As always my thanks to Bioware for creating this wonderful world to play in. Any inaccuracies are strictly my fault.
Apologies for liberties taken with the natural history of the halla. I used North American Elk as a partial behavioral model as the lore only holds a little information on halla at this time. Anyone who has ever heard a bull elk bugle will understand my characters getting sidetracked. This section may be revised if more information on halla is made available.
Thank you also to the other writers who have inspired me to put forth my work for public consumption.
Chapter 3- Unexpected Meeting
Aithne woke to the gentle weight of a hand on her hip, for a confused moment she thought it was Alistair. Remembering she reached up and returned the offending appendage to its owner. Rolling over she gave Zevran a raised eyebrow. Smiling he shrugged his shoulders. Some things would never change she thought as she slipped from her blankets, at least he was still in his own bedroll.
Efficiently donning her armor and rolling blankets in their oiled canvas covering Aithne considered the coming day. Checking her weapons for signs of dirt or rust before returning them to their sheaths she nudged Zevran with the toe of her boot. "Time to get up, I would like to get on the road."
He sighed, it probably wasn't even dawn yet. At least it had stopped raining, the pounding on the shingles and the annoying drip in the corner had stopped sometime during the night. Rising he felt an unaccustomed stiffness in his calves and thighs, one mark against riding horses. Well at least she hadn't kicked him out of the arms of a warm bedmate for sparring practice — that had happened more than once. In Denerim he had quickly learned not to bring his consorts back to his chamber if he wished to sleep in. Aithne had never commented on his various pleasures, but if they had planned weapons practice she expected him to show up.
"I'll feed the horses and see if I can find some breakfast."
Zevran watched her go, she was still upset, her natural fluid grace disrupted by the stiff set of her shoulders. It will take time he reflected, she has lost so much and paid such a price. Clearing his mind he began a series of stretches to ease his sore muscles and maintain his needed dexterity. By the time she had returned smelling of hay and bearing two bowls of lumpy porridge for breakfast he had packed his things and returned the table and chairs to the center of the narrow room from their perch on the bed.
Stirring the half-cooked meal with his spoon Zevran was trying to decide how hungry he was when she spoke. "Zev, I wanted to thank you for all you have done, all you have been to me. I know you would like our… relationship to include more. I cannot give you what you want now, maybe never. I… thought I should tell you," her expression unreadable, even to Zevran's experienced eyes, "before we were too far from Denerim. In case you… changed your mind."
He started to reply, she held up a hand to stop him. "That is not all. I intend to avoid shemlen — at least for a time." The derogatory word felt strange on her lips. She had lived among them, worked to rebuild their homes and cities for so long it seemed wrong to belittle them. "I need to return to who I was, find out who I am. I cannot do that sleeping under a wooden roof, living confined as they do. The barkeep, last night, would have turned us away had we not been armed, had coin. That is not the way of the Dalish." Her eyes were far away. "We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."
Returning to the present she cast her eyes down. "I am no longer Dalish. I fell in love with a human, lived in a shemlen city. I am not even a proper Grey Warden. I am leaving the other wardens to protect Ferelden, have allowed the soul of an Old God to survive risking another blight. I need to find out what I am before I find Morrigan, before I see her child. Zev, I would like you to come with me, but I will not hold you to your pledge. Where I am going, what I must do, this is not the life for," she managed a weak smile, "a worldly assassin. If you wish to go back I will not hold it against you."
Resigning himself to the hardships of the wilderness (while hoping she would come to her senses soon) Zevran declared. "I am your man — without reservation. I still hold to that pledge." He sighed ruefully, if she was being honest he had to add, "I will not promise to stay out of your bed, only to respect your wishes if you say no." Grinning, he added, "and I do not intend to make it easy for you to say no."
