Ahnnie was of the belief that her schedule would fall back into its previous rhythm, keeping her busy and exhausting her energies by the end of the day. For once, she was given a day's break to rest from the trip, and found that she knew not what to do with it. Where she previously would have welcomed this chance to do nothing, she now itched to be doing something. Specifically something that kept her physically afoot. The time spent working in the Hinterlands had became a force of habit.
Word was going round town that the people were commencing on the construction of a stables and forge outside Haven's walls. Now that Dennet was here, there was a bigger need for more stable space, and he wanted to oversee this stable's completion before bringing his precious horses up the mountains. Weapons were also in bigger demand thanks to the new recruits, so a second forge was necessary for keeping up a steady stream of production. That was where Ahnnie decided she wanted to be.
The guards greeted her cheerfully as she went by the open gates. The raw, woody smell of freshly cut timber greeted her nose as she walked down the path. Tinged by the cold, it carried a crisp afterscent in the air that was not unpleasant.
"Heave!" a foreman cried to her left. "Steady!"
The girl approached the site, stopping at a respectful and safe distance away from the workers. She watched as the hefty builders erected the bare bones of a rigid wooden frame, now a jutting skeleton with no definite purpose but soon to be a wide and comfortable structure that many horses would call home. Stones brought down from the quarries would be made into a low wall enclosing the forge, and the stacks of branches off to the side would be destined for the creation of a small paddock.
There must be something I can do, she thought, seeing that even those of a slighter build had tasks delegated to them, such as fetching tools or aiding in the placement of smaller pieces. With that in mind, she tucked her hair beneath her cap. No use sticking out as the Herald of Andraste right now...
"Mornin', Blackwall."
"Morning."
Upon hearing Blackwall's name, Ahnnie whirled around to locate the source of the voices behind her. She soon spotted the Grey Warden on the path beside a gangly man, equipped with a longbow, quiver, and a pack slung over his shoulder. They seemed to know each other and were conversing with familiarity, although Blackwall was more reserved and it grew apparent that they only knew each other because the man was one of many Blackwall had helped out when the Breach struck.
"I lost my home and everything I had in the Hinterlands," the man was saying, "but you saved my life, and I'm here now with a greater sense of purpose. I didn't think you'd be here as well, but you're just what the Inquisition needs. I pray they find more people like you."
"Mm," Blackwall nodded.
When the man left, Ahnnie ran up to Blackwall before he could leave. "Hello," she greeted him.
If her approach surprised him, he did not show it. "Good morning," he returned, his gruff voice nonchalant.
"How are you?"
"Fine," he shrugged. "You?"
"Same." Her eyes wandered to his equipment. "Are you going somewhere?"
The Warden looked briefly at his bow and pack before turning back to her. "Thought I'd do a little hunting. The people could use some more meat in their diets."
Ahnnie nodded. "That's true." She took a sniff of the frigid mountain air before asking, "Crazy question, but...could I go with you?"
Blackwall regarded her for a moment, and then shrugged. "As long as you keep quiet."
"I will," she promised, and they set off for the woods around Haven.
"Tie up that snare with a knot...little more to the left...all right, leave it there. That's good."
Ahnnie rose to her feet, dusting off her hands. "Another one?" she asked the Warden, but he shook his head.
"That's enough for this area. Wouldn't want to scare off the game with too many." Blackwall stepped over a fallen log and trudged through the undergrowth in what Ahnnie believed was an easterly direction. Then he paused, and stooped low to the ground. "Hmm..." He was observing a small scattering of black nut-like specks in the snow.
"What is it?" Ahnnie asked, tilting her head around his to get a better look.
"Deer droppings," he replied, and spotted some fresh tracks not too far away. "If we follow that now, we might just catch ourselves a good buck."
She thought he was referring to money only for a split second and eagerly trailed behind him as he started after the deer tracks. "You can tell a deer's gender by its tracks?" she asked, wondering how that worked. The tracks alongside them looked like regular hoofprints to her.
