Chapter Text
A young Fáelán Hawke, no more than twelve, sat hunched over in his chair at the kitchen table. The boy curled in on himself reflexively– a protective position subconsciously assumed. He felt like he was in trouble, despite his father's repeated reassurance that he was not.
Not very long ago, he'd been having a stick fight with his little brother near the barn housing their young, pregnant cow, Snowdrop. Unbeknownst to the boys, Snowdrop had gone into the first stages of labour hours before they'd arrived. The calf wasn't meant to come for at least another week, but Fáelán knew something was going wrong as soon as they heard her strained cries. He had sent Carver to fetch their father, while he stayed with the poor cow to keep her company.
***
Fáelán knelt beside the creature, his heart aching at the sight of her suffering. He stroked her flank as it heaved wildly, a sign she was struggling for breath.
“It's… it's alright, Snowdrop,” he said softly, his voice wavering with anxiety. “C-Carver has gone to get Father. He'll know how to help you.”
Snowdrop made a strained sound, as if in acknowledgement of his words. The boy had always been fond of the gentle creature, ever since they acquired her as a calf a few years ago. It had been a risky decision– they always had the possibility of templars discovering their father; of having to pack up and disappear, lest they take him away forever.
But she'd been much smaller than the farmer had hoped, and he'd feared she would not be worth the coin to raise if she wouldn't make it to adulthood, and Fáelán had been so sad when he overheard the conversation whilst visiting the market with his mother. The family didn't want her to die just because she was born different, so they'd bought her to bring to their own little farm just outside the village.
The boy had snuck a peek into the room when his twin siblings were being born; even though he'd been told to stay out of the way, his mother's cries of pain made him feel so scared, he had to know she was going to be okay. Based on what he'd seen, he could tell something was going very wrong. He had never seen so much blood before. It made him ill, the sight of it pouring out of the poor cow as she struggled to birth the calf.
“Is it… is it stuck? H-how do I fix it? Where's Father? Why is he taking so long? Maker, what if you die? I don't want you to die!”
Tears welled up in his eyes, Fáelán overwhelmed with helplessness and rising panic as the cow's erratic movements began to slow. “No, no, no, please! Just hang on a little longer girl, please!”
She went still, her eyes sliding shut, body sagging and going limp as she appeared to be losing the fight.
“No!” The boy began to sob, hunched over the creature with his forehead pressed to her side. “No, please, don't die! Why am I so useless? I can't do anything!”
The air around him suddenly began to hum with an energy not too unlike electricity, collecting in the air before a thunderstorm. Tiny blue orbs of light hovered around them as a voice he did not recognize called out.
“Do not despair, child. Your call is heard.”
Fáelán sat bolt upright, startled by the unknown presence. “W-who's there?” He looked frantically around the barn for the source of the voice.
Suddenly, an otherworldly warmth enveloped him, melting into his body and filling him with power both familiar and unknown. It felt like a pair of ethereal arms had embraced his very soul, the presence soothing his heart and assuring him that everything was going to be okay.
Fáelán's eyes went wide as a strange, blue-white light rose up from the palms of his hands. He watched with fascination when the light danced through the air towards the cow, wrapping around her body like a blanket. Her eyes opened as the energy sank into her, filling her with strength and vigor. After the light faded, she began to push once more, and the calf's head emerged. That's what was wrong, he realized– the baby was stuck backwards.
“You're okay!” He exclaimed. “I-I don't know how, but you're okay!” He reached down to help pull the calf free with careful hands.
Snowdrop slowly stood and shook herself off when it was finally over, the baby seeming none the worse for wear despite coming out the wrong way around as it made its way over to her on wobbly legs.
Fáelán stood up from the floor and breathed a sigh of relief as the calf began to feed successfully. “Mother's going to kill me when she sees my shirt,” he laughed, noticing the state of himself. “Oh well.”
“B-Brother!” Carver exclaimed behind him. “What did you just do?”
Fáelán spun around to face his brother and their father, confused. “I… helped her?”
“Y-you were glowing!” The younger Hawke sounded nervous. “And the voice! Who was that?”
“That was magic, Carver,” their father explained.
“I-it's not like yours,” Carver eyed Fáelán with suspicion. “There was… something here.”
The elder sibling stepped back, suddenly feeling as though he was in trouble. He had magic, but it wasn't like Father's. It was strange. There had been a voice; a presence he couldn't explain. What if… what if his family decided it was too risky for him to stay? What if they called the templars to take him away, so he didn't lead them to Father?
