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In a great crumbling keep, a lone elvhen sat at a heavy wooden desk, reading a scant few letters and parchments that decorated it. Despite what one would expect to hear in a fortress of this size, made to house hundreds or even thousands in time of troubles, it was completely silent. Only the occasional rustle of clothing sounded whenever the elvhen moved every few minutes, picking up a new report or reaching for the ever-dwindling cup of wine.
Resting on a stand just behind the elvhen, a stand of similar height wore a once ornate, but now well used and battered set of armour. It still had a shine to it, clearly well maintained, and resting on its own stand before it was a large sword, the tip resting between the boots and the pommel reaching to rest just bellow the chin of the full-faced helm. It gave off the impression of a warrior putting away their arms but keeping them present as a reminder of where they came from.
That wasn’t too far from the truth, not anymore.
But there was once a time when that armour was new.
-
“Put that helmet on, it might keep you alive.” Duncan said, then picked up a heavy breastplate of the table.
Lyna struggled to find a comfortable way to wear it but given that she all but belong to the man now she did not want to anger him, especially given that he had life and death powers over her. Eventually she found a way to wear it that was only slightly uncomfortable. Lyna also knew that it likely meant she could almost pass for a human, especially if the extensive tattooing on her body wasn’t visible.
“How does it fit?” Duncan asked her, standing nearby holding the breastplate.
“Its fine.” Lyna said with a heavy accent. She was already wearing a mail shirt, which the breastplate Duncan was holding would sit over.
“Good, now for the final piece. If its too heavy let me know, and we will figure something else out.”
The Grey Warden helped her get into the final piece of armour, showing her how to tie everything together, keep her weapons attached to her belt and make sure she had the manoeuvrability to access them at short notice.
Standing in full armour, in a camp containing an army of them, Lyna felt disturbingly like a human. Or rather, at least that somehow, they were trying to domesticate her into one. Back with her clan, she had always said along with her clan-mates that she would choose death before slavery any day, unlike their city-elf counterparts. Now though, she was conscripted into one of their orders, dressing in their armour with their weapons preparing for their war.
Lyna hid behind the fact that technically once she underwent the joining, she would be a full, equal member of the order. In name at least, as she was not foolish enough to believe humans would truly follow her.
“Look at you, you already look like a fully fledged Warden!” Duncan had exclaimed once she was fully dressed, with a kind grin on his face.
Lyna saw it differently though.
“You mean I no longer look like Dalish.” She said with defeat.
She thought of what she would look like mournfully, would her clan still recognise her? If she had seen someone dressed as she was wandering their forests, she would have put an arrow in them before they even knew she was there. Maybe two arrows if she was quick enough.
-
Lyna managed to hold back a sigh, letting the the parchment down just as it had done to her. She had hoped it would give her some sort of goal, a direction, maybe even a sighting of darkspawn she could work upon. Instead, it was nothing of consequence, only talking about a possible sighting of ‘ill creatures’ made by a unreliable source who once mistook a bear for an a great darkspawn mutation. Were it possible, she would send some of the lesser members of her order to at least investigate.
Were it even a few years ago, Lyna would have had members to spare, but now…now the castle was empty, except a lone elvhen and a great deal of undrunk wine. Her Wardens had died, left or succumbed to the fate that awaited all those who drank the tainted blood. Those none-wardens who had once resided here had done one of those first two. Most were able to stomach living and serving an elf when she was the head of a prestigious order, but not one who haunted ruins like a wraith.
Now Lyna’s last link to the rest of the world was a messenger that would pass through every week, though this could fluctuate if there was more or less news to be delivered. Lyna would only leave the ruin herself once a month, to retrieve enough supplies to last her until the next one.
Occasionally a family would be travelling, moving to start a new life for themselves, and would stop at the castle for refuge, thinking it abandoned. Sometimes she would reveal herself to them, sometimes she wouldn’t, usually the later after a pair of children burst into tears at her appearance on a particularly stormy night.
What Lyna would give to go back to the old days…
-
The party travelled fast, much quicker than Lyna had ever thought Shemlen were capable of. She had been learning a lot about her round eared friends recently, perhaps they weren’t quiet as bad as they were told around the clan. Morrigan, the mage whose fashion choice was…interesting, taught Lyna that there were humans who appreciated nature, privacy and their own old ways nearly as much as the Dalish did.
