Rajmael of Clan Lavellan

by Powerslammer

Rajmael is an elf possessed of great pride and an incredible power. Born with a powerful name and a greater destiny, he has lived his whole life by the the Vir Tanadhal. And now he must use his ancient knowledge to stand against forces that threaten his world and everything he loves. Watch as he stands as a Dalish Elf, a Herald and as The Inquisitor. Please, please review.

50. The Path of Memory: Part III

The Path of Memory: Part III

Back At The Winter Palace...

While the Inquisitor and all his underlings were busy with the Qunari, the Orlesians and the Fereldans all at once, Velara watched the proceedings of this political maelstrom unfold before her, deeply amused. Everyone scrambling to find out what was really going on while trying to fulfill their own goals. These humans were so selfish all they could see was their own agendas, instead of looking up to see the storm coming at them.

Everything was going according to plan. All the pieces were moving exactly as they were predicted to. The Inquisition, the Qunari, everyone in this marbled palace of entitlement and self-importance were all just pawns in a greater game they didn't even now existed. Soon, the only war that mattered would take place, and none of these people had any idea what was coming.

Yet, despite everything going their way, it didn't feel as it should to Velara. Something was missing, and she knew exactly what it was: revenge.

Velara watched from the shadows as Celene and Briala walked hand in hand through the private garden away from the rest of palace, and the prying eyes and whispering lips of the nobility. They wanted to enjoy themselves, not cause scandal, especially right in the middle of such political proceedings. All they wanted was to be lovers without the burdens of politics and social expectations for once.

Seeing Briala and Celene holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other fueled the rage and disgust that burned in Velara's broken heart. While Briala and Celene got to enjoy life and all its splendors, Velara's husband and children were still dead. Everyone praised and adored the Empress and her Maquis, but neither of them remembered how many lives the empress destroyed. No one remembered, and no one cared.

Well, Velara remembered. She remembered the sounds of her family screaming as they burned alive in their own home on Celene's orders. She remembered how Briala rode off to safety while she watched everything she loved died. Velara remembered how she and many elves like her fought for Briala's cause against Orlais, or to be betrayed by her when Briala made peace with Celene and went back to her loving arms as a Marquis, instead of giving the elves the justice they wanted.

The memory of holding her husband and her babies' charred, desiccated bodies brought a hateful tear to Velara's eye that burned down her cheek. She was suppose to be merely an observer, to watch and report back to the rest of them, but she could no longer ignore this. She could no longer sit idly by while her family's murderer and the flat-ear who betrayed their people lived out their happily ever after unpunished. No. If there was one thing Nethras taught her, it's that if you want justice, you have to take it for yourself.

The Empress and Marquis were followed by a small contingency of Chevalier bodyguards, men they knew who could be trusted, and no doubt were come of the best the Academie de Chevalier had to offer. This would be too easy. All Velara had to do was seize the exact moment.

Briala and Celene held their hands warmly together as they watched the beautiful sunset over the horizon. She looked over to Celene, who gave her that loving smile that still made Briala blush. After two years of brining peace back to the empire, moments like these were most precious to them both. The two of them exchanged a deep, loving kiss, and in that moment, both of them felt like nothing could ever tear them apart.

Briala and Celene's tender moment was interrupted by the sound of metal falling to the marble floor. The sense of loving tenderness between the two women was quickly replaced by shock and horror when they saw that their guards were dead on the ground with daggers sticking out of their necks, and geysers of blood streaming out of their wounds. Before either of them could react, or even call for help, Briala was grabbed from behind and pressed a sharp, cold dagger against her neck.

"Hello, Marquis. Been a long time. I see those bruises I gave cleared up nicely." A familiar voice whispered sadistically in her pointed ear.

Briala recognized the hatred in that voice. It wasn't one she could ever forget. "Velara...!"

"You remember me? I'm almost touched. Almost." The elven assassin hissed and twisted Briala's arm behind her.

"How dare you!? What is the meaning of this!?" Celene demanded threateningly. A pair of stiletto's sprang out of her sleeves and she assumed a combat stance. Celene may have been the Empress and a patron of the arts and learning, but she was also one of the most victorious players of the Grand Game, and a former student of Lady Mantillon herself. She wasn't going to let anyone threaten her love in her own palace.

"Ah, ah, ah! Careful, Your Royal Lowness. You're making me nervous." Velara warned mockingly. "You might make me accidentally cut your lover here, and nick an artery."

Celene didn't want to endanger her beloved, neither would she surrender her weapons. This woman singlehandedly killed her elite guards without being seen; Celene couldn't risk trying to attack her. She had to remain calm, stall the assassin. Maybe help would come. "Who are you?"

"Awww. You never told her, Marquis? Keeping secrets from your lover? I guess old habits die hard, don't they, spymaster?" Velara said mockingly to Briala. "Long story short, Empress, I'm a member of an elven cult of assassins dedicated to revenge. And I'm here to finally take my vengeance against you both for what you stole to me."

Celene knew full well that there were many who would want revenge against her and Briala both. More desperate than curious, she had to keep this woman talking. Someone would notice their delayed absence. "What reason could you have for revenge against either of us?"

The elven assassin glared poisoned daggers at the human empress, like her question was more of a heinous insult. "You dare ask that question!? There isn't an elf in Orlais who doesn't have reason for a grudge against you, but none hate you more than I do! Two years ago, when the elves were rebelling against your empires injustice against us, you burned Halamshiral's Alienage! You burned down my home, with my family still inside it! My husband and babies were burned alive by you! You murdered my family!"

Guilt stabbed at Celene's heart like a rusty knife. She remembered that day all too well. The necessary evil she needed to commit in order to keep her empire from breaking. The elves had started a rebellion just when Gaspard was about to declare war, and she couldn't allow the elves' cries for justice rob her of the throne and plunge Orlais into further chaos. So, for the good of the empire, Celene put Halamshiral's alienage to the torch. This woman was one of the many victims that the Game's brutality left behind.

"I...I am sorry, to you and your family." Celene said with sincere regret. "It was..."

"What? Nothing personal, just the Game!?" Velara spat with disgust, keeping her dagger pressed to Briala's neck. "That's all the justification you shemlen fucks need, isn't it? It doesn't matter how many lives you destroy, as long as you play the Game well. Well, I'm going to knock your pieces off the board."

"If your grudge is with me, than let your vengeance only be with me." Celene pleaded. "Let Briala go, she was the one who fought for you, still does."

"Typical human noble, so selfish. This isn't just about you, ya know." Velara scolded sarcastically. "She's just as much on my list as you are."

"Velara, I know you're angry, and I don't blame you, but you must think about what you're doing." Briala pleaded. "If you kill us both like this, it will undo everything our people have gained. If it's found out that the Empress was murdered by an elf, entire alienages across Thedas will be purged. You acted as my agent once, you know this to be true."

That revelation caught Celene off guard. This woman once fought under Briala? How could that be? "You fought for Briala in her rebellion? Then why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because she was suppose to fight for us! Give us our vengeance, our justice!" Velara hissed hatefully, pressing her dagger closer to Briala throat. "Instead the two of you kiss and make up, like your crimes against my people were nothing. You two get to live your happily ever after while my husband and children are still dead! The entire world loves you, but no one cares about what you did to people like me. Where is the justice in that!? If there's one thing I've learned from you nobles, it's that you can do anything you want, as long as you get away with it. And I will get away with it."

A scream choked in Celene's throat and Briala braced herself for her final judgment when Velara gripped her dagger tightly and prepared to cut the elven marquis' neck open. But Velara stopped before she could even cut Briala's flesh. She was stopped when she felt someone grab her by the neck from behind. Someone with a powerful grip and rough hands, like a farmer's.

"You won't be getting away with anything, ma'am. Let the Marquis go, or I will be forced to cave your skull in." A thick Fereldan accented voice warned with a strange mix of threatening politeness.

Celene's plan worked. She stalled long enough for someone to walk in on them. The man who grabbed Velara by the neck was a middle-aged man with Fereldan features and red hair. He wore finely crafted silverite armor, and held an equally fine silverite mace to follow through with his warning. Celene recognized the man. It was one of the men who accompanied General Cousland to the Exalted Council. The Knight-Commander of the Silver Order, Ser Alec the Valiant.

"It's almost funny how you think you can stop me, shem. You have no idea what I am capable of." Velara warned threateningly, her eyes glowing with a strange red energy. "Elgar'nan's blessing burns in my veins!"

"Be careful, Ser Alec. That is no idle threat." Briala informed urgently. She knew all too well what Velara was capable of with that blessing.

Velara's eyes began to burn like hot coals and prepared to follow through with her threat. Then something else interrupted her: the edge of a sword being pointed at her face. A green elven-styled blade being held by a young human man, and he didn't look like he was playing around, either. It was Bevin, Arl Teagan's brother-in-law, and one of Aedan Cousland's former squires.

"I know nothing of Elgar'nan's Blessings, but I do know that even an assassin like you can't do much when you've got two weapons pointed at your face." Bevin threatened, holding the Green Blade firmly to Velara's face.

"Make that three." Added another voice. It was the young dwarven squire, Aedan Kondrat son of Oghren Kondrat. Named after the Hero of Ferelden, and his current squire. He stood with a shield and sword, ready to put his training to the test.

The odds were tipping less and less in in Velara's favor, but she still refused to back down. Not when she finally had Briala and Celene within her grasp. "You really think two shems and a dwarf are enough to stop me? I kill both these bitches then carve your eyes out!"

Velara's murderous rage was stopped before it could even begin when an arrow flew past her face and grazed her cheek, leaving a trail of blood behind.

"No, you will not." The owner of the arrow declared. It was a young elven woman with auburn hair, wearing light leather armor. She held a finely crafted bow in her hands, and was aiming another arrow right between Velara's eyes. It was Amythene, another of Aedan Cousland's former squires, and an official knight of Fereldan. "Drop the bravado and the dagger, or I'll drop you. "

"As much as I appreciate your timely intervention, what are you all doing here?" Briala asked, gritting through her teeth, the assassin's blade still pressed against her neck.

"You think the General brought us along to look pretty and talk up the nobility, Your Highness? This is exactly why he always brings people like us to these things. There's always treachery lurking around somewhere." Ser Alec answered.

"That, and we needed to get away from the proceedings and fine some real drinks." The dwarven Aedan answered. "The stuff they serve at the bar is piss, which is why I snuck the good stuff from my father's stash."

Velara's eyes flared with anger and outrage to see a fellow elf standing against her with these humans. "Why are you doing this? How can you stand with them? You're an elf, same as I am!"

