All was quiet except the deep, even sound of Duncan's breathing. Zoya's fingers twitched against the light blanket, the soft fabric begging to be pulled up over her head. Resisting the urge to disappear under it, Zoya rolled onto her side to escape the flickering lantern light. Peeling open weighted eyelids, she peered at the aravel's small portal, still black with night.
A heavy sigh tore free from her chest. It all seemed so surreal - so many things that she'd been so sure of, that she'd never given a second thought to, that were no longer her truth. Yesterday morning, like every other morning of her life, she'd awoken as just another Alienage elf, the daughter of Cyrion and Adaia and the cousin of Shianni and Soris. But today she was waking as a half-elf that had been born among the Dalish, the daughter of Duncan and Adaia, and a descendant of the hero of the Fourth Blight. Her whole world was suddenly topsy-turvy like someone had blindfolded her, spun her in circles, and then released her to fend for herself. They had a game like that in the Alienage, the goal being to stick leaves from the vhenadahl on as many elves as you could while they darted around and taunted you. The disorientation was much more fun when she was a child and not the one with the blindfold.
The only constant was where her path seemed to be leading her - a life of sacrifice where she was likely to meet a violent end. If nothing else, her failed attempt to save Theron had solidified her destiny. She'd either go through the Joining or die a lingering death, perhaps first becoming a ghoul. And that terrified her more than dying – to become a thrall to another, her will no longer her own.
A voice slithered through her memory, sending chills down her spine. Keep her alive…
When Zoya had told Duncan about the voice she'd heard in the dark on the other side of the mirror, he'd paled, his jaw clenching. His quick dismissal of the possibility of darkspawn who speak and refusal to discuss it further made Zoya wonder if he knew more than he was telling. Regardless of what kind of creature had spoken in the darkness, Theron was gone. Between the darkspawn corruption and the mirror being destroyed, there was nothing they could do to help him. If not for Duncan stubbornly refusing to let her go, she'd be lost like Theron. Guilt sat like a molten lump in her gut. If the gods were kind, his death had been quick and he was now reunited with Tamlen in the Beyond.
Zoya rolled back over, her gaze settling on the sleeping human. Duncan slumped in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed. His dark head was bowed low enough that his thick beard shifted with each rise and fall of his chest. A lump grew in her throat as she watched him sleep, conflicting emotions swirling through her. She'd spent much of her childhood wishing he could be her father, but that was before she'd understood what it would mean to be elf-blooded. Her only thoughts had been how wonderful it would be to call the heroic and dashing man 'papa' and to go adventuring as a family. Instead the human had become her mentor, her safe place. Even now, her instinct was to reach out to him for comfort.
Shifting to the edge of the bunk, she dragged herself upright and ran weary hands through her hair. Practiced fingers rebraided the unruly locks before wrapping around the stoneware pitcher to pour herself some water. She swallowed greedily, the cool liquid almost as delicious as wine as it quenched her dry mouth and parched throat.
They'd spent much of the previous night talking, mostly about darkspawn, the Taint, and how the Grey Wardens fit into it all. These were far easier topics than speaking about their newly discovered blood connection, something they both seemed content to avoid for the moment. Duncan had finally ordered her to sleep once her voice had nearly given out and her eyelids had started drooping, reminding her they'd have plenty of opportunities to talk on the way to Ostagar.
But for now, Zoya needed to find an isolated spot to sort through everything that had happened in the last couple of days. She rose from the bed, her fingertips reaching toward the domed, wooden ceiling as she stretched. Silent feet carried her to the pile of armor and weapons she'd dumped on a bench the night before. Taking care not to make a sound, she buckled into the various pieces and shrugged into her shoulder harness, the daggers heavy against her back. She headed for the door, grabbing her bow and quiver on the way.
Before she could escape, Duncan cleared his throat, regarding her with one bleary eye, "Is everything alright?"
"I need some time alone." She offered a soft smile to buffer the bluntness of her words, "Everything's fine… I guess I just need to watch the sun rise and try to get a grasp on all of this."
"It's quite a bit to take in." Duncan nodded in understanding, running his hands roughly through his hair as he stretched in the chair. "Just don't go too far from camp. We've a long way to go today and need to get an early start. I know Marethari said you should be healthy enough for us to get to Ostagar and complete the Joining, but I'd rather not take any chances. And you should probably eat something before we leave."
