A/N: Thanks for reviews. :)
Alistair knows he does not always come up with the brightest plans. It is precisely why he is happy to let someone else lead the way. "Seems like a good enough idea," so quickly – and so often – turns to, "Maker, what was I thinking?" And it is not always things so obvious as realizing it is a bad idea to lock himself into a prison cell in the Arl's dungeon, or that screaming bloody murder in the dead of night just to see panicked Priests and Templars come running is really not going to end well for him. Sometimes it is something as innocent as asking to accompany a companion on a hunt for food.
She gives him a strange look when he makes the request, as if she is waiting for him to crack a joke and allow her to continue on about her business. He has never asked to join her before, and she must think there is something amiss for him to change up their routine. But he is sincere, and a little curious about this seemingly private part of her life, though he does not say that out loud, and after a moment of reluctance, she concedes with a nod.
"Take off your armor," she instructs him as she retrieves a bow and quiver for him. "Find some old leathers to wear and meet me at the edge of camp. You won't need your sword and shield either."
He feels a little insulted that she is talking to him like a child – he has been on a hunt before, after all – but he manages to swallow any clever retort and simply does as she asks. She nods in silent approval when he finally joins her, passes him his bow and arrows and makes a small hand signal at the Mabari sitting quietly beside her. With a faint woof, the hound hops to his feet and trots into the woods, the elf and human trailing behind him.
She moves so quietly that Alistair finds himself staring. No, it is not really that she is quiet, exactly…it is more like a sense of belonging or self-assurance. She walks calmly, one foot directly in front of the other in smooth, purposeful movements, never stumbling, never indecisive, like an animal winding its way through the shade of the trees. He knows she would not appreciate the comparison, but he feels so awkward and clumsy and big and loud walking beside her. How can they be wearing the same make of boots, and yet her footsteps sound like the faint rustling of leaves and his own sound like the tromping of a horse?
"Do the Dalish hunt with animals?" Alistair hears himself ask with a gesture at the dog ahead of them after several minutes of silent walking. The elf sends him a look that reminds him of an apparent universal truth of hunting – be quiet. Still, he is curious, and he has never been one to enjoy silence – never mind that he is nervous she will catch him staring and interpret it in some uncomfortable way – so he puts on his best innocent expression and waits for her to answer.
"No," she murmurs in reply, her eyes following the movements of the hound. Her voice is pitched so low that Alistair has to move a few steps closer to her to listen, their arms nearly touching as they swing. "We have nothing like a Mabari, if that is what you mean. The hunters of each clan are usually familiar with the lands we choose to call home. They know where the best grasses can be found, where the safest waterhole is, the movements of the beasts in the area."
Nodding his understanding, Alistair whispers, "And that's an advantage you don't have here?"
"This forest is alien to me, and the hound gives me back an advantage over my quarry," she agrees, her eyes sad for just a moment. "This place is as foreign as your human cities, really. Though," she gives him the mildly amused look that he has come to accept is her version of a smile, "this place is decidedly more pleasant."
He chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, come on. I'm not overly fond of them myself, but cities have their uses."
When he glances over at her, her expression has hardened, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Yes. They are quite useful at subjugating my flat-eared cousins and allowing shemlen to exercise their insatiable greed and cruelty upon each other in a more 'civilized' setting."
Alistair almost stumbles over his own feet at the sudden change in her tone, and his words start coming from his mouth before he even fully thinks about how she might respond. "You're never going to let it go, are you? I mean, the Dalish in general. What was done to your people was horrible, yes, and the injustices continue on today, but how many centuries will you waste on bitterness and resentment and…why are you grinning?"
The elf is indeed giving him a sidelong smirk. "I just don't know how you're going to survive meeting a Dalish clan," she observes with clear amusement. "If you think I am bitter, just you wait…and I would not say such things to them, either. Not if you want to keep your hide free of arrows."
"Yes, that's very reassuring," he mutters, but gives her a curious look. "You don't seem all that offended." And, oddly enough, he realizes that he did not feel nervous about expressing his opinion though he knew they would disagree. He is not sure when it happened, but at some point she has become something…less intimidating than before.
"I've come to accept that your mouth cannot help but say the thoughts that spring into your mind," she replies with another not-smile, but she chuckles under her breath and shakes her head as soon as the words are said. "That's a frightening thought."
"Which part?" Alistair asks, well aware that he is grinning like a fool though he cannot bring himself to care because he might actually get her to laugh again if he plays his cards right. "That I cannot control my tongue, or that you know me so well?"
This time the smile is wider, showing her teeth, and it is like a small victory for Alistair, though it is short lived. The hound steals his thunder with a low, rumbling growl, the Mabari's whole body tense as he peers through the thick foliage ahead of them. The Dalish is instantly back into her role as Hunter, and Alistair freezes as she makes a sharp hand gesture toward him.
