"Rav!"
He turned at the unexpected child like voice. "Beth?"
A mousy, plain woman rushed up to him, her arms full with scrolls and map cases. Nessa's mother. Raviathan had forgotten her parents had signed up to work for the army. "Here. Let me help," Raviathan said, lifting the map cases slung over her shoulder.
"I never expected to see you here, especially after the last contingent arrived a week ago. How long have you been here?"
"Arrived just this morning," Raviathan said, following her across the camp.
"Rav, you have to hurry. You'll get switched. This morning? But… there haven't been any new men. Don't tell me you came on your own. You'll want to get out of that armor before you draw too much attention."
"Don't worry about getting switched. Anyone who gives you trouble, tell them you were on Grey Warden business."
She cast him a nervous glance. "Don't lie. Ever," she whispered. "They'll cut your rations on top of a beating."
Heat flooded Raviathan's face. "Point out any shem that beats you, and I'll strip their skin off."
"Rav! What's gotten into you?"
Glancing around and finding no one paying attention to them, Raviathan took Beth by the elbow and led her to a secluded bench. "Calm. Beth, I don't want to worry you. Nessa is fine, but Denerim is not as you left it."
Her hand covered her mouth as she took his pain in. "Speak."
Raviathan held her hand in both his own. "Remember, Nessa is unharmed." He took a breath, holding it before he relayed the events that lead to his conscription. She gasped, the blood draining from her already pale face to leave her looking ghostly. He leaned in, whispering, "No one here knows I'm the one who killed Vaughan. Word is that the elves who attacked were killed. I thought you had a right to know about your daughter, but please, Beth."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she nodded in understanding for his plea for secrecy. "My baby girl. To think what could have happened."
Her tears started to fall, her breath coming in jerks. Raviathan put an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her temple. "She's alright. She's alright, Beth. Not a scratch. With Vaughan gone, there's no one who would hurt her."
She leaned into him, her worries of switching temporarily forgotten. Her pain came quickly, but she recovered just as quickly. She wiped her face, her breathing becoming regular. "Oh, sweetheart. Thank you for protecting my baby."
He gave her a squeeze, kissing her temple. "Of course."
She pulled away, her hand going up to cup his cheek with an expression of pure sorrow. "I'm sorry for what it cost you."
Raviathan looked away, unable to hold her gaze. When he spoke, his voice sounded like gravel grinding. "I don't want to think of her."
She patted his knee. "Of course." Beth took a shaky breath, the act cleaning out much of her troubles, then took hold of his hands. "A Grey Warden, Rav. I've heard there's a elf in the Grey Wardens. You'll be the second. That's quite an achievement. You do us proud."
The small smile he gave her held no humor. "I don't know that Claye would agree. Not to disparage your husband. He's a good man, but he never thought much of me."
"Oh, he's just old fashioned. Hard parents and became a parent himself late. Gives him a different way a viewing things, but he always saw your value to the alienage. Never said a word against you. Life is going to be a lot harder without you there."
He squeezed her hands at the sentiment but had no words, not of comfort or denial. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I keep thinking that I might have lost my baby. That I'd never get to tell her I love her again."
After last night, Raviathan understood that sentiment as he never had before. His father and cousins might get word months after his death. He thought of Shianni, sitting like a broken doll on her bed, untouchable. The faces of his cousins and the children Raviathan had cared for over the years flashed through his mind. Not only would they not have him to rely on, in death all possibility would be gone as well. It was one thing to lose a cousin to the Circle, another to have that cousin die. With him as a Warden, they had hope that one of their own could become someone important. Death made their own lives more finite. Finally, Raviathan thought of his father. There was so much that went unsaid between them. How would his father fair knowing he was the sole survivor? No wife, no children.
Mortality was not something Raviathan had to face often, but there were enough moments that he recognized the value of his life. Now though, he thought of the world as his father must see it. How horrible to lose your only child. His father had loved children, had wanted grandchildren as much as Raviathan had wanted a child. Raviathan couldn't imagine what it would be like to see his own child, a little life that he had cared and nurtured for years, walk away to fates unknown. He could almost see his father's face when he got the news that his son had died, the lines growing deeper, the sorrow in his father's blue eyes as he lived out his remaining years alone. Raviathan saw his father sitting at the table, his cup held in both hands, as the dark of night fell, a caring man left in solitude during the long, dark hours of his remaining life.