"I won't go far, I promise." Picking up an apple from the table and biting down on it, she padded out the door and down the ramp of the aravel.
There was little activity in the camp during these pre-sunrise hours - just muted sounds from the aravels and soft snorts from the halla. Everything around her was blanketed in blue as the sun began its struggle over the horizon. The air was crisp, and dew had collected on the groundcover. The moisture beaded on her leather boots, its chill seeping through the stitching. She frowned at her feet – maybe she should find some wax to reseal the seams before they left for Ostagar. Munching the apple as she made her way through camp, she trod silently to its edge.
She found a log near where they'd held the archery contest the day before, settling on top of it with her legs criss-crossed in front of her. With all these trees, she wouldn't be able to see the sun come over the horizon like she could from the perch above the Denerim docks. But she could feel it, like some great creature holding it's breath in anticipation of breaking free of its dark prison.
The light shifted from blue to purple to pink as she focused her attention inward, slowing her breathing. She probed gently at the magical barrier she and Marethari had created in her chest, a relieved sigh escaping her lips when she felt it holding the corruption in check. Pushing the whirlwind of thoughts into a dark box in her mind, she reached for her magic. It welled at her center, a fount of light and heat. Sending it slowly coursing through her limbs, she imagined it moving over her like warm bathwater, soothing, cleansing. Her skin began to tingle, its golden glow mingling with the morning light as she pushed her magic outward and focused it into glowing orbs surrounding her outstretched fingers.
A gasp behind her brought her back out of herself. Damping down her power, she turned to see Pol.
He gawked at her with wide blue eyes, "Umm… the Warden thought you might be here." His face paled, his limbs twitching in anticipation of flight, as she watched him expectantly, "So… how long have you been…an apostate?"
With all that had happened, she'd forgotten that Pol didn't know about her magic. For a moment, she'd thought he was going to ask her about being elf-blooded, not that he could possibly know about that. Zoya loosed a sigh. "Since I was born. Well, I suppose I didn't know I was an apostate until almost twelve years ago when I used magic for the first time." She offered the young elf a reassuring smile, "There's no need to be afraid of me, Pol. I'm the same Zoya you used to try to cheat in cards."
"Wait, I never tried-" The corner of his mouth started to quirk upward, but then he bit down on his lower lip. "Does anyone else know? Shianni, Soris?"
"That you're a horrible cheat?" Her mouth shifted into a lopsided smile as his discomfort grew, "Oh… you mean the magic thing? I guess everyone in the Alienage knows now. My coming out was kind of a spectacle – you really missed something there. But before then, only my family and Valendrian knew."
"Huh." The young elf ran nervous hands through his blond hair, "I guess that makes sense. I can't believe you never used your magic in front of any of us, even when you were drunk. I don't think I could have done that."
"Well… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted more than a few times. But the Templars don't treat apostates, or those who harbor them, with kindness. It was better for everyone if I kept it a secret." Zoya sighed again. Like mother, like daughter. Her secrets clung like leeches - just when she thought she'd gotten rid of one, she realized she'd gained another. She couldn't help but wonder how Pol would react if he found out she was elf-blooded. Would he look at her with disgust? With pity? She shook her head, "So… did you need something?"
Pol poked at a pine cone with his toe before turning his gaze back to Zoya. "Fenarel told us what happened in the ruins… with Theron. Everyone's talking about it."
"Yeah?" A grimace twisted her face, "I bet they're more than ready to chase me out of the forest at the points of their arrows. I seem to have developed a knack for finding ways to goad other elves into chasing me out of places. But they won't have to put up with me for much longer – Duncan and I will be leaving this morning-"
"You can't be serious!" Pol's eyebrows shut upward. He stepped toward her, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping his fingers around her hands. He looked relieved that his fingers found only simple flesh. "Zoya, I was sent to come find you, to bring you to the central fire. Hahren Paivel is going to sing a dirge for Tamlen and Theron. Everyone was impressed by what you did. I don't think the hunters thought one of us flat ears would have the courage to do what you did. I mean, for all you knew, you could have been lost too."
"But I didn't even do anything. I didn't save him." She shook her head, "Duncan is the real hero - he kept me from going all the way through that cursed mirror. Maybe if I'd been able to hold onto Theron a bit tighter-"
"But you tried - you nearly died for Theron." A frown creased his brow, "And I probably shouldn't be saying this, but that's far more than he would have done in your place." Pol tugged at her hand, pulling her from the log, "Alright, no more pouting. Come on – the rest of the clan is waiting for us."
