A/N: Going to use a smattering of elvish here, if I am wrong don't hold it against me.
Chapter 8: Findel
"UNHAND ME, DURGHENLEN!"
Findel struggled as the dwarf shoved him along. Elvhen boy still had no clue what was truly going on. One moment the shem'alas were getting ready to burn him, the next…
He glared down at his new captor
"Be quiet boy, we're almost there."
Findel did not know where "there" was but he did not think he wanted to go there.
He had seen what this man's "allies had done back there.
It was if the Dread Wolf himself had descended upon the village.
Findel felt no sadness for those people, they could all die for all he cared, but now he found himself facing the unknown.
Who knew what durgen'len wanted him for?
So he continued to struggle, he had managed to free himself from the gag, now all he had to do was get his hands free…and…
The dwarf tightened the grip on his arm.
"Quiet child," he hissed, "Do you wish all of Orlais to hear us?!"
The Dalish boy was not put off. For all he knew he had been saved from one death so that he could endure a worse one.
He would not let that happen.
His ears twitched, he thought he could hear voices up ahead, several voices.
If he was going to try and escape, now was the time.
Seeing no other recourse, unable to free his hands, he had only one thing he could do.
He leaned down and bit the Durghenlen's ear.
Sweet Creators, he thought.
Horrible taste!
Horrible!
The dwarf howled he tried to spin around but they ended up tangled and fell. They rolled through the bushes, fighting, spitting, and snarling at each other.
The boy remained unable to get free. He tried to fight but soon felt strong arms on his shoulders dragging him to his feet.
He spit Dalish obscenities and struggled mightily, but the large shemlen that held him was strong, his grip like iron manacles.
He continued to struggle, trying to free himself. He…
That is when he heard the voices again…
That is when he was almost tempted to give into them.
The Keeper, he had warned Findel about this. The spirits of the beyond, they whispered to those with the gift. The more ambitious spirits tried to convince the gifted to let them into their bodies. If that happened…?
The boy shuddered.
If that happened, bad things would happen.
He tried to ignore those voices, tried to focus on fighting.
"Calm, yourself, boy," the voice was gruff, and guttural.
Typical for a shemlen.
He hissed and fought on.
"Dal'en, te 'din enfenim!"
The voice was soft, musical, and familiar…
It gave him pause…
"Dal'en, te 'din enfenim."
…The voice of one of the people.
He ceased struggling; finally getting a chance to see what was going on around him.
Findel's ears twitched.
The sight before him made no sense.
The Chantry sister from the village tended to the dwarf, who was still growling words of vengeance. She cooed softly, as he examined his ear. A large wolf sat next to a large dog not far from a small pile of supplies. Leaning against a tree a slender man in green stood, dressed in shemlen mail.
Findel's eyes narrowed.
He recognized this one.
"Sethlin!" he spat angrily.
The sethlin, the thin blood, snorted at him.
"Ah the gratitude of the Dalish folk," he said with a sneer.
Findel spat at him.
"You are working for the shemlen now," he said switching back to the shemlen common tongue.
"Hunting the people, you are a monster!"
The thin-blood shook his head, and glanced at another standing in the shadows.
"No good deed goes unpunished, warden," he said.
The figure, the warden stepped out where he could see her.
Findel's breath caught in his throat.
Creator, he thought.
She was beautiful!
Long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Large oval blue eyes, long tapered ears, a rounded nose and wide generous mouth, her forehead and chin adorned with the markings of the people. Gentle swirling patterns that flowed to two single points.
His struggled ceased.
He may only have been thirteen, but he knew a beautiful female when he saw one.
His mouth had grown dry; he swallowed trying to work some saliva back into it.
She gave him a soft smile.
"You have no more reason to be afraid, Da'len," she said, her voice was the one who had gotten through his fear and anger.
"You are among friends," she said.
Hearing such words brought his guard back up, despite the presence of the elvhen temptress before him.
Friends?
He sneered at the very thought.
Right!
IOI
Lyna regarded the boy. She tried to guess which tribe he had come from. Keeper Marethari tried to teach the symbols of each clan to the Da'len; so that they might recognize each other if they ever met.
The warden frowned.
Alas, those lessons had been a long time ago, and she had been far from a dutiful student. In truth, she had been more interested in getting Tamlen into trouble than study.
She pursed her lips.
Ah the innocence of youth.
Innocence that now seemed like a distant memory.
The boy, no longer struggling sized her up.
His eyes narrowed when he noticed her armor.
