Velanna woke before dawn from restless dreams of a woman, as pale and mottled as a corpse, with her face split from ear to ear in a horrid, sharp-toothed smile. Twisted in her quilt, tacky with sweat, a nauseating song lingered in Velanna's ears. She lurched out of bed, wishing she could thrust her head through the window to take a breath of clear air and settling for resting her head against the cool pane of glass. She shut her eyes, running her fingers over the rough edges of the stone wall. It helped, just a little.
The fire in her grate had long gone out. She lit a new one with a wave of her hand, and in the dim light, began to rifle through her things. Since becoming a Warden, she had lived away from this room far more than she had lived in it, and it still had the look of an inn, her things packed away for travel and ready to move at a moment's notice. Her satchel of herbs was buried near the bottom of her pack, and disappointingly near empty. She scanned the room again, considering. She had lost her possessions twice over in the last few months, first when she left behind Clan and Keeper, and again when the darkspawn and the bandits came. Everything she owned could be safely carried on her back. All the fine equipment she might have once used for alchemy or herbalism, tools and containers and supplies, would have to be replaced. If such a thing were even possible.
Velanna extinguished her fire, gratefully slipping outside into the fading darkness of the morning. She spent the last hours before sunrise alone in the bathhouse, boiling herself until she felt that the Deep Roads had been completely scoured from her skin. Even after dressing, her skin was practically steaming in the cold Fereldan air. She met Tabris in the hallway when she returned to her room. Tabris, for her part, looked as though she had not slept all that much.
"Up late with the Antivan?"
Tabris coughed a laugh. "Uh, yes, I guess I was. After speaking to Nathaniel..."
"Apologizing for your friend?"
"Not just that," Tabris said, though she looked slightly aggrieved to be reminded. "It's… a long story, and I'm not sure I have it in me to tell it again at the moment," she said. She looked at Velanna for a long, puzzling moment, with an expression Velanna could not begin to discern. "Another time, maybe. But since I have you here… Tonight will be Sigrun's Joining."
Oh.
"It's traditional for all Wardens to attend, and so I'd like you to be there with the rest of us after sunset."
"I… of course."
"You know how the ritual is cast," Tabris said. "I will not ask again if you decide not to. I can ask Anders. But I wanted to ask if you would be the one to do it this time."
"Why? For practice?"
Tabris looked uncomfortable. "Partly. The Warden presence in Ferelden was destroyed. I've been told I ought to recruit… more proactively. And with these new darkspawn invading the surface, I'm sure we'll need the help."
Velanna frowned. "You don't like recruiting."
"No," said Tabris plainly. "I don't. If there were no need for the Order anymore, I'd be happy to see it end tomorrow."
"I knew what choice I was making," Velanna said. "Sigrun does too. Have you told her what you told me?"
"Not yet," Tabris said, tired and grim at the prospect. "Soon."
"It won't sway her. If anything, it may spur her on. I've never met anyone so giddy about the prospect of dying in battle."
"I guess that's true," said Tabris, looking none too cheered by the thought. If anything, the shadows under her eyes grew deeper.
"I'll help you," Velanna said, waving her hand as if she could brush away the dark mood like cobwebs. "Anders would probably just muck it up anyhow."
That lightened Tabris's expression just a little. "I'm not going to push my luck with him at the moment. He's getting paid tomorrow. I'll have to hope that puts us back in slightly better than neutral territory."
"Paid?"
"Yes, your stipend. For all Wardens, monthly, to spend however you please. So I suppose it's not all death and gargling darkspawn blood."
Velanna's mind began to race at the prospect. Hadn't she just been worrying about replacing her equipment? Herbs she might be able to collect herself, though some of the rarer varieties might have to be sought in the city, but she would need a cauldron, and a mortar and pestle…
"You're already spending it, aren't you?" The cloud over Tabris's face broke at last, and a smile shone through. "Talk to me first, if you don't mind. I don't want you wasting your earnings on things that the Wardens could just as easily supply for you."
