Warning: NSFW

Though relaxed after his time with the soldier, depression pressed against Raviathan. His muscles were loose, he was calm, but the familiar shame that had haunted him through childhood was compounded with thoughts of Nesiara. The sound of her crying on the other side of the door when he left the alienage echoed in his memories. His throat tightened as the path before him wavered through unshed tears. Gone were the fears of being thrown out of the alienage, but the disappointment his elders remained in the back of his mind, weighing on him. Worse were the thoughts of what Nesiara would think of him. Would she feel betrayed? How could she not? Raviathan blinked his eyes to clear them then shoved the thoughts away. That life didn't belong to him anymore.

Needing another distraction, Raviathan walked back down the deserted pathway in search of a meal. Around the main tent site he washed his hands and was able to get some bread and a bowl of porridge from the army cook. The burly man eyed at him dubiously at first, but Raviathan was armored and armed as no other elf in the camp. In the end the cook shrugged and left Raviathan alone. He found a quiet place to sit and watch the camp while he ate.

A few other elves ran about delivering messages or items but no one he recognized. A group of warriors were going through a series of exercises with painted mabari. He watched the dogs race and take down standing dummies on command, reminding him of just how powerful the dogs were. Just beyond the platform where the Chantry priestess was still giving her sermon to the group of soldiers, a flash of light from a broken tower base caught his eye. As he looked more carefully, he realized they were mages.

Raviathan finished his meal quickly and dumped the bowl by the washing area. These would be the first mages he met other than his aunt. He hadn't expected there to be any here. Fear tingled through him at the thought of the Circle, instinct making him want to run. He tried to ignore the feeling. After all, what was the likelihood he would get another chance to talk to a Circle mage? Raviathan edged toward the mage encampment.

Templars. Fires take him, they were crawling around the encampment like the prison guards they were. Raviathan's heart thudded so hard he thought he could hear it.

"May I help you, young man?" Standing nonchalantly by the tower base was an older woman in beige and brown robes with a staff. She had to be a mage. Her white hair would have been shoulder length but was tied back in a severe, short ponytail. She had widely spaced blue eyes in an apple shaped face marked with character. Her well defined if thin mouth carried the lines of age.

"I was curious is all."

"No need to be so afraid," she said. "I am Wynne."

"Rav. Raviathan, but everyone calls me Rav." Raviathan crossed his arms to cover the trembling of his hands. He wondered if she could detect the shaking he heard in his own voice. "I suppose magic makes most people nervous."

"Indeed," she said, the lines around her eyes crinkling in what Raviathan took to be regret. "Tales of demons and abominations abound, so I cannot say your fear is unfounded, but mages spend their entire life learning control. Though your fear of us is clear, you came here out of curiosity. If you have questions, I will answer them if I can."

"Ah, okay." Raviathan hadn't thought much about what Circle mages must be like. For all his magic wielding years, his only concern was the templars. This Wynne seemed so normal. His own shadowed thoughts of Circle mages were of chains and figures hunched from beatings. "What's the Circle like?"

"It is a place of contemplation and learning. We are free to practice our gifts and learn to control them."

Free? The woman made it sound like some academy instead of the prison it was. Free to practice their gifts. There was no freedom when children were stolen from their parents' arms. "And the templars?"

"They serve their purpose."

A diplomatic answer, to be sure, but there was no rancor Raviathan could detect. Humans confused him more often than not, so he might just not be reading her correctly.

"Interesting," she said, her gaze steady with more interest than made him comfortable. "When an outsider approaches me, I'm usually asked about demons or what it's like to cast magic."

"Oh. Yes. I suppose. My kin and friends have been taken, so I wondered about their treatment."

"Ah, yes. Now I understand. You are from an alienage then?"

"How did you know?"

"The Dalish are the only other elves who live in numbers large enough to produce several mages, but the Dalish are able to stay hidden from the templars. Newly brought elves are suspicious at first, but in the Circle humans and elves are equals, which they come to understand in time." She waved a hand at the camp. Humans talked at leisure, gambled at small games of dice, or practiced with their chosen weapons. The few elves scurried about, the main movement in the camp, heads low as if in perpetual fear of a beating. "The few times I've been able to leave the Circle, I'm surprised anew at how differently elves are treated by the world at large."

"You've been able to leave the Circle?" That bit of news struck him like a slap. Mages allowed out of the prison? Then why haven't any of his friends or kin returned for a visit?

"Not often, but there are times mages are needed, as they are now. During times of battle, to advise the king, or confirm a noble child's ancestry. Occasionally we are allowed to travel for study at other Circles."

"They must trust you quite a bit then."

Her smile gentled her face. "I suppose they do."

"You've never wanted to leave permanently?"

"Of course. Every mage has at some time or another. It is a grand thing to see the world, but I know well my responsibilities." Raviathan shifted, perplexed by this woman. A mischievous gleam entered her eyes. "That and I would be hunted down."

