign for a slave to approach. Just like that, a young elvish woman walked forward from the shadows, looking no older than Clare herself. She felt so distraught at that little observation, that she didn't even see the woman hand a small handkerchief to her mentor, only snapping back to attention when she scurried away after gently depositing it into Elias' waiting hands, her task finished.
"This," he began, fingers gingerly unwrapping the handkerchief to find a necklace nestled inside, its pendant some kind of hand with a dagger impaled in it, barely the size of a coin, "is the Villaneuva family crest. It is customary for Magisters to gift their apprentices a symbol of their house. A symbol of their alliance."
Stunned into silence, she had little words to give him. Unbothered, he gestured for her to turn around, which she did so obediently, remaining quiet as he fastened the clasp around her neck. His fingers, cold against her skin, did not linger; the absence of them was not missed as he stood back from her, eyes appraising her breastbone where the crest now rested against her robes.
"Thank you, Elias," Clare said, as she always did when he gifted her something.
He noticed the lack of feelings in her voice. "Is something the matter?" he asked, his voice tethering on impatient.
She debated telling him the gifts were unnecessary, that she didn't need or want them. She truly had no use for them; she had already tried giving to Elloril, to which the poor woman nearly had a heart attack and refused to budge on the issue. I appreciate your thoughts, my lady, but if I were caught with such valuables, I would surely be punished. Even if you gave them to me. But knowing Elias, she didn't think refusing what he considered generosity was her best idea. So instead, she plastered on her best smile, opting to instead say, "It's nothing, Elias. You're very generous."
But even then, his expression didn't change. He didn't buy it in the slightest. When she expected him to contort in anger and give her some kind of passive threat he usually did, his expression softened, a small smile spreading across his face. "You clearly do not like the gifts I have given you, dear. There is no need to fear; tell me what you truly desire, and it should be yours."
That had surprised her. What she truly desired? If she were to tell the truth, that she wanted him to send her home, there was no doubt she would subsequently ruin whatever good mood he had put himself in. She debated for a moment asking him to set his slaves free, but she wasn't completely stupid to think he would actually do it. She'd never talked over the aspect of freedom with Elloril; she'd never quite had the bravery to bring it up. A small part of her feared her answer if she were to ask if she wanted to be free.
As Elias' lips downturned in agitation at her silence, she knew her time was up. With nothing to say, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. "A journal."
He clearly hadn't been expecting that. His eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head to the side as he always did when she said something that confused him. "A… journal? Are you sure?"
Now that she had said it, it didn't sound like a bad idea. Allowing her thoughts to be her words, she replied, "Yeah. A journal. So I can write down notes about magic and stuff. It'll help me learn quicker." That, and she could write down things about Thedas, or theories as to how she came here. It was something to keep her sane in this nightmare, at the very least.
Elias seemed pleased with her answer, so much so that he actually chuckled. Chuckled, of all things; she didn't think he had it in him to show such a humanistic act. "Ever the dutiful student," he laughed. "Very well. I will have one brought to you tomorrow, with your morning meal."
True to his word, Elias had the journal delivered to her the morning after. Elloril effortlessly balanced it against her forearm as she stepped into Clare's room that morning, her hands full from the silver platter, food scattered on it to the brim.
"Hey, Elloril," Clare greeted, sitting up with a yawn. Elloril smiled in greeting, gently kicking the door closed with her foot. She'd long since gotten used to Clare's casual use of language around her, yet she still remained as formal as ever. Well, as formal as one could be when your boss - she still refused to call herself Elloril's master - forced you to eat breakfast with them because you were malnourished and they were lonely.
"Good morning, my lady," she greeted, setting the tray on her lap as she gracefully sat on the edge of the bed, the book sliding down her forearm and into her now empty hand. Clare watched, mesmerized, at her grace. Maybe it was an elvish characteristic, she decided. "Master commanded that I bring this to you with your morning meal."
Gesturing Elloril to climb up onto the bed with her, since the woman still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact Clare allowed her to sit next to her on the bed, she shivered at the cold air that nipped at her fingers. She gasped, instantly retreating her body back under the bed covers. "Jesus Christ, it's freezing this morning! Aren't you cold?"
Elloril, seemingly undisturbed, only smiled at her. "No, my lady. I'm fine."
She didn't believe her for a moment. Sneaking a peek at her arms, she noticed the telltale sign of goosebumps disappearing up her sleeve. "You have goosebumps! You are cold!"
The woman's face flushed, clearly either afraid or embarrassed. Probably scared, as much as she wished that wasn't the case.
