A story set in Thedas - a rich and rewarding sandbox to explore. Even if you don't know the universe, appreciate the story for what it is: a young woman saying goodbye, and leaving home to become something more than herself. All are welcome to r/r.
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The still hour before dawn’s light, when the whole world
seems to be elsewhere – no lowing or bleating of animals in the barn, no
children squealing from the house, no farmers shouting in the fields, no
Sisters chanting in the square – was called the Spirit’s Hour, at least in
Thea’s mind.
She lay in the dark in her nightgown, her face cold but her
body warm beneath the blankets. The small figure in the narrow bed beside her
stirred, whimpered, sleep-sighed – a bad dream. She put her hand out, gently,
stroked the small form back into restful slumber. She kept her eyes open,
staring at the ceiling beams, or at least at the suggestion of them in the
pitch darkness.
The Spirit’s Hour. It had a smooth, heavy feel to it, like
the stones in the Chantry floor. It felt as though the world was always this
way, beneath all the business and bustle of the day, and the thought was an odd
one: a ground state, a kind of nakedness. Thea supposed the world needed some
private time, just like anyone else. She felt a little guilty for witnessing
it, but there was no sleeping for her, not anymore.
Today was the day. They were coming.
The Sprit’s Hour slid into dawn like a smooth stone into a
pond. The cock crowed in the yard, with gusto, and the world began to turn once
more. Thea sighed deeply in the cold morning air and slid from bed, shivering;
she dressed herself in the dark and stopped herself from checking the pack
she’d already checked at least a dozen times, leaving it on the floor by the
window where it had sat for days already. She tucked the blankets snugly around
the small figure still sleeping in the bed and eased herself out of the room,
tiptoeing down the narrow stairway.
Her mother sat on her stool in front of the hearth in the
main room, stirring a black pot with a wooden spoon. The Spirit’s Hour had
always been her mother’s, too, and Thea kept silent out of respect for that,
but her mother turned, smiled, wiping her nose with a hanky.
“Morning, Fee,” she said. “Exciting day, isn’t it?”
Thea smiled, but turned away. She could not face her mother’s
tears, not yet.
They went about their morning business as usual. It seemed
the best way to go about things. After a chilly visit to the outhouse, Thea
stopped by the pump and washed one body part at a time with a wet rag, the way
she had been taught. Too much wet body at once meant illness. Back inside, she
was greeted by the snap and aroma of frying bacon. A special day, indeed, for
meat to come out in the morning – the thought almost made her mouth stop
watering. Almost.
She went to the wooden chest by the wall and pulled out an
ivory comb. A single bone-white tine was missing, gone in her grandmother’s
time. She handed the comb to her mother, who took it wordlessly; Thea sat on
the stool while her mother combed her long light-brown hair, over and over, following
hand over comb, until the tangles of the night’s restless turning had been
worked free. As the bacon sizzled, her mother divided her hair and braided it
into two tight plaits – Thea kept her eyes closed as her mother finished by
winding the two braids around her head, pinning them into place. It was the
first time she had ever worn her hair up. Soon she would cut it off completely.
“Smells good in here,” said a small, sleepy voice from the
stairwell.
Thea turned, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the hair wound
about her head. She smiled. “Hello, Robin.”
The skinny little boy’s sleep-creased face became serious.
“It’s Robert, Feeya.” He relented slightly. “But you can call me Robin today.
Just you. No one else.”
Thea laughed. “I’ll pass on the warning.”
“And you must call me Robert in front of the Templars today.”
Their mother tapped off the wooden spoon sharply on the edge
of the pot.
“I will,” promised Thea.
Suddenly the small blonde boy was lifted high into the air,
squealing; a tall man in working clothes spun him around twice, then plopped
him onto his shoulders. “Daddy!” shrieked the boy. “I dropped Argus!”
“Well, goodness, we can’t have that! Save him, quickly!”
thundered the man, and held tight to the boy’s legs as he bent over, causing
Robert to squeal with delight again as he reached down and grabbed the ragged
stuffed dog off the floorboards. “Have you got him? Have you got him? Hold on
tight…” and he spun him sharply in one direction, then the other, until the
little boy was laughing so hard he was turning purple, both arms wrapped around
his father’s head.