"I would like to file a complaint," came Zevran's voice, and Velanna looked up, startled to find him standing right beside them, his hair loose around his face and somewhat untidy. Where had he come from? It must have been somewhere in the hallway, but she hadn't seen him come up or down the stairways on either end. "You never paid us to help you kill that Archdemon of yours!"
Tabris's smile didn't fade when she scoffed in offense. "So the solid gold bar was worthless? And the silver, and the gems, and the—"
"Those were gifts," Zevran said. "Tokens of affection. Very different from a reliable monthly income."
"Monthly income is for people who can pick locks instead of just breaking them open."
"Ouch!" Zevran clutched his heart as though he had been struck.
"Shut up," Tabris said fondly. "I'll get you breakfast. I know this great place, it's just downstairs."
Velanna joined them in the dining hall, and while Zevran was no less subdued that morning than he was the evening before, he was at least less drunk, though that hardly stopped him from flirting with each of them in turn. How the Commander sat idly by while the man Velanna presumed to be her lover made suggestive comments to everything on legs, she truly could not fathom.
"You remind me of someone I knew years ago," Nathaniel said, having deflected another of Zevran's innuendos. Something obscene about syrup.
"Knew?" Zevran seized onto this information like a hunting dog on a scent. "Let me guess. In your youth, you met a strangely beautiful dockside whore, someone who took you for the ride of your life, leaving you penniless but strangely satisfied."
Nathaniel's expression, somehow, did not move an inch. "No. Well—" He frowned, then, considering. Across the table, Tabris nearly choked on her drink. "Well, yes, I suppose. But he was a prince."
"A prince and a dockside whore both!" Zevran's eyes glittered, round and delighted. "I think I would like to meet this man!"
"Yes, I'm sure you would," Nathaniel said, though he looked weary at the thought and seemed to regret having said anything at all. The table around the burst into laughter and chattering, all of them hounding Nathaniel for details he refused to share. Anders, who had joined them rather late in the meal looking freshly scrubbed and pink, was particularly outraged, demanding to know if Nathaniel was joking and where he had been hiding his sense of humor. Nathaniel glanced over at Velanna, his brow furrowed. To her mild horror, he blushed. "I— would not wish to offend the ladies with such inappropriate talk."
Sigrun snorted around a mouthful of toast. "'Offend the ladies'. Nate, we've gotta get you to loosen up."
"As the Prince of Dockside Whores said to the Arl's son," Anders said, sending another round of laughter around the table. Tabris finally intervened, pleading with them to leave Nathaniel alone, but he bore the mockery in silence, eating his breakfast with all the dignity he could muster and excusing himself the moment he had finished.
"Zevran, please don't antagonize my Wardens," Tabris said, head in her hands. Zevran feigned his absolute shock.
"Me? I? Why, we're all having a wonderful time, aren't we, Wardens?"
"Commander, you have the weirdest friends," Sigrun said cheerfully.
"I am forced to agree with you," said Tabris.
Velanna, having had rather enough of such foolishness, excused herself as well. Now that she was clean and full and hating the world marginally less, it was time to see properly to her armor. When she arrived at the armorer's with her ill-fitted, darkspawn-soiled robes, she thought the armorer's assistant, Herren, might have an apoplexy and collapse on the spot— he went pale with horror and let out a groan of disgust at the sight.
"Don't you Wardens have any idea how to care for your gear? Maker, what a disgrace…"
"You try cleaning a week of darkspawn filth off your armor while trapped in a blasted cave," Velanna spat. "I've done what I could!"
"Well, would that your 'could' works a little harder, next time," Herren said. He made a show of putting on gloves and gathering up the offensive garments so that he could toss them into the scrap pile. "We'll burn the fabric. That's the only thing to be done about dry darkspawn blood. The mail can probably be… salvaged. Ugh. Here, let me just get your measurements and you may be on your way. Before you cause any more damage."