"It's not always a foolproof method," he explained, "but you can, more or less. Bucks make deeper tracks and have longer strides. They move in a single direction without many breaks, whereas does often stop to take a bite here and there. They also tend to relieve themselves on the go...if you know what I mean."
"...I see..."
They emerged into a clearing where the tracks had been sprinkled over by snow dropped from overhanging branches. Blackwall stopped to discern the buck's path beyond this interruption, and was off again within the minute. Ahnnie marveled at his ability to zero in on details that seemed at first to be of no significance; a broken branch here meant something, as did a clump of leaves there, or a tiny, almost imperceptible tuft of fur. But then, if he previously lived as solitary as a life as he claimed, it was no surprise that he possessed such skills. He wouldn't have been able to survive otherwise.
Suddenly, Blackwall held up a hand to signal her to stop. Ahnnie paused, almost daring not to breathe.
The Warden held up his bow and slowly withdrew an arrow from the quiver. With another signal to tell Ahnnie to stay put, he stalked amongst the trees, making barely any noise as he maneuvered towards his target.
The girl scanned the trees before her in an attempt to find what Blackwall had spotted, almost missing the greyish-brown torso visible between the trunks in the process. The animal was not only a fair distance away but well-blended with the scene; Ahnnie would not have registered it as a living creature had it not moved its legs. When she looked around for Blackwall, she found he had disappeared somewhere beyond her vision, but did not doubt that he still held the deer in his sights.
Twang! Just as she was getting used to the silence, an arrow made its whistling flight through the air. Ahnnie heard rustling up ahead as the buck dashed off, either alerted or struck by the arrow. Blackwall was in pursuit a moment later, and Ahnnie decided to follow him since being silent wasn't such a priority anymore.
But when Ahnnie reached him, she saw a disappointed look on his face and no deer.
"Tch," Blackwall cursed. "Lost 'im." The arrow he had loosed was embedded in a tree trunk instead, and Blackwall jerked it out for inspection. "Missed him by a hair," he mumbled, and tossed the arrow when he deemed it unfit for reuse.
"It's okay," Ahnnie assured him. "It happens. Right?"
"More often than you'd think," he affirmed, and they retraced their previous line of travel. "We'll set some more traps to the east, and see if we can't find him again."
It was around noon by the time they decided to take a break, seating themselves on some fallen logs. Blackwall unhooked a waterskin from his belt and took a drink. After he wiped excess water off his beard, he offered the skin to her. "Thirsty?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Ahnnie rejected politely, iffy at the thought of drinking from the same skin. She noticed it wasn't a big deal here in Thedas, but it still was to her even after all this time.
"Stay right here," he then said after he put the skin away. "I'll go check a few traps. Be back shortly."
When he returned, he had two lean squirrels in hand, and told her to set up a fire. Remembering what Cassandra taught her, Ahnnie scrounged up as much fire-material as she could, and had the wood set up in five minutes or so. Blackwall gave her flints to start up a flame while he set to work dressing the squirrels, and a merry blaze crackled before them not too long after. After finding some suitable sticks to set up a spit, the squirrel carcasses were speared and cooking over the flames.
"Maker, look at it. So much easier to ignore when it's far away."
"Hmm?" Ahnnie looked up from tending to the roast. She then saw what Blackwall was talking about. Visible through the crown of trees above was the sickly green glow of the Breach. It pulsed eerily in the distance above the mountain peaks, tall and menacing. If she listened carefully, she thought she could hear the stormy rush of wind that accompanied its swirling movements.
"To actually walk out of it, to be that close..." Blackwall trailed off and redirected his gaze at her.
She gave him brief smile. "I was just lucky. Even I don't know how I managed it. If no one was there to find me..." She wasn't so sure she would have survived.
Blackwall sighed. "The Breach, the Divine's death, the Wardens – it doesn't make sense. There's so much we don't know."
"It must have been very confusing," she sympathized with him. "All these things, happening at once...even if I'm not from here, I can tell how discouraging it is." She was surprised to hear herself confessing that; not too long ago, she was mostly thinking about her own welfare. Shaking her head, she told Blackwall, "Anyway, I'm sure you can help us get to the bottom of this. Your experience with the Wardens will be useful."
