When waked, we walked where willows wail,
whose withered windings want wassail.
We weary-worn with wited wale,
were wavering with wanion ward.
When wishing waned, we wighters warred.
When wolfen wan, we wastrels warred.
---
Every step on the road to Amaranthine was a trial.
Hunger gnawed at Velanna's stomach, but they would not be stopping to rest or eat for at least an hour or two, by the Commander's estimate, and the kitchen staff had been suspiciously stingy with the oatcakes when she had returned after breakfast to stash some away for the trip. She shouldn't still be hungry. She had horrified herself, after waking from haunted, restless, sheet-grasping sleep to find herself hungrier than she'd ever been, and when she was presented with her first meal as a Grey Warden, she descended upon it like a starved animal, rending flesh from bone with teeth and bare fingers, slurping down porridge like water. The others had been amused, but not surprised; a side-effect of a Warden's transformation was vastly increased hunger. They promised her that it would become manageable in time, but for now, she was considering gnawing on the leather of her new boots.
Those were another issue. The new armor was-- it was functional, and she supposed it was necessary, but the weight of it was irritating, and the boots weren't yet broken in and comfortably familiar like her own. The unexpectedly frivolous armorer, Wade, had expressed his displeasure (at length, and quite loudly) that he hadn't enough time to outfit her "properly", settling instead for the closest fit they could manage with a pre-existing set of gear from the Wardens' armory. Wade had outright demanded the Commander allow him to take Velanna's measurements so that he could have a better set crafted for her upon their return. Now she and the others in their party seemed a true unit, in matching blues and silvers. It was unnerving to be so fussed over, but if it meant a stronger barrier between her and a darkspawn blade, she would accept it.
The physical discomfort almost distracted her from the relentless buzzing of her thoughts, swirling and circling like flies. She was slowly digesting the talk Tabris had given her the night before. After she helped Velanna back to her feet and walked her to bed with a firm hand at her back, she had lit a fire and begun to explain the ways in which Velanna's life as she knew it had ended.
"My Joining ritual was performed the night King Cailan's army fell at Ostagar. I was overtaken by darkspawn within hours. No one talked to me about how drinking the blood would change me. It took months for me to find out the full truth," she'd said, gazing into the dim flames. Velanna was surprised; she had assumed the Commander of the Fereldan Wardens would have to have been a member of the order for much longer than a scant year and a half. "You made a choice. But you deserve to know exactly what it meant."
Velanna sat upon the edge of the bed, and let her confess.
"You will have nightmares. Or maybe they're more like visions. They are true images, whatever you call them-- when we're awake, it's easier to close ourselves off from the darkspawn's collective mind, but we see through their eyes while we sleep. During a Blight, the nightmares are worse, and more frequent. I saw visions of the Archdemon and its army often, sometimes every night as we drew closer to facing it in battle. I'm not sure what form those visions will take, now that the Blight has ended. The nightmares seemed to stop completely for me, after we cut off the dragon's head, but I don't doubt they will eventually return.
"Your senses will take time to develop, but you will be able to feel the darkspawn, and the presence of any creature with Tainted blood, just as they will be able to sense you. It's a blade that cuts both ways; you can't hide from them, but they can't hide from you either, and if you're clever about it, you can outsmart them.
"You may need to eat more, from now on," Tabris added. A vast understatement, Velanna would later realize. "One of the drawbacks of added strength and endurance, I guess, is that it takes more to fuel it."
"That's why you're all such pigs," Velanna muttered before she could think better of it. Tabris laughed weakly.
"Yes, that's why." The mirth faded from her face, and her armor clanked faintly with her awkward shifting as she mulled over what she would have to say next.
"The blood is a death sentence," Tabris said after a long moment. "We are spared the rapid death others go through, but we are not immune to it. We merely delay it for a while."
Velanna had considered this. "How long," she asked.
"Around thirty years, I'm told, if we don't fall in battle first. After a few decades, it starts to overtake us. The nightmares get worse, and we begin to… sicken. The song gets harder to drown out, and it… compels you. The Calling. When you begin to hear it all the time, even while awake, it means your time is coming. Many choose to go to the Deep Roads and face it head-on, dying in battle before it can take their minds. I've never met a Warden who was that far gone… or, at least, who hadn't put their end off by unnatural means, but this is what I've been told."
"'Unnatural means'?"
"Blood magic. Blood sacrifice. A terrible price." Tabris looked deeply discomfited.
"I never expected such things from the Wardens," Velanna admitted.
"You'd be surprised what people will do to stay alive," Tabris said. Something in the quality of her voice sent a shiver down her spine.
Velanna had entered into this prepared to face her death. If she was honest with herself, she had been prepared to die every moment since Seranni was taken. She had no intention of dying before she saw her sister safe, but the chances dwindled with every passing moment, she knew. Saving her sister was a distant hope; to die trying was all she could offer, now that she had nothing to give but her life.
She had not been prepared for the Commander's final admission.
"You will likely never bear children," she had said. "Becoming a Warden makes it close to impossible, and even less likely the longer our affliction progresses."
