What hath man's sin wrought?
He dreams of the Shame.
A man with the same dark eyes that all de Serault's share. A man who stands alone atop the Tower of Lights, looking out over his land with affection.
"I will change it." He whispers, and the wind seems to catch the words and carry them off across Serault, "I will change it for the better. It is mine, and I will change it."
Something twitches behind his eye.
Christophe awoke in a cold sweat. He glanced around, his dark eyes sweeping his chambers quickly, looking for anything even slightly out of place. Seeing nothing, he collapsed back onto his bed, lifting his hands to cover his face.
That dream again. He thought, his chest still heaving. The Shame, alive again, walking the Fade, walking his Fade. Christophe swallowed thickly. His mother would be beside herself if she knew her son was seeing her grandfather in his sleep. The family already had enough problems, seeing the damned dead in one's sleep was something none of them needed. He didn't want to linger on his nightmare, and he turned over, trying to get comfortable once again.
Now was no time for sleepless nights and musings of the Fade he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. The Great Hunt was beginning tomorrow, and though Christophe was no great hunter as the eldest child of the Marquis, he was expected not only to attend, but to participate.
And don't forget, tomorrow marks the arrival of that silly little countess Mother seems so keen on you marrying. The nasty little voice in the back of his head reminded him. Christophe sighed as he stared up at his bed hangings. His mother was becoming rather desperate. Here he was, nearly thirty, and steadfastly unmarried. It was a bit peculiar for a man in his position, he'd be the first to admit, but he saw no reason to rush into a marriage that would, in the end, cause both parties a great deal of strain and unhappiness.
Christophe sighed again and rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, saying a quick prayer to the Maker for a dreamless sleep. There was no use worrying. What would come would come.
She dreams of the Shame.
He sits at her mother's place at the grand table. She can feel his dark eyes, (eyes she shares) upon her. She moves swiftly, years of running around the forest have quickened her reflexes, but she does not move swiftly enough. He can see her, even crouched behind a pillar. He can sense her as she can him.
"Come here child."
His voice is warm, but the sound of it makes her blood run cold.
"I will not harm you. I only wish to speak with you."
At this, she can no longer contain herself.
"Back foul demon!" she spits, "I will hear none of your lies. My heart is closed to your promises."
The man's voice sounds perturbed. "I am no demon."
"You ruined us." She hisses from her hiding place.
And then the dream dissolves.
When Danielle woke, she remembered nothing of her dream. The dawn had barley peaked over the forest before she was dressed, bow in hand and crossing the river towards the trees. She was a huntress at heart, not a lady, and she would hunt on the day of the Great Hunt, no matter what mother's wishes were.
Mother. There was a problem. Danielle frowned as she stomped through the underbrush, taking no time to cover her trial or quiet the noise she was making. Mother had been a huntress in her day as well. Many times Danielle had sat on her father's lap by the fire and listened as Mother regaled them with stories of wild boar chases and daring run-ins with noble stags.
Had not mother a scar on her ribcage from being gored by a particularly vicious boar? And now she acted as though Danielle was odd for wanting something other than a noble marriage. Hypocrisy at its finest.
Christophe was no help either. He had his nose shoved so far into a book that he hardly noticed anyone at all; say nothing for the increasingly silly women mother pushed in front of him. If he had done his duty as the heir and married that Prosper girl three months ago, perhaps mother would not be so desperate. Such a prospect was unlikely to ever come his way again. Sure, the girl was ugly as all Thedas and dumb as a box of rocks, but still…a Prosper! Christophe had spoken three words to her and promptly declared her dull-leaving poor Mother in near panic.
A snapping of twigs to her left broke Danielle's train of thought.
Human. A sound too clean for a boar or a bear, or even a stag. These were her family's private woods, no one but family members and her knights were supposed to be in this part of the forest-which only left one option-bandits. She hid as quickly as she could, shimming up into the nearest tree and trying to get lost amongst the branches.
"Someone's out here." The voice was pitched low, shockingly female and distinctly not Orlesian. Danielle held her breath as the others passed below her hiding spot.
There were quite a few of them-eleven by her count. They were most defiantly bandits; they were dressed in mismatched clothing and none of them looked as though they had bathed in months. They were also very heavily armed.
A woman with stringy dark hair and a blue bandanna wrapped around her head led them. She moved like a cat, Danielle thought as she watched the woman slink around the small clearing below from her hiding spot.
The Raven! She thought. The defender of the People. The Bane of Serault. The Raven was Antivan or Ferelden, no one was certain. She and her merry band of miscreants had appeared in Serault six years ago, after the Fifth Blight ended in 9:31 and had made the forests surrounding Serault their home. They robbed from the rich to feed the poor (though they robbed more from the rich then they gave to the poor). The people loved her and Mother had bent over backwards trying to put a stop to her antics. Danielle thought her cause romantic, her brother did not agree.
She had always wanted to see the Raven, she thought, as she studied the woman from her perch. When she had been a child, she had dreamed of running away from the Chateau and joining the bands of roaming pirates that always seemed to stop by the Serault docks. Christophe had always been an unwilling participant in her games of pirates and citizens, but their father had always insisted that Christophe play with her.
"Go on Christophe, you will not be a child for long." She remembered her father chiding her brother, "There will be plenty of time for serious matters when you're older. For now, go play with your sister."
The Raven had arrived the summer she turned sixteen, just when her passion for hunting had become apparent. When her father passed two years later and her Mother had begun forcing her to attend society dinners and balls she had considered running off to find the band of adventurers. If it hadn't been for her brother, Danielle liked to imagine that she would have done.
The Raven glanced around the clearing once more. Her eyes never rose to where Danielle was perching quietly.
"Let's go men. I feel as though someone is watching us."
And then they were gone.
Danielle waited for at least a quarter of an hour before shimming down the tree and dashing back towards the path that led back to the Chateau. No sooner had she stepped foot on the path then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling around Danielle came face to face with the Raven and all of her villainous looking bandits.
"Well, well." The Raven crooned chuckling as Danielle stumbled back a few paces. "What do we have here?"