Iras ma ghilas, da'len
Ara ma'nedan ashir
Dirthara lothlenan'as
Bal emma mala dir
Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
---
"If you're here looking for work, you'd best ask for Goodwife Taren."
Velanna startled awake, shocked to see sunlight streaming through the slats in the hayloft and a weathered elven face peering curiously at her. Her grip tightened around her staff, and she pointed it at the stranger warningly.
"Woah there, miss! No need for that. If you needed a place to sleep for a night that's fine, but I'm afraid we'll be needing to do our work up here soon."
He was a shriveled little man, brown skin lined with deep wrinkles. His silver hair and ropy arms indicated a long life of physical labor, and his eyes were large and watery. He was crouching a foot or two away from where she'd slept.
"Who are you?"
"Samuel," the old man said. "Been groundskeeper here at the Vigil for, oh, thirty years?" He peered at her a bit more closely, squinting through milky cataracts. "Wait a moment, you're that Dalish that came in with Little Nate and the others, aren't you?"
"'Little Nate'?"
"Sorry, Nathaniel. Known him since he was a boy, haven't I? Hard to break the habit."
"You... knew Nathaniel as a child?" Startled and still half-asleep, she was struggling to keep up.
"Well sure, like I said, I served his family as groundskeeper since the days of the rebellion."
Something slotted into place in her mind. "His family."
"The Howe family, yes. Amaranthine was no happy place to be when the Orlesians ran it. Chevaliers all over the place. Lost my father to one of those heartless bastards. Decided to take my chances with the rebels and found work under the Howes instead." Samuel smiled shrewdly at her. "Suppose the forest folk don't tell you much about this sort of thing."
"What does it matter, what the humans decide to kill each other over?"
"Because if you don't pay attention, you'll get caught in the crossfire, child. But no matter, you're to join the Grey Wardens, aren't you? That's what I heard. What are you doing out here in a barn?"
"Sleeping. Leave me be," she snapped, gathering her things, and she scrambled down the ladder, out of the barn, and back towards the Keep.
"Lovely making your acquaintance," the old man muttered, shaking his head.
Nathaniel Howe. Nathaniel Howe of the Amaranthine Howes. She had gathered that the previous ruler of the arling was ousted during the Blight, likely a result of the civil war that had made navigating Ferelden such a trial for her clan. Keeper Ilshae had done her best to stay out of the conflict and away from the Blight entirely, so until now the matter had been of little concern to her.
'I guess if you lop the head off the old Arl you get to keep his house too.'
And Nathaniel had stormed off--
"Velanna?" Her head whipped around to see Anders jogging toward her. "Andraste's blood, the Commander was sure you'd deserted when we couldn't find you this morning. Where have you been?"
"I couldn't sleep," she said, and added as an aside, "As if I have anywhere to run to."
"I think having nowhere to run is a tried and true Warden tradition, at this point," he said with a wry smile. "Out of the Templar prison, into the darkspawn hidey hole, or so the saying goes." When Velanna failed to laugh, he shrugged her off. "But yes, I'd check in with the Commander, if I were you. Let her know you haven't hopped the first ship to the Free Marches."
"Fine," Velanna sighed, shooing him away. She was too distracted to worry about causing an uproar by not being in bed first thing in the morning.
Before she could replace her things in the room she had been assigned, she came face to face with Tabris on her way out of the throne room.
"You-- you're here!" Her eyes widened in shock, a look of concern coming over her. "Is everything all right?"
"Don't be hysterical, I was only having trouble sleeping, for Mythal's sake." Velanna averted her eyes, her face burning.
"Oh," Tabris said. "I'm sorry, we were just… Your things were gone. I thought you'd left the Keep altogether." Velanna must have looked a contradictory picture, standing there holding all of her worldly belongings.
"Yes, I know, Anders found me first. I didn't realize becoming a Grey Warden meant I would need to wear a bell around my neck everywhere I go! You have nothing to worry about. I won't abandon my sister or my promise to you so easily."
"Of course." There was a small, sober smile on Tabris's face that flustered Velanna even more. "You have the rest of the day to yourself, but I'll need to see you and Anders this afternoon to prepare for this evening."
"And what shall I do until then?"
