Dragon Age: Phoenix Origins

Dear Sorin,
How are things going for you lately? Anything new happening in the Circle? Anyway, I hope you're doing well and not buried under too much study.
So, this is kind of random, but I wanted to ask you something. My friend Miriam asked about you the other day. And then—don't frown—she said she'd like to write you a letter. I have no idea why she's so eager, but honestly, it doesn't seem like a bad idea. She doesn't have a big circle of friends either, so it might be nice for both of you to have someone new to chat with. Would you be okay with that? Of course, no pressure to say yes if it's not your thing.
Looking forward to hearing from you! Write back soon, or I'll start sending you increasingly bad jokes.
Take care, 
Evelyn
***
Evelyn,
Things are as they usually are here. The days are largely the same—study, practice, and the occasional interruption. Yesterday, Henley approached me before his Vigil. He sat next to me in silence for some time. When he got up to leave, he patted my shoulder, grinned, and said, "Thanks for the support."
I didn't do anything. I find his behavior odd, but he seems content with whatever it is he thought I provided.
In other news, I've decided to write to my father. It's unsettling but also somewhat exciting. I don't know what to expect, but I'll share more details as this develops. For now, it's just an idea I'm trying to follow through on.
As for your friend Miriam—if she's important to you, she's welcome to write me a letter. I won't guarantee a reply, but I don't mind receiving one.
Sorin
***
Dragon 9:27 - Evelyn (16 yrs)
Evelyn leaned against the wall in a secluded corner of the library, nursing yet another bump on her head from training. After over a year at Kinloch Tower, she was finally used to the vigorous schedule and training. Her stamina was increasing and her lean muscles were firming more and more. Her aches were neverending, but she knew later down the road it would be a benefit to her.
The days were long, rising with the sun for her morning sessions with the Templars, followed by meeting Miriam for the first Chantry service of the day. Then there was breakfast where they were joined by Rhetta. She lazily dragged her arse out of bed to feed after her late nights, unable to sleep until the moons were past their apex. Then she had to contend with 'Vile Vale' and 'Witless Witfield' as they began to call the two Templar-Recruits. They still had it out for Evelyn, making trouble when they could. The Marcher got used to dealing with their threats and thankfully had plenty of support from her friends – mages and Templars alike – and even Knight-Enchanter Croft, who would tell them to set the record straight at times.
She pressed her finger to the tender bruise, wincing at the pain. Her healing magic was utterly worthless, so the sensible course of action would be to either fetch a healing potion or seek assistance from another mage. However, the thought of trekking two flights of stairs to the infirmary seemed like too much effort, especially when she still had an assignment to finish.
Thankfully, she caught sight of the long, dark braid of her friend out of the corner of her eye. "Pst, pssst, Miri?" she whispered, trying to get her attention.
The Ferelden turned to face her, her face lighting up with recognition. "Evelyn?" she responded in a whisper, her expression shifting to concern as she noted her bruise. She closed the distance between them with a quick step."What happened?!"
"Training, as usual," Evelyn replied, leaning closer to her friend. "Could you... heal this bump?"
Miriam hesitated, her expression conflicted. "Oh, Evelyn, I would love to, but you know that I've been ordered by the First Enchanter to use my healing magic only in cases of emergency," she uttered, her tone apologetic.
Evelyn frowned, frustration at Irving bubbling within her. How long were they going to keep her from her calling? "But, Miri, I can't focus on my studies with this throbbing pain, and the walk to the infirmary would take forever... Isn't this clearly such a case?"
The young woman looked at her with a slight reproach. "How is that an emergency? It's just you being lazy."
"Oh, come on, I know you are longing to heal people; it's just that you are not allowed to! I am giving you a chance to be the healer you want to be and not breach any rules. If the First Enchanter finds out, we will tell him I was groaning in pain too loudly in here for anyone to concentrate on their studies. That you were doing everyone in the library a favor."
Miriam chewed on her bottom lip, clearly torn between her obedience and her desire to help her friend. "I suppose it won't be a great infraction on my part to help you," she continued as if trying to convince herself. "It could be a serious wound; who knows if there's internal bleeding involved!"
Evelyn's face lit up with relief. "Exactly! Thank you, Miri! I owe you one," she added in a hushed tone gratefully.
Miriam nodded. "Just... don't get scared," she warned, suddenly shy. "Once I start to treat your head, blood will flow from my eyes."
Evelyn chuckled softly. "I'm training to battle demons, if I were freaked out by blood, I'd be in serious trouble. And I've heard so much about it that I'm even interested to see what all the fuss is about."
