#garahel

i still think of morrigan seeing you as a sister if you get close to her, it twists my heart up in all directions and tickles my nerves (painfully)

Isseya can only read this because since she had been taken to the circle, for the first time in her life, she had adult teachers that taught her to read and write. The Garahel she had left behind wouldn’t have been able to read or write either. 

He had somehow learned it, since she’d left, all to send her a letter. 

For the first time since coming here, Isseya forgets her fear of the templars and nags them with questions to hell and back, asking about the boy who left this letter, asking how she could send one back. They wave her off initially, but Isseya doesn’t let up. If the guards start to ignore her, she waits until they’re replaced by the guards of the next shift, and she repeats herself with them. 

Eventually, a templar takes pity on her and tells her of a blond boy, shorter than Isseya, who would appear outside the tower every now and again and nag the people entering until someone was willing to deliver a letter to his sister. 

Not everyone was willing, but this templar promised her that she’d figure something out -- so long as Isseya behaved, please. And could she tell her brother to behave as well. 

Contact with the outside world was generally dissuaded with mages within the circle. Not outright forbidden, and mages were more than welcome to communicate with mages from other circles. Mail flowed freely from the pens of people who had nothing better to do than read. But contact with family was made intentionally difficult, with the expectation that families outside would eventually give up. There was no future to look forward to, no eventual reunion to wait for. Once a mage entered the circle, they were there for the rest of their life. 

But Garahel continues to write. His penmanship improves into something more confident, quick and impatient. His scrawl becomes so comfortable that it loops back around to being difficult to read. Isseya hangs on to every piece of paper, every scrap her brother tears from parchment not being used, in order to bridge the gap between them with ink and determination. 

I found work in the city. They think im small but i can scrub boots and that is enough. 

The templar is true to her word. A couple times a month, Isseya seeks her out and exchanges letters with the templar -- giving something she’s written, and receiving a piece in return. 

Some adults in the alienage give me food when I act hungry enough. Sometimes I lie, but don’t tell them.

Isseya hangs onto every word, the curve of every line, the splatter of ink on each corner and the stains that mark each page. She thinks the things she tells Garahel in return are far less interesting, but also thinks that if she stopped writing -- maybe he will stop too, so she doesn’t. 

hey, you do nothing but read books there, right? do you read stuff about seeing in the dark. I think im getting better at it somehow

Each letter she gets, she thinks it’s the last. She’d never voice it, because to voice it would somehow… bring it into existence. Outwardly, Isseya continues this exchange and carries on with her life, just like her brother is carrying on with his. The Garahel she knows, the one she still knows, would continue to knock on opportunity’s door, never stopping. She never wants him to. 

Might be gone for a bit, but I will send a letter as soon as I can. 

Inwardly, she’s fully prepared to never hear from him ever again. 

Isseya’s not sure where this belief comes from, but it's so firmly rooted that she doesn’t even interrogate it. Because obviously, one day Garahel will stop writing to her. He will grow up, find people he would care more about than the sister he has not seen in a decade. He will move on. It’s what was best for him, and when that happens, Isseya would be happy and proud. 

They’d been writing since they were kids, and it was something they would eventually grow out of. Something to leave behind, once youth falls away. 

Sister, I’m back! Finally. Don’t let it be said that your dearest brother wouldn’t fight pirates to get back to you. Guess what I did on my last job? 

They’re both of age now; at least, to their best guesses -- the two of them were never quite sure of their ages and birthdays, and just picked ones that fit best. Garahel had grown into a man, quick and sharp-witted, with blades to match. Isseya’s training in the circle was complete, and she had passed her harrowing without incident. 

It strikes Isseya suddenly one day, when she exchanges letters with the templar who has become her friend. The templar’s hair had lightened to an ashy grey, and she talked to Isseya about her upcoming retirement. Talked about how, with her gone, Isseya might have to find another way to send letters to her brother. 

Isseya is distinctly surprised when her first thought upon learning this is: Maybe I can give them to him myself. 

The thought is sudden and swift and terrifying. How on earth was she going to do that? How was that even possible? Why did she even consider such a thing possible, why did she even dare to want it? 

…Did she actually dare? 

To desire is to be vulnerable. It meant having hopes that could be disappointed, expectations what could be unmet. Garahel was the dreamer, not her. Garahel was the one who chased, who dared to push forwards, to risk and love and live. 

Isseya is the one stuck in the tower with no future to look forward to. 

Except, maybe, maybe -- 

Sister, I met some grey wardens in town. They are thinking of recruiting me, but I said no. I said that this is my place here, and I didn’t plan on leaving. I think I made the right choice. 

Isseya stares at the page. Stares at her brother’s handwriting. Wonders what he looks like now, after so many years.