Author's Note: As always, many thanks go to Gene Dark for going through both the original draft and the re-write of this chapter.
Additionally, thank you to my wonderful reviewers: Josie Lange, Kira Tamarion, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Morwen33, Alliel 23, and Marvy. Also, I'd like to welcome some of my new reviewers and followers who have come over from my DA2 Anders/Hawke one-shot! It fills my heart with many warm feelings that people read the short story and liked my style enough to take a chance on my long work-in-progress. Rest assured, I am making steady progress on this fic... and I actually have a few more DA2 Anders/Hawke one-shots in my head, so for those who enjoyed "Not Too Heavy", you'll get to read a few more random snippets like that soon! :)
"Maker dammit all!"
Kallian immediately shot up in her bedroll, suddenly alert at the sounds of cursing outside her tent. She could also hear the heavy, thudding cadence of rain against the canvas. They'd not had a good thunderstorm in some time, so they were about due. However, the sudden shower was not her most immediate concern. Such an unexpected uproar could be another shriek attack on the camp.
Grabbing her daggers, the Warden rushed out barefoot and in her nightclothes. She was instantly greeted by the torrential downpour. Squinting, she looked around as best she could. With the cloud cover and the doused campfire ashes, it was difficult to see, even for her sharp elven eyesight. She could hear some of the others out as well, probably also checking for an ambush. Nothing seemed to be happening, however, except for the pounding rain and the continued string of curses. The elf ducked back inside her tent for a moment, tossed one of her daggers aside, and used the free hand to grab her glowball lantern.
"Everything all right?" she called when she re-emerged with the light source, limited though its range was.
"No, everything is not bloody well all right!"
That was definitely Loghain's irritated voice, but she couldn't see where he was. The Warden approached the spot where his tent had once been. In its place was a soaking wet, collapsed heap from which an equally soaking wet Loghain angrily untangled himself. Kallian held the lantern up a bit higher to better illuminate the scene. It was apparent that Wynne's patch job could only withstand so much punishment. The pounding rain had finally been too much for the distressed seams and the large rent torn into it on Loghain's first night in camp had re-opened, compromising the entire structure's integrity. While one side still tried valiantly to stay upright, the remainder was now reduced to a soggy mess.
Ignoring how futile the effort may be, the elf sprung into action. Armed with the lantern, she poked her head inside and checked the one erect corner of the shelter. She'd intended to try and grab whatever may still be dry and quickly run it to cover in Bodahn's wagon. However, as she looked around, it became apparent that everything was already completely saturated.
"It's a lost cause, Warden," Loghain grumbled from outside.
Kallian withdrew from the collapsed tent and looked over at him. "Normally, I'm the champion of lost causes," she joked, "but... yeah, everything's pretty well soaked through in there." The elf shrugged. "Eh, the clothes and bedroll should dry out tomorrow, at least."
"The maps won't," he lamented. "Or, rather, they will, but they'll be utterly ruined."
"Maps?"
He sighed. "I had a nice collection of them." With a frown, he added, "You'd think I'd have gotten used to losing things I'm fond of by now."
As surly as his tone had been, there was an underlying gloom to it that tugged at the Warden. She suddenly felt a very strong urge to embrace him, but she fought it down for both their sakes. Instead, she grabbed his arm and said, "Let's get you out of the rain, at least."
"I won't argue with that," he answered, following her lead, "but where do you intend I go?"
"My tent."
Loghain stopped dead in his tracks. "Your tent?" he repeated, sounding both incredulous and slightly alarmed. He turned to look down at the Warden. In response, she came to a halt and turned towards him, holding the lantern at shoulder-height and looking up at him quizzically. He found himself a bit surprised at how she looked just then in the soft glow of that little, blue light. Having let down the ponytail she normally wore whenever she was up and about, Kallian's copper hair hung down to her shoulders. The wet strands covered her cheeks and framed the rest of her face, giving her a rather seductive look. Her nightclothes were drenched, clinging to every subtle, humble curve. In that moment, she didn't look like a Grey Warden who spent her days as a soldier and a commander. She simply looked like a woman. A very pretty woman.
The momentary trance was broken when Kallian answered, "Yes, my tent." She cocked her head to the side. "Are you okay?"
For a brief moment, Loghain inwardly panicked, wondering just how long he'd been staring at the Warden. Then, he loudly cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm fine. It just seems... a little inappropriate to... uh, share a tent with my commanding officer."
"Oh!" The elf's eyes widened. "Oh. You thought? Oh, no, no. No worries. I'm not going to be sleeping in there with you."
"That's a relief," he sighed, running a hand through his wet, black hair, "but where does that leave you?"
"I'll probably go bunk with Leliana." She shrugged, then resumed leading him over to her tent. Lifting the door flap, she gestured him inside. "After you."
The interior of the tent was just large enough to accommodate two people, but not by much. Loghain knelt down in the furthest corner he could, trying to stay out of the elf's way as she crawled back and forth in search of things, mumbling quietly to herself as she did so. With each pass, she inadvertently brushed some part of her body against his. It was unavoidable, really, in such close quarters, but if Loghain hadn't known better, he'd almost swear she were doing it on purpose. It had been a rather long time since he'd last spent 'quality time' with a woman and that, combined with everything else presently occurring, was beginning to make him feel rather uncomfortable. He seriously considered just going back outside, rain be damned.
