UNBOUNDHere on Unbound, our plot follows four different timelines, set throughout the canonical history of the Dragon Age. The events following Trespasser, the time of the Inquisition, the rise of the Champion of Kirkwall and the quest of the Warden against the Fifth Blight.
And So is the Golden City blackened
With each step you take in my Hall.
Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.
You have brought Sin to Heaven
And doom upon all the world.
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Decaisne was particularly sour today, one of his "black moods." I wonder if he knows that the servants talk about him behind his back? Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he does.
For whatever reason, he's harder to deal with than usual. None go near him except for me or Cook, and even she won't utter more than two words to him. Even she can tell he's ready to snap at the first person to give him a reason. That person might have to be me. It usually is anyway.
I've been eyeing the exits longingly wanting nothing more than to be outside for awhile. I might do it and chance the hour-long tirade that will come if I'm found somewhere I'm not supposed to be. I want to shout, "To the void with the consequences!" Really, what can they do? Sequester me with even more gusto?
Tie me u That came off as more self-assured than how I actually feel. I probably won't do it. I'm not very sneaky, to begin with. I'm also not half as brave. I just
Those men that you saved me from last time you were here? There might be more out there
and I'm so afrai
Today Cook sang me and old Ferelden lullaby as she baked —a pie, I think it was. Not the song. She didn't sing about a pie. She baked a pie (well, I assume it was a pie) and sang a song. The two were completely unrelated! (It begs the question, though: Are there songs about pies? I'd like to know them.) Maybe you know the song?
You know everyth It was about a bird and wanting it to come home. The tone was relatively depressing.
At one point I tried to sing it back, but my voice cracked on the second verse. Cook laughed for a long while after that. As did some of the scullery maids. I've since hidden in my room to avoid further ridicule. I'll probably never sing again.
I don't know why you wanted to start up a correspondence with me, but thank you. It's a welcome distraction
and you're amazi and I look up to and I'm grateful for all that you've (This section of the letter is almost completely illegible.)
I miss you. Please write back soon.
I believe there is some kind of miscommunication here. Your familiarity & candidness had me assuming this was for Madame Vidal & that it was a mistake that had this letter handed to me. However, she seemed rather intent on me being the one that responded. I am
Ine Saeriel, Madame Vidal's apprentice friend protégé.
I am not entirely sure what she wanted me to write to you.
She said I should write back. She is the only reason I bother to write ba
I asked her about these men you speak of and she changed the subject. Tactfully, as always. She didn't seem particularly interested in discussing this Decaisne with me, either, but she has always been careful of the cards she has dealt. If you were expecting advice on Vidal's part, you should know by now that she isn't entirely forthcoming with such things. "Learn from your mistakes" and similar bullshit platitudes.
Is Decaisne your guardian? Are you not allowed outdoors? You can write letters though? He hasn't taught you any self defense? You paint him as a rather unsavory individual.
You could just leave Why do you bother with him?
Again, I am sorry for the confusion. It seems you respect Vidal a great deal. She is a rather grand woman.
I do not blame you if you do not return this letter; I wish you well. I am not sure what Vidal's intent was in initiating this. I could spend the rest of my life wondering why she does half the things she does. I don't mean to be presumptuous but if she wished to put us in contact there were certainly more direct ways to do so
like bring me with her. It is entirely like her to take advantage of the fondness you have for her, however. I share that fondness too. I often find myself in similar situations.
Also - if anyone would have songs about pies it would certainly be the Orlesians. Though I feel little frilly cakes would be more likely. & not everyone is lucky enough to have a singing voice. I'm sure you have other equally admirable talents.
I'll admit, I was a touch discouraged when I
finally managed to decipher read your letter, and I apologize for the delay in my response.
That was unfair of me.
Honestly, I wasn't aware that Vidal had a protégé. I'd love to learn a bit about your training if you're willing!
Ah. This might have been Vidal's and Decaisne's intention all along —to get us to write to each other, to
epistolize correspond. I'll shamefully confess to you that I don't have any many friends, so I'm a tad uncertain as to how to properly stimulate a conversation.
Unfortunately for me, my guardian just so happens to be a dour old man who believes grunting is an admissible form of communication. Charming, I know.
