Note: This is rated M for dark-fic, and will include torture and rape. Not all chapters will be dark, but many. This chapter has mentions of rape. Please use caution if you are sensitive to such subjects.
…...
Elgar'nan this was a bad idea. When Eamon brought me to the seth'lin, I should have known. Who's to say that this asha could have any idea on how to rescue her Queen? How could a maid know how to scheme? And just how is it that Eamon was convinced this would work? Because the seth'lin was in tears? Because she begged? How can she even be trusted? She could very well be a spy for all we know. She could be leading us to our deaths. Things haven't been going so well so far. The durgen'len is evidence of that.
"They'd ne'er think me a guard toots."
I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration yet again. Why'd I bring the dwarf? Creators preserve us.
"Just try Oghren. We might just fool them. They are Howe's men. The shemlen will just think you stout."
I feel a slight pressure through the unfamiliar padding now donning my arm, and turn to see Zevran with his helmet's visor raised, "I do not think our dwarven friend can even get the armor on, mi amor."
"Emma lath," I hiss. My hands clenching into fists at my sides. The dwarf is running my patience thin. "We do not have time for discussion." I turn my attention back to the dwarf, as he still looks warily at the armor he holds loosely in his hands. "Put. It. On."
"You know, you could try asking nicely."
I turn to look at Alistair as he straightens the gauntlet on his arm. "You heard me. I have lethallin. I would not have brought him, had Leliana not already left with the other two shemlen asha for the market." Leliana would've been better to bring. She has experience with this sort of thing, doesn't she?
"I 'em standin' right her' y'know."
In order to keep Oghren and the rattling he's making with the far too large armor less noticeable, although Mythal only knows if that's even possible,he is wedged between Alistair and the seth'lin asha in front of Zevran and myself. The pilfered guards armor is a bit large on my slender frame as well, so I stay close to the walls with Zevran on the outside. I pray to the Creators that none notice that the durgen'len or myself are far from shemlen. We must find the shemlen Queen after all, and return her to Eamon.
The estate is opulent, if one cares for the petty objects that the shemlen adorn their stone and mortar shelters with, but the guards guarding these trinkets are the daftest shemlen I have ever seen. Oghren. I groan internally, at just how... ridiculous this is. I can scarcely believe that we've gone unnoticed so far.
The seth'lin leads us to a door that appears quite solid and fortified with its many locks in place, but what is most curious is that the door shines in a way that reminds me of the lyrium vials the mages take to augment their powers.
The seth'lin steps up towards the door, and we follow her as she says, "The Grey Wardens are here, my lady."
A muffled, but clearly feminine sounding voice travels through the heavy wood of the door. "Thank the Maker! If I could, I would greet you all properly, but I'm afraid we've had a set-back."
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her choice of words. If she knew her rescuer was Dalish, she may not be quite so polite. "What do you mean?" I ask in a tone of voice that is void of all emotion. I see Zevran quirk a brow at me due to this, even through his helmet. His expression is questioning. He knows I'm uncomfortable. Fained courtesy makes me uncomfortable. Pretending to be a shemlen guard makes me uncomfortable. I frown at Zevran's concern. I have a weak spot for the flat-ear. The Queen's voice brings my attention back towards the door.
"Howe was not content with leaving me only under heavy guard. He's sealed the door by magic."
Precisely why the door is shimmering blue, as I suspected. But, I am not very familiar with magic. I know my adda was Keeper, but I was never taught the intricacies of the Beyond's powers. I did not inherit my father's skills. "Then how are we to open it?"
"You must find the mage that cast the spell. Howe will most likely keep him close."
If it only were so simple a matter. We must have the mage undo the spell, and it won't be a simple matter of asking. "So much for secrecy," I huff half-heartedly under my breath. Attempts at monotone temporarily forgotten.
"Well, if he didn't know you were here, he soon will."
I grin widely despite the sarcasm apparent in the Queen's voice. "Good. I wanted to see that shemlen anyway."
"Thank you Wardens. My prayers go with you." Apparently she didn't catch the threat in my voice. Or she doesn't care for the fate of her capturer.
"Arl Howe will probably be in his rooms. They're at the end of the hall on the left." The seth'lin advises.
As we venture down the long hall, I can't help but have my mind wander. This entire situation is eerily similar to something in my past amongst my people. With the Sabrae.
"Keeper Marethari!" I turn around to see Junar run into our settlement between the aravels as fast as he possibly can. He's out of breath, and panting as he comes to a stop and collapses on his knees in front of the Keeper. "Mare-thari," he wheezes.
"What is it, da'len?" Keeper Marethari asks as she kneels down in front of the struggling hunter.
"I-Ineria," he stutters. "Shem-shemlen. She's... They..."
He starts mumbling quietly and nearly incoherently, and I inch closer to better hear what is the matter. Junar and Ineria went on a hunt this afternoon with the intentions of gaining a bearskin for Ilen's use. For him to return without her, something must be very wrong. All hunters stay in pairs at all times for our safeties.
"T-t-they bound and... and gaged her. I-I-I... T-too many shemlen. I cannot... We must save her! Keeper! Please! Please!"
Two nearby elders move to lead Junar away at a motion from Marethari. Seeing me nearby, the Keeper waves me over to her. "I believe Huntress Ineria is still alive. I have not yet felt Fen'Harel's presence, Fala. Please gather some of our hunters and follow the trail our brother has left to these shemlen." She puts a hand on my shoulder, "Do what you must to see to Ineria's safety. Dareth shiral, da'len. May the Creators watch over us all."
