Chapter Three: Welcome to the Family

Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till Time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not - Lord Byron

X

This is quaint, Valora thought to herself. She stood in the center of her new room, a spacious concrete structure built atop the battlements. A sizable bed was nestled in the left corner, next to a small table with a lit lantern resting upon the wooden surface. A large, red carpet lay beneath her feet, covering a great section of the fractured stone floor. There were cracks blemishing the ceiling and walls, allowing cold air to filter in through the worn bricks. Other than the chilly draft, this place was cozy.

It was several steps up from her space at the alienage; she'd had to share a small, rickety room with her sister. They had owned two cots, pushed together to make way for a small dresser filled with tattered clothing that barely fit their growing figures. The floorboards would creak no matter where one stepped, and there was no door—no privacy.

Yes, Skyhold was definitely a nice place.

She strode over to the bed and trailed a hand along the soft, thick fabric of the blanket. A blanket. It was a tint so to match the carpet, and it was softer than the weathered pages of any book she'd ever laid hands on. A glint reached her eyes as she gazed upon the cloth, remembering the tattered sheet she and her sister used to share. It was never warm enough—never big enough to accommodate the two young elves. But here, now, this would be. Valora wished Ana could see this, share this moment with her in a brand new life. She wished her sister could have known how it felt to sleep in a real bed inside a real room. "Do you see this, Ana?" Valora blinked back the watery sensations in her eyes, speaking to no one. "I wish you could," she breathed, her lips quivering ever so slightly in remembrance.

But you've gone away from me. Her heart clenched. It took all she had to force the tears back, and her fist tightened around the thick sheet as she fought the memories. Back down into the dust she buried them, under the cloud of her newfound spirit. It was enough to lift the weight from her heart and relax her grip, but the memory could never be gone. A thin veil shrouded the pain, but it could just as easily be ripped away.

Valora turned, hearing two firm knocks at the door. She abandoned the bed to answer the call, opening the door to find a middle-aged human woman standing rigid in the doorway. The first thing Valora noticed was the tattoo: a bright orange sunburst in the middle of the woman's forehead. She knew exactly what it meant.

"Miss Valora, I have been sent to inform you that the Inquisition is awaiting you in the Herald's Rest." The tranquil stated, staring at Valora with pale, lifeless eyes. It made her shudder; the woman seemed to look right through her and to a place far beyond the world's comprehension. It was sad, but the elf made no comment on her condition. Instead she gave a slight smile of gratitude, nodding at the Tranquil as she would anyone else.

"Thank you. I remember the way," Valora said. In truth, the elf didn't want to spend a second longer than she had to with the woman who eyed her as if she couldn't truly see her. It was nothing against Tranquil, but the absence she felt hollowing within the woman was tangible. It was painful. The Tranquil didn't know that, however. She only knew to serve with no true grasp on anything to strive for beyond what others required of her. Valora wondered what the woman did to deserve such a fate, and she desperately wished she could take it away. Tranquility was no way to be; it was simply a way to breathe while you were dead. Yet death seemed a brighter alternative to living in a shell devoid of purpose. Hollow. Empty.

The woman nodded curtly and made her way across the battlements, back to the post she was stationed at in Skyhold's castle. Valora waited a few minutes before trekking out of her room, making sure the woman was far out of sight before making her way to the tavern on the lower level of the stronghold. Solas had mentioned during the tour that the tavern could be reached from the building just across the way from her own room.

So she slipped across the battlements, now covered in the dim light of noon, and reached the door to the next stony room. She opened it to find it unexpectedly dark, no lantern to brighten up the atmosphere. This room must be vacant, she thought. Through the darkness, she spotted a crack of light seeping through the bottom of a door. As she neared it, she heard loud voices, laughter, and the sound of a skilled bard strumming a cheerful song to entertain the patrons within. Valora pulled the door open and was welcomed with the light of several torches lined along the walls. She stepped into the dim-lit tavern and worked her way over to the railing.