Relief mixed with apprehension washed through her. Twice in less than a day she had given him good reason to leave. Twice he had renewed his pledge, one she had released him from long ago. His loyalty was both comforting and worrisome. She and Alistair had hurt each other so badly. The thought of hurting Zevran in the same way was beyond tragic. She had confronted him this morning partly in hopes that he would leave. Then she could sort her life out without entanglements. Still it was impossible to deny the joy she felt at his words. She would be adrift without his friendship, and yes even his ridiculous flirtation, in her life.
They finally left the village rather later than she had hoped. With their plans to avoid humans it was necessary to procure supplies where they were — which took some time. They had only packed minimal provisions when they left Denerim, assuming they would be able to buy what they needed in villages along the way. Had it been earlier in the year Aithne could have gathered most of what they needed as they traveled. Now with winter rapidly approaching she was unlikely to be able to find what they needed for a varied diet. It was nearly three hours past sunrise when they finally rode out, horses burdened with their supplies.
Even with the delay Aithne felt surprisingly light hearted as the last buildings disappeared behind them and they turned off the road to the north. It felt good to travel again, to be away from the noise and stink of human cities. The air was fresh from the recent rain and off the road there was little mud. She tried not to dwell on the reason for traveling, trying only to experience the moment to moment existence of a nomad. The wind in her hair, the moist scent of the earth beneath her, the far off tang of the ocean, it was enough just to be alive on a beautiful autumn day. The rolling hills of the coastlands rose up before her open and free.
Zevran watched her transformation over the following days. Though their errand was an important one he saw the stress and burden of responsibility fall away from her. There was still a shadow of sadness in her eyes but she did not let it consume her. He did not mind the camping so much, the weather had held warm and dry and Aithne was a surprisingly good cook. It was something that had never occurred to him, accustomed to city life as he was, that traveling through the wilderness could be almost comfortable. Not that he did not wish for a soft bed, fine wine and perfectly spiced Antivan food, but for now what he had was enough. The last thought surprised him, they had traveled this way during the blight and he had found it to be rather unpleasant. Of course Alistair had done much of the cooking then and, he thought rather darkly, the human had had the attentions of Aithne.
Their days fell into a routine, break camp early with a quick breakfast, travel through the morning hours, a sparring session before lunch while the horses were allowed to rest and graze a little, travel again until late afternoon, then set up camp and hunt if they needed meat. Often they would sit and talk until well after dark before retiring, much to Zevran's regret, to their own bedrolls. They rarely took watches, relying on the horses to alert them if there was trouble in these relatively tame lands. In this manner they passed across northern Ferelden and into the foothills of the Frostback Mountains.
During their journey Aithne often shared with him the subtle things she saw, a bear scrape or a depression where a deer had bedded down, plants that were good to eat or to season a meal. Things that were as evident to her as a subtle current of tension in a crowded tavern was to him. One afternoon as they gradually ascended toward the imposing mountains he heard a peculiar sound, a sustained ascending note with an odd husky quality. He looked enquiringly at Aithne who answered, "The wild halla are in rut, that is a mature stag. They are not quite like the tame halla in the Dalish camps who are encouraged to pair off with a single mate. In the wild a stag will bugle to attempt to attract as many females as possible, sometimes two stags will even fight over the possession of a harem." They gradually worked their way toward the source of the sound and it became plain that there were two stags bugling. They stopped and dismounted in the trees just below the crest of a hill and crept over the top.
Looking down they could see six or seven female halla milling nervously as two huge stags eyed each other intermittently bugling and tossing their antlers. The sight of the beautiful white animals entranced them both. Here was an ageless scene that had occurred long before elves and humans had met, long before the first blight occurred. It was something wild and compelling. They watched for perhaps an hour as the stags attempted to sort out dominance, until something spooked them and the whole herd turned and crashed out of the clearing.
Missing Aithne's tension Zevran spoke quietly. "That is a sight I will not forget, thank you." He stopped at the gentle touch on his arm, suddenly alert as she rose to her feet.
"Show yourselves," she called, outwardly relaxed weapons sheathed. Zevran came up beside her, palms itching for sword and dagger but following her lead.
