"You see this?! I've already lost one daughter to those bastards, I will not lose another!"
"Marc, stop! She couldn't have known!"
"This comes from your blood, damnit!"
"We have to do something other than yell, love. She's terrified already."
The little girl's eyes are two sizes too big for her face; tiny hands shake; from the other room, her elder brother gasps in pain. At this, she whimpers, places the tiny hands over slightly pointed ears, shutting those big green eyes tight and sinking down the wall until her dress pools around her on the floor. Her crying already done, she simply rests her delicate features onto her knees. I crouch, brush a lock of deep red hair behind those odd ears, then look to the voices.
In the kitchen, her parents sit at a modest table, wits frayed and options lost. The Mamae, a tall elven woman with fire-kissed hair, hides a face that should otherwise show blue eyes and feminine features. The Father, a human male, stares over the woman's shoulder at the wall, runs a hand through black hair and then swipes the back of it over green eyes.
I trail into the room, standing in the doorway between them and the young girl. Charred, hand-shaped scars, freshly cut into the table by inexperience and horror, are still warm to the touch.
"The Dalish." Mamae whispers.
"Laurell, we can't-"
"What other choice do we have?! I will not send her to some abusive circle, with dangerous Templars!" Her voice breaks. "The Lavellan clan camps here this time of year, not three days out in the forest. Magic does not run in their blood, so they might be looking for a First for Keeper Deshanna."
The Dalish? The girl has heard of them; knows her weak connection to them through Mamae, but living with them could never be an option. Father wouldn't allow it.
We both look up, her from her knees and me from the scarred table. And we see Father's face. The look in his eyes - the transparent verdict, a mix of anger and sadness - takes away our breath.
I wake up gasping, white sheets tangled around my limbs, moonlight pouring into my room through the open doors. The dream still lingers, even as I gather up the purple quilt and walk on trembling legs to the balcony, breathing in the cool summer air that the mountains bestow upon Thedas this time of year. A storm brews within my heart, the Nightmare alive even though I'd sent a dagger through its heart myself.
Everything is too cold, too warm. Heat pulls in one direction, chill pulls in another, and I am left in the middle, shaking, fighting, unsure if I can fight both. Which would do the least damage if I were to give in?
My hands shake. I place them over slightly pointed ears, shutting green eyes tight and sliding down the stone wall until the quilt pools around me on the floor. My pride blocking the tears, I simply rest delicate features on trembling knees. I stay there until the morning sun washes over Skyhold, the first rays brushing my hair with a delicate, childlike hand.