91. In Uthenera
Meila enjoyed second watch while on the road. It was peaceful and quiet, filled only with the sounds of the others sleeping in their tents. She sat on a fallen log by the campfire, Fang at her feet. He had hardly left her side since she had left the city—Meila was surprised that the wolf had waited for her to emerge for so long. Surprised and honored, that the creature deemed her worth such regard.
They had been on the road for several days, now, the familiar scents and sounds of the Brecilian Forest soothing her after so long inside unnatural city walls. Truth be told, only her duty to her fellows had kept her within them for so long; now that she was back in the wilderness, she felt she could breathe again.
"Mm, I love this time of night," a voice said behind her, and Meila glanced up as Leliana stepped out of her tent and stretched. The woman cast her a smile in the firelight, and Meila nodded back.
Taking that as invitation, the musician walked over and settled smoothly on the log beside Meila. Only a couple weeks ago, she might have been annoyed by the intrusion, but she had been finding herself relaxing around the others as of late. Perhaps it was the fact that none of her human companions hated elves as much as her Dalish elders always said they did. Perhaps it was that the Wardens had been through enough together—saving one another's lives again and again—that the bond was welcome. Perhaps it was that Meila herself was realizing how lonely being strong and aloof could be.
Whatever it was, when Leliana sat beside her, Meila gave the woman a good attempt at returning her smile.
"I think I love the stars the most," Leliana went on. She waved up at the sky. "Sometimes, when I miss Orlais, I look up and I feel like I am there. Do you ever feel like that?"
Meila nodded, letting her own eyes rise up. "Yes. It helps, sometimes. When I see the stars, I remember that, even though my people may wander now, scattered and scorned, once, we had a nation of our own under those same stars. It seems only inevitable that the nation will come again under the same."
Leliana was quiet. When Meila looked over at her, she was startled to find the human watching her warmly. "You really care about your people, don't you?"
"Of course." Meila felt her back stiffen. "Is there something wrong with that, satusulahn?"
"No, I don't think so," Leliana said easily. "Actually, I find it admirable. I feel the same about Val Royeaux. I know Orlais has its problems, but it is part of who I am. I cannot change that, nor would I want to."
"Yes, exactly." Meila relaxed again, letting her gaze stray back up to the sky.
The pair looked up in peaceful silence for a while, the human humming softly under her breath from time to time. Then, something tickled the edge of Meila's darkspawn senses, and she turned her attention toward the tree line.
Fang got to his feet, his white fur standing on end and his head swiveling toward the south. A growl escaped his throat.
"What's wrong?" Leliana whispered.
"Darkspawn," Meila replied, standing and drawing her bow as the feeling grew stronger. "Wake the others."
The bard nodded and did as Meila said—belatedly, Meila realized she wasn't even surprised by humans taking orders from elves anymore. There was no time to think of it, though.
She drew an arrow and nocked it, but no darkspawn emerged from the darkness. She could sense them nearby—it made her blood tingle—but she had no way of pinpointing where. Fang's growls rumbled through the camp.
"Huh?" Alistair's voice asked groggily from nearby. "Whadda?"
Then, the night erupted in ear-splitting cries, and a squad of shrieks appeared from the shadows in their very camp.
Meila's arrow went flying as if by itself, landing in one that lurked near the healer's tent. It shrieked and ran at her.
The companions' camp burst into motion, her fellows jumping out of their tents to fight in their nightclothes. When Zevran jumped out of Fin's tent, pulling on a pair of leggings, Fin just flashed the rest of them a bashful smile and got to stabbing shrieks.
It was easy enough to back up and let fly, especially as Alistair trundled through the clearing, banging shield with sword to draw the monsters' attention. After Wynne had set up her healing aura and Alistair had gotten the shrieks' attention, it should have been a typical slaughter as the rogues executed the darkspawn as efficiently as possible.
