Note: If you have not already read "Redemption: an Awakening Tale" or "Secrets of the Hunt", in that order too, then you might be a little lost reading this story. I would recommend you read them first, or at least, "Secrets of the Hunt" because that ties in more to this story than the first.

Chapter 1

The rain pounded heavily onto the ground, sending drops of water back into the air for a short while before they inevitably fell back to the muddy path. Thunder pounded the sky overhead and a flash of lightning illuminated the night sky for a swift second. The silhouette of Vigil's Keep stood ominously in the not so far off distance. Ronan let out a huge sigh of relief at the sighting. He was cold, wet, and had nearly been robbed several times already as he made his way north. As he patted his wolf, Ash, on the head, he once again cursed the errand he was sent upon.

"We're almost there, boy." Ronan reassured Ash, who was also wet. Ash's normally white legs were splattered with mud. As if in reply, Ash looked up at Ronan for a quick second and then set off in a trot in front of him. "Vigil's Keep."

Ronan sighed. He deeply resented being sent on this errand by his father, Keeper Silas. His mother, Siofra, was quite ill. For two weeks she had sat aloof from the clan, withdrawn and weary looking. Then, a few days ago, she couldn't arise from her aravel; she was too weak and coughed up blood. As Ronan sat by his mother's side, his father had taken him aside and told him, no commanded him, to fetch the Grey Warden Commander. Ronan had flinched. He hated the man, Tristan. Silas had said that only the Warden could help Siofra, that only Tristan had the magic to help her. No, it wasn't Tristan's magic that would help her; Ronan knew the real reason that Silas wanted the Commander there.

They thought he knew nothing. Ronan expected that they would have at least told him the truth of the matter, but they hadn't. That only increased his fury as he travelled north. He kicked at the mud path in frustration.

When the Grey Warden Commander had visited the clan at Siofra's request, Ronan had been puzzled and angry. Tristan had made him look like a fool in front of the others. Whatever did his mother want with him? And then she had shooed Ronan away for privacy. Well, Ronan never did give them privacy. He eavesdropped on them and found out why his mother had so much interest in the Grey Warden; Tristan was her son. Feeling like he had been stabbed in the back, Ronan had nearly burst out of the shadows then and there to confront his mother. But he hadn't. He watched quietly as Tristan politely bid farewell to Siofra. It was obvious to Ronan that Tristan didn't believe his mother's story. However, Ronan knew his mother. She didn't make up stories, and this story was too detailed to be something she made up on a whim. As much as he wanted her to be out of her mind, for he didn't want to believe that he was related to that shem'lin, Ronan knew that his mother's story was true. And now he was sent to fetch Tristan as his father's last hope for his mother.

Yes, Ronan was angry, furious that his father had sent him like a fool to fetch Tristan, without even telling him the real reason; that Siofra only wanted to again see her son by another man, a shem no less, and the gods forbid, perhaps for one last time. What did his father expect of him? Surely Silas thought that Ronan was in the dark about Siofra's son, so why did he think Tristan would listen to him? The gods knew Tristan and Ronan had no love for each other. But Ronan loved his mother and would do anything for her to get better. That was perhaps, what Silas was counting on. Ronan only wished that his father would have been honest with him.

Tristan would be wise to do as Ronan said, for this time there would be nobody to come between them. Ronan was sure he could take Tristan in a fight, and if he had to drag him back to his, no their mother, beaten and injured, then so be it. He wasn't going to let the fool be the downfall of that loving and caring woman. No way.

Lost in his thoughts, Ronan quickly made it to the Keep's gates. Ash, wary of humans, had sauntered off to the wilds, giving Ronan a quick nudge on the legs and a short howl before leaving his side. The guards at the gates were startled by the howl and quickly drew their crossbows in Ronan's direction.

