A/N: Thank you, Lisa, for straightening out several kinks in this chapter. You are the wunderkind of betas!
The Keeper of Secrets
Long ago, before the time of the Long Drift, a young woman grew to covet her father's standing as the clan chieftain. Each night, as her father lay sleeping, she stared at the stars, contemplating the perfect plan to usurp her father's place. She plotted and schemed, never speaking of it to a soul, for she trusted none but her brother, who had left the clan to live his own life.
And then it came to her, the perfect plan she had sought. Weary from the long night, but triumphant, she sat by the golden waters, staring at the awakening sun. A fox with inquisitive eyes and a sly smile appeared, coming to stand beside her. She was not afraid, for she spoke the language of the fox and she greeted him.
"I am Deloris, Fox. You are welcome to sit with me."
The fox stretched and curled up beside her, continuing to smile. "You have a secret," Fox said. "Tell me what it is and I will keep it to myself."
The young woman looked about, ensuring they were alone, and then smiled as she whispered her plan. Her new friend continued to smile as he thanked her before bounding into the woods. Exhausted, Deloris fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun had retired, leaving a dark, moonless night in its wake.
She crept toward her father's tent, intent on carrying out her plan, but when she entered the tent, she found her father sitting in wait. "I am disappointed," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You were tricked by a fox and told him your secrets, foolish child." With that, he became the fox, staring at her with a sly smile.
She was taken to a small hut and locked inside. Each day someone brought food to her and each day she stared out of the small window, thinking of a way she might escape to once again try and usurp her father. After many days, she seized upon a plan and shouted her happiness, the sound floating on the breeze.
"What a lovely day, don't you agree?" asked a chickadee from his perch in a nearby tree.
"Why yes, Chickadee, it is a beautiful day."
"You are very cheerful. May I know why?" chirped the bird, black cap glinting in the sun.
The woman looked out the window to make sure no fox was nearby before she whispered her plan to the bird. The chickadee began to chirp loudly and incessantly, until the clan gathered around. The chickadee shifted and became her father.
"I cannot kill my own blood and flesh, but you are cast out of our clan," her father said with great sadness. "We will leave in the morning, but you will not come."
"No, father, I will die here if you leave me," she whispered in anguish.
"Perhaps if you talk to the animals they will help, but I will not," he replied and walked away.
They brought her out in the morning sun and walked her into the forest, before tying her to a tree. Wordlessly they walked away. Deloris wept bitterly, crying out for help. For three days and three nights she pleaded for someone to come and hear her story that they might help.
On the morning of the fourth day, a beautiful, gaily painted butterfly landed on her shoulder, fluttering its wings. "If I tell you my secret, will you help?" Deloris begged. The butterfly swept its wings up and down, silently agreeing.
"Go into the deepest part of the forest and tell my brother that I need his help. He knows what I have done and why. He lives in the house near the swamp. Tell him my secret," she urged.
The butterfly rose and floated off, bright wings dazzling in the sun. Deloris waited and waited, becoming weaker each day until, at last, she was no more. The butterfly returned, and with her came Mother Earth.
"Ah, child, you forgot all the lessons you were taught as the clan shaman," Mother Earth said quietly, lowering the young woman to the ground. The butterfly sat on Mother Earth's outstretched finger.
"Let go of dark thoughts and secrets, for keeping such things cannot end well. Be cautious who you confide in.
"A fox is sly and cunning; never meant to keep a secret. He will tell all he knows to any who will reward him for it. It is his nature, and he can no more stop it than the moon can stop the sun from rising.
"A chickadee will not be able to keep secrets for it is imbued with honesty. We praise the chickadee as the bringer of truth. If you want to keep your secret safe, never whisper it to the chickadee.
"If you wish a secret to be kept safe, capture a butterfly and whisper your secret to it. A butterfly cannot speak and your secret is safe. Release the butterfly and it will carry your secrets to Mother Earth and Father Sky, for only they can know the thoughts of butterflies." Cautionary Tales of the Chasind as written by Cyfarwydd, shaman of the Chasiver Clan.
~~~oOo~~~
"Ser Bryant…Aerin," the revered mother began, softening her voice as she studied him. She paused, clasping her hands and intoning a whispered prayer before continuing. "This is not a step to be undertaken lightly. A request of this type must go first to the Grand Cleric and her Knight-Commander, and, should they approve, the request is forwarded to the Office of the Divine, as well as the Knight-Divine and the Knight Vigilant. It can take a year or more to be decided. Are you prepared to wait that long?"
