Chapter Text
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. - Buddha
It was all she could feel. All that her body knew. It hurt to move. It hurt to scream. It hurt to breath. Pricks and prods, cuts and slices. Hot as acid that burns and chills like ice; it carved and wore through her skin down to her bone.
Gwen couldn’t grasp what was happening to her. If this was a dream, then why wasn’t the pain waking her up? She could hear voices; chanting in some strange language she had never heard of before. But some were arguing too, something about whether a pattern would work or if they would succeed. Succeed in what? What their true meanings were she couldn’t say, but the worse continued.
Growing. It just kept growing, a pain so intense it forced all breath and strength from her battered and abused body. She stopped breathing as the pain ripped her apart. It was different than before; intensity unlike any, burning and freezing all at once. At its zenith, she had believed to be dead, or dying. Until...silence.
It deafened as it rolled through. The pain melted away like water over rocks, coating and webbing over her skin before it’s locked up, numb to the world around her. Did she actually die? Or did the chanters leave? No one spoke for the longest time. Did they just leave? She didn’t want to die. Just what was going on?!
“Over here! I found something!”
A voice. A new voice.
“What is it Feynron?”
More voices. Were they here to help her? It sounded like they didn’t know she was there to begin with. The pain flared again, though mute compared to the intensity she had just experienced.
“A woman? Here?”
The voices grew distant, softer and unclear. Were they leaving? No, they couldn’t! She didn’t want to be here anymore! She didn’t want the pain to start again! She didn’t want to be alone. But soon, the voices faded, falling silent. Her mind rolled, and collapsed on itself. Crashing down into the dark of her sub-conscious, and sleep cradled the shattered remains of her being.
It was some time before Gwen awoke. Her body felt numb, drained and stiff. Her eyelids fought to stay closed but she denied their will and forced back the dark. It hurt, as the light does, but with it came colour and shapes.
She was...in a tent? How? She had fallen asleep in the garden, under the family tree. Nothing was making sense, none of it. But the brush of fabric caught her attention. Glancing up, as best as she could manage, she watched two others enter. A man, tall and bent from the height of the tent, wore a striking blue and silver armour. A griffon, a proud and loyal creature, emblazoned the front of the polished armour. The other was a woman, aged and wizened with experience and life. A small bowl in hand as she sat beside Gwen; with help, she managed to pour cool refreshing water down Gwen’s throat.
“Can she speak?” the armoured man pondered, turning to the elder beside him.
“Do not rush her, Duncan.” Her eyes watched as Gwen drank, tipping only slight so not to choke her. “What this woman has been through, it will take time to heal. Why are you so eager as to discover the intentions of a few Tevinter Magisters?”
“I merely wish to know if she might explain what happened, and perhaps inform us of her origins.” Gwen coughed as water tickled her lungs, her mind focusing on the man’s inquiry. Why would it have mattered? All around her seemed like a large renaissance festival or a live-action role play group.
“Perhaps, but she has been through too much. Such a young woman needs time to heal.” Young? Gwen was almost twenty-two, she was an adult. Removing the bowl, the woman then pulled out a small bottle. From it came a strange red liquid, watching her pour generous amounts on her arms and exposed flesh. Hissing, the fluid burned and aggravated whatever injury she had sustained, but after a few moments the fluid began to sooth, numbing the pain.
“W...W-where...am...I?” Gwen croaked, looking to the surprised elders.
“Ostegar. We found you North of Blackburn, a village in the Southern Hills. Please, is there anything you can remember?” the man, Duncan asked. He knelt low to hear her soft chopped voice.