“Carver, go back to the house,” their father said. “Tell your mother we will need to talk.”
“But–”
“Now.” His tone suggested there was no argument to be had.
The younger boy huffed and grumbled as he left the barn.
Fáelán didn't move a muscle, his heart pounding as terrible thoughts ran amok in his head. He'd thought he'd done a good thing, but now… “I-I'm sorry! I don't know what happened– she was… s-she was gonna die, and I was so scared, a-and then there was this voice and my hands were glowing and–” his breathing quickened as he spoke.
“It's alright, Fáelán,” his father said gently. “There's nothing to apologize for.” He approached the frightened boy, turning his attention to the cow and her calf. “You may not yet understand it, but your magic has saved lives today. That is a good thing.”
“B-but… it's not like your magic,” the boy said nervously. “Your healing is green.”
Malcolm chuckled. “There are many different kinds of magic.”
“Do… you know what that voice was?”
“Your magic would have manifested because you were scared. I believe you called out to the Fade unknowingly, and a spirit of Compassion answered.” The boy's father studied him closely for a moment. “Most mages must train for years to learn how to summon benevolent spirits. Your inherent connection to them will be a source of great power, but it can also be very dangerous.”
Fáelán made a frightened noise, gazing up at his father with wide eyes. “Dangerous?”
“You do not need to fear your magic. I will teach you to control it, so it will not cause harm to you or anyone else,” he assured the boy. “For now, we must return to the house. I need to tell your mother.”
***
Fáelán hadn't meant to call that spirit. He was grateful for its help; glad that Snowdrop and her baby were healthy and alive, but he hadn't meant to do it. It worried him that he could just… summon a creature from the Fade accidentally.
He and his brother had been thick as thieves this morning. Now, Carver eyed him warily from the entrance of the kitchen, as if he no longer felt safe with him. It hurt, but the little mage couldn't exactly blame him for it. Not when he was so scared, himself.
From behind the closed door separating the kitchen from the dining room, he could just barely make out the conversation his parents were having. His stomach tied itself into knots as he eavesdropped, guilt and anxiety making him feel like he was going to start wretching.
“A spirit?! Oh, Maker preserve us."
“It was Compassion– a force of healing. That's a good sign, love.”
“But… summoning is terribly dangerous! What if he calls a demon? What if they get him in his sleep?”
He hadn't even thought about that. Of course he was vaguely aware of spirits and demons, and the Fade– having an apostate for a father kind of guaranteed that he'd know a bit about these things. To think that a demon could find him in his dreams and hurt him now that he had magic… it filled him with dread.
“I will teach him to protect himself. He is a bright boy, Leandra. I don't think it will be difficult for him to learn.”
His father sounded so calm, as if he hadn't just done something bordering on impossible for a newly awakened mage. In contrast, his mother sounded hysterical.
“What if someone saw the light coming from the barn? Should we pack up and move? If the templars come for him, they'll take you both!”
“Templars do not know a mage just by looking at one, love. They have to see us use magic to know. If someone does report the light, and the templars come to investigate, we can still remain hidden. As long as they don't see any magic while they are present, they will not know.”
“But… how do we explain the light?”
“I already have a few ideas…”
Fáelán tuned out the rest of the conversation as his mind hyperfocused on the thought of templars finding and dragging him away from his family. He hunched over, curling up in his chair and wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt at self-soothing. His vision grew wobbly and blurry, his nose stung, and his breath hitched, as for the second time this night he began to cry.
They'll find out, and they'll take me away, and I'll never see them again. They'll take Father, too, and then Mother will be all alone taking care of Carver and Bethany. And it'll all be my fault. I'm going to tear our family apart.
An idea popped into his head as he spiraled into despair. I have to… I have to leave. If I leave, it won't matter if the templars get me, because they won't find out about Father. I don't want to spend my life locked up in a tower, but… at least the family can stay together. He sniffled, wiping his nose on his bloodied sleeve, and stood from his chair, creeping slowly towards the open doorway to the sitting room.
Carver backed away from him as he approached. “W-where are you going?”
A pang of sadness hit Fáelán at the sight of his little brother looking terrified of him. “I… I'm going to pack my things and leave,” he said quietly.
“Leave?”
“If someone noticed the light in the barn, the templars will come, and then they'll find out about Father and take both of us away. If I leave and they get me, then at least they won't take him, too.”