Peeking over, she found a group of people already settled at a large, wooden table full of food in the middle of the room. A knot formed in her stomach, and she suddenly felt her nerves working up. What if they don't like me? Maker, what if they kick me out? She slowly shuffled along the railing, tip-toeing cautiously out of sight.

"We won't kick you out," she could swear she heard someone say. Turning around in a whirl of surprise, Valora was faced with nothing. Looking right, left, up, and right again, she saw no one. Great, now I'm going mad. Shaking her head, she made her way down each set of stairs to accompany the group below. Regardless of her newfound insanity, she strangely started feeling less nervous about meeting the members of the Inquisition. Those that she had met so far seemed to accept her with no questions asked. Well, not many questions, at least.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and made eye-contact with the Inquisitor, who immediately perked up and raised a hand to beckon the girl over. "Ah, Valora! Great you could make it! Come, sit," the Inquisitor shouted at her gleefully, a pitcher of ale settled on the table in front of her. She did as she was told, stepping around the table to take a seat beside the Inquisitor and a man with a neatly groomed mustache.

A plate was set before her full of an array of foods, none she eyed more than a tender-looking drumstick. She licked her lips and snatched it by the bone, temporarily disregarding every person at the table as she lifted the meat to her mouth. The hungry elf took a large bite—perhaps a bigger bite than she should have—and gnawed greedily. Just as she was about to swallow the poultry down, something caught her eye: two hefty, pointed horns growing from a man's head. A qunari! Valora nearly choked on her food in her initial shock. She had only read about these people, but had never seen any in person. She was fascinated at the qunari man situated at the end of the table, watching his movements carefully and recalling the texts she had studied on these majestic creatures—

"Hello? Val? Are you even listening?" The Inquisitor waved a strangely marked hand in front of Valora's face. Val. Only her sister had ever called her that. She still remembered her voice, high and flecked with delight. Anariel's laughter echoed in her mind, reminding her of how she would never get the chance to feel the joy it produced again. No, snap out of it. Now is not the time to dwell. Valora shook her head to wave away the thoughts and forced a smile, turning to the elven woman beside her.

"I'm sorry, I must have missed it. What were you saying?"

"I was introducing you, but I realize I know almost nothing about you. You did only arrive this morning. Why don't you introduce yourself?"

"Oh, I, Uh—of course!" She placed the once bitten drumstick ruefully back on her plate. Valora's eyes scanned the people around her. Their faces were easily lit by the luminescence of the firelight, making the elf nervous as she noticed all of their eyes were on her. Inquisitor, pretty woman who's overdressed, the qunari, a rather handsome blonde man, a dwarf, and the mustache man. She addressed them all: "I'm Valora. I come from Ferelden—Denerim to be exact—and I, well . . ." She paused, trying to figure out how to continue.

"Tell us how you got here, Val, I never heard the story," Inquisitor Lavellan filled the brief silence, urging Valora to continue speaking. With that, Valora sighed and began her story from the beginning.

"There were these mages, the Venatori. There were a whole swarm of them, and they took all of us from Denerim." She paused, her eyes flitting down to the plate of food in front of her. Suddenly her stomach felt weak, and she decided they could make do without all the details. She continued her tale, telling them of her escape—sparing a few facts about her treatment during the week of captivity. All of the facts that she could remember, that is. Each person listened intently to her as she spun her story, giving gasps of shock and cheers when deemed appropriate.

". . . And so that's how I knocked her out and took the key. That's how I escaped."

They all stared at her. No way could she have taken on a Venatori agent with nothing but a bucket and an old sock! Okay, so maybe she filled in the juicy bits with her own imagination, but it was true for the most part—all of it that she could recall. The dwarf whistled as her story came full circle.

"That would make for a decent read," he told Valora, but she shook her head.

"I don't think that would make a good story. Who would want to read about something like that? Seems a bit farfetched to me," she said. Not even she could believe all of the things that happened. Even though she may not have mentioned the part where she was an abomination. Or that she used to live in the alienage. Or the part where she was forced to see her sister—no. Stop thinking about it, she warned herself, pushing the thoughts back into Wisdom's cloud. She couldn't break down here in front of everyone. She couldn't show that kind of weakness.

