Ugh. The formatting is confusing me so I apologize for when the story shifts to a different time/scene and it seems jarring. If anyone has pointers, PLEASE let me know. I'e tried spacing and I've tried inserting random characters to signify a scene change and they won't save for some reason. Weird. So for right now I'm using line breaks. Hopefully that won't be too awful.

Anyway. I kinda fell in love with Maraas. He's a fun little enigma. He was supposed to be a rather minor character but . . . the story has a mind of its own and I'm already enraptured with his back story. May even be an offshoot of some kind with him as the lead man.

And, as always, reviews are always appreciated, particularly critiques.

Chapter 2: Enter Maraas

Wet. Everything was so wet. Muffled sounds surrounded me, desperate sounds. But no matter where I looked, I saw nothing but blurry images. Like a glitch, the scene would randomly flicker to something else, to a land with a green tinged sky and I nearly screamed at the face looking at me. Then it jerked back to the watery nothingness. Without warning, I couldn't breathe. I fought and flailed, my desperate struggles and screams joining the other muffled—

"Wake!"

I started and froze in a temporary paralysis as I tried to scramble together why I was waking up on sand and under open skies and why my head felt like I had rammed it into a wall and why a grey-skinned giant was towering over me. I blinked rapidly as I sat up and rubbed my head, everything coming back to me.

Still blurry from sleep, I almost spilled the bowl that was shoved in my hands.

"Eat. It is one and a half suns before we will reach the human settlement and we must leave now."

I apparently wasn't a morning person as I just kind of mechanically ate what he gave me—I had no idea what as I was too sleepy to care—and sluggishly helped him pack up camp.

As he slung his small bundle over his shoulders, he narrowed his eyes at me. I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Stay close to me, human. Many Tal-Vashoth and scum call this place their home."

That woke me up a little as images of grey face laughing evilly came to mind. He huffed, then, after a moment's thought, grabbed the knife sheathed across his chest. He extended it to me, blade in his hand and handle to me.

"Take this. Use it should a creature get past me."

I gulped and hesitantly grasped the leather handle, a heavy weight suddenly dropping in my gut. I must have looked truly terrified because his face softened a small degree.

"You are my charge, little one. That is a last resort."

He headed out and stuck as close to him as I dared. But I couldn't help taking a peek at my surroundings, despite the tense air. I knew I wasn't fond of big bodies of water, but I couldn't deny that the ocean to my right was damn gorgeous nor that the land it lapped against was as terrifying as it was beautiful. Sometimes the land slopped gracefully to meet water and other times dropped to a jagged cliff that was black and stomach dropping.

"M-Maraas?"

He glanced back at me and grunted.

"Where . . . are we?"

"By your tongue, it is the Wounded Coast."

I stopped for a moment then caught up with Maraas. Wounded Coast, huh? I almost laughed. How ironic.

As the day wore on, I couldn't deny how much I was starting to hate the Wounded Coast. With a freaking passion. As the sun rose, so did the temperature and freaking humidity. I felt like I was breathing water, it was so thick. And, apparently, I didn't walk as much or at such a brutal pace as Maraas was setting.

"W-wait up, Mar-Maraas." I huffed.

He glanced over his shoulder at me and I bet I made quite a sight—red faced, huffing and puffing as I staggered an increasing amount of feet behind him. He sighed steered off the path, finding a bit of ground that was covered in shade. He gestured for me to sit and I did, gratefully. He extended his waterskin to me and I drank greedily. He snarled and yanked it away and I glared at him.

"Drink too much and we will have none left for the rest of our travels."

I groaned and slumped to my side. Trying to take my mind off of my aching feet and pained sides, I studied Maraas, comparing him to me. He really was a giant, standing at maybe seven foot tall if not more. And he was all rippling muscle and I wondered what kind of life would lead to sp much power. I looked at his clothes too. He wore a leather vest and a strap of some sort that crossed his chest and held his knives. Around his midsection, overlapping his trousers, was a sash of vibrant red and it seemed in better repair than everything else. As for his pants, they were loose, almost puffy and were stuffed into some boots that had definitely seen better days. Overall, his clothes were worn looking, old, and of dulling colors.