Alistair was the first of them that she had met and learning he had once been a Templar had been a bitter, no, poisonous pill to swallow. Still, he had never being anything but polite, kind and brave, showing a nobleness she thought didn’t exist in humans. Lyna also acknowledged that his time in the Templar’s was not one he was proud or happy of, and that the Chantry employed less than respectable methods for controlling that militant branch.
Sten was simple. He fought, he acknowledged his wrongs and worked to better himself, and even better his kind didn’t have such a fraught history with her people that the humans did. She didn’t know if she would consider him a friend, but she had no personal issue to travelling with him.
Zevran was a different case. Lyna found that he was irritating, overly forward and unable to silence himself even at the most inappropriate of times. Still though, he hadn’t betrayed them yet, and given their meeting and background, that was some sort of achievement, she guessed.
The two that had the biggest impact on Lyna though, were the two currently taking up the front and rear of the party.
At the front was their de-facto leader, Emilie Cousland. She had been picked up by Duncan not long before she had and had come to their camp with him when Lyna had taken the trip into the cursed cave. She was some daughter of a high ranking noble, she had been in grieving when they had first met, and Lyna had not wanted to be around any Shemlen at the time, especially one of their great nobles who was an emotional mess at the time. Were it not for her clear skill with arms, Lyna reckoned she wouldn’t have ever being able to form some sort of connection with her.
Unlike Lyna, she hadn’t been conscripted, hadn’t begged to stay in her home, though it was hardly an option for her. Emilie had needed somewhere to go, anything to occupy her thoughts, and serving in this new order was her ticket to purpose. Lyna would never admit it, but she thought that was she ever to fight Emilie to the death, she wasn’t sure she would win, the women’s drive and skill surpassed even her own. A worthy leader, and Lyna didn’t feel guilty or ashamed to be following her, even if she was a human.
Then, last but certainly not least, was Leliana. A woman who, by all accounts, Lyna should despise. A chantry sister near fanatic in her devotion, both to her faith and belief in the order itself, she had even tried to convert Lyna to their corrupt faith. It was born out of ignorance rather than malice, but Lyna’s first impression of her had not being a good one, thinking she was a fool walking to her death by following them.
But then, things began to change, pasts were unveiled. Lyna learned why she had a voice, an accent so different to the other humans around her, one so…musical. She was a bard from some place called Orlais, and that had initially meant a lot more the other humans of the part than it had to Lyna. To her, especially in those early days, a Shemlen was a Shemlen, whether from near or far. Or course, Lyna had quickly learned that a bard was a lot more than she was led to believe, originally thinking it to be some sort of human story-teller equivalent.
Watching the beautiful redhead was something Lyna found herself doing more and more, without thinking about it most of the time. Sometimes she would sing while travelling, or while they were sitting in camp for the night, and Lyna would listen while trying to commit the words to memory. How someone could remember so many songs was a mystery to her, and it occurred to her perhaps bards weren’t too dissimilar to story-tellers.
Sometimes Leliana would ask for stories from her own people, asking whether they had songs of their own to go with them. Lyna would blush while trying to recite them to Leliana, and listen rapt while the bard echoed them, sounding better despite singing in a language she didn’t understand. An ear for tone, she would shake off, but Lyna thought it was its own kind of magic.
-
Lyna leaned back in her chair, eyes closed as she brought her hands up to massage her temples. The edges of tattoo’s were visible now that her sleeves were pulled down, though she had long learned to keep them concealed in human settlements. Even so much time spent around them, she knew they would never fully be comfortable around an elf, especially a Dalish. Were it not for the Grey Warden’s sigil on her armour, Lyna reckoned she would be even more shunned than she was.
A part of her, deep down and well hidden, hated Emelie. Lyna had worshiped the ground she walked on like the rest of them, but when she died, heroically sacrificing herself to save Thedas, she had damned Lyna. Emelie would have been a better Warden Commander, a far better one, one who wouldn’t be sat alone in an old ruin forgotten by those from her past. Emelie had been dead for over a decade, and statues had been raised in her honour, commissioned by her other former-friend Alistair.
Lyna had been forced to pick up the pieces of their order, and all that remained of them in Ferelden at the time of their final ‘victory’ was herself and Loghain. Initially there was a recruitment ‘surge’, where nearly two dozen had volunteered for the order. Ten had survived, with the taint or her own blade killing the rest during the joining process. Some had being reluctant to serve under an elvhen, but that wasn’t an issue for a while.
