A/N: I was imagining how the Sabrae clan sounded and talked like if they were DA2-fied (Welsh accent, mostly wide green eyes). Also, because I tend to overthink things and the Dalish warden was the only one really named (correct me if I'm wrong!) in the sequel.
Once again, thanks to th1nm1nt for being my edit slave. And this may be the beginnings of a monster, so feedback and comments are much appreciated!
Spring bloomed in her favorite piece of the Wilds.
She lay languidly on the grass, bow and quiver scattered by her sides as if she had nary a care in the world. Faint light trickled down on her through the canopy and she reveled in the gentle warmth on her skin, her light blonde hair fanned beneath her head like a halo. With closed eyes she took in the world she knew and loved, dampness of grass and earth below, melody of birds above, crystalline rhythm of the stream by her feet, scent of foliage and wildflowers filled the air. The sounds and smells that defined home: the forest. She sighed with content. Days like these she would rather take it easy and simply let the traps do the work. The clan was getting pudgy from all excess game she caught, and it had only been three months since she became a hunter. She hummed a silent tune and paid no heed to the fumbling presence looming behind her. Pointed ears twitched at the whisper of drawing steel but she remained unmoving, eyes still closed.
She rather liked seeing without eyes thus allowed her ears to paint the impending scene.
A footfall. A slither of taut rope. A snap. A whistling breeze.
"Gah!"
Traps did the work.
"Lyna! Get me down!"
She opened her eyes and revealed mischievous blue eyes beneath. She tipped her head backwards, with her inverted vision of her hunting partner, Tamlen, he seemed like he was floating up to the earth. One foot was held by a rope, tied to a precariously bent twig which obviously was not meant to hold a man's weight. The rest of him: strips of leather protection around the waist, weapons, and blond hair all draped upwards. His other flailing foot made the suspension bob, earning an ominous crack from the burdened branch.
The girl rolled off her back and laid on her belly, correcting her perspective. She propped her elbows on the grass and rested her chin on her palms, watching the ensnared Tamlen with a wide grin. His face looked swollen with all the blood rushing to his head. "Say please," she chirped teasingly.
"LYNA!" he shouted, voice odd and blubbery from the pull of earth on his cheeks and mouth.
Lyna got on her feet with a giggle. "Alright, alright," she brushed her leathers clean of grass and dirt with one hand and held her bow and quiver with the other to her side. With an arrow she pointed to her partner's bindings. "First, try reaching the snare, will you? And slowly, please."
Tamlen made an indignant face before complying. He brought his legs together and held his stomach taut, the slow effort of hauling himself to the bindings made his body tremble. Despite the cool spring breeze, sweat gathered on his forehead. His body curled with his chest against his legs and shaky hands reached for the snare.
As soon as his fingers enclosed on the rope, his eyes barely caught the blur of an arrow flying through and severing the bind. He crashed roughly on his back and bum, a thick bush and earth served as the only cushion. Tamlen groaned and heaved himself upright as the blonde girl skipped merrily towards him.
Lyna secured her bow and quiver behind her back and held out a helping hand, a sweet smile on her face. "Serves you right for trying to sneak up on me."
"How could I resist? You looked truly unguarded," the man muttered and took Lyna's hand and pulled himself to his feet, stepping away from the tangled bushes. "Should have known better..." He looked up to the tattered rope then to the girl before him, brows drawn together as if in deep thought.
"Is there something on my face?" Lyna asked as she brought a hand to her cheek, suddenly conscious.
"No, nothing," Tamlen turned away, looking embarrassed. "Why were you idling, anyway?" He roamed his eyes around the clearing then threaded over cautiously to the surrounding copse. He peered through each of the bushes then turned to Lyna with a curious gaze. "You only rest when you're hip-deep in game."
"I've left some traps, they should be enough. And we just caught that huge bear yesterday." Lyna stretched both her arms luxuriously as she joined her partner's side and rested a chin on his broad shoulder. His body felt tense. The girl looked curiously at Tamlen's face, a mere distance from her own. "Is there any problem, lethallin?"
"Yes...I mean no," Tamlen smiled sheepishly. "Well, it's been a while since you've received your vallaslin."
"Three months is hardly a while," Lyna said absently and pulled away from Tamlen, inspecting the thicket of blackberries before her. She knew where the conversation was headed, unions, as it had every day since she came of age. Lyna acknowledged that it was expected of her now that she was an adult, but part of her young mind simply could not wrap itself around the concept. At least the Keeper understood, after all, Lyna was the youngest hunter of her generation. Pity her hunting partner was not as emphatic.
"I'm just saying," the young man muttered and his hands balled into fists. "Do you have your eyes on someone?"
Lyna had to laugh, but regretted it as soon as she saw the pained look on Tamlen's face. With a shake of her head, she smiled. "No, I don't. I've told you, talk of betrothal feels weird when I've just become a hunter. For now, it's the only thing I want to be," she said with finality as she picked a berry and gently squeezed it between her fingers. "Blackberries are sparse this year," she declared in a further attempt to stray from the previous subject. "No wonder Merrill's so down," she giggled as she withdrew a small pouch from her sidepack and began stocking the fresh berries.
