Act 2, Chapter 1
At twelve years of age, Ynaevir was expected to start to assist in the gutting, cleaning, and skinning process of every kill that the hunters brought back. There was a distant worry that he might not do so, given his history in balking at the sight of dead animals, but much to the clan's astonishment, Ynaevir did something very strange.
He volunteered to help.
Knife in hand, Ynaevir crouched over the body of a forest lion that had been spotted and killed by one of the hunters before it could attack any of the younger children that had been playing in the stream. A blonde boy, Cammon, had blubbered and sobbed in fear regardless of the lack of danger. Over his shoulder, Varathorn pointed at the correct place to cut into the pelt and skin, and Ynaevir copied the technique as best as he knew how, bright green eyes focused on the task at hand.
The last four years had seen great change in his life, though most of the clan, aside from those closest to him, remained totally in the dark about the new oddities.
Danyla stood back a little bit, the skin around her eyes tightening at the sight. It felt wrong to see him like this. It was right and proper for every Dalish child to eventually grow to this point, and to begin assisting and preparing themselves for the tasks of adulthood, but Ynaevir had been so gentle before. A knife in his grasp and blood on his hands was wrong. She shifted uncomfortably.
Ynaevir gave off a light hiss of effort as he forced the knife through the toughest portion, and, mimicking what he had seen done on previous kills, he shoved his hands into the belly of the giant feline, scooping out whatever innards and organs were in his way to get to the ribs. Along the way, he paused, eyes drifting up and looking out to some far off place.
The forest lion had been pregnant, and he could feel one of the unborn babies in his hand.
It squirmed once in his grasp, a feeble twitch.
His lack of movement held the rest of the clan enthralled and suspended, indecisive as to what to do, or why he wasn't continuing. Some reasoned that it was the familiar lack of constitution returning to him, and that any moment, the dark-haired boy was going to turn his head and vomit into the dirt. Others had seen the look on his face before, an odd mix of knowledge and sadness. He wore it every time he looked out at the halla when he believed that no one was watching him.
"Ynaevir?" It was Gheyna that spoke, her arms held up in front of her chest to guard tender breasts that were just starting to bud out, and to prevent any elbows from accidentally finding them.
"She's pregnant." The boy stated in response, his hand still holding the cub from the other side of the uterus. Again, it moved. It was smaller than it should have been, and logic dictated that it wasn't going to survive outside of the womb, but if left inside of its fleshy prison, there was no chance at all.
The clan members shifted uncomfortably, none of them quite sure what they were supposed to do. On the one hand, it was a dangerous predator that had threatened to attack the children of the clan. On the other hand, Ynaevir had his hand on a cub. A cub that, thus far, knew nothing of bloodshed.
Not finding any of the answers his sought from their silence, Ynaevir let out a slow breath, looking down at the gutted feline once more as he shifted his weight and pushed his other hand inside of her belly, cutting the uterus open with a gentle flick of the knife, and then being very careful not to harm the cubs that were inside. He pulled out three of them. Two were already dead. The third squirmed weakly, some small pittance of life still left in it. The runt of the litter, it likely wouldn't have survived its first winter out in the wilds, even if it had been given its full time within the womb.
Cutting the cord with his teeth, Ynaevir picked up the cub with a complete lack of shyness at the blood covered infant, bringing it up to his mouth and closing his lips around its muzzle, sucking to get the fluid out of its nostrils and mouth. Once he had managed that, he spat the embryonic fluid onto the ground next to the dead cubs, and he looked at the baby that squealed and mewled pathetically, eyes still tightly shut, as they would be, for several more weeks.
"I'm sorry, Varathorn, I have to take care of the cub. Ma serannas, thank you for giving me the opportunity," Ynaevir murmured, rising to his feet and dipping his head to the craftsmen, managing to find a path free from the rest of the clan and the corpse, the furry, bloody baby still in his grasp.
