The Hunt

The sun had barely made it over the eastern mountains when I tiptoed out of the hut I had been given for my quarters. The few people awake at this hour did not give me a moment's glance as I walked towards the heavy outer gates of Haven. Apparently I could still pass for "just an elf" this early. Useful to know.

Snow from the last spring storm still blanketed the small valley but I happily shucked the heavy shem footwear near the steps leading to the troop encampment. It was too early to play as the good little savior who wore those cursed leather shoes. How I wished that the Ambassador would stop insisting I kept them on.

I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly, trying in vain to shake the oppressive, half-remembered dreams of the night before. For now, before the day truly began, I was just Niah, the hunter. I was just one of the People who needed to feel the earth under her feet. I wiggled my toes, relishing in the freedom of wearing just the warm fur wrappings that the cold Ferelden weather required.

I entered the woods surrounding Haven slowly, allowing my eyes to adjust to the reduced sunlight. A pair of nugs watched me, their gentle chirps to each other almost comforting. But I was not after those odd little creatures, not when I had seen how large the rams were that grazed in this area. Smart animals with a good sense of smell; a definite challenge was in store for me today. My lips quirked up at the thought of how Tahleen would have loved hunting them during our early morning jaunts.

My smile slowly slid off my face—Tahleen. How long had it been since I had seen my sister's face? Or any of my clan's? Two months now? How long had I been surrounded by a people who had little love for my own? It was an odd thing, realizing how much you depended on your clan for more than just the physical necessities. Creators, I missed them. No one had been intentionally cruel to my face here – yet – but I had heard the term "knife ear" under the breath of some since this whole debacle had started. It was rather lonely, looking across a sea of faces that held little resemblance to my own. Even the few elves that stayed here were standoffish, looking at my vallaslin with distaste or even fear.

I sighed, watching the chilly morning change my breath into a puff of steam. This was what Keeper Istimaethoriel told me to expect, that I would be viewed as a big, scary Dalish boogeyman.

Perhaps I should just embrace the role, start muttering nonsense to myself and cackling loudly at little children. I would be murdered immediately, Andraste or no!I thought, stifling a laugh from picturing Seeker Cassandra glowering and making disgusted noises at an angry mob of pitchfork-holders.

When I reached an abandoned hut I stopped and slung off the decent bow the smith Harritt had given me. Time to warm up. My shoulder muscles protested as I began my stretches, first interlocking my fingers and then raising my arms above my head with palms facing the sky. In this quiet moment my body could relax in an old rhythm, a morning ritual that had been followed since I could first hold a bow. My best oddball thinking always happened during these moments when my mind was free to wander.

But not today. I couldn't lose sight of the reason I had come to the Conclave, despite all that had happened to me after. I had fought for this chance, had fought the Keeper for so long...I had to endure. Or else how pointless would all my efforts with Istimaethoriel be? Besides, there were no other options. In some way I had been marked by unknown magic the very day the Chantry's Keeper was murdered. My left hand made a fist and energy uncomfortably sizzled just under my skin all the way up to my elbow. How many Dalish would be slaughtered by vengeful zealots if I tried to run now? I was caught and securely tied to this shem Inquisition for an unknowable amount of time.

But there was power in that. I was a necessity here. Such a relationship could be used.

The snort of a grazing animal ahead broke up my bitter thoughts. After checking for defects, I nocked an arrow and melted into the shadows, skirting around the deeper snow drifts whose noisy crunch would alert anything listening for a predator.

A ram stood just under two hundred paces in front of me whose coat gleamed so fiercely in the sun I almost needed to look away; its reds and browns dazzled my eyes. Holding my breath I took aim, crouching upwind from the animal.

Steady, steady,Tahleen would have said, Make it clean.I pulled the bowstring taunt to the corner of my mouth and paused, ready to begin the chase.

A pink nose poked out from beneath the animal's front legs. I blinked. Slowly, a young lamb stretched out from beneath its mother and took a few unsteady steps forward, almost falling over its front feet. With an exacerbated sigh, I lowered my bow.

"The Dalish must all be starving if their hunters are as soft-hearted as you."

"Fenedhis!" I whirled around, annoyed that I could have been caught unaware so easily.

A bald elf stood under the trees, slightly leaning his weight on a staff. A small smile threatened to break free from his lips.

Great. Smug-face.

"Oh! Solas… "I ran my fingers through my hair, detangling the few strands that had wound themselves across my face. Blasted wind. And hair. "You're correct, of course. Half the reason they sent me away. I was beginning to become a bad influence."

A short laugh that seemed to surprise the both of us escaped from him as he motioned for me to follow, turning in the direction towards Haven. A bit bossy of him, but I obediently tagged along. Hopefully Solas had more to say than the usual 'You are ignorant. It offends me' routine he was fond of.

A strained silence settled in between us. Solas always made me slightly uncomfortable and not because he wasn't Dalish. It was just his intense dislike of my people was so completely off-putting. Remembering his overtly snide remark to me, 'I thought you would be more interested in sharing youropinions on elven culture', still made me bristle. Frankly I was surprised he had gone out of his way to interact with me at all this morning. What did he want?

