"Seth'lin."
Fenris' ears twitched, but he did not turn around, that would be playing into their hands.
They were taking shelter for a few days in a Dalish camp, normally they would have avoided even this small pool of civilisation; but their supplies had dwindled far more rapidly since Hawke had taken the decision that they should travel as fast as possible to Ferelden. They needed the food and the protection of a crowd, she claimed.
All good thinking, but he would have felt safer among a crowd of humans than here, among what were technically his own kind.
He could see Hawke's thinking; it was far easier to disguise humans as elves than the other way around. Of the three elves in the group only Zevran was likely to be able to pass as a human, and even then only by pinning his hair over his ears and with a hooded cloak to hide his features.
So they'd found themselves the nearest Dalish clan, following Zevan's remarkable instinct for tracking and Merrill's vague knowledge of clan travelling patterns. Hawke had approached the Keeper and thrown herself on the man's mercy. He'd considered, eyeing the strange group with deeps suspicion, but eventually he'd nodded sagely and agreed to let them rest a few days.
Funny, really, Fenris thought, the clan didn't even appear to see his markings. Still, most of them had their own blood-writing, perhaps they assumed his were just of a different sort of ink.
The plan was that if anyone came to the clan searching for the champion and her people they would merely find that there were some slightly taller, stockier elves than were normally seen. He and Zevran were borrowing the green tunics and leggings of hunters within the clan (though Fenris' were really too small for him, he was a tall elf). As for Varric, it wouldn't have been unusual for a dwarf merchant to be dealing with the elves in tools or resources. It was a good plan, all told.
Except…
Well, Hawke couldn't be expected to know a lot about elf culture, Fenris supposed. He wasn't precisely clued-up himself, he was a man of the city, really. He suspected Zevran too was happier among buildings and brickwork. The point was the Dalish didn't traditionally like city elves. This clan in particular seemed downright disgusted by the idea of not living among nature, when Fenris had made the mistake of telling a curious hunter that he wasn't from any clan that he knew of the man's eyes had nearly popped out of his head.
They were probably only being allowed to stay now because the name of Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and of Mages everywhere, carried some weight with the magic-using Dalish.
"Seth'lin."
Fenris wasn't quite sure where the rest of the party was, he had a feeling Hawke was off talking with the keeper, and Isabela would probably be trying to seduce some poor unsuspecting man into her tent.
He could guess that the Abomination had wandered off to 'think a while' again, which at least opened up the chance of him getting left behind. The mage seemed to spend all his time these days staring off into space.
In any case, himself, Zevran and Merrill had been left to sort out some of the party's gear, organise their potions and generally sit around their campfire and… be hissed at.
That was the only way of describing it, every now and then one of the clan would pass by on their mysterious errands, and the three elves around the fire would be treated to a hiss of that word. The Dalish snarled it in the same way some humans snapped out 'Knife-ears.'
"Seth'lin."
Zevran twitched faintly, but didn't show any reaction beyond that. He lowered his voice a little, "It would not be so bad, I think, if they shouted it, no? But they just say it. Like one would say 'chair' or 'fire'."
Fenris shrugged, "It's a word. Nothing more."
Merrill kept her head down, focused on poking at the fire with the end of her staff.
"Sticks and stones will break my bones," Zevran nodded, then sighed, "but words, my friends, will break my heart. Words have power, amigo."
"Only if you give it to them." Fenris replied evenly, counting up stamina potions and trying to divide them into equal piles. "Besides I'm not sure I even know why we should be offended… doesn't it just mean 'city elf'? If so, they're not wrong."
Merrill sighed gently, her irises wide and pupils small, a sure sign of upset. "It doesn't." she hesitated slightly, then added, "It means thin blooded. The clans think elves that live in cities are… not really elves at all."
Zevran rolled his golden eyes, "Idiocy, if we are not elves I demand to know what kind of accident gave us these ears…" he raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps a bird grabbed each one of us by them and stretched them out?"
Fenris managed to crack a small smile at the image of this, "Or perhaps we were caught in some dreadful stretching torture device."
The two males laughed, causing several of the clan to narrow their glares even more, as if angry with them for daring to be happy.
"It's not funny." Merrill mumbled, still staring at the fire. "Doesn't it hurt either of you at all? These are our people and they look at us like mud."
