Kelch Accidit

Lady Trevelyan sat in one of the cushioned arm-chairs that were arrayed around a small table near the fireplace in the chambers she shared with her husband. She was dressed in a simple yet stylish everyday gown – one of the few nobles in the Free Marches that did not care for the latest trends in Orlais. But none of that mattered to her at this point.

The fair-haired lady sat there, her hands clutching a piece of parchment that had row upon row of fine official-looking writing filling it. But her thoughts were no longer concerned with the letter itself. Instead, she was distraught at what the contents told her.

Dear Lord and Lady Trevelyan,

It is with great sorrow that we must inform you that the Rite of Tranquility has had to be performed on your daughter, Lady Samantha Augustine Trevelyan, while under the care of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.

On the return trip from her last visit to your residence, she was set upon by a maleficar, who killed four of our finest knights before he was stopped. Samantha's life was saved only thanks to the swift action of one of the Templar Lieutenants and the First Enchanter himself. Unfortunately the trauma caused by such a horrifying experience and influence of the maleficar poses too great a threat when considering that Samantha had great magical potential. Rather than allowing her to be a target for the demons of the Fade we deemed it necessary to sever her connection to it, thus rendering her Tranquil.

The Rite was administered on the 6th day of Drakon, 30 Dragon

With Regret,

Ser Travis, Knight-Commander of the Templar Forces of Ostwick

It had been read and re-read, again and again, until the tear-stained letter was eventually dropped onto the carpet as Lady Trevelyan could no longer seem to bear the weight of the message, its truth finally hitting home. Curling up in the chair she sobbed quietly to herself, mourning the loss of her youngest child.

~o~

"In the land where demons lie,

And the home of minds that die,

Oh she will now let it go,

Forfeit to the lyrium glow.

This but be a finite state,

For soon she will once more elate.

Modest temper, bold in deed

A leader will look to her in need

When the legends of the sky

Fall to Thedas from on high.

See the panes that do reflect,

For her a homeway will detect."

The soft words echoed around the chamber, far louder than they were being uttered. Chills travelled down hardened warriors' backs as the girl stood there, dressed only in a filthy tunic. She did not resist as others had always had. She simply followed any directive that had been given to her by the Templars, and that only frightened them more.

They were in the Harrowing Chamber of the Ostwick Circle. It was very much like the one in the Circle of Ferelden, with one difference: instead of being high atop a tower, it was deep below the ground. There were stories that it had once been part of the Deep Roads, before the Dwarven empires fell to the Darkspawn and all entrances and passageways to the chamber had been sealed.

Now there were a dozen Templars stationed around the walls, two more flanked the red-haired girl wherever she went; the last two people in the room were the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander.

Before the girl was a basin of lyrium, much like the one used for the Harrowing. But instead of a mage using it themselves, a Templar would apply it, using a brand that had its end also made out of the magical substance.

Knight-Commander Travis took the brand by its handle, and removed it from the lyrium. He slowly walked up the Samantha, and as he approached, one of the Templars escorting her went behind her and held her head so that she could not move it and so her hair would stay out of the way.

Travis used a gauntleted finger to brush aside the last stray strands, holding the brand aloft. Then he slowly brought it down and gently, yet firmly pressed it against the girl's forehead. It was an action that demanded there be the sizzle of burning flesh, but there was none. Instead the brand glowed briefly and faded – or that was what should have happened. Instead of fading the brand grew brighter and brighter. It started emitting a whistling noise, akin to the moving of a wet finger across the rim of a wineglass, only much louder.

The Knight-Commander tried to pull his arm away, the brand, but they would not move. The Templars stationed around the chamber tried to block out the growing noise – pulling off their helmets and pressing their fingers into their ears. But even that was not effective as the sound grew and grew. Soon they were writhing on the ground, the sound seemingly transmitting itself into other senses as hearing was overwhelmed.

