(Re: Shale. I'm sorry to break the news, but Shale will not be appearing in this fic. The fact is, I never got the DLC, so I never had her in my party, and thus I am not comfortable enough with her character to write her, much less in a way that would do her justice. So, sorry. She'll have to remain a statue in a town square. :( )

40. Kin, and Other Lies

As if the Leliana person couldn't get any more obnoxious… it turned out she sang, too.

Kazar glared across the camp at her, wondering if he could make her burst into flames without being too obvious about it. She was currently singing for a bunch of the refugee children, who were gathered around her feet like ants over a dropped sweet. The songs were all stupid ones, about talking animals and griffon-riding warriors and, of course, Andraste.

They were all children's songs, Kazar thought. Though, if he'd ever known any of those, he certainly couldn't remember them. Who'd want to anyway? They were completely inane.

The Warden camp had become something of a curiosity among the refugees since their arrival in Lothering. To some, the Wardens offered hope. To others, the Wardens offered somebody to blame. To still others, the Wardens offered a pretty good bounty if collected, though Sten's greatsword and Garott's various well-hidden traps tended to dissuade that last group from actually acting upon it.

Kazar sat near the firepit in the afternoon sun, helping Garott and Finian sort through the many objects they'd salvaged from the abandoned belongings scattered around the village… and perhaps from some of the not-so-abandoned belongings, knowing those two.

At least, Garott was sorting through the findings, his face heavy with concentration as he picked up bits of seemingly useless scrap metal and set them carefully aside into a separate pile. It was more of the dwarf's strange compulsion that Kazar had noticed long ago. Now, Kazar figured that Garott must use such things for the traps that currently kept scavengers from getting into their camp.

Finian, however, watched Leliana, and he looked fascinated. Every once in a while, he'd hum along to a snippet the bard was singing, and Kazar had to fight with himself not to blast the other elf in the face in annoyance. The only thing stopping him was the fact that they'd spent three days here, waiting for Finian to heal. Kazar didn't need to make it longer. No matter how much he wanted to.

Percy sat about four feet away from them, working on sharpening Marnan's axe. Next to him was a stack of armor and weapons that were in dire need of upkeep. Kazar didn't really understand how such things worked, since the only upkeep a mage needed to worry about was making sure he didn't waste all his magic on one spell.

Included in Percy's stack were the suits of armor they'd scrounged up for Sten and Leliana. Sten's armor was mostly the castoffs of the Lothering bann's garrison, while Leliana's leathers had required some finagling on Fin's part with a rather ornery merchant. Kazar didn't get the point of going through so much trouble to get the bard armor when they let Meila strut around in practically her smallclothes. The Dalish elf's bare belly-button was just asking for a lightning bolt in it.

The Dalish elf was out of camp on another hunting trip, and Felicity, Morrigan, and the Templar had left to go collect herbs. Marnan was in town—something about helping the Chantry track down a missing amulet. Kazar honestly didn't care.

Sten stood at the edge of the camp, stiff and silent. Just like he'd been the last couple days. The Qunari was creepy, as far as Kazar was concerned. He was just so… cold. Kazar didn't really understand cold people, being an elf of passion himself. And what he didn't understand, he liked to blow up in a ball of fire. Except no one was letting him do that. Ugh, it was just like being back in the Tower. When could he go back to killing darkspawn?

"Do you think it takes long to learn that?"

Kazar, Garott, and Percival all looked up at the sound of Fin's voice. He was still staring at the damned bard. Kazar turned back to his work.

"Learn what, elf?" Garott asked. By the Fade, every time the dwarf said that word, Kazar's hackles rose. How would he like it if Kazar said 'duster' all the time?

Finian waved a hand in Leliana's direction. "That. The storytelling. The songs. And of course, the musical instruments." Finian positioned his hands as if strumming an invisible lute, his infamously nimble fingers dancing over imaginary strings. "To inspire through song, and evoke joy or sadness with a well-placed note."

Garott snorted a laugh. "Something tells me you'd be a natural at it."

Fin turned guileless brown eyes to the dwarf. "You think so?"

"Assuming you can carry a tune, of course."

Finian grinned and turned back toward their supposed work. Then, he started humming.

"That wasn't an invitation," Kazar snapped.

"You can sing along, too, if you want," Finian said with a smile that made Kazar want to kick him.

