The Dragon Age series belongs to Electronic Arts and Bioware.

Don't forget to check out the sequel, titled "A Father's Promise". The final chapters for this story as well as the sequel will be posted simultaneously until this one is completed.


Everything was subdued and quiet inside Vigil's Keep. Many of the inhabitants were asleep, including servants, so the usual supply of people flitting about with tasks to accomplish was a bit dry. There were some guardsmen posted in the reception hall, but that was fairly commonplace. Guards were always a fixture of the fortress. Despite the peacefulness, Rhyann was almost positive that she heard Oghren yelling at someone from somewhere deep within the castle. He talked in his sleep, so that was an obvious possibility. Or, he could have just been conversing with someone. As his 'inside' voice was just as loud as the 'outside' one, the young elf instantly ruled out an argument; the dwarf was typically pretty agreeable, if loud.

She and Anders departed ways shortly after arriving into the reception hall. His goodbye was nothing but a nod of the head. Rhyann doubted if he wanted to waste more breath on words, especially after what he had confessed to her. After the man sulked off into some deeper part of the castle, Rhyann adjusted the strap on her bag, instantly noticing something was off with it. Her own pack was lighter, having been filled primarily with clothes and the odd trinket or two that Alistair insisted that she take. The one hanging from her shoulder was heavier and made a clinking noise like glass vials knocking together whenever she moved. Curious, the young elf flipped open the stop with a flick of her wrist and peered in.

The bag itself was filled to the gills with an odd assortment of things. Some letters lined the bottom. A select few were bound together with twine, giving them the appearance of being more important than the others. As she expected, a menagerie of glass vials filled the bag. Many contained what looked to be poultices and potions. Some were empty. However, there were exactly three that caught her attention. They were filled with a thick-looking black liquid. When the candlelight hit it just so, it looked almost purple in color. Rhyann reached into the bag to grab one and give it a closer inspection, she hesitated. Her fingers just barely grazed the surface of the object when the voice in her head told her to leave it be and to find the owner of the bag.

Rhyann obeyed her inner voice and secured the flap once more.

With some degree of confidence, Rhyann pursued Lyna first. Their packs were similar in appearance, which could have easily warranted the mix up. That, and she was pretty sure Lyna would be the only one to collect random scraps of parchment. On one of their expeditions, she had seen her rifling through old documents, after all.

Wasting no time, Rhyann headed off for Lyna's office.

When Rhyann arrived, Lyna was cursing so much that even a sailor would blush. She was digging through something—probably Rhyann's bag—in search of something, but clearly not finding it. Sigrun was also present, calmly suggesting that their commander take a few deep breaths to calm herself and then resume her search. From what Rhyann could tell, she wouldn't find what she was looking for. At least, not until Rhyann forfeited her bag.

"Commander? Sigrun?"

Both women peeled their eyes from the task at hand and looked over at the elven girl. Lyna appeared frazzled. Her hair was a mess and she looked as though she would tear that first person to say such a thing apart. It took a grand total of three seconds to see her own pack hanging off of Rhyann's hip. She leaped from her chair and rounded the desk in quick succession. Upon reaching the younger woman, she practically ripped the bag from her shoulder and opened it in a haste to make sure whatever it was she needed had been there. Rhyann figured it must have because Lyna sighed in a contented manner and relaxed her posture.

"You're a lifesaver, Kid, you know that?"

Rhyann shook her head.

"Well, you are. There's some…ah…some important stuff in here that I need. Right now, actually. Sigrun, you ready?"

The dwarf straightened up at the mention of her name. "As ready as I'll ever be, Boss. Are were going to do this here, or—"

"—No, we'll go somewhere else. Too much shit in here that could break if things don't go as planned."

Sigrun made for the door while Lyna grabbed a glass bottle filled with red liquid off of her desk. She attempted to follow the other woman, but Rhyann sprang up. She was confused about what was going on and wanted some clarification.

"Wait!" Beckoned the young woman.

Both Lyna and Sigrun stopped in place, anxious to hear what made Rhyann so animated just then. With their eyes on her, the elf gulped, having not calculated how her outburst would have impacted later situations. She choked back her apprehension and looked to them in rapid succession.

"What is going on? Where are you going?"

Sigrun's lips pursed into a thin line whilst her eyes danced over Lyna as if to tell her that it was her responsibility to provide the girl with an explanation. Lyna just fidgeted uncomfortably before eventually clearing her throat and smoothing a hand over her messy hair.

"Sorry, I can't tell you. At least, not yet. There's something I wished to discuss with you, though, so could you wait here until I get back."

Rhyann nodded, dissatisfied. She knew better than to deny her commander.

"Great. We'll only be a few minutes, promise."

Lyna and Sigrun left, leaving Rhyann alone in the office. She looked over the things that occupied the space: a solid desk built of local-grown wood, some bookshelves that were filled primarily of knickknacks Lyna had pilfered on her journeys, and a pair of sturdy looking chairs. It was simple, but she doubted if Wardens require much else. They were an order sworn to uphold peace against the Darkspawn, after all.