With a deep breath, Miriam focused her healing magic, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light. Gently, she touched Evelyn's bruised temple, and as she began to channel her magic, a strange sensation washed over her. She had been healed so many times before, but never had it felt so gentle, so comforting. Usually, it was forced, like the injury was commanded to mend sharply. The Ferelden's spell felt like a tender touch, pleading and slowly guiding the wound to heal.
As Miriam's concentration deepened, the whites of her eyes began to flood with blood, as if the capillaries within them were bursting. Tears of crimson welled up, spilling in thick rivulets down her pale cheeks, the coppery scent thickening the air.
Evelyn's astonishment grew as she watched this surreal spectacle. It was a gory sight, yet it possessed an ethereal quality, as though the blood were part of the arcane ritual—not fueling it, like blood magic, but merely a manifestation of the power coursing through Miriam's veins.
The Ferelden's expression remained focused, determined, as the crimson flow intensified, now pulsing in rhythm with Evelyn's own heartbeat. And with each pulse, she felt her pain vanish, replaced by a soothing warmth.
Finally, with a gentle touch, Miriam withdrew her hands. The soft glow of healing magic lingered briefly in the air before fading away. As it did, the flow of blood from her eyes ceased, leaving dark stains on her cheeks, robes, and the floor.
Evelyn blinked, still processing what she had just witnessed. "That... was incredible," she murmured, awe filling her voice.
Miriam offered a sheepish smile, wiping the remnants of crimson from her face with the sleeve of her robe. "Incredible? Maybe not the word I'd use," she said, her tone bashful. "I'm just glad it worked—and that you didn't find it too creepy."
Evelyn chuckled, a warm expression softening her features. "Creepy? Not at all," she reassured her. "It was... fascinating. I've never experienced healing magic like that before."
A faint blush touched Miriam's cheeks, her embarrassment shifting into something like pride. "I suppose the Maker gave me this healing talent for a reason. Though why He decided my eyes should bleed when I use it... well, that part still baffles me." She knelt, gathering the folds of her robe to wipe the blood from the floor. "Maybe it's His way of keeping me humble."
With a thoughtful glance at the Ferelden's eyes, which were gradually returning to their normal hue, Evelyn hesitated before speaking. "I hadn't thought to ask before, but... does it hurt? Or affect you in any other way?"
Miriam paused, rising slowly, her movements deliberate. "It's not exactly pain," she replied after a moment, her tone reflective. "It's more of an unpleasant prickling in my eyes, like tiny icy needles stabbing from the inside. As for other effects, I suppose if I used this ability extensively, blood loss could become an issue. But I haven't pushed it far enough to find out."
Evelyn tilted her head, absorbing Miriam's words with a newfound respect. "If, despite all that, you still want to pursue healing, you really should make your case to the First Enchanter. Your resolve deserves recognition."
The Ferelden met Evelyn's gaze, and for a moment, her steady composure faltered, revealing a flicker of uncertainty. Then, with a deep breath, she nodded. "Perhaps I should. There's so much good I could do as a healer—and I think I owe it to myself and the Maker, who had blessed me so, to try harder."
"Then," Evelyn uttered softly, "when you're ready to make that case, know I'll stand with you. We'll make sure they see what I see in you."
Miriam's lips quirked into a wide, genuine smile, her eyes reflecting a spark of newfound confidence as she nodded in reply. "Thank you, Evelyn."
***
Spring had finally thawed the frozen Ferelden landscape. The fresh scent of blossoming fauna from the mainland was soured by Lake Calenhad's water. With very little blooming in and around the Circle itself – aside from the botanical garden – one could hardly tell the change in seasons. By Marchers' standards, it was still cold, yet everyone around her began wearing lighter clothing. Even their moods were slightly better, but again, Evelyn believed they could be warmer.
She wondered at the influence they were having on her; what if she had been trained in Ostwick? Would it have made her softer? The pyromancer had faced much in her first five years since coming into her magic. Perhaps she had already changed believing that Ostwick wouldn't have hardened her for battle – or life in general – as Croft was doing.
"There you are! I'm so glad my class was canceled, now I can see you in action finally!" Miriam was tagging along for her lesson in the mage's training yard, wanting to study out in the 'fragrant' air. Her sweet, tight-lipped smile was a welcoming sight for her morning training session.
"Just be sure to sit on the bench..." There were two long benches on the edge of their yard, and it was already filled with mages. "What the...?"
"They are all from my class, why would they all be here?"
Turning to follow their gazes, Evelyn saw why. "Ugh, they're here to watch Brax. Just hold on a second, I'll clear you a space."