Aerin paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. He would wait until the return of the Maker if it meant he could marry Laria at some point. He smiled confidently, if a bit impatiently. He had wanted to leave earlier and another delay frustrated him further. With an effort, he stilled his impatience before speaking.
"I'm sure, Your Reverence. I'm not altogether sure she'll have me, but if this relationship continues, and if she'll have me, I will marry her."
"Her sister is an apostate, lest you have forgotten. At the moment we can protect her, but that might not always be the case. Sending a request for marriage to the Divine may very well bring unwanted scrutiny to the family. They will want to make sure that Laria is a woman of independent means."
Aerin frowned. "I will include financials," he said firmly.
"And which will you choose should it come down to a matter of your faith or the Hawkes?"
He continued pacing, his smile coming easily to his lips. "My faith will remain as it always has, regardless of what choices I may have to make in the future," he replied with deep conviction.
"And if the Order demands you bring Bethany Hawke to the Circle of Magi?"
He stopped his pacing, turning to face the revered mother whose lined face wore only concern, not condemnation. "Then I will leave the Order," he responded simply. "It is not by the Maker's mandate that mages are locked away, Your Reverence."
"Many would consider that a heretical statement, Aerin; be careful where you say it," the older woman chastised, her mouth a grim straight line. "Would you wish to leave the Order should that occur?"
"No, but I would do so without hesitation. What you have built here is unique and I would hope it spreads to other parts of Ferelden and beyond, eventually. I joined the Order to effect just this type of change. If I can't do that from within, I will find another way."
"I see. And will you leave the Order if you don't receive the approval of the Divine to marry Laria Hawke?"
That was a much more difficult question to answer, and a decision that would only be made if Laria agreed to marry him. As he had yet to broach the subject, and felt confident that it was much too early to do so, he gave a slight twist of his shoulders, settling his armor and a smile into place. "I won't second guess what the Divine will or won't do, Revered Mother Glynis."
"Ah, and yet you have determined that you'll leave should you be required to follow the dictates of your Order regarding young Bethany," she commented with a quiet sadness in her voice. "This experiment of ours must be nurtured and allowed to grow slowly and in secret, Aerin. The circles have been around for nearly a thousand years; they won't be quick to disappear. You leaving the Order will slow down any progress we hope to make. I would not wish for that to happen; there are few enough of us as it is and it is a dangerous path we walk, risking so much to bring an end to the oppression of the mages without declaring war on the chantry."
He resumed his pacing, anxious to leave the philosophical discussion for a later time. "Change can occur from without or within, and will need support of both those in the Order, and ordinary citizens if it's to succeed. My dedication to changing the Order and its principles hasn't wavered simply because I've fallen in love with someone. My commitment to change is as strong as ever, perhaps more so, having seen what the Hawkes have gone through."
He turned to face the revered mother, smiling wryly. "When I came here it was to learn about your charter, to discover how I could help. I'd heard whispers of it in Denerim and thought to assist in shaping a new course for our Order and for the mages. I certainly didn't expect to fall in love in the process."
Her face softened and a compassionate smile formed on her lips. "I don't doubt that, and your ideas and thoughts are helping to forge the new compact we're crafting, but it will be years before we can even hope to present it before the Divine and the Knight Vigilant. And many more years, should the Maker will it, for the changes to take place."
She stood and intoned a soft blessing on the man before her. "I won't keep you any longer. I ask only that you be careful, Aerin, and that you guard yourself against gossip. Far more damage is done by a wagging tongue than a sword."
Aerin bowed and accepted the benediction before striding out of the chancel and into a young woman, nearly knocking her off her feet. He instinctively held out his hands to steady her and murmured, "Pardon me, Sister Leliana, I didn't see you there. Did I hurt you?"
"No, no, Ser Bryant, I'm fine," the lay sister claimed in dulcet tones, allowing herself to be steadied before ducking her head and moving away, her red hair gleaming brightly in the long shaft of sunlight streaming through the window.
Without another thought, he strode to his waiting horse. Aeolis, stamping impatiently, tossed his head and neighed as Aerin mounted. "I agree, so make haste," he laughed, patting the side of Aeolis's neck.
It was only later that he wondered briefly what their newest lay sister had been doing near the chancel during evening devotionals, but he turned his mind to other things, enjoying the crisp, clean air and the setting sun.
He was too old to feel the flutter in his stomach as his thoughts turned to Laria. Too old and too practiced at keeping his heart to himself, yet, as he rode to the Hawke farm, he found his stomach was inclined to dip and his heart to thump loudly in his chest. The stress of his day and his talk with the revered mother fell away as Aeolis galloped along the road.
