CHAPTER 20: Mien'harel

The group stiffened in surprise as twenty or so arrows were trained on them, the tips just inches from their faces. Leliana's neck tingled as she felt the close proximity of the weapons.

The Dalish had them surrounded with astonishing speed and stealth, dropping down from the branches and rolling in from all directions. Their nimble feet barely made a sound on the hard dirt and leaves.

Cold eyes watched unblinking from smooth, angular faces. Deep trenches of gold ink wove haunting patterns through the skin. An involuntary shiver travelled down her spine- she could almost feel the agony of the blade searing flesh.

The front row of elves parted like water to let their leader pass. Leliana watched them move with both unease and curiosity- there was a distinct grace and fluidity to their actions that was comparable to their cousins in the city. A woman came forward, hawkish eyes burning with long practised hostility. Her lips curled in disdain at the humans and barely concealed disapproval of Kallian and Zevran.

"Outsiders," she said, as if the word tasted unpleasant to her. "You have trespassed in Dalish territory, as you may have guessed. I suggest you leave… and quickly, before we change our minds."

"Atisha," said Kallian in response.

Leliana could see her shoulders tense with caution but the elven woman lifted her brow at the word.

"We have come on important business and must speak with your leader."

The woman scowled but curiosity flickered on her marked face. "What business could you have with the Dalish?" she asked challengingly.

"Oh, she's feisty, isn't she?" whispered Zevran.

"Beware of that one," grunted Oghren. "Keep her far away from yer heart… and yer bed."

Both earned a prod with the arrows.

Leliana, on the other hand, held her breath. Tension charged the air.

She felt, rather than saw Kallian frown in irritation. Her pointed ears twitched. "That is for the Keeper's ears only," she shot back.

There was a long pause as the two stared each other down. Several of the elves' ears twitched but their arms were stock still, maintaining the position without even a slight deviation in angle.

Then the Warden murmured foreign words in a low tone. It must have struck something in the woman, because the Dalish elf held up a hand. Her archers lowered their bows and stepped back in unison. However, their watchful gazes never left the 'outsiders'.

"You are obviously no ordinary trespasser," said the woman, eyeing Kallian with grudging interest. "I will leave it to the Keeper to decide the importance of your… business." She turned around to lead them, but stopped abruptly. "And keep your hands to yourself- remember that our arrows are still trained on you," she said sharply. "Come with me."

"Well… that was a pleasant welcome," Alistair remarked as he followed.

"What did you expect? Trumpets heralding your arrival as future king of Ferelden?" said Morrigan acidly, looking more tired and irritable than usual.

"Did you hear something Leliana?"

The bard didn't have much strength to respond. She simply dragged her aching legs along as the elf led them down a rough path. It didn't take too long, but the endless wall of trees and the fine mist settling over the forest made it seem like forever. Gradually, the mist thinned and the path opened out to a clearing busy with activity. Leliana's eyes widened as she beheld the sight- one that few humans had lived to witness.

Colourful tents were scattered about the area, and the air was filled with the fluid, meandering language of the elves. Leliana stared at the Dalish as they stared back with a wary intensity that suddenly reminded her of the first time she met Kallian. The tattoos on their faces seemed to burn in the sunlight- even on those of young ones.

She followed their captor to a large pavilion in the distance that dwarfed the others. As they passed through the crowd, the Dalish whispered and murmured in a tone that perturbed her. A tall, lithe figure waited at the entrance. He held himself with a regality and intelligence that rivalled the nobles of Orlais. And in Orlais, appearances were everything.

At a closer glance, his head was clean shaven. His tattoo was a central stem rising from between his brows, branching out on both sides. A curved line extended across his jaws from the corner of his lips like extra teeth.

"What is this Mithra?" he demanded sharply. "I have not the time or the patience to deal with outsiders…" his voice trailed off when he saw Kallian.

"I understand," said Mithra stiffly. "But this one claims to have important… business with our people."

"I see," said the Keeper slowly, still eyeing the Warden with a gaze that could bore a hole into the rocks. "And what business could these guests possibly have with us?"

"We're here to recruit the aid of the Dalish," said Kallian without hesitation.

At this, the Keeper bristled. "We owe service to no one, stranger. Who are you to ask of this?"

"We are Grey Wardens," said Alistair, stepping forward to support her. "You owe service to us."

