Lyna floated weightlessly in the black depths of the beyond, her heart half recalling fearful dreams of dragons and monsters that her mind could not fully remember. This river that she sailed along was familiar, like the abyss she had slowly been drowning in for the past week, but now the weight that had been pulling her down into the darkness was gone and she was able to drift along its very edge. It was a intoxicating experience to stare in to the void, aware that it had nearly claimed you, aware that it still could, but also aware that you were now capable of resisting the call if you were to so choose. Before, she had been running as fast as her legs to carry her and inexplicably losing ground. Now, it had stopped chasing and she could take the time to turn and examine her enemy for as long as she liked.
There, deep in the chasm she saw the faces of thousands of men, elves and all the other races of Thedas staring back at her, howling in distant anguish as they reached. They reached out for someone to pull them back to the surface of this damnable poisoned ocean. Mere minutes ago she had been down there with them, twisting in shared anguish, and they had seen her rise, lifted off her path and placed on another, and now they begged to follow, but Lyna knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were beyond her grasp.
But then, somewhere amongst the din, she heard a faint voice, a quiet muted cry for help in a voice long known and well loved. "Lyna! Lyna, I'm here." She shook her head in denial. No, he was not here. "elp me!?" He beseeched. She pressed her hands to her ears and shook her head violently to banish the sound, but it was becoming louder. "Lyna!" Tears stung the back of her eyes. "Lyna!" Her heart pounded and her breath quickened. And then bright white hot light shot through the black and blinded her to everything.
"Tamlen!" She shot upright, gasping for breath as tears threatened to invade her vision. Before her she could see a fire, tents and bed rolls. Weapons and packs leaned up against many of the makeshift shelters and every so often you could see personal belongings sticking out of them; a letter, a memento, a token of someone's affections. Ever so slowly, reality filtered through her sleep induced haze and the sounds of activity all around began reaching her ears. A horrible taste lingered in her mouth and she quickly rolled to the side gagging on its putrescence. Almost instantly a comforting hand came to rest on her back, rubbing slow soothing circles as a voice whispering nonsenses while her stomach attempted to purge itself of the entire nothing she had eaten over the past day.
When at last the heaving subsided, disdain and violence descended on her face and she quickly turned to see which shem it was that had dared to touch her. Alistair's warm caramel eyes met hers, his hand yanked back as if he knew he was about to lose the appendage, and for a moment she felt less disgraced than she had imagined she was. Obviously this was because he had already seen her so much worse, and not because he had enthusiastically jumped up to grab her pack when she had been forced to admit she needed a healing potion and couldn't reach it herself. Obviously it had nothing to do with the concern in his eyes when she had fallen outside the witch's hut, or that he had lifted her in to his arms without so much as a second thought and then carried her all the way back to Ostagar. No, her shame was only less because he had already witnessed more.
"How long was I asleep?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral. She could not afford to soften any more towards this man.
Alistair dropped his hand, sighing in…was that resignation? He looked at her for a long second before he replied. "Only a couple hours."
She looked around, expecting to find Daveth and Jory, but when she noticed that they were the only two in the immediate vicinity, she became curious. "What of the others?"
Guilt and grief took him in that moment and Alistair could no longer meet her gaze. His face turned towards the fire, he was silent for a long while, but just as Lyna was beginning to believe he wouldn't answer her, a single word escaped his throat. "Gone."
Lyna's brow furrowed, not sure she understood. Both men, while irritating and self-absorbed, had seemed whole heartedly committed to the Grey Warden's cause. It was more than she could say for herself, conscripted for her own good, dragged away kicking and screaming by a stranger in search of cure that would more likely kill her than save her. If Daveth and Ser Jory were gone, she found it hard to believe they had run away, which could only mean… the crinkle in her brow smoothed away as realized they were dead. The suspicion she had harbored towards these men in days just prior rose up and began choking off what bare hints of trust she had since forged. Her mind was now entirely engaged with finding out just what she had been thrown in to, and what danger she was in. "How?" She demanded.
