This chapter is broken up into several parts, at least two. About different companions asking about Lavellan's past.

Needless to say this isn't Raist Trevelyan. This is Darrian Lavellan, a grumpy, gruff elf that everyone assumes is a mage or rogue. They never think he's a warrior. It's just infuriating.

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One-Cassandra

Darrian Lavellan glared at the dummy, swinging his two handed sword in an attempt to break it. He wondered briefly what he had done to anger the gods. Darrian was surrounded by humans that had no concept of what the Dalish were really like. Darrian hadn't had many good interactions with humans or other races, and suddenly being thrust into a position where he had to interact with humans all the time, was seriously making him wish he could just go back to his clan.

"Lavellan," Cassandra's voice made him pause in his training.

"What?" He asked, standing straight and leaning against the sword that people were amazed he could even lift, much less use effectively.

"It just occurred to me that I don't know much about you."

Oh gods, "And?"

"I was wondering where you're from."

Darrian briefly considered lying, then tossed the idea. Leliana was sure to know more about him then he'd like already. Cassandra could always go fact check.

"My clan wandered the Free Marches, though we sometimes came across the Amaranthine Sea to come here to Fereldan."

"Really? I didn't know clans could move so much."

Darrian shrugged, "Some do, some don't. The clans are many and varied."

What is it like?"

"What is what like?"

"Not living in one place, always moving."

"We stay in some spots for longer than others. There are places we could set up permanent camp, but we are the Dalish, so we won't," Darrian muttered, "It'd hard work, but worth it."

Cassandra nodded, "I've always wondered. What it would be like, to not have anywhere to call home."

"The clan is home," Darrian replied evenly, once again picking up his sword. Can you take a hint and leave? I haven't done half of the training I usually do yet.

Cassandra watched him resume his training for a few minutes before she left.

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Two-Josephine

"Herald, may I see you for a moment?"

Darrian's hand stopped mid-motion, caught half-way between his body and the door to the War Room. Darrian carefully sighed through his nose, then turned on his heel and walked into Josephine's office.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask… if you've been given a hard time."

Darrian stared, "Because I'm an elf?"

Josephine nodded, "Yes. I'm aware this is a delicate"-

"No, it's not. I'm an elf, and I'm Dalish. I hear whispers sometimes, but nothing usually directed to my face. People are talking, Josephine, but they aren't treating me any worse than the average elf."

"I-I suppose that's good. Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

One of Josephine's eyebrows rose, "You know what I mean."

Darrian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He remembered the Keeper's words: "Be polite!"

"Yes."

"I'm sure I can ease some tension by telling the people what kind of life you lead with your clan. If you would please tell me what it was like, I could-"

"There was a lot of hard work. Slavers sometimes showed up if we were too close to their hunting grounds. We looked after each other, and everyone was family. The aravels are cramped, the halla stink, but you've never lived until you and several other hunters have accidentally wandered into a giant's lair and have had to flee for your life."

Josephine's eyes widened, "Please tell me you're joking."

Darrian allowed a small smirk to grace his features, "I'm not. Is that good enough?"

"I'm not sure…how many mages did you have in your clan?"

"Three. The Keeper, and the First and Second. Why do you need to know that?"

"To disprove a nasty rumour I'd rather not repeat."

"That we're all blood mages that dance around naked under the full moon?"

"Surely Sir Gren didn't tell you that himself!?"

Darrian's smirk turned sour, "No. I've heard it all before. Don't sugar-coat, Josephine. I've been seen as less than scum my entire life. I know what people think and say."

"Of course, Herald," Josephine nodded, "I apologize. I was trying not to offend"-

"I know. How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Many times, sir."

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Three-Leliana

Darrian had collapsed into the little bed in his cabin the moment he'd slipped off his boots, armour, and sword. It had been a hard, long day, and he wanted it to be over. He was hungry, tired, and cold. In the span of one day Darrian had fallen into a lake, almost drowned in the lake, almost been gutted by a bandit, had most of his armour removed forcibly by Cassandra to ensure he was alright after the near drowning and gutting. Then it had rained, and he had been soaked through when they left the Hinterlands and began to walk back to Haven. The water had frozen in his clothes and hair, making him miserable, and more moody according to Varric.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Darrian bounding to his feet, grabbing the dagger he had hidden under his pillow-

And there was Leliana, sitting by the fire in his only chair. He let the hand holding the dagger drop to his side.

"What is it? I'm hungry and tired. I want to cook dinner, eat it, and then go to bed."

"I apologize, Herald. I have some questions."

"Doesn't everyone?" Darrian replied, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed.

"Yes. I would like mine to be answered, if that's alright."

Darrian brought a hand to his forehead, trying to rub the sudden ache that appeared behind his eyes, "You're not going to leave me alone until I answer them. Ask away."

"What made you chose to be a warrior? I've seen you move, and you could have easily become a rogue such as myself."

"I like big swords, and I cannot lie," Darrian replied, smirking.

"The real answer, please."

Darrian stared at the woman for a moment, before sighing, "I was young when I experienced the first attack made on our clan for many years. We were camped near a sizable village, and had been trading with the people there for a few days. We were supposed to leave in the morning, which the humans knew. One drunk idiot had decided one of us had stolen his helm-which we hadn't. He gathered a party of similarly prejudiced or drunk people, and they raided our camp. I hadn't even begun my training with bows, or daggers yet. One of the men cornered me, utterly convinced I was a girl. I tried to tell him differently, but he wouldn't listen. The only weapon nearby was a gigantic, two-handed sword. I hadn't begun training yet, but I was tall and strong for my age, so I grabbed it, and tried to defend myself. I missed, horribly. I had been aiming for the man's torso, but I hit his knee instead. He went down screaming like a shriek. I decided then, that the sword that had saved me would be my weapon. A few days after, I started training."

Leliana stared at him for a long moment, and Darrian grit his teeth, "Don't pity me. I'm one of the lucky ones. I got it out of that entire night with only a few scars and a new sword. Several of us didn't make it, and I've known the women to be trapped and raped because they're seen as inferior."

"I know. Thank you for telling me that. Can I ask one more question?"

"Yes," Darrian breathed, though he knew she could tell he wasn't happy about it.

"Is that why you don't like humans?"

Darrian blinked, "No. And no, I'm not going to tell you why I have a problem with most humans."

Leliana stood up, and strode toward the door, "Thank you again for the chat. I'll see you tomorrow."

Darrian watched as the door closed, then fell back onto the bed. That was it, the last straw. He crawled under the furs, and watched the fire until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

A shitty end to the day from Fen'Harel himself. May he take anyone who tries to wake me up early tomorrow.

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Author's Note: Voila! Chapter done. One more chapter with this Inquisitor, then on to the next one.