"So, how are you enjoying your stay in Haven? Is it everything you expected?"

I turned to look at him, his mouth offering a small smile but in his blue eyes I saw no warmth, only careful assessment. Ah, so I was to be evaluated. How excellent.

"Everything I expected? I can't say I was particularly expecting to play a part in a squabble over Chantry doctrine, no. However, it has been enjoyable watching Chancellor Roderick and the Seeker glare at each other," I smiled, almost wishing the two would just hurry up and start slapping each other silly like prepubescent girls. I knew how much the dwarf Varric would appreciate THAT scene.

"Ah yes, there is little love lost between those two. It must be entirely fascinating to watch. So I take it you do not believe you are Andraste's chosen prophet come to save us all?"

I snorted, "Hardly. But to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what I believe. I don't remember anything about what happened at the Conclave. I really wish I did. Knowing would make this shit a lot easier to stomach." I glanced down at my left hand and grimaced. Even while wearing a glove a green glow emanated from the mark.

Solas stopped walking to look at me fully. "Does it bother you? The mark. Does it hurt you?" he cocked his head slightly to the side while furrowing his brow. I hadn't realized how tall he was until then. For an elf at least.

"Not as it did before. Now it mostly feels like my arm has fallen asleep," I paused, watching for his reaction, "Creators, I just realized I never properly thanked you for keeping me alive after I was...found. That must have been difficult for you, being an elven mage surrounded by humans already on edge. Ma serannas, Solas. Truly."

Surprise flickered across his face before he had a chance to hide it. "You are welcome, Lavellan. I am always happy to lend my fade expertise to people who require it."

I grinned. It was probably impossible for him to not mention the fade at least once in a conversation. Solas was correct though, he was by far the most knowledgeable person on the threat the Inquisition now faced. And I would need all the help I could get.

Shaking my head in obvious mock mournfulness, I lightly patted the mage on the shoulder. "Ah Solas, I fear you will live to regret saying that. I intend to learn all there is to know about these rifts. Prepare to be peppered with questions. Unfortunately for you, my sister was the magic-y one. My own education in that area is woefully incomplete."

"A budding scholar, I see." He adjusted the strange jawbone he wore as a necklace to a more comfortable position as we set off towards Haven once more. The sun had completely risen over the mountains and I could hear the smithy already hard at work. "I can understand your interest. Thedas has not seen a threat like this for many centuries."

His hand brushed across the top of an elfroot plant before he knelt to cut it free from its roots in one fluid motion. Solas had an easy assurance about him, embodied in each purposeful movement of his hands. If I hadn't known of Solas' magical abilities I might have mistook him for a seasoned tracker. I could see how the lean muscles of his back stretched under the thin overshirt as he added his find to the backpack he always carried.

Realizing I had been staring, I redirected my gaze towards the bridge the Seeker and I had crossed on our way towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Shielding my eyes I could see small pockets of green pulsating light winding slowly through the trees. Wraiths, no doubt. "The more I know, the better my chances are at surviving this. Well, at least surviving the demons. I don't suppose you're also an expert on Chantry politics? So far I've had better luck with the rifts."

Solas hummed in agreeance. "I would not worry. You are still alive and therefore have already fared better than most elves who cross paths with the Chantry. I am almost certain you will live through this, Andraste's Chosen."

A sense of humor? Solas? Well, shit. I gave him my best withering glare.

"How optimistic of you, Solas. You're such a comfort." On our right I spotted a nug rooting in the snow under some underbrush. "Here, let me catch us some breakfast. You can say some more cheery things while we eat."

"Ah, I am not-"

Turning to face him, I arched an eyebrow "I insist Hahren! Unfortunately my insufferable Dalish pride demands it. Let me redeem myself. I can hunt, I swear. Also, I'm curious to learn more about your theories on the Breach. This is probably the last hour I have to myself today."

Solas hesitated, his features vacillating between annoyance and amusement, but finally nodded. "All right, let us see whether your clan was in the right to cast you out."

Oh ho, you have no idea. I smiled and gave a shallow bow, mimicking the way I had seen the Ambassador say goodbye to her guests. With that I turned, intent on the blissfully unaware nug. I could hear Solas start to collect kindling for a fire. Interesting that he didn't rely on his magic for everything. I had heard that mages outside of the Dalish had little use for such mundane knowledge. Perhaps he wouldn't be such a tiresome fellow to travel with after all. And he had let me tease him. That was something.

I glanced up as a bird's shadow crossed in front of me. A raven, presumably for the spymaster with intelligence on the Hinterlands. I made a face. If there are any more shocking developments this morning my heart might just give out.

Notes: Writing this better be cathartic. Damn you hobo elf! My handle on the Dalish language is laughable so bear with me.

Fenhendis: A common Dalish curse word.

Ma serannas: My thanks (Thank you.).

Hahren: Elder, a term of respect.