Chapter Text
Though having no direct connection with clan Lavellan, he sure did appreciate their way of life. Onwards from the day he drifted to shore, a ways off where Valence Cloister was, and near its seas concealed by its forest, was where this modest little clan found him. Soaked to the bone, with nothing more but the clothes, what looked like a big stick, and the sack on his back, as well as what seemed to them was a striped lion, they found him, took him in, and fed him. They generously taught him their beliefs, their culture, their walk, their talk and everything in between else he was willing to learn. Which was a lot, because that was one of the reasons he came to Thedas for.
Often they would ask him where he had come from, however.
What clan are you from? Did you escape from slavery? Were you from a ship? Are you apart of the Qun? How old are you!
Again and again, he would tell them,” I’m sorry… ” he would say,” What’s the Qun? .” And they would look back at him, exasperated yet accepting.
They always took his excuses, with ready compliance, and didn’t pester him any farther than months later. It was not that he wanted not tell them the truth, it was just that he was on a mission, and that mission involved not exposing vital information.
In honest, though, he missed his home; an island far and secluded from Thedas, surrounded by both treacherous seas and creatures alike. Over and beyond the Amaranthine seas to the east. Surrounded by clouds that kissed the seas, drifting on islands that seemed to be on constant move.
It was beautiful, and rich in both culture and in its people. Who were mostly elves, save from some humans here and there.
But they needed someone skilled and charismatic enough to stay out of trouble to make contact with the mainland once again. So there he was, a small ten year old wobbling out from his ruined sail boat into the arms of kind and mirthful clan Lavellan. Ranga at his side, as his only reminder of home. Who he was and what his purpose was here.
His homesickness was easy to deal with, however, as he would find comfort in his constantly traveling adoptive elven clan. The little tiger cub also served well to ease his nerves.
What destinations his friends and family would sail to on their aravels were a usual migratory path of the Halla. Though their travels did have their share of conflict with those who did not take kindly to their ears, it did not discourage them to keep on trading and taking from whatever resources they could from where ever not unkind to Dalish hands.
Usa had made many friends along the road this way. From human to dwarfs and elves as well. On very special, and rare occasions, he’d meet the big grey giants with horns. Qunari.
He would remember the times his clan (yes, his clan) would ask if he was from the Qun. At that time he had rightly guessed that the two terms, Qunari and Qun, were linked together. But he did not expect these large scaled peoples with dragon like horns with their sharp and calculating eyes.
The dragony part excited him the most, though. He had the softest of hearts for dragons. And the mention of one threw an excitement down his spine like no other. Like how Ranga would get worked up over wandering dogs that would sniff around the edges of the forest. His encounters with the Qunari were the same, both thrilled and scared him shitless.
He could count his few, horned acquaintances by his fingers. ( Which was really only three. But that’s a lot, considering all things. )
Usa remembers his first encounter with their race. The first was a tall ( as tall as a twelve year old could comprehend ), dark bronze skinned female qunari. Her horns were curled inwards, with one piece of jewelry circling her ram like horn. She had red paint drawn on her collar and arms, while wearing a frightening look on her face. It was as if she was running from someone, or something?
She had run up to him, suddenly, from some bushes while he was on the hunt for game, and spoke to him in rapid marks of Qunlat.
Of course, he didn’t understand a thing, and realizing this, she shook her head- at herself, not at him, he learned, and sped hastily past him into the dense forest he was intending on venturing into that day.
( It was after a short second of their brief meeting he decided to go tend to more of his arcane duties, instead of wandering out in the forests with the hunters and meeting strange draconic people. He was only twelve years of age at that time, and was shaken to his core of the woman’s approach. Now that Usa thought of it, why would she have bothered to talk to a clueless and most likely secluded elven child, anyway? Given the seemingly urgent situation she was in, perhaps she really was that desperate, at that point? He hopes she had fared well, in the end, truly. )
The second Qunari he met in his lifetime was when he was seventeen years old. Back from his momentary visit of his homeland to deliver what plentiful information he had gathered from living with the Lavellan clan.
Upon his return to Thedas, Usa was sent to Cumberland in Nevarra, to see to some business for his clan’s Keeper. It was a dangerous mission, as it always is to just boldly saunter into any city run by humans. Especially since some were rumored to practise the arts in raising the deceased.
It was there where he saw his second Qunari. An even taller male qunari who was working a store front. If Usa remembered correctly, he had silver hair, and a rugged, toothy smile.
Usa could only steal a glance at the Qunari man before shaking his gaze off of them to resolve his resolution and focus on his mission. Also partly because the Qunari had also caught his stare, and smiled as if knowingly, back at him. With what kind of intention he did not know, but he didn’t find out, that’s for sure. He had already quickly turned his head away, the slightest of flush on his fair and brown face.
