Chapter 3
Redcliffe, 9:59
Donna lay on her bed for a long, long time, until her uncle's hateful laughter died down, and she could only imagine that he'd passed out after the prodigious quantities of ale he'd consumed. She rose and peered out her window, and the dusky twilight filled her with dismay. By now the Velvet Slipper would be filling with folks having a pint after work or travellers spending coin on a meal. Evan would be getting ready to play.
Rory would have to ask someone else to stand guard by the door. Or maybe he'd just keep an extra eye out. Who knew? Would he be disappointed in her? Most likely.
Here Donna was, trapped like a rat in her bedroom, while her family plotted to pack her off as if she were no more than a prize broodmare. What of her stories? Could she still write and get them published all the way from dank Orzammar? Or would she be too busy running after little snotty-nosed brats? Would she be cooped up in some dusty, dark residence and subsist on whatever mouldy food her husband's coin bought? Frankly, the idea of bringing new life into this world scared her even more than the threat of never seeing the sun again.
Her chest grew tight, and Donna opened her windows to let in the night air. Her family's home was high up against the slopes and had a lake view, but Donna's rooms faced toward the mountain and all she saw when she looked out her window was the boughs of pines. During summer, the resinous scent rose with the sun, and even now, in the balmy evening, she could capture the ghost of this scent.
Her heart quickened when she saw first one then two firebugs flitting about – their ghostly little green lights eerie against the deeper dark of the trees. Redcliffe was never completely quiet. Even now, she could hear dogs barking, and a mother a few houses down calling for her children to come inside – all normal sounds she'd miss.
"No," Donna said. That one little word gave her so much pleasure. "I don't have to put up with this." She peered over the edge of her windowsill. The kitchen garden was to her right, its wall high enough to obscure anyone trying to look in – or out. The room directly below hers was a storeroom, in any case, where her stepfather kept most of his supplies. No one would be there to glance out the window. Ostensibly, Donna could drop carefully over the edge of her sill and sneak out of the property. The only challenge would be getting past their neighbour's geese and then Donna would be in one of the lanes running between a row of homes.
The immensity of her decision nearly gutted her. She was seriously contemplating running away. To what? To whom?
Merrim. At least to talk. Maybe the old Inquisition soldier would have some advice. Then, on to the Velvet Slipper. At least to say goodbye to Evan. Or even… A slow grin spread across her lips. She could offer to accompany him. Of all people, he'd understand exactly why she didn't want to settle down with some old goat so she could bear his brats.
Once she got to Lothering, she could send word, reassure her mother and Aeldric that she hadn't been eaten by darkspawn or fallen down a hole in a forgotten, ruinous temple. Quickly, she pulled off her kirtle and dressed in her leathers. Her favourite boots had never felt so welcome. The hair, of course, was problematic.
But a reckless energy surged through her and Donna palmed one of her throwing knives and hacked off first one, then the other braid. The resultant mess was awful, but dropping the twin braids on the floor filled her with a savage glee. A symbolic gesture – there was no going back. Her breath was short and her stomach squirmed. This was really happening. She would put in practice what she'd only ever written about in her stories.
Don't spend too much time thinking on the consequences. Just act.
What to pack was another problem. She needed to travel light. A change of clothes, underwear. Feminine necessities. Sewing kit. Whetstone and oils. A few of her tools, so she could at least make new arrows or repair her bow. She'd purchase a water canister and rope at the market. Her winter cloak, which was lined with wolf fur. Pen and ink. One journal.
She eyed her books with dismay, especially the first-edition copies written by her father. Ouch. That hurt. Her own two slim volumes sat snug next to them: The Bard's Gambit and In the Dracolisk's Den. Those would all remain, and she could only hope her mother didn't have them destroyed. Though there wasn't much space in her pack, she relented and folded up some blank pages for her current work in progress.
The immensity of her actions slammed into her anew. All this she was leaving behind… the mobiles made from bits of shell; the watercolours a friend had gifted her for her name-day; the small mabari statue Aeldric had cast from silver for her – all either too fragile or too unwieldy to take along.
Money. She'd almost forgotten that. Stupid.
Donna dug in what she'd affectionately termed her Box of Many Things, and lifted the pouch that contained twenty silvers and a few bronze pieces, as well as a handful of coppers. It wasn't much, but it'd do. Until she found gainful employment.
