A cold wind whispered over the camp to the bonfire. The chill seeped into Dirthamen despite the fire's warmth. The camp bustled around him and Alaula. Hunters raced to retrieve their bows and warriors moved to exchange shifts guarding the camp.
"What could the feast be for?" a hunter asked as she raced after another of the group.
"Don't know, but the keepers are sending most of us out. Only the warriors are being left to guard the camp really."
"Must be important."
Dirthamen winced.
"Are you cold, papa?"
"I'm fine, ma serannas, da'len." This was ridiculous. There was no reason to send out every hunter.
"Atisha." Dirthamen glanced at his other daughter who had been standing nearby.
"I'll station the rest of the sentinels around the camp as guards."
Dirthamen bowed his head. "Ma serannas, Atisha. We might not be attacked, but I would rather they didn't focus on a feast of all things."
Atisha grunted.
Alaula frowned. "They're going to announce who you fully are tonight then?"
"They are."
"It makes sense the keepers want to celebrate then." Alaula's eyes softened. "I know I do."
Dirthamen's gaze locked on the distant trees surrounding the camp.
Celebrate?
Yes, it did follow. There was so much to be done and little time to manage it all. Yet, the People should take the moments they could and his blood family, outside of Solas, would be a reason to celebrate. But to celebrate him?
The others, outside of Solas, would have leapt at the chance and reveled in the celebrations.
All Dirthamen had wanted was what he had before. To just be another of the People with nothing special about him. To walk among them as their equal and pass unnoticed.
Sure, Dirthamen never had this while among clan Lavellan and even Hawen's clan had treated him as a normal outsider from a sister clan when he had been the Inquisitor. Now…
There was no being treated as one of the People ever again in their eyes.
He wasn't the Inquisitor. He wasn't Shartan. He wasn't one of the People to them anymore.
No.
He was Dirthamen.
The soft crunching of snow trickled to Dirthamen through the sounds of chaos through the camp.
He opened his eyes.
The two craftmasters stood before him and Alaula.
"Aneth ara, Taniel," – Dirthamen bowed his head to the woman; then the man – "Cleon."
They bowed. "Keeper Deshanna just informed us," Taniel whispered, "and made a request it would be my deepest honor to oblige."
Cleon shifted. He didn't straighten. "First to learn you, the Toy Maker, are Shartan, and now," the words trailed as a breath. "To think a creator has been walking among my clan for centuries."
Taniel stiffened. "If you would permit, we were asked to make certain Keeper Deshanna's request will fit you, honored creator, Dirthamen."
A passing hunter paused.
"Off with you," Cleon barked. "You have a hunt to complete."
The hunter raced off.
"Cleon," Dirthamen started, "there is no need to retake measurements when you already have them."
Cleon shifted. "Yes, but they are several years old."
"And I have not changed in thousands of years." Dirthamen gave the crafter a small smile.
This was all to try to pull Dirthamen away from going to collect the ironbark.
"Besides, the People are in need of ironbark far more than I am of new clothing." Dirthamen looked between the two crafters. "The offer is a kind one; however, the materials should be used in the armor for the People. We are preparing for war after all."
Taniel straightened. Her light blue eyes flashed. "Forgive me, but no."
"We can't leave a creator in rags no matter if we are preparing for war," Cleon pointed out. "Even when you were only known as Shartan to us, it was a matter we weren't taking lightly."
A losing battle.
No matter what Dirthamen said there would be no dissuading them.
"Very well then," Dirthamen bowed his head. "I will aid the keepers in gathering the ironbark no matter what Keeper Deshanna rather I see to. You have my measurements and thus no need of me, Craftermaster Cleon. Please continue to see to the task she has set for you both."
"Very well." Cleon bowed. His eyes half closed as he turned.
Taniel didn't move. Her gaze remained locked on Dirthamen. Her jaw was set.
"I won't be harmed," Dirthamen assured the crafter, "and can be of aid to the People as more than just a figurehead."
"You are more than just a figurehead," Taniel argued. "You're the Keeper of Secrets. Leave such tasks to your People. Trust us."
"I do. I wish to prove the People can trust me in return." Dirthamen held up his hand to stop Taniel or Cleon from speaking. "I am not trusted in the sense none of you seem to believe I can handle myself in the snow and be of aid to the People. Thus, I'll aid the keepers in gathering ironbark."
The soft crunching of snow cut through the new stillness of the camp.
A breath sounded.
"Keeper Deshanna," Cleon greeted.
"Craftsmaster Cleon." Deshanna nodded a greeting. Her sharp gaze moved to Dirthamen.
"We're ready when Keeper Hawen comes with Nitsa," Dirthamen informed her.
Her eyes narrowed, gaze flickering towards Cleon.
The crafter shifted.