"I don't need to have pointed ears to keep someone from being murdered. It's one of the duties of being a knight." Amythene responded, keeping her arrow fixed on Velara.

"Do you know what these two have done? What they took from me!? They deserve to die, you don't understand!" Velara raged. "My family is dead because of them! Burned alive in our own house! I can still hear my children screaming in my dreams!"

"I do understand, more than you realize. You're not the only one who's suffered loss." Amythene reasoned calmly.

"What could a child know of my loss and suffering?" Velara demanded. "You know nothing!"

"Yes, I do." Amythene insisted. She lowered her arrow and tried to talk to her, hoping to calm the angry assassin down, and not kill anyone. "When I was a child, my mother was killed in Castle Highever when Arl Howe's men sacked it, leaving me an orphan in the Denerim Alienage. Then Arl Howe led a purge on us when we rioted, and anyone I cared about who wasn't killed in the fighting, or by the outbreak of plague, he sold them as slaves to Tevinter like cattle. I know what it's like to lose everything to human nobles, to be angry at them."

"Then why? Why do you serve them? After everything these humans have done to our people, everything they've taken from us, why would you fight for them?" Velara asked confused.

"I don't fight for them. I fight for our people. To show the world who we are and what we're capable of. There is more to our people than just bloodshed and heartbreak." Amythene answered full of confidence in who she was. "Killing humans and living for vengeance will not bring back our people's glory. I know their crimes against us are terrible, but if you kill them like this, you diminish us all."

At first it seemed like Velara might have heeded Amythene's words. Her murderous intent began to waiver, and she stopped pressing her dagger against Briala's neck. But the memory of her family's murder, the sounds of her their agonized screams as they burned alive still fueled the hatred in her empty heart.

"Stupid child. You have no idea what's coming." Velara admonished, her eyes burning loathingly. "This is the only way our people will get our glory and rightful place in this world back. If you're not with our people, then you're with our enemies!"

Seeing that her words were for naught, Amythene strung her arrow and aimed it back at Velara's head. All of her companions prepared to fight, and save the Empress and Marquis.

"This is your last warning." Amythene threatened, ready to follow through with it. "Let her go and surrender, or I'll shoot you between the eyes."

The tension in the air became so thick you could choke on it. None of Aedan Cousland's subordinates bore Briala or Celene any love, but they were ready to cut this assassin down if needs be, and Velara refused to give up the vengeance she had been dreaming of for so long. Celene dared not move for fear of placing Briala in danger. Velara made her choice and followed through with it.

Amythene fired her arrow the very instant she saw Velara's hand twitch. The elven assassin deflected the arrow away from her face with the dagger, freeing Briala's throat. Alec tightened his grip around Velara's neck and swung his silverite mace to cave her skull in before she could do anything else. Velara grabbed the haft of Alec's weapon before it could even touch her, and back-kicked him so hard it felt like he got kicked by a horse. If Alec hadn't been wearing his silverite plate armor, Velara could have caved his ribs in.

After seeing their senior knight get knocked back several feet by a petite elven woman, both Bevin and Aedan attacked her at once. She was obviously more dangerous than she seemed. Bevin struck at her from the right with the Green Blade that his grandfather used to slay dragons, and aimed to cut Velara's head off. Aedan attacked from the lower left, lunging with his sword from behind his shield to stab their enemy in the liver.

Velara parried Bevin's Green Blade with her dagger then used his momentum to throw him flat on his back, then did a somersault kick off Aedan's shield and cracked the young dwarf in the face with her heel before landing at a safe distance away from them. She moved so fast it made Bevin and Aedan look like slugs.

Velara was on her feet for a mere second before she had to start dodging Amythene's arrows, each one fire in rapid succession, and all were aimed at her vital areas. Yet, somehow, Velara was able to evade each one, like the arrows were rain drops sliding off her. While Amythene fired half her quiver at the other elf, Celene tossed Briala one of her stilettos and Amythene's companions got back up to fight.

Amythene stopped shooting when her companions and the two noblewomen stood at her side, all of them ready to give the powerful assassin everything they had.

"It's over, Velara, you've failed." Amythene announced.

"Surrender now, and I swear, no harm will come to you." Ser Alec promised.

"He doesn't speak for all of us, just so you know." The dwarven Aedan threatened.

"Either you will be tried for attempted assassination of myself and the Marquis, or you will be slain here." Celene proclaimed.

"As powerful as you obviously are, even you can't fight all of six of us, especially when we've been trained by Aedan Cousland himself." Bevin warned.

"It's over Velara. And the Inquisitor isn't here to excuse your crimes this time." Briala spoke.

Velara hissed hatefully through her teeth. She didn't want to face the truth, but she had no choice. Even with Elgar'nan's Blessing coursing in her veins, even she couldn't fight all six of them and succeed, or even live. Velara cursed herself a fool for her failure. So close, her revenge was so close, and she let it slip through her fingers like water. Her family would go on unavenged, and Briala and Celene would go unpunished.

"This isn't over yet! The Inquisitor and all your precious heroes and champions won't be able to stop what's coming!" Velara swore in utter rage. "All of you will die screaming, and everything you know and love will burn! Your entire history will be erased, none of you have a future!"

Velara reached into her pouch and smashed a smoke grenade to the ground. The grenade exploded into a cloud of black smoke. All of them were blinded and choked by its thick acridness. The smoke blew away as fast as it appeared, all traces of Velara disappeared with it.

All of them took a moment to try and catch their breath, let the adrenaline pumping in their veins die down, and tried to get a sense of what just happened. Four of them had been trained by Aedan Cousland himself in the art of combat, yet somehow a single elven assassin was able to dance around their attacks and hit them a lot harder than someone as dainty as she was should have been able to do. As if these Qunari spies weren't bad enough. Just what the hell were they dealing with?

Meanwhile, At An Unknown Location...

The bright flash that had consumed Cassandra and her comrades had finally dissipated, thought they were left disoriented and almost blind by the brightness of the light. All of them took a moment to try and get a sense of where they were. It was near dusk and judging from their surroundings, it looked like they were still in the Free Marches. Not one of the major cities, but one of the small villages in between them. It was more like a small settlement along the main roads than anything else. The village was near the Imperial Highway, with small houses made from the wood in the nearby forest. The largest building in this quaint village was the Chantry, the only structure here that was made of stone and bricks.

Were they still seeing one of Hawke's memories? Was this where he went after fleeing Kirkwall?

"Great. Where the heck are we now?" Sera groaned, rubbing her eyes.

"From the looks of it, I'd say we're well out of Kirkwall. Maybe closer to Ostwick?" Varric guessed.

"Hey, look over here." Iron Bull called.

The Tal-Vashoth mercenary pointed over to the nearby house they had been transported in front of on the outskirts of the village. It was small, humble home. Large enough for a small family to live in, but it was certainly not as big or well built as the other houses in the village. In fact, all the nearby houses on the outskirts were rather rundown and poorly made as compared to the rest of the village. This house at least looked like someone maintained it and there was even a small garden with mint outside of it. Someone actually took the time and effort to maintain their home than the rest of this neighborhood.

"Hmm. This must be where the elves live." Zevran theorized. "Humans, no matter where you go, always want the elves living in worse conditions than them. To remind them of their place in society."

"Well, at least they're actually part of the town instead of being walled up in an Alienage. Aleinages stink no matter where you go." Sera stated.

"Yeah, well, at least elves don't live in place like Dust Town in Orzammar, or Darktown in Kirkwall. Nothing good ever crawls out of those places." Varric pointed out.

Soon, someone came walking down the way towards the house. It was an elf, singing a lively tune as he walked. He was a middle-aged man with short brown hair, golden eyes, wearing the peasants clothing and no shoes, which is common amongst elves. He carried with him an old but well-kept wood-axe that was resting on his shoulder, revealing his trade as a woodcutter.

Who was this man, and what was his connection to any of their missing heroes? None of them had any clue. All they could do was watch and wait as these unknown memories played themselves out.

As the woodcutter approached his house, he was greeted by a woman who they could only guess was his wife. She was a very pretty woman, and their apparent poverty did very little to conceal that. She was around the same age as her husband with long bright red hair held in tail and green eyes. There was something very familiar about the way she smiled at her husband.

"Welcome home, love." The woman greeted her husband with a kiss on his cheek. "How was work today?"

The woodcutter set his axe down on the porch and kissed his wife lovingly. "Oh, you know, the usual, Renalle. Busting my ass for menial pay, getting my balls busted by the humans who call me a lazy knife-ear, even though I cut more wood than they do, and me ending the day by telling them all to go hump a dead pig. Same old, same old. "

"A dead pig is probably better than most of the pickings they have here in this shithole of a village." The wife laughed. "The local shems here are so ugly you'd think their parents stole a night away with one of the barn animals. Well, come inside, Dairren, I have supper waiting."

The two walked inside for their dinner, and there was someone waiting inside for them. A small boy sitting at their table. They boy had his father's bright golden eyes and his mother's flaming red hair and smile, which beamed brightly at the sight of his parents.

Cassandra clasped her hand over her mouth as a surprised gasp escaped her lips. "Sweet Andraste...! It can't be..."

"Welcome home, Father!" The young elven child called as he hugged his father tightly.

"It's good to be home, Rajmael." Dairren smiled happily as he picked up his son and hugged him.

Cassandra and the others were left in utter astonishment. It was so difficult to imagine this happy, bare-faced child would be the one to grow up to become the leader of the Inquisition and hailed as the Herald of Andraste. Most of them had forgotten that Rajmael wasn't born amongst Dalish, but as a City Elf.

"Alright, let's say our evening prayer." Dairren spoke before they had they all had their supper.

Dairren's wife and son clasped their hands together to while he set something on the table. It was a small stone carving. It was old and worn out from years of handling, but the image it depicted could be still be seen. It was a small stone dragon, carved in an elven design.

"Mythal, mother and protector, thank you for the day you've granted us and the blessings we posses." Dairren prayed reverently. "Watch over our family and grant us protection from those who wish us harm, and grant us the strength be of aid to our friends. Mythal enaste."

"Mythal enaste." Renalle and Rajmael recited.

With their prayer ended, the Yonwynn family began eating their dinner. When it was over, the proud parents laughed and played with their son, telling him stories of elven greatness and heroes. Like the legendary Grey Warden Garahel who ended the Fourth Blight by slaying the Archdemon Andoral. They even told him the story of Thane Shartan and how he was the Champion of Andraste. When they were done Rajmael's mother carried him to bed and sang him to sleep.

