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It was the day she had to leave. Maestitia's master had clear orders for her. She had to get back to Minrathous. Her stomach was hurting, and she did not want to go home. She stared at the windows. Denerim was such a pathetic city compared to her home city, but she felt at home there more than she ever did in Minrathous.
Maestitia had little memory of her childhood. Everything before she started to serve her current master was blurry. She remembered the wrathful voice of her first master and her mother's tender smile as she gave herself to spare her daughter from cruel abuse. Unfortunately, she could not protect her forever, and she died too soon.
Maestitia had been traded again and again. A good-for-nothing child, often beaten just for the sake of it. But one day, her life changed as her magical abilities showed up. Magister Triconibus, who saw great potential in the little girl, bought her for a reasonable price. He taught her magic in all forms, particularly blood magic, and she revealed herself as an outstanding pupil. She was, in fact, one of the most potent mages he ever encountered. She was his pride as he forged her to be that way.
Since she belonged to the House Triconibus, she never endured abuses as she did in past houses. She would spend most of her days studying magic or standing close to her master like an accessory. On obscure days, she would practice blood rituals on other slaves. But she was special; she believed her master would one day free her and let her go to the Cercle of mages.
On his deathbed, the Magister requested her to be here. If Maestitia, young and naive, thought he would free her, she could never have been more wrong. All the dying man did was ask his son to take good care of her as she was his most valuable belongings. It reminded Maestitia of her place. She was a thing, not a person.
Nothing changed as the new Magister Triconibus took his father's place. Eventually, he sent Maestitia abroad for the slave trade. Obviously, she was not alone but the only slave among servants and associates.
Why would Magister Triconibus let one of his things travel so far from the Imperium?
It was not unusual for his own father to send slaves under watch all around Thedas. Unlike many, he believed there were valuable things or knowledge outside Tevinter besides new slaves to trade and sell. Maestitia was his most potent mage slave, and Magister Triconibus had even higher ambitions for her than his father had. Eventually, he would make her a Liberti, once assured she would remain his, even in freedom.
Maestitia's personal mission was to gather knowledge, acquire slaves, and, most importantly, find a powerful lineage to breed to replace her. She reluctantly accepted the deal of trading her own blood and flesh for liberation.
And she tried; she truly did. Maestitia became involved with a Dalish First a few weeks after her departure. A young and charismatic man she met on the road of the Free Marches named Assan from the Lavellan clan. It was love at first sight, and Maestitia got pregnant a few months later. She was allowed to remain with the clan so she could learn about Dalish magic. Five years was how little time she had to raise her child before she should return to her master.
For five years, Maestitia tasted the promised freedom she sought; getting married and raising a little boy in her new family. But when the day came for her to leave for Minrathous, the Keeper Shannon, her child's grandfather, confessed he knew everything about her true goals and would not hesitate to put her down if she did not go. Token of his good faith, he offered her to keep her secret and to put her in good words with valuable contacts of his.
Maestitia accepted, knowing that no matter how powerful she was, she was no match for the man. Thus, she left, leaving nothing behind. Thanks to Keeper Shannon's contacts, she returned to her master not empty-handed but with a handful of slaves.
Magister Triconibus was disappointed but seemed rather understanding regarding the Keeper's threats. Maestitia suspected there was more to it, but she did not ask questions; slaves never asked questions.
Maestitia returned to her old days of servitude for years and began giving up her hopes of freedom. She could never get her son from the Lavellan clan, and fleeing was not an option. No slave ever escaped Magister Triconibus.
Eventually, in 9:15 Dragon, her master sent her to the South, to Denerim. Their Alienage suffered from a recent purge, the perfect time to collect slaves, among other things. So, she traveled, accompanied by servants who kept reminding her that she remained a slave despite the preferential treatment she was receiving from their master. They were right. If she was any other slave, she would have been resold, or worst. Maestitia blessed Andraste for giving her such magical abilities. Without them... Maestitia would rather not think of what would have happened to her without them.
Because she was an elf, the Alienage of Denerim gave her their trust way too easily, allowing her to quickly set good traffic for slaves entirely within the people's and city authority's discretion. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a short journey turned into something else.
Maestitia met a man, Yvor Tabris, a blacksmith. It was uncommon for elven to own a business, let alone to wield weapons. But Yvor was no ordinary elf. As a teen, he fought the last battles under King Maric's commands and made a name for himself as a hero when the Orlesian occupation ceased. For that, he was offered privileges such as owning a forge in the market district of Denerim. Yvor was esteemed among elves, dwarves, and humans. Few tried to put him down, and none ever succeeded.
