"OK, now what I don't understand is why you would give your vallaslin in the first place."
'Manehn paused. What answer could she give? What could she say to justify what she had done? All she remembered was fury and regret. She remembered looking at her bare face and her cheeks burning with shame, the shame that burned so hot that it showed through her dark brown skin, whispered words of idiocy and betrayal of everything she cared about. She remembered gritted teeth and tears held back as she demanded an answer for what Solas had done.
Then, she remembered the words that cut through sharper than a sword, made her heart burn and stomach churn as she confronted the last vestige of the ancients, those that had seen and served Mythal in her full glory.
You are not my people.
She remembers sad, thoughtful eyes that radiated love, whispering "you deserve better" as he held her close. She wanted to shed the burden of carrying and defending the remains of a dying culture, a dying people, branded like animals but treated worse than chattel. Kept as slaves, kept as pets.
She deserved better than this. They all did.
But none of these answers would suffice.
'Manehn shrugged, "Apparently they were slave markings…."
Keeper Eshna scoffed. "So? Why do I give a shit? They aren't slave markings anymore."
'Manehn paused. "We talk about preserving the past all the time, I figured your opinion would be –"
"– that we should keep slaves because 'the ancient elves did it'?" she retorted. "I gotta find out what exactly the ancients elves did before I agree to whatever weird shit they were into," Keeper Eshna said, cackling at her own joke.
'Manehn laughed. "True, but I will say I'm surprised to hear a Keeper say that."
"You've never sat in on a Hahren'al," Eshna said, "You'd be surprised at how far some will go to chase a fantasy version of something long dead and gone."
"I haven't heard anything as horrifying as mass murder," 'Manehn said. "Well…yet."
Keeper Eshna nodded, "And enough of my fellows agree, at least enough to serve as his agents."
She paused for a few moments, letting the solemn silence linger.
Finally, Keeper Eshna spoke.
"But that's not why you did it. Removed your vallaslin, I mean. You don't wanna tell me, but I don't need to hear the real reason."
She stopped and leaned forward, and clasped 'Manehn's shoulder, giving that same small, affectionate squeeze as she stared directly into her eyes.
"How long have you carried this burden, da'len? Separated from us for so long?"
'"Too long…." she said, "but if someone's gotta save the world, again, I guess I'll be the one to do it."
"Well, it's not like anyone else is exactly volunteering," Eshna said, "but at least get a moment's respite here. Being in the clan's presence, even as isolated as you'll be, might do you some good."
"I'll get Hahren Ellathim. We can start today. Let's get out of this thing, and I'll see if I can get him to shut up for 5 seconds and come over here."
It was only a few minutes before Keeper Eshna returned with her hand resting on the arm of the hahren. He glared at her with beady eyes, his bushy white eyebrows knotted into a perpetual frown as he stared down the Inquisitor.
"This is Hahren Ellathim. He will also be overseeing this ceremony. He will also be the one applying the vallaslin instead of me because I like being the only blind one around here."
"Though I don't see the point of re-applying the sacred inks and the sacred symbols to one who threw them away so callously." he snapped.
"Oh shush, you ass!" Eshna chided him. "You're gonna get a chance to shove a needle in her face, do you need to add insult to injury?"
Ellathim looked at Eshna with a slight tinge of exasperation. "My apologies, I'm sure you think it's perfectly acceptable."
'Manehn looked away and rolled her eyes, biting her lip to calm her anger.
Eshna cleared her throat and 'Manehn turned back towards her. "Now, usually, you would have presented the pelt of an animal you killed by yourself."
"Yeah, I don't think you want pelts from anything I've killed recently." 'Manehn joked.
"We would also announce your intention and your passage into the adulthood, but considering the circumstances…"
"I don't really like being the center of attention either."
Ellathim groaned, "Could you at least pretend you're taking this seriously, seth'len?"
'Manehn clenched her teeth shut, desperate to shout him down, desperate to defend herself from this barrage, these accusatory and derogatory remarks.
Ellathim continued, "Though we have decided to amend the sacred ceremony for your convenience, we will at least make sure you travel the Vir Elaravel, and rediscover the People."
He paused. "You will go to the aravel where we keep the shrines, dedicated to our pantheon. There, you will dream, as our ancestors did in the time of Elvhenan. You will meditate on our ways, the ways of the People, the last Elvhen. For three days, you will stay here, to prove your fortitude and your dedication, to prove your mastery of your body, your mind and your spirit."
"Then, if you pass these tests, we shall apply the vallaslin, and mark you as one the People."
"See, nothing to worry about, da'len." Eshna said with a nod and a wry grin. "Nothing new to you. The sacred meals still taste like shit, I can promise that."
"Please, Eshna," Hahren Ellathim said, with a weary indignation. "I'm trying to stress the importance of this momentous occasion. There is more to be said."
"Ellathim, This ceremony is not as momentous when you do it more than once. And she's not going to have a full ceremony if you keep talking -"
"Umm, can we start now? It's close to evening." 'Manehn interrupted.