Eventually, the First Enchanter pushed himself at Travis from where he was on the floor. He knocked hard against the paralysed commander and both fell. The brand was dropped, clattering to the ground with a steely noise. As soon as Travis had been knocked aside the sound had stopped.

Samantha still stood there, in the centre of the room, though opposed to the listless look of before, now her eyes were wide open, as if surprised, her mouth ajar. Upon her forehead there was the sigil of the Chantry, a wavy sun. But unlike other Tranquil, who had only received a scar-like mark, this one was glowing bright blue, the same colour as the magical mineral that had been used on her. Her normally emerald eyes too were flickering with lyrium-coloured flames as irises.

The two leaders slowly got up from where they had crashed to the ground together. Other Templars in the room were also staggering to their feet, groaning. Then the glow faded from Samantha's eyes and brow, and as if the lyrium had been a string suspending her, the small form collapsed to the ground.

~o~

Elisa dumped her pack at the foot of one of the seemingly unclaimed cots in the Grey Warden pavilion. They had seen the Cousland pavilion during their trip through the camp, but the wound was still too fresh for them to willingly go near it. Fergus had already arrived a few days earlier and was currently out patrolling the Wilds. Until he returned neither of the twins saw the need to force the issue.

The young noble collapsed on the simple bed, groaning as all her limbs finally relaxed. It was almost an intoxicating sensation after days of trudging through the countryside. Erik also swung the pack off his back, but instead of dropping it onto the floor he placed it on the cot next to Elisa's. There he undid the straps and pulled out the pieces of armour he had stripped to make the traveling easier. He then proceeded to undo the buckles of the pieces he was already wearing and arranged them all on his own cot so he could inspect them.

After ensuring that all parts were accounted for, he retrieved a sealed container along with a rag and set to cleaning and polishing his gear. Sections that needed to have repairs done on them he put to the side after having processed them, so he could take them to a smith later. Finally he too slumped down on his cot, cradling his head in his hands. Duncan had said that they should take the day to recover from the journey. They had already met with the king and reported the loss of their home to the treachery of Arl Howe. The regent had come to meet them personally while they were still nearing the camp. The successor to Maric Theirin seemed to be a very carefree and enthusiastic person, if one were to consider his role as sovereign.

Elisa had nodded off while Erik cleaned his armour and he had settled for simply emptying his mind after he had completed that. So that was the state they were found in when two people whooshed into the tent. The one was a dwarf who wore his dark hair braided into dreadlocks and tied behind his head; surprisingly he did not have a much of a beard to speak of, instead having only a thick stubble. The other person was an elf; she had a very lean build and wore her – also dark - hair tied back as well, though not braided. Both of them wore royal blue and white tabards with a chest piece that had two gryphons facing towards a chalice enamelled onto it – the insignia of the Grey Wardens. Neither of them wore any additional armour aside from a mail hauberk underneath the tabard.

Erik managed to lift his head and look at the two as they entered. They, seemingly having had purpose upon entering, also stopped. Eventually the dwarf stepped forward stretching out his hand, "Faren Brosca, formerly of Orzammar." He then pointed over his shoulder with his other hand, "and this meek thing is Kallian Tabris."

The elf punched the dwarf in the shoulder as Erik struggled to his feet to meet the greeting. After exchanging a solid handshake though he fell back onto the cot. "I'm Erik Cousland and that lump on the other cot is my sister Elisa."

As if picking up on her name being mentioned Elisa mumbled in her sleep, "No you." This only brought a smile to Erik's weary face.

"So you must be the sods that Duncan dragged in, eh?" Faren asked, clearly interested in the soon-to-be new additions.

"You could say that."

"Mate, every recruit here was dragged in after having gone through some form of hell. You're probably just the same an'll fit right in." He looked at the elf over his shoulder and back to Erik. "Well I s'pose it was a pleasure to meet you n'all but we're sorta on an assignment so we'd better get to it." Erik only nodded and the dwarf and elf moved past him, deeper into the tent.

