"She's wrong!" the elf hissed, stubbornly kicking a rounded grey stone down the path, the pebble bouncing off the worn ground before landing in the creak below her. "Lasa ghilan, she could have chosen any one. Any. One. And she chose me? Me?!" Her head shook, eyes rolling with little humor behind the action.
She took a steadying breath in through her nose, allowing the air to fill her lungs before she slowly exhaled it out through full, pursed lips. Her hands remained clenched into tightly bound fists at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her weathered palms.
This wasn't her battle, this wasn't her fight, her war. She had suffered enough at the hands of those around her. Why was she being forced into this again?
Her desire to leave her Clan was slim to nonexistent.
The woods Clan Lavellan had called home for the past fortnight were comforting, familiar. Nestled amidst the Coastlands, just along the Waking Sea, they had all become inured to the sound of waves crashing against the shore, of the cry of seagulls. It was not customary to find refuge in such parts but, seeing as the how the War raged the lands of the Free Marches, they had little option but then to travel south into Ferelden.
Ah, yes, the War… The perpetrator behind everything. Kirkwall wasn't where the conflict started… but it certainly did nothing to slow down the ever inevitable doom. Mages and Templars, at each other's throats – literally. It started a three years ago; Lady Merideth and Grand Enchanter Orisono had done what they could to stall the threat but even they were powerless to the disaster that landed at their doorsteps. The 'Champion', a woman shem who went by the name of Hawke, also had her hands in the mess – Lavellan's sister Clan, Sabrae, had dealings with this human. They vouched for her. But even she and all of her companions were worthless against the onslaught.
When the chaos started, both clans fled for the safety of the tree line, for the waters that would take them away while they still had a chance. Clan Sabrae had moved further west. They still had close contacts with them though their messages were becoming fewer and further between. Seems the battles were moving into Ferelden as well.
In order to broker some resemblance of peace, the leaders from both parties agreed to meet to deliberate terms of a treaty, an end to the War before more innocents got hurt in the crossfires. The Mages vouched for freedom while the Templars demanded order. Their disagreements would be brought to light at an event known as The Conclave. Said event generated attention from all corners of Thedas, including Clan Lavellan and many others. Though Dalish were not required to hand their magically gifted clan mates over to the Circle, the discussions that would take place at the Conclave could alter such long held traditions.
Which meant that every Keeper wanted an ear at Haven, for when the peace talks would start.
This is what had put her in this predicament. A bloody war and a redundant Conclave.
In the distance she could hear a bout of laughter sparking up through the trees, followed by a quick reproach from an angered mother. They were not far from the aravels though just far enough that they would be out of earshot from the Keeper…
"Keeper Deshanna would not pick you if she didn't think you could do it, Riwyn," Ahsrill chided, her fingers idly picking at the hem of her tunic, white golden hair cascading around her shoulder in gentle waves, piercing blue eyes focused on her task. "You'll be back before you know it."
Riwyn slid a hand over her forehead, liquid jade eyes flashing with annoyance. "She's sending me into a pit of vipers. Why would I give the faintest care for what happened between the mages and the Templars? Fenedhis!" Besides having very little opinion on the outcome of the two groups, there was another reason Riwyn did not wish to go. Being away from her younger sister, the mere thought of it made her heart squeeze uncomfortably, the ache already settling in for the long run.
They had grown up in Denerim together, in the alienage there. Their parents worked diligently to put food on the table, but it was never enough and eventually the sisters had gone to work as servants for the Lords and Ladies in nobility. It wasn't ideal… the punishments they would receive for stepping a pinky toe out of line were severe but she couldn't truly complain. There were those who had it worse. At least she had her family.
Until one day, the day it all fell apart.
Tevinter Mages took over the alienage. It was during the Fifth Blight, the perfect time for them to attack. The City Guard were preoccupied by darkspawn threats, too busy to notice a few city elves missing. It wasn't until servants stopped showing up for their duties that the nobles got involved… and by then, it was too late. By then, her parents were gone… taken away to serve as slaves to the men and women of Tevinter.
By then, her family had crumbled apart.
Knowing they were no longer safe, Riwyn had taken her younger into the sewers where they hid with a few other children who had lost their mothers and fathers. There they stayed until the Final Battle of the Blight. While the Hero of Ferelden led a band against the Archdemon, the children of the alienage retreated from Denerim. Bruised and battered, bloodied and exhausted, the sisters and the others made their way north. Refugees across Ferelden were still in the midst of their mad-dash to the Free Marshes, no one paid any attention to a handful of tiny elven stowaways.