"Oh, that's alright," the Ferelden said disappointedly. "I can just go to the Library—"
"Miri, you want a spot, I'll get you a spot." Before she could stop her, Evelyn whistled and barked at one of the girls to move. Flexing her molten veins slightly for emphasis, two of the mages fled, making a comfortable spot on the end for Miriam. "All for you," she bowed with a sweeping gesture.
"You didn't have to do that," her friend whispered, her sheepish gaze darting around at the other girls.
"If Brax gets to have his admirers here, I think I'm entitled to have one friend here too. Besides, he always has people here for him. No one bothers with me, but not today!" Giddy to have her friend with her, she flashed Miriam a bright grin before spinning on a heel towards the armor closet.
She didn't get far before smacking into a semi-armored form, "Watch it! Oh, Trevelyan." The sandy blonde shock of Cullen's hair greeted her.
"Why am I always hitting my head off you? Miri just healed my last bruise."
"Well, I wish you would stop, you're gonna ding my armor."
"As if. To what do I owe the pleasure of running into you for anyway?"
"Arlo ordered some of us to join you today for exercises." Looking around, there were seven other trainees – including Vale and Witfield to her dismay – stretching and awaiting orders from Croft who was speaking with Arlo most likely about the exercises they'd be doing. Evelyn figured it'd have to be some melee practice since none of the others had taken their Vigil yet to become a full-fledged Knight.
She couldn't help her sassiness, nodding towards Vale and Witfield, "Oh good, maybe I'll get an excuse to kick their pathetic arses." He looked at her with some admonishment, ready to retort but she pushed past him to get her practice armor on. She enjoyed the days the Templars joined them for practice; dummies were becoming a bore. That, and her usual sparring partner, Abraxas, was becoming predictable. At least Miriam would get a good show, especially if she got a chance at the two female Templars.
Pulling the leather straps of her breastplate tight, she tried to remember that she couldn't push it with Vale and Witfield. Any misstep and they would bury her in accusations.
As she anticipated for today's practice, the apprentices and recruits were paired up for melee sparring, but there was a twist. To give the future Knights a taste of more realistic battles involving arcane wielders, the mages were allowed to use non-offensive spells such as barriers and the fade-step. Evelyn smiled to herself – this could be her chance to get back at the two armor polish-eaters.
When it came time to decide the pairings, which were typically assigned by Croft and Arlo, Witfield unexpectedly requested to spar with Evelyn. The request raised eyebrows from both the Knight-Enchanter and the Templar, both of whom were aware of the recent rumors. This instance wasn't any different from all the others they had dealt with before. The animosity between mages and Templars was long ingrained in their culture. The instructor duo had been through it time and time again, and they prided themselves on rooting out such childish habits from their recruits. As Croft imparted to her, they were to be disciplined warriors, not members of the Orlesian Court. And no doubt with that sentiment in mind, they agreed to the pairing.
When the day's spectators realized what was happening, they suddenly had something more interesting to watch than Abraxas. By now everyone in Kinloch Tower knew of the feud, but for everyone who didn't believe the rumor, there were plenty of others who did. Had it been any other mage, they most likely would've laid low and rode out the storm – but this was Evelyn Althea Trevelyan, the human embodiment of fire.
For those who didn't know her well, she seemed like a privileged mage in need of humbling. They wanted a show, and arguably most wanted to see Evelyn brought down. But they were in for disappointment. She would sooner eat bronto dung than let that bitch claim victory.
Entering the sparring ring, Evelyn glanced at Miriam, her brow furrowed in that almost motherly way she had when she was worried. Cullen, a few feet away, looked no less concerned. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he gave a small shake of his head, clearly warning her to tread carefully.
She gave a wink in their direction, acknowledging their concern but ignoring it. Through the strands of her hair too short to be pulled back in her braid, her eyes flicked over to Witfield. She and Vale exchanged looks that she couldn't quite read. Reid was standing behind her in the group, making Evelyn wonder if they were up to something.
Before the match began, both combatants were handed their respective potions to bring them to their full potential – a lyrium potion for Evelyn and a stamina draught for the recruit. Eda grabbed her flask with greedy hands, practically inhaling it, her full lips closing around the bottle with an eagerness that made Evelyn smirk.
As if that'll help you, Witless. You're still a shit fighter hiding behind a shield.
The mage followed suit, though as she swallowed, she noted the potion tasted... off. A bit more bitter than usual. She frowned but shrugged it off—her excitement about facing Witfield was too great to let a strange aftertaste spoil the moment. Once finished, she handed back the empty bottle and stalked into position.
