CHAPTER 16: Namathari
The sun was low in the sky as a Dalish elf sat drinking in a tavern. As far as second-rate taverns went, Val Royeaux's 'Coq D'or' was especially dour. It was near the edge of the city, and attracted a variety of foreigners. Namathari fiddled with her 'bow', which was slung around her back. Her quiver was slung to her belt as a sword might be rather than her back. She legitimately believed she was a quicker shot that way.
She also happened to be an elf, so the looks she was getting from the men in the tavern set her teeth on edge. She wasn't wearing her traditional Dalish robes and armour, but the Vallaslin on her face was proof enough of her heritage. Her dark green and distinctly human roguish traveller outfit was armoured enough for her tastes though.
Namathari, who was sitting in a corner facing the door from the opposite side of the room, downed the last of her pint as she waited for Stitches to finish talking to their contact, the short waif of a bartender. The Chief had asked her and Stitches to come here together while some of the others finished a job in a chateau to the north; the rest of the Chargers were back at the inn. They'd be heading out to the Storm Coast in a couple days; the Lieutenant had already ridden for Haven to make inquiries of the Inquisition. Namathari shook her head in thought; there was an honest to Andruil Inquisition. Things were changing in Thedas, and everyone knew it. Ten years ago, the bloody Blight decimated Ferelden. A teenage elven girl from the Alienage in Denerim faced down the Archdemon and saved Thedas. And then the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall happened, the Champion Marian Hawke was named, and she stopped the attempted annulment of its Circle of Magi. The Templar-Mage war now raged across all of southern Thedas. And in the midst of it all, a new force for change with apparent Divine providence led by Andraste's Herald.
Namathari was glad sometimes that she was just a mercenary. She didn't have to think about all the political garbage, well…that was a lie and she knew it. But sometimes she wished she didn't have to think about it. As an Elven Mage, no…apostate in the eyes of the Chantry; her existence was political.
Namathari was really only here in this poorly attended tavern because Grim had twisted his ankle badly enough walking on the fucking cobblestones that he was at the inn resting. What an idiot; nice, but how did he fail at walking? Namathari was the unlucky sod that the Chief told to cover for the nonverbal shemlen. It wasn't that Namathari was exactly angry at either Grim or the Chief; but she sure wished he had assigned Rocky or one of the others instead. Namathari didn't get enough private time with her woman as it was.
A curt voice speaking common with a heavy Orlesian accent brings Namathari out of her thoughts with a snap, "You're gonna have to slow down eventually, Templar. I doubt the Chantry pays you well enough for your weight in drinks anymore now that everything's fallen apart." The barkeep pushed her hair out of her face as she finished speaking to the tall figure that was hidden from Namathari's view.
The figure the barkeep was talking to didn't say anything, but Namathari could see their gloved hand reach out and form a very rude gesture. Templar, Namathari thought as a stone of dread dropped into her stomach. Fuck. She was in a room with a shitfaced Templar. She could see the Templar had a helmet on, and her elven ears picked up the sound of a sheathed sword scraping on the bar stool as they moved to make the gesture at the barkeep.
One of the things that being a mercenary helped with was deterring Templars. Even on the rare occasion when she exposed herself as a mage, a lone Templar or even a pair of Templars weren't particularly keen on fighting their way through nearly a dozen armed assailants to capture or kill her. Especially when one of them was a furious seven foot tall wall of muscle wielding an axe as tall as the Templars themselves were.
Now? She was alone, mostly. The rest of her company weren't too far away, but far enough away that she'd be fucked if the Templar managed a Holy Smite. She felt one of those once, and if Krem hadn't been there with his shield, she would've been cut down, even as she was convulsing on the ground while puking up her stomach as the mana was ripped out of her.
She'd be helpless and vulnerable, and whatever the Templar decided to do, Namathari knew that she'd never see her friends again. She'd never see her beloved again either; and the thought of that as a possible outcome of the situation the young Dalish elf found herself in dumped ice-water into her veins. Thankfully, Stitches was done with their business and he walked over, "We've got the payment. Back to the Inn or another pint?"
"Let's leave after finishing our drinks we have right now. It would look odd if we just booked it with three-quarter full pints of ale," Namathari replied quietly. She cast her gaze around the room, and realised more than one pair of shemlen eyes were focused on her; she shivered at their looks, both lecherous and disgusted in turn.
The bartender rolled her eyes as she was still talking to the Templar. Though she acquiesced a little bit. Still speaking to the Templar, she said, "Here. And that's it for you. Sleep it off, pray it off, whatever you mage-hunters do," the barkeep muttered with a hint of malice. The Templar, who was still blocked from Namathari's view must've given some form of assent since the barkeep walked away from them to clean some mugs and pitchers.
