Thirty-seven

Interlude: Grand Theft Aravel

When Lihari and Sera were both quiet after sunset and the others had all left for the meeting (while struggling to stay coherent and coordinated), Tal rose from his bedroll. Snatching his cloak from the cave floor beside him, he donned it quickly in the near-total darkness. His clever fingers found the loopholes of the buttons and made short work of them. Feeling at his waist, Tal found the dagger in a little leather sheath and the lock picks and knockout bombs he'd brought specifically for this task. Then, on the silent feet only years of teaching by rogues can achieve—one thing he could thank his Keeper for inadvertently giving him—Tal left the cave.

Striding through the trees and then into the clearing, Tal grinned at the elves scattered about the clearing. Bonfires had been lit as hunters and warriors who weren't at the meeting mingled. They would trade goods and stories and celebrate. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, as was the delicious smell of roasting meat as hearth keepers like Enasa prepared food for all assembled. Tal's stomach was empty, but it twisted with anxiety and tension rather than hunger. He would eat after this was over, one way or another.

Men and women and a few tweens and teens were dancing around a nearby fire and Tal's heart seized as he recognized Lanatriel—clan Manaria's war leader. She was an older woman with long gray hair. It reflected the firelight; brilliantly yellow and orange just like her face currently was. She was grinning and laughing as she danced about the fire. Tal recognized another middle-aged man, also from clan Manaria, in the dance beside her.

Pulling his hood up, Tal picked up his speed, hoping to just get through the celebratory throng quickly before anyone noticed the dour looking cloaked stranger—or the unusual fact that what little they could see of his armor revealed he was a mage. Mages would be at the meeting. Only very young Firsts and Seconds would be absent from it. That and outsiders like Felassan, anyway.

I guess I'm one of those outsiders now too, Tal thought and sighed to himself.

He reached the end of the clearing and then tramped off through the woods, as silent as he could be in the leaf litter and underbrush. The trees opened up gradually as another clearing appeared, much smaller than the previous one. More campfires burned through the space, letting out an orange and yellow flickering that lit the trees, ferns, and saplings all around. This was Tillahnenn clan's clearing with their aravels. As if to confirm it, Tal's eyes spotted the banner they'd hung from the trees and embroidered onto their aravel sails: the blooming embrium head against a yellow background.

Tal crept closer, cautious of tripwires or any other traps the clan might have set if they were particularly paranoid. This clan did come from the plains of Crestwood, after all. The thick forests south of Halamshiral might very well unnerve them after lifetimes being able to spot danger approaching from some distance away. At the edge of the clearing he crouched and watched the camp for a time.

He spotted the toddler he'd seen earlier in the day now sitting in what must be his mother's lap. The young family sat around one of the three campfires, singing a soft song that might have been a lullaby. The babe looked content, laying across his mother's lap and unmoving. At another fire Tal saw five warriors and hunters passing a flask of something that was almost certainly alcoholic. They were fairly quiet in their chatter but everyone wore broad smiles. At the last fire a man who must have been the hearth keeper was tending a meal of what smelled like it was flatbread that he would probably add honey or nuts or some other treat to the mix to make it into a dessert.

Tal had taken a risk by stopping here in the daytime, but he'd needed to case the scene and it just so happened this clan was well known for its mushrooms—edible and otherwise. There were poisons and treats, big and small, but Tal hadn't been after food. He'd used coin to pay this clan for a sizeable dose of hallucinogenic and sedating mushrooms. Enough to be effective against about ten adults. He still had a few of those mushrooms in a pouch at his waist, but most of them had been added to the stew Enasa had prepared for him…and now they were working their strange magic on everyone who'd eaten it.

It was a shame he hadn't been able to keep the little girl, Lihari, from indulging. The effects would be strongest on her and hopefully it wouldn't cause any harm. But everyone else…Tal just needed them to be foggy and sleepy enough that none would remember if they saw him crossing camp or leaving when he should have been asleep. He had to cover his tracks in case this heist exploded in his face.

Drawing in a breath, Tal decided there was no sense delaying the inevitable. Summoning the invisibility spell, Tal crept from the woods and into the clearing. Each step on the grass created a tiny rustle and he evaded leaves and brush as he circumnavigated the fires and headed for the aravel closest to the family. The journey was slow and excruciating as he watched the clan for any sign they could sense him. A magically inclined person might pick up the stray mana of his spell and raise the alarm. That was why he'd chosen now to do this. He was least likely to be detected currently as mages should be in the meeting, after all.

Controlling his breathing and concentrating on maintaining the spell as accurately as he could to avoid letting a shimmer or some other visual sign show for the elves to cue in on, Tal reached the first aravel. It was open, which was a small relief until, at the top step, he froze with slow, cold horror. Inside he saw Lytha, the Second he had met and traded through earlier that day. She was old enough he'd hoped she would be at the meeting with her Keeper and the First. Instead they must have decided to leave her behind. She lay sprawled out just inside the aravel, reading by the light of a tiny little candle.

Shit, Tal thought. Shit, shit, shit!

The family outside must be hers. They'd accompanied the Keeper and First and the hunters to watch over their daughter.

