Chapter Text
T: So, where should I start?
V: It’s your story. Start wherever you want.
T: I don’t know how to do this. You’re the writer.
V: Don’t worry about making it sound good; that’s my job. Just… start talking and we’ll see where it takes us.
T: … That’s not really the title you’re going with, is it?
V: Oh, that’s uhh… just ignore those notes. Titles are the hardest part.
T: Harder than the beginning?
V: Actually beginnings are easy.
T: So you say. I'm still not sure this is a good idea.
V: Come on, stop being so modest. I'm telling you, people will want to hear the story straight from the source.
T: It's not modesty. I just get the feeling the Chantry would prefer I stop contradicting their image of me.
V: Since when do you give a shit what the Chantry wants?
T: Heh, fair point. But people always think they want the truth until they hear it.
V: Don't worry about what the readers will think. Believe me, you'll never make them all happy. You wanted to tell your story.
T: I did. I do.
V: So... go right ahead.
It started for everyone else the moment I tumbled out of the Fade to collapse onto a smoking ruin before amazed and terrified witnesses. For me, it started with falling. That is my first and only memory of the beginning.
Witnesses have said that I stepped out of the Fade, wreathed in light and flames, with Holy Andraste guiding me from behind. There have come to be many versions of this moment over the years; poems, epics, songs, theatrical reenactments, novels and so-called historical recountings. Eventually, even a new addition to the Chant was proposed by some of the most devout, though I myself have always denounced the idea. Nevermind the gall of trying to canonize me while I still live - the last thing the Chant needs is to be longer.
In truth, all I remember is falling. Things I would learn later would give me more context, but I haven’t been able to remember any of it on my own. Well, except for the fear. Years later, and the fear of that place stays with me. I had no idea what I was even afraid of, only that I had to escape. That was my last thought when I collapsed onto the rough ground and lost consciousness.
Escape.
Thus, my first perceptions upon waking were of deathly fear and a vague remnant of vertigo. It was difficult to see, so initially I was only aware of feeling… enclosed. I was disoriented and close to panicking, so I concentrated on steadying my breathing and heartbeat until I could make sense of things.
Soon, I was calm enough to realize that it was hard to see because the room I was in was small and dark. I could hear the gutter of torch flame, but the light seemed to be blocked by something. There was the sound of shifting metal and leather and steady breathing. I wasn’t alone. As I listened, I could hear several bodies around me, and as my eyes adjusted to the low light, I saw several pairs of armored boots forming an arc around me. Not only was I not alone; I was surrounded, a prisoner.
Whose prisoner?
I frowned and lifted my gaze. I was kneeling on a cold stone floor. That explained the aching in my knees and tingling in my legs. Maker knows how long I must have been sitting in that position. I tried to stand, but met with resistance and the sound of chains rattling. I looked down to see my hands bound in heavy shackles, which were in turn chained to the floor of the cell, directly in front of where I knelt. Someone clearly thought I was a threat. Still, this seemed excessive for a captured apostate.
A twinge in my left hand made me wince, and I twisted it around to see my palm. Initially, it looked normal, but then I felt… not quite pain, but something more akin to the tingling in my legs, only sharper, fiercer, angrier. All concentrated into a small point in the center of my palm. As I stared, a bright light suddenly flashed, and I gasped, blinking at the intensity. What was that? I checked my palm again, but the light was gone, though the tingling remained, steadily pulsing. I heard some of the soldiers curse and step back, and took no comfort in their fear. Frightened soldiers too often lead to dead mages.
Before I could begin to make sense of the situation, however, I would be introduced to two of the most important people in my life.
Much has been made of the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V, and rightly so. Both are fierce, valiant, and determined women, unwavering in their faith even as their understanding of it changed. That much I can confirm as truth. The rest is… rather more complicated.
V: Pffeh! “Complicated” isn’t the word I’d use.
T: Hey, don’t interrupt my train of thought!
V: Right, sorry, ignore me.
What do I mean by that…
Well, for starters, if Cassandra had had her way, I’d likely have been killed before even waking. That is something the stories often forget. My first impression of her as she came marching into the room was that she wanted blood, and I was the most likely target.
You have to understand - I am a mage. Too many people have tried to ignore or downplay this, but it is part of who I am, and it is important to me that it is not forgotten. I had spent most of my life until that point inside the Circle. For as long as I could remember, I had been looked upon with a mixture of resentment and fear, and all actions of mine had been treated with suspicion. I listened to them sing of my evil nature practically every day for years during compulsory Chant attendance. At any given moment a Templar could decide my life wasn’t worth the risk and snuff it out and would likely never have to give a reason beyond “What if...”