"Grey Wardens, is it?" mused the tall elf, a wry smile stretching his thin lips. "You might have simply said so in the beginning. How you managed to let Mithra bring you here is beyond me. We hardly ever allow outsiders in… least of all shemlen."

Leliana felt a jolt of unjustified guilt at the word- as if she was responsible for the doings of her ancestors.

"She retains some of our language, Keeper," said Mithra, gesturing at Kallian. "More learned than most of the flat-ears."

"Perhaps we should not use that term so easily in front of our guest here."

The woman hesitated but bowed. "Of course, ir abelas."

"You may return to your post."

The woman bowed again. "Ma nuvenin, Keeper." She whirled around and strode away.

The man turned back to the heroes. "My apologies. You must understand that we do not usually accept visitors… under such circumstances."

"We understand," said Kallian with a slight undertone of impatience.

"Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the Keeper of this clan- its guide and preserver of ancient law. And… you are?"

"Kallian Tabris. Aneth ara," the Warden started off, introducing each of the heroes.

"Andaran atish'an," answered Zathrian, inclining his head to her. He still eyed her with that discomforting look, as if searching for clues. Kallian's eye twitched uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Forgive me," said the Keeper, noticing her reaction. "You are… somewhat familiar to me. Though I am sure we have never met."

"No," said Kallian. "I have never visited the Dalish."

"Then may I be probing for this one moment and ask if you knew the woman Adaia?"

Leliana saw the elf stiffen. "How do you know her?"

"I might ask you the same."

"She was my mother."

A flash of recognition lit up his piercing eyes. "So it is as I suspected. Welcome, Kallian Tabris, daughter of Adaia. You have finally returned to your rightful home."

There was a stunned silence as everyone digested the implications of this statement.

"So Kallian…" started Alistair.

"Is Dalish?" asked Leliana with incredulity.

"Half Dalish, to be more precise. Your father is from the city, yes?" asked the Keeper.

Kallian nodded.

He placed a hand on the Warden's shoulder. "Your mother Adaia, left us at an early age."

"But…" said Kallian, fumbling for the words. "She never told me about this. She never had the vallaslin."

"She refused."

"Refused?"

Another wry smile twisted the man's lips and his eyes were unreadable. "Your mother… was an ever independent woman. She longed to leave this place and see the world."

"I don't understand…"

Zathrian's lips curled somewhat in displeasure. "She did not agree with our traditions and beliefs." He saw her discomfort and gave an apologetic smile. "Oh, do not misunderstand. We held her in high esteem. But she was ever restless, ever curious about our distant cousins. Adaia felt it unjust to stay here while they suffered in the outside world."

"Fire burned in her blood like the warriors of old," murmured the Keeper, eyes fixed on some image of the past. "I warned her against it, but… she would not be dissuaded." He shook his head. "Alas, I see that she has raised her child in the impoverished squalor the humans imprison you in. But you are well learned, which I am pleased with."

"She paid the Hahren to teach me."

"The Hahren?" said Zathrian. He laughed softly. "No, no, emm'asha. That was what she told you. Your mother would have passed her knowledge on to him so that he could teach you."

Kallian stared. "Why did she keep this from me?"

"No doubt to protect you," said Zathrian. "As you well know, drawing attention to yourself bodes ill in the Alienage, does it not?"

"Yes…"

The Keeper regarded for a few seconds before asking: "And how is your mother?"

"She passed away," said the Warden flatly. "Years ago."

Zathrian seemed taken aback, eyes mournful. "Ir abelas. I must have opened an old wound for you. It gives me great sorrow to hear this news- she was the daughter of our esteemed warleader, your grandfather."

The Warden nodded numbly.

"I always wondered where she had learned to fight," she said. "Now I know…"

"Ah, yes," said Zathrian, nodding. "She was an excellent warrior. Skills passed down from Amharlen, I suppose."

"Well, this is an interesting twist of events," said Zevran. "Our Warden is the granddaughter of a Dalish warleader."

"Looks like you're pals with the Dalish, then," said Oghren, slapping Kallian on the back. "So, does that mean you'll help us?" he asked the Keeper.

Zathrian hesitated, his face darkening. "We would if we could, but… as of now, we face dire issues of our own."

"What do you mean?" asked Leliana. "What could be more urgent than the Blight?"

"I already sensed the corruption spreading in the south long ago. It is not news to me. I would have moved the clan north by now, had we the ability to move."

