AN: I have a bit of a question for all of my readers that pertains to this story. When I initially worked out Sophie and Jarak's characters, I planned on them being incestuous with one another. Not just to play off the time period that Dragon Age is inspired by and that nobles often married into their own family to keep the blood pure, but because I had a hard time imagining either of them forming meaningful, romantic relationships with other people. However, as it's a fairly controversial subject, even if it's never going to be a major plot point, I wanted to get all of your opinions first. I have already planned for either scenario, but I wanted to see what's the more popular angle for them first. So, if you could be so kind, leave a comment or PM, or leave a comment on my Twitter feed (BerryRequiem) on your opinion on the matter. I will appreciate it greatly.
Dragon Age Origins and II belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts.
With the Darkspawn threat now receding back into the Deep Roads, Senashaal Varel appeared to be in a much better state. Other than the slight tremble that had taken him from being held hostage and a distinguishable mark on his neck from where the creatures had pressed in the knife, he appeared no worse for wear. As the others before him, the middle-aged man surveyed the roads beyond Vigil's Keep, his tired eyes having to squint to get a proper view. Once satisfied, the man approached Lyna.
"I thank you, Commander. Without your intervention, I fear that this would have turned out much worse than it had." Said Varel formally.
Lyna waved her hand as though it was to say it was no big deal. "It's my job, Varel. You don't need to thank me for that."
Varel appeared to have wanted to object to her claims, yet said nothing on the matter. Instead, he looked over the group she had stormed the stronghold with. "These must be the recruits you were escorting back to the Keep with you—but, there is one too many."
"Yeah, about that…"The Dalish woman rubbed the back of her neck, "I went to Denerim to recruit Mhairi and Sophie as well as bringing Neria back, but Rhyann," she motioned towards the other elf, "asked to join."
The Senashaal's frown made whatever he was about to say very obvious. "We are not in the habit of recruiting anyone who asks nicely for—"
"—Trust me, Varel, she can hold her own. She'll do fine in the Wardens." Interrupted Lyna.
Nothing more was said on the subject. There was still the issue about the people drawing closer to the Keep with every passing moment which had to be dealt with. It was an unspoken understanding that this was the next issue that they had to face before they got a much-needed meal and rest.
Rhyann found herself walking next to Sophie on the way through the carnage towards the gate. She had overheard Lyna saying something about the woman being a recruit, which seemed rather odd to the elf. Why had she been traveling with the Wardens a few months ago if she wasn't one?
"You're not a Warden?" Asked the girl. "I had thought you were one."
"No." Responded Sophie bluntly. "Jarak joined the Wardens, but a couple of months before the Battle of Ostagar. Father wouldn't allow me to join when he was recruited, nor would he allow me to help fight the Blight at Ostagar."
"So, how did you wind up with the Wardens after all?" Rhyann was fussing with her hair as she spoke.
A dark look crossed Sophie's face briefly. "Rendon Howe betrayed my family the night before Father was supposed to leave for Ostagar. His men killed everyone—servants, soldiers, my family. I just managed to escape through a back passage in the kitchens while my parents distracted them. Afterwards, I tried to get to Ostagar to tell my brothers, but I was too late. So, I followed Jarak's trail with the Wardens until I met up with them; Fergus would have been impossible to find since he was scouting the Wilds."
"That's terrible, Sophie!" Lamented Rhyann. "I'm sorry I asked. It must be hard for you."
"My tears dried a lot time ago, and I got my revenge. Jarak and I got to kill Howe, not that it brings anyone who died back, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't feel good." Admitted the woman stoically. "I'm not going to keep dwelling on what happened to me when everyone has faced their own share of ugliness."
Any other questions Rhyann may have had on the subject died down once they left the interior of the Keep. Soldiers and servants alike were working to keep the carnage in orderly piles to be burned once it was all collected. She had to note that they were working rather quickly, considering. The courtyard was already fairly cleared up, with carts routinely flowing through to collect the bodies in order to shuttle them past the farmlands surrounding the fortress to receiving their 'burial'.
In the time it took to get down there, the convoy that had been drawing close was waiting for them. The royal banner was flickering wildly in the morning breeze. Fronting them was clearly King Alistair, outfitted in his ceremonial armor, and a surly-looking woman in Templar armor. The sight caused Anders to fall behind the others.
