Terill looked over absently to the bedroll placed strategically out of direct site of her own. Duncan told her the dangers of traveling in such a small group without the ability to have a guard. He put her at such and angle that perhaps whatever attackers would not immediately notice her. Her own naivety trusted in these words, thinking to herself, previously shielded by the pure numbers of Dalish, invisible to the immediate danger of Darkspawn and the impending blight. As if her own ability to remain quite while a horde slaughtered her companion would save her. She knew the stupidity of this concept, but she would not face the alternative.
She had never been a coward; she had faced death many times and held many extended hunting expeditions. These Darkspawn and their master was not a bear or a wolf she could easily outwit and she knew climbing a tree, if her own safety called for, she would not survive.
That dark whisper that has pulled at the back of her skull since the day Tamlen disappeared threatens to overwhelm her own senses. She has been told to fear Shemlem, hate them, and perhaps the sheer lack of contact should have led her to fear them. Alas, she had no such sense. Duncan appeared to be none of these personifications of evil or greed that she was told Shemlem to be. She had few interactions with some of his kind, always under the watchful gaze of fellow Dalish who had grown to hate these people. She had no such predilection.
She feared her own naivety would be her downfall as Tamlen had warned her. She had heard such awful things, such tales of hardship, slavery, and war, but yet, she remained a wide-eyed witness to the traveling bands of men and women that walked the forest too close to her camp but not close enough to be threatening. They seemed so similar. Their faces perhaps more round, their ears without a point, their faces free of the tattoos of her own clan, but yet they appeared, all in all, to be so very similar. She had seen them laugh as her clan did, share in the same talk around their own campfire, perhaps without the same weary looks and without the knowledge that they could so easily be overtaken by the people currently watching their every move.
She had learned her own discretion from these encounter, how to remain hidden, and if need be, how to kill without being seen. She shuddered at the thought of the band deemed too dangerous to give warning. There were women and men present, and though she understood the keepers concern about these armed people, her stomach turned at the sight of their blood. She did not know these people, and although her clansmen seemed to revel in the destruction they wrought, it brought her nightmares soon after.
She shook her head at her idiocy. Her friends would have boxed her ear had they heard such foolishness. She still looked over at the bedroll, holding the senior grey-warden, fairly aware he had the ability to destroy her and her whole clan had he the inclination. She had spoken to him briefly but he had been much more willing to watch than to share, fairly sure he was looking over her as she did him. He never let out a whimper, snore, or shuffle you would expect of someone whom slept so little. She was not certain he ever slept as each time she got up to walk the perimeter; he was very much awake even if she thought him asleep.
She kept her eyes open as long as she could, fearing delusions of her past friend would haunt her as they did before. She closed her eyes slowly, pleading to her gods to take her from this uncertain existence or allow her the rest she so desperately needed after these past few days. Whatever had kept her dreams plagued recently spared her this one night.
Alistair looked at the initiate he had been charged to lead. He hated the idea of camping in such uncertain territory with the blight looming so close by. He knew he would not sleep the night with the knowledge that he may be leading these three into their demise without their express knowledge. He knew the secrets of the Grey wardens was kept for very specific reasons but the thoughts still caused him pain from his own joining. He was not certain what made a person able to withstand the taint or if the maker had given him this ability as some form of a joke.
He looked across the coals of the fire at the three maybe-wardens and pitied their earnest. The two men, one with a family, could so easily perish in a day's time and yet he could not warn them out of the pure necessity of their being. The Dalish woman stirred in her sleep, having seemed oddly on edge (at least more so than expected) this past afternoon. He recognized the bloodlust in her eyes as she took down the Darkspawn they encountered. This look perplexed him as the two humans almost turned in fear, she unsheathed her daggers, all too ready to behead her foes. She moved so easily in her leather armor, not carrying the weight that her three companions had and felled several Darkspawn before Jory and Daveth were able to clean out their undergarments. He had felt the same fear that the men displayed and was more than surprised when Terill swung her dagger across the first glenlocks jugular (at least he assumed it to be called that, Grey Wardens hardly tarried on Darkspawn anatomy). The resistance her dagger felt thought the flesh of her first mark did not slow her to her next as she spun to face her next attacker. There was a gracefulness in the rouge that may have been from her upbringing or her own superior combat-skills and well as the courage she showed even when outnumbered.