What caught Rhyann's attention, however, was not any of the trinkets or other shiny things, but a letter wrote in a quivering hand that once had the bottle Lyna had grabbed sitting atop it. She tried to ignore it by telling herself that it was rude to snoop. But, the curiosity won out. She scooped it up, peering a cautious eye out the door to make sure no one was watching her, and began to peruse its contents.

Commander Mahariel,

I must thank you for the research you had sent. It has moved my work forward incredibly, so much that I think we are ready for a practical application. If your volunteer is willing, You can administer the antidote as soon as recover the last remaining reagent. Without the aid of the Architect—that is what you said your source's name was—I fear creating this would have been nigh impossible. Remember, it is three parts of the solution I sent you, to one part of the reagent you received from him. Please, write me with the results once you have given it so I may perfect it.

With Regards,

Avernus

Despite Rhyann's improvements with the written word, it took Rhyann much longer to read the letter than she would have liked. Mostly, it was because she had to stop to sound out a particularly tricky word fairly frequently. Once she had read it, though, her confusion only grew. What sort of 'antidote' was this letter talking about? And, why was Lyna consorting with the Architect? Rhyann was almost positive that he was one of those talking Darkspawn they had encountered.

As she stood there, clutching the letter close while mulling over all of this, footsteps echoed out in the hallway. Rhyann panicked. Lyna was returning. Without a moment to delay, the young elf leaped into action, quickly replacing the letter and finding the furthest corner from it to find suddenly very interesting.

Lyna returned, looking rather hopeful. Rhyann couldn't figure why for. She rounded her desk and sat back down, offering Rhyann the other chair with a hand gesture. Rhyann dutifully took it, knowing that any refusal would alert the other woman of her previous activities.

"Did everything go well?" Asked the younger elf.

"Yes, I believe it did. We won't know for sure until probably tomorrow, but it's looking pretty hopeful right now."

"That's good." Offered Rhyann, pretending as if she understood what it was Lyna was talking about. "So, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Your wedding." Said Lyna bluntly. "More specifically, how this represents your ascent into adulthood."

Rhyann blinked once. City Elf tradition was that an elf wouldn't be considered an adult until they were married. Since her first marriage was botched, she was still living as a child in the eyes of her peers. Though, she didn't think Lyna would know all of that. Dalish tradition was probably very different.

"There's something we do when a clanmate reaches adulthood. It's called Vallaslin—or Blood Writing. It's a highly sacred and religious ritual that is meant to honor our Gods while setting us apart from the humans and the City Elves."

"I'm sorry, Lyna, but I fail to see how this relates to my wedding, except the transition into adulthood."

Lyna anticipated this, if the smile on her face and relaxed position were any indicator. "I was hoping to give you your own Vallaslin—or something similar. Your mother was Dalish, but since you do not worship our Gods or live our lifestyle, I cannot give you a true Vallaslin. But, you are still my cousin—my lethalan—so I thought you needed something to represent your heritage and you as a person, so that when Ferelden's subjects look at you when you stand next to Alistair, they can see the hardships you've endured before reaching that place."

"Lyna." Murmured Rhyann. The gesture touched her, especially since it seemed to have been something she had been going over for a long time. Rhyann had never considered tattoos before, though she had admired both Lyna's and Velanna's blood writing. Nera's tattoos were pretty as well, but probably not proper blood writing. "I…I don't know what to say. That is very thoughtful of you."

A brief smile was flashed at Rhyann before Lyna slid open a drawer of her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. She slid it across the polished wood and towards Rhyann, who intercepted it. On it was a rough sketch of a face shape. There were markings to indicate where the eyes, nose, and mouth would go. On the chin were some harsh lines, almost looking like a cage. The cheeks and nose were barren, but when she looked at the forehead, the linework was softer, willowy and intricate. Almost like a delicate crown of roses.

"Do you like it?" Inquired Lyna. "True Vallaslin is meant to represent our Gods, but since you don't worship them, I thought it inappropriate. So, I had this drawn up." With her index finger, Lyna tapped the chin area. "That represents your life before. You were imprisoned at birth in the Alienage, and then again at your own wedding. It's the pain you've endured." Her finger traced up the sketch of the face and to the forehead area. "And that's who you are now. See how free and soft the lines are? And they're in the shape of a crown, for obvious reasons."

"I like it." Started Rhyann. She did, but the lines were blocked out in such dark colors. If she got a tattoo, she wanted it to be subtle, a whisper upon her skin. "I'd prefer it to be fainter, though. So it's barely noticeable."

Lyna nodded. "I see. You want it to represent you, but not define you. I like that. We won't be starting this today, obviously. Collecting the inks and preparing you for this takes time. And, I'd like you to have time to consider this before we actually go through with it; the last thing I want is to leave permanent marks on you and have you change your mind. So, please don't feel that you have to say 'yes' because I suggested it."

"I don't. I really would like to go through with this."

"Okay. Even so, it will probably take me about a week to get the inks for it. When we've gotten nearer, I'll talk to you about how to prepare yourself for it."

Rhyann nodded.

"Now, why don't you go and get some sleep?"