Hey! Welcome to the story. The idea for it was spawned from Arisone de Blassenville's plot Mabari bin. Arisone sadly passed away a few years, but you can still check out all her amazing stories such as Victory at Ostagar and The Keening Blade. 11/10 recommend you do so as I believe they are some of the best FanFiction I've ever read.

But before you do, I hope you enjoy this story!


Mages' Liberation

By Dante Alighieri1308

Chapter 1

Second Chances: Rare But Sweet

Blessed Andraste, we pray for these sinners.

Four voices echoed against stoned walls, deep beneath a mighty ancient tower. The voices called out in prayer, ministering to four prisoners, stripped of clothes and their Maker given powers.

Blessed Maker, let them remember your Commandments.

Four voices belonging to four men, dressed in heavy silver armor and red skirts. A silver sword was sheathed at their hips and a sword engraved on their breastplates, the symbol of their order: A upward pointing sword with flames coming off of it. The Sword of Mercy. The universal symbol of the Templar Order.

Magic exists to serve men, and never to rule over them.

Foul and corrupt are they

Who have taken His gift

And turned it against His Children.

The four prisoners were considered the "foul and corrupt" who had turned the Maker's gift against others. The actual veracity of the accusation was debatable for all of them. None the less, here they would remain, incarcerated, sermonized, and of course, drained of magic by Templar abilities. Only until the Chantry could investigate further. Who knew when that would be, if ever. Mages disappeared occasionally, never heard from again.

They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.

They shall find no rest in the world

Or the Beyond.

Each prisoner had one Templar guard assigned to them. They were each ministering to them with an arm outstretched, head bowed solemnly. One of the prisoners, Victor Amell, looked up at his Templar jailor after he finished, a small smile on his face. His Templar had messed up the Maker's chant. The Commandment was "they shall fine no rest in this world, or beyond." Victor knew most of the Chant of Light by heart. It was by his own choice too, somewhat rare among Circle Mages.

'Oh Andraste, please… please have mercy.' He prayed silently, not for the first time. Andraste though was silent, as to be expected since the Maker Himself had turned His back on the world. Still… one hoped that His Bride and Thedas' Prophet would still care. Evidently not for Victor.

The praying continued, though Victor blocked it out. It was easy since he and the other three prisoners were kept disoriented and unable to perform magic thanks to the Templar's lyrium induced powers. The sensation was horrible and felt as though he were about to vomit. It also befuddled his mind and made sleeping difficult. He shuddered to think what he looked like in a mirror. For a delusional moment, he looked around his cell, thinking he had one. Nope. Only some straw and a blanket, a bucket for relieving himself, and an empty plate and jug from breakfast. Or at least… he thought it was breakfast. Gruel was gruel and time meant nothing in the basement cells of the Ferelden Circle Tower.

'Maker, what have I done to deserve this!' he thought.

'You betrayed your friend.' Victor replied to himself.

That was true enough. It had been for a good reason though. Or at least he told himself that.

Jowan, one of his first friends in the Ferelden Circle of Magi had fallen in love with a Chantry Initiate serving in the Circle Chantry. Initiate Lily was a nice woman and Victor had spent many times praying and talking with her. That's how Jowan and her had met. Now, Jowan and her wanted to run away, afraid that Jowan was about to be made Tranquil and denied magic and emotion for the rest of his life.

'But no… you couldn't let that happen… could you?'

No, he couldn't. For as long as he could remember, Victor Amell was what the other Mages would consider a Loyalist. The Circles had no actual authority – it was all in the hands of the Chantry and the Templar Order – the mages who spent their whole lives in them had plenty of their own ideas of what the Circles should be. These different ideologies were organized into Fraternities.

Victor, fresh from his Harrowing, had planned to join the Loyalists, a faction that believed fully in the Chant of Light, the Chantry and all its Divine, and the importance of the Templar Order in maintaining balance between magic and the non-magical world. Victor believed full heartedly in the Chant, ever since he was young. His family, who had apparently been wealthy citizens in the Free March city of Kirkwall, had raised him that way. Once he was taken from his family, the Chant helped him feel connected to them still.

So it was because of this allegiance that Victor felt the need to the tell First Enchanter Irving, the highest ranked Mage in the Circle, about the scheme. Irving had always liked him, and was distraught to hear the news. Irving thanked Victor very kindly, reminded the newly minted mage of the pride he always felt in him, and asked for Victor to continue the plot with full assurances he would be protected upon discovery.

But that had not happened. Instead, Jowan turned out to be a more capable mage then people thought. Upon confrontation in the Entrance Hall, Jowan revealed himself to be a powerful Blood Mage and knocked out First Enchanter Irving, Knight-Commander Greagoir, Lily, several Templars, and Victor himself. When Victor came too, Jowan was gone, Lily distraught, and Greagoir, the commander of Templar forces at the Circle, in a rage.

