Heart and Home Chap. 19

Fenris woke to the sounds of full on battle. The sky above crackled with arcing lightning and the air smelled of ozone. "It's just one woman!" Someone nearby shouted. There was no reply, only a ragged sound of surprise. Hawke, the elf thought, grinning. The expression hurt his face, cheeks swollen and tight from the beating he took. His hands were firmly secured behind him, and his body . . . the elf looked down to see a dull, brown canvas sack shifting in the dirt. "Like a cat in a sack," he laughed. These Dalish had nothing on a magister when it came to keeping a captive.

The shrubbery behind Fenris exploded, dirt and bits of plant showering the elf and everything around him. A nearby caravel was on its side, and there was rubble scattered through the small clearing. The campfire he remembered before passing out was nowhere to be seen, and Dalish darted between the trees and brush, caught by surprise in the fury of Hawke's attack.

"Riese!" Fenris shouted, voice raspy. He didn't think she could hear him over the racket but he tried again anyhow. "RIESE!"

"I hear you," she called back, sounding closer than he hoped. "Gonna get you out!" Her reassurance sounded from another direction, echoing queerly. The elf had no idea where she actually was, or what her plan might be. Blowing everything up seemed like a bad end game.

He had barely begun to consider his options when a young Dalish boy lacking any vallaslin stopped beside Fenris and knelt down, using the sacked body for cover. The boy was pale and shaking, a small eating knife his only weapon. He took a moment to stare at the bound elf and then asked cautiously, "If I cut you loose, will she stop?" The boy's voice quavered, breaking at the end.

"I don't know," Fenris replied. "Hawke's not happy about being taken captive. Neither am I." Rather than lie helpless in front of a (lightly) armed Dalish, the elf ignited his tattoos, feeling them turn to fire beneath his skin. Fenris was exhausted and it took a lot out of him to push his wrists through the bindings that held him, but with his hands free, he should be able to make short work of the canvas bag the elves tied him in. At least now he wouldn't be killed like a lamb at slaughter. Though Fenris frankly doubted this shivering waif beside him had the ability to stab even a tightly bound opponent. He looked terrified more than anything else.

The Dalish boy winced at the dangerous glow, but didn't run. "She's got to. You tell her to stop, ok?" He leaned closer to Fenris, his small knife disappearing behind the sack.

Fenris expected to feel the knife in his back, but instead the boy slit the bag that held him. He looked surprised to see the rope bindings lying uselessly in the sack but made no comment as the warrior began rubbing the feeling back into his hands. It didn't take long but in just those few seconds another caravel was overturned and set aflame. The clan was lucky Riese was aiming for objects more than people. If she'd been trying to kill them, most would already be dead.

"What's your name?" Fenris asked the boy as he sat up.

"Tarun." The Dalish boy met his eyes, hands shaking but gaze steady.

"Alright, Tarun. Tell your people to pull back and I will ask Hawke - nicely - to stop destroying everything." Fenris looked around, wondering where she was right now and if she was ok. If she was hurt, these Dalish had more than a mage to worry about. His green eyes blazed out from under tousled hair and the lyrium in his skin flared at the surge of emotion.

Tarun's eyes widened. The boy jumped up, making himself a fine target as he began waving his arms over his head. "Stop, please! Stop! Everyone, just hold! Please!" It was brave and pathetic and endearing all at once. Fenris felt an odd sympathy for the boy. It took a lot of courage to stand in the middle of flying arrows and falling flame. Thankfully, the Dalish paused, poking their heads from cover, though their bows were still drawn and blades bare.

"Hawke, hold a moment. Truce!" Fenris shouted, hoping she would agree. He was never certain with her, especially when she was angry.

"I'll hold if they put down their weapons!" Riese' voice came from several directions at once, an odd, disembodied version of her usual tone.

"Never gonna happen, shem!" Someone shouted. "Get back, Tarun, and let us put the flat ear down," called another Dalish.

Tarun stepped in front of Fenris, surprising the elf. His voice shook in reply. "No! These people didn't try to hurt us until we hurt them. We don't need to kill anyone today. Please!" An arrow flew past the youth's cheek and landed in the dirt. He winced which brought a few ugly gulps of laughter from the brush. The waif stood his ground, eyes tearing up.

Fenris couldn't take it, having some barely pubescent child standing guard over him. The warrior stood up, breathing through the pain that lanced up his body at any movement. He was fairly certain there were broken ribs and cracked bones, but he could worry about it later. "No one needs to die! We can part ways and pretend this never happened." Fenris hoped to any god listening that no one had died yet. That would kind of ruin the whole idea.

Silence met his offer and then quiet whispers. It was, on the whole, better than a volley of arrows, but not as reassuring as a shouted yes. Hawke, wherever she was, held her peace.

Tarun looked at Fenris and gave a watery eyed smile, shoving a clump of dirty blonde hair back from his face. "They might still kill you," the boy said.

"I know," Fenris replied, shrugging. "They didn't seem too concerned about taking you with me."