"Beth?" Raviathan's voice was still hoarse, the weight of emotion scratching this throat. "Let's make a promise to each other. If something happens to one of us, we look after the other's family. I'll make sure Nessa has a good match. You care for my father. Make sure he eats. Make sure he isn't alone."
Her hands squeezed his, and he closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. Even so, he could feel the slight waver of his chin. The last weeks of strain, the lack of sleep, the attack last night, the echoing pain of one lost who was to be by his side were all too much. Perhaps after the battle he would get the rest he needed so badly.
"You promise to give my love to Nessa," Beth said. "Tell her how much she meant to us. That we did this so she could have a better future. That we love her."
"I will."
"It's a good promise then. You take care of Nessa. Give her our love. We'll take care of Cyrion." She stroked his cheek. "I'll make sure he knows how much you loved him. I know you had your differences, but we all knew that underneath that you both cared for each other deeply." She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Promise."
"Promise. Thank you, Beth."
They sat for a moment, heads leaning against each other in silent security as they collected their emotions. Though they had never been particularly close, Raviathan could feel himself reaching for the comfort of the familiar. Just being with another elf was soothing. Beth understood his troubles without words in a way a human never could.
Beth gave a little laugh to break the weight of emotion. "There are elves here from so many different parts of Ferelden. Elves from Denerim I haven't seen in ages since they moved to work in the castle or for a noble family. At night when work is done, it's been great fun catching up with news, trading stories, and singing. I expect you'll be with the Grey Wardens, but you should come visit when you have a chance. They'll all be so excited. A Grey Warden. I can hardly believe it myself."
A bit of sad humor did touch Raviathan's smile then. "Half the time I can't believe it either."
"Come." Light, nervous laughter rang out from Beth. "I still have duties, but I can introduce you to a few of the others."
The wide corridor of ruins she led him through stood high enough to block out the sun. Only the tips of the tallest pines touched the weak sunlight. "I feel so tiny here. Like a dormouse scampering through a castle."
Beth quickly hushed her twitter of a laugh. "I felt the same. Work keeps us so busy I don't notice anymore. So strange here. With all these trees, I keep thinking about the Dalish."
"Are they around here?"
"We've heard rumors, but nothing more. I wasn't even sure they were real, but the soldiers from Gwaren talk about them. Whatever Dalish used to be here have all moved north to get away from the darkspawn. Oh Maker, I never thought I'd actually see a darkspawn. Gives me nightmares." Her voice quavered as she hurried to meet the other elves working at the end of the corridor. "We used to be afraid of guards, but now, they're the only thing between us and the horde."
How helpless the elves were here, thought Raviathan. They were subject to the whims of a lord back in Denerim or prey for street thieves, but here the threat wasn't something they could hide from. If the darkspawn broke through, the most the elves could do was run. There was no way for his people to defend themselves, and from what Raviathan remembered of the shrieks, running was fruitless.
A great wooden table dominated the back of the wide hall. A few elves scurried about, cleaning the area of branches and debris, setting up rough covering in case of rain, bringing forth chests or refreshments. Beth whispered, "This is where the king, generals, and advisers meet."
One elf, a man with hair the ranging color of redwood bark, glanced at Raviathan before doing a double take and staring. The others took note and soon they were all watching Raviathan. He heard 'Dalish' murmured.
"This is Rav," Beth said after depositing the scrolls and maps on the table. "He's from my alienage."
The others gathered around to form a circle and introduced themselves, a simple act of inclusion that made Raviathan ache in homesickness. How he had missed being with his own people with their shared understanding. The pain of being with them was like the ache of healing.
"I thought for sure you were a Dalish," the redheaded man said. "Are you a soldier?"
"He's Warden-Commander Duncan's newest recruit," Beth said, taking his arm and smiling. His position, that they were acquainted, and from the same alienage would add to her prestige among the group. Raviathan leaned closer to Beth so their shoulders touched, letting her have her moment.
