Chapter 9

(Just a reminder, I do not own the franchises used, including, but not limited to, Dragon Age and Elder Scrolls. Sorry this one is short, but college has been keeping me busy. Remember, all feedback is welcomed.)

Maolán watched a pair of fennecs dart across the landscape, feeling no need to shoot them. Their furs were prettier on them than they ever could be on him, and he was warm enough with what he had. Unlike any shemlen, he prided himself on using only what was needed. Sitting down to simply bask in the serene scene, he felt a presence quietly approach from his flank.

"Tamlen," he called out in his sing song voice, "remember how the last time you tried to get the drop on me, I almost took your head?"

"Oh, Maol, when will you learn to take a joke for something less than a threat? I swear, you never smile anymore," Tamlen sighed, stretching as he stepped out from the brush. As he did, Maolán studied his friend, noting the dark vallasin and sunshine hair. For his own appearance, Maolán was slightly darker and brawnier than the typical elf, and had dark red hair that grew into a short ponytail. His purple eyes regarded everything, and usually in a rather skewed fashion. His vallasin was also lighter against his skin, which from a distance made him look more like a flat ear than a true Dalish elf, giving him much grief from his clansmen on occasion. This eventually ended when Maolán distributed a black eye to his childhood bullies, and established a reputation as a fierce scrapper that only grew as he developed into the temperamental young man he had become.

"Tam, hush," Maolán sighed. "Let's just do our patrol of the area then return to camp. You know they're making that rabbit stew at camp today, and quite frankly, I'm hungry enough to fight Fen Harel for scraps." He came off as abrasive as usual, but even his best friend was unable to tell that secretly, Maolán was hurting on the inside. He had no clue why. All he knew was that for the past couple months, he had been feeling rather forlorn, and Maolán was looking for ways to change that.

He was proud to be Dalish, and he loved his life. The warm earth beneath his feet, the bond with the world around him, and the fortitude that came from his robust life style. But surely, there was more to it than to simply hang onto what little information of the old ways they had? He was no mage, so he never approached Keeper Marethari or her First about the matter, but he had a feeling that maybe one day, he would depart to see if he could reclaim any information from the shemlen who denied them the joys of their ancestors.

Rubbing his brow, he stood and tossed his bow to Tamlen, before hoisting his axe to his own shoulders. After all, he was only borrowing the bow in the event that he needed to face anything too big to use his axe on, having left earlier than his companion to get some breathing room from the clan. Another matter that bothered him was how close-knit everything was. With the exception of Tamlen and Merrill, Maolán tried to avoid most of the clan. Not as a sign of disrespect, but he was simply an introverted individual who felt no need to put himself out there like that. For the most part, the clan understood and resected the young elf's need to be alone. It was considered odd, though, and in his earlier memories, his social claustrophobia was the result of hard times.

"So, Maol, what do you think of us staying here this long? Rather weird, in my opinion," Tamlen said, walking down the road with bow in hand. Putting his axe on his back, Maolán only grunted and trudged on with his friend. "I mean, the local humans haven't given us any problems. Yet, at least."

"Oh, you know they will," Maolán bristled. "They bring trouble, in time. They always do. Always will. It's in their nature." Just the thought of those arrogant, soft milksops irked him.

"Oh? So Maolán Mahariel is an expert on humans, now. Even after never speaking with one," Tamlen chuckled, and Maolán felt his cheeks go flush with embarrassment as he realized his friend's words rung true. He never did speak to a human, and only saw them from a distance, concealed from the world. But he did remember the history of his people, for it was easy to when so little of it remained.

"I don't need to have met any to know what they have done to us," he huffed. "Do the stories of Arlathan or the Dales mean nothing to you? Time and time again, they have taken everything from us. Even now, we must tread lightly, so that their villages take no offense at our presence, or Templars take no care for our mages."

"You have a point there, lethallin," Tamlen, sighed. "But are you honestly willing to imagine all of them as the same?"

"Well," Maolán thought for a moment. "I have no clue. But what I know is, they have Thedas in the palm of their hands, and we barely hang on. They stepped over us to get to where they are, so honestly, I'm not pleased with the situation."

"And I am in no position to blame you, Maol," Tamlen said. "And you know I don't trust a shem as far as I could throw one, but keeping an open mind may help us patch things up, one day. Certainly can't hurt us anymore, could it?"

"Well," Maolán said, before hesitating. Finding the words he sought, he said, "I reckon they could wipe us out if we don't cooperate. But why do WE have to work with THEM? After all they did to us, all the harm over all the years, they should make things right."

Sighing, Tamlen only looked at the horizon before saying, "I don't know. None of us do, Maol. But we can always hope, yes?"

Nodding, Maolán began walking, with much on his mind. Maybe…maybe he had to strike out on his own, and find some outsiders to be with. He heard there were human tribes, maybe they would appreciate his presence more than the "civilized" humans who had always been making the existence of the Dalish a hassle. Or maybe the dwarves would be more tolerable, or at least offer a gateway into the minds of the shemlen. He did not relish the idea, but he believed it had to be done. Perhaps he would speak to Marethari about it upon his return to the camp. Looking up at the sky, he noticed something rather unusual.

"Tamlen, correct me if I am wrong, but it's been a while since we have heard a bird song, correct? Almost like the birds have migrated early this year," Maolán said, readying his battle axe. It was not unusual for a Dalish elf to bear such weapons, but in a society that emphasized speed and stealth, it was usually saved for certain events. Maolán simply preferred more direct methods.

"That… is actually a good point, Maol," Tamlen said in a somewhat concerned tone. "I have heard that there may be some darkspawn out and about…as much as I doubt it, we can't rule that out as an explanation." Nocking an arrow onto the string, he readied his bow. Scanning the area, Tamlen let loose a relieved sigh. "Nothing at the moment, Maol. But maybe we should head back to camp. I know I'm getting hungry, how about you? You can't sustain yourself on anger and brooding alone, ya know?" Chuckling with the last sentence, he put away his bow and arrow, and cracked his neck.

Letting that sink in, Maolán reacted in a manner unusual to him: he let out his own laugh. Not a chuckle, but a hearty roar of humor. He had realized that maybe humans weren't the only prejudiced ones in the world, and he had to mind his own racism if he ever did truly leave. Putting his axe on his back, he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Sheesh, one lousy joke has you laugh, and none of the good ones get so much as a smirk from you," Tamlen said, smiling lightly. His friend did mean a lot to him, even if the overly direct lug didn't notice. Besides, he doubted Maol would even feel the same.

"So, think we can get Merrill to come with us next time we come out? I don't think it's healthy for her to be so secluded," Maolán said, cracking his neck and striding back to the camp. He never was a people person, but curiously, he had a soft spot for the nervous, quirky mage. Tamlen could never figure out if it was simply platonic, and his attempt to guide her, or more. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, frankly.

"No clue, but I know I'm hungry. So let's go back," Tamlen said. "And if you're especially unlucky, maybe there will be a human at camp, wanting to drag you to some city." Chuckling, he ran down the path, with an angry elf hot on his heels.