Heart pounding and body clammy with cold sweat, Tal slowly reached for his waist and pulled out a small knockout bomb. He'd prepared several of them during their journey toward this place, though he hoped he would not have to use any of them. This would mean the clan would realize they had been robbed right away. Lytha would waken and recall falling asleep under strange circumstances. Hallucinogenic mushrooms added to the bombs might make her memory foggy enough to cast doubt on her memory, but it was unlikely.

Still, there was little choice. Tal needed to be fast. He needed to be precise.

Pulling out his dagger as silently as he could, Tal pricked the bottom of the knockout bomb—but Lytha had heard him. The girl lifted her head from what she'd been reading and stared out at the aravel with a frown on her face. Tal froze, heart racing and stomach twisting in knots as he waited for her to turn back to her reading so he could strike. Crickets sang their shrill song outside and the campfires crackled. The mother's lullaby resumed, her voice sweet and lilting. Had Tal not been so tense he might have found himself feeling drowsy and comforted with the memory of his own mother's songs.

Finally Lytha looked down at the scroll, lifting one finger and dragging it over the lettering as though to find her place again. Her brows furrowed with concentration.

Tal sheathed his blade almost silently and then used his free hand to lift the scarf he'd used while they traveled through the Western Approach. It'd protected him from sand out there. Now it would have to shield him from exposure to the knockout powder. Clasping the knockout bomb with its tiny hole in it within his right hand, Tal sprang catlike across the aravel.

Lytha lifted her head again, features twisting with alarm. Tal felt the spell fail as his concentration lapsed and knew she saw him as her eyes locked with his the instant before he had grabbed her by the back of her head and, with the other hand, pressed the knockout bomb hard to her nose and mouth. She let out a strangled cry and then a gagging noise. Her hands clawed and scraped at him and the touch of them froze his forearms, cloak, and some of his armor. The chill sank deep but Tal effortlessly dispelled her magic with a little flicker of his own, small enough that it wouldn't alert anyone outside.

Lytha's wide, terrified eyes drifted shut then and her body went slack. Tal stayed where he was for another minute, heart rushing and his breathing fast. He could smell the stringent stink of the knockout bomb through his scarf and felt woozy. As dizziness made him sway Tal jerked away, leaving the bomb behind beside Lytha's face. There was no sense in hiding it. She would remember when she woke. Best to let her breathe more of it in to ensure she remained unconscious as long as possible.

Resuming the invisibility spell with a little shudder, Tal set to work. He quietly opened compartments, laying his hands on bags and wooden boxes. The demon had told him he would feel the Crown if he drew close enough to it. But how close was close enough? A meter? Two? Or did he have to touch the chest it was stored in before he'd feel it?

Whatever it was, ten minutes searching this aravel yielded nothing. Cursing in a whisper of frustration, Tal slunk out of the aravel and slipped around it, through the darkness behind the landships. At the second aravel, the one in the middle beside the hunters' campfire, Tal laid a hand over the wood to see if he could feel that connection the demon had said he would. His hand felt only chilled wood, slick from a layer of paint meant to make the aravel resistant to water.

Think, he ordered himself. The middle aravel was probably where the warriors and hunters slept and stored their things. The first aravel with Lytha within it had belonged to her family. That left the last aravel where the hearth keeper was preparing the meal.

It's the last aravel, he thought with confidence.

Creeping forward again, Tal snuck around the far end of the half-circle of aravels to walk behind the hearth keeper and his fire. Here Tal saw the aravel door was shut. If the hearth keeper was using herbs and seasonings from inside the aravel he had apparently already finished with them. In fact, a quick look revealed the hearth keeper did have a small collection of leather pouches and pottery bowls and lidded pots that undoubtedly had to hold ingredients for the food he was cooking.

Trying to be patient, Tal waited beside the aravel in the shadows, watching as the hearth keeper continued cooking. Long minutes passed and the camp continued its usual activities. The warriors were singing and mending their armor. Someone came in from deeper in the forest with five halla in tow, attached by harnesses one right after another. The animals snorted and quickly set to grazing when the woman who'd led them into the little clearing released them. She came to the hunters' fire and chatted with them in a bright, cheery voice.

Maintaining the invisibility spell for so long was taking its toll. Tal was shaking, breathing hard as his mana began to dwindle. Hunkering low into the underbelly of the aravel, he let the spell slip. Hidden from view in the shadows, he watched the fires and clawed out his impatience on the grass beneath him. Until everyone was asleep or unless the hearth keeper finished cooking and opened this aravel door, Tal would be stuck waiting.

C'mon, he thought, gnashing his teeth. C'mon already!

And then, suddenly, a cry came from across camp. The hunters sprang upright, some wobbling from drunkenness. The hearth keeper shot to his feet as well, mouth gawping. The cry came again, but this time it was no longer incoherent. It was Lytha, calling for help.

"We're under attack!" one of the hunters yelled. "Grab your weapons!"

"Shit," Tal snarled to himself—but then he saw that this was actually just what he needed. Most of the hunters were scattering, charging for the woods to search for the intruder. The hearth keeper had left his post. The cauldron steamed and bubbled without him as he ran to investigate firsthand with Lytha's family what had happened.

It left virtually no eyes on this last aravel. Would anyone notice if the door fell open?