“Now Jor, you’re going to make him throw up. Let the poor boy
down!” chided Mother.
It made Thea’s heart glad to see her family laughing as
though nothing was wrong, as though it was just another morning. She wanted to
remember these things, but the desire to remember it made it easier to forget,
somehow, and by the time breakfast was done the only thing saw in her mind’s
eye was the mangy mabari doll sitting all akimbo on the floor, waiting to be
scooped up.
“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” said a familiar
sarcastic voice. Thea looked up, breathing hard, resting the end of the axe on
the ground. They didn’t actually need much firewood, but it was a good
distraction, so she had been doing it for almost an hour.
A head of dark, curly hair was watching her, a lanky body
leaning against the fence.
“And I can’t believe you actually feel purple is your color,
Finn,” she shot back, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
The young man smiled a half-smile. “Please. The ladies love it.”
Thea put a hand on her hip. “Maker help us all.”
“Worked on you, didn’t it?” The half-smile grew wider.
The axe buried itself in the block. “So did you come down
here to chat me up, or try to talk me out of it, or what? Because none of it is
working,” said Thea, frowning through her blush.
“Come on,” said Finn. “Let’s take a walk.”
Thea laughed a little darkly. “That’s how you got me the last
time.”
“Believe me, I remember. But this time, just a walk. I
promise. We won’t be able to do it again.”
After a moment, Thea nodded, pulling off her leather gloves
and tossing them onto the block beside the axe. The two started down the dirt
road towards the woods.
They walked in silence for a time, falling into step beside
each other, their feet finding the old, well-worn path.
“Your hair looks nice,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied.
“I’m going to miss you,” said Finn.
“Meh. Only because I’m the only girl in the village stupid
enough to keep falling for your cheap lines,” Thea shrugged, watching tiny
brown birds flit through the branches above.
The young man’s gray eyes sparkled as he laughed. “Rubbish.
You’re the only one I use the cheap lines on, anymore.”
Thea laughed again. “Glad to hear you’re settling.
Unfortunately it’s not to be.”
Finn picked up a thin branch from beside the path, whipped
the low-hanging leaves absently. “I wasn’t settling.”
Thea glanced at him, then back to the trees. After a time she
said, “It’s not meant to be.”
“You don’t have to do this,” said Finn. His smile had gone.
He was only a few months older than her, but he looked much older when he
wasn’t smiling.
“Yes, I do. You know that.”
“Don’t you think he needs you here, more?”
Thea didn’t answer. It was an old argument, one she’d had
with herself a thousand times.
Finn pressed. “How can you protect him from some fortress a
hundred miles away, Fee? He needs you here.”
Morning sunlight on
pale blonde hair. “Come see, Feeya, come see what I can do!”
“Sounds like you’re just going to have to trust me, Finn,”
she said distantly.
“No, what it sounds
like is the least well-thought-out plan since Sister Agatha decided to help
a choking man by throwing him into the mill pond,” replied Finn sharply.
“Well, the mill pond was
frozen, and he did land so hard that
he spat out the prawn, so maybe we give Sister Agatha too little credit,” said
Thea reasonably.
She stopped, realizing that he had stopped and was standing a
few paces behind her.
“I don’t understand this, Fee. How can you just leave him
alone?”
“He won’t be alone, Finn. He’ll have mother, and father, and
you, and your father to help him.”
The young man stared at her, any trace of laughter gone.
“There’s only so much my father can teach him. What’s going to happen when he
grows up, Fee? When he starts becoming a man? My father says that’s when…
that’s when they can’t control it any longer.”
“Watch this, Fee!” A
tiny ball of flame, swirling like a phoenix feather in the air above a tiny
outstretched palm. A cry of surprise as she grabbed his arm.
“I’ll be a Knight by then. I’ll be able to help him.”
