Windchime68 had indicated a desire to learn more of Adaia's history with Loghain and Maric (and Duncan, but they don't meet until a bit later). So, I figured I'd at least allow an introduction separate from DragonAge: The Halla Reborn story I'm working on.
Those of you who have read The Stolen Throne may recognize this scene. Just altered a bit to accommodate my lovely Dalish huntress. So, guess no need to tell you all that this is not to canon, as, to my knowledge, the Adaia from the game never met Maric during the rebellion.
Please review and tell me what you think. Each chapter will be from differing perspectives of their very first meeting.
This is Adaia's:
Adaia
The young Dalish hunter's eyes narrowed as she peered resolutely into the surrounding darkness. Ears alert, the elf carefully picked her way through the surrounding woods. There, she spotted them. Several bodies of shemlens lay in varying poses of death. She recognized the orate armor of the Orlesian chevaliers scattered amongst the less unified armor worn by the Fereldan rebels. The hunter scoffed. Fools. Fighting over land!
A barely detectible noise to her left. She turned her head, eyes skimming the forest's edges. Ah, there you are…she took careful aim with her elegantly curving bow. Now, just stay…and let loose one black fletched arrow. A sharp cry! Good, she found her target. She crab walked closer. Ah, not dead yet, she thought as her target crashed through the underbrush, seeking for escape. Fools all…another arrow loosed, and the man - an Orlesian scout - fell dead. Two arrows, she berated herself. Cost me two arrows.
Glancing up, keeping well into the shadows, she spied a form rush from the camp that lay just beyond the hillock. Glancing around, taking note of where her archers stood, she whirled her hand in the air quickly, ordering them to circle around. The standing order was to kill any and all Orlesians they found. The Fereldans they were to spare - if possible. After all, if the humans were going to fight over land, may as well assist those who truly owned this land. That is, unless they did something stupid.
Knowing her hunters would perform their tasks, the elven woman followed after the fleeing form.
The form - a human man it appeared - staggered about, coming up short as an armored Orlesian moved toward him, his sword pointed at his throat. The elf could not make out the words, but she was determined to save the man - if man he was. She heard others - Orlesians most likely - approach. Judging by the way the Orlesian was talking to - taunting - the young Fereldan, the elf figured she had time and proceeded to take down two of the approaching chevaliers first.
The swordsman heard the cries and then falling bodies of his compatriots. Growling out a warning, he made to plunge his sword through the other man's throat. An arrow struck through his sword hand, dropping the blade. A cry of rage and agony changed to gurgling as another arrow blossomed from his throat. Eyes wide in disbelief, the chevalier fell over, dead.
Four more arrows, the elven hunter griped as she marched to where the young human man remained sitting on the ground. Wonderful! Another fool! She saw his eyes widen as she stepped over to him. Whimpering Idiot! She scoffed, glaring at him.
Blue eyes met steel grey. The elf was frowning and made to move to help the young man to his feet when the unmistakable noises of other chevaliers barging through the woods came to their ears. Spinning swiftly, the Dalish hunter fired off five arrows in quick succession, felling three other intruders. Cursing in her native tongue, the elf dropped her bow, pulling two curved blades. Standing over the human (was he ever going to rise?) she turned and met the chevalier's blade.
Parrying his thrusts, trying to entangle it in her dual blades, the elf had to admit that the swordsman had skill. Standing easily two heads taller than the elven woman, dressed in heavy plate, bearing shield and sword, the chevalier obviously believed he the superior warrior in this match. Bearing his shield before him, he swiped out with his sword. The elf danced back, well out of the way of the sweeping blade, circling around, striking out with her blades - one and then the other - keeping the heavily armored man off balance as he turned to always keep her before him.
He swung out again, and the elf danced gracefully out of range, a slow, malicious smile crossing her lovely yet fierce face. The Orlesian was saying something to her, something taunting, about taking it slowly. Perhaps enjoying her company before allowing her to die. If she was a good little elf.
She spit at him. Showing him she was not a good little elf.
He lunged forward again, trying to use strength against the agility of an elf. An elf who knows how to fight in the wilderness, where she won't get tangled in underbrush and other vegetative life. The chevalier slipped more than once on a root here and there. Her blades danced along the length of his sword, briefly slipping behind the safety of his shield. A quick flick, and the tip of one of her daggers nipped his chin, cutting deeply. A steady stream of blood flowed from the wound.