One woman clapped a hand over her open mouth at the news. "I'd heard the king say there was to be no more switching of elves." She glanced around at the rest when she became the focus of the circle. "Quartermaster was complaining about an elf who pulled a knife on him, and the king laughed. Thought it was funny, then said it was his royal command that elves not be switched or abused. That was you, wasn't it?"
"I… yes." Raviathan was stunned. "The king," what should he say? Favors him? "The king supports the Wardens."
"Maker, he didn't do that for Tamriel," a dark haired elf with a long face said.
Noticing the dark looks the others sent each other at the mention of Tamriel, Raviathan said, "I've heard there was another elf in the Grey Wardens."
In her high, quiet voice, Beth said, "We don't know him. We've invited him to join us for an evening, but he avoids us."
"At first we thought he was like that just with us, like maybe he's an outcast or something," the redhead added. "But he's the same with the soldiers, and from what we can tell, the other Wardens too."
An elf who stayed away from the group? Weird. If Tamriel was an outcast, they would be able to tell at once as his ears would have been docked to mark him. Raviathan wondered about this elf's unnatural behavior. They would be the only two, and if there was something wrong with Tamriel, Raviathan was going to have a difficult time ignoring him.
Conversation continued on, the others chatting or exchanging gossip, especially who to avoid or places to hide.
"Stay away from the lunch soup. The cook is trying to hide the spoiled meat in it."
"Jenner is going to play the lute tonight. He said he learned a new song from one of the soldiers from Gwaren."
"Those Ash Warriors give me the creeps. The way they stare. One of them spit on me this morning."
"There's an abandoned cathedral near the back of the fortress. Hop behind the wall and no one will see you if you need to get away."
"One of the scouting parties said they found Dalish arrows in a dead blight wolf east of here. To think the Dalish were so close."
More than the words, Raviathan listened to the continuous ebb of voices flowing to his ears like the soothing sound of river water. The elves grew more comfortable, smiles and jokes becoming easier. Eyes flashed lavender and green, in blues of sky and lapis, making the elves real to Raviathan in a way humans couldn't be. Their emotions were clear and true, not clouded behind the smaller, dull eyes of humans. Only Duncan was excluded from Raviathan's comparison. That human had proved himself, his eyes holding warmth in Raviathan's memory.
"Hey, you bloody, lazy knife ears!"
The elves all turned at the booming voice. Conversation cut off with the abruptness of a snapping branch. All except Raviathan immediately scurried away to their duties, their heads down and backs slouched.
"The King said no switching, but I can find other punishments for you!" The speaker was a burly man in rough, scarred armor. His wiry black beard obscured most of his face, but a large nose that bore the brunt of multiple breakings dominated the rest.
Mouth thinned, Raviathan watched as his fellows were cowed, their shoulders bent, making themselves small in order to be less of a target, doing all they could not to draw the shem's attention. Raviathan glared up at the shem, ready to pull his weapons given an opportunity.
The shem opened his mouth, offense at a rebellious elf sharpening his gaze, but a humorless smile formed instead. One of his teeth was broken, leaving a sharp spike in his crooked mouth. "Warden."
If Raviathan was reading him correctly, the shem wasn't going to overstep his bounds in an official capacity, certainly not to defy the king, but Raviathan would be a fool to press the man. The taskmaster was ready for an opportunity to embarrass him if possible. The shem was overconfident, like many of his ilk who thought size alone determined the victor. One confrontation for the day was enough. Anymore and Raviathan would be labeled a troublemaker. Deciding the threat of his apparent influence with the king would be enough, Raviathan stood coolly watching the human, measuring and cataloging any slights. The bluff was enough it seemed as the taskmaster yelled and blustered but went no further, not even threats.
Influence with the king certainly had its perks. Raviathan had heard from other elves about sycophants who clung to nobles, how some nobles were more susceptible to sugared tongues. Now that Raviathan had some distance from his meeting with the king, he could reflect on what had happened with a clearer head. He had seen enough lust from shems to recognize that look, but he hadn't seen that in Cailan despite the king calling him 'pretty'. There was Cailan's love of Wardens, and while that was what had probably set Raviathan apart from the other elves at the camp, the king's fascination seemed more personal. Did Cailan want a pet like the queen had? An elf to be a companion, spy, and confidant? A pretty creature to make himself look good, like a well bred dog at his heels? What other use would the king have for him?
