Lady troubles delayed this chapter. I apologize. Also, I changed the Dalish Origin's backstory slightly to mirror how my friend (whose Dalish elves I use) writes them.
Don't forget to leave your opinions on last chapter's question in the comments, my PMs, or on my Twitter feed.
Dragon Age belongs to Bioware and Electronic Arts.
After Alistair and some of his men left for the Bannorn—he insisted upon leaving behind his most skilled guardsmen to help protect Vigil's Keep—life with the Wardens shifted to its usual pace. Drinking and revelry was soon forfeited for intense training and studying Darkspawn. Since Lyna and Neria (and to a lesser extent, Oghren) had so much experience with the lifestyle, makeshift classes were held to teach the junior Wardens about their new duties and how to handle the threat they were dealing with. Of course, this usually resulted in the reiteration of 'when you see a Darkspawn, kill it'. Training boiled down to being paired up with one another for mock battles. It was typical for one of the others to be pitted against Neria or Anders purely because a mage posed more of a threat in battle than anyone else and Lyna was trying to teach her group to target spell casters first.
It was a rather peculiar day that Rhyann was told to shadow Oghren in order to learn Warrior techniques. The Dwarf was insistent that the elf was a Berserker, kept bringing the fact up to the Commander at meal times and during training. Rhyann didn't understand the term, or what the implications meant for her fighting style. But, what she did know was that she was following the stubby man out into the training grounds as he shuffled towards one of the training dummies outfitted with heavy armor. Being alone with the man didn't ease any of the girl's apprehensions about training; he was gruff, loud, and had the distinct smell of stale drink and body sweat about him. Still, Lyna trusted him, so she didn't question her.
Once near one of the dummies, Oghren took his axe off of his back and brought it down hard upon the figure constructed of wood and iron as a test of his own strength, and the craftsmanship of the object he was going to be pitting her against shortly. With a loud clank, the sharp end of his axe met the armor. From the force alone, the helmet it was wearing begun to spin upon the post before settling with the eye holes peering behind it. The dwarf guffawed in approval before shoving the elf forward for her turn at the thing.
" 's yer turn, Pipsqueak. Just give it a good ole' smackin'." Said Oghren.
Rhyann stumbled forward, clutching her sword roughly by the pommel. She had taken a slight shake as she gripped the handle a little more appropriately. Oghren was staring at her, his chubby fingers working circles around his large belly, making her more self-conscious about hitting the training dummy. Regardless of how she felt, the girl took a step back and swung the broad end of the sword at the dummy in a downward diagonal motion. A loud noise followed. When she looked up, the elf noticed that the breastplate was vibrating slightly from the point which her weapon made contact. Rhyann smiled in acceptance of her work and turned to her mentor.
Oghren was not smiling, but he did burp, which seemed to please him greatly. "You ain't givin' it yer all!" He howled angrily.
The dwarf rounded her, stopping behind her to kick her legs apart. Rhyann almost fell, but managed to stay on her feet, despite being very agitated about what he was doing.
"Yer not gonna kill anythin' standin' all tense and nervous." Explained Oghren. "And yer too worried 'bout what everyone else thinks! 'I don't wanna hurt anyone'!" He was mocking her now, his voice shooting up a decibel in order to sound more feminine.
"I don't sound like that." Corrected Rhyann, growing frustrated.
Taking another crack at the dummy, Rhyann struck it with a downwards motion this time. The helm was jittering against the neckpiece of the breastplate. She looked to the dwarf again, who still was rather unimpressed by the attack.
"No good!" He bellowed.
This time, he demonstrated an appropriate attack. He hit the dummy twice, once with both heads of his axe. The force caused the entire frame to rock back slowly before finding its starting position.
"How did you fight yer way through that Kendall bastard's estate if you can't even hit a dummy?" Asked the man.