Zevran shook his head, his fine golden hair catching the fading sunlight. "Caramia, I was born in a whorehouse and raised by assassins, I consider myself a… let's say rogue first and an elf second. I believe my mother was a Dalish, but she left her clan."
Fenris glanced around at the clan, "They're not my people. They are nothing to me… they should not be anything to you, weren't you expelled from your clan for using blood magic?"
Merrill didn't answer.
"You've been living in the alienage for nine years or more now, more than long enough for you to get used to the city." Fenris continued; managing to miss the frantic eye-signals Zevran was giving him to stop talking.
Merill's hands were trembling on her staff. Fenris managed to miss that warning sign as well.
"In that sense, surely you're as much a Seth'lin as us." He finished.
Merrill's head snapped up, her eyes narrowed in a rare display of rage; her angered voice sounded very much like she was on the verge of tears; perhaps she was. Fenris wasn't entirely sure of what to do, the sight of Merrill angry had the shock of the unusual.
"Don't you ever call me that! It's bad enough when they say it but don't you dare say such horrible things to me, you… you…len'alas lath'din!" she spat the last words of this and in a movement entirely out of her character, she drew one thin hand back and struck the silver-haired warrior across his face.
The blow wasn't hard, but it was unexpected and Fenris flinched out of surprise more than pain. His head snapped back up just in time to see Merrill running off towards her tent in floods of tears.
There was a moment of total silence, when even the hostile Dalish seemed at a loss for understanding.
Fenris reached up to touch his own cheek, blinking in total incomprehension. "…Did she just slap me?"
Zevran folded his arms, raising one eyebrow. "Si."
"And then run off crying?"
Zevran nodded.
"…What should I do?"
"For starters, be greatful she did not try to melt you with that staff of hers!" Zevran declared, "I have heard many thoughtless speeches before… been on the receiving end of one or two, given a few dozen, but really…" the blonde elf shook his head, "Jou are something else."
Fenris frowned, "Thoughtless…? I merely pointed out that she-"
"Look, my friend," Zevran began, shaking his head as he spoke at how anyone could be so unknowing of what he was saying. "To jou and me a few little insults are nothing, jes? Knife-ears, Seth'lin, man-whore, savage, just silly little names from silly little people who we could crush like fleas, jes?"
Fenris nodded blankly, he was prepared to admit to ripping the still-beating hearts out of one or two men who made the mistake of hitting his 'berzerker' button by calling him a slave. His ex-master included, come to that.
The Antivan sighed, "Well dis is because we have never been anything but men of de cities, we do not care what they say because we do not care about them. The little blossom though, de blood of de Dales runs strong in her, they're her family. To her, being a seth'lin is like…" he pouted, staring at the sky for an appropriate metaphor.
"Like being called a slave after ten years of freedom?" Fenris suggested, shame rising in the pit of his stomach. Not that he gave much of a damn about the blood mage, but he didn't consider himself to be a cruel man at heart, he hadn't escaped years of torture only to start dishing it out.
Zevran nodded, "Or like being called a whore when you don't get paid for that service." He flicked his hair slightly.
Fenris rolled his moss-green eyes, "Can have a single conversation without bringing sex into it?"
"Can I help it if I'm a seductive son of a bitch?" Zevran countered, winking at the taller elf before added, "You probably ought to say something to the girl, when she comes out. De name-calling, it means something to her."
Fenris shrugged, looking somewhat reluctant but unwilling to argue about it. He paused a moment or two then asked, "What was it she called me? Len'alas lath'din?"
Zevran's smile weakened slightly, "Ah, you don't want to know, trust me." He sighed, "de little blossom, she is not a bad person, no?"
Fenris shrugged. "I do not like mages, particularly blood magic, but I suppose her intentions are good, and she takes greater care now she knows the true cost of her magic."
"So we are agreed she shouldn't be made to suffer like dis?"
"I suppose." Fenris replied, only a little reluctant to agree.
"Seth'lin."
The hiss was low and the speaker probably thought the two city-elves would either ignore or not hear, as they had all the times before. He certainly didn't expect the two males to fly to their feet with the speed they did.
The tanned one with incorrect blood writing on his face flung him to the ground and brought two blades to his throat all in one supine movement, crouching over his head. The other one, the tall one with the white-blood markings squatted next to his chest. To the Hunter's horror, those white markings suddenly lit up with a pale sapphire glow.