After Namathari and Stiches finished their respective drinks, they brought up the epty mugs to the barkeep. "Thank you, mon Cherie. My name is Cynthia if you need anything further. And you as well sir." Namathari gave her a small smile and a nod. "I don't see many ah, Dalish come through here. What brings you to Val Royeaux?"
"Just passing through. I've never been to the city before from the inside. It's quite beautiful," the elf responded softly. Her voice was deep despite her young age and stature. Her accent was indicative of her upbringing by the Dalish elves, even if her vallaslin didn't immediately give her away. The way the barkeep kept looking at her made Namathari uncomfortable. Not that the barkeep was leering at her or looking at her like how dare an elf visit her establishment. No. It was the softness in her eyes. Namathari just had no idea what do with that. It was foreign to her, coming from a shemlen. Once she let the thought sit for a moment, Namathari thought Cynthia was nice.
Namathari looked over at the Templar; they were tall, taller than Stitches, and they were looking at her, to her quiet horror. The Templar made to get up, their stool scraping against the wooden planks that made up the floor of the tavern. But before they could do much more than that, the door opened. A raucous laughter filled the tavern as five more Templars walked in, clearly already in their cups.
Namathari did all she could not to sink to her knees in terror. One Templar was bad enough; six of them were enough to make even the Chief think twice about a confrontation. The young mage did her best to control her breathing while they went over to where the sitting Templar was. Stitches echoed Namathari's inner voice when he sighed, "Oh fuck." The Templars were situated between them and the door.
The tallest of the bunch, a blond, started speaking to the Templar in Orlesian, but quickly switched to Common after they shook their head. "I'm Jacque, and you're a bit far from your post aren't you?" His accent was lighter than Cynthia's; he'd doubtlessly been assigned elsewhere over the years of his service to the Chantry.
The first Templar spoke up for the first time, and Namathari was slightly surprised to notice she was a woman; from Starkhaven no less.
"My post? No. No, I was on my way to the White Spire. Transfer from Ferelden," she said with only minimally slurred cadence. Namathari was surprised that she recognized the female Templar's accent instantly. Starkhaven, the most pious City-State in the Free Marches. The revelation did not make the apostate feel much better at all.
"You don't sound Ferelden," one of the others spoke up. He had a distinctly pockmarked face with a couple scars as well marring his once handsome features; not that Namathari was the best at picking out handsome men.
The Starkhaven woman let out a chuckle, "Shite, of course not. But seeing as Kirkwall's fucked, and the Circle in my city is being rebuilt, Ferelden is where I've come from today. Andraste's tits man, can't a lass enjoy a pint without spilling her fucking life story?" Namathari couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the other woman's rampant profanity. She'd not met many Templars thankfully, but she always imagined them as less crass; at least among each other.
"You've got a mouth on you that's for sure, but we're all friends here," Jacques said with a grin. One of others, a brown haired man almost as tall as the Chief muttered a sentence in Orlesian that had two of the others laughing. Jacques ran a hand through his blonde mop of hair and rolled his eyes.
"Well…" the Starkhaven Templar said slowly, "I was just finishing up, but I'll sit for a pint with you lot." The other Templars sat down. "How go things in this part of the world?"
"The Lord Seeker is going to set things right," the biggest man spoke up. Namathari couldn't help but feel a primal shiver of fear as she looked upon him. He was at least a foot taller than her, and he could probably out-muscle the Chief. "He left us to round up the rest of the Templars in the city before marching out. Not all of us were in the Summer Bazaar when that Heretic whore addressed the grand cleric."
"Well I suppose you found me. Where is our Lord Seeker Lucius taking us then?" the Starkhaven Templar replied.
The blond Templar lowered his voice, but Namathari's elven ears caught his words without difficulty, "Therinfal Redoubt. We're to re-assemble in the Seeker stronghold of old."
"Isn't that place a ruin? I've heard legends about that keep, but that was when I was in training in Starkhaven," she replied.
"True, but the Lord Seeker has a plan. And with the lot of the Apostates gathering in Redcliffe, I think he's preparing us for a final assault to cleanse their stain from Thedas for good," the tank replied with a gleeful grin that looked strange on his rugged face.
The Starkhaven Templar nodded and spent the next few moments finishing the pint Cynthia had placed in front of her. She had moved over when some of the others sat next to her, and Namathari could see her eyes now. Or, eye. Even beneath the helmet, she saw one eye was covered. She had dark skin and hair; but that was all Namathari could make out from beneath the woman's helm.
