I am so far from canon/the story, it's not funny. This is my own little universe of DragonAge…
Rowan was a bit harder to write from as she is more complicated than Maric. Adaia was easy as, well, she's mine! *grins*
Rowan
Anxiety was building in her, threatening to spill out. She kept glancing out toward the direction of the encampment, out to where he was supposed to be. She turned her eyes back to her companion, who was giving final instructions to the lieutenant. She heard a respectful "Milady" behind her and she turned, taking hold of the reins offered her by the young soldier.
As Loghain barked out the last command, the young woman swung herself into the saddle of her mount, turning it as her friend swung onto his. She had a frantic need to just yell at him to hurry, but she already knew he felt the same anxiety as she. If he had not, he would never have agreed to leave his troops in the command of another.
With a harsh cry, the woman kicked her mount into a gallop, forcing those around her to jump hastily out of the way. Once clear of their camp, she bent low over the saddle, urging her beast on.
Her father would have agreed this was the correct course. He would have understood their action to abandon him and the others. He was far too important. Without him, this entire rebellion would be for naught.
She ignored the other reason she was frantic to get to him, ensure he was safe. He had chosen, after all, and regardless of that, she still had her duty. These were issues that would need to be addressed, but much, much later. For now, she pushed these thoughts to the background, concentrating on keeping her seat, and finding him.
Her mount gained ground away from Loghain. She could hear him shouting out to her, but she paid him no mind. She bent down further, her chest brushing the pummel of the saddle, ducking low hanging limbs. She accepted the scratches along the side of her face from the stems that stuck out, and told herself that the tears that welled in her eyes were from the physical sting, and not from any thoughts of her father or the soldiers or him.
The heavy sound of horses' hooves churning the ground came to her ears. With a glance to her side, she saw a heavily armored Orlesian war horse bearing down upon her. Her own beast was tiring, trying to maintain its footing along the underbrush and leaf strewn forest floor. Releasing one hand from the reins, the young woman pulled her sword free of its scabbard, and prepared to meet the chevalier who bore down on her.
Still lying low on her horse, she slashed out, catching the oncoming blade of her foe, twisting the sword along its length, and then snapping the chevalier's blade out of his hands. Bladeless, the knight urged his armored mount forward, slamming its peytrel into the lighter stead's side.
With a whinny of pain and surprise, the Fereldan horse stumbled. There was a loud "snap" as the poor creature's leg broke. Screaming in agony, the horse and its rider fell to the ground.
Tucking herself in, the young woman rolled away from her thrashing mount, rising quickly, her sword still in hand. The chevalier, his helm down about his face, kicked his horse around the injured stead, seeking to run the young woman into the ground.
She stood her place, sword out and ready, pulling her shield off her back, and braced before her. She kept telling herself to stand steady, wait, don't run…and then Now! She jumped to the side, swinging out with her sword. The steel of her blade screamed against the steel of the horse's peytrel, bumping along the flanchard, and then just before the crupper, it cut into flesh. As she stabbed a deep cut into the side of the unfortunate beast, it gave out a loud whinny, bucking slightly as it spun about, almost knocking its rider to the ground.
The young warrior spun about, regaining her stance, preparing for the chevalier to continue his attempt to drive her into the ground. She heard another horse come up behind her, and she dared a glance back. It was Loghain, no longer holding the reins of his mount, standing slightly over his saddle, his bow in hand, letting an arrow fly. Grace and precision, and the arrow found its target, just below the chevalier's helm, into his neck.
Loghain brought his horse to a halt, glaring down at the young woman. She accepted his scolding without a word, knowing the reason behind it, and acknowledged her folly for racing away. She accepted his offered hand and allowed him to pull her up behind him on his mount. Retaining her grip on her sword, her other arm around his waist, she watched with dull amusement as Loghain continued to hold onto his bow, the pair continued their frantic search.
There, ahead, there was activity - perhaps battle - just over the rise of a hillock. Their mount stumbled several times, and the young woman voiced her opinion that taking the beast any further in was foolish. The gnarled roots, layers of dirt and leaves, and other forest debris made the footing treacherous for the beast. Nodding his consent, her companion pulled the animal to a halt, and then helped her dismount, him following closely.
They split up, circling around the foot of the hillock.
Her feet slipped on the treacherous ground, the young warrior found herself circumnavigating the hillock base, using her gauntleted hands to keep her balance as much as her feet. Cursing at the noise she was making, she straightened as four Orlesian soldiers burst from the surrounding wood. Turning to engage the nearest, she did not notice as the other three fell, dead, with black fletched arrows sticking from eye, throat and chest.
The soldier she faced off against was a huge, burly man wielding a heavy two-handed greatsword. She braced her shield before her, giving her sword an experimental swipe, keeping her wrist loose. The soldier grinned toothily at her. She tilts her head slightly, ignoring the leering looks the man gives her, and she steps in, her sword leading, her shield raised to accept the blow of his sword as he lunges over and down at her.
The blow is heavy, and awkward. Why would anyone use such a huge blade? She had to wonder. She easily side stepped the blow, this time rushing at the Orlesian, lifting it slightly to bash solidly into his face. He staggered, and she swung her own blade in, hearing the whistle it made as it cut through the air, driving in under the exposed armpit of the man who is stumbling before her. He let out a blood curdling shriek, and she twisted the blade slightly, pulling back, to allow the tip to drive into the exposed flesh, driving deeply into his chest, piercing lung and heart.