Raviathan couldn't help a grin in return. "Do you know how templars do that? Hunt mages?"

"I'm not sure about apostates or malificarum, but each Circle mage has a vial of blood taken when they first come to the Circle, a phylactery. The templars can track missing mages with that."

As Solyn had warned, templars had power over mages, although the extent of that power was a mystery to them both. Templars were supposedly immune to magic and could disrupt a mage's casting, and while there were rumors of more, neither was sure what was fact from fiction. That Solyn hadn't been able to defend herself, had been beaten and brutalized while alive, spoke of stronger, darker abilities.

All living creatures were connected to the Fade, so, given time and discipline, non mages could learn some limited but powerful abilities. Raviathan hypothesized that a templar learned to manipulate their limited connection to the Fade energy just as some rogues did to hide in shadows, as his mother could. What Wynne said confirmed that templars did have some developed skill with magic if they were able to use a mage's blood to track them.

A mage's power came from their own life energy, each casting of magic diminishing that energy until a mage could recoup. Mages could kill themselves if they tried to cast beyond their limits, just as a warrior could if he lost too much blood from wounds. Just as lost blood could be regenerated by the body, so a mage's mana would be fueled by Fade energy through the soul by the mage's unique connection to the Fade. Blood carried power as strong as mana, but unlike a mage''s mana, a person's blood could be preserved, which created a link to the life from which the blood was taken. Blood was power, in some ways more versatile than mana, but magic worked through blood tarnished a mage's soul like wine poured on a white dress.

Was working with blood what tarnished a templar? If blood magic corrupted a mage's soul, surely working with blood did the same to templars. Did they use blood magic to gain their abilities? If so, no wonder they were capable of such monstrosity.

The impetus for Raviathan's family's escape from slavery had been because of Solyn. The family who owned them had decided Solyn would learn blood magic. Adaia, seeing her sister's blind panic, had formulated the escape that killed off Raviathan's grandparents, uncle, and two cousins. Raviathan was named for the uncle who had sacrificed his life to kill the blood mage that had stalked their family from the Tevinter Imperium, through Nevarra and finally the Free Marches.

"If I may," she said, bringing him out of his thoughts, "you don't strike me as a simple messenger, but there are no elven soldiers, and I haven't seen you before."

"No," he replied hesitantly. "I came with Commander Duncan this morning."

"Ah," she said her face clearing. "Then you are his newest recruit are you not?" He nodded, and she renewed her measure of him. Humans had been staring at him since he had left the alienage, and he was getting rather sick of all the scrutiny. Even as a dock worker he had the respite of home afterwards. She should be use to elves considering how many of his kin had been taken to the Circle. "He's not a man easily impressed. You should be proud."

"Um, thank you." How many people knew about him? The Grey Wardens he expected, maybe a few guards. Why would this mage know? Followed by that was what did they know? Killing a lord wasn't easily forgiven. Though Duncan had reassured him, Raviathan would take no chances until this ritual was done. Even then, accidents could happen around vengeful nobles, particularly in the chaos of battle. "Do you know Duncan well then?" That seemed a neutral enough question.

"Not especially, but we have had a few discussions when he had been by the Circle. He has some… rather open ideas about magic and the Grey Wardens."

"You don't agree with him?" The conformation on Duncan's attitude towards magic cleared away the last niggling shadow of doubt that Raviathan had. Duncan wouldn't fear him, would value his abilities. As much as Raviathan's father loved him, and Raviathan had no doubt that his father loved him, his magic had created a wall between them. A shadow of fear, tiny but ever present, lay behind Cyrion's eyes when he looked at his son. A wave of protective responsibility for Duncan washed into Raviathan much as it had with Nesiara or his cousins when he had delivered them. Duncan respected him as an elf and as a mage. The feeling was warm and good, giving him purpose and confidence.

"I think he is very devoted to the Wardens' mission," she said, watching him with intelligent, pale blue eyes. Though he had never had a teacher before, and no formal education, she struck him as an experienced teacher. She reminded him of Solyn in that there was a certain sternness, a woman who would not hide uncomfortable truths, but was not unkind either. He wondered what her perspective would be on a number of issues: the king, the coming battle, the darkspawn, and most of all magic. But that last would have to wait until he was an official Grey Warden. "I know he was looking for a recruit at the Circle. Neria had the most potential of any apprentice in at least a decade, and I believe she was ready to graduate soon. Do you know where she is? I'd like to speak with her."

Neria? No, that had to be a coincidence. Though his childhood memories had faded at the edges, he remembered orange red hair barely tamed by braids, a quick smile, and a girl overflowing with want for adventure. Surely the world could not be so cruel to take that brilliance away. Not Eolas' only daughter. If it was her, Raviathan didn't want to know. Only pain lay down that road. Raviathan bit his lips, wondering how well this human knew of the apprentice. She seemed fond of her. ""I don't know the details or her name even. Duncan said there was a recruit he was interested in, but she was made tranquil."

