Mardessa willed her eyes to focus in the dimness of the room. Her vision, dulled from years of squinting at lock picks, struggled to focus on the small glass vials held in each hand. She marveled at how the lines in her hands creased as she poured the viscous colored liquids into a goblet of honey mead.
She felt old. Older then her years, but time had been cruel for nearly two decades. Turning her hands up, Mardessa studied the long thin scars across each palm and allowed her memory to drift briefly to happier times. Back in Kirkwall she had many titles; Sister, Refugee, Champion. But now, after so many years of fighting, running and hiding, she had a new title: Queen. She paused in her thought. How many years had it been? Ten…? Yes, ten years since she defeated the Paragon of Shadows' Guildmaster. Ten years since she had taken up his throne. It had been a risky move, even by her standards, but time was running out for both of them. Usurping the throne of the oldest thieves' guild in Thedas was the only way she could keep her love safe.
Bringing a mage among their ranks was difficult and delicate. Mardessa had to be cunning, trustworthy, and strong. As true a leader as she had been in Kirkwall. And she had been successful; uniting the lesser guilds in Thedas under her banner, the Paragon on Shadows became the largest and most powerful guild in history. But guilds were as old as the Imperium, and steeped in traditions beyond the comprehension of the Tevinters.
She remembered their Soul Binding as if it had happened yesterday. The beating of the drums shaking her bones as they descended into the deepest chamber of their fortress. Dessa saw uncertainty in his amber eyes as Anders balanced the knife delicately in his hands. She heard Tahl-Fvrens's voice burst into a crescendo over the murmurs of the other thieves as he performed the ancient ceremony. As Lore Keeper, it had been at his persistence that Mardessa had agreed to the binding. She took the knife from Anders and made quick, precise cuts across the fleshy part of each palm. His body didn't even register pain until the crimson streaks blossomed open. She lifted her eyes to his and passed the ceremonial dagger between their bodies.
Anders took the knife in his right hand and each of her hands in his left. His cuts were deep, messy, and afraid. Mardessa couldn't stop the hiss of pain that escaped her clenched teeth. Anders looked away, clumsily dropped the dagger on its alter and grasped her hands tightly in his. She felt tiny rivulets of blood run down her arms to her elbows before they dropped to the stone floor below. She turned her hands in his until they were palm to palm, cut to cut, blood to blood.
Tahl-Fvren spoke again in long Dwarven verses that Mardessa could barely understand, though she wasn't listening anyway. All she cared about was him; all her senses would register was the mage she was bound to. She inhaled deeply and could smell the lyrium on his skin. Her eyes traced the familiar angles of his face, the fullness of his lips, the warmth of his eyes as they peered back at her. Mardessa's heart swelled making her chest feel far too small. Maker, she loved him.
The ceremony was over quickly, and people had already begun to stream out of the chamber; up and towards the great room where there would be ale and feasting. Anders gently turned Mardessa's hands over in his and began closing the angry red wounds. She caught his lips for a brief, tender kiss. "Leave a scar." She whispered against the corner of his mouth. He quirked an eyebrow but nevertheless closed the wounds leaving behind a fine white scar on each palm. "I don't ever want to forget that you're a part of me now. And I'm a part of you."
Mardessa's eyes unfocused and she blinked a few times, surprised at the wetness on her cheeks. She scrubbed the tears off her skin fiercely and returned to the work at hand. She needed the mixture to be perfection - quick, painless, and permanent. It had all come down to this. "All this running and hiding and fighting has been for nothing" she thought bitterly. They had defeated every enemy they had encountered: Templars, dragons, blood mages, rival guilds, Grey Wardens, Seekers…none had been successful and Anders and Dessa had disappeared into the shadows permanently.
That is until the night terrors began.
Mardessa was accustomed to the nightmares that had plagued Anders' sleep for as long as she had shared a bed with him. At first, the new dreams were unremarkable in their duration and severity, nothing she hadn't witnessed a thousand times before. But these terrors were something she did not expect, and from the fear in his eyes and the tremors in his voice, Mardessa knew that Anders didn't either. That first night she could acutely hear the denial in his voice as Anders assured her that it was "Just another Warden dream". And she had almost believed him.