In Unity
by Cryptographic DeLurk
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Sigrun had collected the trinkets out of curiosity, as they passed through corridors and homes and temples long forgotten. A vial of blood, old and clotted and sealed in cold glass etched with gold leaf. A fan indistinguishable from a feather duster, made from griffin down. A set of Borromean rings, of a metal that had darkened and discoloured but not rusted. A scroll of prayer that sounded to Sigrun a lot like wedding vows.
It didn't strike Sigrun as unlike the way she'd collected a snowglobe or a spyglass. But when they came upon the altar, her natural curiosity took over again.
"Be careful," Velanna said sharply. "There's a demon or twelve."
"Do you mind?" Sigrun's grin was not quite apologetic.
Velanna considered, with that austere turn of her chin, but in the end she shrugged. "There's enough darkspawn to fight without making the other residents angry. And Andoral's dead either way."
Sigrun kneeled in front of the altar. She placed the four tributes in the offering dishes, and read the words from the scroll. To think she'd once been an illiterate casteless, before Varlan taught her how to read, before she'd come to the Vigil's library, now reading words in ancient languages for foreign gods. How worldly she'd become since her death.
Andoral did not feel dead, when the ritual concluded, and a presence came to kiss Sigrun across the face – along her casteless brand and legionnaire tattoos.
Sigrun felt satisfied with the experience. From an anthropological perspective. She pressed off her knees and hurried to catch up with Velanna.
They walked the Deep Roads together. Velanna held her hand, when she wasn't holding her staff like a club.
"Do you believe in what we're doing?" Sigrun felt the need to ask, quite suddenly.
"I believe in finding Seranni." The quipped response was about as much of an answer as anyone was likely to get out of Velanna. The closest she'd ever come to Warden vows.
"Do you think it's strange to pity them?" Sigrun asked. "Do you think about that city the elves had?"
"Arlathan."
"Arlathan, the Black City, Bownammar," Sigrun marvelled. "Dragons risen to godhood, then perished, like Paragons to the Stone."
"It's a god of slavery," Velanna deadpanned.
"A god of unity was what the scroll said," Sigrun sing-songed.
But then she stopped. Maybe she had been too crass.
Sigrun had felt sad for Varlan and the rest of her squadron. But not the Lords of Orzammar. Not for the empire that would have crushed her. But she didn't know if it was just about Seranni for Velanna, or something more. "Does it make you sad?" she asked.
"For some of them? A little. Sometimes," Velanna admitted. "Less when I know I'll see the end with you."
She curled her fingers around Sigrun's – like Borromean rings – and Sigrun decided that wouldn't be so bad.
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Fin.