"Merrill again?" Tamlen perched himself on nearby boulder, dipping his bare feet into the stream. He began adjusting the bowstring of his weapon. "Why do you bother? She's the one avoiding us for no reason."
"She's our First, Tamlen, show some respect!" Lyna snapped, surprising even herself with the intensity of her voice. Merrill's sudden withdrawal from her peers was enough of a problem for the young hunter; she did not need Tamlen's unfounded hostility for the clan's First to add to the tension. She took a deep breath and met her partner's eyes, determined to get her point across. "And more than that, she's our friend. All that isolation can't be good for her, so the least we can do is reach out."
Tamlen averted Lyna's glare by staring on the ground. "I'm sorry, Lyna, it's just that...haven't you noticed the way she looks at you?"
The girl took pause. "...no." Curiosity trumped anger, her eyebrow lifted. "And what 'way' are you referring to?" If anything, Merrill did not seem inclined to throw her any kind of look. Merrill had withdrawn from the clan, completely immersing herself in the role of Marethari's First. She did not think much of it at the start, pinning Merrill's alienation on her new duties since she had likewise recently received her vallaslin. Lyna only became the wiser when she got the worse treatment in their circle of friends; Merrill addressed her by family name, a gesture reserved for formal company.
Tamlen looked at her, incredulous. He opened his mouth to say something, but only shook his head. "For someone with such great aim, you're incredibly blind." He smiled weakly at Lyna's pouting and returned to tweaking his bow. "At least we share the same lot."
"Maybe if you stopped with the riddles, I'll get it," she huffed. She kept her indignant façade in hope for an answer, at least until Tamlen raised dismissive hand. Lyna crossed her arms. "Fine, be that..."
Tamlen jerked his head to her direction, an index finger pressed to his pursed lips and his other hand pressed to the base of his ear. Lyna's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed with understanding of Tamlen's actions. They were not alone. She slowed her own breathing and closed her eyes, listening for any movement; if she exercised it consciously Lyna had keener hearing than anyone in her clan. After a few moments her left ear twitched.
Leaves were crushed. Pebbles tumbled. A stumble, a yelp. Cursing and urging for their clumsy companion.
Lyna opened her eyes, a crease appeared between her brows. "Three men, shemlen. They're in a path thirty to forty paces west of here." She drew her bow. "By the direction they're taking they might stumble upon camp."
Tamlen smiled and drew his bow as well. "Can't have that, can we?" Before she could reply, her partner had already dashed silently into the forest.
She sighed. The Keeper had not so subtly told her to keep an eye on Tamlen; his eagerness to test his mettle against humans had always been a concern in the clan. Her People may not be fond of humans but would rather avoid any chance of conflict. Ever cautious, she notched an arrow on her bow and drew it halfway. "And I'm the younger one," Lyna muttered irritably before taking off after her partner.
Lyna felt her blood boiling within her, in stark contrast to the biting cold that seemingly enveloped her body. Oddly, she could have sworn she was being whisked through the ruins. By who...Tamlen? She opened her eyes to see her savior but only saw darkness. Was it this dark when they first entered the ruins? She cannot recall, mind-numbing pain impeded her recollection. Perhaps Tamlen avoided the blinding light from the mirror. She tried speaking but the air burned her chest and throat, resulting in violent coughs. Lyna felt warm fluid drip from her nose and mouth.
It was blood.
"Mythal I'm going to die," she managed to whimper, before passing out.
A halla cry welcomed Lyna's senses into the waking world. Where was she? Her eyelids were heavy and the sticky seal of prolonged slumber threatened to tear her eyes should they open. She knew she was lying down somewhere in camp but the world whirled and felt formless beneath her. It was then she felt an unfamiliar weight resting on her chest, only to find it gone a moment later.
"Lyna, are you awake?"
"M-Merrill, is that you?" the girl winced as her voice came out, her throat was dry as a shriveled twig.
"Yes, Lyna, it's me. I'll fetch you some water."
Merrill's voice was foreign to her ears. It sounded...subdued and she said something odd as well. As Lyna tried to ponder why or what, her head thrummed with a vicious ache. She gave up thinking for the moment. Lyna soon felt a trembling hand lift her head and the press of cool wetness against her lips. Water. Lyna drank greedily until Merrill withdrew the vessel from her mouth and was once again eased on the soft furs beneath her. Her arms protested when she tried to wipe the crust from her eyes. "Elgar'nan..." she hissed, but soon relaxed when she felt a damp cloth gently dabbing her eyelashes. "Ma serannas, lethallan," Lyna said weakly as she finally opened her eyes, momentarily seeing a blurry picture of Merrill. Was she crying? It was hard to tell with the moisture in her own eyes; harder when her vision dimmed yet again.
The soft brush of lips ferried Lyna to a dreamless sleep.