Elloril spluttered, but Clare could only laugh. "C'mon, get under the covers with me. We'll eat like this."
To that, the woman's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "My- My lady!"
But today, Clare was having none of it. Pulling the covers on Elloril's side out from underneath her, she quickly draped them across the woman's legs where she was sitting, allowing at least the lower half of her body to be somewhat warm. "Come on, Elloril, it's fine. You know me, I wouldn't ask you unless I wanted to."
She could've sworn she heard the woman huff something under her breath, before gently pulling the covers over her to lie in bed next to Clare. Giving her a reassuring smile, she offered her a peach; she had an affinity to them, she'd discovered when she noticed the woman went straight for them every morning, and began eating in silence.
As they finished their meal and migrated to the vanity to begin getting ready for the day, she could see something was on the elvish woman's mind. Her fingers were unusually clumsy this morning - something she would never comment on - and her eyes kept glancing at Clare's through the mirror. She didn't push the woman to speak; Elloril would undoubtedly take that more as a command than a request.
It was after her third failed attempt at braiding her hair that she finally sighed and gave in to whatever was on her mind. "My lady, may I… ask you a question?"
It was the first time Elloril had actually addressed her first with a question. It was a pleasant surprise. Putting on her most warm smile, knowing she needed all the encouragement she could get in even addressing Clare, she nodded, her enthusiasm palatable. "Of course you can. Ask me anything you like."
Her assurances seemed to encourage her well enough, as a small, shy smile spread across her cheeks, disappearing as quickly as it came. "If it doesn't trouble you, mistress, may I ask... what your home was like?"
In all the time she had been to Thedas, no one had ever asked her that. Most people were too afraid to approach her, being Elias' apprentice from a strange land, let alone talk to her. Voss never spoke to her, only until she addressed him did he speak; and even then, it was hard to get him to say something. Elias, on the other hand, seemed to completely lose interest in her home when she had explained there was no magic where she came from.
"Well, it's…" She paused, unsure where to begin. "Where I'm from, we don't have magic. Well, I guess you could say our version of magic is science. We have buildings that reach the sky because of it, can harness electricity because of it, can travel across the world in only a few days because of it." She sighed wistfully, all the while casting a meaningful look at the elvish woman. "We don't have slavery in my homeland, either. It's considered a despicable practice to partake in."
Elloril didn't comment on that last little tidbit on information, seeming more surprised at the aspect that she had lived in a world without magic. "No magic? But… how?"
Clare grinned, shrugging in response. "We just live without it. It's easy once you're used to it, I guess."
"... I see." The elvish woman said, deciding to leave it at that. She frowned as she watched Elloril slowly disappear back into her meek shell.
Not wanting the moment to end so soon, Clare blurted the first thing that came into her head. "Can I ask you a question now?"
Elloril seemed genuinely surprised that she would be interested enough to ask her anything, but she quickly masked it with a polite smile. "Of course you may, my lady."
There were a lot of things she wanted to ask, truth be told. Were your ears sensitive? Do elvish people have different abilities from humans? Are you immortal like in Lord of the Rings? But there was one that she hadn't been able to get off her mind ever since meeting the woman. One which she needed an answer to, if she was going to leave Thedas with a clear conscience. "Have… you ever wanted to be free?"
When the brush Elloril had been holding stopped midway through combing her hair, she knew the handmaid had heard her question. Desperate, she tried again. "Elloril?"
There was a short pause, where Clare allowed the poor woman a moment to think. It was a loaded question, she knew; one that no one else may have ever asked her before.
"No, my lady. I have not."
She had been expecting a lot of different answers. But no hadn't been one of them.
"No?" Clare repeated, shocked. "But why?"
She hadn't considered the possibility that Elloril was content in her life as a slave. How could she? Clare had spent her life with the understanding that slavery was a despicable practice, one that no person should ever want to partake in. So why did Elloril not fight it?
The answer to Clare's question was answered almost immediately, as Elloril sighed and began to speak, as though she had already recited the words to herself several times already. "If I were allowed freedom… what would I do? Where would I go? I have no family, no friends, no abilities," Elloril sighed, parting the woman's hair she had been brushing to begin braiding it. "I am a slave, my lady. There is nothing in this world for me."
It hurt to hear those words. It hurt more to know Elloril believed in them.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out. What could she possibly say? How could she convince this woman freedom was a right and not something that could be given to her? How could she possibly convince her of it when that was the reality she was living in? Better yet, could she do that to her? Elloril seemed genuinely content in her life as a slave. If Clare told her that there was so much more to life than that, and she believed her, would she simply be sentencing her to a life where she longed for something she might not ever have?