Alistair's jaw worked as his eyes turned down to the ground before him and his gaze darkened. "Daveth drank, but…he wasn't strong enough." He indecisively chewed his lip a moment before he continued. "Ser Jory…he tried to run. Daveth's death wasn't pretty, and I suppose it scared him. He drew his blade and…well, he's gone too." Lyna's walls slammed back in to place and she found herself yet again watching Alistair for any sign of threat. Whether Jory had been felled by Duncan's blade or Alistair's she did not know. She wanted to ask, desperately wanted more information, but she could no longer trust it from this man. Alistair either missed or deliberately ignored her resurrected distrust. "Only one of us died at my joining, but it was…horrible." His gaze then turned back to her, a small smile playing across his features. "I'm glad at least one of you survived."
The admission caught Lyna off guard and left her feeling a bit awkward as she wrestled between her instincts and something resembling logic. It was entirely possible that Alistair had killed Ser Jory, but here he was expressing grief over a man he barely knew. It was likely that there was a good shemlen reason behind the kill, and more likely that she could still find herself on the wrong end of the same reason, but he smiled at her and was pleased she lived. The wall crumbled a little at the edges and she now felt the inexplicable need to say something. She had not liked either man, and couldn't truly bring herself to grieve for them, even a little. Somehow it seemed too cold and callous to say that, especially so since bodies were still warm. She could also not say that she was happy to be alive, as that seemed only a little less cruel. But then she couldn't say she wished she could take one of their places. First and foremost, she didn't, no matter how intensely she grieved for the loss of her previous life. Secondly, wishing she was dead was a disservice to those who were so. In particular, her thoughts returned to Tamlen, but then she found them straying to Jory and Daveth, deplorable though they had been, and then to all the souls who had already fallen to the blight, as well as all those who still would. She had been given another chance at life, when she should have died with her clansman. It was her duty to him, if no one else, to see that her reprieve from death not be wasted.
It was Alistair who eventually broke the growing silence between them when he said, "Duncan is meeting with the king and his advisors. He asked that you join him when you awoke."
"Why?" She asked in genuine confusion. What would the king want with the junior grey warden and an elf at that?
"I imagine he wishes to welcome you to the order," Alistair replied with a smirk and an eyeroll. "He may not be part of the order, but he sure likes to pretend he is."
If anything, that confused her even more, but then she supposed she might never come to understand humans, no matter how much time she were to spend amongst them. Lyna nodded her agreement and abruptly stood before their encounter became more awkward.
She made her way to a large section of the ruins down the stairs from the old temple they had occupied for the joining ritual and there, beneath the ancient stone, the trees and the stars, Lyna paused as she took in the men who now controlled the country's destiny. The king of Ferelden, bright and shining in his enthusiasm and obnoxious gilded armor, stood in the center of a long table, analyzing a map of the area. Beside him was a much darker man, stoic and clearly irreverent in his treatment of a man who could see him hanged. At the end of the table before them was Duncan, silent and calculating in his observations, as well as a senior mage and a chantry priest. Lyna found herself intimidated by the gathering of people before her and had to quickly shake her trepidation. They were all shemlen. They may have been high ranking, but other than Duncan, not a one of them held sway over her—and even Duncan's control over her was marginal at best. She was not a Ferelden; she was Dalish, she was proud, she was free and she would not be intimidated by these quicklings.
She squared her shoulders, raised her chin and marched right over, not waiting for acknowledgement or permission to join the summit.
The king didn't seem to notice her at all. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?" he asked, completely caught up in the thrill of living his greatest fantasy.
"They are, your majesty," Duncan nodded. Their earlier encounter with the king had made it very clear to Lyna that he rather idolized Duncan, and she found herself mildly impressed that Duncan remained subservient.
"And this is the Dalish recruit I met earlier?" Lyna straightened as all eyes suddenly landed on her. She defiantly lifted her chin, silently daring him to comment on her unsuitability for the role that had been thrust upon her. "I understand congratulations are in order."
Her bluster died in an instant and she was unsure of how to respond beyond a simple awkward, "Ma serannas." Thank you. Maybe he was not the pompous ass she expected, but she would not acknowledge his kingship. He was no ruler of hers. Duncan shot her a disapproving glare, and she shifted in discomfort, but did not back down.
The king, on the other hand, continued to smile and ignored her grievous breech of etiquette. "Every grey warden is needed now, you should be honored to join their ranks," he replied. Lyna nodded her thanks and chose to remain silent this time.