Sucking in a breath, Tal took on invisibility again and crawled out from under the aravel. Slinking around the front of the landship now, between it and the hearth keeper's fire, Tal stretched up to his full height and grasped the leather strap on the door hatch. With a stifled grunt and a tug it gave, falling open just when he'd begun to fear it was actually locked.

With a loud creak the aravel hatch fell open, revealing the stairs on the other side. Tal glanced over his shoulder to see no one had come running at this unusual happening. Hunters and warriors were scattered about the clearing, searching. A few of them, along with the hearth keeper, were at Lytha's aravel with her family, listening to her tale.

Now or never.

Tal sprang up into the aravel, still concentrating on the invisibility spell. This aravel was crowded with chests, satchels, crates, and bags stacked on wooden shelves constructed into the walls. Tal wanted to whistle, impressed with this clan's storage, but of course he couldn't without risking giving himself away. He had to be fast.

At least this aravel seemed to be the right place.

Tal started handling the sacks, gripping the crates and chests, hoping the demon had not lied. You will have a connection to it, it had said. You will feel it recognizing you. He knew that sensation. It was the same one he'd experienced in the Forbidden Oasis, at the Temple. But where—?

Then Tal's hand thumped onto a small chest low to the ground and beneath a halla skin. A shiver traveled up his arm and then down his spine. The invisibility spell flickered and failed. Tal gawked a moment, too stunned to reenact the spell as he tore off the halla pelt and pulled out the chest. It was locked with a small, rusty padlock. This clan had had the Crown for several generations, the demon had said. This chest had been locked for a very long time for the padlock to have grown so rusty.

And then he heard a rough male voice from behind him shout, "Dhavon? Is that you?"

Shit, he thought for the umpteenth time tonight.

Grabbing the chest and pulling it tight under one arm, Tal took on invisibility again and simultaneously snatched another knockout bomb from his belt. He heard a gasp from behind him as he whipped around and saw the hearth keeper staring from just outside the aravel with wide, stunned eyes.

Excitement and wild fear thrumming through him at the same time, Tal couldn't help but laugh at the fearful look on the old man's face. His expression made him look like he'd just witnessed some dark, malevolent force…

Oh. Yes. Perfect!

Tal let out a wolf-like howl as he leapt for the stairs leading out of the aravel. He barreled into the old man, pushing him backward with a grunt. He tossed down the knockout bomb as he jumped clear of the hearth keeper's prone frame. He caught sight of Lytha and her family gathered about the first fire as he ran. Their eyes were on the cloud of knockout powder, wide and terrified. Tal let out another howl, like a wolf rejoicing in a successful kill.

"The Dread Wolf has come! The Dread Wolf is here!" someone shouted. Screams answered and others began pleading with the Creators for mercy and protection.

But the warriors had begun running for the aravel, arrows nocked and swords drawn. Tal hugged the edge of the clearing, still invisible, and ran. The chest remained clutched under his arm as tight as he could get it. The worn edges of it dug into his fingers, giving him splinters, but Tal didn't care.

Tonight he had been the Dread Wolf and he had gotten away with some sweet, sweet mischief.

Felassan would have been so proud.

When he was far enough away from Tillahnenn's clearing that he felt certain they wouldn't find him, Tal broke open the chest. He used lock picks at first but discovered the padlock was so rusted that the effort was pointless—especially in the dark. So he did the next thing that came to mind: brute force.

Finding a heavy rock that fit well in his hand, Tal smashed the padlock four times to break it. Then, straining to get the rusty hinges to move for what might have been the first time in an age, Tal at last beheld the artifact that he had worked so hard to obtain and with such nefarious methods.

The Crown of Falon-Din was made of metal, thick and bronzed in color when he lifted it to the light of the milky moon through the dark trees. When he held it just right, however, it glimmered in a rainbow where his fingers touched it. It was hard to see and he could only just make it out when he squinted and turned his head right. Interesting.

It was disappointing in that it did not appear to be much of a crown—more like a circlet, actually. Tal had been given a vision of the Crown from the demon in one of his dreams and this did not match it. The one the demon had showed him had offshoots of curving whorls and circles that would have gripped the forehead and temples. The front of it had looked uncannily like Falon'Din's vallaslin.

But he knew it was the Crown. The bronzed circlet spoke to his blood the same way the door in the Forbidden Oasis had. It was undeniable and it made him shiver. It seemed to whisper of a seductive power and the hidden potential waiting inside himself. It was as if it longed to be used again and it knew it had found someone who would do something with it rather than locking it away in a chest.

Tal tucked the Crown into his cloak and then made his way back to the larger clearing where most of the clans gathered to celebrate, mingle, and trade. He found it just as busy as before, but now some warriors and hunters had peeled away from the celebration and were talking together in stern, hushed voices. Tal tugged down his hood to make sure no one would identify him as the Dread Wolf in guise, wandering amongst them. With his hood down they would see his vallaslin clearly, letting him look the part of just another reveler, just one who preferred capes. They might even still mistake him for Felassan from a distance. Rosa had told him he resembled their father enough now that that was possible, though Tal himself didn't see it much.