"Tranquil!" Wynne exclaimed. "What happened?"

He hated bringing bad news, and it seemed Wynne had known the recruit after all. "I'm not sure it is this Neria, but the mage he wanted to recruit was involved in some plot with a blood mage. They made her tranquil in response." Wynne slumped and looked away in grief. "I'm sorry," Raviathan said and meant it. "Did you know her well?" From Wynne's reaction, it sounded like someone had died, and from what he knew of the tranquil, that was true. The worst part about it was that the apprentice was still alive in a fashion.

Wynne shook her head as a comment to the senselessness of it. "Yes," she said in the distant voice of one lost in memory. "I was one of her early teachers. Even when Irving took over her lessons, she still came to me for mentoring. Such a loyal, talented girl." Wynne's focus sharpened on him, "Blood magic you said?"

"I don't know more than I have already said, and I would not like to be responsible for misinformation or rumors. Speak to Duncan."

With a sigh Wynne nodded reluctantly. "When he and I have a chance. What about you, young man? How did Duncan recruit you?"

"It's… a long story. Essentially he was a friend of my mother's and knew I had been trained."

"Hmm," she mused, watching him. "Do you know much about the darkspawn?"

Raviathan shrugged. "Duncan has been teaching me about the darkspawn on the journey here. "

"He would be the expert," she replied with a little more warmth. How well did the two know each other? "But let me ask you this. How much do you know about the connection between the darkspawn and the Fade?"

"Duncan and I have discussed the theories."

That earned another measuring look from the mage. Raviathan was reminded of Valendrian when the elder elf suspected Raviathan of mischief, a look he was very familiar with. "Such as?"

"Well, the Chantry's version, of course, as well as theories not related to the Maker."

"You are not fond of what the Chant says then."

"The Chant says many things," he scoffed. It's what they leave out that had him start to question the Chantry years ago. The Chantry hated mages. Why would any self respecting mage, and she looked like one, take the Chant seriously? In any case, he hadn't read that part of the Chant. He had heard enough of the priestesses' crowing ring out in the Market. Anything to make mages look like deviants and criminals was left in and sung loudly. Other than the dissonant verses, he hadn't read much finding the whole thing corrupted by politics.

"Your dismissal of the Chant's long history is premature. It may be allegory meant to teach us that our own evil is what causes human suffering. Or it may be true. There are some rather compelling arguments for it, such as the horde that amasses in the Wilds as we speak, and the Old God behind their new drive."

Nice idea, he thought, but the priestesses he had met and the followers all took it literally. As an allegory, it had potential, but it explained nothing, not the turning away of the Maker, the Black City, or the darkspawn. These were facts. The Maker did not watch over them. They had been abandoned. The Black City could be seen no matter where someone was in the Fade, and the Chant only pretended to know what happened during that ritual. There were no witnesses that day in the Fade other than the mages, and they left no record of what had happened. All that was witnessed was the darkening of the mages, their bodies twisting into the first darkspawn. The shriek that had bore down on him last night, the face of evil as he had never known could exist, that was not allegory.

How could one trust a spiritual truth that kept changing? He didn't mind additions as new truths were discovered or events happened, but to take out existing 'truth' for political convenience, such as the elves' right to a homeland, was just as twisted as they claimed the Tevinter magisters had been. He had no patience for accepting a lie because there was no better explanation. Truth was truth, and stories meant to entrench their own power didn't take the place of truth. She talked of suffering. This storytelling was causing suffering.

Tell men to act better, fine. It wouldn't work, but tell them anyway. Don't mix that by tying that to perpetuate fear of magic. Men who had power acted on their whims. That was true with Vaughan, and it was just as true with King Cailan. One sought his pleasure at the cost of others. Cailan sought glory though he had not the wisdom or temperance to lead men safely or effectively. Neither had magic, and they both put other people's lives in danger. They caused suffering. Allegory or not, the Chant ignored the evils of lords in favor of a scapegoat while the lords claimed power was only dangerous in the hands of mages.

What this 'allegory' taught was the reason he was in fear for his life every day since he was five. It was what had killed his aunt though she had eased others' suffering. It was the reason this mage standing in front of him had been put in a prison and told it was for her own and everyone else's good. And she believed it. That was the betrayal, to turn one against themselves. He had been good at hiding his whole life because it was necessary, but he couldn't entirely keep the contempt from his voice when he said, "I'll just kill every darkspawn I see."

Wynne's eyes narrowed, and Raviathan knew that she was much better at reading elves than he was at understanding humans. Her annoyance was clear though. She opened her mouth to speak when a templar strode over. "You there. Move along, and stop pestering the mages."