"Mostly the treaties, I expect. Old parchments you're welcome to."
"Thank you; I'll remember that," she nodded.
Blackwall then leaned over to inspect the squirrels. "Almost done," he estimated. "Give them a few more minutes. These things aren't that thick, so they'll be ready soon." When he leaned back, he watched her hands as she rolled the spit, and then asked, "So, what about you? How do you fit into all this?"
"Huh?" Ahnnie asked, rather taken aback by the question. "Like...what do you mean?"
"What are your thoughts on the matter?" he rephrased.
"Oh. Well." She shrugged. "It's bad, and it should end soon. I want to help stop it, help restore order, and then go home."
Blackwall nodded. "A worthy goal, I suppose. For me, I'll be satisfied so long as we find the bastards that killed the Divine. They owe us some answers."
"They certainly do," she agreed bitterly, for whoever those 'bastards' were, they had placed her in this situation and made her go through some of the most confusing moments of her life. I mean, who wakes up one day expecting to land in a completely different world, attacked by demons on the spot and burdened by huge responsibilities right after? It just wasn't right.
No more remarks were made about the Breach and its circumstances as the squirrels neared perfection. The savoury smell of the meat was tantalizing, making her mouth water as it tickled the edges of her nostrils. Blackwall immediately brought up two long and thin sticks to act as skewers, then had Ahnnie hold them ready as he carefully slid the squirrels off the spit.
"Hup!" Blackwall exclaimed as the first squirrel missed the end of the skewer; Ahnnie had let her thoughts drift and was not holding the skewer correctly. Startled into action, she jolted after the falling carcass, the skewers held in her hand as though to jab the meat midair. She succeeded in catching the squirrel's hind leg between the points of the skewers, hand poised in a way she had not used in a while but would, perhaps, never forget as long as she lived.
"Phew," she sighed in relief. "That was a close one..." Daintily, she gripped the stub of the leg bone between two fingers and transferred the hot squirrel onto a skewer, as it should have been in the first place. With a sheepish smile, she held out the second one for Blackwall to transfer the next carcass onto. "My bad," she apologized.
Blackwall chuckled. "It didn't fall to the ground – that's all that matters." As he slid off the second squirrel, he commented, "Nice handwork, by the way. Never thought of using sticks like that."
"Ah," Ahnnie nodded. "Where I come from, we've got these two sticks we use to eat with. They're called 'chopsticks' in Common." She was careful enough by now to remember the distinction between 'English' and 'Common' here. "Usually they're smaller for regular eating, but they can be as long as this for cooking. Particularly stir-frying. They also have tapered ends, which makes them easier to use."
"What're they called in your language?"
"Đôi đũa," she answered before handing Blackwall one of the skewers and settling back to enjoy her share.
Mm, she sighed as her teeth sank into the toasty hot flesh. Though it was roasted as-is with no seasoning, the meat was full of its own flavor, more tender than chicken and sweeter to the taste. Since these squirrels were rather skinny, there was not as much of a richness to them, but their juiciness more than made up for it and they proved to be a sufficient lunch for the pair.
They buried the bones beneath some dirt and leaves and sat before the fire, waiting for it to die out. With warm food in their bellies, the winter air didn't seem nearly as nippy as before. There was a strange sort of satisfaction as Ahnnie watched the flames dwindle, sitting quiet and still like the silent forest around her.
"I don't mean to pry," Blackwall began, breaking the silence, "but on the topic of where you come from, I've been hearing that it's another world."
It took an effort to pry her gaze away from the embers. "Where have you been hearing that, if I may ask?"
The Warden shrugged. "The soldiers, the villagers; pretty much everybody back at Haven."
Do the people in the Hinterlands say so as well? she wondered, but never phrased that question. Instead, she answered simply, "Yeah."
Everything was quiet once more, until Blackwall cleared this throat. "How different was Thedas for you?"
"Very different," she confessed. "I mean, the moment I woke up, I had this thing on my hand and then I had to fight demons...those things don't exist back where I come from. Neither does magic, for that matter." She wondered how much of this he believed, but went on anyway, "At the same time it was like being blasted into the past. A lot of the stuff here resembles what my world was like hundreds of years ago."