Zoya squeezed his hand, "Thanks, Pol."
"That's what friends are for," He offered a wide grin that she couldn't help but return. If only all of her old friends in the Alienage had been so accepting of her gift… Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he led her toward the central fire.
Zoya's heart thudded as they approached the large blaze, the acrid scent of burning pitch filling her nose. The entire camp seemed to have gathered here, and several dozen heads swung in her direction in near unison. Their voices quieted, the crackling of the logs on the fire the only sound. She scanned the crowd, hoping to find Duncan and the Keeper, but they were nowhere to be seen.
An elder elf nodded a silvered head at Zoya as she approached. "Andaran atish'an, Zoya of the Grey Wardens. The clan is in your debt for what you tried to do for Theron. Now that you have arrived, we can begin." He turned to gaze into the fire for a moment before sweeping his eyes over the assembled elves. "It seems the will of the Creators that I sing the dirge for those I held in my arms as babes. I think I now understand why our ancestors would choose uthenara, slipping peacefully into eternal slumber."
He turned back to the fire, the heavy lines in his face deepening, "Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye. Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder. Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence."
The words sent a chill through Zoya's bones. She was far too familiar with that stillness, the cold silence that accompanied death. Her thoughts went to the daggers now sheathed on her back, imagining her mother's hands, and the hands of all those before her, wrapped around their hilts. Who will hold them once I sheath them for the last time?
The gathered elves bowed their heads as the elder began to sing, his voice strong and clear. Tears burned in Zoya's eyes as the melody echoed in her ears. She'd heard this song so many times before, her mother's sweet voice softly singing as she drifted off to sleep. The words left her mouth, silent as a breath, "Vir sulahn'nehn. Vir dirthera. Vir samahl la numin. Vir 'lath sa'vunin'." Bowing her head, she clenched her eyes shut. Feeling the tears slip free, she whispered, "We love one more day." She could feel the concern in Pol's gaze as his fingers tightened on hers. Squeezing his hand, she offered him a reassuring smile as she brushed a hand across her face.
"We wish Tamlen and Theron eternal peace." The elder's voice broke, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "Theron was cursed with sadness from the start, his heart dwelling in darkness that was only lifted by the light of his love for Tamlen. There were those among us who thought hiding the truth of his parents' tragic deaths would spare him their fate. But even without knowing, their fate was repeated – Theron was unable to continue without Tamlen. For darkness cannot exist without light, and some souls are not meant to be parted. May they forever hunt together in the Beyond…"
The crowd dispersed in silence, many of the elves offering Zoya a kind nod or pausing to clasp her hand before heading to their aravels. Fenarel, Merrill, and Junar stayed behind, waiting for the crowd to disperse before moving toward Zoya and Pol.
"We heard you are leaving us." Junar's eyes shifted to the bow strapped to her back, "You take good care of that bow. I expect to win it back the next time we meet."
"I look forward to you trying." A wry grin twisted Zoya's face as she gripped the elf's offered hand.
Merrill fidgeted awkwardly, her eyes darting between the ground and Zoya. "I'm sorry for… well… it was nice to meet you." She stepped forward as if to take Zoya's hand, but then hastily crossed her arms and stepped away.
Fenarel strode forward to fill the space left by Merrill. "You would have been a welcome addition to the clan. Perhaps when this Blight is over… Well, you may yet choose to join us." His fingers clasped Zoya's forearm, and his other hand squeezed her shoulder, "Good hunting, lethallan."
"And to you." Zoya's fingers tightened on the hunter's forearm as she bowed her head.
Once Fenarel released her, Pol gathered her into a tight embrace. "It was good to see you again, Zoya. I hope we see each other again someday." When he pulled away, his hands found hers, "And don't forget to let everyone back at the Alienage know I'm alright. Umm… and be sure to tell Shianni I was thinking of her."
Zoya leaned in to give the young elf a quick kiss on his flushed cheek. "I hope our paths cross again, Pol. And I'll be sure to pass your message to everyone, Shianni included. It'll be in the letter I send as soon as I get to Ostagar." She offered a wink as she released his hands, "Take care of yourself, Pol."