Rhyann's eyes narrowed as her grip tightened around her weapon. She didn't like him bringing up her past, especially that particular chapter. Her displease caused her to stand there, neither striking the dummy nor responding to his onslaught of venom.
"The Blighter kidnapped you, killed yer fiancée and friends and had you tortured and locked up and you still probably hit him like a wimp!"
A spark ignited inside of Rhyann, one that spread her anger. Her teeth gritted together as her grip tightened so incredibly that her knuckles had gone white. Memories of Vaughan's smug face from across the cell she had been locked in flooded through her mind in that instant. She wanted to hit him, to hurt him, to make him pay for her suffering. With a savage yell, the girl reared back and hit the dummy with all of the hate she had buried inside channeled into that single attack. Rage momentarily blinded her, but when she had calmed enough, she could see that she had knocked over the practice dummy entirely and that the helmet had rolled some ways away.
Laughing mirthfully, both of Oghren's hands and drooped far enough down to cup his stomach. He was jiggling madly with the motion, his beady eyes locked on the collapsed dummy.
"Looks like we found yer trigger." Said the man between much-needed breaths of air. "I told Lyna that I'd make a Berserker outta you!"
"I still don't understand what a Berserker is." Admitted Rhyann.
"A Berserker is a warrior who uses his anger to fuel his—er—or her attacks. You just think of something that makes you angry: yer wife, the government, whatever. I once fought alongside this Berserker who had to be kicked in the stones before he could be sent into a rage." Oghren punctuated his explanation with an impish giggle.
Rhyann pondered over the words of the dwarf, but only briefly. The stout man ordered another attack once the dummy was sent upright, and another, and so on. He was trying to instill a sense of control during the rage. At first, it was difficult. Attacks were too powerful and resulted in Rhyann becoming fatigued after only a couple of blows. Oghren had promised that it would become easier, and that triggering her Berserk mode could be as simple as just thinking of something that made her angry with enough focus. As much as she disregarded his words as hogwash, she was definitely relieved when he offered to continue their training another day.
Standing in front of the large doors leading into the Keep was one of the soldiers who worked there. She was a blonde woman and outfitted in light armor. Within her hands was a bit of parchment with a very important-looking seal keeping it shut.
"This came for you, Ser." Said the woman formally, presenting the object.
Rhyann accepted the letter, unused to being called 'Ser'. Even if strange honorifics were becoming a staple, the elf couldn't help but find them strange as they greeted her ears. Getting used to them was just another stipulation of joining the Wardens.
With much curiosity, Rhyann examined the bit of parchment as she headed through the halls of the Keep. Her name on the front wasn't particularly neat, but she was able to recognize the letters as being those that represented her. A light grin came to her briefly at that small victory. She then turned it over in her hands, hoping that the wax seal would answer any questions about who it was from. There were only a handful of people who would actually want to write her, and at least two of them more than likely possessed those little stamps to make pretty designs in the hot wax. Instantly, she could tell that the seal was not that of her father's. The design was far more intricate and formal, like that which would belong to a Monarch.
Just from the thought alone, Rhyann could feel her face and ears growing hot. Alistair had written her, as he had promised. And, for some reason, this was making her much happier than a silly little letter ought to.
In her excitement over the letter, she had lost focus on her surroundings. The little seal keeping the letter's written contents a secret from prying eyes was far too promising for her to notice that she was about to run into someone.
When she finally did make contact with the person, it happened all so quickly. First, her whole body was met with a sudden resistance. She bounced off the form, her entire momentum directed at the floor. Rhyann fell hard on her bottom, skidding back several feet due to her light frame. In the action, her clutch on the letter was loosened and she lost hold of it. It flitted languidly towards the ground, and in her panic, the elf made a mad effort to get ahold of it before whomever she ran into.
Before she had the chance, the man—for she acknowledged that it was a man—grabbed the letter mid-air. His gray eyes perused the object with a passing interest then he looked to her, puzzled yet stern.