"No, I can't."

At that, Garott chuckled. "Can't sing, eh?"

"I sing fine. Musical studies is one of the cultural classes we were forced to take at the Tower." Kazar looked away from them, glaring at Leliana as he said, more quietly, "I just don't know any of these songs."

Finian actually laughed. "Everyone knows these songs. Right, Percy?"

The noble nodded distractedly. "My caretaker, Nan, especially loved the ones where naughty little boys had nasty things happen to them." He smiled softly. "Can't imagine why."

"Well I. Don't," Kazar bit out through clenched teeth.

Something in his voice made the others turn to look at them.

Finian was immediately soothing. "Well, what songs do you know?"

Kazar shrugged, staring into the firepit. "The great Tevinter cantatas. The twelve symphonies of Val Royeaux. And more of the Chant than I really tried to remember."

Finian looked taken aback. "Those aren't children's songs. Surely, you were-"

"I don't know."

"But what did your mother-"

"I don't know." Anger flared through him.

"But how could you-"

He spun on the nosy twit, magic flaring hot and wild in his hands. "Because I don't remember my mother!"

The three of them were silent, even Garott's face registering shock at that statement.

"I was brought to the Tower when I was four. So no, I don't know any fucking children's songs. Now stop. Talking. About it."

And so they did, the four of them falling into a silence that Kazar might have thought awkward, if he hadn't been so relieved. At least Finian wasn't humming along anymore.

It was only after about ten minutes that their silence was broken, when a bark could be heard above the singing of the children and bard.

Percival's head shot up. "Was that…?"

"A dog?" Garott finished with amusement. "I didn't know what a dog was before Ostagar, but I'd've thought you would."

"No, that's not it." Percival set aside the cuirass he'd been working on and stood. "I'd recognize that bark anywhere… but how could that be?"

As if on cue, a gigantic, wet dog bounded out of the brush. It slid to a stop at the edge of camp, barked once, and then barreled straight into Percy, knocking him into the dirt.

"Maker's breath! Hugo!"

While the noble was being mauled by an overzealous mabari, Alistair emerged from the treeline near where the dog had come from, followed shortly by Felicity and Morrigan. They were all as wet as the mabari, but the grins on Alistair's and Felicity's faces were self-satisfied.

"Oh, thank you, Maker," Percival muttered. "You're all right. Thank the Maker you're all right." He clung onto the dog, water and all, and Kazar was taken aback to notice that the nobleman was actually weeping. Seriously? Over a dog?

Kazar missed the Percival Cousland who had called Andraste a madwoman. That guy, at least, had had some fortitude.

"I think he was waiting for the right dramatic moment to show up," Alistair said cheerfully as the trio drew even with them. "So that, when Felicity needed saving from being mauled by a bear, he could leap out of the bushes and maul that bear right back."

"You were mauled by a bear?" Finian asked Felicity, eyebrows high.

"Actually, there were two of them," Felicity said. "Though Alistair rather selfishly kept one all to himself."

"You know me," said the Templar. "I'm selfish like that. Felicity says I'm a bad person."

Felicity nodded sagely, and then they both laughed. Kazar silently groaned, because this looked to be the beginning of some sort of unholy pact between the two. They were bad enough individually.

Percival sat up, but he still had one arm wrapped around the dog. "Thank you, both of you. And Morrigan."

"Twas no doing of mine," she said dismissively. "Although now that I know the mangy creature is yours and not Alistair's, I find myself far less repulsed by it."

"He's not mangy," Alistair said, leaning down to make a truly disgusting face at the dog. "Are you, boy?"

"Even so," Percival said, smiling at both of them (wait, smiling?), "I can't possibly express how much it means to me, to have Hugo here again." He turned to the dog and said in mock reproach. "You do realize you're never leaving my sight again, I assume?"

The dog wagged its tail and barked.

"I didn't know you had a mabari," Leliana's voice said, and the bard came to stand next to Percival, her lute slung over her shoulder. The children she'd been singing to were dispersing, sped along by Kazar's glares at them. "Oh, he's cute!"

Hugo's tongue lolled out.

"Don't let him hear you say that too often. It'll go to his head." Percy rubbed behind the dog's ears. "And yes, I've had him since we were both pups."

