Work Text:
9:30 - between Redcliffe and the Brecilian Forest
It was one of this quiet evening around the campfire. Ymlaïs finished taking care of her armor by the light of the flames. Like every of those late autumn evenings, the group had gathered around the source of warmth. Even Morrigan was there, which was rather rare.
Despite the quiet atmosphere, the fact that almost everyone were preparing their weapons, armors, potions or traps, reminded of what the next day would be made. Only Wynne was busy bandaging the torso of Alistair who had taken a few bad hits during their last encounter with the darkspawns.
“Ow.”
“ What? Stop fussing with it. You'll make it worse."
The elf lifted her eyes from her work to watch the two humans bicker like a mother and her son. An ex-templar apprentice and a magician of the circle... And yet, this two had definitely found each others.
Ymlaïs looked at the motley crew she had gathered around her in a few weeks. Each one of them came from very different backgrounds and it could not be said that everyone got along perfectly. But as a dalish, she had learned to deal with everyone’s personalities. In a clan, people lived in permanent proximity and everyone had to learn to live together very early.
Each member of a dalish clan was part of a whole. Anyway, this is what Hahren Païvel kept saying. Vir Adahlen: “Together we are stronger than the one.” To do so, rather than focusing on the bad sides of people, it was better to value their own qualities. Of course, they were all experienced fighters, no doubt about that. But they weren’t just warriors, they were people.
« It itches. »
Leliana. To be honest, Ymlaïs first thought she was a religious nut and her Andrastian faith rebuked the dalish she was. But she showed her another aspect of this religion: how it could inspire people to do good around them and how it could give them hope and strength. Moreover, Leliana was a breeze of fresh air in the storm. Her frivolity cleared her mind. How nice it was to laugh with her, to talk about hair or shoes, as if death did not await them at every crossroads and they did not have the destiny of the world on their shoulders. She also loved to hear her tell about the wonders she had seen during her travels, or the tales and legends she sometimes told her. It was like an open window on a world the elf discovered. Not to mention her songs, her nightingale voice which enchanted her, put balm to the heart after the violence of the fights or infused courage and vigor and will.
« Yes, it's healing. Don't touch it. »
Zevran, the newly recruited assassin. Despite the very odd circumstances of his recruitment, she was delighted to welcome another elf in the group. Actually, except for their long ears, she had nothing in common with the Antivan crow. He was as stranger to her as much as a human, a dwarf or a qunari. He intrigued her. His way of life, his morals, his vision of the world: he was a mystery to her. Like a cat, he was agile, graceful and confident. Whether in the missions he told her about, during the fights, or in his verbal jousts with the rest of the group, he seemed to be able to always land on his feet. He took everything with a step back. Nothing seemed to offend him or to be able to reach him. So he always won. He also exuded a magnetic charm that seemed to attract the favors of others… and an insolent luck. All this made her furiously want to scratch the varnish to see what was hiding underneath.
« But it's distracting. Can I rub it through the bandage? That's not really scratching. »
Wynne. What a blessing to have her by their side. Not only for her healing talents, but Wynne was a cement for the group thanks to her calm, her experience, her wisdom. She and Sten were the deans of the group but it could not be said that the qunari was much involved. Wynne was discreet but very present in the group and very available. She was like an ancient tree with deep roots and in the branches of which chirping birds and leaping squirrels came to shelter. Just as her magic was able to generate beneficial waves that healed physical wounds, her peaceful presence soothed the spirits of the group. No doubt that in a dalish clan, she would have been a keeper. Her choice to have accompanied them despite her age also inspired a lot of respect to the elf. It was something to see this educated and distinguished woman sleeping like everyone else in the middle of nowhere, washing herself when and how she could and dining by the fire of what was found of the harvest, hunting or Bodhan’s reserves without making any complain. It was the daily lot of a dalish but for a human…
« Alistair, if you open that wound up, I'm not going to heal it again. You can just treat it yourself. And if it festers, weeping bloody pus and burns like the flames of Andraste's pyre, don't come to me. All I'm going to say is: "Alistair, didn't I tell you not to touch it?" »
Sten. His culture, the philosophy that dictated his life was so peculiar. There were similarities between their two cultures: the dalish also participated in the life of the clan according to their abilities. But the Qun seemed to reject the very concept of freedom and free will, or even identity, since the qunari seemed to have no name but what corresponded to their function within this strange society. A dalish clan was a whole made up of individuals, not instruments. Ymlaïs had been able to choose her way (1). Like her, he came from a community and autarkic culture and discovered the rest of the world. But where she was astonished, marvelled sometimes and opened her mind to question many things, Sten just seemed not to understand what was not the Qun. He seemed to be interested only in what was related to the mission he had been given. Ymlaïs had to spend a lot of energy and patience to try to integrate him into the group and she wondered if it was not in vain. It was like trying to tame a bear in hibernation to get it out of its cave. But she’ll keep trying. She would eventually find the loophole. « Stubborn », you said?
