Heroes come in many forms

by BloodyMarryMe

The Clan was his everything, and he thought his biggest duty in life would be to keep them safe. Then a damn tear in the sky happened and suddenly Nym's world got a lot bigger. Now he needs to protect shems and save the world, while hiding the fact that he's just making it all up as he goes. But hey, at least he has a snarky dwarf and a giant pounding machine by his side!

2. Clan Lavellan

So in this one, we learn more about Clan Lavellan and Nym's past. I want to give my Inquisitor a bit more of a background than what he has in the game, and show where his skills/fighting abilities come from. Also, it's really fun to write about the Clan~

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CHAPTER 2

Clan Lavellan

Once the Official Decree of the Inquisition's formation was established, things only got busier around Haven. Cullen, Josephine and Leliana formed a War Council which Nym regularly attended, but it usually consisted of the trio arguing in circles until the elf finally had enough and made a final decision, or if the arguments got too heated, threatened he would call in Cassandra to make order. That usually shut them up quickly. Nowadays, their biggest disagreement was whether to call the Templars or Mages for help with the Breach, but neither side would even acknowledge them yet. The Inquisition was still simply too small of an organization to matter while the war was raging.

The elf was grateful for the three advisors, however. He was completely lost in all the politics, war strategies and hidden ploys or subterfuge, and they were the only ones who could help him make sense of it all. Even if their methods varied and they usually disagreed on them, they all gave valuable input and advice he could use in his decisions. Nevertheless, the fact that the weight of every decision rested on him, along with the responsibility for the consequences, didn't evade him. In the end, he has become the symbol for the Inquisition despite his loud protesting and he had to carry all the people's hopes, fears or hate that was cast his way. The more work they did, the more recognized they became. People either despised or loved the Inquisition, but nobody was indifferent towards it. Most people were still suspicious and doubtful of this newly formed order and as their ambassador put it, it was mainly Nym's job to change that. He only knew one way they could get the people on their side – by doing good work. They needed to help the refugees and other unfortunate people who found themselves trapped between the warring mages and templars.

That was partly the reason why they were here now; Hinterlands. Nymrodel would think the place was charming with its vast forests, winding creeks and small villages…if not for the raging chaos all around. Farms were burning, the forest animals were fleeing from all the disturbance, people's screams of terror and pain echoed throughout the lands and both mages and templars were fighting everywhere.

Both sides were completely indiscriminate about who they attacked, as if the bloodlust had driven them mad. Dead bodies of innocent refugees and farmers littered the ground together with the dead apostates and crazed templars. These were neither the templars who wanted to restore order nor the rebel mages who fought for freedom. Those two factions already rejoined their leaders after the Conclave's destruction and were now lying in wait for new orders. These were only stragglers, who defied the orders to retreat and already abandoned their cause. They were just cruel thugs who wanted nothing but to pillage and kill whoever is unlucky enough to cross their path.

"Why are they attacking, we are obviously not mages!?" Cassandra shouted in fury as they were ambushed by a group of rogue templars as soon as they arrived on King's Road.

Their main objective was to reach a Revered Mother called Giselle for apparently she could help them quell the animosity towards the Inquisition that came from the Chantry. Nym, on the other hand, found it hard to believe a chantry mother was willing to help them when the whole Chantry denounced the Inquisition and called him a heretic. But if there was a chance she could truly help, he would take it, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I do not think they care, Seeker," Solas called out in response to Cassandra's question, before he cast a fireball right into one of the Templar archers.

"These templars are nothing but criminals and the apostates here are no better. It's like they all went mad because of this war," Nym growled angrily, seeing bodies of innocent people sprawled on the roadside. The farmhouses were ablaze, crackling in the light breeze as the wooden walls collapsed under the heat. The whole area was destroyed, with even the roads scorched with fire or glazed with magical ice. There were similar signs of battle everywhere.

As if in response, a particularly large Templar warrior appeared before the small elf. He was attired in heavy armor with a helmet covering his face, only showing two piercing eyes that stared emotionlessly at the elf. Instead of the usual Templar shield, the man only had a large sword that he held with both hands covered in gauntlets. His armor shined on the daytime sun, the rays reflecting off it in pure white. Nym would think it looked beautiful, if not for the murderous bloodlust in those eyes.

This time, though, Nymrodel was fully prepared for battle. The Inquisition provided both armor and weapons for him. Josephine went so far to request Dalish scout armor, which was fairly similar to the one he used while traveling with Clan Lavellan. The best part was, he didn't need to wear shoes anymore, and instead had sole covers with his toes bare. He felt like he could move ten times freer and quicker without those constraining things on his feet. His weapons got an upgrade as well. He replaced those old daggers he found with two lazurite dual daggers of much finer quality. They even had carved ornaments on the handle guard, and after the handle was a secondary, shorter blade beneath it. It made it easier to fight, knowing he could use the dagger from either side.

The large Templar came at him. Nymrodel ran towards him and just as the Templar raised his sword high above his head, Nym jumped and used both his feet to kick the man hard in the chest. With the elf's whole weight into the stomp, even as light as he was, he sent the Templar stumbling to the ground. A loud clunk resounded as the heavy armor hit the cobblestone road.

Nym fell too, but didn't waste even a second on the ground. As soon as his back hit the dirt, he somersaulted backwards, his hands pushing him off the ground and he landed back on his feet. In the middle of the spin, he unsheathed his two daggers so he'd be ready to leap towards the man as soon as both his feet were on the ground. Without missing a beat, he charged forward, now armed.

The Templar struggled too long to get to his feet because of the heavy armor he was burdened with. He barely had time to rise to his knees, scrambling for his sword in the dirt, but by then the small elf was already on him. He managed to swing his sword, still on his knees, to block the first dagger that was aimed at his neck. Unexpectedly, the other weapon never came. Instead, the elf passed him during his attack so that he was behind him crouching, back to back. Nym didn't even have to look at his target as he spun to get more force and stabbed behind him with the second dagger. It went right into the other's neck where there was neither armor nor helmet. The blade pierced the back of the neck, the tip traveling all the way to the other side. A gurgling sound came from the man as he choked on his own blood. Nymrodel straightened up as his opponent fell face-first into the dirt.

He scanned the area to see how his companions were faring. He always had to have a good idea of the battlefield, in case some of the others needed assistance. After all, his role was supporting the warriors like Cassandra by giving them openings in the enemy's guard or keeping the mages safe when they provided covering fire. Rather than hand to hand combat with brute strength, he always preferred a stealthier approach. Considering his stature, he used his small frame to move quickly through enemy lines and hit them from the shadows when they least expected it. He used speed and precision strikes to his advantage, just as he was trained long ago by his mentor.

Cassandra was just finishing by stabbing a rebel mage through the stomach, while Varric's strong bolts flew past her head to hit a rogue Templar behind her. The woman turned around in surprise, then snorted at Varric's satisfied expression as he yelled, "You're welcome, Seeker!" back at her. Meanwhile, Solas made sure they were all well-protected, now and then slowing down the enemies with ice or burning the Templars with fire. Even their thick armor wasn't impervious to fireballs.

"I see refugees ahead," the elven mage called out, pointing passed the King's Highway to the area known as The Crossroads.

"That is where Mother Giselle should be," Cassandra answered, giving Nym a knowing look.

"We should hurry before more enemies come," the elf noted, giving a signal to move out.

As they walked towards what looked like a small village that has turned into a refugee settlement, Nymrodel turned to the Seeker. "Are you sure this Mother Giselle can help us? She is part of the Chantry, after all, and they hate us…or at least me," he muttered the last part with a wary expression.

"Mother Giselle was always known throughout the Chantry for two things; her charity work and her rather unconventional thoughts of what the Chantry should represent. It made her unpopular with other clerics, but she is loved and respected by the people," Cassandra responded. It seemed the Right Hand of the Devine also had a high opinion of this Revered Mother.

Nym chuckled. "A rebel Mother? Well then, she'll fit right in with us misfits," he joked.

Beside them, Varric laughed as well. "That sounds like something that should be in one of my books. 'A rebel Mother fighting the injustices of the world with Faith,'" he spoke dramatically as if reading the synopsis of his new book.

