Chapter Nine: Turbulent Pasts

Kyra hadn't been born in Ferelden and she suspected nowhere near it either. She remembered little about her first few years of life, apart from the north-westerly, salty wind from living next to the ocean and that one day, her father had piled all their belonging onto a ship and she, her mother and her father set off on a very, very long journey. After weeks, months or maybe even years – Kyra had no idea how long they had weathered the seas – of sailing, they made land. She didn't know the name of her homeland or where it possibly could be. When in Denerim, Kyra would always visit 'The Wonders of Thedas.' They had a large map of Thedas that stretched the length of the wall. She, and nor did her mother or father look any different from the people here in Ferelden, or Orlais or anywhere else she had been, so she could not be from Par Vollen – the home of the Qunaris – or maybe she was from one of the other islands, such as Seheron, Brandel's Reach or Alamar. Perhaps she was from the Free Marches, and her father had decided life would have been better in Ferelden. She didn't know. The only connection she had to her birthplace was a few bits of folklore and songs, and the song her mother had always sang to her, 'The Islander.'

Kyra's mother had always said that they had landed in Highever, when she asked about their trip across the seas. They had stayed there for a while, getting a feel of this new country they had come to. Kyra remembered her first impressions of Ferelden, that it was cold and smelled of wet dog. The ocean smelled different too, like raw fish and rotting seaweed and the wind blew her hair in the opposite direction from the wind back home. She didn't like it. She remembered pulling on her father's coat and asking why they had come here. He had never given her a response.

A month or so had passed, and they set off to the east, to a place Kyra would learn later on, was Denerim. There they stayed for a time too, her father working as a merchant's assistant and her mother working in the kitchen of the tavern. Kyra had spent the days with her mother, playing under the wooden table. It hadn't always smelt too good, but at least it was warm. At night, they all piled in one room that the tavern keeper had rented out to them.

Another few months passed and they set off once again, this time to the south. Kyra had grown up learning to never question her parents and their decisions, especially not her father's. So when he dragged her mother and her for weeks on end, from city to town, village to hamlet, she had never once opened her mouth to complain.

Eventually, they came to a city of ruins. Vast stone structures, that once would have been magnificent in their glory years, but were all now but rubble and stone arches. There was a great stone bridge, which crossed a massive expanse, where the fields stretched out far below. Kyra had remembered that this place had been swarming with soldiers. Strong, weathered men with gruff voices and shining armour. They had let her family pass through, unhindered, and they travelled forth. She had learned many years later that that had been Ostagar, and those soldiers had been none other than the Grey Wardens.

Then, out of the blue, her father decided to settle down in a small blip of a town a few miles north of Ostagar. If Kyra ran up the northern hills, to the very highest top, she could see the vague silhouette of the Tower of Ishal and the rest of the ruins of Ostagar. That was the only thing Kyra had liked about it. Apart from that it was a rat infested, backwater town. It rested on the edge of the swamps and marshes, the Korcari Wilds. It was frigid in the winter and humid in the summer. Why her father had decided to stop there, she had never known. But they stayed, for many years. Kyra grew and started attending classes at the Chantry, while her mother worked as a cook in the local tavern and her father worked as a merchant. Her father had always been good with numbers, and was especially charismatic, so it wasn't too long before he started a shop of his own. Life had been good, the coin kept flowing in, but yet they still stayed in the dismal town. Kyra wanted to leave, for this wasn't her home, and as she grew older, the more this feeling grew too.

By the time she was seven, Kyra had been already much taller than any of the other girls and many of the boys too. The other children had called her a 'giant' and she was teased incessantly about her mismatched eyes. She had few friends and would spend her time watching the boys sword fight, from her house's top window, in the field next to their home. She had watched them for hours on end, taking in each and every move they made. It wasn't as if they were any good, but it was enough for her to practice when no one was watching. Once her mother had caught her, lunging through the house with the broom in her hand as a sword. She had smacked her so quick across the back of the head; she hadn't had time to react. "Girls don't sword fight," her mother had warned her sternly, "They cook, clean and find good husbands. That's all." She had loved her mother with all her heart, but Kyra could never accept the life she had taken of just cooking and cleaning and making sure to fulfil her husband's ever whim. It was just too boring.

Then, one day, everything changed. She had come back from her classes at the Chantry, and as she strode closer to the house, she could hear the sound of her mother's voice, shrill and high pitched. Her mother wasn't an angry person, so to hear her shouting as such was very strange. Kyra had walked in on her parent's in the middle of a fight. Her mother's eyes were red and sore while her father looked exasperated. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, for recently her father's business had taken off, and he was being summoned to every corner of the Ferelden by every which noble. Sometimes for months, he would be gone, securing business and trading deals. They were just fighting over the fact that daddy was never home. She knew that she missed her father when he was gone, so her mother must have missed him too. Her father had stormed out of the room in a flurry, leaving her mother standing in the middle of the room, with papers in her hands. She had burst into tears and ran up the stairs. Kyra had carefully picked up the pieces of paper.

