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Chapter Three: City Elf
Crouching on the bank of a quick stream that clunked merrily down from the Hinterlands, Kallian was striving to catch some dinner, in the form of slippery trout. She seized the fish bare-handed and pulled them quickly from the water, snapping their heads on a nearby rock. It was a crude way of doing things, but it didn't damage blades nor require arrows; plus, it was far more productive than hunting game for someone as unknowing of the wild as herself. It was mostly Morrigan who brought red meat to their small camp, not that it was unexpected, and Sten also knew his way around. The rest of them were pretty useless in this regard, even Con the dog, who managed to scare each and all living soul in a distance of several feet before making the slightest move to pounce, when he set to hunting.
One. Two. Five. Seven - eight. Nine – ten. Twelve. She spiked them as they came on a long stick, propped by the nearest tree. She couldn't hunt, but she was quick of hand enough to gather dinner even in this foreign forest weeks away from home. Satisfied, she seated herself on a boulder, trying to catch the day's last rays of sun. Big mistake.
She'd held out good for the last month-and-a-half or so. She hadn't had a choice. Regardless, her eyes kept fatally sliding towards east, to Denerim, where her family was. She hoped they were well.
Her thoughts drifted towards the man she'd met briefly, who with she'd been supposed to settle herself in marriage; an unknown – a man who'd given his life for her within three hours since they'd met. What kind of man was that? She thumbed the ring that she'd taken from his dead body, which now rested on her left hand, and studied it, as if for the first time. It was well-made and with a good eye for detail – two stripes of metal linked together with small bracers under fire and hammer, carefully polished and trimmed – a wedding band, which he'd made for his unknown bride. She would she'd known him.
Shianni – damaged; Soris – married. Her father, sheltering another girl in her stead in the house. She, Kallian, barely escaped from the gallows, only to fall upon a disenchanted battle between man and man, human against human, while everybody'd been bloody gone out of their way to pretend they'd been fighting the enemy of all that lived and was holy – Darkspawn. Herself, changed by the Joining, condemned until the very end to feel them in her veins, to hear and gauge them and know. Once the gallows, once the joining, once a battle without odds, if someone had told her two months ago that she'd cheat death trice before the end of the year, only to land worse than before each time, she'd told them they'd gone barking.
The grass was swishing in the back. There was no noise of steps to go with the swishing, so, naturally, it had to be the – well, sneaky – Sister that she'd agreed to take along on a whim. Although Alistair was wrong and the fact that her ears - oversized even for an elf - couldn't hear the woman's footsteps, spelled more of "stabbity-stabbity" than of pretty colors, she knew there was skill there and a good mind to go with; although, which skills, it boggled the mind to merely fathom.
She could wager all her money that the Sister had a perfectly reasonable reason to be exactly there at that exact given time; indeed, as she came closer, Kallian could see the neat bundle of cloth with a soap bar on top, which the Sister was carrying high above the head for all the world to see. Slippery as trout, that one. The way she fought. The stories she told. The "vision". The way she'd handled Alistair a couple of nights before. Still, she had been in the Lothering Chantry for the last two years, Kallian had checked before allowing her to come. Did the Chantry have spies? Kallian frowned. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. Perhaps the Sister was honest about her intention to fight the Blight. Merely a woman with a past. She was not to hold that against her.
"Are you quite alright?"
Kallian frowned. She'd lost sight of the Sister but for one minute.
"Yes. Just – heading back with these." She waved the makeshift pike full of fish to confirm her words, sporting what she thought would pass as a confident grin. "Why?"
"You have…" – the Sister gestured towards her face, as if tracing tears.
Kallian mirrored her, and, to her surprise, she found her cheeks profusely wet, indeed. She flushed and frowned again; clearly, she did not remember shedding any tears – but there they were. She wiped her cheeks awkwardly, sure that she'd left a trail of dirt behind.
"Oh. Err. I didn't –" she breathed, trying to decide what to say next – "Must be the lack of sleep."
"Must be?" A pair of red eyebrows darted to the sky, doubtful and ironic.