Fear clenched Raviathan's stomach like a stone dropped on his gut. He nodded and hurried away. As he left, he caught Wynne's voice. "Now that was unnecessary. He was curious was all."

"Enough rest, Wynne. You've got your duties."

Though Raviathan could make out her voice, the rest of her words were obscured by the noise of the camp. Just as well. That was the closest Raviathan had ever been to a templar. His breakfast gurgled uncomfortably in his stomach as he hurried up a ramp to put as much distance from himself and the templars as possible.

Most helmets showed something of a man's face, his eyes or mouth, a scrap of beard or scars, something that made them a person. Not templars. A thin slit shadowed their eyes, the rest obscured by metal. Even demons had faces. Only shades, the formless dead souls of the Fade that preyed upon weakened shattered souls, were as faceless.

As a child, Raviathan had nightmares of being chased by an army of faceless men. He would run through the streets, scampering down alleys, trying to hide in shadows or buildings, but there was nowhere to hide. They were so much faster than he. Faceless, cold, and hard, templars haunted him as no demon could.

Away from the Mages' encampment, Raviathan took a moment to collect himself . This past fortnight, he had been subject to a ridiculous amount of fear. Starting with his wedding, he'd had only a day or two at a time where he wasn't being preyed upon in one manner or another. While that soldier had given him relief, the stress of the journey had tired him out. Better to get his mind off the templars. Otherwise he'd dwell on them and only rile himself up.

The rest of the camp proved a pleasant enough diversion as he had hoped. Many chests provided ample exercise for his rusty lock picking skills. There were a few coins here, a dagger there. He found some rather wonderful arrows that held a small dose of freezing liquid in a vial that was designed to shatter on impact. Though he knew how to make that potion, it wasn't possible to find the ingredients in the alienage, and they were massively expensive compared to the meager pocket money he got from working in Alarith's shop.

Raviathan felt little guilt over taking the items within. They were small things to begin with, and besides, the soldiers were all well outfitted. If he was to be in the coming battle, he was woefully under-equipped. He didn't even have a proper backpack, just the pillow sack. Compared to the soldiers, he looked ridiculous. If being an elf weren't enough of a obstacle here, his shabby appearance would earn him nothing but contempt.

While with Duncan, Raviathan had a buffer against the world of humans, but now that he was on his own, this world outside his alienage struck him anew with its strangeness. Human seemed to have no concept of their size. They were careless, as large and imprecise in their movements as young children. Not only were they physically imposing, they took up a great deal more space than they should. These humans stood far apart to have a simple conversation, their voices carrying far as if they were the only people around. While they would be a spy's delight, as it was, Raviathan thought they were rude beyond all reason, as if each and every one were the lord of this fortress.

Even humans who were by all measure friends kept distance. Raviathan knew well enough by now that humans didn't share the physical intimacy elves did, but the spaces they kept between each other were extreme. Were humans lonely? The question never occurred to him before, but as he watched, he wondered about them. Perhaps they didn't know how to connect as elves did. Perhaps they didn't have the same sense of empathy. That he had to barter with a guard to feed a starving prisoner spoke of the emotional walls they hid behind.

Perhaps he was over thinking things. Shianni would have teased him, reminded him that people like Elva had little connection to her community. That marked Elva though. She was strange in the alienage. Certainly many an elf had become bitter over the years, too much death, too much scraping and begging, but their ties to the community were deep as the roots of the vhenadahl. These humans were all like Elva. Elves were like the trees of a forest, their existence defined by their relationship to each other to form something greater than the individual trees. These humans didn't exist beyond their own skin. Everything they were was contained and untouchable.

Despite the assurances of the king, there was an air of panic in the camp. Not that he could read humans well, but he could see the tight, nervous glances of the soldiers at any movement. The Redcliffe soldiers hadn't had this undercurrent of panic. A fight broke out over a game of lost dice. Voices rose too quickly too fast, and it was only the swift intervention of a knight that stopped the fight from spreading to the rest. They were all looking for an excuse to get their minds off the battle. A wounded soldier, his eyes a fevered yellow and wide with panic, was screaming about darkspawn to everyone who passed. The nurse did her best to calm him, but there was no help for it. The soldier was spooked beyond reason.

Flipping the cleaned little brass key he got from the prisoner in the air and catching it, Raviathan wished he knew more about darkspawn. He hadn't thought to ask if they took prisoners, but he supposed they would. Humans did. But then what purpose did darkspawn have with prisoners? They didn't negotiate for hostages or press them into service. Food? But then they'd constantly be raiding the surface. Unless they kept humans and dwarves like cattle in some cave. Then what did the prisoners eat? Why hadn't he thought to ask?