Zoya watched the young elves stride off, her eyes shifting over the camp. Halla silently threaded between the aravels, their large eyes glistening darkly in contrast to their snowy coats. Their heads, with those magnificently curved horns, were bowed as they aligned themselves with the aravels. It seemed the Dalish were ready to move on. The wooden shells looked like they were ready to take flight, their sails ruffling like feathers in the soft morning breeze. She wondered where they would go, and hoped they'd stay well ahead of the darkspawn horde.
Duncan stood waiting for her outside the Keeper's aravel, their gear piled near his feet. While he and Marethari seemed to be deep in conversation, both shifted their gazes to her as she approached. "Are you ready to go, little magpie?"
"I think so." She offered him a lopsided smile before turning her eyes toward the elder elf. "Thank you, Keeper, for everything you've done."
The woman gripped her shoulders, "I only wish I could do more, da'len. Never forget that you were born of this clan. You still have a place with us, should you wish it."
"I'll remember. Thank you, again." Zoya stepped forward, wrapping her arms around the slender woman. The soft scent of herbs and potions mixed with wildflowers tickled Zoya's nose, and her thoughts drifted to her mother.
Marethari stiffened in surprise before her hand rose to stroke Zoya's hair, her voice hushed. "Dareth shiral, da'len."
~oOo~
Zoya glared at the parchment, her scribbled script mixed with sketches of halla and aravels and tattooed elves. Just once, she'd like the ability to put on paper exactly what she saw in her mind's eye. But then there were some images and thoughts she didn't need to share with Shianni. Maybe it was enough to describe her earlier delight in the freedoms of the Brecilian Forest and her changing impressions of the Dalish as well as pass on Pol's message. It was probably best to stick to the wonders of her new life and leave out the tragedies.
Had it really been just a matter of days since she'd danced along game trails in the forest, delighting in everything her new life had to offer? She'd no idea how much of a new life she was about to get. And now lighthearted feet had grown heavy as they'd made their way toward the ruins at Ostagar and the battle against the darkspawn horde.
Rubbing roughly at her arms, she tried to chase away the numbness settling over her. When she left the Alienage, she thought the worst of her issues, aside from guilt and loss, was her magic, how to control it and keep from hurting anyone. But there was more flowing through her than magic - the darkspawn corruption, an inherited resistance to it, and human blood. But then, only the darkspawn corruption was new – the only thing that was new about the others was her awareness of them. She'd been spending far too much time lately focused on these things, and it was starting to make her feel uncomfortable in her skin. She shook her head to chase away the roiling thoughts.
She and Duncan had spent the day trotting along the game trails as they headed south. Their pace and the uneven terrain had made conversation difficult, and even during their brief breaks, talking had been limited to just the necessities. But now that they were settled in at camp for the night, Zoya's gut churned, anxiety growing as she searched for something to say. Sneaking glances at Duncan, she set aside the parchment and picked up a pine cone, picking it apart and flicking the seed scales into the flames. She wondered if he was struggling to find words too, but his face was unreadable.
As if in response to Zoya's heavy sighs, Duncan cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling, "How heavy are your daggers, little magpie?"
"What?" Zoya quirked an eyebrow. "My daggers? I don't know… not very. Why?"
Shadows passed over his face, the fire reflecting in his dark eyes as he regarded her. "If I asked you to stand and hold them in front of you, how long do you think you could before they became too heavy to hold that way?"
She shook her head, "Where are you going with this, Duncan?"
He rose to his feet, circling the fire to sit next to her. "All of that sadness and guilt you carry with you are like those daggers. The longer you hold onto them, the heavier they become and the more it hurts you to hold onto them. Eventually you'll feel paralyzed, unable to do anything. Sometimes you just need to put them down."
"You make it sound so easy." Zoya's face twisted into a grimace, "And just how am I supposed to do that?"
Duncan wrapped a large hand around hers. "I never said it was easy. There are some things that you'll never be able to let go of." His eyes looked haunted. "But there are some weights you should never have taken on. Theron's decision to go through the mirror, the mage leaving, the bann's assault on Shianni and the other women, your mother's death - none of these things are your fault. They were actions taken by others."
Zoya frowned up at the human, "So I'm supposed to just push aside my feelings? Not let these things affect me?"
"I never said not to let these events affect you, I'm just saying not to let your feelings about them rule over you. Do you think your mother would want you to carry the burden of her death, or do you think she'd want you to celebrate her life by living your own? Do you think that for one moment, Shianni blamed you for what happened to her? No one blames you for Theron's choices. And the mage… well… I'm sure his decision had little to do with you."