"Why are you dressed like that?" he demanded.
"I'm a warrior," she responded, "It is my armor."
Hostility returned to the boy's eyes.
"I thought you one of the people," he hissed, "But you're just another flat-ear, aren't you? How did you get those marks? Why have you stolen the vallaslin?"
Lyna tried not to be offended, even though she felt a brief flash of anger.
"I am no flat ear," she said, "I am…I was a member of Clan Sabrae, we travelled the Brecilian forests of Ferelden."
She bowed slightly to him, her hands over her heart.
"My name is Lyna, daughter of Mahariel."
His ears twitched, and he sighed.
"Findel," he said, "My name is Findel."
"Anethera, Findel," she responded, "You do not have to be afraid anymore, you are among friends."
The boy still did not look convinced. He did not struggle, but Lyna was not yet ready to tell Royce to release him.
An angry mage could be dangerous, it might be a very shemlen thing to say, but in this case it was true.
She had slain too many abominations during the Blight to not be leery of magic run wild.
The boy continued to glare at them, or rather at Kierhen.
She smiled slightly.
"I take it you and the Ranger have met?" she said.
The boy spat again.
"The clan knew of him," he said, "The Keeper said he was never to be allowed to enter our camp, even when he came to trade for supplies.
Kierhen snorted at that.
"Like I would ever want to see your camp," he said, "Besides I would not put too much stock in what your Keeper said, Da'len."
Kierhen gave him a cruel smile.
"He cast you out didn't he?"
The boy hissed, Lyna glared at the Ranger, and bade him to be silent.
She realized that it would not be easy to reach the boy. Dalish pride could be a very…prickly thing.
She found herself thinking of Duncan, and what he had to put up with in the first few days after he took her from the clan.
The warden pursed her lips.
She had not thought much about Duncan over the years. She had not had the same relationship with the man that Alistair had. He had been patient with her, more than patient, he could have struck her several times for her insolence, but he never had.
Duncan…he had saved her life, gave her purpose, and new world to call her own. He had not been responsible for what happened to her and Tamlen.
She probably could have been nicer back then, if her grief and self-pity had allowed it. Truth be told, she had been half-crazy, maddened by the loss of both Tamlen and her life with the clan.
Duncan had helped her through that. Could she do any less for the boy?
In Duncan's name, she would try to reach him; she would try to be equally patient, even though it was not one of her strongest virtues.
"The Ranger told us about you," she informed him, "I hoped that you would be willing to help me…"
She saw Findel straighten, his ears twitched. At least she had managed to get his attention.
"I am a grey warden," she said, "On a very important mission, and I find myself in need of magical support."
She smiled slightly.
"I was hoping that you would be willing to help."
The boy blinked. She hoped that he had at least heard of the Grey Wardens. The Blight may not have touched Orlais, but still rumors spread.
The Chantry sister, Esme, gasped at Lyna's admission.
"You are a warden?" she said.
"Yes," Lyna answered.
The sister's eyes widened.
"You…you are her? You truly are her? You're thee Grey Warden?! You are the woman who ended the Blight?"
Lyna snorted.
"My blade found the Archdemon's neck, yes."
The sister looked over at Findel, no at Royce, Lyna realized.
"Is this true," she asked him, "Is it true?"
"Yeah," Royce responded.
"All of it."
The sister looked on Lyna with new eyes.
Then Andraste has truly smiled on this boy, this day," she said, "He has sent the Hero of Ferelden to answer my prayers.
Both Lyna and Findel snorted at that.
She might have been a warden, and a hero, but she was still Dalish.
She had come to…respect the shemlen god, but he would never be hers.
After all…she was still Dalish.
IOI
Findel glanced around at the strange group that surrounded him. One of the oldest rules for the Dalish came back to him.
Never trust a shem.
This…Lyna…if she had been born among the people, it was clear that she had forgotten what it meant to be Dalish. The shems had remade her in their own image. Her armor and weapons no longer reflected the heritage of the Elvhenan. She might not see herself as a flat ear, but wasn't that what she was now.
The human's had taken away what she had been.
Then…there were the others.
It was an odd group indeed, a durgen'len, a chantry sister, a half breed, and some shem giant in armor, and the beasts of course. The wolf was likely the half breed's, Rangers had been known to tame them he knew, as for the other creature, the hound.
Shems were always enslaving creature to do their bidding.
He looked into this Lyna's eyes, blue pools that threatened to enslave him again. He found that he actually felt pity for her, lost to her clan, so far from home.