Stitches had a pint too. With all the Templars in the room, he figured he shouldn't stick out or worse, draw attention to his comrade. But it was for naught, since one of the Templars silent thus far noticed the odd one out. "Is that a knife-ear?"
Namathari stiffened, as did Stitches. The Starkhaven woman and Jacque both looked up at them, previously not paying them any mind. The company's healer stood up and stared down the Templar who had spoken. Namathari decided to call him Pimples. Pimples rose to his feet and towered over the company's healer. Stitches was a good man, but he wasn't a fighter like the rest of them; Namathari was cold with fear. The others stopped their idle conversations and looked to Namathari as well. "Am I not allowed in this establishment?" Namathari asked Cynthia pointedly. Cynthia was looking Pimples with hatred in her eyes.
"Of course you are. Ser, there is no need for such talk. This is a civilized establishment," Cynthia said heatedly.
"Shut your mouth," Pimples replied with a dismissive gesture towards the defensive barkeep.
Before Cynthia could respond in kind, another voice cut her off, "Gentlemen," the Starkhaven Templar said, "There's really no need to start a fight in here. The girl's not worth having the Guard called on us."
"The Guard?" the Tank scoffed. "What are they going to do? We're Templars. They have no hold over us, for we do the Maker's work."
"They have sharp swords, you cantankerous bastard," the Starkhaven Templar replied to her colleague with a dark chuckle.
"Look, we'll just leave. There's no need for unpleasantness," Namathari said quietly yet firmly. She pulled Stitches' sleeve as she tried to maneuverer around the group of racist Templars.
Alas, they blocked the way. The other customers made the smart choice to flee. They might agree with the Templars concerning the place of elves, but nobody really wanted to be too close if the Templars pulled out their swords. A couple of the Templars took notice and laughed. Namathari's quiet terror was starting to affect some of the objects around her subtly; the barstools and mugs both trembled.
"Calm down," Stitches breathed. Louder he says, "What is this? Is this how the Templar order conducts itself now? Accosting people in taverns?"
"Well, when one of them is obviously an apostate, yes," their leader, Jacques responded with his hands on his hips, as if he were chastising a child.
"I'm not an apostate!" Namathari replied vehemently despite the blood rapidly leaving her face. "This is a bow! You can obviously see the string, here!" She said as she gave it a twang for emphasis.
The female Templar spoke up, "I think what blondie here is pointing out is the lyrium shard embedded in it. It's painted green, clever, but lyrium is lyrium. As far as I understand, that's not normal archery practice, not even among the Dalish clans."
Namathari looked at the female Templar, or at least at her helmeted face in fear. The Starkhaven lilt didn't soften her words cutting down Namathari's protests. She turned to her taller colleague and said, "How do you gents plan on handling this one?"
"Well, we figured we'd take our time with the knife-eared apostate, and probably just kill the other guy," Jacques responded with a shrug.
"You heathens!" Cynthia spat at the man who towered over her.
The Starkhaven Templar shook her head. "No need to dirty this place with apostate blood. I'll take her out back in the alley, and deal with her there. You all should keep an eye out for the guard, one of the other patrons may have run to get them."
"Oh? You're a dirty one aren't you? You want the knife-ear all to yourself? " Pimples asked with a laugh.
"No I don't. But I won't let any of you touch her like that either, I'm not a total monster. the Starkhaven woman sneered up at the ugly man. Pimples looked like he was going to argue before he noticed his female colleague suddenly had a dagger in her hand that was awfully close to his groin. When did that happen? he asked himself. "Besides," the woman continued as she walked slowly around the bar to stand not two feet away from the two mercenaries, "Even a filthy apostate like you doesn't deserve to die on her hands and knees. I won't smite you if you don't make me, elf." Stitches trembled with rage as he looked up at the woman who stood almost half a head taller than him, peering down at him with one eye. "I don't think I need to threaten your friend here to get you to come quietly, right lassie?"
"You cunt!" Stitches roared in anger before Namathari laid a hand on his arm. She knew there was no way out of this. She and Stiches could fight, sure. She would get out a couple spells, maybe even kill or maim a couple of them before they smite her magic and left her gagging on the floor in convulsions. Then they would kill Stitches, and she could tell they wouldn't be quick or honourable with him. The Chargers needed Stiches, and he was one of her best friends. Being directly responsible for his death wasn't a path she was willing to entertain.
Jacques let out a laugh, "Okay. Starkhaven here deal with the apostate then, since you're so keen on in. We'll wait for you out front. No complaints, we have better things to do," he snapped at the men in his company who looked as if they'd been robbed of some sort of prize.