Rhyann did not recognize this man. His hair was a raven-black color, with bits braided and joining in the back. If her assumption was correct, the elf figured that he was somewhere around ten years older than her, putting him in his late twenties or early thirties. He was handsome, but in the same way that Jarak would have been considered attractive; the man had that noble look about him that made it seem as if generations of careful breeding went into his appearance. Something about his face seemed oddly familiar to her, though she couldn't place what exactly as he stared down at her. The thing that concerned the elf, though, was that bow he had slung over his shoulder, labeling him as a dangerous man not to be trifled with.
"Are you Rhyann?" Questioned the man, reading the name off the front of the letter carefully.
"Yes." Springing to her feet, Rhyann extending her hand out to receive the letter he had snatched up. "I would like that back now. Please."
The strange man quirked an eyebrow at the statement. Surely, he had pegged her as a delivery girl, shuttling mail to the more important Wardens. "What business do you have with the King of Ferelden?"
Okay, so he recognized the seal, confirming her previous assumption that he was most likely a nobleman of sorts. Still, Rhyann was not comfortable with him prodding her for answers, nor that dark look that kept crossing his face whenever his eyes would lock on hers.
"He is my friend." There was extra emphasis placed on the word 'friend'. It felt so foreign to say that the King was her friend, but there was no better way to describe what they were to one another.
Standing there, arm outstretched in order to receive her letter, Rhyann noticed that in his other arm, he had a menagerie of baubles and other valuables from about the Keep. Many were small things, trinkets like vases or small decorative sculptures. Her mind instantly went to the worst case scenario, which was that this man was a thief come to rob them.
"You're stealing those things!" Accused Rhyann, her fingers instantly going for the mighty sword strapped to her back.
With an exasperated sigh, the man shook his head. For a thief, he wasn't being very sneaky and discreet, she had to admit.
"No. This estate is—or, was—my family's until the Wardens arrived." He spat those words out like he was a venomous snake intent on poisoning her. "I had intended on reclaiming what rightfully belonged to my family, but was apprehended. Your commander, assuming you're a Warden, set me free and told me to take what remains of my family's. I don't know why I feel obligated to explain this all to you."
In that moment, realization set in. Vigil's Keep used to belong to that monster, Rendon Howe. That meant that the man before her was somehow related to him, probably his son. There was a resemblance, if slight, which is what she probably picked up on earlier. Memories of the torture chambers that the elder Howe enjoyed so much surfaced, causing her to lurch back in horror.
"Y…you're Howe's…" Rhyann couldn't even finish the statement through her nervous stuttering.
"Yes. I am. You and your Warden friends are responsible for his murder." Another bit of venom. "But, I am not here to argue. Here, take your letter."
Flourishing his wrist, the man relinquished her letter into the air and walked off down another section of corridor. Rhyann jumped at the object frantically, eventually gathering it up in her clutches. She heaved out a sigh of relief and headed back towards her chambers to return her sword and then to find someone to help her read the letter.
Something in her room caught her attention. Her mother's journal was sitting on the bedside table. Once or twice, she leafed through, looking at the willowy inscriptions and feeling a closeness to her. They were still impossible for her to completely understand, however. In her haste, she scooped up the book and headed off towards the study. Anders or Neria were sure to be there.
It took Rhyann a while, but eventually, she found the study. As she had anticipated, both Neria and Anders were sitting at the desk. Some books were open, but neither was paying any attention to them. Instead, they were chatting casually about things that flew way over the elf's head. Neither took notice of her presence until she padded into the room shyly, afraid of prying them from a more pressing engagement.
"You need something?" Asked Neria, breaking her conversation with the other mage off.
"It's nothing important. If you're both busy I can—"
"We were just talking, Rhyann." Interrupted Neria. "If you need something, we can help you."
"Are you sure? I just have this letter here that I'd like help reading, but if it's too much trouble, I can come back later."