'My world', as if the whole of Earth was a possession of hers; in a way, she supposed, it was. Earth was her secret domain, a mysterious place the inhabitants of Thedas could wonder and marvel at because of the status of its otherworldly visitor. Earth was reflected in her appearance: in the color of her skin, structure of her cheeks, and the shape of her eyes, though she was only representative of a small portion of its many people. Earth was present in her beliefs and values, in her deeply held thoughts and way of speaking.
And Earth was so far away. For how long would that be? Several more months? Years, even?
She was glad for the chance to put that question behind her when the fire died out and Blackwall kicked the ashes away.
The snares yielded a modest amount of game. As they went back to check on the traps, they would find various little woodland animals ensnared within: three hares, five squirrels, three fat quails, and a particularly lucky string of four pheasants in one spot.
Blackwall bagged the dead animals in his pack. He'd been able to find two more squirrels when he checked on the traps that yielded their lunch earlier, so the kill count now went up to seventeen creatures. Each animal had died almost immediately after being snared, for that was how he intended it. But after he bagged the third pheasant, he noticed the fourth was still alive. The noose had not wound its neck as tightly and it was flapping frantically in an effort to free itself.
"What should we do?" Ahnnie asked, a bit distressed by the sight.
"Easy." Blackwall knelt down and grabbed the frightened bird by the neck. With a twist of his hand, he snapped it clean and the flapping was no more.
Without even knowing it, Ahnnie held a hand to her neck, unnerved by the crack that so easily ended the little life in front of them. The pheasant was tossed into the pack as casually as the others and Blackwall walked off without a second thought to begin another round of the traps, checking to see if the empty ones captured new victims. When they still came up empty, Blackwall decided to call it a day and led the way back to Haven. But just as they were returning to the path, he spotted the buck again, and notched another arrow to his bow to see if he would be lucky this time around.
He was, striking cleanly behind the left foreshank where the heart was situated. The doomed buck made a startled leap in the air before tumbling down lifelessly. Blackwall then turned to the girl with something of a grin on his face.
"Go back to Haven," he told her, "and tell them to send out some people to help carry back the meat. We've got a big catch on our hands."
"On it," she nodded, and started away eagerly, glad she didn't have to be present for the carnage.
Visiting the Singing Maiden was like going over to the house of a rambling relative. Bad jokes, winded tales, and raucous laughter were the norm, but the atmosphere was cheery and the food, good. It's good to be back, Ahnnie thought as she settled down with Varric and Blackwall at a table. There was also something of the eating-out atmosphere from Earth even though she rarely ordered food here, having no coins of her own and not wishing to freeload.
"What will you have?" Flissa asked them shortly after they sat down.
The two men ordered ale and beer, whereas Ahnnie settled on water, as per usual.
"You're always drinking water," Varric protested. "Try a beer instead. My treat."
She shook her had. "No, I – I couldn't. Thanks, but...but I couldn't."
"Get 'er a beer, Flissa," Varric ordered anyway.
"No!" Ahnnie negated. "Cancel that. Water." Turning to Varric, she explained, "I've never, um, had beer before. I'm not old enough to."
At this, Blackwall and Varric exchanged glances, then turned back to her. "Says who?" the dwarf asked at last.
"Says the law. I have to be twenty-one..." Then she faltered. "Where I come from, anyway."
Varric raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, did you know that in some cities, the water's so undrinkable everyone just drinks beer instead? Even the kids?"
Ahnnie blinked. "Wh-what?"
"Small beer," Blackwall clarified. "It has less alcohol than the stronger stuff."
"Well?" Flissa asked, clearly enjoying this exchange.
"Get her an ale, then," Varric corrected. "It'd probably be more palatable."
"Two ales, one beer...got it."
Ahnnie reached after the innkeeper. "No, Flissa!" But it was too late; the woman was gone in a zip to get their mugs. "Gee, thanks Varric," she said sarcastically. She straightened in her seat and huffed. "What's the difference between ale and beer anyway? I always thought they were the same."