Instead, when the elf brushed by him for a fourth time, Loghain averted his eyes and gazed upwards. Whether he was actually seeking divine intervention, he wasn't sure, but the Warden's painted tapestry of the star-filled night sky immediately caught his fancy. It was so well done and thoughtful, especially compared to the absolute chaos that adorned the exterior of her tent. "That's rather impressive work," he finally remarked.
Kallian paused in her item-gathering, two towels and an extra blanket in hand, and looked over her shoulder at the warrior. She followed his gaze to the ceiling of her tent. "Oh," she breathed, then blushed. "Thank you. It's nothing, really."
"It's inspired," he countered.
Her blush deepened and she turned around again to finish her task. Loghain looked back down at her once more and felt a moment of fondness. The Warden - Blight Queller, Street Juggler... and Undiscovered Artist, eh? he thought in amusement. A small smile played across his lips, one that he immediately quashed as soon as the elf turned back to him.
"Here." She plopped a towel and a few extra blankets in front of him. "This should get you started, at least. You're welcome to use my bedroll. I'll try and find a dry set of clothes for you to change into. Be back in a moment."
With that, Kallian dashed outside with a small knapsack in tow. She was not gone for very long. After a few minutes, the Warden popped back in, turned the knapsack over, and dumped out a tunic and a pair of pantaloons borrowed from the Redcliffe emissary. Loghain inwardly cringed at the thought of how tight the clothing would be; Lieutenant Cadrim was quite a bit shorter than he. However, considering the other options consisted of women, elves, dwarves, mage robes, and a qunari, he understood his choices were quite limited. Having provided him with everything she could, the Warden wished Loghain a good night and disappeared outside once more.
Loghain waited for a bit to make sure the elf didn't pop back in because she'd forgotten something. Once he felt he was truly left alone, he stripped down and toweled himself dry. As he pulled on the spare clothes, he reflected on the Warden for a bit. Once again, she had proven unusually kind. He'd have settled for sleeping in the back of the wooden wagon after his tent collapsed, but she'd gone and donated her own tent and bedroll to his use. He didn't entirely understand why, although he supposed they considered each other better than acquaintances by this point in time. Perhaps even friends, if he were to make a rather bold assumption.
He wasn't entirely sure how she felt, but he could feel himself softening towards her ever so slightly. At first, he'd felt nothing but anger and resentment. She'd humiliated him at the Landsmeet. Even turned his only child against him. He'd been prepared to die after she'd won their duel. He hadn't been prepared to instead live a life of servitude to the Warden; his initial thoughts to such a position had reminded him too much of what his family had been forced to endure under the Orlesians. And once he'd learned that his desperate accord with the Tevinter Imperium had caused her very personal suffering, he'd steeled himself for the worst of possible retributions. Yet, no vengeance had been exacted upon him. Instead, she'd shown him unexpected mercy and, ever so slowly, had begun to open up to him. On one hand, it was almost unnerving, as if he should wait for the other shoe to drop. But on the other hand, it was refreshing to realize that his place in the group was not a completely servile one and that he and the Warden appeared to share a mutual respect for one another.
As Loghain's thoughts wandered, Kallian got busy. Foregoing a visit to Leliana's tent, as she'd said was her plan for shelter, the elf instead sprinted towards Bodahn's wagon. She tossed her knapsack of spare clothes into the back, safely out of the rain thanks to the canvas cover. Then, she jogged back to Loghain's collapsed tent. It only took a moment's worth of rooting around to find his waterlogged maps. She gathered them up carefully and spirited them to the wagon.
The elf jumped up inside, hung her glowlight lantern on a nearby hook, and surveyed her workspace. There wasn't much of it. Most of the floor was covered with various boxes and crates. The inner walls were lined with shelves full of an assortment of oddities, from books to helmets, as well as swords, maces, and axes hanging from pegs. However, beggars couldn't be choosers, so the old Alienage saying went. Kallian pulled a towel out from her knapsack and dried off as best she could, then changed into a new pair of nightclothes. With the first order of business out of the way, she went about scrounging up all the blank vellum she could find in Bodahn's stores.
Properly armed, she sat down on a crate and attempted to go through the soggy maps. Some were stuck together and nigh impossible to separate without tearing to pieces. Those, unfortunately, would be a pure and total loss. However, there were several that she was able to slowly and gently unfold. While the ink on those had begun to run, they were not beyond all recognition. Kallian, though not particularly learned, did know the names of major cities and landmarks in Ferelden and had self-taught experience sketching maps of her own. Her journal was filled with both largescale and local maps: the interior of the Brecilian Forest, the portion of Deeps Roads they'd travelled through, an entire layout of Denerim and its major areas of interest, and even the floorplan of Redcliffe Castle and the Circle Tower.
Thus, charcoal pencil and blank vellum in hand, the Warden began to copy all of Loghain's maps that she could. She spent most of the remaining night doing so.
Daveth awoke the next morning before everyone else, as was his usual custom. The Mabari warhound was a seasoned veteran of both battle and travel and rarely slept very deeply; the first sound or smell of trouble had him up and on guard. So, just before sunrise, he rose up and gave a quick sniff. Finding nothing troublesome nearby, he lowered his forelegs and raised his hindquarters up into a long, exaggerated doggy stretch. He then shifted weight to his forepaws, stuck out his scruffy chest, and lowered his rear haunches, stretching even further. After a short, whining yawn, he trotted off towards the bushes to relieve himself. Back when he'd first joined His Warden, he'd often go and do his morning business in front of the Grumpy Witch's tent. Her reactions, while screechy, were endlessly amusing. However, after about the fourth or fifth morning "gift" left for her, she'd threatened to flay him alive if it happened again. Daveth was not entirely sure what "flay" meant, but it sounded unpleasant enough that he'd stopped that little game. For now, at least.