"Now den," Zevran purred, "I suggest you watch what my friend the… what was your word for us? Seth'lin, can do. Watch closely, you don't want to miss it."
Fenris smirked wolfishly, and slid his hand into the hunter's stomach, feeling the pulse of organs and flesh, the speed of his frightened heart. For the moment he didn't clench around anything, the point for now was to scare, not kill.
"Oh no! Please no!" The Hunter yelped, wanting to wriggle away but only too aware of the daggers at his throat. "In the name of the gods please!"
Fenris tilted his head gently, "I think he wants us to stop."
"Jou know, I believe you." Zevran replied, "Amigo, do you want the two scary seth'lin to let you up?"
The elf nodded wildly, face going paler by the second.
"He's pissed himself." Fenris spoke in calm, observational tones. He experimentally wiggled one finger and heard the man whimper.
Zevran didn't appear to hear the other man, "Now, we might let jou up. But first, amigo, you will make us a promise, jes? It's a nice, easy promise."
The hunter nodded frantically.
"Good, a wise Dalish, we should have him stuffed. You, my true-blooded friend, are going to spread the word among your clan, if we two hear any of you use that charming word against de little female elf who arrived with us, my friend over there will re-arrange some organs."
Fenris twisted his hand slightly, to demonstrate. The Hunter yelped, "All right, all right! I'll tell them!" he almost wept.
"And when you've done that you'll go to her tent and ask her to come tell your clan some stories tonight." Fenris added with a growl. He noted Zevran's slightly puzzled look at his but chose not to comment.
The Hunter swallowed hard, "But, but she's…"
"Is this your kidney I feel in my hand?" Fenris cut him off.
"I-I'll talk to the keeper! I'm sure he'll agree! Please, please, don't-"
Fenris withdrew his hand, Zevran lifted his blades and the two returned to their places by the fire, continuing with their tasks as if nothing had happened. Fenris started to wipe the residual blood from his hand with no apparent care.
The Hunter remained lying on the ground for a moment, uncertain of what he was allowed to do now.
"Go on, shoo." Zevran added, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Go change your trousers."
That night, Merrill did not join the companions around their own campfire, she'd been requested by the Clan's Keeper to tell some stories of the old gods. Hawke could see her silhouette almost dancing around the clan's fire.
She'd been somewhat surprised, only earlier that day the Keeper had told her that while she and the other Shems were welcome to stay for a while, the three elves were causing bad feeling in the clan. Well, people could change, she supposed, and Merrill was pure dalish.
"Not jealous of Daisy, are you lads?" Varric asked suddenly, probably having noticed Hawke looking from the dancing female elf to the other two.
Zevran barely looked up from his apparently deep conversation with Bethany, "Pah, I could have them staring at me like that any time I wanted and I wouldn't need to tell any silly stories."
Isabela chuckled, "Nah, you'd perform a strip-tease."
"I hadn't even thought of that!" Zevran gasped, raising his eyebrows at this announcement, "I was planning on just taking my shirt off."
The group laughed softly at this declaration, Hawke turned her eyes to her lover, sharpening his broadsword with apparently intense concentration. "And I don't have to worry about you running off to join the Dalish, do I?"
Fenris shook his head, "They wouldn't allow it even if I wanted to prance around in the mud like them." He paused, then added, almost unthinkingly, "They call me and Zevran seth'lin, they don't seem to think we're actually elves."
Hawke's eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Oh, do they? Would you like me to-"
"No. I don't care what they think of me, I only care for your opinion of me." Fenris replied quickly, ignoring the teasing laughter from the others at this blatant show of affection.
Hawke smiled, blushing a little, "Oh…" she mumbled, hesitating a second before shifting to lean her head on his shoulder. It was strange but pleasant to be able to do this without his armour jabbing her. His lips curved into a crooked smile as he continued to sharpen his blade.
A few moments of comfortable silence later and Hawke piped up suddenly, "What about Merrill? Do they call her names too?"
Zevran and Fenris exchanged a look.
"No, they don't." Fenris replied.
A/N: all translations taken from the DA wiki.
Seth'lin= Thin Blood, I think it's usually used to refer to half-elves like Feynriel but I'd imagine some Dalish would use it as a derogatory for city elves.
Len'alas lath'din= Dirty child that no-one wants, about the worst insult I could imagine Merrill using.