"But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion should they set themselves against me." A Chantry priestess was spouting her lies to a small group of soldiers. Raviathan knew his contempt was showing when the priestess frowned at him though she did not break her sermon. He returned her frown with a scowl, but a niggling little thought poked at him. Had he not just been wondering at the rudeness of humans? Raviathan brushed away the concern. Rude he may be, but he was allowed his own thoughts, and this woman was part of the reason he had to hide since he was a child. The hate the Chantry preached had caused more pain than all the demons of the Fade.

With an imperious wave of her hand, the priestess finalized her prayer with a blessing to the knights around her. She raised her eyebrows at Raviathan, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "And would you receive the blessing of the Maker?"

Raviathan snorted. She already knew the answer. "The Maker will bless me or not. You flatter yourself to think you are part of his design."

A well fed knight turned on him then, scandalized on behalf of the priestess. The knight had the smallest head Raviathan had ever seen on such a large man. Not much room for a brain. He looked down his nose at Raviathan, his buggy little eyes showing the white at the top. "Now that was uncalled for."

"Spoken like someone who has never had their homeland stolen from them," Raviathan said, glaring at the knight.

The knight snorted, dismissing him as he turned back to the priestess. "Ignore him. You do the Maker's work, Sister."

"Your brain has been pinched too much by that skull of yours," Raviathan muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" The knight turned, a faint pink coloring his sallow cheeks. Raviathan was already walking away and didn't bother replying. The knight raised his voice to Raviathan's retreating back, "The King's mercy has allowed some to forget their place."

Idiot. And what did the king's mercy have to do with anything? That knight was a loon. Cailan had done nothing for elves during his time as king.

Had he really met a king? Talked with him? So much of his world had been flipped upside down, Raviathan wondered if he would ever feel normal again. Three months ago, high adventure consisted of venturing outside Denerim to talk with one of Alarith's suppliers. Raviathan's gaze roamed over the old fortress, along the broken walls and wilderness that was reclaiming lost ground, and he had another moment of feeling very small in a place he was never meant for. Raviathan ambled down a ramp to the lower section of the fortress wondering why Duncan had so much faith in him.

"That pretty head of yours could be decorating some darkspawn spear by tomorrow."

Raviathan's lips parted when he heard that. Andraste's flaming tits, what kind of idiot used a line like that to get into a woman's favor? She was an attractive woman, lightly tanned with dark chocolate hair and delicate features, and giving the dark man a look to freeze fire. Whoever the man was, he was blithely ignoring her glare as he fed her one line after another. Finally the woman had enough and left without a word.

"Smooth," Raviathan said.

The dark man turned then blinked in surprise, adjusting his gaze down to look Raviathan in the eye. Whoever the inept seducer was, he gave Raviathan a friendly grin. "I thought so myself. But I suppose you could do better, eh?"

"A lice covered sot could do better." At least this man wasn't put off by being addressed so by an elf. Raviathan's estimation of him rose. "Telling a woman that her corpse might be desecrated tomorrow probably isn't the best idea for a romantic encounter."

The man opened his mouth to retort then thought about it. "Huh. Well you got me there," he replied with a chagrined scratch of his head. "Ah well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"You there, elf," a balding giant of a man called. Even with his age and the belly that had formed, he was either a former soldier or blacksmith judging by the wide set of his shoulders and arms that bulged with muscle. He scowled at Raviathan, tapping his leg with a switch. "Where's my armor, and why are you dressed so preposterously?"

Raviathan backed away a step in surprise. "I'm no servant."

"Listen here, knife ears, I'll have none of your lies," the man said as he swatted the switch against his boot in warning.

"But…" Raviathan started. The large man raised the switch as he tried to grab Raviathan's arm. With a movement almost too quick to follow, the human found a dagger at his throat with the elf leaning in. "Put the switch down. Now."

Both humans stood still in shock. The large man slowly lowered the switch and leaned back. "Easy now. Doesn't need to come to that."

Raviathan glared at him. "I am no servant. Do you understand that?"

"Sure, sure," the man replied, taking a step back, then another, his gaze locked on the dagger. When he was far enough away, he rubbed his throat where a faint pink line formed. Raviathan returned the blade, never taking his eyes off the man. "Who are you then? The armies don't allow elves."

Raviathan lifted his chin. "I am here with Duncan, Commander of the Grey."

The dark man's face cleared as he looked the elf over with renewed interest. "You're his new recruit. He sent word about you."

The large man paled at the news. "I beg your pardon, ser. I didn't mean… Maker's breath. Ser, I'm just a simple quartermaster. No one special. Please, ser, I beg your pardon."

The begging put Raviathan off. Humans never apologized. Embarrassed by the sudden change in the quartermaster's manner, Raviathan spat, "Don't switch elves anymore."

"Oh. Of course, ser," the quartermaster said backing up into his storage area. "I'll… I'll certainly remember that."

The dark man was looking at him up and down, now taking in the weapons the elf carried. Raviathan forced himself not to fidget. Maker, but humans had a knack of always throwing him off his stride. Was he ever going to adjust to this world outside his alienage? He murmured, "Seems a number of people have heard about me."