Elloril seemed to notice her troubled expression, as she met her eyes through the mirror and, for the first time, gave her a reassuring smile. "I know you come from a different place, my lady, but this is Tevinter. This is our way of life here," Placing the brush down on the vanity, she placed her hands on Clare's shoulders, her lithe fingers giving them a gentle, comforting squeeze. Her expression changed for a moment, as though she were debating saying something. For the first time, her gaze turned tender, the smile on her lips not retreating as it usually did after a few seconds. "I am glad to be serving you. I do not wish to be doing anything else."
With that, they continued their morning routine in silence, Elloril's comforting hand remaining on Clare's shoulder the whole way through.
It seems that the traits of large eyes and lithe bodies run across all elves; perhaps lithe bodies are a result of their malnourishment? Have only seen a handful since coming to Thedas, so I can't make an accurate judgment. Large eyes seems accurate, however. Haven't had time to observe any other traits. Enhanced hearing and sight, maybe?
Haven't had a chance to test out much of healing magic yet. Elias has taught me basics, but I can't get much practice in since you need an actual wound to do so. I would give myself some cuts if I could actually get my hands on a knife or something. Worse case scenario, I suck at healing and fix myself up.
The sound of a grunt made her jump, almost causing her to drop her quill she was forced to write with. Elias was taking a trip today, leaving the estate for the first time she had been here. He had instructed several guards to keep watch over her, for her own safety, he had said, but she knew the truth; it was likely because he didn't trust her to not go snooping in the left wing. She decided to avoid that area altogether, so she had taken Voss and the handful of guards outside instead. They seemed to have decided that she wasn't going to do anything suspicious and, with that, decided to spar in the cool morning breeze with Voss while Clare sat to the side, writing in her journal and glancing up to watch them every now and again. She'd made good use of her newly acquired gift, writing down little tidbits of information when she had the chance; it could range from anything, magic to elves to the Fade. It was surprisingly a good method of clearing her head, along with the bonus that Voss seemed to enjoy the sparring well enough.
It was a quiet morning at the estate; just like every other day. Two weeks had passed since her first appearance and Thedas, and Voss rarely allowed himself to step out of his usual stiff disposition. It had taken a lot of reassurance on Clare's part, as well as careful questions and gentle compliments, but she felt like the elvish bodyguard was finally starting to warm up to her presence. Maybe even trust her. But even then, even with that small victory from both Voss and Elloril, she struggled to keep the gnawing emotion of loneliness at bay.
She had a rather large circle of friends back at home. College did that to a person; forced them into friendships. While she hadn't been on particularly good terms with her family, her friends had long ago filled the void in her heart her family had left when she decided to leave home and face the world herself. But she never faced those struggles alone; she had people just like her, who had their own harsh home lives and instead relied on each other for mutual support. Amanda, whose mother died of cancer and left her father as a raging alcoholic. Jason, who was raised by his grandparents and never knew his remaining family. Mary, who was disowned by her parents for her sexuality. With friends like hers, she had never once been lonely back at home.
But this wasn't home. This was Thedas.
Thedas, where fantasy races like elves existed. Thedas, where people could use magic. Thedas, where humans owned slaves. Thedas, where she was a complete and utter outsider in every single aspect.
Thedas, where she had no friends except her elvish handmaid and bodyguard who both probably considered her more of a master than an equal.
She sighed to herself, gently blowing on the ink in her journal to get it to dry faster, despite the fact it did very little to quicken the process. Setting it aside for now, she set her eyes to Voss, training with another guard. There was no point in trying to focus on writing when she got sentimental like this. It had been happening a lot the past few days; the loneliness crawling up her spine and into her thoughts the more time she spent away from home. At least watching Voss spar was a distraction, as she found herself becoming enchanted in the way his lithe body moved almost effortlessly to avoid the punches and slashes the guard tried to strike him with using his wooden sword.
Or it was a distraction, until her bodyguard met her eyes and failed to see the dangerously harsh punch coming his way, straight for his nose.
"Jesus Christ!" Clare screamed, watching in horror as the man's fist connected with his face, gushes of blood immediately spreading out across his cheek as he fell straight to the ground. Forgetting the journal on her lap, she dropped it without a care to sprint over to the pair, eyes wide in terror as blood continued to pour out of Voss' nose. His partner, as well as the other guards who had immediately stopped their own sparring matches, held an uncaring expression, a look of what she could have sworn was victory creeping up his attacker's face. But there wasn't time to analyze his partner's expression; not when Voss was bleeding out on the floor beside her.