She checked that her daggers were snug in their sheaths, strapped on the harness, then grabbed her quiver and bow. Damn. Was she going to war? It certainly felt like it. Pack in hand, cloak over one arm, she paused at the window and cast one long look around her room. Her heart beat wildly. This is it.
She tried and couldn't quite imagine who would discover she was missing, what her family's responses would be. Anger? Disbelief? Tears? Would they look for her? Would they shun her, pretend that she'd never existed?
"Every adventure begins with that first step," she whispered, not sure where she'd read that or if it was a cliché she'd dragged out of the recesses of her mind.
Then she climbed onto the sill, let her pack fall onto the thick covering of pine needles below, and allowed herself to drop over the edge. Donna landed on cat feet yet remained half crouched, listening and waiting to hear whether there was any response to her egress.
Haden shouted something at Little Aeldric from inside, and their childish voices raised in argument poked blades into her heart. Would she ever see her half-brothers again? She fought the impulse that would have her run to them this instant. Aeldric would be so very disappointed. Ceren would most likely be in denial for weeks before the anger set in.
No. This was it. She'd already taken that first, irrevocable step. There was no turning back, unless she was ready to admit defeat and live out the rest of her miserable life beneath the ground. Dwarven heritage be damned. She was her own woman, and wasn't going to allow others to dictate her future.
Donna gathered her things and adjusted her pack, then snuck out around the back, through the gap in the hedgerow that separated their property from the next. The geese were already penned, and besides, Donna was well practiced in being especially quiet. Merrim would be proud.
Merrim. Someone else she'd be leaving behind. A fresh stab of grief lanced through her. The older woman had become the closest thing to an aunt to Donna over the past seven years since that day they'd met. Oh, and she'd never forget that day either. Donna had been running errands for Aeldric, and some of the merchants' brats had gotten it into their heads to make fun of her. One thing had led to another, and Donna had ended up scrapping with them, only she'd been no match for the four boys. That's when Merrim had stepped in.
If you're going to take on a stronger opponent, you've gotta think smart. Not stupid, she'd said.
Then she'd taken Donna to her home and helped clean up the worst of the scrapes and scratches. That's where Donna had seen the retired soldier's collection of daggers, and her fascination of sharp, pointy objects had begun. It also certainly helped that Merrim was a valued patron of Aeldric's, so when the woman had offered to train Donna, Aeldric wasn't in a position to say no. After all, it wasn't every day that a decorated veteran took on a student without expectation of some form of payment. Ceren had pouted and huffed about it for a while, but even she had to eventually admit that it was better to have a confident daughter, who stood up for herself, rather than have raised a retiring mouse.
I'd bet she's going to regret this tomorrow.
However the Mage Rebellion and its aftermath still lingered fresh in the hearts and minds of many in Redcliffe, not to forget the war with Corypheus.
In the gloaming, Donna was just one more traveller hurrying along Redcliffe's emptying streets. Merrim lived further up the mountainside, off a track past the old mill. Every step she took made Donna feel lighter, more resolved and, dare she admit it – excited, even?
Buttery yellow rectangles of light spilled out from the one-storey cottage, and a thin trickle of smoke from the hearth curled into the inky sky. Both moons were up, and near full, which made the night as bright as day even here, between the trees. Donna knocked at the front door, conscious that this wasn't the usual time that she'd visit, and for a moment hoped she wasn't intruding.
Katryne, Merrim's partner, unbolted and opened the door, her initial expression concern that quickly melted to pleased surprise once she recognised Donna.
"What have you done to your hair?" the older woman asked.
"What needed to be done ages ago," Donna said. "May I come in?"
Katryne stood back and gestured for Donna to enter, which she did gratefully and left her things in a pile in the hallway before following Katryne into the cosy kitchen.
Merrim sat at the table, poking at the remains of her dinner, and her shrewd gaze missed nothing. She waved at an empty stool for Donna to seat herself.
"Dare I ask what you've done with your hair?" Merrim frowned so hard that the scar disfiguring the right side of her face puckered into a ferocious mask.
Katryne placed a half-tankard of ale before Donna but turned to Merrim when she spoke. "Well, she's come here with packed bags, if that's anything to go by. Something must be up."
"Indeed," Merrim said over steepled fingers. Her remaining grey eye regarded Donna with such bright intelligence that Donna struggled to maintain the contact.