With Rajmael and his family asleep, his present day companions couldn't help but remark on what they had seen before them.

"I recall the Inquisitor once saying that his parents were devoted to the old elven faith." Dorian remembered. "It seemed they were quite proud of their heritage."

"They didn't have much, but they were proud of what they did have." Cole said quietly. "A few ancient words and a stone carving was enough to remind them of who they are, and they wanted their son to share this pride."

"Gotta admit, the Inquisitor was a cute kid back in the day, right, Seeker?" Iron Bull chuckled at Cassandra.

"I just realized that the Inquisitor is the only one of our dear heroes who isn't a noble." Ranier stated. "The Champion, the Hero, they both came from families with noble lineage, Rajmael is the only one of them who was born a peasant."

"Many times, greatness has come from the humblest of places." Varric confirmed. "Just look at Hawke's life."

"This is the Inquisitor?" Zevran asked incredibly surprised. "But, his tattoos, everything I heard about him, I thought he was Dalish?"

"Rajmael, he was adopted into the Dalish. After something...terrible happened." Cassandra answered apprehensively.

"What happened to his family?" Zevran asked curiously.

Cassandra turned away from the Antivan elf, unable to bring herself to answer his question.

"Just keep watching, Shanks. I think that's what we're here to see." Varric answered on Cassandra's behalf. He knew this was something Cassandra didn't have the heart to speak of.

The Next Day...

It was early in the morning and Dairren was taking his son with him to the site on the edge of the woods where he and the other woodsman were plying their craft. Rajmael wanted to help his father when he worked and Dairren couldn't say no to him. Most of the woodcutters were elves as many people felt lumbering was a menial trade and therefore fit only for elves. More than that, the humans were suspicious of the woods and the wild elves that lived inside them, so they felt it was safer to let the local elves work there instead of them.

The youngster Rajmael was eager to get to work and help his father cut some wood, but Dairren thought it best to have his son just stack the wood after it was cut. After all, Rajmael could barely lift the axe right now. As father and son worked, another elven woodcutter approached them. This elf was rather plain-looking compared to the other two, and he didn't carry himself the same way Dairren did.

"Good morning, Dairren." The other elf greeted.

Dairren looked back to the other elf with an uninterested look in his eyes. Like he wasn't very pleased to see this man, and kept on chopping wood. "Ah, Piren. Morning."

"I didn't see you or your family at the Chantry yesterday." Piren said as he placed his axe down and drank from a skin of water.

"That's because I didn't go, and I sure as shit didn't want to put my family through that." Dairren answered rudely, not even bothering to stop what he was doing. "Why would I want go to the local crap-shack of a Chantry to listen to some dried out old biddy talk about how we're all terrible sinners? If I want to feel internal conflict, I'll go eat some prunes."

"You shouldn't say such things about the Revered Mother!" Piren said offended. He looked over and noticed the young boy working alongside Dairren. "Who's this you've got helping you?"

"My son, Rajmael." Dairren answered with a proud smile.

Piren's eyes went wide when the sound of that name reached his own pointed ears. It was like the boys name was more shocking than Dairren's language. "You...you gave your son that name? Do you really think that's best? Don't you think you're inviting trouble for him?"

Dairren split one more log then rested the axe on his shoulder before finally turning his attention to the Piren.

"Rajmael? Why don't you go take a break and play in the grove over there? I gotta have an adult conversation with Piren here."

Rajmael did as his father asked and went of to go play, leaving the two adults alone. It was painfully obvious that Dairren wasn't very pleased with Piren.

"Piren, you sure you want to be your nosy little self when I've got an axe in my hand, and we're far enough away from the village that no one will hear you scream?"

"I'm just trying to do what's right, Dairren!" Piren argued. "It's bad enough you never show up at the Chantry and you disrespect Mother Delphine, but you give your son a name that's practically heresy? You're inviting trouble onto yourself and your family by trying to be more elf-like than the rest of us instead of being normal."

"You mean I'm not being a good little elf by not wanting to be more like humans and kissing the Revered Mother's herpes-infected ass like you do? Fuck that shit!" Dairren spat angrily. "I actually feel proud about having pointed ears, instead of being ashamed of what I am. And General Rajmael was a fucking hero! I was proud to give my son his name. And if you and the Revered Mother got a problem with that, you can all go to the Templars, grab those big swords they overcompensate with, and go fuck yourselves them! Now, why don't you get out of here before I stab you in the face?"

"Well, that explains a lot." Varric chuckled. "Now we know where Rajmael got his language from. Must've inherited his father's mouth."

"It would seem that, no matter where you go, elves born in the city have a rather...crass vocabulary." Vivienne noted.

"Shit, yeah, we do! Not like all them fancy nobs, can't ever stand a frickin' word them ones say." Sera said obnoxiously.

Piren gave Dairren a disgusted look, but turned to leave when Dairren held his axe threateningly. Before he could, however, he noticed something far more important than Dairren's blasphemies. An acrid smell that hurt his longs and made him cough. Like something was burning nearby.

"Is that smoke?" Piren realized.

Dairren turned around and saw a massive cloud of black smoke billowing from out of the forest. Right in the direction Rajmael went.

"Oh, shit. Rajmael!" Dairren dropped his axe and rushed to where his son was while Piren ran to get help. If there was a fire, it needed to be put out before it spread to the rest of the forest. Dairren prayed to Mythal that nothing happened to his son.

Dairren sprinted his way to the grove and found his son standing before a burning bush. What was most queer was the fact that it was burning upwards like a column of flame instead of spreading to the rest of the brush around it, and how Rajmael was just standing in front of it instead of running. Like he was in some kind of a trance.

"Rajmael!" Dairren shouted to his son.

Rajmael snapped out of whatever daze he was in the instant he heard his father's voice. The instant he stopped staring at it, the column of fired died, leaving behind the burnt remains of the bush. Dairren couldn't believe what he just saw. He never had a proper education outside of reading and writing, but he knew enough that fire doesn't just die on the drop of a hat like that. It was like...magic.

Dairren rushed over to his son and held him closely, making sure that Rajmael was unharmed. "Rajmael, son, what happened here? What did you do?"

"I...I don't know, Father." The boy answered confusedly.

"Just tell me what happened. Did you start this fire?"

"I don't know, Father!" Rajmael repeated, this time he sounded scared. "I was playing, then I saw a snake hissing at me in that bush, it scared me. Then out of nowhere, the bush was just on fire."

A deeply concerned took hold of Dairren's face, and he realized what just happened. Realized what his son truly was. He placed his hands on his son's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Rajmael, listen very carefully, no one can no know about what happened here, absolutely no one. I promise, we'll make sure you're taken care of."

Dairren heard the rushing footsteps of the others running towards them and put a straight face on.

"Is everything alright? What happened here?" Piren asked with the other woodcutters with him.

"Oh, nothing. Just a little bit of childhood mischief." Dairren answered with relief. He turned to his son and wagged his finger at him scoldingly. "See, Rajmael? This is why you're not supposed to play with matches. You could have burnt some of these trees down. Now, when we get home, I want you to think about what you did."

"Yes, Papa." Rajmael said as he took his father's hand and kept his eyes on the ground.

As the two of them walked back to the village, neither father nor son noticed the suspicious look Piren was giving them as they walked away, or the way he was staring at the burnt bush and charred body of dead snake resting in it.

~XoXoXo~

It had been nearly a week since Rajmael's incident in the grove. It was late at night, Rajmael should have been sleeping, but instead he was peaking out of his bedroom door into the living room where he could see his mother waiting by the fireplace. Renalle was fidgeting with her hands anxiously, worry gripped her heart, like she was desperately waiting for something. She jumped to her feet when her husband finally walked through the door. Dairren looked exhausted, like he had walked a long distance to get back home.

"Well? What did they say? Will they accept him?" Renalle asked worriedly.

"I spoke with their best hunter. He said he had to speak with his Keeper, but believes that she will accept our son into the tribe." Dairren answered tiredly.

"Oh, darling, are you sure this is the best thing for him?" Renalla asked with motherly concern. "The wilds are dangerous, and we might never seen him again."

"It can't be anymore dangerous than letting the Templars take him to that gulag in Kirkwall they call a Circle." Dairren argued. "And if we just send him there, we'd never be able to see him again while he lives like a prisoner. You've heard the stories about how they treat mages in the Gallows, and I don't want that for our son. At least amongst the Dalish he'll be amongst more of our kind."

Renalle's hand covered her eyes and she tried to keep herself from tearing up. The thought of losing her child to complete strangers, no matter who they were, was any mother's worst fear. But she still wanted the best for him, no matter where his life took him.

"Alright, Dairren. If you think this is what's best for our son, I support you. It's just not fair, he shouldn't be forced out of our life for an accident of birth." Renalle said finally starting to weep. "I wish there was another way. I wanted to be there to watch him grow up. See him find a woman, have children of his own..."

Dairren took his wife in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder, for he too felt her pain. "I know, my love. I wanted those things too. But it's more important that we make sure he has the opportunity to live his life, even if we never get to see it ourselves."

"No!" Protested a young, hurt voice. Dairren and Renalle looked to see their young son standing in front of his room. He ran to his mother, hugging her closely, and cried into her skirts. "Please, Mama, I don't want to go!"

"I know, sweetheart. I don't want you to go, either." Renalle said trying to comfort her baby, but couldn't stop her own tears from falling.

Dairren let his wife and son have a moment to take in each other's sorrow. A mother's duty was to comfort her child, while a father's task was to teach his son how to survive this cruel world of theirs. He gently pulled Rajmael away from his mother and cradles his son's head in his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Rajmael, your mother and I love you more than anything in the world, and we want only the best for you." Dairren explained, trying to keep his face strong for his son. "You were born with a magnificent gift, one that grants you more potential and possibilities than we could ever have. But all of that cannot be found here where the shemlen and their laws govern our kind. With the Dalish, you can live as an elf with pride, and have a better life than we had, one defined by your own choices. But no matter what, no matter where your life takes you, your mother and I will always love you."

Rajmael hugged his father as tight as he could, wetting his father's chest with his tears. "I love you both, too."

Dairren and Renalle held their child as close and affectionately as possible, all of them weeping tears of loss. It was a difficult and almost alien thing that neither parent ever thought they would. To give up their son because they loved him.

"In seven days, you will become Rajmael of Clan Lavellan." Dairren wept sorrowfully.

