Dragon Age: Phoenix Origins

Evelyn,

How are you holding up after… well, after everything? I won't pretend to know what it's like to be poisoned by Ghoul's Beard and then locked away like that, but I can imagine it's not something you just shake off. Honestly, the thought of it still makes my blood boil. If I'd been there, I swear I would've—well, I'd have done something stupid and reckless, and it probably would've made things worse. But still, I wish I could've been there to stand by you as you did for me all those years ago.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if becoming the Knight-Enchanter is worth it for you. Being stuck in that strict Circle, dealing with all that harshness and politics of it. To be honest, I hate thinking of you in that place, surrounded by people who would throw you in solitary for nothing. But then I remember how stubborn and driven you are, and I realize you'd probably wither away if you weren't chasing something bigger. And I know you'd never forgive yourself if you didn't see this through. So, I'll stop questioning it. Just promise me you're taking care of yourself, alright?

On a lighter note, I've been writing to my father. Can you believe it? Me, Sorin, the man who was abandoned by the elven heretic, now exchanging letters with him like we're old friends. It's… surreal. We actually get along, if you can imagine that. And get this—he's in Ferelden now, of all places. Denerim's Alienage, to be exact. Is this some kind of joke from the Maker that Miriam's so fond of? Two of the people I want to see the most are both in Ferelden and here I am, an ocean away. Strange how life works, isn't it? Oh, and Henley even helped him send me a gift—a green scarf. It's nice. Soft. I don't know why, but it feels strange to have something from my father...

Anyway, I should wrap this up before I start rambling. But before I forget—how's Miriam? Her last letter felt off. There were also water drop stains all over it, and I'm not entirely convinced they were from the rain. Don't tell her I asked, though. I'm just… curious.

Take care of yourself, Evelyn. And don't you dare forget that you've got people out here who care about you, even if we're far away. Write back when you can.

Sorin

***

Cullen

"Cullen?"

I must still be dreaming, Evelyn wouldn't be here. Why does she still haunt me? His head lulled to the other side, "Leave me."

"Cullen?" Her touch jolted him awake. "Hey," she whispered softly with a bright smile. It was as if all his praying was for naught as he gazed upon her face; the first he awoke to after taking his first drought of lyrium.

He blinked back at her groggily, "Hey." Dane and Abraxas were standing at the foot of his bed, looking about the room as if on sentry duty. "H-how did you get in here?"

"Stop worrying! How are you feeling?" She gently lowered herself onto his bed, sliding her hand in his. Her touch was different… His blood screamed to him of her intense magic, like she was a primed gaatlok bomb. The rising panic on his face caused her to take it away with a frown.

Dane interpreted his new internal alarm, "Their magic is going to bother you for a while until you learn to read what the lyrium is sensing. You'll feel the way their mana flows within them and when they are readying to use it. If you're around them long enough you'll be able to pick out from a crowd, like I can do with Brax. I can even sense when he has used his magic. Nothing gets past you."

Evelyn's eyes studied him with concern, and he hated that he caused the frown on her lips, "Sorry, your hand was so hot. It felt like I was touching a heated iron."

The Sentinel nodded, "And if you touched Brax, he'd feel like frostbite prickling your fingers, but it's just an illusion. Though mages with dominant healing magic feel nicer."

Abraxas cocked up an eyebrow, "Is that why you're only interested in healers for the occasional roll-in-the-sheets?" Dane nodded enthusiastically, "And how do they feel?"

"Like being dipped in a tub of healing salve."

"So, are you planning to dip into Bloody Miri's salve next?" Abraxas leaned casually against the wall, looking genuinely curious.

"Hey!" Evelyn and Cullen snapped at the same time, though his wasn't as fierce as her protest.

Abraxas raised his hands in mock surrender. "Come on, it's not like she's here to hear it."

Dane, meanwhile, shook his head vigorously, his expression one of disgust. "Not a chance. I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. I don't care what the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander say, this whole blood dripping from her eyes thing is just foul."

Cullen and Evelyn once again responded in unison. "Drop it."

The two men exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter. "Maker's breath, you two sound like an old married couple," Abraxas chuckled.