Why did humans have to constantly call him pretty anyway, Raviathan groused to himself.
Ignoring the shem's continued grumblings, Raviathan looked over the table covered with paper and canvas. Stones resting on the corners kept the items in place, but Raviathan was surprised to see scribbles and colors on the canvases. He hadn't known what to expect, lists and such, but not what looked like childishly squiggled lines. Raviathan recognized the letters printed randomly on the scribbled pictures but not the words they formed. Some of the canvases were quite old, stained and fraying at the edges. A finely embossed leather picture bore scars like a thrashed slave. One had splatters of blood and a knife shaped hole starring unblinkingly at the fog cloaked day.
"You're the new Warden, I presume," a hoarse voice sounded. Though restrained, the underlining power of the speaker carried through the hall.
Raviathan glanced up to see a large human in shining silverite armor in a style he hadn't seen before. Long black hair framed a lined face that bore the brunt of a few scars that had turned livid with age. Despite the dark circles under the lord's eyes, his pale blue gaze pierced with an aspect that was more wolf than human. Heavy brows and a dominating nose gave force to the man's face. This man had an aura that commanded instant respect. Where Cailan was a boy wearing a king's armor, and Arl Eamon seemed a man more at home in a throne room meriting out laws and judgments, this noble was most at peace on a battlefield.
Realizing he was staring, Raviathan blinked and straightened. "Yes, ser." He struggled not to fidget as the lord continued to watch him. Wardens probably didn't fidget. Nope, no fidgeting, no matter how much he felt like a mouse with a wolf's attention pinned on him. At least the taskmaster had left so Raviathan didn't have to see the shem laughing at his discomfort.
"You don't look Dalish. You're a city elf then?"
"I am. From Denerim." Just who was this man? No doubt the noble would take such an inquiry as an insult. Normally Raviathan wouldn't have cared who this shem was, but considering the noble's intimidating aura, he decided a little checking was in order. "I'm surprised so many people recognize me."
"How many elves have you seen wear weapons and armor openly?" The human's dry tone left no doubt to what he thought of Raviathan's comment. Brushing aside his irritation, Raviathan decided this was someone to study. This noble, judging by the authority he exuded, was a significant player in the battles against the darkspawn.
When the lord turned his attention to the pictures on the table, Raviathan felt the weight of those pale blue eyes off him as if a heavy boulder he had been carrying was shrugged off. Instead of disturbing the lord again, which would likely further reduce the lord's estimation, Raviathan watched in silent interest. The lord ran a reverent hand over the parchments and canvases, organizing them with meticulous care. He placed wooden blocks on them, some stained black while others had the seals of the Crown or other noble houses. Aside from Ferelden's sigil, two red mabari on a checkered field of gold and white, Raviathan had no idea who was represented by what symbols.
"Something interest you, Warden?" The human hadn't paused from his work, his bent form focused on lining shifting the wooden blocks around.
"What are these pictures?"
The noble glanced at him, the line between his brows deepening. "You've never seen a map before?"
Raviathan stepped up to the table in renewed fascination. Though Raviathan was tempted to make a smart remark, he held his tongue. No point in alienating the noble by asking, what use was a map to a city elf who never leaves the city? Knowing now what they were, Raviathan still couldn't make sense of the colors or shapes. Brown blobs, more brown blobs, and odd inked squiggles didn't resemble the land he had been walking though. Pointing, he asked, "What is this printing?""
The noble knocked his hand away though Raviathan hadn't intended on touching the map. "Orlesian." The noble turned his full gaze on the map, bent over with one arm as support on the table as he traced paths with a light finger.
"I thought the nobles made a point of distancing themselves from the Orlesians."
"Some do."
"Not you?"
