The Free Marches
Parvulis/Kingsway, 9:36 Dragon
Heels dug into the ground, churning the soil and clumps of grass into a mess. Feet drummed on a log cut and sanded smooth, trying to drown out the raised voices coming from the Keeper's tent.
Nyssa grimaced and then winced as the expression pulled at the fresh tattoos on her face. She resisted the urge to touch them, knowing the scabs would fall off in another week. That, and her fingers were dirty.
Creators, how long could they possibly take? It was already past midday.
"Keeper-"
Her brother's voice came from inside, clear as day.
"If I could ask for lenience. With our father passing so soon before the arlathvhen…"
"The arlathvhen!" Keeper Elindra said. "Do not speak to me of the arlathvhen. Do you know what she said to the hahren'al? What she called them?"
"I had heard rumours." Amias sounded less convinced now, and Nyssa grimaced again, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in her cheeks. "I did not suppose…"
She let her head hang over her knees until her hair trailed in the dust, and stopped trying to eavesdrop. Still, it was another minute before the tent flap opened and Amias came out.
They'd often been told they looked alike. Both brown-skinned and black-haired, though Amias's eyes were almost pitch black to her dark green. They looked like their father, though Amias had always reminded her of Mamae.
"That one is too gentle to be a hunter," Papae always said. "He should have been the one with the magic."
Nyssa had always resented that remark. If Amias had the temperament for a Keeper, what did that make her?
"Don't," Amias said, as Nyssa opened her mouth to speak. "Just...don't."
He walked away, hands thrown in the air, and she heard him curse as he stalked towards the craftsman's lean-to.
"Nyssa," called the Keeper from inside the tent.
Time to face the music.
She hadn't spent a lot of time in the Keeper's tent over the years. Most of their lessons were conducted outside, particularly the practical aspects. Magic could be unpredictable, and young apprentices even more so.
Inside it was warm, thanks to the brazier that occupied the centre of the tent. Keeper Elindra sat on a woven mat with her cloak drawn about her. She was not an ancient woman, but the years showed in the wrinkles on her forehead and the silver-grey of her hair. She looked steadily at Nyssa as she entered, raising an eyebrow at her tangled hair and dusty tunic.
"Sit, da'len," she said, and motioned to the mat across from her. "I know you heard us speak."
Nyssa tried not to avoid eye contact. "I still believe I was right."
"That is debatable," the Keeper said. "But even if your point was correct, there are other ways to make it. Interrupting the hahren'al in their council? Calling them...what was it? Stagnant, spineless old relics?"
Nyssa had the grace to flush.
"Have all these years of lessons been for naught?"
"It's because of those lessons that I brought it up with the hahren," Nyssa protested. "It's a Keeper's job to preserve our culture. Why do we not seek it outside of our clans?"
"That is the arlathvhen's purpose, da'len."
"A meeting once every ten years," Nyssa replied, scowling. "Ten years! And all we exchange is gossip and an ever increasing tally of our dead."
The Keeper blinked at her slowly, her dark amber eyes narrowed.
"Then what would you do in my stead?" she asked. "Would you leave our people without guidance while we chase scraps in crumbling ruins?"
Nyssa fell silent and dropped her gaze, picking at a frayed edge of the mat. She could feel the Keeper's eyes upon her, trying to gauge her response.
It was a dangerous line she danced around, questioning a Keeper with even more years behind her than her own parents, and who had trained her since she was a child of seven. There was a point at which arguments and questions became insolence and a challenge, and the consequences for her behaviour would be more severe than a rap on the knuckles.
"That's not what I meant," Nyssa said eventually, and raised her eyes. She spoke carefully; respectfully. "You taught me my learning was sulevin ghilana mirthadra, a path to honoured purpose. How can you say we are doing all we can to preserve our culture? Is it not our purpose to do better, to do more?"
"Our purpose is to protect our clan," Keeper Elindra said sharply. "You are not furthering the people by dreaming of what is beyond that. This is how the world is."
"But-"
"I will not argue this with you again! Go. Think on what I said."
Angry tears pricked at the corner of Nyssa's eyes, but she knew better than to cry. She left the tent without another word.
There were people gathering at the central fire for the midday meal, but Nyssa stalked right by them. She wasn't hungry, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to be stared at. Everyone knew everyone else's business in this clan, and that meant everyone knew she was in trouble with the Keeper.
I was right. Nyssa repeated that thought to herself as she headed for her family's aravel. If she told herself that enough, it wouldn't hurt to think of the Keeper's disappointment.
The clan hadn't moved for almost a year, so the aravels remained a permanent fixture across the camp, used for everything from storage to extra sleeping space. Nyssa's family used theirs for drying herbs, so the interior always smelled like elfroot and feverfew.
Nyssa climbed into the very back and slumped against the wooden wall, blinking until her tears went away. The sheer frustration of the argument made her stomach roil, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
Was this how it was to be? Forever arguing with her own people about how best to preserve their culture? Observing rituals mindlessly? Teaching their children scraps? Being treated with respect and admiration she did not deserve, while never venturing outside her clan?
Never knowing what more she could be?
For one impulsive moment she considered getting out of the aravel and walking into the forest, never to look back. It was an exhilarating, terrifying thought, to cast off everything she found comfortable and dive into the unknown. It wasn't as if no Dalish had ever left their clan. It wasn't common, and most returned.
She would return. She could return.
Couldn't she?