"Oh, I think I could make it work," the dwarf said, a tone of smugness littering his voice. She smiled at him, admiring his confidence.

"As you wish. But I get half the profits," she joked, and was proud by the chuckles she received from the group. The mirth gave her a warm tingle in her chest. They like me.

"So, now that that's over with, may I get to know everyone else?" Valora inquired to the rest of the group, her voice smooth and enthusiastic. They obliged, each one speaking their name and their position in the Inquisition as they feasted merrily.

"I am Inquisitor Lavellan, as you know. I'm in charge of these louts," she started, earning a few chuckles and a few protests, "and I can close big tears in the sky with this." She opened up her left palm and it glowed brightly with energy. Wow. Valora had a lot of questions after these introductions. Her eyes roamed to the over-dressed lady.

"Josephine Montilyet, I am the ambassador of the Inquisition. Pleased to meet you," she said with a heavy Antivan accent. Valora didn't like it at all. Why did they have to roll their tongues so much? She smiled at the pretty woman even so, then eagerly turned to the man directly across the table from her.

"The name's Iron Bull. I'm the real lout this Inquisitor is talking about," he laughed. Valora was intrigued, listening to his gruff voice and watching the movements of his incredibly large muscles flexing with each subtle move. She was reminded of the dragons she'd heard about in stories, especially by the way his horns branched out and curved up, sharpening into deadly points at the tips. A qunari was definitely a foreign sight to her, but she didn't expect the horns to be so large! Wow, low ceilings must be a pain for him.

"I hired his crew originally as mercenaries, but he's somehow found a warm spot in my heart. Isn't that right, Bull?" the Inquisitor twittered in a mock-affectionate voice, batting her eyelashes in his direction.

"All right, all right, don't get too sappy on me, boss."

Their banter earned a laugh from Valora and the Inquisitor both. Valora was starting to feel more and more comfortable around this group as they addressed her with no judgments. They treated her like anyone else, never once putting her out of place. She felt as if she was already a part of the Inquisition, though they would likely never have her. Everyone else had a place, but how would she ever fit into such a talented group? She barely had any talents.

The handsome blonde man cleared his throat, preparing to introduce himself. Valora was all too eager to listen. Though he was a human, and she was always warned away from his kind, she couldn't deny his attractive features. They seemed to make him more interesting somehow. She pushed her plate away—now littered with scraps—and propped an elbow up on the table, resting her chin in her palm as she waited for the man to speak.

"I am Commander Cullen, leader of the forces of the Inquisition and –"

"—and very bad at card games," the dwarf interrupted. Cullen's expression faded from a smug smile to a look of disbelief, aimed directly at the dwarf.

Josephine snickered at his playful insult. "It is true! My, this one time we were playing Wicked Grace and he had to str—"

"ENOUGH!" Cullen shouted, face heating up with a bright shade of red. Valora couldn't help but think he looked like a bashful mabari pup. He seemed so intimidating and professional at first, but now he seemed like a nervous boy, cornered by his friend's teasing. Valora found it incredibly charming.

"We'll save that tale for another day," the Inquisitor whispered to Valora.

Next up for introductions was the dwarf who had mentioned making a story out of her questionably exaggerated tale earlier. He seemed eager to speak, straightening up in his chair until she noticed his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing prominent chest hair set off by a large circular necklace. "Varric Tethras!" He announced his name boisterously. Well, this one sounds important. "Rogue, storyteller, and the most valued member of the Inquisition!" Yep. Definitely important.

Valora couldn't help but think the man might continue his grand introduction for a few long minutes if someone hadn't snorted. Valora jumped as she heard muffled laughter from beneath the table. "Oh, great. This again," the Inquisitor mumbled, dropping a husk of half-eaten corn back onto her plate. She struck out with her foot and kicked something with a loud thoomp.

"Ow! You elves and your damned tempers," a high-pitched, annoyed voice spat. It wouldn't have seemed such an odd thing to say if the voice hadn't come from a thin, blonde elf who proceeded to climb her way out from under the table to sit in a vacant seat beside Cullen. Her hair looked as if it had been chopped off with a blade, and her eyes were swimming. She was anything but sober.