"Well, yes. It must be. I'm a city elf, you see. Grew in an Alienage. Used to sleep with all my family in one room, in the city, behind walls. The noises of the forest keep me awake all night."
Kallian spoke quickly, earnest not to leave the wrong impression. Moreso since the awkward conversation they'd had a night before – the human had seemed very interested in her private state of mind. It was the plain truth though, Darkspawn nightmares aside. But that was a Warden thing, like a whole lot of other nuisances that she couldn't freely talk about. Like hunger, for one.
Like this. The nausea had never really left her since the Joining – it wasn't strong, she could forget all about it for hours on end if she had enough things to busy herself with, but if she remembered and looked for it, or only thought of Darkspawn, it was there, gnawing at the back of her skull, clear as day or a blighted headache. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sensation, but it didn't give. She could even hear whispers rising from somewhere behind her ears. Sod.
It was the first time when she could really sense them. Alistair had said that it would come in time, and there it was. There they were. Kallian jumped to her feet, brushing aside the hand that had just landed on her shoulder – an attempt at comfort, perhaps. But this wasn't such a time.
"You. Up that tree, now."
The whispering came closer. Kallian listened hard, trying to figure where they were; how many; where they went. No luck. She could only reason that there had to be several of them, perhaps strong, with one or two Alphas or an Emissary. She doubted she'd have felt them otherwise.
"Up, up. They're almost here – take the fish," she pushed at the Sister, who had frozen in place.
Finally, the woman was moving. Kallian shoved up the tree her shortbow and the dozen arrows that she'd brought with, then jumped to catch the lowest branch and heave herself up too.
"There." The Sister's whisper trembled a bit. They had encountered Darkspawn before, but Kallian had to own they were a sight each time. And - the stench.
"Remind me never to leave camp without handbombs," she blew back, squinting in a fruitless attempt to count and size up the enemy.
The Genlocks were almost always hiding in the shadows. She spied two, but they could be a dozen. A couple of Hurlock foot soldiers followed into the clear, thoroughly trudging under the tree; their leaders were nowhere to be seen – keeping back, perhaps, preparing an ambush. Kallian suspected an emissary; Alphas simply charged.
She had to lure them out at some point. But first things first. She threw a trout outright in the face of one Hurlock. It hollered and bared its teeth, while the other started to bash his sword and shield together menacingly. And true enough, answer came from the side. Two other genlocks rendered themselves visible, and also did the emissary, in the way of a sparkling green ball that sizzled on the first Hurlock's skin, enraging it.
Kallian shoved the shortbow into the Sister's hands.
"Don't shoot 'til they're caught up with me."
"You have a plan?"
"None whatsoever."
... ...
"Show off," Leliana muttered to herself while nocking an arrow and sizing up the small elf Warden, who was taking a fighting stance down by their refuge tree, clad in shirt and trews and armed with something that looked just a bit more menacing than a sturdy kitchen knife.
The Darkspawn spotted the Warden. They drew blade, howled and spat, howled again, then took charge like one. The Warden weighed them calmly, giving away no sense of fear, waiting. Then the Warden ran.
She ran like a zigzagging scared rabbit, all over the tall grass, dodging the emissary's spells only just. Leliana found herself holding a breath in the realization that the spawn were closing in – more, it seemed they had cornered her, pushing towards the end of the glade, where the creek was turning into a chute, as the soft ground was giving way to an edgy cliff, spiked and unfriendly.
Without warning, Kallian plunged on the side only feet away from the sheer drop. Two faster genlocks in the front fell over, beyond any reasonable possibility of stopping; a third managed to wobble precariously on the edge before the others pushed it down, too. Leliana seized the moment and released the arrow that she'd held ready for some time right in the nape of the following Hurlock, which was all it took to send it flying with his comrades, as Kallian hamstrung the last genlock and sprung up. Leliana felt a jab of hope – perhaps Kallian was able to get them out of this, after all.