"You knew he was a Blood Mage, didn't you?" Greagoir demanded of him.

"No! I swear it! By the Maker, I swear I didn't know! I would have said if I did!" Victor pleaded. He was on his knees in front of the red-faced Knight-Commander and his very angry Templars. It was the truth. Who could have foreseen Jowan being a Blood Mage? No one looked at Jowan, who's look demanded pity and voice that often sounded like a whine, and thought Blood Mage.

Greagoir did not believe him. In the midst of his own shouting and fear and Lily's screams, Victor couldn't recall if Irving had done anything for him. Lily was to be shipped off to dreaded Aeonar prison, a sentence that caused Lily to make such horrible noises as the Templars dragged her off to her fate.

"Maker forgive me! I didn't know he was a Maleficar! Maker please, I am your humble servant! Noooo!" Lily screamed, tears in her eyes and in Victor's. Then Greagoir turned his attention to Victor.

"Throw this one in the Circle Dungeons for now. We'll deal with him later."

And that was that. Victor tried to plead but a Templar, furious over Jowan's attack, cast a particularly strong Smite on him that knocked him down for the second time in just minutes. His limp body was then dragged into the labyrinth underneath the Circle Tower. How funny, he had just been there with Jowan and Lily breaking into the repository, talking to strange statues of Tevinter mages, and setting up his friend. Now he was being stripped naked and thrown into a cell.

He couldn't recall how long ago that was.

The Templars were always on guard. At first it was just three, for him and two prisoner who was already down there when he arrived. The fourth prisoner arrived later, kicking and screaming and with her own Templar guard. Now she was silent, as they all were. The Templars would Smite them every hour, keeping them in a constant state of disorientation.

But the Templars would get bored and gossip. Nothing interesting about the Circle though or anything to give away a specific date.

Apparently, there were a lot of Darkspawn in the South of Ferelden. They weren't sure if it was a Blight or just an excursion of a few curious Darkspawn.

The Tranquil were making too much fish stew as of late and one of the Templars wished someone would talk to them about it. When another Templar said he should just talk to them himself the complaining Templar told him that he found the Tranquil too creepy to talk with.

A Templar's brother was getting married in Bloomingtide. There was some bargaining amongst the other Templars about covering his shifts so he could attend.

Seven mages – including two Senior Enchanters – would be leaving soon along with their Templar guards for Ostagar. On the King's Orders no less. Maker protect them.

That last bit was enough to interest Victor. Mages who got to leave the tower for any reason were of interest. Still, before his imprisonment, Victor had never thought much about leaving for the outside world. Why should he? The Circle was his life and had been since the age of eight. For the past thirteen years – or fourteen? Maker, had his birthday come and gone? – Victor had done well in the Circle. He made friends, was treated decently by the Templars, and excelled in his studies. All of his teachers, even a few Templars, had called him a model student and mage. And again, Irving had considered him a star pupil.

Victor had loved all it, he never really expressed it out loud, not even to Jowan, but Victor hoped one day to be First Enchanter. To best serve the Maker, the Circle, and to be the best mage possible and show the world what it truly meant to "Serve Man" as the Maker intended.

There was one person who knew of his dreams though: Rhett Surana. His lover and…. Well, there weren't really any good titles for Circle life. Not for the first time, Victor became distraught as his mind turned to Rhett. He hoped he was alright, hoped that he didn't believe Victor was a Blood Mage himself. He had been so proud when Victor passed his Harrowing in record time.

'Please, Maker, please let me see him again. Just one more time. I am your humble servant.'

Breaking through the haze of the Smite, a door banged open heavily. Victor could hear hurried footsteps, like someone in heavy plate boots was running. Each step rang through his head. He looked up at his guard and saw him looking at the three other Templars, evidentially spooked.

"Was that a scream?" one of them asked. Victor struggled to get his mind to focus, shifting his body so he was sitting upright against the cell wall. A scream? He hadn't heard anything.

Then, from the hallway, a Templar came running in. His bucket helmet was off and armor was black. How funny… Templar armor was always pristine silver.

"Demons have taken the upper levels of the tower!" He screamed, voice breaking through the Smite induced haze easily. "Mages are turning into Abominations! Kill the prisoners before they turn!"

At first, Victor thought he had merely gasped at the news. Later, upon consideration, he realized he had screamed in horror as he realized his life was about to end.

Other screams rose up from the other cells. Victor looked to one cell and saw that the female mage prisoner, an elf, was already run through with a Templar's sword. The other elf mage, this one in the cell next to him, was scurrying into a corner, trying to hide as his Templar guard struggled to unlock the cell.