Once business was completed, he trotted back into the heart of camp. All remained quiet and peaceful. Anxious for the morning meal, the hound sniffed around last night's campfire. The rain had completely dampened all the remaining ashes, so there was no threat of burnt paws. Daveth scooted close, reared up on his hindlegs, and placed his forepaws on one side of the suspended cooking pot. The device swung back a bit from his sudden weight, but once the dog got his footing, he was able to stick his nose down into the pot. Unfortunately, there were no leftover hunks of pork floating around, but there was plenty of cold, watered-down broth. While that may not sound appetizing to a two-legger, it was a breakfast of champions to Daveth and a good use of resources, since it would probably just be poured out and wasted later.
Feeling pleasantly full and happy, Daveth wandered over to His Warden's tent. It was almost time for her to get up and the hound was always happy to help. He brushed aside the doorflap and instantly became confused. While the interior smelled of lavender and dried tea leaves - which he knew to be His Warden's special scent - it also now smelled strongly of musk and iron, something he associated with the New Warden.
The hound crept forward carefully, nose sniffing rapidly. When he reached His Warden's bedroll, he confirmed that the occupant was definitely the New Warden. While that discovery was quite surprising, he also didn't want to be rude. After all, the New Warden often gave him treats and scratched him and was quite obviously a Dog Person, so he was a Good Friend by Daveth's reckoning. So, he gave him his most sacred greeting, one that he had only ever reserved for His Old Master and His Warden: a good, old-fashioned tongue bath across the face. He knew it was the best salutation because two-leggers always had such excited reactions to it.
Just as expected, the New Warden shot up suddenly and looked around, instantly alert. Daveth barked his amusement and furiously wagged his little nub of a tail. After re-orienting himself with his surroundings, the New Warden looked over at the Mabari and chuckled softly. Then, with a wry grin, he gave the top of the dog's head a friendly petting and rubbing. The hound's tongue lolled out as he happily panted, barking a few more times for good measure.
"Well, good morning to you, too, good boy," the New Warden said, rubbing the canine's head more vigorously for a moment. Daveth answered with squinty eyes of pure delight. "Looking for your master, I suppose?" he asked.
Daveth barked an affirmative.
"She said she was going to the Orlesian's tent last night," answered the New Warden, "so I'd try there first." Daveth woofed his thanks and turned to go, but was stopped short by the two-legger loudly clearing his throat. "Oh, and Daveth," he added, "I've heard the red-head loves nothing more than being awoken by a surprise pounce." The New Warden gave him a sly wink.
The warhound bounded out, slightly excited to be playing a game of hide-and-seek with His Warden. Following the New Warden's advice, Daveth slipped into the Singing Woman's tent and immediately sprung atop her. The bard let out a shriek of terror before realizing what had her pinned down.
She grunted, "Yes, yes, very funny. Oof! Let me up..."
Daveth complied and went about searching for His Warden. There were no recent signs or scents of her in this tent. Confused, he cocked his head and whined before slipping back out.
By now, after all the barking and the Singing Woman's shouting, most of the party had arisen and was milling about. The Sly Elf was engaged in his own morning stretches. The Old Witch looked around blearily and yawned, as did the Drunk Dwarf. The Tall Warrior gave his surroundings a cursory perusal before beginning to break down his tent. Daveth narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side once more. That was everyone accounted for except the Tag-Alongs and His Warden.
Putting his nose to the ground, the Mabari sniffed around, following the most recent scents of His Warden. He went from her tent to the New Warden's tent, then back to her tent again, back to the New Warden's tent, and then finally ended up at the back of the Tag-Along Dwarves' wagon. Mission accomplished, Daveth bounded back around the wagon, circled the New Warden and the Sly Elf a few times while barking excitedly, then hopped off to the back of the wagon again. After what felt like a long wait, Daveth's favorite two-leggers - aside from His Warden, of course - finally came around to join him at the back of the wagon.
"What is it, my little, furry friend?" the Sly Elf asked, crouching down to the dog's eye level. "A stow-away?"
The New Warden's heavy, long-suffering sigh caused the elf to look over at him with a raised, inquiring eyebrow. As the man ran a palm over his weary face, the Sly Elf stood up and gazed carefully into the back of the wagon. Both eyebrows shot up and he quickly covered his mouth to keep from cackling out loud. Wanting to join in the group stare, Daveth jumped up, placed his forepaws on the back of the wagon, and gazed adoringly at His Warden. She was sound asleep, curled up in a blanket, and half-sitting on a crate while partially leaning against one of the interior walls of the cart. Her hair had dried out, but now stuck up in odd places and looked rather tangled from her unusual sleeping arrangements. She gave a little, mewling snore and wriggled a bit, coming perilously close to falling off the crate and face-planting on the floor. Daveth wagged his nubby tail.
"Oh, this is priceless," the Sly Elf whispered to the New Warden. "If only she could see herself right now."
"Yes," the man added, his tone sarcastic but highly amused, "the little string of drool really completes the picture here."