Gheyna watched after her friend in confusion for several moments, not noticing as the disturbed members of the clan stooped down to finish what Ynaevir had started, gutting and skinning and looting the corpse for all that it was worth, distributing it amongst themselves based on who needed what and how much, eventually forgetting their discomfort over the entire situation. Still guarding her tiny breasts, Gheyna stepped back from the group, turning around and shuffling off towards the aravel that she had been sharing with Hahren Vita for several months now. Things had been different and strange for a very long time now, and while Hahren Vita and Danyla both assured her that it was just a difficult time for both herself and for Ghedan and Ynaevir, on the cusp of adulthood as they were, Gheyna wasn't so sure.
Ghedan, fourteen, had become even more of a headache, especially since he had managed to get a following of children a few years younger, and had even converted a couple of the older children. He was insufferable with his tales of how, barely ten, he had fought off a vicious shemlen. What angered her the most about his stories, which she had heard for years, was the part where he wistfully remarked on how, if Ynaevir had only been a little stronger, a little tougher—perhaps half as tough as Ghedan was, he might have fought off the shem, too.
None of them knowing for sure what had happened, the younger children had believed him wholeheartedly without even seeking a counter-story or explanation from Ynaevir, and this had only served to further isolate the dark-haired boy among the clan.
Though, as it turned out, he was doing a good job of that, himself.
She had seen him slinking off to the very edges of the camp, sitting down against the base of a tree and clapping his hands over his ears, or plugging their holes with his fingertips, his lips moving in some silent prayer. No one was bothering him or speaking to him, and she understood less and less the way he withdrew from everyone. Unfortunately for Ynaevir, Gheyna wasn't the only one to have noticed his increasingly strange habits. Zathrian had noticed, and he did not look favorably on the matter.
Danyla had noticed, too.
At night, the huntress lay awake with Athras's arms wrapped around her, his gentle snoring just behind her ears, and on the opposite side of the aravel, Ynaevir muttered fitfully to himself, speaking to strange things that were not there. At one point, it got so bad that she carefully extracted herself from Athras, crouching next to Ynaevir as he muttered and wept with his face against the floor.
"Ma Da'len," she had said, reaching out and grasping his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake, "Ynaevir, wake up, it is only a dream," she had tried to keep her tone soothing, but the straining nature of the situation had taken its toll. Waking up in a flurry, but not truly joining the waking world in his mind, the barely pubescent boy had lashed out at her, dragging her to the ground and clapping one hand over her throat and the other on top of her mouth, pinning her down and staring at her with eyes that looked straight through her.
All the while, the baby halla tooth tied around his neck had dangled in her face, some mocking gesture the gods sent to her.
Perhaps a part of her boy, the largest part, had been buried along with the halla, all those years ago.
Luckily, Athras had been able to hear her struggling, and he had come to his mate's aid, dragging Ynaevir off of him and slamming him against the wall of the aravel hard enough to bring him back to the world of the living. The eyes that stared back at the two hunters were wide and full of such a startled fear that they couldn't bear to do anything about what had happened, or voice any concern for the child that they had taken in to the Keeper.
Now, watching him walk away with the baby forest lion, Danyla felt the slightest twinges of hope that some small part of the sweet boy she had helped raise was still present, hiding inside of a thick shell. She smiled, ever so faintly.
Paying no heed to what went on behind him, Ynaevir continued walking off down the slope towards the halla pens. One of the females was lactating, and while halla milk may have been different than lion milk, it seemed more reasonable to Ynaevir to ask the halla tender to see about getting him a bowl of it to feed to the cub instead of searching out the newest young mother and pestering her for the milk that belonged to the Elvhenn babies.
Knowing better than to step close to the round pen, as the halla had taken to avoiding him over the years, Ynaevir stood at the edge of the lowered place where the master of the halla resided along with them, letting them graze freely in the semi-protected clearing.
"Vineda, are you there?" Ynaevir called out, trying to peer around the side of the aravel without startling the halla in their open pen, who were already starting to move towards the other side, regarding him with wary stares all the while.
"Ynaevir?" It came more as a curious statement than a question. Hearing her shuffling behind the aravel, the old woman hobbled out to greet him, using her staff to lean against, as the recent years required of her. Her eyes drifted down to the squirming cub in his hands, and the hint of a smile touched at her lips before she looked back up to him.
"The lioness they killed was pregnant." Ynaevir stated, his voice flat and his tone indecipherable.
