A/N
Disclaimer: I do not own any parts of Dragon Age or Bioware, this story is purely for entertainment purposes.
To the readers (if there are any): You will most likely not see any characters from previous games, and if any of my information is wrong, I apologize.
In Val Royeaux, Orlais, there was an alienage. It was the largest and most dilapidated alienage in all of Thedas, with walls of stone, rough and filthy, like the streets, like the people. Guards stood watch in towers, determined to keep the vermin of society confined within walls. On the same note, the elven ghettos were a dangerous place to be for a human. Even with proper training, every elf could be a rogue when you trespassed in their streets. It was here that Lorelei and her family came to rest, tending to their loved ones in pain. The elvish stuck together in their plight, and family was far from forgotten. It was when they arrived and were locked in that their cousin, Tirith, met with them, leading them to his family home. It was a hovel, but it was cozy, and they would not have to fear, knowing that their kinsmen were watching out for them. They had come to share their expertise, teach the arts of healing to their underprivileged family members, and possibly save them from the brink of death. Tirith, their dark haired cousin, had cleverly escaped the alienage, being a mage in the White Spire Circle of Orlais, and studying at the university to become a First Enchanter to a lesser circle in Thedas. However, he greeted his family with smiles and swept them up in a crash course of Orlais. Coming from the vast, stone steppes of the Anderfels, the city was completely new to them, and they knew nothing of how life carried on in these universes.
"Cousin, dearest, how is aunt Miranthil? Where does she lay now?" Lorelei implored quietly, concerned about the family. Tirith smiled a little sadly. "She's this way. I warn you, Lore, she's not as you are used to…" He trailed off, opening the curtain for the young elf mage to observe her. There was blood splattered all over her front, the whites of her eyes were grayish, as well as her pallid skin, and brittle hair. She was not the lively young Dalish dancer she used to be, lying in a fitful sleep, eyelids fluttering. Lorelei's heart broke for her. The fair-haired little elf knelt next to her and pushed a hand against her heart, drawing on the energy inside of her, feeling a calming rush come over her, flowing into the elf on her straw mat. She could feel her chest swell under her hand, hearing a wheeze, becoming a sigh. A little preventive medicinal attention would've prevented the terrible illness that wrought havoc on her body. This enraged Lorelei, who sat and looked at her with silent tears. Who would leave someone to die like this? Surely, surely the elves had professed their fears to the guards, who had done nothing. "Ma serrannas, Lethalin." The elder elven woman clasped her niece's hand, sighing in relief as she sunk onto her mat and slept off the rest of her fever.
"H-how long has this continued?" The young elf girl whispered, and Tirith glanced at her, a tinge of pity in his eyes, "Since I left the alienage. I sacrificed so much of myself to protect my people, and I must put up this nuisance of a charade. I can't wait to reclaim this city…" He drew the hood up on his dark cloak, bound in silver, showing that his apprenticeship was approaching an end. His bright green eyes were cold, in remembrance of what the shemlens had done to their home and to their people. Lorelei nodded, slowly removing her boots to sit next to her resting aunt, her own grey eyes resting softly on her familiar face, then at Tirith as he swept away in a gust of otherworldly wind.