WARNINGS:
Nym Surana & Clara: Mentions of child sexual abuse
Talisa Tabris & Adaia: None
Rila Brosca & Kalah: Alcohol abuse, mentions of forced prostitution
Arianna Amell & Revka: Physical, emotional, and mental abuse
Immal Aeducan & Brina: None
Nym Surana & Clara
Winter cast a silver sky over Amaranthine. Snow and rain pelted the city, and the dark, turbulent Waking Sea swelled and churned, sending waves crashing against the docks. In the narrow gap between two dilapidated fisheries, an unlikely duo conducted their business on this cold, dreary day.
The human wore no identifying crests, but he was obviously from a noble house. Clean-cut, blonde, wavy hair perfectly coiffed, clothes impeccable and made of the finest fabrics and furs. The smile he turned on her was full of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth.
Clara shivered, gathering the thin, patched cloak she wore tighter around her body. She looked over at her two children. The twins stood listlessly together at the far end of the gap; both of their faces were waxen and pale. Nym clutched his little burlap doll in one hand, its tattered dress flapping in the bitter winter wind. When he saw his mother looking, Nym smiled sweetly, guilelessly.
A lump rose in Clara's throat and she looked back at the human, "Does it have to be him? I thought I would…"
The man sighed, "I should have known spreading the message through word of mouth would be a poor idea; it always gets distorted. You are the wrong sex, and much too old. My lord will pay thirty silver for an hour of your boy's time. That kind of coin can feed a lot of hungry bellies."
Clara's stomach twisted with both hunger and guilt. She was a cook, a damned cook, and she couldn't afford to feed her own children. She had been taking little scraps of food from the tavern where she worked – a slightly burned sweetbun here, a not-entirely-rotten apple there – but her boss had started to get suspicious and employed his wife to hover around the kitchen. They'd also gone to the Chantry, but there was no help to be found there either. The winter had been especially brutal, and a fire had burned through a good portion of the slums a few weeks ago. The Chantry's brothers and sisters had been stretched to their limits; they had nary a rice cracker to hand out. In the past three days, the only food they'd had was a sodden loaf of bread Clara retrieved from a puddle after it had fallen from a grocer's cart. She pressed her hands to her mouth, stifling a sob.
"Now, now," the human reached out consolingly, but stopped short of actually touching her. It was clear he didn't want to. "There is no need for that. My lord is very gentle, and you and your daughter are welcome to wait in the kennels. They are warm – fairly warm."
Tears streaming from her eyes, Clara glanced at her children once more then back at the blonde man. He smiled and pulled a little satchel from his fine cloak, the coins inside clinked. Clara held out one trembling hand, feeling as though she might be sick. The coin purse just barely brushed against her palm, and a shiver of revulsion raced down her spine.
"No," she snapped her fingers closed, yanking her hand back as if she had been scalded. "I can't… I won't."
The blonde man stood there, still holding out the coin purse, his smile was gone. "It is a cold day, knife-ear, and I haven't the time to scour the streets for elven boys. I will make my offer only once more. After that, I will take the boy whether you accept or not."
Quick as a wink, Clara pulled a carving knife from beneath her cloak, brandishing it at the man. "Try it, shem, and my children will have your gizzard for their supper."
She was starving and weak. Her hand shook. But luckily for her this man was not a fighter. He was more concerned about her knife carving up his pretty face than making good on his threats. His smile was back, but it was nervous.
He held up his hands in supplication. "A little jest," his grin became unctuous, "you knife-ears are certainly jittery."
"Children," Clara began to move toward the twins, keeping her eye on the human, knife still ready to strike.
"Mama?" Nym's sweet voice was confused.
Still watching the human, Clara gathered Nym up, cradling him against her hip. She grasped Lyn's hand. The blonde man was still watching her knife, totally unconcerned with anything else.
"Mama, why are you crying…?" Nym asked. "He didn't have food?"
Bile arose in Clara's throat and she swallowed hard. How close she had come to changing her son's kind spirit forever. They were almost at the mouth of the gap. Now that he was no longer in striking distance, the human turned and ran off. They would have to avoid this area of the city for a while, just in case that shem decided to enlist help from those braver than he.