“Duncan please,” the woman snapped, pointing to the tent entrance. “Leave her to rest. I will inform you when she is well enough to speak.” Duncan did not argue, nodding and excusing himself as he slipped out of sight. Heaving a sigh, the woman continued to pour and work the strange liquid into her arms, legs and body as she peeled back blankets. It was only now that Gwen saw the extent of the damage; strange aqua patterns spanned her arms, legs, front and no doubt her back too. On closer inspection, the patterns intricate and weaved across her flesh. They looked like veins, not so much like blood veins but perhaps like tree vines or mineral veins. There was something mystical, even beautiful about them. But how did they get there? Were they the cause of her pain? “Are you alright?” Looking up, Gwen found the woman gazing with gentle, concerned eyes. Her thin fingers reaching up to cup and brush aside the tears rolling down her cheeks. Gwen didn’t even realise she was crying, and why shouldn’t she? She was in some strange place, no doubt far from home, and had no idea what was going on.
A gut wrenching sob finally coughed from her throat, moving the woman to hold and hug her. Her tears rolled harder, her sobs and cries resounding in the tent. It called someone from outside into the tent, only to leave as fast as they had come when they realised she was wailing in sorrow.
“Let it all out, you don’t need to hold it in.” The woman’s words were comforting and encouraging, letting Gwen sob harder. But her throat caved before her tears stopped, and still too exhausted beyond the point of caring, she managed to cry herself to sleep and into a blissful abyss once again.
The pattern repeated each day.
Wynne, the elder who tended to her, would come in every morning to rub a healing poultice into her skin, warming and soothing her new tattoos and tried to make conversation. But Gwen refused to speak, as if her cries and sobs nights before had claimed it. But it was in that time she came to a horrifying realisation: this was by no means some festival or play. Before she could ask if all of this was a joke or part of an elaborate retelling, she watched in awe and shock as Wynne made magic around her. She barely uttered the strange arcane words that conjured warm lights and healing wisps to aid her recovery. Seeing was believing, but this was too much to believe.
Her next surprise came the night before, when she had been so spooked by Wynne’s display of magic, she needed to get away. Away from the hounding Duncan, who visited her tent every hour and asked questions she had no answers too. Away from the doting Wynne, who refused to even allow her to move. When she had the chance, and with some difficulty, Gwen managed to get to her feet and ran. She ignored the guards and soldiers shouting and voicing her escape, all she cared for was to get away.
But her fleeing plan didn’t go far as, once in a strange wood or forest, she was shocked numb to the grotesque and deformed sight of what she could only call a demon. Gnarled razor teeth strewn through its mouth, salivating with a disturbing and tainted blade, stalking her with a strange hunger in its dark eyes. It tried to attack her but, in a moment of pure fear and desperation to survive, something crackled through her skin and shot out at the beast, forcing him back and even confusing him. She only caught a flicker of something pearl and translucent around her before it disappeared. The beast tried again to strike her but instead a will to protect, something else sprung up from her hands. The blue force ripped the demon apart and left nothing but ash. More came, following the other’s death cries, chattering and hissing to one another like they were talking a strange tongue. In the end, one stormed the rest, the leader commanding his men, pointed to her with menacing and gleeful intent.
It was then that Duncan and others dressed in matching armour ran in, other soldiers flanking their charge. The battle was short, all the demons lying dead in their black bubbling blood. Gwen had frozen since the battle started, barely noticing Duncan pick her up and returned her to camp.
“Are you well?” as if her thoughts summoned the man to her, Duncan walked into her tent. Wynne had left that morning after leaving a meal and drink, promising to return later. Duncan, however, brought nothing with him and knelt beside her. “You gave us all a scare before, what were you thinking?”
It didn’t sound like he was chiding her, but simply wished to understand why she ran. And what could she say? That she was so scared and frustrated with everything she just wanted to run away. Forget it ever happened and maybe get back home. What could she say that would make him understand? And what she did to that...thing. Everyone asked her what she did but couldn’t accept that she had no idea herself. What had she done? Where did that power come from?
Duncan sighed, accepting she would not speak to him and instead turned to leave. But before he could reach the mouth of the tent, a soft gentle hand caught his elbow. Stopping, he turned back to find Gwen looking down, guilty like a child who had done wrong. Not speaking, he knelt again and waited for her to muster her words and speak. She took her time, trying to find a way to explain what she had done as simply as she could.
