. Done.I am not sure how many 'entries' I will include, and I may include some other stuff too.
- Diary of a young Orlesian woman in Tevinter
Spoiler
Bloomingtide - 9:24 Dragon
Twisted and torn in two? Bifurcated beyond belief? A mess of a maelstrom? I am all these things and more. By the Maker, I cannot begin to elucidate the ambivalence that has claimed me this passing year!
A year ago, my beloved Quentin and I left the palatial Orlais for Tevinter, the land of infamy demeaned to the point of seeding curiosity, the two of us trekking to ensure our unborn would see and would grow to adore those who risked the label of apostate. I did not care that I was foolhardy for being with child twice and aware of the heartache that awaited me; I was inexorable in my desire to flee the White Spire, full of righteous ardor bolstered by my age of three-and-twenty and full of pride in being hungry and free rather than being sated and a burden. I promised myself to never let another babe be snatched away before I could even bestow upon my joy a name of my choosing. A promise I had to spill blood to keep.
The only solace I 'accidentally' received was the message that my daughter - Ewynnya, a name I shall never forget - was in Ferelden. How kind of them to ship her leagues from her mother's grasp without intent to reveal her location. Yet, I must exercise a torturous restraint no spell will ever engender. The breaking of my phylactery - my shameful life as an apostate in a reviled nation, aided by those who can rest easy knowing their names will never part my lips - would bring her little grace in the Circle. I shan't thrice blight her, and I am not sure how I will tell my son when he comes of age - if I will ever tell him. Mage or not, I pray she will be treated well and will forgive me for the circumstances I placed her in, and if she is blessed in my likeness, I pray she does not make my mistakes.
And as I write this, I do so as a humble indentured servant in the beautiful coastal Carastes to some mage-lords - Magisters they call them - in a web of my confusion spun in this grand and terrible land, worsened by the absence of my dear Quentin at my bedside, the sting yet as potent a year later. Blasted Templars. I hope their remains decayed into the rust of their armour without disruption.
Being a mage grants me some privileges, yes, for which I am grateful as they are my reasons for being here, but my overall experience is not what I expected. I do not know what I expected, truthfully. I suppose I idealised Tevinter as much as its detractors decry it. Aside from the promise of citizenship in ten years, I am not too different from a slave in many ways, some of whom are mages, for as long as I am in servitude. Once my obligation is fulfilled, I expect to be no higher than a 'Liberati', the caste for freed slaves. Whatever the case, at least my son will remain mine's.
Note to self: I have seen Qunari slaves. Qunari. Slaves.
Nine more years... nine more years I am to work under a woman who is fond of calling me (I am not certain if she even notices it) a "cultured savage" and an "eloquent barbarian", amongst other things, on account of my Orlesian heritage whilst we have otherwise pleasant interactions and a man who seems too busy to notice if my ears were pointed, though when he does remember he possesses servants, he is humane and carries a geniality one would neither read nor hear about in Orlais. As affable his disposition however, from his children to the lowliest elven maid, all are expected to do their duty, and he is fair in his punishments.
He - his wife included - expects my little Arené to become well acquainted with the culture and to assume an estimable position "despite his heritage" (these people sure have a way with complements), to flourish in a "proper Circle", a privilege rather than an obligation, and ultimately be an asset to this house (citizen or not, the accomplishments would be a credit unto the house's name), thus he ensures I learn Tevinter ways and learn them well; however, I am already concerned, both mortally and spiritually.
The Circles here are also political, carrying an additional concern not salubrious for an erudite. The only power mages in the southern lands wield rest in their palms - not in their machinations - and perhaps more jarring is the Imperial Chantry. It fills me with unease. It is foreign - disconcerting - with a mage Divine, and male. Small wonder Orlais and Tevinter are at odds.
Though Quentin's Rivaini beliefs have thankfully softened certain hostilities in our brief years together, I remain a stalwart Andrastian. I confess to find the Imperial Chantry improper and the vestiges of the Old Gods (and the serpents that drape on these walls) give me occasional chills when glanced upon. Certain sentiments are celebrated in Tevinter, and they are not tempered by the wisdom of Andrastian scripture. I will ascertain Arené's familiarity with the Chant of Light and prudence in magical application and in other indulgences he likely will not acquire here... shall his talents manifest.