"Mama… Mama's all right, Nym. We'll find a different way to get some food, a better way," she said finally.
Nym nodded, but he still looked confused. Lyn stared up at her; there was no confusion in her daughter's eyes, only hunger. Clara set off at a brisk pace. They would find someone who would have her, or perhaps there were a few rubbish bins they hadn't picked through yet…
Talisa Tabris & Adaia
The warehouse smelled of mould and decay. Dust motes drifted in the ashen beams of light that shone in the high windows. Three figures were clustered in the center of the warehouse. Two were elves, one much taller than the other. The third was a mannequin, a vaguely humanoid shape carved out of wood. Talisa spun, dagger striking out. Her blade left a cut on the training dummy's throat – a perfect strike if she said so herself.
"Good," her mother said, "but you have to be mindful of the fact that your opponent can and will strike back. You left your ribs wide open for an attack."
Talisa cursed softly, wiping the sweat from her brow. "What is the point of all this? I mean, I like spending time with you and everything, but elves aren't allowed to have weapons." She looked down at the dagger she clutched in her hand. "I can't even take this rusty piece of dung home with me … Why bother learning how to fight?"
Her mother circled the training dummy, idly twirling one of her own considerably less rusty daggers. Talisa felt a little pang of envy, as she usually did. Her mother's daggers were spotless, shiny silverite. A ruby, like a drop of blood, was set into the pommel of each dagger. Adaia's full lips curved into a smile, "You never know, Talisa. One day you might take your place alongside the elven heroes."
Talisa snorted, "There are no elven heroes."
Her mother's brow lifted, "Oh? Have you never heard of Tathas, the great elven bandit?"
The name caused a tiny glimmer of recognition, but Talisa shook her head. She'd never heard of an elven bandit- not one that hadn't immediately been cut down by the guard, that is.
"Tathas was a great hero indeed. She stole from greedy shem merchants and nobles. And although she always kept some coin for herself, she gave most of it to her people. Whenever a mother needed to feed her babes, a beggar needed a coin, or a man needed healing for his wounds, Tathas would be there."
Talisa cocked a sceptical eyebrow, but the vague familiarity of the name still nagged at her. "Uh-huh."
"She was quick with a dagger, dark of skin and hair."
The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I get it. Tathas is me, or could be me, or whatever."
Adaia stopped circling, her back to Talisa. "Not… quite, for Tathas was taller than you, her nose a little flatter, and her eyes were black."
Talisa frowned, for her mother had just described herself. And then, suddenly, everything clicked into place. Tathas had been her grandmother's name. Adaia wasn't telling her a tale. Her mother was, in a strange, meandering way, making a confession…
Adaia still faced away from her daughter. "You'll be sixteen in a month's time. I thought it time you learned a little… history."
"Does…" father know? Talisa couldn't quite finish her question. Nevertheless, her mother understood.
"No," she said, turning to face Talisa. "He is…"
Meek, not a fighter, not willing to anger or offend the shems, content to work in the small tea and spice shop that he owned. Talisa nodded, understanding. The less her father knew the better. He was protected.
"So… was Tathas the… only elven hero?"
"No, there were a few others…" Adaia's lips pursed briefly. "And I believe Tathas had an apprentice. Whip-smart, quick with a dagger – so quick that most never felt her cutting their purse strings."
"An apprentice…? Mom, you… you mean it…?" the thought made Talisa swell with excitement and pride.
"I do," Adaia said. "Wait here," tucking her daggers into the sheaths at her hips, her mother vanished among the rotting stacks of boxes.
Talisa bounced on her toes, excitement and nerves warred within her. All this time, her mother had been training her, honing and assessing her skills. And now she thought she could actually…
"Here," Adaia returned, holding a flat rectangular box made from dark polished wood. Talisa's breath caught when her mother open the box. Inside, in cradles of velvet, were two silverite daggers. Tiny sapphires, a gem she'd only ever seen adorning the necks of shem noblewomen, spiralled down the handles. But as she reached out to take one, her mother withdrew the box. "What we do is no tale and no game. There are very real dangers. If you are not ready, or not willing, I understand." Talisa didn't hesitate and this time Adaia did not pull back as her daughter lifted a dagger from its cradle.