His brother relaxed marginally, a look of concern on his face. “But…”
“I've already decided,” Fáelán interrupted him. “I have to go. It's better this way.” He pushed past Carver and made his way to their bedroom to pack his things.
I am not going to ruin my family. If I love them, I have to leave. I'm too dangerous.
---
Night was very cold this time of year. The wind howled like a chorus of ethereal wolves, shaking dead leaves that still had yet to fall loose from the branches of trees that were just starting to awaken from their winter slumber. Patches of snow and ice still covered much of the countryside, glimmering in the faint light of the waning moon as it rose in the sky.
Fáelán shuddered, wishing he'd bundled up more. He'd had to leave in a hurry– if he spent too long packing, his brother might have told their parents, and they'd have stopped him. He'd changed his shirt before he left, knowing the blood would raise suspicion if someone crossed his path. He'd taken a waterskin, his plush dragon, one change of clothes, and the handful of coins he'd saved up from doing chores for people around the village. It wasn't much, but it was better than leaving with nothing.
His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in several hours. He'd have taken something with him, but the pantry was in the kitchen, and he didn't want to risk his father coming back to find him taking food, lest he grow suspicious. If he'd been questioned, he was certain he'd have broken down crying and not left at all.
He sniffled and blinked away a few tears, thinking about the family he'd left behind. He would miss them all dearly; his mother's cooking, his father's kind voice, playing with his brother and sister. Snowdrop and her baby, their mabari puppy, Fangs… he'd even miss all the noisy, smelly chickens.
I'm doing this for them, because I love them. Maybe I'll go back in a little while, after I'm sure the templars won't take Father because of me. If they don't find me first.
Fangs had whined and cried when he left without him. Fáelán felt incredibly guilty– he knew mabari bonded with their people for life, but he couldn't take the puppy with him. He didn't have any food for a dog, and it was going to be dangerous. Fangs was still too little to fend off wolves and bandits.
I have magic– I can defend myself with it, surely. Conjure a fireball or… or something.
He heard the rhythmic beat of soldiers marching up ahead and froze, eyes widening as he realized that they were templars. Before they got close enough to spot him, he darted off the road into the bushes, making his way into the forest that sat next to it.
Well, he thought he was fast enough not to be noticed, anyway. Until he heard a shout and the sound of running behind him.
“That must be the mageling!” One of them called.
How do they already know? Fáelán thought with dismay as he ran faster than he'd ever run before. It was only a few hours ago!
The boy panted as he fled. Branches smacked and scratched him, still mostly bare from the trees and bushes sleeping during winter's chill. He wished there was more greenery to hide him.
Maker, please, don't let them catch me! He wanted to go home. He was cold and hungry and scared. He never should've left. Why am I so stupid?
He couldn't see very well ahead of him in the dark, with his vision blurry from tears. This proved to be a serious problem when he tripped on a rock and went tumbling down a small cliff. He yelped in alarm as he began to fall, crying out as his body was bruised and beaten against the rocks. His momentum was stopped by a thorn bush at the bottom that seemed to wrap itself around him like a throng of sharp tentacles.
It was freezing cold, and dark, and he was alone, and scared, and everything was sore. He couldn't move, his body tightly entangled in branches and vines. Strangely, his hair actually hurt as brambles snagged and raked through it.
Fáelán thrashed wildly as someone approached him from within the darkness. “No! G-get away from me!”
“If you keep struggling, it'll just get worse,” the stranger said. “Trust me– I've been stuck in a bush like that before.”
The little mage stilled, his heart hammering in his chest. The stranger sounded like a boy, perhaps several years older than him. He couldn't be a templar, could he?
“H-how do I get out?” Fáelán asked tentatively.
“Slowly. Here, I'll help you.” The older boy reached into the bushes and began unwrapping them from around his body. It took several minutes, and he was bleeding from a myriad of scrapes from the branches, but eventually he was free.
“T-thank you.”
“You're welcome.” The boy looked him over, concern flashing in his eyes. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
“I'm… I'm running away,” Fáelán said with a sniffle.
“Really? Me too,” the boy replied.
“I didn't want to,” Fáelán continued. “I… I had to.”
The other boy tilted his head like a mabari trying to listen to a faint sound. “You… don't want to run away?”
“I'm a mage,” the younger boy explained nervously. “I… I just found out today. My family… m-my father, they'd– if the templars came for me, they'd surely take him, too. I couldn't let that happen. S-so I ran away, but I'm cold and scared and everything hurts and I miss them, and I never should've left!” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he told the stranger his tale. Why he felt it was safe to tell a person he didn't know that he and his father were both mages, he had no idea.