(As I write this I realize that you're right. I am portraying him rather harshly. For now, I'll just assure you that that is not the case. He may not be a nice man, but he's a good one if you squint.)
Why we cannot meet in person is probably for both our benefit.
Your guess on the matter is as good as mine, though. Perhaps better.
It's possible Vidal somewhat pitied me my loneliness and believed this the solution. I'm sorry that you were dragged into it as well.
I'm glad, at least, that Vidal did not offer you the details of my incident.
I still haven't fully reconciled the events and I A lot happened in so short a time frame, virtually in a flash. The short of it? I was kidnaped taken. Against my will. Vidal had been around at the time and was undoubtedly crucial to my surviving escape.
There: I've finally relayed the
terrifying experience. Painlessly.
It's strange. I can't tell if it is because I do not know you, but I feel oddly at ease knowing this letter will be read by you at some point. I feel lighter as well.
Please write back.
I don't know when this will reach you, but today I began ‘training’ as it were. It is, to put it candidly, awful. My leg muscles are intensely sore; walking down a flight of stairs is practically impossible for all that it sodding hurts. Meanwhile, both of my arms feel as if they will float away at any second. I am a walking ball of pain. This is misery.
I thought the purpose of this training was to make me stronger, but I actually feel weaker! Every micromovement is agony.
Void take me.
The worst part? This training is to be routine!
It’s baffling and frustrating, really, to have gone from an idling-state to some sort of martial-discipline in the span of a few days. Should I not have been eased into this in some way? Argh!
So I write. To you. Mostly because (and I’d be a lying liarface if I didn’t tell you) I feel comforted by you. By this—whatever this is.
You might not even read this right away, and that's fine.
I just—I need someone, I think.
The only bright side to all this is that I am now allowed outside with some regularity.
I’ve even started to freckle!
Usually, I’ll run from where the brush meets the estate to where the copses stand across the plot. From the boundaries of [Omitted], if I take some time to hike through the dirt and snow and loam, I can see [Omitted] perfectly. A giant oak sits atop the route, practically begging me to climb it.
Several insects were perched on its bark the last I saw, in autumn—beetles and caterpillars, mostly. I cannot wait until the weather starts warming again! I am not very fond of the cold, are you?
I remember, suddenly, you mentioned in your last letter that I might have worthy traits. I never really acknowledged this for fear of sounding too pathetic. The truth is: I don’t really know. Rather, I don’t think so.
However, I have hope that someday I’ll discover them! Hopefully soon! Maker, I hope it’s soon.
Is your own training going well, S? I would love to know any details you can give.
This is the last time I will speak of it – I am surprised by your mentor. You are “allowed outside with some regularity”. Vidal does not put any such restrictions on me – if any, at all. He is either horrible or far too fond of you. I don’t see either working in your favor.
Nevertheless, it is good that you are learning something in light of the events that transpired. Women
like us need to know how to defend ourselves themselves, regardless of class or race or profession. Orlais can be rather unforgiving and they are good skills to know for whenever you leave… wherever. The Orlesians quite like beating down anyone they possibly can.
I wish I could tell you something inspiring or comforting about the pain but I can’t. Or won’t. Lie to you, that is. Once you start to feel even a little more at ease they always find a way to make it worse. For example, my arms can be horribly bruised and pained from my poor archery form. She’ll make sure my legs hurt more than my arms do the next day. She’ll lecture me on working through the pain, slam towers of books in front of me that I must read by the end of day and leave with this smug look in her eye. Or perhaps she’ll have me work an event and let me suffer the down gazing of dozens of snobby Orlesians.
I’ve been memorizing heraldry for the last ten hours. They’re all starting to look the same.
I’d rather perfect my form and risk my arms falling off.
I’d recommend coming to like the pain.
The place I live is very crowded. I cannot even put words to it; I wonder if you could even fathom it. You sound like you’ve been very isolated. I can hear the neighbors above and below me milling about. Someone’s kettle is going off. Out of my window I can hear someone trying to sell wares (Jewelry? Stolen weapons?) for but a few copper. This is the life I have lived since I was born… I can’t decide if I find the countryside you describe comforting or disturbing. I think I would go mad.