– 2 –

Artana

Author's notes: Alpha by Sresla. Beta by TanithAeyrs

Artana's eyes flickered open to morning light. She groaned, stretching slowly out of her little ball. The pain was excruciating – she should never have let herself fall asleep sitting up. Though she had to admit after the sharp searing needles, all that was left was a dull ache. It was a welcome difference from yesterday, where every movement brought pain. The sounds of the forest graced her ears, bringing a smile to her decorated face. Birds, rabbits, leaves rustling... her stomach growling.

Her canine companion's ears twitched, and he too woke. He gave a few snuffles at Artana's arm and cheek before he seemed content with her well-being, then stretched and moved to take a drink from the river.

"I will need to hunt today." She let the wolf know, though it didn't seem to have much of an opinion on the matter. She watched him drink for a moment before she realized something was … amiss. He had stopped lapping up water and his ears were adjusting as if trying to hear something. It was warning enough for her to try and do the same. She closed her eyes to concentrate on what was out of place amidst the forest ambiance, half expecting the snap of branch from the weight of hoof or paw. But she did not hear this – no, she heard... voices? Perhaps, it was too faint to be sure.

Artana stood, her bones angrily protesting the motion with a severe crack from each knee and her back. She had to lean on her bow to stand fully and allow a moment before she was able to move. Silence would not be easy today, but this was a hunt. It was of utmost importance to see and not be seen.

Fire. As she slowly moved along the river bed, avoiding twigs and leaves with masterful precision, she smelled a campfire. Her blight wolf friend had noticed it too, his glistening nostrils flaring once or twice. Were there elves at this camp, or shemlen? How many? If they were shemlen they certainly wouldn't be friendly....

"Would you think I'm crazy if I said I kind of sense darkspawn?" One shemlan said to the other, a strange accent to his words.

Artana crouched silently at the base of a tree with a single arrow drawn from her quiver. She did not draw back against the string, was not ready to fire it yet; the effort would cause her arm to shake too much. What was a darkspawn?

"That is entirely irrelevant, no? I would think you crazy no matter what you said." The other shemlan argued, a stronger accent than the last.

The banter may have been endearing, if she weren't certain they would gut her if they found her. There was meat roasting on a spit at their fire, and she had to do the best she could to ignore the distraction it presented, as to not make another sound and give away her position. Her eye shifted to check where her companion had gone – he was silently flanking the campsite.

"Yes, well, ignore that."

She examined them more closely, hand tightly closed around the grip of her bow, though her arrow was still only loosely set on the rest. They both had hair much like her own, very dark – only a miniscule glint of any highlighting colour in the morning light. It was styled similarly on the both of them, all of it gathered at the bases of their necks by white ties of fabric. Their noses were also the same, from what she could tell of their profile – a flat bridge, but pronounced tip. Even past the sight notch of her bow, she could tell these were brothers. Twins, perhaps.

"Well, If I ignored that, then I would say yes. Yes, I kind of sense darkspawn."

There were few weapons around them that she could see. A shield with a foreign crest, though she did not see the sword that assumedly accompanied it. That meant one of them was likely armed. The other …

Artana froze. Not to say she had been moving much, hardly even breathing, but the other man had just looked right towards the tree she was concealed behind.

"The blight is in the wilds, any darkspawn found here would be weak and few." The thicker accented man pointed out, but the other had not yet glanced away. It felt like forever before she, finally, began to slowly breathe again, the man seeming satisfied to look elsewhere. It appeared an itch on his leg had distracted him.

Thunk. Artana's eyes opened wide. A dagger no bigger than a hand's length had sunk into the tree trunk, just by her face.

"You think those creatures have come to understand warnings, frére?" The shemlan asked his brother.

They knew she was here. The time for spying was over.

Artana stood swiftly, arrow drawn, and stepped from the shadows. The throwing-knife-twin was in the sight line of her bow. She remained quiet, trying to figure out what to say, and her eyes only shifted to see her wolf friend bound forth from the shadows with his teeth bared to the point of showing his dark-spotted gums.

"This is no darkspawn."

"An observation I would expect of a chevalier."

"Silence, shemlen!" Artana finally sputtered. On closer inspection it was quite obvious that these men were indeed twins. Thankfully, they were both raising their hands. Good. Her arm had begun to shake almost violently in protest to the strain of aiming a bow. She relaxed the string – slightly. Not enough to lower her guard. She had no idea what to ask, though. "Why are you in this forest?"

The one with less of an accent ventured to ask a question. "Did you know that you and your wolf are quite ill?" Seemingly mindful that he was at her bow point, he added. "We did not know it was Dalish land."

"It is not your place to be asking questions here." Artana's eyes shifted to check and be sure the other human was not moving to attack.

Seeing her attention shift, the other now spoke. "I do believe we have gotten off on an impressively bad foot, my lady."

She pointed her bow at him instead. "You mock me now."

"No, no!" The other twin reassured with a chuckle in his voice. "What manner of fool would mock their captor? Allow us, please, to introduce ourselves."