Anxious for His Warden to wake up and get them back on the road, Daveth leapt up into the back of the wagon and started licking her face. She spluttered, groaned, and shook her head from side to side, trying to escape his slobbering tongue. Finally, she stood up in an attempt to get away, but only succeeded in cracking the top of her head against the roof of the wagon.
"Good morning, sunshine!" the Sly Elf called.
His Warden narrowed her eyes at her fellow elf while gingerly rubbing her head.
"Why, exactly, were you sleeping in the back of a hard, wooden wagon?" the New Warden asked. "I'd have never taken your tent had I suspected you'd do this."
She grinned at him sheepishly. "I know, I know," she lied, "but it was a last-minute decision on my part. I didn't want to wake up Lel, so I just hopped back here. It really wasn't that bad. Honest."
"We could tell," the Sly Elf teased. "You looked very comfortable."
His Warden rolled her eyes. Then, she did her best to roll up her blanket and gather her knapsack in a somewhat dignified manner before hopping out of the wagon. Daveth followed right behind her.
"Speaking of comfortable," continued the Sly Elf, giving the New Warden an appraising look up and down, "those clothes don't look very comfortable at all."
"They're not," the human miserably agreed. "I'm sure I'll be wonderfully chafed by the end of the day. But, I suppose it's better than having nothing at all between myself and my armor."
"My sympathies, friend," remarked the Sly Elf. He glanced down, looked back up, waggled his eyebrows, shot a brief look over at the female elf, stifled a laugh, then glanced down again. "I would encourage you to suit up as soon as possible, then. While seeing your rippling muscles through the shirt is very nice, the tightness of the pants is rather... distracting." A smug grin followed.
The New Warden puffed up and glared. "Eyes up here, elf," he ordered, pointing at his face.
"Which elf?" the other asked, coyly gesturing his head at his female counterpart.
She immediately turned beet red and looked up, giving her fellow Grey Warden an awkward and sheepish grin. The New Warden answered with a rather dramatically arched eyebrow. "I'm, uh..." the elf stammered momentarily, "I'm gonna go pack up my tent now." With a little, nervous laugh, His Warden bid a hasty retreat. Daveth barked happily along at her heels.
The rest of the early morning went about how it always did: everyone breaking down camp and packing it up inside the Tag-Along Dwarves' wagon. The familiar routine put the Mabari at ease. He preferred it, honestly. Although, it had been rather amusing watching His Warden and the Singing Woman string up laundry lines all around the exterior of the wagon, hanging the New Warden's soaked clothing and bedding up to dry in the sunlight as they moved along. Unfortunately, they had strung up the unmentionables inside the wagon, out of view and reach. Daveth had half a mind to sneak the soggy undies into the Grumpy Witch's bedding while she wasn't looking, but it was not to be. Oh, well, there would always be other times. He wagged his rear happily at the thought.
The walking caravan had relative peace for a time. The warhound kept up a careful patrol around the perimeter, but no darkspawn or other predators smelled close to their chosen roadway. In fact, the only excitement came when His Warden spotted some fallen ironbark just off the dirt path. She had the group stop for a while as they gathered up all the bits they could find, loading it into the Dalish supply crate. The collective pause gave the dog time to play with the Elf Child. He woofed joyfully and proceeded to frolic around her while she giggled and squealed and chased him to and fro. When she got tired, she sat down on the grass by the side of the road and Daveth plopped down beside her, panting. Looking about, she picked some wildflowers and tucked them lovingly into his collar, giving the hound a mane of daisies and dandelions. When His Warden called for them to get back to walking, the Tall Warrior came over and picked the Elf Child up. After he placed her on top of his shoulders, the little girl tucked her last daisy behind the Tall Warrior's bronze, pointed ear. To his credit, the giant didn't make a fuss about her gesture. Daveth rolled his tongue out and cocked his head to the side in a doggy laugh.
After everyone got back to travelling, Daveth made his way to the front. His Warden and the New Warden were walking side-by-side, as they often did these days, and both seemed to have gotten past their bit of awkwardness from earlier in the morning. However, what was of greater concern to the Mabari was the bit of open wrapping the New Warden held and took occasional bites from. Daveth made sure to place himself well within view and shot several long, meaningful glances at the man. The New Warden looked down at the hound, then did a double-take at the flower-laden collar. Suppressing a chuckle, he elbowed his companion and gestured. His Warden made no such efforts to keep from laughing out loud.
"Looks like our little bundle of joy has been hard at work again," she chuckled.
"Which reminds me," interrupted the New Warden, "I've been meaning to ask what you intend to do with her. She can't stay with us for long, surely?"
"No, certainly not," she agreed. "I was thinking of placing her with the Dalish, actually."
The New Warden made a dissatisfied grunt. Daveth, meanwhile, continued his campaign of pleading. Obviously, his Good Friend had missed the very important question in his canine eyes.
"What?" His Warden argued. "Other than the Dalish, we'll be in the wilderness for a while. There are no towns that close by, at least not for several days walking distance. And say we wait until we do reach a town. What then? Drop her off with some random human strangers? Sure, they'll want an elven child. Should we hope that town has an Alienage? We could dump her off there with all the rest of the unwanted citizens of the town. Maybe if those Alienage elves are good and mind their place, her new orphanage home won't get massacred like Denerim's did during the riots."
The New Warden stared straight ahead and said nothing, but his jaws clenched and unclenched repeatedly.
