Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Summary: A City-Elf/Bann Teagan collection of drabbles and one-shots based on a prompt table from an LJ-community. These will be more or less in chronological order with the faintest traces of added plot here and there. Will vary from drabble length to one-shot.
Author's note: If you like Isolde very very much, please to forgive. Personally, I don't and it reflects in this piece. Oops? I'm not entirely satisfied with it though..hm.
In this chapter: Respect comes and goes.
004.
There are a couple of things one can know about Alienage elves without bothering to set foot anywhere near a city where they dwell. One, they have pointy ears. Two, they are poor. Sten had come from another continent and even he had those two down to a T. The third can vary from individual to individual but, on a whole, they dislike humans. The majority hates them. The total thinks they, quite foolishly, throw away every gift they are given. Summing it all, elves live far happier when away from their flat-eared cohabitants.
Tasha is hardly an exception. Until her integration in the Grey Wardens, she lived solely in the streets of the Alienage, the walls of Denerim keeping her home safe and confined. Having humans staring at her ears, at her hands in case she steals them blind, at her body as if she's going to sell it at any given moment, all of those are not a novelty. Her failed wedding was just the cherry on top of her hatred. She abhors most humans, dislikes the rest by default and has the tendency to remember forgetting to hide that particular prejudice. Respect comes painfully earned. Alistair and Leliana learned it - hated but learned it - and Morrigan, of all people, understood her easily enough. The mage hates the majority of Ferelden's inhabitants after all, no distintion of race and location. Wynne was the one human which conquered her respect the quickest, barely two minutes after their meeting by placing her life on the line to protect children.
It is no wonder that her eyes are already narrowing faintly when a woman shows up in the aftermath of the battle – exactly when the massacre is finally over and the dead placed to the side. Orlesian accent, deep and sweet, used at the top of its owner's lungs and calling everyone's attention. Tasha doesn't notice when her hand reaches for the sword on her back, a noble dress and the armed guard are everything she can keep track of in her exhaustion – and there is Wynne's own fingers, slipping over hers and pulling them away. Wait, she thinks, taking a long deep breath. Think.
Orlesian then, a beautiful dress sewed in colorful fabrics, carefully arranged hair and a pretty face filled with distress, wet with tears which keep sliding. Every detail serves to feed her annoyance little by little, enlarging it from her natural human dislike to one which scrapes loathing. Because in front of this gentlewoman, dressed in her disgusting chain mail, hair pilled in a bloody mess and requiring a long bath to get rid of the darkspawn blood buried in her skin, Tasha fells like a barbarian from the old days. Call her petty but she just can't endear herself to that womanly beauty while feeling an ogre.
Unfortunately, her issues with the woman keep growing with each voiced comment. The battle is over, they have just lived through one of the worse nights in their memories – Ostagar excluded – and this human – this is the Arlessa? – ignores them and her domain as if they are nothing, passes by them as if they are mere road decorations. And then there's Alistair. This is the woman who pushed a husband to send a child to the Chantry, who robbed him of everything he knew and loved. Isolde has barely started talking and Tasha's expression has already decided that saying its owner doesn't like the arrival is a severe understatement.
But the elf waits, feeling Wynne's hand move once more and take hold of her elbow, the light pressure between the scales of her armor whispering caution. The mage does that often. Tasha ignores it often. And ignore it again she does, her frown more and more pronounced as she hears Isolde's words and her final request.
The only leader of that village. And she wants him to leave with her.
"Careful, this can be an ambush." It is an ambush, you foolish male, her annoyance wishes to say, chew out both him and Alistair who seem to believe the woman is being sensible when her selfishness is currently attempting to drown the entire party. For the first time, the elf is glad that Morrigan is that suspicious. She can almost sense the other woman move to cross her arms, reading between the underlines all that Isolde does not say. Two women staring, that's bound to break the other from her tearful monologue.
It doesn't work as expected. When Isolde turns to her and the acknowledgement should be a victory, Tasha discovers she has to look up slightly. As soon as one thinks nothing can make the situation worse, irony listens and makes sure she now feels like an uncommonly short dirty ogre.
"What?" Isolde frowns delicately, her little nose raised and wrinkling as if there's a disgusting smell near – which probably true, blood and guts don't fade into nothing – before turning, yet again, to her husband's brother. "I... who is this woman, Teagan?"
