Chapter 2

It wasn’t long before they crossed the River Dane and were in the woods approaching Elia’s hidden camp. Now far from West Hill, she was teeming with questions, questions that would be answered tonight before she even considered turning this guy loose. She looked back at the man she was about to set free.
            He was tall and thinner than most men, no doubt not being properly fed. His hair and beard grew out of control and were large tangled messes. It was the way he carried himself that Elia noticed the most. He wouldn’t look her in the eye for long; he followed a few steps behind her and always looked at the ground. This prisoner, this slave, was conditioned to believe that he was an object and not a man.

The man watched Elia as she began setting up for a fire. He went over to her. “I can do this for you.” He began arranging the stones in a circle.

“Okay then.” Elia began gathering firewood, but could feel the man’s gaze burning into her.

He approached her again, this time grabbing the bundle of sticks she was carrying. “I’ll do this.”

Elia didn’t release the bundle. “You’re not my slave!”

“Then what shall you have me do?” His voice calm and his eyes locked onto the bundle.

“I don’t know just go sit or something.” Elia pulled the bundle out of his hands and continued to gather more sticks. The man returned to the camp and sat by the fire pit.

Before long Elia had returned and started the fire. They sat in silence for a few moments. The man stared into the fire avoiding Elia who was looking at him as if his appearance would give her some hint as to who he was and where he was from. He wondered about her just as much as she wondered about him. She was the polar opposite of anyone he had met before.

“Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.” Elia finally spoke.

“Where I was born, I don’t know. I do know that my master took me west into Tevinter. From there, I traded hands numerous times and was stolen by Franderel from my Orlesian master, but the majority of my life was in Tevinter.”

“Why you let them treat you so badly?”

“An object, a tool, cannot rebel against its master.”

“You are not an object or a tool!” Elia’s anger burst through. “You are a man capable of far more than you’ve been made to believe.”

“We’ll see.”

“We’re going to the docks on Lake Calenhad tomorrow. After that, you’re free to go wherever you please. You’ll be a free man.” Exasperated, Elia reached into her pack and shared some rations with the man. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”

The man began shoveling the food into his mouth making Elia wait for an answer. “I don’t have one.”

Elia stayed quiet the remainder of the night. The man offered to stay up for the first watch and left her suspicious. As she crawled into her tent, she wondered if he had planned to rob her and leave during the night. He wouldn’t get far and hopefully he wouldn’t go back to West Hill after all the trouble she went through to free him. She snuggled into her bedroll hoping he wouldn’t run off and then sleep finally took over.

Elia woke up suddenly and checked herself: coin purse, check; weapons, check; life, check. She opened the tent and looked outside; the man covered the fire and was petting the horse. He had stayed through the night and didn’t wake her. She stepped out of the tent and approached him.

“He’s a magnificent beast isn’t he?” Elia rubbed the horse’s neck. “I’ve had him since I left the Chantry. I was lucky to find such a loyal steed.”

“You take care of him better than most care for their servants. We are the lucky ones.”

“We?” Elia stared at the man.

“If you take such care of your horse I can only hope for the same treatment, if that’s not too bold to say.”

“I’ll treat you as what you are. He is a horse, so I treat him as a horse.” The man sighed and closed his eyes. “You are a man and I’ll treat you as such.” Elia left and began packing her tent and bedroll. Her words left the man confused, but when it was time to leave he followed her.

They traveled in total silence until they had reached the docks. The Circle of Magi stood proudly out of Lake Calenhad’s waters leaving the man breathless. This wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but it was a contender. They followed the path downhill to a nearby inn. Elia left her horse outside and went in with the man. The inn was somewhat small and was practically empty. Elia bought two cups of ale and sat with the man at a table.

“You need a name. I can’t stand thinking of you as someone without a name.” She finally said after taking a drink of her ale. “Were you educated at least?”

The man shook his head as he drank.

“So there’s nothing you know about? No famous heroes or people you look up to?”

“I was beaten for having a servant recite tales of your Rebel Queen and her son.”

“Why about them?” Elia thought that this may be a key finding a name for this newly freed man.

“Your late queen fought to reclaim what was hers despite her army being outnumbered. Her son also fought even when he knew little to nothing about leading an army. Their drive to overcome the impossible gave me,” he paused and looked at Elia before looking back down, “hope for something better.”

“Queen Moira and Prince Marric.” Elia said the names to herself. The man looked at her as she stared at her ale. Her eyes were filled with determination and concentration and her hair threatened to obscure her face as she thought to herself. She looked up and their eyes met, hazel-brown on aquamarine, but he quickly looked back down. “You can look at me. You are, after all, a free man now.” He looked at her again studying her face, but his eyes always traveled to meet with hers.

