Denerim, capital of the kingdom of Ferelden, 9:20 Dragon
Denerim was the capital of Ferelden, seat of House Theirin, the kingdom's greatest seaport and, by centuries-old tradition, the meeting place of the Landsmeet. When anyone in Ferelden spoke of "going to the city," they inevitably meant Denerim. There was no other place in the kingdom that could rival it—not in size, not in population, not in wealth, nor in importance.
The Denerim alienage, on the other hand, was an entirely different song. Here, the elves were clustered within a small district enclosed by stone walls so high that sunlight only touched the ancient vhenadahl—the People's Tree—at midday. Even so, they were fortunate when compared to many of their elven brethren in other kingdoms, for the alienage of Denerim was governed by its own hahren... a wise, kind-hearted elf named Valendrian, who had ruled since his thirties and with great skill in reducing conflicts with the shemlen.
It was said that the "good life" of Denerim's elves was due largely to King Maric's fondness for their race. No one could deny that the sovereign had ensured that living conditions within the alienage walls had steadily improved since he claimed the throne of Ferelden in 9:02 Dragon.
That day, an unusual commotion stirred within the alienage. Valendrian had informed his people that King Maric himself would be walking through the alienage, as he was seeking one of the elven gardener families to take into royal service at the palace. He had asked everyone to behave honorably and not disgrace their race with insults or inappropriate actions toward His Majesty. Though there was a group of elves dissatisfied with their living conditions, no one could deny that they held Maric in esteem—so, if it was the king, they could make the effort.
One of the alienage's gardener families included a small elven girl of nine years named Praianna. She was a child with cocoa-brown hair, pale velvet-soft skin, and beautiful emerald-green eyes. That morning she stood holding her mother's hand—a skilled gardener who tended the finest crop of elven roots and was the capital's main supplier to the Chantry. Beside Praianna stood her partner in mischief and cousin, Shianni, a strong-willed elf who was forever organizing small revolutions among the elven children to convince the adults to give them spun sugar or warm milk with honey and cinnamon—their shared favorite.
- What's so great about that king? - Shianni asked, holding Praianna's hand. She had arrived in the alienage six years earlier under the care of her uncle, Cyrion Tabris, after her mother's death. Being so young, she had heard little about Maric, and truthfully, she had no interest in shemlen at all. Her interest lay in raising her voice to get what she wanted. At that moment, Shianni was twelve years old and already a difficult adolescent—to put it mildly…
- King Maric is a kind ruler and very close to his people - Praianna's mother explained, as both girls looked at her curiously. - He is a brave man who fought for the freedom of our lands when the Orlesian Empire usurped the throne. Since his return to power, things have slowly improved for us. - She smiled. - It's also said that the king enjoys visiting commoners in the capital's market, and that he is always accompanied by the prince, Cailan.
- And the queen? - Praianna asked.
- The queen passed away long ago, when the prince was still very young. Now he is said to be a handsome youth. The prince is fifteen and is betrothed to the daughter of the teyrn of Gwaren, Loghain.
- And that's why we have to behave? - Shianni insisted. - I've never seen him in the alienage. And I don't care if his wife died.
- You must behave because that is how we raised you. - Praianna's mother snapped, tugging her daughter's hand in response to her cousin's boldness. Just then, Cyrion approached the women and nodded in agreement with the adult elf.
- That's right, Shianni. No rebellions or complaints. - he sighed. - I already have enough trouble with the bruises you give the other children and the neighbors' complaints. - Praianna smiled. - Besides, it is unbecoming of a young lady not to show compassion for Queen Rowan's death or indifference toward the prince. By the Maker's breath, Shianni! We raised you better than this.
- I'm sorry… - Shianni whispered, squeezing Prai's hand.
At that moment, the alienage gates opened and a large contingent of royal soldiers entered. All the elves had gathered around the old vhenadahl, with Valendrian waiting at the front, wearing a warm smile. The king arrived accompanied by his son, Prince Cailan.
