Work Text:
You are in Denerim to visit your old friend Valendrian in the alienage on your way to Ostagar. You decide that you will not play coy with him. You are here for recruits just as much as you are to catch up. The situation is growing dire in southern Ferelden. There are even whispers a new Blight is upon the country.
There are other places you could have gone to find recruits. Better places, some Wardens might have argued. For a moment, you did consider traveling to Highever or Orzammar instead. There you would have found recruits flushed with nobility. You asked yourself if, in an Order comprised largely of one-time criminals born-anew, good breeding made better Wardens. You thought hard on the matter before you considered your own origins as a recruit. According to that line of thinking, you never should have made it as high as Warden-Commander. No, strong bloodlines aren’t enough. You confirmed your decision to go to Denerim.
As you pass through the alienage gates, the smell of rotting waste and stagnant water tickles your nose. You notice that the houses – a generous term for these shacks – are no longer built with sturdy lumber, but with cheap, splintering wood. Several are dilapidated to the brink of collapse, yet you notice that families are still living in them. Weeds poke through the scattered and slipshod cobblestone. Though the setting is different, you are reminded intensely of the Val Royeaux alley you once called home as a child. It stops you in your tracks.
To your right, you notice a beggar wrapped in scraps of thin cotton. They cling to his ribs in such a way that you can see how emaciated he is with each rise and fall of his breath. He holds out a skeletal arm and asks you for money. You hand him the ten silvers in your pocket without hesitation. He takes them without much gratitude and you wish you had more to give, but you remember a time when you would have stolen from this man instead. It is enough to remind you of the time and place and you continue toward the alienage center.
Before you can locate Valendrian, you are approached by two young elves. The male elf has a shock of red hair and, although you sense that parts of him are bold, he defers to his companion. You later learn that his name is Soris and the female elf is his cousin Tabris, but for now you are just in awe of the nimble-witted, silver-tongued elf in front of you. The mischievous glint in her eye reminds you so much of yourself when you were young that you feel a nostalgic pang in your heart. She asks you to leave quietly so as not to disturb today’s wedding celebrations. The request drips with diplomacy and intelligence. She is nothing like you were. You never knew the diplomatic approach. The pang in your heart becomes one of regret.
Valendrian appears before you can further your line of inquiry with the pair. He explains to them who you are and you see Tabris’s expression change from distrust to one of sudden interest. The Grey Wardens are only a myth to her and she is hungry to know more. You want to tell her everything right then, but you can’t ignore Valendrian. He sends them on their way and leads you to his house. You nod congenially and follow your old friend, but your eyes remain on the charismatic elf whispering fiercely with her cousin.
Inside, you listen politely as Valendrian tells you about the past few years. He describes the problems of the alienage and his failed attempts at working with Denerim officials.
“Human and elf relations are worse here than ever before, Duncan. Our youth are angrier and more disrespectful than any before them. As for the humans, I almost wish they were still trying to drive us out. Now they just treat us as if we are their property and then dispose of us when they are done. Take today as an example. Two couples are scheduled to marry. It is supposed to be a day for joy and mirth, something we don’t have much of around here, mind you. Then, suddenly, the Arl of Denerim’s son and his repugnant lackeys showed up in the center of the alienage and started making uncouth demands of the young women. I was afraid that Cyrion Tabris’s daughter was going to come to blows with him until Shianni went and knocked him unconscious with a bottle.”
Valendrian’s story piques your interest, though not for the reason he probably intends. You want to know more about Cyrion Tabris’s daughter. The more you hear, the more you are sure she is the kind of recruit you have been looking for. You want to know everything. You want to be fully convinced. You try to affect your former roguish charm, but it has been too long and you are obvious when you ask Valendrian about her.
“So that is the reason for your visit, Duncan. And here I thought you just missed your dear old friend.” You motion to protest as Valendrian speaks, but he stays your hand and continues. “Come now, don’t worry any more about sparing an old man. The rumors of a new Blight have already reached even me. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were here to find recruits. You always did have a soft spot for the scrappy ones.”
The corners of your mouth twist as if you wish what he said wasn’t true, even though you are relieved he has cut the chase for you. A part of you does wish you here just to see a friend, that the time could allow for such a pleasure. A part of you also wishes that you did not need to be recruiting Wardens at all. At times, you feel like nothing more than a glorified executioner. The faces of all the recruits who did not make it through the Joining are etched in your mind. Squandered lives lying crumpled in agony at your feet, all wearing the same look of accusation mixed with betrayal. You were supposed to deliver them to a higher calling, not this wretched death. You imagine this expression on Tabris’s lifeless face. Your eagerness to recruit her is suddenly tempered.
Valendrian continues, “I am not sure how much you want to know. Cyrion’s child is so full of life, but she is wild and reckless. She takes so much after her late mother. Adaia managed to pass on her dagger skills and silver-tongue before she was killed when Tabris was still young.”