"So their first reaction is to flee from it? Curious," commented Sten quietly.

Leliana was glad Zathrian didn't hear this remark. Or perhaps he was ignoring it.

The Keeper sighed. "I imagine you are here about the treaty we signed, years ago. Unfortunately we may not live up to the promise we made. This will require some… explanation. Please, follow me," he said, gesturing to one of the tents in the distance.

They exchanged puzzled glances before following the Keeper.

It wasn't long before they stopped in their tracks again. Leliana heard the guttural snarling and screaming before she saw the elves. They were bloodied and writhing in agony. Wicked claws curved out from the nailbeds and the beginnings of grey fur coated the exposed skin. The man Zathrian was standing in front of was shuddering in a strange way, his voice more feral than the others. Kallian leaned over to see and stepped back abruptly, her expression grim.

The Keeper led them all back to his pavilion again, recounting the horrible events that had come to pass. He told them of how his clan had arrived at the forest a month ago and how they had been taken by surprise- ambushed by werewolves.

"Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak." His brows sank down heavier. "There will come a time when we must slay our brethren to prevent them from becoming the beasts themselves. We must eradicate the evil of the Blight, yes, but we are certainly in no position to uphold our obligations… I am truly sorry."

Leliana felt another blow of disappointment at this news.

"You've gotta be kidding me," said Oghren. "And I thought we had shit going on in Orzammar."

"Yes, this makes everything a tad more difficult," said Alistair, shaking his head.

Everyone else except Sten looked ready to flop onto the ground.

"Is there any way we can help?" asked Kallian.

"The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that… that would be no trivial task to retrieve."

Zevran chuckled humourlessly. "That would depend on how you define such a thing… we have been dealing with non trivial tasks before, no?"

Leliana nodded. "We must gain the aid of the Dalish. We have to help them."

"So, it's walking on the wild side then, eh?" asked Oghren, patting his bulging belly.

"I guess…" said Kallian, a little hesitant. "Is there… anything else we need to know?" Leliana glanced at her. The elf's tone was neutral, but her eyes were fixed intensely on the elder.

She's suspicious, the bard realized.

Something in the Keeper's eyes flickered. "There is a powerful werewolf in this forest- his name is Witherfang. If he is killed and if you bring his heart to me… then perhaps I could destroy the curse. I sent hunters into the forest only a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan."

Kallian nodded. "And you said this curse can be destroyed?"

"I cannot guarantee that this will work… but it is the only hope we have left."

It was clear there was but one choice.

"Then we will find this Witherfang for you."

Zathrian's shoulders visibly relaxed and he smiled. "Ma serannas, emm'asha. You are truly your mother's daughter. But let me warn you that the werewolves are not the only danger lurking in the forest. It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see. Where there is so much death, the Veil separating the spirit realm from our own becomes thin, allowing spirits to possess things living or dead. But if you can help, then I wish you luck."

Kallian paused, no doubt wanting to ask more questions.

"We will do our best," she said finally.

"That is all I could ask for," said the Keeper sadly. "I am sorry to impose this on you upon your arrival. I would that circumstances were different. But come, rest yourselves for the moment before leaving. I will ensure that all welcome you warmly, in memory of your mother."

"Ma serannas," said Kallian quietly.

Then Zathrian's gaze flicked to the dagger at her belt. "Might I… examine that blade?"

The elf gave it to him.

He took it with long, elegant fingers and slid the dagger out of the sheath. Sorrow misted in his light eyes. "Yes, I remember Amharlen gifting this to her. And now it has been passed to you." Zathrian returned it to her and she hung it on her belt. "Guard it well, my child."

Kallian nodded.

"But before you go," he said quickly, holding up a hand. A nearby elven man with long silver hair came and bowed. "We cannot let an esteemed daughter to leave without a bor'assan." The Keeper nodded to the man and he hurried away into the depths of a tent.

When he returned, it was with a long bow of great craftsmanship. Leliana stared at the strange design, its sleek surface and elegant curve of the wood. It was a material she had never seen before.

"Ironbark," explained the soft spoken elf, noticing her interest.

"Yes," said Zathrian, nodding. He took it from the man's hands and held it out to Kallian.

"Er…" said the Warden. "I'm not very flash with a bow. You'd best give it to Leliana."

The Keeper chuckled. "Use your sword if you must. This is a gift, emm'asha. It is your birthright."