"Voss, oh my god, oh Jesus," she rambled, dropping to her knees next to him, quickly falling into nurse-in-training mode as she gently, carefully, lifted his head and laid it in her lap, tilting his chin downwards so the blood didn't trickle back up his nose. His usually emotionless face had an edge of pain to it, his freckles hidden by the blood that had now smeared across his face.
The guard simply stared at her with an unreadable expression, almost confused that she was so worried about his well being. "You don't need to dirty your robes wit' his blood, mistress. He'll recover. No good knife-ear got what he deserved," his gravelly voice sneered, turning his head to the side to spit out some blood near Voss' feet. "Got a good couple'a punches in, though. Damn rabbit."
It was the first time she had actually spoken with a guard from Elias' estate, the only real interactions she ever got with them being when they would give her small, respectful nods in the morning. Now, as this man stood here insulting - because she was almost certain knife-ear, with the way he said it, spitting it out as though it were dirt stuck on the roof of his house, was some kind of insult - one of the closest things she had to a friend here, she was beginning to wish it stayed that way.
"I have no idea what knife-ear or rabbit means, and I sure as hell hope they're not insults," she sneered at him. For the first time since coming to Thedas, she was furious. Sure, she'd been angry when Elias had insulted her upon her arrival to stir a reaction out of her, but this was different. This was… wrong on so many different levels.
She'd managed to keep her mouth shut on slavery for this long. She'd managed to keep her opinions to herself, heeding Elloril's warning that it would do her no good to speak her mind on it. But now, she refused.
"Go get Elias, right now! You'd better hope Voss is alright, or it's on your head!" Clare almost screamed, satisfied when a look of panic spread across the man's face.
"My- my lady, Master Elias won't be back until tonight!"
Panic set into her at that, the revelation that there was no one here to control the situation but her, a woman who had absolutely zero idea about how medicine worked in Thedas. "How do I help him? Do you guys have a doctor here?"
The guard opened his mouth to respond, but another beat him to it. "We got some potions in the estate, my lady, but only Elias has the key to access them."
Potions. Of course Thedas had potions; she shouldn't have expected anything less from this place. "Well, what can we do without Elias?"
The guards glanced at each other for a moment, before they each respectively shrugged. "Notin', my lady. But you shouldn't worry, Elias won't be too displeased if the slave gets damaged; he's replaceable."
Fury coiled in Clare's gut as his words finally set in, the implication that it wouldn't matter if Voss got critically injured. "I don't give a shit whether Elias is going to be displeased, I'm going to be furious we don't do something to help him right now!"
That seemed to spur them into action, the realization that she was genuinely angry dawning on them. "I'll- I'll go see if I can find some elfroot, mistress!" Voss' attacker practically cried out, darting away to make his hasty retreat; she had no idea what the hell elfroot was, but she prayed it was something that could help. As much as she wished she did, she didn't have time to gloat and enjoy the victory, not when Voss began to cough and splutter, seeming to regain consciousness. She watched as his eyes fluttered open, slowly beginning to focus on her face, the wind gently glowing the wisps of her hair across his cheeks.
"Oh, thank god," she breathed, relieved. "Voss, are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?"
He furrowed his brows at her question, but dutifully answered, "Three, my lady."
"Okay, good," she mumbled, "Don't worry, I was a nurse back home, I'm sure I can do something."
But there wasn't anything she could do. She could see the splinter of bone slightly protruding out of the wound, far too fatal to be simply closed by resetting the broken bone; it would need surgery. Which she couldn't do, not without the help of modern medicine and the right skillset; she was a nurse, not a surgeon, for god's sake! She knew how the theory of it worked, but not how to actually do it!
A nearby guard seemed to sense her panic, quietly speaking up, "Can you heal 'im, mistress?"
It clicked. At that moment, she could have kissed that wayward guard. Healing. She might not be able to help him like she could back home, but she did know how to heal. She hadn't gotten the chance to practice, but she knew the theory. If she just concentrated…
Another groan of pain from Voss spurred her into action. "Okay, Voss, I'm gonna try something, okay? I just need you to stay still for a second."
It looked like it hurt him to say so, but he quietly uttered in a nasally voice, "As you say, my lady."
Rubbing her hands together, she prayed she could pull this off. Elias had taught her that the basis of mages was willing things into existence; it was simply a matter of whether someone had to mana to pull it off. A mage's magic came from the Fade, after all; the place where anything was possible, if one was capable of controlling their surroundings.