"And what about the death of the bann and his cronies?" She sighed, "Or the Templars under the Chantry? Or those soldiers so long ago? I suppose I shouldn't feel bad about them either?" The bile rose in her throat and she rubbed her hands together, trying to chase away the memory of their blood, hot and sticky on her fingers.
"No, those are weights that you'll always carry with you." He sighed, staring into the fire. "You'll always wonder if you could have done something differently that would have kept those deaths from happening. But you did what you had to do to protect yourself and others. Your actions have saved so many from suffering at those men's hands. Will your guilt bring them back to life? Would you wish them back if you could?"
"No, I suppose not. I'll consider what you said." She sighed, leaning against him. He lifted his arm to wrap around her shoulder, and she snuggled in and peered up at him. "Can I ask you something? Do you believe in fate? Or that some souls are meant to be together?"
Duncan raised an eyebrow, "Hmm… you don't ask easy questions, do you? Is this coming from the memorial for Theron and Tamlen today?" He rubbed his beard as she nodded, his face relaxing as he slipped into memory. "My grandmother," he gave her a small grin, "your great grandmother, was Rivaini. You were named after her, in fact. She was a seer, communing with the spirits and working simple magic. She used to tell a story about souls." He cleared his throat, "In the beginning, our souls were complete but genderless. But we grew too powerful and destructive, so our souls were split. So that we wouldn't ever feel alone, one half was made female and the other male. When the halves found each other, they could join together and become whole again. In all honesty, I thought she was just rambling superstitious nonsense until I met your mother."
Ugh… the last thing I needed was the image of Duncan and Adaia's split souls joining to become whole. She shook her head to chase the thoughts away. I wonder how you know when you've met your other half? Maybe she could ask Duncan how he knew? No, that was probably a story she didn't want to hear. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to him. "So I was named after your grandmother? What happened to her?"
Duncan chuckled at her obvious discomfort, "She was an amazing woman – always ready with some bit of wisdom or a sarcastic remark. I remember my father once saying that the old woman's tongue was quicker than an assassin's blade. I was surprised when Adaia told me the name she chose for you, but I guess it makes sense now." His brow furrowed as he slipped into less pleasant memories, "I was young when my family died, about the same age you were when Adaia was killed. We'd been living in Val Royeaux for a year or so after leaving Highever. My father was a carpenter and had been commissioned by an Orlesian noble to craft for him. He'd sent me out on a delivery, and when I returned, our home and the workshop were in flames. I never knew what happened to them, just that they were gone and I was on my own." He shook his head sadly, "I suppose that brings us back to your earlier question about fate. Had my parents lived, I'd probably have followed in my father's footsteps. I wouldn't have been a street rat, been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, met your mother, or helped to convince King Maric to let the Wardens back into Ferelden. I spent years on the streets of Val Royeaux, and my first several months in the Wardens, cursing whatever gods had set my path. I don't know if I truly believe in destiny or fate. But if that's what ensured there were Grey Wardens here at the beginning of this Blight, brought Adaia and I together, and brought you into this world, it can't be such a bad thing, right?"
"I guess." Zoya stared into the fire, her head spinning. There were so many things that could have happened differently, and so many terrible things that led to her being born. If Duncan's family hadn't died, if he hadn't been conscripted and come to Ferelden with the Grey Wardens, if her mother hadn't escaped Tevinter and ended up in the Circle Tower, if her mother and Duncan hadn't carried on with their affair… "But it sounded to me that the Dalish think we relive the pain and tragedy of our ancestors. That doesn't seem so great to me."
"But maybe it also means that we relive their joy. Or maybe there is no destiny but what we make, or maybe life is just chaos and chance." Duncan stretched and pushed himself to his feet. He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Scholars have been trying to answer such questions for generations and haven't come up with any yet. So don't stay up too late pondering on it, little magpie. We have a long day's travel ahead of us tomorrow."
~oOo~
Duncan set a brutally efficient pace, and before the day was half gone, they found themselves on the Imperial Highway. Zoya was sad to leave the forest and for their journey together to be nearing its end. She looked wistfully toward the trees. The highway's cobbles were so much harder on her feet, and on the soft soles of her boots, than the forest floor. "How long before we get to Ostagar?"
Duncan rubbed at his beard, "If we push hard, we could get there tonight. But we'll be better off camping for the night and getting an early start tomorrow. I'd like to arrive at the encampment early in the morning. Then you'll have most of the day to prepare for the Joining with the other recruits, and we can hold the ritual before dark tomorrow."