She danced back again, searching for an opening in the metal casing of his armor.
Ah, and the fool has finally at least moved out of the way. She shifted her eyes back to her opponent. He was tiring, the dancing around, swinging out at a target that always remained just out of reach. Fool humans, wearing all that metal. She scoffed out at him, jumping to him, blades lashing out, seeking the crease she knew was hidden somewhere in the armor. The screech of ironbark upon steel set her teeth on edge, and she nimbly danced back and away from his sweeping blade.
She kicked out, connecting with his knee. He staggered, and she danced behind him, kicking out again, connecting with the back of his knee this time. He stumbled, landing on his right knee, the other wrenched painfully. He's a proud one, she thought as he grimly regained his feet, rushing at her despite the pain in his legs, trying to connect his shield with her face.
Jumping to the side, she lashed out with a blade, angling upwards, grazing the blade along the side of his neck and up to his face. Screaming in pain, blood pouring from the side where much of the skin had been removed, the Orlesian knight readied his stance again.
The elf had to give this one credit. She had been dancing circles around him, winning minor strikes against his armor, and now bestowed upon him a rather painful injury. And yet he still comes. A feral grin crossed her face. Time to end things.
The chevalier attacked with a powerful sword and shield combination, obviously empowered by the pain in his face. She managed to avoid most of the assault, but his shield did land a hit to her shoulder and spun her away. He shouted a victory as he lunged after the elf with his sword, his shield held out rather than tucked in closer.
Snarling, the pain in her shoulder nearly unbearable, the elf swung about, quickly regaining her balance. She ducked down, under the piercing blade, and rose, just inside his shield. She smiled up into his startled face, just as she brought her blade up. Striking solidly, the blade pierced through the bottom of his chin, and straight up into his brain.
The knight convulsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Her blade stuck, and so the elf danced away from the falling body, and watched it fall to the bloody ground.
She turned to glare at the man who had not the sense to run when he had the chance. What? Did she almost lose her life for an idiot? She said as much, his blue eyes widening at her verbal assault. He raised his hands in a placating manner, but the elf merely slapped them down. With a growl, she stalked over to the man she just killed and rudely yanked her blade from his head.
She sheathed her blades and retrieved her bow. The man tried to thank her but she ignored him. Whimpering idiot! She hissed at him.
A crashing sound behind her, and the elf spun, arrow notched to bow, string pulled tight, and aimed at the heart of the raven haired man, his bow likewise ready and aimed at her, who entered the site. Whimpering Idiot called for peace as a warrior woman with dark hair entered as well, her shield and sword ready to attack. She obviously is wiser than Whimpering Idiot, the elf concluded, taking her eyes off Warrior Woman and fixing them upon the man now before her.
In cool tones, the archer ordered the elf to lower her weapon.
In cooler tones, the elf told him that he should if he wished to live.
The archer gave her a sardonic smile, yet the elf's expression remained cold as snow. Raising a hand, the man relaxed his stance, relaxing his hold on his bowstring, pulling the arrow free with one hand and holding his bow in the other.
Maintaining her stance for a few more moments, the Dalish woman relaxed her own. She stiffened again, as did Archer and Warrior Woman, as the sounds of running feet came their way. Bursting through the woods, gasping for breath, stood a small elven woman, golden curls down her back, dagger in her hand. She gasped, startled, to see two sets of bows aimed in her direction.
Whimpering Idiot stepped in front of both archers, shouting for them to stand down. Archer eased his stance, and so the Dalish did as well. Frowning at the new comer (Flat Ear), she made a move to leave.
Whimpering Idiot, however, would not allow her to. He called to her, stepped over and placed his hand on her arm. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he immediately (and wisely. Perhaps not quite the fool?) backed off. Warrior Woman had stepped forward, asking the Dalish hunter her name.
A scowl formed on her face, she cocked her head, listening for her fellow hunters. She did not hear any of their calls, and she grew concerned. Yet, she had a feeling these shemlen fools may still be in need of her help.
With a small smile at Warrior Woman, the Dalish hunter gave a quick nod.
"Adaia."