She ignored the panic in her chest, ducking beneath the wagon, ignoring the mud and what she suspected was rat excrement if not that of some Noble son's war mongrel. Survival won out and she crouched like the animal many thought her to be, tensing as the thud of the human boys' feet stomped by, their swords drawn, clacking against the cobblestone as they went, their yells cruel and excited all the same. They were not use to the weight of their swords, the fine craftsmenship wasted on the likes of them who would use it to be bullies. She waited until the pests' voices had faded away and then crawled from beneath the wagon, rising. Mud clung to the modest clothes the Keeper had given her and her dagger was lost. But she was otherwise unharmed and had the potions that were needed back at the camp. She scraped what mud she could from her clothes, turning in the direction opposite the human clouts, hurrying away.
Her return was not a quiet one, under the watchful eye of various Dalish hunters. Most notably were Maren and Merrill, the latter's face grim while the former only seemed worried. Wordlessly, she slipped from the back of the Halla and the majestic creature returned to its caretaker. Whispering to it, Maren led it away, flanked by some of the hunters. The few that remained kept the disapproval clear on their faces. And Merrill herself shook her head.
"Daia," she said, her words a tired, exasperated sigh.
Daia ignored the sigh, the exhaustion, holding out the bag of potions. The group stared at it but no one made to grab it. She was in no state to see the Keeper.
"Back already, Daia!"
His voice was welcome, preceding his wheat colored head as he danced between the wall of hunters. His bow was slung over his shoulder, another, her's, in his hand. He gave her a wink, a subtle nod at his pack.
"Tamlen," Daia greeted and she was grateful as he reached out, touching her hand, briefly.
They were at least attempting to hide their fancy for each other. Tamlen took the potion pack, holding it out to Merrill. As if she wasn't the First to the Keeper. And one day the Keeper. He smiled.
"The Keeper is looking for you," he informed as he practically pushed the pack into her hands.
Merrill's lips formed words but she didn't get a chance to speak them as the two took her distraction as a chance to slip away, perfectly in sync with the other's needs, wants and intentions. All she could do was watch the whipping ponytail that was Daia's impractically long hair as she and Tamlen took off. She could have sent the hunters after them but they would wander back and perhaps with more herbs. Tamlen was good at finding trouble. And Daia, for all her headstrong and impulsive ways, was good at getting out of trouble.
Humans. She had hoped to be free of them but Daia was not so lucky, her footsteps the very thing that brought her to her enemy. They cowered as soon as they saw her and she felt pride. In a dress, in a human town, she looked merely like a victim. But here, in the forest, her body encased in the armor of the Dalish and armed with her bow, she was a warrior, a force to be reckoned with and a sight to be respected. And the humans knew it. Their fear grew when Tamlen joined her and for a heartbeat, she believed one of the men would pee themselves. Daia was not a cruel woman and did not delight often in the fear of others but her day had been less then the best. She had crawled through mud and excrement, had been chased like a dog by human men and was no doubt in for a scolding when she returned to camp, probably from Merrill. And so she and Tamlen began their banter, speaking of killling the quick children as if they slaughtered witless humans as a past time when in truth the Keeper usually ordered them to give humans wide berth.
"Strange creatures?" Tamlen asked, repeating the first man's words.
Daia glanced his way, her mind having drifted. She hoped her banter had matched his, distracted as she was. What creature could be stranger to a Dalish? In their travels, her kin had quite possibly seen everything. No creature was stranger And Tamlen's thoughts must have been there as well, his eyes alight with a mischievious glimmer as he looked at her. He was lucky she enjoyed adventure and his company.
"Where?" she asked, barely listening.
She'd already mapped out the route they must have taken, her knowledge of the forest extensive. There was only one logical place for them to have ventured from. And she was right, the directions rattled off spot on. Tamlen cocked his head a bit her way.
"So, now what shall we do with them?" he asked.
He was grinning and she knew he thought of this as a game. She also knew that if she said to kill them, he would, no questions asked. It would serve them right after all, what with the untold amounts of elven blood that the humans had shed. But the Keeper's influence was ever strong and she shrugged, lowering her own bow.
"Let them go. They are not worth our time," she said nonchalantly. "Not when we have strange creatures to investigate."
Tamlen was a child again in that instance, excited and daring, his attention all for Daia as he to lowered the bow he'd had pointed at their captives.
"Very well," he relented, not at all put off.
The humans took off as Tamlen tucked his arrow into its quiver and then, with a bounce to his step, he started down the directed path, stopping only when he realized Daia wasn't following, still standing in place, her bow half cocked.
"Daia?" his voice was gentle as he spoke.
"Coming," she said, ignoring those eyes and hurrying to join him.
Her disappointment remained only in herself, in the fact that her thirst for blood was so much greater than Tamlen's. She felt ashamed, her thoughts dark. Thoughts she dared not share with Tamlen, though he was her closest friend. And perhaps soon, something more.
