Venture Forth
Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: The structure of this fanfic is inspired by Forthrightly's drabble-based stories from the Inuyasha fandom. The prompts come from challenge-the DOT livejournal DOT com, Table A.
191 - Hungry
"Is everyone well?"
Theron Mahariel's voice was flat; the answer to that question was of little interest to him. The words were a formality, spoken to alert the others before he stepped into the flickering circle of firelight. His dwarven companions had been rather unnerved by his ghost-like ability to move unseen, and had threatened him with an axe between the eyes if he didn't make this minor concession. Mahariel agreed with little argument; he actually found their complaints quite flattering.
Now he returned to their camp with three lean jackrabbits hanging loosely in his grip. They smelled of musk, dirt and blood, and not the least bit like dinner. The pungent odor wasn't enough to deter his appetite; once he would have been able to run for miles after a breakfast of halla's milk and berries, but now he was hungry all the time, his body craving meat to stoke the inner fires that made him a Grey Warden. Mahariel sighed as he felt his stomach twist. Constant hunger and terrible nightmares were a small price to pay for honor and respect (and salvation from certain death), but they were so very inconvenient at times.
Aeducan returned his greeting with a nod. "There's a pot of water over there." Her face brightened as she caught sight of the rabbits. "I didn't think there would be nugs on the surface."
"Really?" Brosca looked up from the bag she was rummaging through. "Oh, they're like tiny nugs with hair!"
The duster and the former princess of Orzammar exchanged pleased glances, forgetting, for a moment, the stilted awkwardness that had overshadowed all their interactions since leaving the thaig.
"Here they are known as rabbits," Duncan said, emerging from his tent stripped of armor. He held a cloak-wrapped bundle in one hand and a bottle of polishing oil in the other. "The taste isn't quite the same, but there are some similarities. They both make a fine stew."
"Ever tried a rabbit pancake?"
"No, and I hope I never have to," Mahariel replied. He had not enjoyed the nug-based diet of Orzammar. The dwarf who discovered the creatures were edible should have kept that knowledge to himself.
"Are you sure about that?" Brosca hefted her maul, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"Quite sure," he said. "If you want to flatten something, smash your hammer against those rocks over there."
"Save it for the darkspawn," Aeducan suggested. "Their heads crack open like rotten eggs. It's quite satisfying, except for the stench."
Brosca roared with laughter, and even Duncan chuckled. Mahariel managed a smile, teetering between disgust and amusement. His preferred method of execution was an arrow through the throat at a distance of at least ten paces.
He left his bow and quiver at the foot of his bedroll, which someone had thoughtfully unpacked for him. The Dalish elf intended to sleep out in the open for as long as the weather permitted, even though his fellow travelers had a separate tent each. This journey might take him out of the forest and away from the protective shadow of its trees, but that was no reason to abandon the customs of his people.
As Mahariel skinned and gutted the rabbits with quick efficiency, Duncan and the dwarves quietly discussed the darkspawn. Brosca was entirely ignorant when it came to Grey Warden lore, having heard only the most distorted rumors and outright lies. Aeducan had fought many of the creatures out in the Deep Roads, though still full of questions and eager to learn.
The commander's lesson mostly concerned ancient history: the Tevinter Imperium's corruption of their dragon gods and the subsequent formation of the Grey Wardens, including the fact that members of their order once rode griffons into battle. Both women turned pale at the thought of flying, and the conversation quickly moved on to other topics. Information that might be of more interest to the recruits was left unsaid; Duncan did not mention how unlikely it was that they would survive the joining, or describe any of the potion's dubious side effects.
Mahariel listened with half an ear, most of his concentration focused on producing something edible for dinner. He hadn't expected to be the Wardens' primary cook, yet that role had fallen to him by default. The durgen'len were good folk, but after the week they had spent in Orzammar, he never wanted to ingest something made by dwarven hands ever again. And for all his skills and accomplishments in battle, the commander's primary method of making dinner was to lump all the ingredients together and boil them until they had the color, consistency, and flavor of mud. After a night at a Fereldan inn, Mahariel was rather afraid that this might be a typical human trait.
All three rabbits went into the pot, for the dwarves could eat almost as much as a starving Warden. Slowly, he added fresh herbs, roots, mushrooms, and a pinch of precious salt, which he safeguarded in a waterproof pouch. A fragrant cloud of lemon thyme and rosemary hovered above the simmering liquid, and everyone shifted closer.
"It doesn't smell anything like nug," Aeducan observed.
"Thank you," the cook replied. "It will be ready soon. Do not touch it while I am gone." The latter remark was directed, surprisingly, toward Duncan, who had been reaching for the spoon. He smiled innocently and gave the mixture a quick stir. Mahariel rolled his eyes and left, sure that the moment he disappeared into the trees the man would sneak a taste.