Everyone, whether great or small, has a story to be told- be they tales of loss and love, retreat and conquer, or despair and joy. Within the hearts of each soul lay untold truths, waiting to be revealed. This is one such a story, and it begins in a small alienage in the walls of Denerim, a great, old city, which itself takes refuge in the land of Ferelden. This is the tale of an elf named Ornatia.
"Wake up, cousin!" called Shianni, shaking the small bed as the spoke. "Do you not remember what today is?" She talked in an urgent tone of voice, emphasizing the importance of the inevitable ceremony to come.
"Oh, I'm well aware of what today is," the figure cocooned in several layers of ragged bedding groaned, "and that's precisely why I intend to sleep in."
"Ornatia," the girl's cousin whined, "if not today, it'll happen tomorrow."
"Perfect- all the more sleep for me, then."
"You'll have to wake up at some point!" Shianni shouted desperately.
"Try me." The girl who had clearly no intent to wake up, at any given time, glared ferociously at the relative who had dared to disturb her slumber. There was obviously nothing to be done about the situation at hand.
A knock at the door interrupted the two's dispute. "Ornatia," a voice shouted through the plywood excuse for privacy, "It's me, Soris. Can we talk?" Shianni sighed as her cousin grouchily rolled over in bed. "It's important," the voice continued.
Shianni looked at Ornatia with pleading eyes, "At least get out of bed, will you?" The cocoon responded with an implicit consensual grunt before forcing herself off of the rickety mattress.
"Fine," she directed towards both Shianni and the entity outdoors. "I'll meet you by the tree in a minute!"
Ornatia, the girl who was now begrudgedly getting dressed, looked nothing like her cousin. Whereas Shianni had red hair light brown eyes, Ornatia had pure white hair and light grey eyes. In fact, she looked nothing like any of her relatives. "You really are pretty, you know," said Shianni, watching her cousin pull up her long, wavy hair into a tight bun, Ornatia's trademark wisps of fine hair falling out in front. "He's lucky."
"I don't even know him. This isn't what I want."
"Be positive, your mom and dad didn't know each other eith-" she redhead started, before she was quickly interrupted.
"I'm not my dad, and my mother's dead. I don't want to talk about what's never going to happen. Ever. I told you, I just going out to talk to Soris." With that, Ornatia walked out of the house, which was really more of a shack, truth be told. She effortlessly navigated the cramped alleyways of the alienage, stepping past litter and debris. All along the sides of the dusty street lay beggars, young and old. The alienage was not a pretty sight in the least. The city elves, once slaves of the rich and royal, had been "free" for 400 years. No longer were they forced to work for food. Now, the elves could live as they wished- up until their houses were burned to the ground, and they were restricted to jobs of servitude. Wonderful, really. But which was better- being forced to work for a living, or having no choice other than to work at the feet of abusive lords for a living?
""They planted a tree in the middle of the alienage long ago. Today it stands tall, healthy and green in sharp contrast to the city around it. For we are the poorest of the poor, the unwanted and the unwelcome huddled on the other side of the wall that separates us from the human part of the city. We are allowed to go there, to work on the docks or in their taverns and in their homes, but when dusk comes we must return. Any elf caught outside the alienage at night is likely to be mistaken for a sneak-thief or a pickpocket and let us be honest, the ones that stay out there at night probably are.
Our elder tells us that the tree is called the vhenadahl, and in the ancient elven tongue that means tree of the people. Its roots are deep and the elder says that as long as the vhenadahl lives so shall we. But he also says that there was once a time when our people lived in their own lands. He says that we were once ageless and strong, that it was the humans who took all this from us.
Is it true? Have we fallen so far? We are not unhappy. As poor as we are, we have a home. The alienage is no prison; it protects us, just as the vhenadahl shelters us. We dance and sing and make merry, stealing what moments we can to enjoy what little we have and I believe we appreciate it far more than the humans do. They have everything and appreciate nothing.
And perhaps the day will come when the humans come and try to take the alienage from us, too. If that day comes, I swear they shall regret it." *
Ornatia looked up at the great tree which stood in the middle of the prison she had come to know as home. In the shadow of the tree's foliage sat Soris, waiting. "I have to say," he began, as Ornatia stepped closer, "I was seriously beginning to doubt that you'd come. But alas, here you are."
"Here I am. What is it you needed so terribly to discuss, exactly?"
"I'm so terribly sorry to have interrupted your, erm, rest. But we do need to talk- why don't you sit down?"
"Very well. But please, for the sake of us both, just get to the point," she grumbled, taking a seat beside him.
"We're cousins, and-"
"Are we, really!?" she mocked.
"As I was saying," continued Soris, clearing his throat, "you know I care about you, I honestly do. Now, just hear me out. I know you're not exactly excited about the wedding, but you should look on the bright side."
"You wouldn't exactly understand, now would you? If I had known this was going to be some pre-wedding pep talk, that, by the way, is never going to happen, I wouldn't have come." Ornatia stood up, looking back at her cousin, Soris, and then turned around to leave.