A thought occurred to him, a way that he might be able to help.
I can save her.
The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.
I can remind her of who she once was. Bring her back to the ways of the people.
He had heard of the Blight of course, who had not? The shems had been panicking about it a few years ago. Word had been sent even to his clan that the wardens were calling for aid. The border to the Ferelden had been shut, but that had never stopped the Dalish.
Twenty hunters from his clan had answered the wardens' call. Sixteen had come back, and they had brought stories of the elvhen hunter who had dealt with the Archdemon.
Findel's eyes narrowed.
The girl had been one of them! She should have been the people's hero, but the shem'alas had stolen her, just as they had stolen everything else from the elvhen.
Seeing her now, clad in the arms and armor of the shems, he knew that he could not leave her like this. He could not allow the shems to take away the warden who had saved the world. She was a hero to the shems, but she could be so much more to the Dalish.
She could be a symbol, one that Findel could reclaim. If he did that, what clan would not take him in? The Keeper himself might welcome him back with open arms, regardless of how much magic the clan possessed.
He gave her a hopeful look. He realized he would have to play along, at least until he reminded her what it meant to be Dalish. He could not risk the shems and their allies turning on the two of them.
He would need to protect her.
He would need to protect them both.
"If…if you will have me," he said shyly, "I will do what I can. The keeper taught me a few spell."
Lyna smiled at him. She motioned to the man holding Findel's arms.
The giant released him.
"I'm sure we can find ways to aid in your training along the way."
She glanced at the rest of their group.
Allow me to introduce the others," she said, "Kierhen and Sister Esme you know. The man behind you is Royce; the dwarf skulking in the shadows is Bok.
The boy smiled wickedly at the dwarf.
Bok, still rubbing his ear, gave the boy the finger.
Findel smiled.
He cared nothing for these others, what they thought of him. He had a mission now, and he would do his best to complete it.
He had been prepared to wander alone, but it seemed that creators had another purpose for him.
He was going to save the Hero of Ferelden. He was going to bring her back to the people.
He…was going to save her.
IOI
"Warden," Esme said softly.
She turned and glanced at the sister.
"Yes?"
Esme blushed slightly under her regard.
"I may be able to help the boy," she said.
Findel sneered at that.
"I don't need your prayers or your shemlen god, woman."
Esme's eyes narrowed.
"I spent almost two and a half years working in the Ferelden Circle," she said, "I observed many of their lessons, plus, my brother Aubrey was a mage, a good one, he showed me many things."
She smiled slightly.
"I may be able to teach some of them to our young friend here."
Royce gave her a concerned look.
"You wish to come with us?" he asked.
"I cannot stay here," she said, "The constable will no doubt be very angry with me. If I went back to the village, I would probably be arrested.
She looked at Lyna.
"If you will have me, Milady, I will do what I can to aid the boy. I may not be a mage, but I know things."
The warden's ears twitched, she glanced from the sister to Findel.
The boy scowled but said nothing, he wiped idly at his bloodied nose.
"Would you be willing to listen to the sister, Da'len?"
He glared at Esme.
"She is not going to try to turn me into a good little flat ear is she?"
The warden looked back at the sister.
She gave the boy what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"I will respect your gods," she said with a slight bow, "I will only share what I know of magic."
Findel shrugged and nodded, adopting a pose that was familiar to the parent of any arrogant teen.
"Okay," he said, "Whatever."
Lyna snorted with amusement. She suspected it would not be as easy as all that. She knew Dalish pride. Findel and Esme would no doubt clash over certain things.
She would have to keep an eye on them both, just to make sure they did not kill each other.
She glanced at those she had gathered these past few weeks.
The warden smiled.
"I told you all before, you are not bound to me, no one is bound to go any farther than they are willing to."
She adjusted her cloak.
"We should probably gather up our supplies and get moving, we will stop and rest a bit before dawn."
"Why not camp here?" Royce said.
"Still too close to that shem village," she said with a shake of her head, "I want to put at least a little more distance between us and them. After that we will strike out for Val Royeaux."
The mention of the city surprised several members of their group, Kierhen, Esme, and now Findel. Considering what had just happened, they probably suspected they would avoid cities.
Normally, Lyna would have agreed, but she still needed to meet with that scholar she had read about.
From him, she might learn where they needed to go next.
That…was the next step.
"Val Royeaux," Esme said shyly, "We are going to the capital?"
"That is right Sister," she answered.
"Val Royeaux."