Chapter 3

"Grandfather, spar with me!"

Theron looked up from his work to see his grandson Ronan running his dirty little fingers all over his work, some of which was sharp and dangerous. He shook his head in annoyance, but smiled slightly nonetheless. Ronan was so exuberant and curious, not unlike his mother used to be, but he was also very troublesome. He never did as he was told. "Careful, da'mi."

Ronan, not surprisingly, chose to ignore his grandfather's warning. He picked up Theron's most prized sword, a blade which was charcoal coloured and made of bone, but deadly sharp. The hilt was made of ironbark and Theron had spent a lot of time and effort carving the designs into it. The blade, however, was too heavy for Ronan and he had a hard time holding it up. Though Theron was both cross and worried about this action, he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the boy trying to swing the blade in the air. Ronan had an obsession with swords, thus his nickname – da'mi – little blade.

Theron arose from his workbench, his legs propelling him forward toward the little ruffian. Very carefully, he stopped Ronan from waving around the sword and took it away from him. Ronan looked up at him, furrowing his brow in anger.

"Spoilsport," Ronan muttered as Theron pushed him away gently, ruffling his hair.

"You are not old enough for this blade." Theron told him with a sigh.

"Father lets me play with a bow. What is the difference?" Ronan grumbled.

"All Dalish learn to use a bow from a young age. But blades, they are different. One cannot just pick up a blade and use it. The blade must choose him." Theron explained patiently.

"Bah," Ronan held up his hands in submission. "You keep telling me that. I don't believe you. I will choose a blade and not the other way around."

Theron shook his head at his headstrong grandson. He was just a boy but he was already trouble. He hoped Silas would curb Ronan's impatience. It was not his place to do so.

"Go make trouble elsewhere, I am busy, da'mi." Theron turned around to return to his work.

Ronan frowned. "Fine. Where's that halla turd Rhys? I have a challenge for him." Ronan slammed his right fist into his left palm with a mischievous smirk.

...

A fierce pain shot through his left arm and Ronan awoke with a start. He lifted it up and sighed loudly as he realized he had been dreaming again. The hand was not there. It was only a sleeve tied together to hide the ghastly stump that remained. He would never hold a shield nor aim a bow again. He closed his eyes and let his head slam back onto the tree he was resting against. He wanted sleep to return to him.

It was only in his dreams that he got any peace. There, in the Beyond, he was whole again. He was useful. His grandfather Theron was always there, never pitying him, always making him feel like he could do anything. And then he would wake and reality would hit him like a stone.

Since he and his mother had swiftly returned home from Denerim, avoiding the heavy snows, Ronan slept as much as he could. The waking world was too painful. It was more of a nightmare than any place in the Beyond. He couldn't hunt anymore and he couldn't even climb into the trees, not the way that he used to anyway. He could lug himself up if he tried hard enough, but he didn't have the heart anymore. What was the use anyway? Even the women looked at him differently now. Who wanted a husband who couldn't hunt, even if he had saved the clan?

He should have been there, when the slavers first came. It wouldn't have gone that far, they wouldn't have lost anybody, and he wouldn't have lost his hand. But that's not what had happened. The only mercy in that whole mess was that it had been his shield hand and not his sword hand. He could still use a sword, but what good was that here, with his clan? They had sealed up the passageway that the slavers had used, all without Ronan. They set watches around the camp, all without Ronan. They obviously thought him useless. He glared miserably at his left arm. In the corner of his vision, he noticed Ash lying beside him, his ears perking up at a sound in the forest.

"You know, lethallin, staring at it is not going to make it grow back." Rhys appeared from the forest, lobbing himself onto the cold ground in front of Ronan. Ronan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head away from his cousin's gaze.

"Leave me alone, Rhys."

"Your father is looking for you." Rhys said, ignoring Ronan's wish.

Ronan let out his breath in exasperation. "What for?"

"Something about sending the hunters to gather our stores." Rhys replied.

Ronan forced a laugh. "Now he wants me to help? Is he blind? Can he not see how useless I would be for the task?" he held up his arm to Rhys.

Rhys frowned. "You know you're not useless."

Ronan rolled his eyes and stared away into the forest, a bored look overcoming his face. "Don't patronize me. I know what I am good for and it's nothing."

"You keep saying that and it will be true."

"Just go away."

"What happened to you, Ronan? You never used to let anything get you down. You always used to push yourself harder than everyone else. You never let an injury or sickness get to you. You never whined." Rhys asked with concern. With a slight smile, he curved his fist through the air. "Suck it up, right?"

Ronan calmly turned his gaze back to Rhys. Brushing a strand of hair out of his line of vision, he then grabbed hold of the ground next to him, gathering up a few broken twigs. With a chuckle, he threw the twigs at Rhys. Rhys swatted the twigs away effortlessly.

"Halla turd." Ronan spat out. "You never know when to quit."

"It's what you would tell me." Rhys replied, cracking a smile.

"I don't care. Leave me be."

Rhys sighed. "You need a woman."

Ronan closed his eyes and shook his head. An image of a woman flashed through his mind briefly before he shoved it away. She was forbidden. It could never be.

And why wouldn't Rhys just leave him alone? Rhys didn't know anything about him. They had been inseparable growing up, but all that had changed when Rhys went off and married Eleri. He had no right anymore to tell him what he needed.

"You need to get a life and stop trying to fix mine, as if you knew me still." Ronan declared angrily.

"I have a life. A good life and one which you saved when you drove off the slavers and rescued everybody." Rhys retorted, not unkindly.