Rila Brosca & Kalah
Rila Brosca held her breath as she quietly entered the dank hovel she shared with her mother and sister. The house was dark, save for the glow of a solitary lantern in the back room. Likely Rica was waiting up for her. She tiptoed around the dirty bottles made from surfacer glass and flasks of cheap metal that littered the floor. It seemed her mother had gone on another one of her binges. The room stank of piss and—Rila groaned softly, pulling a face, as her boot stepped in something slick and watery. She had a small lantern with her, but didn't light it. She really didn't want to know if she'd stepped in— A lantern suddenly flared to life, bathing the room in bright orange light. Rila groaned again as the light revealed that she had in fact stepped in a pile of vomit.
"Rila, is tha… tha you? W… whereyou've been?" Kalah slurred. She'd been sitting at the cracked stone table, sleeping there, waiting for her youngest daughter to return home. Her hair was wild and tangled; vomit had dried on her chin and the front of her dress. "Tumblin' withtha good fer nuthin…?"
Rila tried to covertly shake the sick off her boot. "Bolrund is not interested in women, mother—"
Kalah grinned, her eyes unfocused. "Likes to probe th-muddy mines of Moria instea… of… pl—plunderun the Deep Roads, huh…..?"
Rila ignored the interruption, "—Even if he was, he wouldn't use me like that."
Kalah's expression suddenly became ugly, angry. "W-why not… tha's… tha's all they do! Use y…you thun leave you… all of 'em, even yer stoneheaded fathur!"
It was the drink talking, she knew that, but Rila still had to force herself to hold her tongue. Her father hadn't left. Her father had died. There wasn't much paying work for a casteless man, but Toryg did everything he could to feed his family. This included forays into newly excavated tunnels, testing them for bad air or weaknesses in the structure. It was in one of these passageways that he met his end. It collapsed, trapping Toryg and three of his fellow workers. Since all those trapped were casteless, there had been no rush to clear the tunnel. They probably wouldn't have cleared it at all hadn't there been a rich lyrium vein behind all that rubble. By the time the shaft was cleared, Toryg and the others had either suffocated or bled out. And after learning of Toryg's death, Kalah had disappeared into her bottles and flasks, never to emerge.
"Okay, o…" Kalah pulled one of the glass bottles toward her and peered into it. The corners of her mouth turned down and she let out a soft grunt of disappointment when she saw it was empty. "So you weren… tumblin'… whawere you doin' then…?"
Rila took a deep breath, "Bolrund is teaching me how to fight—"
"You know how t'fight…" Kalah interrupted.
"No, I know how to brawl. Bolrund is teaching me how to fight. He thinks he can get me into the Carta—"
"The Carta," her mother snorted, interrupting once more. "You donneed the Carta… you should… you should be noble hun'ing with Rica… you got th'looks…"
"No," Rica's tone was soft, but brooked no argument. She emerged from the back room wearing a beige nightgown, her long red hair woven in a single plait. She carried a stub of a candle in one hand. "Rila is better off in the Carta."
Kalah chuckled softly, "Donwan' compe- competition, hey….. Rica?"
Rica's brows drew together, her expression pained, "No, mother. I don't want Rila to experience the humiliation of slavering after the noble caste like a bronto in heat."
The woman scoffed, shook her head. "Ha… 'Hum…iliation'… Raised a coupla princesses, I have."
The sisters exchanged a weary glance. "Come on, mother," Rica said, "let's get you to bed."
Arianna Amell & Revka
Her mistress's screams echoed down the halls of the Amell Manor. The other servants had long since vanished, but she remained, hovering outside the half-open library door. Mistress Amell's screams continued and Viola, handmaiden and confidant to Revka Amell, had to force herself not to rush to her lady's aid. The Master surely wouldn't appreciate it.