For show, Eda bounced on her feet, loosening her muscles in a pitiful way as gravity worked against her in more ways than one. She twirled her sword about with some practice stabs that made Evelyn want to roll her eyes. Glancing at Croft, the Knight-Enchanter's jaw ticked, clearly annoyed by Arlo's tolerance of such a display, yet Templars were expected to intimidate and exude power... though this was just sad.
Cullen was pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly unable to watch her, almost causing Evelyn's stoic poise to crack. In an attempt to focus on something else, the pyromancer took her staff from the rack, inspecting it in her hands, the weight familiar and reassuring. Rather than spin it about like a stage act, she followed her mentor's teachings betraying nothing to her opponent that could be used against her from her movement to emotion. As much as she'd like to flip her a rude gesture.
Witfield stood at the far end of the ring, her plate armor gleaming, her training sword resting easily on her shoulder. The smirk on her face was enough to make Evelyn's blood boil.
For someone I've seen swinging her sword like she's chopping wood, she's awfully confident.
"Ready to play, little mage?" She called, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.
Evelyn didn't bother with a reply; she stepped into the ring, her staff at the ready with deliberate confidence and fire in her eyes.
Arlo raised his hand to silence the spectators. "Remember the rules. No lethal force. Only defensive spells. The match ends when one participant yields or is incapacitated." He glanced between the two young women, lingering just long enough on Evelyn to make her grind her teeth. "Begin!"
Witfield moved first, as Evelyn anticipated. A surge of augmented speed closed the distance between them in an instant, her sword flashing in a downward arc. Evelyn barely had time to parry with a crackling shield of magic, the impact dispelling the shield in a burst of dazzling light but protecting the mage nonetheless.
"Not bad," Witfield shrugged, her grin widening as she pressed forward, her blows relentless. The mage sidestepped, sweeping her staff low at her opponent's feet. The Templar-Recruit danced back, unscathed, but Evelyn noted the flicker of annoyance on her face.
Good.
Suddenly, Evelyn felt a strange rush— the lyrium in her veins buzzed way too sharply, her magic swelling too quickly, too intensely for her to fully control. Her hands trembled slightly as she parried Eda's next blow, her grip on the staff tightening. Something wasn't right.
Yet the mage didn't have time to dwell on it as Eda came at her again, her strikes faster, more relentless. Evelyn barely managed to keep up, her movements feeling both sluggish and overly precise at the same time.
"What's the matter?" Witfield sneered, her shield battering against Evelyn's defenses. "Feeling the pressure?"
Evelyn gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus, but the world around her blurred in a way she couldn't shake off. She caught a glimpse of her hands—her fingertips glowing, veins lit up in fiery brightness beneath her skin, running up her arms and across her chest. That manifestation of her magic was familiar, but this time the light was accompanied by a terrible heat she had never felt before. An unbearable surge of power built in her core, burning and searing her from within.
"Offensive magic is not allowed!" Eda shouted as she raised her shield.
Through pain and panic, Evelyn turned, her wild gaze locking onto Arlo. "Silence me—NOW!" she bellowed, her voice cracking with desperation.
But it was too late.
A violent burst of flames erupted from her body, scorching the air and consuming everything in its path. The heat was blinding, pulsing out solar flares like the sun. Brought to her knees, Evelyn barely registered the sound of screams as she tried to breathe through her own panic.
One stream of fire struck Eda in the face, and she went down with a piercing scream, clutching at her helm as smoke and flames engulfed her. Other bursts shot outward, uncontrolled and furious, crashing into the crowd. A terrified yell rose up as people scrambled to avoid the blazing inferno.
"Get her under control!" someone shouted, and Evelyn heard the distinct sound of swords being drawn.
The Templars.
She stumbled back, her vision swimming as the flames raged around her. She could feel their abilities reaching out to dampen her magic, but instead of snuffing the flames, the fire roared even louder, defying the dispelling power of the Knights.
"No! No, no, no!" Evelyn gasped as she watched in horror, unable to stop the destruction she was causing. But the fire wasn't hers anymore—it was a monster, alive and ravenous.
Suddenly, a figure emerged through the chaos. Croft, fade-stepping into the blaze, appeared before her. His form shimmered with a protective barrier, holding firm against the blazing heat.
Without hesitation, he raised his spirit blade and struck her with the hilt, aiming directly for her temple. The impact was sharp and sudden, and Evelyn felt herself collapse. The flames flickered violently, then began to fade as unconsciousness claimed her.
The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was the echo of shouting—angry, frightened, and filled with accusation.