He reached the opposite end of the clearing where clan Boranehn and Naseral were sleeping. He wondered idly if Rosa and Solas had found their way to clan Lavellan or went off into the woods to fuck like bunnies. Either option seemed likely. Normally Tal would have guessed Rosa would do what was right and proper, but Solas seemed to make her reckless the same way Rogathe had when there were suicidal odds—like taking on a dragon one on one.

Inside the cave Tal quietly went to his travel pack and tucked the Crown deep inside. Then he ditched the cloak altogether and, as an added layer of security to be further inconspicuous, he changed into nothing more than a shift and breeches. That way if Lytha thought she recognized him Tal would be lacking the Crown, the cloak, the armor, and the knockout bombs.

But, as he was about to leave, something made Tal pause. What if he ran into trouble? What if Lytha implicated him outside before he could establish an alibi? What if he had no weapons, no bombs, no means at all to fight back other than his own magic? Considerable as his magic was it wouldn't be exactly ideal. Sighing as he gave in to caution, Tal grabbed up just one bomb and tucked it into his belt.

He set off again to return to the reveling, this time thinking of his empty stomach, drinking wine, and finding his mother or…clan Manaria. Nola would be with the Keepers, of course, but…maybe…maybe he could join the gathering? He was a mage. Felassan had gone, even though he never was a Keeper or First. Surely Tal could—

A crackling sound echoed through the trees before Tal had reached the start of the clearing. He whipped around and almost laughed at what he saw. Solas was a few paces away, shirtless, and with purple-white lightning arcing in the fingers of his right hand. He looked dazed and unsteady on his feet—still drugged by the mushrooms. But…there was something dark and brooding and dangerous about him that wiped away any trace of a smile from Tal's face. "Solas…?"

"You bear her marks," Solas said in a snarl, speaking elven. "But you are Falon'Din's creature."

Tal stiffened and fought the instinct to throw a barrier over himself or summon fire for defense. He forced a smile onto his lips. "Remember me, Solas? I'm Tal. Talassan. I'm Felassan's son? I have Mythal's vallaslin because he did. I took them to piss off my Keeper."

"Your Keeper?" Solas asked, then shook his head only to sway slightly. The crackling lightning in his left palm never faltered. Tal couldn't help but be impressed. Drunkenness and drugs should have marred Solas' concentration, especially because he seemed to have consumed a more hallucinogenic dose rather than a sedative.

"Yeah," Tal said, nodding enthusiastically. "My Keeper. You know the asshole we met earlier today?"

"You are no slave," Solas said then, again reverting to elven.

"Damn right I'm not," Tal said and managed to laugh. "You know us Dalish. Never shall we break. Never shall we yield. All that." He waved a hand dismissively.

"Dalish?" Solas repeated, scowling as though with confusion.

Tal let out a breath. "Oh boy. You're trapped in the past, aren't you?" He clucked his tongue. "Sorry."

"Dalish?" Solas repeated, sounding irritable. Apparently he actually wanted an explanation.

"Don't worry about it. It's a sad, long story. I'll tell you tomorrow morning." He leaned to one side, trying to see into the darker depths of the woods. "Where's Rosa?"

Solas cocked his head, brow furrowed. "I…" His shoulders heaved as he breathed a touch faster. "Rosa."

"Yeah. My sister. The reason, I'm guessing, you're standing there without a shirt?" A frisson of fear raced up and down Tal's spine as the cold, horrible possibility that in his mushroom-induced confusion Solas could have turned violent and hurt or killed Rosa sprang into Tal's mind. "Do you think you could take me to her?" he asked as kindly as he could.

Solas' lips curled back in a hard, angry snarl. "You are Falon'Din's creature," he repeated, using elven again. "You think to kill me for your master? You are a greater fool than even your false god."

Tal chuckled nervously as Solas began to advance on him. "I think we've misunderstood each other. Let's start over. I am Tal. Talassan, son of Felassan. You remember Felassan, right?" He backed up as Solas drew closer.

Solas hesitated, stopping to frown with confusion. "Slow Arrow?" he repeated. "You wish to trade inane stories now? Do not waste my time, Lethanavir."

"Okay, so you don't remember that name my father used," Tal said, laughing tightly. "So, what about Ivun?"

This drew no reaction from Solas at all, other than a dangerous glare. The lightning continued to crackle. Tal licked his lips, cursing himself for being such a fool. Had he really thought this through? Drugging someone like Solas? Of course it would royally fuck him up. The Elvhen man was Creators knew how old, but most of his life had been spent in Elvhenan. Of course he would revert to that. And apparently Ivun was a newer name for their father too. What had Felassan been called back then?

"Uh," Tal scrambled. "My father is Eolas…? Does that mean anything to you?"

Now Solas blinked, looking less hostile and more confused. "You are Dirthamen's progeny?" he asked and then seemed to decide on the answer for himself as he sneered. "No. You are Falon'Din's."

"How about we stop worrying about that and talk about where you left my sister," Tal pressed, hoping to change the subject. "Or, if you don't remember her, how about your shirt? Don't you want that shirt back? You probably made it yourself. It's a nice shirt. Why don't we look for it?"

Solas glanced down at himself and seemed to start as he realized he was indeed lacking his shirt. The crackling died away as Solas slapped both hands to his chest and then his neck, feeling about as though he might find his shirt if he searched his own chest thoroughly enough. "What…?" he asked, but Tal was sure he wasn't actually talking to him, more just questioning all of life right now.