"Do not mock her!" Cassandra yelled at both of them, quickly putting the men back in their place.

"We're not! I rather like how that sounds. I like her more than Chancellor Rodrick already," Nym admitted with a grin.

"As if that's difficult," the dwarf muttered in a sardonic tone.

"Ugh," Cassandra made a disgusted noise, fighting against the rising need to roll her eyes at these two. Ever since Nymrodel was exonerated for the crime of killing the Devine and was slowly getting used to the whole Inquisition and the people in it, he started revealing more of his true nature. He was more relaxed now, but his personality was usually light-hearted and laid-back. What's more, Varric's influence on the elf was just making it worse and Cassandra did not approve. It was enough to have to deal with one version of Varric, but two would be unbearable.

As they approached the site, Nym could see many injured lying on bed rolls while healers or mages helped them recover. Some of the injured were soldiers, but others were civilians who just got involved in the crossfire. Even so, the healers helped everyone equally. Whether they were a templar, mage, or refugee, everyone were given the treatment they needed. Nym had no doubt it was Mother Giselle's influence, since Cassandra had told him the Revered Mother took these people under her wing and helped bring some peace and comfort to them. Even if the Chantry was in disarray, most of the people here were believers of the Maker and faithful followers of the Chantry, meaning Mother Giselle had their respect and trust. They heeded her and she used that influence to establish some peace and prosperity back to Hinterlands. Even if Nym wasn't a believer in the Maker, he could respect that. One didn't have to be Andrastian to see Mother Giselle was doing good work with these people.

He found the older woman clad in Chantry robes soothing an injured soldier. She was gently urging the man to let go of his fears and accept the help of a healer mage.

"Their magic is turned to noble purpose. It is surely no more evil than your blade," the woman spoke before the solder could protest further.

Nym was a bit surprised by her stance on the matter, but not because he didn't agree. On the contrary, he too believed that magic is simply a tool like any other that could be used to either hurt people or protect them.

Growing up in a Dalish Clan, where mages weren't treated as monsters just because they possessed the gift, he didn't have any prejudice towards them. After all, his late mother was a mage and a talented Keeper before her untimely death. While she lived, she showed Nymrodel exactly how brave and kind mages could be. She taught her Clan to be wary of magic, but never to fear or hate someone simply because they possessed the power. So he tried his best to follow in her path and live with an open mind, wanting to understand others even if they had different views than him. Of course, that came with exceptions. When it came to evil deeds or blood magic, he had no compromise to give.

He drew closer to the woman until she noticed him. Instantly she seemed to recognize who he was and walked over to his group.

"Herald of Andraste, I presume," she greeted.

Nym grimaced at the title, but tried to hide it. He was still not used to it and honestly, he didn't want to get used to it. He expected her to be surprised at least, seeing an elf who many now called the Herald of Andraste, despite his wishes, but her gaze remained calm.

"And you must be Mother Giselle," he gave a small nod in greeting. He was eyeing her, still trying to figure her out.

"Come. Walk with me," the woman gestured for them to move and the two strolled down the village path alone. His group stayed behind, giving them some privacy and helping the refugees by handing out supplies and whatever else they could do for the poor people.

"I must admit, I am a bit confused…You called me here knowing the Chantry disapproves of me," it was a statement, rather than a question.

The woman chuckled, seemingly unfazed by his confusion. "Yes, I am familiar with the Chantry's denouncement and those behind it. Some of them are simply terrified of you while others want to use you as a scapegoat and rise to power…become the new Devine," she explained. It was nothing Nym didn't already expect from them, so her words hardly came as a surprise.

"But you want to help me," Nym asked with a raised eyebrow. This time it was a question, with an undertone of suspicion to it.

"With the Devine gone, we are each left with our own moral path to follow. We must do what we think is right. I do not claim to know whether you were truly sent by the Maker or Andraste, but I can see the Inquisition is helping the people when so many others are not. So I want to help the Inquisition in return," she said honestly. "That is why I believe you should go to them...show them you are not the demon they all fear," she suggested.

He didn't sense any falsehoods in what she was saying. He didn't think she was trying to lay a trap for him, but it still sounded like a risky plan. Go to the very people who wanted to harm him? Nym might take high risks sometimes, but he was hardly suicidal. "Even if I talk to them, I don't see why they would believe anything I say. It's more likely they'll just try to imprison me…or execute me on the spot."

The Mother smiled, undeterred by his skepticism. "Let me put it this way; you needn't convince them all, you just need some to doubt. If I thought you incapable, I wouldn't suggest it," she added.

He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, how sly. Are you trying to convince me by complimenting me?"

She chuckled at his teasing tone. "I am glad your circumstances hadn't rid you of your sense of humor. It is a good way to cope when dire days come," she commented with amusement.

"I think they've come already, Revered Mother," he muttered with disdain.

Giselle smiled. "Remember, the power of those who oppose you is in their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need to build up your Inquisition."

Nym nodded. He hadn't decided yet, but it was definitely something to consider. As much as the Inquisition was willing to help, it was hard to do so when the Chantry's voices kept calling them heretics and betrayers, turning the very people they were trying to help against them. Perhaps gaining the Chantry's support was impossible, but they would at least need to stop them from tarnishing the Inquisition's reputation.

*Creators, when did my life started revolving around things like 'reputation' and 'Chantry religion',* the elf questioned himself. Ah yes, when that blasted mark appeared and he started glowing green. He looked back up at the woman cleric before him. "To be honest, you aren't what I expected when I first heard a Chantry Mother wanted to speak with me," he admitted.

She chuckled at his confession. "Then what did you expect? A frail old woman who only sings the Chant of Light and follows it to the letter?" She didn't seem offended.

He shrugged in answer. "Well considering the rest of the Chantry pretty much hates me, I'd say you're quite unique. Not in a bad way!" He quickly added the last part, not wanting to offend her. *Gah, I really do have a big mouth. Just stop talking, Nym!* Yet despite himself, he continued, "In any case, I just wanted to say; Thank you for doing this."

She watched him carefully and for a second he thought he really did offend her, but then she spoke again. "You have the potential to make this Inquisition a great power that can be used to bring hope to people, save them…or a power that will destroy us all. I cannot say yet how it will turn out, but that is why I wanted to speak to you personally. I wanted to see you, Herald, with my own eyes and decide where to stand. And I have decided; I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who will be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can." She gave him a knowing look before turning to help a man sitting beside the road. He had a broken leg and couldn't walk to the healers on his own, so the woman gave him her shoulder as support as she slowly led him to the mages.

Nym realized he rather liked this woman. She didn't blindly follow rumors or chose a side from which she could benefit the most. She invited him here to see what kind of man he was and decide for herself whether he was a worthy ally. He found that a respectable attitude. At least leagues better than the rest of her ilk who pointed accusatory fingers at him out of principle alone. He smiled at her back kindly as he watched her leave, deciding to heed her words of wisdom.

~…..~

"I can't believe you never played Wicked Grace before," Varric exclaimed with such a shocked expression, Nym finally realized the talent for the dramatic this writer had.

They were sitting in The Singing Maiden, just finishing their lunch, when Varric turned the topic to Wicked Grace. When Nym told him he never actually played the card game, the dwarf insisted he would teach him. "How will we otherwise spend all those nights in camp," he had said.

And so there they were, sitting at a small wooden table in the corner, with just enough room for the cards. Nym was focusing hard, trying to master all the basics. He looked at his hand, frowning at only one matching pair of Serpents. He discarded a card and drew on more. He was getting better at this…probably.

"Isn't this supposed to be played with more people? Isn't it more fun that way?" He tilted his head, looking at the dwarf over his cards.

"Yeah, so you better recruit more of them soon, Snow, or this will get boring real quick," Varric teased. "Besides, this is hardly playing. More like I'm teaching you so you don't lose your breeches the next time we play for real."

"Of course, that's why we're recruiting; so you can have more people to take money from in Wicked Grace," the elf quipped, making the dwarf grin in return. "We could ask Cassandra to join us," he proposed. They already asked Solas, but the ever-so-serious mage said he didn't 'gamble,' although this was hardly gambling when they had nothing to stake anyway. Nym was simply playing for fun.