The plains of the Free Marches sang freedom to the children. Though their hearts bitter, they managed to continue onwards. It was months later that Keeper Deshanna found them, bundled up in a cave for warmth as the winter days delivered their snow, drenching the group in frozen snowflakes and ice. Though Riwyn was slow to trust, she knew that they would not survive the fortnight if they did not agree to the aid Deshanna offered them.
Clan Lavellan welcomed the children with open arms, giving them a family once more. They worked hard and together they managed to gain the clan's full approval, joining the ranks of the hunters. It took time to learn their history, lore, and customs. For Ashrill, the task was simplistic – the girl young and capable of easily forgetting her time as a knife ear, a city elf. For Riwyn, it was a challenge. Recovering from the loss of her parents was an undertaking she still has not overcome, having to erase what was left to replace it with that of Dalish felt like a betrayal to them. Fear of impending rejection, however, stirred her into action. She too was young, a mere thirteen at the time of the Keeper finding them. By the time she was allowed to get her vallaslin, she was keen to their teachings.
And by now… she was attached. Firmly. And the thought of leaving it behind, of leaving her sister behind… Gods, she couldn't do it. They had survived so much… she couldn't bear to apart from her, not after everything they had been through together.
Ah, and then there was the sneaking bit. Last Riwyn checked, two-handed warriors weren't exactly adept at the rogue-ish, thiefy, 'cloaks and daggers' skillset.
Ashrill glanced up at her sister, bouncing up from the red oak stump that served as her seat. Placing her hands firmly on Riwyn's slender shoulders she encouraged, "Everything will be alright. Go to this Conclave, poke your nose around a moment, get a grasp of the situation, and come home. You won't even have to deal with the shems or mages or anyone. Stick to the shadows. Like we did in Denerim." Out of sight, out of mind. They learned young that if you acted unassuming, everyone else would believe it as so.
Riwyn offered a lop-sided grin. In her gut, she feared that this would not be that type of trip – the kind that one returns from swiftly.
No... her instincts told her she would be gone for much longer than they assumed. This wasn't a War that could be solved with petty talks and signed parchment. The road ahead would be enduring, twisting and winding. If it even had an end, Riwyn knew it would be a challenging one to find.
"Promise me," her sister began as her elder sibling began to grab the pack that rested at their feet. The pack was loaded down with a shem based armor – a green garb with iron shoulders and a pair of breeches she was certain would scratch – a few days' worth of rations, a bedroll, a canteen filled with water, and a cloak for good measure. Riwyn always despised the cold. "Promise me, you will be home by the night I fall asleep for the fourth time without you." Her eyes so hopeful, so filled with an innocence that Riwyn treasured above all else.
Hefting the sack onto her back, Riwyn replied in kind, "I promise."
"Ghilan'nian guide you, Riwyn. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent. Dareth shiral," Ashrill whispered. Riwyn could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Be brave, sister.
After a quick embrace she faced South, Clan Lavellan behind her and an unknown future ahead. I promise to be home, I promise to come home to you, Ashrill. A few days' time and I will be home.
Go to the Conclave, poke your nose around a moment, get a grasp leave… Conclave, a moment, grasp, leave…
How difficult could that be?
-oOo-
The waves of Lake Calenhad beat against the coastline, careening into the sand and rock that adorned it. Ever so casually, the golden rays of the sun dwindled, casting elongated shadows across the expanse of verdant grass and trees. A soft breeze tickled her skin, tugging at her braided white locks of hair, loose strands batting playfully at her high cheek bones and pointed jaw.
The Mages Tower, long abandoned, stood before her, peeking out across the lake. The ferry that would once take passengers to and from its pearly gate was guard-less, no post for a man to hold. The only building that still remained was a tavern and even it was quiet save for the owner and the few who dare travel during such times. Riwyn considered herself unlucky enough to fall into the second category. Still, she had no choice… The next village was easily a half day's journey away. It was either take a chance at the shady tavern or take an even bigger dare on her own in the woods.
Survivability was higher if she stuck to the tavern.
She tentatively took to the steps that led up into The Spoiled Princess, hand raising to push open the door as she made her way into the building. It creaked on its hinges but complied, allowing her passage. A bard ticked away on a lute in the corner, his voice spilling out across the small foyer. The few patrons that were in attendance were stooped over their ale, frowns plastered firmly on their faces. The air smelled heavily of piss and beer, of dirty deeds, and silken lies.