~XoXoXo~

"Andraste's knickers..." Varric sighed depressed. "I almost can't comprehend it. After all the shit we've seen him pull off, after all the things he's done, it's strange seeing Rajmael so vulnerable."

"We were all innocent children, once. Sadly, that innocence never lasts." Vivienne added. "At least his parents were wise enough to know their son needed guidance on how to control his magic."

Iron Bull sniffed loudly and tried to his the fact his good eye was tearing up at the sight of such emotion. "Man, this makes me feel bad that I never had a mother."

"He doesn't want to go because he's scared. He knows nothing of magic and he's scared of it. His parents make him feel safe and warm, he doesn't want to lose that feeling." Cole described sorrowfully.

"It's the responsibility of any parent to give the best for their children." Cassandra said with a hint of longing in her voice. "I, I would like to think that my parents loved me and my brother this much."

"His parents certainly seemed like wonderful people." Zevran said respectfully. "I certainly wouldn't know what it's like to have real parents. In fact, does any of us know what it's like to have a real mother and father?"

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence amongst all of them. It was then they realized that most of them barely knew their parents or never knew them at all. The Inquisitor, Champion, and Hero, on the other hand, all had loving parents who were an invaluable part of their lives. Just one more thing these men had over them.

"I barely remember my father, and my mother was drunk most of the time." Varric said disappointedly. "Still, she was my mother, and I did love her."

"I had a real mother and father...but they didn't show me nearly as much affection as the Inquisitor's." Dorian admitted bitterly, the memory of his father's death still stung him.

"Thanks, Zevran. Now we all feel even badder than before." Sera responded agitatedly. "I never thought about what it's like to have a real mommy and daddy, now I do. And it feels like shit."

"My father was a carpenter, my mother just a housewife. They were good people, but after I left to be soldier, the only time I saw them was for their funeral." Ranier said regretfully. "You only get one mother and father, and I was stupid enough not to appreciate them like I should have."

~XoXoXo~

Nearly a week had passed and in the following days, Dairren and Renalle showed their son every bit of love and affection they could possibly muster. Dairren didn't even bother going to work, and all possible time they had was spent doting on Rajmael, for these would be their final days with him. On their last night with him, they prepared a large meal, larger than they ever had. A pot of stew, soft bread, even several cuts of steak. Renalle even used what meager savings she had to buy the ingredients for a cake, something they never had in this house before.

Dairren set the stone carving of Mythal on the table and began their evening prayer. Before he could even carve the steak he spent a whole month's salary to pay for, there was a loud pounding at their door.

"Aw, shit. Who could that be at this hour?" Dairren cursed and set his carving knife down. When he went to the door, he was shocked, nearly horrified, to see a group of Templars waiting on his front porch. It was the Knight-Captain who was knocking on his door.

The Knight-Captain was a tall man with broad shoulders in his early twenties. Unlike the rest of his men, he wore no helmet to obscure his face, revealing the young man handsome features and thick brown hair. His armor was heavy and strapped to his hip was a very sharp sword. From the look in his eyes, he wasn't here to ask for a tithe.

"Knight-Captain Dermott. What're you doing here?" Dairren asked demandingly.

"Evening Serrah Yonwyn. Would you mind showing us in?" The Knight-Captain asked, trying to mask a demand in the form of politeness.

Dairren shook his head in refusal and leaned against the doorway. "Actually, I do mind. It's late and my family isn't prepared to accept guests."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I must insist." Dermott said sternly and pushed his way past Dairren.

Dermott and Templars walked in and quickly crowded the small house. Renalle and Rajmael rose from their seat and she quickly held her son close to her. Dermott's eyes scanned the room, looking at the small feast these peasant elves were enjoying, and then his eyes rested squarely on Rajmael. He stared at him like he was accusing him of something.

"This is quite the feast you've arranged, especially with your pay, woodcutter. Tell me, what's the occasion?" Dermott asked.

"It's my son's birthday. What father doesn't want to give the best to his kid?" Dairren answered trying to not seem evasive.

"Really? Well, your son's a lucky lad then. How old is he?"

"Ten." Renalle answered reluctantly. "Look, what is this about? I did not invite you here, and you assholes in fancy metal cans have no right to just barge into our house!"

"Oh, I'm afraid we do, ma'am." Dermott answered darkly. "We have reason to believe you're hiding something from us. It's bad enough that no one in this family even has the decency to attend the Chantry, but when you try to undermine the authority of the Chantry, the Divine's mandate, we're obligated to act. I'm giving you one chance to come clean."

Dairren glared at the Templar while his wife held Rajmael even closer. "I don't know what you're implying. My family and I have broken no Chantry mandates."

"Really?" Dermott scoffed skeptically. "So, harboring an apostate from me and my Templars, and attempting to smuggle him off to your pagan kin in the forest, those are not breaches, if not blatant offenses, of the Chantry's laws? Even a wretched heathen like you cannot be that stupid."

Dairren laughed at the Templars accusations like it was a bad joke and maintained a straight face. "That's quite the imagination you've got swimming in that skull of yours, Knight-Captain. I don't know what you're talking about."

"No need to have an imagination when you can hear it from the horse's mouth. Or the rabbit's mouth, as the case may be." Dermott responded coldly. He turned towards the door and called out to it. "You may enter!"

The man Dermott called to walked into the house, he head hanging low, and Dairren's heart sank in his chest. It was their neighbor, Piren.

"Piren? What have you done!?" Dairren demanded in outrage.

"I did what any good Andrastian should, what you should have done." Piren answered, unable to look Dairren in the eye. "I know what your son did in the grove was magic, and I overheard what you're planning to do with him. Sending him to those savages in the woods. I had to stop it."

"Why!? You're an elf, same as us!" Renalle shouted in betrayal. "Why would you deny our son the right to know who he is!?"

"What you believe is wrong!" Piren answered spitefully. "The Chantry showed us the way. Those old ways our ancestors believed in were nothing but lies and demon worship. The Chantry showed us the way, took us away from such heresy. I only did what was right. What you believe in is wrong, and you brought this on yourselves by trying to be like heathen elves instead of living like normal people."

"You son of a...!" Dairren cursed in torrent of rage at hearing Piren's pitiful, self-righteous, racist excuses. In a fit of rage he grabbed his carving knife from the table, then grabbed Piren by the neck and drove his knife into his face. Dairren stabbed the spineless cowards several times before the Templars could do anything. "Die! Die, you thin-blooded piece of shit!"

"Restrain him!" Dermott ordered his men.

Dairren let go of Piren's murdered corpse and tried to fight the Templars off, but he was no warrior and was quickly overpowered by them.

"Get away from him!" Renalle screeched. Rennall's instincts took over and she vainly tried to attack the Templars, but it was in vain. Dermott slapped Renalle to the floor with his mailed hand, showing her neither sympathy nor mercy.

"Stop it! Leave us alone!" Rajmael screamed.

At the sight of seeing his parents in danger, Rajmael's instincts took over. A bright flash of light followed by a clap of thunder filled the small house and echoed throughout the village when Rajmael discharged a bolt of lightning from his fingertips and right into Knight-Captain Dermott's chestplate. The force of the spell knocked the Templar several feet.

"So, the little knife-eared bastard is a mage." Dermott growled angrily. "Take them all! We're taking you before Revered Mother Delphine. She will judge for your crimes."

Rajmael tried to use his magic again, but nothing happened. The Templars were suppressing his connection to the Fade. The bound the entire Yonwyn family in iron and kept their swords trained on Rajmael, then dragged them out to the Chantry. The whole village came to see what all the commotion was, and was shocked to learn that the Yonwyn family had been arrested for breaking the Chantry's laws. Now their judgment and fate would be left to the Revered Mother.

Cassandra and the others watched in horrified shock as these horrible event unfolded right before their eyes and were helpless to do anything. As they watched Rajmael and his family being dragged away, Sera's heart sank and turned into a lump of guilt in her stomach. Now she finally understood why Rajmael always seemed to hate her: Sera sounded just like the sorry bastard that sold him and his parents out, and it made Sera feel like shit.

~XoXoXo~

The Yonwyn family was dragged into the Chantry and forced to their knees before a statue of Andraste. Standing before the visage of the prophetess was a tall, gaunt woman with a hooked nose that gave her the features of a vulture. She wore the robes and mitre that revealed her rank as a Revered Mother. Dairren glared hatefully at the woman standing over them, his heart racing with anger and fear, for he knew that the lives of his family were in the hands of this wretched crone.

"So, these are the ones who dare blaspheme against our holy Chantry by defying Andraste's sacred laws." Revered Mother Delphine addressed as she glowered over the family before her. She looked down at Rajmael with particular caution. "Have you confirmed the accusations that have been made, Knight-Captain Dermott?"

"Yes, Revered Mother." The Templar answered, sharing the priestess' animosity. "The boy is indeed a mage. He cast a lightning spell strong enough to push me back a few feet. And this wretched man murdered the one who was faithful enough to warn us of their heresy."

The Revered Mother shot a hateful glare at Dairren, and he returned it right back at her. "We shall ensure that Piren is given a proper burial, and that his killer faces justice for this crime."

"We also found this in their home." The Knight-Captain handed the priestess the stone carving of Mythal that the Yonwyn family offered their prayers to. And in that moment, Dairren knew his family was damned.

An appalled, reviled look gripped Delphine's face at the sight of the small statuette, like it was the most revolting thing she had ever seen.

"What is this!?" The priestess demanded viciously.

Dairren looked up at the wretched shemlen with defiance in his eyes. He would not lie nor shy from who his family was and what they believed. "It is the image of Mythal, the Mother and Protector, the rightful goddess of the elvhen people, not some dead prophetess and her faceless Maker!"

Iron Bull looked at Dairren with deep admiration. "Man, even in the face of certain death, this guy doesn't back down. The Inquisitor's got his father's strength."

Revered Mother Delphine was so outraged by Dairren's defiance that she slapped him across the face for daring to speak such words. "How dare you blaspheme here!? The Chantry graciously brought your ancestors into the fold of the faithful, showed you the light of the Maker, and you dared to turn your back on Him! Worse yet, you polluted your own child's soul with your heresy!"

"A choice given to our ancestor's is no choice at all!" Dairren said spitefully. "Your wretched Chantry gave us the option of converting or dying, but we still refuse to forget who we are. We did nothing but teach our son who he is, not what your Chantry wants him to be."