It had started out such a fine spring day… How quickly that changed. Viola had been in the garden with the children, young Carin played with her kitten while Arianna painted their picture. Then, without warning, a spark of flame jumped from the tips of Carin's fingers and set the animal's tail aflame. This being her first (unintentional) use of magic, the girl was naturally frightened. She'd screamed and the kitten, tail still blazing, streaked off and hid beneath a bench. At first, it seemed that the incident could be hushed up, and Carin could join the conspiracy of silence in the Amell household. Arianna had quickly retrieved the kitten and snuffed out the flames. The poor thing was singed, but not badly injured. Viola was soothing Carin when Master Amell came blasting out the door, switch in hand. He had seen the whole incident from the window in his study. He'd chased a terrified Carin around the garden, beating her about the shoulders and back. Before Viola could attempt to restore order, the master's feet had frozen solid, affixing him to the ground. Master Amell's livid gaze found his eldest daughter, whose clenched fists were radiating an intense cold. And just like that, their conspiracy of silence was no more. Once his feet had thawed, the master threw his children into the cellar and sent a messenger to the Gallows.
Careful not to let Master Alfred see her, Viola peered into the room. The library was easily the manor's most beautiful room: a three-tiered masterpiece with a large, stone fireplace, rows of bookshelves elaborately carved out of cherry wood, and three silver staircases specially made in Orlais that spiralled up to the upper levels. The scene taking place in the library, however, was far from beautiful. Revka clung to her two children. Arianna, ten years old, looked dazed, her eyes glassy. Her face was pale and rigid. Carin, seven years old, was nearly as hysterical as her mother. Mucus and tears ran down the little girl's face. Master Amell and three templars were trying to coax Revka into releasing the children. The mistress had given up her son, Fletcher, to the templars nine years ago with only a few silent tears shed. It was apparent that she was not going to do that again.
"You can't!" Revka cried, backing away, dragging the children with her. "I won't allow it!"
"Mummy, I don't want to go!" Carin sobbed. "I'm sorry I set Kiki's tail on fire, I didn't mean to! Please don't send me away!"
"Ma'am," the lead templar, a man with a ruddy, pocked complexion and sandy hair, stepped forward. "Please allow us to do your duty. Your children will be well cared for—"
Mistress Amell snorted, backing further away. A few more steps and her back would be to the bookshelves. "Well cared for? You'll lock my babies away; I'll never see them again!"
Arianna pressed her face to her mother's side, hands clutching onto her skirt. Carin continued to sob and beg her parents not to send her away.
Another templar, this one a woman with short red hair, cautiously moved forward. "Mistress Amell, you are a noblewoman. Exceptions are made for people of your fine blood. You will be allowed to visit all your chil—"
"No," the master cut across her. "These creatures are no longer part of this family."
The female templar and her comrade exchanged an exasperated look. Revka was whipped into a frenzy by her husband's words. "You," she spat, "you are the cause of all this. Your accursed Amell blood gave them this magic, and you cast them out! You call them creatures and beasts, but they are our children, your kin!"
Fire blazed in the master's eyes and Viola's stomach clenched. Her mistress would surely pay for her words.
"Mistress Amell," the third Templar, a handsome man with high cheekbones and dark, wavy hair, was the next to try his luck, "interfering with a templar's sacred duty is an affront against the Maker—"
"And you know the Maker personally, do you?" Revka's voice was laced with acid.
"Enough of this foolishness," the master said, striding forward and grabbing one of Arianna's arms.
The girl, who'd been quiet up until now, came alive immediately, trying to twist out of her father's grip, shouting, "No!"
Revka screamed again, releasing Carin so she could grab onto Arianna with both hands. It was all the opportunity the lead templar needed. Quick as a striking snake, he lunged forward and grabbed the little girl, ignoring her kicking and screaming.
"Carin, no!" Revka cried, trying to fend off her husband, hold onto her oldest daughter, and retrieve Carin all at once.