Daylight was giving up its fierce hold, overcome by the encroaching night. The wind had stilled, as if holding its breath for the sun to depart, taking the sweet scent of wildflowers with it. Shadowy fingers stretched languorously in the dying light, dark ribbons along the road slowly lengthening. A deep crimson sun slid effortlessly below the horizon as dusk gathered its cloak across the sky.
Aerin slowed his horse to a walk as horse and rider adjusted to the diminishing light. Across the field he could see the flickering light of lanterns, a welcoming golden glow in the darkness. He felt as though he was coming home.
~~~oOo~~~
"Bollocks! I knew we shouldn't have stopped at the Blake Farm," Carver grumbled, peering into the growing gloom.
"Carver Hawke, I will not have a child of mine speaking in such a vulgar manner!" his mother admonished. He felt the dull heat of a flush creeping up from his chest to splash across his cheeks at her reprimand.
Without apologizing, he replied, "It'll be dark long before we get home now."
"Then it will be dark. That hardly calls for your language or your attitude, young man."
"Have it your way," he said ungraciously and strode ahead of the cart, furious.
His anger mounted as he drew closer to home and he found his footsteps slowing again until he was once more walking beside the family ox, Mett. He'd known Laria would land on her bloody feet. Didn't she always? He slapped the guiding tether against his leg, wincing at the bite of the leather strap.
Damn Haggar Blake for gossiping like a magpie. Carver felt that heavy press of anger and shame push into his chest as he thought about what he'd heard from Blake. Maybe if he'd heard it from Laria, seen her expression, he wouldn't be so mad at her. He let out a low growl of anger. The militia? She was going to get to serve in the militia? As a punishment? More like a reward. He snorted derisively. How fair was that? Hadn't he wanted to join since he'd been a little boy? And she, no doubt, didn't want to, probably thought she was too good for it.
Of course his mother was upset by the news, and the minute she was seated in the oxcart again, she bemoaned Laria's fate. "Who'll take care of us should the worse come to pass?" she asked with a fretful note that made Carver feel even angrier because it felt like a knife stabbing into his gut.
"Me!" he'd shouted, stunned that she so easily overlooked the obvious. Maker, would he always be consigned to the shadows? His hands curled into fists and the hurt fueled his anger.
As he walked along the rutted road trying to let go of the blinding rage, and ignore the pain that fed it, he tried to come up with a way to show them, to prove to himself, that he was just as important to the family as Laria was. His thoughts twisted and turned as he worked out the puzzle, until he finally came up with an idea. It was bloody genius. He was a bloody genius. The plan would alleviate his mother's concern and give him his heart's desire, and if it also gave Laria what she wanted, so what? It was the perfect solution for everyone. A thin smile settled on his lips as he considered the plan from several angles, feeling both triumphant and excited. The pain receded, taking the anger with it.
If Laria didn't want her punishment, he'd take it. He'd talk to Grant, demand to take his sister's place and join the militia. Now that he was sixteen, he was of age and the only thing that had stopped him before was the promise Bethany had extracted from him in a fit of guilt. It was plain to him that both his mother and his twin would be happier if Laria stayed at home and he joined the militia.
Five years in the militia would give him the experience needed to join the Ferelden army as a sergeant if he was lucky. His chest puffed out and his shoulders straightened. This was the chance to help his family, as well as himself. He felt a stirring of pride. He'd go to Lothering first thing in the morning and talk to the constable. In secret, so he wouldn't have to face all the women ganging up on him to shame him into staying or tell him why he wasn't good enough to join the army. Yes, by the Maker, that's what he'd do.
As the welcoming glow of their farm came into view, his mood was lighter. The farm was less than a mile away and he was ready to be there. He'd have to rise early to set out before the others were awake.
Bethany hopped down from the cart to walk beside him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, humming softly. "Mother didn't mean anything by it, Brother," she said quietly, her voice sweet and conciliatory. If his mother hadn't meant it, why did Bethany feel badly for him? Of course she'd meant it.
"It doesn't matter," he muttered, looking out at the night, watching the stars winking into view.
"Oh no, Carver, you have that look about you," she continued, giving him a side-long glance.
"What look?" he demanded, avoiding her gaze in favor of counting the stars.
"That one that says you're very pleased with yourself."
He was tempted, for all of a second, to confess his plan to her but she was unable to keep a secret. Her overwhelming need to be honest with everyone always overrode her desire to keep a secret and if he gave even a hint of his plans, she would sing it from the treetops, as she had always done, not with malice, but because she couldn't help herself. No, he couldn't tell her, and he swallowed his words before they could form.