Revered Mother Delphine scowled bitterly, unable to believe what she was hearing from this man. "The laws of Andraste are clear. You've willingly turned your back on the Maker, murdered a member of the faithful, and embraced a false god in the Maker's place. Look at this foul image you've allowed to taint your souls!" The priestess held the stone carving in her fist and threw it to the ground, smashing it to pieces. "Dairren, Renalle, you are a blemish in the sight of the Maker. You must be purged for your sins."

Knight-Captain Dermott grabbed Rajmael and forced him to watch as his Templars stood behind Rajmael's parents, their swords drawn and held over their necks.

"Mama! Father!" Rajmael cried desperately, but Dermott refused to let him go.

"No, please! Please, not in front of my son!" Renalle begged desperately, tears flooding her face.

"The blame is yours alone. You brought this on yourselves!" The Revered Mother declared full of self-righteous certainty. "Your heathen ways are an offense against the Maker! As Andraste purged the Imperium of its sins with steel and righteousness, so must we."

Rajmael watched in horror, tears of terror streaming down his eyes, as the Templars raised their swords over his parent's necks.

Dairren looked upon his son one last time with tears of his own. "Be strong. Be strong, Rajmael!"

The Templars' swords descended on Dairren and Renalle Yonwyn, and the Chantry was filled with Rajmael's agonized screams as he looked in nightmarish horror at his parent's severed heads resting in a pool of their own blood.

The Inquisitor's companions all cursed, gasped and averted their eyes from the grisly memory of Dairren and Renalle's murder. All of them had seen countless horrible crimes and senseless death during their war with Corypheus, but this was different, it cut deeper for all of them. All of them knew Rajmael to be a good and honorable man, even those who didn't like him at least respected him. And all of them knew that no child deserved this.

Sera and Cassandra both felt especially horrible at witnessing this memory. Sera's anti-elven attitude practically mirrored Piren's, whose betrayal led to the murder of Rajmael's parents. Now she really did feel like a shit.

Cassandra felt even worse. Not only because she loved Rajmael, and seeing this crime inflicted on him broke her heart, but also because this crime was committed by a member of the very Chantry she had served and revered her whole life. There had always been resentment against the Chantry for what it had done to other people in the past, particularly amongst the mages and the elves, but Cassandra never considered the depths of these crimes. Cassandra remembered how the death of her brother cemented years of anger and hatred against mages, only to learn she was wrong, that not all mages were bad. However, Rajmael had every right to hate the Chantry, because it not only allowed such crimes, it had been committing them against elves for centuries. Never had Cassandra felt so guilty or like such a hypocrite, speaking of how noble and vital the Chantry is when it did things like this.

Rajmael's screams turned into painful sobs as he fell to his knees. Why did they do this? They did nothing wrong. If only he hadn't been born with magic then none of this would have happened. It was all his fault.

The Revered Mother knelt before the crying elf child and brought his face to look at hers. "Your parents' pagan heresy brought this on them, but their fate need not be yours, child. Renounce the godless ways of your mother and father and embrace the Chant of Light. You will go to the Circle where your magic will serve the Maker's plan, and your soul will be saved."

His parents' blood wasn't even cold on the ground yet, and already this self-righteous shem was trying to tell Rajmael to forget them, like their lives and beliefs meant nothing. A flame of anger ignited inside the elven child and he gave the Revered Mother the only answer she was due.

Rajmael hocked in his throat and spat in the Revered Mother's eye. "Fuck you, ya shit-faced hag!"

Knight-Captain Dermott smacked Rajmael hard on the back of his head while the Revered Mother wiped the spittle from her enraged face.

"So be it! I can see that your parents' heinous paganism has already polluted your young soul." Mother Delphine scowled viciously. "Knight-Captain, take him away. We will end this heresy in the morning."

Dawn...

Knight-Captain Dermott and his Templars dragged the bound and chained elven child from the Chantry and forced him to walk to the village square. The sun was barely creeping over the horizon, and already the entire village had come out to see Revered Mother Delphine carry out her righteous duty. There wasn't an ounce of mercy to be found, not amongst these pious sheep whose entire lives centered around the righteous and unquestionable piety and loyalty to the Chantry. No mercy for the condemned maleficar who had spurned the Maker's grace, even if he was only a child. There were only hated glares and profane insults to be had from them.

As Rajmael was dragged past them, the humans of the village began pelting him with their hatred. Spitting at him and throwing rocks and rotten food at his face.

"Vile mage!"

"Knife-eared heathen!"

"Demon worshiper!"

"Burning's too good for him!"

Even as they spat at him, and threw rocks and rotten food at him, Rajmael remembered his father's words. He would be strong. He would not let these shemlen and their vile words or even the threat of death break him. He would walk and meet his end with pride, as his father did.

Rajmael stopped in his tracks as a new sense of horror and outrage gripped his soul. He saw a group of Templars standing off to the side, and they were kicking the heads of his dead parents back and forth between them like some kind of game. Even more sickening, they were actually enjoying their game. Rajmael felt a newfound rage being born inside him as he watched them defile his parents' heads, with mud flicked in their dead eyes.

Knight-Captain Dermott shoved Rajmael in front of the crowd, and Rajmael's rage turned into terror when he saw where they took him. They were right in the middle of the village square, and there was a giant stake hammered into the ground with bales of straw surrounding it. And there was Revered Mother Delphine, standing right next to the pyre with a torch in her hand; she truly did intend to burn him.

The Templar forced Rajmael to his knees before Revered Mother Delphine. The crone of a priestess lowered herself down to the scared elven child, her face hard and unflinching.

"The Chantry teaches us to be merciful to our enemies. Your parents filled your head with their heathen blasphemy, but you have no say in who your parents were." Revered Mother Delphine said with sympathy in her voice. "I'm giving you one last chance. I offer you the mercy the Chantry gave the rest of your people. Renounce the pagan ways of your parents and embrace the Chantry. The Maker will surely forgive you for your parents' trespasses. It does not need to be this way."

Rajmael was silent. Deep down he could her a voice inside him screaming for him to do what she said. To throw himself on the Chantry's mercy, go to the damned Circle and try to forget all this pain and anguish. At least he could still live. But then he looked back over to the severed heads of his murdered parents, mud caked on their dead eyes, and the fucking Templars still kicking them with twisted glee. Rajmael pushed that cowardly voice from his mind, and gave Revered Mother Delphine the answer she deserved.

Rajmael hocked in his throat, and spat in Delphine's other eye.

The Revered Mother's merciful façade melted from her face as she wiped Rajmael's spit from her other eyes. Now she was all fire and brimstone, and she as going to visit everything she had on Rajmael. Delphine signaled Dermott to tie the elven child and held her torch high in front of the crowd. The gathered mob cheered and hollered victoriously. Now they would see the Chantry's justice carried out.

"Rajmael Yonwyn has refused to recant!" Revered Mother Delphine shouted damningly, her torch raised high. "Like his parents, he has chosen to turn his back on the Maker, and his magic has been tainted by the heathen ways of his parents! And even though he is a child, he is Maleficar, must be put to the flame to purify his soul! In the name of the Maker and holy Andraste, we must continue their work and purge all pagan godlessness from Thedas!"

Revered Mother Delphine turned to the pyre and prepared to set it and Rajmael aflame, her face full of self-righteousness. Rajmael closed his eyes, preparing himself for the end. His life had been a short one, but at least it wasn't a weak one. He hoped his parents were proud of him, and that the elven gods were waiting for him. He said one final sentence, and prepared to go to the Beyond.

"Mythal'enaste."

A sense of dread and guilt gripped Cassandra's heart like a merciless, clawed hand. Not only was she bearing witness to one of the most traumatic events that ever happened to Rajmael, who she loved and whose pain she felt as her own, but it was the fact that it was the very Chantry she served that committed this crime against him. It was bad enough that they murdered his parents in front of him, but then they decided to condemn him to burn at the stake simply for believing in a different higher power.

How many times did she declare how important the Chantry was, that it was the one thing that could possibly bring guidance and hope to this world? And how fervently she believed that, her whole life centered around that belief. Yet, for all her talk of justice, of serving righteousness, Cassandra had always ignored the crimes the Chantry committed against other people. And Rajmael was one of the victims of their crimes. How could the Chantry guide people to the path of righteousness when it allowed people like this to get away with their crimes? Cassandra never felt so filthy. She may as well have been Delphine's accomplice.

"ENASALIN!" A powerful war cry rang over the jeering crowd and their torches. All the humans looked behind them to see a wild elf astride a black halla, wielding a white sylvanwood sword in his hand and charged hard through the village.

The elven warrior he was not alone; behind was an entire posse of Dalish tribesman, all armed with bows, swords and axes. They fired their arrows into the crowd and attacked the Templars, making the entire mob scramble in a panic.

"Burn this village to the ground! No quarter!" The elven warrior ordered.

The hunters did as they were told, and began shooting flaming arrows at the building and the Chantry, setting the whole village on fire. With their homes and Chantry in flames, the villagers ran away to try and put out the fires before the whole settlement was destroyed, leaving only the Templars to fight the elven savages. These Templars were used to frightening small mage children and dealing with untrained peasants. They were no match for the Dalish hunters who had spent their entire lives fighting.

"Madre! And who is this gallant elven hero?" Zevran asked, deeply impressed.

"I don't believe it. It's Junnarel! Rajmael's step-father." Cassandra realized. She could scarcely believe her eyes. This wasn't the same man she met before. This was a powerful and mighty Dalish hunter, every bit the warrior his sons were, not the shriveled husk of a man that was dying of lyrium poisoning.

"Do you guys see the weapon he's got? He's using the Inquisitor's sword!" Iron Bull observed.

It was true. Junnarel wielded the Enasalin, the sword Rajmael had been using for the past three years. He even used the same war cry Rajmael did. He didn't use the same sword style as Rajmael, but was still every bit the master his son was. It was no wonder both Rajmael and Nethras were such magnificent warriors.

Revered Mother Delphine and Knight-Captain Dermott weren't about to let these heathen savages interfere with the Maker's work.

"Burn him! Burn him!" Delphine screeched at the top of her voice.

Dermott did as he was ordered and Cassandra felt her heart leap into her throat when the vile man threw a torch onto the pyre that Rajmael was bound to. The pyre went up in smokes within seconds.

"No!" Junnarel yelled as he ran past the remaining Templars to reach the pyre.

Dermott drew his sword and stood between the Dalish warrior and the pyre. "In the name of Andraste, you shall not pass me, you blaspheming...Aiiigh!"

Before Dermott could finish his self-righteous rhetoric, Junnarely quickly slashed the Templar's sword, breaking it in half, then brought the Enasalin down on Dermott's good-looking face. The sword cut the murderous Templar's face wide open and carved out his left eye.

