A/N - Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed (and favorited) the repost of this story. Your supportive and encouraging words mean the world to me! All reviews are accepted, whether they are short or long. Another big thank you to my wonderful beta Eve Hawke - you're the best! *hugs*
The maelstrom in Zoya's head threatened to boil out in violent and unpredictable ways. Valendrian told her she needed to think before she acted, but how could she when there were so many thoughts chasing through her head, screaming incoherently at her. The loudest and most insistent was to run from this place, to escape this fate imposed upon her. Her eyes fastened on the Alienage's gate as she thought about taking action; the muscles in her legs gave an anticipatory twitch and her heart pounded in her chest in response. With an effort of will, she turned her back on the gate. Running wasn't the answer she was looking for.
Her father and the elder's betrayal had cut her to the core. Neither man had consulted her about arranging a match or sending her to Highever where she would be away from all she knew and loved. How long had they been planning her betrothal? All the things she'd wanted to say earlier at Valendrian's house, but had been unable to formulate at the proper moment, swirled with the other flotsam.
Zoya shoved at the door to her home until it finally gave way, cursing under her breath that Soris hadn't yet fixed it, then entered the dark house. The embers in the fireplace glowed dimly, the only light in the small main room as Zoya stalked to the hearth. She gripped the worn wood of the mantle, trying to ground herself as rage and panic continued to build in her chest. Reaching within, Zoya channeled the magical energy into the fireplace. The logs on the grate, as well as every candle throughout the room, flared to life. The flames grew, greedily devouring her magic, the pinprick in the Veil tearing wide open as the raw power she called on poured through the breach. For a brief moment, she wondered what would happen if she just let the power continue to flow.
Zoya grimaced and fiercely shook her head as she cursed her loss of control. Using her magic to light the fireplace or candles was among the earliest lessons Adaia had taught her; a test of control that she had just failed spectacularly. Her fists clenched hard enough for her fingernails to cut into her palms as she extinguished the flames. How many times did she need to be taught the importance of keeping her emotions in check? She needed to get herself under control and quickly; these kinds of emotional outbursts had a way of attracting unwanted attention from the Fade and she was in no mood to be propositioned by a demon today. And the last thing she wanted to do was burn her home to the ground.
She took deep, soothing breaths as she turned from the fireplace, moved to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of mead, and let her eyes wander the room. Each simple, well-worn furnishing held a memory for her. Every chair and table, each cushion and blanket - even the cooking spoons had been passed from generation to generation, and would continue to be handed down until they fell apart. When she closed her eyes, Zoya saw the childhood memories play out in front of her.
She sat on the floor at her mother's feet, her nimble fingers working through the mechanics of the lock in her hands. At the sound of knocking, Adaia rose from her seat next to the fire, slender hands running through her hair and smoothing her tunic as she moved to the door on light feet. She ushered Duncan in quickly, taking a moment to scan the area outside the house for witnesses to his arrival. Zoya's fingers dropped the lock as she scrambled to stand, looking up in shy expectation at the armored human.
He reached down and ruffled her hair with a gloved hand. "My little magpie... do you think I would come empty handed?" He turned his other hand over, opening his fingers to reveal a complex golden lock. "I found this lovely thing in the Deep Roads. None of my party could open it." Duncan winked at Adaia, "I bet Gregor that I'd find someone who could. Would you like to give it a try?" Zoya grinned at him and plucked the lock from his hand.
Soris looked at her crossly as she scampered back to her spot in front of the fire. "I bet I can figure it out faster than she can!" He swooped down on her, snatching the lock from her hands. While Zoya was slightly older, Soris stood a full head taller than the girl. He held the lock over his head so it was out of her reach. Any other child might have jumped and cried out, attempting to take back her treasure, but not Zoya. She crouched down and kicked out viciously, sweeping his feet from under him. Soris howled as he fell, and the two of them rolled across the floor, arms and legs all a-tangle as they wrestled and struck at each other. Zoya was vaguely aware of her mother's voice, admonishing their antics, but what happened next stunned them all into silence.
