Since the DA2 kinkmeme is momentarily down for updates, I've decided to de-anonymize and post this fic here, as it has a planned ending, is (relatively) short and I've become quite fond of the prompt. Slightly edited, typos corrected. Also, Hawke might end up being named something else than Marian (I'm rather partial to Endellion, Sophronia or Sephestia, but that's yet to be decided).

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One

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The official dueling chamber in the Spire of Dreams was filled with enough silence for a person to drown in. It wouldn't usually be much of a strange thing; proper, sanctioned duels among those few privileged to enter the archon's fortress were few and far in-between. Magisters were usually less than direct in their approach to resolving disputes among one another. An official duel required many rules to be followed, if only to keep up the appearance of propriety and culture.

None of those rules said a thing about what to do when a no-name refugee from some Fereldan backwater managed to slay one of the most prominent mages in Tevinter in single combat.

Not for the first time since her family's arrival to Minrathous, Hawke found herself wondering if the decision to leave Ferelden behind had truly been a good one. It was hard to hide one apostate, even when continually on the move, true, and hiding three in the same place had been a chore beyond imagining. Many a sleepless nights she had lied to herself and her poor, quietly sobbing sister that everything would be all right, that the templars hadn't almost caught them, that things wouldn't tumble into hell if they made one wrong step.

But the Chantry showed no sign of loosening its grip. And her mother, though she adored her husband beyond all measure, was getting tired of running, even if she never admitted it. It was Father who had made the suggestion; he was the first to acknowledge that running was for the young, and that he wanted safety for his family.

There was only one land in Thedas that looked kindly upon mages and allowed them to wield their powers openly. And so, on a quiet night in early spring, the Hawke family had left their homeland and crossed the border to Tevinter.

With the eyes of the Magisters fixed on her with equal measure astonishment and suspicion, Hawke no longer found the notion of a mage-ruled land so appealing. Templars in Tevinter were all-but-powerless, but there were other perversions in the world just as strong and dangerous. Many of them were in that very room.

Rich robes, angled-faces, both attractive ones and less appealing visages, but all of them free and proud. She felt more like an outsider than she ever had in Ferelden, oddly enough.

Slow clapping broke through the silence, sending a shiver through the room, and the mages altered their expressions as one. The archon regarded her with a slow, snake-like smile, as if pleased by a trick she had performed. Her opponent had promised his high-placed friends entertainment, and they had apparently gotten their fill, if this was anything to go by.

"Well played, Fereldan." The voice coiled around her like a snake, but a pleased one at that. "Perhaps the blood of your ancestors isn't entirely watered down in your veins."

The Amells were a line strong in magic. A connection to Tevinter, no matter how small, hadn't been that much of a surprise, given the proximity of the Free Marches and the Imperium. The memory of that bond was also the only reason she had been allowed to appeal to higher authority when the offense had come to pass. That and the magic in her hands, because without it, she would have been at the mercy of these serpents.

Apparently, some gesture had been made to the nearby seneschal – a slave, most likely, if his swiftness was anything to go by – as a roll of parchment was quickly being unfolded and read aloud.

"By the grace of the Imperium, as governed by the most honorable Archon Hyroniemus," Hawke managed to bite back her snort, fortunately. "The dispute between Magister Danarius and Mistress Hawke has been settled by a duel in the arcane arts, with all those present as witnesses."

A glorified deathmatch with an unexpected victor. Carver wouldn't have managed to hold back his snort. His sister fared a little better in this case. No one in this wretched land had ever called her "mistress" before.

The seneschal proceeded to then ramble on about the circumstances of the duel, official details, boring things and the painful reason Hawke had been dueling in the first place.

Two years. Two years of scheming and running and hiding and learning, just so she could stand there and watch as brief eulogy was spoken for the bastard that wasn't even worth having a dog piss on his corpse.

Justice. That was her reason for doing this; the word that had no meaning in Tevinter. There was a translation, of course, and Hawke had managed to master the imperial language after such a long time, but it still unnerved her how much in this Maker-forsaken country could be left up to interpretation. Magic had never disgusted her before.

"In accordance with tradition, the title of the deceased now passes to his vanquisher, by virtue of the magic blood she possesses."

They said that in Tevinter, life was only worth living if you were a Magister. Magic alone wasn't enough, though. And while becoming one certainly wasn't her intention when Hawke had entered this chamber, it was a pleasant surprise to be reminded.

A silence had fallen, if only for a moment; the archon was going to speak once more. Maybe it was tradition that he alone was able to distribute titles. Still, there were those in the chamber who looked ready to skewer her with their eyes alone. But there was no special treatment involved – or perhaps the intention was to show that she was still a foreigner – because the archon merely raised his hand in acknowledgement of her victory.

