STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Dragon Age and all of its locations, characters, etc are the intellectual property of Bioware and Electronic Arts. I don't own anything...except for Chalia. She's mine. All mine, you hear? *evil grin*
Author's Note:
Fans of the City Elf origin will notice that I definitely took some liberties here. In my story, Chalia Tabris (my character), Soris and Shianni are not cousins. They are siblings. I did this for a number of reasons, but most of it has to do with major plot points to come later in the story. Soris is pretty important here, much more-so than in the game. Just take my word for it, okay?
Also, I am playing up the elf/human prejudices in this story. There will be a lot of blatant racism, and let's just say that once Alistair is finally introduced (which is not going to happen anytime soon, I can promise you), it will not be all tickles and hugs. There will be romance, but I'm telling you now that this is not going to be one of those stories where the female protagonist falls all head over heels in love with the guy at first sight. I find that annoying. Oh, and there will be sex. Probably not a whole bunch of it, but it'll be there...sex and violence. The good stuff. So, if that bothers you, you're probably gearing up to read the wrong story, muchacho.
This is my first fan fiction, so please be gentle with me. I will take any suggestions/constructive criticism you have to offer, as long as it is offered politely. If you stick with me, I hope I can take you on a pretty fun ride. I'd like to think that things will pan out like that, anyway. The plan is to update (ideally) once a week or (more realistically) once every two weeks on Tuesday nights.
Onward!
Chapter One
Sister, Daughter, Bride-to-Be
"There are some who want to get married and others who don't. I have never had an impulse to go to the altar. I am a difficult person to lead."
-Greta Garbo
Chalia Tabris faltered atop the log on which she stood, the heavy, curved dagger she held wavering unsteadily as she fought to recover her balance…and failed miserably, plunging backwards into the cold creek. She let out a feral groan as the frigid water soaked through her dark brown breeches and into her smalls beneath.
"Dammit Soris! I'm over here! Stop your screaming!"
Chalia was fuming as she got to her feet. She scowled as her older brother's dark head appeared from out of a thick stand of trees nearby.
"What the hell are you doing out here…and why in the name of all that is holy are you wet? If you came out here for a bath, you could have taken one back at the house. The city guard turned the water back on inside the alienage this morning. If you had done your chores like you were supposed to, you probably would have noticed that," Soris said, noticeably out of breath from his trek through the unfamiliar woodlands.
Chalia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her upper body which was covered only by the gathered white material of her breast band. "Yes, because I often take a bath with my pants on." She straightened her spine and stuck out her chin. "If you must know- and apparently you must- I was practicing! You distracted me, and I fell in the water. Thanks a lot for that, by the way, idiot!"
"Honestly…put a damn shirt on, will you?" Soris spat. "Do you have any idea what could happen to you if a group of those depraved highwaymen came upon a half-dressed elven woman traipsing about in the woods? You know how those shem men are… You remember what happened to mother…don't you?"
"Of course I remember…I was there, saving your ass as usual since you were too stupidt to get yourself out of trouble! You do remember that part, too, don't you?" Chalia's eyes narrowed, never straying from her brother's face as she knelt next to the creek and began fishing in the cold water for her dagger.
Soris at least had the good grace to look somewhat ashamed. She'd give him that, anyway.
Chalia felt the sharp blade of the dagger nick her palm as she combed her hand along the creek bed. "Damn it…" she cursed softly as she retrieved her weapon and slipped it into the sheath at her waist.
"Are you all right?" her brother all but mumbled, voice much softer than before.
"Fine. Just a scratch is all…" She flexed her hand a few times and watched a dark red bead of blood rise to the surface to trail across her flesh like a small red river flowing across the calloused plain of her skin. She wiped the blood off on her breeches and reached for her shirt which hung suspended from a nearby branch. Pulling the bright red garment over her head and down over her pale midsection, she smoothed the wrinkles out absentmindedly and fixed her brother with an annoyed green-eyed glare.
"So worried about ME attracting attention, and yet you were the one out here crashing through the woods like an ogre and screaming my name at the top of your lungs? Maker, you're stupid… I can't believe papa actually found a woman who was willing to marry you and have your children. Ugh."
"Yeah, well…" Soris shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, about that…Papa sent me to find you."
Chalia wrinkled her nose at him irritably. "Oh, let me guess…because I left my chores for Shianni? I always have to do everything around that damned house, and Shianni bats her eyelashes at Papa and never has to lift a finger. It's not fair!"
