"Do you wonder what would've happened if things had gone differently?"
Aravels creak in the summer breeze. Wind whistles between the sails, and a small fire crackles in the center. Normally, the chirping of crickets and quiet nickering from the halla would join in, but the animals are silent. They know when trouble is afoot. The Dalish are one of the few who listen to the animals. The only thing traded tonight across the hearth, besides the bounty from the day's hunt, are whispers. All are directed towards the petite brown elf sitting at the head of the hearth, twirling a small carved halla pendant between slender fingers. Her little sister, curly black hair barely restrained by a long braid, clings to her arm, fingers burrowed into the skin. The elf tries to pry her fingers off, and she lets go, eyes flecked with tears, and buries her head in her knees.
The Keeper steps forward, and now the wind and the aravels fall silent. Keeper Deshanna does not normally waste words or time, but she has saved some for this night. What was merely whispered to her eldest daughter before will now be shared before the entire clan. She steps forward, with drab clothing draped across her arm and a large satchel in her hand. The entire clan turns to stare.
"We Dalish have always struggled, and the shemlen war of mages and templars has cost us much already. Though it would be easier to hide from them, to retreat farther into untouched lands, we cannot ignore them. For the sake of our survival, one of our young hunters will be making a great sacrifice on the behalf of the clan."
On cue, the young elf darts up and rushes to stand beside her mother, bright yellow eyes pointed squarely at the ground while the Keeper continues to speak.
"'Manehn will be traveling across the Waking Sea, into Ferelden. She will cross their heartlands and travel deep into the Frostback Mountains. This is not a simple trip into the shemlen cities to trade, as she or the rest of you are accustomed to. I would not gather you all here with such ceremony if it were so."
She motioned to 'Manehn to stretch out her arms, and hands her the set of clothes. A green overcoat, red undershirt and black pants, clothes 'Manehn recognized as a purchase from a tailor's shop in Wycome three weeks ago. She also presents a long scarf. It is brown and green. Dull, drab and completely unassuming. Clothes that should hide a Dalish elf from hostile Chantry priests and bloodthirsty templars.
The Keeper turns back towards the fifty fearful faces and the silent objections hidden in tense lips and furrowed brows. "We do this because we are Dalish, and because Dalish do not hide. We have lost too much to this conflict, and we should see it resolved. We do this to preserve our people in the midst of the shemlen fighting. We cannot stand idly by while they burn Thedas to the ground. This was our land first, and we should know what the shemlen intend to do with it, even if we have no say."
Everyone nods their heads, if not in agreement, than in acceptance.
"Now, I ask that we say our goodbyes, and send our prayers, so that she may come back to her clan with good news."
Half an hour later, the camp is lively as usual, the sounds of elvhen words mingled with laughter to overpower the suffocating silence that fell over the camp not so long ago. 'Manehn still sits near the fire, still twirling her halla pendent, now draped over her neck. Mirwen, her little sister, is asleep, curled like a cat in her lap. The Keeper reaches down and plucks Mirwen from her lap to carry her to her bedroll, beckoning 'Manehn to follow. Mirwen tries to protest being separated, but weak crying gives way to soft snoring and gangly arms draped over Keeper Deshanna's shoulders. She lays her daughter down in her bedroll with some mumbled words and plants a small kiss on the forehead.
"I do not want to send you."
'Manehn crosses her arms, "I want to go. I'm the only one with enough experience with the shemlen. If you don't send me, it looks like you are playing favorites."
Keeper Deshanna tucks Mirwen in. "All of those things are true. I don't have to like it."
"Besides, everyone blames me for our clan being attacked anyway. For Father's death."
"No, they don't. I don't. No one is blaming you but yourself." Keeper Deshanna says. It is a lie.
'Manehn starts to walk away, but her mother grabs her in a tight embrace, warm and fearful and oddly maternal. "Please, please come back." The Keeper lets go, shocked by her temporary loss of composure. She clears her throat. "We…we lost your father. Mirwen cannot lost her sister. The clan cannot lose one of its best hunters."