"What in Andraste's name are you doing here, Al?" Questioned Lyna, somehow chipper despite her lack of sleep.
"Disappointed to see me?" Alistair's tone matched the elf's in guile. "I have to tour the Bannorn to help clear up some issues that they've been having. We were planning on stopping at Vigil's Keep for some rest when we ran into Rylock and her men. But never mind that. What happened here?"
Varel stepped forth. The heavy purple bags his eyes were wearing as if they were fine jewelry were very prominent in the morning light. He was doing a good job at hiding his fatigue from the Sovereign.
"An organized group of Darkspawn came up from the depths of the Keep, Your Highness. They were ravaging through here when the Commander and her entourage arrived and quelled their efforts."
"Ah." Hummed the man. "Oghren? Are you joining the Wardens as well?"
"Heh, heh, heh." Sniggered the Dwarf. "Of course! If I didn't, the Wardens would be overrun by sodding women!"
"True." Admitted Alistair in agreement. "It's good to see you, Oghren."
The lady Templar shuffled in a disgruntled fashion in her armor. Her steely gaze met with Anders', only making her appear all that more cold and cruel. "That's him, Your Magesty, the mage that my men were sent to apprehend."
Anders tugged at the collar of his robes nervously. "Maybe I should have run off after all."
"He must be taken back to the Circle to pay for his crimes." Hissed Rylock sinisterly.
Before the Templars were given a chance to clap Anders in irons and drag him back to the Circle with them, Lyna intervened. She stepped in-between Rylock and the mage, creating a fleshy barrier for her to have to go through before she could claim her prize.
"Listen, Lady, I happen to like him a lot, so if you want him, you'll need to go through me first." A wry smile followed. "Do I need to remind you that I killed the Archdemon?"
Ryolock did not look as if she was going to back down so easily. Her left foot dug into the mud, creating a moist groove of earth around her foot. Meanwhile, her fingers twitched over her sword in perception of combat. She was not a woman to be trifled with.
"The Wardens cannot interfere with the Chantry's law."
"Actually," Hummed Alistair in a sing-song manner, "you have the right to conscript him if you wish, Lyna. Which, you're down a couple of mages since Morrigan disappeared and Wynne is now serving as my Adviser, so it may be a good idea."
Lyna took a step forward as an intimidation tactic. "Yeah! I do that…uh…I conscript Anders. He's my mage now, so if you try to drag him back, you'll be breaking the law."
The Dalish woman's taunt resulted in Rylock and her men leaving the convoy, enraged.
"So, I'm guessing everyone should grab a shovel and start cleaning?" Mused Alistair.
After much protesting from Varel, Alistair finally gave up on his initial idea to help clean up the gore that littered Vigil's Keep and its stately grounds in order to help oversee the Joining ritual that was to take place. Rhyann had tried, to little avail, to coerce the details of the ritual out of the other Wardens on hand. The King had become tongue tied and directed her to Lyna for answers, whose mouth remained tightly pursed on the subject. Neria, her last ditch effort, was only barely useful to her in that regard. The elven mage had mentioned that it was unpleasant, but not to which degree or what sort of unpleasantness would ensue. Would they be spitting in their palms and shaking hands? That was rather unnerving, if not unhygienic and overall gross. But, that didn't explain how they seemed to know when Darkspawn were going to be present.
The group of recruits were ushered into a large room and left to their own devices. At one end, a decorative throne stood, watching them. Bookshelves lined some sections of walls so high in fact, that they reached the full height of the ceilings. Off to one side was a cask that looked large enough for a grown man to be completely submerged in. Oghren could be heard whistling happily in approval at the sight and claiming that the alcohol was his.
Rhyann looked to each of the other recruits in turn, trying to read their thoughts, even if she knew it impossible. Oghren seemed like his usual boisterous self, if not clearly plotting to purloin some of the precious ale stashed inside the gargantuan cask before the Wardens returned to commence the ritual. She then looked over the Mhairi, who was standing as straight as she could. On occasion, the guardswoman would wring her hands together anxiously, pondering something that was lost on the elf. There was no change whatsoever in Sophie's demeanor. Her golden eyes flitted around the chamber in disapproval. Rhyann could picture her muttering something about how her ancestral home was much more grand than their current location. Anders seemed fidgety, though excited at the same time. His chocolate eyes darted from one nook to another in an attempt to absorb every sight.