Soris rolled his eyes at her. "Your groom Nelaros is here early. That's what I came to tell you. You're getting married tomorrow…finally."
"What?!" she screeched, eyes wide and frantic. "What the hell are you on about? Papa said six months. SIX!"
Soris lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Yes, well, I guess he finally got tired of you always trying to talk him out of marrying you off. I think he actually handed over a dowry this time. Looks like this is really it, little sister. No more running. It's time for you to grow up and act like an adult."
Chalia's hands curled into fists at her sides and she stomped one booted foot in defiance. "I won't do it! I won't! He promised to give me more time! He promised!"
Sighing again, Soris moved forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to have to tell him that, Chalia. You know I can't do anything about it." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a teasing smile. "Besides, marriage isn't all bad. And I've seen him, this Nelaros." Soris batted his eyelashes at her. "He's no Tobin, of course, but all the girls in the alienage are saying he's positively dreamy. You are soooo lucky!"
Chalia glared. "Drop dead, will you?"
Her brother grinned down at her. "If looks could kill, little sister, I'm sure I would have already done so by now."
Tobin. Ugh…now that was a sore spot, and something she was not in the mood to dwell on. Soris knew how to bait her, it was true, but she didn't have to fall for it this time.
Chalia shoved past him and stalked back toward the city, back to the wall with the convenient elf-sized hole at its base that she sneaked through as often as she possibly could…to get out, to get away from the over-crowded squalor of the alienage, the smallest and dirtest corner of the very human city of Denerim where her people were packed away like rats, like garbage.
Soris hurried after, his lanky and uncoordinated body stumbling noisily through the underbrush at her back. Sometimes Chalia could not believe she shared blood with him. He was so…so…clumsy and foolish and…infuriating. But she loved him. Maker, damn it all, she loved her older brother like no one else. He had been there with her when Mama had died, curled with her in the bushes by the side of the road as they both cried in one another's arms, utterly alone and lost until the dwarven merchant caravan had come along and given them passage back to Denerim. But…she didn't want to think about any of that now, either.
She had other, more pressing troubles at the moment- like the looming threat of an arranged marriage to a man she did not know from a place she knew next to nothing about…nothing except that the alienage in Highever was supposedly much worse than the one in Denerim. Or maybe the elders in the Denerim alienage only said that to make themselves feel superior. She didn't know. What she did know was that she did not, under any circumstances, want to get married.
Marriage would mean that she was stuck. Stuck in this disgusting city where she would be seen for the rest of her life as just another elven woman who was good for nothing except serving or whoring. What else was there, right? To humans, one dirt poor "knife-eared" female wasn't worth very much unless she could clean, cook or spread her legs for whatever coin they felt generous enough to toss her way.
"Chalia, wait!"
She could barely hear Soris anymore- his breathless pleas for her to slow her pace- and when she did hear him, she ignored him and kept her eyes fixed firmly in front of her. The squalor of the alienage surrounded her, the pall of despair that hovered over all of it a palpable thing that licked her skin with its grimy tongue.
High overhead, the branches of the great Vhenadhal creaked as they swayed with the gentle push and pull of the wind. That tree...that ancient thing. Who knew how much it had seen or even how much it could see now? It rose high above the stagnant heart of the alienage, its limbs twisting toward the sun, though the humans had hacked the heavy branches away from the walls, probably as a way to keep the elven "thieves" from sneaking into the market at night.
Chalia's mother had told her every alienage had a Vhendhal. It was a symbol of hope, of Arlathan, the ancient homeland of the elves. But that was before the humans came. Long before the humans had swarmed into the great elven cities and dales and enslaved the People, had crushed their spirits. Now, they were free, in word if not in deed, but what difference did it make? They were still subjugated, trapped behind barriers of heavy stone...caged like animals. Trapped.
Chalia paused a moment outside the modest home she shared with her family, her hand trembling on the latch. What could she say? She had had this talk...no, this argument...with her father countless times before. Ever since she had come of age, Cyrion had employed a matchmaker whose task was to find her a suitable husband, a man whom she would be expected to serve and obey without question...a man with whom she would be expected to breed.
Her free hand balled into a tight fist at her side, she snarled and shoved open the door.
"Papa, we need to..." Her eyes widened in surprise.