“You're a mage?” The older boy's eyes widened. “And the templars don't know yet?”
Fáelán shook his head.
The boy sighed, his shoulders sagging with what looked like relief. “Well… I'm glad I found you before they did. I'm a mage, too. I ran away from the tower.”
“You got away from them?”
“For now. It's not easy– this is my fourth attempt. They keep finding me because they have my blood. They use it to track us down if we escape.”
“So… the templars on the road that I ran away from…”
“Were looking for me, yes.”
“I thought they were looking for me! I thought somehow they'd already found out.”
“That's not exactly an unreasonable thing to think. If someone told them about you, they would come after you.”
“That's why I had to run– I couldn't risk leading them to my father. My family needs him more than it needs me.”
The older boy frowned and looked away. “I wish I'd had a parent who was like me. My father was the one who turned me in,” he muttered.
“I'm so sorry,” Fáelán said softly. “Nobody deserves that.”
“Come here,” the other boy said suddenly, changing the subject. "You're hurt. I can help.”
“O-oh.” Fáelán looked down at himself; his shirt was torn by the brambles and stained with blood from his cuts. His arms were littered with little wounds that left lazy trails of red streaking down towards his hands. “Okay.”
They sat at the bottom of the cliff a few feet away from that nasty bush, the older boy examining his wounds with a precision that suggested he was already well-versed in healing techniques.
He was rather thin, and pretty tall, too. His robes were a greenish-gold colour that weren't very pleasant to look at, but his face was another story entirely. All sharp angles, a smattering of freckles across his nose, eyes the colour of honey and hair of burnished gold. Fáelán had never seen someone he'd really considered pretty before, but looking at this boy, he was certain he understood what the word meant now.
“You had enough sense to bring water, right?”
Fáelán nodded.
“Good. Hand it to me– these cuts are filthy.”
The little mage handed him his waterskin and watched him carefully pour a little bit onto his arm. He winced as it stung.
“Sorry, I should've told you it might sting. It'll feel better in a minute, I promise.”
Once the wounds were clean, the runaway mage began using his magic to heal him. Fáelán had expected it to be green, like his father's, but to his surprise, it was the exact same blue-white light he'd seen in the barn.
“Y-your magic…” Fáelán murmured, “it's like mine was. I… I thought it was bad because it looks different from my father's. It's green when he heals someone.”
“Green is Creation,” the older boy explained. “Blue is Spirit. Different schools, but they can do similar things. Like healing people.” He locked eyes with Fáelán when he was finished, a very grave look on his face. “If you already have an affinity for spirit magic, you need to stay far away from the templars. The Circle sees mages like us as especially valuable. They can charge a fortune for our services when nobles need healing. I'm certain it's why they chase me so relentlessly when I break out of the tower.”
The implication was clear– if Fáelán was captured, he'd never taste freedom again. The younger boy shuddered at the thought.
“You really should go home, you know,” the runaway Circle mage told him. “I'm sure your parents are worried, and it sounds like they would protect you. Everyone I know in the Circle would kill for a family that didn't turn on them.”
“I overheard Father say he had a plan to explain all the lights, if anyone noticed. I… I should've trusted that it would work.”
“Hey,” the older boy said gently. “It's normal to be scared. I was scared of myself at first, too. But if your father is a mage, that means he can teach you how to control your magic. You'll be alright.”
“I wish you could come with me,” Fáelán said sadly as he stood up. “You could be safe, too.”
The look on the Circle mage’s face suggested that he was considering it. “If I join you, I'll lead the templars straight to you and your father.” He shook his head. “I have to keep moving.”
“Well… good luck, then,” Fáelán sighed. “I hope you can escape them this time.”
“That's the plan,” the other boy said with a grin. “I'll go north, to Tevinter, or maybe Rivain. Somewhere that doesn't hate magic.”
With that, he disappeared back into the woods. Fáelán wondered if he'd ever see him again.
---
Fáelán remained at the bottom of the cliff for a while, using it as a sort of shelter from the icy wind. He listened intently for the clatter of plate armour, the cracking of branches– any indication that the templars that had mistaken him for that Circle mage were close. Despite the cold, he found himself tired enough that he began to nod off.
“No,” he scolded himself, shaking off the grip of sleep. “If I fall asleep, I can't get away from the templars. And demons might come after me.”
His mind kept wandering back to that strange, older boy from the tower. He'd never said what his name was. Then again, Fáelán hadn't introduced himself, either.