"He was having an affair, wasn't he?" Alistair asked, resting his chin on his hand.

"He sure was. He had a mistress in Denerim, and my mother had found their letters of correspondence. I was too young to understand at first, but I eventually figured it out. Turns out he didn't have just one mistress…but quite a few. My father obviously denied it, but who could deny the proof in those letters?" Kyra sighed and looked off into the distance, "My mother was never the same after that. She became quite and sullen. She hardly spoke and when she did the sarcasm and bitterness dripped in her voice. My mother swore that she would never let herself forget. She rarely left the house either, expect to go work. Not that we needed it. My father was bringing more than enough coin home."

"What happened then?"

"Then…" Kyra hesitated for a moment, "then, one day I had come back from picking berries on the edge of the forest. I remember walking into the house and…something just wasn't right. It was too quiet and too calm. My mother wasn't in her usual rocking chair, mumbling and cursing to herself in front of a crackling fire. I called out, and no one answered. So I walked up to my parent's room, in the thought that perhaps my mother was sleeping. When I opened the door…" Kyra hesitated again, this time for longer. Alistair could she see she was struggling to find her words. She cleared her throat before continuing, "I opened the door and my mother was dead. She had hung herself from the rafters."

"Maker's breath…" Alistair's eyes widened, "I'm so sorry…"

"You weren't the one who slipped the noose around her neck," Kyra waved him off, "So don't be sorry…Anyway, I didn't know what to do, so I ran down to where my father worked. He came back with me. He took her body down and cried the whole night. I had never seen my father cry. I had never thought he was capable of it. He had braved massive waves and violent storms, was strong and courageous, and yet here was the same man, with tears streaming down his face, weeping over his wife's body…" Kyra shrugged, "Things were never the same. We buried my mother high up on one of the hills. My father stopped travelling and worked fulltime at the shop. At night, he'd come home and sit in front of the fire. Just stare at it. Soon afterwards, he started drinking. At first just a glass, but then two, and then three...Soon it was a few bottles every night. He wasn't able to work anymore, being drunk and hung over all the time. So the coin soon ran out too. It went on for years and it just got worse. He had broken his own heart and I had to watch as he tried to reassemble it. There were countless nights where he would stumble in home, with a girl on each arm, all as drunk as the next."

"So I'm guessing that's where your intolerance from alcohol came?"

"That's right. My father gave no regard to what he did or said when he was drunk. He would curse and swear, mumble to himself all the time. One night, I had done something, what I still do not know, and he had lost his top. He jumped up from the table, yelling and threatening to kill me. I was scared witless, so naturally I tried to run. Back then my hair was long, so my father grabbed me by the hair and threw me to the ground. He called me all sorts of things, bitch being the kindest. And when I told him to stop, he smacked me across the face. Mind you, I've been stabbed and shot at by arrows and had gaping wounds, but nothing has ever compared to that. It felt as if he had smacked my head right off my shoulders. There was a blistering, white, hot pain that shot through my face, and everything was fuzzy. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth. I also remember my father towering over me, seething like a mad man. It was the first time he had ever hit me. It was the last time too."

"Did you-" Alistair was almost too afraid to ask what happened next.

"Kill him? If that was what you were going to ask, no, I simply waited until he had fallen asleep, packed my things and left."

"Left? Where did you go?"

"I thought of going to Ostagar, but it was too obvious, my father would find me there. Also, the soldiers there would have brought me back. So I went to the only other place I could, into the Wilds. No one would come looking for me there. Everyone was far too superstitious to do that. He would simply assume that I was dead. So I ran as far as I could, until I collapsed from pure exhaustion."

Alistair could hardly believe it, "How could you have possibly survived in the Wilds? How old were you?"

"By then I was about ten years old. But this story is getting far too long and much off the topic of your question. So to make a long story short, while in the Wilds, I was rescued by two soldiers, from a rogue band of darkspawn. I had accidently stumbled upon the darkspawn camp and they had attacked me. I had been injured but managed to run away. But they chased me. I had tripped and fallen, and the darkspawn had caught up to me. The next moment, I saw the flashing of blades and one by one, the darkspawn fell to the ground, their blackish blood spilling everywhere. I looked up to see two men, two soldiers, with a griffon on their breast plate and shields."

