Chapter Three: Bringing People Together
Fifteen minutes within the shemlen war camp and Mahahlia was less than happy. Every shemlen she met thought her nothing more than a slave, and she had already had to have words with the quartermaster in regards his attitude towards elves (she suspected today was the first day in the shemlen's life he had ever had a elf threaten to castrate him). The incessant barking of dogs grated on her nerves and she had yet to find anything she considered edible to eat. Her stomach had started to hurt again too. The pain robbing her of what little appetite she had left.
Finding a low wall to perch on Mahahlia watched the ebb and flow of shemlen rushing hither and thither. There were elves here too but they were not like her. These were cowed and servile creatures, barely elves at all. She watched them scurry back and forth to their shemlen masters beck and call. It made her angry and sad. She had never felt more alone. Her Clan was so very far from her now; separated from her by more than distance alone.
'So is there any service I can do for you?' A wheedling shemlen voice rose above the general hubbub attracting Mahahlia's attention. 'This could be your last night alive, after all. Tomorrow that pretty face could be decorating the end of a Darkspawn axe.' The voice came from a man in light leather armoured tunic. The shemlen man had dark hair and a thickly stubbled face. The female soldier unlucky enough to have attracted the letch's attention did her best to ignore him. Mahahlia grinned, forgetting her pain and leaning forward to cup her chin in her hands as she watched closely.
'Shall I take your silent glare as a no then? Pity.' Eventually the man gave up his pursuit and the female shemlen beat a hasty retreat. The man turned around and ended up looking straight at Mahahlia, who was highly amused by this failed mating. His eyes widened in surprise to find a strange elf girl grinning at him.
For some reason the shemlen reminded her of Tamlen for a brief instance; not in appearance, Tamlen had been fair of face, but in his crest fallen demeanour. Tamlen had been equally hopeless when it came to attracting a mate. At least until the day Mahahlia had taken pity on him and relented to be his. Or rather, she had allowed Tamlen to be hers. The smile left Mahahlia's face then, washed away by icy chills. Tamlen; she had left him. I will come back to find you. She whispered to the ghost of her lost companion whom she knew lurked somewhere in her thoughts. I will not give you up for dead. No matter what any shemlen says.
The failed lecher sauntered over, brazen eyes taking in every exposed inch of Mahahlia from her bare dangling legs, her dalish boots and gloves, to the points of her ears barely visible through the thick mass of her hair. 'Hello there. An elf; wasn't expecting that.'
'What were you expecting shemlen?' Mahahlia hoped for malice but only managed a tired sort of resignation. The quartermaster had shown her what to expect from the shemlen of this camp; the same sort of prejudice she found everywhere beyond the clan.
'Not an elf,' the man told her boldly, 'or a woman.'
Mahahlia thought about kicking him in the chest as he came close to where she perched on the wall and let his eyes linger on her thighs. She was tired and sick however so she didn't waste energy on being offended. He was a shemlen; they were all alike.
'Who are you?' She asked tiredly instead. This shemlen seemed to think he knew her and did not appear to be one of the soldiers. Could this be the Grey Warden Alistair?
'Name's Daveth,' He said cheerfully, still not bothering to look up into her face. 'Are you the new recruit Duncan was waiting for? We've sure waited long enough for you.'
Mahahlia blinked, 'You are a Grey Warden?'
'Only a recruit,' the man grinned before returning his gaze to her thighs. 'Like you. There's another one like us here somewhere. Ser Jory his name is, but I wouldn't waste time on him. Dull as dishwater.'
Mahahlia cocked her head to the side, 'I was told to find a shemlen called Alistair. I was not told of you. Or this Ser Jory.'
'An added bonus for you then,' Daveth's grin was crooked, his teeth stained. 'So do you know about this Joining?'
'No.' Mahahlia paid closer attention shifting on the low wall and twitching the leather skirt she wore a little further down her legs. Daveth watched the process closely, of course. 'Do you?'