The third Qunari he ever met in his whole life, he actually held a conversation with. He remembered it like it was yesterday.
It was raining heavily. Usa’s bun was soaked to its core, a couple of its dark black strands falling from their constraints, heavy and dripping with water. Solas’s bald head shined from the weather, which competed with Cassandra’s armor.
The group was making its way down a steep and wet mountain slope, trying to get to their destination near the shoreline of Storm Coast.
Usa took an appreciative while to observe the fauna on the land, which seemed to always thrive in the excess rain. For a clan that was known to travel wherever they pleased, they never came even close to Stormcoast. Or near Ferelden, for that matter.
For one, moving a clan as abundant as Clan Lavellan around so freely was not to be advised. Travelling through the land was out of question, considering… well, everything. And these people were not known to be sea-bound, either.
So there they stayed primarily within the limits of the northern Free Marches. Not a skin off their back.
Usa slid a few ways down the slippery slope of the side of one hill. Rocks and pebbles falling across the ground left and right. His bare feet meeting the flat and horizontal foundation of the ground with grace and little impact.
He watched the others follow his own path that he demonstrated down the shortcut to make sure nobody slipped. At some point Varric almost fell on his ass but expectedly so, kept Bianca out of harm’s way and in his arms.
“ Like a baby being cradled. Usa mused. He gave Varric a look, and Varric laughed in response.
“What? Never seen a dwarf with his crossbow before?“
After a few short sprints and herb gathering, the party was finally where they agreed to meet a new mercenary group.
But what met them was a skirmish. Not intense enough to call a battle, judging by how many of the others were getting hacked off into pieces by those who he was pretty sure identified as the new recruits for the Inquisition. Otherwise he’d be in there as fast as a snap of fingers.
Cassandra glanced at Usa, asking with her eyes and a raised eyebrow whether they should interfere. He returned her look with one of his own, a silent communication between them that promised further action once a quick observation was addressed.
Varric leaned on a rock while Solas made an offshoot comment towards Cassandra which prompted another one of their discussions slash bickering. Varric joins in at some points in the conversation to add sly and humorous remarks that only served to make the borderline argument more heated.
Usa, in the meanwhile, stabbed his staff into the pebble covered shore. He watched the company fight, recalling the negotiator asking to watch them work. Size them up… Krem was it?
He searched for the young soldier’s face in the sparring crowd.
And find him he did. Blocking an attack from an enemy fighter from the side of a large, grey body. Knocking them off their feet with an almost adequate shield bash that Usa thought needed some work.
The elf’s eyes then darted to the big figure who was in the middle of the entire battle. The one Krem had protected from a potential gash to the back.
The Qunari, The Iron Bull , was swinging his axe, left and right. While his lieutenant covered his blind spot.
Usa stood amazed on the spot. His eyes large with wonder from seeing a Qunari so close. Working to cut and hack at another with such precision and strength. Spirited so similar and wild as a dragon. Usa’s heart started to pound with both adrenaline from watching the Chargers work their magic.
A wild smile stretched his plump lips from one side to the other, his fists already itching to join in on the fight and knock a few baddies down himself. It had been a while since his last staffless fight. His body the focus of his magic, instead of a stick and shiny rock on top it like any other apostate mage would use.
He was a fighter. Yes he used magic, but he liked using magic and his fists. Feet, legs and all.
Usa grabs his staff in a reluctant frenzy and jumps into the fight. Cassandra could barely fall into step when she noticed the very battle-bound elf. Meanwhile Varric holds back a distant for range support with Solas, who watched Usa with interest and at his unconventional fighting style.
It reminded him of the Arcane Knights. Though the brown elf lacked the spirit hilt for it. He made it up with his eagerness to strike, and his proficiency of tipping the side of battle with both his martial and magical skills alike.
Into the battle, Cassandra readies her shield and long sword for any incoming enemies. She goes ahead and rushes into the midst of the conflict, targeting the archers and slashers. Usa, in the meanwhile, was throwing his staff about in circles like a baton, a storm of fireballs pushing the attacking warriors back by several feets. The impact leaving not only their eyebrows singed but the air knocked out of them.
Varric picked off the smarter ones who tried to flank around using the logs and boulders as protection. Simultaneously, Solas kept everyone protected with constant spirit barriers while the skirmish raged on.
After all enemy hands were wiped cleanly away, like a washcloth to a dinner plate, Usa allowed himself a breath of sharp cold air. He gave his staff one last swirl, the end of it facing up with the crystal side facing down, before surveying the area for anymore signs for possible retreating forces. He’s not sure who these men were, but they must have come from somewhere. He’ll speak to Leliana about scouting the area.
Usa’s eyes fall onto the Iron Bull once again, as he spoke with his lieutenant.