6. The Hunter
As Keeper of the Sabrae Clan, Marethari had seen her share of tragedies, and she had little doubt that she would see more. It was the way of the Dalish, to bear their tragedies with dignity and strength, nurturing the seeds that the past gave them so that the future might bud and thrive.
That did not, however, make the sight before her any easier to bear.
The worst of the young warrior's sickness had abated, for the time being. The young woman was up and moving about with the same pride that she always had… to a stranger, it might perhaps seem that Meila Mahariel was not ill at all.
Marethari, however, was no stranger. There were signs, and telling ones. It was in the way Meila's step across the rough ground was slightly less confident as she retrieved her arrows from the practice range. It was in the way her bow quivered as she raised it once more to take aim. It was in the upward tilt of her chin as she loosed the next arrow, defying her aim to falter, and then in the way that it inevitably did, the arrow striking the target a hairsbreadth from the center.
Meila Mahariel was dying, and the young warrior knew it, deep down.
The Keeper sensed a presence moving up to stand beside her a moment before the stranger spoke. "I admit, I certainly did not expect her to be back at it so soon. Any other victim of the Taint would be at rest."
"You obviously do not know her, nor us, Duncan."
"I apologize if I offended." This human, Duncan of the Grey Wardens, was cautious with his words, but honest and brave where it mattered. Marethari could respect that. In addition, she could hardly begrudge the man who had saved the young hunter's life, and who was seeking to do so again.
Marethari turned away from the sight of Meila at archery practice, turning her full attention to the Warden. "Do not apologize, merely learn. Our people are proud, Warden, and Meila is prouder than most. She will not easily agree to go with you."
"Certainly, she can be convinced to see reason," Duncan began, but then paused at Marethari's doubtful expression. "Truly? She would refuse my offer, even if doing so means her death?"
"You must understand, Duncan. To submit to a human is something we Dalish have sworn never to do again. To her, this will seem a submission, which she will then see as a betrayal of the clan. She will rather die than betray the clan."
Duncan was silent for a time, casting his gaze over to the warrior in question, at practice at the camp's archery range.
Meila was lithe, but strong, her tanned skin decorated with the vallaslin of Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt. Her fierce forest green eyes were, as ever, trained entirely on her target, unflinching even as she loosed her bowstring. Her hair was red as wildfire, and strung with various beads that she had carved herself from the bones of her slain hunts… the only trophies the young woman allowed herself to indulge in.
In another time and place, Meila might have been considered beautiful, with her smooth face and easy grace, but Meila was too hard and intense for any man to have ever considered courting her as more than a passing thought. Marethari suspected that was the way the young huntress preferred it—she had never shown interest in any of the young men of the clan, only in her duty. The girl was as strong and proud as a grand oak tree, and just as immovable once she had set her roots down.
Marethari did not want to see her fall because of it.
"What do you suggest I do?" Duncan's voice asked, and the Keeper was impressed. The Warden's voice was genuinely querying, trusting in her wisdom and experience in this matter. A rare human indeed.
"Nothing, for the moment. I will speak with her."
Duncan nodded. They both saw Meila double over briefly, her face contorted with pain. Marethari laid a hand on Duncan's arm, wordlessly keeping him from going to the young elf's side. A moment later, Meila straightened again, her face as impassive and her posture as strong as if the previous seconds had never occurred.
"I see what you mean, Keeper," Duncan said. "I shall leave it to you, then."
"You are a wise one, Warden. We will come speak with you in a moment."
Marethari stepped forward, turning her attention fully to the warrior in front of her. A warrior, and an accomplished one… but also still a child in many ways. "Da'len, I would speak with you."
Meila lowered her bow and respectfully turned to greet the Keeper. "What is it, hahren? Have you spoken with the shemlen about my cure?"
"I have." She drew up beside the young woman, mustering her strength to speak these words. For the girl's sake. "You will not like it."
Meila's brow knit in confusion, but she did not speak. It was not her way to question the Keeper, who was the mouth of the clan. To one such as Meila, the clan was everything. That was what would make this so difficult.
"Duncan will be leaving soon. You must go with him, da'len."
Meila's green eyes lit with inner fire, but she remained otherwise hard and immovable. "You ask me to leave the clan? I realize I have only brought hardship these past days. What happened to Tamlen because of my complacency weighs on my soul, and I will gladly pay penance for it. But… to cast me out is… disproportionate."
It was as close to a plea as the huntress ever got. The fire in the girl's eyes held anger, and resolution, of course, but also fear. "I am not casting you out, da'len. In truth, I wish there were some other way. But it seems that the Creators have crafted you for a different purpose than we had anticipated, and your path must diverge from ours."
"I do not understand." Flat. Defiant. Hiding much fear.
"When I was treating your illness, da'len, I noticed things about it. It corrupts rather than destroys, and that is what makes it impossible to cure by any means the Creators have bestowed upon me. According to Duncan, this is the taint of the darkspawn. I have managed to delay it, da'len, but I cannot stop it. The only known cure is to become a Grey Warden."
Meila's green eyes flashed at the mention of the Warden's name. "And you would trust the word of a shemlen?"
"The Grey Wardens have long been allies to our people," Marethari said sternly. "This you know. This is why I trust that human to do what is best for you, dear child."
"I will not do it." And then, as if deeming the discussion over, Meila raised her bow and returned to her target practice.
Marethari's slow temper stirred, but she tamped it down. This was not Merril, who could be led with a mere expression of disapproval. Light touches, with this child. "It is either that, or die."
"Then I will die. Better to die here among the elvhen than to walk with the shemlen and not have the right to exact payment for their crimes."
Marethari sighed. "Then what of us, da'len? Do you not care that your clan would prefer that you live?"
That made the huntress pause, her jaw tightening. Slowly, the girl lowered her bow again. "What good could I be to the clan if my bow is not here to fight for it?"
"You could do much good for the clan, merely by fighting that which might consume our lands if left alone. If the darkspawn taint the land, the elvhen will have no homeland to rediscover."
Meila stared across the range at her target. The young warrior was faltering, the harsh wood of the great oak finally bowing. It was testament to just how much this taint was affecting her. And testament to her own strength that she continued to fight against it.
"Do it for Tamlen, da'len. Destroy that which destroyed him. That is how you might honor his memory. It is what the Creators crafted you for."
Meila's gaze dropped, finally, in defeat. "Very well, hahren. I will… go with the shemlen. For Tamlen."
Tentatively, Marethari reached out and placed a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder, as she had not done for many years. Meila merely shrugged her off and raised her bow to continue her archery practice. Marethari made no comment about the tears she saw in the proud warrior's eyes.
When the time came, after Tamlen's funeral had been resolved, the clan embraced their wayward sister one last time. Meila bore their farewells with the strength and courage that Marethari had come to expect in the young woman, walking with chin held high as Duncan led her off into the forest.
But when Meila reached the top of the final ridge that would take her out of sight of her clan, her head turned one last time to look back, and the Keeper could read all of Meila's heartbreak and terror in that gesture alone.
"Walk ever forward, da'len. Never hesitating, nor looking back." Marethari said quietly. "Walk forward until our paths cross again."