"Hah! She would just get annoyed and end up stabbing the cards," the dwarf shook his head, he's face turning sour for a second.

Nym sighed. He really wished those two would get along better, considering they were fighting out in the field together every day. They watched out for each other when battling demons and other enemies, but they couldn't spend one minute in each other's company without bickering. "Will you two ever get along? You're on the same side and you're fighting for the same goal. You'd think you could leave your differences aside since you have so much in common," he commented dryly.

"Cassandra and me have much in common? Right, and there are no blood mages in Tevinter," the dwarf retorted with sarcasm.

Nym raised an eyebrow. He was certain Cassandra would act the same way Varric did if Nym told her this. Perhaps without the Tevinter part. "Well you have one thing in common; you're both equally stubborn," he muttered, giving up. "We could ask Josephine then. She looks like someone who would be really good at this game," he continued.

"Ruffles? Oh, you can bet on it. You have a long way to go before you can play as her equal, Snow. She'd clean you out until you're in nothing but your loincloth," Varric teased.

"Ruffles," Nym chuckled at the nickname. He did hear Varric use it a couple of times now. The dwarf gave everyone nicknames. He wasn't sure if he ever heard him address anyone by their real name so far, except Cassandra.

"Well yeah, did you see her dresses? She's practically swimming in them," Varric joked.

True. The first thing Nym noticed when meeting the ambassador was something similar; the puffy golden dress. But the woman actually pulled it off, even though he was sure it would look ridiculous on anyone else. He smirked at the thought. That train of thought led him to her friend and colleague Leliana, and then back to his last conversation with the spymaster.

"Speaking of recruiting, we might get some help from the Grey Wardens. Or at least some information….they've been acting strange lately. Leliana says they completely disappeared, except for one Warden named Blackwall who is supposed to be in the Hinterlands. You up for some more camping tomorrow," he grinned, already knowing the answer.

The roguish dwarf smiled, "I better bring my deck of cards then." The Angel of Death card turned up from the deck and Varric revealed his hand. He had a pair of matching suits in Knights and Angels. The elf groaned in disappointment, showing his own hand that was undoubtedly weaker. The dwarf laughed as he gathered the cards to shuffle them again. "Good thing we're not playing for money, Snow."

"I agree. I was never good at bluffing," he sighed.

"So Grey Wardens, huh?" Still shuffling, Varric returned to their previous topic. Before Nym's shameful loss, that is. "I met some of them in Kirkwall. Hawke's younger brother, Carver, became one of them. They helped us out during the Qunari uprising. I think they're pretty good people…if somewhat secretive and downright strange," he added with a grimace. Seems Varric didn't know what to make of them.

"Oh right, I read about it in the Tale of the Champion. You know, I've been meaning to tell you…some of the things in there don't quite make sense," the elf started.

"If this is about Orsino, I don't want to hear it! I've already gotten hundreds of readers' letters about this subject and for the last time; I don't know why the guy went crazy and suddenly decided to use blood magic! I never claimed to understand the guy, I just wrote what happened," Varric rambled in annoyance that was bordering with anger. He was starting to get red in the face.

Lavellan could feel sweat form on his brow as he watched Varric lose it. The dwarf was clearly worked up about this topic. *Note to self, never ask Varric about the Kirkwall's late First Enchanter,* he concluded then and there. Deciding it was safest to change the subject, Nym stayed on the Grey Wardens course. "In that case, couldn't you write to Hawke's brother and ask him what's happening with the Wardens? Leliana seems worried about this a lot…apparently she's good friends with the Hero of Ferelden and she has gone missing too."

"So I've heard," the storyteller muttered, as his expression turned darker. He was troubled by something. "But the Grey Wardens aren't so easy to find or contact. They don't really share with the outside world what they're doing and they move a lot and go off on their missions. So right now I have no idea where Carver is. I'm surprised Nightingale even managed to track down this Blackwall fellow, but I guess that tells you a lot about our Spymaster."

"I guess this Warden Blackwall is our best bet then," Nym shrugged.

"I hope he's better at Wicked Grace than you at least," the dwarf teased, and the elf gave him a dirty look in return.

~…..~

Warden Blackwall was hardly what Nym expected and Leliana seemed just as surprised by the man…or suspicious at least. Then again, she was suspicious of most people, especially outside of the Inquisition. Unfortunately, they didn't learn anything useful about the Wardens' disappearance, but instead they gained a new ally. Blackwall insisted he join the Inquisition to help with the Breach and Nymrodel had no reason to refuse.

After a talk he had with the Warden, Nymrodel didn't have a feeling he was a bad man. A bit rough around the edges maybe, but his heart was in the right place. He wanted to restore peace to the lands, just like the elf. Still, he didn't talk much and he kept to himself. He seemed a bit of a loner, but Nym guessed the man just wanted his privacy. In that regard, he wasn't that different from Solas who also preferred solitude.

Nym, on the other hand, found that a bit troubling. His Clan wasn't big, but they were all close to one another like a large family. They appreciated skinship and openness with each other, to build trust and respect. That's why he wanted to get to know his comrades better if he was to fight beside them, but it was harder than he thought. They all had their own ideals and beliefs, and often bickered with each other. It felt like the only common ground they had was wanting to close the Breach, but beyond that they didn't have much interest in each other. Only Varric and Nymrodel would go out of their way to properly get to know the others.

Nym asked Blackwall about the Grey Wardens hoping to shed some light on the mysterious Order, but the man wasn't much help - apart from telling him you need to 'Stick the Archdemon with a Grey Warden sword in order to kill it.' Asking about his personal life bore even less fruit as he proved even more evasive about it. He did feel he knew the human a bit better after their conversation, but not much really.

However, Blackwall wasn't the only ally they secured in Hinterlands. Where they had little luck with the Wardens, they had more with acquiring new mounts together with a skilled horsemaster. Master Dennet decided to join the Inquisition, supplying proper care for their new chargers. The number of the Inquisition's mounts was quickly rising and they were all in excellent shape thanks to Dennet. Nym was even so lucky to get a Red Hart to ride through the Hinterlands, a magnificent horned creature he hasn't seen in a while. His clan rode and cared for the Halla, so they only had one Hart and it was quite old by now. Lillin was hardly meant for riding anymore.

The elf blinked a few times, pulling himself back to reality. He was currently sitting at the desk in his cottage, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. His cabin was simple, barely furnished, but provided Nym with everything he would need. He didn't need much to begin with, although it felt weird to sleep on a bed. He always slept on a fur bedroll on the ground or inside the aravel if it got too cold.

He decided to write to Keeper Deshanna again as they corresponded regularly now. The Inquisition already smoothed things out with Clan Lavellan when Nymrodel sent the first letter, but he knew how easily she worried. Especially for him. He knew she fretted over him more because of everything that happened when he was a child, which only made him guiltier every time he made her worry.

The letter in front of him was half-finished. He mostly wrote about the work Inquisition was doing in Hinterlands. He told her how they rooted out the renegade templars and rogue mages in the area, and were slowly taking back the Hinterlands, making them livable again. The Inquisition's influence was slowly rising and the refugees could feel it. He didn't go into detail of all the dangers he faced while doing so, knowing that would only upset her.

He realized the letter was getting rather lengthy and decided to finish it quickly, 'All in all, the Inquisition is doing good work and everyone is treating me nicely here.' Indeed, he only heard them call him 'knife-ear' once and it was behind his back. But that was still at the beginning and he didn't hear that slur in a long while now. 'I also met a friend who is looking out for me. His name is Varric and he is many things, but mostly a storyteller. I think Old Maven would like him. They could exchange stories.' Nym smiled at the thought of the old elf, one of the hahren of the clan - an elder. He would gather everyone around the campfire at night, especially children, and tell long forgotten tales for hours. His storytelling would transport the children into a marvelous world and they would completely forget the cold of the night or the poor hunt the clan had that day. Nymrodel grew up listening to Old Maven's stories. Perhaps that was why he felt so comfortable with Varric.