"Actually, I do understand. Ornatia, I'm getting married, too."
Freezing at Soris' words, she looked back around, in utter disbelief. "To whom?" she inquired demandingly.
"I don't know, either. Now will you come back here so we can talk?
Ornatia paced back, still in shock. "When?" she stuttered.
"Today, actually. Same as you."
Together they sat for a while, Soris looking out at the sky, and Ornatia at the ground. Ornatia was the first to speak. "We don't have to. I mean, do we?"
Soris looked back at his cousin, sampling stating that it was "the way things worked." "The way it was," and "the way it would be."
"Nobody's telling you that you have to love him at first sight. It takes time," he said.
"I would much rather choose who I marry," Ornatia spat.
"Your father chose who he thought would be suited best. He's looking out for your best interest. Believe it."
Ornatia looked up at someone she viewed as one of her closest friends, not just a cousin. "The best here, perhaps, but what about out there…" She motioned at the gate with her eyes.
"This is home, Ornatia, like it or not."
"I guess."
"Will you at least meet him? I'll go with you."
She pouted for a moment in instinctual refusal, before simply frowning in compliance. "And try not to look so grumpy," he added, laughing.
There they stood, just ten feet away- Nelaros, Ornatia's apparent groom-to-be, and Valora, Soris' apparent bride to be.
"Oh, Maker," groaned Ornatia, "he's not even that cute."
"Oh, Maker," mocked Soris, "the ornery beast only cares about looks, after all!" He abruptly received, in the opinion of his cousin, a well-deserved shove.
Together the two friends approached their "fiancés." Soris wore a charming smile, and shortly thereafter nudged his cousin, resulting in a more trying-too-hard, yet remarkably do-I-look-like-I-honestly-care grin. It was terribly unconvincing, to say the best.
"Hello! I'm Soris, and you must be…?"
"Valora. It's nice to meet you," said the clearly shy girl that stood before him. She was not especially beautiful by any means, but she did have a delightful, kind smile.
"The name's Nelaros and I suppose you would be the wonderful woman that I am to marry? It's great to make your acquaintance."
"Funny, how we're just making 'acquaintance' and yet we're getting married. When was the wedding, again? Oh, yes- today. Silly me, how could I forget," Ornatia said, her monotone voice bringing about an awkward silence, followed by the uncomfortable laughs of the other three.
"Well," Soris broke in, cutting off the mechanical laughter, "I guess it's about time we all get ready. We'll see you soon!" As the pulled Ornatia away by the arm, he tossed a genuine smile back at Valora.
"Glad that's over," mumbled Ornatia.
"He seemed like he was trying to be nice. Maybe you should do the same," scolded her cousin.
"Always the critic, honestly…"
"Go get dressed. I'll see you at the wedding." He grinned as he walked past.
Ornatia seemed to grimace with inner pain at "wedding." Yet, her cousin had convinced her to go through with what couldn't be helped. She wasn't happy, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. For one, it's what her father wanted. For another, her cousin, whom she secretly respected, wasn't backing out. It was one thing to have everyone else tell her that it would be alright, but to hear it from someone who actually knew what she was going through was another. Shianni was glad to see her come around, and careful not to say anything that would change Ornatia's mind. Ornatia finally smiled when she saw the wedding dress, though; it had been her mother's. Compared to the stitched rags she currently wore, it was fit for a queen. In reality, however, a queen would probably scoff at its poor quality of cloth. There was no denying, though, that hours upon hours had been spent in the dresses beadwork, which stretched from the collar to the hem. To top it off, the dress was a perfect fit.
Things were looking up, come the time of the wedding. The sun was just beginning as the double wedding commenced. Ornatia stood at the side of Nelaros, with Soris beside Valora. Ornatia, truly, looked beautiful. Her hair reflected the last, colorful rays of the sun, and her dress fell to her feet gracefully. She held out her hand, Nelaros taking it with a smile. He wasn't that bad looking, from a new, more positive perspective. He slid the humble gold- or was it brass? – Ring onto her finger. Ornatia looked back at her red-headed cousin, who in turn looked behind her. When Shianni looked back at Ornatia, it was clear that something was wrong. Her face contorted in a mixture of disgust, surprise, and the slighted hint of fear. Shianni was never afraid.
It was then that she saw what Shianni had been looking at- Lord Vaughan, as well as his men, were coming their way. One of his men unsheathed his sword as they came closer. The nasty, cruel, grin of a rat formed upon the noble's lips. His intentions, although unknown, were clearly not of good merit.
"Excuse me for interfering," he said with rotten drag in tone, "I hate to spoil a good celebration, but I have my own to attend to. If you would be so kind," he continued, "I should like some of the ladies to attend. If not-" The rest of his men drew their swords, "well, I doubt that's going to happen." The laugh that followed was enough to make the vilest of sewer creatures writhe in disgust. It was sickening in every fashion of evil.
*Excerpt of Dragon Age: Origins