(All Dragon Age stuff is owned by Bioware and EA, the only thing I own is my imagination.)
This is going to be a very lengthy story based on DA:O & DA2. I don't own all of the DLC/novels so that might affect the lore a little - please bear with me. Some parts later on will be a bit mature (Zevran is in this story, need I say more? ;X ) but I am keeping it T-rated since most chapters will be reasonably safe.
I plan to release new chapters every 2-3 days so you won't have to wait long for any cliffhangers I might 'accidentally' toss your way! Enough chatter for now – enjoy the story! xD
Prepare for quite a journey, my friend…
W H I T E D R A G O N
{{Prologue}}
The city of Denerim had once been a bustling, thriving town. It had known hardships throughout the years, yet the damage from destruction was rebuilt and the devastation overcame.
Fereldens were fighters at heart, through and through.
Following the peaceful years that came after the last Blight, something changed. People began to disappear: men, women, and children. At first, it happened on the outskirts and in places that would not raise suspicion, but then the amount taken was too great to ignore any longer – whole villages went missing. And unlike the Darkspawn, with this new menace no one knew the source or how to combat it. No one knew how to prevent it.
Where had the people gone? Why had they not fought back? Would they ever return?
"Cecilia!" Maker's breath, I had been seen! It was my mother's harsh cry that ended my sparring match with one of the Palace guards. I didn't even know his name, but he was the only one brave enough that I could find to fight me; the others all knew the wrath that would befall them if they were caught practicing in such a way with me. I could not possibly be any more sheltered unless my mother decided to bundle me up and ship me away to Orlais instead of my home here at the palace in the city of Denerim.
"Coming!" I called out to her as I put the training sword carefully back in its sheathe. I turned once I had set it down with its brethren against the stone wall only to find myself nose to nose with my fire-haired dam. Although my mother's name of Leliana was Orlesian, she bore Ferelden blood, which she boasted of often along with her beautiful ballads and stories she sang for anyone who would listen.
"How many times have I told you to not bother the soldiers?" She grasped my left arm and squeezed. "You know it is improper for a lady to be doing this in front of such men. Have I not taught you better?" I tried not to bite back anything that would anger her further, but so much did I want to remind her of the fact that she had fought alongside father when she was barely older than my eighteen years. Arguing did not work with her, though. I would have to plead with my father when I saw him next. And who knew when that would be! He was Warden-Commander and usually spent most of his time at the sprawling Keep outside of Amaranthine.
"Sorry, mother." I sighed softly, waiting for her eagle-claw grip on my arm to loosen.
"I only do this for your own good." Mother clucked and locked her bluish eyes upon my own gray ones. "You know I only want what is best for you." She took a moment to play with a lock of my long, fiery red hair. Most of it was pulled back in a leather circlet, but some had escaped from the sparring. It was not the only thing I had inherited from her.
"I want to be like you." I tried to plead my case, but knew it was hopeless. Still I managed to keep a sharp rein on my temper. "You were a great fighter back when you met father. I want to be like that."
"Were?" Her eyes lit up and she playfully pushed me away. "Were, huh?" I was not prepared for the sword she tossed my way, but managed to catch it before it landed at my feet. She was offering to spar with me? I gaped as the woman who gave me life lifted a sword into her hand and pointed it at my throat. "Prepare to be trodden upon, little girl!"
We went in circles, slowly spiraling around as if trying to spot weaknesses in the other. Now and then she would slash her sword out, testing my reflexes. I was decent, or so I thought. At least I was no novice in the art of swordplay and I hoped it showed. When mother batted her blade against my side, I carefully parried, thrusting my own sword at her in retaliation after. She was quick and my weapon met air. Of course I couldn't give it my best effort since she was wearing a loose tunic and matching skirt instead of armor, but I was in simple leathers myself so I didn't feel that bad about our match-up.
I went on the offensive and thrust a blow to her side, (which I would have normally sent into her belly but did not want to risk harming her), and was surprised to find a slender dagger pressed up against my neck. My mother had moved so swiftly I had not even seen her – just a blur. My eyes bulged in surprise at her quickness and my apparent defeat.
"Not bad for an old woman, no?" She reverted back to her old Orlesian accent and I could not help but grin at her.
"No, not bad." As soon as she pulled the dagger back, I stared downward. "But you must admit, I am not bad for a 'little girl', no?" I mocked her accent and laughed as she followed my eyes to the small dagger I held to her gut.
"Good!" Mother grinned at me as she put the sword away, tucking her little dagger back in the folds of her skirt. I did as well, stowing the small blade in my legging side pocket. My mood was light as I followed her inside for an afternoon meal. That was the reason she had found me and I did not mind for I enjoyed spending time with my mother. She had an intriguing past; it made me wistful. I wanted to make my mark upon the world like she had.
Once in the parlor, I watched mother pour the tea for us. She had shooed away the serving woman, preferring to do things on her own. However, she expected me to not follow that example and demanded that I let everyone wait on me hand and foot. The policy had led to many arguments and perplexed me. I understood that the servants were paid to tend us, but why would she not let them serve herself as well as her daughter?
"Mmmm, they forgot the lemon." Mother sighed as she put the small golden kettle down and swished past me. "Ooh!" When she tripped on my outstretched leg, I could not help but giggle. Graceful my mother was, so when she stumbled it was quite a rare feat. She grinned at me and with a wink, exited the room, shutting the door behind her as she did. I sat and relaxed, waiting for her return. My mind was restless though, and it continued to break apart each moment of the sparring sessions of the morning as I sat.
I had not waited long before the slightest sound of a booted footstep on the floor caught my ear. Very slowly, with precision and purpose, I slid my hand down to my pant leg, slipping it inside of the hidden pocket there. But the dagger that I was reaching for was not present. Mother! She had taken it during her stumble act! I grimaced at being disarmed so easily and darted my eyes around me for the nearest weapon. I did not have long and knew I would need something… and fast.
Too late! I felt a rush of wind as the attacker leaped over the divan for me, but when he landed, there was nothing but emptiness for I had rolled on my side to ensure I would be elsewhere. The hooded figure grunted and immediately slung three tiny daggers at me. I did not know if they'd be laced with poison so I had to move quickly. I flipped over using my hands to help boost me over and managed to get free just as the small projectiles zinged past my body. Agh, I was too slow! I bit off a gasp as one of them embedded itself into my leg. I wasted no time in pulling it out and whipping it back to the attacker as my own weapon now.
He was fast and disappeared before I could even register his slight form. The tiny dagger clattered harmlessly to the wooden floor where only seconds ago my assailant had just been.
This assassin was good. No, he was one of the best.
"Hello Uncle Zevran." I grinned in greeting as I held myself at the ready. I had no idea where the next attack would come from, but this time, I was prepared.
"Hello there kitten." He came into focus, but then began to blur. No, he wasn't blurring – my eyes were not focusing. Poison! I had been poisoned.
To be Continued