"No need to wait up for me, I'll meet you at the Spire. I've got a couple errands to see to before marching with you lot to fucking Ferelden again." Jacques nodded his agreement. 'Starkhaven' turned back to Stitches and grinned, "Well, you should walk out first then right?" Starkhaven said to Stitches. "You're done here, don't be a pillock, live to fight another day. My friends here won't hurt you, since you're clearly not an apostate. But don't test our patience. Go. Now." She glared at Jacques and he nodded, agreeing with her mercy for the unfortunate medicine man. "It would be a waste to spill clean blood like yours," she continued with a sneer.
During all of this, Namathari didn't feel the rage she probably should have felt. She just felt numb. A simple information exchange would now end in her being gutted in an alley like a fish. It was a mercy the woman Templar had a semblance of decency about her, but it was clear in the way she spoke that she was just as eager for blood as the rest of them. "Stiches," Namathari said quietly. "Please go. Just go, run. Tell…tell her I…I wish we had more time together," the elf said sadly. Tears were forming in her eyes.
"Dalish, I–," Stitches' eyes were wide with fear, and anger, and sadness, and he was in near physical pain with what he was being asked to do; leave his friend to die.
The elf grabbed his face in both hands to make sure he was looking into her eyes as she said, "Losing both of us would be a catastrophe to the others and you know it. Just go, please. Erik, make this worthwhile."
Namathari used Stitches' proper name, and that's what broke him.
Tears ran down his face and sensing the moment, she shoved him away from her lightly. He stepped back to her, and pulled her into a fierce hug and barely whispered in her ear, "We'll avenge you, I swear."
Namathari smiled into his shoulder and nodded her head as much as she was able. Stitches pulled away and swiftly turned on his heel and left the tavern out the front door. "You will honour the deal I just made, none of you will pursue him. I will join you shortly, and we will then march to Therinfal," Starkhaven said in a tone that dared argument to rise up.
"Why not, he's just one man?" Pimples asked flippantly. Namathari stiffened. If they so much as–
"Because in Starkhaven, Templars had something we called honour. And I will not allow you to make me a liar, Orlesian." Starkhaven growled.
"Point made, woman, take the knife-ear out back and we'll meet you at the Spire, sound good, non?" Jacques said with a placating arm on Pimples' shoulder. The other men seemed willing enough to listen to their leader, so Starkhaven nodded to them and picked up Namathari's 'bow' and prodded her with it towards the back exit.
"Andraste would spit on you!" Cynthia yelled at them as both parties made to leave.
The men ignored her except to laugh and return profanity in Orlesian. Starkhaven just let out a dark chuckle, "Don't worry about us Miss. We do the Maker's work, I'm pretty sure we're covered on that front."
With that, the Templar shoved Namathari out of sight out into the back alley. It was a wide enough alley for three broad men to stand level with each other.
There was a moment of silence as they could both make out the other Templars exiting the small establishment in the opposite direction. "Dalish? Is that what you're called?" The Templar asked with a chuckle. The dagger she had drawn on her comrade was pressed against the part where her spine met her brain; there was no running from this woman, and the elf knew it.
"What's it to you shemlen?" Namathari hissed back. She was going to die. Politeness didn't matter much anymore.
"Oh, I just thought it was odd is all. You see, I've never met an elf called 'Dalish' before. And seeing as you're obviously well, Dalish, it just seemed redundant," the Templar mused.
"Thanks for saving me from those men. I suppose I owe you that at least," Namathari gritted out.
"Not at all love, I don't abide violence of that kind. I am an honourable woman after all." There was a pause before Starkhaven continued; "I'd never forgive myself if I allowed that to happen to you." The woman's voice hardened, and for the first time sounded deadly serious.
Expecting the killing blow, Namathari tensed up. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Just get it over with," Namathari replied while her courage still had a voice. She flinched at the audible tremor in her words. No doubt the Templar heard her weakness. The woman just laughed.
"I'm waiting for the Templars to get far enough away of course," came the reply.
WHAT?
"I'm sorry?" Namathari asked even as she felt the blade lift from her neck.
Namathari felt herself spun around gently by deft hands, and saw the Templar sheathing her dagger. "Relax, I'm not going to kill you. I just wanted the Templars to think I was, so there wouldn't be a pile of corpses in poor little Cynthia's tavern. It would cripple her business I think. And just think of all that blood she'd have to clean out of the floorboards. Nobody has time for that shite."
Namathari was hearing the woman in front of her speak, but the words were just not connecting properly. "I don't understand. Can you explain?"
The woman laughed, cackled more like, and said, "I'm not a Templar, and I have no problem with elves. In a few minutes I'm going to let you run free to your mercenary company, Iron Bull's Chargers right?"