Think about the blood flowing back into the wound, sewing the wound shut. Think about the unmarred flesh, before it was broken. Seal the wound, allow the blood to flow freely through the veins once more. You must concentrate on what the body was like before they were injured, and use your magic to make it so. Do not try to do it all at once. Take steps. That's what Elias had said to her, only a few short lessons ago.
Take steps, concentrate on the unmarred flesh that was once a wound. She could do that. Firstly, she had to reset the bone. She tried to remember how Voss' nose looked like before this; hard, just like the rest of him, bronzed with a dust of freckles spreading across. As she engraved the memory into her mind, she began to feel the magic slither down her arm, into her outstretched palm that hovered over his face.
It began with the skin tilting upwards in the air, the bone giving a satisfying snap as some kind of force reattached it into its place, Voss only managing to give a startled, pain-filled grunt in response. Next, she focused on the skin, allowing the tendrils of magic to gently sew the wound shut back in careful strokes. Satisfied, she let her magic reach forward, checking him for any lasting damage; she soothed over the injury once more, urging the tissue to heal.
And just like that, it was done, the only reminder of what had transpired the remaining blood on his face.
"Voss, are you okay? Did I do it right?" Clare asked, worried when he showed no immediate reaction.
For a moment, he simply stared. Then he blinked once, twice, as though he struggled to remember where he was. "You healed me?" he asked, the nasally edge to his voice long gone.
She couldn't help but grin in response. "I think so. Do you feel anything?"
A look of shock crossed his face at her admission, quickly shaking his head at the question. "No, my lady, I feel fine. I…" he looked lost for a moment, almost contemplating. "Thank you. You didn't have to waste your magic on me; you could have simply waited until Elias returned."
Clare frowned at that, not particularly liking the implication that he was so insignificant that she should just… let him suffer rather than healing him. "Waste my magic on you? There's nothing else I'd rather spend my magic on," she gently corrected, reaching forward to wipe some blood off his face with her sleeve.
Unlike most emotions Voss showed, his shock was unfleeting, imprinted on his face clearer than any crystal. "I…" he stumbled, unsure of his words. Instead of attempting to continue, he cleared his throat, lifting himself off the ground to kneel on one knee in front of her, his fist placed over his chest. "I'm in your debt, my lady."
She smiled, trying to chase away the flush that was creeping on her cheeks. He was behaving like she had donated a vital organ to him. "Don't thank me, Voss," She debated saying more for a short moment, before taking a leap. "You're my friend, right?"
He looked up at her, a small smile stretching his lips, uncaring of their audience. "Yes, my lady," he replied, "We are… friends."
The word sounded foreign coming from him, but it was enough. The declaration that they were equals hung in the air for the rest of the day, no one daring to comment on it.
For the first time since coming to Thedas, she felt a glimmer of hope.
"Good. Again."
She sighed, closing her fist as the fire in her hand flickered out. Focusing once more, she imagined the feeling of a flame creeping up her arm and into her awaiting palm, just as Elias had instructed her. This time, she felt the embers ignite rather than saw it. It was warm, different from the intense burning it should have been. Almost comforting in the frosty cold as they stood in the estate's grounds, Elias watching her movements patiently beside her as Voss kept a watchful eye.
Three weeks and four days had passed since coming to Thedas, and her spellcasting had dramatically improved. Ever since the incident with healing Voss' broken nose, Elias had allowed her to practice on the guards when they injured themselves sparring. Better than wasting potions, he had said. Now, the guardsmen came to her whenever they managed to hurt themselves, forcing Clare to quickly learn how to heal broken bones, scrapes, and gashes. They seemed to have developed a begrudging kind of respect - and almost dependency - to her, seeming to put aside her outburst when one of their men injured Voss for the sake of her skills.
As a result, she'd gotten significantly better at casting spells altogether. She was able to focus her energy - or mana, as Elias called it - to do more complex acts of magic, noticing she had a strange affinity to fire and, of course, healing. It was odd how easily the magic came to her; like an old memory, as one would try to recall knowledge they had learned a long time ago, but couldn't quite remember it. Like she was rusty at it, and was just getting back into the practice. Because of it, she'd managed to get the hang of Elias' teachings rather quickly. He never praised her, however; only moved onto the next task. Not that she particularly needed or wanted it.
"That's enough," Elias instructed, holding up his hand as the fire in her hand flickered out once more. "I think you're ready."
The admission surprised her. Usually, Elias bought her out on the courtyard to simply let her practice; she'd had no idea she was on trial. "Ready? Ready for what?"
