Chapter 11
"Siofra, daughter of Theron, choose your protector, choose your god, and wear the divine designs for the rest of your life proudly. It is an honour bestowed only upon the Dalish, a gift from the gods, a reminder from the gods of who we are, and a warning to never forget." The Keeper raised Siofra from the ground, clutching at her chin. Siofra had been meditating all day, her stomach rumbling in hunger for she had also fasted. Before meditating, she had purified her body and skin by bathing in the sacred spring. There had been a moment during the purifying when she had feared that her secret would be revealed to all. She was not pure after all. But the gods did not strike her down. She was relieved.
Her father's threats had been empty; the vallaslin had been arranged and carried out as planned. She regarded the Keeper tiredly. She couldn't show any weakness and she all but willed her fatigue and hunger to go away. However, her left foot was tingling and heavy; she had been leaning on it for a few hours. She stealthily shook it awake.
"Who is your chosen god?" the Keeper asked her.
Siofra had thought about it long and hard. She had always intended to dedicate her life to Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, but she wasn't so sure anymore. She had so much to hide she felt that she should choose Dirthamen, the god of secrets. But if she did that, everyone around her would become suspicious. Then she thought, perhaps Mythal, the great Protector would do. But no, it had to be Andruil. Everyone knew how much she loved to hunt. "I dedicate my tattoos to Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, the creator of the Vir Tanadahl."
The Keeper nodded and then gathered together the instruments and ink for the tattooing. The ink was made from elements from the forest. It was a secret recipe that only the Dalish knew of. Siofra's heart pounded in excitement and fear. This would hurt. She looked to her father and sister who sat by watching. She would not cry out. She was ready for this.
The Keeper bade her sit down. He traced the designs on her face lightly before applying the "blood". Siofra took a deep breath as the ironbark needle pierced her forehead and ran along the designs. It was painful, but she didn't cry out. It seemed to take forever before the Keeper was finally satisfied with the result and the ritual writing ended. There was one thing left to do. She stood up again, wincing in pain.
"Vir Assan; fly straight and do not waver. Vir Bor'Assan; bend but never break. Vir Adahlen; together we are stronger than the one. We are the last of the elvhenan, and never again shall we submit. This is the Way of Three Trees, Vir Tanadahl. Your teachings I will remember. The Ways of the Hunter I shall follow. Andruil bless me on this day and guide me throughout my life. Ma serannas." Siofra recited. With the final blessing of the Keeper, the ritual was over. Theron and Neria came to congratulate her. The clan would celebrate her that night.
…
It was a chilly night and though food was scarce, the clan managed to come up with a feast to celebrate Siofra's vallaslin. They were warmed by the fires, dancing, and storytelling. Siofra tried to enjoy herself, but her face hurt and all she could think of was Rory. She just had to go see him. She wanted to show him her tattoos.
Neria and Alras sat by her. Neria looked thoughtful and was unusually quiet. Alras, on the other hand, was stuffing his face and seemed to be on his guard. Siofra guessed he didn't want to be around when Theron came by with Silas, for she knew that was coming. She didn't blame Alras. She couldn't stand Silas either. She had to slip away before he came around. Siofra couldn't bear even the thought of being forced to make small talk with him. She looked around her. Everyone was busy doing their own thing. She could slip away for a little while. Though the celebration was in her honor, she had met with most everyone already and nobody would fault her if she left. Maybe she could say she was tired and pretend to go to her father's aravel, and then slip away to the ruins. Yes, she would try that.
"Neria, I am going to sleep," she said as she got to her feet. Neria was startled from her thoughts and stared at Siofra curiously.
"But why? Silas has not yet come." Neria asked.
"Oh Neria, let her go. Don't you remember how painful the ritual can be? And she has been up all day meditating. And who cares about Silas? She can see him tomorrow." Alras intervened.
"I don't think your opinion matters here Alras. Father will be angry." Neria snapped. Alras grunted in annoyance.
"Father will understand. Please, Neria. I am going." Siofra pleaded.
"Fine. Go. But I will not defend you to father." Neria relented.
"I would not ask you to sister. Good night." Siofra made her way to the aravel and climbed in. A few moments later, however, she snuck away into the forest.
…
Neria stood hidden at the edge of the forest. She glimpsed her sister retreating into the shadows of the forest. She scowled in the dark, unable to comprehend Siofra. She was still meeting this human, then. No wonder she had protested against moving the clan and had spoken kindly of humans.