The king 's attention immediately flew to the dark taciturn man he referred to as Loghain and then continued quarreling with him before the two finally reached some sort of begrudging truce and reviewed a battle plan that either the King had half ignored or half-forgotten from before her arrival. The explanation sounded simplistic enough and it seemed a bit odd that it had taken them the two or three hours she had slept to formulate it…but then the king did seem quite argumentative…maybe that's what had taken up so much time…
I her musings she had stopped paying attention to the conversation at hand and was only brought back at the mention of Alistair's name. "Send Alistair and the new grey warden to make sure it is done," the king had said.
Lyna frowned in confusion and turned to angle herself towards Duncan. "If it's not dangerous, I can do it myself." Duncan gave her the same reproachful look from earlier as she spoke out of turn and without any deference to the king's station. She winced slightly, but didn't apologize. While the last time she had intentionally ignored the man's position, she had simply forgotten about it this time, her mouth running unchecked as it tended to do. She could not for the life of her understand why the king knew the name of a single grey warden who was barely her senior and she'd not bothered to think about much else. She supposed his obvious hero worship of the order might have leant him to learn all the warden's names, and Alistair was not without his skills…
"No!" the king nearly cried. Lyna jumped a little at the force in his voice, and the expressions on the faces of the rest of the party confirmed her belief that the flash of temper was unusual. He coughed and schooled his expression before he continued with an explanation. "No, it's best if you both go."
Duncan shot her a look that clearly told her to stay quiet and she complied. They may have all been shemlen, but she knew better than to antagonize one's enemies when outnumbered. She lacked diplomacy and subtlety, not common sense.
The meeting concluded quickly enough after that and they each excused themselves to their own preparations. The battle was a few hours off still, but it would take a while for the troops to prepare themselves, gather on the field and organize. Lyna turned to Duncan, lacking for further instruction. Duncan in turn sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Child, your pride does you ill favor. It will get you in trouble someday."
Lyna pressed her lips together in to a thin line. "He is not my king. Were I still with my people, I would not even be in his country any longer."
"No, you would be dead," Duncan replied abruptly. "Cailan may not be your king, but he is mine and you owe your continued existence to the Grey Wardens, so I would suggest you start thinking of yourself as a Warden and a Ferelden before one of the Dalish," he paused only for a moment. "Now, I have arrangements to make and little time to teach you humility and respect. You have a couple hours, but at their end, find Alistair and join me below the ramparts." With that Duncan turned and walked away.
Lyna clenched her jaw and glared at the retreating figure. He was right. She knew he was right, and what made it worse was that she knew exactly what the clan elders would say if they were here…we have enemies enough, da'len…You belong to more than just yourself, or do you not remember…it is your duty to your clan…She hollered shrilly from behind her teeth as her frustration got the better of her.
"Elvhen seth'lin la shem'alas!" Thin blooded elves and dirty humans, she gritted out as she stomped her foot. She knew that cursing Duncan and the elders was a petty reaction, but right then and there she needed her anger. They were all oh so eager to shove their expectations upon her and not one of them bothered to think about how she felt about having everything she knew and cared about stripped away. Did Duncan think this was easy for her? "Ar nuvenin na'din!" I want to kill them! She cried, kicking over a sack in her temper tantrum. The laces at the top of the bag snapped as it hit the ground and its contents scattered around the opening. Lyna's shoulders slumped as she let out a heavy sigh and bent to gather up the supplies. She couldn't win; not even against a canvas sack.
The sack refilled, her temper forcibly cooled to simmering, she remembered in some corner of her mind that a fairly major battle was brewing somewhere in the gorge below. She needed her mind to be focused on that, not on thin-blooded elves and dirty shemlen. And empty death threats at vacated spaces certainly weren't going to get her anywhere. Before she left her clan, whenever her mind was disquieted, she would take off to the deep forests for hours at a time to practice her archery. The benefit was two-fold as it served as a balm to her crackling nerves, but also tended to result in dinner when she ran across sufficient game. More than once she had stormed out of camp with her bow and quiver in hand, only to reappear around dusk with a dead wolf slung over her back, her expression returned to one of inner peace. She doubted she would be able to find the same peace here. For one thing, she couldn't just disappear at the moment, but for another, there were too many people around. All the same, she knew there was an archery range towards the front of the camp. It might not quell all her anger, but it would take the edge off if nothing else…maybe she could even persuade one of the dumber shemlen to act as a moving target for her. That thought shot a predatory smirk across her features. She was feeling better already.