“I...just wanted to get away,” he listened, watching as she twitched and turned her head further away. Long burgundy hair cloaked her face, hiding her from his eyes. “All of this...everything...I can’t deal with it.”
“Why would you need to? This is life,” he pondered. From the moment he had found her, this woman seemed different. There was little they could get from the Magisters’ journals given they were written in Tevinter common. Something about the way she spoke, the way she moved and even the way she looked seemed alien to him.
“No it isn’t!” she snapped, looking back with tearful eyes, hard and angry at him for making his point. “Magic isn’t real! There is no war! No knights in armour or mages! No fucking demon spawn from hell trying to kill you! All of this should be in a fantasy story!! This isn’t MY life! None of it!” Duncan leaned forward, pulling the pained and sobbing girl to him. Unaffected by the tears pinging against his silver armour, he just tried to hold and comfort her. “I...just want to go home.”
“Then...it would seem to me your home is much farther than any of us realise,” solemn, he pulled back to see her tears, moving to wipe the offending drops from her bloodshot eyes. “But, there is always a place for those seeking harbour with the Grey Wardens. You owe us no debt for finding you and bringing you here, but consider this an offer to join us. We could help you as much as you could help us.”
“Help...how?” she asked, wiping her own tears when Duncan’s hand retreated.
“No one here, not even the Circle mages, have ever seen such power as you wield,” his retreating hand moved back, descending and grasping her hand. Pulling the long shirt away to reveal her aqua tattoos, they seemed to glow with a soft but strange light. “What we could decipher from the Magister manuscripts, you have lyrium imbued into your skin, an art lost even to Tevinter.” His fingers traced a line, watching her reaction as the line grew brighter in the finger’s wake, before becoming mute and returning to normal. “You can manipulate this lyrium unlike any mage, as if wielding magic without it being magic, or you even being a mage. But many will view you as a mage, the Grey Wardens can protect you in this respect.”
“Magic…” her memories of childhood wonder returned, marvelling at the possibility she could wield magic. Her mind however paused at his last comment. “But why would I need protecting? Isn’t magic a good thing?”
“Some think so,” Duncan sighed, moving to get comfortable. “But magic comes at a price for all mages, the threat of demonic possession and the constant temptation to use their Maker given gifts to command man instead of protecting and aiding man.” He watched as her confused expression turned shocked.
“Will...I become possessed?” she asked, fear clinging to her words.
“That I cannot say. But when you dream, do voices approach you? offering you tempting bargains or contracts? asking for your help to show them a mortal world?” his question reminded her of one such dream. She recalled standing in a church or chapel; shadows and figures moved outside and against the stained glass, all of them either whispering or shouting for her attention, asking for help or offering gifts and offers in exchange for freedom, but a light broke through and banished the shadows, leaving her to awaken.
“No...Not really anyway,” she wouldn’t lie, since he had a better understanding of this than she did. “I mean sometimes I hear whispers, other times their shouts, but they’re always driven away by something...or someone...or a lot of someones. I can never tell.”
“Interesting…” his musings trailed off, leaving Gwen in silence. What was he thinking? Was this a good thing or not? “Perhaps...I believe it would be beneficial if you received a little tutelage from the mages here. Perhaps even the Tranquil could help you.”
“You...really think I could? Learn magic I mean.” The idea seemed too sweet to be real but the look on the man’s face offered her an answer.
“I will be gone from camp for the next few weeks, and I would feel calm knowing you were in capable hands, and able to find some control in your new abilities. I cannot say how but I believe your presence here will help us immensely.” Nodding, he moved to the tent entrance, bumping into Wynne. Excusing himself, he allowed the elder to step in and tend to her patient.
“Duncan seemed pleased. Are you feeling better, my dear?” Wynne seemed pleased she had eaten, offering her a skin of water. Smiling, Gwen took the skin and drank, thanking her host.
“A little...but I’m a little unsure on a few things, could… might you help me?” Gwen asked, watching to see her reaction. Pleased with her motherly smile, Wynne placed her poultice down and gave Gwen her full attention.