She had told herself that there was no need to worry, that as long as they had each other, neither of the young Dalish would come to harm. They were each other's balances, even when galivanting. But the Keeper could not help worrying, her steps bringing her to the edge of the camp, looking into the gaping maw of the woods around them. And she knew the moment Merrill joined her, also worried.
"I'm going after them," Merrill declared, her words half hearted.
She feared for them and her fear made her uncertain. Scared.
"I will go," the Keeper announced.
Her heart ached at the thought that Daia and Tamlen might've come to harm, that either could be hurt.
"You cannot!" Merrill objected.
"It was I who am responsible for my people. For Daia's sake as well as Tamlen's, they must be found."
"Scouts said they spotted humans in the forest!" Merrill announced. "What if they have not left? What if it was they who have caused this disappearance of Daia and Tamlen? What if-"
The woman's words trailed off, silenced by the approaching silhouette of a man. The Keeper could sense no ill intent, her gaze piercing the darkening wood, ready for anything. Though her people were not a hostile one, not by nature, they had been burned once too many and she could sense the movement of each of her kin as they took up arms, alerted by the approaching stranger. He carried himself with sure steps, even though his night vision was certainly not better than hers. And even still, he had to see the shape of numerous Dalish, bows ready, some no doubt pointed at him. And he did not see perplexed or concerned, his steps never faltering. He either knew of their presence in the area because he had come to kill them, to try and take their Halla from them as many had before in their travels. Or he did not care about their presence and was merely passing by. The Keeper did not know which she preferred, either being the better option than what was the truth. First to enter the beam of light from the fire was Daia in his arms, her body wounded and pale. It was all the Keeper saw, her body moving on its own towards the man. He was a human, a fact she suspected, his proud face covered in a dark beard, the exact color hard to determine in the darkness. She was no longer in the moment, her emotions forcing themselves back behind a mental wall of practicality, the one she treated all of her kin with when their injuries appeared grave, as Daia's did now. Her arms took the weight of the wounded elf, noting how the careful braid was undone, her dark hair plastered to her face, making her look that much paler. Merrill was shouting orders, her steps in line with the Keeper as they hurried Daia to the Keeper's tent.
He helped himself to a place by the fire, the log beneath him empty of elves. He felt their eyes on him however. He was use to eyes on him. His gaze remained on the tent, the one the wounded elf had been taken into. His mind was of course on her and perhaps a part of her would always stay with him. Her will to live was incredible, her wounds and the fever not enough to deter her from clawing her way from the ruins he'd gone investigating. And he'd be back to investigate them as soon as he knew the elf was well. One of the elves made their way over, setting a plate beside him. He wasn't hungry but knew that it was an honor that he hadn't been booted from the camp yet. Probably at the command of the Keeper. Speaking of the Keeper, the woman ducked from the tent, heaving a weary sigh as she approached him and he rose to greet her.
"You have my thanks," she said of him. "For returning Daia."
"How does she fare?" he asked.
"Her fever has gone down but not by much," the Keeper reported.
Her eyes narrowed and he knew she was studying him, taking in the armor he wore as she undoubtedly tried to figure out his purpose for being in the forest. And while she was grateful, she was weary of a human all the same.
"I would ask you who you are and what your purpose is for being here," the Keeper informed him, her words leaving little room for him to deny such.
And in truth, he had no reason to.
"I am Duncan, of the Grey Wardens," he replied.
The Keeper heaved another sigh and there was exhaustion in her face.
"For a Grey Warden to be here," she began. "Means we are in dark times."
Duncan nodded.
"The Blight-" he started, stopping when she lifted her hand.
"My people will have nothing to do with that," she insisted, voice firm.
Duncan's brow instantly furrowed.
"The Grey Wardens have a treaty that says otherwise. As well as the Right of Conscription."
"I see no treaty," the Keeper argued. "And have your kind not done enough to us? We Dalish are scattered to the winds, isolated from our kin."
She gestured to the camp, to the elves that still were armed and watching him.
"Warden, none of them would go with you," she informed him and her voice had softened.
It was Duncan's turn to sigh now.
"I can't argue with that," he grumbled.
And he didn't have it in him to force them to. The Joining cost enough. He would not send more lives to it. The Keeper must have seen his surrender in his face, her own features softening. She nodded, stepping away from him, her body half turned towards the tent she'd emerged from minutes earlier. The other elf healer was waiting at the entrance, the flap drawn a little aside and he could just barely see inside, see the outline of the elf he'd brought to them. She seemed to be resting, though certainly not peacefully, her face contorted with possibly pain and discomfort.
"I must ask you, Grey Warden, to finish your business and leave," the Keeper request.
Her wise eyes were sad as she now looked at her patient, her gaze lingering before returning to Duncan.
"And leave us in peace."
"You cannot escape the Blight," Duncan said in a last ditch effort. "We all must fight or we will fall."
The Keeper said nothing, her gaze blank and he knew his words had fallen on deaf ears. Wordlessly, she returned to the tent, ducking in and the elf awaiting her followed. Her dismissal was absolute then and he could already see the elves stirring restlessly. And he got the message. If he did not go, they would make him.