Dragon Age: Phoenix Origins

Though more refined and disciplined, the page is still messy in areas where the author did not allow the ink to dry. A number of lines were struck out, and the uneven folds, rather than being redone, were left as is.
Dear Evie,
It's two years today that you left me and I have to say, I'm still angry with you.
My vigil is coming up, and while I'd never admit it to Sorin-sparky-pants, I'm a bit nervous. I know I'll pass and all because I'm ME, but it's the biggest moment of my life! I could really use some of your positive reassurance here because Sorin's matter-of-factness is not what I need. I wish I could just hear you say 'everything will be fine' because I fear I'm forgetting what you sound like.
You better not be laughing at me... even if you were I can't hear you with a sea between us – and a lake, right? Might as well be the bloody Frostbacks too!
Sorry, the two years thing has me feeling sentimental. I know it's an odd request but... if you know someone who can do your likeness justice, have a sketch done for me. Please? I'm sure you look even more like a crazy-fireball-thrower now! Do you still have your long hair or have you burnt it off yet?
The best Templar you know (still),
Henley
P.S. No jokes for you. I'm still mad and I know they are your favorite part of my letters.
***
Dragon 9:27 - Evelyn (16 yrs old)
"Another letter from yer friend in Ostwick? And wot is that?" Rhetta was leaning over Evelyn as she read her latest letter from Henley. After a rainy morning session, it left her hair in a knotty mess and the elf was determined to finger comb it out for her. Having her friend in such a state was an affront to the copper-haired mage's desire for feminine beauty in all things, including her friends if she could help it.
Evelyn unfolded the extra page tucked into his letter, her smile widening in astonishment as she took it in. "It's him! He had a sketch done of himself." Her fingers hovered over the artist's careful work, mindful not to smudge the lines, as she admired Henley's familiar yet transformed face. He looked more like a man now, his dark stubble shadowing a strong jawline, his thick neck and shoulders adding to the impression of rugged maturity. Her friend had always been tall and broad, but she hadn't expected him to grow into this. He was... handsome. Unmistakably so.
"That's him?" Rhetta remarked, her tone a mix of amusement and indifference. "He's no Brax, but if you like tall, rugged Knights, I suppose he'll do." It was clear her distaste for all things Templar outweighed any appreciation for their looks.
Evelyn gazed back at the sketch, something stirring in her chest. Her voice came out softer, almost absent-minded: "Rugged indeed..." Her heart quickened, the idea taking root that he wanted her to see this, to know how he had changed. He needed her reassurance, her words to bolster his confidence. The thought that her opinion mattered so much to him sent a rush of warmth through her. She reread Henley's words, turning them over in her mind. Was there more hidden beneath his playful tone, something left unsaid? But why was she even hoping for that?
Maker, get a hold of yourself, she thought, shaking her head. This is ridiculous.
"Rhetta," Evelyn said at last, meeting her friend's eyes, "could you draw me so I could send something back to him? You've got an excellent eye and talent."
A smirk curled at her lips, "Aye, and I'd make ye look gorgeous for your man. Good thing that won't be hard to do."
"No, I want it true to me."
"E, ya are beautiful. I won't lie 'bout that."
She scoffed, "Sure, look at me. My hair is a mess and most people think I'm on a Templar's leash." Next to her Evelyn looked like a dirty grub in her practice clothes. She didn't wear the long robes of a mage, but the tunic and breeches of the Templar recruits. Though the pants clung to her form, the shirt was flowy and made her look boxy despite the belt above her waist. Always sweaty with her hair up in a messy way, Evelyn prioritized getting it out of her face for physical training in the morning. Whipping around practicing with her staff later on, it was also a safety measure to keep it back so as not to burn it off as Henley joked about.
"Yer too hard on yerself, Evie, I've heard of several people sweet on ye. Wot about that time we were in the Alchemy Lab and ye helped that boy when his flask exploded! He couldn't stop starin' at ye the rest of the class," she wriggled her eyebrows up and down.
Chuckling before letting go of a heavy sigh, the pyromancer replied, "That's because a piece of the glass cut my head, and he was concerned I was going to bleed on him. Apparently, the sight of it makes him faint."
"Well, yer hair is certainly a hot topic." Since becoming a woman, the ends of her mahogany locks were bleaching blonde. The fade was creeping higher and higher but faded halfway up her long wavy strands. It was certainly a different sort of mutation, as the Senior Enchanters believed it was caused by the combination of puberty and her mana. It was not uncommon for mages to develop odd traits, but she hoped that would be the end of it since she had glowing veins to contend with as well.
