The Healer at the gate was kind enough, knowing that her wounds were not self-inflicted yet somehow neglecting to tell the Templars that. Swiftly escorted through the halls of the Circle of Ostwick, she passed few people excepting a couple of children who stared as if she were a wild or exotic animal, brought inside for a show. She watched them gape at her, gratefully, for she was not used to being seen. The four Templars moving alongside her kept her pace, instead of their own. Words had been briefly exchanged with a stern looking figure at the door, explaining her presence and accounting for her behaviour. The velvet purse from her Father clinked cheerily as the frowning Templar walked away. She knew his face, he'd been her father's guest once or twice- he had bade her good day once. Upon reaching a large mahogany door, shaped in the likeness of a beautiful woman, hair streaming in all directions, light protruding from her fingertips - it was Andraste. She hadn't realised she had been clutching the cloak of the Templar closest to her, and quickly released it when she noticed his gaze on her fingers. He pretended not to notice, all the same, and when she worked up the courage to look at his face once more, the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile.
They filled the room beyond the door, opening curtains, lighting candles, showing her where the privy was and asking if there was anything she would be needing. It seemed odd. Shouldn't they be whipping her, berating her for being a blood-mage? If any such punishment was expected, it did not arrive. The Templar with the kindly face remained while two of his companions left and indicated there would be a servant sent to wait upon her thrice a day, and a Templar would accompany them, two would be stationed outside the door at all times and she would be checked upon often. A walk in the grounds outside the circle would be permitted to her once daily and the library would be cleared for her use once daily also. Who did they think she was, that she should enjoy such treatment? A servant to wait upon a bastard was unheard of, did they not realise what she was?
Before she could gather her wits enough to express her doubts or her gratitude, the door swung open of its own accord- letting in an aged woman dressed in the simple tunic of a servant. She carried a clanking tray that made Raen's mouth water. The Templar continued, "This is Mrs Kilarn, she'll be attending you from now on."
"M'lady", the woman curtseyed and smiled so her eyes crinkled together.
"I will let you two get acquainted, it has been a long journey and I am sure the Lady Trevelyan would appreciate some food and some rest. Pretend I am not even here."
The woman laughed at that, they clearly knew each other quite well, she might have even been his mother. "Aye, son, if I got in a tizz over every Templar that passed me in the halls, I'd never catch my breath." He inclined his head respectfully, looking slightly puzzled, or perhaps affronted by the jest. Unperturbed, she continued in a rounded accent.
"Hello dear, I hope they weren't too brutish on the way here. We Andrastians get our knickers in a twist over every little thing, now, I don't know why you're here, mind you, but I'm told we are lucky to have been blessed with the patronage of such a noble Lord as your father, in these trying times. With the Blight in Ferelden and all. Anyhow, I thought you'd like something to eat and drink while we get to know each other better." She had sat beside Raen on the plush couch opposite the Templar.
Raen couldn't take it any longer, "No ma'am, I believe there's been some mistake." They, the Templar and woman, both frowned at that. "I am not… not a Trevelyan."
Mrs Kilarn raised an eyebrow ,"You aren't the daughter of Lord Trevelyan?"
Raen shook her head vigorously, she could feel their eyes on her as if they were insects crawling upon exposed skin. "No, I am his daughter ,ma'am. But I am not the Lady Trevelyan's daughter. My mother, my mother was a servant, a servant from Rivain." She didn't even know where Rivain was, but she hoped it made sense to them, somehow made the situation clearer. It'll make sense when you're older. Smithy was wrong. None of it made any sense, why did they keep looking at her? She could taste the salt of tears.
"Hush now, m'lady." Mrs Kilarn patted Raen's knee. Raen grimaced, as if the touch burned, and seemed to squirm within her skin. She quietened, fixing her eyes on the tray.
"He wants you to kill me, poison me. I-I won't let you…" It had to be a ruse, an elaborate plan to get back at her for hurting Dante, for having magic, for being born at all. She backed away, pressing against the wall furthest from the two alarmed onlookers, between a beautifully carved four-poster bed and a bedside table whose base was carved in the shape of a twisting dragon. She stared a moment at the dragon, she had never seen one before, only heard about the great winged lizards from one of the guards at her father's home who took pleasure in annoying his comrades with various facts about the beasts. A dragon would not be backed into a corner, it would fight back.
"My lady, I urge you to think about this before you do anything rash." The Templar had begun to unsheathe his sword, but realised his mistake as her eyes widened, and stopped midway. "Why would we have healed you, only to kill you now? Look, I am going to slowly place my sword upon the ground to show I mean you no harm. We realise you are frightened but understand there little tolerance for unrestricted magic in the Circle tower." He removed the sword from its scabbard, it was long, intensely silver, as if it were made of moonlight. It glittered even on the ground.