"Of course you may 'go now'." Ellathim huffed. "Go to the tent at the edge of camp. Eshna will visit you tonight."
'Manehn turned towards the tent, but Keeper Eshna stopped her.
"One last thing: You're only doing this to fix what you think was a mistake, but you should treat this like the first time you received your vallaslin. A lot has changed for you. Reflect on who you have become. Maybe another of the Creators speaks to you."
'Manehn nodded.
"Just keep it in mind, da'len."
She made her way to the aravel and crawled inside, making sure to duck her head. The aravel was small, yet familiar. Intricate carvings lined the wooden beams and small charms hung on the walls. Along the far side, tucked in the back was an altar, set up with eight small statues, dedicated to the Creators. As she stared at each one, her throat began to clench and her stomach churn. She used to find peace when she prayed to these gods. When she sang a hymn to Sylaise. When she prayed to Mythal to ask for justice. When she thanked Andruil for a bountiful hunt. She did not wear her vallaslin for the Creators, nor would she wear them for these false gods.
She quickly turned away from the altar and closed her eyes. The lingering and familiar smell of wood, herbs and incense filled her nostrils, slowed her racing heart, and calmed her still simmering rage. She expected some antagonizing comments, some rancor, even a few insults hurled her way. "Traitor" was a familiar word frequently tied in at the mention of Inquisitor Lavellan.
What she did not expect were the words to still sting. What she did not expect was to feel like a stranger even among those who treated her as sister, who called her da'len and lethallan.
This must be what it feels like to be a flat ea – a non-Dalish.
A loud shriek tore her from her thoughts. She had already drawn her dagger, still attached to her belt, before she realized it was a toddler's shriek of laughter. The shriek was replaced by loud laughter and teasing and the patter of feet darting between aravels.
It was evening now. The clan was gathering around the hearth. She saw the faint flicker of orange and red through the thin cloth that covered the aravel, heard the crackle of flames, intertwining with the nickering of the halla. She heard these Dalish, her people, laughing, arguing, joking with each other, loving, hating, living.
They were alive.
But her clan….
She burrowed her head between her legs and curled into a ball. Her heart began to spasm and her lungs tighten in her chest. She tried to breathe, tried to pace it, but her breath escaped her lips in haggard wisps. The tent seemed to shrink around her, the air felt stifling, prickled her skin, hot to the touch….she needed to get out, flee to the farthest corner of Thedas, it had been so long, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
They were gone. Hot tears began to fall, her ragged breathing replaced by small whimpers as she fought back tears.
They were all gone.
She heard plodding footsteps coming towards her tent, and bolted upright. She brushed the tears away and took a few breaths, balling her right hand into a tight fist that forced her nails into her palm.
Eshna crept into the tent, carrying a small pouch, a vial of oil and a small bit of kindling in her arms.
"We're running a bit behind schedule, but I want to get you started." She started piling the kindling at the center of the aravel and lit it with a quick flick of her wrist.
She opened the vial and poured the oil into her hands, rubbing them furiously.
"Help me find your face so I'm not groping around like an idiot." She joked. 'Manehn leaned forward and gently took her wrists and pulled them towards her face.
The Keeper began to apply the oil, her paper thin skin and bony fingers kneading the oils deep into 'Manehn's skin while she spoke.
"Tonight, reflect on who you were. Born to the People, the last of the true Elvhen. Reflect on what we have taught you, the Oath of the Dales, the tales of our Creators. Reflect on what makes you Dalish."
Finally, she opened the small pouch and pulled out a handful of bitter smelling herbs. She sprinkled them over the fire. The small orange flames flashed emerald green and then settled into a slow burn, the smoke thickening and the smell sharpening.
"Now I'm going to get out of here. Remember what you see," the Keeper said as she hurried out of the tent.
'Manehn closed her eyes and let herself slip into a deep sleep.
The popping of a freshly lit fire at the center of the camp on a spring evening. Soft grass settles between her toes. Childlike squeals and raucous laughter from elves young and old. A small one approaches her, her tight, coarse coils tied in into small twists, the ends decorated with small beads that clack against each other as she scurries up. 'Manehn sweeps her into her arms in a tight hug and sets her down. She begs "Manehn to play with her. She grabs her hand and leads her towards the center of the hearth, towards the fire.
The fire erupts. Laughter turns to cackling, squeals to screams. Her little sister's hand slips away as she bolts into the fire. She tries to grab her, pull her back, but the flames sear her eyes. She reels back in pain, but they are gone.
Only bodies remain, lifeless eyes pierced with human swords and human arrows, gazing at the sky in horror. Snow falls on the flowering ground and a hollow wind whistles through now leafless trees. She runs towards the hearth, seeking her sister and mother, screaming into the wind, eyes stinging from flame and tears.
She looks at the sky and sees a familiar swirl of green and the crackle of magic. Her left hand erupts with an agonizing pain and she falls to the ground, screaming their names, tears streaming down her face. She would avenge them. She would kill them all.