The Ferelden Chronicles

Chapter One: The Final Test

It was a fairly warm day in western Ferelden, given the time of year. A chilly autumn breeze occasionally blew through the changing leaves on the trees, serving as a reminder to those who ventured outside to enjoy the sun as the coming winter was just around the corner. Children ran about the small town while their mothers bartered for supplies they would need in the months to come, while others sang and danced and drank in celebration of the bountiful harvest the Maker had seen fit to bestow upon them.

A few people continued to work the fields of the local farmstead despite it being so late in the season. There were pumpkins and other squashes to be harvested before the first frost threatened to claim them, after all. Most of the workers were human, but a few elves had been passing through looking for work and the farmer who owned the land was more than happy to have the extra hands – even if it did bother some of the more closed-minded residents of the town. They warned him that elves were savages and were likely to kill him and his wife in their sleep before making off with everything of value in his home. It was all hogwash, as far as he was concerned. In all his years, he had never met an elf who had been anything less than hard-working and respectful.

The farmer turned his gaze from those working his land and focused instead on the child who had been traveling with the elves who had stopped in the village. She was four, maybe five years old, with wide grey eyes and blonde hair that shimmered red when the sunlight hit it just right. She was small for her age, even for an elf, but her mother was a seamstress and had altered her clothes to better fit her tiny form. The other children in the village had refused to play with her – they had even gone so far as to call her names and throw pebbles at her – and so she had taken up a spot in a pile of hay near the plot of land where her father was working, playing with a patchwork bear that had seen better days.

"It's all right, Mister Cuddles," the girl told the bear in her tiny voice, moving its arms about as she spoke in the comforting way a mother would to a child. "Those mean boys and girls aren't going to hurt us any more. Papa said we can stay here for now, and tomorrow we'll help Mother with the mending and washing."

"Varia!"

The girl heard her mother calling her name and her head turned to look for her, pigtails flying about her face as she frantically whipped her head from side to side. She knew she had heard her name being called, but she couldn't see her mother anywhere.

"Varia!" the voice called again, only this time it didn't sound quite like her mother. She clutched her toy bear close to her chest and began making her way toward the farmhouse, where she knew her mother was helping the farmer's wife bake pies. After a few steps a hand came down onto her left shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.

"Varia? Come, child, wake up."

Varia Surana opened her eyes to find her mentor, First Enchanter Irving of the Ferelden Circle of Magi, seated on the side of her bed. She blinked a few times, looking around to find the other apprentices still asleep in their beds, then returned her attention to the man she had looked up to for most of her life.

"First Enchanter? What is it?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in her bed. "Is something wrong?"

Irving hushed her, bringing a finger to his lips. Standing from his perch on the side of the bed, he held out a hand to her expectantly. Still confused as to what was going on, Varia pushed aside the blankets and stood, taking a moment to slide on her slippers before allowing him to lead her from the female apprentices' quarters. She was already dressed – as was customary for the older apprentices – because one never knew when they might be collected to go for their Harrowing.

She briefly paused in her steps as realization finally dawned on her. It was the middle of the night, and her mentor had come to rouse her from her sleep. That could mean only one thing: She was being taken to the uppermost floor of the tower to undergo her final test to become an official mage of the Circle. The First Enchanter noticed the slight hesitation in her stride and glanced over his shoulder at her. Seeing the epiphany written across her young face, he couldn't help but smile to himself as he turned his attention ahead of them once more.

"This has been a long time coming, child," he told her. "I actually petitioned to have you undergo this test last year, but Greagoir interfered. He was afraid you were too young and inexperienced and that you would surely fail."

"One would think he would have been happy to have me do it, then, if he believed me so doomed," Varia replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. Being the First Enchanter's apprentice, she had overheard many arguments between him and the Knight-Commander over the years. It had not taken her long to form her own opinions about the man, who seemed to have a distinct dislike toward the use of magic.

"You do not understand," Irving said with a sigh. "Greagoir only does what he thinks is best for all of us. Sometimes he may seem to be unreasonable, but his duty is to keep us all safe. That is precisely why he did not wish you to undergo your Harrowing before you were ready. Though he may never admit it, he does not cherish having to cut down those who fail. He actually protested again when I once more brought up wanting to have you go through with your test, but I managed to talk him into agreeing this time."

"Do you really think I'm ready?" she asked, fear starting to grip at her. Though it was forbidden for those who had gone through the rite to speak about it, she had seen plenty of mages who had been affected by the test. Most recently, a young man named Wendell had taken his Harrowing, and then threw up every time anyone mentioned it to him for the next week.

Irving stopped walking and turned to her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and giving her a warm smile.

"I know you are ready," he told her, unable to hide how proud he was of his young student. "I knew you were ready a year ago. You are truly gifted, Varia. You always have been, since the day I first brought you here."