"Oh, or we could hope a trading caravan passes us by," she continued, starting to get rather worked up. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind taking on an extra mouth to feed. Maybe they could even consider her as an added good to sell off."
"You've made your point," he growled darkly.
"I don't mean to be an ass, Loghain," His Warden sighed heavily. "Really, I don't. But there's no good place for us in this world. The Dalish are her best hope for a life relatively free of harassment and prejudice."
"You have a rather idealized view of your wild cousins."
"Perhaps," she admitted, "but I still think they beat any other alternatives for the little one."
The two fell silent for a time. The New Warden took another bite from the wrapping in his hand, frustrating Daveth even further. He could smell the pork it contained. It made his eyes and mouth water. Finally, he barked twice and did his utmost to look cute and irresistible.
The New Warden looked back down at the dog pacing his footsteps. "Here, some smoked boar saved from supper," he said, offering the rest of the wrapper's contents. "Heh, it'll do you good." He smirked as Daveth excitedly huffed and gobbled the meat up. The man gazed forward again, lost in thought for a moment. Then, in a rather quiet voice, he said, "I had a Mabari once."
The elf's head whipped over and watched her companion. Her eyes squinted momentarily, as if she weren't sure if he was talking to her or to Daveth, but she gave him her full attention. Daveth did as well.
"Adalla - that was her name," he continued, speaking the name in an almost reverent way. "We found her in the woodshed one night. She was still a pup then. We never figured out where she came from. My mother called her a gift from the Maker. And she was... she really was."
He paused. Daveth watched with rapt attention as he walked beside the New Warden. His Warden did the same, appearing both surprised and intrigued to see her fellow Grey Warden opening up in such a personal manner about his past.
The New Warden continued, "She was beautiful. She had a lovely chestnut brown coat and the most intelligent, understanding eyes." He gazed down at Daveth and added, "You would have liked her."
Daveth wagged his small tail.
"We grew up together," he went on. "She never left my side, not once. I've mentioned before that I only had my parents growing up. Adalla was... well, she was my best friend. I know that may sound silly or juvenile, but it was the truth."
Daveth gave an understanding whine. He understood how deep such bonds went.
The New Warden stopped for a short time, his jaws clenching again with the memories. Then, he finished what he could of the story. "Ten years we had her, before she was taken away..." He stopped again and looked away.
His Warden moved to walk a bit closer to the New Warden. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out and rested it on his shoulder for a moment. Daveth cocked his head to the side and looked curiously at his Good Friend.
The New Warden sighed loudly, then looked back towards the hound, stoic as ever. "Another time, perhaps," he responded, offering the rest of the smoked boar. "Finish your snack." As Daveth gulped down on the meat, the New Warden smiled at him and patted his head. "Good boy, Daveth." Then, he gazed over at his fellow Grey Warden with a questioning look. "You know, I always meant to ask, but how did Daveth get his name? Adalla was actually my grandmother's, on my father's side. She died many years before I was born, but I was told she had a great affection for animals. It may be a bit odd - or disrespectful to some, I suppose - to name an animal after a person, but it seemed a fitting enough tribute at the time."
"I don't think it's disrespectful at all," she answered. Looking thoughtfully at the Mabari, she smiled. "Rather, I think it is the best way to remember someone... a way for them to live on after death, so to speak. Daveth is named after a human I knew, albeit very briefly."
The New Warden looked intrigued. "Who was he?" he asked.
"Daveth was a fellow Grey Warden recruit I met at Ostagar," she explained. "There were three of us in total - he, I, and a Redcliffe knight named Jory. The knight had won some tournament or other and caught Duncan's eye. He wanted to be there, to become a Grey Warden. At least, he thought he did." After a short pause, she cleared her throat and continued, "Daveth was a cutpurse and a thief. Like my mother, actually. He was just some nameless cast-off, trying to survive. An unwanted member of society... a 'street rat', much like me."
The New Warden looked as if he were about to interject, but stopped short.
"He didn't want to be there anymore than I did. Duncan had caught him stealing his coinpurse red-handed, but recruited him rather than turning him over to the Denerim guards. Daveth didn't want to be a Grey Warden, but it was better than hanging in the gallows. He faced his turn of fate bravely and had a sense that something much bigger was going on, something that he could help go the right way. We hit it off almost instantly. Granted, his side started off with blatant flirting... bad flirting at that." She chuckled softly. "But we could relate to each other better than the rest. We had similar backgrounds, were recruited in... similar fashions. We didn't necessarily want to be there or to be Grey Wardens, but we were prepared to do what we could to 'fight the good fight', so to speak. We made a promise to watch each other's backs."
Sighing sadly, she continued, "Daveth didn't survive the Joining. In fact, I was the only one who did. But I didn't want him to be forgotten. To be just another dead thief who had a brief life of unhappiness and struggle. So, when that dog survived Ostagar and managed to track me down to the outskirts of Lothering - and also had my back by warning me about an impending darkspawn ambush - I named him Daveth. As you said, it seemed a fitting enough tribute at the time."
"That was thoughtful of you," said the New Warden.
"Not really," she responded, shaking her head. "It was just the right thing to do, by my reckoning, so it was done."