"Not everybody." Ronan grumbled, thinking of the few hunters they had lost in the fight.

"It could have been a lot worse if you and the Grey Wardens had not come when you did. The clan could have been sold into slavery. The clan could have been just me and a few others. Stop punishing yourself. It's not like you." Rhys said.

"Mythal help you, for if you don't leave me be I will sick Ash onto you." Ronan threatened. He was getting terribly impatient. Rhys didn't know him. Nobody did.

"Alright, alright." Rhys relented, arising from the ground. "I'll leave you be. But don't keep your father waiting too long. You know how he gets..."

"Just go." Ronan protested sternly, and petted Ash as a warning. Rhys finally left, but Ronan didn't feel any better. The stupid lout had given him a lot to think about. Now he would never fall back into slumber with all these thoughts running through his head. Grumbling, he sat up and reluctantly made his way back to the village.

...

Brenna fingered the pouch at her waist. In it were two precious things; the necklace and the letter. She reached into it, dragging out the letter, which she unfolded and read over and over again. He wanted her at Vigil's Keep. It was a nice feeling. Siofra sat by her then and she quickly refolded the letter and shoved it into her pouch.

"I cannot read. There is no need to hide it from me." Siofra chided gently.

"You must think me a fool, staring at this thing all the time." Brenna said, a little embarrassed.

Siofra smiled and then leaned over closer to whisper conspiratorially. "I think it's sweet. My son writing you a letter that you cherish so much."

Brenna turned to Siofra, shaking her head, her raven coloured hair whipping her face. "On another note, I think it is time I leave for home."

"So soon?" Siofra asked, surprised. "I only just got here."

"I don't belong here..." Brenna replied. This was her father's clan, but try as she might, she just couldn't fit in. She had helped the clan, like Tristan had asked. But they didn't need her anymore. Loki made a commotion at that moment on the other side of the village, barking and wrestling a stick away from a Dalish child. "And neither does Loki."

Siofra shook her head. "You are welcome here."

"I need to go, anyway." Brenna said. She hadn't mentioned anything about her parentage to anyone. She didn't want anyone, especially Siofra, to treat her differently, bad or good, for being an elf-blooded human. She knew it was taboo among the Dalish. But Siofra, she would understand. It was because of her that she existed, for her father never would have loved her mother if Siofra had never dallied with Tristan's father. But Brenna could not bring herself to say the words; I am the daughter of Alras and Adalia. It wasn't important anyhow.

"I suppose I cannot change your mind." Siofra said sadly. She patted Brenna's hand. "You are a good woman. You remind me so much of somebody I once knew; a kind gentlewoman."

Brenna stiffened. Surely she didn't mean her mother?

"And your eyes, they are so beautiful. They remind me also of somebody long gone." Siofra continued, sighing. "Ah, don't mind me. I have been so close to death for so long it is odd to feel so renewed again. I guess this rejuvenation causes me to remember the people of my past who are no longer here."

Brenna winced. "I prefer to look forward in life."

Siofra chuckled. "Well, when you are young I suppose that is all you can do. You have a bright future. When you're old like me, perhaps your thoughts will turn to the past."

"You are not so old. I am not exactly a spring chicken. And we'll see."

At that moment Ronan came lazily trudging through the camp. He wore a scowl on his face as he paused before his mother, ignoring Brenna altogether. Brenna, for her part, did not let Ronan get to her. He had barely said anything to her since he returned and mostly stayed out of the village, prowling the forest by himself. She assumed it had to do with his injury. Whenever he did turn his attention to her, she smiled and was polite, usually for naught. She could see why Tristan and he did not really get along, but she wasn't going to judge him without knowing him too well. Ronan did, however, sometimes remind her of Tristan, like now, with his moping look about him. It sent a short pang to her chest.

"Where is father?" he asked Siofra with clear impatience.

"He is at the northern edge of the forest." Siofra replied, calmly craning her neck towards the north.

Keeping a watchful and suspicious eye on Loki in the distance, Ronan continued on his way, dragging his feet along the ground as if he were chained to a boulder, forcing his way forward, step by dreadful step.

When he was out of hearing, Siofra stood up. "I worry about him."

Brenna stood up too and placed a comforting hand on Siofra's shoulder. "He needs time to face this change. It cannot be easy for him."

"He was always so lively, so brash. Now he just mopes around if he isn't off by himself. I wish I could do something for him. I am his mother. I should be able to make it better for him." Siofra remarked sadly.

"Maybe you can." Brenna said, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Siofra asked her.

"When the snows melt, send him to my home. He can escort me to Vigil's Keep."

"Oh, I don't think seeing Tristan would help..."

"Tristan? No. But I suspect there is another Grey Warden there that he would be happy to see again." Brenna replied thoughtfully. She had spent little time in the company of Ronan and Melisende, but from what she had seen... Melisende might be a tonic for his blues.

Siofra looked to the sky in thought. "The woman, Melisende? You know, I think that might be a good idea. It is worth a try. But I don't want him to think I am pushing him away. I will have to go about it in a clever way. I don't want him to feel like this is a pity duty."

"Oh, I think you can manage that Siofra. And if the end destination is no help at all, perhaps the journey itself will renew him. It will, at the least, give him time to reflect." Brenna remarked.

"You are wise beyond your years." Siofra said, watching Brenna intently.

Brenna shrugged. She wouldn't say that about herself. All she wanted to do was help. In any case, she had to leave the village before the dead of winter. Otherwise, it would be too difficult to return home.