Soris had her pinned to the floor and was grinning in triumph as he continued to hold the lock out of her reach. The rough floor boards pressed hard into her back through her light tunic, her hair catching on the cupped and splintered edges of the wide planks as she squirmed under his weight. Zoya growled as the frustration grew inside her. A humming resonated at her center, bringing with it a tingling pressure that spread through her limbs. She pulled her arms free and pressed her palms against Soris' chest, wishing he would just get off. The rush of exhilaration at the sudden release of pressure caught her by surprise; she could see the energy moving from her in waves, throwing Soris off her and across the room. Zoya leapt to her feet, her face defiant as she marched over and grabbed the lock from his hand.
Zoya smiled sadly at the memory. What would she have told that child if she could have spoken to her? Would she tell her to fear her power - to bury it deep and never use it again? Maker knew, such gifts came with a terrible price. She sipped from her cup, losing herself to the past once more.
Adaia shooed the children into bed, promising to tuck them in shortly. Once they'd changed their clothing and settled down, Adaia slipped back into the room, lifting Zoya and settling the girl in her lap. Her voice shifted into the subtle lilt it always got when she told the old stories. Though she knew only a few tales, the children never tired of hearing them. After they drifted off to sleep, Adaia snuck back into the main room.
The loss of her mother's warmth woke Zoya. She lay quietly as Adaia and Duncan spoke, not wanting to move or even breathe for fear of alerting the adults that she was listening.
"What are you going to do?" Zoya could hear Duncan remove his swords and lay them on the wooden floor before settling into a chair.
"Cyrion will be back tomorrow. I'll have to tell him. You understand that I'll need to postpone our trip to the Brecilian ruins?" Adaia's light footsteps crossed the room. Zoya recognized the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle and liquid poured into cups.
"Of course I understand. I doubt Cyrion will be as happy about Zoya's new talents as you are. He's fairly devout in his beliefs, isn't he?" The chair groaned as Duncan shifted his weight.
"Very devout. You're probably right - he's never been comfortable with my magic, and I doubt Zoya inheriting this 'curse' will change his mind." Adaia sighed heavily.
"Do you think he'll insist that she be sent to the Circle?" Zoya's breath caught in her throat at Duncan's mention of the Circle. While she don't know much about what the Circle was, the venom in Adaia's voice whenever she spoke of it told her all she really needed to know.
"He wouldn't dare suggest we send her away. He knows how I feel about the Circle - I'd take her and run before I allow her to be sent to that place." She winced at the sound of her mother's anger.
Zoya heard Duncan rise from his chair and his heavy boots moving across the floor. "You could take her to the Dalish. At least there you'll both be out of the Chantry's reach."
She gripped her blanket in her fists as she strained to hear her mother's response. "Perhaps. But I think Cyrion will see reason." Zoya couldn't help but think that her mother didn't sound very confident about her statement.
Their talk drifted to mundane topics, but much as she tried to sleep, it was a long time before she shut her eyes.
Adaia's nerves the following day telegraphed themselves to the children, and when Cyrion arrived at last, the tension was thick enough to slice. Adaia put them to bed as usual, but sleep was the farthest thing from Zoya's anxious mind. Staring into the darkness, she listened for the conversation she knew was coming.
"I looked the other way when you insisted that Zoya be trained in weapons and hand-to-hand combat. And against my better judgement, I relented when you taught her how to pick locks. But this is a completely different situation." Zoya could hear Cyrion pacing the floor as he spoke. "It's one thing for you to stay hidden from the Templars. How are you planning on keeping Zoya's magic a secret? It's going to take time for her to learn to control it. Don't you think she'll be tempted to use it like she did with Soris yesterday? And what if she hurts someone? I'm sorry Adaia, but I don't think we have a choice - she'll need to go to the Circle for everyone's safety. This is a matter of keeping you both alive." Zoya felt tears burning in her eyes; was her father really going to send her away? She fought the urge to leap from her bed to run to him and beg him to let her stay.
