The Dirth
The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Lyna and her allies stepped out of the forests of Orlais…
…When they stepped out onto the Exalted Plains.
The Dalish woman's ears twitched.
She had spent most of her childhood wandering the wilderness of Ferelden. The clan had only left once, to attend the Arlathvhen, but she had been very young then…
Now…seeing Orlais as an adult…
The mere thought brought a shiver down her spine.
She loved the dawn, always had, but seeing the sun rise on the ruined structures of the fallen Elvhen kingdom, seeing shemlen farms and fields of grain dot the plains, the same plains where the last army of the Dales had fallen so long ago…
She…she did not know how to feel.
The Orlesians that had settled here after the war were not her enemies. They were simple people simply trying to live their lives. The shemlen chantry had called for the Exalted March that had destroyed her people's home…
Yet, those humans were long dead, did she have the right to hate those who came after them. Velanna might have said yes, she had often called the chantry a tyrannical empire, but it was not that simple.
The warden shook her head.
Perhaps it was too early to ponder such deep thoughts. Besides she had not come here to avenge Dalish honor.
She was here to save the wardens, her new clan.
Bok, Royce, and Arrow stood just behind her. She was surprised that her new allies had stayed with her this long. The journey out of Ferelden had been quiet for the most part. Few bandits would trouble three well-armed individuals and a Mabari warhound. They had taken the old mountain path from Redcliffe into Orlais.
The border guards had been surprised to see such a…unusual group wishing to cross over into their empire. Lyna probably could have taken one of the old Dalish paths, but the last few years of public life had gotten her used to at least acknowledging proper channels.
She was about to enter the Orlais. There was no point in making enemies first thing by trying to sneak into their homeland.
Alistair had provided her with transit papers. The Orlesian knights at the border were no doubt surprised to see a Dalish carrying documents signed by the King of Ferelden himself. She could have played the warden card, but she still hoped to keep her mission private for now.
The Calling was kept secret from the new recruits for a reason; she could not let it become common knowledge. The order still needed wardens to fight the darkspawn.
She had no desire to hurt the order that had so defined her these last few years.
Royce, like any born Fereldan had sneered at the fancy Chevaliers. The occupation of Ferelden by Orlais may have ended thirty years ago but that did not mean that it was forgiven. Bok kept his head down as they passed the border guards. The dwarf did not think he had any outstanding warrants against him in the empire, but he felt it was better not to take chances.
Once they had cleared the border Lyna led them into the wild. She preferred the cover of the forest to the open road. Neither of her companions complained about this. Royce looked at their presence here as stepping into enemy territory. Bow was…well Bok was Bok.
It was during their first night in Orlais that Bok had finally brought up the question Lyna had dreaded, it was a question she had answered far too often over the years…
"So friend Lyna," he had said with a cheery smile, "How does one become the Hero of Ferelden?"
The Dalish had rolled her eyes.
Mythal protect her.
She should have known that would come up sooner or later.
Royce had snorted at the dwarf's question.
"You can't tell me you have never heard the Tale of the Warden, dwarf?"
Bok had shrugged.
"I have heard many tales in my travels," he said, "Many grand and greatly embellished tales."
He gave their leader a warm smile.
"I find it more informative to get the truth directly from the horse's mouth, so to speak."
Lyna glared at him, but there was little heat in it.
Finally she sighed.
Better to feed his curiosity now, she thought.
It would save her from listening to him nagging her about it later.
"So master dwarf," she began, "Do you want to hear the shemlen version, or the truth?"
The dwarf chuckled.
"Both if you're willing, my dear," he said, "better to make my own judgments with all the facts in hand, don't you agree?"
Again she sighed.
Elgar'nan, she thought with a shake of her head.
So be it.
The Dalish began
"According to the Chantry," she began, "The shemlen Maker needed a champion to battle the Blight. In his mercy and generosity, he chose a common Dalish hunter, me, a sign that the wandering elves were still his children despite their ignorance."
Lyna shook her head.
"According to the shem priests, the Maker blessed this lone elvhen girl, elevated her despite the fact that she was a heathen. He gave her the strength, wisdom, and skill to gather a great army, and with his aid save the country of Ferelden from a pointless civil war and thus bring an end to the Blight, a Blight that was the shortest in history, or so I have been told."
