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After meeting with the Inquisition for the first time in Orlais, it took about a week before Haven’s chantry became the temporary home of First Enchanter Vivienne de Fer of the Montsimmard Circle. Lucas Trevelyan, the young apprentice who many had identified as the Child of Andraste, hated her intensely. Yes, from the moment she set foot inside the building on her clicking high heels, eyeing everything with various levels of approval.
But what he thought of her hadn’t been important at the time, because Lavellan said that they "needed all the help they could get".
She’d set up a writing desk in one of the chantry’s alcoves, magically lit candles illuminating her in a glow of golden light. It wasn’t hard to spot; Lucas had lingered nearby when he saw her sitting at that desk for the first time, from where he’d been half-engaged in another game of hiding from the unwitting Inquisition templars. He sat on his haunches, watching her write and study from a tome beside her stationary, and he’d wished he was more forceful with Serah Lavellan about not letting her join.
Maybe he could have persuaded her to tell Vivienne no. In fact, no one but them would have to even know that Vivienne had offered her help in the first place. But now she was here, and now they had to accept her help, and now…
"It isn’t very polite to stare," Vivienne spoke up suddenly, without pausing in her writing nor looking in Lucas’ direction. "Surely the former libertarians are not so crass as to teach one of their pupils poor manners?"
Blood rushed to Lucas’ face as his hatred sputtered, awash in embarrassment, and he quickly got upright on his feet. He didn’t know what to say at first, but the idea of running away just because he’d been caught seemed almost more shameful. So without a plan in mind he stalked forward, into the light of her candles.
Once he was close enough Vivienne stopped writing. She neatly set down her pen and turned her seat to meet his eyes, folding her hands in her lap and smiling. "Now that’s better, my dear. You look much less ghoulish when you come out of the shadows."
Unsure if he was being insulted or complimented, Lucas hesitated for a moment on what he should say. Finally he settled on a greeting, with a stiff inclination of his head. "First Enchanter."
She leaned back in her chair, raising a hand with slender, manicured fingers to tap against her temple. "Trevelyan—you come from the Ostwick Circle, do you not? How did your instruction fare there? Do you remember who tutored you?"
Incensed, he opened his mouth to reply before he realized that it was a question with a normal answer, so he swayed back. "--Yes. I was—being taught by Senior Enchanter Lydia, sometimes. And Enchanter Peregrine, before he left. They were both good, I think. I didn’t study with them very long."
The answer appeared to please her, and she lowered her hand as she said, "Senior Enchanter Lydia was a dear friend of mine. You are lucky to have had the opportunity to study with her, however brief." Then, a sympathetic expression crossed her face, her lips turning down. "I understand that she passed on shortly after the Ostwick Circle fell. You have my deepest sympathies."
"I…"
It is the first time he’s ever heard the soft sound of tearing flesh, stark in the quiet of the overcast sky ahead.
Wet blood runs down Lydia’s front, and she collapses to the ground choking on it, gasping before she even has a chance to scream. The dripping knife, the knife that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, shines dully in the dim light of day, and then Warner throws it away, to where it clatters to the rocky ground.
The blood flows from Lydia’s open throat into the air, and then Warner is shielded with it, shimmering like red glass.
The other apprentices scream. Lucas can’t stop screaming either. Warner is now upon Ser Brighton like a gust of wind, snarling like a rabid dog where once he’d been clever, sarcastic. Ser Brighton’s short blade slicing across his face is the last that Lucas sees before one of the other Enchanters whisks him and the other children away, amidst Warner’s howls of rage.
They hadn’t even left sight of the Circle tower yet.
"... Thank you," he ended up saying softly, the words bitter in his mouth.
"I hope you understand, it’s injustices like these which turn me against this war," she’d said solemnly; she took in the look on his face with her dark eyes, but what she had been looking for to begin with was not as clear on hers. "Mages and common folk are being robbed of their lives, and you, my dear—you, among so many others, have been robbed of your education. Which is in my experience the same thing."
Lucas shifted on his feet, frowning. "...I’m just fine."
Vivienne just cocked her head at him, as if curious. "By ‘just fine’, do you refer, perhaps, to the spell that has painfully marked your hand with a magic that no one in this camp fully understands? Or do you refer to the fact that you are a mage who has not even a basic understanding of how to defend himself from the demons pouring out of that Breach?" When the boy started to hide his palm in his sleeve, she shook her head. "That is what I thought."
"Mind your own business," he growled.
"If you are not going to mind your business, someone ought to before you get yourself killed," she said with words that were a good deal more clipped than her previous. Her face remained creased with disapproval, but after a moment her voice softened. "Tell me, has the Inquisition, at least, given any thought to your instruction? I suspect you have not kept up with your studies since the outbreak of the rebellion."
His instruction? He thought of his daily lessons back in the Circle. He tried to imagine such a thing taking place while they were on the run, moving periodically to whatever town would take them, until suspicious farmers eventually drove them out. He then imagined trying them here, out in the open surrounded by strangers and nervous templars.