The lecher leaned forward, ostensibly so he could whisper to her but also so he could try and peer down her leather vest. 'I was sneaking around camp last night and I heard some of the grey wardens talking, right?'
Mahahlia nodded for him to continue, resisting the urge to drive her bony elbow into his throat as his hot breath rasped over her shoulder and his eyes remained glued to the shadowed mounds of her breasts hidden under her vest. 'Well I heard them talking,' he paused for dramatic effect, 'and I think they're going to send us out into the Wilds.'
'So?' Mahahlia cocked her head to the side. 'The Wilds do not frighten me.' In fact she would be pleased to get out into the woods again, away from all these shemlen.
'Barbarians, Darkspawn, witches. These don't frighten you?' The shemlen looked incredulous. Mahahlia thought about pointing out that she was of the Dalish the perils of the wilderness were common to her but decided against it. Catch your prey with sweetness, Ma'li Tamlen whispered in her mind.
'I will watch your back if you watch mine.' She told the shemlen, stifling the urge to grit her teeth as she did so. The thought of working with shemlen did not sit well with her one bit, but she understood necessity. She just didn't like it.
The shemlen, Daveth, laughed. 'Oh I'll watch your back alright.' Once again his eyes did not manage to lift to her face so he did not see the narrowing of Mahahlia's eyes.
'Try not to get too distracted back there, shemlen,' She suggested sweetly through clenched teeth, dropping down from her perch. Or I might just gut you while you are too busy staring at my breasts, she added silently walking away from Daveth to the tune of his appreciative chuckles.
It was time to find Alistair.
******
Ten minutes later, following the directions of a surprisingly reasonable shemlen soldier, Mahahlia stepped into a large ruin, climbing a slight incline to where two men, one in the robes of a Ferelden mage and the other in splintmail, stood arguing. For some reason it was the armoured shemlen that caught Mahahlia's attention. He was tall and powerfully built and his short cropped hair was touched with sunlight. The sunshine brushed the dome of his head turning his hair into a sleek nimbus of burnished gold to hug his skull. His face was mostly cast in shadow.
'…..yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.' The tall sun-dappled man drawled as Mahahlia approached on silent feet behind the mage. The insolent man crossed his arms over his chest while a smirk played over the broad planes of his features, still mostly in shadow. Neither man had noticed Mahahlia's approach.
'Your glibness does you no credit.' The mage snarled, an almost palpable aura of annoyance radiating off him.
'Aw, and here I thought we were becoming friends. I was even going to name one of my children after you: the grumpy one.'
'Fine I will go.' The mage lost the battle of dominance between them, turning sharply on his heel. 'Out of my way fool.' He growled as he prowled away. Mahahlia watched him stalk past her without a word deeply curious.
'Y'know,' the shemlen male sighed in sing-song fashion. 'That's the nice thing about a Blight; it brings people together.'
Startled Mahahlia eyed the shem curiously watching him take a step towards her, the sun now at his back. Was he talking to her? It seemed he must be as there was no one else around. Folding her arms across her chest in unconscious mimicry of the shemlen Mahahlia cocked her head to the side and studied the shem before her.
'You are a very strange human.'
An easy half smile quirked the man's mouth, 'Yes a lot of people tell me that.' He paused and then seemed to finally see her. He frowned a little, looking almost wary, which was laughable as he was clearly armed with a sword half as tall as Mahahlia herself. Not to mention the shem was almost a foot taller than her and looked strong enough to break her over his knee like dry kindling. 'You're not another mage are you?'
Mahahlia stared at him completely bemused, 'Do I look like a mage?' Absently she opened her arms and held them from her body displaying her obviously Dalish apparel, tilting her head up so the sunlight struck her face and lit on the intricate patterning of her clan markings. The shemlen's eyes followed the lines of her body down from her face to her feet and then seemed to stop at about her bare mid-rift on the way back up. She watched fascinated as his ears went red.
