Darrian Lavellan knew that he didn't look like a warrior. He was slight, even for an elf. He was taller than the average elf, but that served only to emphasis his slightness. On top of that, he was handsome in a way that made him look like a woman if he grew his hair out. High, graceful cheekbones, thin lips, bright green eyes, and auburn hair furthered this opinion of himself. His deep, growling voice often shocked people into stunned silence; which was why he used it so much. Then, unlike most warriors, elven or not, he just wasn't muscled like a warrior of his skill.

All of Darrian's muscle was corded and slight, belaying his strength. He could outpace most warriors twice his size for twice as long, he had long delicate fingers, and he had the makings of a perfect rogue. All these things made the knowledge that he was a warrior that swung around a weapon that weighed practically as much as he did all the more satisfying. The fact that he swung the sword around like it was nothing was just an added bonus.

The expression on Cassandra's face when she'd turned around after fighting one of two demons that had appeared after the bridge caved in had been priceless. The fact that he'd wielded a large blade like a pro had startled her.

Then, Cassandra took it in stride with no questions after it had been decided that he could keep the weapon. Later, when he'd asked for the blade he'd had on him at the time of the explosion, Cassandra had it handed over in no time at all, quietly apologizing for the lack of upkeep.

The blade that had saved his life was old, but had been kept in such a state of cleanliness and sharpness that most never guessed its age. The fact that he upgraded the handle as often as possible helped as well.

After a while of fighting with the Inquisition, and realizing the old thing couldn't help him any longer, he'd had a portion of the metal of the blade melted down into a pendant for him to wear. The new blade, forged with much better materials, was made in its predecessor's likeness. Which had been a little confusing for a while: the blade looked mostly the same, except the colour and old scratches and dents he'd never managed to get out of various parts of the blade.

The others had thought Darrian a little foolish for wearing the usable metal rather than donating to the Inquisition's cause: all except Leliana (who knew why the metal was special) and Cassandra (who Darrian figured could probably guess why). Darrian was tight-lipped on the subject, but still found himself staring down at the small, shining halla and wondering if taking even this small amount from the Inquisition was a good idea.

The halla was exquisitely made, and had all the details that could be made on it. Antlers, eyes, hooves. It was all one colour, it wasn't white, but it was doing its job of reminding him of home and where he had come from. Darrian found himself clenching it in his hand, or touching it when he was stressed. He had sliced his palm open on more than one occasion on the sharp edges of pendent.

One morning, Darrian woke early so he could train with the dummies on the edges of Haven without an audience. He stripped off his shirt, knowing that in a few minutes he would be sweating like a pig. He attacked the dummy with full force, imagining he was attacking one of the bandits that often accosted him on the road. Moving with the fluidity he had inherited from his father, Darrian began his training exercises, the cold metal pendant bouncing off his thin chest.

The faceless mercenary suddenly changed in his mind's eye, turning into that of the human that had killed Darrian's sister. Anger filled Darrian, and he swung hard against the neck of the unmoving 'opponent'.

The head of the dummy flew off, and landed at a still half-asleep Cullen's feet. The anger and mental image drained from Darrian as soon as they'd appeared. Panting, Darrian picked up his shirt and stormed back through the gate of Haven. He wasn't in a mood to put up with a shem's questions.

(LINE BREAK)

Darrian paced the length of his cabin, pressing his hands into his temples. If only he could rip out the anger and hatred of a race that had seemed to hate him from the moment he was born. Why was this suddenly a problem? Why was he having second thoughts about his preconceptions when many humans would look down on him, both figuratively and literally?

A knock on his door startled Darrian from his thoughts. He opened the door, fully ready to yell at whomever wanted to disturb him. However, it was Cassandra: one of the few humans that had ever accepted him for him. He opened the door fully, "Yes?"

Cassandra cleared her throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward, "Cullen told me what happened this morning. I thought I had issues."

Darrian snorted, moving aside so Cassandra could come inside, "I would like to tell you I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"I thought not. Do I have to worry about you killing any more of our equipment?"

Darrian shrugged, "Possibly. It depends on if Solas takes all the hearth cakes again."

Cassandra's lips tugged into a smile, "No one would blame you for pummeling some equipment then. Can you?"-

"My sister died when I was ten. Just after I started training as a warrior."

"I'm sorry."

"A human man killed her right in front of me. His…friends held me in place and made me watch as they…they did things to her. While she was still crying for mercy, he shoved a dagger straight through her neck. They made me watch her bleed like a stuck pig."