The only response she received was Anders rising from his chair to fetch one of the unused ones from its position near one of the walls and pulled it up in-between the chairs that he and Neria were occupying for her to sit in.
"So, who are you getting letters from?" Asked the man, a hint of guile in his tone. "A boyfriend?"
Rhyann nearly fell from the chair at the accusation. She drew the letter closer to herself, afraid of sharing its contents with him if he was going to joke like that.
"N…no!" She spat out.
"Relax." Hummed Neria, coaxing the object from the other elf's possession. "Anders thinks everything has to do with sex, especially where cute girls are concerned."
"What can I say?" The man shrugged. "I've been locked up in solitary for a year by oppressive Templars. Now that I'm out, all I can think about is women and food."
Neria responded with a humored snort.
Rhyann's fingers were rapping against the wooden desk, thoughts still lingering on the strange man she had met in the hall. She had wondered if she was the only one who had ran into him, or if all of the Wardens had met the bitter intruder.
"Before we start," She began, "I have a question: Have either of you seen a strange man with dark hair around here today? I just ran into him a moment ago and he accused the Wardens of murdering his father."
"So you met the wet blanket too." Chorused Anders in a chipper fashion.
"Oh, that guy? Sophie and Jarak killed his father, if we're talking about the same person. I thought he was kind of sexy, actually." Neria giggled girlishly. "I like that whole brooding loner thing."
From his seat, Anders' shoulders slumped. He was sporting a pitiful look as he looked up at Neria with hooded eyes. It was fairly obvious that the gesture was not serious, but he was still trying to get some pity from the women present nonetheless.
"You're cute too, Anders." Relented the female mage, most likely to get him to stop. "But you're not much of a brooding loner."
Anders seemed happy in what Neria had said. Even if his begging had only been joking, her words seemed to inflate his ego. The man's chest puffed out confidently, his brown eyes shining proudly as a result of being found attractive by a member of the opposite sex.
"Getting love letters from the King, I see." Teased Neria.
Rhyann's face went pale at the accusation. She looked over to Neria, who was waving around the envelope with the waxen seal wildly. A wide grin had settled itself on the elven mage's face. She passed it over to Anders, who glanced over it critically before passing it back to the elf.
"I am not getting love letters!" Hollered Rhyann defensively. Her hands cupped over the seal to hide it from the others.
"What's wrong with getting love letters from the King?" Neria seemed genuinely curious as to why the other elf viewed it as unacceptable to receive such correspondence. "Alistair's a great guy. He's good-looking, has a nice body, one of the sweetest people you could ever meet. I'm sure half of Ferelden would be a-flutter if he sent them love letters."
A breath got caught in Rhyann's throat at the thought. Her mind was mulling over Neria's words, about Alistair's pleasing looks and gentle demeanor. She hadn't really noticed it before, but he really was rather attractive, human or not. And, he had always been very kind and attentive, even when he didn't need to be. Thinking about it caused her palms to become dewy and her heart to speed up. Quickly, she wiped her hands on her leather leggings and scooped up the letter delicately.
"I think I'll have someone else help me with this later." Stated the girl, tucking it into her armor. "Can you help me with this instead?" Her mother's journal was set on the desk before them as a means to chase thoughts of Alistair from her mind. "It was my mother's."
Anders flipped through several of the pages curiously. He hadn't said anything on the matter of the letter, which helped Rhyann to rest a little easier. Neria joined in as well, silently scanning the pages for any passages of interest before settling on one of the earlier pages of the tome.
The axel of my aravel broke today. We weren't going to stop until reaching the Southron Hills, but the Halla were getting fatigued. So, we set up camp until it could be repaired.
"Your mother was Dalish?" Questioned Neria, her hand resting on the page the book was open to as a means to prevent it from shutting.
"I'm not sure." Rhyann glanced over the page. She had never heard such things from her mother as a child. But, she was so small that what she could remember was very limited.