"Who's there?" one of the guards shouted from atop the gates. Ronan lifted his arms up in the air to show that he was unarmed. Well, that wasn't actually the case. Ronan had his sword and shield hidden underneath his cloak. It was a gesture mostly to show that he came in peace. As the large torches illuminated his face, the guards seemed to relax a little.

"Are you Dalish?" the younger guard questioned Ronan, squinting at the tattoos on Ronan's face. Ronan nodded.

"What is your purpose here?" the elderly guard inquired of Ronan as he sidled up even closer to the gate.

"I need to speak with the Grey Wardens." Ronan replied.

"Don't we all." The guard replied with amusement. Ronan glared at him.

"Are you going to let me in, or not?" he demanded of the guards.

The guards scrutinized Ronan carefully and looked at each other in silent agreement. "What's the password?"

Ronan shook his head in amazement. They were toying with him. There was no password. They had no reason not to let him in. "Is it, 'you're a bunch of halla turds'?"

The guards chuckled.

"Well, are you going to let me in?" Ronan asked once again, impatiently.

"We'd like to, but we are not allowed to let strangers into the Keep in the middle of the night." The elderly guard explained. Ronan glared at him fiercely. The guard quickly looked away. "Come back tomorrow morning…"

Ronan turned around in frustration. The rain continued to batter him. He was soaked and cold. What a bunch of jerks, he thought as he made his way back on the path he had come from. Well, he wasn't going to wait for tomorrow. He didn't have the luxury of time, not with his mother so sick. Once he was enveloped in the darkness, he crept stealthily back to the walls of the Keep. Searching the walls carefully with his hands, he felt for any possible footholds. It was hard; the walls were very nicely maintained. They looked recently repaired, in fact.

However, he noticed with glee a large tree standing not so far away from the wall. The shems may have built a nice wall, but they had neglected to cut down that tree, leaning ever so close to the wall. It would make a natural ladder. He made his way toward it and climbed up on the branches, nearly slipping from the slippery limbs. Once he made it to the top, he leaped onto the Keep's wall. Luckily, he didn't slip. He carefully sidled over the wall, and landed on a rooftop. He was in the village. Gathering the Keep into his view, he began making his way toward the large building.

Ronan grinned triumphantly towards the guards, who had no idea that he had made it in despite their objections and continued towards the Keep, in a hurry to get out of the rain and the cold. Though he had to admit, he was also dreading entering into such a huge building filled with shem'lins, durgen'len, and flat-ears.

…

"Drink, drink, drink…" the soldiers of the Keep chanted as a woman with long brown hair, a man with a blonde ponytail, and a red-headed dwarf all chugged down a pitcher of ale. After entering the Keep and getting lost for a while in the long, dimly lit corridors, Ronan had finally stumbled across this large gathering of soldiers and Grey Wardens in the Keep's dining hall. He watched with contempt as the dwarf drank pitcher after pitcher. The woman kept up steadily for a little while, but then stopped, gagging on the ale. The soldiers behind her patted her on the back and jested with her as she wiped her face and bowed out of the contest. The man in the ponytail was drinking slowly, a smirk on his face as the dwarf kept chugging. He didn't seem too intent on trying to win the contest.

Ronan crept quietly around the back of the hall. He gazed around him, trying to catch a glimpse of Tristan. He couldn't see him anywhere. He tried to pinpoint a Grey Warden, but he found it quite hard. They all looked the same, like drunken warriors. Frustrated, he decided to search elsewhere. As he turned to exit from whence he came, he bumped into someone. He was about to open his mouth to curse the person when he glimpsed her face. He was surprised to find that he had nearly knocked over a Dalish woman. He had never expected to run into another Dalish at the Keep.

"Apologies," Ronan muttered.

The Dalish woman scrutinized Ronan closely, a look of suspicion overcoming her face. "Who are you?" she asked finally.