Instead she masked her discomfort by gulping back a mouthful of ale, then wiped her lips with the back of her wrist, and spoke. "My uncle wishes to see me married to some noble in Orzammar, and the situation is …" Despite trying to maintain a stoic façade, Donna felt some of her resolve crumble. Her words remained lodged in her throat, and she blinked back unexpected tears that caused the room to blur.
A stool's legs dragged on the floor tiles, and two sets of warm arms surrounded her, and Donna allowed herself to give vent to the storm of emotions that swirled within her. What in all the blighted hells was she doing?
# # #
Merrim's writing flowed across the page; her long-fingered hand could have belonged to an Orlesian lady writing to her suitor, yet the fingers were callused, and covered in a webbing of faint white scars, and she was missing the tip of her ring finger on her right hand – the hands of a fighter. Hands that had no doubt been drenched in blood. Hands that had killed.
Katryne had cleared the dinner things and prepared tea, which Merrim had insisted they lace with a Fereldan spirit distilled from pears.
Merrim set aside the page so that the ink could dry, then rested both hands palm down on the table top. "You can take that letter of recommendation through to Skyhold. Ask to speak to either Commander Rutherford, or even to Lead Scout Harding. Granted, I know the latter is stationed there permanently now, but I'm not certain of her rank. Either way, they'll be able to advise with regard to your possible recruitment, especially in the light of the fact that you've already received training from me."
"I –" Donna started. "I don't know what to say. I never thought to join the Inquisition."
"Well, they're always looking for good people. At any rate, it will give you a relatively secure footing in life and far better prospects than working as a half-arsed hired goon for a flea-bitten caravan owner or worse, winding up as a cutthroat out of pure desperation."
Merrim held the paper up to the lamplight then, seemingly satisfied that the ink was sufficiently dry, she folded it and slipped it into a waxed envelope. "You keep this safe, you hear? And I expect to hear from you once you arrive at Skyhold. Shouldn't take you more than a week to Haven if you get your butt on a coach. Road's fairly safe. And you're small enough to squeeze yourself onto a supply wain going up to the hold. There's people going up and down every day. Don't be ashamed to drop my name."
"I –" How did Donna begin to explain that Skyhold was in exactly the opposite direction she wanted to go, to follow Evan? Yet everything Merrim said made so much more sense… Even if it felt as if she too had ideas of what Donna should do with her life.
"Well, spit it out, girl."
"It's nothing." Donna shook her head and accepted the envelope, which she slipped into her coat pocket. Her eyes were feeling prickly, presaging tears, and she didn't want to let her emotions get the better of her again. One unseemly display was enough for this night, and she feared there would be many more days when the black dog of her guilt would crawl out of its kennel to chew on her heels.
Merrim's glare suggested she knew there was more that remained unsaid, but she didn't pry. However, something in her expression softened, and she reached out to clasp Donna's hand. "This isn't easy. I know. I had the same with my folks. I was the third daughter, expected to serve in the Chantry when all I wanted to do was ride and go hunting with the boys. When the time came, and my bags were packed already, I slipped out in the middle of the night with only the clothes on my back. Not the wisest choice for a young woman of thirteen summers, and if it weren't for the dubious benevolence a young mercenary captain, my fate may have been rather different. So I'd like to do what I can to ensure that your path forward is smoother than mine was. I can offer that much."
Merrim's eye was suspiciously moist, and Donna swallowed hard to keep her composure.
"I can't even begin to thank you," she told Merrim.
"Just live your life, and send a pair of doddering biddies a letter every once in a while to let us know how you're getting on, all right?"
Katryne nodded, and settled next to her partner, her arm thrown protectively around Merrim's shoulder. The way the lamplight wobbled as the table shifted – either Merrim or Katryne must've unconsciously nudged it – the shadows made their faces seem somehow more careworn than usual.
They were old, Donna realised. In their fifties. Like the father she'd never met – that she never would've met had she followed the course her family had planned for her. Right now, here at this table, her possibilities seemed endless, and the love that these two human women showed her warmed her more than she had expected. Who knew? Maybe she'd be in Kirkwall before winter even, sitting opposite the infamous Varric Tethras and watching his face when she told him who she was. All it took was one step. There were many roads to follow.
"Thank you," Donna said. "I mean it. And I won't let either of you down."