It wasn't long before the other Wardens returned. Lyna was carrying a large goblet constructed of silver with her. Varel was walking next to her, his wrinkled face stony like the ground they were standing on. Behind them walked Alistair and Neria, both of which were impossible to read. Their steps stopped about three feet in front of the group of recruits, who, at the sight, had shuffled into a line without even needing to be asked.
"In the first Blight, humanity stood on the verge of annihilation," Started Neria soberly, "The Grey Wardens formed to overcome the Blight, and to do so, they drank darkspawn blood to confront the taint head-first."
At the elven woman's words, Rhyann felt her stomach churn in an unsettling fashion. They had to drink Darkspawn blood? Just the thought alone caused the bile from her stomach to rise up through her throat and threaten to escape the confines of her mouth as vomit. She looked to her left, then right, trying to read her fellow recruits to see if they felt the same. The Dwarf to her right was wearing a smug expression of satisfaction. His eyes gleamed at the chalice excitedly. Mhairi, who was standing next to her, was turning just as green as herself, but managed to hide it much better than she probably was.
Gulping down her fears (as well as what was left of that stomach acid that lingered in her mouth), Rhyann stood tall in an attempt to push her thoughts from her mind.
"Join us, brothers and sisters." Varel's words were as ancient as the order itself. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and one day we shall join you."
"Step forth, Brother Anders." Said Lyna. "From this day forth, you are one of the Gray Wardens."
Stepping up in order to be lined up directly with the goblet, Anders cast the Wardens a dark look before cupping his hands around the sides of the object.
"I'm warning you, if I drink this and wake up two weeks later on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you."
Neria and Sophie both joined in a mirthful giggle at his remark.
Initially, Anders hesitated when he brought the goblet to his mouth to drink. His pause was only momentary, though he did shoot back its contents as though it would kill him if he waited any longer. Lyna quickly snatched up the chalice right before his spirited eyes rolled back into his head and he started to tremble. Soon after, he fell to the ground like a bag full of stones, passed out, but alive.
"Step forth, Sister Mhairi." Beckoned Varel this time. "From this day forth, you are one of the Gray Wardens."
From next to the petite elf, the guardswoman walked up to face Lyna directly. Unlike Anders, she did not hesitate as she took the goblet and ingested its contents. As before, Lyna scooped up the ceremonial object just to make sure its contents weren't lost. Mhairi instantly showed signs of rejecting the blood. She took on an uncontrollable cough that rumbled her whole chest. She doubled over in pain as her hacking continued, this time producing blood with each one. Dark purple veins started to appear around her mouth as her eyes turned the same grayish-purple as a dead fish's. With one last cough, her body collapsed next to the unconscious Anders, unmoving.
"I am sorry, Sister Mhairi."
After seeing Mhairi die right before her eyes, Rhyann didn't know how much she still really wanted to be a Warden. Life was good back in Denerim, even if it was strange to be living the way she had been. And, she had promised her father that she would survive this particular endeavor. Mhairi's dead body made her lose hope in any chances of survival that she herself had. Her heart was beating so fast that it was the only sound that she could hear. Its pounding vibrated her sensitive ears, making her even more anxious.
All of the legitimate Wardens were staring her down intently. Rhyann supposed that they had already summoned her up to drinking the blood and she must have not heard it in her shock.
No. She had made a promise to herself and the Maker. She would see this through, even if she ended up just as dead as poor Mhairi.
Rhyann took a leery step forward. Her eyes locked on to Lyna's from across the goblet from her as her hands cupped the chalice gingerly. It was heavier than she imagined, and the pungent odor of Darkspawn blood made the throw-up feeling return to her. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, however. Placing the goblet to her lips, she tilted it, as well as her head, back.