After this display of aggression, he had expected her to be abrasive, perhaps apathetic to their plight due to her perception of humans but he found no such attitude. She had been kind since her first few chuckles as he seemed to threaten to agitated mage before their adventure, but he still expected her mien to somehow change with this Darkspawn encounter. Even so, she did not change, she still appeared to be an earnest listener, even smiling at Ser Jory's boasts of grandeur where he himself felt the need to gag. She shoved Daveth jokingly as she mimicked the cowardly look he held at the first sight of their attackers, and shoved him playfully when he defended himself EXTREMELY poorly. She had made comment about Shemlem, but not directed at him and their companions and in such a way it did not seem bitter or accusatory.
She was present for their conversations but distant in such a way that perplexed him. He had met elves and even a few Dalish whom did not share these traits. He knew Duncan had traveled for some time with the young elf to Ostagar and though he had dropped hints of a slightly troubled past, the issue of her own distance had not been brought up.
She stayed up, cleaning the armor of the darkspawn blood that now covered all of them. She seemed to wipe over the same spot, even having cleaned it thoroughly, in a thoughtful manner. He did not know what to make of the expression she now wore. She seemed so… Lifeless? That was hardly the word as you could see in her eyes the fire that would present itself with her next foes but all the same, it worried him in another way that confused him.
He did not wish death on any of his companions, knowing them all to be brave-fighters and good people. He had known them for less than twelve hours but he still felt himself identifying with all of them. He feared the joining and the weeks to follow although he knew his own ability to survive.
Blights meant death, broken families, felled heroes, lost cities, and ultimately, he knew not all of them would survive even through to the next evening.
He laid his head down, taking note of the pained expression of the Dalish woman's face as she was caught in her own thoughts. He soon found sleep, but even that did not lull his worries.
The morning had greeted her companions with darkspawn, annoying amounts of mud, and a witch who seemed too eager to help. She was used to living among the trees but her clan traveled far from these marshlands and she found herself suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of dried mud on the bottom of her boots. Daveth whispered something under his breath about the potentially unsavory end they could all meet if morgan suddenly changed her mind about helping them leave and she shoved him hard, but playfully.
She had not yet seen the sort of treatment expected from the shemlem, save for the lone quartermaster who was soon put in his own place. They seemed unconnected; less concerned about each other than her and her clansmen but not in such a way it seemed completely unnatural. Daveth had proven to be a fine traveling companion, willing to entertain the group with jokes upon the way, even at his own expense if there was need and Alistair was amazingly optimistic upon all their encounters. She even found herself mildly fond of Jory, and although his cowardice in the midst of his boasting seemed odd, he proved enough material for her group to laugh at their seemingly odd situation.
Morgain led them close enough to the outpost for them to find their way and bid them goodbye with an amazing amount of distaste, finding her leave as soon as they found their bearings. Alistair led the way back to the gate, "Well that was… Fun." He said, rolling his eyes.
"None of you are yet a toad, and I believe your flirtations with the witch of the wilds can yet wait." Terril said, letting a smirk spread across her face. "Let us see Duncan before he fears us all dead." She pushes past Alistair, jogging toward the camp, looking back at Jory's and Daveth's amusement.
Alistair appears to wrack his brain for a comeback that would sufficiently deflect her accusations but sighs in defeat as he catches up. "In such a hurry Terril? I would have thought you to be more at home in these woods than in a human outpost." He says, looking over her for a reaction, hoping his statement to not offend.
She smiles at him, "Woods or no, I cannot rightly let you all be eaten by bears due to your own shemlem stupidity, now can I?"
Jory sputters, ready to make some offensive statement about the Dalish before Daveth's glare puts his worries to his own life rather than the argument. Alistar notices the exchange and tenses for whatever racial war he may have to break up if Daveth allowed the statement to be said. Terril shoot an amazingly impish smile at Jory, recognizing the pause. The smile could, to some, seem out of fellowship, allowing him to know he could say what he wanted without harm. To the wise however, the smile seemed to be a dare to the cowardly knight.
Before Jory could spread whatever hatred for the Dalish he had been taught, they were at the gates of Ostagar, being let in by an extremely wary guard who seemed amazed they came back alive, and sane in fact.