"Well… in that case. Thank you," said the Warden, taking it.

"It is our custom to choose a name for the bow," said the weaponsmaster.

"A name?"

Kallian's dark eyes considered the weapon solemnly.

"Mien'harel," she said finally. "For the blood of my people."

The Keeper exchanged looks with the silver haired elf.

"Indeed… you have chosen well. Dareth shiral, my friends."

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"So… the daughter of a deserter comes to us in our time of need. How… heroic of you."

Kallian froze in her tracks. The elves in the area looked up at the disturbance but made no move to intervene. Leliana felt anger flare up in her.

She laid a hand on the elf's arm, stepping in front of her before Kallian could snap back a retort.

"And why does that matter?" she demanded. "This is a Grey Warden you are talking to, and she has come to aid your people. Any help is better than none, no?"

"The right help is what we need," sneered the man, eyeing her distastefully. "And we don't need your kind here, shem. There's enough ill fortune polluting the air."

Kallian growled and the sword was out before Leliana could stop her.

The rest of the group tensed along with their leader- they could sense a fight coming on.

"Sarel!"

They all turned to see a woman with tawny skin approaching, shaking her head in disapproval. "You are being most unkind," she said sternly. Her voice was like a whip snapping in the quiet, making the man falter. But Sarel was not easily defeated. He crossed his arms and faced her defiantly.

"Unkind? Don't talk to me about kindness, woman. Should I extend a hand of peace to a race that treats us no better than dogs? A race full of big boned barbarians that nearly destroyed our sacred traditions?"

"Would you refuse our hunters' help simply because of the hand that offered it?"

Leliana ignored his insults for Kallian's sake and spoke up, opting for a more soothing tone. "We can assure you, Sarel, our concern is for the wellbeing of your people."

The sneer on the man's face did not fade but he paused. Then: "An entire group of hunters went into the forest to do what you intend. And they have not returned… what makes you think you can?"

The elven children on the ground exchanged looks of discomfort.

Sarel harrumphed and sat himself on the chair. He waved a dismissive hand at the group. "Look at these people- a deserter's daughter, three shemlen, a Qunari, a city elf, a witch, a child of the stone… you cannot expect me to give them a warm welcome."

"Shame on you, Sarel. Our Keeper has asked that we show them hospitality. What would your father say of this? Our people are injured and dying. The werewolves are eyeing our camp hungrily even as we speak. Now is not the time for petty enmity."

At the mention of his father, Sarel seemed to clam up.

"Forgive him, Grey Warden," said the woman, sighing. "He has not had a pleasant history with the humans. He has become shamelessly bitter ever since."

"Enough, woman," said Sarel. "I do not need my life's story poured out." He worked his jaw before continuing. "Shall I tell you the truth? I am afraid, Grey Warden. I am afraid for my people. And the roots of hatred can often run deep… it is difficult to forget the lessons the shemlen taught us."

"It is even more difficult when you live amongst them," commented Zevran dryly. "Trust me."

Leliana watched in worry as Kallian fixed cold eyes on the man. But then she unfolded her arms. "That is something the three of us can agree on."

The two stared at each other in silent challenge for a concerning length of time before Sarel sighed. He raised his hands up in bitter surrender. "Very well… perhaps I can make amends. Stay," he said, gesturing to the chairs around him. "While I spin a tale for the children. And then I will tell you of the forest if you so desire."

The Warden exchanged glances with the others. Alistair shrugged and Leliana gave her an encouraging nod. The group sat down on either the grass or the chairs.

"Now…" said Sarel, looking down at the children. "What say we begin with the story of the Fall of the Dales? Which of you children knows that best?"

The group of elves frowned, trying to remember. One beautiful child with fair hair responded. "I… I think I do."

"Yes? Then come, child," said Sarel, beckoning him to sit at his feet. "Oh, don't be frightened of the outsiders."

The child drew near and sat down.

"And where do you think such a tale should begin?"

"When… we were slaves?"

"Yes. Long ago, we were slaves to an empire the shemlen had built on the darkest magic. They took away our history, and our language, and left us nothing," he said, putting heavy emphasis on each word. Leliana shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "And then that empire fell and we were freed," he continued.

"Because Andraste came with her army, and Shartan joined her!" said the child eagerly.