"There are basins and water pumps for bathing in the stone building near the smithy. There's a ton of books here, if you're the reading type. Shit, there's a training ground, if you wanna beat the tar out of some of the army recruits without getting arrested for it."
Velanna frowned. "You want me to fight your army for fun?"
"Some of them are barely out of swaddling clothes, they need to be kicked into shape. If they can't handle one mage they definitely won't withstand another visit from the darkspawn."
"I see." What a curious woman she had pledged her service to.
"Sorry, I won't keep you anymore. Lots of work to do for people who don't want me to do it." She sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Enjoy your afternoon, if you can. Sincerely."
As much as the Commander had seemed anxious to make sure Velanna upheld her vow, she seemed equally anxious at the prospect of speaking with her directly about it. Velanna could leave, she supposed. As much fuss as they made, they weren't doing much to prevent her from leaving. They didn't seem the types to hunt her down for desertion, though she could have misjudged them on that. It was all very perplexing. But truly, Velanna had no idea what she would be doing if not this. This was her best option. Her only option, as far as she was concerned. She would deal with the consequences when they came.
Having been reminded that a bath was available, Velanna remembered that she had spent days on the road after having crawled out of a darkspawn hole, and slept in a barn to boot. At the very least, her clothes would need seeing to, but she couldn't imagine she smelled any more pleasant than the horses had.
The bathhouse was exactly where Tabris had directed, empty at this hour of the day, thankfully; nudity had never been much of a taboo among her clan, but she had no desire to be ogled by humans in any context. Inside was a water pump, as well as a collection of stone tubs and wooden buckets. The floor was very slightly sloped, the baths flanked by trenches leading towards drains in the floor, and there was a wood burning stove she presumed was meant to keep the room warm and to heat cold water in the winter. Velanna had never been inside a structure quite like this before, having only bathed outdoors, but the concept seemed clear enough.
She began to disrobe, winding the leather cord of her sister's pendant from around her wrist and setting it gently on top of her fur shawl, sitting on the end of the tub to tug off each of her boots. She paused when she saw the amulet that rested against her sternum, a carved halla horn with a heart of petrified wood originating in the Dales. It had been a gift from Keeper Ilshae, to signify that Velanna would one day take her place in the clan. She had left it underneath her clothes and forgotten it was there. Seeing it now, she was filled with loathing and shame, leaden in her gut. Before she could stop herself, she snatched the amulet and yanked. The cord snapped, the leather falling loose against her white-knuckled fist.
She regretted it immediately. The amulet was priceless, a relic of Elvhenan intended only for a Keeper. But she was no Keeper, and never would be. She couldn't bring herself to toss it aside, but neither did she think she deserved to wear it any longer. She shoved it in her pack and took out her frustration by aggressively pumping water into the tub, swallowing back a scream.
She washed herself first, scrubbing viciously with a battered bar of embrium soap from her pack until her skin was raw and red, but clean. As she unwound her hair, she was dismayed to find that there were bits of hay tangled into it, her fingers snagging on knots, and by the time she was finished detangling the mess her head was very tender.
Once the grit and grime of the last week had been washed away, she set to scrubbing her dress until the dirt gave way to gentle forest green. She supposed she would hang her clothes up to dry by her little window, for lack of a better place to leave them. In digging through her pack for a second set of clothes, however, she also found the plain muslin dress the Architect had dressed them all in while they were imprisoned.
She shuddered at the memory. The time after he'd cast his sleeping curse, before they'd woken up in that dark cell, was still a blur of confused images and pain. She had no desire to dwell on it. The dress was perfectly functional, but she wanted nothing more than to burn it to ashes. Maybe she could cut it up and use the fabric to repair her things.
She shoved the cursed thing back in her bag, trading it for her dry clothes and dressing herself, squeezing what moisture she could from her hair, then found the way back to her room, opening the little window to give her clothes a breeze to dry by. Having replaced her belongings, she returned to where they'd eaten the night before, looking around at the evidence of the Keep's previous occupants with newfound scrutiny as she walked. Was this portrait of some relative of Nathaniel's? Had one of these rooms once been his? When she arrived, the dining hall was empty; evidently it was too late for breakfast. She would have to beg a meal off someone in the kitchen.
Inside, preparations were already beginning for the mid-day meal and supper, heat radiating from large stone ovens. The staff, a small, mixed group of elves and humans, were chattering comfortably as they moved about the room. One, an elf who was perhaps in her forties, with a flour-dusted apron wrapped about her round waist, seemed to recognize her.