Tabris paused, gauging Velanna's reaction. All Velanna managed was a distantly uttered, "Oh."
"You might find that your monthly blood slows or stops entirely, as well. That happened to me, anyway. I've never had the chance to speak to another Warden about it. I…" She looked uncomfortable again, trying to read Velanna's lack of outward reaction. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I asked for this," Velanna said, her hands clenched against her thighs. She found that the room around her felt very distant.
"I… of course," Tabris said. "I just want you to know that everyone here has experienced what you have, now. We all know what it feels like, if you want to talk. That's all. I'll leave you to your rest-- we'll prepare for Amaranthine in the morning."
Velanna's sleep had indeed been restless that night, though not due to any dreams or visions.
Velanna had assumed she would have children, one day, though she admitted the idea was a nebulous one, and more nebulous the further she walked into danger. She had never bonded to anyone, nor had any serious prospects. Seranni had been much closer to that than she; her long courtship with one of the clan's hunters had ended disastrously when Seranni chose to follow Velanna into exile rather than remain. So while Velanna had never given much thought to who would be giving her these children, it had been something she had subconsciously planned on. Someone to build a legacy for, someone to carry her family's history. As Keeper, she would have had a responsibility to the whole clan, of course. It was as common for a Keeper to be unattached as it was for them to marry--Keeper Ilshae herself had never wed, and seemed content with the fact--but Velanna's father had been a man with a boundless capacity for affection, and he always seemed to have as much time for his responsibilities as he had for his wife and daughters. Velanna had badly wanted to follow his example.
That hope had now been dashed, before she had even realized how much it meant to her. Neither she nor Seranni would be passing on any kind of legacy. Their family died with them. It ached under her ribs when she remembered, and so she tried not to, and focused on the ache of her stomach and her feet instead.
Nathaniel was a few paces ahead on the road, but when she noticed him slowing his gait to fall back nearer to her, she sped up, double-stepping past him and further up in the marching line. He had attempted to start a conversation with her a few times already, and she had dodged him each time. She had no idea where to begin with him, and no desire to; she'd enough weighing on her without worrying about his intentions. She'd even struck up a conversation with Oghren to avoid giving Nathaniel an opening, though she should have known better than to expect a more desirable outcome with the dwarf. (Bony or no, her rump was none of his business!)
She glanced back to make sure Nathaniel was well behind her, turning away quickly to avoid catching his eye.
"Your glares suggest that you do not care for my presence," he said, his tone careful and even.
Take a hint, then, she thought viciously, grimacing. "I'm simply wondering how your kind can call themselves 'nobles'," Velanna said, and she chanced another look back to find Nathaniel's eyebrows somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline. "It seems ironic."
It took Nathaniel a moment to respond. Unpleasantly surprised she'd discovered the truth he'd been sidestepping until now, perhaps? "We like irony," he finally said, tightly controlled. He didn't look happy, but neither did he rise to the taunt. Glibly, he added, "And it rolls off the tongue better than 'oppressors'."
"Ah," Velanna sneered, "so you're a funny human."
"Not I," said Nathaniel, and he punctuated it with a flourish and a bow, exaggerated in its courtliness. "I wouldn't dare lighten your mood, my lady."
Velanna scoffed, whipping her head away and fuming quietly, lest he continue to tease her. With any luck, he'd leave her in peace for the rest of the journey, now that he realized she wouldn't be an easy target for his deceptive charm.
They stopped for the evening at an inn on the main road to Amaranthine, a noisy but well-kept establishment unfortunately named "The Bleeding Orlesian." There was even a charming little painting on the inn's sign, depicting a yellow-haired knight in golden armor impaling a silver-clad Chevalier on his lance. When the Wardens stepped inside and approached the bar, the raucous chatter in the taproom quieted for a moment, before a cheer rose up from a few of the patrons.
"As I live and breathe, if it isn't the Grey Wardens-- and, Maker's arse, you're not the Hero of Ferelden, are you?" A well-dressed man, maybe a merchant or some minor official, approached the Commander, peering at her in disbelief. Tabris looked deeply uncomfortable to be so scrutinized, though she must have expected this kind of reception by now, given what a celebrity she was in this part of the country.
"The very same," Oghren said, a terrible gleam coming to his deep-set eyes. "I was there with her, the day she landed the killing blow on the Archdemon." If Velanna had learned anything about Oghren, it was that he was probably angling for a free drink and a captive audience to perform for, and it seemed his wish would be granted. The stranger ordered a round for their whole party on him. A crowd began to form around their group, Oghren in particular, as he launched into his telling of the day the Blight ended. The barman obligingly poured four ales for the Wardens, but when he reached the Commander, he paused, considering.
"The Arlessa of Amaranthine oughtn't drink what the common folk do," he said. It rang oddly, considering the Commander and Velanna herself appeared to be the only two elves in the entire establishment, unless they were hiding a few in the storeroom. He began perusing the various bottles on display. "Ought to be top shelf for such a high lady." He returned with an unlabeled bottle of something rich and brown, and made to pour it into a small glass rather than one of the larger mugs. He was interrupted by Nathaniel, who smoothly set his hand over the glass before a drop could be spilled.