Lovely…
With her hood raised, Riwyn headed for the bar. A shem peered up at her from under thick, bushy brows. He reeked of bread yeast and sweat… and dog, much like everything else in Ferelden.
"Room for one?" she requested, rubbing her right hand nervously over her left arm, attention flicking between the bard, the innkeeper, and the door. She felt enclosed, trapped, a prisoner to the tavern. She couldn't see the stars twinkling above her head or smell the earth in the air. No… instead, she was in a smelly inn surrounded by shems who would rather see her mopping the floors than serving her as an equal guest.
"Two gold," he grunted in response, gaze hardening.
Two gold? She dug in the deep lavender pouch that hung on her hip, fingers grasping at the twenty silvers she had to her name. "Any chance we could discuss the price?"
"No. Two gold or no room."
"Could I-"
"No."
Her heart sunk, a pit formed in her stomach. "Can I have a glass of water, at least."
The man grunted once more, moving to retrieve a mug from below the counter. "Not often we get visitors in these parts. Where you headed?"
She bit her bottom lip, clasping and unclasping her hands. "West."
"Not very specific."
"No, I suppose it's not."
He passed her the cup, water spilling across the wooden counter top before it came to a stop before her. "I don't want any trouble. Had 'nough of it lately with the War going on."
"I don't intend on giving you trouble, sir."
"Good. Three silver for the water."
She bobbed her head in thanks, paying her dues before retreating for a chair near the door.
However, before she could arrive, said door flew open, banging haphazardly against the wall and sending several glass bobbles shattering to the floor.
"Everyone stand still!" a man in glistening armor stood before them, sword and shield at the ready, glare tense and threatening. "I have reason to believe there is a Mage here. I have been sworn with the duty of hunting the fiend down!"
The barkeep cleared his throat from his position. "We are a safe area. Lower your weapon!"
Hot adrenaline poured into Riwyn's veins as she took a startled step backwards, back brushing against the wall, muscles taut. Mage? Where?
The Templar's steely eyes focused on the man at the bar. "I apologize for the inconvenience but I humbly refuse. This mage is responsible for the death of countless of my men. I will not stand by and allow such atrocities to occur."
The patrons that once sat so emotionless were now aghast, mouths hanging open in surprise. Their mumbles rumbled out across the tavern. "Who?" "Which one of you is it?" "Is it you?" Their voices rose in pitch and volume, some lashing out with insults and sneers.
Riwyn slid along the wall, pausing only long enough to rest her mug at an empty table. Don't get involved, Keeper Deshanna had told her. If a fight should come about, flee.
"Everyone calm down!" the Templar commanded but his words fell on insolent ears.
The bard in the corner stirred, body rigid, hands still on his lute. His lips moved though inaudible, his gaze locked with Riwyn's.
He's the Mage, her gut screamed. He's the one.
And he knew she knew.
Before she was able to react, the Mage dove into action. Abandoning his instrument, he snatched at a wooden stave that had been resting beside him. With it in hand, he lowered himself into an offensive stance, Sparks splattered out from the tip of the staff, red flames licking the air with their fiery caress.
And there she stood, frozen with fear, legs below her trembling with fright. Her hands splayed against the wall behind her, her spine digging into panels as if she could meld into them, become invisible.
Become less of a target
Even as an orb of fire began to form, even as it was hurtled towards her, she remained paralyze. Her brain begged her to duck, her mind pleaded her to move, to dodge, to do anything but stand there like a statue… but her body did not comply.
She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut as the orb of light lurched towards her, braced for impact…
"Watch out!"
The blow never came.
When she pried her jade eyes apart, the Templar had moved to stand before her, steel shield raised to block the flames. Fire kissed the planks that made up the flooring, scorching them and pillowing the air with smoke.
"Get out of here!" the Templar demanded the elf, cocking his head towards the window to her left.
By now the patrons had made their way for the door and were clawing at each other, madly attempting to make their escape. But with such unorganized chaos, their attempts were futile and they only managed to pile themselves up.
Riwyn stole a glance back at the Templar, watched as he advanced on the Mage. Her heart stammered out an unsteady beat, pounded in her ears so loudly she worried that the whole tavern could hear it. Her breaths came in rapid gasps thrust through parted lips, a cool sweat prickling along the nape of her neck.
The Templar's attacks were quick, calculated, agile. His sword sang through the air, candle light glinting off of the metal as it curved towards its target. The Mage raised his staff to parry the blow, lighting crackling out from his fingertips, weaving through the armor the Templar wore. He gritted his teeth against the pain that wracked through his very core, growling as he pushed his foe backwards with all of his strength.