"EIIIGHHHH! MY EYE! MY EYE! YOU GODLESS WHORESON, YOU TOOK MY EYE!" Dermot screamed in unbridled rage and horrible agony as he writhed on the ground.

"Yeah! Get him, man! Fuck his shit up!" Iron Bull hollered riotously. He always wanted to see what kind of warrior Rajmael's father was, and was eager to see him kick the snot out of that Templar.

As the miserable Templar squirmed on the ground in terrible pain, Junnarel took the opportunity to finish him off, the hard way. He kicked the Templar right in his wounded face, and knocked his head right into the pyre, setting the wretched human's head aflame. Dermott screamed in shrill torment, and ran like a madman as his skull burned on his shoulder.

With his opponent defeated, Junnarel moved to save the boy. Revered Mother Delphine put herself in the elf's way, refusing to let her judgment be denied.

"You pagan! You defiler! How dare you interfere with the Maker's holy work!? His judgment on you will be harsh! You will...!" Delphine's profane mouth found itself on the receiving end of Junnarel's fist and sent her stumbling backwards, with teeth flying out of her mouth.

"No!" Cassandra screamed in anguish at what she was now witnessing, but it was in vain. She already knew what was going to happen and would have done anything to prevent it, but nothing she could say or do would change Rajmael's painful past.

"AAIIIHHH!" A young voice screamed in horrible agony.

Junnarel was too late, Rajmael's body was now being consumed by the flames. The fire blanketed his upper body like he was made of paper and burned his clothing to ashes in seconds. Rajmael's agonized screams intensified as the fire caught on his flesh; he could see and feel his own skin melting on his bones. His screams echoed throughout the village like a macabre choir of torment. Some of the villagers stopped their running just to watch the little elf burn on his pyre.

The Dalish huntsman refused to give up, he would not leave the child to this fate. He had to save him. Junnarel ripped the cloak he was wearing off and charged into the flames. He cut Rajmael's bounds off and covered the boys burned body with his cloak, smothering the flames. Junnarel took the boy in his arms and carried him off the fire, but Rajmael was in so much pain he couldn't stop screaming.

"It's alright, da'len. I'm getting you out of here!" The Dalish warrior said trying to comfort the boy, but he was in too much pain to even hear him. Junnarel called out to his clanmates. "Lethallan! Fall back! Let their houses burn. Back to the forest!"

Junnarel carefully mounted his black halla with Rajmael in his arms. Then, just as quickly and silently as they arrived, all the elves were gone. They evaporated like shadows on a moonless night, leaving the village in flames and every Templar dead in the dirt.

~XoXoXo~

The world around them faded to blackness, and everyone who had just born witness to this event was stunned into silence. Most of them had heard the story about how Rajmael came to the Dalish. Rajmael himself had told it to them, and seen the scars on his body from this tragedy. But after his scars were healed in the Temple of Mythal, most of them never even thought of Rajmael's tragic childhood again. Seeing it for themselves made them realize just how painful Rajmael's life was. None of them could even bring themselves to speak after witnessing this.

"I can't believe all those people came out there just to watch him get murdered like it was some kind of fucking entertainment!" Ranier said in complete outrage finally breaking the silence. "Did you see how many of them were laughing and throwing shit at him!? They already murdered his parents, wasn't that enough?!"

"It would seem there is no low that the bigoted and ignorant won't stoop to." Vivienne said calmly, yet it was obvious even she was visibly shaken by what she had seen.

"Humans are about the only race in Thedas that find entertainment in the brutalization and torment of another living creature. It's sad but true." Varric said dourly. "Humans will kill anyone over anything, then use whatever justification they need to make themselves seem right. That's about half of human history."

"For a long time, I thought the stories we hear back in the Imperium was just more propaganda generated by the Magisterium. That the South burns all mages who don't bow to the Chantry, or worship their own gods." Dorian confessed, trying to shake the image of Rajmael burning alive out of his head. "Now I know that those stories had gotten truth from somewhere."

"See, this is the kind of bullshit we hear about back in Par Vollen." Iron Bull said angrily. "About how the humans treat everyone like shit, oppress everyone who's different, instead of letting them contribute and accepting them. And that the Chantry lets people like that get away with their crimes. Is it any wonder that the Qunari think the South would be better under the Qun?"

"Madre dios mios!" Zevran cursed in Antivan. "There isn't a single crime that exists that hasn't been done to elvenkind a hundred times over in the past two thousand years. It wouldn't have mattered if that boy was a mage or not, all that mattered was the fact that he and his family were elves worshipping elven gods. That was all the reason those miserable pig farmers needed. What were a few more dead heathen elves when compared to the righteousness of human faith?" Zevran cursed in Antivan some more then spat on the ground in hatred for what those humans did to Rajmael.

Sera tried to keep a straight face, but she was never one to hold back how she felt. Her face twisted with anger and it looked like she was about to break down in tears.

"Stupid son of a rat-shit, pissbag, fucker-fuck-fuck! They did nothing wrong, you stupid fucking prick!" Sera fell to her knees and starting hitting the ground and sobbing uncontrollably in not just sorrow, but shame. "They just wanted to help their baby, and that Piren bastard sold them out for it! And I sounded just like him! How many times did I say the same stupid shit that fucker said about elves? If I were the Inquisitor, I'd hate me, too!"

Sera cried loudly into her hands unable to stand the shame she felt. She remembered all the times she insulted other elves, thinking their beliefs were stupid and how broken they made her feel. She never took a moment to think about how many people suffered to hold on to those beliefs, good people like the Inquisitor's mum and dad. No wonder they didn't want to be normal people.

Cole crouched down and cradled Sera, trying to comfort her. For the first time since they had known each other, Sera didn't push Cole away or jump at his presence, but instead hugged him and continued crying. Cole may no longer have been a spirit, but giving compassion where it was needed was still a part of who he was.

"There was no pain in any of them. Not in the Revered Mother, the Templars, or any of the villagers." Cole said painfully, tears of his own trickling down his face. "They thought they were doing the right thing, and they enjoyed it. All Dairren and Renalle did was want to give their child a life, and they wanted to take it from them."

Cassandra felt the most guilty out of all of them. She was one of the most ardent servants of the Chantry, a devout follower of the Maker, and this horrific crime was done not only in both their names, but it was done on the man she loved. How many times throughout the Chantry's entire history did it crush and humiliate others for believing in another religion, adhering to another creed? The Exalted March on the Dales was the most famous of these crimes, yet the Chantry always maintained a stance of righteousness, that what they did was for the good of the elves. When in truth, all they did was set the precedence for all the crimes committed on Rajmael's people.

"Rajmael once said that I, an ardent servant of the Chantry, could never understand what it's like for those born outside human society. And that the Chantry made it clear the Maker had no room for him." Cassandra recalled as she wiped a pained tear away from her eye. "He was right, I don't understand. I don't understand how those people, the Revered Mother, the Knight-Captain, the entire damned village, how could they be so cruel? And they did it all in the Maker's name! How could followers of the faith do something so evil!?"

"Because the Chantry set the standard, Seeker." Varric answered calmly. Everyone turned to their attention to the dwarven storyteller and listened to what he had to say. "As they say, actions speak louder than words, and people always follow action. How many times has the Chantry taken up swords against other people and their beliefs? Look at how it treated elves and mages for centuries by demeaning and demonizing them both, and Rajmael is both. People are led by example, and the Chantry hasn't exactly been the best example, despite what you might think. Is it any wonder it creates people like Meredith? Petrice? Delphine? Is it any wonder why guys like the Hero and the Champion hate it? Why Rajmael never supported it?"

"You...you're right, Varric." Cassandra confessed. Any other time, and everyone else would think the world was ending, but not now. "The Chantry should never have allowed its will to be enforced with swords. We should never have allowed ourselves to believe our faith was infallible. It should have inspired faith, hope, but instead it inspired bigotry and arrogance. We tried forcing our faith on others instead of trying to reach out to them. I wanted to serve a Chantry that inspired righteousness and faith, but I never looked into the corruption or flaws it possessed. We must make sure that it changes, so tragedies like this are never done to anyone again."

"Divine Victoria is already making leaps and strides in that direction, Seeker." Dorian reminded. "But she'll need people like you to protect this new Chantry from those who want to go back to the old one."

"There's just one thing I'm curious about." Zevran stated. "I've seen what horrible loss and the unjust murder of family can do to a man, just look at Aedan. Yet the Inquisitor seems so light-hearted and with good humor. And this horror was inflicted on him when he was so young. Why didn't he turn out more like Aedan? Any other soul would have been broken by this."

~XoXoXo~

The world lit up around them like light entering a dark room. They found themselves standing in the middle of what was obviously a Dalish camp. Cassandra recognized the banner on their aravels, the land-ships the Dalish used to navigate the wilds, and they all bore the insignia of Clan Lavellan. It was still in the early hours of the morning yet the Dalish tribesman already had a jump on their daily duties.

They found themselves standing outside a large tent in the middle of the woods under a huge oak tree. Inside there was an elf hard at work over a mortar and pestle, grinding up some kind of plants and roots together. Behind her was a makeshift bed with a sleeping Rajmael lying on it. His torso and arms were carefully wrapped in dressings to cover his wounds. Cassandra had no idea how long it had been since that horrible moment when he was on the pyre, but she knew that he must still have been in horrible pain.

Rajmael finally started waking up. His entire body was rendered numb and he couldn't move. He had no idea where he was. All he could remember was the flames engulfing his entire being, the horrible pain and smell of his own flesh burning, and then he blacked out. How long ago was that? Where were his parents? He tried to open his eyes, but he was so weak he could barely lift his eyelids. When he finally did, all he could see was blurs. He focused his eyes and saw someone on the other side of the place he was in. He couldn't see the face, but could tell it was a woman, and she had long, dark hair like his mother's. Could it be her?

"Mama? Mama!" Rajmael called with desperate hope.

The woman rose from her mortar and pestle and quickly turned to the now woken child in her tent. Rajmael's heart broke when he realized she wasn't his mother. Her hair was so black that it shined blue when it caught the light, and had piercing blue eyes, and strange black tattooing on her face. This was not his mama, a fact that brought tears back to Rajmael's face.

Cassandra, on the other hand, did recognize this woman. She wasn't someone Cassandra could easily forget. It was Ariva, the clan's healer and Junnarel's wife.

"Shh. Hush now, Da'len. Everything is alright. You're among your people now." Ariva said softly, trying to ease to little boy. "Everything will be alright."