« It won't really fester, will it? »
Morrigan, a snake woman whose mouth spewed venom, a cold-blooded animal, sensual, mysterious and dangerous at the same time. But Ymlaïs had learned that every being of nature had its place and its role to play and that all participate in the same balance. Considering the context in which Morrigan had been raised, her behaviour was no longer surprising. It was the opposite of Ymlaïs’ who had been raised in a united and caring community. And yet she wanted to understand her. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that the witch had a cold, but lucid look on the world. She did not want to change it or make it better, but she saw it in its cruel truth, and her words, which seemed harsh, were often no less relevant. Morrigan behaved as a mature and well taught woman but there was a whole part of the world that she did not master: emotions and relationships. On those points, she seemed like a little girl, lost…. And abused. Morrigan was telling whoever wanted to hear that she didn’t need all this and yet… Even the snake can be tamed.
« Why don't you try scratching and see? »
Falon. It was strange for an elf of the wood, accustomed to wild and free animals with whom one had to compose, to have as companion an animal trained to obey the slightest order. But the unfailing fidelity of the animal went straight to her heart. And despite his disciplined side, he was not submissive. No, he was a proud animal who deserved the deepest respect. He had become a constant partner: always at her side, so protective. And so affectionate! A war machine doubled with a bubble of tenderness.
« I... uh, I guess it doesn't itch so much now. »
Kind of like.... Alistair. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more the constant comparison Morrigan made between the young man and the dog seemed relevant to her. She smiled at that thought.
What would she have become without him? Everyone seemed to think that she was the leader and he was the follower but the truth is that he had not hesitated for a single moment to embark on their mission. He had not followed her choice, he had made his own. And if she had not been there, he would have done the same, she was convinced of it (2). At no time had he considered turning his heels and fleeing his responsibilities as a Grey Warden. He simply did not want to decide the way forward: more for lack of confidence than for real cowardice., she thought. But he was there, without failing, at her side: valiant, loyal, humble, and strong at the same time. And she appreciated her luck. It was easier to be a Grey warden with someone who truly understood the nightmares, the duty, the taint. Besides, she’d never met anyone so inherently nice. Unlike all the others, he had never harmed anyone in his life and his deep motivation came from the heart: he had nothing to redeem, no accountability, no personal interest in being there. He wanted to do good around him, to be a bulwark between mankind and evil, nothing else. The world had never given him anything and he was ready to give himself for the world. A heart of gold.
In an… athletic body, which contrasted with his guilty little boy look that was... so cute. His small round ears,... his hazel eyes,... his powerful arms,... his torso whose muscles protruded through the bandage and whose curves she followed with her eyes. It must have been nice to follow them with a finger. It must have been...
“Ridiculous. No, really, we’ve reached the bottom .” Morrigan rose abruptly sighing. Pointing to a series of vials filled with greenish liquid, she took the way to her hut.
“The potions are ready. Good night.”
"Morrigan... Wait!" The elf came to her senses and caught up with the magician. "Are you leaving already?"
"Yes! Before I have to endure yet another pathetic spectacle."
The elf blushed to ears : " W...What are you talking about ?"
« I feel like I’m traveling with a five-years-old! The Grey Wardens must have been desperate to recruit such a fool… The poor little boy lost his saving fatherly figure and now he found a caring mother. ”
“Oh ? That’s… Um...You realize he never had any of them when he was a child, right?”
“Neither did I! And I don’t spend my life looking for a substitute at every street corner!”
“It wouldn’t bother you so much if it was so unimportant to you.”
Stung to the quick, the snake stood up the full size of its pride. « The only things I seek are power and knowledge. Affection is of no use to me in this quest. You are Grey Wardens. You of all people should seek independence and not be attached to anyone or anything!”
“That’s not true! I find the strength to fight in the love I feel for those I care about and want to protect.”
" Your role is not to protect those you cherish but to put an end to the Blight. At any cost, they say. You have to be willing to sacrifice everything to reach that goal. So what’s the point of getting attached?”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be… You don’t understand.”
« Maybe. I just hope the old woman doesn’t die too fast. I would hate to have to go through a second tearful mourning, the first one was enough for me.”
With these words, the magician turned on her heels. There are snakes that are harder to tame than others. And whose bite hurts more…
(1) see Chapter 3 : I BELIEVE IN YOU - https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697046/chapters/65120386 and Chapter 4 : THE DOORS OF DESTINY : https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697145/chapters/65120674#workskin
(2) and « The Darkspawn Chronicles » DLC proves it.