But that was that for the small, unarmored rogue. She took a disorient spell full-power, right in the chest, and the shield bash of the Hurlock sent her flying. Leliana thought she heard the familiar sound of bones cracking from where she hid, which was some considerable distance, and, next, the Hurlock was zooming in with the tip of his sword pointed down, ready to finish the job. Leliana released two quick-shots, trying to rile the beast and take it off Kallian, but no such luck. She'd always preferred the long-bow; what it lacked in accuracy she could make up for, but its range and power were something that no skill could compensate. Unfortunately, she'd left hers at camp. As she hurriedly nocked a third arrow, the branch she used for support caught fire. The emissary had apparently taken more interest in her endeavors than the Hurlock, and Leliana fell in an entanglement of branches and burning leaves.
The clearing filled at once with shouting and growling. As Leliana lay in the tall grass trying to catch her breath, she heard Alistair's battle cry and some encouraging barking arose from the side. Her eyes were watering from the smoke, and she couldn't see any sky or branches or leaves above. A cool breeze was surrounding her, though, quite pleasant in a sort of way, and her clothes were covered in a thin hoar layer. Perhaps Morrigan had worked one of her ice spells to quell the fire.
The first gulp of air came in sour and choky. Leliana managed up on her feet and wobbled towards the place Kallian had fallen. Not good.
"If I pull it out, it will break the collar bone," Alistair was saying. Morrigan scoffed as per habit and left to take a look at the Emissary's staff. Con the dog was nudging the still hand of her mistress with some worry.
"Get it out, will you? I can't lie here all day…" Kalian had come to her senses, and was bossing everyone around, as per habit.
Alistair fidgeted and paced around, and Leliana finally got a view of the problem – a Darkspawn sword was pinning Kallian down, going obliquely through the right shoulder and deep into the ground. The job didn't promise to be clean.
"Alistair. Just pull it out." The voice sounded more resigned than anything else.
"Right. Riight."
Alistair propped himself above the elf, with one foot on each side of her body and made to grab the hilt with both hands. He'd barely touched it, though, when Kallian yelped curtly and her head slid senseless to the side. Leliana found it was the time to intervene.
"It's fine, Alistair. She just passed out. You just think of the blade, I'll hold her shoulders. She won't feel a thing."
... ...
She was fine. In her own tent, in the friendly darkness spiked with long, yellow tongues of light from the campfire, hearing the merry chatter of the others, Leliana's sing-song laughter – that was fine; it was good. Kallian dared to take a deeper breath; it didn't hurt. Or, not much. Her right arm was packed in a sling close to her chest. The wraps seemed sturdy enough. She shifted a bit, then decided to adventure further. She needed to get some food soon, anyway. Or not. After some hapless struggle she somehow managed to wrap herself in a shirt after a fashion, but the hosepipes were a nightmare. If only she could bend enough – or lift her knees high enough, it didn't matter which – to get her feet through. But no. After all the strain, she simply managed to roll to the side and land on her right shoulder. Hard. She bit her lip to keep silent, but some hideous half-hissing half-groan still got away. The chatter outside fell quiet.
"Sod." She lay on the flat of her back, no closer to the purpose of getting dressed and out than ever, the peace in her aching bones long gone.
"Sod-sodding-sod."
Her bowels growled in response.
It seemed she wasn't allowed more time to wallow in her misery. A head appeared at the entrance of her tent, and Kallian fumbled to cover both her body and the crude remnants of her lost battle with a pair of pants.
"Sister."
"Do you think you can eat? I brought you some fish soup – Alistair said you might…"
Kallian took a breath and rose.
"Yea. Sure." The spiced broth smelled maddeningly. She took the bowl in a hurry and barely remembered to add a mumbled "Thank you." Then she realized she could only use one hand. Particularly, the one that was holding the bowl. She wasn't exactly keen to let the human see her bury her whole face in soup, as the case well seemed to be. So she stalled.
"Let me hold that for you," the Sister said.
"No. I can manage."
"You'll make a mess."
The human's eyebrows were risen with only a hint of challenge – and that was strange, as Kallian noticed, because her eyebrows were all but gone; probably from the Emissary's flames. Her hair seemed shorter, too. She too had no business to be up and about, after the evening's mishaps, let aside looking after others. Kallian handed the bowl back and started to eat, grateful all of a sudden.