“What are you going to do, smuggle books of theory back to
him? Hide a tutor under your breastplate? I know you hate the Circle, but there
must be a better way of keeping Robin safe.”
“I don’t hate the Circle, Finn. But he can’t go there.
Children who go to the Circle might as well be dead. And you… your father did
everything he could, but you know how many my mother lost. That my mother has
any smiles left in her is a miracle.”
Finn looked at the ground, running a hand through his dark
curls. Eleven years and much loss had passed between Thea and her little
brother.
“I can’t do that to them,” Thea went on. “He’s the last
Westley.”
He smiled a little crookedly. “That’s a little old-fashioned,
don’t you think?”
She laughed, sadness running through the sound like ore in
stone. “Maybe. But how would you feel if you were the last of your line?”
“I am,” he laughed.
“But you won’t always be. You’ll find a nice young girl who
loves cheap pickup lines and the color purple, and you’ll have lots of
obnoxiously smart-arsed little babies. You’ll have a summer wedding, and a
house with a porch, and two dogs. I can see it. It’s all very idyllic.”
He gave her a dry look. “So they take seers in the Templars,
now, do they?”
She went on. “The dogs’ names will be Fidget and Hubert.
Fidget will have a housetraining problem, and Hubert won’t stop humping the
guests’ legs. Just like his master.”
He laughed, and she was glad to hear the old joy in the sound.
They began walking again. “I’m not so sure about that. I was considering
joining the Chantry,” he said casually.
“Oh Maker, Finn, you couldn’t keep yourself from women if you
wore a spiked chastity belt.”
“I will refrain from reminding you that some women like that
kind of thing, and instead insist that I am, in fact, quite strongly considering it. I can do some
good. Maybe travel.”
“Doesn’t your father need your help at the clinic?”
Finn nodded. “I can study here under the Revered Mother for a
few years. Then we’ll see. One day at a time.”
She shook her head, amused. “And the women?”
“Like I said, one day at a time.”
They had reached the
hawthorn tree by the bend in the river.
Thea smirked. “So that’s your game, is it?”
The dark-haired young man was the picture of innocence. “I
have no idea to what the young lady is referring. The tree is simply a lovely
place to take in the scenic vista.”
“So the fact that it’s where we –“
“Madam! I have a reputation to uphold!” he said with mock
indignity.
“I’m sure you do a lot of upholding around here, you
blighter!”
“Blighter! Madam, I am a perfect gentleman!” he roared, and
gave chase. She ran from him, laughing wickedly. It was an old game, played for
many years, though the overtones had certainly shifted.
“I’m sorry, Feeya, I’m
sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I just wanted to show you,” he babbled, tears
running like two rivers from his blue eyes. She could barely feel her own tears
as she stared at her hand, at the blackened flesh still curling up. Through her
shock, she was already making up a story – cooking grease, hot iron pots, too
close to the fire.
He caught her by the side of the river, hoisted her kicking
over his shoulder. “Thou art mine, Ser Theodora, and thou shalt like it!” he
boomed over the water. Then, less boomingly, “Ooof… you’ve been chopping too
much wood, lately, my lady. Methinks you have put on muscle.” He put her down,
rubbing his shoulder, grinning. His right hand lingered on her left, on the
scars, or maybe it only felt like it did.
She smiled hugely, breathing hard. “Methinks ‘tis true, for
observe, Serrah!” and without warning seized him by the arm and thigh and
lifted him easily on her shoulders. He shouted various epithets while she
jumped nimbly to a stone in the river, then to another, and another, laughing.
Once back on the bank, she dumped him unceremoniously under the hawthorn tree,
where he sat trying to catch his breath and failing due to excessive laughter.
“I always did… have a weakness for… women who could haul me about…
like a feed sack,” he gasped.
Thea leaned on her knees. “You’re a heavy little blighter,”
she laughed.
He drew his knees up to his chest and looked up at her, still
grinning from ear to ear. “This is how I will remember you,” he said.
Her smile faded a little, and after a moment she stood up
straight. “We should get back,” she said. “I don’t want the Templars to think
I’ve run away.”
