As those of you who have read my other stories, you know that I'm simply taking what BioWare created and twisting it to suit my own imaginings. And I am very grateful to BioWare for this universe. It's way too much fun!
Thanks to maskedpainter for encouraging this story's continuation. I hope that it will do both Adaia and Duncan justice.
The Halla Tainted
Chapter Two
"Soris," a calm, low female voice called to the red haired elven child, "come away from the cradle. Adela needs her nap."
"But Auntie Daia…" the elven child whined, his bright blue eyes fixed upon the sleeping infant nestled in the soft bedding of the wooden cradle.
"No buts, da'len," the blonde elven woman, tall and straight, dressed in a simple but well made dress of greens and browns, stepped to the child, pulling him away from the baby's sleeping form. Tsking quietly at the child, she pulled him to the table, setting a bowl of soup and some bread before him.
Taking a seat next to her nephew, the elven woman's gray blue eyes twinkled with merriment as she watched the boy - barely beyond his second year of life, and yet seeming so much older in his maturity - slurp the hot meat and vegetable laden soup down.
"Why does Adela sleep so much?" the boy whispered between spoonfuls of his lunch, his eyes straying again toward the cradle.
"Babies need their sleep to grow, little one," the woman whispered back, a long, calloused hand sweeping out to brush unruly red hair from the child's eyes. He blinked up at his beloved aunt. He put his spoon down, raising a small hand to trace over the tattoo that encircled her eye.
"I like your tat-at-too," he crooned, grinning up at her with childlike fascination.
Chuckling at the boy, the woman rose gracefully to her feet, plunking a quick kiss to the crown of the boy's head. "Maybe when you are of age, da'len," she whispered conspiratorially to him, "you may get your own markings."
"Does it hurt?" he asked, resuming spooning the food into his mouth.
Moving to the cradle, gazing down at the babe therein, the Dalish woman nodded. "Indeed it did, little one," she smiled to the boy, who had stopped eating and was grimacing at her. "But, it is a right of passage from childhood to being an adult. The pain is endured, proving that you have the will to protect your clan." She turned back to the baby, brushing over her serene face lightly, smoothing the halo of bright yellow hair framing her face.
"Will Adela get one?" he asked.
"If that is her wish," Soris' aunt turned back to the boy, smiling. "I would allow her to choose her own path, Soris. As I would encourage you to do so with your own life."
Shrugging, not truly understanding what his aunt was saying, Soris continued his meal with gusto. She smiled at the boy, a small shake of her head as she drifted from the dining area to the front room. She had expected her husband to have returned by now, and she was a little worried about his tardiness.
She turned from those thoughts as the door opened, welcoming in her husband.
Cyrion Tabris stepped through the door to his modest and comfortable home. His dark hair was pulled back in a braid, white powder dusting it lightly, giving it an almost gray look. Despite being a decade his wife's senior, Cyrion still maintained the bounce of youth in his step, and his blue eyes twinkled with merriment. Easy going by nature, he was the perfect match to his wife's fiery personality.
Only Cyrion could make Adaia's grey-blue eyes darken to an almost cerulean shade by merely being near. She stepped to meet him, hugging him close, kissing his cheek in greeting.
"My lovely wife," Cyrion murmured, turning his face to capture her lips with his own. Even after so many years of marriage, Adaia still enchanted him.
There was a subtle, polite cough from the still open doorway, and the pair of elves parted. Lifting her head, she was surprised to see a young human male standing there. Her eyes narrowed, and any hint of welcome therein disappeared, becoming gray-blue as she studied the man before them.
His hair was dark, as was his skin, marking him as Riviani. He was dressed in black leathers, unconventional in their many strappings and buckles. A pair of daggers hung comfortably at his hips. Her scrutiny took in the mischievous look in his dark eyes.
"Husband," Adaia spoke in a voice the told her husband she was not happy with their guest's presence. "What manner of person have you brought to our doorstep?"
Cyrion did not miss the warning in his wife's voice. He knew well her dislike of humans. However, when the young man had approached him, asking for an audience with his Dalish wife, he could not refuse. The young man had been polite and sincere in his request.
"Daia," Cyrion spoke quietly to his wife, using his pet name for her in hopes of her keeping her tongue civil. "This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."