"Ah, welcome, miss! What can I do for you?"
"I-- breakfast, if you have anything," Velanna said. The woman tutted, and flagged one of her younger elven workers over.
"There are oatcakes left over from this morning, if that'll tide you over. The stew needs to cook a bit more, but I'll get you a bowl when it's ready. You can tell me if it needs anything, my dear. Just promise not to eat everything in the larder like the rest of those Wardens!" The other elf sauntered away and returned with a cloth wrapped around a couple of dense brown biscuits for her.
Velanna accepted the parcel, examining it with a critical eye. The cakes didn't look too dissimilar from the hearth cakes she had grown up eating, and in fact the taste of the coarsely milled grain, lightly sweetened with either sugar or honey, was quite familiar to her. It was a relief, after the previous evening's heavy Fereldan fare.
"Have a seat here at the counter, love," the woman said, patting a battered stool at the hefty wooden table in the center of the kitchen. "You are that new Warden, aren't you? The name's Lena."
"Velanna," she said, swallowing a dry bite of oatcake with some difficulty.
"Nice to see our folk finally getting where they ought to be, thanks to the Hero of Ferelden," Lena said with a wink.
"She's a Dalish, though, isn't she mother," said another of the elves, at that moment primarily occupied with peeling a basketful of potatoes.
"Is she?" Lena peered curiously at Velanna's face, as if she doubted the truth written there in ink. "Always thought those stories about wild elves were horseshit, myself, but I suppose they were true enough."
Velanna scowled. Was this all the elves here knew of the People? Disappointment curdled in her stomach.
"Did you work for the previous ruler as well?" Velanna asked, rather than explaining herself and opening herself up to questions she had no desire to answer. Lena's face darkened as she worked.
"Oh, yes, for a few years. We all knew to keep out of his way. I'd been told by the older staff his Lord Uncle before him was an all right sort, but when they lost him in battle and Rendon Howe took the arling… Well, things are much better now, under the new Arlessa, that's all there is to say about that."
"We're doing more work, with fewer staff," said the elf who had called Lena their mother, "But we're paid as much as the humans now, and there's not a soul left who'd beat us or nothing."
The couple of humans in the room glanced sideways at the conversation happening around them, she noticed, but offered no comment as they worked.
"I'll never forget it, the Hero of Ferelden herself walking in here in plainclothes saying, 'How do you do, I'm the new girl!' She did a day's work with us as a scullion and got the names of all the worst offenders, easy as you please. The next day, there she was in full armor offering us their pay. I swear, I've never seen the like. And Maker bless our good Queen Anora for sending her to us!"
Disgusting, how desperate the flat-ears were to lick the boots of their oppressors. "Did you know Nathaniel Howe, before?"
"Never saw the man, myself, until he turned up here like he did. Didn't really know the Arl had an older son until someone told me, since I only saw that girl of his and the younger boy around. Guess they sent him away just before I came to work here. Seems a bit odd to me, sending off a man already grown to be a squire." Lena tasted something bubbling away in a cauldron, peering thoughtfully into the distance. "The girl seemed like a sad little thing. Awfully quiet. Was never cruel to me or my family, like the Arlessa could be, though less so than the Arl if you were unlucky enough to grab his attention. And the younger boy was hell to deal with, though not because he was vicious like his father." She ladled a bit of her stew into a bowl, bringing it over to the counter and setting it in front of Velanna. "Bit of a drunk. Always sneaking into the cellar and nicking the wine. Turned up in all sorts of strange places needing a bath and something for his headaches. Might have been on a path to becoming like his father, if the Blight hadn't taken him first, Maker have mercy on him. Now, have a bite, tell me if it needs anything, would you dear?"
She had a headache mounting. The stew, thick and tasting vaguely of mutton, burned her tongue. She pushed the rest of the bowl away. Her appetite had fled. She stood abruptly and turned to leave.
"It can't be all that bad, now, can it?" Lena asked, dismayed, as Velanna rushed out the door. Before she was out of earshot, she heard one of the others bellow, "YOU'RE WELCOME!"