Visions of your own late mother flicker through your mind. You recall the tanned richness of her Rivaini skin and the smell of enticing spices that always seemed to accompany her presence. She had an expansive, reassuring smile that made you feel like you could crawl into it and be safe from the world. Losing your father had hurt, but it was losing your mother that pushed you over the edge and into the seedy alleys of Val Royeaux.
Your attention returns to the present when you hear a shift in Valendrian’s tone. “But, Duncan, there is something you must know. She is getting married today, to a young man named Nelaros.”
Your heart stops.
You think of the dagger strapped to your left shoulder. You remember the sound it made when it clattered harmlessly to the ground after you knocked it from Guy’s hands. You remember the look of panic on his face when you brought your third-rate dagger to his throat. He made to dive for his weapon. You didn’t expect the movement and you reacted before you could think. The next sound you heard was a body slumping to the ground. You had never seen blood redder than the blood pouring from Guy’s corpse. You had never killed a man before and you hadn’t wanted to then, not over a ring. When they came to arrest you, you were still standing there mesmerized by the color. Deep sobs brought home the gravity of what you had done. You looked up to see Guy’s fiancé wracked with grief. “Why?” she asked as they led you from the room. Excuses long dead on your tongue, all you could muster was, “I was hungry.”
No, you will not come between another marriage. You will have to find someone else to recruit. You start to ask Valendrian about Shianni, but you are interrupted by a knock on the door. It is time for the ceremony and Valendrian’s presence is needed. You thank him for the invitation to attend, but elect to stay where you are out of respect for Tabris’s earlier request. You also want the time to collect yourself. Today has affected you in a way you were unprepared for. You thought you’d buried these ghosts long ago.
You attempt to clear your mind, but instead you are plagued by a familiar question: Why did she conscript me? You had been found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. As you were marched toward the executioner, you had accepted your fate almost with a sense of relief. Living on the streets was a hard way of life and you were relieved to be done with it finally, relieved to be joining your mother instead. No one was more surprised than you when Guy’s fiancé, Genevieve, stood up and invoked the Right of Conscription. Rightfully so, she had thus far only looked at you with loathing and disdain. What made her, a senior Warden, suddenly wish to conscript you, a miserable criminal, into the ranks of her beloved Grey Wardens?
You asked Genevieve that question once, many years after your conscription. Her face drew somber and her forehead knitted in as she thought. Finally, she had said, “I do not know if there is one simple answer. The cruel part of me that wanted vengeance thought an execution was too quick and clean. That part hoped you would die horribly during the Joining or at the hands of darkspawn. The better part of me saw that you were just a lonely boy left to live on nothing but your talent for survival. I had seen enough to know that there are good men and bad men, and then there are some men who need a second start to find out who they really are.”
You were grateful for her answer, but it did not sate your question. She had the added benefit of hindsight and clarity from the emotions of the time. You still do not know exactly what made Genevieve stand up that day. You wonder if you would have had the grace to do the same if you were in her position.
The sound of screaming protests disrupts your introspection. From where you are, you cannot see the alienage center, but you know that it is the arl’s son come to enact revenge for Shianni’s actions. Men like him can never stand to be made a fool by being denied what they want. You burst from Valendrian’s home and race to the commotion, but you are too late. Vaughan and his friends have taken all the young females back to his estate, including Tabris. You notice that everyone is hanging their heads and shifting their feet. It is the body language of defeat. They have come to accept their mistreatment without a fight.
“Won’t someone do something?” you implore.
You look to Valendrian but he just sadly shakes his head as if to say “See, this is the trouble I was talking about earlier.”
A shopkeeper scoffs at your question, “What’s the point? The Denerim guards won’t do anything, and if we try to go after them, then they’ll just kill us. If we do as he says and just keep quiet, he’ll return the women tomorrow.”
Doing nothing feels untenable to you. Surely someone else feels the same. You turn to see hot, furious tears streaming down Soris’s face. His fists are clenched and quaking at his sides. He seems rooted in place by his anger and indecision. It is clear that bravery is not very natural to Soris, but you hoped more of Tabris had rubbed off on him. Next to Soris, you see Nelaros heating up with rage. Indecision has no holds on him as he proceeds to lambast the others for refusing to act. This rant appears to shake Soris from his hesitation and inspire him to action. They will go, they declare, and your heart swells with gratitude for these two young elves.
You supply them each with a sword and suggest they enter as inconspicuously as possible through the servant’s quarters. You think about giving them a third sword for Tabris, for you know she will be the first to break free from her captors, but Soris and Nelaros are inexperienced and you can tell they are already weighed down by the unfamiliar weight of their own swords. You are not a pious man by any stretch of the word, but you say a quick prayer to Andraste as you watch the pair scramble off. If divine intervention exists, they need it.