"I sense a story!" The bard sat down next to the pair, reaching out to pet the dog as well. This seemed to be a cue for the rest of them to settle in. Alistair sprawled out on Leliana's other side, and Felicity knelt over Garott's pile to investigate their findings. Morrigan, Kazar noticed, hovered behind Percival, her lips drawn in a thin line.

"Well, there is a bit of one, I suppose." Percy smiled wryly, rubbing the stubble on his chin with the hand not clutching the dog. "I got him when I was thirteen, although 'got' is probably not the right term…" He shook his head and continued. "You see, the kennelmaster's favorite hunting hound had just given birth to nine healthy, purebred mabari puppies. It was all he ever talked about: how strong they all were, and what good things they'd do for our defenses. And so, being a curious sort of lad, I wanted to see them.

"Thing was, that wasn't exactly allowed. Mabari puppies are fiercely sensitive to the imprinting process. Not even the kennelmaster can come near them for those first weeks, or else they imprint on him and don't nurse correctly. So they have to leave the bitch alone with the puppies, and then walk the potential trainers into the kennels so the dogs will imprint on them. Hopefully, anyway. Mabaris can be notoriously picky." Again, Percy scratched his hound fondly behind the ears, and the dog barked contentedly.

"Well, I'd never been one to let little things like rules and logic stop me from exploring. So, one night, I snuck out of my room and crept down to the kennels. They kept nursing mabari in a back room behind the others, so I snuck in there and opened the door just a crack. Just to peek. By the light of my torch, I could see the mother, sleeping on a pillow, a bunch of soft little shapes cuddled up next to her. It was strange to me, that such big, powerful dogs could start out so small and soft. Curiosity satisfied, I closed the door and turned to go… but then I felt the softest little tug on my ankle."

Leliana covered her mouth, giggling. Everyone else seemed to be fully into the story, too. Kazar, despite himself, found his curiosity piqued.

"I looked down, only to see a tiny mabari puppy, no bigger than a cantaloupe, gnawing on the bottom of my pajama pants."

"He snuck out while the door was open?" Finian asked.

Percy shrugged. "I can only assume so. Obviously, I panicked. This was the kennelmaster's prize litter, and I had inadvertently let one out of the room. I reached down and grabbed hold of him, but it took me a while to pry him off my trousers. And then, as I picked him up, he only latched onto my thumb." Percy rubbed at his right thumb, looking at Hugo fondly. "Strong jaws, even back then."

Sten, who was watching them out of the corner of his eye, made a low "hm" sound. Kazar jumped and stared at the giant suspiciously as Percy went on. Again, creepy.

"I rushed back to the room and opened the door, but when I tried to put him down, he wouldn't let go. I managed to pull him off, but as soon as I set him on the ground, he ran back out again. I tried to get a hold of him again, but he just kept running around me and then latched right back onto my pant leg. I practically had to kick him back into the room before I finally managed to get the door closed with him on the other side of it.

"I snuck back to my room with my heart in my throat, now more sure than ever that I didn't want to get caught. But no one was up, so I got back to my room safely, and soon forgot about the entire thing."

"Except you were imprinted," Alistair guessed with a smirk.

Percival nodded. "A couple weeks later, the kennelmaster started going about imprinting the dogs. The knights who wanted a hound could go in first, followed by the rest of the Cousland garrison. Those that were lucky would get one right away, otherwise they would simply have to try again with the next litter. But after a couple days, some of the dogs just wouldn't imprint. This wasn't unusual, since some mabari are pickier than others. So, the kennelmaster decided to walk the unbonded dogs through the castle and see if any of the men struck their fancy. I happened to be in the courtyard with Father, Fergus, and a couple of my father's men, practicing my swordwork at the time.

"And so, when the kennelmaster came out into the courtyard with the unbonded dogs, one of the puppies started going crazy. He barked and wagged his tail, and generally acted how a mabari usually does after a long separation from its master."

"Kind of like how he did just now?" Finian teased.

"As a matter of fact, yes. The thing was, that reaction was very obviously the action of a dog that had already been imprinted. The kennelmaster was confused, because this puppy in particular had shown no interest in any of the possible candidates. Still, he went ahead and untied the dog's leash.