Velanna left him in a foul mood. She had never been tasked with caring for armor before! They hadn't had a moment to see to it properly until arriving back at the Vigil! It wasn't her fault assassins had greeted them upon their return. Every human she passed as she walked gave her looks that, in her agitation, she could only perceive as suspicious, and that only irritated her further. She could not bear the thought of returning to the castle and being encased in stone walls, where she might rattle about like a wasp trapped in a jar. There were a scattering of trees outside the walls of the fortress that one might generously call woods. She intended to walk the grounds, see what they had to offer, and possibly scream into her hands until she no longer wished to hurl rocks at anyone who looked sideways at her.
The gates, as long as she had been here, had always been guarded, but it seemed to her that the guards had doubled their number since they arrived. Given the welcome they'd received, she supposed it was necessary. She had been far removed from Fereldan politics until now; Ilshae had been an isolationist, only deeming to pay attention when the Blight and the humans' civil war had complicated matters. But now, it seemed, Velanna had pledged service to the first elven nobility this country had ever recognized, however much the humans protested. There was an ironic sort of humor in it. The Dalish had long claimed to be the last survivors of the noble elven bloodlines of Arlathan, and Velanna ought to have continued in that tradition as a leader; they would never have recognized Warden Tabris over her.
But Velanna was an exile, and Tabris was an Arlessa, and despite her poor mood, she couldn't find it in her to be resentful about it. She would not wish to take Tabris's place; Velanna knew herself well enough to know she would not bear that responsibility gracefully.
A human guardswoman at the gate saluted as Velanna approached. That, too, would take some getting used to.
"Ser Warden. Captain Garevel recommends you not leave the Keep without an escort. If you've business outside—"
Velanna's mood soured further. "I'm a big girl," she said. "I don't need an escort."
"Of course, ser," the guard said, shamefaced. "It's just that— well, some of the staff have been harassed. Some of that mob the Warden-Commander drove off. The Captain urged… caution."
Velanna grit her teeth. "To elves, you mean."
The guard looked apologetic. "Aye, ser. We've orders to dispatch with anyone who threatens violence against the castle elves, and no one is to go without an armed escort."
Obviously, this guard hadn't heard of Velanna or what she had done to the last humans who threatened her life. She couldn't decide if that was for the better or not. She didn't enjoyed being coddled much more than she did being painted as a monster. She lit a fireball in her upturned palm, and the guard's eyes widened in shock.
"Do I look unarmed to you?"
"N-no, no ser," she stammered, her back straightening. She gestured to her fellow guards, and the gates began to creak open, just wide enough to allow Velanna to pass.
Once she had enough space between herself and the castle, she let out a tremendous breath, the tension slipping from her shoulders. No firesmoke, no blood, no clashing of metal. The clanging of dwarven hammers shoring up the outer walls faded to a distant echo the further she walked. Leaves and pine needles crunched softly under her feet. The smell of people and animals, packed in tightly together, had gone.
Velanna missed her people, her family. Of course she did. But even as a young girl, there had been times when she needed to escape. There came times when it seemed the slightest thing could overwhelm her, when even friendly faces demanded too much of her, when her own clothes seemed to irritate her so much she wished she could tear her skin off. At those times, she would flee into the forest, just like today, and immerse herself in solitude until the crawling of her skin calmed, the smell of the grazing halla no longer offended, and the sound of the clan's voices were bearable once again.
She had never felt unsafe, walking alone. She had learned how to track like the hunters did, to read the signs of bears or wildcats. Her magic had only grown stronger, and she knew how to turn the trees and vines themselves into allies. She traversed the wood now with the same confidence, learning its paths and greeting it as an equal. The forest provided for her in turn, revealing flourishing patches of elfroot, spindleweed, and embrium as she walked. Her pouch of herbs grew fat, and she sent a prayer to Sylaise for the bounty. Summer was nearing its end, and Velanna could see the earliest signs in the red and orange blush of the leaves. She would have Sylaise to thank for the fire in her hearth as well, soon enough.