A hint of desperation crept into her voice as Adaia pleaded with her husband. "Cyrion, you need to trust in me and in our daughter. She's smart, a quick learner, and she has a good heart. I can't imagine that she would ever intentionally use her magic to harm another. I can teach her the control she needs."
"I doubt that she'd intentionally hurt anyone, but look what happened with Soris. She's very young and self control isn't exactly a virtue of youth. You and I both know magic is dangerous. There's a reason why young mages are taken to the Circle - it's for their protection and ours. If she goes to the Circle, she will be with her own kind. They can safely teach her to control her magic and she wouldn't have to hide from the Chantry." Zoya felt movement on the bed as her cousins crept to her side. She raised a finger to her lips to remind them to stay quiet.
Adaia's voice was tense, "You know nothing about the Circle or what it's like to be ripped from your family. I can't, I won't, allow Zoya to be sent to the Circle. She's my daughter, and I know that I'm the best one to teach her."
A hand pounded on the wood of a table. "Your insistence that she stay here is reckless and selfish. You forget that she's also my daughter, and I know that she'll be better off in the Circle."
"And you're reacting out of your own ignorance and fear! You're leaving me little choice but to take my daughter and run." The children cowered under the blankets as the adult voices rose in volume.
Shianni and Soris pressed in close on either side of Zoya, their hands clasped tightly. Cyrion's voice was cold and hard when he responded, "And where would you go? To your beloved Warden? Did he promise he would take care of you and Zoya, that the Wardens would shelter you from the Chantry? Maybe he's finally getting what he's wanted all along - you as a Warden at his side and Zoya as his ward?"
Zoya heard a chair clatter to the floor as its occupant rose too quickly. "Cyrion, you go too far. I suggest you stop speaking..."
Cyrion's voice was harsh as he continued. "Maybe he could groom her to take your place should you ever fall? Set up a home for your new family in the Deep Roads? That's one place the Templars would never chase you." Zoya gave Shianni a sharp look as the girl whimpered.
"Leave Duncan and your petty jealousy out of this! You knew what you were getting into when you accepted the match - you have no right to complain about the conditions of our partnership now! I warn you, Cyrion, if I think that you have alerted the Chantry about us, I will leave this place and you will never see your daughter again." A long silence followed before Adaia took a deep breath and continued in a deadly cold tone. "You will not interfere in this, and will let me handle her instruction as I see fit. Are we clear?"
She heard heavy footsteps and then the door to their home open as her father responded. "Fine, Adaia, we'll do this your way. I pray to the Maker that we don't all regret that I gave in to your demands." The door slammed shut, the whole house shuddering with the impact of Cyrion's ire. The children held a collective breath as silence crashed down on them. Before long, they closed rebellious eyes as Adaia snuck into the room to curl herself around her supposedly sleeping daughter.
Zoya could not have asked for a better teacher. Adaia was strict, but patient - it was obvious she was determined that her daughter would have the best education she could provide. An old pang of guilt flared as she recalled Adaia limiting her trips away from the Alienage in favor of staying home to teach Zoya about her magic, not that her mother or Duncan ever openly complained about the situation. She was pulled back into her memories as she drained the cup to its dregs.
Adaia sat behind Zoya, her fingers nimble as she braided her daughter's hair. "In the days of Arlathan, all elves had magic. If we were among the Dalish, your magic would be considered a gift. But here, among the worshipers of Andraste, magic is a curse. The most important thing I can teach you is basic control and how to hide your talent from others, especially from the Chantry and its Templars. You need to always remember that if they discover us, our lives will be forfeit. They will likely kill me and you will be taken to the Circle."
Zoya turned to look at her mother, eyes wide. "Why would they do that?"