She wanted to light something on fire. Would the Commander still encourage her to spar with her soldiers if she opened the match by lobbing a fireball? It seemed unlikely. She stormed back to her room to find her candle still partially frozen, leaving a sizeable puddle on the table that had dripped down to the stone floor. She dropped to the floor in front of the fireplace, sitting cross-legged, staring at the cold logs, trying to tamp down the anger burning under her skin.
"Sylaise, I beg your blessing, and your forgiveness for straying from your path," Velanna prayed. Seranni had always urged her to remember, in her vengeful moments, Vir Atish'an-- the way of peace. She reached for her bag, and the herb pouch within, scattering some of the contents in the fireplace and snapping her fingers impatiently. Sputtering, the herbs kindled and caught fire. The air filled with a familiar, calming smoke.
"I have called on you too often, and offered you so little, I know," she said, gazing into the weak flames. "I am sorry. I have tried to follow your path, for Seranni's sake, and I have failed at every step. But it is for Seranni's sake I implore you… Lend me your wisdom and serenity. Protect Seranni, if she still lives. Please. Please, help me find her. Allow me to stray not from your path, though I walk so far from my people in this forsaken place.
"I know… I know I am not what my people wanted," she said through the tightening of her throat. "But let me be what they need."
The fire offered her no answers, and never had. She stared into it sightlessly for some time, making an effort to draw even breaths, counting, one, two, three, four, five, six, in, one, two, three, four, five, six, out…
She was shocked by a rhythmic knock on the door.
"Are you decent? Commander wants us down there to get ready for your big night." It was Anders. She stood up, sore from sitting stock-still on the floor for so long. Outside, the sun was beginning to sink behind the treeline. She had been sitting in meditation longer than she realized.
"Give me a minute," she muttered. The fire had burned low and long, and was now down to embers. She dusted off her dress and took her staff with her, for whatever trial the Wardens had cooked up for her initiation. When she emerged, Anders was lounging against the far wall, arms crossed. His eyes roamed over her; a look that could have been called appreciative if she were feeling more forgiving, but she wasn't, and deemed it a leer.
"You look cute with your hair down," he said. All the calm she had summoned in her meditations fled in moments. Without answering him, she yanked her newly clean hair into her fist, twisting it until it formed a knot that would hold. Anders threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine, don't take the compliment." Without waiting for him, she started down the hallway, making him stumble to jog after her.
"Tell me," Velanna said as they walked. "What is this 'Joining' meant to be? I gathered it was dangerous, but no one has spoken of it otherwise." Anders winced.
"Well… You're not wrong. But it's against the rules for me to tell you anything about it, apparently. Suppose it's sort of like the Harrowing, in that way. Normally I'd tell the rules to take a nosedive off a tower, but I dunno, it's more fun if it's a surprise, isn't it? No? No, I don't suppose you've ever had fun, have you."
"I suppose the Commander recruited you from a traveling circus, then?" Velanna asked derisively.
"Might as well have. I've seen how they keep those big, beautiful tigers in cages. It's exactly like the Circle of Magi! And, you know, when they find the handlers dead, the tiger's the first one they blame, even though he did absolutely nothing wrong."
"You killed Templars, then?"
"The darkspawn killed the Templars. And I killed the darkspawn! You could hardly blame me for that. But the ringleader didn't like me one little bit, and wanted me in chains. Tabris stepped in and invoked the Right of Conscription. They can't do a blasted thing about that, Warden laws superceding the law of the land and what-have-you, so here I am, on their leash instead of the Chantry's."
Velanna frowned. She had been aware of treaties compelling the elves to join the Wardens' army in the fight against the Blight; she might have done so, had she been in charge, but Ilshae had not wanted to risk their clan, especially at the behest of some newly-instated flat-ear Keeper. She had not realized the Wardens so often enlisted wanted criminals, with legal permission to do so. She supposed she fell into that category, though none yet lived who had come to claim her life or her freedom.
"Is this… common? Conscription?"
"Oh, sure. The Wardens are big stinking heroes now, but I've read some histories. Weren't always that way. Weren't even allowed in Ferelden until King Maric gave them a pardon a few years back. They'll take just about anyone, willing or no, as long as they're good at killing. Anything to stop the darkspawn. It's all a bit shady, in my opinion. Oghren and Tabris fought together during the Blight, so he joined willingly, but our friend Howe? He's only here because it was this or the noose."