They followed the path back to the fence where she’d found
him. She wished she had a greater sense of drama, because now seemed the moment
for something dramatic. Nothing came to her, so to hide her sudden tears she
turned to walk away.
Finn reached out and caught her left hand in his right, and
squeezed. She squeezed back. It may have been a promise, a declaration, a dramatic
move, she wasn’t certain. She had no sense for that sort of thing. But she
squeezed back, as hard as she could.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, and tried
to touch her hand. She pulled away slightly, instinctively. His eyes pleaded
with her as he looked up from the floor. Without words, they begged: Are you
scared of me, Feeya?
She watched him for a few steps, making his way towards the
village, staring at the ground as he went, as he often did, his shoulders
flexing as he swung the whippy branch back and forth along the hedge. For a
moment she lost herself in a thought of what might have been – warm summer
nights, weddings, a house with a porch – and then she let it go, a feather in
the breeze.
Thea was in the barn saying goodbye to the goats when she
noticed Robin standing behind her, moving dirt around with the toe of his shoe.
She waited for him to speak, half-turned, her hand still stroking the goat’s
cowlick between the horns.
He didn’t speak. After a time, he walked up slowly beside her
and leaned against her, putting his head against her hip, turning his face towards
her. His arms folded against her leg, one hand against his own cheek, the other
picking at the seam in her leggings.
Her right hand lifted, stroked his soft, baby-blond hair.
“I love you so much,” he said, his voice muffled.
For him, she thought to herself as tears flowed from between
closed lids. For this.
Three riders approached shortly after the last of the mid-day
bells rang out from the village.
There were two Templars, both older men, one dark-bearded,
one bald as a squash. Across both of their chests shone the flaming sword
insignia of their order. The Revered Mother rode between them on a pony,
looking positively overjoyed. She had not had the pleasure of entertaining
recruiting Templars in many years, and at age ninety-two, she might not again.
Thea stood by the gate with her mother and father.
“Joran Westley?” said the bearded rider as the mounts slowed
to a halt.
Her father saluted.
“A soldier, I see. Thank you for your service to the Free
Marches, serah. My father was also in the service.” The Templars dismounted,
their light riding armor jangling and gleaming in the sun. “I am Ser Hausman,
and this is Ser Gilliam.”
“The gentlemen are Knights of the Starkhaven Circle,”
supplied Mother Gertra as Ser Gilliam gamely helped her down from her pony.
The bearded Templar, Ser Hausman, nodded at Thea. “And you
must be our potential recruit. What is your full name, girl?”
“Theodora Ilsabetta Westley, ser.”
“A solid enough name, to be sure,” said the Templar.
Mother spoke up. “Please come in, good sers. I have tea
almost ready. I’m sure you’re eager to sit on something that doesn’t jostle.”
The bald Templar, Ser Gilliam, laughed heartily. “A wise
woman.”
“Thank you, goodwife,” said Ser Hausman seriously. “It will
be a good opportunity to begin the questioning.”
They entered the house. “And this is my brother Robert,” said Thea. The small figure by
the fire rose and stood to attention.
Ser Gilliam chuckled again. “Two soldiers in this family, I
say! And you, the most fearsome of the lot, I’d wager. How old are ye, Messere
Robert? Five and twenty? Five and thirty?”
“I’m seven, ser,” answered Robin proudly, his thin little chest
puffed out like a pigeon’s. “And I’m not a soldier yet, ser, but maybe one day
I will be.”
“A lucky day that will be for Starkhaven’s army, serah,”
smiled Ser Gilliam. Thea’s mother smiled gratefully at him.
“Now Robert, it’s time to be a good boy, and run up to your
room and play. We must talk,” said Father. The small figure disappeared up the
stairs in a flurry of knees and elbows.
Seats were eased into; cups of hot tea were handed around to
general murmurs of appreciation. Thea remained standing in the center of the
room, feeling like a horse at auction, which, in a way, she was.
“Do you believe in the maker, Theodora?” asked Ser Hausman
suddenly.