'Keep the Clan safe and don't worry about me. I will see you all again once this is over,' he promised in writing, but then wondered if that was truly a promise he could keep. He had no idea how this will all end or will he even survive after using the mark to close the Breach. Last time he fell unconscious from exhaustion. Finally he ended the letter with 'Sule sal harthir, Nymrodel Feynvin Lavellan.' He stared at his Parent Name for a while, finally crossing it out and leaving the signature with 'Nymrodel Lavellan.'

Quickly rising to his feet, the elf practically jogged to the Chantry building, looking for the Ambassador since all his letters went through her. She didn't read them, respecting his privacy, but she was in charge of making contact as the Inquisition's liaison.

He knocked on the doors a few times, patiently waiting for the voice on the other side to grant him access. When she did, Nym entered the ambassador's office, looking around the quaint room. He had only been here a couple of times to talk to either Josephine or the researcher Minaeve, who she sometimes shared her office with.

"Oh, Master Lavellan," Josephine looked a bit flustered as if he just caught her in the middle of something. A troubled expression flashed across her face, but was soon replaced by her usual professional smile. "What can I do for you today?"

He handed her the letter. "I wrote to Keeper Istimaethoriel again. If you could send it to her like you did with the others, I would appreciate it," he answered, all the while studying Josephine's expression. "Is…something the matter," he decided to ask directly.

She took the letter, but her worried expression returned as if it only reminded her of something unpleasant. She averted her eyes sadly before looking up at the elf again. "Actually, it concerns Clan Lavellan…and you specifically," she confessed.

Nymrodel's light-grey eyebrows furrowed. *Oh no,* his mind already started imagining the worst case scenario. Did someone want to take revenge on him through his Clan? Were they attacked? He knew there were still many people who thought he was guilty for the destruction at the Conclave, and many more who didn't approve of an elf calling himself the Herald of Andraste. Not that he called himself that and he never would in a million years. "What happened, Lady Montilyet?"

She bit her lip. "Malcontents have been spreading rumors about you and your Clan lately…they aren't pretty. They are quite revolting and complete nonsense, of course! The stories about wild Dalish elves have only become more outrageous after you appeared," she admitted.

At first, Nym felt relief. It wasn't good news but it was hardly the problem he expected. Rumors he could deal with. But then he realized such rumors could only bring more animosity towards Dalish elves everywhere, including Clan Lavellan. It would hardly make their lives easier. His frown stayed as he sked, "What kind of rumors exactly?"

The ambassador seemed hesitant to answer. She probably felt uncomfortable repeating them right to the Herald's face. After a while, Nym's trained gaze on her wore her down and she relented. "Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using infants for blood magic…and those are just the stories of your fellow Dalish. I won't repeat what they say about you concretely," she sighed.

As she spoke, Nym's expression grew darker by every example she gave. He grit his teeth, his lips tightening in a thin line. "Where in the Beyond do they find the source to spin those ridiculous tales," he muttered. "At least they're creative, I'll give them that. Although it's hardly something my people aren't used to by now," he answered with a humorless smile.

"You faced such rumors before?" Josephine's eyes widened in slight surprise.

"Not just rumors. Blatant attacks of ignorant or frightened shemlen who were scared the 'savage' Dalish elves on their lands would come and hunt them in the night. So they would attack our Clan. It didn't happen often, but only because our Keeper is wise enough to know how to deal with humans or stay a safe distance when necessary. The worst incident was when we were camping near Ansburg. I was 13 at the time. A noble there didn't like us near his lands so he paid off a group of Templars from Ansburg to 'deal' with us," Nym spat the words. "It was too late to flee by the time our scouts noticed them so we had to stay and fight them off."

By now, Josephine was so involved in the story, she completely forgot why she brought up those rumors to begin with. "Oh my goodness, what happened?"

Even Minaeve, who was previously working on her research and hardly paying attention, raised her head from her books to listen with mild interest.

Surprisingly, Nym gave her a faint smile, as he reminisced on an important story from his past. A story that seemed like ancient history to him now.

- 8 years ago –

Three elves carefully drew closer to the body lying on the ground. All three of them had different markings on their faces and were armed by ironbark bows and everite daggers. Members of Clan Lavellan. The Clan was currently camping north of Ansburg in the Free Marches and had been there for a couple of weeks. In all that time they only had one run-in with humans - a merchant caravan - but those shemlen were kind and even traded goods with the elves. However, things were different today. Following a deer deeper into the forest, the three elves stumbled upon a bleeding man lying in the middle of a narrow overgrown path. They didn't quite know what to make of this sight before them.

"A shem," the first stated in a whisper.

"A corpse?" The only woman of the three guessed, uncertain whether the man was even alive. She was a woman with braided red hair and Sylaise's vallaslin, known as Brilwyn. She was a healer of the Clan and came out to the forest to gather herbs when she met her two friends on her way.

The third one was the youngest and the boldest among them, so he jumped onto the path, ignoring the sharp protests of his two comrades. He cautiously pulled closer, careful not to step into the pool of blood that spilled around the body. He examined the mysterious man and turned to his two companions. "He still breathes," Lemren informed them.

The two joined him on the path and the elves stared down at the unconscious man at their feet. The woman crouched next to the body, turning him over. There was a deep gash on the man's side which was bleeding profoundly. There were other wounds on him too, bruises and cuts, but that was the only life-threatening one. "If he is not treated soon, he will die."

"Falon'Din take him then! He is not our problem," the oldest of them, Gelen, grumbled darkly. He was the warleader of Clan Lavellan, mostly in charge of the clan's security.

"That is not our choice to make, it is the Keeper's. We must inform her of this," Brilwyn countered.

Gelen grunted at her proposal. "You are too kind for your own good, Brilwyn, but so be it. Lemren, you are the fastest among us, run to Keeper Deshanna and tell her we found an injured shemlen in the woods," he ordered.

The young man nodded, Andruil's dark green vallaslin shining a brighter color on the sunlight that cut through the trees. In an instant, he rose to his feet and sprinted through the forest, skillfully jumping over any obstacle on his way. The two watched after him as he disappeared.

"I will start treating his wounds," Brilwyn announced, taking out an elfroot salve and some clean cloth. "I don't want him dying on us in the meantime."

Gelen snorted. "Yes, that would be awful," he muttered sarcastically, but the redhead only gave him a warning stare in return. "Alright, alright. We saw a river nearby, I'll get you some fresh water to clean his wounds."

She smirked, "That's more like it. Ma serannas, vhenan."

She could still hear Gelen muttering in disapproval under his breath as he walked back into the forest. She only smiled when she heard him repeat that she was 'too kind for her own good.' He was always such a worrywart, especially when it came to her. Then again, it was one of the things she loved about him. She looked down at the sleeping human, his mouth covered in blood where he coughed it up. He was still breathing, but barely.

By the time Lemren returned with more people and the First, Brilwyn and Gelen managed to stop the bleeding. The First to the Keeper used a healing spell to rejuvenate the human's body somewhat, but one simple spell was hardly enough to heal him entirely. He was far too injured for that and needed further treatment from the Clan's healers. Lucky for him, Keeper Istimaethoriel decided that the shemlen would be brought back to the camp and his wounds treated.

~…..~

"You cannot be serious, Keeper!" A small elven boy shouted loudly, uncaring that the rest of the Clan could hear him. Some heads turned towards the aravel where Keeper Deshanna was sitting, patiently listening to the raving white-haired boy in front of her. His features were a bit girly and he looked younger than his 13 years of age. His bare face was twisted in anger as he argued with the Clan's leader. "Taking in that shem is too dangerous! What if he turns on us when he recovers? Or tells other shemlen about us and they come to pillage our Clan?"

The young woman, whose gaze appeared much wiser than one would expect from someone her age, patiently listened to the boy, but gave him a saddened look when he finished. She wasn't angry, but pitied the elven boy instead. Nymrodel had changed so much from the adventurous, kind and bright child he used to be. Now, he was jaded and suspicious towards outsiders even more than the rest of the Clan. Deshanna understood exactly where that change came from, and she knew she couldn't help him overcome what happened to him. That fateful day left a scar on his heart as well as the ones on his back, and it changed his very soul.