As he stalled his reply, Vivienne took that itself as an answer, shaking her head. "Absolutely shameful. I shall bring the matter up with Lady Montilyet at the first opportunity."
"Y… you want Josephine to bring me new teachers?" he asked, hating how dumb his voice sounded out loud.
She nodded at him, speaking matter-of-factly as if this was all obvious. "Well, darling, it would certainly be easier if you received instruction from myself. I am perfectly willing to lend my expertise in this area if the Inquisition should wish it.
"But if I may be frank, I am too busy a woman to try and teach someone who is unwilling to learn from me." Here, she smiled. "Which I can safely assume is the case with you by the way you wrinkle your little nose."
Lucas quickly, self-consciously rubbed his nose, and she placed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her smile. He narrowed his eyes. "... Well, I… should be able to pick who teaches me anything, shouldn't I?"
Vivienne's own eyebrows raised. "Oh, of course! But choosing a suitable instructor rather requires a decent selection of options." She gave an emphatic shake of her head, waving her hand in a way Lucas could only describe as graceful. "Don't tell me you intend to go ask that scruffy elven mage with no credentials for pointers?"
He thought of Solas, thought of his disapproving frown in the Hinterlands and dismissive low voice, and shook his head. "...No."
"Then you do have some wisdom in there, then," she mused with an approving tilt of her head. "We'll be sure to scout for the very best instructors."
Still, Lucas couldn't help a small twinge of discomfort, thudding the toe of his shoe against the floorboards. Believing their conversation over, Vivienne had started to turn back in her chair towards her desk; as she did, he raised his voice. "Why do you care so much about what I get taught, anyway?"
"The better question is, why don't you care about what you learn?" she batted back, looking over her shoulder as she held a black quill pen delicately between her hands. "You have made it clear that you are a politically minded young man, and frequently out in the field where you face some manner of danger. Would someone like you not wish to expand the tools at your disposal when given the chance?"
A part of him thrilled to be called "politically minded" by someone so much older than him, when usually surrounded by adults who told him to stay out of the affairs of his elders. Lucas slowed in his toe-thudding, chewing on his cheek.
A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and onto the Maker. One of the Sisters at the Circle chapel would say things like that, even as the templars in the corners like Ser Ranther sneered from behind their visors. "I don't know," he said softly.
"Then, my dear, you have no reason not to accept an instructor," said Vivienne, turning fully back around to her desk.
"It is a dangerous game we mages play," she finished. "And you would be remiss not to learn the rules."
***
Whenever she wasn't invited out to do field work with the other Inquisition agents, Vivienne sat at her desk drafting correspondence or theses, reading through textbooks or bundles of letters to allies whose names Lucas doubted his own capability to pronounce.
She was doing such things even now, when she had just arrived back from Therinfal Redoubt. A heavy tome lay next to her on her desk, and beside it a book whose pages she put ink to herself while she read—but only after putting those same words down on a loose sheet of parchment first, pausing occasionally to change out the page for a fresh one.
Without being close enough to read the words himself, Lucas nonetheless quietly watched her for almost a half hour before she cleared her throat. "Darling, you are doing it again."
"You must be happy," he ended up muttering to a support column on his right. "Now that the templars are coming."
Letting go of a small sigh, the First Enchanter cracked her knuckles in one motion, stood, and stepped over to greet him. "You do keep saying things like that, don’t you, my dear?" She smiled at him. "But as it happens, this may be the best possible outcome. The mages from Redcliffe are saved from their folly with the Venatori, as are the charges in their care. And once the templars arrive from Therinfal, we will have the hands needed to ensure their safety." She shook her head. "No, it could not have gone more perfectly."
A familiar anger spilled out before he could stop himself. "The mages don't need those templars watching them." Besides, didn't he hear that the templars from Therinfal needed watching as well?
"Child, if only that were true," Vivienne said with a strangely sympathetic sigh, shaking her head. "Regardless, we need not bore each other to death going in circles. I am pleased that this conflict is coming to an end, with the fewest possible casualties." She smiled thinly. "Mind you, you should not have been the one to undertake this task, but there’s no use lamenting it now."
That's right. Redcliffe, the Venatori there, the nightmarish night he spent dependent on Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Krem for protection. Lucas swallowed the rest of his words—there was something more pressing at the moment than starting another argument with Vivienne he wouldn't win. "Forget about all that, then," he began reluctantly. "There was something else."
Suddenly Vivienne was expectant, one sculpted eyebrow lifting up. Lucas grasped at his hand unconsciously, unsure of the words he was tossing around in his head. "I wanted to… I want to…"
It hadn’t been happening long, at least as far as his noticing it—a few months before the Conclave, perhaps.
But sometimes, at bad times, he could feel… them, even when they weren’t there. Those gauntleted hands on him, fingers curled around his wrists. Yanking, pulling, bruising. Grips that were like vises, from those in armor impossibly stronger than him. He’d wake up at night with that weight against his skin, standing upright. He’d stand there waiting for their shapes to materialize out of the gloom, waiting for the floor to slide under his feet, until he realized with a start that he was alone.