Her father was seated at the dinner table across from an older elven couple whose animated conversation had ceased in the wake of her fiery entrance.
Blinking, the woman regained her composure and a delighted smile spread across her face. "Well, there she is now, the beautiful bride! Oh, Gethon, just look at her! She's the spitting image of Adaia, isn't she?"
The man seated at her side- Gethon, Chalia assumed- nodded and eyed her critically. "Without a doubt, my dear. Now that is the result of fine breeding if ever I've seen it! Just look at that nose...a fine nose like that is no accident. Adaia always did have such a perfect little nose..."
Gethon's "dear" cast a withering look in his direction, her eyes dangerously narrowed. The woman, however, realized rather quickly that Chalia was watching her, and the suspiciously bright smile slid back into place as easily as a sword into its hilt.
"Come now, darling. You shouldn't speak about the girl as though you were appraising a mare!"
The woman pushed her chair back from the table and stood, her hands fluttering in the air as she spoke. "And where are our manners?"
She caught Chalia's hands in hers and squeezed lightly. "I'm Dilwyn and this," she gestured vaguely, "is my husband, Gethon. We've come from Highever...friends of your mother's, you see...to see you marry the handsome young man from our alienage. Nelaros is quite the prize, you know. In fact, we may have mentioned that to your father's matchmaker a time or two!" Dilwyn nudged her elbow in Chalia's ribs with a playful grin. "You can thank us later. The two of you will have gorgeous children, I'm sure. And lots of them! Just wait until you see your handsome groom- I'm sure you won't be able to help-"
Gethon cleared his throat as he appeared at his wife's side and took her arm. "Now, dear, I'm sure the young lady doesn't want to hear us babbling on. We should go. Valendrian will be waiting."
Dilwyn turned her head just enough so that her husband could not see as she rolled her eyes in agitation. "Of course, darling, you're right as usual."
Chalia's expression was pleading as she searched out her father's tired eyes across the room.
Cyrion Tabris made his way to his daughter, brushing her behind him with one hand as he held open the door to the house with the other. "Well, as I said, it was good for my old soul to see the two of you again...and after all these years!" Cyrion's smile did not quite reach his eyes, but neither Dilwyn nor Gethon seemed to notice. "Adaia would be pleased."
Dilwyn rose up on the balls of her feet to place a chaste kiss on Cyrion's cheek. Gethon smirked as though the whole display was some secret joke, and Chalia saw her father's mouth twitch while Dilwyn smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes.
"Our pleasure, Cyrion," Dilwyn purred. "Truly, our pleasure."
Cyrion firmly closed the door and leaned on it as he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Papa...?" Chalia ventured, her voice feather-soft and cautious in the empty quiet of the tiny house.
Cyrion shook his head and opened his eyes with a deep sigh. "What are you wearing?" he asked in rough voice.
"What am I...what...?" Chalia lifted her arms and looked down at herself. Her boots were muddy, her breeches wet and her shirt hung open and unlaced at the top so that what little cleavage she had was visible.
"For Maker's sake, I didn't scrimp and save my coin all those years so that you could go around looking like a street urchin."
"But Papa...I need to speak to you about..."
Cyrion waved his hand dismissively."And where is Soris? It's nearly dinner time, and Valora will need his help with the children."
Just then, the door to the house—the door Cyrion was leaning against- flew open and sent the gray-haired elf sprawling onto the floor with a pained grunt.
"Chalia, you-!" Soris's hand flew to his mouth as his eyes grew wide with blatant terror. "Oh no...oh, Papa, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
Cyrion held up a hand to silence his son. He glared, a sharp hiss of pain escaping through his lips as he pulled himself to his feet, one hand pressed to the small of his back.
"Just go see to your family, please. I need to have a word with your sister."
"Y-yes, Papa. Of course..." Soris gave his younger sister a small shrug as he scuttled by her on his way out of the room.
The anger Chalia had felt before had begun to dissipate, and she finally allowed herself to feel the cold fear that was creeping into her gut like a merciless, clawed thing, tearing apart her resolve.
Cyrion's voice was firm, his eyes hard as he crossed his arms over his chest."Before you say one, single word, you must know that there will be no negotiating and no arguments. There is going to be a wedding tomorrow, and you will be the bride. I've already paid the dowry to the groom's family. You will honor tradition as you should. There is nothing to discuss, do you understand me?"