The old wolf snorted, the hard glint of cold humor clear through the slight twist of his mouth. Raviathan got the feeling he was missing something that should have been obvious. This was another in a long line of reminders of how little Raviathan knew of the world outside the alienage. Was he ever going to fit in? How were the other Wardens going to treat him? Loneliness started to press down on him, and he wished he could be with the other elves. Even if he were just a servant dodging the attention of shems, he'd have the comfort of his fellows again. His only friend was Duncan, a relief from the barrage of disgusted shems, but his mentor couldn't protect him from all.
With an internal shake, Raviathan pushed aside his concerns. Enough worry over these shems. Exhaustion was making him moody. Raviathan turned to the maps in an attempt to puzzle them out. This man was going to think him a fool no matter what he said, so it didn't matter what he asked. Feeling curiously relieved from the noble's judgment by that thought, Raviathan asked, "Why use these maps? Why not have these maps in the King's Tongue?"
Oddly, Raviathan thought the noble approved of those questions. "The Orlesian cartographers were ordered to map Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds. They had plans to take over the Chasind land given time and fewer rebellions."
"They used Orlesian for naming areas? Wouldn't that cause confusion when dealing with locals?"
The noble grumbled deep in his throat. His eyes, intense and cold as the frozen wastes in the south, roamed over the maps as if seeing the memories he had forged with the land through them. "Name a thing, and it is yours. Name your children, your pets. Name a battle and the blood spilt by every man is contained as if it were a single memory. A name is an imposition of will. When the Orlesians came, they tried to make this land theirs. A futile effort."
"Futile because we overthrew them? They have been successful in taking over other realms, like the Dalish homeland." Raviathan wondered at the noble's expression. Was his thin smile bitter or filled with triumph? The noble's pupils were contracted to pinpricks giving his pale blue eyes an almost fevered intensity. Raviathan wasn't sure if he liked this man or not, but he did respect him.
"Is a child yours because you've named it? No. They have a life of their own no matter how you would seek to guide them, protect them. Say 'Battle of West Hill', but you do not know the pain or betrayal, the breaking of spirit or suffering behind that name. The land… rivers swell and dry, forests burn, avalanches change the face of a mountain, and yet… here it is." The noble's finger traced a winding line. "The Hafter River follows this same line as it did in all the ages of recorded history. The Frostbacks stood with the Old Gods of the Imperium. The only way to make the land yours is to know it. Know it's twists and shapes, how it moves and shifts. Only then can you protect it. That is the reality the Orlesians never understood."
A finger gnarled with age and hard use traced a jagged line near the top. "The northern coast of the Waking Sea. Highever. Amaranthine. Denerim. Dragon's Peak. Gwaren. Lothering. Redcliffe. Lake Calenhad. The Frostbacks. The Bannorn." He point to each as he named the areas. "Knowing those points, can you locate where we are?"
Amazing to see the land like this, thought Raviathan. The concept was alien, to see the land as a whole rather than roads and hills he had experienced for himself. Elves followed the roads, landmarks, pointed directions, but not maps. Maps were for plans. Maps calculated distances, the days spent on travel, expectations of the future.
By contrast, most elves were focused on just getting through the day. When they had no money, there was a strange lightening of responsibility. When an elf had nothing, their only concern was their next meal, not saving for rent or the next day's food. A day, an hour, they meant nothing. Time was shortened only to what happened in the moment. For many, life was work one day, starve the next. Though Raviathan had never starved, he knew well how his less fortunate kin thought.
This was a startling revelation into the way human's thought. Elves felt the seasons and planned their tiny gardens or the type of work available to them by intuition. The only real days were solstices, equinoxes, and the day that marked a new year. Other days bled into one another in a blur of time. Humans measured the hours by burning candles, the seasons with calendars, plotted the time to breed their animals or plan their fields.
Raviathan looked at the dot that was Denerim, traced the line to Dragon's Peak, then across the Bannorn to Redcliffe and the Frostbacks beyond. Weeks of travel made smaller by the canvas before him, as if so small a thing could hold the sum of his experiences. "I was here, near Redcliffe. Then south and east. What are these lines?"
"The Imperial Highway."
"We cut across the forest, but then back to the Highway. So… around here?"
The noble tapped a spot. "Here. Then the Korcari Wilds and wasteland to the south."