The templar handed Carin off to his comrade. The girl beat her fists against the templar's armoured chest. Fire began to crackle at her fingertips. The templar used what Viola thought looked very much like a spell on the girl. A silvery cloud of mist briefly eclipsed Carin's face, and she fainted dead away. Revka screamed louder than ever, backing into the bookshelves, sending books raining down on herself, her husband, and Arianna.
"Revka, let go!" Master Amell demanded, his face getting redder and redder as books bounced off him.
"No, you can't do this! Please!"
The master raised his hand and struck Revka sharply on the cheek. The harsh sound of flesh striking flesh was followed by a ringing silence. The templars looked discomfited, but none said a word or moved to interfere. The mistress held her stinging cheek, tears streaming from her eyes. The master slapped her again and Revka lost her grip on her daughter as she was sent careening sideways to collide with another bookcase. Stunned, the woman slumped to her knees.
"Stop!" Arianna sobbed, "I'll go! I'll go with them!"
"Arianna… no…" Revka moaned pitifully.
Arianna's small hands clenched into fists briefly, then relaxed. "Just… let me say goodbye."
"Make it quick," the lead templar said.
Arianna crouched in front of her mother and the woman's hands clutched the front of her blouse. "Arianna, don't go…"
"I'm sorry, mother. You can't protect me anymore." Arianna said.
The girl glanced over her shoulder at her father and the waiting templars. They all glowered suspiciously at her, arms folded. The young mistress glanced at the door, fleetingly catching Viola's gaze. Without really knowing why, she nodded. Arianna gave a nearly imperceptible nod in return then reached up and touched her mother's cheek, her body blocking the sight of a faint golden aura that emanated from her fingers from the templars and her father. The glow only lasted a few seconds and then the young mistress was gently freeing herself from her mother's grip, standing up, facing the cold future that awaited her.
"Take it," the master said, grabbing Arianna's arm and thrusting her at the female templar. "Get these little beasts out of here."
The templars didn't argue, and Viola retreated quickly as they scurried out of the library with the children in tow.
"—boy is already in the Gallows. Send the youngest girl to the White Spire," the leader was saying. "The other one can go to Ferelden."
Arianna looked over her shoulder. Her green, doleful eyes caught Viola's gaze, and then she was gone, propelled around the corner at the end of the hall. The woman pressed her lips together, stifling a little sob. She had been in the children's lives since they were babes, and she would never see them again. Tears rolling down her plump cheeks, Viola returned to the library and peeked in. The mistress was on her feet again, hands curled into fists.
"You brute," she growled. "How could you?"
The master advanced on his wife, and she immediately backed away. "You are lucky I did not turn you into the templars for hiding the girl's magic! How long has that thing been living under my roof? Two years? More? How could you be so utterly foolish? What if the girl had attracted a demon? We could have all been killed!"
"Her name is Arianna, not 'the girl, and she is your daughter." Revka replied, keeping her head bowed, not looking her husband in the eye. "Just as Fletcher is your son and Carin is your youngest daughter."
"I have no children."
"I will never forgive you for this."
Master Alfred snorted, smoothing the front of his vest. "I'll get you a lapdog to play mother with. You will hardly notice the difference."
He turned on his heel and once again Viola retreated, hiding in a shadowy nook that held a large decorative vase. The master blew by, noticing nothing, and Viola exhaled in relief. Finally, she entered the library. Her mistress was facing the window, arms held limply at her sides.
"…Ma'am?" Viola slowly approached.
There was no trace of anger left in Revka, only desolation. Her eyes, the same olive green as Arianna's, were blank, dead.
"Mistress, I'm so sorry. It was my fault—"
Revka shook her head, a lock of dark hair fell into her face and she didn't bother to brush it aside. "No. Alfred is right. I was a fool to think that I could keep the children at home… Fletcher, Arianna, my sweet Carin… lost to me forever. My children are dead."
Viola swallowed thickly, trying to stem her flow of tears. She was completely at a loss as to what to say, and the vacant look on her mistress's face frightened her. "Come along, mistress. I'll… I'll make you some tea."