Varric shrugged. "They're both made from grain, but ale's sweeter and brewed at warmer temperatures without hops."
...whatever that means. "I'm not going to get drunk, am I?" she then asked, sounding worried. What did being drunk even feel like? Would she start acting stupidly? God forbid she made a laughingstock of herself in front of the entire tavern! It'd be the talk of Haven for months!
"Not as quickly as if you drank wine," Blackwall assured her. "Don't worry, we'll stop you before you consume too much."
When the drinks came out, Ahnnie felt as though the executioner had come to deliver her doom at the chopping block. She stared bewilderingly into the mug in front of her as though expecting a monster to leap out from it at any moment. She bent her head towards it, sniffing uncertainly. Smells kind of buttery...maybe even fruity...
"It's not gonna bite," Varric chuckled before downing some of his own drink.
I hope, she thought, and steadily began to hold the mug in her hands. She blew a little on the froth and watched it make a small hole, revealing a dark caramel-colored liquid within. Squinting studiously into that window of liquid, she saw tiny bubbles rising to the surface. So it's carbonated, she deduced, but she didn't know how much. She aimed a quick glance upwards at the men before her, saw that they were watching, and looked back down at her drink.
"All right, here goes nothing," she muttered, and lifted the mug to her lips.
What followed was a curious sensation. No, she did not get drunk right away, but as the ale slid down her throat it felt like downing warm soda with light carbonation. The taste was grainy, striking a strange balance between sweet and bitter...not exactly the best in the world, but one she could strangely tolerate.
"Oho!" Ahnnie coughed after finishing that sip. Her mouth was still tingling with the warmth, and a sort of fumy, heady essence could be tasted at the back of her tongue. It was not that it was too much for her to handle; more like too strange, too new.
"Well?" Varric asked, a smile playing on his lips.
Ahnnie wiped her mouth and stared down at her mug. "It's not that bad," she admitted. "And it's different, but I guess...I kind of like it..."
He gave her an I-told-you-so look and raised his drink in the air. "Here's to a good day's hunt," he declared. "I heard you shot down the biggest buck Haven's ever seen."
"It wasn't that big," Blackwall deflected. "They just haven't seen some good meat in a while." But he raised his glass nonetheless.
Ahnnie looked from dwarf to bearded human and tentatively raised hers as well. "Cheers," she said, and took another swig.
"Hey, Flissa, get her another one."
"On the double, Master Tethras."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Blackwall inquired.
"A second mug can't hurt," Varric shrugged.
Ahnnie giggled. "Okay, one more."
The innkeeper beckoned a serving girl over, who took the empty mug away and went to fetch a new one. Ahnnie meanwhile sat complacently in her seat, feeling rosy and warm and contented in a way she'd never been before. She felt the buzz more acutely in her head, particularly around the temples and cheeks – a numbing sensation, like padded cushions, smoothing the jagged boundary between thought and reality. Elsewhere, movement felt light as a feather and slow as syrup at the same time.
Most of all, she couldn't stop smiling. It was practically her default resting face at this point. The moment she straightened her mouth in an attempt to look serious, up it would curve again, and she laughed even when Varric wasn't joking.
Her second mug of ale was soon deposited beside her and she clutched it almost immediately. She took a sip, smacked her lips, and settled the mug down, suddenly taken in with the contours of the wooden table below them. They looked like the waves of the sea...
"Eey, speaking of the sea," Ahnnie suddenly blurted out, "anyone up for a trip to Val Royeaux?"
There was a momentary pause, which Varric quickly broke. "Well, sure, captain," he jested. "When do we set sail?"
She made a face at him. "C'mon, I'm being serious...anyway, I dunno when we're leaving. But it's the thing with the Chantry, you know? I gotta go talk to them...And I can use some people who know how to fight with swords."
"Of course. You never know when those Chantry clerics decide to get tough. They might even use a verse or two from the Chant of Light."
And just like that, she was laughing all over again. "Va-Varric!" Ahnnie protested, practically breathless.
At least Blackwall took her seriously. "You're expecting trouble in Val Royeaux?"