"Yeah," Tal said, pointing back out into the woods. "Do you remember waking up next to a woman? Brown hair? Kind of curly? Violet eyes? Olive skin? Dirthamen's vallaslin?"

Now Solas looked up at him and frowned, all hostility and rage. "You shall not have her."

"Oh, c'mon," Tal said with a groan as Solas once more summoned lightning. He switched to elven, hoping that might get through to Solas. "I don't want her. I'm not your enemy. I'm her brother." He fidgeted anxiously where he stood before going on in common. "Seriously. Just tell me you didn't hurt her and I promise you I will walk away and you can go back to banging like bunnies."

But Solas had apparently lost his patience. He lobbed lightning at Tal. With a yelp Tal erected a shield at just the last moment. Solas' attack was so strong he felt the barrier break, barely managing to absorb all of it. Damn. Only Rosa and Felassan had ever been that powerful previously. He'd already known from Rosa that Solas was at least as powerful as their father. Maybe to be a general you needed to be stronger still in Elvhenan?

"Enough, already," Tal snapped and grabbed the knockout bomb from his belt, grateful now that he had decided to take it after all. As his barrier fell he lobbed it at the ground beneath Solas' feet. The Elvhen man tried to step clear of the spreading cloud of dust, already coughing, but his feet were clumsy and he quickly stumbled and fell straight into the cloud. Soon he was wheezing and then silent as the dust knocked him out cold.

In the silence that followed, Tal laughed and wiped at the sweat on his brow. "Elgar'nan's big fiery balls, Solas. What is your problem with Falon'Din, anyway?" Well, Solas had told them he'd fought the Creator in a civil war while serving under Mythal, so it made sense he'd hold a grudge. It also made one nastier side effect of the mushrooms abundantly clear: paranoia.

Best try to check on Rosa, although that'd probably mean an eyeful of his sister naked and passed out somewhere. Yuck.

"The things I do for the love of you, asamalin," he muttered as he stepped around Solas' prone form.

It was only about fifteen minutes later that Tal did indeed find Rosa exactly as he'd feared—though not murdered as he'd dreaded. She lay naked in the plush grass beside a small trickling waterfall that reminded Tal he really had to piss. Seeing Rosa made Tal sigh and then, grumblingly, he took off his own shirt and moved to kneel beside her to pull it over her. He gathered up a few parts of her armor and then, with a grunt of effort, scooped her into his arms to take her back to the cave where she would be safe.

In the cave Tal laid her in his own bedroll and covered her with his furs after recovering his own shirt. While tugging it off her, Tal's palm brushed over the rough line of a scar he didn't remember her having before. He and Rosa had bathed around one another often enough while traveling that Tal knew her body well—or he had as of a year or so ago. He knew one of her shoulders had a nasty scar from when she had fought to save her clan from slavers. And on one thigh there was a scar she earned while fighting Templars in the Hasmal Circle. This new one was small, consisting of one long line. A slash by a sword, maybe?*

He made a note to ask her about that new one and then dismissed it just as quickly. Better for her not to realize how sober he was this night. She was too clever and inevitably would figure it out if he did.

After Tal took another knockout bomb in case he encountered a very angry and confused Solas again, he noticed Sera's bedroll was empty. A pang of worry lanced through him and he spun in a circle, trying to find some sign or hint as to where she might be and if she'd be safe. Seeing nothing, Tal quickly left the cave to search outside it and found a trail of rounded tracks in the dirt that had clearly been left by Sera's slipper-like shoes. The tracks headed off into the bushes nearby.

As he approached he heard Sera's voice drunkenly call out. "Stop. Right there. Right now."

Tal obeyed and realized through the still night air that he could faintly smell urine. He grimaced with disgust even as he snickered. "Call of nature, Sera?" he asked.

The bushes rustled and the archer lurched out, bleary and eyes glassy. She shot him a half-hearted glare. "Sneaking round tryina peep." She stabbed a finger at him. "Thought I was Dorian, yeah?"

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Tal shook his head. "Why does everyone think Dorian and I are together?"

"Cuz you are," Sera insisted, then grinned. She laughed and then snorted loudly through her nose. Walking unsteadily past him, Sera squinted through the trees and toward the clearing where the orange light of bonfires glowed. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's…an elfy-elf party."

Sera made a noise of disgust and then stopped, her expression easing with something akin to thoughtfulness. "They got more of that cider?"

Tal shrugged. "Probably." He stepped beside her, deciding that hanging out with Sera would be a decent alibi. She'd been drunk and asleep during his heist and that combination meant she'd probably swear he had been with her all night without even considering—let alone caring—if that was true. He extended his forearm out to her. "Want to go with me? That way you'll have one elfy-elf you know."

Sera glanced at his proffered arm and snorted, as if about to refuse. Then, again, she seemed to reconsider. Her pinked cheeks split wide with another grin. "More cider, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Tal promised.

"Fuck yeah," Sera agreed then, grabbing his arm and holding tight—mostly because her balance was severely impaired. But Tal didn't mind…except he still needed to find a place to piss.

