For a totally unplanned chapter, this ended up longer and thematically heavier than expected. Um... enjoy, if that's the word for angst.
Shemlen
Alistair
Morgana stands up, giving Zathrian's body one last look, then gazes at the former werewolves, who are examining their skin and clothes in astonishment. Some of them are smiling, some of them have mouths downturned in sorrow, staring at where their Lady used to be - the spirit that now only exists as a memory.
She gives them a smile, still recovering her breath, and then he sees her stop, following her gaze. Some of the now-humans are children - the "cubs", he supposes. She looks back at them, gestures to Leliana, the woman joining her next to the group, and he hears a creak and a clank of armour as she goes down on one knee; their voices are soft as they comfort the youngest children, ignoring the slightly suspicious stares of some of their mothers. He forces down a pang of sadness, trying to ignore the sudden ache in his chest, as he realises that the taint has stolen all hope of motherhood from her. Then it's him she's looking at, and he hesitantly walks over to her shoulder. She looks up, gives him a smile, but there's something sad behind her eyes as she says, "Don't worry, I'm not going to let Morrigan near crying children."
That provokes a smirk from him, but it fades as he sees a small boy - no older than six - staring at him, eyes wide with terror, visibly shaking. Memories rise in him of another frightened young boy, still trying to be flippant in the face of the enemy; laughter extinguished by impossibly tall templars, stained glass windows throwing coloured shapes on their armour, always telling him to do what he's told. He closes his eyes for a moment, swallows it down, and once again thanks the Maker for Duncan.
"D'you... do you think they've seen many humans?" he murmurs in Morgana's ear, eyes still locked on the trembling child. She shakes her head, adding, "I doubt they've ever been out of the forest." Before he knows quite what he's doing, he's kneeling next to her, digging in his pockets; he flips a silver off his thumb to the little boy, watches his eyes widen as he hesitantly picks it up, his eyes flitting from the coin to Alistair himself.
He gives the boy a smile, careful not to make any sudden (stupid) moments, and says softly, "Look after yourself. It's big out there, y'know." For some, it's the woods, for others, it's the walls of the Chantry, and he pretends not to know this all too well. The child seems to consider this, and then looks up at him with a small half-smile, running to find his mother.
Alistair sighs, standing, and Morgana slowly does the same. When she's spoken to the adults, she finally allows her face to fall, and swallows as she says, "I don't blame them for what their ancestors did. But what Zathrian said, what the humans did to his children, what the storyteller told us..." Her jaw sets before she wrinkles her nose, her expression settling into one of disgust, voice hardening. "That's why the Dalish call us shemlen."
"It simply means human, Morgana." Leliana enters the conversation with a graceful step, looking at the both of them worriedly.
"Not the way they used it," his fellow Warden says shortly. "Not with the looks they gave us." She seems to deflate. "They didn't trust us to start with. The humans still live, and their Keeper is dead. I don't even want to think about how they'll take this."
He looks at her, feeling worry crinkling his brow; the odd ache in him is back at her expression, and he comes to a decision. He's made her smile. Now to make her laugh.