Sarel nodded, smiling in approval. "Yes. Andraste the shemlen prophet came out of the south, and challenged the Tevinter Imperium. Our ancestor Shartan fought at her side. And when the rebellion came to an end, we were given a new homeland in the west- the Dales." He turned challenging eyes to the Warden. "Perhaps you know what happened next, Grey Warden?"

Kallian returned a steely gaze. "We began to rebuild our history and culture. We also worshipped the creators and made the Dales our home."

"And do you know what happened to the Dales?" asked Sarel.

"A war broke out," said Kallian quietly. "Because we would not worship their Maker." Leliana noticed her use of the pronoun we. "The human nations grew cold toward the Dales and-"

Sarel shook his head, eyes flashing. "They called us blasphemers, tyrants, and a stream of other vicious things. They were determined to hunt us down- it was a great crusade," he said mockingly.

"There have been many versions of the story," said Leliana hesitantly. "Some say we started the war, while others say the elves did."

The man turned resentful eyes on her. "We started the war, did we? How typical of a shem to suggest that. And what of you, child?" he said, turning to the young elf. "What do you think happened?"

"The shemlen wouldn't let us be," answered the boy confidently.

"Indeed. They resented us fiercely because we would not acknowledge their Maker. Because we were so different. They took our lands, forcing us to abandon our gods and live as beggars in shemlen cities!"

"You should have fought," rumbled Sten suddenly, making everyone jump. "You should have fought to the last of you. Better that than to submit."

"Oh? Is it not the Qunari way to force others to submit? Surely that would not be your advice to my people were they attacked by the mighty Qunari."

"That would be different. The qunari would improve your people. The humans have improved nothing."

"Perhaps. Even so, many of us did fight. We fought and we lost."

"But there were those who resisted," said Kallian, drawing the man's attention to her. "Those of us that emblazoned the symbols of the creators on their flesh and vowed to keep their ancient law alive."

"That's us! That's the Dalish!" said the child proudly.

"Yes," said Kallian, smiling slightly. "The clans chose to wander the lands, homeless, rather than be ruled by the humans. And so we continue to, until the day we have a homeland once more."

"Yes," said Sarel. "We are the Dalish. The Keepers of the lost law."

"The Walkers of the Lonely Path," said Kallian, nodding. "The Elvhenan."

Sarel regarded her seriously for a moment, as did the elven woman.

"You know the story well," said the man in grudging acknowledgement. "Adaia must have taught you."

Leliana saw Kallian nod, fingering the dagger sub consciously. For the first time, the bard truly felt the significance of this history. There had been so much bloodshed, so much hatred and loss. She understood why Kallian had been so hostile initially. Having it told to her again made her re consider her stance on the relationship between the two races.

And as she studied the Warden's face, the cat like eyes that glowed in the dark and her tapered ears… she suddenly felt a lonely distance between them. A gap that she could never cross.

Elf and human. Could she ever fully understand the fierce loyalty and love Kallian had for her people? The desolate hollowness of losing one's culture and heritage?

Sarel was speaking now, treating the Warden with considerably less antagonism. "Our legends say that before the shemlen came, the Brecilian Forest was a place of our ancestors, that predated even our oldest homeland. The people of the Imperium came here, and gave the forest its name…" Leliana listened with curiosity and growing sympathy as the man spoke. "… they found traces of elves slain or enslaved here. There were a great many battles fought here- these trees grow upon those who fell. Both elves and shemlen."

"And what about the werewolves?" asked Alistair.

"So much death in one place," said Sarel, echoing the Keeper's words. "The Veil was torn open and the spirits passed through into our world. Legend has it that one spirit took hold of the werewolf Witherfang. And thus he has spread the curse to others, and to our people."

A silence settled over the whole group as they absorbed all the information. To Kallian, it must have been like a retelling of a bedtime story. But for Leliana, it had stirred up both discomfort and sympathy towards her lover.

No wonder she was so withdrawn and cold…

"And that is the end of the tale," said Sarel, his face long and weary. He stood up and seemed to battle with himself before forming the words with his lips. "Thank you for listening. I… apologize for what I said earlier. Consider it the rantings of an old, embittered man."

"Apology accepted, Sarel," said Leliana with a small smile.

"Ma serannas, Sarel," said Kallian, bowing and making a strange sign with her right hand. "No ill feelings between us?"

Sarel smiled and returned the sign. "None, Grey Warden."