He'd been so kind, stopping to help when he was running from templars, himself. And his magic had been just like Fáelán's.
Spirit magic, the little mage recalled. That's why it's blue. But other mages can do what I do. The thought brought him a sense of relief– his magic was different from his father's, but not unidentifiable. Not strange and scary. Just different.
Maker, I'm so stupid. I should've just stayed at home. Then I wouldn't be so cold. He shuddered, curling up tighter against the cliff. It wasn't helping much.
Suddenly, he heard an unmistakable sharp, high-pitched bark from the direction he'd come.
Fangs? Had the pup gotten out of the house and followed him?
“Lead the way, boy. Where's our Fáelán?”
Father, no! The templars might still be around!
Despite his silent pleas, Fangs located him with the ease typical of his breed. The puppy yipped excitedly when he peered over the edge of the cliff, bouncing up and down with delight.
“Fáelán?” His father called quietly.
Fáelán's voice lodged itself in his throat before he could say a word. Instead, he let out a strangled sob in response.
“Oh, Fáelán,” Malcolm said, equal parts relieved and sympathetic. “It's alright now.” He climbed over the top of the small cliff and slid down, landing beside the boy effortlessly. Then, he crouched to his son's eye level and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
The little mage sniffled pitifully, feeling terribly guilty and foolish. “I– I-I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I was just–”
“I know,” his father cut him off, voice gentle. “Carver told me you'd run away when I noticed the puppy crying. You know you can't leave a mabari that's bonded to you.”
“I… I didn't want him to get hurt. He's still little, and it's dangerous at night.”
“You're still little too, Fáelán,” the elder mage reminded him. “It's not safe for you out here either.”
“I wanted to keep the templars away,” Fáelán explained. “I thought… I thought if I left, they'd c-come after me and leave you alone.”
He was then wrapped in a strong, warm embrace, his head tucked into a broad shoulder as a gentle hand pet his hair. The feeling was more soothing than it had ever been before. “Shh… we're both safe right now. The templars aren't here.”
“They were!” Fáelán protested. “T-they were looking for this boy who escaped the tower. He was nice… stopped to help me out of that bush when I got stuck in it. I… thought they were after me, but it was him they wanted.”
“Where did this other boy go?” Malcolm asked, looking into the dark forest, as if he were trying to spot the flicker of colour from Circle robes moving through the trees.
“I don't know. He just said he was gonna try to go north. To Tevinter, or Rivain.” He hoped the boy could get away. “You escaped the Circle, do you think he has a chance?”
“If they still have his phylactery…” his father muttered. “There is a chance he could stay ahead of them, but they can track his movement. They will know where he is, unless he gets far enough away for their tracking to fail.”
“How did you get away, then?” Fáelán asked.
“It's a long story–” Malcolm was interrupted by their puppy's insistent whining. The little creature would draw unwanted attention if they didn't get moving. The last thing they needed was a pack of wolves on them. “One we don't have time for tonight. Let's get you home.”
---
Fáelán's mother embraced him tightly, her cheeks wet with tears of relief. “Oh, my darling boy,” she cried, “what were you thinking, running off like that? You could've been hurt!”
The boy chose not to inform her that he had, in fact, been hurt. “I… I just wanted to protect you,” he replied. “I thought– I thought if I left, the templars wouldn't learn about Father. And my magic wouldn't hurt anyone. I-I know it's not like Father's, a-and Carver is scared of me.”
“Am not!” His brother shouted indignantly, crossing his arms and pouting. He lingered by the kitchen, a notable few metres away, accompanied by his twin sister.
“Are so!” Fáelán argued. “You still won't come near me!”
Leandra let go of the little mage and stood up, sighing. “Boys, please–”
“I… I saved Snowdrop,” Fáelán said timidly, ignoring his mother. “Don't you care?”
Carver just looked at him for a few seconds, before he admitted, “I do care.”
Bethany stepped forward, bravely making her way over to her older brother with a smile on her face. “I'm not scared of you.” To prove this, she hugged him without hesitation.
“There's no need for any of us to be frightened of Fáelán,” their father said, watching the exchange. “He's still your brother, Carver.”
“What about that… thing?”
“A good spirit that came to help him save Snowdrop,” the elder mage explained.
“Oh.” Carver seemed to be mulling that information over, a look of concentration on his face. “Okay,” he said with a little nod.
Fáelán let out the breath he'd been holding. His family wasn't scared of him. It really was going to be alright.