Ignoring her, he snapped his fingers. She frowned when Voss stepped forward, a staff in his hands; they made eye contact for a small moment, before he was forced to break it as he handed Elias the magical item. Its design was simple and quaint. Its base was wrapped in a thick leather, allowing her to keep a firm grip on it, with a sickle, of all things, attached to its tip.
"This," he began, giving the staff an experimental twirl, "is now your staff. You've proven yourself ready to move onto the true spellcasting nature of magic. Come, see."
She slowly approached, apprehensive. Taking the staff from her mentor, she copied Elias' earlier movement, giving it an experimental twirl. She felt absolutely ridiculous, but also… oddly powerful.
"Staves are used to concentrate your mana to help its user create more powerful, complex spells. A proper mage uses it like it is an extension of themselves; another limb. Keep it on you at all times; I do not wish to see you without it."
She slowly nodded, soaking the words in. Seemingly satisfied, he took a step forward, coming to stand beside her. "Good. Now, copy my movements. Feel your mana flow through you, and out of the staff."
She positioned herself, concentrating. It wasn't a particularly hard task, using a staff; most of the time it felt like it was drawing the magic out of you, making spellcasting significantly easier. It was the movements that she found hard, struggling to keep up with Elias' graceful motions as he maneuvered the staff around himself, clearly an expert at the act.
It was after whacking herself with her newly acquired staff the third time that Elias let out a small chuckle, something he seemed prone to do only when she injured herself. She huffed, clearly annoyed, but didn't complain. Not here, not when she had come so far.
Elias, sensing her determination, only smiled. "Again."
As it turned out, spellcasting with a staff was vigorous work, Clare huffing as she tried to replicate the moves Elias had shown only a few days ago. He'd demanded only the best from her, correcting her form by whacking her with the tip of his own staff when she practiced. It had frustrated her to no end and left her with plenty of bruises, but she was learning. The maneuvers were coming to her easier as the days went by, the magic flowing through her and out of her staff almost like it was instinct. She wasn't perfect, but practice would get her there.
And Elias wanted nothing short of perfect from her.
So, here she was, casting spells as her stoic bodyguard kept a watchful eye. Whenever she managed to do a particularly difficult spell, she'd look over her shoulder, a victorious grin on her face as he only offered a nod of acknowledgment in response.
Since their declaration of friendship, Voss, along with Elloril, remained the only two people Clare would truly consider her friends in Thedas. As time went on, Clare continuing to share her breakfasts with the elvish woman and making small talk, she had slowly opened up to her, enough to even call her a friend more than an ally. Their time in the morning together was precious to Clare, as they idly chatted, sharing little tidbits information with each other as the elvish woman brushed her hair, hands slightly sticky from eating Clare's morning breakfast with her. With Voss, it was different; they didn't have a safe haven to interact freely with one another, but a knowing look shared between the two whenever Elias said something particularly draining was enough for Clare to know they were on the same page; almost like they shared an inside joke together. Their interactions kept her sane.
But she wasn't here to make friends. She wasn't even here for a particular purpose. She was here to go home. And the way home was through helping Elias, as well as mastering her magic. Once you master the basics of spellworking, we can move onto far more significant things, Elias had said to her. So, she'd worked relentlessly, desperate to master whatever task Elias threw at her. The sooner she did, the sooner she could do whatever Elias needed from her. Then, she could go home.
Her resolve strengthened once more, she resumed practicing, focusing all her energy into the staff gripped in her hands.
"Let go of me, you shems! Fenedhis lasa!"
It wasn't often you heard loud noises in Elias' estate. He enjoyed the quiet, as she had quickly learned. Even when the guards trained in the courtyard where she studied, they were silent, not daring to let out even the slightest of a battle cry, the only sound the clangs of their swords and the occasional grunt. It had been a bit disconcerting at first, but she'd gotten used to it over time. So one could imagine her surprise at hearing someone actually shouting, of all things.
She followed the sound, interest thoroughly piqued, just in time to see an elvish woman, no older than herself, being dragged by Elias' guards towards the estate. She was dressed differently than the other slaves Clare had met so far. The telltale collar was absent from her neck, and was dressed in what looked like green leather and chainmail armor, with a bow and quiver full of arrows attached to her backside. She flailed about, relentlessly kicking and screaming, her blonde braid whacking the guards as she furiously struggled to escape their grip. Clare could've sworn she saw her try to bite one of their hands.
"Who is that, Voss?" She asked when the woman, now being manhandled by the two exasperated guards as they struggled to drag her into the estate.
