a/n - I may or may not continue this, but for now, this begins the story of the famous 'dark ritual child', who was never truly elaborated by Bioware. I am perfectly open to the fact that I have probably caused plenty of inconsistencies within the DA universe already, and for this I apologise.
Disclaimer - applying to the entire story, how ever many chapters there may or may not be, Bioware owns everything you recognise and the Dragon Age universe itself.
CHAPTER 1
When he entered, the room fell to an alien silence.
All eyes averted to the small boy, now standing in the doorway.
"What's going on, Papa?" His little voice, though hushed and gentle, seemed to penetrate the walls.
The King began to open his mouth to speak, when the boy spotted a foreign face.
Before his two parents, there was a girl. A rather young girl, much older than him, but she can't have been much older than 17. Her face was dirtied with mud and soil, and her coppery hair was matted and knotted. She had very pale skin, her lips were blue and her cheeks were drained of blood. As her grey eyes met his, they exchanged a sad glance before she looked away nervously.
"Who is this?" The little boy asked curiously.
"No-one, this is no-one." His mother spoke up quickly. "You need to go to bed, Jono, you'll be very tired in the morning."
"This is Elsie." The King told his son. The girl's naked feet shifted anxiously in reaction.
"It's nice to meet you, my lady." Jono bowed politely, before quickly being cut off by his mother.
"Jono, go to bed now." Her voice was commanding and strong. The boy knew better than to argue with her when she used that voice.
"Yes, Mother." The boy solemnly turn to leave before giving the girl a final study and leaving.
Anora snarled. "Do you see what you have done?" She turned to her husband. "Do you see? Now he will only have questions! Questions about this one!" She flung a finger in the direction of the girl.
"Calm down." Alistair said soothingly. "It will be alright."
"No! I don't think you understand. She can't be here." Anora spat.
"I can be wherever I want." The girl folded her arms stubbornly. "I have done nothing to wrong you, all I ask for is some respect, please."
The King and the Queen stood, stunned. The girl, who had first seemed so shy and harmless, had made a very dangerous outburst. Alistair winced. She had no idea who she was dealing with.
He could not help but examine her face, look for himself underneath the dirt that spoiled her appearance, underneath the grimy, moss green coat and the grass-stained blouse she wore. Truly, there was little he could remember of her mother now. After all these years, she had become but a distant memory, and a bad one. It made him shudder every now and again when he took himself back.
But the girl, that shivered with the chill of the castle in front of him, despite her boldness, seemed so desperate and pitiful. Her situation was a mirror of his. And when she looked at him, Maker forbid, a guilt so pure and concentrated, sliced his soul. He had done this. His actions had put her here. Everything he questioned about his own parentage in those dreadful days at the Chantry, those were now her questions.
Alistair knelt down to her level. "What do you propose?"
"Well..." She faltered, much as he did. "I don't have anywhere to go, so maybe if I worked as a servant or... or something..."
"Absolutely not. Out of the question." Protested Anora.
"Would you please give us a moment?" Alistair asked Seren.
"By all means." She scurried out of the room before Alistair had time to blink.
"What is it about this child that weakens you so?" The Queen raised her eyebrow, curiously for an answer.
"She does not 'weaken' me. She is my daughter." Anora's eyes widened at his words, as if they were knives into her stomach.
"Daughter?" She scoffed. "She is no more your daughter than she is mine. You had no reason to search for her or care for her before now, and just because she shows up, unannounced and without warning, begging for the food that is for your own son, that does not make her your child!" Her eyes narrowed, menacingly. Alistair's insides turned. "Do you not care for your son, Alistair?"
"Of course I do!" Alistair stuttered. "She is my daughter, and that is that. She has nowhere to go, and Maker help me, I will not turn my children away when they need me, I can't." He looked away. He didn't want to see her face.
He was frightened.
"I see... and her mother? Do you love her? If that witch asked for lodging here, what would you say?"
Alistair's head snapped back around. "That is entirely different and you know it. You are twisting my intentions, Anora, and I won't have it." He swallowed down any fear knotting itself in his throat. This wasn't about anyone but his daughter. This wasn't about anyone but Elsie.
And Anora had to realise.
The Queen sighed and held her head heavy in her hands. "This will stir up even more controversies. We have to be discreet. Even now." Alistair was relieved.
"So, you're agreeing?"
"No I'm not, but I have to. She cannot see Jonathon, she cannot reveal to anyone who she is, she cannot be at all out of the ordinary, do you understand me?"
"I do." Alistair nodded, solemnly. It would be a difficult life for the poor girl, but it's better than the streets. "I will seek her out in private."
"You must be discreet, Alistair. This is of the upmost importance."
"I understand."
Her bare feet shuffled across the stony floor, and once again the small, pale girl stood before the King and Queen of Ferelden. Her brown seemed to be in even more distress than before, copper curls were entwined with each other. She was a sight.
Anora spoke first. "We have decided to grant you a place as a servant of the castle."
Her face lit up, and she smiled. She genuinely smiled. Alistair seemed to feel the room become slightly warmer, and the dim light from the winter sunset come streaming in through the windows to be brighter, more radiant. It was incredibly surreal.
"Thank you." Elsie bowed her head.
"Don't. You cannot tell anyone about your true parentage, that is essential. Under any circumstances."
The girl shrugged. "Oh yeah, sure, of course." Perhaps she expected less than Alistair thought. "You don't need to explain further, I get it."
Her speech was clumsy, something that confused Alistair greatly. Morrigan was always so immaculate with these things, and yet her child stumbled over her words with an obscure accent. He couldn't decide where it was from, nor what could have influenced it.
He could not begin to presume what oddities might have been lurking in her past.
The Queen nodded.
Alistair looked over to Anora.
She could never know the truth.