"Just happy to be going home," he lied without looking at her.
~~~oOo~~~
"How did you know my father?" Laria asked, her voice carrying a hint of suspicion as she invited the warden commander into the house.
"A very long and not particularly interesting story, I'm afraid," the man replied, avoiding her gaze by glancing around the room she ushered him into.
After introductions were made, Maron and Fletcher took up a protective post near the door, intently watching the proceedings, and it was all Laria could do not to pat Fletcher's head and tell him to ask the questions that were obviously demanding to be voiced by the look on his face. But before she could say anything, Warden Commander Duncan spoke.
"I hope you will pardon me if this causes you pain, Lady Laria, but how did your father die? I met him only once but he seemed a healthy man."
"A wasting disease," she replied quietly.
"Ah, that is distressing news. While we only met once, we corresponded regularly. He gave no indication he was ill. I trust he didn't suffer overlong?"
Laria frowned. "Why would he correspond with a Grey Warden?" she asked, her curiosity growing. She fixed her gaze on the man before her, searching for answers and finding none.
"That, too, is a long story, but he kept a watch on this area for us, reporting any suspected darkspawn attacks."
Laria's mind tumbled over itself as she tried to understand why her father would help the Grey Wardens. From all the legends and fables she'd ever heard about the Wardens, none had come from her father. He'd been, in fact, rather disdainful of them the only time she had brought them up.
"That's surprising, given his dislike of your organization," she remarked bluntly, after a moment's silence. She was faintly aware of Fletcher's indrawn breath and realized she'd been ruder than necessary to the man standing before her so civilly.
"His reasons for that dislike were not without cause," Duncan admitted in the same quiet manner he'd maintained even in the face of her discourtesy.
"Please, sit down, Commander, I didn't mean to be impolite."
He gave her a half smile, nearly hidden by his beard and mustache. There was something secretive about him, nothing overt and certainly not furtive, but rather as if he held a wealth of secrets within him that he zealously guarded and that weighed heavily upon him. She felt a moment's sympathy for him, gone quickly at the sound of a horse arriving outside.
Duncan's hand moved with swift assurance to the hilt of his dagger but she flashed him a reassuring smile. "Merely a friend come to dine," she explained.
"Ah. In that case, I'll take my leave. I need to return to camp. My men will be awaiting my return. However, before I go, I had expected a report from your father months ago. Is it possible it might be among his personal effects?"
Laria frowned as she mentally went through her father's few possessions. She couldn't remember anything looking even remotely like a message among his books and journal, which had been placed in a small casket that her mother kept, filled with mementos and bits of her history. Laria had thumbed through it but it had been so personal she had refused to read it in detail.
"No, there was nothing like that," she replied with conviction. A look of disappointment, there and gone in less than a blink, flitted across the man's face. She was about to remark on it when the sound of Aerin's voice stopped her.
The door burst open and he swept into the room, his smile resting on his lips with great delight. Her own smile grew and she took a step toward him, her heart beating rapidly and so loudly she was sure everyone in the crowded room could hear it.
"My lady hawk," he greeted, his voice as warm as a caress. He began moving to her side, only to halt when he spied the Commander of the Grey. His eyes narrowed. "Warden Commander Duncan, what are you doing here?" he demanded in a cool voice.
Laria blinked, startled. "You know the Commander of the Grey?" she asked, feeling off-center and somewhat breathless by the situation. Her curiosity deepened as the two men eyed each other.
"I do," he confirmed, coming to put an arm around her waist. She felt a flash of irritation at his sudden possessiveness, but with it came a deep swell of affection.
Duncan bowed slightly. "There is no need to worry, Knight Captain, I am not here to conscript or recruit," he said dryly, a smile whisking across his features before it disappeared. Laria felt the tension leave Aerin and he stepped forward to greet Duncan with a quick clasp of hands, his manner friendly and relaxed.
Growing more confused by the moment, Laria asked, "How do you two know each other?"
"Duncan conscripted a criminal and an apostate out from under me when I served in Denerim."
There was a wry note in his voice as he spoke and his smile broadened. "The Grand Cleric gave me quite a lecture about the entire episode."
"Sorry, friend, but they have both proven to be of great value to the Wardens," Duncan replied, looking far from sorry. "I felt compelled to take Ser Bryant out for drinks after the incident," he explained, his eyes once more on her.
Laria stared in surprise. If ever a man looked less likely to go out drinking with anyone, it was Warden Commander Duncan, but he seemed more at ease and his smile more genuine. She had trouble envisioning the two men going out drinking together, but she would accept that it happened.