"The Commander prefers the more common fare. There's no need to trouble yourself on our account," he said with a tight smile. Velanna stared at him as if he'd sprouted wings and begun to fly about the room. What in creation was he doing?
But the Commander didn't seem angry, or even confused. She exchanged a brief look with him, and something passed between them in that instant that Velanna could not understand. Without falter, Tabris nodded, and said, "Yes, just ale will be fine, and I thank you for your trouble. Are there any rooms left we might rent for the night?"
There were two rooms left open, and two beds between them. Some of their party would have to sleep on the floor, though they had brought their camping gear with intent to travel on to the Deep Roads after they'd completed their business in Amaranthine, so it would be no great inconvenience to do so. Tabris paid, accepted the keys, and called for a meal for each of them on top of that. A table was cleared for them while Oghren held court with the drunken crowd, a mug set before each of them.
"I'm sorry, Commander," Nathaniel said under his breath, once they were settled. "I hope I didn't overstep."
"No, you're right," Tabris said. Velanna's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, desperately confused. "Better to be careful. Varel warned me about such things."
"What is going on," Velanna finally hissed, exasperated. It was like there was a whole secondary conversation going on that she had missed.
"There's a target on my back, 'hero' or no," Tabris said quietly, glancing around at the churning crowd. "Assassination attempts aren't outside the realm of possibility."
The meaning of their exchange became clearer, once Velanna considered it--it would be a fairly simple matter to pay off a barkeep to slip the Commander a poisoned drink--but after considering it a moment longer, she became even more irate. Who was Nathaniel to defend Tabris from an assassination attempt, when a mere month ago it was he who intended to do the assassinating? She stared at him in open disbelief. Had his loyalties really shifted so rapidly from one moment to the next, that he could so faithfully serve his father's killer?
He was spared more of her glares when their food was brought to them, another thick Fereldan meat and potato stew, served to them in some kind of hollowed-out wedge of dense bread. It was greyer and more flavorless than the fare at Vigil's Keep, but at least it was filling. Velanna devoured it more quickly than she would have believed possible of herself just a day before.
The drinks kept flowing, though the Commander quietly requested that the barkeep water down Oghren's as the night went on, and eventually the exaggerated tales of Tabris and her heroics slowed, allowing them to extract themselves from the crowd and retire for the evening. Velanna and Tabris were to share one room, Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel the other, and the Commander instructed Anders to cast a repulsion glyph on each of the doors after they were locked as a precaution.
"The bed is yours, if you want it," Tabris said, setting her gear down in the corner and moving to unfurl her bedroll on the worn but clean wooden floor.
"Don't be absurd," Velanna scoffed, and shooed Tabris away, back towards the small bed with tightly drawn linens. "I prefer the floor. You people, your beds are all so soft I can hardly breathe, let alone sleep."
Tabris looked deeply skeptical, but didn't argue with her. "Suit yourself," she said, and began the process of stripping off her armor, unbuckling and setting aside each heavy plate until she was down to her dark undershirt and trousers. Velanna picked up where Tabris had left off, laying out her bedroll before she began to strip off her jacket and tabard, chewing on her lip until she could no longer bear to hold in the question that had been tormenting her all evening.
"How can you possibly trust someone who came here specifically to murder you?" Velanna sputtered, without preamble. She huffed, staring at Tabris expectantly. Tabris stilled, a frown etching itself into her brow.
"You're talking about Nathaniel," she said, and Velanna grunted as if to say, yes, obviously! Tabris massaged the growing wrinkle between her brows. "Who told you-- never mind, of course people are going to gossip."
"You killed his father, during the Blight, did you not? And so he came here for revenge. You'd allow a man like that to serve under you?"
"It wouldn't be the first time I trusted a killer," Tabris said with a raised eyebrow. Velanna's stomach churned uncomfortably. "But the circumstances in his case are… complicated. I didn't know whether to trust his intentions or not, at first, but since he took the Joining, he's proven himself to be a good ally, and a reasonable man."
"And how do you know it's not some kind of… some kind of trick, to make you complacent while he waits for another chance?"
"If Nathaniel had wanted me dead, he's had plenty of opportunities to make his move. He could have let me die any number of times. If he's playing both sides, he's terrible at it. It's hard to believe, from what I know about his father, but I don't think he has the heart for that kind of deception."
"You take the human's side so readily," Velanna scoffed. Tabris sighed deeply, shaking her head as she began to unbuckle her boots and shuck them off.
"That particular trust has been very hard to come by. I had to work to find it again. But when someone earns it, they get it. That's all I can say about that. Trust my judgment on the matter or don't. I know that's a place you're going to have to reach on your own, if you get there at all."
That answer didn't satisfy Velanna, but she could see she would make no headway with Tabris on the matter that night. With a grunt, she dropped to her makeshift bed, wrenching her boots off her feet.