It hadn’t been much, but it was enough to start their chapter of the order, and for every fully fledged order member there were three more attendants. Alistair had used his newfound royal authority to bolster initial support, though over time the burden of kingship had meant that support wavered.
It had been over a year since Lyna received a letter from him, and while it stung, it hurt nowhere near as much as another’s absence.
Leliana’s last letter had been five years and eighty-two days ago, and it had been nothing special, just the usual checkup, talking about missing her and promising to visit Lyna should she be around.
It was a lie.
-
My dear Lyna,
My travels to Orlais have been most fruitful, and while I know you care little for the chantry, I can hardly contain my excitement.
Remember how I spoke about the new Revered Mother?
Well, she has taken me under her wing, finding use for the skills I was once so ashamed of. Not even the chantry is immune to politics, if anything so many life-time appointments only encourage it, especially if they seek to rise to any meaningful position. She see’s what I can accomplish if given a noble goal, and that is something that no one has been able to provide for me.
Excepting Emilie of course, she bought out the best in all of us.
There is another serving here, her name is Cassandra, and she’s from Nevarra. Actually, she is from its ruling house, and she is cursed with a infliction that no one could cure…that of a terrible name. Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast is not a fate I would wish upon anyone, Lyna, but she manages to handle it well. I would avoid saying with grace, as there is little grace to her, fist of steel even you would be envious of.
However, that’s enough about me for now, I don’t wish to fill the page with what I am sure you will call ‘mindless drabble’ when next we meet. I hope that will be soon, infact I promise it, as the revered mother has already confirmed my duties will leave me free to travel. Actually, she highly suggested that it would be what I spent a great deal of time doing, at least until the initial networks are complete.
What is the name of the castle you now hold court in, Vigil's Keep I believe?
I jape of course, for I know you are grinding those sharp teeth of yours at reading this.
Alas, I am running out of page here, so for now all I can say is adieu, and that I cannot wait to see you again.
I will see you soon,
Leliana
-
A fucking lie.
While Lyna had been waiting, watching her order slowly dwindle down, she had learned from Alistair that Leliana had been in Denerim several times over the years, and not once had she visited her. What was worse, Leliana was impossible to contact, likely through her own choice. Anything Lyna wanted to say to her, she couldn’t, and for a while she sat waiting like a lovesick puppy, waiting for any word from her distant bard.
For a few years Lyna was sad, then she was angry, then she mourned. Now, Lyna drank more than she could have ever imagined herself doing in the past. The absence of anyone to stop her now only made it worse.
Sometimes, Lyna would look out of one of the ruins many windows, at the road that was always empty and trailed off beyond how far she could see. Sometimes, Lyna wondered what kept her tied to this ruin, why not leave, why not join the rest of her order in Orlais?
Fear was the answer, fear of humans, or the ghosts of her past, of once familiar faces not recognising her anymore.
Lyna had faced hordes of darkspawn, stood up against and beside human armies, lead a militant order for years, and yet…
She was afraid.
-
“Lyna! Come, sit with the rest of us, I doubt we will be attacked here of all places!” Emilie said, a wide smile as she carefully guided the reluctant elf by the arm. Despite being the tallest of all of them, excepting Sten of course, Lyna seemed small in the crowded room. People, humans, laughed and drank and swore everywhere one looked, all while a pair of nimble barmaids weaved through them delivering drinks.
“Are all human gathering so…” Lyna watched a man throw up in the corner, while his drinking fellows cheered, “…vulgar?”
Emilie continued to guide her to the table where their party had set up, and glanced over at the mess with a grimace, “Well, I must admit that such sights are not too uncommon even at the feasts my father use to hold.”
A shadow passed over her face at the mention of her father, but she quickly shook it off as they took a seat.
Lyna took a seat and reached for a cup, only to grimace as she smelled its contents, “You would never catch any of my people drinking something so vile. It smells like its not even fit for the animals and turns you humans into such when you consume it.”
Sten had about a dozen empty tankards in front of him and was currently finishing another as he placed it down with a thud, “The Qun are made of stronger stuff that humans.” Even as he said this, his voice was less controlled than it usually was, causing a soft chuckle to come from Lyna’s right.
“It appears even a Qun can be felled if one brings mead before them.” Leliana said, and Lyna quickly turned in her seat to face her. The bard held two different looking cups, with a thin stem separating the foot and bowl.