"I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I suppose it could be worse." Taking some of her long locks in hand, she studied the blending hues.
"I like it! I almost wish me hair would do the same."
Evelyn snorted a laugh, "Please, everyone loves a redhead. I'd trade you if it were possible."
"If what was possible?" Miriam joined them with her tray of bland food. They quickly filled her in and the healer weighed in with her thoughts, "I believe there is a simple and pure beauty to one's natural hue. The Maker gifts us with it, and I trust His design for us."
Evelyn quirked an eyebrow over at her, as Rhetta still tugged at knots in her damp hair, "Well, then by all rights shouldn't I be the redhead, being the pyromancer? Wouldn't that fit me better than this?"
Miriam's pale blue eyes squinted as she watched her two friends from across the table, "Not necessarily. I think the blonde looks more like flames burning away at the dark."
Evelyn never thought about it that way. "Hmm, I like that." She smiled warmly at Miriam's insight and perspective.
Rhetta was ever focused on the physical aspects of the world, whereas her fellow high-born saw the spiritual and symbolic meanings in the mundane. Evelyn rounded out the group by simply being the rational middle ground, usually finding something to agree and disagree with on both sides. The trio was a diverse bunch away from their academic acquaintances, who had much more similar interests, yet the young women seemed to always gravitate toward each other outside of the day's lessons.
"Malefrath's hairy arse Evie, yer hair is so knotted, ye need to keep it in somethin' different than a bun or ponytail. A braid would be perfect! Then I wouldn't have to fuckin' un-tangle this rat's nest," she grumbled, still attempting to help salvage her friend's hair. The pyromancer shrugged and lost herself in thought as she attempted to detangle it as if an Avvar on their wedding day. Staring off into nothing, she didn't notice the tall Templar trying to get her attention by clearing his throat. Rhetta gave her a light smack on the arm, "Oi, yer other Templar buddy wants ye." Moving her eyes to the left, Cullen was speaking to one of the Sentinels, but pointing with a finger to meet him out in the hall.
"I felt I needed to tell you about something." Worry was etched in his features as she patiently waited. "Vale and Witfield they..." His gaze darted around the hall.
"Yes?"
"I think they have it out for you. The things they say, I can't imagine any of it to be true."
"What did they say?" Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest.
"I haven't heard all of it, but something about a murder and a cover-up back in Ostwick."
Evelyn's face scrunched up in disbelief, "How could I possibly be here if it were true?" He pinned her with a sour expression. She chewed the inside of her lip feeling her rage ignite at the affront. "They don't like me, they never have and it seems to only be getting worse. I'm a constant annoyance to them and Brax seems to think it's because they're jealous. Well, if they think I'm just going to let them make up lies then–"
"No, you can't do anything to them without getting yourself in deeper trouble. I just worry their words will reach my superiors and it will hurt your chances at becoming a Knight-Enchanter."
"Then what I am supposed to do, Cullen? Let them spread nasty rumors about me? It's different for someone like me, I could be made Tranquil if the wrong thing is said!"
His face softened, "Croft would never allow it, and besides, despite what I believed when we first met, you've made friends of mages and Templars alike. Let us defend you." It's true, Evelyn had formed strong bonds with a number of them who could quell any slander aimed at her.
Of all of them, Cullen was the closest, both sharing a determination to be the best they can be and do the Maker's work. He had come along after their talk in the Library months ago, apologizing for forgetting one of the first lessons of being a Templar: That mages were people too, despite evidence to the contrary. She often compared their friendship to that of hers with Henley, but the two were so different she didn't think it was fair. Cullen was serious and did things by the book. Henley was spontaneous and pushed boundaries on things and people. One wasn't better than the other, but she was grateful for it because she didn't feel like she was replacing her Ostwick friend.
She frowned, "I don't like others fighting my battles for me. If we were in Ostwick, my best friend would distract them and I'd burn their pants off." Evelyn snorted a laugh at the mental image of Vale and Witfield with crispy bottoms.
"Do that here and it's a death sentence," his tone harshened. "You and your friend are lucky rules are so relaxed in Ostwick for you'd already be branded here for that."
Evelyn shook her kinky waves, "My best friend is a Templar-Recruit like you, remember? Well, he'll soon be Knight, his vigil is soon."
His amber eyes floated down to her hand to the paper she was clutching, "Is that him?"