Much to Tal's surprise, Sera seemed to be getting along at the "elfy-elf" party. They'd started by drinking a bit on the sidelines but then Sera drunkenly decided to take an interest in something other than the alcohol. She pointed—obviously and rudely using her whole arm and index finger to indicate the person she meant—to one woman dancing with a half dozen others about a nearby bonfire. "See her?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tal said, shrugging. The other woman was a rogue by the look of her. Daggers glinted in beautifully crafted sheathes on her back. Tal sloshed the cider about in his cup, enjoying the smooth movement of the amber liquid. "What about her?"

"That one followed us in on her deer-thingy." Sera explained. Her voice was too loud and carried. Tal noticed a some elves a few meters away were throwing them suspicious and annoyed stares—mitigated only slightly by the fact that they too were sloshed.

"Uh-huh," Tal said, not even bothering to feign interest. He had consumed enough cider to start a little pleasurable warmth curling in his belly and just barely easing the lingering tension from his earlier heist and the strange encounter with mushroom-high Solas. But he wasn't fool enough to let his guard down by drinking too much. It was a delicate balance. A little alcohol would make him believable if he had to act deeply inebriated to escape suspicion, but too much would make him loose-lipped and liable to making idiotic mistakes.

"Nice arse—for an elf. Not all chicken bones and shite." Sera shuddered and then laughed. Tal eyed the woman and saw that she was maybe a little more thickly built than some Dalish and her ass was plump with muscle.

"Kinda wanna…" Sera narrowed her eyes, licking her lips in a deliberately slow, sensual way and then a moment later wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Nah. Maybe just feed her arrows."

"Are you saying you want to fuck her?" Tal asked, arching an eyebrow.

Sera glared at him but lost all heat when she swayed on her feet and Tal had to reach out and steady her. This drew a chorus of giggling from her. "No," she finally said after she'd finished her fit. "Not one bit. Arrows. Just arrows." Turning away, she started to walk back to the nearest crate where glass bottles of cider waited in a steadily dwindling assortment. Tal moved with her, certain that she would fall over if left unattended for too long.

As Sera poured herself another cup of cider, Tal heard someone calling his name. Turning at the neck, he tried to locate the source and forgot to breathe as he recognized the silhouette approaching. Nola. She was backlit by the nearest bonfire and flanked by others he also recognized—Lanatriel's long silver hair, her husband's strong build and distinctive double headed axe, and one of the hunters who'd managed to escape death and slavery during the raids the clan had suffered. But it was Nola of course who captured his attention, leaving him speechless and frozen.

"Tal?" she asked, her voice quieter now. Her face was poorly lit with the orange light thrown off from the bonfires, but Tal could still see that her brow was furrowed. Was she angry? Wounded? Or merely confused?

Words had flown away from Tal like birds spooked from their roosts. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again as his throat closed up. He swallowed, heart pounding. This was not the Fade. This was real. She was here. Of course she was here. He'd known intellectually that she would be here and he'd even wanted to find her but now that she was here…

Sera turned now, swaying drunkenly. A bit of her cider sloshed out of her wooden cup. She surveyed Nola and the Keeper in turn took her in—but only for a moment before she looked to Tal. Her perfect pouty lips downturned and Tal cringed, certain he knew what she must be thinking. He'd claimed to prefer men but here he was with a flat-ear woman. "It's not what you're thinking," he blurted.

But Nola's frown had already passed and instead she squared her shoulders and ignored what he'd said. "I did not expect to see you, Tal. What brings you to the gathering? Have you reconsidered leaving the clan?"

"I…" He rubbed at his neck sheepishly, feeling his cheeks flushing with heat all the way to his ears.

"Who's 'at?" Sera asked, slurring. As she had earlier Sera pointed her index finger at Nola rudely.

The Keeper frowned again and Tal rushed to make the introductions. "Nola, meet my friend Sera. She's part of the Inquisition and she likes women. Only women."

Nola blinked at this introduction and the others behind her shifted or snorted with varying reactions. Sera glowered at him. "Yeah? What of it? You tryna get me with her, Treeface?" She wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Yeah? No." She slurped on the cider loudly.

Ignoring the inebriated response, Tal motioned between the two women again. "Sera, this is Keeper Nola of clan Manaria." He hesitated a moment, his mouth dry and his pulse racing before he added. "My…clan."

Sera didn't stop slurping on her cider to make comment, just shoved one hand out, thumbs up as her way of acknowledging the introduction. But Tal hardly noticed as Nola and the clan members with her were too distracted with the possibility that Tal would be rejoining them. They stared at him, each gaze feeling like a bag of bricks on Tal's shoulders, pressuring him to respond with some clarification.

"I…" Tal stammered, then shrugged awkwardly. "Can I talk with you, Keeper?"

Nola dipped her head to him. "Certainly." She motioned at Lanatriel and the others. "Go on and rejoin the festivities. I'll meet you all back at camp." They nodded to her, murmuring respectfully as they turned away. Tal couldn't maintain eye contact with them, certain that he would see simmering resentment in everyone but Nola.

"Walk with me?" Nola asked, smiling as she held out her hand.