It wasn't even just the templars; the Venatori twisting his hand around to get a look at the mark that made it an object of inspection. Everyone wore those hard gauntlets. Everyone squeezed too tight.
His ears beginning to feel warm, Lucas swallowed uncomfortably. "What you were talking about before," he tried again, slowly, lacking the courage to look up at her. "If I say that I want you to teach me, will you show me how to fight with my magic?"
Vivienne went very still, her eyebrow settling down into the composed mask that was the rest of her face. Lucas couldn’t be sure if there was a smile threatening to take root in the corner of her mouth, or if it was perhaps his imagination. But after a moment she said, head tilted, "Not that I am at all criticizing your decision, but it is curious. You have decided, then, that you now value my expertise as a mage?"
The boy pursed his lips, clearly reluctant as he spoke. "You sounded like you were offering, before. And I've seen you fight, too." Once or twice, at least, in the times they've gone closing rifts. Enemies frozen and shattered like icicles in winter.
"I was indeed offering." She sat down opposite him then, crossing one leg over the other. "And if we’ve reached some sort of understanding on that matter, I happily accept your request. Tell me, Lord Trevelyan, at what stage was your education before your Circle fell?"
This gave him pause; the days when he was actually doing schoolwork felt like a lifetime ago. Lucas chewed idly on his lip. "I was learning about the Veil and spirits, but most of the spells were just exercises so I could keep my magic under control. I wasn’t supposed to learn more than that until I was older."
"So, no barrier spells or offensive attacks?" she asked, prim and businesslike. Lucas shook his head, and she clicked her tongue. "Under the circumstances, it would be prudent for us to begin there, then." She tapped her well-manicured finger against her knee thoughtfully. "A simple spirit blast should be well within your abilities… and a barrier spell, even a weak one, would be quite the boon in the field…"
At the moment, Lucas’ staff was back in his room, but he found himself clenching his fingers as if to grasp for it—some of the unease he’d had approaching Vivienne slowly emptying. "What about other attacks? I watched Solas cover someone in rock, once."
She laughed, lightly like back at the party where they first met. "We can work up to such things, my dear."
"You’re okay with that?" he asked, somewhat dryly. "Even though that’s not how the Circle worked?"
Vivienne paused a moment, though there was nothing to read in her doing it. "I presume that to mean that you were not to be instructed in offensive spells in your Circle at Ostwick?"
"Nope." Thud, thud, thud, went the toes of his shoe against the stone floor.
She clicked her tongue again, shaking her head—though she also did not look particularly surprised. "That simply wouldn’t do. One can hardly be expected to fend off a demon without having at least a little learning put towards self-defense. I made it a point to include such things in Monstimmard’s curriculum."
Lucas didn’t speak up in response to that, just watching her as he twisted his pinky finger.
So Vivienne simply shrugged. "... Believe it or not, my dear; regardless, you are the one who’s now come to me for these lessons, and I promise I will instruct you as if you were one of my apprentices. For the moment, is that enough, O Chosen One?"
Spirit blasts, stronger than little zaps or flashes of light. Barrier spells, so that maybe the next time someone shoots something at his face, he won’t get a myriad of cuts as a result. Lucas thought them over, and then nodded—having long before decided on it.
"Excellent; some sense at last," Vivienne crowed, interlacing her fingers. With her answer received, she sat up straight and proper (at least, more so than before,) her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. "To details, then. My mornings are filled at the moment, so I expect us to meet at half-past noon for your lessons. The frozen lake outside Haven should serve adequately as a meeting place. As it is getting rather on in the day, I expect us to meet tomorrow and go over your lesson plan—is that acceptable my dear?"
A nervous flutter like butterflies in Lucas' chest accompanied his brief nod, for a moment keeping his throat too tight to speak.
"Perfect." She smiled, and then just as quickly her face turned stern. "Now, one word of warning, of course. I am agreeing to teach you for your own safety, as well as the safety of those around us. In turn I expect you to learn and practice these spells responsibly , following my exact instructions."
"If I find you have been using your magic to endanger innocents, or indeed these members of the Inquisition, I will cease the lessons immediately." Her eyes, bedecked with long lashes, narrowed— carrying the promise of even more severe consequences than that. "Is that clear?"
The butterflies frenzied, and Lucas found himself grasping his wrist, swallowing down the sense memory of having his own hand shaken in his face. Quietly twisting his fingers around. "Yes, First Enchanter."
"Vivienne is fine," she said, before stopping and correcting herself. "...Or perhaps Madame de Fer, to you."
Inches from rolling his eyes, Lucas stuck out his tongue in disgust, and Vivienne simply raised her eyebrow again. Ah, so she did have limits after all.
He just smiled politely, swinging his hands behind his back. "... Yes ma'am."