Of course, such a man drew Maestitia's attention and was not insensitive to her charms. She knew it was a bad idea. A day would come she would leave him behind, just like she did with her first lover. She did not resist him when he pursued her; before she knew it, she was moving in with him.
She kept finding good reasons not to return to her master. She wanted to live in happiness as much as possible. Eventually, after a year or so, while her return was soon expected, she was revealed to be pregnant again. It delayed her travel as she could not risk losing her unborn child on the road. Magister Triconibus told him to remain in Denerim until the child was ready to be transported without any trouble. And thus, she did.
Maestitia sighed as she turned her gaze to her bags. She was waiting for a fellow servant of her master to come and get her. These past few years felt like a sweet dream. Maestitia played unconsciously with her wedding ring. She would forever cherish those memories. Lost in thoughts, she hardly heard her new husband calling for her.
“What is it, darling?” she asked as he approached her room.
“Someone at the door for you,” he told her, a weird expression on his face.
Maestitia frowned her brows. Yvor knew she was leaving. Obviously, she lied to him about the reason for her travel. But Yvor also knew the man that was supposed to come and get her, he would never have said someone if it was him.
Maestitia followed her husband into the living room; her heart stopped when she recognized him.
“Assan,” she gasped. “What, what are you doing here?”
Her ex-husband smiled at her, holding her son. He knew. He had to know. Maestitia stared at Assan silently, waiting for him to say a word, anything.
“What a good boy,” Assan eventually said, tenderly rocking the baby. “He has his mother's eyes.”
“Get out,” Maestitia harshly said.
“Easy now, love,” Assan laughed, standing up to put the child in his cradle. “I've come to warn you that your friend was not coming to get you, I'm afraid.”
“What are you—” Maestitia began to say. If Assan killed one of her master's servants, she was going to be in trouble. “Just get out!” She said again louder than she wanted to.
Assan stared at her in silence. He was not going to leave. She knew how stubborn the man was, there was no use yelling at him.
“Can someone explain to me what is going on here?” Yvor asked, glancing at his wife and the other man.
“Do you wish to tell him yourself you sold your son to slavery?” Assan sarcastically asked her.
“You did what?” Yvor looked at her in horror as he quickly walked to her. “Tell me he's lying, my love.”
When Maestitia avoided his gaze, Yvor knew the stranger was telling the truth. Yvor swore as he paced around the room. His whole world was falling apart in a blink.
“Why are you here, Assan?” Maestitia calmly asked.
“Mae,” Assan sighed, walking toward her. “You can't condemn your son to a life of servitude.”
“He'll survive. Just like I like,” Maestitia replied in a dry tone.
Would he? She hoped he would; he had to. Maestitia glared at the cradle, biting her lips. An innocent little boy, her innocent little boy. But she made her decision; she already sold him.
“You will never be free, Mae,” Assan said, holding her shoulder. “They raised you to be there; your master will never let you go. You will always be their slave.”
Frowning her brows, Maestitia looked at him with anger, her blood boiling in her veins. How could he dare? A man who swore to love her years ago, telling her such harsh truth. Without her even knowing, she slapped him. Assan chuckled as he stroked his face to ease the pain.
“It's too late for you but not for him,” he mumbled, nodding toward the cradle.
Maestitia wished to yell at him, to curse at him. But he was right, and she hated it. She would give her son to her master, and then, what after? She would be a Liberati. She would gain a relatively good life, but nothing could erase all these years of servitude, all the atrocities she committed in her master's name. It would haunt her until her last breath. Assan was right; she was a lost cause.
With tight fists, she disappeared into her room. She grabbed her bags to put then in front of the main door. Then, she turned to her husband.
“Forgive me,” she whispered as she held him one last time. “Take care of him.”
Yvor held his wife tightly. He was still confused and uncertain about what to think, but he loved her, and nothing could erase that. He was going to miss her.
“I promise you,” he murmured as she stepped back.
Then, she stood before the cradle. Her boy was sleeping like a rock, holding on to his wolf plush.
“Mama has to leave without you, Aster,” she murmured keenly. “Mama loves you. Mama is a terrible mother, but she loves you.”
Maestitia kissed her fingers and touched her son's forehead. She looked at the ceiling, hoping to stop the tears from forging around her eyes. Proudly, she grabbed her bags and seized the door handle. As she was about to open it, she whispered: “How is he doing?”
“Oh, she is doing well,” Assan replied with a sincere smile. “She calls herself Ælf'hild now.”
Maestitia bit her lips as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She wished to have a little girl named after her own mother, whom she lost too soon, Hilda.
“You remembered it,” she bitterly chuckled.
