Dragon Age: Origins

Last of the Elvhenan

Chapter One: Child of the Dalish

When enough time had passed, and the jagged blades of painful memories had faded a little, I would sometimes look back on the events that took place during the thirtieth year of the ninth age, the Dragon Age, and wonder how it all began. My husband maintains that it was all the teyrn's fault, but I assure him with mild humor at his stubbornness, which has finally diminished from outright hatred, that it began long before the teyrn. With the sudden shifts in political power and the bitter wars from without and within, I was sure of only one thing, and that was that one man could not have been the catalyst to it all. If I wanted to use a broad, general view of the entire situation, I could have claimed that it started when prideful mages attempted to usurp the mantle of Heaven, when the Darkspawn were first cast into our world, when the Grey Wardens first appeared. But those are different stories, belonging to others and which I feel I have no full authority to comment on accurately. The only origin I can claim for certain is that of my own, and the only beginning I can see for sure is my beginning.

I was born to a tribe of the Dalish elves, nomadic beings who hold on to the old ways as tightly as they can, yet over the centuries it has become like trying to hold cupped water in your hands. The details trickle past your fingers before you can stop them, and more often than not it is as though we are ghosts, mere pale imitations and shadows of the proud creatures we had once been. Our lore is lost to us through the channels of time, and the most any of us can do is grasp at what fragments still remain. I believe that is one of the things that draws us so close to one another-the knowledge that all we still honestly have is each other, as even the truths about ourselves are in danger of being forgotten completely.

The name I was given is Ilysiade Mahariel, though I was not given it by my parents, who died long before I could even form tangible memories of them. I am told it means, among other things, "that which follows the moon", or simply "moon chaser", a tribute to my mother who, in the grief over losing my father, walked into the darkness and was never seen again. When I was very small I would sometimes sit by the river and stare up at the glowing orb suspended in night sky, wondering if its alluring light had somehow swallowed up my mother. I would then look at the reflection dancing on the river water, and thought if I could touch the moon I might be able to rescue my mother from whatever darkness she had been consumed by. All I got for my trouble was a near-drowning experience. I did not make that mistake again.

As we are a close-knit clan, I was seldom self-conscious of my lack of parents. My care was primarily overseen by a kind elven woman named Ashalle, and she was both a mother and a teacher to me, loving me and guiding me through the tumultuous and often ornery times of my youth. As a child I was even-tempered enough, but disliked being still for long periods of time and often left Ashalle's watch in pursuit of my own adventures. Keeper Marethari would scold me endlessly for my ways, stating that I was like a quickling caught in an elven body, that I needed to learn patience lest I grow old before my time. I was young enough that I easily shrugged off such scathing remarks. There were many other Dalish children to play and grow with, and we all entertained our own fancies of becoming great Dalish warriors one day. We listened with delight to the old tales our parents and grandparents and elders would spin, carefully omitting the lessons of caution from our rambunctious minds and instead focusing exclusively on the strength and heroics of our people. Collectively, we all grew with two notions firmly planted and sown into our heads: the first was to always respect and remember the past, for it is up to us to carry our half-forgotten lore into the next generation. The second was a general caution and disdain for all humans.

As a Dalish, I grew accustom to never remaining in one spot for very long. We are wanderers, rarely welcome anywhere for very long, and rather than fight what we all instinctively knew would be a losing war with the humans, we quietly resign ourselves to our ways and move frequently enough to not cause a disturbance. Uprooting our aravels and moving on was not always due to human contempt, as the changing in the seasons would also bring cause to shift our location. I hardly saw much of the transformations in nature that accompanied the traditional changing of the year as a child. Late spring days followed by summer permeated most my memories, and occasional signs of autumn are present, but usually we would relocate before the weather turned cold. I would often look forward to the moves, in spite of the amount of work it would take to ensure no one and nothing was ever left behind. It brought with it new places, or the returning to old places that were slightly changed by time spent away. It also brought with it one of the few times I was allowed to ride the halla with Ashalle, a pastime I enjoyed more than anything else as a small Dalish girl. The halla keeper, Maren, said I had a way with the beautiful creatures, that I was touched by Ghilan'nain, the mother of Halla, which is why they so enjoyed bearing me with them. The thought delighted me.

When I grew old enough to start really noticing the world around me, there was a presence of which I was always acutely aware. That presence was Tamlen, a Dalish boy a few years my senior who was nevertheless a few inches shorter than I as a child. He had hair the color of sawdust and light blue eyes to match my own, and I am told from the moment we laid eyes on each other and he playfully pulled a handful of my raven-colored locks, we were friends. Just as there was never a day without a dawn and never a night without twilight, there was never life without Tamlen being present or within calling distance. We listened to Hahren Paivel's stories together, played amongst the halla together, chose our Dalish brandings together, and more often than not got into mischief together. Yet there was an unbreakable code of childhood trust between the two of us, and no matter what the other did, we never informed the adults of the perpetrator's sins. Rather, we would commit them together.