His mother, the late Keeper, used to say that the Clan should not isolate themselves from the rest of the world. 'We are all a part of the same world and we should all find a way to live in harmony,' she believed. She was idealistic and warmhearted, and she taught her family to be the same, but now Nymrodel has forgotten that. When his mother gave her life protecting the Clan from a darkspawn attack, she left behind a father with two sons of no more than 6 years of age. Their father was a scatterbrain even before their mother's death, but after it, he never recovered. He withdrew into himself, practically forgetting he had two young twin boys to raise. Nymrodel and Seiriadel were mostly left to fend for themselves, but the whole Clan helped them out. Yet even then, Nym stayed a hopeful child, although overprotective of his twin brother. But the day Nym lost both his father and his brother in such a despicable way…that was what truly changed him. Even though 2 years have already passed since then, the boy simply couldn't recover and the two scars on his back were a constant reminder.

Taking a deep breath, the woman started, "Listen, da'len, I am perfectly aware of the risks. But that man is hardly a danger to the whole clan with the state he is in. He was alone and dying. How could I face Mythal in the Beyond one day, if I turned my back on the weak and defenseless who needed my help," she said with a gentle tone filled with patience - one she used when teaching the children of the Clan.

"But you do not know this shem's intentions. How do you know he is some weak and innocent traveler," Nym countered with a glare. Deshanna's words were falling on deaf ears.

"I do not know if he is innocent or not. Perhaps he is not even a good person. In that case, we have our hunters to deal with him. Do not worry, da'len, I will personally get rid of him or escort him out of the Clan if he proves to be a threat."

Nymrodel clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Fen'Harel ma ghilana," he hissed.

Her eyebrow twitched in irritation at that. He was being far too disrespectful for her liking, but she was letting it slide for now. "So you would simply let him die in the dirt?" She countered with a stern question, her big forest-green eyes narrowed.

He was taken aback by her words, but after a short pause he answered with a short "Yes."

"Lies. Ma harel, da'len," she called his bluff. He was always bad at lying, even if he wanted to pretend his heart has turned to stone. But Deshanna believed the gentle child she once knew was still somewhere inside of him, wanting to be let out. "You mistake kindness for weakness; that is not the way Merrinne, our previous Keeper and your mother, had taught us." She knew bringing up his mother was a low blow, but hoped it would shake him up enough to perhaps make him remember who he once aspired to be.

A pang of guilt and hurt shot through the boy's heart. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat, but then hardened his resolve and glared at her. "You are making a mistake, Keeper! That shem is dangerous and you will regret bringing him in here. You have brought danger upon our Clan," he bit back before jumping off the aravel and running into the forest, without looking back at the curious elves that followed him with their stares. He could feel Deshanna's sorrowful gaze burning on his back, but ignored it. Glancing back at her would only hurt him further.

~…..~

It was already nightfall when Nymrodel got tired of roaming the forest and returned to the camp. Most of the others were fast sleep around the camp fire that burned out until only a few lit cinders were left.

While wandering around and exploring the woods, Nym had reached a decision. He wasn't about to let that dangerous human hurt his Clan. The Keeper might not approve, but he knew what needed to be done. He needed to stop this shemlen while he still had the chance.

Silently, he crept to the tent where the injured human was resting. The elves put up a tent to give the healers and the wounded man some privacy. He peeked through the slit, holding his breath in earnest as two wide blue eyes explored the small area. Creators must have been on his side because nobody but the sleeping shem was in there. Nym slipped inside the tent, dragging his feet across to the bedroll where the man was lying on the ground. His torso was bare and severely bandaged, some bloodstains still visible on the white cloth.

The man appeared to be in his thirties. He had a scruffy look, with messy dark brown shoulder-length hair that fell over his face, and unshaved patch of hair that was slowly turning into a beard. There was a scar lined vertically over his right eye, but with the man's eyes closed it was impossible to tell if the eye was affected or not.

The boy's eyes fell onto the stranger's clothing beside the bedroll; it was old and worn out, looking more like some beggar's rags. But then he noticed the two sheathed daggers beside the tattered clothes. They were longer than normally used dual daggers. He couldn't see the quality of the steel, but the handles were of fine pyrophite with ornaments on the guards and handles, so he expected the blades were just as skillfully made. The weapons looked far more expensive than whatever else the man owned, making Nym wonder if the shem had stolen them. His gaze returned to the man when he noticed his shallow breaths as he struggled to take in air. With every breath, his lungs wheezed as if something was lodged in there.

The boy's trembling hands went to the knife on his belt. He held the weapon with both hands and it never felt heavier. He could feel his palms getting sweaty. *I have to do this. I need to do this to protect the Clan.* He took a deep breath, clutching the handle of the blade like his life depended on it.

"What are you doing here, da'len?"

A familiar voice made the boy jump. He quickly turned around and hid the knife behind his back, tucking it back on his belt. Wide, guilt-ridden eyes stared at the intruder. "B-Brilwyn," he exclaimed in a stammer. His voice was failing him and he forgot how to breathe for a second. Did she know why he came here? Did she see?

The redhead was silent for a while, examining the boy from head to toe with an unreadable expression, before a wide grin spread across her face. "I see, I see, you came here to check on our wounded man, right? Were you worried? Oh, you're such a good child," the woman nodded in understanding, still smiling as she walked inside the tent and gave Nym a slap on the back.

"Huh?" All Nym could do was gape, completely perplexed. Of all the things he imagined Brilwyn would say, that one didn't even cross his mind. He couldn't tell if she was just being shrewd and pretending or was this really what she thought happened.

The young woman ignored his confused expression and continued, wrapping an arm across his shoulder as she guided them towards the bedroll, "In that case, why don't you help me keep an eye on this shem tonight. I'm on duty and we need to try our best to keep him alive until morning. Whether he lives will probably be decided by whether he makes it through this night or not. With his wounds, it'll be a struggle, but he surprisingly survived this far. He must be one tough shem," she explained with a grin.

"You…want me to help you take care of him?" Young Nym was completely at a loss.

"Did I stutter, da'len?" Brilwyn titled her head with a raised eyebrow. "Now go get me more fresh water to clean his wounds and replace his bandages. I need more elfroot too!"

~….~

Nym yawned for the tenth time that day. Brilwyn made him stay with her all night, helping her make elfroot salves and clean the man's wounds every few hours so they wouldn't infect. He had to admit he paled in shock when she took off the bandages and he saw the nasty wound underneath. Even with healing, Nym could see the gash was deep. The blade must've sliced all the way to the man's ribs. It was a miracle he survived at all, especially alone in the forest. In the end, Nym only managed to crawl into bed when dawn already rose and the first rays of pale light shone down on the aravels. He only had three hours of sleep before his kin slowly started waking up, starting another hard day's work. He couldn't possibly sleep in when others were doing chores around the camp.

So he helped out during the day, as dazed and tired as he was. He was currently sitting on a rock with numerous thin branches of fine wood beside him. His duty today was to make more bows for their hunters to use, but he could barely focus on his crafting. His hands worked instinctively, while his eyes begun to close on their own. He almost fell asleep, falling off the rock, when his body jerked upwards and he was startled awake. He rubbed his reddened eyes, groaning in irritation. *Damn, this is all Brilwyn's fault! Why does she care so much what happens to that shem anyway? And I hoped to ask Lemren to help me practice with my daggers today, but I wouldn't be able to focus on my lessons at all,* he complained in his head.

Although most elves in the clan used bows, they all also trained with daggers in case of close combat. However, those were only their secondary weapons used out of necessity, so most of them didn't use them unless forced to. On the other hand Nym learned early that he wasn't very talented with a bow, but he had some potential with blades, so he chose to focus on those weapons. Unfortunately, there weren't many in the clan who could train him as he wished, other than showing him the basics and a few dirty moves they picked up along the way. Lemren was one of the few who was quite skilled with the dual daggers, so Nym tried to catch him whenever he could to get some tips from him. Unfortunately, as one of the clan's Hunters, Lemren was often busy with hunting or scouting, so Nym had to train on his own. The children all had collective training sessions of course, but those mostly covered bows, short swords or bare-handed combat.

*I guess I'm lucky I didn't pick a long sword or some two-handed weapon to use, or I really wouldn't have anyone to train with,* he mused. There were only a few warriors in the clan who used swords, though mostly short ones. There were some exceptions, like Gelen who wielded a long sword in one hand and a short sword in the other. Or Rion who was the only one crazy and strong enough to wield a broadsword which required two hands to swing. Nym tried to lift it once and got a cramp in his arm from the strain.