Tasha has the inane wish to punch her.
Sadly, Alistair – dense and ever so careless Alistair – chooses to interfere, taking over Wynne and gripping her shoulder, pulling before dragging all the women's unpleasantness towards himself, the child that she harmed. Teagan – just as dense and male – follows his cue, defends him, defends her, gives them the debt of his life. But in the end of the discussion, Isolde is still treating her as if she's little more than an irritation and everything she doesn't say surpasses the little she does say.
If it was up to her, Wynne and Morrigan would be the ones to speak up. The ones who could explain this woman's words and just what of it all is true. If it was up to her, they would be settling a small party before jumping directly into a wolf's jaws. But it isn't, it is the Bann's. And the noble is being noble and refusing to enter a situation which might place his family in danger. Batting eyelashes and tears have nothing to do with it, of course.
"Enough questions. We need to decide what to do." Her patience waves goodbye and she knows she's about to say everything she shouldn't. There is a limit to what someone of her stature can achieve, a limit to the words uttered which will not lead to an empty cell. But this idiot is being ever so dense and Maker help her, she's not about to see such terrible stupidity waste a life she helped to save. It is enough to make the respect he earned from her go out the proverbial window.
"This is all a mistake," she continues, her words saying much less than she wishes. "You have no idea what is going on. Only thing you'll manage is to get yourself killed."
He smiles. What's with this man and smiling whenever he is about to dive into a dangerous situation? Blight ended, the woman decides, she is joining the Dalish. To live near these incomprehensible creatures and their unexplainable actions would drive her mad in less than a week. Her lips open, ready to continue her tirade including some of her more sensible arguments – you cannot die, fool – when she's stopped by the smallest gesture for silence. The shadow behind his eyes that Tasha can recognize. It houses a fading light, a setting sun and the slight companionship before they were thrown into chaos.
He knows. The stupid man knows.
"Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you." Tasha doesn't listen to the Arlessa's reply, lost in the surprise of her discovery. She reads something other than what his words say, hears the caution behind his request and a plan which cannot work but has no pretentions to. It is called bait, to draw attention away or simply attempt because remaining still is not possible. "I cannot let Isolde return alone."
His smile turns faintly into a grimace, false and forced, something akin to a sigh drowned in between the worry. "Perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon," the man persists. "Perhaps this is really a trap, but this is my family." Her steps had echoed in the Arl's palace, running into every room, killing every guard who tried to bar her path. Because Shianni needed her. And Shianni carried her blood. She would spill half the nation's to spare hers. "I must try." She understands. Damn him, she understands what he's doing. Stupid, decent, slow, stupidly noble and all that Tasha had done and would do again and again if needed.
This is not for Ferelden, for honor, for some dignified value or a title which matters nothing at the end of the day. It's for his brother and his young nephew, it's for his family. There's no greater reason to walk forward. And her respect rears its small head somewhere in the background, swallowing her recriminations before they are born.
From then on, the elf nods to every suggestion, needing not warning hands or careful words. To stop him would be hypocritical even if Isolde still annoys her and the tears are steadily chipping away her dying self-control. It is her respect, and solely to that man, which keeps Tasha silent, head slowly nodding while agreeing to a desperate mission.
The two nobles are leaving now and no one approaches her, as if her irritation is a poison which leaves her body and stains the air. Only her Mabari does, the soft whines for attention sounding like pleads, the constant bumping against her knees attempting to pull her out of her self-commiseration. He is worried. Tasha can feel it as clearly as if he is speaking in words but is too worried to calm him. He cannot understand, this lovely brown dog who worries over her private complications, he cannot help... Her eyes meet his, blue against brown. Maybe he is worried too. Maybe the dog does understand better than she thinks and is trying to tell her so. "It's underhanded," she whispers, kneeling to hug his dirty form to hers, bloody fur against muddy scales. "It goes against the major plan and we agreed with him." But, Tasha adds absently, silently, she didn't and she is female and an elf to boot.
Force her to a game? Fine. She'll just change the rules and the noble woman can try to keep up. Leave the Bann to play the game properly, he is the one human enough to be honorable after all.
No one but the elf notices the hound leaving her side, walking silently behind the party before disappearing as per his mistress's orders. The rest is too busy worrying over the odd cheerful disposition with which their leader begins slaying undead.
Note: Prompt 004 (Dense) from Troyed community table of prompts.