"Aeesh," a sound with the same meaning as a tsk, "Commander Cullen just said I should bring people with swords. Something about...he didn't want to be too worried." Then she took another drink, a big gulp this time.
"I've nothing better to do," Blackwall then said. "Might as well come along."
"Who else are you inviting to your little party?" Varric couldn't help but continue teasing.
"I was thinking maybe Solas...I haven't talked to him in a while..." While that was not a hundred percent true, things seemed strained between them. At least, they did to Ahnnie. The elf seemed more reserved than before, not necessarily cold but not quite as open, especially when talking of magic or the Fade. Then again it was probably her guilty conscience agonizing itself over what she said the day they met Blackwall.
"An elven apostate, in the capital of the Chantry? Scandalous!"
"Yeah, well, who gives a shit?" Ahnnie suddenly bit back. "It's twenty sixteen! People should stop being fucking racists, for crying out loud!" When she realized what she'd just said a moment later, she clamped a hand to her mouth. "Oh my god," she slurred, still capable of social awareness despite her little slip-up. "Did...did anyone hear that?"
When she looked around the room and saw some patrons frowning, others attempting to stifle their laughter, she hid her face in her arms. "Oh my god..." This was exactly what I didn't want happening, she mentally lamented. While her physical actions may not have been so composed, she found that her mental capacity was mostly intact – even if it didn't have much of a say over her decisions anymore.
Varric's eyes crinkled with mirth. "You tell them, Ahnnie," he chuckled. "Make them quake in their robes."
She held her hands up in apology. "Ey, I didn't mean to, I swear..."
Blackwall shook his head at her when he saw how distressed she seemed. "You're fine," he assured her. "And you're right. People shouldn't discriminate so much. Haven't a clue what the number two thousand sixteen means for this, though," he added in a quiet mumble. "Anyway. Solas is all right. It's not like there're no elves in Val Royeaux. They're just...not respected, is all."
Ahnnie frowned as she lifted her mug to her lips again. "That's gonna change," she promised them in an almost prophetic manner. To emphasize her point, she jabbed an impious index finger at them. "Just you wait n' see...one day, it'll all be different..."
This time she spoke more quietly, so that only Blackwall and Varric could hear. Which was just as well, for they knew some of the people of Haven weren't all that partial to elves either. The discrimination was present even within Ferelden, where elves were still segregated into city alienages and more or less looked down upon in the countryside.
"If you're looking for people with swords, why're you asking me?" Varric then asked to change the subject. His voice was still light and teasing, and it both amused and annoyed her at the same time.
"Who cares about swords?" she rebutted. "That's just what the Commander said. As long as you can knock out a bad guy, you're okay with me..."
Blackwall leaned over towards her and checked her mug. "Perhaps you've had too much," he suggested, sliding it away from her.
"It's just a few more ounces," she protested. "Lemme finish it."
"It's half a mug," he corrected her. "You look like you've had enough, anyways."
"How many fingers am I holding?" Varric asked, holding up his index and middle.
"Two, duh," she answered impetuously. "I'm not that drunk!"
"Yet," Blackwall said, and stood up from his seat. "Can you stand? I think you should return to your cabin now."
"Of course I can!" Ahnnie shot up as quickly as she could, as though that could prove to Blackwall how much control she still had. But when she took a step to the side, the ground lurched beneath her and threatened to give way. Her head, suddenly unstable on her neck, felt like it was going to roll off. Before she could fall, the Warden caught her by the arm.
"I'm taking you back to your cabin," he decided with finality.
"No need for that, Master Blackwall," Flissa interjected, appearing by his side as though by magic. "I'll take her up to my room. She can rest there for the night. Save yourself the trouble."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," the innkeeper affirmed. "I'll take her up right now. Please, sit down, and let me know if you need anything else when I get back, all right?" When the Warden seated himself again, Flissa turned back to Ahnnie and led her up the stairs, carefully supporting her lest she slip and fall. After the Herald of Andraste's head finally hit the pillow, she was out faster than Flissa could blow the candle. The short haired woman smiled and tucked her into bed before making her way downstairs again.