Almost instantly, Elia’s face began to flush. “So,” she said nervously, “how about a combination of the two?” She looked down at her ale and drank. “Something strong, a name that can be recognized and something you can grow into.”

The man nodded and watched her think. Elia could feel the pressure from his gaze and felt rushed. Her thoughts began to stumble over each other and she took a breath to calm herself. Only one name kept coming to her over and over again no matter how many times she tried to shake it.

“How about Moirric?” Elia said quickly, not looking at the man.

He sat quietly for a while before finally speaking. “That will be my name?”

“If you want it, you have the final say in whether it is or not. If you don’t like it we can think of something different.”

The man thought carefully. He would be getting a name and he could choose it. Elia was serious when she said she was going to free him. Moirric, that name felt respectable, like a name people would say and remember a man of honor and pride. He wanted to be able to become a man worthy of carrying that name. A smile touched his lips and he drank what was left of his ale.

“When will I be able to use that name?”

“Now if you like it.” Elia said surprised.

“I can’t look like this and carry such a noble name.” He looked at his clothes; they were covered in dirt and holes.

“That can be fixed.” Elia took the empty cups to the innkeeper and gave him some coins. She motioned to Moirric for him to follow the burly man as he went upstairs.

 

Elia sat alone at her table occasionally sipping her drink and thought about the man now named Moirric. For a long time she sat in total silence, her eyes fixated on a spot on the table. The lines in the table distracted her; she followed one line to the next, back and forth, over and over. The dark brown of the table was contrasted by the light brown lines creating odd shapes and patterns.

Moirric sat at the table and Elia blinked to cut away from her reverie. Moirric had shaved and cut his hair. His dark hair was combed back and his sideburns ended just above his strong jaw. His face was blank, the perfect façade of calm and concentration, but his eyes silently called for approval. Elia was stunned for a moment, but managed a smile that caused some of his tension to lift.

“Now that face screams ‘Moirric’.” Elia became entranced by his eyes.

“One of my Orlesian master’s groomed me like this. It felt… familiar.” Moirric’s eyes became clouded by the emotions of that memory. Whether it was sadness or fondness Elia couldn’t tell and his face gave her no hints.

“Did any of them treat you well?” Elia was saddened by the thought of him not knowing any sort of kindness his entire life.

 “There was the master that first stole me from Tevinter. She was not as severe as the others,” Moirric paused, “but she used me in ways the others hadn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Moirric looked at her.

“My masters always found ways to use my abilities. She used my abilities and then used me.” There was a cold indifference to his memory.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Elia looked down and felt the gravity of what he had revealed.

“Don’t apologize. I told you I’m a tool for my masters to use as they see fit. She seen a new way to use me and she did.”

“I can promise you that nothing like that will ever happen to you again unless you want it to.” Elia’s anger welled up inside of her. He couldn’t be blamed; he had no idea what was going on and had no choice. She could at least give him that now.

“I figured that you’re some type of mage. I haven’t had much interaction with many mages, but judging on all these people that want you, and what you did at West Hill, I take it your no ordinary mage. The Chantry would say it’s my duty to hand you over to the Templars, but I’m not going to do that.” They stared at each other for a moment. “I’m going to Denerim tomorrow and you’re welcome to come with me, as a traveling companion and NOT a slave.” She added with extra emphasis. “So you can decide if you want to go to the Circle or come with me. If you do come with me however, you will be branded as an apostate and we will always be in danger.”

“Why don’t you tell me where to go?” Moirric asked.

“You’re a freeman now. You get to choose where you go from here; you decide on everything that happens in your life from this point on. I’m not your master and no one ever will be again unless you let them.”

Moirric looked down, his face as calm as ever, but in his mind he was torn. He was getting to choose whether he went with her or went to a Circle. He had seen how mages were treated in the Circles in Orlais: Templars bully mages out of fear or some twisted sense of superiority. Then mages are blamed when they turn to demons to try and protect themselves. Moirric knew nothing of being a freeman, though.

“You don’t have to decide now.” Elia’s voice cut through his cluttered thoughts. “You can tell me tomorrow before I leave.” She smiled at him.

She was an enigma. Elia didn’t belong in the world, at least not the one he knew. She was so different from everyone else he had come across and she was confusing. Everything she done was puzzling to him: her kindness, sympathy, and now, the choices she was giving him. Moirric knew it would be easier for him if she would tell him where to go and what to do, but she was so against it. Elia the enigma, perhaps he would go with her to try to figure her out. What was it exactly that made her different from everyone else?

They finished their drinks in silence before finally heading to their rooms. Elia promised to wait for him outside of the inn until he had come to a decision. Moirric went into his room, shut the door and went over to a window. The Tower look gorgeous in the moonlight, but that was just a front hiding the ugliness within. He went to bed, his decision made, and let sleep overtake him as he thought of the Enigma next door.