a/n- Hello my wonderful readers. I'm dealing with a bit of a sinus thing and some ridiculously cold weather right now as well as many other things, so I did not have a chance to post this chapter when I first finished it. Like the last, it's a bit shorter, however, I felt that it too reached a natural stopping point. I also tried my hand at elvish in this chapter. I truly enjoy using fantasy languages to the best of my ability. You'll find the rough translation at the end of the chapter. Please enjoy and thank you to those of you who caught the "arrow to the knee" reference I made in the last chapter. I'm afraid I simply couldn't help myself.
Elvhen
It was not long into the morning when they encountered the wolf pack that had been stripped of its natural fears. Indeed, as they attacked the influence of the Fade was evident in their eyes as their irises glowed jade in the shadows of the stone pillars these creatures called home. They were easily slain and as Enya wiped the blood of the wolves from the edge of her greatsword, she found herself troubled by how easily they had been corrupted. How easily the innocent creature's natures could be perverted to madness by the foreign energy, perhaps the fear, of demons made her heart ache.
Cassandra and Varric began to skin their kills. She glanced down at her own and cocked her head for a moment. Corporal Vael had told them how dire the refugees' need of warm blankets and clothes was, and yet something just didn't ring true. To use and animal that had been misled by the emotions of another seemed wrong in some way. Enya pushed this away, however. No matter how wrong it felt to her, there were problems bigger than those of these now dead animals and their corpses were of no use to anyone rotting in the wild.
She bent and pulled the hunting knife from the sheath around her leg and was about to cut into the last animal she had slain when she spotted her third companion kneeling by one of the bodies, his hand buried in the blood matted fur of the animal. Solas was speaking in whispers, but she heard the gentle timbre of his voice echo off of the cavern walls, a gentle melody of faintly discernable elven words. She doubted the sound would have reached her ears if not for reverberation of the cave walls and the acuity of her elven hearing. She blinked her emerald eyes a few times, trying to understand the words he said, but she knew too little of her people's ancient tongue and the bouncing of sound distorted them. The elf listened intently for a few moments more, but looked away as he rose and turned her direction. The moment had seemed private and she was struck by the sense she'd been intruding. Enya busied herself with cutting away the hide of the animal before her and at another glance, noticed Solas had begun the same process as she, although he did not touch the animal over whom he had spoken.
With four of them hard at work skinning their kills, it took little time to finish. Soon, with the bloody skins of the wolves rolled and tied to their horses, they journeyed on, away from the gully and up into the mountains. The rest of the day was spent slaying the few bandits that lived in those peaks interspersed with a journey deep into a cavern in which they found ancient runes that meant little to their ignorant eyes. Enya's Dalish nature and drive to preserve the history of her people built an unending desire to comprehend its meaning, but if she knew little of the spoken elven language, she knew even less of its writing. Solas alone seemed to gain meaning from them, but he did not share what he knew, merely stared intently at the mark brought out by the veilfire and then hid away his understanding.
By the time they had returned to their camp in the Redcliffe farms, night had fallen and Enya's body felt the pull toward sleep that brought out the pain of her hand. She settled onto her bedroll, intent on sleeping, but it would not come. Like and unending headache, her hand throbbed worse than it had the night before, nearly equaling the pain she remembered from when she had first awoken in the dungeon of Haven's Chantry. She squeezed her eyes tight and focused instead on the petty argument she could tell Varric had picked with Cassandra. Their voices were elevated, though not enough to be more than a companionable disagreement, and she rather found the tension that permanently existed between the two both fascinating and entertaining.
In Varric, she saw a friend and ally. Afterall, both of them had been captured by Cassandra under suspicion of terrible acts and yet both lingered for the sake of Thedas. Varric would say it was to save his own skin, that no one else truly mattered to him, but she knew this to be untrue. He had better motivations than simple self-preservation hidden deep under his thorny exterior and an intelligent, calculating mind went into hiding them from the eyes of most people.
Enya lay on her side, listening as the argument ended, and he launched into yet another story, this one of when he was a child in Kirkwall with his elder brother, Bartrand. She had not heard the name before, but from where she lay silently, she could hear the inflection of pain that laced his words as he discussed this memory. The elf recognized the melancholy tones of loss within these words and knew this Bartrand must no longer be alive.
She roused herself from her prone position at the approach of Solas. His wrapped feet made little noise on the soft grass that grew in their small camp, but Enya heard the crunch of his staff on the ground as he placed it less carefully among the blades. The other elf did not look at her on her bed roll, but as he passed he spoke softly.
