It's been about 2 years since I've played, read, or had anything to do with Dragon Age. I don't have access to the games anymore so I'm going off of memory and wikis. Things will change, but I hope to stay true to the essence of the characters and the adventurous feeling of Dragon Age. Also, I want to preface this by saying this story is high fantasy with sci-fi.
Please let me know what you think!
. . . . .
Leaves rustle in the slight breeze and every now and then the smell of autumn reaches the healer's nose. She sniffs, glancing around. Autumn may come but winter will never breach Skyhold's walls. Old enchantments are nestled in every nook and cranny of this place, augmented by a few of the runes she knows.
"Jackie, we need your help."
The healer looks up and the sister who visibly recoils. That look of disgust never changes when someone looks at her. A sharp scar cuts diagonally across Jackie's face separating smooth, taut skin from greying, pockmarked skin.
"What do you need help with?"
The sister swallows, "Can you make the elfroot grow a bit faster? We're running a little lower than we should be."
"Of course ma'am." The healer wanders over to the healing garden before cupping a few stalks of elfroot. It's a little paler than it should be, perhaps a little scrawnier too though Jackie still has problems telling anything about a plant from looking at it. She leans over, focusing on the plant, drawing in her power before pushing it out into the plant. Slowly new tendrils sprout, fresh tender leaves turn towards the sun. She smiles softly before the static of battle magic draws her attention. The Commander, a man with borrowed magic, is attempting to teach born mages how to fight. It would be comical if it weren't so sad. Why are there no battle mages to teach them?
Jackie sighs, glancing back at her little elfroot plants. She's a hedge mage, a healer, that's what she came to be. Lightning crackles, misses its mark, and she grits her teeth as the yelling begins again. The mages have next to no one to teach them how to fight like soldiers and the soldiers can't teach the mages because they have no magic. This fool is going to get the mages killed.
. . .
"Why are we even teaching them, Commander? Can't Grand Enchanter Fiona or someone do it?"
"No," Cullen growls. A headache is blooming between his eyes and almost getting shot with lightening earlier didn't help. "The Grand Enchanter won't do much of anything because of Redcliff. Magister Pavus is Tevinter, I don't want him teaching. Enchanter Vivienne refuses. No one else is in a position to teach anything as what they've learned was only good enough to survive not to win against an organized threat."
"Commander," Rylen scowls. "We're not doing much of anything by trying to teach them. We've spent our whole lives trying to get them not to fight, we're wasting our time by not just teaching our soldiers and hoping the mages pick up some tips."
"Knight-Captain, the Inquisitor gave us an order. We're to teach the mages how to fight as well as teach the normal recruits. There's no room for discussion."
"Well, I'll do whatever the Inquisitor says even if I think it's pointless."
"Good, now if there's nothing else I need to work on these papers." Rylen shuts the door behind himself and Cullen slumps behind his desk. Every paper he picks up shakes, the ink swimming before his eyes. One breath, two breaths, the words come into focus a little more but after a few minutes he puts the paper down in disgust. He can't focus. He shrugs out of the massive fur he wears, removes his armor and tries again.
It would be so easy to get some lyrium. He's been so careful, careful not to do it too often, careful to not let it consume him, it's been a month since he's had any so what will one little bit hurt?
No, no, now's not the time. He's better than that. He has to be better than that.
. . .
A girl, no more than fourteen and missing one tooth smiles at Jackie. "We hedge mages have to stick together. I'm tired of them calling us apostates like we're dirty."
"Apostates," Jackie rolls the word around on her tongue. It feels foreign, something she's never been called before coming here. She says nothing else.
"So…I've been wondering, Jackie, what happened to your face, and why do you stay covered up all the time? It's bedtime and you've got gloves on."
Jackie stares at the ceiling, desperately wishing once again for private accommodations. Why the child continues to talk is beyond her. Perhaps a distraction is in order. "What happened to your tooth, Cor?"
"Oh this? Well one day, a long long time ago before I came to Skyhold, one day I was there minding my own business. I was singing to my flowers and my snails and we were all having a grand ole time." She drones on for a solid five minutes about the grass, the animals, the way the sunlight felt before revealing that her mother had caught her using magic. Cor had run away after her mother hit her over the head and knocked her tooth out. Jackie doesn't pry for what happened to the mother. It's easy to guess.
"If you don't ask me about my face, don't ask me anything about how I look or what I do, I can replace your tooth. How does that sound?"
"Ha! You can't just make new teeth. The Chantry sisters say only the Maker can do that."
"Well, they're wrong. Do we have a deal?" She extends her hand. Cor pretends to think about it for a moment before laughing and vigorously shaking her hand. A jolt travels up the child's arm and Jackie stares at the hole. Energy coalesces, creating a new tooth which Cor excitedly runs her tongue over.
"Oh Maker! This is amazing! Thank you so, so much! I'll never ask you another thing, I promise!" She jumps up, "I have to go thank the Maker!"
Jackie snorts as the younger girl runs out of the room towards the sanctuary. "Your Maker had nothing to do with this." May his soul find peace in Fer'Vir and his tree never die.
. . .
Cullen sleeps fitfully, the same as usual. By the time dawn approaches he's already up, strapping his armor on carefully. He's spent almost every day for almost as long as he can remember in armor. The weight is familiar, comfortable, even if this new design did take a while to adjust to. He strokes the lion on his chest, an odd change from the flaming sword he'd once worn. "There are no Templars anymore," he mutters. "I'm responsible for the wellbeing of everyone here – mages and non-mages alike." He sighs, "I have to keep the peace."
He stares at the mirror for a moment. There are bags under his eyes that hadn't been there months ago. He'd thought he was tired in Kirkwall but it pales in comparison to the bone-tired weariness that's settled over him like a cloud. "Today will be better. No lightening today."
The ladder creaks under him. He still worries about going up and down it in his armor but has been reassured multiple times that it's sturdy enough to support him. A polite knock on the door doesn't surprise him. It's the same every morning. A maid curtsies to him and sets a covered tray on his desk.
"Oh, that's new," She comments, "Battle Magic well that seems pretty straight forward."
"What?" Cullen's head whips around.
"Oh, sorry Commander. I know I'm not supposed to look at your desk but-"
He stalks over to his desk only to find a large, loosely bound book sitting squarely in the center of his desk. "Guards!" He roars.