"This gem of a woman is Sera. She. . . Well, she's got friends in low places," the Inquisitor chuckled.

"Yeah, and we know where to stick an arrow," she slurred, then burped indifferently. "So what's this one, eh? Another one of us to take down the Coryphe-thingy?" Sera took a look at Valora's cloak. It seemed that Sera was having trouble judging exactly what the red-haired elf was wearing before it clicked in her drunken mind. "Oh, no. Not another one of them glowing, fadey people." Her nose scrunched in disgust.

"Sera doesn't like magic, but fortunately she has no problem with mages," a man's voice beside Valora spoke for the first time. She turned to look at him, the fireplace behind her casting a clear light over his features. Mustache. Valora had to try not to stare. "Speaking of handsome mages, I am Dorian of House Pavus. I am curious, however; that cloak you wear, is it a fashion statement or do you enjoy looking like you're about to perform blood magic at any given moment?"

"I guess I just . . . found it lying around." Valora realized she couldn't remember what had happened. She had been preoccupied trying to cover up the memory with Wisdom's power and had improvised much of her tale. What did happen? She decided to let the cloud covering up her memory fade, and as it dissipated, a strike of pain sent her reeling forward in her seat. She closed her eyes tightly, pressing her fingers to her temples to ease the sharp ache. Suddenly there was a tormented voice from across the table, one she wouldn't soon forget.

"Guilt grinding in my gut, heart wrenched while I watch her break. Shaken, shattered and shackled; I can't move, can't save her. She burned, wasted away in the flames and it's—it's my fault."

Valora would have screamed if she weren't frozen in shock. Her head snapped up as soon as she heard him. There had been a blaze of thick black smoke, and then a young man sat in the vacant seat next to the ambassador. His head was bowed and a large hat curved to shield his face. He was the one who spoke, his voice just above a whisper. It was enough to grasp the protective veil on her mind and tear it away, leaving her completely open.

"White hot light flashing at my fingertips, need to let it out. It torches me on the inside, billowing and burning, bursting with black. When she dies I'm not me; I'm someone else—someone stronger, but scattered and scared. Maker, I'm scared," the man continued in an anxious tone, his voice breaking as he absorbed her every emotion. Valora's eyes widened as he spat out her innermost thoughts, and everyone else at the table seemed to follow her lead—struck dumb at his sudden outburst.

"Deaths for a death, lives for a life. Can't be that anymore, it isn't me; have to forget, let me forget." The man was visibly shivering in his seat, retreating back into himself. "She wears the dead woman's hood, hurting, hiding, hating herself for being her. For not being able to help," he mumbled, raising his head to gaze in Valora's direction. Between Valora's hazy vision and the dark shadows his hat cast upon his face, she could barely make out his expression, but she could feel his stare. His features were haunting in the shadows, and she noticed the frown set upon his lips as the firelight momentarily sparked across his face. In that brief second of light, the man looked completely anguished, as if he could feel Valora's pain by some sixth sense. Seeing him in the light sent an eerie chill across her skin, but she didn't know why. All she knew was that she wanted to disappear; she felt bare, and no amount of clothing could cover this exposure. A tear streamed down Valora's cheek as he laid out her haunted past; one she was trying desperately to forget.

"You couldn't save her, it isn't your fault. You were beaten, broken, bound to the floor. There was nothing—"

"Stop!"

Valora banged her fists on the table, rattling the tableware as she stood. Her chest was heaving with deep breaths and her teeth were bared in a menacing glower. She had nothing left to say, she just needed to get away from everyone, from everything. The group watched Valora in silent surprise as she knocked her chair to the floor and bolted out of the tavern's door. As soon as she was gone, the focus was on the man. He stared towards the open tavern door, his mouth agape with horror at what he'd just caused. No one said a word; they were all too confounded. Well, all except for Sera.

"Holy shite, look what creepy did! And I thought that thing couldn't get any worse."