Vineda nodded slowly, her lower lip giving the characteristic tremble that the eldest of beings often started to show. Turning her head just as slowly, she looked out at the female halla with udders that were still full, even though she had since started refusing to let her adolescent calf nurse from her. Understanding immediately what it was that Ynaevir needed from her, she nodded her head as she turned back to look at him, and then once again down at the squirming bundle in his hands.
"She's got some milk in her yet, and if I tempt her and let her know what it's for, she might let me keep her going a little while longer. I'll see what I can do for you, Da'len…" Vineda started, beginning to turn, but then glancing over her shoulder, "Da'len, I've not seen you in with the halla anymore as of late… is everything alright?"
The corner of Ynaevir's mouth gave a small twitch, and his eyes grew somewhat distant for several seconds, during which he began to idly pet the cub in his hands. With a relieved sigh at the soothing feeling the small life brought him, Ynaevir nodded his head, looking away from Vineda.
"Everything is fine," he lied, staring off towards Varathorn's aravel, and the crafts that he had set out, "I need to go now, Hahren. I need to find out how to get her to take the milk," Ynaevir excused himself, walking away from Vineda before the old woman could ask any more questions, or stare into him with eyes that were so ancient, he rationalized, that they must know something.
It had never been a hard decision to keep the voices that he heard to himself, and to never tell even Danyla or Gheyna about the thoughts that plagued him constantly, seeds of doubt that had grown into impossibly tall oaks, their roots sinking deep into his spirit. It was much easier to try and deal with the constant turmoil himself. Zathrian had asked him about his Black Moods twice before, mentioning the way Ynaevir separated himself from the others and stared off into nothing with malice and hatred, trying to plug his ears. He had asked him if he thought of hurting any of the clan.
In truth, Ynaevir never gave it much thought.
Those of the clan were the only beings that he knew, and most of them were at the very least a neutral presence in his life. Danyla, Athras, and Gheyna were the closest to him, and he had less trouble with the negative thoughts towards them. He did not want to think about hurting anyone, but once the voices began telling him of things that he should do, it was hard to get them to stop, and just as the mind can't help but see rain when someone mentions a drizzle for the crops, he couldn't help but picture what the ever present voices were muttering to him about.
Satisfied that, for the moment, he was no threat to the rest of them, Zathrian had left him alone after that, withdrawing as much as Ynaevir withdrew, in part because the boy reminded him far too much of his daughter after the tragedy that had struck her life. The only difference was that the boy didn't know well enough to end his own life.
Cradling the cub, Ynaevir was eventually stopped by the newest Dalish mother with a milk-soaked piece of cloth.
"The babe had his fill, this is what I can give until Vineda can help you," she explained, handing him the cloth and petting his head with a tenderness that she afforded to all children, now that her own maternal instincts were in full force.
Holding the cloth in his hand, Ynaevir frowned as he looked down at the cub, but eventually figured that if his pinky finger resembled the shape of a teat, the cub would know what to do on its own. Sitting down at the top of the slope that led down to the halla pens, Ynaevir tried to nurse the cub for the first time. The gentle sucking at his fingertip made him smile, and for the first time in years, the constant muttering in his head quieted to nothing more than a whisper; one that was so easy for him to drown out almost entirely.
"You're a little girl," Ynaevir remarked, pulling her tail out of the way to get a look at her privates. Danyla had told him the difference in a lesson on animals not long ago—females would have a smooth slope from their bum to their tummies, whereas males would have an extra bump between the two that would eventually grow into something quite noticeable.
"Da'gar, hm?" he continued to murmur, finding a very pleasant feeling in hearing only his own voice and the gentle sucking of the cub, "Little Spirit," the boy added, chewing on the inside of his lip. When the milk had been sucked clean from the cloth in one spot, he shifted his finger to the next, continuing to feed the cub that way until Hahren Vineda delivered to him a bowl of milk, advising him to keep it in the shade so that it wouldn't spoil quite as fast.
"Ma serannas," Ynaevir thanked her, his eyes flicking up to the space above her shoulder. Staring much longer than was usual for him, a gentle smile began to form at the corners of his mouth.
In that moment, holding his new little cub, Ynaevir felt nothing but peace.
It would not last.