Her companion looked ready to say something else, but was cut short by Daveth's alarmed barks. The hound could hear careful, quiet footsteps approaching. Hair raising up on his back and neck, he growled a warning to the unseen threat, watching the nearby treeline vigilantly. From the back of the caravan, the Elf Tag-Along separated from the Human Soldier Tag-Along, the Dwarf Tag-Along, and the Mage-But-Not-A-Mage Tag-Along and walked out towards the treeline in front of His Warden and the New Warden. The Elf Tag-Along carefully studied the surrounding vegetation, eyes and ears alert. After a moment, he raised both hands to his mouth, formed a peculiar shape, and made a call that sounded much like a mourning dove. A returning call answered him from nearby.
The Elf Tag-Along turned around, smiling, and gave the two Grey Wardens a nod. "It's hunters from my clan," he announced.
Five Dalish elves melted into view from out of the treeline. One of them separated himself from the others and approached the group. He stopped in front of his clansman and bowed in greeting. Daveth watched him carefully, just to be sure. Then, the elf continued to His Warden and bowed. "I am Deygan," he said. "You found me wounded in the forest and saved my life."
His Warden bowed in return. "I remember you, Deygan. It is good to see you recovered and well."
"All thanks to you, lethallan," he returned. "We all owe you a very large debt. But come, let me lead you back to my clan. I assume it is time for us to gather our forces for the Blight?"
"Indeed," she answered, "that time has come."
"Andaran atish'an, lethallan!" Keeper Lanaya shouted when she spotted Kallian approaching their camp. "How good it is to see you still well."
The two elven leaders embraced each other, then took a step back. Kallian smiled warmly at the new Dalish Keeper. It was good to see a fellow city elf risen to her rank. "How are you?" she asked excitedly. "How is the clan? The hunters have all recovered now, yes?"
"Yes," Lanaya confirmed, giggling at Kallian's enthusiasm, "all is well here, thanks to your efforts." She briefly gazed around at the Wardens' companions and shot Kallian a concerned look. "I see you have a new follower, but one is missing. Where is your fellow Grey Warden?"
Kallian's heart ached at the reminder. "Yes," she said. "Alistair... he... he is lost to us now."
"Oh..." The Keeper sympathized, "Abelas. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. We shall sing a eulogy song for him tonight."
Kallian hid her grimace well. A lament for Alistair would not be a fun event for her to attend. Not one bit. "That really isn't necessary," she insisted.
Lanaya appeared a bit put out, but did not push the issue. "If that is what you wish."
Eager to change the subject, she motioned towards her companion. "This is Loghain. He is new to the Grey Wardens and has recently joined my war party."
Lanaya nodded to him briefly. "Loghain is a name that we are familiar with. He ruled a human settlement to the east of here and also served under this land's former king, yes?"
"More or less," Loghain answered, remaining brief.
She fixed the Warden with a look. "You and I should speak privately soon. But for now, attend to your needs and rest. I know it has been a long and weary journey for you and your companions. Dareth shiral, for now."
The two elves bowed to each other once more, then took their leave. Kallian motioned for everyone to begin setting up camp and to relax. Then, she led Loghain around and introduced him to some of the key clan members she'd met: the gatekeeper, Mithras; the lorekeeper, Sarel; Elora, the halla keeper; master craftsman Varathorn - who was quite pleased to see all the supplies brought in by Emissary Caron, particularly the ironbark; and master hunter Athras, who was overseeing the growing Dalish army.
"Greetings, lethallan," Athras said, taking Kallian's hand warmly. She noticed that he wore his late wife's scarf at his hip. He let her hand go and fixed Loghain with a look. "Know that you travel with a very special woman. She has touched many lives here for the better."
"She has touched many lives all over Ferelden, I'm learning," observed the former teyrn.
Looking rather embarrassed, Kallian cleared her throat. "Well," she said, turning to Loghain and placing a hand on his shoulder, "I have a few things to attend to elsewhere in camp. I'll leave you here for the moment. I trust you can find a way to entertain yourself." The Warden shot him a brief smile and wink, then departed.
Loghain watched her go for a while before turning back to Athras. Behind the elf was a line of Dalish practicing archery, shooting a mix of longbows and shortbows across from wooden targets. Athras himself still had a shortbow in hand, having been interrupted by Kallian's visit. The warrior rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, the gestured toward the weapon. "May I?" he asked.
"Of course," the elf answered, offering the bow.
The former teyrn took it and gave a careful appraisal, turning the shortbow this way and that. It appeared to be a sturdy, well-made weapon with a smooth handgrip and good flexibility. He accepted the handful of offered arrows from Athras and aligned himself in front of an unused target. Loghain stretched his neck from side to side and gave his shoulders a good roll, taking a deep breath. It had been several years since he'd last used a bow, but he was confident the feeling would come back to him quickly. The warrior angled his body, spaced his feet apart just so, and held up the bow with his left hand. Notching an arrow with his right hand, he held his left arm out stiffly as he drew the arrow back. Closing one eye, he sighted down the shaft, lined up his aim, and gently let the arrow fly. It hit just barely off-center.
A young elf to his right paused and turned to look at him. The Dalish eyed the sword and shield that Loghain carried, looked over at the near bull's eye sticking out of the wooden target, then looked back at the human with raised eyebrows. "Nice shot, shem!" he commented, sounding obviously impressed.
"You show some respect," Athras barked. "This is a Grey Warden." The other elf ducked his head and looked apologetic.
"I'm just shaking off the dust," Loghain quipped, notching another arrow and looking deadly serious. "I can do better."