“Try this, Oh wild one, I think you will find its suits a much more refined palette.” She said, taking one of Lyna’s hands and placing a cup into it, causing the elf to flush slightly.
“What is it?” She asked, bringing it to her nose. It smelled slightly of fruit, but the bitterness still made her face crease slightly. Meanwhile, Alistair apparently got it into his head he could beat Sten in an arm wrestle, and Emelie was clearing off that side of the table to save the hurried barmaids from yet another mess to clear.
“Its another type of human drink called wine, my friend. In fact, my home of Orlais is where the best of its type originate from. Please, try the drink of my homelands, for me?” She said it with a slight tilt of her head that left Lyna defenceless and Emelie laughing at her because of it.
Steeling herself, Lyna attempted to copy how she saw some of the humans drinking and brought the cup to her lips and poured it all down in one go. The taste was sharp, but no where near as bad as the over drink had seemed, and while she still gagged, she didn’t feel poisoned…yet.
Leliana tutted at her, “No, no! That’s not how you do it at all, here, watch me.” With great theatrics the bard raised her own glass to her lips, gently taking a sip while maintaining eye contact with Lyna, and by the ancestors if that didn’t make her feel…something.
“Your go.” Leliana said, lowering the glass that was barely any emptier as she offered it to Lyna, and the elvhen took it with a gulp that had nothing to do with the full glass she had just had.
This time when she drank it, it went down a lot smoother, though whether this was because she enjoyed it or because Leliana was staring at her intensely, she didn’t know.
-
Looking at the cup now sitting on her own desk, she could say with some certainty that all her experiences of drinking could in some way be tied back to that cursed bard. That cursed, beautiful, musical bard. Lyna let out yet another sigh and pushed her chair back, finally standing with only a slight sway, the tiredness and alcohol working in tandem to punish her.
She walked over the full-sized mirror that stood in the corner of the room, given the office also served as her living quarters. It meant she only ever had to keep one room lit and heated, and that she could go a few days at a time without even leaving the room, and when she did leave it was to go to the pantry to collect more food and drink.
She took in her appearance, and as usual was unimpressed with what she saw. The tunic covered what she thought were her best features which was the extensive Vallaslin, tattoo as the humans called them, across her back and abdomen. All that could be seen was too pale skin, tired forest green eyes, black hair that was beginning to get dangerously light in places and enough small scars and marks to be found in a small field hospital.
The worse was by far the one that had nearly split her face in twain, starting below her left eye and cutting diagonally down, through both her lips at the edge and leaving a permanent valley across them. Were she to ever try to kiss anyone, which she wouldn’t, they it would likely feel very uncomfortable for both of them.
She looked over to her sword now, and Lyna wondered if she could still wield it the way she used to. There was a time she could swing it for hours, in battle, in full armour, and at the end of the day she could still probably fight another small spar with Sten of Emilie. Now though, she doubted she could last in a true battle for very long. Lyna was out of shape, plain and simple, too much time sitting, not eating and then throwing up half of what she did eat due to the drink.
Still, she would keep drinking.
It was the only effective way to deal with the whispers.
The shadows.
The taints.
All Grey Warden’s heard the calling, it was to be the fate of all who joined their order, and with no one to lean on for over a year, and no one to truly rely on for nearly a decade, Lyna knew her time was coming.
Would anyone even notice, she wondered, if she fell right here and now. Would some poor wanderer discover her as some twisted darkspawn and put her out of her misery. Maybe she would leave a note before that happened and begin to make her way to the deep roads to go out fighting. Maybe she would make it and die in what was the worst place she had ever been, a place that still haunted her dreams. Or maybe, she would fall on the way, and become another twisted thing roaming the countryside until it was put down.
Alistair might hear of it, if she turned in this castle. Then once it was clear, he might pass it on to one of his loyal noble supporters, and her place here would be forgotten in no time. If she passed in the deep roads, or even on the path to them, then its likely not even he would hear of it.
If Alistair never heard of it, then Lyna was certain Leliana wouldn’t. Though, she was apparently already forgotten to her, so what did it matter. Maybe Lyna should walk to the nearest human village and encourage her own fall, just to spite them and Alistair and Thedas as a whole.
Anything was better than this current existence, Lyna thought, looking at her own dim visage and gear that was now too good for her.
How much worse could it get? Why not let it all end?
After all…who would care?