Lyna sneered.
"That is what the shemlen priests say."
Bok chuckled.
Royce said nothing, choosing to focus on servicing his great sword.
"And the truth?" the dwarf said.
Lyna's elven ears lowered slightly.
"The truth is not so grand," she said.
"The truth is I became a grey warden because of my own stupidity. In my arrogance and desire to find something of use for my clan, I stumbled into something that cost me everything I ever loved. My clan, the life I knew, it was all gone in a heartbeat, and all because I was too rash."
Royce stopped cleaning his sword; he gave her a confused look.
She gave him a wan smile.
"I do not want or need pity," she replied, "What is done is done. It took a long time but I finally managed to come to terms with what happened. It wasn't easy, and in my weak moments I still get pissed about what happened, I still lament my fate. Yet, in spite of it all, I even managed to make a life for myself among the wardens. I found a new purpose, a new clan."
Royce brow furrowed.
"But you left them, Arlessa? If you accepted what you have become…?"
She snorted.
"It is because I accepted my fate that I'm here," she responded, "My status as a hero means that I may be able to go places that no other warden can. I might just be able to find the answers I seek…"
She sighed again.
"And please stop calling me Arlessa; I'm not some sodding noble."
Bok chuckled at that.
"So you never sought to be a hero?" he inquired.
Lyna's ears twitched again.
"I wanted to live my life. I wanted to be a part of my clan. I wanted…"
She pursed her lips.
"I…I wanted to simply be."
Lyna almost cursed. She had almost mentioned Tamlen. She was not ashamed of her feelings for her old friend; it was simply something she chose to keep private. What they had shared, who they had been, and how he had finally died.
The mere thought made her shudder.
Never had she spoken of Tamlen, only Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana had ever heard the full story.
That was how she preferred.
Thedas could have her, but she would be damned if she would let them have Tamlen.
He was hers, and always would be.
She would be their hero, but she would have something for herself.
They owed her that much.
IOI
The four of them made their way across the plains, in the distance an elven fortress rose up from a small island. As they came over another rolling hill they spotted a small settlement on the water, barely big enough to be called a village really, just a small hamlet that had grown up near the bridge to provide services for the Orlesian soldiers.
Lyna's elven ears twitched, she considered how best to proceed.
If there was a tavern down there, it would likely be a good place to pick up any local gossip. It would also be a good place to resupply before striking out for Val Royeaux.
At first she had thought to avoid the shemlen city, but during her studies at the Vigil she had learned the name of a scholar who had collected everything he could on the previous Blights, even things that were not commonly known.
Such a man would be useful as she started he search. She did not expect to find the cure to the Calling in his many records, but there was a chance that he might be able to point her to where she might search next.
Orlesian scholar she had been told liked to horde such knowledge like a miser did treasure.
Surely such a person would be willing to speak to the elf that had ended the Blight.
She glanced at her companions, and gave them a small smile.
"Anyone feel like getting a drink?" she asked.
Both men smiled.
Arrow barked and wagged his stubby tail.
Lyna chuckled.
It seemed like the vote was unanimous.
IOI
The Tavern was quite busy by the time they managed to get inside.
Farmers, traders, and masked soldiers glanced up at the four travelers. Their leathers and armor was not what might be called the height of Orlesian fashion.
Bok smirked at Lyna.
"Stop me if you heard this one," he said, "An elf, a human, and a dwarf walk into an Orlesian tavern."
Both Lyna and Royce glared at him.
The dwarf raised his hands.
"Sorry," he said, "Kidding, joke, Ha Ha, just trying to lighten the mood."
Lyna rolled her eyes and made for one of the few empty tables. Royce and Arrow followed on her heels.
Bok shook his head.
"She should have let me finish," he said, "The human is the only one who comes out sounding like an ass."
Grumbling, the dwarf joined his companions.
For the most part the crowd returned to their business, forgetting the newcomers' presence.
Perhaps that was for the best.
A human waitress made her way up to them; she took their orders, but looked uncomfortable when she saw Lyna's tattoos.