It seemed Mrs Kilarn had regained her composure as she said, "So that does make you Lord Trevelyan's daughter and a Trevelyan yourself. No one has told me your name, child, and it seems silly to continue without it."
"Raen."
"Raen Trevelyan. Yes, that sounds right. As Ser Ellion says, we mean you no harm. How would you like to tell us how you got here, maybe then we can all try to sort this out. I'll even eat the food before you, or Ellion will, to prove our good intentions." The girl had already begun to move from the wall, warily, with her eyes upon the Templar still. Her name had sounded almost pretty in the woman's rumbling, rounded tone. She had only heard it spoken like that once before, by her father.
"Now, we need to get a few things good and sorted, but first, you'll eat some of this." she was already dividing the food into a smaller portion for herself, which she swallowed dutifully. "Come now, m'lady." The woman could tell the girl was hungry, she looked as if she hadn't been fed in months. What had the Trevelyans done to her? "That's it, now, don't rush yourself but I'm not proceeding any further until I know what this girl's been through. I don't have to have your approval Ellion, you can stand there and block your ears or run and get the Knight-Commander for all I care."
The Templar raised his hands in a sort of surrender, plainly he was either unable or unwilling to object, so he once again took his place on the opposite side of the room, his sword still laying between himself and the two ladies.
"I can tell you how I got here, if you like. My husband was transferred here from the Circle in Ferelden, quite a few years ago now, and I came with him. I used to serve Lord and Lady Cousland when I was a girl, I was sad to hear they died before the Blight began. I've been waiting an awful long time for you m'lady, noble visits to the circle are few and far between, it's a wonder I haven't forgotten my manners. Tell me, m'lady, have you ever been outside your father's estate?"
"No ma'am", Raen replied between grateful mouthfuls of soup and bread.
"And how did you get those marks on your arms?" Raen slowed her movements at the query, should she lie? It seemed a waste not to take advantage of the only people who had ever asked.
"Dante, ma'am, Dante wanted me to show him the… magic. I wouldn't show him." She shrugged. There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence that begged reprieve.
"That's your half-brother I take it? When did he do that?"
"Yes, the Lord and Lady's son. He's also a Lord. Umm, years… I suppose. Yes, years."
The servant clicked her tongue, reaching over gesturing for Raen to pull up her sleeve, she did without hesitation, drinking in the attention, intoxicated with heady draught of self-assurance, that the scars were real. Her arms were indication enough and the quiet glance between the Templar and the woman did not escape her notice. "Are there any more?" she didn't seem to want the answer so Raen nodded, only slowly, unsure what to expect, not wanting them to leave she covered the marks quickly. The aging woman held Raen's gaze, unnerving as it was with those big yellow, almost feline eyes. "Shame on him for hurting you... I suppose you gave him a shiner or two and that's why they brought you here. Though, mind you, I'd have done it far sooner than your father had planned if it kept you out the that little scoundrel's reach."
"He planned to have me taken away?" Raen's brows furrowed.
"Yes, m'lady, when you were old enough, your father made an arrangement with the Chantry, do you know what that is?" The girl nodded. "Yes, well he made an arrangement to board you here, where you could live when you got too old to be seen as a child, when you reached marrying age, or rather when this Dante did. All this mage business was slightly unplanned but still… It was to be your home, this room, when it was no longer safe for a pretty little thing like you in your father's house. Though it seems it's never been what you'd call a safe haven, now has it?"
The girl understood what was being said, better than one would have expected. She knew all too well the kind of dangers that lurked in even the noblest of houses. The woman continued that no tutoring in the arcane arts had been arranged, as of yet for the girl, and she could deny it if she wished, the Harrowing was not essential to her indefinite stay in the tower and considering her past, it seemed a blessing. Yet she graciously accepted the private tutelage offered, relieving the Templars of a potentially uncontrollable mage. After the servant had dressed her in one of the fine sets of robes within the chest by the bed while the Templar faced the wall, and before Mrs Kilarn and Ser Ellion took their leave, he looked at the girl and sighed, "You're not a blood mage, are you, my lady? That boy cut you, you didn't do that yourself."
The girl's eyes glared, bright like a smith's poker, "No." She had them. Raen would never again correct them when they called her 'my lady', she would not let them go, not when they could see her. No matter what it took, she would not let them see that she was a Lady, she would not let them forget her.