It had been thirteen years since she came to live at the Circle. He had received a letter from the arl of Redcliffe about a young elven girl he had suspected of possessing magical abilities. At first, Irving had been incredulous. After all, the letter stated that the child in question was merely four years old and had likely killed a man with her magic. Normally, a Templar would have been sent out to collect the child, but Irving had feared for the child's safety – particularly if she was as powerful as the arl had claimed – and so he had personally gone to visit the girl in order to assess her abilities and ended up bringing her back to the Circle with him when he returned.

The arl had explained that she had witnessed a horrific crime against her own family – which was likely what had caused her to release such a powerful force of magic, Irving knew – and that she seemed traumatized by the experience. Whether it was the crime she had witnessed or the use of her own powers that had affected her more, the arl could not tell. Irving had dismissed that fear of her magic had any effect on her, though, after showing her a simple fire spell to test her abilities. The wonder he had seen light up her eyes as she held the glowing ball of fire in her hands had told him two things: That she truly was as powerful as the arl's letter had suggested, and that she needed to go to the Circle immediately in order to begin her proper training.

She had studied the arts of magic directly under his supervision, showing that she had an innate talent working with the primal forces of nature, which was his specialty. She was his first apprentice in nearly twenty years, as he had been too busy in dealing with the templars and other day-to-day duties around the tower since he had become First Enchanter. The arrangement had certainly caused both of them some problems, such as jealousy from the other apprentices and the occasional claim of favoritism he endured from some of the more vocal Senior Enchanters, but he knew it was the best decision. There were other mages in the tower who were skilled in primal magic, but she had required special attention – or else they might have ended up with a hole blasted through one of the tower walls, after which the templars probably would have insisted she be made tranquil.

"I can do this," Varia said with a nod after taking a deep breath. Whether she was saying it to assure him she was going to be all right or to allay her own fears, he could not say. Either way, he knew she was right. She could do this – she would do this – and then Greagoir would have no choice but to admit he was wrong.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and as they gradually ascended the tower Varia mentally ran through every spell she knew, staring at her hands as she mimed the proper gestures for some of the more complex spells she had been learning recently. She hoped that whatever this test consisted of, it didn't include a portion that tested her abilities in healing or supportive spells. Her talents had always been with the raw and often hostile forces of nature, bending them to her will in a way meant to damage her enemies, not assist her allies. She had done her best to at least learn some very basic healing techniques, but she was nowhere near as good at it as some of the other apprentices and mages were – like that young man who kept escaping the tower only to be brought back time and again by the templars.

"First Enchanter."

Varia stopped walking and looked up to find they were in a small room with a stone staircase against one wall which led up to a very heavy-looking door. Glancing back over her shoulder at the way they had come, she discovered that they were at the end of the hallway leading through the templars' quarters. She had only been in this part of the tower once before, and she shuddered as she remembered the circumstances which had brought her here on that occasion.

"Don't tell me the Knight-Commander has changed his mind about allowing this," Irving said with an exasperated sigh.

"No, First Enchanter," the templar who had stopped them from ascending the stairs replied, shaking his head. "He has, however, requested to speak with you before things are to begin – alone," he added, giving Varia a very pointed look.

Just great, Varia thought, crossing her arms over her chest. Leave me alone in the templar quarters with a templar who clearly doesn't think very highly of mages.

"Very well," Irving agreed, turning briefly to Varia. "I will be but a moment, child."

Varia nodded and wandered over to the far side of the room to lean against the wall next to the doorway, watching as Irving went up the stairs and disappeared behind the door leading to the Harrowing Chamber. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the templar as possible, as well as give herself a quick exit in case she needed one. It was unlikely she'd get very far, being surrounded by dozens of templars sleeping in their beds, but she was willing to take the chance if it came to that.



"I do not know why you are putting up such a fight over this, Greagoir. You have seen what she can do. You know that she is ready."

"There's a reason that mages are supposed to remain in their apprenticeship until they have reached at least their twentieth year, Irving," Knight-Commander Greagoir argued, gesturing with his hands as he paced back and forth. "She is still a child. She does not have sufficient mental capacity to resist the temptations of a demon."

"I hardly think age has anything to do with whether or not one can resist what a demon may offer," Irving insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. "After all, plenty of adults are known to have given in to their temptations. If you think it is a matter of maturity... Need I remind you of everything that poor girl has gone through, both before she came here as well as afterward? Some of that at the hands of two of your own templars, nonetheless."

Greagoir stopped pacing and turned to look at the other man, shame written across his face. It was his duty to keep his men in line and focused, and it had completely escaped his knowledge that several of them had been abusing their power over the mages in the tower in order to get them to do whatever they wanted – willingly or not. Varia had nearly been one of their victims, and would have been if not for one of the younger knights interrupting. Luckily, Cullen had a good head on his shoulders and knew that what the others were doing was inexcusable. He had brought Varia directly to the templar quarters to report the incident, which in turn led to the dismissal of the men involved in the abuse of Maker knows how many others within the tower walls.