When she looked back up, Tabris was down to her underclothes, large swaths of her brown skin revealed to Velanna for the first time. Velanna was startled to see that she was positively riddled with scars-- a long set of gashes that resembled clawmarks snaking up her forearm, a mark resembling a star on her collarbone, a wide patch of discolored, tightly puckered skin on the opposite shoulder where the flesh appeared to have been burned, and far more marking her legs and thighs. Velanna had seen the places where her lip had been badly split and her chin gouged, but the damage only grew worse below the neck. She was thick and square and solidly muscled, and had she been any less so Velanna might have wondered how she had kept herself intact after taking so many direct hits. She hadn't become Warden Commander by being overly cautious, Velanna surmised.
She slept uneasily, and woke with a headache, her teeth tightly clenched. After dressing, Tabris rapped on the dividing wall between their room and the others', and within a minute or two there was the faint shimmer at the door of a ward being dispelled.
The taproom was considerably more subdued in the morning, only a handful of sleepy-eyed travelers remaining from last night's raucous crowd. Velanna's mouth watered at the smell of breakfast wafting out of the kitchen. She was disappointed in herself for getting so excited about mediocre human fare, but when she was so hungry all the time, it was hard to be choosy.
Communal platters were brought before their table-- grilled fish, tomatoes, deep red-black sausages, dishes of stewed beans in a thick sauce, and more of those sweet oatcakes Velanna actually enjoyed. She reached for one, but her hand collided with Nathaniel's, evidently on the same mission. She snatched it back as if it had burned her, shooting him an ugly glare. He paused, then drew his hand back, gesturing to the untouched stack of oatcakes, inviting her to take one first. She scoffed, ignoring him.
"Still with the deadly looks, my lady?" Nathaniel asked as he served himself. Velanna's jaw clenched tighter, her head throbbing. Before, his unexpected addresses had seemed an attempt to elevate her, or mark her as a person of importance. Now she found herself looking for the hidden meaning behind the words. My lady. So possessive. The shemlen loved to talk about everything as if it belonged to them, as if they were owed something.
"'My lady' is such a human thing to call someone," Velanna grumbled. A muscle jumped in Nathaniel's cheek, but he kept his expression carefully blank.
"It is a term of respect," he said, while the conversation around them slowed and quieted. "You think it's human to be respectful?" It was delivered so seriously, she might have taken it at face value had there not been a challenging lift to his eyebrow as he said it. The nerve of him.
"Now you're mocking me."
"I think you're a lovely woman," Nathaniel said, spearing a sausage with the serving fork and transferring it to Velanna's plate, "and due some respect." He speared another, and added it to a growing pile. "So I call you… a lady."
Velanna snatched her plate away before he could serve her anything else. "Well, stop it!"
"Mum, dad, stop fighting," Anders moaned into his breakfast, drawing a snort from Oghren. Velanna flushed scarlet, shoveling food into her mouth so quickly she barely tasted it.
---
The party reached the outer gates of the city a few hours past midday. As they had drawn closer to it, sprawling farmland and humble huts gave way to more tightly-packed plaster-and-stone structures, the roads filling with travelers and their carts. There were clusters of tents, as well, and harried-looking folk begging for coin or food. The Blight was seven months past, but the evidence of its destruction lingered far beyond the southernmost parts of Ferelden. Now, Amaranthine rose before them, the same white-and-gold bear heraldry that had decorated parts of Vigil's Keep billowing from towering battlements in the salt-scented breeze. Distantly, Velanna could hear the cry of seagulls.
If she had thought there were too many humans at Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine seemed a cruel joke at her expense. The streets were choked with humans going to and fro, shouting to each other or hawking wares from little merchant stalls. Human soldiers in armor were on every corner, grimly monitoring the chaos. She felt like a lone hare in a den of wolves, waiting for the moment when they would decide to strike. She had to remember that her uniform protected her, marked her as someone who belonged here rather than an intruder to be driven out, clapped in irons, or slain.
The Commander stopped first at the guard barracks, where the Guard Constable waited to brief her on the state of the city, and on their potential informants. The hunters they were looking for, an oddly matched pair of a broad-faced human and a taciturn elf named Colbert and Micah, greeted them at a stall sparsely stocked with strung-up game. Apparently, they had stumbled upon a crevasse that swarmed with darkspawn somewhere in the Knotwood Hills. They marked the location on the Commander's map, and she gave them a gold coin for their trouble, which Colbert accepted with gratitude.
At the Commander's behest, Nathaniel was directing them down the wide, grid-like streets towards the trade district, when a loud hiss from a dark corner drew Velanna's attention.
It drew Anders' as well; his eyes widened when he saw the source, a long-faced flat-ear dressed in nondescript leathers, and he turned to the Commander, miming that he would just be a moment before he jogged toward the stranger. A heated exchange in low whispers ensued, and the woman slapped Anders' shoulder with the back of her hand once before stalking away, circumventing the other Wardens.
"Word of advice," she muttered to Velanna as she passed. "Don't let him sweet-talk you. He's very good at that."
Velanna was vaguely disgusted. Anders, on the other hand, looked practically giddy when he returned to the rest of the group.
