Dragon Age: Inquisition fic -- Dalish Curses
And the matching story for In Another Life, this time with Elleth in the universe in which Oriana is the Inquisitor.
Blackwall/Lavellan, with minor spoilers for Trespasser, short and prickly
The Warden sat back on his heels, considering the tracks in the still-damp earth. One set of soft boots - small, a youth or a woman - approaching the eluvian, examining it, and then backtracking. They did not, in his opinion, appear to have come through the eluvian. He looked up at it, the surface dark and quiescent in the shadows of the little cave. Not opened in the last few days, he thought. Still, he’d need to make sure that the right people knew about this.
There was a soft sound, a bow being drawn, and the Warden went still. They would see if he reached for his sword, but his armor would probably stop the arrow if they aimed for the body. A novice would aim for the body.
“I am aiming for your sword wrist,” a woman said. “So if I were you, I would explain yourself.”
The slight accent, the confidence - well, he was on Dalish lands. “I mean no harm,” the Warden said. “I am a Grey Warden. I was tracking a rumor of Darkspawn and found this cave. I mean no disrespect to the Dalish.”
“A Grey Warden.”
“Yes.”
“Stand up and turn around. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
He did, slowly and carefully. He wasn’t here to start a fight with the Dalish, whatever was left of the poor bastards after Celene and Gaspard’s civil war had rolled through the Exalted Plains.
Her aim tracked his wrist, confident that she could hit that small a target moving as fast as his hand would be, an arrow with speckled owl fletchings. It matched the face. She was slight and as old as he, her face weathered by years of sun and wind, though the tattoos on her face were inked dark, a mask of leaves or teardrops. Her hair was blond and her eyes were the blue of a sky on a sweltering day when it’s almost white with heat. “There are no Darkspawn here, Warden.”
“I was sent because strange things had been heard and seen,” he said. “But this…” he gestured to the eluvian.
“It’s an eluvian,” she said. “And it’s been active recently. I do not know the word to open it, however.”
The Warden felt his eyebrows rise. “You know what an eluvian is?”
“They were made by my people,” she said. “And I am no newcomer to the hunt.”
“That I can see, my lady,” he said.
“I am no my lady,” she said, and the bow dipped, her decision made. “I am Elleth of Clan Lavellan.”
Things fit together. “And what are you hunting?”
She smiled, and he felt her gaze examining him, taking in stained leathers, quilted coat, griffon breastplate. “The same thing you are, I think. The source of the strange things that have been seen lately in these parts. I have come from the north at the request of the Keeper here to investigate. There have been… rumors.” She hesitated.
The Warden took a deep breath. “I walked with the Inquisition for several years,” he said. “There was a problem with eluvians.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Fen’Harel.”
“You know of that matter?”
“He has sent emissaries to my people. Clans consider and debate. But a wise Keeper wishes to know more, because we are long acquainted with the Dread Wolf and fear his bargains. There is much to gain, but somehow the bargain never goes as one wishes.” She slung her bow on her back. “And now strange creatures about. I doubt this is unconnected. So I hunt.”
He nodded slowly. “You serve their goddess of the hunt?”
“I serve Mythal.” Her eyes did not leave his, though he shivered. “And today my quarry is information. What are these creatures that come through the eluvian and who do they serve?”
“I assumed they were Darkspawn,” he said. He glanced at the silent mirror. “But whatever they are, I need to know.”
“Then it seems we hunt the same quarry,” she said. “I am camped not far away. If you would like to share my fire and talk further?”
He nodded. “I’ve lit no fires.”
“It’s cold on the plains in winter without them.” She led the way out of the cave, down the little hill from the pile of tumbled stones that had probably once been a building, long and long ago.
“True. But I’m wary of Dalish curses.”
She turned, a real smile lighting her face, beautiful as sheet lightning across that heated sky. “I am a Dalish curse.”