Zoya nodded. So far, Duncan had been fairly vague regarding what the Joining entailed. But as much as she wanted to question him about it, he'd made it clear that he wouldn't tell her anything more until he needed to.
Conversation stopped as they passed their second caravan of the day, the rumble of the cart's wheels on the stone cobbles making a deafening racket. She glanced at the Warden, noticing his jaw clenching, his concern obvious. As with the first caravan they'd passed, Duncan pushed past without a word. If anything, his pace quickened.
Once they had the highway to themselves again, she spoke. "Shouldn't there be more activity on the road as we near Ostagar? These caravans seem to be smaller than the one we traveled with out of Denerim."
He offered a terse nod, "I was expecting more soldiers and supplies on the road to the encampment. But I'm not surprised – most of the nobles haven't been taking our warnings seriously. Since the archdemon hasn't shown itself, they seem to think this is just more darkspawn raids rather than a Blight. But maybe the bulk of the army is already at Ostagar and what we're seeing are just the stragglers. It has been a while since I was here last."
"But you're sure this is a Blight?" Zoya kicked a loose stone across the road, startling a game bird from the brush at its edge.
"I have no doubt." He looked away, watching the bird fly into the trees. "You'll understand after the Joining."
Zoya fought the urge to throttle him, her teeth grinding in frustration at his evasiveness. Well, she'd found yet another line of questioning that would go nowhere. "Can I ask you a non-Warden question?"
Duncan quirked an eyebrow, "You can ask anything you like."
"But you can't guarantee you'll answer, right?" She offered a wry grin. "So I was wondering about my being born among the Dalish, how that came about."
His surprise was obvious, "That's quite a change in subject, little magpie." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Hmm… let's see… where to start…" He nodded to himself, "Adaia and I were traveling through the forest when we came upon one of those mirrors in some ruins. She was injured, and during the healing, she discovered she was pregnant. As she wasn't sure who the father was, myself or Cyrion, and she sensed something she thought was darkspawn corruption within her, we decided to find her old clan and send for a Warden friend of mine-"
"I can't imagine how terrible that must have been." Zoya shook her head, "You must have been furious."
"No, I was more worried for you and Adaia than mad." His eyes were sad as he regarded her, "I knew I was in love with a married woman, Zoya. As hard as it was at times, it was something I had to accept if I wanted to be with your mother."
She nodded in understanding, "Who was this Warden?"
He frowned, "The Warden's name was Fiona. Maybe you don't remember meeting her – she came with me to the Alienage a couple of times to see Adaia when you were very young. Fiona was part of the group of Wardens that went into the Deep Roads with King Maric and I, the only other Warden from the group to survive."
Zoya frowned as she searched her memories for times when Duncan came to the Alienage with a woman. There was one time… an elf came with Duncan to the house and examined her using magic. "She was a mage – tiny, with dark hair and eyes, right?" She waited for Duncan's nod, "And why send for this Fiona?"
Duncan sighed, "She had some experience with pregnancies that had complications from the Taint. We needed someone with experience to confirm what Adaia was sensing."
"Wait! So there's another Warden offspring like me out there?" Suddenly, she felt less alone in the world. Zoya gaped at the man, "What happened to them?"
His mouth twisted into a grimace, "I thought you wanted to know about the events leading up to your birth?"
"I do, but if there's another like me out there, I'd like to hear about them." Zoya couldn't keep the excitement from creeping into her voice.
"He's like you, but not like you. I can't tell you much – it's not my story to tell." Duncan avoided her eyes, but Zoya glared at him until he finally sighed and shrugged. "Fiona gave birth to an elf-blooded boy some time after we returned from the Deep Roads, but she gave him up shortly after he was born. I've been looking out for the lad ever since."
"Does he know what he is, or has the truth been kept from him as well?" Zoya reached out, clasping Duncan's arm. "Where is he now?"
"I can only tell you that he doesn't know the entire truth, and Fiona made me vow not to tell him. As to where he is, that I can't tell you." He quirked an eyebrow, "Now would you like me to continue with the story of your birth?"
"Fine." Zoya crossed her arms, "But doesn't he have a right to know?"