Once again, Artana put her sights on the lesser-accented twin. Her silence gave him permission to speak.

"We are Grey Wardens from Orlais. I am Ives,"

"... and I am Jean. I can see the question upon your face, so I shall explain. Grey Wardens fight creatures of pure evil called darkspawn."

"And," Ives continued, "are able to sense the corruption that darkspawn leave on and in things. We are two hundred in number,"

"... camped a day away, at the Orlesian border."

"Do you shemlen often speak like this?" Artana's tension had decreased, but she stubbornly held on to her grip. Her wolf was pacing left and right now, still snarling and growling. Jean in particular kept glancing to check and be sure it wouldn't attack.

The twins responded with a little bout of laughter. "I suppose shemlen must mean human, no?" Jean wondered aloud.

"Then, no, most humans indeed do not." Ives chuckled once more. "Though, we were quite serious, what we said...."

"You are very ill, my lady, and will die if not treated." Jean's face turned quite grim at the admission. "I will not lie to you, I do not know what can be done to prevent you from becoming a ghoul."

"But we hate to just leave you to that fate."

"You speak so much, yet you say hardly anything. You have told me that you are soldiers, and have defected from your troops --"

"No, no!" Jean waved his hands. They were still in a position of surrender, so the motion was moderately comical. "We are merely scouts."

"Spies." Artana's eyes shifted to look at Ives, the one that had thrown the dagger at her.

"... Oui, spies. Ferelden has turned our troops away. You see, my lady, we have nothing to hide from you. But our mission is fruitless," Jean continued.

Artana's amber eyes bored right into Ives, and it seemed as though he could feel it. In fact, he seemed a little... unsettled; perhaps due to the darkening of her skin towards a grey tone, or the dark web of blood writing that may be confused by an outsider as identity-hiding. "... the Fereldens we've found have no idea, besides a hatred of Orlais, why our reinforcements were turned back. You see? Why would we tell you all this if we didn't want to help."

"Humans never want to help elvhen." She protested stubbornly, noting that both men sighed and looked towards each other.

"Here," Ives offered, timidly lowering his hands. The wolf growled and stepped nearer. "Call off your furry friend - I'll place all of my weapons by the fire where you can see them, and then you will eat with us, hm?"

Artana hesitated. It might be a mistake to allow this, but hunger made a convincing argument. "Down, lethallin." Her tone did not demand obedience from the wolf, it simply asked for it. She kept her bow trained on the one naming himself Ives.

"So… It's name is lethallin?" Ives casually wondered, pulling no less than three daggers from the turns of his brown suede boots. He set them aside and reached for his crossbow, showing it to her, then set it near the small daggers. Next, a set of daggers that stored in just one sheathe, locking at the hilt to stay together. They were larger, for combat, and had been to the side that she could not see. Bolts for the crossbow, a bundle of metal wire.

"Lethallin means friend. I would not name something that is free. And it is a he." This man carried a small armory with him.... Though, with the addition of what she assumed was some manner of poison to the pile, he seemed to be spent.

"My apologies. 'He.' There, that is all of mine. Jean, would you care to add to our arsenal?"

"Very well."

As Artana had assumed, the sword that matched the shield was pulled from Jean's side and tossed, with a clatter, to the rest. Only then did she fully relax her bow and replace her things into her quiver. Her arm ached so badly she had to rub it as she neared them.

Whatever had been cooking was enough for four, it seemed. Their breakfast - a time for light things, like roots and berries, eggs perhaps - was meat, a very hardy alternative. As Jean reached to pull the food from the campfire, she gave a hesitant twitch. Jean noticed this and paused. "Would you like to quarter it, or will your wolf let me pick up a knife?" He seemed to err on the side of caution, with some attempt at making the mood light.

You could not blame her for being so nervous about this. Humans simply did not help elves. She half expected poisoned food or to be ambushed as soon as she let her guard fall. "... I will." The decision made, Jean handed her the meat. She recognized it as boar, which was not a creature common in this forest. Meat did not keep well if not dried, so their story must have had some truth. They were not from far away. Eyes ever placed on these men, she dug a hunting knife from her hip pouch and pulled away its leather cover. Four even pieces, one tossed to the wolf. He caught the meat and took it aside to devour. "Why did you prepare so much?"

"Growing men must eat, no?" Jean unabashedly admited. "It was all for we two. And it is not uncommon for men of our order to eat so much."

With the food divided, Artana's eyes shifted to both of the twins in turn. She seemed satisfied with his response, or at least made no attempt to speak of it again. A cautious sniff was given to the meat, before hunger once again overrode caution, and in her teeth sank.

"Must we linger in such uncomfortable silence, hmm?" Ives wondered finally, after a few minutes of nothing but the sounds of the forest.

Artana looked to him. "I have nothing to discuss."

"Ahh, no matter. I have many tales I might regale you with, if you like."

Though she gave no audible response, her eyes seemed to convey, through silent daggers, that all she would like to do is chew her food.