Ronan stared back at her. She was older than him, he thought as he noticed a few soft lines at the edges of her eyes, crinkled up into a puzzled frown. She had blonde hair pulled up and back. She wore a curious outfit with fur trim on the shoulders and a piece of cloth that passed for a dress of sorts. He glanced quickly at the plunging neckline. The Dalish woman gently knocked Ronan's gaze back to eye level with a wooden staff. So, she was a mage, he thought as he rubbed his neck where the staff had hit him lightly. He grinned at her. "I am Ronan."

"Tell me, Ronan, what are you doing here?" the woman questioned him further. Ronan moved to leave the room, she blocked his way.

"I was just leaving actually…"

"Really? It looks to me as if you were looking for someone."

"I was, but they are not here. Let me through." Ronan challenged the woman with his gaze. She stared back at him without hesitation. "Who are you to block my path?"

She laughed out loud. "You look and act the grown up, but, my, what a child you are still. Go then, if you insist." She moved aside and waved Ronan through the doorway. Ronan hesitated. He was insulted that she would call him a child. Who was she? He was tempted to give her a piece of his mind, but she was a fellow Dalish. She might be the only one that could help him without patronizing him. Perhaps he should ask her for help.

"Wait, I told you who I am, now tell me who you are." Ronan demanded. The soldiers in the room reached a fever pitch as the dwarf continued chugging ale. Anything the Dalish woman would say would be drowned out from the noise, so Ronan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the room. Once out in the dark hallway she shoved him away and gave him a furious look.

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed at him.

Ronan was getting terribly impatient now. Why was she getting so angry with him? Back home women practically threw themselves at him and begged to be handled roughly by him. What was her problem, anyway? "I need your help woman."

The Dalish woman snorted in disgust. "You need a thrashing. Did your mother not teach you how to handle and treat a woman?"

Ronan flinched at her comment. "My mother is the reason I am here." Ronan replied sorrowfully. He glanced with disgust at the room of rowdy soldiers. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her sake."

The Dalish woman considered him for a second. She was inexplicably drawn to his blue eyes. They glowed with a strange familiarity in the torchlight. "Very well then, I am Velanna."

"Velanna…" Ronan thought of his mother. She would be very cross with him for being so rude to Velanna. He swallowed his pride. "I am sorry. I meant no disrespect."

Velanna only nodded her head in acknowledgement. "So who are you looking for?"

"The Warden Commander, Tristan." Ronan replied with slight contempt.

"The Commander is not here." Velanna stated.

"What do you mean, he's not here?" Ronan asked incredulously. "Where is he?"

"He hasn't been here all summer." Velanna replied, watching Ronan with curiousity as he began pacing back and forth in frustration, leaving a trail of mud on the floor. "We have yet to get word from him."

"He should have been back by now…" Ronan muttered to himself.

"You have seen him?" Velanna asked, puzzled.

Ronan stopped pacing and turned to look at Velanna. "If he isn't here, then who is in charge?"

Velanna pointed to the drinking contest in the other room. "He left Anders in charge, but all the Wardens are sharing in the duties."

"By the gods." Ronan cursed out loud. Those imbeciles were in charge? How was he going to find Tristan? He didn't have the luxury of time. "He sent no word at all on his whereabouts?"

Velanna shook her head. "No, you haven't answered me. Have you seen him?"

Ronan laughed sarcastically. "Oh yes, I saw him alright… where can that jerk be?"

"Hey. You have no right to speak of the Commander like that." Velanna scolded him.

Ronan looked at Velanna with fury in his eyes. "Bring this Anders to me."

Velanna was outraged at the lack of courtesy from this lout. However, something in his manner made her do as he said. They had all wondered at Tristan's whereabouts, but they hadn't worried much. He was, after all, capable of handling himself. But now, Velanna had to wonder, maybe there was cause for worry. The way that Ronan spoke of Tristan, the urgency and panic in his voice when the young elf had realized that Tristan should have been at the Keep by now… well, it sent a twinge of anxiety to her stomach.