For some reason, the adjectives 'poor' and 'old' popped into my head. I wondered why.

I found myself fingering my shirt and I looked down. My clothing was incredibly different from his. I immediately knew it to be called a T-Shirt. The color was a dark blue and had a design on it that meant nothing to me. My hand slid to the thick, rough feel of my pants. Jeans. They were jeans. And then there were my shoes. Sneakers. And everything looked pretty new, at least in comparison to Maraas's clothes. You know, with the exception of being drenched in salt water, sand, and sweat.

I groaned and sat back up. Observing was nice and all, but since I knew practically nothing, it didn't help me out much. I curled my arms around my knees and looked up at Maraas. He was watching our surroundings very intently, his face etched in a permanent scowl. My eyes were drawn in by his broken horn. Feeling like I was stepping into dangerous territory, I asked, "What happened to your horn?"

I shivered at the glower he tossed my way. "Rest is over. Let's move out."

Oookie-dokie. That topic was off limits. I stood, biting back the moan as my feet protested. A whole day of this? Shoot me. Huh . . . weird phrase. Eyeing me, Maraas snorted. "At this pace, it will be twice the time to reach the settlement."

Suddenly irritated, I opened my mouth to retort only to be interrupted by someone chuckling. I whirled around so fast I almost fell and it was only Maraas's hand that steadied me. I glanced at him, a rumble from his chest pouring out of his mouth. Was he . . . growling? Uh-oh. I finally turned my attention to whoever was approaching us. Six men, heavily armed and looking the worse for wear. And the feeling I got from them was similar to those other horned giants from when I first woke up.

I flinched as my head throbbed in pain at the memory.

"Where'd you find such a catch, Tal-Vashoth?"

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, I stepped back until I was behind my current caretaker. I glanced at Maraas, but he was focused on the group of men and I decided it was probably best to focus on them too. As I watched them, I felt the oddly comforting feel of the steel knife stuffed in the waistband of my jeans.

"Be on your way, filth." Maraas snarled.

The one who had spoken, the one with a scruffy and unkempt beard, smiled and raised his hands in a mock surrender. "Whoa there, big guy. Just makin' friendly conversation." He then leered at me. "Though, she is easy on the eyes. I bet she'd fetch a pretty bit of coin." Fear was quickly being eaten up by a burning sensation which I quickly identified as anger. I glared at him and he chuckled. "Though I must say, she is dressed in an odd manner. But I will not deny it accentuates her . . . appeal well."

Snarling, I lunged forward, but Maraas pushed me back, giving me a warning look.

They laughed.

"The fire!" Beardo laughed. "No matter. You'll learn your place soon enough."

"Come here and say that to my face, you son of a bitch." I snarled.

Maraas snarled and gripped my arm, tight. Beardo grinned and gestured for his men to continue walking. He stayed behind, his eyes never leaving me. "I don't know where you found this one, Tal-Vashoth, but I'd dare say you should keep her. With such spirit, she would guarantee passion in your bed for some time." His eyes slid to stoic Maraas. "Or I'd be more than happy to pay for her. I do love to put such wild women in their place."

I lost it. I'm not entirely sure how I broke free of Maraas, but I lunged at the man and felt such satisfaction as my nails dug into the skin of his face and raked a bloody trail from temple to chin. He yowled and flung himself back but recovered quickly. There were now four deep furrows from my nails that would definitely scar, bleeding and getting into his left eye. Snarling, he unsheathed his sword in a heartbeat and was ready to lop off my head when Maraas's own sword tip was at his throat, his growling much louder.