'Er….um, no.' The shemlen jerked his eyes from her to stare fixedly over her shoulder. His cheeks were a mottled pink in colour; how odd. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 'No you don't look like a mage…..really you don't.'
Mahahlia continued to stare at this strange shemlen. 'You are Alistair.' It wasn't a question. Somehow she just knew this peculiar shem was the Grey Warden Duncan had told her to find. Mahahlia sighed, no wonder Duncan had been dispatched to steal her from her people if this was the best the Wardens could do.
'I…? Yes, I'm Alistair…?' The shemlen blinked at her startled. 'How did you….Wait, I know you!' The shem stuttered a half laugh. 'You're the new Grey Warden Duncan went to find. I should have recognised you. I apologise.'
Mahahlia was not impressed. 'How would you recognise me, shemlen? We have never met.'
'Er yes, that's true.' The shemlen agreed awkwardly, 'but, um, well…..you're a woman….and an elf. Duncan told me the new recruit was a Dalish woman.'
A tiny smile tickled the edges of her mouth, 'There are many elves in Thedas, shemlen. Some of them are even women.' She pointed out with deadly sweetness.
The shemlen surprised her by laughing, a rich warm sound that invited her to join in. 'Right. I suppose I walked right into that one.' He smiled ruefully. 'Well anyway. I'm Alistair, but you already knew that.' He shook his head. 'I'll be accompanying you while you prepare for your Joining.'
'And if I do not want you accompanying me, shemlen, what then?' Mahahlia almost stuck her braid back into her mouth but resisted the impulse. She did not want to appear childish in front of this strange shemlen. She suspected he was a fool, but she was still wary. After all he didn't need to be all that bright to chop her up into quarters with that big sword of his.
'Oh ouch,' the shemlen contorted his broad features into an aggrieved pout, somehow contriving to look all of five years old. 'That's not very nice. You've hurt my feelings now.'
Mahahlia arched on brow, arms crossed and simply stared up at the shemlen, who cast her in shadow just as the fool king had. She was going to get very sick of spending all her time in the shadow of shemlens that was for sure.
The shemlen, Alistair, began to look a trifle nervous as she continued to stare at him without speaking. 'Y'know I don't think I know your name.' He told her obviously fishing.
Mahahlia smiled. 'I suspect there are many, many things you do not know shemlen.' She turned and started down the incline and the rest of the camp.
'But…..whoa…wait…' she heard the clanking of leather joined metal armour as the shemlen trotted after her; his much longer legs eating the distance between them in two strides. 'Does that mean you're not going to tell me your name?'
'Yes.' She told him, a smile blossoming over her lips. Mahahlia had always enjoyed finding new playthings. Of course there were few people who enjoyed her games, but alas, that was the way of the best sort of fun. Few people could keep up with her.
'Yes?' The Grey Warden peered down at her as he kept pace alongside. 'Yes……you're going to tell me your name?'
'No.' Mahahlia swallowed her smile but it thought to rise again. Perhaps this forced exile from her people would not be so bad, after all? She could have all sorts of sport with these shemlen if they were all as foolish as this Alistair.
'No?' The shemlen's voice rose, cracking a little and his face creased into a mask of abject confusion. 'You mean you're not going to tell me your name?'
'Yes.' Mahahlia's grin escaped her. This was even more fun than telling 'bad' stories to the da'len of the clan behind Hahren Paivel's back. This shemlen was so easy.
'But…' the shemlen's voice rose again, sounding very much like the whines of the mabari echoing from the pen across the camp, 'but that's……that's not fair.'
Mahahlia's laughter rippled across the camp; bright and sharp as an eagle's cry. For a brief moment, delighting in the aggrieved surprise in the shemlen's eyes, she almost forgot her pain and her rage. She strode towards the waiting Duncan in the centre of the camp with Alistair trailing at her heels - and for the strangest instant, Mahahlia felt content.