The sovereign's presence was striking—undeniably attractive. He wore a provocative half-smile, and his golden hair gleamed despite the scarce rays of sunlight. His noble attire was the most splendid the elves had ever seen, even though he had not donned his ceremonial armor, against the advice of his companions who had deemed it "madness" to enter the alienage without proper protection.
The prince, for his part, bore his father's regal posture. Standing upright at his side, his hair and features painted a living portrait of Maric himself. Yet unlike his father's relaxed, playful demeanor, nervousness was clear on Cailan's face as he visited the alienage fully armored. To recount the complaints throughout the palace when the king announced he would bring his son into the alienage would be redundant.
Loghain, the king's closest friend, stood beside him, clad in metal with his sword within reach should it be needed. His implacable expression and poor disposition toward the visit were evident at a glance.
- Good morning to you all. - the king greeted warmly, smiling seductively. Many elves smiled and bowed willingly; some knelt, others lowered their heads. Several women blushed at the gallant presence of the sovereign, while others inclined their heads reluctantly. As expected, the hahren spoke on behalf of the elven people.
- It is a true honor to have your presence among us, Your Majesty. Please forgive us for being unable to welcome you with gifts and songs as you deserve, but few elves among us have been able to develop musical talents.
- If they've had time for that, perhaps they have too much free time... - Loghain spat from behind Maric. The king raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand, signaling his friend to be silent.
- It saddens me to hear that, Valendrian. - the king replied, surprisingly. - It grieves me to know that you work so hard here that you have no time to relax, as all beings should.
The hahren bowed, unsure how to respond. Had he admitted that he had indeed prepared a small group to play simple melodies, Loghain might have doubled their labor; yet the king had just expressed interest in hearing music. He immediately regretted beginning with "forgive us for being unable," when in truth, they had prepared a welcome.
- Should I understand that there is no one among you who can entertain this gathering?
- There are a few who have been practicing since we learned of your visit, Your Majesty... - Valendrian tried to justify elven artistry without appearing idle. - But none are professionals or experts…
- Oh, that is wonderful! - Maric exclaimed. - Please, call them. I would like to meet them and hear them. We are not here for tension—on the contrary, I want this to be a memorable day for everyone. Come now, bring your artists.
Cyrion glanced at his sister, Praianna's mother, and she nodded. The flute in her hand had been hidden the moment Loghain mentioned idleness, and she had believed no demonstration would take place.
- Go, don't be afraid. - she smiled.
Though Cyrion hesitated, he stepped forward at the hahren's invitation, as did the other elves. They bowed to the king, who returned one of his famous smiles. The music began... the flutist, the lutenist, the violinist joined in, while a beautiful elf began to sing with a clear, lovely voice.
The king cast a lingering glance at the singer, smiled, then turned his attention back to Valendrian, who met his gaze sharply. Maric laughed softly. The hahren and the king shared a secret: they had a mutual friend. Both counted among their friends a Grey Warden named Duncan, and through him had spoken before. Maric admired the elf's intelligence and company; Valendrian respected the king deeply.
Shianni took Praianna's hands and began to dance before the musicians, soon joined by the other children, while the hahren guided the king toward the cultivated plots of the two gardener families. The prince followed—until the king stopped.
- Cailan, go enjoy yourself with the elven children.
The prince grimaced and glanced at his uncle Loghain, who gave a subtle shake of his head.
- Father, it's dangerous.
- There is no danger. - Maric said firmly. - Look at them, son. They are people, just like you.
- They're children!
- Not all of them.
- But I am their prince.
- Exactly. If you do not know your people, you cannot rule them. - He turned to Valendrian. - Let us see the crops. - Then, without looking back: - I said you stay, Cailan—and you will stay. Come, Loghain.
- Go on... - the warrior said. - I will guard the prince in your absence.
- Oh, of course—because small elves are dangerous, right? - the king mocked. - As you wish.
The elven children were not dangerous—but they were just as prejudiced as the prince. When Cailan approached the musicians, they stopped dancing and stared, unsure what to do... bow as their parents had, turn their backs, or spit in the prince's face. Each child carried their own version of the king's interest in elves, shaped by their parents' prejudices.