“What’s on your mind?” smiling, the pair started a long and winded conversation about this strange place.
Gwen learnt she was in a land called Fereldan, in the realm of Thedas – no doubt meaning that was the name of the Country. They were only a part of a larger land mass and often frowned upon by the other continents. But Fereldans were a prideful and honourable people, known for the cold and strong bred Mabari. She also learnt magic isn’t as great as she knew; rife with dangers from demons and one’s own vanity and pride, she even found it horrible that many mages were made tranquil - all magic and emotions severed from the Fade - because of this threat. The Fade was the hardest to wrap her head around. An entire world were dreamers and mages could communicate with spirits and be tempted by demons. It sounded like someone stepping into a netherrealm of a nightmare every time they fell asleep.
But not once did she stop Wynne from explaining this new world; she took in everything she had said and made sure she remembered it. It was nice to hear that elves were real here and that dwarves wasn’t just a derogatory word.
“Now my dear, I have a question for you,” Gwen stopped mid-bite to Wynne’s question. Swallowing the portion of meat in her mouth, she nodded. “As I was tending to you when Duncan first brought you here, I noticed rather deep scars. Peculiar scars on different parts of your body, focused more on your wrists and ankles. Were you attacked by the Tevinter Magisters, they didn’t look recent.” Gwen froze. Wynne saw them?! Thinking about the scars brought up memories she refused to revisit. Shaking her head, she turned away from Wynne.
“No...The men who held me didn’t make them...and I don’t want to talk about it,” she hoped Wynne wouldn’t push the issue, hoping she would leave it be. And thankfully, she did.
She moved on to another, yet sensitive subject; that of religion. She went on to retell the lore of the Andrastian faith, where the Maker turned from the world after the first Blight, enchanted by his bride Andraste and how everything led up to now.
“Then...why worship him?” Wynne paused at the question, lost for an answer. “I mean, if the Maker turned from the world, he’s not exactly caring for his own creations then. So why worship him?”
“To repent for our sins. For it was the sins of man that caused the Blights, and continues to do so until he hears our prayers and pleas. When that day comes, all will be healed and absolved.” Wynne could see something in Gwen as she gave her answer. Something akin to one hearing the truth and not liking what they heard.
“No offence Wynne, but that sounds like a load of bull,” perplexed by her words, she listened to Gwen’s words. “If he was so great to begin with, he shouldn’t have turned away. If the Maker really loved you all, then the Blights would never happen. And it wasn’t the world’s fault, just some greedy mages who crossed the line. Why should the world suffer for their mistakes? Doesn’t sound like someone I’d want to follow.”
“Mind yourself, Guinevere,” Wynne’s voice grew stern, and a little concerned. Gwen couldn’t help but flinch, feeling the mother’s quip her stern tone brought. “Such words would mean blasphemy to many.”
“I don’t care,” that certainly wasn’t the answer she was expecting, nor the hard look Gwen suddenly produced. “Religion is the reason everyone hates everyone and would go to war at the drop of a hat. It’s all well and good until someone tries to tell you you’re wrong because you don’t align with their beliefs. I mean look at the elves! You said so yourself they lost everything because they refused to take your faith. Your Maker abandoned you instead of doing what he was supposed to; protect and guide you. And this Andraste was supposed to turn him back, lot of good she did. Honestly, Religion is a waste of time when all it does is make everyone’s lives miserable. You’d get a better response talking to a wall than some absentee god.”
“This is obviously a strong subject to you,” Wynne noticed the heated glow from her tattoos, slowing dimming as her mind focused elsewhere. “What happened to make you lose such faith?”
“Can’t lose it if I never had it...and it’s personal.” The stifling silence that came after Gwen’s choke, looking to Wynne only to find her expecting more of an answer. “I’ve never been one to believe in something that’s supposed to be merciful and kind, when there’s such pain and agony still in the world.” She refused to speak on it further, leaving Wynne concerned and wondering. But respecting the sensitivity of the situation, she left the matter be and moved on to another pressing matter.
Teaching Gwen to control her strange powers.