Her brave and reckless hunt had been a success. She'd cover the wounds well enough so she wouldn't bleed out on her way back to the clan – that'd be anticlimactic – and chop off the paw of the bear, proof of her victory. Even if she wanted, she couldn't drag the beast back, with all the wounds it'd given her in return. So began her long way home (felt like a day, though no more than an hour had passed) to announce her victory. Sadly, all she could blurt out before collapsing was 'I DIDS IT!', something the others in the clan mocked her with for days to come. While she was out, the others had brought the bear to the camp and already started stripping him for resources. Aenorean, the master crafts-man, promised Lydia to make her a warm clothing out of the bear's hide if she succeeded, so she hoped he'd keep it.

The first face she saw waking up was the scolding, frowning face of Deshanna, whose expression said everything: You nearly died, you know. I told you not to go alone. You underestimated the best, eh? Serves you right, stubborn child. But beneath that daring look was a very impressed Keeper, one who would never admit her relief that the beast won't be giving the clan or the humans any further trouble. Her mother instincts wouldn't allow her. Not yet, at least.

'That impressed huh?' she blurts out with half a breath, feeling that broken rib she didn't notice before, preparing herself for the hour-long scolding.

The Keeper scoffs, her mask intact. 'The others scouted the area, couldn't find any caves that could have been the bear's. Andruil blessed you, child.' Pause. 'I didn't want the bear dead because I was afraid we'd come across the den of a mother who'd been protecting her pups.' Did her face just soften? 'Being a hunter doesn't mean attacking the beasts of the forest, but protecting the natural order and the clan. We coexist; we're in their land, not the other way around. Remember the Vir Adahlen, da'len: Respect the sacrifice of Andruil's children.'

Her heart sank in. She didn't want to admit she never thought of the possibility for the bear to be just a protective mother.

'But like I said, you were blessed. The beast was a male whom we must have disturbed on our way here. Or he was attracted by the smell of our food' she added, tensing up. 'Still, you've caused great worry amongst the others, me included.'

Lydia's guilt kept increasing. 'I'm sorry, Keeper. I just...'

'I know you desperately wish to prove yourself, da'len. Master Fennas investigated your trap and he was…impressed.' Finally, Deshanna let out a proud smile that gave her confidence. The anger dissipated. 'And whilst you were asleep, the elders, the Master and I have agreed to give you your vallaslin, since your impatience nearly cost you your life' she half-joked, suddenly lifting the dread that came with her in the tent. 'Don't want you going chasing dragons to prove your worth to us.'

The young elf's shoot up with excitement and laughter. They've finally considered her reckless enough to admit she's an adult, then? She chuckled at the thought, hoping to heal faster so that she can finally see her face inked with Andruil's bow. And once she'd be truly respected by the clan, they would listen to her, and she'll have the freedom to choose for herself. Her thoughts quickly drifted away as she returned to sleep under the warm feeling of Deshanna's healing magic.

The days of meditation were ideal for her healing process. But three days of contemplation in isolation became quite boring after the first 30 minutes or so though. Trying to focus on the things she knew about the Creators, the history of the elvhen, the many ways you can carve a halla, the delicious broth Harea would make for her on the days when she was tired from all the practice…

Lydia then thought about how her own thoughts drifted so suddenly from one memory to another, even if they seemed unrelated. She thought about arrogant Taeriel and his stupid single-sided conversations in elvhen, used only to mock her. And his stupid, smug smirk. Then she thought about the beauty and grace of the halla, their wisdom they have when leading the clan from one place to another. And how one gave Taeriel a hoof in the face when he messed with them. Truly wise creatures, she thought.

At some point she asked herself if all Dalish elves have to sit three days for their vallaslin saying nothing, without eating or drinking, without thinking nothing…Oh right, she shouldn't be thinking. Or no, she should, but she should contemplate the Gods.

Why should she pray to gods that are no longer here? She couldn't help the doubt that it was all for nothing – the praying, the meditating, the respects they'd pay by marking the elves with the blood writings in the name of each Creator. Sure, the legends say that Fen'Harel locked them away and that the Dalish await their return, but when were legends ever true?

She looked at the animals of the forest and she saw Andruil. When she looked at the fire in their camp, the potions Harea would make for the sick and injured, and the children that ran around the tents, she saw Sylaise. All of Aenorean's works, the staffs, the swords and bows he'd crafted over the years, they all looked like June to her.