I go to my close friend and hunting companion, Tamlen, and tell him what I know of the situation. We gather our friend Fenarel, and the hunters Aelwen, Loki, and Zakhar. We go to the edge of our settlement, where I saw Junar enter, and it's clear as day to see his trail. With his frantic running, he had trampled the low-growing plant life, and snapped several branches of trees. All six of us take care to keep our feet silent as we follow the trail, not knowing just how far and wide these shemlen have traveled.
After walking for nearly half an hour of sunlight, I start to hear low and muffled voices in the distance, and the baying of some sort of animal. Perhaps a donkey. But I cannot be certain, as I've only seen one twice before. I have been on more hunts than Tamlen and Loki, but not as many as Aelwen. Zakhar, Fenarel and myself had completed our training as hunters in the same season. Tamlen and Loki are roughly four years my junior, and are still new to hunting. Tamlen, for having the brash nature of many of our young people, although I am far from an elder, has been a good friend to me since I've been quite young. Despite the age difference, we grew through our childhoods together.
I clear my head of such thoughts, as we duck low into the thick brush to peer at the seen below us on the small hill. There is a caravan of shemlen with two carts, two donkey, and three horses. There are roughly two shy of a dozen shemlen standing in the open. Five brandish weapons, and all are male. Three of the weapon wielding shemlen are standing in a half-circle around a fat, balding shemlen with his trousers pulled down to his knees kneeling between the legs of Ineria. I feel my jaw clench at seeing that, and my hands involuntarily ball into fists. Those shemlen would not have been able to get to her, had Junar and Ineria been together. They must have separated at some point, and Ineria was overwhelmed. That is the only way I could see the huntress being captured at the shemlen's hands.
We are outnumbered by the shemlen, but we outnumber those with weapons. There is the possibility that there are shemlen in the woods nearby, but the humans like to stay on marked trails and do not generally travel the woods on foot. We can be assured that there are only ten men to deal with. They will pay for defiling our sister with their lives.
There is one armed shemlen at each end, front and back, of the caravan, and the remaining three swordsmen flank the boar-like man. Aelwen offers to take the one at the back with a subtle hand gesture, and Zakhar nods to take the other at the front of the carts. Fenarel, Tamlen, Loki and I make our way towards flat ground on crouched legs and silent feet. Each of us slowly and quietly remove our bows and notch our arrows once the group of men around Ineria come into easy sight. I nod towards the boar, and the others each aim at a swordsman in turn as they allow me the kill of the defiler. We wait for Zakhar to signal, as his target was the furthest away, and it would take him the most time to get into position.
We hear the awaited turkey call, and a second later our arrows are soaring effortlessly through the air. Each man falls dead with an arrow in their right eye. The boar has, unfortunately, slumped forward on Ineria in death, and I can see her squirm to be free of his weight. The other four shemlen are killed swiftly by Aelwen, Zakhar, Tamlen and I.
We wait silently for the possible arrival of any other shemlen from the wood, and when none emerge we walk towards the still bound and gaged prone form of Ineria. Tamlen helps me push the dead boar-man off of our huntress sister, and Fenarel tends to the removal of the ropes tied around Ineria's slim wrists.
Her wrists are bruised, her right elbow looks broken, and her face is a hodgepodge of bruises and split skin. Her bared thighs are matted with blood and bruises too. If I could, I would kill the shemlen again.
Ineria does not cry. What I can see of her eyes beneath the swelling, are watered. Her body shakes with a fine shiver, and she has not yet stood.
I crouch next to her, next to Fenarel, and say, "You are safe now, lethallan. You need not fear them anymore."
"Din harel shemlen," she whispers. "Harel halam."
I do not fear the humans. I fear the end.
I snap back to reality. To the metallic clunk of my booted feet against the polished floors of Howe's estate. I cannot shake the feeling that I remembered what happened to Ineria, what she said to me, for a reason. That her words were sent to me from the Creators themselves. I must heed them. I must tread carefully in this task. Something is amiss.
…...
Note: This story is a mabari-plot-puppy that I adopted from the author Apollo Wings. So you have her to thank for the idea/inspiration for this story! Give her all the hugs! :3 Also, I'd like to thank my new and awesome beta-reader FalconHawk! Go ahead and read his story "Rise of the Wardens," if you haven't already. You'll like it. ;) I'll try to update for this story once a week, but they may be sporadic on occasions. I will be using Spanish for Antivan, and there'll be lots of elvish. Here are the translations, and thanks for taking the time to read! :D
Translations:
Elgar'nan: the All-Father. God of vengeance and fatherhood.
seth'lin: 'thin blood'. - An insult directed at non-human outsiders.
asha: 'girl'
durgen'len: 'dirt children'. - Elvish word for dwarves.
shemlen: 'quick children'. - A name for humans.
mi amor: Spanish for 'my love'.
Emma lath: 'My love'
adda: non-canon elvish word for 'father'
Fen'Harel: the Dread Wolf, Lord of Tricksters, and Roamer of the Beyond.
Dareth shiral: 'safe journey'. - Used as a farewell.
da'len: 'little child'
Din harel shemlen: 'I do not fear the humans'
Harel halam: 'I fear the end'