After a short while they came back out bearing identical satchels that were dyed a dark grey and moved out of the pavilion. Just before exiting the tent though, Faren stopped, still holding open the door-flap. "Oh and if you run into a painted elf called Theron, don't mind what he says much. Half of it is insults, the rest is just stupid." He dropped the flap and the tent grew dim once more.

~o~

"Ser, you should just see this for yourself."

Alastair and Celestine had noticed the sudden commotion at the barricade when their approach was noticed. "Ooh, I wonder if they finally implemented that welcome-cheese-tasting station I suggested."

Celestine looked at him, thin brow raised. "Cheese-tasting?"

"Yes, don't you think it's a wonderful idea?!"

"Hmm, not sure; didn't get much exposure to cheese at the Circle. It was more of a jam place."

Celestine smiled at the horrified look on the Grey Warden's face. "No…cheese? You my lady, are one deprived woman!"

They were now only a short distance from the barricade and despite the soldiers obviously having recognised him they still hadn't opened the way. Instead, they were just gawking at them, well, at Celestine in particular.

Slightly annoyed at the lack of attention he was getting, Alastair waved his hands in front of him. "Now, now boys. You should know by now that staring at a lady is rude."

That was when it was Alastair's jaw's turn to drop, because as soon as he finished the sentence the low-hanging boughs of one of the nearby trees were pushed aside and Celestine emerged. Or he could have sworn that it was Celestine, had she not actually been standing next to him.

Celestine's eyes grew wide as she saw the other woman; it was almost like looking into a mirror. Then small differences became more obvious; the other woman's face was less round and had a sharper look to it, her eyes were a more sapphire blue and her lips more pursed. She also wore her hair different: short, it having a scruffy-yet-spunky look, sticking up at odd yet seemingly natural angles - where Celestine wore her hair in a very simple collar length style, the only truly characteristic feature being a braid on her left, which she sometimes fidgeted with when nervous. The most striking difference, though, had to be the blood-red mark that ran across the other woman's nose. It looked as if someone had dabbed a small brush in blood or war-paint and pulled it across her face.

Alastair elbowed Celestine in the ribs gently, as if trying to get her attention. "Why didn't you tell me there were two of you," he muttered in an aside.

"Because there are not," the other woman responded; her voice had an arrogant edge to it, as if she knew that whatever she said was the best thing that could be said when it was said.

"Well then what is this?!" Alastair said, gesturing at the woman and Celestine with both arms.

"This," the woman started, walking up to Celestine, "is my cousin."

She was now inspecting the former Circle mage, taking in the robes, the pack, the features. "Mother told me about you. Her cousin Revka…all her children mages, all taken by the Templars." The woman's tone seemed sad as she said this, as if she were discussing someone dying.

"I…I'm sorry…I don't know any of my family. I sometimes have difficulty even remembering my parents." Celestine stumbled through the apology, not knowing what to say, what to think, in the face of this other woman; a sudden link to the world outside the Circle materialising before her.

The other woman smiled sadly. "There is no need to apologise; the fault is that of the Chantry, not you."

There was a short pause where Celestine just seemed lost, her mind struggling to come with terms to things. "Well, I suppose I should introduce myself," the other woman said, grinning now, "Sorana Hawke, Sergeant of the Ferelden Auxiliary."

Finally a spark seemed to wake in Celestine. "Celestine Amell, former mage of the Circle of Magi, soon-to-be Grey Warden."

"Amell, eh?" Sorana said, her grin only seeming to grow. "Guess they didn't think your Da's name was pretty enough for you. Or perhaps your parents never actually tied the knot; scandalous!"

But then Sorana looked at Alastair, and then back to her cousin. "And Grey Warden? My, my, that could be either prestigious or…not. But we have enough darkspawn around that need killing so I guess another fireball or two wouldn't hurt. Did you know we only have seven mages here? Seven! The Chantry is mad if they think we can defeat a horde with all its emissaries when we have so few to counter them."