Master Varathorn was more pleased now than he could remember being in a long time. While the prospect of impending war was worrisome, especially with how depleted their clan was after the werewolf scourge, he was seeing more work than he had in years. Varathorn never liked having idle hands. Although he had kept himself and his apprentice busy with various pet projects and crafting goods for trade with human settlements, it was nice to have an even bigger purpose once again. As more Dalish poured into the camp each day from neighboring clans, the demand for his fine crafts had gone up tenfold. Swords, shields, daggers, armor, bows, arrows, enchanted pendants and other charms all kept him happily busy. It was also excellent training for his apprentice. It was one thing to spend ample time and care crafting a hunter a new bow. However, it was something entirely different to produce such weapons in mass quantity, in a short amount of time, and still be confident that they're good enough for an elf to bet his life on its performance and endurance. And now that the Warden had brought a large supply of ironbark, the quality of Varathorn's products would improve enormously.
As if she'd heard his wandering thoughts, the old elf smiled when he spotted Kallian approaching his work station with her trademark, infectious grin. He'd not known her for very long nor particularly well, but she never seemed to be without it for long. Varathorn smiled back at her. "Thank you once more for the ironbark," he greeted. "I'll put it to good use."
"I'd expect no less, Master Varathorn," she replied, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. The craftsman chuckled. When she stood back up, she fixed him with an excited look. "Do you suppose you'd mind putting some of that ironbark to my personal use?"
He scratched at his chin thoughtfully, giving her a long look. "Oh, I don't know..." he replied, drawing out his response. "You'd be back in the order line quite a ways." With a twinkle in his eyes and a quick wink, he added, "But I guess I could make an exception for our dear Warden."
"You're a doll," Kallian chirped, "but terrible at teasing." She pulled a knapsack off her back and started rifling through it. "You really could have strung that out, you know. Played it up."
"Now why would I want to go and do a thing like that?"
The female elf gave a short laugh and smirked. Then, she tore a sheet of parchment out of a journal and put the book back into her sack. "I came up with this idea several weeks ago," she explained, handing him the loose paper. "Struck me in the middle of the night, really," she added, as if that might help his studying of the sketch.
Varathorn looked over the Warden's work. It was an incredibly detailed design for a rather elaborate signet ring, one that would involve slow, careful work in order to bring it to life. "This is quite intricate," he observed.
Kallian look worried. "Is it even possible? I have a bad tendency to sometimes overshoot ideas. I... I can scratch out some of the details if I need to-"
"-no, no, child, hush your troubles," he interrupted. "This is not beyond my skill." After a moment's more consideration, he asked, "What size?"
With a small blush, the Warden reached back into her knapsack, drew out a well-worn glove, and handed it to him. "I don't really know, so I'm hoping this helps."
Varathorn couldn't help but chuckle as he took the glove and started studying it. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to ask your friend his size?" When she didn't answer, he looked up and saw her blush had deepened. "Ah," he concluded, "it's a surprise gift, then, I assume?" She nodded. He sighed, "Then I shall endeavor to take extra special care in making it for you."
"There's one more thing," Kallian said, sounding rather tentative as she rooted around in her bag again. She pulled out a small vial containing a reddish-black, thick liquid. With a deep breath and no other preamble, she plunged into a quick explanation. "This is a little bit of darkspawn blood. If it's possible, I'd like you to somehow incorporate it into the piece. If you don't think you can, please let me know and I'll discard the idea straight away. You'd need to be very, very careful not to get this on you."
He did not look intimidated by the prospect, but he couldn't hide his surprised expression. "May I ask why you'd want to include such a substance?"
"It's traditional," she answered. "Well, actually, it's usually put into a pendant for a new Grey Warden, but I don't think my... friend... is exactly the necklace-wearing sort."
The craftsman nodded. It was an odd request, but not an impossible one. If he was entirely honest with himself, he rather looked forward to the challenge the Warden had given him. Varathorn smiled and said, "Come back around this time tomorrow and I should have it ready for you."
"You're the best!" she beamed. "Oh, and if I could bother you for one more thing..."
Varathorn arched an eyebrow, giving her a patient yet long-suffering look.
"It's easy, I promise," the Warden needled. "If you happen to have a tent in stock and a few paints or inks for me to plunder, you'll have truly made my day."
The master craftsman chuckled once more. "You're just full of unusual requests today, aren't you?" He motioned to his apprentice.
The young Dalish nodded and dug around the back of Varathorn's supply cart. After a few minutes of searching and gathering, he returned with both a tent and a small crate in hand. He set both down on a bit of clear space on the crafting table. Kallian bent over and excitedly picked through the crate of paint vials, setting several aside before pushing the crate back towards the apprentice and nodding. She settled her transaction with the craftsman, gave him a large smile, thanked him once more, then departed happily with her goods gathered up in her arms.
Varathorn carefully looked over her sketch again, making mental measurements for how large and small each detail would need to be in order to all fit cohesively on the ring. He also rooted through his memory for a list of suitable enchantments to put into the jewelry. It was obvious from both the Warden's demeanor and the obvious thought put into her drawing that this signet ring held much significance and meaning to her. He finally settled on a small boost to both strength and constitution to compliment his signature resistance to nature damage charm. All three enchantments were likely to well serve a Grey Warden heading into battle.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of silver armor glinting in the sunlight as a tall figure approached. Suspecting this was probably the future gift recipient walking towards him, Varathorn smoothly whisked up the Warden's ring design parchment and vial of darkspawn blood and deposited them into a hidden corner of his crafting cart. He then pulled out a long, fresh piece of ironbark and laid it upon his workbench. Grabbing his trusty whittling knife, he began to shave the piece down.