However, when enough time passed, Tamlen and I came to the point where we began to grow apart. It was in my ninth year of life when the incident happened. Being older, Tamlen began to adopt a more protective attitude towards me, and soon his constant watching became more akin to orders and hindrance. I did not want to know the dangers of traversing through the Brecillian forest alone, or the risks of mishandling the hunter's weapons like they were toys, or the hazards associated with sneaking off to observe the human interlopers that occasionally passed by our camps. I wanted only the thrill of life and discovery, and his attempts to dissuade me from such actions I was willing to bet my river stone bracelets he would have committed himself frustrated me to the point of breaking. I grew so angry at him that I yelled at him one day and ordered him to leave me alone and never follow in my shadow again. After all, I was old enough to take care of myself, I reasoned. I regretted such words the moment I was playing with the other children by the lakeside. I slipped off the boulder I was crouching on and hit my head, tumbling into the water like a sack of stones. When I finally revived, I was certain the white light had drawn me to the Beyond where I would wander as a restless spirit. When my vision cleared, along with the water from my lungs, I was aware of two things; my head hurt like the blazes, and Tamlen was bending over me, trying to help. I will never forget the look of fear and concern on his face. Feeling too nauseated to walk, he carried me on his back all the way to our camp. I never wished him away again.

As one ages, one begins to shoulder the responsibilities that accompanies becoming an adult. I was nearing eighteen when Keeper Marethari said I finally had become elven enough to slow down and carefully observe the world around me. Time for me was spent less on games and adventures and more on deciding what I would become within my tribe. It is up to each of us to resolve where our path will take us, and we must choose something to our strengths, as to not become a burden on our family. We have herders and cooks, gatherers and herbalists, healers and hunters, blacksmiths and barterers. Tamlen and I had grown and changed again from what we were as children, but our bonds remained strong. In a way, it was as though our positions suddenly reversed, as I began cautioning him against recklessness and he and the other boys became more hot-headed and quick to fight or find trouble. Tamlen decided long before I that he would become a hunter. He grew tall, taller than I, taller even than most of the other young men in camp, and would occupy most of his time with archery practice and sparring with the other youths. He was quite skilled at it, and fast became one of the tribe's most promising hunters. I watched him one day practicing, noticing how strong he had become, how his skin had tanned under the sun, how his hands had grown rough from work and his eyes firm and determined. A strange feeling came over me, a sort of dizziness and fogginess that clouded my mind and made it difficult to look my closest friend in the eye over the next few days. I asked Ashalle if I was sick. She smiled and told me yes, but it was not the type of illness I should concern myself with too much. I listened to her, and gradually developed the ability to shrug off such feelings in Tamlen's presence, save for a fluttering in my gut.

My own path seemed harder to find than Tamlen's had been for him. Master Ilen said I lacked the appreciation to be a blacksmith within the tribe, which I heartily agreed with. I also lacked the will to learn to barter with the humans, the magic ability to assist Keeper Marethari as a healer, and even the desire to help with the halla. That which I felt most strongly for was to spend my time within the forest, flitting between the trees like a shadow amongst the leaves. Yet though I had the will, appreciation and desire to be a hunter, I did not have Tamlen's skill, and he progressed much faster than I. I was not untalented by any means, but rather I seemed to rush myself through my learnings. I had good reason to. Tamlen was at the point that he could become an official hunter before I was even close. Tamlen would be viewed as an adult amongst my people. I was viewed as still a child.

The night Tamlen brought home the trophies of his first successful hunt and officially became a Dalish hunter, I was sullen and withdrawn. I tried to be happy for him, as everyone else was, but my mixed emotions got the better of me. It was as though, to me, Tamlen was now at a place I could not reach yet, and no amount of rushing or hurrying would get me to that point any faster. He had grown in a way I had not. It made me feel lonely. He saw through my forced smile and sensed my lack of enthusiasm, though I evaded his questions for a few nights. Finally, when his pestering got the better of my strained state of mind, I admitted to him that I was shamefully jealous of his new position within the tribe. He was an adult, and could go with the hunters on real hunts, take up real responsibilities. Also, among other things, he was free to choose a wife now. I could not bind with a member of my clan until I was no longer seen as a child, and the thought of Tamlen picking a partner made me sad.

But Tamlen smiled at me and told me it was okay, that he would wait until I was also a recognized adult in the tribe before he chose a wife. I wasn't sure if he simply wanted to make me feel better, and never questioned him about it, but it was almost as though an unspoken promise was forged between us that night. For the time being, we let our friendship remain unchanged, and I no longer felt as sad.

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I always assumed I would spend my entire life with my clan. I never thought I would leave the forests we frequented or the places we grew up in. To me, the outside world beyond the vast trees did not fully exist, and whatever lay over the horizon in human territory was no concern of mine. I believed I would live with the Dalish elves that were my family, and I would die with them. I believed my life would consist of nomadic wandering, hunting game through the woods, listening to the past tales from the elders, learning from Keeper Marethari, and attending the Arlathvhen every decade with the other Dalish tribes to exchange greetings and acquired knowledge. Such things were my reality, my whole world, and I never imagined leaving them. Tamlen seemed to feel the same. He would often jokingly say to me that no matter what happened, he would always be there to carry me home after I fell. Like me, he never fathomed being separated from that which we knew.

Such things change.

Such things changed during the thirtieth year of the ninth age, during the Dragon Age, a time that prophets foresaw would bring about violent and dramatic changes for all of Thedas. Whether all of Thedas was truly affected, I cannot say. What I can say is that my world was affected, and everything I knew would fall away from me like the leaves from a grand oak tree. I would be cast into a realm and a role I would never have chosen for myself, and had I known what would become of me, I cannot honestly say whether I would have risen to my position or fled like a frightened child. I think that is why Fate is such a coy mistress. One does not choose such a path for themselves, one can only weather it to the best of their ability. Were we all aware of our destinations in life, of the trials and tribulations that awaited us, we would probably stop and get nowhere at all.

I think the day it truly all began for me was the best and worst day of my life.

It was the day I met Duncan.