That much of Orlais I will keep with me.
-- Marie Tévois
Twisted and torn in two? Bifurcated beyond belief? A mess of a maelstrom? I am all these things and more. By the Maker, I cannot begin to elucidate the ambivalence that has claimed me this passing year!
A year ago, my beloved Quentin and I left the palatial Orlais for Tevinter, the land of infamy demeaned to the point of seeding curiosity, the two of us trekking to ensure our unborn would see and would grow to adore those who risked the label of apostate. I did not care that I was foolhardy for being with child twice and aware of the heartache that awaited me; I was inexorable in my desire to flee the White Spire, full of righteous ardor bolstered by my age of three-and-twenty and full of pride in being hungry and free rather than being sated and a burden. I promised myself to never let another babe be snatched away before I could even bestow upon my joy a name of my choosing. A promise I had to spill blood to keep.
The only solace I 'accidentally' received was the message that my daughter - Ewynnya, a name I shall never forget - was in Ferelden. How kind of them to ship her leagues from her mother's grasp without intent to reveal her location. Yet, I must exercise a torturous restraint no spell will ever engender. The breaking of my phylactery - my shameful life as an apostate in a reviled nation, aided by those who can rest easy knowing their names will never part my lips - would bring her little grace in the Circle. I shan't thrice blight her, and I am not sure how I will tell my son when he comes of age - if I will ever tell him. Mage or not, I pray she will be treated well and will forgive me for the circumstances I placed her in, and if she is blessed in my likeness, I pray she does not make my mistakes.
And as I write this, I do so as a humble indentured servant in the beautiful coastal Carastes to some mage-lords - Magisters they call them - in a web of my confusion spun in this grand and terrible land, worsened by the absence of my dear Quentin at my bedside, the sting yet as potent a year later. Blasted Templars. I hope their remains decayed into the rust of their armour without disruption.
Being a mage grants me some privileges, yes, for which I am grateful as they are my reasons for being here, but my overall experience is not what I expected. I do not know what I expected, truthfully. I suppose I idealised Tevinter as much as its detractors decry it. Aside from the promise of citizenship in ten years, I am not too different from a slave in many ways, some of whom are mages, for as long as I am in servitude. Once my obligation is fulfilled, I expect to be no higher than a 'Liberati', the caste for freed slaves. Whatever the case, at least my son will remain mine's.
Note to self: I have seen Qunari slaves. Qunari. Slaves.
Nine more years... nine more years I am to work under a woman who is fond of calling me (I am not certain if she even notices it) a "cultured savage" and an "eloquent barbarian", amongst other things, on account of my Orlesian heritage whilst we have otherwise pleasant interactions and a man who seems too busy to notice if my ears were pointed, though when he does remember he possesses servants, he is humane and carries a geniality one would neither read nor hear about in Orlais. As affable his disposition however, from his children to the lowliest elven maid, all are expected to do their duty, and he is fair in his punishments.
He - his wife included - expects my little Arené to become well acquainted with the culture and to assume an estimable position "despite his heritage" (these people sure have a way with complements), to flourish in a "proper Circle", a privilege rather than an obligation, and ultimately be an asset to this house (citizen or not, the accomplishments would be a credit unto the house's name), thus he ensures I learn Tevinter ways and learn them well; however, I am already concerned, both mortally and spiritually.
The Circles here are also political, carrying an additional concern not salubrious for an erudite. The only power mages in the southern lands wield rest in their palms - not in their machinations - and perhaps more jarring is the Imperial Chantry. It fills me with unease. It is foreign - disconcerting - with a mage Divine, and male. Small wonder Orlais and Tevinter are at odds.
Though Quentin's Rivaini beliefs have thankfully softened certain hostilities in our brief years together, I remain a stalwart Andrastian. I confess to find the Imperial Chantry improper and the vestiges of the Old Gods (and the serpents that drape on these walls) give me occasional chills when glanced upon. Certain sentiments are celebrated in Tevinter, and they are not tempered by the wisdom of Andrastian scripture. I will ascertain Arené's familiarity with the Chant of Light and prudence in magical application and in other indulgences he likely will not acquire here... shall his talents manifest.
That much of Orlais I will keep with me.
-- Marie Tévois
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