Cullen ran a tired hand down his face, though the tips of his ears became red. "Andraste preserve me, can we not?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes at them fixing the other mage with a fiery glare. Cullen's eyes glided down the length of her long two-toned hair. Lost in thought, he wondered what it'd be like to touch it, to feel her. Despite it feeling as if his bed was on fire already with her sitting on it, a swell of rolling heat raced south making him squirm. Cursing himself for his weakness, his palms pressed down on himself as he managed to sit up to hide his strong reaction to her.

Dane could barely suppress his amusement, watching his struggle with balling up the sheets. "I remember my first month on lyrium. Get used to it, Rutherford, you'll be pitching a lot of tents now that you're on it."

Evelyn's braid whipped around looking him dead in the eye, concern lacing her voice, "Are you leaving on assignment already?" The new knight's eyes widened, though he was thankful she did not catch the innuendo.

Dane shook his head at her innocence, while Abraxas, rasped out, "Wait 'til Reid hears, he was right!" Knowing exactly what he was referring to, Cullen felt like he was about to melt into a puddle between all the forces at work making the room feel like an oven.

Still holding him in her gaze, she must've seen his color change and reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. Evelyn frowned, worry etched into her face as she pressed the cool cup to his lips. "I have no idea what you're on about," she threw back over her shoulder. Leaning over him, her hand accidentally pressed on his chest when she went to stabilize herself, causing him to sputter the water and groan at the pain and pleasure mixing together. "Shit! Sorry, I didn't mean to touch you!"

The more she fussed the more he suppressed the need to just bear hug her to him. To smell her scent, to feel her heartbeat, and just…

The creak of a door and the presence of the Sister on duty put an end to the awkward situation. "Time to go!" Dane quickly ushered the mages out.

Abraxas dragged Evelyn along by the arm as she looked back at him, "Come on, Trev! Stop torturing Rutherford!"

Quickly rummaging through her pocket, she flipped him his lucky coin, "Your turn for luck!" It landed on his chest, but his eyes were fixed on hers as they fled from the Sister beginning her rounds.

The heat of her mana was still lingering on his coin. Willing himself to touch it, he clamped it in his hand, wanting to know Evelyn's mana as intimately as she did. The tingling coin carried the essence of the pyromancer, making him wonder what it was like to have such a force within them. Sympathy flooded him replacing desire, for not only had she faced prejudice against her mana, but she had to control the thing she must've resented for some time before it killed her. The sobering revelation gave way to the need to understand and protect her.

First and foremost, he needed to remember the vows he had just taken. He was to guard the people of Thedas from the dangers of magic; from Evelyn. He trusted her, but how many other Templars 'trusted' their charges before that blew up in their face? He owed it to Evelyn and himself to stop whatever was happening between them. For Maker's sake, she snuck into the Infirmary just to see him and the way she cared for him…

Yes, he could be looking too far into her actions, and they could easily be interpreted as mere friendliness. But if she felt even a fraction of what he did, as her protector, he had to put an end to it. It was for her own good as a Knight-Enchanter. And if this was the only way to manage the emotions he harbored for her, he'd do it.

***

Evelyn

Ducking out of the Templars' Infirmary, the trio made their way back to the Tower. Evelyn was about to head to the library—Croft had assigned her yet another literary challenge. This time, she was to locate a rare tome titled 'The Principles of Lazurite Extraction for Knight-Enchanter Hiltcraft.'

As she walked, her gaze caught a familiar sight—the brown plait of her friend. Evelyn smirked; it had become second nature to spot Miriam by her signature floor-length braid. But her amusement faded when she noticed that the Ferelden wasn't alone.

A Knight she had never seen before walked beside her. He was tall and broad, his posture relaxed and casual. If it had been any other mage, Evelyn wouldn't have thought twice about the scene. But every Templar in Kinloch Hold—save for Cullen—avoided Miriam, their reactions ranging from wary to disgusted, to outright hostile.

With the boys preoccupied, muttering conspiratorially about needing to find Reid, Evelyn made a snap decision. Instead of continuing to the library, she veered toward the healer, intent on finding out more.