Thea looked directly into the Knight’s hooded brown eyes. “I
do, ser,” she said.
“Who sponsors this young woman?”
“I do, Ser Knight,” said the Revered Mother proudly.
“Has she been confirmed in the Maker’s sight?”
“She has,” supplied Mother Gertra, reveling in her role.
“These seven years.”
“Many are those who wander in sin,” began Ser Hausman, his
eyes still on Thea.
She continued the verse without hesitation. “Despairing that
they are lost forever; but the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the
darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the
weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations, she shall know the
peace of the Maker's benediction.”
The bearded man laughed, taking a drink of his tea. “Well
done. That one’s a bit obscure. But tell me – indulge me, really – recite your
favorite verse, if you would.”
Thea clasped her hands together, covering her left hand with
her right. She began to speak, words that she had whispered to herself and to
her brother in the darkness of many anguished nights. “Though all before me is
shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the
drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness, nor death either, in
the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall ever be lost.”
Ser Gilliam smiled appreciatively. Ser Hausman raised an
eyebrow. “The Canticle of Trials. Interesting. Why that particular passage,
Theodora?”
Thea took a deep breath. “Because, ser,” she said, keeping
her voice as steady as she could, “it’s easy to forget about the light when the
darkness closes in. And there is so much darkness. But we must always hope – we
must cling to it, ser, and keep the hope close, or the darkness will take us.
We must fight for the light. I must always fight.”
“As a Templar, you must give your life to the Chantry and to
the service thereof, forever. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ser.”
“As a Templar, you will train hard, and become proficient
with weaponry. It is a grueling life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ser. I have… already a little skill.” She motioned to
her father’s old sword and shield, emblazoned with the red and black heraldry
of Starkhaven, hanging on the wall above the hearth.
“Does the scarring on your left hand affect your
performance?”
“No, ser.”
“As a Templar, you will be expected to take life when
necessary. You will witness horrors beyond your imagining. You will be called
upon to punish those who misuse magic. You will be forever vigilant to the
presence of mages, apostates and maleficar, and you will do everything in your
power to do as the Chantry demands. Do you understand?”
“I… I do, ser,” she said, driving the tremor from her voice.
Ser Hausman leaned towards her, steepling his fingers, his
dark eyes sharp. “I say again: as a Templar, you must give your life to the
Chantry and the service thereof, do you understand?”
The young woman took a deep breath, let her hands drop. “I
understand, ser, that I will become one and of the Chantry, and none but the
Maker will guide my heart and deeds. Magic exists to serve man, and never to
rule over him; I will exist to serve the Chantry, and the word of the Maker
embodied therein. I will hold my faith like a flame against the dark, ser.”
Her mother turned away, towards the fire.
In the depths of Thea’s heart, the thought bloomed: if I repeat
these words often enough, I will begin to believe them. I want to believe them. I must
believe.
The Templars seemed satisfied. “Very good,” said Ser Hausman,
rising. “Now, if there is a private space we might make use of, preferably
enclosed…?”
“Oh, er, will the barn do?” supplied Father, still a little
caught up in the recent exchange.
Ser Gilliam stood as well, leaving his cup on the arm of his
chair. “That will suffice. Theodora, Reverend Mother, if you please. Madame and
Messere, please remain here. We will return shortly.”
Leaving her mother and father behind as she led the way to
the barn felt strange, but not as strange as Mother Gertra’s thin hand on her
shoulder as she whispered loudly, “You’ll make a wonderful Templar, my dear.
Such armor!”
Thea hauled open the door, motioned the group inside.
“Yes, this will do,” said Ser Hausman critically.
“Why the barn, ser?” asked Thea.
“We are going to conduct a test, most basically designed,
really,” said Ser Gilliam, shifting a wooden wheelbarrow out of the way.
“Simply to determine your degree of connection to the Fade.”
Thea nodded.
“Please stand there. Hold still.”
She moved into the open space in the center of the barn, and
held still. A goat bleated a half-hearted complaint, watching with one eye.
