Apparently I had a brain-fart yesterday and forgot to cross-post this chapter to here. Doh! There will be another chapter later today as well, assuming I don't forget again!
Morrigan found Arren dropping back to walk at her side for a while the next morning, while Alistair and Leliana led the way, Mouse walk between them. The big man was paying far more attention to the dog than to the bard, she was amused to notice, and seemed oblivious to the bard's attempts to catch his attention.
"I was going through my pack this morning and came across this," Arren said, almost shyly. "I thought you might like it."
He held out one hand toward her. She glanced down, and blinked in surprise at the necklace draped over his hand. Chasind work, by the look of it, a leather cord with objects knotted into it at intervals; bear teeth, alternating with carved bits of bone. "Why give it to me?" she asked warily.
He smiled, held it out further. "The carvings made me think of you," he said simply.
She frowned, and lifted it from his hand, holding it up to take a closer look. And smiled; the end of each length of bone had been carved into the shape of an animal's head, a different one on each, including a hawk, a wolf, and a bear among them. "I... 'tis lovely," she said, touched. "Thank you."
Arren grinned. She undid the clasp of the necklace – a circle of bone at one end of the cord, a long peg at the other that could be slipped through its centre – then glanced at Arren and held it out. "Could you put it on for me?" she asked.
He looked surprised, then smiled. "Of course," he said, accepting it back.
She turned her back, arching her neck and smoothing the hair at her nape out of the way. He stepped closer, reaching around her neck with the end of the necklace. She felt his fingers fumbling to fasten the clasp, his breath gusting warm against the back of her neck. He was close enough that she could smell him; warm leather, a little sweat, the herbal mixture he used in place of soap, a faint undertone of male musk, similar to but different than how a human male would smell; sweeter, somehow. Less rank, anyhow.
"Done," he said, softly, stepping back again. She turned and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," she said.
He smiled, warmly, flushing just slightly, and they resumed walking.
"So. Have you travelled much?" he asked after a while.
"Yes. I have seen much of Ferelden, and even some of Orlais, travelling occasionally with Flemeth but mainly on my own," she said, and glanced sideways at him. "I am no primitive, painted in blood and unable to speak the language. Flemeth knows much of the world, and taught me well."
Arren looked startled. "I didn't think you were. It's what some shem call we Dalish, you know – primitives."
Morrigan snorted. "They are fools that forget their own history, then. The elves were civilized when mankind still dressed in uncured hides and thought long pointed sticks were the epitome of weaponry. Or so Flemeth has taught me."
Arren nodded. "But now we are a fallen people, our empires mostly forgotten, our cities gone to dust or wilderness."
"A fallen people can rise again. Witness the people of Ferelden; within my lifetime they have gone from subjugation under Orlais to freedom and a thriving society following their own traditional form of government. Who might say what the elves might become, in a decade, in a century, in a thousand years."
Arren glanced at Morrigan, startled. "You are older than you look," he observed.
She smiled slightly. "I will take that as a compliment. And you, being an elf, are likely older than you look as well, at least to human eyes."
Arren smiled back. "Yes. I am..."
She quickly raised her hand, silencing him. "Do not say. I prefer not to know. Mother used to say that it was unwise to ask women or elves their age; women because it was rude and likely to anger them, and elves because it was depressing. Though given her own great age, I doubt it has ever been particularly depressing to her."
Arren laughed. "Yes, in this day and age I know of no living elf who can match the Asha'bellanar in years. She has become a legend now even to us, who were once called the undying."
Morrigan nodded. "Let us speak of something other than my mother," she asked.
"Certainly. Like what?"
"I don't know," she said, surprised for a moment, then frowned in thought. "What of you, you asked of my travels – have you journeyed far yourself?"
"Yes and no," he said. "I have travelled far with my clan over the years, but most of that has been within the forests. This is my first time travelling apart from my people, among the shemlen," he said, looking unexpectedly saddened and sober. "I... miss them very much. I would not have left them if I'd had a choice," he added softly.
Morrigan darted him a look. "Why did you have no choice?" she asked, curiously.
He sighed, looking unusually sombre. When he resumed speaking his voice was low, hesitant, even pained at times, as he talked of two young elves and the trouble they'd found one bright summer day not long before. Morrigan listened quietly, attentively, not speaking. She had a feeling she was the first person he'd told this story to, and found herself... touched, by the trust it showed in her.
"...and so I left with Duncan to Ostagar. He seemed certain that Tamlen must be dead or near-death already, beyond our help, but sometimes... I dream, I have nightmares, that he is still alive, somehow, somewhere, in terrible pain."
They walked in silence for a while, side-by-side. She wished there was something comforting she could say, but could think of nothing.
"Hey, Arren," Alistair called, holding one hand up to shade his eyes, peering along the roadway ahead of him. "There's something in the road ahead."
Arren hurried forward to his side, frowning into the distance as well. "An overturned cart, I think. And someone is coming our way. Maybe there's been an accident."
They continued on at a slower pace, curiously watching the woman hurrying towards them.