"I… suppose that requires some explanation," he said, oddly shy given his usual flippant attitude. Tabris nodded, urging him to continue. "Namaya is… a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I asked her to look into some things. That's why I was in Amaranthine. The Templars thought I'd come to take a ship, but it was to meet her. You see, during the Blight, they moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety--"
"No." The Commander crossed her arms, her feet firmly planted on the cobblestone. Anders stood more than a head taller than her, yet her presence seemed to grow larger just by her stance.
"Wh--" Anders sputtered, "You haven't even heard what I'm asking!"
Tabris lowered her voice to a quiet hiss, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "We are not breaking into a Templar warehouse to destroy all their phylacteries."
"Not all the phylacteries, just mine!"
Tabris gave him a look that could tan hide. Angry splotches of color rose to Anders' cheeks.
"So long as the Templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it."
"You're a Grey Warden, Anders," Tabris said. "Invoking the Right of Conscription assures that they have no authority over you."
"For now. But what's to stop the Chantry from deciding mages in the Grey Wardens are apostates, too? I want to be sure they can't ever find me again. Ever."
"I understand why you're worried--"
"Do you?"
"--but the Templars are not going to risk an incident with the Wardens over one mage--"
"It took an intervention from the Queen before, you think that's going to stop them when there's no one around to tut at them about it?"
"--and I'm not going to risk an incident with the Chantry over nothing!"
"'Nothing'? You really think I'm just… what, making it all up?"
"I think you're seeing conspiracy where there is none. There's no evidence. If that changes, then maybe we'll talk."
Anders' lip curled, his eyes narrow as he looked down at their Commander. "So it's one set of chains exchanged for another?"
"Don't talk to me about chains," Tabris said, deadly quiet.
"You've never understood," Anders said tightly. He averted his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer. "I shouldn't expect more by now. Have it your way."
It seemed to Velanna that Anders and Tabris had clashed over matters of magic and the Circle of Magi before, though she couldn't work out what exactly they had quarrelled over. The mood was sour and uncomfortable as they continued their walk through the city in relative silence.
Velanna was of two minds on the subject; of course the Dalish were in great danger of attracting the ire of the Templars if they strayed too close to human settlements, but oftentimes the Templars were just as happy to avoid crossing them as the Dalish were to evade them, or else they risked being attacked by an entire clan rather than the lone, frightened mages they were accustomed to. On the other hand, mages in the Circle had access to histories and artifacts her own people had been forcibly denied for centuries. Velanna had heard rumors of more elven knowledge hoarded in Chantry-controlled mage Circles than she had ever had the opportunity to study in her life as Keeper's First. They controlled access to elven magic, to elven writings, to elven histories, and even the elven language itself. Velanna could never have submitted herself to Chantry rule, but the thought of all those precious pieces of her culture moldering in a basement somewhere, hoarded by careless and ignorant shemlen mages… it infuriated her.
"Here we are," Nathaniel said. They had stopped in front of a modest shopfront, its awnings decorated with swaths of eye-catching orange cloth. In sharp contrast to the dire mood Anders and Tabris had created with their argument, Nathaniel looked hopeful and pleased. He held the door open, allowing the Commander and the other Wardens to enter before him. Velanna avoided looking at him as she passed.
"Afternoon, welcome to-- oh!" A stocky man with richly dark skin in a dusty apron emerged from a back room, and he broke out in a bright smile at the sight of them. "Delilah, darling, come up front!"
A woman appeared at the open doorway moments later, as dark-haired and pale as Nathaniel, with the same tall frame and long nose. If her looks hadn't given their relation away, Nathaniel's sweeping her up into his arms within a moment of seeing her would have. She gasped in delight, laughing as she threw her arms around her brother's neck.
"Nathaniel! I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon!"
"Neither was I, or else I would have written to you."
"Well, it's a pleasant surprise, and you're always welcome. I'm so glad to see you, brother."
"Be careful with my wife, now," the shopkeeper said with a conspiratorial wink to Delilah. "She's in a delicate state!" Nathaniel set her down gently, looking at her questioningly.
"Albert, shush!" Delilah protested, but she looked very pleased, a delighted blush rising to her cheeks. "Nathaniel, I've some news… I've only just learned that… well, we're expecting a child."
If Nathaniel had looked happy before, he looked fit to burst with it now, and there appeared a bigger smile than Velanna had ever before seen on his face.
"Delilah, I-- that's wonderful news! Congratulations!" Nathaniel kissed her cheek, and offered his hand for Albert to shake. Delilah slotted herself into the crook of her husband's arm, resting her head against his contentedly; she stood taller than him by a scant few inches.
It was strange to witness. Velanna's stomach turned the slightest bit at witnessing so much unrestrained happiness so soon after learning all the things that were denied to her. That it came from Nathaniel's family only complicated matters. Curiosity and anxiety warred within her.
"You can hardly tell, yet. We haven't told anyone but Albert's family. I'm due sometime in Cloudreach."