Those were the Creators for her. Their activities were given faces and names, nothing more. And never did she feel Andruil's influence when hunting a deer through the forests, or when catching a deer. It was always her skill and patience.

And if they did escape from their prisons, would they even recognize their people? Would they wage war on Fen'Harel, given he's actually real and living as well? She scoffs at her own ideas. She's read the Tale of the Champion too many times already. It's been so hard to keep it a secret from the others…

She was so hungry and thirsty at first. Then she became so hungry she no longer felt hunger, only a void in her stomach that was eating her instead. She was lucky she wasn't allowed to speak, because she felt grains of sand in her mouth and throat.

And so, three days of meditation became two days of incessant thinking, sleeping while pretending to meditate and one day of true contemplation, where her mind had been empty, mostly because all the thoughts she could have thought had already been thought. She also had a headache. And she was actually probably out of it because of the hunger the thirst. But hey, the third day went by the quickest.

The pain of the ink was much worse than she'd imagined. The young elf thought that the Keeper had a long needle that she stabbed her with on every inch of her body. Why she didn't stop at her head she couldn't understand, but it'd ruin the mood if she actually asked anything, and probably opening her mouth now would let go of all those grunts and ouches she internalized. She was lucky to be quite small, even for an elf, because there wasn't much back to cover with the ink.

Once finished, the Keeper blessed her in Elvhen and kissed her bald, inked forehead.

'You are now truly Lavellan now, da'len. One of the people…'

Then, together, they spoke softly: 'We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.'

Never again shall we submit, echoed in Lydia's mind. Those were the words all members of the clan spoke with so much solemnity. Bend, but do not break. They remained in a tight embrace for what felt like an eternity.

She tried avoiding mirrors that day, being both curious to finally see herself with her mark of adulthood, but also fearing that the lack of hair would make her head look twice as big and bulky. She mostly stayed inside her tent, trying hard not to touch her sensible skin with anything. She wanted a mirror, but nobody came to visit her right after the ritual. She didn't want to go outside; the younglings were already mocking her with the 'I dids it' chant they made after her near-death experience with the bear. Successful hunt, I mean.

Luckily for her it didn't take long for Tara to find her way in her tent, greeting her with a loud gasp.

'Oh come on, it can't be that bad' Lydia lied. She knew it was probably really bad.

But Tara shook her head viciously. 'No, it's not your head. It's…oh Creators…' Her tone was amused, like she expected Lydia to go on a rampage any time now.

Which she did.

Deshanna was waiting for this precise moment. The loud banging at the door of her aravel could only be Lydia's, meaning someone brought her a mirror and –

'What did you DO to me?' The elf yelled as she opened the door. Huh, Deshanna thought, at least she thought it would be polite to knock before barging in anyway.

'This is not Andruil's vallaslin, Keeper!' Her eyes were dark, worried and confused. Lydia was angry, for every right reason. In the Lavellan clan, roles within the community were suggested by the vallaslin. All hunters had Andruil's bow, in one variant or another, all mothers and heart-keepers had Sylaise's vallaslin, and Isenam, the halla herder, had Ghilan'nain's vallaslin. These rules were not as important in other clans, but Lydia knew how hers functioned and valued the marks of the Creators.

Deshanna got up from her chair cautiously, keeping her head high. 'Yes, I know.'

'Well I don't! I have no idea whose mark you just etched into my face.'

'You would if you paid attention to our lessons.' Deshanna huffed.

Is this what it is? Punishment for finding all the different models of vallaslin too boring and numerous to remember?

Lydia seemed to calm down, shut the door to the aravel before locking her eyes with the Keeper's. 'Who am I?'

'You're Lydia, da'len, a member of the Lavellan clan.'

'Who does what?' she begged for an answer. It could be anything. What Lydia feared the most was that she could be just a mother, a 'heart-keeper' who cleans the home and cooks the meals for the clan. It was the most probable option, considering how much they tried to make her bond with various elfs from the clan. Scouting missions that had no clear objective and made her stay with one boy? Boy who'd have so much of their conversation already laid out, like they'd learnt a poetry and are now reciting it to her? Did they think she's stupid?

It was terrifying.