Jean snickered at this, though it only seemed to encourage Ives. He continued anyway. "Well," he picked at his food as he spoke, never taking enough of a bite that he couldn't continue talking around it. "I could perhaps tell you of Val Royeaux, our home city. It is the heart of Orlais. The streets are cobbled, hugged by buildings in a perfect grid, spotted by beautiful open courts – the centers of which are marked by fountains or statuary. This is the nature of the city, except at its center. There the chantry cathedral looms above a gigantic square, three fountains set before it. The buildings around are large as well, important places of state and education. In this square there is a giant open-air market some days of the week. Others, there will be crowds for religious ceremonies. The cathedral has many-coloured glass that sparkles in the light, and casts ribbons of colour inside onto the marble floor. It is set into designs as intricate as the one on your face, my dear, and marvels one just as easily."

This man had a velvet tongue, that was certain. Artana wiped her hands clean of grease on the grass beneath her. "You are a story teller. Like our elders."

"This one is yet more observant than I, Ives." Jean's voice carried mirth.

"From you, this means quite little, my brother. But, your basic sentiment is quite right, I think – though I know but the smallest amount about your fascinating clans. I am what is called a bard. A musician, poet, … storyteller, of sorts."

Artana looked towards the pile of weapons. "And soldier."

"Well, one does what one must."

"I was once a chevalier. It is the guard of our Orlais, the most humble servants of our Empress." With a flourish of his hand, Jean tilted his head slightly in some manner of respectful bow. "A warrior, in simpler terms."

"But you are now … 'Grey Wardens'." She continued, trying to piece together something more about these people.

"Ah, this one I will answer." Ives volunteered. "You see, we are not inseparable. As we grew past basic training we decided to follow our interests and pursue different … careers, if you will. Jean a chevalier, myself – a bard. In those days we were able to see each other again at night, and had much time together. It was only once that time was eroded by duty that we decided we would join the only order which would allow two so different to work so closely together. We volunteered to become Grey Wardens."

"It is not a decision we regret." Jean moved to stand. Artana had noticed that, though he was a warrior, he had not been wearing armor fit for battle. In fact, he was only wearing the mail and cloth that went under the ostentatious armor that he took from his tent. "Pardon me, my lady, for dressing in front of you. But we will need to leave soon if we are to make you well."

"You assume I will go with you shemlen."

"Why would you not? Have we not proven trustworthy?" Ives frowned. "We would not force you, but we would be hard-pressed to leave you here to suffer and die, should we be able to do something about it."

Her eyes narrowed. They had fed her, but her trust in the two human men was not so cheaply bought, with a mouthful or two of roast boar. She could not fight them if they decided to turn on her. She had a dagger, a small one, but did not have the strength to wield it in close-quarters combat. A bow would be clumsy and slow against two in melee. "You will be armed again and would be able to overcome me. You would kill me, enslave me, or rape me. You are human; your history speaks poorly as to the 'aid' rendered to the elvhen."

"Truly, I am hurt, my dear. Here you have not even given us your name and we have shown naught but compassion for your condition. We've fed you and your pet, we have tried to be hospitable. I assure you that, should I have wished to kill you, it would have been done. I do not need weapons to do such a thing, particularly considering your current weakness. I saw the effort it took to hold your arrow. To further disprove your theories, I would no sooner rape you than your canine friend."

"Ives, must you present such … images?" Jean grimaced, clipping closed his left gauntlet. He was nearly in his full attire now, and simply had to set his shield on his back and sword in its sheath. "Yet, my brother, he has a point. We have given you no reason to distrust us."

Artana was quiet. They did speak true words, even if some of the velvet was missing from the bard this time. For what she accused them of she figured he had the right. She looked at her friend, as if wondering what he thought of it. The wolf was merely sitting there on its haunches. In fact, it seemed like it had little opinion on the matter, he was just yawning and licking his chops. It was up to her, then. "Abelas. I am sorry. I will follow you and hear of this cure. Perhaps it will allow me to return to my clan, if I live that long."

"We'll... see, about that." Artana noticed the hesitance in Jean's voice. "You very well may live, heal, and in time find the opportunity to search out your clan." It was certainly the optimistic view of things, but there was another side. His tone conveyed the gravity of the situation. "But it is possible, you understand, that there is no cure. I do not wish to fill you with too much hope, should it be false."

That was harsh reality, but it was also welcome. He respected her enough to not fill her head with false hope. He seemed to think she was strong enough to handle the truth. With her mind being the only part of her she felt wasn't completely fatigued beyond use, this was the first thing the twins had done to really earn her trust. She would be marching along with them in pain, chanting her mantra, as she tried to filter the real sounds away from the haunting whispers. "I expect nothing." She looked up at him, as he was now standing, and then back down, across the fire to his brother. If one is allowed to gamble for a rich prize at no cost, it would be foolish to ignore the opportunity.

"I am called Artana. My friend and I will follow you to your troops."

Alpha by Sresla of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

Beta by TanithAerys of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.