#rite of tranquility

[awkward-tension-art]

Oops. Having thoughts.

Mage!Rook forced through the Rite of Tranquility. I can imagine Lucanis would shut down entirely and Spite would take over for actual days on end out of pure, unadulterated rage.

[alpaca-clouds]

The Cold Flame [Solas & Tranquil OC]

And finally the last story I have written for the @dacreateathon. Yet another one based on a prompt. This time "Maker Save the Tranquil". And given I wanted to explore more Solas through the recruitment stories... This felt like a fitting one.

The Cold Flame

Fandom: Dragon Age Relationship: Solas & Tranquil OC Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Niall has been on his own, since shortly after the beginning of the war. Survival is hard, when you do not have feelings. When you do not have the wish to live. But he knows he does not have a wish of dying either. One day he meets a stranger in the woods.

[livingparagon]

do you think the rite of tranquility would work on people who arent mages? conceivably most people have a connection to the fade to sever, because most of them dream. (not dwarves for obvious reasons) Because imagine the type of political drama that could cause. You only need to accuse someone of being an apostate and have the templars that you have in your back pocket perform the rite of tranquility before they can try and make their case. You could so easily weaponize the hatred of magic and set it to work for your political machinations. Hell, even just rumors that someone is a mage or is soft on mages, that someone has hired an apostate to use blood magic and curse another person would all ruin a reputation If youre unscrupulous enough, you hire an actual mage to hide and set off magic when you bring in the templars, or set a firebomb trap as "proof" of the other person's magic.

[the-lone-shaper]

What it’s like to be Tranquil ?

(…)

He shuddered as if the thought were too horrible to contemplate.

Cole thought he might not continue, but then Pharamond nodded, steeling himself. "I find it ironic the Rite of Tranquility cuts one off from the land of dreams, because a dream is exactly what it feels like. Everything in a dream is as it should be, nothing is out of place... yet part of you knows something is not right. This isn't your home, this isn't your life... it isn't you.

"Yet one cannot act other than the dream allows. It follows its course, and you follow it believing nothing is real. You will tum the corner and awaken, safe and sound. Yet you never do. Instead you are slowly smothered in a crystal-clear silence that has no meaning.” — Pharamond

— Dragon Age - Asunder (David Gaider)

[merrybandofmurderers]

completely fucking forgot that you, as inquisitor, can make people tranquil. and you can only do this if you are a mage yourself. you get disapproval but none of your companions leave you over this

the war table operation that becomes available the first time you make a prisoner tranquil is "Judgment: How Could You"

nothing happens if you make more than one prisoner tranquil. nothing happens if you make vicinius tranquil during under her skin aside from companion disapproval. tranquil prisoners are not mentioned again

i have no words

[flowersonpebbles]

Rite of Tranquility- Day 1

Jowan thought Dallas might have taken him with them after he helped keep an eye on Connor whilst they left for aid from the Circle, from their home that they both only knew for most of their lives... Dallas did not take him, merely said that Jowan did in fact aid in keeping the people in the castle safe after they left for more help... Eamon did not care, he was still sent off, back to the Circle for them to punish him for being a bloodmage... poor Lilly... she must have been just as frightened as he is now.

He stares sadly down at the lyrium brand, burning with white fire. The rod shaped like the sunburst symbol so fondly looked upon by Andrastians... Jowan blinks back tears before just squeezing his eyes shut, pursing his lips to try and stop them from trembling as he's held down on his knees by Templars surrounding him.

"Dallas, do you ever think the Tranquil hates us for being more like people than they ever will be..?" little Jowan asks, struggling to fall asleep. Dallas frowns deeply at the thought, hanging upside down to glare at Jowan.

"They're people like us, just different, Jowan. They're really nice and Owain even taught me how to read!" Dallas whispers earnestly, cheeks puffed up. "They don't hate us and we shouldn't be scared of them just because they're different than us, they still feel! They just express it differently!"

Jowan takes a deep, shaking breath at this little memory... he can only hope Dallas might come visit him then. After learning of Jowan's bloodmagic and feared him, then hopefully Dallas would no longer fear now.

Now he only needs to calm himself, there is no escaping this... he brought this upon himself, after all. He should have never dabbled with the forbidden arts...

He opens his eyes, steadying himself as he stares the rod down, gritting his teeth as it is pressed against his forehead, sudden magic coursing through his veins and then just bursting into... nothingness...

Jowan blinks slowly, jaw slowly going lax as the Templars let go of him. He stands up slowly, feeling a light headache at the front of his head. A headache that will never go away again, though...

Jowan stares at Dallas calmly, smiling ever so softly, "Dallas, it is good to see you again." his friend looks so much older than he should though, and sickly, even...

[inquisimer]

which should I regret

A piece where Avexis refuses her Harrowing, for the prompt 'rite of tranquility' as part of @tranquilweek! Shout out to @kiastirling-fanfic for sparking the idea of an AU where Avexis takes Cole's place in Inquisition - it's only hinted at here, but more to come as the week goes on👀

read it on ao3 here

Avexis (Solo) | Rated T | 1255 words | cw: guilt, fear & despair, self-doubt, elective Tranquility

-

Avexis trembled as she stared down at the ornate font. Its surface was still and smooth, like glass, but it radiated a power that thrummed within her bones.

Pure lyrium.

Enough to send her into the Fade, where a demon waited to tempt her, test her, trick her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The first enchanter had been apologetic when they fetched her from the apprentice quarters; she wasn’t ready, and they both knew it. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t be put to the Harrowing for another few years, in her late teens, after more lessons and instruction and practice.

But hers were hardly ordinary circumstances. All things considered, she was lucky the Templars had given her as long as they had.