The elf pursed her lips.
She had not heard of the clans causing any trouble here, but it was always possible.
The clans, she knew, called this place Dirthavaren, the promise. Only the humans referred to this as the Exalted Plains.
She shook her head.
She tried not to think about all the elvhen knights that died here. It was on this very sight that the defeated elven army made one final stand. They stood, and died to the last.
Lyna sighed.
Most would ask why the elves had not surrendered. To any who asked that question, she would answer: Would you surrender knowing you faced execution or possible enslavement?
No, she did not blame those elves, not one bit.
They had died free, but in the end their sacrifice had not aided their people.
It was tragic.
Royce glanced around nervously. The warrior could no doubt sense the tension in the room.
"Have we done something wrong?" he asked.
Bok snorted and pulled a book out of his pack. From his belt he drew a device Lyna had never seen before, two lenses of glass held together by gold wire.
Spectacles he called them.
He slipped them on the end of his nose and began to read.
Lyna tilted her head curiously.
He smirked.
"Small print hurts my eyes," he informed her.
Lyna shrugged.
Fair enough, she thought.
Bok was a bit of surprise, she thought, she had known dwarven criminals in her time, most had been glorified thugs, all blade but little brain. Bok wasn't like that. He could read and write, and she had been surprised when they had reached the border that he had addressed the Chevaliers in their own tongue.
"Where did you learn to speak, Orlesian?" Royce had asked him.
The dwarf shrugged.
"I was not born a gentleman of the road, friend Royce."
The warrior had shrugged.
The drinks came soon enough, Lyna savored the taste of the honey meade. She had developed a taste for the human liquor during her first trip to Orzammar. Tapsters Tavern had kept a small barrel for human traders. It wasn't Dalish spring wine, but it would do.
As the last of the sun's light faded the farmers and merchants left. The off duty soldiers either returned to the fort, or went in search of entertainment elsewhere.
Those patrons that remained…were of a…less than savory nature.
Lyna glanced up from her drink, she tried to be subtle, but she did a quick check of the room.
Her ears lowered slightly.
She counted no less than four rather…rough looking, well-armed, shems watching her. They were all scarred and dirty not the kind of people who would simply say good day to you as you passed them on the road.
Her heart quickened, as it always did before battle. She thought that Royce and Bok might not have picked up on the danger, but a glance their way showed that that was not true.
The dwarf was still reading, but he held his book with one hand, the other drifted to the dagger at his belt.
Royce clenched and unclenched his fists, his great sword would not be the best weapon for such close quarters, but he had held his own in more than one bar fight over the years.
Three more shems entered the tavern, they joined the four watching Lyna and her allies. The state of their arms and weapons suggested that they were members of the same group, mercenaries perhaps…
Lyna's eyes narrowed.
…Or bounty hunters.
Royce stood up, slipping off his cloak; his eyes went to the window, the dim light of the tavern allowed him to look outside.
Four more similarly dressed men were standing by a group of horses out in the street.
The Fereldan frowned and sat back down.
He looked at Lyna.
"We might be in trouble," he said.
The elf's hand drifted to the ax on her belt. Part of her wished that she had not chosen to leave her longswords at camp. The ax and dagger was good, but when it came to carnage…
…nothing beat a pair of longswords.
Bok leaned back in his chair.
"You seem to have another admirer, Lyna he said, the man in the green cloak behind me has done nothing but stare at you since we entered.
Lyna shifted her head, pretending to stretch her neck, she noticed the man in green behind the dwarf, how he had seen him, she did not know.
Green tunic, splint mail vest, green leggings, she could see the longsword on the man's belt, as well as the quiver of arrows on his back. At his feet lounged a great gray wolf.
The beast panted contently, but that did not mean anything.
Arrow seemed relaxed at her feet, but she knew from experience how quickly the Mabari could be up and ready to fight.
One of the human thugs said something to the bartender; he called for the serving girl and motioned for her to follow him in back.
As soon as they had left, it began…
The seven humans rose from their seats. The man in green also stood.
His hand dipped into a pouch on his belt.
Lyna tensed.
Here we go, she thought.