"I'm Daveth," he said, holding out his hand in greeting.

Unnerved, Raviathan gripped Daveth's wrist in reflex. "Rav."

"I've heard only a little about you from Alistair. The other Wardens don't talk to us recruits much." He rubbed his hands and breathed warm air on them to heat up. "You're not what I expected."

"Oh?" asked Raviathan.

"Well, one of 'em said you're a top fighter, but I didn't expect an elf. But here you are."

Damn these shems. You scratch the surface, and they're all the same. "You've got a problem with that?" Raviathan asked with more anger than he intended. That Duncan hadn't wrote that his new recruit was an elf touched him. At least to Duncan he wasn't just some elf. He was an equal, a Grey Warden as valid as any of these shems.

"Hey now," Daveth said, raising his hands in placation. "I'm just saying. I've run with an elf or two back in Denerim. Quick with a blade if you ask me. If Duncan respects you, then I've no issue."

With a sigh Raviathan thought of what Duncan had asked of him. Be patient. "Sorry. I've had some trouble getting used to humans. You're from Denerim?"

"Aye, but I was born in a little nothing of a village a few days east of here. Ran off when I could. Dad of mine was a right angry git. Was only too glad to be rid of him. Farming never appealed to me anyhow."

"You've been here long?" If he was from Denerim, why hadn't Daveth made the journey with them?

"A week or so. Duncan sent me along with the last contingent of the king's army after he, ah, recruited me. Said he had business left in the city and needed to travel a bit more afterwards."

Raviathan cocked his head, not sure if he was reading the human correctly. "Did you want to be a Grey Warden?"

A nervous smile split Daveth's face. "Ah, well, not that I minded, but he had to conscript me." Raviathan raised his eyebrows in question, and Daveth's lips twitched. After a quick glance around, his voice lowered though no one was about. "Mayhap you might understand such things, but don't go blabbing about it. Was going to be hanged for thieving one too many times. I tell ya, Duncan is a fast bastard. Made me work for that bit of coin I took off him. Invoked the Right of Conscription though the guard was none too pleased about it."

Raviathan's mouth eased in a slight smile. "Alright, yes. I understand such things."

"Ah, knew you might. Elves who can fight don't work for the guards as I know it. Did Duncan tell you much of this Joining ritual then?"

"Very little."

"I hear the Wardens mean to send us out in the Wilds. Witches, wildlings, monsters, and now darkspawn crawling about. I don't know if they were having a go at me or not."

"Wildlings?"

"Chasind. Eat the flesh of the men they kill and wear their skins," Daveth said with a shiver. "Didn't think I'd have to be around them again."

"You… know this?" Maker's blood. The depravity humans could sink to astounded him. He thought he had seen the worst with Vaughan, but cannibalism and wearing the skin of the dead went beyond ghoulish.

"It's what my mom said. Took me and my brothers out one day when we was young to see what they did to a body. My youngest sib had nightmares for ages. Believe you me we didn't wonder off the village after that."

"How did your village manage to stay safe?"

"Wildlings don't leave the great trees in which they make their home often, not unless it's something urgent. Didn't bother us too much either as long as we left them a part of our harvest every year." Daveth shrugged. "If they kill the farmers, they don't get their portion. We needed their protection from the dryads, so as long as a kid didn't do something stupid like trounce through their territory, we had an understanding. Besides, farmers weren't no threat to them. They mainly fought each other. But then, as the Maker would have it, I'm not a farmer anymore. We're free game."

Creepy. Raviathan's skin itched at the thought of wearing human skin. He would have been convinced that humans truly were monsters if he hadn't seen the shrieks the night before.

"Then there's the Witch of the Wilds," Daveth said, squirming. "Maker help me, I'd never thought I'd be back here. As if the wildlings weren't enough."

"Witch of the Wilds?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard." Daveth seemed offended at Raviathan's blank expression. "Maker! What rock did Duncan find you under?"

"Hey!"

"I tell you, I'd take the wildlings any day over the Witch. At least with the wildlings you know you're going to die at some point. Stories of that Witch are nasty enough to make your ear tips fall off."

"Worse than cannibals?" Daveth hadn't struck him as particularly devout, yet here was another example of how far the Chantry's fear mongering reached. This Daveth was likely full of tall tales if his fear of apostates was any measure.

"Now see here. I ain't talking about some run about apostate. I met one back in Denerim. Nice enough fellow. The red light ladies had their fun with him before the templars could drag him back to that tower. The Witch of the Wilds is a different creature entirely."

"You mean she's an abomination?"

"Don't know what she is, but she's older than dirt. Just you watch yourself. She takes men, keeps them alive to feed on their souls like some giant spider. Turn them into husks. Half dead but not dead and left to wander the wilds as their bodies rotted away. One of them sort of staggered into our village once. Foaming at the mouth, dead eyed, and grey as if covered in ash. Attacked anything that moved. No matter how many times he was hit, he still kept coming after us. Was still twitching and moaning when we burned him."