That brought her to a full stop, ice in her veins. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, yeah. He was in the dungeon when I got here, believe it or not. He's all 'yes Ser's and 'as you wish'es now, but he broke in here to assassinate the Commander. Andraste's honest truth! Beat the tar out of four Wardens, as they tell it, before they managed to take him down. Instead of hanging him outright, Tabris conscripted him. Left it in the Maker's hands. Told him either he'd die by the Joining, or he'd live and serve out his punishment as a Warden. Worked out in his favor, though, didn't it?" Anders clapped a hand over his mouth, cringing. "Shit, I spoiled the surprise. Oh well, you'd find out about the dying soon anyway, I suppose. But I'm sure you'll live! Probably."
She didn't answer him, walking in silence the rest of the way to their meeting place.
Conscription. Assassination. The Commander had slain Nathaniel's cruel tyrant of a father. He had come to claim her life in turn, and failed, now an unwilling prisoner of the Wardens.
Such lies he had told her, that vile human, with his pretty words.
Warden-Commander Tabris was waiting for them by the doors to the council room, clad once again in full plate armor and looking as grim as Velanna felt.
"Anders, Velanna," she said, with a nod towards each of them. "We won't be staying here. There's something I need to show you both, and explain, before we proceed. Follow me." She led them to a stairway that went down, deep into a basement, where they found a locked room with a great stone door. Velanna felt a faint tickle of magic-- sealed by glyphs of some kind, she thought. Tabris turned a simple key in the lock, but Velanna could sense more than just mechanical shifting when the door swung open at the Commander's touch. It looked more like an antechamber than a proper room inside, and it contained only a small table and another door on the far wall, locked with a key but not with any magic Velanna could discern. Tabris drew another key from her ring and unlocked the second door. "The Wardens had this room enchanted and sealed when they were granted control of Vigil's Keep. Come in."
Walking across the threshold was like walking directly into winter itself. The temperature plummeted, Velanna's breath fogging in white clouds. The second room was smaller than she would had guessed, just large enough to hold the three of them comfortably.
"You didn't show me this before... It's like a tiny little phylactery chamber," Anders said, looking about at the air in horror, as if he expected something to jump out at him.
"I've been told it's exactly like that, yes," said Tabris, and she reached for a locked box sitting on one of the shelves in the small chamber. "The Wardens need storerooms like this one to protect their supply of blood."
"Blood?" Why would the Wardens need a supply of blood, she wondered, alarmed. Tabris was as stonefaced as the statue of Andraste in the courtyard, holding the intricately carved lockbox in her hands.
"That's the first matter. It's time I explained the Joining to you, Velanna." She set the box down, drawing another key from her crowded keyring. "The Archdemon is a terrible enemy, not just because it takes the form of a High Dragon, but because it cannot be killed by ordinary means. The Archdemon's soul can possess any Tainted creature, never truly dying. But during the first Blight, the original Grey Wardens found that by ritualistically taking the darkspawn Taint into themselves, they gained enhanced strength and endurance, as well as the ability to sense darkspawn. When a Grey Warden strikes the killing blow against the Archdemon, it…" Tabris paused, her fingers flexing as she held the key still in the lock. After a moment, she turned it, the box creaking open. "...it is destroyed, the soul unable to travel to another host. That is why only a Grey Warden can end a Blight. That is why the order endures today, and why every Warden must undergo the Joining." She drew a large glass bottle from the box, which was lined with dark cloth. It was around the size of a bottle of wine, but the dark liquid inside did not move, seemingly frozen. "We take darkspawn blood, as well as a drop the blood of the Archdemon itself, and drink of it. If your body can withstand the tainted blood, you will wake from the ritual as a Warden."
"There I was, thinking it took a Mommy Warden and a Daddy Warden," Anders said, slapping Velanna's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Turns out it's just blood magic."
"The higher-ups don't like it when you call it blood magic," Tabris said wryly. "But that is why it's kept secret. Nothing I've said here can leave the order. I've been told that in no uncertain terms. The means for conducting the ritual were given to me when I took command here, and I enlisted Anders' help before. Velanna, as the only other mage I have, I thought it was important that you also know how Wardens are made. I may need your help in the future."
"If I live," Velanna said. A line deepened by the Commander's scarred mouth.