The flavor was unimaginably grotesque. The sensation it left, ten times more awful. Sliding down her throat like a thick, noxious sludge, the blood burned every bit of her flesh on its way down to her stomach. She could feel her insides start to gurgle and churn in disapproval of the foreign liquid. Disorientation settled in. Somehow, she couldn't recall when, but Lyna had taken the goblet from her. Thoughts whizzed through her brain at lightning speed. Each were impossible to understand as they flittered out of her mind as quick as they came in. Then, her vision failed. The elf took a step forward, but her knees buckled and she fell to the floor.
Everything around Rhyann was black. In a vain attempt at movement, she flailed her arm. Nothing. Next, she tried her legs. Also nothing. Okay, so she couldn't move. At least that was confirmed.
Voices grew louder, some becoming coherent with time. The elf could differentiate between two distinct voices. One was male, smooth and flowing like water. In contrast, the other was female, hoarse and rough as if its owner had done a lot of yelling in her time.
Just as the voices had grown to be distinguished from one another, so did a pair of figures. One was a sleek figure with willowy arms and an elongated torso and bone-white skin. The other tore through his image so that the new one may be implanted in her mind. She was a monstrous being, many thick tentacles were the bed for her giant torso which sported about half a dozen pair of exposed breasts. The face of the creature was horrific and ugly.
Consciousness returned to Rhyann slowly. Her fingers twitched, then a leg trembled. Lastly, her eyes fluttered open.
When Rhyann finally came to, she found herself resting on the floor. Next to her sat Anders in a comfortable-looking chair. He was eating something off of a plate he was holding with his left hand and had a tankard full of an amber liquid sitting next to one of the legs of his seat.
"Ah, she finally wakes!" He boomed, setting his plate down on his knee.
"What happened?" Questioned Rhyann, rubbing her head.
"They said we all passed out—well, except Mhairi and Oghren."
"Oghren is dead?" The elf's voice quivered when she glossed over the dwarf's name.
"Him? No." Anders resumed eating whatever he had on his plate. "He just didn't pass out. Guess dwarves have a built-up tolerance to the stuff."
Rhyann glanced around the room, still not pleased with the answers she received. Neria and Lyna were pounding back drinks with Oghren. The light-haired elf had gone red and giggly from alcohol consumption. Sophie was examining a painting, clutching a glass of a sparkling red drink.
"There's food in the kitchen." Sophie's head swiveled over to the elf.
"Thank you." Rhyann still felt sick from the Darkspawn blood. The thought of food only made her stomach tie up in knots. Talking about her weird dream was a bad idea. If no one else had seen what she did after falling unconscious, she would seem crazy and unstable, something she was trying to avoid.
Being in the room where Mhairi had died made her just as agitated. Rhyann rose to her feet, a process that seemed to take longer now. A strange sensation had taken her, one that made were aware of everyone's movements. Eyes and ears not included, the elf could somehow feel as Lyna adjusted in her chair, or how Sophie had walked to the other side of the room. She needed fresh air.
"I—I'm going outside for a bit." The girl told Anders.
Though unfamiliar, the halls of the Keep were easy to walk. Very few people were around, making the solitude she craved easily achieved. Rhyann's whole body was abuzz with oddities that she didn't know possible. Every touch felt magnified. Just brushing against the stone walls made her tingle, though not unpleasantly. Normally, elven ears were strong, but she could hear conversations happening in far-off chambers that she had yet to come across.
One particular one kept finding her. The words, even if they were muddled and difficult to understand, flowed through her ears, leading her feet to wherever they were coming from involuntarily.
It wasn't long before the elf stumbled upon the stronghold's Chantry. The room, which was adorned with several rows of pews for those who called the Amaranthine fortress home, was dimly lit by several candles suspended upon tall, spindly candle holders. A large stained glass window depicting Andraste sat behind the altar.
Rhyann stepped into the room curiously when the words grew louder. From this vantage, she could see a man sitting at one of the pews, his hands clasped together in prayer as he repeatedly asked for deliverance from something. Now being so close, the young elf could make out the owner of the voice as being Alistair.
"Uh…Your Highness?" Squeaked Rhyann nervously.
Alistair turned around as if he had expected to see someone standing there. His gentle face looked deeply troubled, which was probably why he had been praying. When his honey eyes danced over her in that fleeting moment, all anguish melted and a soft smile crossed him.
