Chapter 1

Tristan grunted as the little rascal swung at his leg with the heavy wooden practice sword, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards on his behind. The wooden sword proceeded to point directly at his neck, the scoundrel grinning broadly, clearly pleased with himself. Tristan dropped his own wooden sword in surrender, and the boy held out his hand in an offer of aid.

"You are good with a sword – for a mage." Sammy blurted out as Tristan accepted his proffered hand and pulled himself up from the muddy ground.

"And you have a bold mouth – saying something like that to the Commander of the Grey." Tristan replied, brushing the mud off his legs as best he could, for it clung to him like sticky pine sap. Tristan then attempted to ruffle Sammy's curly mop of hair in revenge, for Sammy hated it when everyone did that to him, but Sammy twisted away too quickly, laughing. Tristan laughed too.

Spring was in full bloom at Vigil's Keep, as evidenced by the abundance of mud. There were signs of renewal everywhere. The leaves were budding, the flowers in bloom, the sun a ball of warmth, and the people of the Keep buzzing around outside to and fro, relieved to finally be able to breathe fresh air after a long winter spent squished into the Keep.

Repairs to the Keep's walls were going smoothly. The village, on the other hand, was another matter. The darkspawn attack in the previous autumn had taken a great toll on the village as it had nearly been utterly destroyed. It was slowly being rebuilt. Manpower was short, but the Grey Wardens order was beginning to bloom itself. Many new recruits had stopped by the Keep during the long winter, inspired by the heroics of the order in the defense of the Keep and of Amaranthine, and the savior of Ferelden himself, Tristan.

Tristan, however, did not feel much like a hero. Sure, he had defeated the archdemon well over a year and a half ago now, and he had risen to the title of Lord of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey Wardens. Not too shabby for a lowly commoner who had spent most of his life in the Circle Tower. But in the process of saving everyone, he had let down his friends, Alistair and Melisende. He broke up the happy couple when he concocted a marriage match between Alistair and Anora, thinking that would be a good way to unite Ferelden in the face of the Blight. And then, distracted by his secret, he had neglected to tell Melisende many things, which almost cost her life. They had both forgiven him, but he had yet to forgive himself.

"Back to work, Sammy." Tristan playfully shoved the boy towards the village, where most of the Wardens and Keep soldiers were helping to rebuild. Sammy had grown like a weed during the winter. He was no longer the little boy that had followed Melisende around last autumn. He had protested loudly when Melisende and Nathaniel had ventured out to hunt down the last of the darkspawn all throughout the winter, begging to be allowed to go with them. They had refused, saying little boys couldn't go out on dangerous missions. They had yet to return to the Keep, sending notice that they were on their way to Highever, but that they would return soon. Sammy kept a watchful eye at the gates. He wanted to fight just as they did, but since they were gone most of the winter, Sammy had begged Tristan to teach him some swordplay. Tristan agreed, as long as he had the time for it. He went easy on the boy, for as much as he had grown, he still had more growing to do before he became a young man.

"Ah, do I have to? Swordplay is much more fun than picking up rubbish." Sammy complained. Tristan laughed.

"Yes, you have to. I have to get back to my duties as well." Tristan replied. He pointed towards the village.

"But you're the commander; you can do anything you want."

"If only it were so. Duty calls and I must go." Tristan explained as a private came sprinting towards him from the Keep.

"Well, when I'm commander, I will do whatever I want." Sammy said as he walked toward the village reluctantly. Tristan grinned and turned towards the private.

"Commander, I have a message for you," she said, taking out a rolled up vellum and handing it over to Tristan.

"Thank you." Tristan replied as he took the vellum. It was stamped with the royal seal. With a sense of foreboding, he returned to the Keep.

…

Tristan dropped the message onto the floor and sighed. He clutched at his head as it began to throb. He could hardly believe what he just read. He was alone in the hall, everyone taking advantage of the warm spring day outside. He was suddenly grateful for the peace and quiet.

By the Maker, he's done it, Tristan thought in disbelief. Alistair had found a lead on Morrigan's whereabouts. Yet, I don't know if I should be grateful or curse this day ever happening.

Morrigan had been carrying his seed last he had seen her. She no doubt had given birth to the child by now. It was all he could think of since the dark ritual. Had he made a mistake? Was living worth it if he could not even know of his child? He was torn. He had promised Morrigan to never seek her out. But knowing he had a child out there, he couldn't just walk away. He had to know what he had created. It could be the only child he ever had. He had to know her intentions. What if he had done the wrong thing? What if Morrigan was going to use this child for something terrible? No wonder his head throbbed in pain every time he thought of this. Nobody knew of the ritual except for Melisende. He wished that she was there now, so he could ask her advice.

Quiet footsteps echoed in the hall, causing Tristan to look up. It was Velanna. The stubborn elf had proven herself somewhat of a friend in the last couple of months. She had even warmed up to humans, to a certain extent, surprising everyone when she singlehandedly saved a human village from darkspawn stragglers. When they were in the Mother's Lair, they had found her sister Seranni. Since then, Velanna had seemed to be at peace with herself, truly embracing the cause of the Grey Wardens.

"Is something wrong, commander?" she asked as she neared Tristan.

"I… I need to go to Denerim," he replied. "I have business with the King."

"Oh?" Velanna cocked an eyebrow towards him. Tristan gave her a stern look, hoping she wouldn't probe further. She didn't. "I will leave you be then."

"No," Tristan said as Velanna began to turn back. "Please, stay. Did you need something?"

"Not really," she replied, stopping in her tracks.

"Well, distract me." Tristan pleaded. He needed his head to stop throbbing, his thoughts to settle down. Velanna sighed.

"Very well then," she agreed. She regarded Tristan calmly for a moment, thinking of what to say. Even though they were friendly, she found it hard to relate to him. She had hated humans for so long that being among them was strange. She had no idea how to converse with them sometimes. She stared at his tattoo. Ever since she had met him, she had found it odd that he had one on his face, though it was somewhat faded from time. After a time spent with the Wardens, she realized it was a Dalish design, a vallaslin – blood writing, though it covered only half of his face when it should have been all over. She had never asked him about it before. She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to bring it up. "Your tattoo. It is Dalish. Why is that?"

Tristan considered her question with surprise. It was not the first time a Dalish elf had asked him about his tattoo. He always had the same answer. "Truth be told, you are not the first to ask of it. And truth be told, I never have an answer, except to say that for as long as I can remember, it has always been there…"

"Your parents?"

Tristan shrugged. As far as he knew, he was an orphan, raised by the Circle of Magi after being plucked from the streets of Denerim by the Templars when he very nearly roasted some bullies in the back alleys.

"Hmm, a mystery then. If you ever solve it, let me know, for now you have my curiousity bubbling."

"Yes, if ever…" Tristan replied thoughtfully. Right now, he had more pressing mysteries to solve, like the whereabouts of Morrigan and his child.