A Dalish elf, perhaps a few years younger than Aithne stepped into view and strode toward them bow in hand. "You stink of shem and your horses make more noise than their dogs." His voice dripped with disdain.
"We are…Rill, is that you?" Aithne paused, recognizing the elf.
"Aithne? We thought you were still off saving the world, and here I find you dressed as a shem, with a city elf and horses no less? Why have you returned?" Contempt evident on his features Rill stared at her.
"She did save the world. You would know that if you hadn't spent the blight hiding in the woods." Zevran interjected.
"Peace Zev. Rill you should have better manners. I had not intended to return, did not even realize the clan was here. Perhaps you would like to tell your companion not to shoot us." Aithne gestured toward another elf with an arrow nocked and ready across the clearing.
Rill gave a hand signal and the other elf dropped his bow. "The keeper will want to see you. Bring your horses and come with me."
"I assume this is your clan?" Zevran enquired. "Are they always this friendly?"
"You will have to excuse Rill, he lost his sister and both parents to a shemlen raid. My clan has had trouble with humans often in the past and are perhaps more militant about maintaining Dalish traditions than many others. I doubt they would have allowed Duncan to recruit me if I had not been tainted already." She winced remembering the day she had said her farewells to her clan, the day of Tamlen's funeral. "Do not think badly of them Zev, they have their reasons."
They did not speak further as Rill and his companion led them to the Dalish camp. As they approached Zevran noted that most of the Dalish grasped bows or daggers and maintained a wary silence.
A mature Dalish woman strode toward them, "Rill, who are these strangers?"
"Do you not recognize me Marethari? It has not been so long." Aithne strode forward head high.
"Aithne? The gods have blessed you to return to us safe." The Dalish keeper smiled and held her hands out in welcome. Aithne strode forward and was wrapped in the woman's embrace. The clan members clustered around, one of their family had returned.
Aithne allowed herself a few moments to bask in their warm greeting before beckoning to Zevran. "I would like you all to meet my dear friend Zevran Arainai."
Zevran accepted their greetings and introductions with a cool smile, still wary after the initial reaction they had received.
"You must tell us of your travels." Keeper Marethari looked at them both, questions in her eyes. "We had heard from some of the clans in the Dalish lands near Ostagar that a Dalish elf named Aithne had helped defeat the blight and was chancellor for the shemlen king."
"It is a long story Keeper. We would gladly share it after our horses are cared for. They will not bother the halla if we may pasture them with the herd." Aithne waited for the keeper to nod and then strode through the encampment toward the halla she could hear bleating softly.
By the time they had cared for their mounts and turned them loose to graze it was apparent that a feast was being prepared. They spent a few extra minutes to wash in an icy stream before returning to camp. The Keeper waved them over as they returned to the central cluster of tents and aravels. "Please, put your things in my tent and then come and tell your tale." Aithne raised a brow, guests rarely stayed with the keeper.
"Nervous?" Zevran asked in the privacy of the keeper's tent. It was obvious that although Aithne was happy to see her clan, she was unsettled about something.
"I am overjoyed to see everyone, yet I feel like a stranger. I had not planned on coming back, in part because they may expect me to stay and this is not my home anymore. I don't really know what to say, how to explain about the blight, the Grey Wardens, all the things we have done and seen. It has changed us both Zev. How do you tell someone you are not who you were before?"
"I don't know, I never really had anything to go back to. " Zevran grinned lest it seem he was indulging in self pity. "Perhaps you should tell the tale and then see how things stand."
"You are right, I worry too much." They left the tent and found a seat on a bench near the fire.
"My friends, you know that I left to become a Grey Warden, to join their struggle against the darkspawn. As you are probably aware treachery by Teryn Loghain, in one of the early battles to contain the blight, allowed the defeat of King Cailan's army and caused the deaths of the king and most of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. King Alistair and I were the only two Grey Wardens left in the country."