Feeling somewhat restored, she began to wander back towards the main path. The sounds of the castle grew nearer once more, and the sounds of voices. One particular voice was unusually loud; Velanna surmised she was no longer alone in the forest. She came upon Sigrun, dressed down in light leather rather than her heavy Legionnaire platemail, practically inhaling a handful of damp earth with a wide grin on her tattooed face. Nathaniel was nearby, watching her, puzzled. Velanna had to agree with him, at least on this. He glanced up, alerted by the sound of her approach, and smiled faintly to see her, his eyebrows lifted in humor towards Sigrun. Velanna's skin buzzed, and she almost darted back into the woods before she decided it was too late.
When Sigrun noticed her, she dropped the soil she'd scooped up and waved. "Hey! The guard said you'd be out here somewhere."
"What are you doing out here? Besides sniffing dirt."
"I didn't," Sigrun lied.
"You did! I saw you." She exchanged another offended look with Nathaniel, whose delight only grew.
"Fine," Sigrun said, and shrugged. "But it smells good, like falling leaves and sunlight. Aren't elves supposed to be close to nature?"
"Figuratively! We don't stuff our noses in it!"
"You should try it sometime," Sigrun said, and spun around, arms spread, laughing like a child. "The surface is incredible! I want to smell everything!"
"I offered to show her the grounds," Nathaniel said. "It's been more like a brisk jog across the grounds, however."
"Those long, stretched-out legs of yours, you'd think you'd be able to keep up," Sigrun laughed, and darted ahead to stuff her face in a blackberry bush. Velanna heard her yelp, then re-emerge with a long scratch across her jaw.
"Be careful! Those have thorns! And watch for rashvine, you'll be itching for days if you touch it—"
"Ooh, what's rashvine?"
"Exactly what it sounds like!"
Velanna followed Sigrun around the woods, identifying plants for her and listing off their purposes as her father had done for her once, though with decidedly less of his patience and good humor. Nathaniel seemed content to follow them at a short distance, rarely speaking, except to point them in a particular direction or another. After some time, Velanna realized he was directing them down a specific path, though how he'd managed it from ten feet behind them both while Sigrun became distracted by every other squirrel, she had no idea. She began to see signs of a trail: notches carved into old bark, tatters of ribbon tied to a branch, a smudge of faded paint on a jut of rock.
"Where are you leading us?" Velanna asked him, slowing her pace to match his. Nathaniel looked surprised to have been caught out.
"I came here often as a boy," he admitted. "There was a grove in these woods, where I used to hide when I wanted to be alone."
"If you show it to her, you might never have peace and quiet again," Velanna warned him. Nathaniel only chuckled.
"Honestly, that wouldn't be so bad. Someone ought to enjoy it, if it still exists. I haven't been back in ten years."
"So long?" Velanna remembered now, what the gossiping cook had told her— how Nathaniel had once been a squire to another family.
"I was twenty-one when Mother and Father sent me to Starkhaven," Nathaniel said, his tone darkening, as it often did when he spoke of his family. "Just about the only thing I can remember them agreeing on. My mother's cousin, Ser Rodolphe, had been trained as a chevalier, and it was decided I required his… expert touch, when it came to martial training." He gave her a weak, self-deprecating smile. "I was never a natural talent, you see."
"You seem perfectly capable now," Velanna said. Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow, perhaps surprised to be complimented. Velanna did not answer it, refusing to let it go to his head, but even she had to admit she might not be alive were it not for his skill at archery.
"Ser Rodolphe was an unrelenting teacher," he said. "And I had a bit of healthy competition from the Vael family's youngest. I couldn't allow myself to be humiliated by losing to a fourth son with a hangover. Ah, over here—" Nathaniel paused, calling Sigrun over to a tree with a deep notch in its side. He ran his hand over the mark, pointing her down the ridge. Velanna could hear the croaking of frogs and crickets hiding in the dark brush. "This is from a particularly bad day when I was about fifteen. The sword was stuck in the tree for another year. I lied and said I misplaced it in the castle. Father was furious," he said, his eyes somewhere far away. "I hope the tree wasn't angry with me as well."