Neria was furious. Siofra was the light of their father's life. She could stand up to father and get away with it. She could insult Silas and he would forgive her. She would throw all this away for a human? And this human, he must be the apprentice mage that Alras kept babbling about. He was dangerous. Perhaps he had even ensnared Siofra with magic. That would serve as a good explanation for Siofra's decisions. But, somehow, Neria knew it wasn't magic. It was real. Siofra was throwing away a perfect life for a shem. Neria had struggled these past few weeks on whether or not to go to Theron with what she had witnessed. If she did go to Theron, it would be for Siofra's own good. That is what she kept telling herself.
Neria was startled by the sudden appearance of Theron.
"Neria, where is Siofra? I returned to the fire to find both my daughters had disappeared," he asked her, a puzzled look on his face at Neria's dark look. No, Neria couldn't keep this secret anymore. It was not fair. It was not right.
"Father, there is something you should know."
…
Rory wasn't used to the tattoos on Siofra's face. They were intricate and abstract. She had told him two nights ago that they represented Andruil, the elven goddess of the hunt. The designs were pretty, he had to admit, and after the first shock, he came to appreciate them. They made Siofra even more attractive to look at. They were, however, still a little sore and he had to be gentle with Siofra. She was there with him now, huddled under the cloak.
Rory could sense something was wrong. Siofra was quiet and it was difficult to tempt a smile from her. He wasn't sure if it was the pain on her face or possibly something else. He tried to coax something out of her, but so far, she hadn't budged. He didn't give up that easily, however.
"What is the matter my love?" he asked her. She hugged him tightly. "Are you still worried about winter? About the Templars?"
"I'm not sure. I don't know how to explain, but something does not feel right. This may seem silly to you, but I had a dream…" Siofra attempted to explain her unease.
"A dream?" Rory wasn't sure what to think. Personally, he thought certain types of dreams had a lot of power behind them. "What kind of dream?"
"There was a bear. He was dragged from his winter slumber and killed."
"Oh? Well, who killed the bear?"
"It was in shadow. I couldn't see."
"So that is what has you worried? Your dream of a bear?" Rory was still puzzled.
"It is the meaning behind it. I feel like it is warning me. You see, the bear is beloved of Dirthamen, the god of secrets. When the world was new, Dirthamen gave a secret to every creature to keep. But out of them all, only the bear kept the secret." Siofra explained with worry.
"I see. So you think because the bear was killed, that your secret, being me, will come to light?"
"Something like that. Is it silly?" Siofra asked Rory, clutching at him even tighter. Rory stroked his chin in thought, considering what Siofra told him. Yes, dreams were powerful. But sometimes they were just manifests of a person's deepest fears. Perhaps that was all it was.
"Maybe it is just your fear showing through your dream. It doesn't have to be a premonition of real life." Rory suggested. Still, Siofra looked no less worried.
"But it is not just the dream," she confessed.
"Oh? Please tell me then."
"The day after my vallaslin, and today for that matter, my sister would not look me in the eye. I feel like she knows what is happening. And her husband, he left to trade with the humans, but not on his own bidding as is usually the case, but at my father's. I don't know what is going on, but I don't feel safe anymore. I think you should move on."
"Move on? Where?" Rory asked in shock.
"I don't know." Siofra was near tears. This was real then, her fears were real. Suddenly, Rory felt uneasy as well. They had been lucky for too long. Their luck was bound to run out.
"I'm not leaving without you." Rory flatly stated.
"Yes you are," boomed a voice from the shadows. Alarmed, Rory and Siofra scrambled to rise. An orange haired elf came out of the shadows. He had a frightening look of barely restrained anger on his face. Rory's stomach turned to knots and he felt Siofra waver beside him. Her father, then? The elf walked over to the two of them. Without looking at Rory, he grabbed Siofra by the arm and dragged her away from Rory. She cried out in pain.
"No! Let her go!" Rory shouted. He made a move toward the elf, but stopped short when three Templars emerged from the shadows, looks of pure malice and pleasure on their faces.
"Father, please, they will kill him." Siofra sobbed, trying to twist out of his grip. But he held strong. Rory didn't know what to do. He stood his ground and stared at the Templars coming towards him slowly with their swords drawn. He felt the world crashing down on him. So this was it. He was not going down without a fight. He closed his eyes and conjured a fireball in his palm. It was difficult to do. The Templars must be doing something to counter his magic.
"It is not our problem," the elf said and he jerked her towards the shadows. Rory locked eyes with her. She saw what he was up to and she shook her head pleadingly. And then she disappeared. Rory understood what she wanted. She had once told him there was much to live for. He should surrender. He could escape the Circle Tower again. It was not impossible.
The fireball fanned out and he went down on his knees and held his hands up in surrender. The Templars chuckled and sheathed their swords. They tied him up, roughly, and smacked him in the head for good measure. Rory didn't remember anything after that, except for the swelling of anger that built up in the pit of his stomach and an oath of vengeance that formed in his mind.