Ser Hausman glanced at his companion, who nodded slightly.
Ser Hausman drew his sword, held it flat before his face. He held very still,
took several deep breaths, and lifted his left hand.
Thea felt a wave of heaviness roll over her, a sense of
pressure, but nothing more. She barely wavered.
The bearded Templar lowered his hand and his sword, smiling
slightly. The Reverend Mother audibly let out a sigh of relief.
“Alright, well, that’s that,” said Ser Gilliam.
Thea looked from one man to the other. “That was the test?”
“Indeed,” said Ser Hausman. “If you were a mage with a strong
connection to the Fade, you’d be on the ground screaming for mercy right now.”
His smile increased, he winked at her. “One day, if you work at it, you’ll be
able to do that, as well.”
She looked at the bearded Templar. “Yes, ser. I will work
hard.”
Again, on the way back to the house, Mother Gertra’s voice in
her ear: “What a Templar you’ll make, my dear! Blessed Andraste, how exciting
for you! You must promise to write, my
dear!”
They had already tied her pack to the back of one of the
horses by the time she pulled on her cloak and said goodbye to everyone with
kisses and embraces. It was only a show. The real goodbyes had already been
said, with eyes and silences. Robin looked as though he wanted to say
something, shout something really, but she kissed him into quiet, promising
that she would see him again before he knew it. She had no idea if it was true
or not. She hoped it was.
Ser Gilliam held out his gloved hand. “Up you go, then,” he
said kindly. She allowed herself to be pulled up, swung her leg over the rear
of the horse, settled in behind the man, feeling his armor move against her
front. She could smell him – leather, armor polish, soap, something vaguely
metallic. Not unpleasant by any means, but alien to her.
They did not linger. She glanced behind her only once, and
immediately regretted doing so. She buried the image of her family huddling
together by the hedge, Robin in her father’s arms, looking the other way down
the road, and focused on the gentle jostling of the horse beneath her, the
sound of hooves thumping on the packed earth, the tiny dents and scratches in
Ser Gilliam’s plate armor.
“We’ll overnight in the next village,” said Ser Hausman. “Then
it’s on to Lesille. We’ve another recruit to pick up there. After that,
Starkhaven. Ever been, girl?”
Thea shook her head. “No, ser.”
“A bit full of itself, really,” said Ser Gilliam,
thoughtfully. “But you won’t be there for long. You’ll be divided into groups,
and sent to training refuges all over the Marches. I hope for your sake you
don’t get the one outside Ostwick – Owl’s Roost, they called it. That’s where I
was, more years ago than I care to count. The food was terrible.”
“Owl’s Roost burned down ten years ago, Gilliam. Come now,
you recall.” Ser Hausman had taken a pipe out of a saddlebag, pulled off a
riding glove, and was carefully thumbing dark tobacco into the bowl.
“Oh, that’s right. Well, the food was terrible.”
The sun inched nearer to the treeline, and Thea lost herself
in the thump-clump of hooves. The smoke from Ser Hausman’s pipe was dark and
bittersweet, with a coppery edge. There
is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker’s light, she repeated to
herself. No darkness, nor death either.
Nothing that He has wrought will ever be lost.
Thea leaned gently against Ser Gilliam’s armor. Under her
cloak, she ran the fingers of her right hand over the time-smoothed scars on
her left, saw a glimpse of baby-blonde hair in her mind’s eye, golden in
morning sunlight. Tears filling bright blue eyes, overflowing down round
cheeks. The smell of burning flesh. I’m
sorry, Feeya, I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I just wanted to show you…
The Knight glanced over his shoulder at her. “Anxious, girl?”
Are you scared of me,
Feeya?
Thea leaned back, stared upwards into the purple sky, at the young
stars winking their ciphers at her. It was the secret sister of the Spirit’s Hour,
when the world, while still turning, seemed quiet and brimming with something
akin to hope, smooth and warm as a stone by a riverbend on a summer’s evening.
“No, ser,” she said firmly. “I’m not afraid.”