Tal swallowed, trying to keep his breathing slow and even. "Yeah. Okay." He took her hand in his and let her walk with him toward the tree line. Sera watched him go lackadaisically, far more interested in drinking more alcohol—and watching the rogue who'd caught her eye.

Nola led him to an abandoned bear pelt at the edge of the trees, one of many such pelts that had been left for revelers to sit upon. From this spot, slightly elevated on a rise, they could survey the rest of the clearing, watching the dancers moving about the bonfires and the drunken elves moving from one area of crates to another to indulge. They sat together in silence for a time, staring at the scene below. Tal could hear the piping sound of a flute somewhere harmonizing with drums. He wiggled his foot, halfway in time to the tune and halfway just in a nervous tic as he waited for Nola to speak or for himself to find the right words. Neither option seemed to be happening very quickly.

Finally Tal blurted out, "Don't the Keepers meet for most of the night? Shouldn't you still be there?"

Nola turned her head, eyes glinting from the firelight and moon. "Haven't you heard?" she asked.

"Heard what?" Tal asked, grinning with nervousness.

Nola shifted her position, leaning a touch closer to him. It was difficult to read her expression but Tal could sense the somberness in the air between them—that undercurrent of tension that was more than just what lay between them personally. He had already tensed with anticipation before her words his him. "The meeting was adjourned early because one of the clans was attacked." Her teeth gleamed in the distant firelight. "They say it was the Dread Wolf himself."

Tal snorted and then let himself laugh. "Seriously?"

Nola nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's true. They're saying an ancient relic was stolen from their aravel"

"What," Tal said, smirking. "Did the Dread Wolf come back to reclaim his sacred hairbrush or toothpick or toenail clippers?"

Nola chuckled, her body language easing up. Tal found himself relaxing as well. "Something like that." But a moment later she sobered. "Tal," she said and then dropped her gaze to the bear pelt between them. "I…I missed you. I did not think I would see you here. I…" Drawing in a sharp breath, Nola turned her face back toward the bonfires in the clearing, letting Tal see the golden light painting her features. The sight robbed him of breath—as did the way he saw her nostrils flaring and the sheen of unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

"I came here to find a new First," she said, voice even despite the obvious emotions on her face. "The clan elder agrees, as do most of my hunters and warriors. We are too vulnerable without a First. If something were to happen to me the clan would dissolve. We would be lost."

"Nothing will happen to you," Tal told her, softly. But he could feel determination harden like a fist closing over his heart—that same protectiveness he felt toward his mother and sister. The kind of devotion that scared him shitless because he knew he would do anything to protect them.

Nola's smile was a touch wan. "You cannot make such promises," she said and chuckled sadly. "It was divine luck and the sacrifice of my Keeper before me that spared me in the raids. There's no way you could prevent another and if the shems attacked again…"

"I…" Tal swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat and simultaneously not vomit into Nola's face with his anxiety. "I can't leave my sister, yet…"

Her expression warped with surprise. "You wish to return?"

"I…" He wrung his hands, finding them sweaty. "I never wanted to leave, but…"

Now her brow furrowed with bafflement. "You were adamant on going," she reminded him. "And she is your sister and she had suffered so much, losing her little one before its time. How could I deny either of you, even if it was dangerous?"

"I know," Tal said, nodding quickly. "I meant I didn't want to stop being First—not really. It's just…" He croaked, his throat closing, and jerked his head away from her. His breath came too fast, whistling through his nose.

"Yes?" Nola pressed, edging closer. Tal felt her breath puff once on his cheek.

Screwing his eyes shut, he let out a long, shuddering breath and finally blurted, "I lied. That night in the aravel. I lied. I panicked. I'm a fraud, Nola." He snarled, "Dread Wolf take me."

"What?" Nola asked, sounding a touch breathy with shock.

Tal covered his face with his hands, finding them clammy and shaking. "I lied about what I said. I was terrified when I realized you wanted to…to…" He dropped his hands to his lap with a slapping sound and rubbed them over his breeches, trying to dry them. "You wanted to make a Second. With me." He scoffed, still not daring to look at her. "I'm the Bastard of Ghilath. I'm no one's father. I'm no one's First. I don't know how to be those things. I want them, I think, but…"

"You don't prefer men?" Nola asked, her voice a whisper.

Tal laughed, tossing his head back with a touch of hysteria as his heart pummeled his breastbone. "Are you kidding? I could not care less. Men or women. But—"

"But you love Sammael," Nola said, louder and firmer now, as if confident of that. "Bonding and making children with me would seem a betrayal. It's not what you—"

Tal interrupted her with another sharp laugh. Finally finding the gumption to look her way, Tal saw she stared back at him with her lips slightly parted and her gorgeous eyes wide. Had he truly convinced her so thoroughly with Sammael?

"You really don't see it?" he asked her and then, at her confused tilt of her head to one side, he blurted, "I love you. Sammael is awesome but—"

"You love me?" she asked, interrupting. Her expression was unreadable but she'd begun shaking ever so slightly. Tal didn't know if that was a good sign or a very bad one.