"Grey Wardens…"

"At that point in time, I hadn't known, I was just happy to be alive. One of the men bandaged my wounds. He was a tall man, with wide shoulders and a strong build. He had shaggy black hair and warm, rich chestnut eyes. He asked me about my family and I told them that we had been attacked by thrall of darkspawn and that they were dead. So, he took me with him, took me back to Ostagar with him and his partner…He was a kind man," Kyra smiled at the memories, "He let me sit on his shoulders when we travelled and he would tell me great stories about his adventures. At Ostagar, I was fed and slept well for the first night in months. The next morning, I overheard the man who saved me and, who I assumed to be his commanding officer arguing…about me. He was to take me to Denerim, to the orphanage there. I was a liability. So that very same day we set off for Denerim. We walked for many days, and then suddenly turned off the Imperial Highway and into a forest. When I asked him where we were going, he replied by saying a place where I would be safe, a place where I would be looked after. We walked for a few more days, before we came across a camp. We were greeted by an elf. I had never seen an elf before. I remember looking up at this man who had saved my life, wondering why he was going to leave me here with all these strange, pointy eared people. I begged him not to leave me there, but he told me that I would be safe there. I still remember watching him go. I had never even had the chance to say thank you…"

"So the elves he left you with, was Zathrian's clan I presume?"

"Yes, it was. Zathrian took me in as if I was his own child. But I suppose to him, I was like the daughter he lost so very long ago...They taught me how to use a bow and arrow, how to spot traps, how to hunt, how to blend in with the forest and move without a sound. It was they who taught me herbalism and how to heal wounds. I grew up with Lanaya, who was like a sister to me. I grew up amongst them, learned their culture, their language, their stories. I was considered one of them…" Kyra turned to face Alistair, "Now you know, Warden. Zathrian was like a father to me, and yet I learned that he had a past that I never knew of...that he hid from all of us. But perhaps, I am like him. I hid my past from you too."

"I don't blame you for doing so, but thank you for telling me. I would have never guessed…" Kyra looked back at the fire, and laughed.

"I cannot believe that I actually told you that…" Kyra saw Alistair cock his head to one side, "You're the first person I have ever told." She saw him smile.

"So does that mean you trust me?"

"I guess it does." Kyra gave him a small smile, but she still felt uncomfortable about how such a story, which she had buried away for years, had surfaced and been told so easily to a man she hardly knew. The words had spilled out of her mouth, as if the flood gates had been opened. She was always so careful, always so sure to keep her distance. Why was it that she couldn't do it with him?

"What happened to your father?"

"I don't know. If he didn't drink himself to death many years ago, he is most surely dead now. Once I heard the news of what had happened at Ostagar, I had made my way there. I honestly couldn't believe it. But then I saw the burning tower and the battle field..." Kyra frowned as the image flashed through her mind, "The village I had lived in was burnt to the ground. If my father hadn't fled, then he burnt along with it."

"You've been to Ostagar since the battle?"

Kyra nodded quietly, the anxious look on Alistair's face was overwhelming.

"Ever since we left Ostagar and the Wilds, all I've wanted to do is return to it. I know what will be waiting will not be pleasant to see…but it needs to be done. Someone has to return to retrieve my br-" Alistair bit his tongue, "the king's armoury and weapons. Someone has to bury his body…" Kyra watched Alistair look at the fire, his eyes shining with tears. He looked heartbroken and miserable.

"I understand…"

They sat together in front of the fire, with the sound of the night animals around them.

"Do you ever regret leaving?" Alistair asked. Kyra sensed that the question had more meaning behind it than what first appeared.

"You mean leaving my father?"

"Yes. Perhaps if you had stayed, you could have saved him when your home was attacked or convince him to give up the alcohol...he was still your father after all."

"Perhaps, or perhaps I would have died too." Kyra shrugged, "If there's one thing I've learned in my few, meagre years of life it is this: In the end, Warden, we only regret the chances we didn't take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make. And when we dwell too much in the past, we miss everything that's happening now to us in the present. The past is the past and there is nothing we can do to change it."

Alistair nodded his head, contemplating what she had just said. Kyra watched as he rubbed the back of his neck, and stared into the glowing orange flames.

"Do you remember the name of the Grey Warden who saved you?" He asked, still staring deep into the fire. Kyra thought for a moment.

"I think his name was Duncan."


Author's Notes: The reveal of some of Kyra's past. Honestly, her past was inspired by the song "The Only Exception" by Paramore. I had always had an idea of Kyra's past, but that song just tied it all together.

Anyway, I am back home again so updates will be more frequent. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and as always, I appreciate all of the lovely reviews! Thank you!