'Manehn nods and turns back towards the campfire.
"And I cannot lose a daughter."
Many of the clan have already retreated to their aravels to sleep, but 'Manehn remains up, pacing at the perimeter of the campsite. She starts to walk back to her aravel when she bumps into Ashara, the First of their Clan.
"I was looking for you," Ashara starts to speak, fiddling with an errant strand of red hair. She begins twisting it into a tight coil. "I just, I wanted to see….see if you were up. Maybe take one last walk together before you go."
"Sure thing." 'Manehn says, a shy smile creeping on her face. "I haven't been able to sleep anyway."
They leave the campsite and make their way towards a river embankment, with a clear view of the camp and the constellations. The walk is quiet, except for the chirping of crickets. Ashara is still twisting her hair into coils, tightly winding them to the roots.
'Manehn turns to face her and takes her hands. "Hey, you don't need to freak out, ok? I won't be gone long. I'll be fine. You're going to make yourself sick if you keep worrying so much."
Ashara pulls her hands away, now clenched into fists, "You always say that, and yet you always get in trouble!"
"I'll be fine. Mother sends me to trade with the humans all the time…"
"Not just that with the humans."
A quick flash of anger crosses 'Manehn's face. She turns back towards the camp.
Ashara grabs her arm and tries to pull her back, "I'm sorry, that was rude and thoughtless, and….I'm sorry."
'Manehn shakes her arm from Ashara's grasp. "We're not even together but you always act like I'm cheating on you. I told you how I felt, you said you didn't feel the same way. As long as I don't hurt the clan, how I conduct myself while trading for the clan shouldn't be any concern of yours."
She turns back towards the camp, but Ashara grabs her hand and pulls her back again, closer. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just…last time you were gone this long, you almost got killed. And then when the clan found out why you were sneaking away…."
"No, it's fine. I'll be fine," 'Manehn doesn't pull away, she just stares at the ground, ashamed. "I just….I don't feel like talking about this. Especially here. And especially now. What was the point of even bringing this up?"
Ashara pulls her into a tight embrace, "I just have a really bad feeling about all of this. The Keeper should send someone else, not her own daughter." She pulls back, and looks at 'Manehn. She reaches for a small scar above her eyebrow, tracing it with her thumb, a mix of fear and love that could be more than sisterly in her eyes. "I just...you can interact with other humans so well, and I know you do well around them, but you've almost gotten yourself killed a few times already."
'Manehn brushes her hand away, eyes still downcast. "And yet, I'm still alive, still being punished for one lapse in judgement, still one more mistake away from exile."
Ashara tries to meet her gaze, "The clan cares about you, 'Manehn! We care about you! Your death would hurt the clan. It would hurt your mother. It would ruin your sister…."
She takes 'Manehn's hands, hanging at her sides. "And it would hurt me."
"Not any more than I already have."
She turns back towards the camp, leaving Ashara alone at the river bank.
As 'Manehn approaches her aravel and her bedroll, Mirwen, now wide awake, rushes towards her with tear stained cheeks and flings her arms around her waist. "I don't want you to go."
"I leave and come back from shemlen cities all the time, Mirwen." She says, her tone flat. "It'll just be a little longer, that's all."
The tears come faster. "No it won't! Stop saying that. You sound like Mother! Hahren has a map. I saw where Ferelden is. It's far away! And templars killed Father, and lots of templars will be there. Everyone says you'll be safe but you won't be. It's dangerous and you could get hurt! You could die!"
Mirwen tries to say more, but her words drown in the fast flowing tears. 'Manehn looks away towards the river bank then lowers herself to meet her sister's swollen and tear streaked eyes.
"You're right." She scoops up her weeping sister into her arms, letting Mirwen sob into her shoulder. When the crying starts to subside, she pulls Mirwen back.