"Rubbish." Sounded like a wildling with rabies or perhaps blight plague.

Daveth shook his head, eyes wide and earnest. "Truth or the Maker strike me down. We could hear the wildling women wail at night when one of their daughters was taken by the Witch. Chill your blood the way they howled. Believe me or not, but don't say I didn't give you fair warning."

"Fair warning given," Raviathan replied with a half grin. "Seems the Wardens don't mean to coddle us. Have you fought darkspawn yet?"

"Not yet. The Wardens have been warning me and Jory off until we're officially a part of the Order. Frankly, I'm surprised they've waited this long, but the few that would talk to us said it's important that the recruits go through the ritual together. Jory has been getting right impatient. He's been waiting for months."

"They haven't let him fight at all?"

"Not a bit of it. Turning him into a bit of a rolly round with Andraste's flame stuck up his arse if you ask me. I, on the other hand, have been enjoying the few diversions a place like this can offer."

"Careful. There are still guards about."

Daveth glanced over at the woman. "Indeed there are."

Following his line of sight, Raviathan grinned. "I suppose for an enterprising man, there are ways to while away the time."

"So. You said you could do better."

"I don't need the threat of darkspawn either."

"Perhaps after the battle then," Daveth said with a grin. "We'll see how well you do. First one to get a kiss from that lass gets their drinks free."

Raviathan wasn't sure if that was just this human or if they were all like that, but to bet on a woman was repugnant. They weren't darts or cards to gamble upon. Granted, he hadn't been particularly nice to the girls and women he had sex with, but he didn't bet on them either. Maybe that's why they used the word 'human' in 'dehumanizing'. But then he didn't understand why being call a dog was an insult. Dogs were such nice animals: loyal, protective, and playful. It could be that he was missing something again, so he decided to let it go without insult. "We're to be comrades. I can't take your money like that."

"Oh-ho," Daveth said with a hard grin. "That's big talk from an elf."

Raviathan turned his head sharply to the human. The human's hard eyes were more mischievous than mean, and Raviathan decided it was good natured teasing for having taken such offense before and goading the human a bit. He gave Daveth a sly smile then walked over to the woman who was warming her hands at one of the camp fires. She didn't even bother to look at him. "Excuse me," he said though she remained stone faced. "I don't suppose you've seen a dancing bear around here?"

She frowned at him then. "A… what?"

"A dancing bear," he said going for an innocent but playful look. "I heard the archdemon got scared and gave up, so we're to have a carnival tonight instead. I'm the juggler, but I can't find the bear."

She looked at him a minute then huffed. "Funny. Almost as funny as that outfit."

Instead of taking offense, he gave her a bright smile. "I've got no complaints. Without it, I'd freeze my little elven nips off." She scowled at the unexpected response.

Watching the elf, Daveth leaned against the stone wall and shook his head. Drunken sot. That pretty boy elf was all talk. What was it with elves anyway? In his experience, elves were quick to take offense and over silly things or even when what he said that was a truth they wouldn't admit to. He had met Tamriel briefly, and the man was definitely bitter. Here was yet another example of an elf looking for any excuse to be angry. No matter how many prostitutes Daveth had been with, he still found elven eyes eerie, almost hypnotic. At least with a prostitute, he could turn them around.

He was going to enjoy teasing this little braggart after the battle. Before the battle if he had time. Maybe if they were sent to the Wilds, he'd have a chance at ribbing. The new recruit kept chatting merrily as that gorgeous brunette continued to scowl at him. Daveth let his mind wander as the elf continued to strike out. Just what was this Joining anyway? Going into the Wilds was bad enough, but he had the sinking suspicion that they were going to have to drink something the mages were brewing. All the mages he had seen had been skinny and pale wimps. Nothing really to fear in them. The Witch of the Wilds was a whole different game of dice, and stories of her were enough to make any man's stones crawl back inside.

Daveth smirked as the pretty little elf started to walk away. He scowled when the brunette, who hadn't taken her eyes off the elf, jogged after him calling, "Wait." They were far enough away now that he could only hear their voices but not the words. The elf said something to her, looked at her as if annoyed, and continued to leave. Again she went after him. His jaw dropped open as the elf kept dismissing her, and the woman continued to chase after him. The elf looked distracted, annoyed, bothered, indifferent, and mildly interested. They stopped finally, and after a ten minute discussion, he shook his head and waved a dismissive hand at her. This time when he started away, she took his hand. She was standing quite close to him now, her fingers at play as she held his hand. Another brief discussion ensued. She looked around quickly to see who might be watching them, then led him off to a tent.