The passing of time has never felt so slow to you. You knew the wait would be long, but you didn’t know it would feel tortuous. Every time you hear footsteps, you look up in hopeful anticipation, but each time it is only a disinterested passerby. The day begins to grow late and you are aware that you should be on the road to Ostagar soon. In your head, you try to determine the latest possible moment you can leave and still make it there by the time King Cailan expects you. There is no longer time to stop for recruits, but the other Wardens will have to understand the circumstances.
Finally, the hour comes when must leave for Ostagar. You wish you could stay long enough to see everyone through, but your duties as Warden-Commander must come first. You go to Valendrian’s home to bid him farewell. You know that Wardens are supposed to refrain from getting involved in politics, but you can’t help but promise him that you will do something about the condition of the alienage once these darkspawn are put down. Just as you are about to embrace, you hear shouts by the gate. All of the sudden, you and Valendrian are running.
When you reach the source of the noise, you see Soris, Shianni, and Tabris standing in triumph. Your eyes catch on Tabris. She is drenched in enough blood to soak a battlefield. Valendrian asks what happened, but you do not need to hear the answer to know that it was Tabris who cut through Vaughan and his lackeys like a butcher. It will not be long until the guards come for her. The murder of an arl’s son means certain death, even if he was a detestable man. The others begin to panic at the grim fate awaiting Soris and Tabris, but Tabris appears emotionless. It is only now that you realize Nelaros is not with them.
Before you can propose conscription, a platoon of guards marches through the alienage gate and silences their conversation. They demand to know who is responsible for the river of red flowing from the Arl of Denerim’s house. You see Soris wince and quiver, afraid to face his reckoning.
“I am,” Tabris steps forward with confidence. “Vaughan threatened me and my friends, so I killed him. He deserved to die.”
The guards hesitate to accept that she acted alone, but it is clear that Vaughan was also disliked among the guard and they are impressed with Tabris’s courage. They are willing to bring in only her as a compromise of sorts. Someone must die for this, they explain. But you know better and you step forward to invoke the Right of Conscription. This is not how you envisioned gaining your recruit today, but you are pleased to offer an alternative to certain death.
Tabris seems startled by your interjection. She looks to Soris and then to her father, and you can tell she is on the verge of tears. Conscription may not mean execution, but it still means leaving her family. You had not expected such a display of emotion from her. You realize that she was allowed to foster more of a heart than you ever were. You have been recruiting long enough to know that curtness is best in these situations.
You bark at her, “You’re with me now. Say your goodbyes and see me when you’re ready. We leave immediately.”
She jumps at your voice and then complies. You watch as she says a tearful goodbye to her father and cousin. She pulls a bloodied wedding ring from her pocket, rubs it clean, and then slips it on her finger. She is ready to go, she tells you, and you are out the gate as fast as you can go. You have a hard journey ahead to make it to Ostagar in time. You notice that she does not give the alienage a second look back.
As you walk, you study Tabris. You feel again how much she reminds you of your younger self. She is deceitfully charming, nimble, and deadly with a dagger. A survivor. Still, the comparison feels incomplete. There is something else about her that renders her foreign. There is a nobility in her that you never had. She cut through the entire guard of an arl’s estate to protect her friends. You killed a man over an engagement ring. She is better than you. You hope that you have the chance to see what she becomes.
Few words pass between you most of the journey. You expect her to harbor lingering feelings of grief at leaving her home, but the only expression she wears is one of awe as she takes in the sights around her. You realize that she was likely never left the alienage before and this must feel like discovering a whole new world to her. You remember feeling the same when you first started out and you are content to let her marvel in peace. Then, somewhere near Lothering, your inquisitiveness gets the better of you.
“I can’t help but notice that you’re wearing the wedding ring.” The question comes out louder and more sudden than you intend.
She appears startled, but then looks down to stare at the ring for a long moment before hardening her face and answering in a resolute tone, “Yeah, I am. I figure I’ll wear it as a reminder that I belong to no one but myself.”
“Did you love him?” You do not mean to ask this. Usually, you are never so personal, but you have been biting back this question for a while now. Whatever her answer, it will be of no consequence to you or the situation. You know this, yet still you cannot help but want to inquire.
“No,” she answers bluntly. Then she pauses and her face softens. “But I might have. I deserved the chance to find out.”
You nod quietly, knowing there was nothing to be said in return to this. Especially, from you, the great thief of “might have beens.”
When you look again at Tabris’s face, you notice that the grief has dissipated. She has renewed the awe in her expression and the bounce in her step. You realize that she was learned to do something you are still coming to grips with – she has learned to let go of her “might have beens.” She looks better for it. At least, she looks better than the regret gnawing at your chest. That settles it, you decide. After Ostagar, you will learn to start forgiving yourself. Maybe it is not too late to make good on Genevieve’s offer of a clean second start.