AN: Short chapter, a bit of character building more than anything. More Alistair very soon :)
Disclaimer: Quote by Charles Evan Hughes
"When we lose the right to be different, we lose the privilege to be free."
Her curiosity was the reason for venturing into the Brecillian forest. Alistair had recommended they head to Redcliffe, as it was closer to Lothering, but Quyne had had a feeling that this would be their one chance to catch a clan. Maybe it was long forgotten instincts kicking in, maybe she was just over excited to meet her own kind.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a snap to her left. The Qunari had ducked the branch, but his broadsword handle hadn't, leaving him to scowl at the offending tree. "This is a waste of time, wandering, looking for something that may not even be."
She held up her hand to silence him. "Sten, these are allies we need. The only waste of time is standing about talking. To the flank, if you please."
The giant scowled at her, but fell into step behind Alistair. She left out a breath of relief and reached down to pet Ross' head. "Can you smell anything, boy? Anything at all?"
The dark, beady eyes looked at her adoringly, before lowering his nose to the ground and sneaking forward, much too quiet for a beast of his size. They had maybe advanced half a mile when he returned carrying a half-eaten chunk of bread. Upon examination, Quyne had never seen bread quite so rustic and hope leapt back into her heart. She scratched behind the mabari's ears, and urged him forward, "Show us the way, boy."
They eventually came upon remnants of a camp, a camp that looked unsettlingly like it had been abandoned quickly. Quyne nodded to Alistair, who casually adjusted his hand on the hilt of his blade, and pulled out the small dagger at her waist, slipping it into the underside of her vambrace. She could feel the cool metal through the sleeve of her tunic, and took comfort in the gentle weight of it. These may be elves, but she had no reason to trust them yet.
It was nearly nightfall when they finally stumbled onto the patrol. Ross' warning growl had alerted them just in time before six bows were trained on them, each pulled taut under the strain of an arrow aimed at vital spots. "You trespass, shem, on dangerous land. Give us one reason we should not leave you here to rot?"
Quyne gave the woman a glare, before lifting her hands to pull her hair from her ears. The woman's face faltered, only for a moment, at the sight of the delicate points, the elegant shape so similar to her own. "Answer quickly, or turn back now."
"I am a Grey Warden, and I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to your keeper, and we shall be on our way."
The woman's facade split completely and Quyne heard her whisper, "A Grey Warden?" She exchanged a glance with the elf next to her, who nodded once and lowered his bow. Raising a hand, the elf gave her a small smile. "I am Mithra, and I guard the borders of this camp. You are brave, Warden, for venturing so close without an invitation. Come quickly, lingering is not an option in these parts."
Later, once it had been decided they would speak further with Zathrian in the morning, Quyne sat by the fire with Ross at her feet. The Dalish were retelling their stories to the youth while the adults half listened, enjoying the time to relax after their long day, "You look very much alike."
She had to crane her neck quite far to look up at the Qunari, seated beside her on the bench. Seeing her confused look, Sten continued, "You speak with the voice of a human, yet you are one of these people. Why is this?"
Quyne's gaze turned to the children scattered close to Sarel, her eyes focusing on a little girl. Her long dark hair was so similar to her own, the same upturned nose, the same wide bottom lip. She put her hand to her hair, fingering the short strands, still a sore spot after it had been cut by Vaughn and his men. A shiver rolled down her spine as she stared at the girl, and felt a jealousy she'd never experienced. She'd been so entranced by the Dalish and their ways as a child, and had spent her whole time here in the same awe. But now, the moon was high in the sky and this girl had broken the spell. She realised that she did look so much like those around her, but she would never be one of them. She was unworthy in their eyes; she had let herself be pushed around in that alienage she had called home, let herself live a life of servitude to the shems. She could feel the tears pressing against her eyes, and refused to let them fall.
"Because I'm not one of them, Sten. I never will be."
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