No way. Sneaking quietly, Daveth neared the tent the two had entered. Being careful not to be obvious, he listened to the sounds of armor being removed, some murmured words, and then a female gasp of pleasure. No bloody way. That elf had talked to her for twenty minutes, thirty tops. He continued to listen to a few low murmurings which gave way to more feminine sounds of joy. Daveth slunk away feeling frustrated and amazed. It was annoying as all get out, but give credit where it was due. Maybe the elf would be willing to teach him how to do that. In the meantime, Daveth went back to his tent to relieve the ache in his pants.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan decided he rather liked human women. Their scents were heavier, skin rougher, strange compared to elves, but their willingness more than made up for it. Her breasts weren't as large as the last woman, but they were well formed and larger than any elf. He ran a thumb over the high nub again and again as her breasts bounced with each thrust. And these women were so open to sex. Granted, they didn't have to worry about being kicked out of an alienage, but it was refreshing not to deal with any hang ups. If they wanted sex, they simply did so. Being around so many humans did have possibilities.

He withdrew to move one of her legs so her shoulders were flat with her torso twisted and rump exposed. He straddled the lower leg then and took some pleasure at gazing at the swollen lips before thrusting into her. He pumped fast, and she started stroking her own body, squeezing her bouncing breasts and running her hands over her stomach. The first thing she had done was suck him ready. She hadn't batted an eyelash when she saw him, had taken him in her mouth eagerly, so he assumed elven and human men were more or less similar.

Humans had so much hair. He smiled at the idea of bearded women. Strange how their hair drew the eye yet gave them the allure of mystery at the same time. That thick, curly hair couldn't hide them once their legs were open. His fingers played with her sex, exploring the folds and sensitivities there. He didn't rub the little nub knowing it was probably too sensitive right now. Instead he enjoyed the heat and textures. She raised her leg to give him better access, and he slowed so he could watch as he disappeared inside and see the deep pink peaks and valleys of her sex.

He ran his fingers up the walls of her sex, parting the lips and saw a bump that had developed a couple inches from the front. He pressed a thumb over it and was rewarded with a groan as she reflexively squeezed her breasts, pressing her nipples firmly. He rubbed it a little, a small gentle rotation, and she started to buck. He pushed her leg up, leaned forward, and thrust hard and fast. She threw her head back as he slapped into her again and again. His balls started to tighten. No. Just a little longer. He grimaced as he pushed faster. Maker she was wet. And the way she moved. Her mouth was bared open as if in pain as she panted. Just a little…

A sense of rushing of his whole body, from scalp to toes in skin prickling electricity, as he pushed all that force into her. There was that wonderful moment when there was no thought. Once over, he felt heavy. He slumped over her for a minute. Human women were a definite advantage. They both just breathed for a time. When he pulled out she writhed with a little moan. At least the tent was warm now. He was going to have to wash up again. After another minute of rest he started to dress.

"You're not staying?" she asked. She sounded a little wounded but was too tired to care overmuch.

"Sorry. I really am waiting for someone and being in a tent might make it hard to find me." That was true, but tired as he was, he wasn't about to sleep with her. The cool air outside the tent would help wake him up.

She wrapped a blanket up around herself and watched him dress with lazy eyes. "Will I see you later?"

There were worse things. "Maybe we can celebrate after the battle?"

"I'd like that," she said, twisting under the blanket to run a hand up his back. The movement had deliberately exposed one of her breasts, and he could tell she was pleased when his eyes fastened on it for a moment. He smiled at her, taking her hand to plant a kiss.

Leaving the tent, Raviathan couldn't help but envy the freedom humans had. When they wanted to have sex, they did so without guilt or shame. For them, sex was as natural an appetite to feed as hunger.

What had been fun in the moment turned into a heavy hollowness that nested into the pit of his stomach. That hollowness grew up his spine, it's roots creeping along his shoulders, down his arms and legs, clinging to the back of his throat.

In his childhood, trouble had always stemmed from the insistent thoughts that hunted after him. Those thoughts sought him in quiet moments, invaded his mind when he took his meals, troubled his sleep with constant wanting. Even when he found a woman to satiate the crawling, persisting needs of his body, it was never enough. He had grown up with children who were always starved for food or affection, and though his stomach was full and his family gave him security, he understood the distant, roaming gazes those children had. Distraction helped in the moment, but he gnawing need would sink it's teeth into him, gnash him until his brain was clouded, driving him to seek relief. Relief never lasted, leaving him calm but quietly melancholy. Raviathan bowed his head in memory. For the few brief months his life had been joined with another's, he had been released.

Did anyone see him leave the tent? Would they know what he did? His gaze darted around as he hurried away to clean up. Why had he dirtied himself for something as stupid as a bit of pride? If he was honest with himself, he knew the bet was just an excuse. Why couldn't he stop? Shame crawled over his skin, as close a companion as his own shadow and just as inescapable. Why couldn't he be as free as a human?