Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning
Chapter five: Alien
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.
Author's note: This chapter was supposed to happen much later in the story and in a different location but this is the way the words came out so… I actually prefer this to what I had originally planned! This chapter has some swearing and violence later on. Vaughn from the city elf origin also appears. I have not written any of the disgusting things he says in game. None of the elves get hurt in my version of events either.
Hawke dubiously sniffed the potion.
"You're quite sure? No other way?"
"Yes, Magebane is the only foolproof way to hide you. Look, Merril and the Keeper have already had theirs'." Tamlen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Hawke downed the foul concoction in one gulp, grimacing. She stumbled forward into Tamlen as the Magebane lessened her connection to the Fade. She could feel her mana, but it was dormant. Whereas it normally flowed in a familiar pattern, a current just under her skin, now it contracted into a small, dense orb in the centre of her chest, the rhythm of her heart masking its throb, its hum, its life.
Tamlen stood awkwardly, an expression of sheer helplessness on his face. He'd never had to babysit a magebaned mage before.
Hawke felt the nausea rise from her stomach and, before she could warn him, vomited down Tamlen's prized Dalish leather armor.
"Sorry," Hawke mumbled as Tamlen winced.
"So, this is Denerim?" Hawke inquired.
"Yes. I have some business in the Alienage here. You may accompany me if you wish," the Keeper spoke sombrely, "It may interest you. You have heard about Alienages, haven't you?"
"Yes. There is one in Kirkwall," Hawke continued, sensing the purpose behind the Keeper's question, "Elves are forced to live in closed off areas of the city, supposedly for their own protection. In actuality, it makes it easier for racial injustices to occur. In the centre of every Alienage is the Vhenadahl, the tree of the people, though the city elves have forgotten why they keep it, to them it is only a tradition. The elves are a tight knit community and marriages serve as a coming of age ceremony, much like the vallaslin. Marriages are arranged between Alienages, with the Alienage to lose a member of their community receiving a dowry as compensation."
"You were taught well," Marethari commented, "It is to one such marriage we are going. Lend me your arm, da'len, my old bones are weary and the potion takes its toll."
Struck with a wave of emotion at the Keepers use of the term of endearment, Hawke was momentarily stunned, until the wave crested and she moved to Marethari's side, allowing the elderly elf to lean on her.
They walked through the market district, ignoring the calls of street vendors.
"Fine Orlesian silks here!"
"Best craft from Orzammar!"
After weeks of living with the Dalish, the sheer number of people milling back and forth overwhelmed Hawke.
The archway leading to the Alienage was small, and contained a raised steel porticulis. A sigle guard stood to attention to the right of the Alienage gates.
Inside the Alienage was worse. Refuse steadily decomposed in the narrow alleyways. Buildings were roughly made and squished in tightly beside each other.
A dilapidated building held both the sign for an orphanage and an asylum, one hanging sloppily on its last nail where it had been affixed on top of the other. To Hawke's everlasting horror both signs fell as they passed, revealing that at one point, the building had been both an asylum and an orphanage at the same time.
Thankfully, another sign stated that the building had been long abandoned and warned against going inside.
"Go, speak with others your age da'len, I have business with the Haren of this Alienage," Marethari pointed Hawke towards a group of young elves and began conversing with an elderly elf.
Hawke nervously approached the group of elves.
"Are you here with the Dalish, shem?"
Hawke whirled, startled.
"Yes," Hawke swallowed anxiously.
A young elven maiden had a slim, needle-like dagger pressed against Hawke's abdomen. Hawke did not even dare to breathe. Just as her lungs began to scream for air, the elf removed the blade. With an impish smile that said, "Cause trouble here and you'll regret it," the girl left, the dagger seeming to Hawke to disappear.
"That was Kallian. She can be that way."
Hawke turned, wondering if she was going to spend the rest of the day being interrogated by sneaky vigilantes. Instead she saw a somewhat green elf.
"She's my cousin. I've known her all my life. She wouldn't ever actually kill anyone- or at least I hope not!" He laughed weakly.
"Are you all-right? …You look a bit…green."