He gurgled as he slumped to the ground, and the young woman stepped back, puffing a breath of air upwards at a lock of chestnut colored hair that had fallen into her face. Breathing hard, she looked around, taking in her surroundings. There was obviously a battle ahead, atop the hillock. She tried to push down a worry; she cannot locate Loghain. Loghain can take care of himself, she assured herself as she resumed her climb upwards. She was determined to believe that.
Her feet slip, and she fell to her knees. She hated the forest. She can admit it, at least to herself. Despite having always lived in the wilderness, seldom with a roof over head since joining the rebellion, she just hated it. Not because it is dirty, or always seemed to be damp, but because it is unpredictable. She did not like unpredictable. No, she reminded herself, in some things - in some people - she can almost like it. Her thoughts turn to him. He has certainly turned out to be unpredictable.
There was a gnarled root and she planted her foot upon it, rising again, making her way upwards to the battle she knows is happening above.
She climbed to the hillock's horizon, and stopped as she took in the sight before her.
Sitting up the ground was Maric, watching with that same bemused smile on his face when he's entranced or thinking too hard. Above him, dancing in a whirl of blades, snarling with hatred, was an elven woman - Dalish, if her outlandish armor and the swirling tattoo around her eye was any indication - battling against a heavily armored chevalier. The young woman watched as the elf dipped under a particularly heavy blow, taunting the man as she spun behind him, her blades rose to deliver a blow.
The human female looks back at Maric. Why is he just sitting there? She fumes. He's going to get himself - and that elf - killed! She was already wondering how the elven warrior was able to avoid Maric's feet as she continued to harass the Orlesian. And, based upon the insults the elf tossed toward Maric every now again, the human warrior believed she is not too pleased that he remains.
Oh, I like her already, she thought with a grin.
Her dark eyes turn back to the battle, thinking that now Maric must remain where he is, so as not to draw attention to himself. The elf had danced back in front of the knight, a feral grin on her face. The human wonders briefly if she has that same look on her face when she realizes she has a foe defeated. The Dalish had ducked down, out of reach of the chevalier's blade and shield, and then suddenly she is inside the shield. Such grace! The human thinks, a small pang of jealousy looming in her heart. And that little twinge of jealousy disappeared instantly as the elf's blade drives upwards, through the soft flesh of the under chin, straight up into the man's brain. Jealousy is replaced with admiration.
Casting about, certain no other foes were in the vicinity, the human woman stepped up, cresting the top, her shield and sword at the ready. The Dalish offered Maric a hand up, pulling him to his feet, when she obviously hears her approach. Sharp ears! The woman is horrified by the grace and speed with which the Dalish drops her blades, unslings her bow, and has it notched and pointed at…Loghain, who stands nearby, his own bow notched and arrow pointed at the Dalish.
The elven warrior sneers at Loghain, and then looks in the other woman's direction. The sneer eases, and the elven woman grants the human a slight, respectful nod. Maric has jumped up and between the warriors, shouting for peace, his eyes searching the human woman's. She nods, lowering her shield and blade. Loghain holds his position longer, ordering the Dalish to lower her weapon. The human woman almost - almost - smiles as the Dalish woman snarls back that he should lower his if he wishes to continue drawing breath. Her dark head bowed slightly to hide the grin on her face as Loghain casts one last icy look at the elf, and then, with the slightest of nods, lowers his bow.
She is surprised when the elf glances at her again. She nods, and the elf, too, lowers her weapon.
She lets out a sigh of relief. Maric is alive…Loghain lives…and she made it through the forest.
And, it would seem they have a new ally.
There is a crashing sound, the sound of running feet. The Dalish archer and Loghain have both spun about, their bows notched and ready for flight. She spins toward the noise, her shield and sword ready for the strike.
Then, breathless, clutching a dagger in one small hand, is Katriel. Wonderful. She thinks, sheathing her sword as Maric leaps - once again - in front of the both archers. She finds herself wondering if Loghain will take this chance. He doesn't, and lowers his bow. He then nods to the Dalish who lowers hers.
Wait? Did she just call Katriel a flat ear? Interesting.
She steps forward, asking the Dalish her name. She hears Adaia and thinks it is a lovely name. Maric introduces himself to her, with a slight courtly bow. The Dalish is rolling her eyes at that, obviously not impressed.
Maric steps over to her, looking at her with concern in his eyes. I'm fine, she assures him as she, too, makes a quick inspection of him. He accepts the attention with a grin, and she ignores the slight flutter in her stomach as he laughs, taking her hand and patting it.
The Dalish and Loghain as still staring at one another, measuring each other up. Katriel has stepped closer to the other elven woman, who towers over the tiny elf (she's nearly as tall as a man!), purposefully ignoring her and her incessant chatter.
The human woman steps forward, offering her hand to the Dalish woman, who she has already decided she likes a great deal. A blond brow rises in question, and she glanced down at the proffered hand.
Smiling, taking Adaia's hand, pressing it strongly, she says, "My name is Rowan Guerrin. I am most pleased to meet you, Adaia."