How different would life be for elves if they were able to get a tiny slice of prosperity? Raviathan nibbled his lip. Humans learned to plan as children, or at least the ones with land and money did. If the elves were able to gain a money enough to make a better life for themselves, would they have the skills to make use of their newfound resources?
"Interesting choice of Duncan's. Cailan was quite fascinated with you as well. Let's hope you have some skill to compensate the Wardens beyond being a curiosity."
Of course, Raviathan thought with a tightening of his jaw. He was speaking to a shem, so the insults couldn't be far away. "Afraid not. Duncan was only enchanted with my face. Apparently his new tactic is to woo the darkspawn into submission with elven loveliness."
Raviathan left without a by your leave. He heard the noble's snort but there was no angry call or clank of armor to indicate pursuit. Whatever. He's been insulted by enough shems in the last fortnight to last him the rest of his life. Raviathan left the wide hall, the initial rush of embarrassment wearing off quickly. The last day had been too full of experiences and not enough sleep. His temper was like boiling milk, suddenly overflowing but just as quickly settled.
Why did that noble give him that lesson on reading a map? The shem was crafty, that was certain. As a soon to be Warden Raviathan would be part of an elite group and therefore a significant member against the darkspawn. Maybe to test him? That was the sort of tactic his mother would have used. Questions made a person shut down whereas engaging a person in a story or thought exercise could render clues and tells. Had he failed the last test with his sarcasm?
Maybe he was reading too much into the conversation. Somehow, though, Raviathan didn't think so. Whatever the noble's opinion of him, Raviathan had gained a valuable lesson on human behavior.
"You there. You're the new Warden everyone's talking about."
Interrupted from his ruminations, Raviathan saw a human with the dark skin of a northerner, probably from Rivaini ancestry. Behind him a makeshift kennel had been erected where a multitude of breeds were kept. Lean scent hounds, stalwart cart dogs, and the majestic mabari waited patiently for care or their next assignment. Nearly half of the dogs were recovering from injuries. A memory of swift mabari racing up carpeted steps flashed through Raviathan's mind. Suppressing the memory, a skill he was becoming ever more practiced in, Raviathan turned to the kennel master. "Does everyone here know me? It's most disconcerting."
The shem smiled at that. His face was weathered from exposure more than age, but his smile was good natured and put Raviathan at ease. Even with his easy smile, worry clung to the human. "Yes, I can imagine. Gossip spreads fast when soldiers have little to do but wait for the next battle. Gets their minds off of things."
"I suppose that's true enough. Still feels odd though. Is there something you needed?"
"Glad you asked. I've got this mabari here. Beautiful dog, credit to his breed. Poor fellow swallowed some of that darkspawn blood. Daveth said you new Wardens would be heading to the Wilds soon. I asked him to find a herb for me, but more eyes the better."
"Herb?"
"White with a deep red center. Leaves are heart shaped. Called Dryad's Tears." The kennel master drew a rough sketch in the loose dirt at his feet.
"I haven't seen the like before. How did you find out about this herb?"
"Er, well, don't hold it against me for knowing, but the Chasind use it."
"That sounds like a story."
"Heh." The kennel master gave him an embarrassed grin. "Ah. Couple generations back, on me mum's side, grandfather had a, well, a run in with the Chasind. Decided he liked the smell of the wild folk over the Orlesians during the occupation. Got a few cousins in one of the tribes. Not that we're close, but we've done some trade."
"Does Daveth know about your relations?"
"It's the reason why he won't come near me. Soon as he found out ain't seen nothing but his backside retreating."
Raviathan laughed. "He was certainly white around the eyes. But I thought you were the King's kennel master. You're not from Denerim?"
"Gwaren. Most of the dogs are down below nearer to the battle ground. I take care of the Teyrnir's dogs and the injured. But if I can bother you for one more favor, I'd be in your debt."
"What is it?"
"Darkspawn blood is making the dog mad. If not for the taint, I'd not worry about handling him, but… well, I've seen the soldiers who got some of that tainted blood in them. Can't blame me for being cautious, now can you."
"But what is it you want me to do?"
"See, I can't get near the dog's wounds to treat him without fear of being bit. I be needing someone who can muzzle him. You're a Warden. The taint won't hurt you."