"Yes. The ritual can kill you. I've seen two die, after they drank from the Joining chalice. It's an ugly death. I have seen three live, not including myself. The transformation is painful, and permanent. The life of a Warden is not long, or easy. Will you still choose the Joining, knowing that?"
Velanna thought of her sister, irrevocably tainted by darkspawn filth, wandering through their endless tunnels, forever lost.
"Yes," she said. "I will undergo your Joining."
Tabris did not seem cheered, but some of the tension bled out of her, her shoulders sagging in relief. "Thank you. Now, let me show you how the ritual is cast."
The chalice was a great silver thing, with some manner of enchantment of its own that Velanna would have to sit down and study properly to make sense of. It was old, she knew that much, and it radiated an unsettling energy. There were more bottles in the ice-cold chamber, and Tabris withdrew one along with the larger bottle, taking them out of the wintry-cold room and into the antechamber, where the air was as warm and damp as it had ever been. The dark liquid in the bottles, freed from their magical stasis, sloshed sickeningly. Tabris set the chalice on the table, and began to pour oozing black blood into it. Velanna's stomach lurched.
The Commander and Anders both went through the incantations required for the ritual, and once it had been explained, the Commander produced a vial of lyrium for Anders, who downed it like a shot and began to cast. The blood in the chalice churned and glowed, and then the glow subsided, the spell cast.
"Is that all?" Velanna's instincts warred, adrenaline coursing through her. She wanted to have it done, or she wanted to run-- but she could not run, no matter how her body urged her.
"Yes." Tabris returned the bottles, still largely full, to their places in the enchanted room, locking the door behind her and handing the filled Joining chalice to Anders to hold. The sealed stone door locked behind them as well, the enchanted barrier reforming behind Tabris when she turned the key in the lock. "Follow me back upstairs, and we'll proceed with the ritual."
They were led into the throne room, where the only light remaining came from the large brazier at the center of the room. Nathaniel and Oghren were both waiting for them, faces carved by deep shadows from the flames. Anders joined the two of them, handing off the chalice to Tabris, who took her place in front of the dais. She nodded her head, indicating that Velanna ought to stand before her. Nathaniel's eyes caught hers as she passed. It jolted her, her face twisting into a wary scowl. He flinched.
Good, she thought. Let him squirm.
"Join us, Brothers and Sisters," Tabris began, her gruff voice resonating in the quiet of the hall, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."
Tabris held aloft the chalice, and the cursed blood within. Velanna accepted it, her heart racing.
"Velanna, from this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."
Velanna stared deep into the black liquid, her throat tight. There was no turning back.
"Then let it be," she whispered, and drank deep.
When she was a child, during a foolish game gone terribly wrong, Seranni had pushed her into a river crusted over with ice. Velanna had broken through and plunged into the freezing water, stabbing through her like thousands of needles, until finally she grew numb and all she could feel was cold and exhaustion. When they fished her out and warmed her back up, the icy water had left her frostbitten, and it burned her skin like fire. It was only by her father's healing skills and Mythal's mercy that Velanna had lived without losing any fingers or toes.
The pain of this was worse. The blood was oil-slick and syrupy, but tasted as vile as rot. It slid down her throat slowly and burned like bile, then stronger, and stronger, until she wondered if it would burn entirely through her, acid-like. She convulsed, doubling over in agony, the empty chalice slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. The room spun, her vision going white.
An image flashed before her blinded eyes; darkspawn, bone-white and ghoulish, blighted rot staining their fanged mouths, their eyes dark pits in their skull-like faces. She could hear it. Creators have mercy on her, she could hear them all, singing in a dark and terrible litany, whispering through her and all around her, inescapably.
Her vision began to return, and she tried to blink the apparition away. She found she was on her back, on the floor, the other Wardens crowded over her prone form. More than seeing them, she could feel them, a tickle at the edge of her consciousness, or a pulse secondary to her own heartbeat. The darkspawn's loathsome visage was still burned into her mind. She could still see it hovering over her now, with shadowed eyes and deathly pale skin.
"She lives," the creature said, in Nathaniel's voice.
---
Where will you go, little one
Lost to me in sleep?
Seek truth in a forgotten land
Deep within your heart.
Never fear, little one,
Wherever you shall go.
Follow my voice--
I will call you home.
I will call you home.