"Because they fear our power, our connection with the Fade, and the temptations that await us there. Perhaps they're right to be afraid. It's far too easy to use that power for gain, either for good or bad; the Tevinter magisters are living proof of what love of power can do. Once you feel that kind of power, you crave it - you turn to blood magic or make deals with spirits of the Fade to get it."
"But I'd never make a deal with a spirit or use blood magic. I don't care about being powerful. I know you don't either. Why would they want to hurt us?"
"It's easy for you to say that now. Would you be so firm in that belief if making a deal with a demon allowed you to save someone you loved?" Adaia's fingers slid through Zoya's thick locks. "You know that I've had to go to great efforts to hide my magic from everyone but our family and Valendrian. But even though I know the danger of exposing my magic to others, I would rather be caught by the Templars than deny someone the use of my healing skills. I take a great risk that those I help will keep their vow of silence and not turn me in to the Chantry." Adaia's face suddenly became fierce, "And Maker only knows what I would be willing to do if it meant keeping you safe."
Zoya crossed the room to her mother's trunk, easily picking the lock and opening the lid. There were two keys - one in each of her parent's possession. Her father was holding his key until he could present it to Zoya when she married; her mother's key had been lost when she was killed. Zoya suspected that Cyrion knew she continued to open the trunk without a key, but he never mentioned that he knew.
She'd fled the docks, running through the tunnels and the tenement, back to her home like the Dread Wolf himself nipped at her ankles. Tears stung her eyes as they blurred her sight, and her chest ached as she struggled to breathe. If she thought it would remove the images of her mother's final moments, she would claw the eyes from her own head. She burst through the door, hoping that it had all been a nightmare, that her mother would be sitting near the fireplace in her usual spot with a book in her hand.
The house was empty and quiet. An unbearable need to be close to her mother, to drink in the familiar scent of leather and wildflowers, drove her to the old chest. Zoya was apprehensive as she reached into her pocket for her lockpick, and she sobbed in frustration as she struggled to pick the lock for the first time. It seemed to take hours for the lock to give way, and when it finally did, there was no sense of pride or accomplishment... her teacher wasn't there to praise her. Bleary, tear-filled eyes searched the contents of her mother's trunk as she fumbled with trembling hands until they grasped Adaia's armor. It was hours later when her father found her, curled into a ball on the floor with her arms wrapped tight around the armor. He said nothing, only cradled her until the sun rose, stroking her hair as she continued to sob.
Just as she did each time she opened the trunk, her fingers sought comfort in the old, familiar things - smooth leather, cold steel, crisp fabric, delicate embroidery. Questing fingers traced the Dalish designs on the cured leather of Adaia's chest piece, greaves and gauntlets. Zoya pressed her face into the leather, inhaling deeply; even after all this time, it still smelled of Adaia. Under the armor were her mother's daggers and lockpick kit, and beneath these was her wedding dress, all passed down through the generations. A lump rose in her throat as she was reminded that this was all that remained of her mother - the innocent bride and fierce warrior memorialized in silk and steel.
~oOo~
Shianni shoved the door open and entered the house, pausing for a moment as she let her eyes adjust to the dim light. She couldn't see her cousin, but sensed that she was somewhere in the room's shadows. She cleared her throat, "Zoya? I ran into Soris. He told me what happened with Uncle Cyrion and the elder. He's worried about you. Are you alright?"
Shianni moved cautiously, as she struggled to see in the dim light. The candles throughout the room suddenly blazed to life, and Shianni stifled a small shriek . "Maker, I hate when you do that!"
Zoya's hand dropped to her lap and she smirked in that way that made you either want to smack her or hug her, "Then you should be glad you weren't here when I got home earlier."
Now that her eyes had adjusted to the light in the room, Shianni was able to see her cousin more clearly. Soris had been justified when he told Shianni he was worried about Zoya. Her red hair was loose and wild, framing a pale face punctuated by haunted green eyes, swollen and rimmed in red. Zoya looked so young as she knelt on the floor next to her mother's trunk, Adaia's breastplate and wedding dress both resting on her lap.