"Reflections of ourselves can oft be found in those that die at our hand," Solas held out a hand to her, "You seem to have found a better place for conversation than our camp, Lavellan."
Enya took his hand and allowed him to help her up out of politeness. They wandered together out of the camp and up to the stump were she had perched that morning. For a moment, they stood in silence. Solas stared out across the farms, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes raked the scenery. She realized he had no intention of taking a seat, so she allowed her weariness to take over, settling onto the stump.
"She was the leader of her brethren," the mage intoned.
Enya remember his hand buried in the fur of the black wolf they had killed earlier that day, "You mean the wolf you prayed for?"
"In a manner of speaking," Solas shifted slightly, his grey eyes wandering to her, "The veil was thin. A spirit who had witnessed the slaughter was drawn to her for her strength, intelligence, and caring."
Enya glanced up at him curiously, "That was the spirit to whom you were speaking?"
"There are spirits that approach all of us. Most times, the veil is too thick for us to notice and even when it is not, most people are not looking." He answered.
Her eyes returned to the field of druffalo before her and she curled her arm around her leg, pulling it tight to her chest. The other served to balance her.
"But you are always watching," her voice was soft as she spoke, echoing his and then she asked, "You spoke to it in Elvhen."
He seemed to relax in but a moment, the tight muscles of his spine loosened as he leaned back against the tree that stood next to the stump. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Many spirits speak the language of Elvhenan," he responded, "And I prefer it to the common tongue."
Enya nodded in acknowledgement, "Few Dalish know enough of our language to formulate basic sentences."
She looked over at him and saw his eyes harden.
"I am not Dalish, Herald," his response was darkened, "And if I were, I doubt I would know as much as I do."
Enya bristled, "You mean to say that the Dalish do not know our own culture?" she fixed him with a furious stare, "It is the hard won battle of our Keepers to hold what little knowledge is left of Arlathan alive."
Solas broke her gaze, turning out to the plains, "And I have little doubt that the Keepers make every attempt to understand the artifacts they have found, but the fact that you refer to Arlathan rather than Elvhenan only reassures me of how little they know."
Enya set her other foot on the ground and squared her shoulders, "Arlathan was the seat of the great culture the People once held in Thedas. I refer to it as the example of how elves once were."
"And you are not wrong to do so," he responded, "but there were other great places, Halamshiral, the cities in the Emerald Graves, the cathedrals of the Arbor Wilds and many more, stretching to the farthest reaches of the known world," Solas lowered his arms and turned back to her, "The Dalish speak of Arlathan when they should be searching for more."
"If we know so little, Solas, then help us to learn," she challenged.
Solas let out a puff of air and answered, "Many times, I have tried, but not all the Dalish have minds as open as yours. The word of their Keepers engenders far more trust that that of an apostate who claims to wander the Fade without injury."
Enya lowered her eyes at this, her anger dissipating with his frustrated tone. It made sense now, why he was so opposed to being thought of as Dalish. She was quite proud of her heritage, for to her, it meant she was Elvhen, and elf who did not bow to the will of the humans. The Vir Tanadhal stated "We are the last of the Elvenhan, and never again shall we submit." She had always looked at this and thought on her people's stubbornness with pride. Now, she thought that perhaps it could be considered an obstacle, for they would not put away their stubbornness to learn from another elf, pieces of their culture that they were missing.
The gentle crunch of chilled grass alerted her to his movement. Solas glanced up at the sky for a moment and then back at the fire. Enya's eyes followed the same path and she noticed that they had spoken far longer than she had realized, for the darkness deepened and the moon rested to over their heads. As her eyes fell on the fire she recalled his words of greeting.
"You said that those that die often remind us of ourselves," she trailed off as his description of the wolf came to mind.
Solas' mouth curved into the faintest of smiles at her words and he said, "I was not speaking of myself," he gathered himself and bowed his head respectfully to her, "I believe we have spoken enough, Da'len."
The mage moved off as he finished the sentence, moving back toward the camp. Enya pondered his words for a moment before raising her voice.
"Atisha era, Solas," she called after him.
There was a pause in his step and he turned to her, "Atisha era, da'len."
Enya remained on her perch for a time, soaking in the glow of the moon. The horses drank from the small puddle of water and despite the crispness of the night air, she felt compelled to lower her toes into it. The chill sent a thrill through her body, awakening her for the first time since she had left Haven. Perhaps Leliana was right and a soft feather bed to sleep upon would greatly improve her nights. It mattered little, she concluded, for if her mission for the Inquisition would be as it had been over the past fortnight, a feather bed would be few and far between.