However, it was not simple. Meila heard Fang attacking something behind her and turned her bow toward the danger. A shriek dodged around the wolf, hissing. It turned just as Meila drew her bowstring back, and Tainted green eyes met hers.
"Lethallan?" a raspy whisper croaked out of the creature, and Meila fumbled a shot for the first time in years.
The shriek stumbled back, disappearing into the shadows, and Meila froze, her heart pounding. She recognized that voice—had heard it in homesick dreams many times. It belonged to a man who was like a brother to her.
She lurched forward, stumbling after the monster with Tamlen's eyes and voice. She nocked another arrow, but couldn't find the strength to pull back the string, especially as she passed behind a tent and spotted the shriek cowering under a tree, cornered by the great white wolf.
Meila swallowed and trained her bow on it, doing her best not to shake. "Tamlen?"
"No! Stay back, lethallan! I- I'm sick!"
His voice was scratchy and warped, and his form was far more darkspawn than elf… but she knew him all the same.
"Lethallin," Meila choked out. "It will be all right. We can help you."
"No… no! No help. Too late." Meila lowered her bow, and Tamlen let forth an inhuman shriek that belied what he'd become. "STAY BACK!"
She snapped her bow back up, though the idea of shooting her old hunting partner seemed inconceivable to her.
This was the boy who had once stolen her favorite halla figurine as a child, then cried when he'd genuinely lost it.
This was the preteen who had raced her up the trees, all bright, sharp laughter in the face of her stubborn determination.
This was the young man who had restlessly insisted they patrol farther from the perimeter of the camp than the Keeper liked, and in doing so had come across a trio of hapless humans who had showed them a carved stone with written elvish on it.
This was Tamlen.
"Meila?" Alistair's voice spoke up behind her. "What's going on?"
She didn't take her eyes off the shriek, though she heard the others finishing the battle behind her. "Tamlen," she said through a lump in her throat. "I fought this illness and won. You're strong; you can too."
The shriek tossed his had back and forth. "Never strong. Not like you. He… he sings to me, lethallan. I can't… he wants me to hurt you… I WON'T!" Tamlen shrieked and dug warped claws into his head. He was in pain, tormented.
The campsite was silent. Her breath coming hard, Meila drew back her bowstring.
"Do it…" Tamlen whispered, humanity slipping from his Tainted eyes. "Please, lethallan. Don't let me… please."
Tamlen had never begged in life; he'd been far too proud. That, more than anything, let Meila release her arrow. It flew true, punching right into the shriek's heart. It slumped to the ground with a sigh, and Meila followed his example as her knees gave way.
She dropped her bow and knelt in the dirt, feeling something awful and harsh tearing at her insides. From behind her, Zevran and Alistair rushed over to double-check that the darkspawn was dead, but then Finian kneeling down in front of her blocked her view.
Carefully, he wiped wetness from her face. She blinked, realizing with shock that she was weeping. She hadn't cried when her vallaslin had been applied. She hadn't cried when her clan had turned her out. But now, seeing her friend and clansman twisted into a tormented shadow of himself, she could only think that he deserved all the tears she could give him.
Finian pulled her close, into a hug, and she wept into his shoulder. For Tamlen, for the clan she would never see again, and for things that she couldn't even put words to.
At last, the deluge of tears slowed, and Meila pulled away from her fellow elf to wipe her weakness from her face. She felt arms around her shoulders, and turned to see hahren Wynne bending down to hug her in turn, and Meila was surprised to feel comfort from the gesture, even if there was no way the others could know what she lost.
"Who was that?" Alistair asked quietly.
"Tamlen," Meila said. She gathered her bow off the ground and stood. "He was my hunting partner, until the Taint corrupted us both. I was lucky enough for Duncan to find me and bring me back to succor. Tamlen was not."
"Oh." Alistair said. "I'm sorry."
She nodded. He'd known the pain of losing comrades as well, hadn't he? Human or elvhen, the pain was the same.
