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Sigrun was dead, until suddenly she wasn’t.
She hadn’t literally been dead, of course. Justice and the human corpse he was possessing proved that rather nicely.
And, technically speaking, she was still dead (figuratively). But while Grey Wardens certainly had a lot of darkspawn to kill, Amaranthine wasn’t the constant danger that the Deep Roads were. She could, if she wanted, enter the city, walk around, and just relax a bit.
All of that is to say that, after becoming a Warden, suddenly Sigrun was faced with something she had not had the opportunity to have in years:
Free time.
“A bit creepy when one of the figures is dead, isn’t it?” Sigrun asked, watching the artificial snowflakes flutter around tiny figures of Queen Anora and the late King Cailan.
“He wasn’t dead when the globe was made,” replied Warden-Commander Amell. “At least, I don’t think so. Not like anyone would have bothered bringing one of these into the tower.” Surely the commander had more important things to do than talk about trinkets, Sigrun thought. “And don’t dwarves have lots of statues of dead people? I saw plenty in Orzammar.”
“To venerate the ancestors. Not…whatever this thing is for.”
Sigrun poked and prodded at the small potted plant. It had been a vibrant orange when she had found it, and to its credit was still orange, but was now less vibrant and a bit droopy—clearly wilting. It was starting to look like what everyone on the surface expected of her personality when they learned she was a Legionnaire.
“Velanna, you’re good with plants. What’s wrong with this one?”
“It seems rather dry. How often have you been watering it?”
“…I need to water it?”
The elf sighed. “Every other day. Not too much, or else it’ll turn yellow.”
Perhaps it was a bit much for Sigrun to climb to the highest point of Vigil’s Keep with the spyglass the commander had given her. But she was a woman on a mission now, and nothing would stop her from completing it.
“Sigrun, what are you doing up here? It’s my turn to keep watch.”
Almost nothing. She hadn’t counted on Justice.
“Oh, just…um, being extra-watchy.”
“What is that you’re holding behind your back? Please tell me you didn’t steal something else of mine. I only have so many fasteners.”
“The commander gave it to me fair and square!”
“For a book that’s supposed to be about facts, they didn’t much care for telling the truth, did they?”
Nathaniel shrugged. “They wouldn’t have access to classified Warden information, so they have to make up stuff to fill the gaps.”
“It’s not just the Wardens, it’s the Legion of the Dead too—look here, it says we kill warriors ten years after they’re initiated. Why on the bloody stone would we do that? It’s hard enough killing darkspawn without killing our own too! Hey, stop laughing!”
“Sorry, sorry, you’re right—but you’re also getting mad at a stack of paper.”
“Anders! Anders!”
“H…huh? I swear I didn’t do anything this time!”
“I know you didn’t, but I have something very important to show you! Where’s your cat?”
Anders gave Sigrun a suspicious look. “Why do you need Ser Pounce-a-lot?”
“I’m not taking him! Just trust me here, please?”
“Fine, but if you do anything to hurt him…”
“I promise I won’t!”
He brought out his cat, and Sigrun brought out her toy chariot, placing the cat in the seat.
“…this…is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Anders said.
“Same,” replied Sigrun, tears in her eyes.
What does one do with soap on a rope? That was the question Sigrun asked herself. Certainly the name was pleasing, but there were many words that rhymed but shouldn’t actually be put together.
Well, it’s soap, she figured, and soap is something you bathe with. So that’s exactly what she did.
At first the rope seemed an inconvenience, perhaps even a gimmick. But then the soap fell from her hand, but she still grasped the rope, and thus she did not lose it to the water.
“How clever.” In this small, insignificant moment, she realized—she wanted to live.