The figure came to a stop on the opposite side of the workbench. He cleared his throat and asked, "It's Master Varathorn, right?"
The old elf smiled and looked up, nodding. "Yes," he answered, "although, you're not one of the youngsters, so you don't have to call me master." He chuckled, then inclined his head forward. "Loghain, is it?" The former teyrn bowed his head once in acknowledgement. Varathorn bowed his in response and asked, "What can I do for you today, good ser?"
"I'm looking to secure a bow as well-crafted as this one," said Loghain, handing over the shortbow he'd brought with him. "I understand it is of your making?"
Varathorn took the bow and held it warmly in his hands. Every instrument he created was just slightly different and unique, even more so if he knew the individual for which he was crafting it. That was simply his way, even if the item were one of those to go to trade with the human settlements. He had a long memory for his creations and recognized this particular shortbow very quickly. "This is my work," he admitted, lightly running his fingers over the wood. "I remember crafting this scout's bow for Athras."
Loghain looked impressed. "Yes," he remarked, "that's who I borrowed it from. You take obvious pride in your work."
The elf nodded sagely. "My work is my life. And, incidentally, much of my work goes on to become responsible for the lives of others. This is something that always weighs on me while I work and it is why every piece becomes a bit better than the last."
"It shows," the human remarked. "I do believe this is the finest shortbow I have ever fired."
"My thanks, Ser Loghain," Varathorn said, inclining his head once more.
The warrior held his hands up for a moment, waving him off. "Just Loghain is fine. I'm no knight. Just a Grey Warden."
"Ma nuvenin," said the elf. At Loghain's slightly raised eyebrows, he elaborated, "As you wish, though it is my humble opinion that a Grey Warden is more valuable than a whole company of knights." Setting the bow down, Varathorn caught the man's eyes with his own. "Pardon my observation, but you look as if a longbow would be a better fit than a shortbow."
Loghain smirked. "You're very perceptive. I admit that I prefer the longbow, and I actually want to procure one of those from you as well. The shortbow I'm seeking is... for someone else."
"I see," Varathorn noted. "This is a gift, I presume?"
"No." The man bristled slightly. "This is for someone I promised to teach archery. She is a novice and a shortbow is the easiest to learn on."
The master craftsman raised an eyebrow. "And, naturally, a regular, old practice bow won't do. This... friend... of yours requires something of the highest caliber?" The glare seething from Loghain was nearly palpable. Varathorn shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal manner. "There's no need to get all bunged up about it. I won't breathe a word of it to another soul. Though, now that I know you intend to give this to our dear Warden, I insist that you give me at least a day's time to craft something truly worthy of her from the fresh ironbark your crew brought in."
Loghain's expression could have been mistaken for that of a bull contemplating a direct charge. "How did you know who it was for?" he demanded.
"Call it a hunch," answered Varathorn, grinning. He wandered over to his crafting cart, browsed his selection of longbows on hand, then grabbed one towards the back. "Here", he said, handing it to Loghain. "This longbow looks about right for you. In the meantime, I shall get started on the shortbow for your friend."
The former teyrn took the proffered longbow and looked it over. "My thanks," he finally said. "What do I owe you?"
Varathorn smiled. "First one's free of charge." He winked.
"Unacceptable," Loghain argued.
Sighing, the craftsman said, "Fine. A copper should do to cover materials."
Digging through his coinpurse, Loghain slapped a sovereign on the workbench. "I won't take 'no' for an answer," he added, sliding the coin towards the Dalish.
"Fair enough," Varathorn surrendered, taking the gold coin. "Come back around this time tomorrow."
Author's Note: You know the drill. If you were able to pause Dragon Age 2 long enough to read my latest installment, a review would be great to let me know what you liked and didn't like. Otherwise, feel free to go back to your gaming whilst I bounce back and forth between writing the next chapter and playing yet another Lady Hawke agonizing over poor Anders. LOL
Dalish language: Lethallan means "friend by blood" or "clansman/cousin" (and is the feminine version, whereas lethallin is the male equivalent); Andaran atish'an is a greeting; abelas translates to "sorrow" or "apology"; dareth shiral means "goodbye"; ma nuvenin translates to "as you wish"
I have no idea why, but lots of random bits in this chapter were written while listening to "Where Is My Mind?" by the Pixies over and over again. I was also several glasses of wine into the night by then, so that may have had something to do with it. *shrugs*
Kallian Sketching the Maps) Written to an instrumental piece - "The Portrait" from the Back to Titanic soundtrack... yes, there was actually a second musical score produced from that movie. I don't know which is more sappy and pathetic, though: the fact that I own both versions of the soundtrack from the same damn movie, or that by mentioning the song in this context, it conjures up imagines of Kallian as Jack Dawson, sketch artist extraordinaire. And to nip anyone's bizarre thoughts in the bud, there are no plans to continue that mental imagery any further by having Kallian sketch Loghain nude on a couch. LOL
The bit of story told from Daveth's point-of-view was written to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" on loop. Again, I have no idea why, but that's totally the dog's song. You will never convince me otherwise.
Adalla's Story) Written to Loreena McKennitt's "Dante's Prayer". I'm not ashamed to admit it made me misty-eyed.