"You are to be commended for your victory, Magister Aurelia… Hawke." There was a small sneer, smirk-like, ghosting around the archon's face and infecting the room as he spoke her family name. Aurelia wasn't her name. It was a Tevinter name, pompous and imperial; a magister's name, Hawke realized, intended to make her more the part by erasing a bit of her Fereldan heritage. "The Maker has favored you today. I expect to hear much more of you in the future."

That was the dismissal, as everyone was bowing, even though it was the archon himself who left, with his sizeable entourage. But many stayed, and Hawke understood a moment too late that the vultures were now free to descend upon her, not with daggers but with smiles in equal measure.

First were congratulations – too heartfelt, most of them seemed, without a touch of sincerity. And the name echoing in every sentence, Aurelia, Aurelia, Aurelia, as if some profound transformation had taken place and she was no longer plain old-

"Esteemed Magister, I am your most humble servant." A short woman with the eyes of a hyena and the subtlety of an ox had pushed her way into the front of the crowd, drawing some sneering laughter.

"Your eagerness knows no bounds, apprentice." commented a tall mage with mahogany-colored hair curling around his ears – another difference from Ferelden, where most men preferred to cut their hair short whenever possible. "Give our golden lady a moment to breathe." Hawke had been showered with compliments regarding her newly given name and how well it suited her, but few had been accompanied by a stare that would have made her shudder, if she dared show these serpents fear.

It was as if they had decided to completely disregard her previous identity now that there was a new magister among them.

The apprentice gritted her teeth but swallowed her poison, even if she choked a little on the compliment. "A necessity of my position, Magister Phineas, do forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I simply wished to offer my sincere congratulations to your colleague for her ascent. Such a streak of fortune." From that expression, either this woman hated her with a fiery passion born of envy or wanted to drag her to the floor and have her way with her. Hawke wasn't certain which was the worse thought.

What she did know was that she wanted her gone.

"Get to the point." Her cool, non-compromising tone had received much training since coming to Tevinter.

The woman almost tripped over her feet in attempting to both bow and cower, with earned Hawke some measure of approving glances. "Forgive me, Magister; my name is Hadriana. I was apprenticed to the man you slew. As you have now taken his place, I would be your apprentice, if you would have me."

Were she not so surprised, Hawke would have laughed. The word apostate clearly had no meaning here. But she knew how things functioned among the magocracy; to become a magister, one had to be apprenticed to one for years at a time. There were specifics involved, but she would have time to read up about that. Yet if anyone was going to reap any kind of benefit from what these mages clearly perceived as her good fortune, it would be her sister, not some snake she hardly knew.

Still, better safe than sorry.

"Am I obliged to tend to that corpse's leftovers?" she asked her admirers at large, using words that they would plainly understand. Tevinter wasn't just a different language in the sense that words needed to be translated; meaning and metaphor had its own life.

Judging by the general laugh in the small circle, she had used the correct ones.

"You are obliged to do nothing, Aurelia, but you are entitled to her. As apprentices go, Hadriana isn't entirely worthless." The brunette didn't waste a second in thanking the stern mage before he silenced her again with as little as a glare and ignoring her. "There is tradition involved in such things, of course. And without someone who knows the household, it will take you weeks before you see which slaves ought to be tossed aside."

"Household?" Hawke hadn't exactly been living in the seat of luxury for the past few years, even though her mother could have provided well for her. The mention of slaves and such casual cruelty stirred yet another wave of hatred within her, but she ignored it. Teaching Carver magic would have had more effect than lecturing these creatures on dignity.

"As per imperial law, you are entitled to all possessions of the deceased loser of your duel, honored Magister." Hadriana spluttered, as if she had swallowed a book. Since her position was still in jeopardy, there was strain in her smile due to her great haste.

Hawke felt her face go blank, her thoughts drowning out the congratulations and compliments regarding her new lodgings – evidently, many of these mages had been Danarius' friends and had absolutely no problem with forgetting him before his corpse was cold if they gained a new ally that way. Disgusting as most things in Tevinter were, unclean as she felt standing there, one of them, Hawke felt a twinge of hope. Once scrubbed of Danarius' dirt, there would be a home for her family in Minrathous; not the slums, not a single room with barely enough lodging for them, but a palace – and she had no doubt that it would be like that, considering what a pompous bastard its previous owner had been.

Maybe, just maybe, she could make a life in Tevinter, even if she had to play the part to do it. There was also the small consolation that she would no doubt treat whatever slaves (she almost shuddered again) much better than their previous master had. In fact, the more she considered the idea, the more she liked it. This was what she had hoped for upon leaving Ferelden – perhaps more.

"Aurelia?" She would have to learn to react to that name, though, which was an annoyance. "She has not yet seen the spoils of her victory, I imagine!" A small round of laughter, nervously echoed by Hadriana after all the others had finished.

Yes, Hawke realized. She could make this retreat a victory.

"Thank you for your advice, Magister." She couldn't bring herself to be familiar with any of them, especially not those who acted that way with her. "I believe I will take it."