Elves
There were more elves in the camp than she had thought there would be. Elaine had always imagined the Dalish clans as small bands of maybe twenty or thirty. There were nearly fifty just in this clearing alone, not counting the sick ones or the ones out scouting. She clutched her pack a little tighter.
She had never visited the alienage in Highever – why would she? It was a slum. She'd had no reason to go there, and she had no desire to be mugged. She's heard all sorts of stories about humans wandering into the alienage and barely escaping with the clothes on their backs. Although, to be fair, she knew all elves weren't thieves. There had been plenty of elven servants in the castle, and they had been perfectly nice. Of course, they had always been in the background, and she'd never really paid them much mind. She hadn't really thought of them as people so much as, well, servants. And here she was positively surrounded. She had never seen so many in one place before, and she was at a complete disadvantage.
Elaine fidgeted with self-consciousness. They were obviously unwelcome here. She had thought perhaps Zevran's presence might ease the tension, but if anything, it seemed to make the situation worse. The Dalish didn't seem to regard him as one of them, and he made no effort to be friendly either. So much for elven solidarity, she thought.
And now they were supposed to hunt werewolves. Lovely. She had a feeling the Keeper wasn't being completely honest with them about the werewolf problem. She knew a liar when she saw one, even if he was an elf. Rather than putting on her charming act, however, as she would have done with nearly anyone else – well, anyone human, anyway – she had agreed to find Witherfang. She figured since the Dalish respected a good hunter, then the best way to earn their respect was to hunt.
She noticed Alistair standing near the craftsman's stall, trying to tie a long bundle to the top of his pack. She walked over to him. "Need help?"
He looked up and smiled briefly before turning his attention back to the bundle. He lifted it off of his pack and held it out to her. "I was going to do this later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any, and it'll save me a bit of trouble. This is actually for you – a peace offering of sorts."
Elaine's eyebrows shot up. "For me? What is it?"
"The craftsman made them. He said they were lighter and faster than the ones you have now."
Elaine opened the bundle to find a small quiver of elven arrows. She pulled one out and held it on the tip of her finger. It was light and delicate, but strong and perfectly balanced. She looked up at Alistair.
"I want you to know that I'm sorry for second-guessing you," he said. "You've become our leader, you know, and – "
"I'm not your leader," Elaine interrupted.
"No? You're the one making the big decisions, and we're going along with it. I, for one, am happy to follow."
A dubious expression came over Elaine's face. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, I am. I may be the king's son, but I haven't been raised to lead. In Arl Eamon's household, in the monastery – I did what I was told. Back in Redcliffe, I knew we had to kill the boy, but I couldn't do it. When it came down to it, you did what none of the rest of us could, and I'm sorry I held it against you. From now on, I'm with you. We'll never stop the Blight if we keep arguing amongst ourselves, so I want to tell you that I won't be doing that anymore. If you want to hunt werewolves to get the elves' support, then let's go hunt some werewolves."
Elaine just stared at him. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as the silence stretched on.
"Thank you," she said at last. "For these. And for that speech." She replaced the arrow and slung the quiver onto her back. Her lips twitched. "You realize that you've given me weapons as a peace offering?"
Alistair laughed self-consciously. "Well, yes, I suppose there is some irony there. I'm trusting you not to shoot me with them."
She laughed. "I'll do my best. No promises, though."
"If you have to shoot one of us, I'd aim for Morrigan."