"Yes, but I won't be the one to tell him." He took a deep breath, running a hand over his beard as he loosed a loud exhale, "As I was saying, we found the clan and settled in to wait for Fiona to arrive. When she did, she confirmed that Adaia's pregnancy was similar to her own. So we took took refuge among the clan until Adaia's time came. We needed some time to plan. If you were born elf, Adaia wanted to return to the Alienage, not wanting to keep you from your father. But if you were born human, things would be more complicated. We'd be a family without a home, not welcome in the Alienage or with the clan, and my duties to the Wardens couldn't be ignored."
Duncan chuckled, "I still remember that last day before she gave birth. Adaia was restless and wanted to leave the camp, but no one in the clan would allow it since she was so close to her time. I took her into the forest for a bit of exploration, looking forward to some time alone and hoping to share what I thought was a brilliant plan. I had a contact that had approached me about an old Warden stronghold, a place called Soldier's Peak. He was sure he knew how to find the fortress, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity. The Wardens would have their own stronghold again in Ferelden, and Adaia and any children we had would be safe and well cared for there. But the birth pains came before I could share my idea. You were in quite a hurry to make your way into the world."
"Well, I've never really been the patient sort." Zoya tapped at her chin, trying to remember if she'd heard anything in the old Warden tales Duncan and Adaia had shared or if she'd read anything in Valendrian's old books. "I've never heard of Soldier's Peak."
"No one alive has – it's been lost and forgotten since the Wardens were chased out of Ferelden. We tried to reach it a few times, but there's a maze of sorts that makes it impossible to get to." Duncan retrieved his flask, taking a long swig before offering it to Zoya. When she declined, he stowed it away again. "So I rushed Adaia back to the camp and was chased off by Marethari, Fiona and Adaia. It felt like I paced for hours, all of the nightmares I'd been having for weeks about everything that could go wrong swirling in my head, before someone finally came to bring me to the aravel."
A smile settled on his face as he slipped into the memory, "Your mother looked so happy, so beautiful, as she held you swaddled in her arms. I was terrified when she asked me if I wanted to hold you. I remember thinking my hands had never seemed so big and clumsy as they did at that moment, so rough that that they caught on the blanket. You were so small that I could hold you in one hand, not that I would have since you were squirming and wiggling so much. You were so perfect, like a tiny copy of your mother."
Duncan's words made Zoya even more furious with her mother. Just seeing his face as he shared this memory broke her heart. But Adaia had looked at him holding her and let him believe she was Cyrion's child. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but why did you stick around once you realized I was an elf? I mean, I'm so glad you did, but..." Her voice trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
He loosed a heavy sigh, his eyes fixed on a point ahead of him on the road. "From the moment Adaia told me about the pregnancy, I knew there was a chance you weren't my child, but I'd hoped you were. And there was a moment after I saw those pointy little ears that I considered leaving. What place would I have in either of your lives once Adaia returned to the Alienage?" He rested a hand on her arm, bringing their march to a halt, his dark eyes gazing into hers, "But you started screaming, arms and legs flailing as if you knew what I was thinking. I looked down at your little pink face, your eyes clenched shut and mouth wide as you howled, and my heart melted. I couldn't imagine a world without you and Adaia in it. When I held you, and you quieted as you snuggled into me, I knew I was lost. I promised you, promised Adaia, that I would always be there for you both. I only wished I'd kept my promise-"
Zoya's throat clenched as she stared at Duncan. This was her father - holding a screaming infant and feeling only love. His acceptance of her had always been unconditional, and his treatment of her had been nothing but patient, supportive, and compassionate. He could be a bit gruff and stern at times, but she knew the gentle man beneath it. Duncan's eyes dropped to focus on a spot between their feet, and she lunged at him, throwing her arms around his waist. As his arms wrapped around her, she felt safe, letting the tears flow as he stroked her hair.
She pulled away enough to look up at him, and he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I don't think you broke your promise. Even when you weren't there, I knew you cared. Besides… you saved me from being executed, and you're here now."
His dark eyes glittered as he bent to kiss her forehead. The rumble of the caravan's cart vibrated in her ears and she hastily pulled away. Duncan gave her a questioning look, and she nodded in the direction of the approaching cart. "It's hard to believe that by this time tomorrow, we'll be in Ostagar. I guess I'll have to start calling you Commander. And I'll have to remember not to hug you or weep into your cuirass." She offered a sheepish grin.
