A torn and tattered sheet of paper lay undisturbed by the wear of time, encased in a glass bottle, hidden amidst the rubble of what was once a masterpiece of architecture. The fortress was a ruin two hundred years ago, and now was nothing more than a shameful memorial; no better than a landmark marking the place where something long forgotten once stood.
Gentle hands embraced the cold glass and plucked the bottle from its resting place, and for the first time in two centuries the paper was disturbed. Preserved in ink on one of its sides was a map of the ruin, and scrawled across the map were clearly defined battle plans. According to history, these battle plans were only followed halfway through; and in the midst of the battle, the greatest betrayal to ever befall the Grey Wardens occurred, mere yards away from where Val stood, clutching the piece of history.

With hands still ever gentle, she tucked the map within the bottle into the pack on her belt, along with the rest of numerous etchings and scrolls and books that filled it. Her heart was filled with a curious mix of reverence for the artifacts, and an uncontrollable passion to read them. She wanted nothing more than to sit and begin to digest their contents, searching for what secrets of the veil would be left within them; but the call for the official ceremony of the Grey Wardens would come too soon and disrupt too precious a moment.

The resentment towards the Wardens peaked a little just then; not because they were cutting into what should be an incredibly joyous time for her, but because with them came the memories of all those she had lost in the Circle Tower. She was unwilling to come to terms with the idea that she could no longer learn or study in peace and safety. Even now she nearly blocked out the howls of wolves and other creatures of the Wilds around the ruins. She found solace only in the idea that here, in the field, she could find the places where the Veil grew thin; where the world of dreams and the world of waking men collided, and the impossible did not exist. An idle fancy, in reality; but reality was always two steps too far away from Val, and she usually enjoyed that.

As she continued to rummage through the shattered bricks and ruined remains of the fortress, a loud sound rang out; and nothing so natural as a wolf’s cry. The resounding horn was undoubtedly the call for the recruits to gather; Val’s wake-up call to return to reality. She reluctantly stood from the wreckage and turned away, toward the sound’s origin: The tower of Ishal. There she would be greeted by the Grey Warden and the other recruits, whom she had only met briefly. The only one she was really looking forward to knowing was the Qunari with the staff. As she made the walk toward the tower, her mind was filled with fascination and wonder at what the Qunari taught of magic, and what things they might learn from each other.

If only they could have met under better circumstances.