"This one looks resilient enough to withstand a child's tantrum," Velanna said. "But I could wake it up and ask it, if you like."
Nathaniel laughed. "Not a chance, my lady. I've had enough being pummeled by angry trees for one lifetime."
Sigrun looked delighted. "Trees can talk?"
"Yes, but they're terrible conversationalists," Nathaniel said, and stepped over a gnarled root, lifting a heavy branch for Sigrun and Velanna to step beneath. Velanna scoffed at his coy smile as she passed.
When the clearing came into view, Velanna could immediately see Nathaniel's influence on the place. There was a crumbling wooden target leaning up against a tree on the far side, still jutting with broken arrows after all this time. Birds had built a nest between the shafts in Nathaniel's absence. A creek bubbled its way through the gap in the trees, slipping over rocks and pebbles worn smooth over time. A fallen tree might have served as a fine place for a young boy to sit, before bugs and animals had hollowed it out. It now sat half-rotted and growing moss.
Sigrun knelt by the water and cupped it in her hands, letting it run over her fingers before she drank. The light through the trees was golden and warm, glittering on the water's surface. Velanna could see why Nathaniel had been drawn here.
Velanna sat in a soft patch of grass, watching Sigrun a little enviously. She would have liked to take off her boots and get her feet wet, but she felt self-conscious with the others watching her. She heard the rustle of Nathaniel following her example and taking a seat, leaning back against a thick-trunked tree and letting his eyes slip closed.
They rested quietly like that for a time, even Sigrun, who had rested her chin on her knees, dreamily listening to the cricketsong. It occurred to Velanna that Sigrun's Joining was only a handful of hours away. If she failed to survive, those hours would be her last.
"You spoke to the Commander, then?" Velanna said, breaking the quiet spell that had fallen over them. Sigrun fell back onto the grass, arms akimbo, smiling up at the endless sky.
"Sure did," Sigrun said. "No real surprises. You hear all about the strange things that happen to Wardens when you're in the Legion."
"And you're already dead, I suppose?"
"Sure am." She grinned, utterly unflappable. "Don't know if the Stone takes us back, once we've seen the sun. But even if she doesn't, I don't think I'd mind staying up here."
Velanna didn't tell her that the humans burn their dead and scatter their ashes, rather than burying them as is proper. But quietly, she vowed to carve a resting place on the surface for Sigrun, should she die that night. Something that suited one of the durgen'len.
Even more quietly, she hoped that Sigrun would live.
Dinner that evening was as boisterous an affair as always, though short two expected faces; Anders was missing, and the Commander's Antivan friend as well. When Velanna asked, Seriah claimed she'd already said her goodbyes to Zevran, who preferred not to stay in one place for too long. Anders turned up eventually, looking very pleased with himself despite having missed out on the last slice of venison pie. Oghren attempted to lead them all in a surprisingly jaunty dwarven lament for the dead, though even Sigrun complained he was so tuneless she barely recognized it, and that she'd already had a funeral besides.
The candles burned down, hour by hour, and the sun slipped away. The time had come. Velanna prepared the Joining chalice, weaving the magic as she'd been shown, and in a stone room, surrounded by Wardens, Sigrun took it from her hands and drank deep.
Velanna remembered the pain of her Joining, the icy feeling of darkspawn corruption lancing through her. She watched Sigrun, chilled by the sight of her eyes gone white and sightless, knowing the horrors she would witness as she dreamt. Dwarves did not naturally dream, she knew. She hoped that Tabris had explained that to her, as well. She failed, in that moment before Sigrun collapsed to the floor, to consider that Sigrun might not wake.
But she did. Tabris herself rushed to Sigrun's side, lifting her head as her blue eyes fluttered open in the warm torchlight, unfocused but clear.
"Welcome, sister," Tabris said, sighing in relief. Sigrun's black lips split into a broad smile.
Chapter 10 forthcoming.
Index.