"A new slave I believe, my lady," Voss replied, "Unbroken, it seems."
The word unbroken made her stomach coil, its meaning not lost on her. "Jesus Christ," she mumbled, rubbing her temples. "I hate it here."
Voss was quiet for a long moment. He does that a lot, Clare now knows; deliberates his words carefully, taking a while before he speaks. He doesn't entirely trust Clare, doesn't trust her to speak his mind; not with the power dynamic between them. Well, she had thought so, until he murmured, "We must endure, my lady."
We, he had said. They were all suffering in this place. The slaves far more than her.
It was a harsh reminder. "I'm going to get out of here," she seethed quietly. Then, quietly, "And you should too."
She could've sworn she saw him tense, his shoulders stiffening and inhaling quickly through his nose. His eyes scanned the area around them, searching for any eavesdroppers. Satisfied that no one was listening, he remained silent once more for a moment. Then, "There is no escape for slaves. This is the life I was given. You, on the other hand, must master your magic first to leave, my lady."
Well, he was right about one thing, and it wasn't about himself. "You know," she mumbled, looking down at her hands, the feeling of magic long gone, "it doesn't have to be that way."
He didn't say anything further, not that she expected him to. Instead, he looked out towards the sun, slowly disappearing over the horizon. "Shall I escort you to dinner, my lady?"
It was a dismissal if she'd ever heard one. He was done talking about this, she knew. And as much as she wished she could change his mind, she respected his boundaries. "Yeah," she sighed, gripping her staff as she turned towards the estate. "Let's go."
Elias didn't come to dinner that night, one of the guards telling her he had important business to attend to. Not that she particularly minded; being around Elias made her incredibly nervous, despite all the time she had spent with him. She enjoyed dinner that night in peace, eating her meal quietly and slipping out as soon as she could, not wanting to find out if her mentor might spontaneously visit or finish his business early. She went to sleep early that night, and dreamt of a land in the sky.
When she woke up, her day started normal enough. She woke up to Elloril opening the curtains, ate breakfast with her elvish friend as they idly chatted; apparently, there was a scandal currently going on amongst the slaves with the sudden introduction of their newest member; Tariel, Clare learned her name was.
"She's dalish, that one," Elloril had said, brushing Clare's hair as she sat in front of the vanity mirror. "Considered exotic in Tevinter. But she's loud, angry, and a real fighter. Gonna get herself killed, and it's making everyone nervous."
"Dalish? Killed?" Clare gasped, abruptly turning around in her seat to look her friend in the eye. "Elias won't kill her, will he?"
Elloril only gave her a sympathetic smile, like she was talking to a child who had just asked how what death was. "What use is a disobedient slave to him?"
Clare opened her mouth to reply, but her words died in her throat as the sound of a knock resounded through the room. The two women jumped, startled, turning to each other questioningly. Voss never knocked when he came to escort her to her lessons; he waited outside until she was ready. Had they taken up more time than usual?
"Clare, my dear, are you decent? May I enter?"
The sound of Elias' voice caused panic to spike through her veins, and she wasn't the only one. Elloril tensed in her peripheral vision, fear overtaking her features that had been alight with content only moments ago. Almost instantly, she fell back into the role of a meek slave, all because of Elias' mere presence behind a wall.
"Uh, yeah, I'm good," she yelled back. When Elias still didn't enter, she grumbled, rewording her sentence, "I'm dressed, sir."
That seemed to do the trick, the doorknob turning as Elias opened the door, entering in a flourish of colors and layers. He seemed more done up today, his beard neatly trimmed and his robes more extravagant than usual. He had a different staff, too; the one he had hung up on his study, she realized. And was that vanilla she smelt?
"It seems," he growled out, pacing around her room, "that we must cancel our lessons for today. We have a visitor that will be arriving soon. A fellow colleague of mine. I need you to be perfect."
He turned to Elloril, who stood obediently by Clare's side, head bowed respectfully. She didn't so much as make a noise when Elias bellowed at her, "You! Get three other handmaidens, and make her presentable. I need her ready as soon as possible. Dress her in the best robes you can find," he ordered, his eyes instantly fixing on Clare as Elloril bowed, rushing out the door. "Meet me at the entrance as soon as possible. Do not speak unless spoken to, do not ask questions, and do not embarrass me."
Before she could even mumble out a yes, sir, he was already gone, disappearing out the door as quickly as he had come. Grumbling to herself, she turned back to the vanity, picking up the brush Elloril had left to resume brushing her hair. Her mind was overflowing with questions, but now wasn't the time for them. God knows what Elias would do if she embarrassed him in front of his mysterious colleague.