He chuckled, gesturing for her to continue along the highway. "It's probably best if we keep any affection out of sight of the others in camp – it's likely to be misinterpreted. Some of the Senior Wardens will undoubtedly recognize you, even though they haven't seen you since you were a child. But you don't need to call me Commander. As there are only a couple dozen Wardens under my command, and some of them have been with me since before I had a fancy title, we're not so formal. Alistair, the most recent addition to our order, just calls me Duncan, and that should be fine for you too." He ran a hand roughly over his beard, "That reminds me… There's something we need to talk about before we get to Ostagar."
"Well, that sounds ominous." Zoya raised an eyebrow as she gave him a sideways look.
Duncan shrugged, "Only if you make it so." He took a deep breath, "The Wardens have a tradition that the newest member of the order accompanies the recruits as they prepare for the Joining. As I just mentioned, our newest Warden is a lad named Alistair. He's been part of the order for about six months."
Zoya raised an eyebrow as she regarded him, "I'm not sure if I understand why I would find this a problem-"
"I'm hoping it won't be." Duncan tugged at the hoop in his ear as he considered his next words, "You actually met Alistair once when you were much younger. You'd accompanied me to the palace to help find King Cailan's puppies. Do you remember that?" He waited for her nod before he continued. "There was a boy who had gone missing and you found him in the kennels while you were waiting for me."
"Oh… I remember him!" Her hand pressed against her chest, "That was the night you gave me this necklace. He was hiding in the kennels, and he told me his name was…ummm… Tomas, I think. They were sending him away and he was miserable about it." She couldn't remember much else about him except that he'd had the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen on a human. The brief surge of excitement she'd felt at the memory of the boy changed quickly to guilt. She'd told Duncan where to find him knowing he didn't want to be found. "Andraste's flaming ass! Does he know I turned him in? I always wondered what happened to him – he was getting sent to the Chantry, right? Did they still make him go there?"
"I don't think he realized it was you who told me where to find him. I can be pretty wily when I need to be." He offered her a wry grin, "Unfortunately, he was sent to the Chantry. He was there until I conscripted him…just before he was to take vows."
"I thought only women could become priests?" Zoya had never bothered to learn much about Chantry organization. All she'd needed to know was that it was dangerous for anyone at the Chantry to learn about her magic or they'd send their cursed Templars after her. She'd never heard of an elf who was a priest or who went to the Chantry to worship. Cyrion and the other faithful in the Alienage met at each other's homes to pray. And there was only one priest, Mother Boann, who ever bothered to come to the Alienage.
"There are brothers, and some of them take vows devoting themselves to the Maker." Zoya could see him tense as he took a deep breath, "But Alistair was training to become a Templar-"
"By the Void! You can't be serious!" Zoya gaped at the man, "I'm going to have a Templar looming over me until the Joining?"
"He's not a Templar – he never took his vows – he's a Grey Warden." Duncan pinned her with a stern look, "And yes, Alistair will be your companion as you prepare for the Joining and for a period afterward as you learn what it means to be a Warden."
Zoya crossed her arms, scowling at Duncan. "Even if I was willing to go along with this, how do I know he won't smite me the first chance he gets?" How could she ever trust a Templar to watch her back? No, he was far more likely to take her down while she was distracted by darkspawn. "I can't imagine he's going to be happy about having to work with an apostate-"
"Just like he's not a Templar, you're no longer an apostate." It was now the Commander that strode the highway at her side, his voice steely and his posture unyielding. "You're both Grey Wardens. Alistair knows his duty is to the order, and will do as I command. I expect no less from you. Is that understood?"
It was useless to argue with Duncan when he had that resolute look in his eyes. Her gut churned as she offered a curt salute, and she swallowed hard. "As you wish, Commander." Any desire to reach Ostagar fled like rats from a fire. She had to trust in Duncan's assessment of those under his command, but that didn't mean that she had to trust this Warden, even if he used to be just a sad boy with pretty eyes.
A/N - Thank you to my readers and reviewers. And much love to my beta, Eve Hawke, and my beta sister, Etaine M. If you haven't done it already, please check out my oneshot, The King's Pups, for the story of Duncan and Zoya's rescue of King Maric's pups and Zoya and Alistair's first meeting (referenced in this chapter). Also, be sure to check out Chapter 1 of this story - I've revamped it, adding a new scene. And keep an eye out for the next oneshot, Wolf's Dawn, which should be posted soon. I've been pretty hard on Adaia and her decision to mislead Duncan about Zoya's paternity, so I figured it was only fair to let her share her side of the story ;)