The elf sighed and drew her feet from the pool. Even the slightest breeze chilled against the droplets of water that still clung to her bare skin. Enya moved to her bedroll and settled on her side, waiting for sleep to greet her, but the fire of her mark chased it away and when she finally fell asleep it was with the thought that if she did not find a rift the next day, she might not live to see another.
They reached the Crossroads at midday after a conversation with Master Dennet on the demise of the wolves and a promise to send Inquisition forces to build watchtowers so the farmers might have warning for the attacks of bandits. Satisfied with their work, he released his horses to them along with some of his best handlers, however, he declined their offer to join them siting a loyalty to his family and to the people of the farms.
Their ride up from the Cross Roads to the Inquisition Encampment was uneventful and they were met by Scout Harding at its entrance. Enya swung down from her horse and smiled through the exhaustion that blanketed her face.
"Herald," Harding gave a quick bow that Enya forced herself to accept, "I have good news. Fighting on the West Road has ended. Corporal Vael joined forces with Commander Cullen's men, and they've taken the mage encampment for our own. With the Templars gone, the Hinterlands are settled."
"That is good to hear," Cassandra joined Enya in the conversation.
"Seeker Pentaghast," Harding gave another bow, "I also heard that you managed to convince Master Dennet to part with most of his horses for the Inquisition's use. Congratualtions."
"Thank you, Scout Harding," Enya replied, her smile widening, "There is a spot that we used for a camp in the Redcliffe Farms. The community is amenable if you would like to set up and Inquisition encampment there."
"We need the Inquistion to be seen across the Hinterland so that people believe we are there to protect them," Cassandra added.
The auburn haired dwarf glanced between them, "I will send some of my men out there to secure it, Herald, Seeker," she hesitated.
Enya's brows tightened in concern at the scout's expression, "Is there something else, Scout Harding?"
"Well, you see, Your Worship," she paused, "With all of the fighting there have been a lot of injuries and…I hate to ask you to do something else…"
Cassandra interrupted her stammering, "Out with it, Scout."
Scout Harding snapped to immediately, her ramblings gone, "Yes, my apologies, my lady. The area known as Calenhad's Foothold is ripe with elfroot. The problem is that there is a rift there, and my men can't get near it without getting chased off by demons or killed. We need the elfroot for poultices to help those with the fevers, but there is precious little to go around."
Enya felt relief wash over her and she thought almost that simply the gratefulness at this announcement had lessened the pain in her hand and wrist, but it soon returned full force.
Cassandra's eyes flicked to her for a moment and then the Seeker said, "Many brave men suffer for this fight. We will do what we can to ease their pain."
Scout Harding's expression immediately lightened, "Oh, thank you, my Lady, Your Worship." She bowed again and then turned away, returning to her men.
Varric approached them from behind, leading his horse reluctantly by the end of its reins. If possible it seemed even less pleased with its rider that its rider was with it.
"I guess this means we aren't heading back to Haven anytime soon?" he asked.
"Calenhad's Foothold is not far," Cassandra replied, "We should be delayed no more than a day."
"Oh good," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words, "and here I was concerned we would have a long delay.
Enya caught herself before a grin crept over her features. The twinkle in Varric's eyes told her that he knew.
"If you truly wish to ride back to Haven, you are free to go Varric," Cassandra responded, "Just be careful that your steed does not find and icy cliff on which to stand," she mounted her horse.
Varric growled something under his breath but clamoured awkwardly back onto his own. All mounted, they set off, Cassandra in the lead, for she clearly knew the way. It took them a short time to reached the ruins. The mark on Enya's hand pulsed steadily, sending painful aches up her arm as they approached the fade. The scar across her palm felt as though it might burst under the pressure of the energy that hummed verdant under the pink skin. Demons crept around it, shades and whisps that drifted or dragged themselves along. Enya dismounted and flexed her left hand to relive the pain and pressure in it but it was to no avail. The crackling of the rift filled the air around them.
There was a snap and then a deadening of sound as a pale blue barrier descended over her. Solas appeared at her side, ice magic boiling in the palms of his hands, ready for the coming fight. Enya drew her weapon over her shoulder, almost relishing the protective weight of it in her hands. They attacked as a unified force and the battle was quick. As the demons fell back through the rift, dissolved into energy, the rift softened, growing less chaotic as the dead passed through it.
Enya thrust her hand forward and released the energy of the mark. It ripped from her hand into the Fade but as the Rift exploded she felt the relief flood through her entire body as the pain abated. Panting, her eyes closed in bliss, she slipped her sword back into its sheath and rolled her shoulders.
Elvish translation:
Atisha era: peaceful dreams/sleep
Da'len: child or little child, perhaps young one.