Chapter 17

The hooded man didn't think it would be that easy. But it had been. He had made it into the palace unnoticed. His spell had kept him hidden. It had been like a walk in the park. Now, he only had to find her room. This, he guessed, would be the hard part. There were so many rooms in the palace. If he knew her at all, however, he guessed that she might be in a room overlooking the garden. So he headed in that direction, or at least what he thought was the right direction.

He came to a long hallway with windows all along the side, letting in bright shafts of sunlight all along the floor. At the end of the hall was another window. He peeked through it. The garden. He turned to the doorway right near it. It was closed. There was no telling what was behind it. He took a deep breath and the door creaked open slowly by his hand.

A young Dalish man looked up in surprise, his familiar looking blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. He sat in a chair by a bed. She lay in the bed, looking deathly pale and breathing very lightly. He sucked in his breath. He hadn't realized how much it would hurt to see her…

"Who are you?" the young man asked, startling him. He also hadn't expected anyone to be here, though he didn't know why. She was special…

He closed his eyes and sent a wave of magic toward the young man, putting him to sleep instantly. He would not remember him being here when he woke up. That was the way he wanted it to be. No, it was the way it had to be.

He walked slowly toward the bed, hesitation in his steps. Now that he was here, what did he want, exactly? He really looked at her now. If he saw past her illness, she was just the same as he remembered her.

"Siofra," he whispered as he took her hand. She was unconscious; her hand was hot. He brushed the hair away from her face. It was still golden. With a pang, he noticed a small streak of grey. She was not that old, really, but what did he expect? He caressed the tattoos on her face, remembering each line, each curve as if they were once again fresh. He leaned over and brushed his lips onto her forehead.

Sighing, he leaned back and withdrew a small dagger from beneath his cloak. He shifted his cloak so that his left forearm was visible. Bunching his left hand into a fist, he took the dagger and cut deeply along his forearm so that he would bleed. Sheathing the dagger, he placed his right hand onto Siofra and closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration.

The blood on his arm bubbled. Slowly it dissolved into a clear blue energy. Shaking now, he sent it toward Siofra. The energy enveloped her, encasing her into a blue glow before being absorbed into her body. And then he let go, breathing hard. He was suddenly very weak. But it was worth it. Already, he could see her color returning.

What he would give to see her smile. To hear her sweet, melodious voice in speech, and in song. But he couldn't be here when she woke up. He took her hand in his own again. He savored the feel of her, the sight of her. In the back of his mind, he was aware of footsteps in the hall. He needed to go.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, and stood up with effort. Dizzy, he caught his balance and then made his way to the doorway. He hoped it was only the footsteps of a servant, for he had no more energy to cast another spell.

As he launched himself through the doorway and into the hall, he found himself colliding with a solid man his own height. He fell backward, his hood coming undone, revealing his face.

"Apologies," the man said, extending his hand toward him to help him up. Avoiding looking the man directly in the face, for he did not want anyone to be able to describe him, he accepted the hand. The man pulled him up and in that action, his cloak shifted, revealing the fresh cut on his arm.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. He took the chance to look the man in the eye. It was the Grey Warden. His heart nearly stopped right then and there as a strange feeling of knowing washed over him. He shifted his gaze downward and backed away.

"Who are you?" the Grey Warden asked suspiciously. He continued to back away. The Warden grabbed at him and held him by the cloak. He asked him again who he was.

"Tristan!" Siofra called out from the room. His heart fluttered at the sound of her voice. The Warden shifted his attention. He jerked away and was out of the Warden's reach by the time the Warden looked back at him. He disappeared around the hall. It was for the best.

…

"Siofra?" Tristan asked incredulously as he entered her room and saw that she was awake. "You are awake?"

"Ronan…" she pointed to Ronan, who had fallen off the chair beside the bed. Tristan went over to him and hauled him back up. He tapped his face a few times in an effort to wake him up. Slowly but surely his eyelids fluttered open.

"What happened?" he asked Ronan.

Groggily, he shook his head. "I don't know. I was awake one minute and asleep the next."

"Thank the gods you are alive." Siofra remarked from the bed. Ronan looked to her in shock.

"Mamae?" he rushed by her side and clutched her hand. She noticed his missing hand.

"Your hand?" she asked him in deep concern.

"It does not matter. You are alive." Ronan reassured her. He had a look of pure disbelief on his face. Tristan felt quite the same way. Everyone had thought she would die. But here she was, awake. Her color had returned. She was lucid.

"I thought for sure you had been killed… what happened?" Siofra asked worriedly.

"I… I blacked out after losing my hand. I never thought to ask what happened after that." Ronan answered. He looked to Tristan for answers.

"I froze the Qunari. The others were able to pull you away before more harm could be done." Tristan explained. Ronan looked at him in slight disbelief.

"You saved me?" he asked.

Tristan shrugged. He looked at Siofra, who looked between the two with what Tristan could only take to be pride. Ronan frowned as he caught the look Siofra gave Tristan.

"I know who he is."

Siofra turned to Ronan in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something but Ronan would not let her continue.

"He is your son. You could have told me… instead I heard it hiding in the shadows, like a spy."

"I am sorry I kept this from you Ronan. You were not the only one I hid this from." Siofra replied sorrowfully.

"Even father knew. And he didn't think to tell me before sending me off on a wild goose chase. A little honesty would have been nice, even if I did already know the truth. Didn't I deserve to know the truth?" Ronan asked Siofra, a hurt look on his face.

A little uncomfortable at being the subject of the discussion, Tristan decided to change the subject quickly.

"Um, how are you feeling?" Tristan asked Siofra.

Ronan sighed, but let the matter drop for the moment. Siofra sent him an apologetic look. "We will talk more about this later." She turned to Tristan with a smile. "I am feeling better than ever."

Tristan was happy, of course, but he couldn't shake off the suspicious feeling that was nagging at him. Why had Ronan been asleep, asleep as if from a spell? And that mysterious man, who was he? The cut on his arm… the way he would not look at Tristan… the way he ran off… the way that Siofra miraculously awakened right as he left. It was all very odd. For the moment, he shrugged it off. He could see that Siofra had many questions.

…

Later, though, as he slept away the day's events, Tristan found himself dreaming. That same dream he frequently had. The dream of his childhood, the memory, really, of discovering he had magical abilities. The mage in the back streets of Denerim crouched down to show him the way to make fire out of nothing… and he woke up in a sweat, his heart pounding. The mage in his dream… the man coming from Siofra's room… they were the same person. He felt a chill run down his spine. What was that man's purpose? Why had he helped Siofra, with blood magic, he was sure of it now? The cut, it had seemed unimportant at the time, but now that Tristan was sure the man was a mage, a maleficar, it all made sense. All had thought Siofra would die, until Tristan had caught the mage leaving her room. He had cured Siofra. What for?

All he could do was toss, turn and wonder. But no answers came to him. None that made any sense anyway.