Chapter Text
The rain should have been refreshing. Had been, actually, when it had first come, breaking the heat of the late afternoon and dissipating some of the moisture that had pressed in on him like a mother’s smothering hug. But his relief in it had faded as the downpour had worn on, soaking his clothes down to his skin. The heavy cloth beneath his armor chafed against his skin, and not for the first time Davrin worried that the scent of blood would draw out natural predators or, worse, the unnatural sort.
He’d be ready for them, if they came. He just would prefer they didn’t. The cold as the sunlight vanished, taking its heat with it, was seeping into his bones. Just wearing his armor, sword, and shield felt like it was weighing him down in the muck. Hunger curled in his gut like a serpent waiting to strike him down; when had he last eaten more than a meager forage? A full day? Two?
Regardless, he didn’t exactly trust his arms to hold firm if he came across something that went bump in the night and running didn’t seem like a great option either.
He trudged on, though. Miserable, maybe, but persistent.
He could do this. He had to.
It wasn’t as though there was another option. Davrin could still see the disapproval on his father’s face, the disappointment in the Keeper’s eyes, when he went to bed each night. Going back would be bad enough, but going back because he’d failed?
Not a chance. He’d said he could do this, and he’d see it through or die trying.
A broad stretch of wet dirt lie ahead of him; it could only be a road. A road meant he was near enough to a town that a pathway for wagons or horses was needed. It also, though, meant bandits to prey on passersby. Not something he would normally worry about too much — it wouldn’t be his first encounter with highway criminals, and he’d made it through each one without more than a scratch or three — but he hadn’t been this worn down before either.
The road would be muddy. Soft, and harder to keep his footing on, draining energy that was in short supply as it was. It was dark. Harder to see. Raining. A visual problem and auditory one both. That would cut both ways, though; it would be harder for any bandits to get eyes or ears on him, too.
His stomach twisted and grumbled. A town might have some odd jobs that needed doing. Real meals on offer too, if he was lucky.
Davrin stepped onto the path.
A broad road means a town is near, Davrin mocked himself. Sure. That was often true.
Sometimes, though, a broad road meant that you’d come upon the Imperial Highway, and you could be a half-day’s journey from civilization or be facing two full days without the protective benefits the woods could offer.
In true Tevinter fashion, insofar as Davrin could guess at it based on stories and warnings from his clan’s elders, the Imperial Legions had excised anything wild from the vicinity of their precious “civilization.” Trees and tall grasses were cleared back enough from the path to be useless – space for their troops to have built temporary camps and rest, probably, given how long he’d been walking – protection from the elements and nearby forage was a thing of the past.
The skin of his neck felt like it was turning to leather in the heat and direct light; he’d be feeling that in the morning, and he could hear his mother chastising him for running out of the protective salve she’d made.
It was one of the few things she’d sent with him, when Davrin had decided to leave.
“To be your age and think I know everything again,” the memory of his father’s voice resonated in his skull, highlighting the headache that had been gathering in his brow. “You do not know the world the way you think you do, Davrin. You cannot see that, because you’ve chosen not to see. In reality, you know only the paths you’ve walked with our people; if you leave them, you will be lost.”
I’m not lost. I’m on the Imperial Highway. Know exactly where I am, he argued back, as though his old man could hear him.
It blunted the sharp edges of doubt, but it didn’t remove them. Nerves curled, cold and heavy, in his gut.
If he was lost, he’d figure it out. Years of exploring further and further out from his clan’s usual camps, sometimes disappearing for days at a time, had taught him well. He could track almost anything, and he could make do with only what nature provided, if he had to, for long enough to address the situation. Probably. He’d been one of the best young hunters in the clan.
He could make it. If he got lucky.
And sure, the Imperial Highway didn’t have most of those resources available; the Tevinter impulse to try and control nature and bend it to their will rather than work with it meant the foliage was thin, the fauna so long since depleted that the animals didn’t dare come within a few miles of the place. That didn’t matter, though.
He’d make it work. He’d make anything work if it meant avoiding failure; a man could do a lot powered by a refusal to lose.
A quiet creaking sound reached his ears, and Davrin spun to try and gauge the source of it. It sounded like old metal; a wagon, possibly. It could be a good sign, as proof that he was nearing the possibilities presented by a town. Or it could be that Tevinter slavers were hauling people they called property, and his pointed ears and Elvish accented Trade were going to be an invitation to a party he had no desire to go to.
Over a hillcrest a half-mile back he saw a wagon. No glint of metal on cage bars, no people crammed in tighter than wares set for market, no grind or chimes accompanying the groans of the axels that indicated the driver or the other man accompanying it were in mail or plate.
For the first time in days his father’s voice receded in his head, the anxious knot in his stomach began to loosen. Davrin paused in the middle of the road and waited.
“Can you drive the horses any slower?” He heard a young man’s voice complain as they drew nearer. “I’d like to reach Minrathous before I’m too old to walk.”
“Didn’t know you were in such a hurry to greet your master,” the driver returned dryly.
A snort of derision was the only answer.
The wagon driver, and the young man accompanying him on the ground, had pointed ears. Other elves. Their Trade was unaccented, their hair cut in styles common to the Tevinters his clan had traded with on occasion, their faces bare. Slaves; the younger one for certain. So perhaps not really Tevinter. But they weren’t Dalish, either.
He could tell the moment they caught sight of him. Their postures became tense. Hands reached to rest on the hilts of swords and daggers.
It wasn’t common for bands of Dalish elves to raid the roads, but it wasn’t unheard of, either. An uneasy silence blanked the scene for a moment long enough that Davrin could hear his heart beating.
“What’s this?” The driver finally called out.
Davrin raised his hands enough to show he didn’t hold a weapon; and if he could unsheath his sword faster than they could, even at his current disadvantage, that would remain his secret.
“Just a traveler,” he assured them. “Looking for an inn. Know any good ones?”
“That’ll let you in?” The young man asked. “No. But there’s a town just up a head with an inn that’ll give you a bed, at least. If you have the coin.”
He didn’t have the coin, Davrin knew, but maybe the innkeeper would be willing to barter. Or wouldn’t notice if he slipped in. It wasn’t ideal, but even a cheap bed would feel luxurious after the past few days.
“Is that where you’re headed?” He asked, and the driver shook his head but then nodded.
“Only for the night. We have to keep on to Minrathous. We have deliveries to make.” He gestured at the wagon, where sacks of something sat.
If they had anything of any value, they were probably even warier of the dangers on the Highway than Davrin was. Though they weren’t as stonelike as when they’d first seen him, there was still a tension in their posture. The hands on their hilts looked uncertain, their movements – even one’s clearly intended to be casual – seemed nervous and forced. These weren’t warriors.
“Mind if I come along to the next town?” Davrin asked. He watched as four sets of eyes darted between one another, uncertain. He’d been friendly so far, but they didn’t really trust him. He guessed he couldn’t blame them; he was a stranger on the road with a sword, shield, and armor. “I can help protect your shipment,” he offered in trade. “If you’d like me to, of course.”
The driver held up a hand to stop the man down below from saying anything.
“That sword you wear, are you any good with it?” He asked.
Davrin couldn’t help a confident grin in response. “Been traveling on my own for days, and I’m in one piece.”
He could feel the driver’s eyes roaming over him, taking in the Elven armor he wore, road dust washing out the colors of the leather, the worn creases of his boots.
“Alright,” he finally agreed. “Come on then.”
With a flick of his wrists the horses restarted their careful pace.
After stopping and restarting, Davrin knew his legs should’ve hurt more, but rather than the pause in motion making his muscles burn they now felt alive with energy. “So, what can you tell me about this town?”