"Where...where's my mama? My father?" Rajmael asked tearfully, hoping beyond hope that everything he saw was just terrible nightmare.

Ariva's eyes filled with sorrow and was unable to bring herself to answer the poor child's question. How could she possibly answer it? She turned back to her mortar, scooped out the contents in a spoon and placed it over Rajmael's mouth.

"Here, chew this. It will ease the pain and help you sleep." Ariva urged softly. "When you're all better, I promise everything will be explained."

Rajmael did as he was asked. Within moments of chewing the strange herbs he drifted back to sleep with the strange woman singing him a lullaby.

~XoXoXo~

Weeks had passed, and Rajmael's wounds had finally healed well enough for his linens to be removed. The woman who had been tending to him and the hunter who saved him were standing in the tent along with an elder woman Rjmael didn't recognize. As promised, they would tell him everything that had happened.

Ariva gently removed the bandages from Rajmael's body. He hissed in pain as the air made contact with his skin, and was appalled at the sight of his own body. A horrified gasp escaped Cassandra's lips when she saw for the first time the horrible burn scars that had once marred Rajmael's body. His entire torso and both his arms were completely ruined. Not an inch of flesh had been spared. Even now, he still felt like his skin was on fire and only the healer's medicine was numbing the pain his body was in. Rajmael was so horrified and ashamed by the sight of his own body, he covered himself in a nearby blanket. He couldn't stand looking at himself.

"Da'len? Are you ready now?" The healer asked softly. "We'll gladly answer any questions you have."

Rajmael sat silently for a moment. He did have questions, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answers. "My Mama and Papa, they're dead, aren't they?"

Junnarel hung his head in shame and took it upon himself to answer as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, son. We couldn't get there in time. We managed to get your parents' heads, and we gave them a proper elven burial before we left. It's a small comfort, I know, but take comfort in knowing that we sent them to Falon'din in the Beyond."

Rajmael tried to be strong, but the memory of his parents severed heads still cut him like a hot knife. He lowered his head in his hands and wept quietly into them. Ariva sat herself next to the crying child and held him gently to comfort him.

Rajmael sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to get control of himself. "Who are you people?"

"My name is Junnarel." The hunter introduced. "I was the one your father contacted to bring you into our clan. This is my wife, Ariva. She's the one who's been tending to you. And this is Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel, Keeper of Clan Lavellan."

Rajmael looked at the Keeper with a sense of amazement in his eyes. He had heard his parents speak of the Dalish Keepers before, but never truly understood what they were. This woman looked old enough to have been born in the last Age. Despite her age, she stood tall and proud, and her tattoos still showed clearly on her weather-worn face. In her hand she held a gnarled staff that looked it used to be a tree root and had an amber crystal set in the top. And perched on her shoulder sat a young barn owl that looked at him with the same intent and intelligence as anyone here.

"Andaran atishan, da'len." The Keeper greeted with a soft smile. "I know what happened to your family, and it breaks my heart. Your father wanted to send you to us so that you might escape such cruelty, but it would seem fate has a cruel sense of irony."

"Fate?" Rajmael questioned in outrage. "They way I saw it, fate didn't turn my family over to the Chantry. Fate didn't chop off my parents' heads, or set me on fire! Just a bunch of fucking humans and their damned Chantry!"

All three elven adults were taken aback by what Rajmael just said. His anger was understandable, but his language was something none of them expected. It was common knowledge that cursing was practically a language of itself amongst their City Elven kin, but this was something else entirely.

"I understand you're angry, da'len, and I can hardly blame you. You have every right to be mad at the whole world right now." Junnarel said understandably.

"You're not the only one of our people to have suffered such a grave injustice. We understand better than you might think." Ariva said consolingly.

"What makes you think you could possibly understand how I feel?" Rajmael questioned.

Keeper Deshana held out her staff, made the crystal inside it glow softly, and roots started sprouting out of the ground and bloomed into bright blue flowers all on their own. Ariva held out her hand to Rajmael, and a ball of electricty began crackling in her hand. Both demonstrations revealed these elven womens' nature as mages.

"We know exactly what it is you're feeling, Da'len." Deshana promised. "There isn't a single mage among our people who hasn't faced what you've been through."

Rajmael calmed down a moment and contemplated his next question thoughtfully. "What happens to me now?"

"That is entirely up to you, child." Deshana answered. "We are not your jailers, only you can decide what you want, but what we can certainly help you as best we can."

"Alright. Give me your staff." Rajmael responded.

"Excuse me?"

"If you want to help me, give me your staff, and point me in the direction back to my village." Rajmael demanded holding out his hand.

"And why would you want any of that?" Deshana questioned.

"Because I want to go back there and avenge my parents, what the fuck else!?" Rajmael shouted. "If I have magic, then I can use it to hurt them for what they did to my family!"

"And then what?" Junnarel asked calmly. "Let's say you go back there and you manage to kill a few of them, what then? Then even more of them will come after you and eventually kill you, or a demon takes hold of you and you become an Abomination. Either way, you'll just end up another dead elf at human hands. What will that accomplish?"

"They murdered my parents! They deserve to be avenged!" Rajmael argued painfully.

"And you think getting yourself killed will honor them? You think that's what they'd want?" Junnarel questioned. "Listen to me, da'len. My parents were killed by humans, too. And they were killed because my father and others of our clan went on a foolish quest for vengeance. I know what it's like to feel the pain you're feeling."

Rajmael was moved into silence. Suddenly he didn't seem so alone in his feelings of loss.

"If you want to honor your parents, then live. Stay with us, master your gift and learn what it means to be elvhen. We can help you discover who you are. That's why your father wanted you to come to us. Living is a greater victory than death." Junnarel implored the young elf.

Rajmael lowered his head sadly. He wasn't sure about himself. "I...I know nothing about being an elf. How could I ever become one of you?"

Ariva placed her hand on Rajmael's cheek and brought his eyes to hers. "You can begin by becoming apart of our family. All elves here are our brothers and sisters, and Junnarel and I would be proud to have you as our son. I know I'll never replace your mama, but I promise I'll do my best, everyday."

Rajmael looked up at Ariva and was moved to the brink of tears once again. "Why? Why are you so willing to help me?"

Ariva smiled brightly down on the little boy. "Because that's what it means to be Dalish, and we love our people. And I would be honored to have you as a son."

Now Rajmael truly did begin crying once again. Not out of sorrow or pain, but because of how deeply touched he felt. These people risked so much to save him when they owed his family absolutely nothing. Even now, all they were doing was trying to help, and even offered him a place in their family. Rajmael hugged Ariva, and she held him as warmly and welcomingly as his own mother would have. Maybe the world wasn't as cruel as he thought it was.

"Then it's settled." Deshanna acknowledged with consent. "Welcome to Clan Lavellan, Rajmael."

"Let's go, da'len. I'll be preparing supper soon." Ariva smiled. The healer picked up her new son and carried him alongside her husband over to the large tent where his new family resided. When they entered, Rajmael was surprised to see another elven child waiting there. The boy was just a little older than Rajmael was, with his father's strong features and his mother's dark hair and blue eyes. He looked rather excited when he saw his parents with Rajmael.

Cassandra placed her hand over her mouth and gasped in complete surprise when she realized who this other elven child was.

"So? Will he be staying?" The Dalish boy asked excitedly.

"Yes. He'll be staying with us from now on." Junnarel answered with a wide smile. "Nethras, say hello to your new brother, Rajmael."

"Aneth'ara, Little Brother!" Nethras greeted with his father's smile.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael spent the next week with his new family getting used to his new environment and new life as a Dalish elf. During that time, he and the young Nethras were inseparable. Nethras took his responsibilities as a brother seriously and wanted to teach everything his new sibling was going to need to know as a Dalish elf. As the two of them walked around the camp, pinecones started coming down on Rajmael, and they weren't falling from a tree. Someone was throwing them at him, an act Nethras took deep exception to.

Rajmael's burns were still healing, and feeling of pinecones being thrown on his skin was very painful.

Nethras caught the pinecone aimed at his adopted brother's head and crushed it in his hands. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the pinecones were being thrown at Rajmael by a group of other Dalish boys older than them standing on a small hill with a pile of pinecones next to them. And they were laughing their asses off. The one who looked like their leader was old enough to have his facial tattoos, which were still fresh on his face. He had to have been at least seventeen.

"Looks like you find assholes no matter which walk of life you find." Varric commented dismally.

"Arren! What in Andruil's name do you think you're doing!?" Nethras demanded in outrage.

Arren and his friends just kept laughing and juggling their pinecones between each other.

"Ah, come on, Nethras. We're just having a bit of fun with your parents' pet flat-ear." Arren laughed.

"Rajmael is no one's pet, he's my brother! And he's no flat-ear, either! He's one of us now!" Nethras shouted angrily.

"Ha! Just because your parents took him in doesn't mean he's one of us." Arren said as if offended. "He's just another flat-ear castoff whose ancestors abandoned their identity to be slaves to humans. If you expect me to feel sympathy, or any flat-ear for that matter, you're wrong. They're just living with choices their ancestors made for them, and we shouldn't be wasting our resources or giving away our knowledge like it's candy when they've never contributed to our survival."

Nethras could see that Arren's words effected Rajmael when he lowered his head in shame, but Nethras wasn't going to let these bullies insult his brother like that.

"And just what have you contributed to our clan, Arren? You act like you're my father's equal, but all I see is a bully who's just picking on a defenseless da'len because he can't find a girl to occupy his time." Nethras insulted.

Arren's face twisted with anger when Nethras' insult hit home. He dropped the pinecone in his hand and strutted down there like he was going to fight the boy almost half his size. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but I have my vallaslin! Which means I've contributed more than either of you. Maybe I can contribute some more by beating the insolence out of you both!"

"Hmm. Five on two? Hardly seems fair. Maybe I can even the odds." Said a young yet melodious voice.

"Who the...!?" Before Arren could react, his face was met with opposite end of a wooden sword that smacked him so hard he was sent spinning to the ground. The next few moments were filled with the sounds of wood smacking and the bullies groaning and shouting in pain.

Rajmael stood there with his mouth hanging open as he watched in absolute amazement as the the bullies got beaten by a girl half their size with a practice sword. After a minute or so, she stopped hitting them and let them run off crying and limping.

"Hm. Well, that just wasn't fair at all. Maybe next time I should be blindfolded." The girl said disappointed at how easy that was for her. She turned her attention to Rajmael sympathetically. "Don't let the small-minded bullies get you. And don't let them give you the wrong impression. Many Dalish clans are happy to welcome our City-Elven kin back to the old ways."