Cailan crossed his arms and remained beside Loghain, sulking. - I can't believe my father is doing this to me…
Shianni narrowed her eyes. - Hey, that idiot prince looks like he's watching us… what if you do that thing you showed me last night, Prai?
Praianna's heart leapt at the mention of that thing. It had been an accident.
- No. No... - she whispered desperately, covering her cousin's mouth. - Don't talk about it… I think mother would be upset if she knew my eye color changes.
Shianni pulled away and crossed her arms. - Come on! Maybe we scare the idiot and teach him to respect us!
- But... - Fear seized Praianna. For days she had felt strange. She was young, but not foolish—she knew something was wrong. The world felt different, tasted different, touched differently. She felt winds that weren't there; her hands tingled, sometimes painfully. Near the great tree it was worse—as if the vhenadahl had power of its own. And it had all grown stronger. Day by day. Until her eyes had begun to change color when she was angry. Shianni had noticed.
The night before, to prove it, her cousin had struck her, spilling her bowl of milk with honey and cinnamon. Food was never wasted among elves, and Praianna's anger had flared so fiercely that her emerald eyes had turned violet. Her hands burned with pain. Shianni had whispered that it was that curse.
And Praianna feared it was the worst curse of all: magic.
- What are you staring at? - the prince asked Shianni, who was whispering beside Praianna and shooting him hostile glances.
- At a prince who's afraid of elves. - she replied.
Terror flooded Praianna's body. She grabbed her cousin's arm, bowed deeply, and tried to flee—but it was too late. Loghain would not tolerate such insolence.
- And who do you think you are, speaking that way to the prince of Ferelden, pointy-ear? - The warrior stepped forward.
The music stopped as Cyrion rushed to them; Praianna's mother was still showing the crops to the king.
- Forgive her, my lord. - Cyrion begged. - She is my niece. She lost her mother and harbors resentment. She will be punished for her words.
Cailan laughed mockingly, and Praianna thought he resembled his father when he did.
- What do I care what you do with this pointy-ear? - the prince said. - I only want your youth better educated. But I don't need punishment to repay the insult.
Suddenly, he noticed Praianna.
- Hey, girl… - He knelt before her. Her heart nearly burst. - What a strange color your eyes are. I've never seen violet eyes before…
Cyrion and Shianni stared. Praianna's hands burned again. She pulled away from her cousin as unseen winds gathered, growing stronger under the prince's gaze.
She wanted the fear and shame to stop. She wanted him to stop looking at her.
- Argh! - she cried, raising her hands to her face—just as a massive root burst from the ground and struck the prince's chest, throwing him backward.
Praianna screamed, convinced she had destroyed him. She clenched her hands, and somehow, the forces of the Fade obeyed her—roots retreating into the earth.
Loghain drew his sword and dragged the prince aside as terrified screams echoed through the alienage courtyard.
Magic.
Praianna knew she was cursed.
She broke into uncontrollable sobs. Cyrion pulled Shianni away, horrified. The elves recoiled, whispering accusations. Loghain shouted for templars, and soldiers ran for the Chantry militia.
The only one who approached the child—shockingly—was the prince.
- Hey, it's alright. You didn't hurt me. - She couldn't stop crying. The Maker had cursed her with magic. - Hey… calm down, little one. - He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, guilt gnawing at him.
- What's happening?! - Maric's voice rang out as he ran back. Praianna's mother rushed to her daughter.
- The little elf is a mage. - the prince explained. - She didn't mean to—but her magic struck my chest! Father, she had no intention!
- She certainly did! - Loghain snapped, pointing his sword.
- Of course she didn't. - the king retorted—just as five templars entered the alienage. Without hesitation, glowing faintly with their order's power, they tore the girl from her mother's arms like a criminal.
- No! - her mother screamed, falling to her knees. - Please—don't take her!
A templar struck her face.
- The mage comes with us.
- Nooo! - Praianna screamed, thrashing wildly. Rage flared—but nothing answered. Only later would she understand the templars' power had silenced her magic.
Her mother collapsed, sobbing. - Will I ever see her again?
- No. Forget her.
And the templars turned away, taking the child with them…