Chapter Text
Human behavior flows from three main sources: desire, emotion, and knowledge. ~Plato
Alistair Theirin
Alistair didn't remember a time when the words weren't there but was told they came after he was already born, making his soulmate younger than him. His soulmate. When Alistair asked about it, Eamon said that his soulmate was the person whom Alistair would love most and would love Alistair most in return. He couldn't see the words himself without the aid of a mirror, but he could never forget that they were there with the way people would always glance at them. He didn't think much of them at that age, didn't really understand them, but he never forgot the pretty writing half circling his neck.
When he was ten he was angry. Angry at the Arlessa for hating him based on a lie. Angry at Arl Eamon for letting her believe it and sending him away. Angry at himself for destroying his last connection to his true family. During this time, the words at his neck became a comfort that saved him from a crushing loneliness. He had a soft heart, and he wanted the Arlessa to like him and to make Arl Eamon proud. The Arl was the closest he'd ever had to a father, and Alistair couldn't help but feel abandoned. With the words, he knew the loneliness would pass because there was someone out there who would love him and not care that he was somebody's bastard. Out there was someone he could give his whole heart to and feel safe with. He just had to wait.
Even after Alistair joined the Grey Wardens, when he was surrounded by his chosen family, he still thought about the words. He knew that Duncan's words, hidden somewhere underneath his clothes, had turned from inky black to smokey grey. He wanted to know who Duncan's soulmate was and how they died but didn't dare ask. He knew it was ridiculous, but he feared Duncan would cast him out as Eamon did. He didn't ask, but he wondered.
He didn't plan on annoying the mage. Initially. He really didn't! All he wanted to do was tell the blasted mage the revered mother wanted to see him. He didn't know the man would be so grumpy about it.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees a woman approach and for a moment feels as though he's been hit upside the head by a hurlock. She was beautiful, and he was still rather annoyed at the grouchman (who had finally gone to see the revered mother), so he wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. He does, however, notice her eyes widening and, hey, who knew eyes could be such a pretty color? He finally manages to get his brain refocused when he sees her begin to speak.
"I know exactly what you mean." Oh. Hey.
She has a soft smile on her face, and his cheeks feel too warm. He is pretty sure he looks like an idiot with the goofy smile on his face, but he doesn't care because he is pretty sure this beautiful woman is his soulmate. "Wait, we haven't met, have we?"
A man must dream a long time in order to act with grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness. ~Jean Genet
Emma Amell
Noah told them that they once had two other siblings who were taken away for doing magic. Emma knew Noah had magic too, he had used it on her when she scrapped her knee once, but he had to hide it or he would be taken. She'd promised Noah not to tell anyone, but she couldn't keep it from Charlie. Charlie was their sis-brother and Emma had to tell someone.
It had been an accident. Charlie had been letting his mouth run, and a templar overheard. Emma and Charlie both cried when Noah was taken away. Emma knew his words, knew how "Please, get a healer." had woven itself underneath Noah's hair almost a year ago. She remembered her scrapped knee and wondered if he would be the healer his soulmate needed. They moved away four days later.
Two years passed, and Emma and Charlie both developed magic. They never stayed somewhere more than two months now, in part because of Charlie's temper, though Emma didn't blame him. Emma was angry too, but she turned her anger into honeyed words (That wasn't magic; you hit your head pretty hard there; when was the last time you ate; are you alright?). Those people wanted to separate them, and Emma fought tooth and nail to keep them together and protect her brother. Sometimes, covered in the blanket of night while their father slept in the next room, they would look at their words. They both knew a blight was coming, just as they knew Charlie would burn alive three hundred men. Despite the dark promises on their skin, they both found comfort in their words. They made up whispered stories about what they would say in return and the daring adventures they would go on with their future husbands.
One day Charlie's temper flared too close to a templar, and Emma still couldn't blame him because two boys had been beating a cat with sticks. Emma knew she couldn't convince the templar no magic had occurred (she could still feel it buzzing in the air), so she convinced him it was her who cast it. It wasn't hard-she was a mage. She convinced Charlie to run away, which was difficult, but he ran to their father with tears in his eyes and a litany of 'sorry's still on his lips.
It took five days to travel to the circle, and she very determinedly did not cry until night had fallen and her fellow apprentices were asleep. In the morning Jowan gave her his sausage and told her he missed his family too. He had "You're not suppose to be in the Chantry this late." on his wrists so they crept in there some nights and sat waiting for the destined reprimand.
It took two and a half weeks before they finally made it to Ostagar because, as she always knew it would, the Blight had come to Ferelden. She explores almost the whole camp before finally coming upon the man she assumes must be Alistair and watches with faint amusement as the mage Alistair has been teasing storms off in a huff.
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." She feels her eyes widen in shock when she realizes what this means.
And smiles when she returns with, "I know exactly what you mean". The Blight did, after all, bring her and her soulmate together.