"What the fuck?" Namathari gasped as the fear-fuelled adrenaline began to leave her system.
"Okay. I think I'll accompany you back to your people since you're a bit out of it right now yeah? My name's Yasmin by the way, you may have heard of me," Yasmin said as she removed her helm, ebony mane unspooling about her shoulders. She moved the band around her head back up to her forehead, revealing a warm emerald and gold eye piercing Namathari's. "You're gonna be alright, 'cause I'm here."
Namathari was met with a warm smile gracing the face of her apparent saviour. "Mythal's grace, are you for real?"
"Andraste's tits, I'm getting a little worried now, are you alright there Dalish?" Yasmin said as the elf in front of her damn near swayed on her feet. Yasmin could smell the alcohol on the girl's breath, and figured that combined with the extremely stressful situation she had landed in was just too much for the young woman to handle.
Before 'Dalish' could respond, there was an angry roar from the mouth of the alley.
"You BITCH!" it was Jacques…and all the other Templars.
"Dread Wolf take you," Yasmin breathed in elven as she turned to face him. Thankfully they hadn't thought ahead to flank them from both sides. The unexpected elven words seemed to bring some awareness and shock to the Dalish elf.
"You cunt. You talk of honour, and you consort with that fucking apostate! I will not be made a fool of, Starkhaven bitch!" Jacques yelled as he and the four others with him drew their swords. "You're not even a fucking Templar are you, you probably murdered one of us and took their armour." Yasmin considered refuting that claim but shrugged instead.
She had hoped to avoid the bloodshed. She knew that Lysette would be displeased about what was about to go down. She was going to have to explain to the younger woman why her armour was tainted red later, probably. Unless…
Her train of thought was interrupted as two of them launched a Holy Smite, which travelled down the alley and hit the poor Dalish mage despite having Yasmin between her and the blast of energy.
Namathari heaved her ale onto the cobblestones as she crashed to her knees. She was so stupid, getting caught up in their banter and not anticipating their opening move. What if Yasmin was counting on me during her distraction? She groaned as she heaved more bile onto the filthy ground, some of it splashing on herself, and her sort-of saviour.
"Well shit," Yasmin mused. She turned back to the Templars, and as they got closer to her, she felt them and smiled. "You know, I'm not a Templar. But you really shouldn't underestimate me either." She made to unsheathe her sword, also borrowed from Lysette.
"You know we aren't going to let you go easy right? You embarrassed our boss here, and we are owed for that," Pimples boasted with sickening glee.
Whatever mercy Yasmin might have showed by cutting them down with her sword vanished just as quickly. She shoved the unsheathed half of her sword back into her scabbard with a loud 'clack'. "You all drank your daily dose of lyrium not three hours ago, right? That's unfortunate," Yasmin mused the last part to herself with a sadistic smile that burst forth from her formerly tender demeanour.
Not slowing down, Jacques's eyebrows twitched, why would that fucking matter?
Yasmin grinned manically as she thrust out both hands in front of her. From the ground, Namathari could only gasp as she saw the Templars, all five of them, lift off the ground. "What is this?" Pimples managed as he felt his body suddenly burn.
"You really are unfortunate gentlemen, because I'm not the type of woman you want to run into while walking down a dark alley. Now shut up and die." Yasmin intoned as her expression flitted into a sort of cold detachment.
The screams were cut short as blood painted either wall of the alley. Namathari saw Yasmin move her arms outstretched in front of her to her sides as if she was trying to touch either wall of the alley. Blood erupted from the throat of each Templar. It burst out of their necks, and from their mouths as well. The elf saw Yasmin walk over to where the Templars crumpled to the ground and stomped hard on one of them. Namathari heard the squelching snap of bone breaking under the tall woman's boot.
"What are you?" Namathari asked as the human woman gathered the elf into her arms.
Yasmin smiled softly, as if she hadn't just brutally slaughtered five powerful adversaries. "I'm stronger than those monsters. And before you ask, no, I'm not a blood mage. I'm a Seeker. Now, can you direct me to where you're staying? It wouldn't do for your people to grieve you for too long. I need to get back to my party as well, who knows how long Lysette will last before Sera drives her mad?"
"Thank you," Dalish replied softly. The Holy Smite really had dealt her quite a blow.
"Before you nod off there, mind telling me your name?" Yasmin asked as she walked back through the tavern, drawing the gasp of Cynthia the barkeep. Yasmin said something in Orlesian that Namathari didn't understand, and Cynthia responded with a soft merci.
"I'm Namathari Lavellan, but my friends call me Dalish."