"You're right. It is different and it is dangerous. But that doesn't mean I'm going to get hurt or killed, ok? I've traded with humans before. That's why I'm going. I'm the best at not getting hurt around the shemlen. And this one trip will help make sure our entire clan, including me, doesn't get hurt later. Do you understand?"
Mirwen nods, a small whine slipping past her lips, unconvinced but unwilling to push the matter further. "Can I sleep with you? I don't want to be alone."
'Manehn gives her another small hug. "Of course." She sits in 'Manehn's laps, nestling into her chest like a bear cub against her mother.
"Did you like the necklace I made for you? It's a halla for Ghilan'nain, so she'll make sure every time you travel, that you're safe."
'Manehn shows her the small wooden pendant, crudely but carefully cut, draped around her neck. "Of course I love it. And I'm going to wear it every day, ok?"
Mirwen's small smile blossoms into a toothy grin. "Ok, and you need to come back really quick. I like having a big sister."
'Manehn chuckles and plants a small kiss on Mirwen's head, "Of course."
A few sleepless hours past, and 'Manehn sneaks away from her now snoring sister to a small flat stone altar near the Keeper's tent. This is where Clan Lavellan makes supplications are made to their silent gods. Resting on top of the stone slab are 8 small statues of the pantheon, empty eyes scanning the camp.
She takes a small batch of incense from near the altar and lights it in front of the statues, whispering words of offering and devotion. As she places the incense on the stone, the tendrils of smoke unfurl themselves from her fingers and trace the lines of the small statues, caressing their forms. She lowers herself to the ground and touches her forehead to the cool stone.
She prays to Mythal for protection on the road, to Ghilan'nain to make the journey quick and bring her back safely, to Falon'din to guide her to the Beyond if she does not. She prays to Andruil to help her in the hunt for the answers needed. She prays to Dirthamen to keep her presence at the Conclave secret.
As she prays, she starts to choke on the words, the smell of incense harassing her nostrils and making her stomach roil. The prayer turns from chanting to pleading, but she feels no relief, no comfort, and no mercy. They sit before, silent and glowering, unappeased by prayers they no longer hear. She pulls back, her hands shaking and palms sweaty, heart throbbing and lungs screaming as they claw for air. She turns towards the camp, silent in sleep. She gazes at the sky, now streaked by bands of daylight, a plrelude for the sun ascent over the Vinmark Mountains.
A few small shaky breaths brings her back to her senses. She had moments like these before, but this felt different. Less like a trick of the mind, and more like a bad omen or a violent rejection.
As she turns to leave, the small statue of Fen'harel, set outside, catches her eye.
She never really paid attention to the statue. She was never so foolish or so desperate to seek Fen'harel's benedictions. Who would dare seek to appease the Great Betrayer? His disdain for the People could only be matched by his arrogance. Yet he was the only god who still walked among the People.
Maybe the other gods did not hear. Maybe they did not want to.
But he could. She could try, but any deal with Fen'harel always came with a price.
She remembers Mirwen, still whimpering in her sleep, arms clinging to her waist. She remembers the soft finger tracing her brow, a quiver in her voice, tears pooling at the edges of Ashara's eyes. Even her mother, distant and demanding, whose had no love left over for 'Manehn when the entire clan needs her, pulling her in a tight embrace, calls her daughter, begs her to come back…..she could not stand the thought of causing them more grief by bringing their worst fears to life.
She gets up and slinks her way towards the small statue of The Dread Wolf, a permanent snarl on his face, a permanent display of his contempt for the Creators and the People.
She takes another small bundle of incense and lights it, placing the offering at the base.
This time, her prayer is quick, and her words ring clear. That if all should fail, that if she should be revealed, if the Journey should be long, if she should not return to the clan….
She prays to Fen'harel, "I beg you. If you would grant me nothing else, please, I beg of you, just keep me alive."