'Da'len, your vallaslin is that of the All-Mother, Mythal'. Deshanna's response held so much pride and compassion, as if this was the greatest gift that she could bestow upon Lydia.

It was worse than Sylaise.

Because Taeriel has Elgar'Nan.

That means…

'What?! This - This makes no sense, Keeper! I did everything you've ever asked, I'm a hunter! I killed a bear on my own! I –'

'Yes, I know' the elder elf added, interrupting Lydia's rant. 'That is why I've chosen Mythal. Da'len, you are MORE than a hunter. You are a protector.

'You've involved yourself in something dangerous to protect your clan, your family, as well as the humans. Of course, it was a bad, reckless idea that brought you to us near death, but it seems you like a challenge.' Her chuckle is soft, and every word she says carries great weight. 'Mythal is the All-Mother, a compassionate god who passed judgement and ruled the elvhen alongside her half, Elgar'Nan'.

At the mention of the other deity, Lydia growls lowly. 'Yes, I know. You made sure I remembered exactly whose vallaslin you applied to your First.'

'Taeriel may have a temper, but his main interest lies in recovering our lost history. We are Lorekeepers, da'len. Unlike other clans, we harbour two hundred of the people. We are plenty, and one man who preserves the lore cannot also lead a large family', she speaks while coming closer to the girl, taking her hands and warming them. 'Another is needed, one who has the clan's best interests at heart, who will insure the future of the family, who can organize hunting and scouting expeditions and make sure our relations with the humans remains intact. This is the role of the hahren, da'len. To share the lore and protect the people.

'You and Taeriel will make a perfect pair to help the clan grow. Help him find more about our past and protect it.'

Lydia can't help the tears falling down her cheeks. Hahren. Those words hurt, but they're true. It's something she's always known, but the fear of that responsibility takes over. 'B-but I don't love him…' she sobs quietly, letting her gaze fall down in shame. Is it so wrong that she doesn't want to the clan's glorified 'baby keeper'?

'I know da'len. It…it will come to you. I'll give you time, but please, give him a chance. Give us a chance.'

The Keeper's heartbeat reminds her of something she can't remember, when this woman was more a mother to her than a teacher.

She can't help but cry at her own weakness now.

The clan's old Hahren died alongside the Keeper before Deshanna, her bond mate. Lydia was too young to remember, but she knows the story. An elf-hater disguised himself as a merchant and while he was speaking to the Keeper and Hahren, he took out a knife and gutted them both in the middle of the camp. Before everyone even realised what had happened, the murderer had three arrows sticking through his neck. Fennas, now the war-master of the clan, was too late then. He still carries the weight of their deaths, and since then, security had been increased and humans are treated with more caution. Still, Deshanna hadn't lost hope in the human race. If there's anything that her late mate taught her is that there will always be exceptions, and if they all raise their weapons to humans because of such exceptions, they'll be no clan Lavellan to speak of.

So Deshanna wept and mourned for months, her body covered in the typical Lavellan death ink, different from the one applied to the vallaslin. She took up the roles of Hahren and Keeper at the same time, and keeping a large clan calm whilst in the care of two toddlers showed everyone just how strong and willed their Keeper was. Bend, but do not break.

The last hahren was the mother of the old Keeper, and the wife of the even older Keeper, now a shell of his old self, aged before his time at the loss of his son and wife. The grief had made him forgetful and incoherent, yet at times he still spoke the wisest words Lydia could ever conceive.

Now that she was of age, Lydia was to become the new Hahren. The roles were usually switched between genders in other clans, but it depended on the person. What made Deshanna think that she'd make a good hahren, that one person in a clan that shares the lore to the younglings and tends to the children? Sure, Lydia loved the old tales, the legends, but she didn't believe in them or tried to remember them word by word. But she wasn't a particularly fond of children, with their slobbering noses and annoying chants of 'I dids it!' only to mock her. She liked singing and always joined in whenever they gathered around the campfire and tried remembering the words of a song but always got them wrong. She also loved to dance, to forget herself in the movements and the beats of the drum and feel the warmth of another next to her. It was the only time being close to someone else didn't feel inappropriate.

Deshanna probably hoped her motherly instincts would kick in once she gives birth, and then she'll take her role as hahren, finding the other children in the clan more likeable. Which is another reason why she plans to avoid doing that for as long as she can.