He stood up, letting another finished bow fall to the ground with the other ones and scooped all the crafted weapons in his thin arms. He ran back to the Clan's craftsman, Sowen, who was talking to the First of the Keeper, Varalhen. He gave the old hahren all of his bows so the other could store them away.

Sowen examined each one carefully, looking for even the slightest mistake on the bow. Only the ones crafted perfectly were used, while the ones who were flawed would be discarded and used as firewood or recrafted into other tools if possible. Meanwhile, Nym would have to craft more to replace all the destroyed ones. Crafting weapons was especially meticulous work, where not one error was allowed since it could cost their wielder's life. Yet Nym was in no shape for such focused work today. He gulped as he watched the old craftsman analyze his work with great care, knowing he probably made lots of errors today.

The First eyed the boy who was awaiting the other's words with clear anxiousness. Anticipation was written all over his young face, with his bright blue eyes gleaming up at the man. Sowen sighed, "Out of ten bows, you managed to ruin four of them, da'len. Where is your head today, hm?"

Nym cast his gaze to his feet, staring at his toes with a forlorn expression. "Ir abelas, Craftmaster Sowen," he mumbled. "I will make new ones," he insisted, but the mage stopped them.

Varalhen shook his head. "There is no point, you would only make new mistakes. Look at those bags under your eyes, have you not been sleeping well?" With obvious concern he cupped Nym's head to rise it, looking at the dark circles beneath his reddish eyes. He lowered his tone as he spoke again, "Are you plagued by nightmares again?"

Nym was a bit startled at the unexpected question. It's true he used to have nightmares before, but they haven't come in a long time. Still, he couldn't tell him the truth; that he snuck into the human's tent to try and kill him, only to help nursing him after he was caught by Brilwyn. Stepping away from Varalhen's touch, he shook his head quickly, "No, I'm fine! I just…I was thinking a lot so I couldn't sleep much," he lied.

"I see…about the shemlen?"

Nym's head jolted back up to look at the other elf.

"I heard you arguing with the Keeper about it yesterday," Varalhen admitted. "Well, everyone heard," he shrugged.

The boy stared up at the mage desperately. "But aren't I right? Why are we letting this shem stay, he has nothing to do with us. He will only bring trouble," he insisted. He felt like he still had some unresolved feelings from his previous argument with Deshanna, because he could feel his frustration returning. Yet it wouldn't be fair to let it out on Varalhen, so he tried to keep himself in check.

The First took a deep breath, scratching the back of his head. "Look, you may be right, but it doesn't change the fact that our Keeper has made her choice. Keeper Istimaethoriel has the role of protecting the Clan and when did she ever led us astray? So I ask that you trust her and heed her advice. She would not risk our Clan light-heartedly, so obviously she doesn't believe the human poses a threat to us. I have cast another healing spell on him today, believe me, he is too weak to be dangerous," the man reassured him.

The boy didn't look convinced, but he nodded at the First anyway.

Varalhen smiled at him. "Good, now go rest. I'll call you when the meal is ready. Old Maven is making deer stew," he grinned.

Nymrodel walked towards his bedroll, only to pass by the tent were the shem was sleeping. He glared at the human, who was completely unaware of the animosity and mistrust towards him, but he was too tired to try anything today. He wouldn't be able to gather all that courage that took for him to act yesterday. He spent hours finding his resolve only for it to be in naught.

~…..~

It was the third day after they brought the human to the camp, when the First suddenly burst out of the tent with a shout, "The shem is awake!"

Everyone turned their heads towards the flustered voice, but only Nym froze in place with dread creeping up his spine. Instead of stalking towards the tent like the rest of his kin, he stood up and walked over to the camp's halla. They had a special area for themselves, free from any fences or restrictions. The Dalish and the halla had a special connection so the halla were with them willingly, not like the tamed animals humans used.

He drew near where the halla were resting or grazing and sat beside Banshee, one of the youngest of the herd. She was lying on the grass with her legs tucked under her, dozing off in the sunlight's warmth. Nym crossed his legs and started combing his fingers though her short silken fur. His white hair and pale skin matched the snow-colored coat of the halla, making him almost unnoticeable when they surrounded him. Ordinarily it calmed him down, but not today. As much as he tried to ignore it, his curiosity was pulling him towards the tent - to go see this shemlen that survived impossible odds.

Despite the Keeper telling everyone to stay away from the tent, the curious elves crowded around the entrance, trying to peek inside and see the human.

Inside, the said man slowly opened his eyes, showing two dark amber irises. They instantly fell on the woman kneeling next to his bedroll. She was fair, with green eyes and raven hair tied in one thick braid. She was in her thirties like him, but looked younger. Or perhaps the years just treated her better. The markings on her face and the slender pointed ears told him instantly that she was a Dalish elf, a creature of legend in this Age, making him conclude that he was currently inside a Dalish camp. Whether that was good or bad, he couldn't tell, but at least they didn't appear to be hostile….yet. But the one thing that stood out the most, was the staff in her right hand. She was a mage.

"Can you speak, human?"

The man tried to, but his weak voice cracked. His throat was completely dry. He gaped, letting out a broken sound.

The elven woman instantly understood, taking a wooden cup next to his bedside and filling it with fresh water. She handed it to the man.

He nodded gratefully before starting to drink as if he was a man dying in the desert. Only after the cup was completely empty did he quench his thirst. "Thank you," his voice was still hoarse, but he managed to use it this time. "What happened to me?"

"Our hunters found you passed out and injured in the woods. It was remarkable you lived. You must be very lucky…or your gods have smiled upon you," the Keeper explained.

The man snorted darkly when she mentioned the gods. "I don't have any gods that would help me," he muttered.

She didn't comment on his statement and continued, "I am Keeper Istimaethoriel of the Clan Lavellan. We do not mean you harm…but we will defend ourselves if you try anything hostile." Her voice was stern, but calm. Her gaze was clear from hate or disgust, despite dealing with a shemlen, but it also showed that she was dead-serious about her words. He had enough life experience to know that look very well. Her kindness would shift to merciless hostility in an instant if he tried anything that might endanger her people.

He knelt on the furs, turning his body to face the woman. She looked confused and jerked back, unsure what he was trying to do.

"Do not try to get up, you are far too weak to move yet," she warned, fretting over him now.

But he didn't listen. Instead, he bowed his head low, groaning in pain as his injured torso protested. The searing pain traveled through his body and bloodstains appeared on his clean bandages, but the man didn't move from his position.

"I thank you for my life, Lady Lavellan," he formally spoke. He didn't know how to address her since he knew little of Dalish customs, so he hoped this would do. "I owe you a great debt. My life. And I will be sure to find a way to repay it."

The Keeper kept silent, staring at him in shock. Behind her, the gathered crowd of elves was just as equally perplexed. A few gasps and whispers traveled among them, but it was mostly in elven and incomprehensible to the human. None of them were used to shemlen treating them with such respect, although most of them just thought the human was crazy and delirious from a fever, seeing how he risked ripping apart his torso all over again just to give his gratitude properly.

Then a loud angry voice brought them all back to reality as an elven woman pushed through the crowd and stomped inside the tent. "Fenedhis lasa! What the hell are you doing, felasil! Are you trying to reopen your wounds?!" The angry woman had long red hair braided in numerous tiny braids, all tied together with a thong. Her deep green eyes burned with frustration as she practically pushed the man down onto the furs, while cursing at him in elven. Her name was Brilwyn, but the man didn't know it at that point. "I didn't spend my days treating your wounds and bringing down your fever so you could kill yourself now!" Even the Keeper gaped at the sight.

A few chuckles echoed from the crowed as the clan consequentially relaxed from this comical display. He could still hear a few comments, mostly saying, "This shem is crazy."

"A man needs to say his gratitude immediately. Otherwise, it pales in meaning. How can I possibly wait when the people who saved me are right before my eyes," the human protested, almost arguing with the redhead elf now.