"And so, imagine everyone's shock when the puppy bounded straight up to me while I was in the middle of a drill and barked in greeting, tail wagging. Next thing I knew, everyone burst out laughing. I'd gotten a bit of a reputation as a miscreant by that time, so it was immediately obvious to everyone what had happened." Percival's smile was wide and warm with memory. "My father had to drag me to my mother so that she could scold me, because he was laughing too hard to properly pull it off himself."

"Percy," Finian chuckled, "I had no idea you were such a trouble-maker."

"Nor I..." Morrigan mumbled thoughtfully.

Percival shrugged. "I probably could have given even you a run for your money, elf, back when I was at my worst. Father always said the Maker made me the perfect second son."

He and several others laughed. Kazar just scoffed, admitting silently to himself that perhaps he just didn't get the joke. And it didn't help his temper at all that Cousland was now saying the "e" word too.

"You're lucky you got to keep the dog," Alistair said mournfully. "Imprinted or not, where I grew up, my caretaker's wife would have whisked the puppy away, that's for sure."

Felicity's head popped up. "That's terrible!" Kazar twitched. Hello, Circle Tower, much?

"I can't really blame her or anything," Alistair said with a shrug. "See, I was a bastard without a father, and Arl Eamon took me in and raised me. I'm pretty sure she was worried I was Eamon's son."

"But to not let you have a puppy..."

Kazar threw his head back and groaned. "By the Fade, can we stop talking about the damn dog?!"

Alistair gave him a sour look. "You're just upset you never got one either."

"No, I'm sick of listening to all these life stories!" He couldn't take it any more. "Just, all of you shut up!" Magic surged through him, unbidden. "Just shut up!"

"Kazar!" Fucking Felicity.

"No, just no! What are all of you, priests taking confessions? If I have to hear one more person talk about their parents, or their cousins, or some bleeding heart noble who took them in, I am going to personally make every last child in this town explode, just out of spite! ARGH!" He could feel the torrent inside him surging through, and so he blasted a puff of fire into the firepit and turned to storm off into the forest.

Footsteps scurried behind him. "Kazar, wait!" Felicity's voice called.

He whirled around and shot a fireball, and only Felicity swiftly erecting a spell shield saved her face from being burned off. She stared at him from behind the shield in shock.

"Stop, Amell. Just stop it. You are not some older sister who has to loom over me all the time, scolding me for cursing or chewing with my mouth open. I don't want you in my life, so back the fuck off." Kazar turned back around and continued toward the treeline. "Call me when we cut this psychobabble shit and get back to killing darkspawn."

The silence rang heavy behind him as he delved into the forest. Only when he was out of sight, and he was sure he wasn't being followed, did he let the magic in his hands go.

He felt… drained, and it had nothing to do with his magic. It was exhausting, being so upset… but why was he so angry? Gah, he never liked to analyze his own reactions to things. Doing so made him uncomfortable.

He wandered his way through the woods until he found the stream that curved around to pass through the town. Here, it was fifteen feet wide, the cool, clear water rushing past. He leaned down to splash some water on his face, hoping it would refresh him. All it ended up doing was make him notice his reflection.

The Circle Tower didn't have a lot of mirrors. Vanity wasn't the sort of thing the Chantry approved of, so the apprentices tended to rely on their friends and bunkmates to tell them when they had a pimple or were looking exceptionally ugly that day. For that reason, Kazar's reflection always surprised him a little.

He looked like an elf. It used to catch him off guard, when people referred to his race, but now he supposed it was what most people who didn't know him saw. His ears stuck out proud and pointed from among the spikey mess of his strawberry blond hair. His hair was getting a little long… it was starting to get in his eyes. He usually asked Jowan to cut it by now.

His face was still a field of fiery tattoos, and that, after the elf thing, was the first and only thing most people ever noticed about him. He preferred it that way, because otherwise they'd notice the soft lines of his face, or the delicate point of his nose, or his grey eyes that had occasionally been compared to a woman's. Blast it, if anyone ever called him 'pretty' again, he'd throw up. And then he'd turn them to stone.

There was a noise across the stream, and Kazar looked up to see Meila picking her way along the opposite bank, her belt laden with various grouses. He wondered what she saw when she deigned to look at him. It wouldn't be the fact that he was an elf… at least not in any way that the others did. And probably not the tattoos, either… she had to be used to face tattoos, being Dalish. So what did she see? A mage? Or a kid? Or something else completely?

And why did he care?