"Miriam, is everything alright?" the pyromancer asked, her tone light but her gaze keen as she glanced between the Ferelden and the unfamiliar Knight.

"Ah, Ser Miquella De Lafaille, this is my friend, Apprentice Trevelyan—the one I told you about!" Miriam's voice was cheerful, though there was a flicker of something in her expression that Evelyn couldn't quite place.

Now closer she could see that the man beside the healer was striking, with sharp, attractive features and warm, lively eyes that seemed to take in every detail of Evelyn with unsettling precision. His gaze lingered on her, as though piecing together her life story from the way she carried herself. Though his presence at her friend's side made her uneasy, Evelyn masked her wariness with a polite smile and greeted him as his station demanded.

"No need for formalities," his voice had a heavy Orlesian accent with a slight rasp. His gaze shifted between them both as he continued, "Please, Ser Miquella will suffice. I've only just been transferred here." He paused, then made a small, elegant gesture toward the healer beside him. "This fine woman was the first kind soul I've encountered. It seems my heritage is… offensive to some." His tone was calm, but there was a flicker of resignation in his eyes, as though he had long grown accustomed to such treatment.

Miriam's expression softened with sympathy, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes, it's awful! I was just telling him how you went through something similar when you were first transferred here. I thought it might help him feel less alone."

The pyromancer smiled tersely with a small laugh, "Yes, um, Miri, I wanted to update you on our newly Knighted friend. If I could just have a moment…" She gently but firmly pulled Miriam aside, lowering her voice and casting a wary glance back at the Orlesian, "Miri, please tell me you haven't already divulged to this stranger anything about us?"

The healer looked taken aback, her brows furrowing in confusion. "No, I was just being friendly. I thought I'd… make a good impression before he finds out about my mutation."

Evelyn's expression eased, but her tone remained firm. "I understand, but you don't know this man."

The healer crossed her arms, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. "I think you're survival training is making you a bit paranoid."

"I know you believe every child of the Maker is good, but you and I know better than most that's not always true." Evelyn hated the way Miriam's pale blue eyes dimmed at the harsh reminder of reality. Both had been born into nobility, yet both had faced the scorn of their families—though the Ferelden, had endured the added sting of being disowned. Evelyn grasped her skinny shoulders tenderly, craning her neck slightly to look her in the eyes, "I'm not telling you not to befriend him, I asking you to be cautious until we know more about him." Her friend blinked a few times and offered a wan smile. "And Cullen seems to be alright, by the way."

"Thank the Maker!" Miriam's face lit up with relief, and the two turned back to Miquella, who had been waiting patiently.

"Good news about your friend?" he asked, his unfaltering grin warm as he watched them.

"Yes! He's officially a Templar now, and no one deserves it more than he does!" Miriam's enthusiastic boast brought a smile to Evelyn's face, her earlier tension easing slightly.

She had missed Cullen fiercely, never letting his lucky coin out of her sight as if to do so would have some sort of effect on his Vigil. After Henley's letters about what the lyrium did to him, she had been worried and enlisted the help of her pseudo 'big brothers' – Abraxas and Orin – to sneak her in. Finding Cullen pale and exhausted from the ordeal, she wanted so badly to comfort him but ended up doing the opposite.

Until that moment, she had never stopped to wonder what her magic felt like to the Knights. And if she was being honest, she hadn't wanted to know. She knew what it felt like to her—a constant, hot, humming presence beneath her skin, as natural as breathing after seven years of living with it. But the look on Cullen's face when she touched him had said it all. It wasn't just discomfort; it was something deeper, something visceral. The memory made her cringe, the image now seared into her mind. No wonder the Templars feared her. To them, she wasn't just a mage—she was a force of chaos, a Rage demon skulking through the halls of the Tower.

De Lafaille's Orlesian-accented voice broke the brief silence. "It's heartening to hear about your friend Cullen. The Order needs more good men in its ranks—men of integrity and strength. It's a rare thing these days." His tone was genuine, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "He's fortunate to have friends like you both."