Meanwhile, the Keeper sighed, then chuckled as she was brought back from her shock. "Then, how about you start by telling us your name and what happened to you?" She then turned to the rest of the clan, still spying from outside, "And you!" Everyone stiffened at the sound of her tone. "Disperse at once! Give us some privacy," she ordered, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her children.

With disgruntled mutters, the Clan did as they were told. All of them went back to their work, though kept one ear to the tent just in case something unpredictable happened. They all trusted Istimaethoriel could handle herself, being a mage and their Keeper, but they were still protective of her. Two elven hunters stood guard outside the tent – but it was to keep their eye on the human, rather than to keep the other elves away.

"I would like to stay, Keeper. I want to keep an eye on this shemlen," a deep voice sounded from the entrance. This time, a man who came in was an elf with long black hair tied in a low ponytail. One strand of hair fell on the left side of his face, not tied with the rest. He was tall and muscular, used to holding a sword. He had a long and a short sword strapped on the left side of his waist and rested one hand on the pommels, as a warning.

The two women inside the tent called him with different names…or titles? The human wasn't sure.

"Gelen," the Keeper called out in a greeting.

The redhead used "Vhenan."

Gelen gave the human a dark scowl as he stared at him with expectation. "Well? You are…?" Unlike the Keeper, he was obviously not as patient, even with the injured.

The human laid flat on his back as he talked, pain and weakness returning to his body. He used up all of his strength for that feat earlier. "My name is Ronas Cale. I…was attacked nearby and managed to hide in the woods," he was rather vague with the details.

"It is true. There was no fighting around him, but there was a trail of blood and broken twigs. My men tracked it back to the riverside. That is where most of the fight happened, although by the traces, you were fighting only one person. We also found these strange darts at the scene," Gelen took out a small metallic dart.

"Be careful, it's laced with poison," Ronas warned darkly. "That's how the bastard got me. The darts aren't deadly, but they weaken you and muddle your mind. Makes it hard for you to defend yourself," he explained. "I fought…multiple attackers, but most of the fighting occurred far away from here. I managed to escape, but that last guy was pretty persistent in chasing after me," he explained with a sigh. Then he looked up at Gelen, "You're pretty great, you got all that just from tracks on the ground," he grinned.

The other didn't look amused, he just frowned. "This obviously wasn't some bandit attack gone wrong. Why was that man after you and what happened to him? Who are you?"

"Now it was Cale's turn to frown; not at the elves, but at the memory. "The man's dead…I killed him and tossed his body into the river. He was taken away by the current, so if you're worried that he will endanger your clan by coming after me again, you don't have to be," he read right through Gelen's concerns. "And I'm…nobody. I've been a nobody for a long time now," he added in a low voice.

"You don't have a home? Nowhere to return to?" Brilwyn's rage from before completely subsided and was replaced by a concerned expression.

"Don't get attached," Gelen muttered a warning, as if he was talking about a pet animal.

Ronas chuckled, not offended in the slightest. "That's right, I'm just a vagabond."

He didn't mention his connection to his attacker nor any reasons why he was attacked, but the Keeper could tell it was intentional. It was something he obviously wasn't comfortable sharing and Deshanna understood. *We all have our secrets*, she thought. He was a mystery, but he didn't seem a bad man. So she decided not to pry for now.

"More importantly…I do have one question, though," Cale started. The three elves all looked at him in anticipation. He pointed behind all of them with a curious stare. "What is that small white creature giving me such dangerous death glares? If looks could kill…," he stated rather light-heartedly despite the subject of death threats.

Startled, all three elves turned to look behind. There, standing at the entrance of the tent and hiding behind the flap rather poorly, stood the white-haired elf boy. He was giving the human glares of suspicion, as if trying to drive him away with just his stare.

"Nym," Deshanna sighed.

The boy trembled under their gaze, yet he stood his ground with a defiant expression. He kept his big eyes trained on Cale, continuously glaring at the man. "I…I'm not afraid of you, shem!"

"Nymrodel, this isn't a place for children to play around. Don't make me toss you out," Gelen warned in a stern voice, but the boy ignored him. Gelen always had that scowl on his face, but everyone in the clan knew he had a soft heart deep inside…well, very deep inside. He was still a monster when pissed off.

On their surprise, Cale just laughed, making them once again think there was something wrong with his head. Although that laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit. He groaned in pain from the strain before he gave the kid another bright smile. "Com'ere, kid. You're not afraid, right?" He teased Nym on purpose, the toothy grin never leaving his expression.

In an instant, Nym's sour expression turned cold. His small hands clenched into fists as if enduring the fear he truly felt, replacing it with determination. He straightened up, walking slowly towards the man with his hard gaze piercing the other. There was none of that boyish naiveté left, but instead something darker lurked inside him. In that moment, the boy looked like he was ready to kill if the other tried to harm him.

"Heh, what a murderous stare," Cale grinned, completely unfazed by the boy's change, but he did notice it. He looked at Nym carefully, smiling knowingly like he could see something the others could not. He propped himself up on his elbows as the boy drew closer. "So what, you don't like humans? I guess I can understand that. Humans don't usually treat you well, huh?"

Nym's glare persisted, "Outsiders will only bring trouble to the Clan…I don't want that to happen. You should get well soon and leave," he explained curtly.

"So you want me to get well soon, what a kind child. I'm touched," Cale answered, feigning he was deeply moved by it.

Nymrodel gaped wordlessly. What was wrong with this shemlen? "That's not what I meant," he protested. He became flustered, forgetting his dark demeanor for a second.

The man only laughed, before suddenly putting a hand on Nym's hair. He patted the boy's head, rustling the short hair and tangling it even more.

The young elf was completely in shock, being touched so casually by a stranger. He quickly jerked away, stumbling backwards from how hastily he moved. "Don't touch me, you bastard!" He smacked Cale's hand in the process, looking at the other wide-eyed. The shem was mocking him, treating him like a child. He bit back his anger and quickly ran away, disappearing outside the tent.

The Keeper sighed as she stared after Nymrodel. Then she turned her attention back to Cale, "I apologize for that. His actions shame me."

"Nymrodel isn't a bad child…just a troubled one. He lost his family and he's been through a lot," Brilwyn admitted.

"So he's an orphan," Cale muttered.

"No one is an orphan in a Dalish clan, alin," the Keeper smiled warmly.

Ronas Cale smiled in return. "It's alright. It's not bad being cautious with strangers….much better than being too trusting, right?" He grinned.

The elves glanced at each other in wonder, but they didn't answer. This shemlen was truly different from any they met so far.

~…..~

Even after Ronas awoke, the Keeper didn't ask him to leave. He stayed with the Clan, recovering from his wounds while their healers or the First would help him with treatment. The man was recovering at remarkable speed. After four more days he was already walking around and even helping around the Clan, despite the protests of their lead healer. Every time Brilwyn would catch him outside of bed, she'd drag him back to his tent accompanied by a flurry of elven curses. Cale didn't know what they meant, but he could guess from her tone that she was insulting him.

As Ronas watched them and learned from them, he soon realized the whole camp worked like a well-oiled machine. Every clan member had their duties that they performed daily. They all moved with purpose, whether it was training, cooking, crafting or simply taking care of the young ones. There was a calming rhythm to their everyday life, which was in turn hardworking but peaceful. There were smiles on everyone's faces as they interacted. They all had their ranks and there were apprentices, but ultimately they were all equal. There were no class divisions, no nobles and peasants. Just people living in harmony with each other.

Most of them treated him with caution and suspicion, never getting too close to him, but they were generally polite and even supportive at times. When he started helping out by fixing their aravels or skinning their game, slowly the elves let him get closer. When they realized he meant them no harm, their curiosity overpowered their suspicion and they started asking him questions, mainly about his life in the cities. Just like the humans had many misconceptions about the Dalish, the forest elves also had many rumors about the humans, and some of them were pure fantasy.

"Is it true shems eat cats and dogs?" "Why do they cut down all their trees and put stone wherever they go?" "Is it true there are giant monsters living in the sewers beneath their cities?" "Is it true their shemlen kids don't know how to hunt?" "I heard they hunt Dalish elves and keep them as pets!"