Assan awkwardly chuckled as he slowly walked toward her. He then handed her a small carved-in wood animal. It was imperfect, to be honest, it was pretty ugly, and anyone could have guessed it was made by a child.
“She wanted me to give you this,” he said as she grabbed it.
Maestitia thanked him, observing the toy in her hand for a moment before putting it in her pocket. She quickly wiped her cheeks and opened the door, ready to leave.
“Mae,” Assan said, holding her arm. “May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps.”
Maestitia was Andrastian, but she learned about the elven pantheon during her time with the Lavellan clan. This was a warning and a farewell. She nodded without a word and left. She confidently walked through the Alienage under curious stares. Deep inside, she was terrified. Her plan fell apart, again.
She rejoined the servants who were supposed to leave with her. They told her that, as she suspected, Assan had gotten rid of the one who was supposed to come and get her in the Alienage.
Magister Triconibus laughed at her when she came back empty-handed.
“Are you really sure it is freedom that you seek? You don't seem to try hard enough,” he mocked her.
The humiliation was enough punishment for him, and he sent her back to her old life. Other slaves avoided her. Everybody knew what she had done, and they despised her for it. She was one of them. And they were right; Maestitia could not deny it anymore.
Maestitia had been obnubilated by her desire for freedom, blinded by her selfishness. But no more. She was going to end this, to end this system. She certainly was not alone. Uprises were common in Tevinter; she would find people with the same goal as her. Until then, she would start with what was within her reach. She would end him, end the Magister Triconibus and his family name.
She observed. She planned. She was not running away this time. She would put the seed of his dawn fall in his own household.
Magister Triconibus recently found a wife, the perfect pretender to carry his heir. He spent years seeking someone like her. It was unfortunate she got sick. No one knew what she had or how she got it. Her life was on a thin line, and the Magister knew it. As long as she lived, he could not marry someone else, and her chances of pregnancy were poor. When she felt her master was at his lowest, Maestitia begged for a private audience. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Let me carry your heir,” she offered. “I am a way more powerful mage than your soon-to-be late wife. Let me grant the greatest child and grant me my freedom.”
Skeptical, Magister Triconibus stared at her silently. It was a somewhat fortunate timing. Minutes passed until her master eventually smirked.
“Come over here,” he asked her.
Obedient, Maestitia approached him. She held the hand he lent her and calmly breathed as he stroked his cheek.
“You've got yourself a new deal then, my dear Maestitia,” he whispered.
The Magister kissed her hair as he breathed her perfume. A mix of joy and disgust took Maestitia by the guts. It was not uncommon for Magisters to abuse their slaves, but if anything, Triconibus never did such things, unlike his father.
“Shall we discuss the details of this arrangement in my room?”
Maestitia nodded silently. She feared that if she spoke, she would be unable to control the words that came out of her mouth.
It was like this that Maestitia began to be her master's mistress. She deemed herself rather lucky as he was a handsome and tender man. She missed her husband, but it could have been worse.
Maestitia officially remained a slave for a while and was declared a Liberati, only once pregnant. She then moved away, and Magister Triconibus bought her a pretty and fancy house in Minrathous, not too far away from him. As she expected, her master did not want to stop sharing his bed with her. Was he in love? Or simply possessive? Maestitia did not know and did not care. It only confirmed one truth; she never was going to be free of him from the start.
She could have killed him, Maestitia figured. But it would achieve nothing. His slaves would be traded among the family, and suspicion would be on her. Her goals were now bigger than this, bigger than her.
Maestitia wrote to her ex-husband. She explained how she became a Liberati, sparing the details. After a few months, he ultimately wrote her back a single sentence: “They’re alright.” It made her cry as she stroked her belly. Her children were alright because she did what was right—for them, at least.
When Maestitia gave birth to her new child, she had to do it alone. If not for her magical abilities, she would have died for sure. He was a pretty and quiet boy. Maestitia took care of him for a week before informing her master. Three children and she could raise none. But it was alright; it was for the best. He would have a great life; her master would treat him well, and he was his son, his only heir. He had a bright future ahead of him.
“You’ll get a good life,” she explained to her baby, preparing his belongings in the basket. “He'll teach you magic. But you better not forget yourself in wealth and power, little one. Auntie will take care of you, making sure you don’t become a really bad guy just like your father.”
Maestitia had very few friends among her master's slaves, but she made sure the nurse he got for his son was one of them. As she prepared her son's belongings, she slipped a homemade plush of a dragon into the bag.
Ready, she held on to her baby one last time.
“You are the hope of this vile city,” she whispered to him, kissing his forehead. “My little Ulixes. The seed of my revenge on this corrupted system.”