"I think anyone who has endured what she has and not lost themselves to despair possesses sufficient mental capacity for this, do you not?" Irving asked, one of his dark eyebrows raising slightly as a smirk pulled on his lips. Greagoir gave a short laugh. He hated to admit it, but that man knew how to argue his point.

"Very well," he conceded, nodding to one of the templars standing next to him. "Go bring her up. Martin, you'll be the one watching her for signs of possession during the ritual."

"Actually, I was hoping that Cullen might do it," Irving suggested.

"What?" Greagoir asked, his steely eyes going wide in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that.

"He has been good enough to watch over her since the incident," Irving explained. "I daresay she trusts him, perhaps even considers him a friend."

"What does that have to do with you wanting him to kill her if she fails?" Greagoir wondered, failing to see his logic.

"If I were to have my life taken from me by someone because I was possessed, I would rather have it done by a friend who is committing an act of mercy than by someone who might very well be doing it out of sheer enjoyment."

Greagoir almost pointed out that the templars didn't kill mages because they enjoyed doing it, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. He had met his fair share over the years who complained that the Chantry was restricting them and that it was their duty to snuff out everyone with magic in their bloodline, mage or not, in order to prevent them from rising up and taking over the world.

"Very well," he acquiesced, then turned to call the young knight over to where they were standing.

"Yes, Knight-Commander?" Cullen addressed his superior upon approaching them, bowing respectfully.

"You will be dealing the killing blow if the mage becomes possessed," Greagoir informed him.

"What?" Cullen said, his skin blanching and his green eyes going wide as he began to stammer. "M-Me? But I... I've never..."

"There's a first time for everything," Greagoir told him with a sad smile. "Know that if it comes down to that, you will be performing a service for the Maker as well as for your friend."

"Y-Yes, Ser," Cullen replied quietly, his head bowed, and silently went to retake his place with the other templars who would be witnessing the Harrowing. Greagoir watched him carefully as he left, his shoulders slumped and his head hung low, and wondered just how much the boy actually cared for her. By the time she was ascending the last of the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber, though, Cullen was back to standing at attention with his fellow knights.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," Greagoir said as he turned to the young elven mage once she had come to stand at the side of her mentor, reciting the line of the Chant which stood as the oath of the Circle of Magi. "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm – The Fade – are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Varia's eyes went wide at the way he emphasized the word 'demons.' She hoped that what he was saying didn't mean what she thought it meant, but in her heart she knew she was right. Why else would the Harrowing be such a traumatic experience to so many mages?

"This is why the Harrowing exists," Irving told her. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed only with your will."

And there it was. Her suspicions confirmed, she cast an apprehensive glance toward the nearby stand. It was holding a bowl full of some sort of substance giving off a soft bluish-white glow – probably lyrium. Her earlier fear returned, tenfold.

"What happens if I cannot defeat the demon?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"It will turn you into an abomination," Greagoir answered before Irving had a chance to speak, "and the templars will be forced to slay you."

"Is there any other option?" she asked, laughing to mask her nervousness.

"There is Tranquility–"

"Is losing all your magic an 'option'?" Irving cut off Greagoir's statement before turning his attention to her. "No. Like I said on our way here, I have faith that you will succeed."

"Know this, apprentice," Greagoir gave her a final warning. "If you fail, we templars will do our duty. You will die."

Varia's gaze drifted over to the small group of templars who stood nearby, quietly talking with one another. She immediately recognized one of them as Cullen, who she had grown close to after he saved her from being assaulted by some of his fellow knights, even though he had his back to her. She could never mistake those dark blonde curls.

"Very well, then," she stated, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high. "Might as well get this over with."

Greagoir nodded, raising his arm and gesturing toward the glowing substance in the nearby vessel.

"This is lyrium: the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child," Irving said to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to look up at him, still a bit unsure about the whole thing.

"Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you and remember the Fade is is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real."

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Greagoir reminded him.

"I know, Greagoir," Irving told him. "I was merely offering my student some last-minute advice."

Greagoir turned his attention to Varia, his eyes searching hers briefly. Irving was right. She might have been young, but her eyes showed maturity well past her physical age. He had seen mages several years older than her who did not possess such a trait. Suddenly, his earlier concern seemed quite foolish.

"You are ready," he told her, hoping his tone of voice conveyed the faith he now had in her succeeding.

Varia took a deep breath to steel her nerves and stepped toward the lyrium, casting another glance over to the group of templars who would be observing her. Her eyes met Cullen's, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was terrified that it would be the last time he saw her alive. She gave him a small smile, attempting to assure him that everything would be fine, then reached out to touch the lyrium in the vessel before her. Her fingers had barely made contact with the substance when she suddenly found herself enveloped in a burst of white light.

Greagoir quickly stepped forward when she touched the lyrium, catching her body before she fell and gently lowering her to the floor. She was alive, but her consciousness was now in the Fade. All they could do was wait... and pray.