Evelyn's brooding thoughts were momentarily interrupted by his words. She offered a polite nod, though her mind was already racing ahead. She didn't have time for this 'woe is me' wallowing— she still needed to retrieve that book from the library for her studies. Croft couldn't care less about her heart's blues, and with her final test drawing closer, she couldn't afford to fall behind. Every moment counted, and sentimental distractions, however seemingly important, were a luxury she couldn't indulge.

"Thank you, Ser Miquella," the pyromancer said, her tone polite but distant. She turned to the healer. "Miri, would you mind coming with me to the library? I need to grab a book for my research, and I could use the company."

The Ferelden opened her mouth to respond, but the Orlesian interjected smoothly. "Ah, but I was hoping my new fair friend might show me around a bit more. I'm still finding my way here, and her guidance has been most helpful."

Miriam hesitated, glancing between the pyromancer and the Knight. Her pale eyes flicked to the Marcher, silently seeking her opinion. Evelyn's expression remained neutral, but she gave the slightest shake of her head, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. It was a subtle signal, but her friend caught it immediately.

"I'm sorry, Ser," the healer said, her voice apologetic. "I promised Evelyn I'd help her with something earlier. Perhaps another time?"

Miquella's smile didn't falter, though his sharp eyes darted briefly to Evelyn. He inclined his head gracefully, his tone as smooth as ever. "Of course, I understand. Duty calls, after all. I'll leave you to it, then." He gave a slight bow, his movements elegant and practiced. "Until next time."

As he turned and walked away, Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that his sharp gaze had missed nothing. She exhaled quietly, pushing the thought aside. "Let's go," she said to Miriam, linking her arm through her friend's. "I need to find that book before it's time for my training session."

The Ferelden gave her a curious look as they walked. "You really don't trust him, do you?"

Evelyn's lips pressed into a thin line. "We don't know him, Miri. And as I told you before, until we do, it's better to err on the side of caution."

The healer sighed but nodded. "Alright. But you have to admit, he seems nice. "

"Nice doesn't always mean safe," Evelyn replied, her voice low. "Now, let's focus on that book. I have a feeling it's going to take a while to find."

Over the next week, Miquella didn't relent, continuing to favor the company of the duo. Granted Evelyn had seen firsthand the callousness of the Ferelden Templars toward the Orlesian taking some pity on the man. Between that and Miriam's hopelessly smitten glances at the Knight, it was becoming harder to maintain the pretense that he was trouble. If anything, he was proving to be quite the opposite.

One morning, as the trio made their way down the winding stone steps of the Circle Tower, the healer, deep in conversation with Evelyn, misjudged her footing and stumbled. Before she could so much as brace for impact, Miquella was there, catching her by the arm with a firm grip.

"You alright, my fair friend?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Miriam blinked, wide-eyed, then quickly nodded, cheeks tinged pink as she realized just how close they were. "Y-yes. I'm fine, Ser. Thank you."

Miquella's lips quirked into a smile, "Careful, or we'll both be tumbling down next time."

Just a day later, the three of them were enjoying a rare moment of free time in the courtyard when a group of Templars passed by, their conversation loud enough to carry. One of them made a pointed remark about Miriam's mutation, his tone dripping with disdain. The words hung in the air like poison, and Evelyn felt her friend shrink beside her.

Before she could react, the Orlesian was already moving. He stepped forward, placing himself between Miriam and the sneering Knights.

"Shame on you, brothers, for speaking ill of her," he uttered, his voice quiet but edged with steel. "She has more heart than most of us. If you take issue with the gifts the Maker has given her, then perhaps you should take it up with Him."

The Templars exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unprepared for one of their own to defend Bloody Miri so openly. After a beat of silence, they muttered among themselves and walked away.

Miquella exhaled, the fire in his eyes dimming as he turned back to the mages. "Let them say what they want," he said, voice soft again. "You're worth more than their words."

Miriam only smiled, lowering her gaze as a blush crept up her neck. Evelyn, watching from the side, found it harder than ever to doubt him. Miquella wasn't just kind—he was protective, willing to stand by her friend even at the cost of his own standing among his fellow Knights.

And for the first time, Evelyn really wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had misjudged him.