Rajmael couldn't hear what his rescuer was saying, he was too busy gazing at her. She had long platinum-blonde hair held in a ponytail, with brilliant green eyes that were like perfectly cut emeralds, and skin so fair it was like the first fallen snow. And his heart was smitten by that smile she was giving him. She was without a doubt the most beautiful creature Rajmael had ever seen.

"Um, is something wrong with your new brother, Nethras? I think he may have gotten hit in the head by those pinecones harder than I thought." The girl asked nervously when Rajmael wouldn't stop staring at her with that blank look and his mouth hanging open.

"Oh, he's just a little shy is all. And he's probably just amazed to see how easily you beat those guys." Nethras answered on Rajmael's behalf.

"Well, I thought Arren could contribute to our clan by being my new practice dummy, but a real practice dummy would have put up more of a fight." The girl laughed. She looked at Rajmael curiously, who was still staring at her, but gave him welcoming smile. "Welcome to Clan Lavellan. I hope I can see both later. Bye!"

The girl skipped back to what she was doing. Only when she was no longer in sight did Rajmael finally come back to his senses.

"hElLo!" Rajmael finally hollered awkwardly when his voice finally returned only to realize the person who distracted him so was gone.

"Oh, so you're back from the Beyond now, Little Brother?" Nethras laughed.

"Who...was..that!?" Rajmael asked desperately.

"That, Little Brother, was Evanura. Mother's apprentice, though she can wield a sword like she was born with one in her hand." Nethras answered with a smile.

"She...was...amazing! When...when would I be able to see her again?"

"Forget it Little Brother, you're late for your first lesson with the Keeper." Nethras informed him with a wide grin. "And besides, I saw her first! If anyone's going to get to her, it's me."

"Well, she came to my rescue, I think she's likes me!" Rajmael argued laughingly.

The two brothers chased each other back and forth for a few minutes, playfully arguing amongst themselves as to which one of them would get Evanura as their own, never knowing that the object of their affection was watching them from behind a tree, giggling to herself.

~XoXoXo~

"Oh, my. Now who was that?" Zevran asked deeply curious. "Did you see the way our adolescent Inquisitor was looking at her? He was smitten!"

"It was like he had been struck by lightning!" Dorian laughed.

"That, Shanks, could only have been Evanura. The Inquisitor's childhood sweetheart." Varric answered with a smile. "He's spoken about her a couple of times, how he and his adopted brother used to fight over her. How she had them both wrapped around her little finger."

"And here I thought all that love-at-first-sight nonsense could only happen in a shitty romance novel. Looks like the Inquisitor proved it real." Ranier chuckled.

"Man, did you see the way she knocked the crap out of those guys? She was awesome!" Iron Bull bellowed. "Good lookin' and knows how to kick ass? I'd call that a dream come true."

"He didn't know what that feeling was when she walked into his life. Like butterflies fluttering inside him, his heart racing, yet he couldn't help but feel happy when she gave him that smile. That's how I felt when I realized how much I like Maryden." Cole said emphatically.

"Did you all notice? Rajmael's...Evanura's daughter, looks exactly like her mother. It's almost like seeing her reflection, or twin sister." Cassandra noticed. The resemblance between mother and daughter was uncanny.

Cassandra didn't say it, but she too noticed the look Rajmael had when he first laid eyes on Evanura. She had always wondered what it was like to feel that kind of romance, whereas Rajmael actually experienced it. There was also a sense of worry in her heart. She was a devout servant of the Chantry that stole Rajmael's life, where Evanura was a devout Dalish who gave him a new home, and she wondered how she could compare to someone like that.

~XoXoXo~

The memory pressed on, and Rajmael found himself standing before Keeper Deshanna and her owl. Tylluan looked down on the young elf from his perch with a scrutinizing eye, like the owl was judging him. The Keeper also silently looked at the boy, as if she were trying to gauge him. Rajmael couldn't help but wonder what either of them were thinking.

"Are you, or the bird, gonna say something, or are you just going senile and are now in a vegetative state?" Rajmael said impatiently.

The Keeper quirked an eyebrow in surprise, then reprimanded Rajmael's rudeness with a light but stern smack on top of his head. "You should learn to speak to your elders more respectively, da'len."

"And you should learn how to throw a punch, you hit like a girl." Rajmael sassed, which was rebutted by a hard strike on his head by the Keeper's staff.

"I trust that meets your approval." Deshanna finished, letting Rajmael rub his head. "Now, today is the day you will begin your lessons in magic. The question that remains is which form of magic to teach you."

"What do you mean which form? Magic is magic, isn't it? Can't you just show me how to use it so I don't get possessed and stay alive?" Rajmael asked confused, still rubbing the sore spot on his skull.

"In a way, you are correct. Magic is magic, just as water is water. But as water comes in many forms, so too does magic." Deshanna explained. "Take your step-mother for example. Ariva is a healer, her magic is meant to mend wounds and preserve life. My magic, as with most Keepers, is about being in tune with nature, and how to channel its powers. And from what I understand, Circle mages are mostly taught the primal schools of magic, so they might be used as weapons when it's convenient for their Chantry. Then there are other, less traveled paths of magic that only a select few can master. And those who do are completely separated from other mages in the world."

Now the Keeper truly had Rajmael's attention. "What are these other paths? Are they powerful?"

"Oh, yes. Some so powerful that the Chantry has every right to fear them." Deshanna answered with awe.

"Like blood-magic?"

Deshanna nodded her head solemnly. "Yes. Blood-magic is extremely powerful. It's power coveted by man, and outlawed by the Chantry and most cultures. It grants power over the minds and wills of others, the power to bind demons."

Rajmael wasn't sure he liked this form of magic the Keeper was describing. "Demons? But isn't all of that evil?"

"No more evil than a sword in the wrong hands." Deshanna answered wisely. "A sword is a tool, just as magic is a tool, an extension of one's abilities. What matters is how it used. But don't worry, da'len. I don't know blood-magic, nor would I ever wish to press it on you."

"Then what other paths are there?"

"There are also the Dreamers. An ancient and powerful magic born to a rare few." Deshanna continued. "Dreamers have the power to control the Fade, and even enter it without sleeping or lyrium. They even had the power to enter the dreams of other people, commune with spirits like they're people, and witness the events of history play out in the Fade."

"Well, that's definitely not me. I don't know how to go skipping off in dreamland like a fairy." Rajmael sighed in deep disappointment. It seemed there weren't any other paths suited for him.

Deshanna paused for a moment and thought very carefully about what she was about to say next. "There is one more path whose knowledge is known to me. The Dirth'ena Enasalin."

Rajmael looked up to the Keeper quizzically. He had no idea what that word meant. "Dirth-what? What is that?"

"The Dirth'ena Enasalin. It means 'Knowledge That Leads To Victory'." Deshanna explained. "In the time of Arlathan when our ancestors were immortal, there was an ancient class of magical knights, Arcane Warriors. They were elite bodyguards and masterful swordsman that followed a strict code of honor. Their magic was unlike any others in existence. They were the ultimate examples of will made manifest. Mind, will, and body, all coming together as one to create the perfect weapons."

Rajmael's eyes were as wide as wagon wheels. Something about the way the Keeper described the magic knights enraptured him. After what happened to him and his parents, he would do anything to make sure nothing like that ever happened to him or anyone he cared about ever again.

"Can you teach me this magic?" Rajmael asked full of hope.

"I can show you the path, but it's up to you to walk it, da'len." The Keeper answered. She opened one of the locked chests in her tent, removing some of the items she was sworn to keep safe until she found what she was looking for. An ancient tome with an elven tree with two swords crossing it on the cover. She took the book out and gently handed it to Rajmael "Our clan has protected the secret methods of the Arcane Warriors since before the Fall of the Dales. Every Arcane Warrior since then has added their knowledge and techniques in this tome. My late husband was the last Arcane Warrior, and he was the last one to add to this tome. If you wish it, you too may study their secrets, and perhaps add your knowledge to it."

Rajmael carefully took the tome and looked through its ancient pages. Some of them were written in ancient elven, which he couldn't understand, but there were detailed pictures of elven mages wielding white swords and magic simultaneously. The further he went into the book, he saw that it had been written in the common language by previous practitioners who left their knowledge for others to follow.

"How...how can I unlock these secrets if I can't even understand what is written here?" Rajmael asked as he looked at the ancient elven writings confusedly.

"Look to Dirthamen, Creator of Knowledge and Fortune. He will help you unlock these secrets." The Keeper answered.

By looking at this tome, Rajmael knew what path he had to take. "Show me this path."

The Next Day...

Rajmael was kneeling before two saplings in the middle of the forest. This was the place where his mother and father's remains had been buried and dedicated to Falon'din. At Rajmael's request, Junnarel had brought him here so that he might pay his final respects to his parents before setting off on his new life.

Rajmael knelt before the graves of his parents in reverent respect and laid a blue rose in front of the sapling planted over them.

"Father...Mama, I wish there was something I could have done to save you. I would give up all my magic if it meant we could be a family again. Instead, I will honor your lives and ensure that your sacrifice was never in vain. It was your dream that I know my heritage, so I will devote my life to the study and rediscovery of our people's culture. You gave your lives for your faith, so I will dedicate my soul to the elven gods and become a priest to them among our people. You risked everything so that I might learn the magic of our people, so I will commit myself to the Dirth'ena Enasalin, and protect our people from those who wish us harm. I do this all in your memory. May you both rest in peace."

Language Codex:

Aneth'ara: Elven sociable greeting.

Enasalin: Elven. Literally translates as "Victory".

Da'len: Elven term for "Child". Literally translates as "Little one".

Dirth'ena Enasalin: Elven. Translates as "Knowledge That Leads to Victory".

Mythal Enaste: Elven blessing. Translates literally as "Mythal's Blessing".

Author's Note:

Okay, everyone, I'm back! The danger has passed, and my family members and I are safe.

The fire never reached our home, but it was dangerously close, so we had to leave it for a while.

I'm back now, and am dedicated to finishing Rajmael's story in the coming months.

I want to thank all my loyal readers, friends and compatriots for your kindness and support in these scary time.

It's humbling to know how many good people there are in the world.

This week's update was short because the original document was so long I had to break it up into two chapters.

Let's face it, this is Rajmael's story and her deserves the most attention and detail.

I will be releasing the final chapter of this arc next week, so please keep an eye out.

And as always, please review and give me your thoughts.