"I can't believe it. Please, if there's anything I can do for you…"
"Albert's parents have been just lovely, and one of his aunts is a midwife. We're in good hands, Nathaniel, I promise you. But I'm sorry, we've been terribly rude, haven't we," Delilah said, looking past her brother to offer a smile to the other Wardens. She withdrew from her family, falling with easy grace into a deep curtsy that conflicted with the plainness of her dress. Her husband, less practiced in such matters than she, glanced back and forth between her and the Wardens before he nervously bent into a bow with his fist at his heart.
"Ser-- my lady-- er, how shall I address you? Warden-Commander, Arlessa?"
"Warden-Commander, if you please," Tabris said, and returned the bow to the couple.
"Then, Warden-Commander, ser, allow me to welcome you to my humble shop. Are you with Nathaniel on business?"
Tabris explained that they would soon be embarking on a mission that would likely take them away from civilization for many days, and that they would be needing enough supplies for two weeks worth of travel at a safe estimate. She arranged for the purchase and morning pickup of a great deal of food suited for travel or camp preparation, as well as a generous stock of herbs and first aid supplies. Lyrium potions were another matter-- Albert's store was licensed to carry enchanted gear and alchemical supplies, but not lyrium itself in any form. He directed them to a dwarven tradeswoman a block away, who regularly traded with Orzammar and had dispensation from the Chantry.
Tabris gave Nathaniel her permission to stay the rest of the afternoon with his sister's family, and the others to spend their afternoons as they pleased, with the request that they meet at The Crown and Lion tavern by sundown. Velanna, however, she asked to join her, which suited Velanna fine; she would not have wanted to walk the unfamiliar city alone. Velanna craned her head around as Tabris completed their errands, stocking up on vials of lyrium which she tucked into a leather case designed to protect glass from the impacts of travel, in separate pockets. The bulk of the city seemed to be a much newer construction than Vigil's Keep, to Velanna's eyes, with many older, smaller, and more weathered buildings to be seen the closer they drew to the sea. There was also lingering evidence of the Orlesian occupation thirty years past in the mismatched gilding and ostentatious architectural flourishes tacked onto buildings originally made to suit more subdued Fereldan tastes.
Tabris led her into one of these buildings, a modestly furnished but clean place marked as an office of the Amaranthine Merchants' Guild, where a human man was working at a desk, surrounded by various ledgers filled with tightly cramped rows of names and numbers. When he glanced up at their arrival, a hopeful look broke his frown of concentration.
"Warden-Commander, you're back!" The man rose from his seat, walking around to greet them in the entryway with a slight bow. "Have you any news from the Wending Wood?"
The bottom dropped out of Velanna's stomach.
"I've dealt with your problem, and assigned soldiers to guard the Pilgrim's Path. The killings should stop now."
"Really? Oh, that's wonderful news! I hope the culprits have been brought to justice."
"They have," Tabris said simply. Velanna felt sweat prickling at the back of her neck.
"I promised a donation, didn't I," the man muttered, puttering back over to his desk to flip through his books. Tabris stopped him, quietly resting her hand on the desk.
"Keep it. Do something for the families of the slain."
The man's hand dropped, his face thoughtful. "You are… very kind, Commander. I shall do as you ask. Maker smile on you always."
"You as well."
Outside, Velanna almost felt that she could breathe again. Tabris stood quietly next to her, seeming to sense what Velanna wished to say.
"That man sent you to kill me," she said. Tabris nodded. "You said I'd been brought to justice. Why?"
"You're a Grey Warden," Tabris quietly replied. "The rest of your life is going to be spent defending that man in there, and the families of the people you killed. All the people in this city, the humans, the elves, every dwarf above or below ground. Rich or poor. Innocent or not. That's what it means to be what we are." She sighed, running a gloved hand through her hair, making a mess of it. "I meet a lot of people on the worst days of their lives. People backed into corners do things they can't take back. You can put an end to them, or you can give them a way out, and see what they do with it."
Velanna's throat felt tight. She had no idea how to respond. Tabris placed a hand on her shoulder, solid and warm.
"You made a mistake that can't be fixed. But given a choice, you chose a life in service to other people. That matters."
Velanna found herself unable to speak or look her in the eye, her face hot, but she nodded. No one but Seranni had ever put such faith in her. None of her clanmates had ever spoken of her so kindly. Velanna had not thought of her intentions as being so noble. Her own Keeper had mistrusted her desire to defend their people so completely, she had cast her out and stripped her of clan and title. And yet this woman, who had famously risked everything to save countless others, spoke to her as if she was some kind of hero. And for what, drinking a bit of blood? Killing a few darkspawn?
"Come on," Tabris said. "There's one more stop I want to make before nightfall."
Velanna's thoughts spun as they continued through the gridlike pathways of the city. Part of her was desperately clinging to the Commander's respect, something that she had rarely been given freely in her adult life, and which she had spent so much time fighting for. The other part mistrusted it, and practically resented it. Who was this woman, to claim to know Velanna so well, to see the goodness of her intentions, when she had been the cause of such death and horror? Her clan, her sister, even the humans caught in the crossfire… Ilshae had been right about her. Her heart flitted between giddiness and anxiety. How did she feel? How should she feel? She couldn't seem to sort it out.