Chalia's throat worked as she struggled to swallow the lump that had grown large and immovable as an icy block of stone. "I...I don't...I don't..."
Her father's eyes softened just a touch as he watched tears gather like storm clouds in his daughter's eyes. He uncrossed his arms and reached out to lay his hands on Chalia's shoulders and give them both a gentle squeeze. "My little girl...This is the last day I'll be able to call you that."
Chalia averted her eyes, but Cyrion placed two fingers under his daughter's chin and tilted her face back so she would look at him. "I know how you must hate me for this, but I only want what is best for you...as I do for all of my children. But I fear for you...especially for you...so much..."
Chalia blinked as her father released her and took a step back. For a moment he just...looked at her, and his face was filled with such sadness that her heart ached a little. She hadn't seen him look so sad since Mama had died. For the first time, Chalia really saw her father, the lines and dark circles under his eyes, the gray shock of hair falling to his shoulders, his skinny body that had once seemed so unbreakable to her. For the first time, he looked...old. Old and tired and sad and...helpless.
"You are so much like your mother." Cyrion's eyes began to shimmer with the only the very suggestion of tears in the fading light. "It's not just your nose or your eyes or your hair...it's...everything about you. You're stubborn and smart-mouthed and fearless, and...I just don't know what to do with you. I never have..."
Fearless? He thinks I'm fearless?
"I let you have your knives and your martial training...your crazy notions. I let you have your freedom for as long as was possible, Chalia...but I have to know that you'll have someone, a good husband, to take care of you when I'm no longer...able. Soris has his wife and his own family to worry about. Shianni is...eager to be a wife once she's old enough. I want...I need to know that you'll be okay. Nelaros is a good man, I promise you..."
Chalia threaded the fingers of both hands together in front of her to keep them from shaking as she absorbed her father's unexpected confession. Of all the things she had thought he would say...that he was ashamed of her behavior...that she was ungrateful or selfish or childish...there was none of it, and not a trace of anger or disappointment in his voice, which was tinged only with that pervading sadness. His words were thick with it, and they weighed heavily on her racing heart.
Her voice struggled out past her trembling lips, barely a whisper. "I can take care of myself, Papa."
Cyrion shook his head, tired laughter rumbling in his chest. "I know you can, my girl. But...so could your mother. She chose to save you and Soris, and it was the right choice...I'm not bitter or regretful about that, so please don't think that..."
He paused. "What I mean is... I should have been there to protect her, to help her, but I wasn't. I should have talked her into staying in the alienage instead of...Maker only knows what she was thinking, that woman..."
His voice shook as he spoke, a single tear blazing a trail down the hill of his ruddy cheek. "I lost Adaia. I can't lose you, too. I won't lose you... I...took the liberty of not mentioning your...hobbies...to the matchmaker. I want you to forget about your swordplay and whatever else it is that you get up to when you sneak off into the woods."
Chalia's head snapped up in surprise.
Cyrion laughed again, his eyes still soft and sad as before. "I'm not as oblivious as you seem to believe, my girl. I'm sorry for all of this, I truly am, but it is for the best. This is not a punishment. Just know that...that I love you."
With that, Chalia watched her father turn and retreat up the stairs. Probably to his room, she thought, to look at his portraits. Portraits he had painted of his young family just after Shianni was born- portraits which showed Chalia, Soris and their mother laughing and smiling as the two older children took turns holding their new baby sister.
Her father never painted anymore.
"Oh Chalia, there you are!" Shianni's voice rang out through the quiet front room bright as a bell as she bounded down the stairs, wearing a wide smile. Chalia let her little sister wrap her arms around her neck and pull her into a hug. Maybe Shianni never did her fair share of chores and was always getting her way with their father, but Chalia loved her and her infectious, bubbly laughter with all her heart.
"Shianni is...eager to be a wife once she's old enough."
Any eligible elven man would jump at the chance to court Shianni, it was true. She was sixteen and pretty, her hair still worn short, tiny braids framing her young face. And still a virgin, as far as Chalia knew.
Oh, Maker's mercy...of course, Shianni was a virgin. She was the perfect, obedient daughter, saving herself and her virtue for her future husband on her wedding night.
Her skill with a sword was not the only secret Chalia would have to keep from her future husband until after the vows had been exchanged. Ugh. Better not to think about that now.
"Have you met your groom yet?" Shianni asked with an impish grin. "He's handsome!"