"Oh, thank the Maker. Other elves. And here I was worried we'd have to avoid more humans"

Kazar spun his head, and saw an elven woman emerging from the trees, a crate of dishes clasped in her arms. Behind her was a young girl with her hair all done up in braids. The girl carried a bundle of dirty cloth, likely laundry. Both woman and child were looking from Kazar to Meila and back, relief on their faces.

Meila, who had been studying the ground directly across the stream from Kazar, stood up straight and said, "Andaran atish'an." Kazar thought that might have been a greeting. "Have the humans in camp been giving you trouble?"

"Oh, no. Nothing more than the usual. Still, it makes doing the laundry uncomfortable, to have them leering at us. As if we don't have the right to wear clean clothes, too."

The woman knelt down next to the stream. The girl openly stared at both of them, standing just behind the woman's shoulder. Mother and daughter, Kazar realized with a pang.

"Then don't let them leer," Kazar snapped, standing up from the stream. "If someone gives you a hard time, you stand up and give it right back."

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh no, we dare not do that. It may be different where you're from, but here among the humans, elves have been put in prison for less."

"Why?!" Kazar cried, no longer able to contain his building frustration over the entire matter. "Human or elven, what does it matter?! It's just the blasted shape of our ears!"

The mother and child stared at him in awe. Meila, however, looked utterly horrified, which Kazar supposed was an improvement over her usual wall of ice.

"Is that truly all you think we are?" Meila asked slowly, as if having difficulty processing that. "Shemlen with pointed ears? Do you not know of your own history?"

"History is dead and gone," he spat back. "I don't see how it matters either way."

"But… have you no sense of heritage?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "What do you want me to say? That I've always longed for the kinship of other elves? Because I haven't, Meila. There were only a handful of us in the Tower, and the only thing—the only thing—we had in common was the fact that we had to work twice as hard as any of the humans to gain any respect, all because of your so-called 'heritage'. My sense of identity lies in the fact that I am a mage, and a damn formidable one. I don't need any inane 'kinship' from strangers who happen to have the same ear shape."

He spun and started away from the stream (he grew so tired of storming off), but he heard Meila hiss something in a dead language behind him, and then she was suddenly in front of him, blocking his path.

Her feet weren't even wet from crossing the stream… how had she done that?

"And what of when that magic fails you, da'lethallin? What are you then?"

"It won't," he growled, though the memory of Greagoir's hand on his neck, snuffing out his magic, sprang to the forefront of his mind.

"Magic is what you do, not what you are. I do hunting, and that perhaps makes me a hunter. But I am a member of the Sabrae Clan of the Dalish, and I am one of the elvhen, and I am one of the chosen of Andruil. These are core parts of my being that cannot be taken from me by any means. Can you say the same, da'lethallin?"

He couldn't, not with the renewed memory of Templar anti-magic dancing in his mind. So, instead, he focused on something else. "Stop using that language! It's dead! Why don't you understand that it's dead?!"

She started away, approaching the elves who still watched them from beside the stream. "It will not be dead so long as there are those among us who remember," she said firmly. "As you, obviously, do not."

"Neither do you! You're not some immortal keeper of ancient lost knowledge! You're, what, ten years older than me? Tops?"

Meila did not answer right away. Instead, she offered one of the kills at her belt to the woman. Only after the woman had nodded her thanks did Meila turn back to regard Kazar. Now, there was actually some expression in those usually-stony eyes. Sadness. And pity.

It was ridiculous. No one pitied him. The things he did warranted respect and fear, not pity.

"Perhaps it is that you do not knowwhat it is to be one of the elvhen. But whether you acknowledge or not, da'lethallin, you are, and it will always be so. "

"What does that word mean?" the nameless elven woman asked.

"'Little cousin'," Meila answered, not taking her eyes off Kazar. "For kin is what we are, whether he accepts it or not. He does not need to face everything alone."

A knot was tightening in his throat. Like a noose. "I don't need your kinship."

"Yes, da'lethallin. I think you do."

He wanted to blast her, but he couldn't seem to summon the appropriate anger to do so. So instead, he spun on his heel and stormed off into the forest, away from her pity and her kinship and her stupid dead language that rang true with something distant and faded inside him. And if his storming looked more like running after a while, no one was there to see it. And if that burning in his eyes hinted at tears threatening to fall, well… he would vehemently deny it later, even to himself.