"I suggest you and Fletcher leave or you'll lose any hope of eating tonight," Aerin said, turning his attention to his subordinates. Maron nodded and moved to the door.
"But…can't we stay and talk to Ser Duncan?" Fletcher asked, eyeing the man in question with an almost childlike adoration. Laria clasped her hands tightly together so that she wouldn't reach across the space and ruffle his hair.
"I must go, I'm afraid," the commander said with a look that spelled relief.
"If you are ever in the area again, you are welcome here," Laria said quietly, determined to discover just what the nature of her father's relationship was with the Grey Wardens. Duncan appeared to be a man filled with secrets; she could tell from the very careful way in which he chose his words.
A flurry of activity as good-byes were exchanged gave way to a kiss the minute the door shut on the others.
"You smell good enough to eat," Aerin murmured, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair that clung to her forehead, still damp from her quick bath.
"So, you don't want any of the beef pasties I prepared?" she teased, grinning at him. "How fortuitous because I'm hungry enough to eat them all."
He pulled her closer, leaving her breathless. "Later," he whispered, his lips seeking hers again and she was happy to oblige, her fingers winging up his back to thread through his hair as she pulled him closer.
Her heart whispered of her deepening love for him as it fluttered inside her, tickling like the wings of a butterfly, but she was not yet ready to share that secret. Instead she sat across the table from him as they shared their day with each other, frequently interrupted by a kiss or a touch and punctuated by laughter.
After dinner, as they were clearing the table, Aerin caught her up, spinning her around until she was dizzy and laughing, before he peppered her face with kisses. Wrapping her arms around his waist ,she pressed herself against him, realizing that she had never been so happy and a shiver raced down her spine.
"What is it, Laria?" Aerin asked her, stepping back to examine her face.
She lowered her eyes, trying to catch her breath and settle her thoughts. A sudden fear settled in her, dark and heavy, a feeling of events spinning out of control. She took a step away and turned, staring at the sewing basket by the overstuffed chair, the pile of books that Bethany had borrowed from the chantry sitting on a table in a pool of light cast by a low burning candle, Carver's fishing pole leaning in a corner, gathering dust beside hers.
How long had it been since she and Carver had gone off to their secret fishing spot and spent a lazy afternoon dozing and fishing? How long since she and Bethany had read aloud to each other, imagining themselves stepping into the world created by the author? How long since she had watched her mother's head bent over her sewing, her grey hair caught silver in the light?
"My lady hawk, what is it?" Aerin asked quietly and she heard the note of concern in his voice.
She needed to end this madness before it went any further. She would hurt him, she would be hurt. She had neglected her family, mooning over a templar. The irony caught at her throat, burning it with tears and bitter laughter, her thoughts tumbling chaotically.
How could she tell him she wasn't sure she was strong enough to fight for their relationship? How could she tell him that she felt guilty for even wanting the kind of happiness that he offered? That it went against everything she had ever been taught about defending her family?
"Please, Laria, tell me," he urged.
"I –" she began, staring at her hands as misery swelled in her throat, threatening to strangle her.
"We can do this, my love," he whispered, brushing his fingers along her cheekbones. "We can do this together."
She wanted to believe him, his voice held such conviction, but the truth was there, floating above the desire. She was the head of her family, the one entrusted to care for all of them, a job that took every spare moment of her time, every ounce of her energy. Her heart twisted in her chest, as heavy as a stone.
"I will fight for you, Laria. I will fight until my last breath, even if it is you I have to fight," Aerin vowed, his voice fierce in its certainty.
Her family would always come first. It was a promise, a commitment, a duty that influenced every decision she'd ever made and to start making choices strictly for her own happiness felt suddenly wrong.
She wanted to believe him, wanted to celebrate, to recapture the feeling from earlier, when her heart had danced joyously within her, to tell him that she was his, body and soul, and that nothing would ever come between them.
She wanted to, but she remained still, unable to give voice to what she feared might be a lie.
A/N: The animal spirit of the chickadee represents truth and honesty. A number of Native American tribes consider it to be the herald of truth with a spirit so pure it couldn't tell a lie or keep a secret.
In certain Native American lore, the butterfly is considered the Keeper of Secrets. They believe that if you have a secret you don't want anyone else to know you should catch a butterfly and whisper your secret to it. Since they can't speak, the secret is safe in their keeping as only the Great Spirit can read the thoughts of butterflies.
The cautionary tale is a combination of my imagination, Native American lore and shamanism.
Cyfarwydd is Welsh and means storyteller.
Deloris is of Latin origin and means bitter sorrow.