She scarcely noticed the way their surroundings had changed, as focused as she was on just putting one foot in front of the other, but when they stepped into a green, oddly shifting shadow, Velanna looked up, and up, and up, to see the dense branches and thick green foliage of a great, towering pine tree. All around them, the buildings were small and densely built, some of stone, but many more of weathered wood, in varying states of disrepair. They formed a tight square around the base of the tree, and the open pathway surrounding led out towards the sea, where Velanna could see clusters of busy docks dotted with little boats. Every person populating this odd, dark little corner of the city was an elf. Tabris had taken her to the Amaranthine alienage.
"This is a beautiful tree," Velanna said, laying her hand against the deep red-brown bark. Even in the humid, salty air of the city, the cool scent of pine was strong. There was enough room under the boughs for two elves to stand, one atop the other's shoulders, its trunk wide enough for a half dozen to circle around it hand in hand. It must have been old indeed. "I did not expect to find one strong and thriving in a shemlen town."
"The vhenadahl," Tabris said, craning her head up to take in the full sight of it. "There was one where I grew up in Denerim, as well, though it looked a fair bit different."
"'The tree of the People'," Velanna translated. The flat-ears may have forgotten, but ghosts of their history remained. "The Dalish know this as a dahl'amythal-- the tree of Mythal. Our keepers' staves are cut from its like. Our Keeper, Ilshae, had such a staff cut for me, for when I would take on her role." She wondered who would be taking it instead-- Faladhin, perhaps. He was a talented mage, for such a young man, and Ilshae had always been fond of him. Velanna's throat burned. She felt insignificant and ugly next to this beautiful, resilient thing.
She felt Tabris's solid hand on her shoulder again. "I'm sorry you never got that chance."
Velanna recoiled, tearing herself away. "Is that meant to console me? Ilshae knew me like a daughter, and yet she said I would have destroyed our clan. And you think you know better than she?"
Velanna felt a twinge of guilt at the Commander's stunned look. She did not know what mistake of Velanna's had led her friends and family into those cursed woods, to their deaths. She did not know that Velanna had rightly been cast out. But the misguided reassurances picked at the scabs, drawing blood, and Velanna could not help but be pained by it.
"Ah, enough of this," she muttered. She felt too ashamed to explain or apologize. Would that the earth would open up and swallow her instead. "Let us move on."
Tabris regarded her in concerned silence for a moment, but she let it drop, and left the shade of the tree, allowing Velanna to follow after her without comment. The roads here were unpaved, sandy earth dirtying the feet and clouding the air with dust. They drew plenty of open stares as they passed by all manner of elves, and more than a few barely-concealed whispers. Velanna's skin itched at the unwanted attention.
"Are those a couple of Dalish?" one muttered from an alleyway, gawking openly, jogging over to get a better look and gesturing to someone further down the road. "Nella, come see!" Tabris and Velanna nearly had to stop in the road to avoid walking into the two of them. Was such rude behavior common to the flat-ears of the city?
"Ooh, this one's very stern, isn't she?" his companion said as she approached, as if Velanna were a statue or a piece of pottery to be commented on. "What are they doing here, do you think?"
"I'm right here, you slack-jawed oafs," Velanna barked, sneering at the way they flinched away from her. "At least have the courtesy to address me directly."
"Oh," the man said, his eyes growing large. "W-we're sorry, great lady, we didn't mean to offend." If he weren't shrinking back so, she would have thought it sarcasm.
Tabris evidently sympathized with the pathetic creature. "Velanna, these are your people," she said warningly.
"Why," Velanna said, "because they have pointed ears and a delicate bone structure? How are these 'my people'? Look at how they cower." Velanna's eyes slid over them, distaste curling her lip. "They're like frightened animals. The sight of them sickens me." She relentlessly pushed away the feeling that she was hardly better than they, rejected by her true people as she had been. How much easier it was for her to draw blood, rather than lick her own wounds.
The Commander's concern transformed incrementally into anger, hurt, and disbelief. "Do I make you sick, too?"
Velanna faltered. "You… have proven different. You did not run in fear when I threatened you. Who will stand up for them, or respect them, if they allow themselves to be terrified of passersby?" Her heart was torn between respect for Ilshae, her teacher, her surrogate mother, who had called her a danger to their clan, and her knowledge that the humans who drove them from their lands would never have let them be, whether the clan cowered and ran or not. Was it better for a fire to rage until nothing was left, or be snuffed like a candle flame? How could anyone be content to roll over and submit to such indignity?
"You're a particularly scary passerby," Tabris said with a wry twist to her mouth.
"It makes no difference," Velanna said, flustered but defiant. "Human, Dalish, dwarf-- no one should be able to tell them their place."
Including herself.
Velanna stuck her chin out, gritting her teeth as she reached into her bag. They needed to know. They all needed to know that there was more to life than running and hiding and waiting for the next sword to fall upon them.