Meila shook off her companions' hands and turned back toward the body slumped against the tree. "He was as kin to me. If I may, I would like to bury him as I would any of my clan."
"Of course, dear," Wynne said.
"Just tell us what to do," Leliana said.
Meila nodded and shakily directed the boys to start digging a grave in a patch of good soil. She went to the tree line and selected a blooming seed pod from a nearby tree. Then, she helped move the body into the grave and covered it, hoping that it would be deep enough not to Taint the ground.
"When a Dalish dies," she explained to the assembled companions, "we bury them in a grave. Then, we plant a tree above them, so that life may spring forth from their death."
"That is very poetic," Leliana murmured.
Meila nodded, and knelt above the overturned earth to bury her seed. She smoothed her hands through the dirt, saying her final goodbyes, while the others moved back toward the campfire. She doubted any of them would sleep that night.
It took her a long time to find the strength to rise and wander over to the campfire. When she did, most of her companions were sitting, speaking quietly. Leliana, however, was standing next to the fire, her fingers twisting one another in a gesture that Meila had come to recognize as signifying nervousness.
"Meila," the bard said. "If you would like, I would like to sing something, for your friend."
Meila stopped outside the firelight. She was too drained to put up a fight if the sister wished to perform her Chant. "What would you sing?"
Leliana seemed to sense her reservations. She smiled sadly, firelight flickering off her auburn hair. "A song that was sung to me, many years ago. It was… when my mother died." Meila wasn't the only one to raise her eyes in attention at this. Leliana had never spoken of such things before. "This wise elven woman comforted me and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One day, we all must shed our earthly bodies and allow our spirits to fly free."
Meila nearly lost her breath right there, the bard's gentle words echoing Dalish lessons she had learned growing up. Lessons that were easy to forget, in times of pain. That a Chantry sister could understand this… but Leliana was more than just a sister, just as Meila was more than just a Dalish.
"May I sing this song for you?"
Unable to speak, Meila nodded. Ponderously, Leliana turned to the fire and began to sing. Expecting a Chantry hymn, Meila was shocked to hear an old Dalish melody pour forth strong and pure from her throat.
"Hahren na melana sahlin…" More than a Dalish melody: Dalish words. There were elves in her clan who weren't fluent enough to sing this song.
"…Emma ir abelas
souver'inan isala hamin…"
Meila's knees buckled as the melody flowed over her, and Alistair guided her gently to sit on the log behind her.
"Vhenan him dor'felas
in uthenera na revas…"
Leliana turned to meet Meila's gaze, her eyes soulful and and dark in the firelight. The satusulahn may not have known in her head what the words meant, but she knew in her heart, and thus sang with all the sorrow and hope that Meila had never been able to express.
Finian produced his lyre from somewhere and began strumming it along, strings softly harmonizing with Leliana's voice.
"Vir sulahn'nehn…
Vir dirthera…
Vir samahl la numin…
Vir lath sa'vunin…"
Her companions listened in reverant silence, joined around the campfire in comfort and brotherhood. Alistair's arm fell around Meila's shoulders, and she leaned into her fellow Warden, her heart constricting as she watched the bard who sang as if from Meila's own soul.
"Vir sulahn'nehn…" We sing, we rejoice…
"Vir dirthera…" We tell the tales…
"Vir samahl la numin…" We laugh and cry…
"Vir lath sa'vunin." We love one more day.
Leliana's voice faded out, Finian strumming a few last light notes on his lyre. The bard turned to face Meila, her hands once again working nervously. Meila just gazed back, unable to speak.
"Well?" Leliana said nervously, finally breaking the quiet. "Was that all right?"
Meila couldn't find the words, so instead, she stood and walked over to the bard, pulling the human into a warm embrace. The elf felt like she was overflowing, the tears streaming silently down her face insufficient to express just how perfect the song had been.
"Thank you," she whispered thickly in the satusulahn's ear.
Gently, a hand reached up to card through the beads in her hair.