A look of recognition flashed through her eyes, and she turned them back to the young man, watching as he squirmed somewhat under their intensity.
"So," she spoke, her voice hard, "Duncan of the Grey Wardens," the young man bowed his head slightly at her. "What business is it you have with me?"
oOo
Duncan stared at the woman the artist, Cyrion, embraced. It was she! He could not believe his luck. The woman he was to ask assistance from was the one he had seen in the market just barely a year before. He could never forget the graceful body, yellow blond hair or stormy eyes. The small smile she had given him then came back to his mind, and he found himself smiling at the memory of the mischievous turn of her lips.
That smile quickly faded as the elven woman confronted him with something less than politeness, something that did not contain any of the mischief he had seen in her smile then. However, he did recognize the stormy gray her eyes now were.
He glanced about the room: the house this family lived in was palatial compared to others in the Alienage. Yet, this was Grey Warden business and he felt they needed more privacy than what was afforded now. He saw the small elven boy watching him with interest. Or rather, staring at his daggers with great interest. The boy raised impossibly blue eyes to his, and Duncan offered him a small smile before turning back to the Dalish woman.
"Is there, perhaps, another place we can go to speak?" he asked, keeping his voice low and polite, recalling his commander's words that this woman was difficult to deal with at best. Moreover, after this very brief encounter, he found himself believing those words.
Glancing at her husband, and then toward the cradle tucked in the corner, the elven woman turned back to the Warden, and gave him a quick, curt nod as she reached for her cloak.
oOo
The tall Dalish hunter stormed into the palace, hunting out Loghain's offices. Throwing open the door, the enraged elf stormed into his office, scowling severely at the attendant who stood before the Teyrn's desk. With a nod, the dark haired nobleman dismissed the young man, who eagerly and without hesitation left.
Once the door had been meekly closed, the Dalish woman turned hot eyes to the man she had once considered a friend.
"How dare you!" she accused, pointing a finger at Loghain as he rose to meet her, glare for glare.
"What, exactly, are you storming about now, Adaia?" he asked, feeling certain he knew the answer to that before she had even opened her mouth to reply.
"You know damn well to what I refer, Loghain," the elf countered, her steely gray eyes narrowing. "You gave my name to the shems of the Grey Wardens and told them that I would guide them through the Brecilian Forest and Wilds?" She stepped nearer, not intimidated one bit by the imposing figure of the Teyrn.
Loghain did not back down in the face of the irate elf. He knew Adaia to be a formidable warrior, and knew that she cared not one wit about his station. However, he trusted - or rather hoped - she still considered him a friend, and would not kill him outright until he had time to explain.
"You seemed the most likely candidate to assist them, and so Maric and I advised them to seek you out and request your assistance," he replied calmly.
"And I seem to recall telling you, Rowan and the Idiot that I would not lift one finger to help the shems of Fereldan ever again!" she sneered. "Not until the fool honors his promise!"
She turned to leave, having made her point clear. Loghain's voice stopped her march out the door.
"Adaia, please," he called, his voice still cool. "It may well be more than just humans who would benefit from your offering them your assistance." He frowned; he could not believe he was actually trying to convince his friend to help the Grey Wardens. However, it had seemed important to Maric, and after going through the request himself, Loghain found himself agreeing. He had other reasons for wanting someone he could trust to go into the Wilds, but he was not about to put voice to that at this time.
Frowning, Adaia turned to face Loghain. "What do you mean by that, Loghain?"
With a slight shrug of his broad shoulders, the Teyrn walked over to his friend. Staring down at her, he replied, "If whatever is growing in the wilds continues, how long before it threatens the Clans?"
Closing her eyes, the Dalish warrior frowned. "Are you asking me, as a friend, to assist these shems?" she asked, opening her eyes, still steely gray in her anger.
"I am," came the prompt reply.
She stood there, motionless, for many moments. She turned, her eyes sharp. "I will do this only if I can be assured the Alienage will be protected." A scowl marred her lovely face as Loghain opened his mouth. "No!" she swiped her hand out sharply, cutting off any objection the Teyrn would make. "I am the only thing that stands between these flat ears and open abuse at the hands of their lords!" She took a step forward, standing nearly nose to nose with the human. "I want your personal assurance that they will be protected in my absence."