"You two," she said, and she withdrew her hand from her bag, fingers clutched around the halla horn and heartwood amulet. It still hung from its snapped leather cord, as beautiful as the day Ilshae had given it to her. "A Dalish amulet, carved from the heart of a tree as old as this world. Remember who you are." She thrust it towards them, daring them to face her with their backs straight and their heads held high.
The woman haltingly took the necklace from her, looking at it curiously. There. Maybe it would do some good now, out of her hands and in someone else's. Or maybe they would sell it at the first opportunity. She told herself she didn't care. Tabris was all about choices, wasn't she? Now the choice was theirs.
As they left the two startled elves, Tabris regarded Velanna carefully. Velanna avoided her eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek. If the Commander had any comment to make, she kept it to herself.
Their destination in the alienage was the home of its recently-instated Bann, Lethe. "Hello, hahren," Tabris said to the wizened elf who answered their knock, a bent old woman with thick, bushy salt-and-pepper hair and a pair of brown eyes that looked unusually large behind her wire spectacles. Her home was one cramped room, her bed divided from the kitchen and living area by an alcove across which was drawn a surprisingly beautiful bolt of dyed cloth, elaborately embroidered with swirling patterns. There was a fireplace, the mantle crowded with keepsakes and candles, and a mismatched collection of chairs and cushions centered around a modestly-populated bookshelf. She invited the two of them inside, and offered them tea. "We won't take up much of your time," Tabris said. "I just wanted to check in with you to see if there are any problems in the alienage that could use my attention."
There were, unsurprisingly. Bann Lethe outlined all the issues of the day, as she heated a kettle over her little fire. The ownership and usage rights of the docks beside the alienage were under dispute, the elves who worked there under human supervision arguing their right to own their own fishing and transport vessels. The potential repealment of the law forbidding elven civilians to carry weapons was still hotly contested, and there had been crackdowns on concealed knives and the like by the guardsmen, including the widely-protested detainment of an elven fisherman with a boning knife. Elves throughout the alienage were subject to random searches given no cause, and offered nothing for their trouble save a few new bruises.
There was progress, as well; Tabris had apparently donated funds to the alienage, allowing them to hire a number of elven workers to begin repairs on much of the alienage's most dangerously degraded infrastructure, shoring up foundations and beginning repairs on the most-used stretches of road. Lethe had been in communication with Denerim's Bann Shianni, and while the two of them struggled to be respected on the same level as their human counterparts, each agreed it was a step towards accomplishing more than they would have been able to on their own.
"She's a real firecracker, that Shianni," Lethe said with a little cackle. The Commander's face looked terribly soft as she sipped her tea. "All the piss and vinegar of youth, eh?"
"You've smelled her, too, then?" Tabris said with a lift of her eyebrows, and Lethe barked another laugh, slapping her knee.
"I'll tell her you said that, you little demon."
The tea was surprisingly good, though there there was no milk, warm and spicy and doing a passable job at smoothing the edges of Velanna's brittle mood. The drawback was that it reminded her how deeply exhausted she was after a solid day on her feet, lost in her conflicted thoughts.
Tabris promised Lethe that while she would soon be underground and out of contact, the moment she returned to Vigil's Keep she would speak with her advisors about addressing the elves' concerns. They were sent on their way with well-wishes and a pouch of tea leaves, tucked into Tabris' pack with a wink.
The sun was just beginning to set, the city painted in warm oranges and pinks as they left the alienage, making their way back towards the center of town to meet the other Wardens. The tavern was bustling, but the crowd was far more subdued than the previous evening's. They would each have a bed of their own that night, though still just between two rooms. Oghren was already well-situated at the bar, trading bawdy stories with the dwarf tending it while he drank. Nathaniel arrived not long after, sitting down for a meal with the three of them and cheerfully filling Tabris in on the state of his soon-to-be-expanding family.
"I can't believe I'm going to be an uncle," he said, practically glowing in the warm light of the tavern. "Sometimes, when I look at Delilah, it's hard not to see the little brat she was when I left home. Now she's a mother." His obvious devotion to his sister was the one point on which Velanna couldn't fault him. His intentions with Tabris, or with Velanna herself, were a mystery she was still trying to unravel, but if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that.
What had passed between him and Tabris, to make her forgive him? Had he truly forgiven her in kind? Velanna imagined meeting her father's killer now, and could not believe she would have any amount of mercy to spare him. She had been twelve years old; when the human sellsword fell beneath a barrage of Dalish arrows, Velanna had seen the life leave his eyes and knew it had been justice. Tabris, who had spoken to her so passionately of mercy and second chances, had judged Nathaniel's father herself, and found it just to end his life. What must it be like, to have been raised by such a man? To have been his successor? Nathaniel venerated his cruel father so much he had sought to repay blood with blood, and yet here he now sat. What was she to think?
The conversation flowed, mostly between Oghren and Nathaniel, as Velanna herself was too tired and contemplative to participate, but she noticed Tabris getting quieter as the night went on, glancing from the table to the door with mounting agitation. After hours had passed, their meal long finished, she stopped them all with a hand raised to silence them, and asked the question that had plainly been bothering her for some time.
"Where's Anders?"