"That was why I initially travelled to the Circle," Alastair said, butting in. "Celestine seemed to have gotten herself into a bit of a spot and the First Enchanter mentioned she was a special case so I decided to invoke the Rite. Cost me brownie points though, no extra mages."

"We should catch up some time when I'm off duty and you don't happen to have any Warden-ey stuff happening," Hawke mused. "Say what."

"What."

"-I'll pass by the Warden tent tomorrow morning and see if we can organise something." Sorana bonked Alastair on the head without losing a beat when he interjected.

"Oww! I'll have you know that the king happens to like Grey Wardens a lot!" he said, rubbing his head.

"I know," Hawke replied, sidling up to the Warden who tensed up; bringing her lips to his ear she whispered the end of the sentence, "your majesty."

She stepped back and wrapped an arm around Celestine's shoulders, observing how pale Alastair had gotten. "Don't worry, your secret is safe. Just look after my little cousin and we're all good."

"Little?" Celestine asked sharply, not having paid attention while Alastair and Sorana had continued.

"Well, yes. I would guess you're about the same age as my siblings - which means I get to tell you what to do!"

Hawke laughed at the expression on Celestine's face, who was trying to look unhappy with the idea, but was too amused by it at the same time. "Don't worry, the Grey Wardens have their own little hierarchy and don't actually do much together with us army unless it's one of the large-scale battles."

"How long have you been here?" Celestine asked, impressed by how much Sorana knew of the situation.

"Joined up when the auxiliaries were moving through Lothering a month or so ago. Been here ever since; I was a sword-for-hire before that, only way I knew to feed the family. So I'm familiar with sifting through the scuttlebutt."

Sorana then stepped away from Celestine and addressed the two, "Well I shouldn't be keeping you on your feet all this time. It looks like you've come quite the distance. Best you rest up before anything exciting happens." Hawke turned to go back to her seat but, before entering the boughs swung around one last time, calling: "Oh and the Warden-Commander returned earlier today with some nobs in tow. You might want to go see him, cheese-boy." With that she was gone.

The two soldiers that they had first seen manning the barricade seemed to snap out of a trance and jumped to open the way. Alastair, while a bit indignant about what the woman had called him, was eager to see Duncan again. So the two set off into the camp at a brisk pace, as if meeting Celestine 's relative had recharged their reserves.

The former mage was suffused with a joy she had never felt before. There was someone out here who actually cared for her, someone that had remembered her and given her significance - someone that wanted to be associated with her. Suddenly all the years of loneliness and isolation at the Circle seemed to have been worth it, that the Harrowing and Expelling had been worth it. That walking all that damn road had been worth it!

The former Templar, on the other hand, was happy for his companion. He had grown to like the girl during their trip from the Tower and he himself knew the isolation of not having anyone who cared about you very well. Then Duncan had appeared and accepted him. He was so eager to go to his superior and the only father-figure that he ever had that he almost completely forgot that somehow, the strange woman had known who he was.

~o~

Sorana was sitting in her habitual place again, legs stretched and folded before her and hands steepled and pressed against her lips as she contemplated the earlier events. The girl had been sweet. A pity that she'd had to spend all her life in the Circle. But when Hawke had wrapped her arm around her she had sensed a fire - a fire that would need attention at some point. But she knew that the Warden with her had once been training to become a Templar. The Chantry tried to exploit him for it at every opportunity, and she had seen how he looked at her. A Templar who loved his charge, that was exactly what Celestine would need in days to come - just as Sorana had had her father. That Alastair was of royal blood had surprised Sorana somewhat. She had heard some rumours that he might have been the bastard of Arl Eamon, and picked up on the likeness between him and Cailin, but it had been his reaction that had proved it in the end. No doubt Celestine Amell's life would become very, very interesting.