Tal forced himself to keep meeting her gaze as he said, "Yeah. How could I not?" He felt his own body snapping taut, muscles quaking as he risked revealing more of that terrifying vulnerability inside. "But I can't tell how you feel. Is it all a duty for the clan? If I weren't around would you be asking one of the hunters to bond with you? Would you—"

But the confessions and explanations he'd been about to utter fled from his mind as Nola suddenly reached for him, pulling him close. Tal stiffened for an instant and then found her lips were against his: hot, soft, and salty. It set him afire within, as though a forest fire had been fanned to the point of explosion by a stiff wind. His head pulsed in time with his galloping heartbeat.

Nola's hands slid up his chest and around his shoulders. Sliding his own hands up her armor from waist to back and then lower. It didn't matter that it was chilled and metallic and hard to the touch. It was hers. And this was happening.

She pressed closer and closer, with Tal in turn pulling her toward him and then into his lap. Then finally Tal fell back on the bear pelt. They rolled back with a thump and Tal wheezed, breaking the kiss to suck in a breath to replace the one that'd been pressed out of him by their combined weight. Nola stared down at him, her lips spread wide in a grin and her eyes wide and dark, the pupils expanded enormously in the darkness.

"I've desired you almost from the moment we met," she murmured and Tal thought for sure she was blushing, abashed at the confession. Shy.

"Really?" he asked, a thrill of joy streaking through him. It squeezed his heart with relief and pleasure. The grin that claimed his mouth was as irresistible as Nola's kiss earlier.

She nodded, her smile trembling. "Yes." She laid one palm over his cheek and mirrored his previous phrase: "How could I not?"

"Well," Tal said, squirming beneath her to shrug with a self-deprecating quip. "There's the whole me being a bastard from another clan and poorly trained and then that time I panicked and ran away most of all." He winced. "Sorry about that, by the way, if I didn't apologize before. I can't remember if I—"

Nola stopped him with a laugh and pressed close again to kiss him fervently. Tal groaned with appreciation and almost whimpered in protest when she pulled away. But she was grinning as she stared down at him, one hand still stroking his cheek. "The only flaw I can see, Talassan, is that you talk entirely too much."

He laughed. "Yeah, I do ramble."

"I forgive you," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin tenderly. And, as Tal's heart lurched with the sudden wonder as to whether she meant for his rambling or for the night he had panicked and left her with a lie, Nola mercifully answered the question before he could ask it. "For all. On one condition."

"Yeah?" Tal asked, unable to stop himself from stiffening, afraid she would ask him to abandon Rosa and return immediately to the Free Marches.

But she merely sighed her satisfaction and spoke in another whisper against his skin. "That you return to us as First when you are ready. And that you write."

Even as his stomach clenched with nervousness, Tal nodded. "How could I say no?" As she smiled at him with approval Tal kissed her again, full of heat and eagerness. He nipped at her jaw and then her neck, only to shiver as she caressed one hand up his tunic along bare skin. When Nola shifted against him, bumping the enormous lump of his cock, heat leapt to his face all the way to his ears. He couldn't stop himself from rambling again, frantic to explain himself before anything progressed. "It's been almost a year since…uh, the last time. I'm out of practice and—"

"Sammael was your last partner?" she asked, her tone doing nothing to hide her doubt.

"Yeah," Tal told her. He was about to ask why everyone seemed to think him incapable of sexual restraint but bit his lip to keep the unimportant question back. He didn't exactly have a great track record. Rosa had once said he had no standards in a partner short of willingness and that had been true…but since Sammael and the fiasco with Nola he had found himself shying away from sex at the last moment. So it was he'd done some minor fondling with Herah the Tal-Vashoth mercenary before the Conclave explosion killed her and then after had dared only to make out a bit with Dorian, though he knew the Tevinter wanted much more.

"Then we have both waited," Nola said, smiling. "And…perhaps we needn't wait any longer?"

Tal laughed, heat continuing to coil in his belly. "Keeper, I am yours to command."

* This scar is from Corypheus running Rosa through many chapters back. Solas healed her to the point that it's not as noticeable as it should be for what would have been a fatal wound. I always imagine Rosa has more scars than the typical mage. Solas, for example, I think has relatively few. Nothing in the past, (save maybe other Evanuris), before he woke weak, got close enough to do much damage—or nothing he couldn't heal to the point of invisibility, anyway.

Elven Used:

Lethanavir: Another name for Falon'Din

Next Chapter:

"You're sleeping with him again," Halesta said and clucked her tongue with disapproval. "I hope you have created a charm this time to avoid unwanted children. Elvhen seed seems to be potent. I made you almost immediately when I laid with Ivun. With how quickly your brother came along I suspect the same was true for his mother."

Rosa groaned with disgust. "Really, mamae? Yuck." Lifting one leg she motioned to the anklet contraceptive charm she had been wearing since before the Conclave. "I am no fool."

End note: Merry Christmas, everyone! If you celebrate it. If not, Happy whatever Holiday you celebrate! Moving and settling into our new house and the holiday have kept us super busy so I missed my usual posting time again. Sorry about that! I'm also slwo at writing so it's just as well. I need to stay ahead of you guys. Eek!

Thank you Sutet! I think it was you who reviewed last chapter and I somehow deleted it. Thank you!

Next chapter we see the fallout from Tal's trickery. I don't know if anyone realized last chapter that Solas, Rosa, and everyone else had been drugged, rather than just drunk. Tal, you are such a naughty boy.