She once more reminds him of something more animal than elf as she slinks forward, her movements barely a whisper of sound. She crouches beside the ready hound, motionless for a long moment, before she silently gestures Alistair to her side. He has never worked so hard at anything in his life as he does at being completely quiet right now, and he is absurdly proud of himself as he creeps to her side and mirrors her crouch.
Beyond the dense bushes before them spreads a wide glade, most of the grasses browned by cool weather. On the far side, Alistair spots a pair of deer grazing on a few patches of green. If the hunters were not downwind, the deer would have easily sensed them and fled by now, but their prey seems blissfully unaware of the danger they are in.
Alistair catches the elf's eye with a questioning look and lifts first one finger, then two fingers – Just one of them, or both of them? The Dalish ponders this for a moment before shaking her head faintly and holding up one finger. He understands. This forest is thick with wildlife, so they will not risk going without fresh game any time soon even if it takes them longer than expected to track down the Dalish clan they hope to find in the area.
He waits expectantly for several heartbeats, his attention focused on the calm movements of the deer as they graze, before he realizes that she is looking at him expectantly. Alistair can only blink stupidly and point to himself in disbelief as she makes a slightly impatient gesture at the bow in his hand. Is she crazy? He is not exactly a bad shot, but the woman can probably take down both deer, blindfolded, without either animal knowing she is there in the first place. But even the dog is looking at him now, and Alistair is unwilling to risk the wrath of both of them – not to mention that it was his idea to tag along in the first place – so he obediently notches an arrow and raises the bow.
The elf makes a tiny sound of disapproval and shifts her position. Alistair is acutely aware of her body crouching directly behind him, her arms curling around his shoulders, her hands putting pressure on his forearms to change the way he holds the bow as she leans her much smaller frame over his back.
"Relax. Breathe. Keep your eyes open." Her breath tickles his ear, sending an odd shiver across his skin, and he has to fight back the urge to wriggle away or giggle like an idiot. But the way she is pressing his arms, the authority in her tone as she instructs him in a voice that barely reaches a whisper, reminds him strangely of long days spent in training yards. Of course, those days had been a lot of yelling and barked orders and big, sweaty men in skirted armor, and definitely no scantily-armored elves draped over his body, but the discipline is easy enough to fall back on. So, instead of focusing on how warm her skin is despite the crisp evening air, he forces himself to pay attention to her words.
"The bow is not a weapon, not a tool. It is an extension of you, an extension of your will. Do not hope that the arrow will find its mark – tell the arrow to fly true. Tell it where to go. The command is yours to give." As she speaks, her hands softly guide his arms to a slightly different position than he had originally taken, and he tries to imagine the bow as a part of him, rather than an object. It is a strange concept, but he is hardly going to argue with her, and after a long moment, he thinks he just might be starting to understand what she means.
"Now choose your mark." Alistair pulls more tension on the bowstring and aims for the deer with an exposed flank, waiting for the animal to turn at a better angle. He can hear his own heartbeat, slow and steady, thumping in his own ears. "Go for her heart." A slow, even breath drawn in…released…
"Now."
The arrow sings through the air and strikes the deer's side just behind her foreleg. The animal takes a stumbling bound as her companion springs away in flight, but she is dead before she hits the ground. Alistiar almost cries out in surprise as the Mabari beside him gives a loud, triumphant bark and races toward the fallen animal.
His fellow Grey Warden trots after the hound, not speaking a word, and Alistair tries not to feel disappointed that she does not comment on his shot as he trails after them. When he reaches the dead doe, the Dalish is whispering foreign words over the body as she slits the animal's throat cleanly, allowing the blood to drain into the earth.
Alistair crouches nearby and waits, and when his companion finishes speaking, he has to ask what the words mean.
"I thanked her for giving her life for ours," she explains simply as she prepares to skin and butcher the animal before predators catch the scent of fresh blood. "And I told her to thank the Creators for placing her in our path so that we may live to see another day."
Alistair cannot help but feel humbled by her words, though he is not exactly sure why. All he knows is that no one he has ever met would take the time to give such thanks, and yet this is clearly something she does after each hunt. He wonders if it is a Dalish thing or if it is personal to her, but he does not ask her.
Lost in thought, it takes him a moment to realize she is watching him. When he catches her eye, she tells him sincerely, "That was a clean kill. You are welcome to hunt with me anytime you wish, Alistair."
Though he knows it is foolish, Alistair cannot stop the blush that blooms across his cheeks as he grins gratefully at her. "I'd like that."
The feeling of foolishness fades away when she smiles back at him.