Lost in her thoughts, the sound of the door being abruptly pushed open once more startled her, causing Clare to involuntarily yank a particularly difficult knot in her hair. She hissed, hand going up to her scalp to soothe the sharp pain. She didn't even notice Elloril, along with two other slaves, rush inside, setting several items down on her bed and vanity.
"We don't have much time," Elloril managed to gasp out, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. Her two companions looked shocked at her ease at addressing their human mistress, clearly unused to interacting with someone who didn't treat them with any more respect than furniture.
Clare, in response, only gave them a reassuring smile, to which they only shrunk away from her gaze. "It's nice to meet you both. What're your names?"
Elloril, however, didn't seem to have time for introductions. Shooting her two companions a placating look, she strode over to Clare, grasping her hands and looking her straight in the eyes. "Clare, you have to be careful. Whoever is visiting today… it has Elias on edge. He never gets social calls; the only people who come here are…" She shook her head, her hands beginning to shake as they held her own. "You must be cautious."
She gulped at the elvish woman's words. "Elloril… who are the only people who come here?"
In the corner of her eye, she saw the two other slaves flinch, like they were trying to fold into themselves. Elloril, too, mirrored their movements, her fear coming off her in waves as she looked away. "I… I don't entirely know. Some kind of group, but…" It was then that she made eye contact with Clare, her eyes shining with terror. But she didn't say anything; only shook whatever thoughts were distracting out of her head, mumbling more to herself, "No, we don't have time for this. We have to get you ready."
And so, calling her two companions over, their hands full of fabrics and cosmetics, they did just that.
When first coming to Thedas, she had thought wearing the robes were bad. She'd had little choice in the matter, as Elias had burned her clothes from when she had first appeared before him. He'd allowed her to wear more practical clothes when practicing spellcasting with her staff, but she still missed skinny jeans and bras that actually supported her chest instead of a breast band.
Now, however, having been forced into a tight-fitting dress where the skirt fell in graceful layers at the back and came short at the front, legs modestly hidden by a pair of black stockings and hair pinned up by some extravagant Tevinter headwear, she realized she should have just counted her blessings.
"Stop twitching," Elias snapped from beside her, not even bothering to make eye contact as his eyes remained trained on the gates of the estate. Thoroughly scolded, she dropped her hands from the frills on her skirt to her sides, huffing quietly to herself. Her apprehension at meeting this mysterious guest had dropped dramatically after the twenty-minute time stamp of waiting at the entrance with her mentor for them to arrive, with little else to entertain herself but to look at the sky and attempt to make shapes out of the clouds.
She'd had such little time to stop and enjoy the air since coming to Thedas; she'd been too busy worrying about getting out of the place to do so. But now, standing beside her grouchy mentor, staring at the sky that seemed almost a shade bluer than back home, breathing in the pollution-free air, she found herself appreciating at least this much of the strange world. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
Well, it was, until the sound of the estate's gates opening to make way for a carriage flung her back into reality.
"Straighten your posture," Elias hissed to her as the carriage, grand yet simplistic all at once, wheeled through the estate's entrance, the copper that delicately decorated its exterior shining brilliantly against the sunlight. A shire horse trotted along the gravel pathway that spiraled around the sights of Elias' estate, as though to show off his immeasurable wealth, before finally coming to a grand stop before the waiting pair. Almost immediately, she squared her shoulders and held her head higher, scavenging whatever pride she had left inside her; Tevinter women are not meek, they are proud, Elias had said to her.
She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as the carriage door opened. A man, no older than Elias, stepped out, dressed in the same fine robes and silks her mentor usually fashioned, a red hood with pointed tips at the ears sticking out of its sides. He was a finely groomed man, with neatly shaved facial hair and thick, yet trimmed eyebrows; but even then, all the grooming in Tevinter couldn't hide the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in his movements, and the lines of stress etched into his forehead. Despite this, he stood firm and proud, eyes blinking against the harsh sunlight for only a moment before turning his steely gaze to appraise the estate; going from the manor, to the stand-by slaves, to Elias, and finally, to her, to which she saw only two things lurking beneath: pride and ambition.
"Gereon Alexius," Elias purred. "How lovely of you to visit us."
9k words, everyone. i hope u all love me for this lmao. a big thanks to blacklotusz07 and ghostlyguest for their kind words, your reviews mean a lot! i wrote this at the crack of dawn, so feel free to let me know if there are any types or mistakes. until next time!