Cassandra's face turned into a stony mask, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"She was older than me. She could wield a bow like no one else, and she didn't even die a death befitting for an animal. I was helpless, stripped of my weapon and still not strong enough to get the shems to let me go," Darrian's eyes were bright with anger, "When they let me go, they thought I would be too grief-stricken to go after my sword and kill them."

Darrian looked Cassandra in the eye, standing straight, "I proved them wrong. I gutted them, and made them suffer lingering deaths like Valia. Do you understand now, why I have so many problems with you humans and your views of obviously inferior people? Do you see why I don't cringe at every slight an insult that I've already heard a hundred times? Do you understand why I don't want to be known as the bloody HEARALD OF ANDRASTE?" Darrian's face was red with rage, and he was shouting, "I don't believe in your Maker and His Bride. I don't believe that the beliefs of the Dalish are so evil that we have to be purged from the world and treated as less than the poorest of humans!"

"Lavellan"-

"I left my clan so I could tell the Keeper what the hell was happening to the world, but then the world became even shittier! There are demons spilling from the Fade, I apparently entered the Fade physically, and I'm separated from my family! I can't help them, and I'm worried that all the Inquisition will do is make things worse for my family and the other clans!"

One hand was clenching the pendant hard, the pain centered Darrian. Cassandra's wide eyes and the pain he felt suddenly dampened the anger, and Darrian realized what he had said. Darrian slumped against the door, prying his hand away from the metal. His palm was sliced open again, bleeding freely.

"Elgar'nan," Darrian hissed, moving to press the sleeve of his shirt into the wound to try to stay the bleeding.

"I-I didn't know you felt like this," Cassandra murmured quietly.

"I'm sorry…I haven't been sleeping well," Not a lie, anyone could tell by looking at his eyes, "And I've been surrounded by humans non-stop for weeks. I-I've never liked crowds, even when it's not humans"-

"I-I understand. I apologize for the intrusion. I'll leave you to your thoughts. I'll ensure people know to leave you alone," Cassandra said, her voice not quite as lively as it should have been.

Darrian watched as the warrior stiffly moved to the door. He noticed, as she shut the door behind her, that her eyes were empty; implying she was running on autopilot.

"Dammnit," Darrian growled, "Damn me and my big mouth."

(LINE BREAK)

Darrian sat on the roof of the Chantry, staring at the green, glowing, and stinging scar on his hand. It wasn't growing anymore, and it wasn't open like it had been in the beginning. Which Darrian could only be happy about- an infection in the hand would be fatal to his fighting days.

Staring at the mark, he began to wonder if he was the right person to bear this burden. Surely, almost anyone else would be the better option. Turning his gaze skyward, Darrian truly began to wonder if there were any mystical beings that controlled the fate of every person on Thedas.

For, as much as he claimed to believe in the Dalish faith, he held no more stock in it than he did the Maker. Was it possible that the gods were there, but trapped and unable to help? Yes. However, Darrian thought it just as likely that the gods had been spirits or demons, or other unknown supernatural forces.

Clenching his fist, the mark flared in colour, basking the rooftop with odd green and black shadows. Footsteps approached, and the green light from the mark faded a little.

"I heard what happened," Varric said, sitting down on the ledge beside Darrian.

"Cassandra told you?"

"No. I literally heard what you shouted at her. That was harsh, even for you."

"I know," Darrian replied quietly, "I didn't realize I'd said it until it came out."

"You don't really believe you've been chosen?"

"Not unless whoever's doing the choosing has a sick sense of humour."

"From how the Chantry sisters go on, I doubt it was Andraste or the Maker."

"From how the Keeper goes on, I doubt it was the elven gods, either. Please tell me I'm not the only person to think that whatever created this damn world had to have had a sense of humour."

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen some of the wild animals that wonder Thedas, right? Both predator and prey? Whoever made some of them had to have had a sick sense of humour, or they were drunk."

Varric snorted, "I suppose you're right.

There was a pause, then Darrian spoke again.

"I never learned how to read or write. Don't look at me like that, it was a personal choice for the most part. I was always busy training, hunting, or working. I kept meaning to make time to learn, but I never bothered. The majority of my clan can read and write the common tongue. If you have some spare time, would you mind teaching me?"

Varric stared in wonder at the young elf, because for the first time, he'd noticed how young Darrian was. Before his brain had a chance to catch up, his heart had already decided. He was nodding before he realized what teaching the warrior would entail.

An odd, almost shy smile appeared on Darrian's face, "Thank you, Varric."

Varric nodded, "You're welcome, kid."

(LINE BREAK)

Author's Note: Hot damn, two chapters in one day!?

Anyway, next up is Vesa Lavellan!