Patience was well-acquainted second nature for her. Her mother's touch, for sure. Serenity borne of long nights spent in the ruins of the greater ancestors before, searching for their magnanimous remnants with painstaking effort. She channeled her father on the other hand for more…pressing moments. This situation called for both, and these people didn't deserve it.
"Ellana, how many times am I going to repeat myself? Maker, you realize Master Benhail doesn't care who doesn't bring his bathwater in time, just that it is?" Mersa huffed, wiping sweat off her pale face despite the frigid temperature as she gave a heated frown towards her recipient, who had carelessly sloshed out some of the recently drawn water. "Hurry up you idiot child, or there's no dinner for either of us!" she said, snatching the water pails out of the hesitant elf's hand as she gave her no more heed, and ducked back into the massive tent of Lord Terayn Benhail.
A second passed as the timid & shaky elf's composure that had been heaving with effort slowed, and suddenly straightened, no longer needing to keep up the act.
Ellana Lavellan, blowing away a stray, sweaty curl of dark brown hair, went to grab the empty pales tossed on the ground in frustration by the other maid, and made her way back through the menagerie of tents, heading to the edge of the encampment, steely dark blue eyes set in determination.
These people didn't deserve it, but her people absolutely did. So, she would continue the dunce act. She just had to hold out till the Grand Conclave. And it was only a day away.
Lord Benhail had cajoled his way into an invite because of his contributions to the "streamlined flow of Chantry necessities" which was noble talk of far too flowery words for "potions to help them relieve their bowels". Ellana snorted with mental disdain at the thought of the glorified Mothers of the Chantry and those assembled desperately worried that they would lose control of their bodies while speaking on matters of Thedas, and the maelstrom of their own making.
Never mind the fact that they had Dalish running near every aspect of their existence as they dithered about with indifference for them except for an occasional harsh word for what they considered sub-cretins. The elves had no place in the doxology of the Chantry. They were apostates. She guessed the Dalish and people of the Qun had that in common. Anything that was an unknown was deemed irrevocably a heresy, and burned with a hateful fire, sometimes literally.
Couldn't they see the irony in that? Andraste herself had been burned at the stake, and she was glorified. But the slave elven leader Shartan was barely mentioned the Chant of the Light as her companion, except in hushed heretical words.
But Ellana knew where to look. She'd pored over such texts in order to gain any advantage, whether in amiable discourse, or contentious exchange – she would be the victor. The Dalish could afford no less.
They also couldn't afford her rising to the insults thrown her way, and so here she was, trudging to the nearby creek, alone, through waist high snow where she couldn't dart through the tops of trees to speed things up, retrieving enough water for Lord Benhail all alone to bathe his frail body with.
It would be so easy to concoct a sedative that dissolved in water from her concealed pouch she'd brought from home that would make him slip beneath the water and asphyxiate before anyone was the wiser, but that would be a waste of good herbs on someone non-deserving of her talents.
A pang of conscience that came from her talks with her clan Keeper berated her for thinking of taking a life without giving them first a chance to redeem themselves, but the chances of the greed Benhail coveted being brought to light and altered was snuffed by his intrinsic connection to the Chantry, and his "indispensable services". No…only a miracle Ellana had stopped hoping in when her idealism died would alter Thedas for the betterment of her people's future.
That's why she was here, carrying bathwater. Benhail had no qualms with using indentured elves to carry out his most dirtying tasks, and had left his headmistress to hiring for the month-long trip to the Conclave from Ostwick, which left weeks of continuous groveling and scraping at the mercy of someone much akin to the noble, just one class lower – Headmistress Aleena. Apparently, her whole family at one time had been indentured to Benhail, and so had been almost like a second arm of the wealthy family, leading to many shared characteristics. Pride of position. Looking down their nose. At least this was how Aleena was towards Ellana.
It had been darkly amusing how the interview process, and the first week of the trip had gone by without the elder woman overseer even noticing the elven characteristics of her new hire, seeing that Ellana had a unusually muscular body for one of her kind, and had intentionally fashioned her hair in a humanistic bob cut to cover up her pointed ears, so as to blend in….at least initially. It was a smokescreen that did not last long, but it was good in aiding her subterfuge. She had learned much from gossip in that time, as she'd been accepted much more fluidly than would've been otherwise possible, getting a good grip on who she was with.
Mersa was a city elf, which somehow seemed to allow her a little more leeway than an "unknown" as Ellana's people seemed to be coined as. She'd also been with the family for several years now, the same talons of pride and haughtiness sunk in to her creating a toxicity that was nearly unbearable to Ellana. Only her innate calm nature, along with her mother, father, and Keeper's wise words kept her from venting her grievances all at once. But no, now was not the time. She could cut ties with these dreadful people almost as soon as they reached their destination and settled in, getting past the guard's watchful eyes. Her observation of the proceedings as she slipped among the halls and scullery maids of the Temple of Sacred Ashes could then begin.
This was her mission, entrusted to her alone by the elders and her proud, beaming father. She wouldn't fail her people. And so. She would continue to carry bathwater. As she trudged up the snowy landscape, the full moon was her only companion, and the only type of light besides straight magic that could illuminate the flowing vallaslin branches of Mythal etched across her face. The goddess of justice. Ellana wasn't entirely sure if she believed in the elven patriarchs and matriarchs of old, as her father had regaled her with, but she believed in the message Mythal conveyed. She would see justice for the Dalish, and this was the first of many steps. Carrying bathwater.