"I had sensed you coming—you can feel that now, I'm sure—but I had thought you to be Lyna or someone else asking me to come drink." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "No need to address me so formally. Alistair works just fine."
Alistair's request caused a great discomfort to surge through Rhyann's core. She had been taught to address all humans in a formal manner, just because she wanted to avoid any pain from them. There was something so genuine and kind in the way he was looking at her that she couldn't argue, as much as she wanted to protest.
"What were you praying about?" Rhyann took a step forward.
Just as the question was brought forth, the man's eyes drifted towards the left. He appeared to be deep in thought, even to the point of scratching the bit of facial hair he had on his chin. The girl wondered why her question had elicited this response, but said nothing on the subject.
"It was nothing, really." A sheepish grin followed the man's remark.
Not satisfied with the response she received, but unwilling to prod him for answers, Rhyann took a seat on the same pew as Alistair. She left enough space between them to allow another full-grown man to sit. Not that there was one present. Whatever it was that made him not want to discuss it was causing him great distress, so the girl made to change the subject.
"I've never been in a Chantry before. We didn't have one in the Alienage, and elves aren't allowed to be ordained Brothers or Sisters."
"Doesn't your new home have a Chantry?" Questioned Alistair curiously.
"Yes, but I rarely explore the estate. I'd probably get lost if I wandered too far." Rhyann's words were coupled with a nervous laugh.
Alistair laughed as well. His large frame rocked against the wooden pew in his humor, making the wood squeal under his weight. He wasn't a hefty man by any accounts, but Rhyann could see that his build was one of pure muscle. Easily, one of his arms was as thick as her thigh and bulged against the woven fabric of his clothes. To combat the staring she was most likely doing, the elf locked her vision on one of the spiraling candle holders.
"I still get lost in my own house—er—palace. I should probably carry around a bundle of twine just to help me find my way if I do stumble off somewhere unfamiliar."
At the implications Alistair made and the imagery that such words created, Rhyann couldn't help but crack a smile. It amused her, to think of the mighty King of Ferelden following around lengths of twine in his own palace just to find his way back.
Breaking the momentary daydream the girl was enveloped in, the man gasped playfully. His hand was cupped over his mouth as his eyebrows shot up on his face.
"Was that a smile I saw?" Asked Alistair, clearly teasing. "I didn't think Rhyann was capable of such facial expressions."
Rhyann's smile only grew at his joke. His noticing it, however, caused her cheeks to glow pink and her to conceal most of her face behind her hands. Now that she was thoroughly embarrassed, and by her country's Sovereign to boot, she wanted nothing more than to be invisible.
"Don't hide it." Requested the man.
His large hands laced themselves around her wrists in order to pull her hands from her face. She was rosy from the tips of her ears all the way down to the nape of her neck, making her smile diminish until it was back to her usual look.
"You have a pretty smile. You shouldn't hide it."
Something in the words he muttered caused Alistair to turn away and clear his throat. His bronzed skin had taken on a distinct red tone that matched hers in intensity.
"We should write one another when I leave!" Suggested the man, changing the subject. "I mean, to help you with your reading, of course. That's not weird." The last part was more of a whisper to himself.
Nodding, Rhyann agreed. Really, she was just happy to be off the topic of her smile. Alistair's words caused her palms to go sweaty and her heart to start pounding against her rib cage. Both were sensations that she didn't particularly enjoy experiencing.
"I should probably go find a place to sleep now. I'm going on my second day without sleep, and I don't think I'll be too useful any longer." Said Rhyann.
"I could help you find where the rooms are if you want. So you don't get lost."
"No thank you." As she stood, Rhyann waved her wrists defensively. "I've taken up enough of your time as it is."
After exchanging goodbyes, Rhyann set off back into the estate once again. Her initial goal of finding some fresh air was nixed. Now all she cared about was somewhere to rest her head. Continuing on, the girl marveled about how untouched the living quarters were from the Darkspawn the previous night. Sure, people were scrubbing floors, but not in a fashion that looked any different from the routine sort of cleaning. It was only a short while until she found a bedroom. She was too tired to care how it was furnished, or to notice that the bed was a bit lumpy and dusty from not having been used in some time. The only thing that grabbed her attention was that sleep overcame her as soon as her head hit the pillow.