Loghain scowled down at the elf, his eyes icy, brow furrowed. "I have other duties," he coldly advised her, refusing to give in to her demands. "The citizens of Fereldan…"
There was a sharp 'crack' as Adaia's hand flashed out, delivering a painful, and resounding slap to Loghain's pale cheek.
"Don't you dare!" she hissed between clenched teeth. "The elves are as much citizens of Fereldan as any of your shems!" The harsh red imprint of her hand glared maliciously from Loghain's flesh. He did not blink, did not retaliate in the heat of her anger.
With one final look, she spun on her heels. "Find someone else to lead your shem, Loghain. Find someone who knows the Forests and Wilds as well as I." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm certain that you may find my clan somewhere within the depths of the Forest. Mayhap you could even manage to convince one of my Hunters to assist you." A spiteful smile crossed her face. "Although, without my word, I doubt you would even find my Clan."
Her hand went to the door, twisting the knob, readying to throw the door open. Again, Loghain found himself calling to her. Her back stiffened, but she did not turn.
"The Alienage will be protected," Loghain promised, hating the blackmail she perpetrated upon him, but understanding the need to do so all too well.
A shake of her sunny blond head, and Adaia turned back to the man. "If you have to stand guard yourself, Teyrn," she spat, taking one strong stride forward. "You will do so. I'll not have anymore of your shem lies!"
The Teyrn straightened, his eyes glaring at his friend. "I have never lied to you, Adaia," he hissed out, angry she would even accuse him of such a thing.
"Yet you stand here and still allow your King to continue with his own," she spat back, years of anger and resentment coming to the forefront. "I told him not to make that promise if he had no intention of keeping it!"
"What else could he do?" Loghain roared, stepping forward, wanting to grab the insolent woman by the shoulders and shake her, but knowing that any physical contact would completely unglue her and she would never help. "He needed you! And without the promise, you would have walked away and taken your Hunters with you!"
Those gray-blue eyes, stormy as the water of the ocean during a hurricane with her anger, searched Loghain's face. "It's always about you shemlen, isn't it?" she whispered, the force of her anger as strong as if she had yelled. "Always the elves of your nation are nothing, despite the blood they spill, despite all they suffer and have to give up so that you shems can somehow feel superior." She lifted her head proudly. "We are the elder race, yet enslaved to those who would feast ever upon their own fallen." Loghain winced at that.
"Don't make this promise, Maric, if you do not mean it," Adaia pleaded quietly, surprising her companions by using Maric's given name. Loghain felt his heart stop. For her to plead with the man, to use his name, told the young man just how much these words meant to her, how much she wanted to believe them.
Maric blinked his blue eyes, fixing them upon Adaia's dirty, beautiful face. Loghain knew that she enchanted the young prince; knew that her fierceness and beauty captivated Maric and his imagination. She had captivated himself as well, although in a completely different manner; to him she was what a true Fereldan should be, regardless of race: fierce, proud, strong. Willing to give up anything and everything for her people's safety and freedom. He pleaded silently: Make the promise, Maric, and keep that promise.
The young prince stepped forward, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. Loghain could tell that Adaia fought against her natural instinct to brush the contact off and he applauded her restraint. "I make this promise, Adaia of Clan Mahariel," Maric pledged, his free hand to his heart. "Once the throne of Fereldan is secure, the elves of Fereldan - both Dalish and otherwise - shall be free and equal citizens, with the same rights and privileges, as well as the same obligations, as any freeborn Fereldan." He bowed his head solemnly. "This I so pledge and swear."
Loghain felt Rowan move to his side, and, with a quick look to her face, saw that she approved of Maric's pledge. He turned back to the elf, watching as she scrutinized the prince's face, searching for any deceit. Her eyes, normally so stormy and unfriendly, cleared and brightened, revealing the clear gray-blue of peace and calm. Loghain preferred her eyes this way; they seemed as though they would allow her to see more clearly.
"Adaia," he began, cutting himself off from the memory, but she cut him off with a nasty snarl.
"Fine," she spat out, turning away. "This is the last time, Loghain. I never want to see you, the Idiot or any agent of yours on my doorstep again." With those parting words, she left, leaving Loghain feeling bereft and somewhat cold as he pondered her departing words.