All of this meant that I was keenly aware of my precarious situation, that anything I did could be twisted and used as justification for my execution. I felt, as I so often had before, helpless. So I held still, made sure my securely bound hands were visible, and kept my gaze lowered. And I tried very hard not to wince as the two women approached me and stopped.
“Tell me why we shouldn’t just kill you now,” the angry woman demanded as she paced around me like a predator sizing up its prey. I kept my face still, but my heart dropped at her words. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”
I frowned, trying to process what she was saying. The Conclave… Mages and Templars gathered together for the first time since the mages had risen up in rebellion to talk peace. Destroyed? Did she mean literally? All chance of peace certainly gone. Everyone dead… Except for me. That was when I began to understand the severity of my situation. I wasn’t just an apostate to them, I was a mass murderer. And likely nothing I could say would have changed their minds.
The woman was now standing next to me, and as she reached down I tensed, but she only grabbed my hand; my left hand, the one with the unnatural glow.
“Explain this!” She was practically fuming as she held my hand aloft, straining the shackles that held it locked to the stone beneath us.
“I… can’t,” was all I managed to say.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Her grip on my hand tightened painfully. My heart began to race and I had to stop myself from hyperventilating as her demands crashed down on me and I realized I had no answers for her. I tried to come up with something, anything to tell her, but there was… nothing.
My last memories were disjointed, broken, missing. I had no recollection of even being at the Conclave, let alone an explosion. I began to tremble, losing control of my composure. I had nothing to tell them, because I couldn’t remember anything they might want to know. I was sure in that moment I was going to die.
Desperately, I insisted, “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!”
“You’re lying!” The woman moved to strike me and I shut my eyes instinctively against the killing blow.
No blow landed; instead there was a shuffling of movement, and then I heard another voice say, “We need her, Cassandra.” I opened my eyes to see the second woman had moved to intercept the first. Her demeanor was much calmer than her counterpart’s, and I hoped against all likelihood that she at least might listen to me.
“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent!” I shouted, wanting to say it just so it would be heard, not expecting it to be believed.
The second woman turned to face me. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” she asked. I noticed both their voices were accented, and wondered if we were still anywhere near the Conclave, or indeed even within the borders of Ferelden.
I reached into my memories, trying to make sense of what must have been my last waking moments. An image came to mind of landscape passing by me quickly. “I remember running,” I started tentatively. Why had I been running? That sense of urgency, it was from… “Things were chasing me. And then...” Had I been running from them, or toward something? There had been a steep incline, and at the top… “A woman?”
That got both women’s attention. Their looks were hungry as they waited for me to continue.
“She reached out to me, but then…” Then everything had shifted, and I was falling, but why and from where I couldn’t be sure.
The women stared at me a moment longer, seeming to hope that I would have more detail, but there was nothing after that, and so I said nothing. The angry one - Cassandra, the second woman had called her - seemed to have calmed somewhat. She broke her gaze with me and directed her companion - Leliana, as she was apparently named - to leave, something about a forward camp, and…
“I will take her to the rift.”
As the calmer of the two walked out of the room and Cassandra started toward me again I flinched, but her anger had subsided, and she only knelt to undo my shackles. My hope at possibly being given my freedom was short-lived, however, as she firmly bound my hands before me with rope instead. At least I was able to walk under my own power now.
“What did happen?” I ventured as she lifted me to my feet. I stumbled briefly, my legs still tingling painfully from the position I’d been left in. I lurched forward, but Cassandra caught and held me until I regained my balance. It seemed to take her little effort to hold me upright, and I felt her solid strength as she waited patiently. She seemed an entirely different woman from the cloud of wrath that had stormed in demanding answers from me only a moment ago.
When I had composed myself, she released me. “It will be easier to show you,” she said, and began to walk out of the room, clearly expecting me to follow. Having no other recourse and no reason to stay, I started after her.
I was concentrating on not falling over again for the first few steps, so I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings as I was led down a dark corridor and up a flight of stairs. The floor above was far more open, and I assumed from the high ceiling it must have been a chantry. Cassandra checked that I was still close, then turned and headed toward the large doors at the end of the great hall. Compared to the prison cell below, the hall felt expansive. My breathing came easier without the oppressive stone so close around me.
Still, it was a modest size for a chantry, and I was suddenly confronted with large wooden doors being opened by silent guards who nodded in deference to Cassandra. Blinding light poured in from outside, and my eyes needed time to adjust. It was another moment before I realized the light wasn’t coming entirely from the sun. There was a hue to it that was wrong, somehow; wrong in the same way as the light coming from my hand. I blinked to adjust my sight, and quickly my gaze was drawn upward.
I saw it then for the first time, and my world tilted.