The elf gulped and nodded.
"Just last minute nerves. Today's my wedding. A-and Kallian's. Probably why she was so on edge. W-we we're not marrying each other, it's a double wedding! Oh dear Maker I'm babbling. I feel sick." He promptly turned an even more worrisome shade of green.
"Do you want to sit down?" Hawke asked.
He nodded, not trusting himself not to vomit if he opened his mouth. A red haired elf hurried over.
"Cousin! Are you ok?" She sighed, "Pre-wedding jitters again?"
"Hello, shem. Why are you still here?" Kallian approached.
Hawke opened her mouth to reply but closed it again after she realised she was being ignored.
"Heads up, here come our betrothed," muttered the queasy elf.
"Soris! Get a grip!" The redhead flicked the side of Soris' head.
"Ow, Shianni! That hurt."
"Well, it got rid of those nerves, didn't it?" Shianni retorted.
The pairs' bickering was cut short by the arrival of two elves. The greetings were cut shortby the arrival of three men.
Three perverted, drunk, racist noblemen, that is.
"Get off me!" Shianni screamed as one, the evident leader, grabbed her.
He replied with an innuendo that made everyone present sick to their stomach.
Unable to stand it anymore, Hawke lashed out at one of the men as he approached her, catching him with a kick where it hurt. He doubled over, whimpering in pain.
"She said LET HER GO!" Hawke roared.
"You should learn some respect knife-ear," the man sneered, letting Shianni go.
He raised his fists in a sloppy fighting stance.
Hawke stood, her feet narrowly apart, hands raised, guarding her centre, completely relaxed.
As he neared, Hawke shot her arm out in a vertical punch, catching his nose. Hawke blocked the clumsy counter-attack, before pressing her advantage, driving him back.
Then a bottle crashed into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. Shianni stood over him, a look of surprise on her face plastered on her face as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done.
"Do you know who he is? That's Vaughn Urien, the Arl of Denerim's son!"
"You've got a lot of nerve, knife-ears!"
His two cronies unceremoniously picked him up and carried him out of the Alienage.
It was during the wedding that Marethari and Hawke were asked to attend that Vaughn and his men returned. They wanted to kidnap the elven maidens, judging by the innuendo they dropped and the looks on their faces. They included Hawke in their definition of elf, evidently.
Sick, perverted, twisted humans! Hawke thought as two of them grabbed her arms.
Her mana responded to the nauseating mix of fear, horror and loathing and broke through the haze of the Magebane. She'd never felt more alive. Her mana pushed its way out of her and blasted her attackers back with an unnatural wind.
One of them hit a crate, splintering it and the other was impaled on one of the wooden spikes of the Alienage's inner wall. The wind blew her hair about her face, revealing her rounded ears.
"Oh, shit!"
"She ain't a knife-ear! We'll lose our 'eads for sure!"
"She's a bloody mage, you flaming idiot, the law is the least of our worries!"
Vaughn and his remaining guards drew their weapons.
"Kill the Abomination!"
"I'm not a…!" Hawke protested.
She turned to see the elves, including Marethari, and the revered mother had fled.
She was alone.
Alone and…afraid.
Crying, she stepped forward.
Crying, she fought.
Laughing in hysterics, she ran herself through on the sword in her gut, she used her mana to strengthen her arms, she used her hands to snap the man's neck, she used her only friend's strength to heal the damage, to stop the terrible bleeding.
Crying, she walked away from the massacre she had wrought.
Crying, she walked away from her old life never looking back.
She did not notice the white-blond woman following her, nor hear the commotion caused by an escaped circle mage a few streets away.
Author's note: Ok, I won't get another chapter posted today, but I hope this plot development is interesting enough. Can anyone guess who the escaped circle mage is? I might put a poll on my profile, because I'm writing a chapter in which Hawke gets tempted by a demon and I'm not sure what to tempt her with. I am really sorry that I put Hawke through his, but I won't change it because she had to leave the Dalish eventually and I'm three chapters ahead of this and it'd be a pain to re-write all of that. Thanks for reading!