The sound of metal clanking against itself directed Victor's attention to his own cell door, which had been opened. His templar guard was storming in, towering over the weakened Victor with his sword drawn. His body language showed no hesitation with his actions, and his face was hidden behind the Templar's bucket helmet. Only darkness could be seen through the helmet's eye slits.

For a brief moment, Victor's eyes looked to the encroaching Templar's right, where Victor saw another prisoner slamming his head into the cell wall. It was a hard smack into the wall, hard enough to draw blood.

Oh, Maker!

"Smite him!" A Templar shouted, but he was too late.

A blast of energy, powered by Blood Mage, blew across the room. Victor's would be Templar killer, his back turned to the energy blast, took the impact hard and was sent flying into the cell wall. As the Templar crumbled to the ground and dropped his sword, Victor's instincts kicked in. He ran – really just flailing his limbs in an attempt to move properly – towards the now opened cell. The Templar behind him wasn't moving, and the other Templars were too distracted by the now confirmed Blood Mage to bother with him. Behind the Blood Mage, something was materializing from the Fade, no doubt a Demon.

"Maker preserve us!" A Templar cried, abandoning his attempts to enter one mage's cell.

"Kill it! Kill it now!" Another Templar shouted, though it was unclear if he was referring to the demon or the mage. The mage laughed, voice deep and full of malice as the demon began to claim his body. Blood spurt freely from his head wound, transforming into steam and mana to power the mage's spells. Victor ran, only partially aware of the still incarcerated elven mage screaming at him to help him.

Naked, disoriented, and terrified, Victor stumbled down the halls of the Circle basement, no clear direction in mind. His body ached, his limbs heavy, and his mind was still dizzy from the Smite. The effects were wearing off, though not fast enough. He attempted to generate some simple frost between his fingers but failed. He didn't even notice the body of a Templar sprawled on the ground until he tripped over it. Victor cried out in terror as he scooted himself away from the corpse. Something had ripped both the Templar's arms off.

Pushing himself against the wall, Victor curled up into a fetal position, trying to ignore the Templar's blood now on his own body. He sat against that wall for a long time, waves of hopelessness washing over him. 'This is how normal people feel when confronted with magic.' Victor understood, tears hot on his cheeks. 'Terrified and useless.'

But he wasn't a normal person. He was a mage. And he had to remember that.

Repeating to himself that he was a mage, Victor forced himself to slow his breathing and calm his nerves. After a minute, he felt better. He was no longer shaking. Then, with the help of the wall behind him, Victor brought himself to his feet and stood up for the first time in a while. He breathed in deeply, thinking back to his first lessons as an apprentice being taught by then Enchanter Torrin. The simplest task, drawing mana into oneself, took hold and he began to do so.

'The Smite is weakening. You can do this. But you need to focus.'

Focusing all of his willpower on the task, Victor began to feel the mana and strength of the Fade return to him. It was a drip, unlike before when it felt like a wave crashing over him, but it was enough that his fingers were now covered with a layer of frost. Satisfied he could cast some magic, Victor began making his way down the basement hallway.

He needed clothes and a weapon. And thanks to his misadventure with Jowan and Lily, he knew where to find them.

Breaking more and more through the Smite's haze, Victor retraced his steps through the basement until he found the room he was looking for. Inside were a variety of treasures and oddities they had stumbled upon while trying to find the Repository. Massive trunks, odd furniture, and stacks of books littered the ground. Bizarre statues were grouped together in the corner, depicting demonic beings that Victor thought best destroyed. But more importantly, wrapped neatly on a table were well maintained robes of green, black, and gold.

"'Vestments of the Seer.'" Victor read from the plaque next to it. The robes reminded him a great deal of First Enchanter Irving's robes, though it did not stop him from putting them on after he had wiped off the Templar's blood as best he could. The robes made Victor quite the imposing and dignified figure. If only his hair was up to snuff. He still hadn't found a mirror, but based on the scruffiness and length of his beard and hair he probably looked like one of those barbarian Avvars. He pulled his red hair back into a ponytail to control it, but there was little he could do for his beard, which had grown long on the sides but less so on his chin and lip.

The Blackened Heartwood staff he found was less regal looking but more than capable of defending him. For the first time in what he presumed was weeks, Victor Amell felt more like himself. More powerful and in control.

And definitely able to deal with a demonic outbreak.

It didn't take long for Victor to realize and commit himself to the one course of action there was. He had to fight his way upstairs, regroup with any surviving mages and templars, and stop the demons.

And more than that, he had to find Rhett.

In that moment, Victor understood clearly what was happening. The Maker was giving him a second chance, a chance to redeem himself for Jowan. Second chances were rare for mages and he had no intention of squandering it.

"Maker, aid your humble servant," Victor prayed out loud, "And protect those who cannot protect themselves, mage and Templar alike."

And with that, Victor made his way upstairs, ignore the blood in the hallways he walked through.


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