"Mmhm," she smiled again, "we write as often as we can. We met when I first came into the Circle. He was assigned to show me around, just like how we met."
He chuckled quietly, "Is that why you chose me to harass?"
Having never thought of it like that, she saw the humor in it, joining in with her own laughter, "Yes! The first Templar my age I meet is bound to become my friend. Sorry, Rutherford, but it was fate and now you're stuck with me... and all my crazy mutations." Evelyn inspected her lightening hair with a slight frown.
"Careful, I may be insulted, Trevelyan. Some of us were born with fair-colored hair." Running a hand through his, the lack of scowl on his face told her he hadn't taken it to heart.
"Yours hasn't been caused by magic though," without thinking she reached up feeling his thick locks of hair. Cullen slightly pulled back, his eyes darting about making sure they were unseen. "Relax, I wasn't going to set it on fire." The two had come in contact during physical training plenty of times for him to not take issue with such an innocent touch. And if she was being honest, she had always wanted to run her fingers through his inviting golden locks.
"I know, just..." he sighed keeping whatever he was going to say to himself, "anyway, just... if you happen to hear something don't burn anyone's pants off. Promise?" Again she chuckled to herself in her head, knowing his opposite – Henley – would've advised the opposite.
Cullen was being especially serious now which told her not to argue, "I promise. I'll see you at the afternoon session." He nodded giving her a reassuring wan smile before walking away down the hall. As she headed back into the mess hall with her friends, both mages were on high alert. Sitting back down she asked them cautiously, "What's going on?"
Rhetta had a wild look in her emerald eyes, "Shits stirrin' and it's got those two harlots names all over it. They started up 'soon as you left, the bloody cowards!" Her city-elf temperament to fight first and never ask for forgiveness was showing as she glared at Vale and Witfield across the hall.
The pyromancer sighed, feeling her mana swirling around within in defense. "It must be what Cullen warned me about. He told me to ignore it. I don't even know what they said."
Miriam gave her a weary sideglance, "I'm not sure that'll be possible for you and your temper once you hear..."
"Trev," Abraxas put an arm around her shoulder leaning in, "I just heard–"
"For fuck's sake, someone just tell me what they said before I get mad anyway!"
All three mages looked at each other, but her fellow Knight-Encahnter-in-training was the one to speak up, "Vale apparently received a letter from a cousin in the Chantry who visits the Circle of Ostwick. She just read it aloud." At her home's mention, Evelyn's whole demeanor darkened. "She claims you attacked and burnt alive a Mother over some mage named Sorin."
The Marcher shot up, fists clenched, and veins glowing, but Abraxas pushed her down with a scolding look. The three tightened around her to hide her flaming mana knowing that she couldn't help it. Magma dripped from her lips with every word, "She would dare utter that name!" It was a violation to her friend that his name ever be known to her, let alone escape her foul lips.
The cryomancer placed himself directly in her line of sight, "Trev, cool your temper before the Templars see." His fierce look focused her, as her glowing veins dimmed, but her emotions were teetering on the violent edge. "This is exactly the kind of reaction they're trying to get out of you!"
"He's right, E. Keep this up and yer sure to get the blighted brand." Rhetta cursed under her breath, as she continued to eye the two through her human shield as they watched them with wicked grins. Satisfied they riled her up, the two instigators left.
Miriam, always the voice of reason piped up, "How can anyone believe it's true if she's here? Surely, the penalty for such a crime is death. No one can justify this story without seeing all its holes."
"They can if they say her noble father bought them off and had her transferred here," Evelyn's eyes snapped up at Abraxas' words and even Miriam deflated, both knowing all too well the meaning of being nobility in the Circle.
"That's not what happened." The Marcher retold the story of the Mother's persecution of Sorin; that her mutation scared him; that no one was injured beyond the mages getting Silenced; and how they were imprisoned but let off because of a threat she made. She did threaten to revoke House Trevelyan's funding of the Chantry, but she didn't act upon it.
"That's terrible that a Mother would treat one of the Maker's children so! Sorin means 'sun', does it not? Poor boy." Miriam rubbed a thumb over her amulet of Andraste in the manner she did when she was upset.
"We were inseparable until I left to come here. He's like a little brother to me, and for Vale to speak of him and my father so..." Her fists clenched and her nails dug into her calloused palms. "Cullen said he had my back and not to do anything."