Maker! What was it with shems? One second they were nice then the next unbearably rude. No wonder they were always at war with each other. "So if he savages me or rips my arm off, it's no problem. I'm going to be a Warden fighting darkspawn. It's not like I'll need my arms for anything."
"Ah, don't be like that. Mages are just right over there for healing if you need it. Please? I've already put down so many dogs. I can't bear to see this one go. Not one fine as him."
Raviathan sighed. Times like this he thought he had a target painted on his forehead. "None of the other Wardens would help you?" If he became tainted before he joined the Wardens, would he still be able to gain their immunity?
"Not a one would bother with me. Even Ser Jory turned his nose up. I got other dogs to care for, so it's not like I have the time to hunt down and convince another Warden."
Taking the leather muzzle half heartedly, Raviathan went to the tainted mabari's cage. The dog weighed almost twice what he did. When Raviathan neared, eyes red with blood glared at him. The dog snapped at the air, all flashing teeth and bulging muscle, jaws deadly as a bear trap. Maker, but this animal was a monster. Raviathan could feel the taint in the dog, not as strong as the blight wolves, but it was there, worming its way deeper and deeper into the animal. Could the dog be saved?
Though fear tingled in Raviathan, the core instinct that made him want to flinch back from danger, he squashed it down. No fear. He pushed it away and returned the dog's glare with his own. "Hey! You settle down right now. I'm not having any of this, you understand?"
He probably looked a fool talking to a dog, but he ignored the feeling. Mabari were known for their intelligence, but any dog would recognize his tone. The dog, for his part, did back down. The dog's madness disappeared in an instant, leaving only a gut wrenching pain as open as a wound. The animal hunched down, a keening whimper that cut straight into Raviathan's heart. What was it about an animal's pain that bypassed any emotional walls? Was it their purity of feeling? Or that they had so little choice over their fate? Raviathan blinked back tears as he slid through the bars.
Raviathan knelt by the dog's head all the while making soothing sounds. There was no resistance in the mabari anymore, only pain and the knowledge he was dying. Raviathan slipped the muzzle around the animal, buckling it into place without a hitch. He stayed there for a few minutes, scratching gently behind the dog's ears as he talked.
The dog actually knew he was dying. Raviathan could see it in the dog's eyes, in the defeat of his hunched form. Was there any worse sort of torture? Knowing you were going to die in pain and going mad before you did? With care that no one would see, Raviathan let a little tendril of power flow out of his palm and into the dog's neck. He couldn't heal the taint, but this little spell, the first magic he had manifested when he was a child, would ease the dog's suffering. As long as he kept his hand firmly on the dog's skin, there would be no telltale fire of healing energy. The mabari's eyes drooped given that little space of peace to rest, then he went to sleep with a final whimper. Raviathan left without a word, and the kennel master did not stop him.
Morose after seeing the dying dog, Raviathan searched for some place where he could rest. Shrieks from the night before, Duncan learning his secret, night travel, and the seeming endless parade of shems had sapped the last of his resources. Now his heart was aching for an animal dying slowly and in great suffering. While he wanted to find a hidden spot where he could rest in peace, he was still awaiting the summons from Duncan.
Glancing around, Raviathan decided the best spot was at the base of a little used ramp to the higher section of the fortress. The spot was secluded enough he could rest without anyone bothering him but still be visible for Duncan's messenger. He set his sack down as a makeshift pillow, wrapped his cloak about himself, then settled in. He had never slept on the ground like this. Curling his legs up to his chest, he closed his eyes against the dappled shade. The scent of earth and pine, the background baying of dogs, the murmur of distant humans faded into the milieu.
In the between as his soul opened to the Fade, the remembrance of arms around him, of soft elven breasts pressed to his bare back, the warmth of his wife's sweet smelling skin was a lullaby to his frayed spirit. Her creator's hands, strong and calloused from use, had been his hope for a new life—a life with children—an act of creation they would have shared. In his dream those arms held him, soothed him as if no time had passed from his departure, as if the miles could not separate them. United, they would bring something precious into the world, a creation made solely of love. Her existence was like his magic, a source of love and creation, pure and bright as if his own personal sun danced in his heart.