Immal Aeducan & Brina
The palace was all a buzz, everyone was preparing for Prince Trian's eleventh birthday. Brina, queen of Orzammar, strode around the large celebration hall. Resplendent in a russet and copper gown, the end of her immensely long braid trailing along the floor behind her, she watched as dishes upon dishes of food were placed on extravagant marble tables. Once in a while she would glance at her attendant, who would produce a silver spoon for her to test the dishes with. Endrin had been very clear: everything must be perfect.
"Your Majesty," a servant approached with a large greenstone box in her hands. "Your jeweller has sent over a necklace for your inspection."
The queen inclined her head slightly and the girl opened the box. Inside lay a modest, square-cut emerald on a delicate gold chain.
Brina scoffed quietly and shook her head, "No, this will not do. Green is the wrong color, and this is of human make. The chain is so… flimsy."
Her attendant chuckled, "It's because human women have such scrawny necks. If they wore a dwarven necklace, they'd snap!"
The woman smiled a little then shook her head at the girl, "No human-made necklaces, and a gem color that will better compliment my gown."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The servant said, closing the box. "Right away, Your Majesty."
She was watching over the cook's assistants as they set out the golden dinnerware when her middle son, Immal, peeked into the grand hall. Five years old with hair darker than his mother's, but with her brown skin and grey eyes, Immal was the only one of Brina's children that looked more like her than Endrin. He spotted his mother and began walking toward her. She saw that his little chin was wobbling, a sign that he wanted to cry, but was trying to be tough. And as he got closer, she noticed that there was a bruise on his cheek and his clothes were dirty, the knee of his trousers torn.
"Hilde, a moment," she said. Her attendant nodded and bowed, moving off to supervise things until she was summoned back. The queen crouched down, opening her arms to her son. "My precious nugling, what troubles you?"
Immal snuggled into his mother's arms. He hiccupped and snuffled, "Gorim and I were putting on a—" his breath hitched, "—a pretend battle for my friends, and Trian… Trian said I shouldn't be playing, that I should be preparing for his birthday. A-and then," a little sob finally escaped her son, "He broke m-m-my shield."
And no doubt gave him a cuff or two, thus the bruise and torn trousers. The queen sighed softly, tucking a lock of her son's hair behind his ear. Immal's shield was a cheap tin trinket, a child's toy, but her boy had loved it. He'd even slept with it at the foot of his bed.
"It seems I will have to have a chat with your brother later," she said. She wasn't particularly surprised by the behaviour of either of her sons. Immal was always the one entertaining others, making sure they were happy, and Trian was always the one demanding to be the center of attention. Her eldest son was crowned prince and chosen heir, but Brina thought that, once grown, Immal might present a challenge. She could only hope that their sense of familial loyalty would prevent her sons from doing anything… rash.
Immal hiccupped; tears wetted the shoulder of the queen's gown. She stood, gathering her son in her arms. An idea had occurred to her. "I have something for you," she murmured, heading for the door.
Immal lay his head against her shoulder, rubbing at his wet eyes with one fist, "A…a present?"
"Yes," the queen smiled, carrying her son down the long hallway to the room she shared with her husband.
She sat her curious and still slightly tearful son on the bed and went to rummage through the armoire nearby. "Here," she said, turning back to her son. In her hands she held a small square shield made of silverite , engraved with her family's crest. "When I was a lass, this was my shield. Now, I am passing it on to you." She sat on the bed beside Immal and handed the shield to him. His eyes were devoid of tears now, wide with awe and reverence. She smiled, delighted to see Immal happy with his gift.
"Thank you, mother… it is beautiful."
Her smile fell a little, "Yes…" she brought her braid across her lap, stroking it apprehensively. "Immal, you would never let that shield become tarnished, would you?"
Her son looked horrified at the very thought, "Never!"
She tapped the shield then his chest, "This shield is like your heart, my nugling. Bright, pure, untarnished… That is something precious. You must treat your heart like your shield, do not let it become tarnished. Do you understand?"
His little brows furrowed, teeth chewed his bottom lip. "I… think so."
"Good," she rose from the bed and held her hand out to her son. "Come, you can help me sample the rest of the dishes."