"You should be aware Craftmaster Cleon already has my measurements, Keeper Deshanna," Dirthamen pointed out. "There was never a need for me to go with them."
"Very well. You two are free to continue with the task." Deshanna nodded to the two crafters.
They returned her nod before moving off.
Cleon cast a glance back at Dirthamen. His gaze flickered away when they met Dirthamen's.
"Tch." Deshanna folded her arms across her chest. "You're not going to budge on going with us, are you?"
Dirthamen's brow rose. "There is no reason I should."
Deshanna rubbed her eyes.
"Ir abelas we're late," Hawen greeted them as he approached with Nitsa.
The head warrior of Hawen's clan held the reins of a hart. One of the two who had brought Dirthamen and Hawen to Dirthamen's temple.
The hart stood tall as he was led over to Dirthamen.
"Given you're going with us," Hawen started, "I figured having a hart wouldn't hurt."
This was… Of course, they were worried. Dirthamen didn't have the best breathing in the world. Still, he could handle walking. There was no need for them to go out of their way to have him on hart. Then there was the fact, a hart would make it easier on them.
"Ma serannas, Keeper Hawen, for the thought."
"Papa, don't you dare think you're going to walk there instead." Alaula stepped forward, her eyes flashing in much the same manner as Deshanna's.
"We'd move faster if I was on the hart," Dirthamen stated. "I'm not ignorant to this fact, da'len." Dirthamen shivered. It was the special treatment he wanted to avoid.
Deshanna relaxed. "Ma serannas for thinking about this, Hawen."
Hawen bowed his head.
Dirthaemn stepped forward until he stood beside the hart. The distance was further than when trying to mount a horse as harts were massive. Dirthamen glanced towards the reins Hawen held. It would be easier to gain a grip to pull himself up with the reins. Then there was the fact either way, his bad leg would work against him.
There was a way it just would look far less than graceful in the mount. Especially if he fell, which was more likely to happen than naught.
"Allow me." Hamin leapt onto the hart's back.
The keeper's stiffened.
Hamin held out his hand. "Father."
Dirthamen took his hand.
The air nipped at Dirthamen as he was pulled onto the hart's back. "Ma serannas, Hamin."
"No trouble." Hamin slid down from the harts back.
Fear landed on one antler and Deceit took the other.
"The ironbark is this way," Dirthamen pointed into the forest given Hawen hadn't passed him the reins.
Nitsa took point as they headed out of the camp. Silence blanketed the world the further they moved from the camp. It was broken only by the sound of feet and hooves against the snow. A soft sound whispered on the wind from the hunters spreading through the forest. Soon even these soft whispered sounds vanished.
"Head to the left," Dirthamen instructed, breaking the still silence.
"It's too quiet," Fear complained. "One would think you're trying to hunt prey not sylvan." He shook his head, fluffing against the cold. "Your fears over Dirthamen staying, are delicious, but the silence is not."
"I'm not leaving," Dirthamen assured the two keepers. At least not until after Solas had come to his senses or the both of them were trapped. Inan would prove useful in helping Solas see the world as a good one instead of wanting to bring back their old world.
A soft golden light flashed above.
"Ahhh!" Thump!
Snow flew up before them.
Nitsa stopped. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.
"Inan, what are you doing?" Dirthamen chuckled.
Sure enough, his grandfather popped out of the snowbank. Snow was piled on his head and dusted his golden hair.
"Well, I was worried about you, Little Secret." Inan stood and dusted off his robes and cape. "So, I was following in the sky. But then a tree came out of nowhere. Yup!" Inan nodded.
Deshanna and Hawen moved to flank Nitsa. Hawen pulled out his staff. Deshanna's hand rested on her own.
"I knew we shouldn't trust you," Hawen growled. "You mean to stop us from gathering the ironbark."
"What?" Inan tilted his head to the side.
"Calm down, Inan has no such plans, Keeper Hawen." Dirthamen smiled. "In fact, his coming could provide useful."
"It will!" Inan cheered. "Promise I won't get in the way. Right, Butter?"
The spirit flicked her ear in response. "If you say so," her voice echoed in Dirthamen's mind.
"Butter," Inan pouted. He slumped over, arms limp.
Hawen didn't back down.
Dirthamen sigh. His lungs strained. "If you must know, Inan is the sun in most of the myths surrounding Elgar'nan."
"The sun?" Deshanna turned, frowning. Her eyes widened. "It can't be."
"Yes, he is my grandfather."
"Your," Deshanna started, eyes wide as her mouth opened.
"Grandfather?" Hawen finished, the word a breath.
"Hm." Inan tilted his head to the side. "I guess we really don't look much alike." Inan nodded. "Little Secret does take more after his mother than father." Inan clapped his hands together, grinning. "But he is my grandson!"