Shianni knelt down beside Zoya, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery on the wedding dress as she spoke in a wistful voice. "I'm sure Adaia looked beautiful in this."
Zoya's eyes glittered with tears. "Do you know how many times I dreamed of leaving this place after she was gone? But in these dreams, it was always my choice to leave - my choice on where to go. I always imagined I would take you and Soris with me. And I never thought I would be wearing the wedding dress, instead of the armor, when I left."
Shianni put an arm around Zoya's shoulders, feeling her stiffen for a moment before her barriers crumbled. Zoya pressed her face into the curve of Shianni's shoulder and wrapped her arms around Shianni's waist. She stroked Zoya's head gently, feeling her cousin tremble. "I miss her, Shianni. If I ever needed her, it would be now. I don't know what to do." Zoya pulled free from her cousin; angrily shaking her head and wiping the tears from her face.
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but is it so bad? Couldn't this be a good thing?" Shianni gently cut Zoya off as she started to protest. "What if your betrothed is a beautiful adventurer and you fall in love with each other at first sight? He's a blacksmith so he's likely to be strong, and he knows blades so you could talk to him about that. And I hear that Highever is so much nicer than here - maybe they have a big house outside the Alienage? Besides, do you really think Uncle Cyrion wouldn't find you a good match? He only wants what's best for you." Shianni gave Zoya her most reassuring smile.
A sad smirk crossed Zoya's face. "Or maybe he's missing fingers and covered in soot and living in a stable. Ah Shianni, you're such a romantic." Zoya chewed absently at her lower lip. "I wonder if he knows I've got magic."
"Maker, I hope not." Shianni replied, eyes widening in horror. "That would be awful!" Shianni suddenly realized her mistake and her hands flew to cover her mouth before she could say more.
"Why?" Zoya's voice grew dangerously quiet as her eyes shifted back to the breastplate and dress in her lap."Do you think it's awful?" Zoya raised her eyes to lock onto her cousin with an intensity that made Shianni's heart stop in her chest.
"Well... no...I only meant..." In truth, the whole magic thing made Shianni uncomfortable. She shifted under Zoya's piercing gaze, hoping her cousin couldn't tell and wishing that she had just gone straight to the tenement so they could have avoided this whole conversation. "Sure, your magic has its uses, but..."
"But?" One dark red eyebrow lifted, the hard look on Zoya's face as frozen as midwinter.
Shianni gulped, her heart racing. The words tumbled out, drawn forth by Zoya's demanding eyes. "But I'm always afraid someone will find out, and you'll be taken away, just like..." She cut herself off, a fearful sob choking past her loosening guard. Zoya's frosty countenance melted, her arms circling her younger cousin in reassurance.
Shianni was surprised to hear Zoya chuckling softly. She pulled away from her cousin with a questioning look.
Zoya gave her a lopsided grin. "I was just thinking about the look on father and Valendrian's faces when I left the elder's house. My tongue was so twisted, I could barely string two words together. Who would have thought that all it would take was the mention of marriage to slow me down? I bet Valendrian wishes he had thought of it sooner."
Shianni laughed as she rose to her feet and ran a hand through her short red hair. It was just like Zoya to take an emotional situation, and try to make light of it. She knew her cousin well enough to know that their heart-to-heart was done for now. "Soris is at the tenement waiting for us. Are you ready to go?"
Her cousin took a deep breath and nodded, gently settling her mother's things back in the trunk before closing and relatching it. Zoya rose slowly, deft hands smoothing over her simple tunic and skirt and hastily pulling her hair into a tail. Shianni could sense her cousin start to relax as she moved through the normal routine before leaving the house - writing Cyrion a quick note informing him they were going to be away for the evening and extinguishing the candles with an effort of will. As the room plunged back into darkness, Shianni reached out to Zoya, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Their fingers twined in shared support as they left the house.