“I expect you are,” he said. Maker, he thought to himself, I’m old enough to know trouble when I see it, but still too stupid to stay out of it.
Blackwall/Lavellan, with minor spoilers for Trespasser, short and prickly
The Warden sat back on his heels, considering the tracks in the still-damp earth. One set of soft boots - small, a youth or a woman - approaching the eluvian, examining it, and then backtracking. They did not, in his opinion, appear to have come through the eluvian. He looked up at it, the surface dark and quiescent in the shadows of the little cave. Not opened in the last few days, he thought. Still, he’d need to make sure that the right people knew about this.
There was a soft sound, a bow being drawn, and the Warden went still. They would see if he reached for his sword, but his armor would probably stop the arrow if they aimed for the body. A novice would aim for the body.
“I am aiming for your sword wrist,” a woman said. “So if I were you, I would explain yourself.”
The slight accent, the confidence - well, he was on Dalish lands. “I mean no harm,” the Warden said. “I am a Grey Warden. I was tracking a rumor of Darkspawn and found this cave. I mean no disrespect to the Dalish.”
“A Grey Warden.”
“Yes.”
“Stand up and turn around. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
He did, slowly and carefully. He wasn’t here to start a fight with the Dalish, whatever was left of the poor bastards after Celene and Gaspard’s civil war had rolled through the Exalted Plains.
Her aim tracked his wrist, confident that she could hit that small a target moving as fast as his hand would be, an arrow with speckled owl fletchings. It matched the face. She was slight and as old as he, her face weathered by years of sun and wind, though the tattoos on her face were inked dark, a mask of leaves or teardrops. Her hair was blond and her eyes were the blue of a sky on a sweltering day when it’s almost white with heat. “There are no Darkspawn here, Warden.”
“I was sent because strange things had been heard and seen,” he said. “But this…” he gestured to the eluvian.
“It’s an eluvian,” she said. “And it’s been active recently. I do not know the word to open it, however.”
The Warden felt his eyebrows rise. “You know what an eluvian is?”
“They were made by my people,” she said. “And I am no newcomer to the hunt.”
“That I can see, my lady,” he said.
“I am no my lady,” she said, and the bow dipped, her decision made. “I am Elleth of Clan Lavellan.”
Things fit together. “And what are you hunting?”
She smiled, and he felt her gaze examining him, taking in stained leathers, quilted coat, griffon breastplate. “The same thing you are, I think. The source of the strange things that have been seen lately in these parts. I have come from the north at the request of the Keeper here to investigate. There have been… rumors.” She hesitated.
The Warden took a deep breath. “I walked with the Inquisition for several years,” he said. “There was a problem with eluvians.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Fen’Harel.”
“You know of that matter?”
“He has sent emissaries to my people. Clans consider and debate. But a wise Keeper wishes to know more, because we are long acquainted with the Dread Wolf and fear his bargains. There is much to gain, but somehow the bargain never goes as one wishes.” She slung her bow on her back. “And now strange creatures about. I doubt this is unconnected. So I hunt.”
He nodded slowly. “You serve their goddess of the hunt?”
“I serve Mythal.” Her eyes did not leave his, though he shivered. “And today my quarry is information. What are these creatures that come through the eluvian and who do they serve?”
“I assumed they were Darkspawn,” he said. He glanced at the silent mirror. “But whatever they are, I need to know.”
“Then it seems we hunt the same quarry,” she said. “I am camped not far away. If you would like to share my fire and talk further?”
He nodded. “I’ve lit no fires.”
“It’s cold on the plains in winter without them.” She led the way out of the cave, down the little hill from the pile of tumbled stones that had probably once been a building, long and long ago.
“True. But I’m wary of Dalish curses.”
She turned, a real smile lighting her face, beautiful as sheet lightning across that heated sky. “I am a Dalish curse.”
“I expect you are,” he said. Maker, he thought to himself, I’m old enough to know trouble when I see it, but still too stupid to stay out of it.