As she spun her tale Zevran admired her ability to put their experiences into words. Her time as chancellor, unhappy though it had been, had taught her how to speak to people, to engage their hearts as well as their minds. During some of the more difficult parts of the story he felt her press her leg into his, gaining courage to continue. Their experience in the Deep Roads was particularly difficult for her to relate. The process of darkspawn turning females of other races into their Broodmothers still caused her nightmares. Her description of the ruins in the Brecilian forest garnered the most interest from the Dalish as he had expected. She gave full credit to all of their companions and described heroic battles including some that Zevran had tried to forget. When she reached the final battle with the Archdemon he had to resist putting a protective arm around her. Just remembering his fear, not for himself, but for her was heart wrenching. He had thought she was dead after the battle, laying there crumpled next to the lifeless Archdemon. It was not a good memory.
"A stirring tale, you have honored your people with your courage." The keeper seemed to stare through Aithne as she asked. "But why did you stay with the shemlen after it was over?"
Fist clenching on her thigh she replied. "I am a Grey Warden and a subject of King Alistair. My duty now lies beyond my own clan." Aithne gave as much of an answer as she could.
Marethari gave her a keen glance, obviously suspecting additional reasons. She held her peace however. There was time enough for private discussion later.
The impromptu feast was delicious and most of the conversation involved innocuous questions about their tale. Zevran felt speculative eyes on him several times that evening but most of the clan tried to make him feel welcome. At last, warm and full they were able to plead exhaustion and escape to the Keeper's tent.
Inside the tent it was a relief to set aside their weapons and armor. Aithne turned to Zevran after setting her equipment in a neat pile. "You know Marethari will have more questions tonight."
"Indeed, perhaps we should scandalize her so we can have some peace." He reached up and stroked her cheek. He was rewarded with a flash of interest in her eyes. It was gone so quickly he was not quite sure it had actually been there.
"I am rather difficult to scandalize." Marethari slipped into the tent.
Grinning wickedly Zevran continued. "Is that so? Three's company I always say. You are welcome to join us."
The Keeper froze for a moment in disbelief. "Aithne, I can't believe you have chosen this…, this…"
Aithne bit her lip to stifle her laughter, the expression on the very proper Keeper's face was a combination of disgust and horror. Zevran always had a unique talent for shocking people. "Keeper, Zev wasn't serious. " She shot him a quelling glance. "He simply has a rather different perspective on the world."
"A different…" The elven woman struggled to regain her composure. "Well, yes. How did he join your company anyway? You explained how your other companions joined, but not Zevran."
"I was contracted to assassinate the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden by Teryn Loghain. Obviously the attempt failed and here I am." Zevran indicated his surroundings with a flourish.
"An assassin! You let him live?" Marethari was incredulous.
Aithne smiled at Zevran remembering. "He claimed he would be useful. Said he had skills in fighting, lock picking, cleaning armor and…" she decided to have a little fun, "bed warming I believe it was. " Turning to Zevran she proceeded. "The fighting you are good at, so I guess one out of four isn't bad."
"You wound me, my lady." Zevran appealed to Marethari, "you raised her to be heartless, denigrating my skills with a lock pick…"
Aithne finally decided to have mercy on the poor woman who was staring at them like they had each grown another head. "I am sorry Keeper. Zev and I have been friends for a long time and it is a rather old joke." She shrugged, explaining how a friendship had blossomed from a failed assassination was all but impossible. "He was an Antivan Crow and they treat failure by their members with rather permanent solutions. I could not kill him in cold blood and I could not turn him loose so he joined us. I did not wish to share the details with the clan knowing Dalish views on honor."
Marethari nodded, "probably wise of you. You have strayed far from our traditions and not everyone would have understood. I would speak with you more about the other Grey Warden and the Archdemon if you would indulge me." The Keeper motioned for her guests to be seated while she poured a measure of spari berry wine for each of them.