Not long enough, she thought desperately. Her gaze darted to the circle of Templars that trapped her here, stoic behind their faceless helms. Each held a downturned sword and one, she knew, bore the task of striking her down, should she take too long, or return as an abomination.

Even thinking the word brought bile to her throat. How could she not fail, with so many doubts? With her history? Surely this demon would see the fingerprints of blood magic that time could not erase, and immediately claim her for its own.

Since the Seeker returned her to the Circle, each day was an opportunity for every enchanter, every Templar to remind her: she was vulnerable. A beacon for demons. Susceptible. Their suspicions of her weakness lingered like fog on the Waking Sea—almost an expectation, an inevitability.

Despair dripped like ice down her spine. What was the point? The doubt coursing through every Templar and the observing senior enchanters rippled through the Fade and left a bitter, metallic taste on her tongue. They had decided she would fail. Those maleficar had decided it, when they stole a child from her bed, because she favored beasts. The Maker had decided it, when He gave her magic and allowed that to happen.

Desperately, she tried to step forward, to force movement from her quaking legs. Get it over with quickly. But she found she could not move; her body fought to live, even when she knew she was about to die.

“You cannot delay, apprentice,” intoned the Knight-Commander. “Make your choice.”

Between her pounding heart and racing emotions, Avexis nearly laughed. Choice? What choice was there to make? She never had a chance, let alone a choice.

Except—

There was a choice. And she found that, unlike when she’d been younger, the mere idea of Tranquility no longer choked her with dread. Rather, the persistent tremor of her hands stilled. The fear that permeated her every waking moment and pressed unbearable pain into her chest vanished with a single thought: she could be safe.

She could be safe, without being dead. Without giving whatever influence the maleficar had left in her mind even a chance to see the light of day.

For the first time since the Templars woke her, she drew a deep, full breath. Relief seeped through her. She looked up from the font of lyrium and locked eyes with the Knight-Commander.

“I refuse the Harrowing,” she said, clearly, if a bit quiet. Aborted gasps echoed through the cathedral-like chamber as the gathered enchanters stifled their shock. It was unthinkable to them—they would no sooner give up their magic than cut off a limb. But for Avexis, the gift had become a curse; dead weight that needed severing.

Knight-Commander Laroche’s gaze sharpened. “You know what that means.”

“I do.”

“And you accept those consequences?”

“I do.”

“Very well.” Laroche gestured. The aide at his side pulled a small lever and the floor beneath Avexis’ feet creaked and groaned. She flinched back as the stone under the lyrium font pulled apart. The device receded into the depths of the Spire, and where the floor sealed atop it, a tile mosaic of the Templar insignia slotted into place.

“Kneel, apprentice.” At the Knight-Commander’s order, feeling flooded back into Avexis’ legs. She stepped forward, one pace, two, and knelt atop the flaming sword. The tile pressed roughly against her knees, but she barely noticed.

Knight-Commander Laroche drew a long, gleaming brand from the forge built into the chamber wall. Magical blue flame licked at the narrow opening, heating the lyrium-infused sunburst. It gleamed and hissed in the cool air.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” he chanted, voice and footsteps booming off the walls as he descended from the dais and approached her. “Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children.”

The circle of Templars shifted and tightened, closing in on her with every step the Knight-Commander took. From the corner of her eye, Avexis thought she saw a scuffle, someone struggling to breach the barrier, but then they vanished, replaced in her periphery by Templar plate. The Knight-Commander’s shadow fell over her, then, and she forgot all else. Her focus narrowed to the pulse of the brand above.

Her heart thudded against the cage of her ribs, but she could no more look away from the lyrium-infused metal than she’d been able to look away from the font. Transfixed, she awaited the solace it offered.

“The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world; she shall know true peace.” Laroche held her gaze neutrally. If he passed judgment, one way or the other, for her magic, or her decision, or her history, it did not show in his face. “Do you repent?”

Avexis took a slow, calming breath. In that beat, she felt warmth, a hopefulness that slipped across the Veil and shielded her from the shadow of icy Despair. You don’t have to do this, it whispered.

“I do,” she said.

That comforting presence tinged with sorrow, but with understanding as well, and it soothed the ragged edges of her conscience that still had doubts. It curled tighter within her chest as Knight-Commander Laroche raised the brand. In tandem, the Templars drew closer as well, and a film coated her teeth as they pressed the Fade back from this place.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” they all chanted. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.”

The room went utterly still, a dozen Purges overlapping at once. In the silence, Avexis gasped—but she made no sound. She could not draw breath. That strange, hopeful something clenched once around her heart—

Laroche pressed the brand to her forehead.

She had expected pain. But after a brief spike when metal met skin, there was none. Only a hiss as the lyrium and the Templars’ not-magic worked its way through her, took root in her soul and sliced cleanly through her connection to the Fade. The warmth in her chest fled, along with the comfort it had offered, but so to did Despair from her throat, and the Fear that had haunted her for so many years. Like cotton in her ears, the world about her muted, faded to dull, unsaturated tones.

Comfort was gone, but she no longer needed it. She was safe. She would be useful.

Knight-Commander Laroche dropped the rod to his side, lyrium spent and cooling, and looked down at the newly branded Tranquil. Alone, in his deep baritone, he finished,

“In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

-

"tell me, father, which should I ask forgiveness for: what I am, or what I am not? tell me, mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I did not?" -dvoyd

[briarruler]

So the Rite of Tranquillity can cured by having a Fade Spirit touch your mind.

Spirit Healers attract benevolent Fade Spirits.

Anders is a Spirit Healer.

What if after one of his escape attempts Anders was made Tranquil?

It works for all of... I don't know, lets say a day, before one of Anders' Spirit helpers come looking for him and brushes against his mind, breaking the Tranquillity.