"It definitely sounds like she was." Anders grabbed the book as he spoke and begun to read from the next passage.
We arrived to the forests outlying Denerim. Some of the others were allowed to head near the city to trade with the humans. I wanted to go with, but my brother forbid me. He told me to stay near the camp and protect it from intruders. It's easy for him to say; he gets to wander off at his whim, being the Keeper and all.
The page was turned, and another, more grisly passage waited. The letters were distorted by what looked like to be tears, long since dried.
My brother was murdered! Everyone instantly blamed a group of human travelers who had wandered close to our camp the day before, but I disagreed. No one would listen. They just kept insisting that I was going soft, becoming flat-ears! I don't want to have innocent blood on my hands, so I decided to leave the clan. I'll miss my niece and the unborn baby the most, but I cannot remain where my opinion is not valued. I just hope that Lyna and the baby grow up to be strong and learn to think for themselves. I will pray to the Creators for their safety.
Rhyann listened as the name 'Lyna' flowed from Anders' lips. The name, she figured, was a trick of the mind, fooling her into believing that the words really did say what she thought they did. But, when she took the book from the man and found the letters that spelled out their commander's name (and sounded them out aloud for good measure), she knew that it wasn't just her brain tricking her. Cautiously, her eyes drifted over to each of the mages for good measure. Both of them looked just as confused and astonished as she.
"Do you think this is talking about," Rhyann paused, "do you think this is Lyna she wrote about?"
Neria took the book from her and looked down at the pages, trying to find something that either confirmed or denied the suspicions they had.
"I think we may have to go get Lyna and show her this. The two of you might be related."
Anders left the study in search of Lyna. From the sounds of it, he was creating quite the commotion, getting the attention of servants, guardsmen, anyone who happened to be in his way as he was searching for their commander. It took him nearly an hour before he returned with the woman, who looked agitated and ready to beat her healer from prying her from pressing matters.
"Lyna," Started Neria, handing her the leather-bound diary, "we were reading Rhyann's mother's diary earlier and there are some passages that you might find interesting."
The Dalish woman looked unamused, but humored them anyway. "What is this about, you three? Varel and I were going over the tax laws of Amaranthine when Anders came barging in." When she breezed over the words 'tax laws' she seemed far less upset than she previously had.
"Just read it."
For several minutes, Lyna perused the pages, occasionally asking the fair-haired man to help her as she fumbled over a word that she didn't recognize. Several pages in, and her purple eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and the book tumbled from her hands and to the floor.
"By the Creators."
The Commander approached Rhyann, prodding at her face curiously with an index finger. Particularly, her attention was paid to the nose and eye region, which bore some importance to her. Rhyann only tensed up at the poking and pinching. Occasionally, she'd wince, expecting some unpleasantness, only to be greeted by the gentle fingertips of the other woman.
"We have the same nose, you and I." Lyna finally said after several minutes of silent inspection. "And, your eyes are just like my brother's."
Lyna then laughed to herself, her head shaking slightly from side to side as she tried to make sense of everything. "You know, Rhyann, I had figured you to be Dalish, at least partially. The white hair was the indicator. But, I hadn't expected this. Your mother, her name was Adaia, wasn't it?"
Rhyann nodded, not knowing where the line of questioning was going.
"Your father had mentioned it once to me. I had thought her name familiar then. It wasn't until recently that I had remembered that Ashalle mentioned a woman by that name. She was my aunt—my father's sister, you see—and left the clan shortly after my father died."
"So, does that mean—"
"—I think so. We're cousins. Lethallan, in the literal sense."
Words could not come as Lyna scooped her in for a tight hug. The Dalish woman was visibly shocked, but happy as she released Rhyann after a prolonged embrace. It was still so surprising to the small elf, but she accepted the fact, resulting in a grin just as wide as her commander's to spread across her face infectiously. The moment didn't last long, as Varel appeared shortly after to beckon Lyna back to their work.