As for myself, I was frozen. I was still furious, but it struck me that I had no idea how to defend myself or use the knife still tucked away in my waistband. It didn't take a genius to tell me that I'd made a mistake, one that could have easily cost me my life had Maraas not been quick in my defense. Starting to shake as the realization I could have died set in, I looked at Maraas. His gaze was locked with Beardo.

"Tell your men to sheath their weapons or your head will leave your body." Maraas snarled.

Startled, I turned to find some of his men had been sneaking up behind us, weapons drawn. I belatedly realized they had meant to attack us all along, had been sneaking up on us from behind. They now stood, frozen. Baerdo sneered but raised his hand in an unknown gesture and his men sheathed their weapons. Maraas scowled and pressed the tip of his blade further into the man's throat.

"All of them."

The man looked ready to explode, but as soon as the blade was pressed harder against his skin and blood started running down the blade, he snarled, "Sheathe your Maker-damned weapons!"

"You will leave, all of you. If I see you again, I will not hesitate to kill you all." I yelped as Maraas grabbed me by the arm and jerked me to his side. I scratched at his hold—it hurt! "She is mine and you will not attempt to take what is mine. Are we clear?"

Beardo gave a tight nod, glaring daggers. In a move so swift, I barely registered it, Maraas sheathed his sword on his back. "Leave!" He barked.

Holding his neck, Beardo went to his men, some appearing seemingly out of nowhere to join the rest and off they went. But the look that he and his group tossed back at us didn't promise anything good. I shivered as I was reminded yet again that this place was dangerous. But I quickly was drawn back to Maraas's tight hold on my arm. "You're hurting me!" I gasped, trying to pry his hand off.

With obvious disgust, he released me with a little shove. Unprepared, I tripped and landed on my butt. I rubbed my sore bicep as Maraas glared at me. "Foolish! Reckless!" He spat.

I was cowed by his admonishments, but I suddenly remembered what he said. Scowling, I quickly got to my feet. "What was all that about being yours! I am not yours! I'll fight anyone who says I'm anyone's but myself!" And then another realization, a rather unsettling one at that. "And they acted as if they knew you personally . . . as if you . . . as if you held people against their will before." Shaking, I asked, "Did you . . . did you use to sell people to slavers, Maraas?"

He was silent a moment, his golden eyes studying me. "Yes."

And that's all he said. No explanation nor buts or anything. I took a step back, realizing I had put so much trust in a stranger I knew nothing about in a land I didn't know. I hugged myself, forcing myself not to cry.

"Then w-why did-did you save me fr-from the . . . the others? Was your kindness a l-lie?"

His hands clenched and his lip raised in a snarl. And then he sighed, the tension easing out of his body somewhat. "I am done with that life." He said softly and in such a way, I found myself taking back that step I had taken away from him. "There is no joy, no honor in it."

"Then . . . Maraas, why? Why would you do that to people?"

He shrugged, as if he hadn't thought of it before. "I needed money and there are few paths available to Tal-Vashoth. Or so I foolishly thought." And then he shook himself, as if to rid himself of our conversation. "Come. We must continue if we ever hope to reach Kirkwall."

"How can I trust you not to take me somewhere else?" I whispered.

"Do what pleases you." He said shortly. "Follow me, if you chose. Or stay here and chose to fall prey to any manner of predator that roams this cursed place."

Unbidden, I thought of the first giants I met and then, most recently, the group of men—bandits, I now realized—and shivered. At least I knew Maraas would protect and feed me. I had no guarantee otherwise. Nodding, I fell in step behind him and once again, choked by my sobs.

"You said you're taking me to Kirkwall."

He glanced at me. I was sitting in a tight ball on a bit of flat rock, watching him start a fire. He was using a bit of stone and a tool I had no name for. I wondered idly what it was called.

"Yes."

"What's it like?"

He shrugged and went back to his work. "A greater cesspool there never was." Fantastic, I thought miserably.