"But if he's Dirthamen's grandfather," – Deshanna's eyes widened further – "creators, you're…"
"I'm what?" Inan pointed to himself.
"He is Solas's and Elgar'nan's father," Dirthamen confirmed.
"His name is Nan," Inan huffed. "Someone else added to it. Such a perfect name my dear Nalas picked too."
"We should continue on." Or it would be dark long before they returned to the camp. Though, this wouldn't be a bad thing.
The group started off once more.
With it being dark they would then arrive too late for celebrations. Yet, it would still be a bad thing given Dirthamen's lungs wouldn't last long in the extreme cold. If he collapsed there would be no convincing the keepers to ever let him aid in battle again.
Inan hummed as he fell into step beside the hart.
Butter leapt from Inan's shoulder and settled herself before Dirthamen on the hart.
"So much better," she purred and curled up before him.
"Butter! Don't be rude. You apologize at once!"
"She's fine," Dirthamen assured.
"Get it away!" Fear shrieked and took to the sky. "Get it away, get it away!"
"Her, and she's not going after you, Fear." Honestly – Dirthamen rubbed his eyes – why was Fear so frightened by Butter? Sure, she was stronger than Fear in the fact she was older than him and Deceit. Yet, Butter wasn't one to start a fight. Tease them and chase them, but not fight them. Her teasing and chasing them was more to keep them in line than anything else.
"Why is he scared of a cat?" Nitsa asked, frowning.
"That isn't a cat," Fear snapped his beak.
"I have a name," Butter spoke aloud for the first time. Her eye opened a slit. "I quite like the whimsy of Butter."
"What the?" Nitsa jumped.
Hawen and Deshanna stared at the cat.
Inan hummed.
A soft smile appeared on Hamin's face. "The three of you are shocked to hear her speak despite now hearing Fear?"
"Yes, well," – Nitsa coughed – "it's common knowledge Dirthamen bound two demons to himself and they are in the form of ravens."
Deshanna bowed her head. "I assume you're a demon bound to Inan?"
Butter stood. She arched her back in a stretch. "Demon? I am not like those two corrupted ones," Butter stated as she flicked her tail in Fear's direction. She settled on her haunches. She licked a paw and drew it over her eye and muzzle. "I am a spirit."
"She's a spirit of faith," Dirthamen explained. "Really the first known spirit."
"Yes, which is why we should fly far, far from that thing." Fear's feathers rose and he continued to fly feet from the hart. "Dirth, get it away!"
"My, you are quite tactful," Butter purred. Her whiskers twitched. "Out of the two of us, you're far more likely to harm Dirthamen than I."
"What? Why would I harm him?" Fear demanded. "He's my eternal meal, my ticket to eternity."
"Your?" Deceit's feathers rose. "Pardon, but it was my idea to feast on him."
"What? No, it wasn't. I was the one who pointed out he was alone and scared."
"I think not. An oaf such as yourself could never have such a brilliant idea." Deceit preened.
"Enough, both of you." There was no need for the others to hear this argument.
Fear snapped his beak.
Deceit tossed her head.
"Forgive me, they are prone to argument." Dirthamen bowed his head to those from the Dalish, including his daughter who hadn't uttered a word of shock.
"There is nothing to forgive." Deshanna shook her head. The response was quick, far too quick. The word tinged with fear.
Dirthamen looked away from her.
Inan stopped humming. A frown pulled at his lips as he looked at Dirthamen out of the corner of his eye.
"Now, now, there is no need for that!" Inan cheered as he grinned at Deshanna.
Deshanna scowled.
"Come, come, he's your friend, right? No need for changing such views because of a little secret." Inan blinked. "Uh, big secret?"
"He's—"
"We're here," Dirthamen cut off Deshanna. His heart flickered. No, he couldn't keep hearing her call him a god, a creator. She had been one of his closest friends and inch by agonizing inch he was losing her as such.
"Corrupted ones!" Butter stood, her fur bristling. Her eyes were locked on the trees lining the narrow path through the forest. She leapt from the hart to Inan's shoulder. "Inan, provide Dirthamen cover."
"What?" Inan blinked. "No, no, I don't fight."
Butter's whiskers twitched. "Not that kind of cover."
"Oh, barriers. Yes, yes," – he nodded – "barriers are doable."
Dirthamen dismounted. He stumbled a little as he landed. "Leave the sylvan to me." He limped so he stood level with Nitsa.
Deshanna stepped forward. "Dirthamen," she protested.
"I would like to show you what I can do. It will be far more believable if you witness it rather than my telling you."
"I," Hawen started.
"Fear, Deceit," – Dirthamen lifted his arms. The two landed on each – "carry me."
(Author's Notes: I got a new job. Updates are moving to land on either on the first Saturday or Sunday of the month. I think I have to aim for these given how little time I have to write now.)