…

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to tell you." Anders said apologetically to Ronan a few minutes later in a small room. "We haven't heard from the Commander for a while now. We assume he is still on his search."

"That's the thing," Ronan cut in, "he isn't searching for that woman anymore. He found her."

Anders looked at Velanna in surprise, shrugged, and then turned back to Ronan. "Then if what you say is true, why hasn't he come back yet?"

"Damned if I know. I thought he would be here by now." Ronan replied, his frustration and impatience growing. Did they really know nothing about their Commander? What kind of operation was this? What kind of lousy commander was Tristan?

The woman with long brown hair who had taken part in the drinking contest came barging into the room, the door slamming into the wall behind her. She trudged in loudly and stopped before them all, a little breathless. "Sigrun told me somebody has news of Tristan?" she asked. She focused on Ronan, looking him up and down. Ronan stared back at her, a lurid glare covering his face.

"Mel, this is Ronan." Anders said, gesturing toward Ronan. "Ronan, this is Melisende."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ronan." Melisende held out her hand in greeting to Ronan. Shocked at the politeness colliding with the image of this woman he had in his head since he saw her drinking and carousing like a rough soldier, Ronan was left speechless. He reluctantly took her hand in his own in a shake.

"I was just about to ask Ronan how exactly he knows Tristan…" Anders continued.

"I don't know Tristan." Ronan quickly corrected Anders. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing anymore. He had to find Tristan, but he wasn't here and his Wardens seemed to think that Ronan was more up to date than they were. He decided to explain himself, though he would not tell them the whole truth. They didn't need to know he was Tristan's brother, not if Ronan himself was not supposed to know. "Tristan, the Commander, ran into my clan while searching for that woman. After he found her, he returned to my clan on my mother's request. Then he left. That was about three weeks ago."

"Why did your mother want to see Tristan?" Melisende asked Ronan.

"I was not privy to her reasons." Ronan stiffly replied. The Wardens looked at him curiously. Melisende had a pouty, thoughtful look. Ronan had to admit, she looked cute for a shem. He wondered if she was a Grey Warden. She looked to be around the same age as himself. She seemed very interested in Tristan, why?

"So… why now, did you want to meet with the Commander?" Melisende questioned him, arching her brow in suspicion.

"My mother is ill. My father sent me to ask the Commander for help." Ronan replied. Melisende continued to regard him with mistrust. Ronan could care less. He sighed with impatience. He turned to Velanna. "Well, is anyone going to point me in his possible direction?"

"That depends…" Melisende walked closer to Ronan, getting in his face. She looked into his eyes and then quickly shied away. Ronan lowered his gaze. His eyes, they were the same as his mother's, the same as Tristan's. She had probably been surprised. They were a unique blue among his clan and they must be unique among shems as well. Melisende continued, "Can we trust you?"

Velanna drew in her breath in exasperation. "Melisende, not everybody is an assassin."

Melisende drew back in surprise, a hurt look on her face. Anders quickly interceded. "Ladies, please. As much as I would like to help him, we don't even know where Tristan could be."

"Perhaps you could try going to Denerim. King Alistair may have news. He was, after all, the one that sent news of Morrigan to Tristan." Velanna suggested.

Ronan sighed. "I don't have the time to go chasing leads. And why would King Alistair talk to me?"

"Because I will go with you." Melisende spoke up. Ronan looked at her askance.

"You?" he questioned as he looked her up and down.

"Tristan is not only my Commander, he is my friend. I am worried about him." Melisende replied. Anders put a hand on her shoulder.

"Do what you have to, Mel. If I could go, I would." Anders said apologetically.

"Let's go then." Ronan said. He wasn't pleased that his errand was turning out this way. It was supposed to have been a fetch and return task. Now he was going to have to travel to a large city, where everyone would stare at him. He didn't particularly like the idea of the shem woman following him either, but if it helped him find his blasted brother, then he would do it. His father and more importantly, his mother were depending on him. "I don't have the time to stand around and do nothing."