Daily, Ronas was bombarded with an infinite amount of questions, mostly by the Lavellan children who didn't yet know much about the rest of the world. The ones who didn't have their vallaslin yet were kept protected in the clan, rarely allowed to go to the forest without an adult chaperone. The Keeper and the First taught them lessons in history of the world, while the others taught them how to hunt and protect themselves. Hahren Sowen, with the vallaslin of the God June, taught them basics of craftsmanship. However, there was always a fear of slavers, bandits or simply hateful humans who would harm the children, so their freedom was limited.

The man didn't mind all the questioning. He was having fun, and he liked helping the elders of the clan or playing with the children. Clan Lavellan was not big; it only took him a day to meet everyone and remember most of their names. They seemed more open with humans than other clans, although he knew most of the stories about Dalish clans in general was absurdity. He really doubted these people ate their young or humans or any of the other nonsense he heard throughout his life.

The one who never got close to him, but only kept glaring at him from afar, was the white-haired elf boy. Nymrodel always kept his distance and even when Cale approached him, he was cold to the human. No matter what Cale did or how friendly he was, the boy wouldn't warm up to him. Ronas often teased him or ruffled his hair which only made the boy angry, thinking he was getting picked on. Nevertheless, the man decided his flustered look was much better-suited for a kid his age than the cold demeanor he ordinarily wore towards him.

That's why he wasn't surprised when he noticed the boy watching him curiously from afar, while he sat and cleaned his dual daggers. The bright silverate of the blades glistened in the sunlight, while the dark red handles reminded of blood. The daggers were completely straight, but a few inches longer than usual ones.

He was humming happily, pretending not to notice, as the boy crept closer. It seemed Nym's curiosity won over, because he walked over to the man, even surprising Cale by doing so.

"You know how to wield those?" The boy asked cautiously.

Cale grinned, "Of course. That's why I have them."

Nym eyed him curiously. The human was dressed in his old robes, making him look like a true vagabond. "They look expensive. How did you acquire them?"

He snickered, "I didn't steal them, if that's what you're asking. I've had them with me for a long time now…" His eyes glazed over as if he was traveling somewhere far away in his mind. Far into memory. "I earned them. A long time ago when I was in Tevinter. It belonged to a blood mage's bodyguard. He was rumored to be the best in his line of work…it took me approximately five seconds to kill him. Then I ended the Tevinter mage and freed all his slaves," Cale smirked at the memory.

"Elven slaves," Nym asked in a low voice. There was something in his tone…something Cale couldn't quite decipher.

"Some of them were. Others were humans like me. Things like race don't matter when you're a slave, I think."

The boy was silent for a while, staring at the sharp blades as if mesmerized. The two small daggers sheathed on his belt didn't go unnoticed by Cale's sharp eye. He saw the boy practice with them before. They were worn-out and cheap-looking, made from simple steel, but even so, the elf took great care of them, shining and sharpening them regularly.

"You train with daggers too," he asked the kid.

Nymrodel snorted. "When I can. I'm not very good because I mostly have to train alone apart from our regular training exercises," he complained, then quickly shut his mouth, afraid he shared too much information with the human. He cursed himself for letting his guard down, even if it was for a second.

That second was all Cale needed. His smile spread into a wide grin. "Ooh? Do you want me to train with you? You want me to teach you?" He teased the boy, jabbing his elbow into the boy's shoulder lightly. He could see Nymrodel's cheeks growing red from anger, and that only spurred Cale on. It was always so amusing to mess with this kid. "If you ask me nicely, I might agree. If you act like a cute kid and ask 'Please, ser Ronas, will you train me?' then I might do it," he taunted.

Nym's face contorted in disgust. "As if I'd ever ask a shem for help, you stupid old man!"

"Old man!?" Ronas felt like he was just stabbed in the heart with those words.

"Stop treating me like a kid," Nym shouted, stomping away from the human.

"But you are a kid," Cale yelled after him, but the boy ignored him.

~…..~

Meanwhile in Ansburg, a certain noble was standing beside a fireplace, staring at the fire. Lord Ciriam Endfall wasn't the Margrave of Ansburg, but everybody already highly suspected he will be the next one after the current Margrave was to finish his service. He had the standing for it, but more importantly, he had every important city institution in his pocket.

Ansburg was a large bustling city, but although agriculturally important, was often called a "backwater." Because of its size, it wasn't easy to oversee all of its people and institutions. It was the Margrave's job, but because it was such demanding work, it was often hard to see the corruption within it all. And that is exactly what Lord Endfall took advantage of.

He had the whole city in his clutches, and although rumors of his corruption spread around the city, there was never any proof of it. And there never would be as long as the people were getting their money. He bribed most of the city officials, whether to give him information or work for his benefit, and the Margrave was never the wiser. He spread his influence across the city using his riches, rising in name and power, until even the Templars of the city were at his back and call. Even though their primary duty was serving at the Ansburg Circle of Magi, the Knight-Commander would sometimes use his men as Endfall's small personal army. They would always get handsomely paid, so the Templars never saw any problem in it.

Right now, this Lord had his eyes set on a certain piece of land just north of Ansburg. The land did not belong to anyone yet, so it could be claimed by someone with a title and enough power. Its position was good since it had the river on one side and the soil was good for farming. The Lord looked to extend his lands and this piece was perfect for it. The only problem was that the land was currently settled by a group of Dalish elves - Clan Lavellan, as his spies discovered.

Since the city had no official claim on the land, its resources or Ansburg City Guard could not be used to drive the savages away. However, Lord Endfall didn't rise to power without wits. He was a sly man, knowing exactly how to strike at his opponent. Even if the City couldn't do anything about the elves, there was a force that could.

The Lord turned away from the fireplace towards the other person in the room. A man wearing heavy armor with a long sword at his waist and a shield on his back. His breastplate had the insignia of the Templars.

"So the problem shall be dealt with, Knight-Commander Tancius?" The Lord asked with a cold gaze towards his ally.

The Templar smirked, "As usual, my lord. There are apostates in that elven clan, so it is our solemn duty to deal with them…one way or the other."

"Kill them or drive them away, I do not care. As long as they are out of those lands," the noble ordered dryly. Even as he spoke of such matters, there was no sympathy in his voice.

It was a shrewd plan. He didn't want to implicate himself or alert the Margrave of his plans, so he could not act officially. But if the Templars go after the Clan, it will simply look like they are doing their duty and chasing down apostate mages. And when the Clan is gone, Endfall can swoop in and be the first to claim the land before anyone even hears about what happened.

A sadistic grin spread across the Knight-Commander's face, his eyes burning with bloodlust. "Those savages are best to be exterminated, my lord."

---

Glossary:

Aravel - A wagon used by the Dalish/ also a physical and spiritual path, a journey with purpose. Humans call them "landships."

Hahren - Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage.

Sule sal harthir - Until we hear of each other again.

Ma serannas, vhenan – Thank you, Heart/Love

Fen'Harel ma ghilana - Dread Wolf guides you (Indicates someone being misled)

Ma harel, da'len - You lie, child

Da'len - Little one

Shemlen/Shem - The original name elves use for the human race; continues to see use as a slang term, literally "quick children".

Fenedhis lasa – a common elven curse

Felasil - fool

Alin – Stranger

Note: The Dalish essentially have three names;

Personal Name, or Soul Name (Sal'melin): This is the personal name of the Dalish. What we might consider to be their true name. The name that identifies them.

Patronymic, or Parent Name (Linal'melin): This is the name of the same-gender parent of the Dalish. For example, if the Dalish is male, this will be their father's name. In Nymrodel's case, it is Feynvin – his father's name. The Dalish use this name to address each other with formal respect.

Clan Name (lethal'melin): This is the clan name of the Dalish. It is the name of the clan that the Dalish was born to, not the clan that they grow up and end up living with. Dalish have the option of adding their new clan if they wish. For example, someone like Merrill, who was traded to the Sabrae clan from the Alerion clan, could very well have two clan names.

Nymrodel and his clan don't use Nym's Parental name to address him, however, and more about why that is will be explained later in the story.

---

Unfortunately, Nym's story of the past was too long to put all in one chapter so I had to split it in two parts. It's done though, I just need to proofread the next chapter.
I hope you liked this one and that you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it! ^^