"So you're just going to dump me off there?"

He said nothing as he finally got a spark onto his tender, blowing it tenderly until a small flame was going. He added larger stickers until he had a steady fire going. "I do not belong there. You do." He said simply.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you saying I'm a piece of shit?" I asked dryly.

I was almost blown away when a small smile tugged at his lips. "It is a human settlement. Your people." He eyed me. "You will be safer there than in the wilds."

I grumbled but knew he was only stating a fact I was more than aware of. I had no idea how to use the knife he had given me other than that the pointy end went inside whatever I was aiming at. I had no idea how to start a fire or what was edible. I'd die in a day if I didn't fall prey to some predator before that. Silence reigned between us for a long time. He set up his little tripod and pot and began making something for us to eat. After that was done and we were simply waiting for it to finish cooking, he pulled out his sword—a claymore—and began sharpening and cleaning it. It was massive, that sword, and I marveled that he had been able to hold it and its weight in one hand in our previous encounter.

"Maraas?"

He grunted.

"Will you tell me why you're not a slaver anymore?"

"No."

"Then, will you tell me what you are? I feel like Tal-Vashoth is more . . . a title than, you know, what you are."

He snorted. "It is the same. A title is derived from the self and the self is carved from the title."

"Okay, but . . . you're not human so what are you?"

Disgusted, he set his claymore aside. "What would you have me say?" He snarled. "I am no longer Qunari but neither do I adhere to the Tal-Vashoth way. I have no people and no path. I am lost."

I hadn't meant to set him off but . . . "But I don't know what those are. What's a Qunari? What are Tal-Vashoth? These titles or names or whatever mean nothing to me."

That seemed to give him pause. "How is it you do not know the word Qunari?"

I shrugged helplessly, hugging my knees tighter to my chest. "I don't know much, really. I . . . I only know who I am and some basic stuff. And some random details. Everything else . . . I've no memory of."

His expression softened a bit. "Your head injury must be more severe than I had judged."

I didn't correct him that I hadn't been able to remember anything before that. He was softening and looked more amicable. If sympathy or pity got me that, I'd ride with it. Right now, I needed information. It was as vital to me as water and food. "So? Care to enlighten me?"

I startled when he barked and then continued barking. And then I realized. Oh . . . Oh, he's laughing. I was a bit shocked. "How the Tamassrans would every bas say such words." I looked at him in confusion. Bas? Tamassrans? He shook his head, going to the fire with his wooden bowls and filling them. He brought me my bowl and sat down a few feet from me. "I am no Tamassran, but I can tell you that Qunari are those who follow the Qun."

"The Qun?"

He nodded, but didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"Is it a religion?"

He shrugged. "A religion. A way of life. It is both these things and more. It gives purpose and a oneness for all." He stared at his bowl, suddenly somber and I remembered he had left the Qun.

"But you left it?" I prompted.

"Yes."

"But you won't tell me why, will you?"

"Yes."

"Huh. Okay, then . . . will you tell me what a Tal-Vashoth is?"

"By your tongue, it means 'True Grey Ones.' They have left the path of the Qun and turned to lawlessness. Criminals who wallow and find pleasure in filth."

I tapped my finger on the rim of my almost empty bowl. "You called yourself Tal-Vashoth." I said slowly, then shook my head. "I disagree. I mean, you may have once been a . . . a criminal. I mean, you were a slaver once. But . . . I don't think you're such a bad person. I mean, you're helping me."

His eyes locked with mine and though I wanted to look away, I held his gaze. "It is not for you to say. You do not know me, do not know what lurks in my asala. You know nothing."

He yanked the bowl from my hands and walked away and I found I was at a loss for words. He was right, though. My life was in the hands of a man who unabashedly called himself a criminal, a man who used to kidnap people and sell them.

But I was so emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted, I couldn't deign to give it much thought. However, I did wonder if I would ever feel safe ever again.