"Can ye really trust one of 'em to put their polished arse on the line for ye?" She knew Rhetta would never understand the kind of bond she and Abraxas formed with the Templars. Yes, they were tools for them to use, but Templars were also taught that certain situations required magic to solve and that the mages they could trust would be tested and trained to ensure their safety.
"We can trust Rutherford and Reid."
"Dane too," Abraxas added his Sentinel into the mix. "Let's just ignore this unless they push it."
The rest of the day, Evelyn walked on eggshells around the Tower. She swore more people stared and whispered after her than usual. The times she saw Cullen in passing she gave him a sharp look, but he made it point for him or Reid to be nearby to thwart the ladies from clashing with each other. Having volunteered to help sort books in the Library – as most Templar-Recruits had to do some kind of chore daily – Evelyn and her two mage friends met there in the evening to study and start on the portrait of her for Henley. The table they chose was in a busy area near where Cullen could watch them.
While Rhetta got to work on the drawing and Miriam studied, Evelyn concentrated on her letter:
Byron,
Don't get all broody on me—I know how you get when something's bothering you. I'd much rather picture you as you are in that sketch: confident and ready to stir up trouble.
On a brighter note, every year that goes by brings me closer to coming back to Ostwick! I've got zero plans to stick around here once I finish training as a Knight-Enchanter.
As for your vigil, you will be fine! Honestly, you're the best—and cockiest—Templar-Recruit I've ever known. The solitude will be rough, sure, but you'll power through it. It'll be worth it in the end, I promise. I just wish I could be there when you take your first dose of lyrium. Seriously, be patient with yourself. Let your body adjust. And for the love of the Maker, talk to Sorin. I know you two are stubborn as brontos, but you need each other, even if you refuse to admit it.
Anyway, I've got complete faith in you. I'll be thinking of you. And I miss you.
Evie
P.S. I hope my portrait cheers you up, and I really hope you're not too disappointed I didn't go bald while attempting magic. And yes, my hair really does fade to blonde now. Apparently, I'm full of surprises.
Evelyn set the letter down, reading it over one last time. Despite being on different continents, the need to have Henley and Sorin's friendship was like a burning ember in her heart, flaring hot when her thoughts drifted to them. The same frustration that gripped her since she arrived would surge forth, but with each passing year, it was lessening. She had accepted that she could control very little in her life, but she was still going to make the most of it.
Having finished her portrait, the pyromancer smiled at Rhetta's artistic ability to capture her realistically. With Miriam's approval, she excitedly folded the pages together to put in the post. With her task complete, the day's trouble came back to her, gazing up at her volunteer Sentinel. She had been so focused on her friend in Ostwick, that she forgot the ones doing their best for her here.
Realizing she owed Cullen thanks for going out of his way to be here in case the troublesome Templars appeared, she said goodnight to her friends and made her way over to him. Despite what the recipient of her letter would have advised in handling Vale and Witfield, deep down she knew Cullen was right. His assurances had tempered her fiery rage, and for that, she needed to thank him.
Approaching the shelf he was working on, she pretended to be looking for a book, "Thank you for everything. I fear I would've done something hot-headed if it weren't for your help today."
His countenance never changed as he diligently worked, "It's my duty, isn't it? Keeping mages safe, even if it's from themselves."
"While I appreciate you making light of it, it isn't. It's more of what a friend would do and I'm grateful. I'm glad I listened to you this time rather than explode like I wanted to. You really have that scolding frown down."
That got his attention, cocking an eyebrow over at her, "Better get used to it if you want to be a Knight-Enchanter." The faintest twitch of his lips told her he was partially joking.
"Pff, you're not a Knight yet, Rutherford, don't let it go to your head."
"I will be soon though. I was older than most when I entered the Order, but I surpassed all expectations. I'll have my vigil soon, maybe in a few months." There was excitement in his eyes brightening them. She wished every Templar was like him, so full of faith and reason. Aside from Henley, she now knew she could trust Cullen with her life.
The words from her letter came back to her, realizing maybe he needed to hear them too, "You'll make a great Templar, Cullen." There was an odd moment where time seemed to freeze between them. They gazed at each other with the fondness of a kindred spirit. Clearing her throat, in an attempt to ward away any awkwardness she knew he was prone to, she added, "And I only say that so you go easy on little o' me in the future and so you keep helping me with those two shitheads."
He chuckled earnestly, "I see, well if I need a mage's help I expect you to assist me, Trevelyan, without having to butter you up. Deal?"
"Deal, Rutherford."