"I will set this whole place ablaze!" the Mage threatened, fire dancing in his irises.
"You wouldn't dare, not with so many innocents!"
"Just try me!" he warned, voice laced with venom, malice, and pure hatred.
Time to go.
Riwyn spun towards the window, finger nails digging along the frame and coaxing the glass up. Panic made her actions erratic, uncontrolled. Her hands shook, her mind reeled. The heat of battle continued behind her, the warmth of flames could be felt along her back. The whole tavern would be set alight… she needed to move.
Metal biting against wood, the stave pounding on the shield, angered shouts, shouted spells..
She had to focus, had to concentrate. Escape, survive. Live.
The window groaned but obeyed, opening up to the world beyond the Spoiled Princess. The cool breeze from the night air eased her worries by a fraction, steadying her resolve.
Hoisting herself up onto the window still, she twisted around until her back was facing the outside, Reaching up she clasped the top of the frame, pulling herself up enough to slide her feet out before dropping down onto the dirt and grass below.
Already flames began to flicker from where the Mage stood, engulfing the small platform that had once served as his stage.
She could hear commotion by the entrance, patrons and barkeep scrambling out of the door and towards the shoreline. Smoke billowed out from chimney, crept towards the window and door.
Her jade gaze fell back upon the Templar. The sword on her back felt heavier, weighing her down. She should help, she should do something.
Don't get involved.
But the man couldn't do this on his own… he was weak compared to the power of the Mage.
If a fight should come about, flee.
Her hand rested on the hilt, readying herself to unsheathe the weapon, to join in the battle…
Promise, promise you'll come back.
It dropped to her flank.
I can't… I can't do it. I'm nothing, I wouldn't be able to help.
With a heart burdened with guilt, she turned her back to the tavern, to the Templar…
And she ran.
-oOo-
Riwyn only stopped when her lungs begged for relief, when her throat ached with hoarseness, when she felt as if she could no longer breathe.
She stooped over, hands on her knees, and sucked in greedy gulps of air. Sweat drenched her face and back, hair stuck to her skin along her neck and brow. She ran the back of her hand along her forehead, eyes blinking several times to clear her vision.
The scent of the tavern burning had dissipated some time ago but she could still hear the screams of the Templar as his flesh blistered and charred. The pit in her stomach grew. I left him, I abandoned him.
"He's just a shem," she spoke to no one save her own conscious, trying to convince herself.
You don't expect me to swallow that bull shit, do you?
"I didn't have a choice," her voice sounded pitiful, even to her own pointed ears.
Just keep telling yourself that.
Her hand rose, fingers curling around the amulet that lay along her collar bone. A silver medallion, a lone antler with a bright sapphire gem at the base of the horn. "I did it for Ashrill. I did it so I would survive."
She was no match for the Mage… he would have slaughtered as easily as the Templar. Against animals and beasts, she excelled. Her years of hunting and gathering had made her a proficient killer… those who possessed magic were another matter entirely. They possessed knowledge and abilities she couldn't even begin to fathom or understand.
Her mind flashed back to the Tevinter mages that had overtaken Denerim, of the fires that consumed the small huts they called home, of ice that froze her friends and loved ones, of their sickening twisted sneers as they dragged them away in chains.
No… she was completely and utterly useless against such forces.
Riwyn scanned her surroundings. Night had fallen, the forest dark and ominous. This territory was mysterious, unfamiliar. She had to be on her toes, couldn't be caught unaware.
She stifled a yawn, eye lids heavy with exhaustion.
But she also needed to sleep.
"I'll sleep up there," she whispered to herself, focus zeroing in on a sturdy willow branch above her head.
Starting at the base of the trunk, she lurched upwards, hands coiling around one of the lower branches to drag herself up onto. From there it was only a matter of seconds until she was high off the ground, hidden by the long tendrils of willow leaves.
She pulled a length of rope from her pack, securing herself to the trunk of the willow, tying a knot at her stomach to keep her in place. "Least I won't fall in the middle of the night."
With one last glance around, she folded her hands in her lap and leaned her head against the bark.
Tomorrow she would make her trek to Haven. Tomorrow she would witness the Conclave. Tomorrow she would gain enough information to return home. Two days from tomorrow she would be with Ashrill once more, with her Clan again.
Perhaps if she said it enough times, she could convince herself.
She doubted she would ever be so lucky.