"They wouldn't kill me," Tarun said with some confidence. "Hurt me, yes. But not kill me. The Keeper says every elven life is sacred. He says we are all needed to - to . . . anyway, they wouldn't kill me."

"No, they wouldn't," said a strong, calm voice behind them. Fenris spun to face this new threat, worried it would set off another round of hostility. The elf that stood before him was tall, with slim shoulders and dark hair, mostly hidden by a wide leather hood. His face was marked heavily by vallaslin, carried down his neck and onto his shoulder, perhaps even past that. He held a staff with a carved halla on its top, and a small dagger at his belt. The Dalish wore a serious expression, distant and sad.

"You must be this mysterious Keeper we've been waiting for," Fenris said, feeling a burst of animosity. Something about this man unsettled him. His eyes were too knowing, gaze too penetrating to be at ease in his presence.

"I am Keeper Ferevale, and yes, I suppose you were waiting on me. I apologize for my late-coming." The Keeper spoke quietly, voice pitched for just the three of them and then raised his volume. "Be at peace, hunters, and come back to tend the fire. My feet ache and my tongue is parched in want of a hot tea."

Fenris watched as the elves began to filter back to the camp at the Keeper's command, half surprised at their obedience, but still distrustful. They shouldered their bows and put away their daggers, though if looks could kill, the warrior would be a dead man. "So now what? Does this mean we can go free," he asked.

The Keeper smiled, "If that is your wish, of course. But I think we will not be so easily free of you. After all, we have done harm to you and yours. We owe you recompense for this misunderstanding." Ferevale looked around at the devastation and gave a humorless grin. "My hunters are so quick tempered. No less than you and yours, though, yes?"

Hawke sauntered into view from the cover of a nearby caravel that lay on its side. "So that's it then? You attack us for no reason, nearly kill us, and now you want to have a chat over tea?" Fenris had to smile her bitter sarcasm.

"I thought it might be better than continuing to try to kill each other," the Keeper replied. "Besides, it is my feeling that our paths have not done crossing. If I send you on your way now, we will meet again in more tragic circumstance."

"Then we talk," Fenris responded before Riese said anything else. He didn't fancy a march off into the dark, and he didn't like shadowy predictions of misfortune. If life taught him anything, it was to heed warnings like this one. If it was bullshit, then all they lost was time.

Tarun, nearly forgotten in the coming of the Keeper, was trying to sidle off out of sight as quietly as he could but Ferevale spotted his escape. "Ah, my second. I have not thanked you yet."

"I wanted to thank you too," Hawke said, giving the boy a smile. Tarun blushed, eyes going wide at the attention.

"I owe you," Fenris told the boy, with a nod to Riese. "That was mad, but I appreciate it." Tarun hadn't been needed to get him out of the bindings, but without the youth, it would have been hard to get out of the line of fire.

The Dalish boy blinked rapidly, tongue tied. "I - I -"

"There is no need for words, Tarun. Go, relax. Eat and rest. The hunters at the cause of this will do the cleaning and repair." Keeper Ferevale smiled at him and motioned the boy away. The youth needed no further encouragement and slipped out of sight as fast as he could.

The Keeper led them to a small campfire beyond the circled caravels, isolated and nearer to the ruins than the Dalish encampment. There was a bedroll and a pot hung over the fire, boiling merrily away. Fenris wondered if this sat undisturbed during the fight, or if the Dalish had scrambled to prepare it while Ferevale talked to them. Either way, it was a welcome sight. The warrior limped toward it, Riese offering her support as they walked.

Once all three were seated, clay mugs of hot dark tea in hand, the Keeper spoke. "I understand your anger with my clan, and I will not try to stop you if you choose to walk away from us. I would only act if you decide to take payment in blood. In your place, I would have little trust."

"That's an understatement," Fenris murmured, feeling Hawke squeeze his hand in agreement.

Ferevale gave a grim smile, "Be that as it may, still I would ask you to stop awhile and speak with me. I believe the gods placed you on our path, and I would not spurn their gift."

Riese hunched over her mug, silent but thoughtful.

"So what is it you want," Fenris asked, rough voiced. He hurt and it left his temper short, his manner blunt.

"I know who you are. Both of you. Riese Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and Fenris of Tevinter. I know of your actions, triumphs and atrocities." The Keeper gave them a heavy look, full of barely hidden loathing and open grief.

"If that is so, then why treat with us?" Hawke asked, tone guarded.

Ferevale turned his head, staring into the darkness as he answered. "I need someone to go to Orlais with us. Someone who can move in human circles, someone who can ask questions."

"And you think that's us?" Fenris asked, eyes flashing with anger.

"We are wanted criminals," Riese answered almost on top the warrior's reply.

"I know it is you," the Keeper replied, voice even. "The spirits promised me if I followed the paths to Jader, I would find the one I needed for this task. And when I spoke to them again this day, they told me the same. Only hours later, I find you."

"We are not going anywhere with you," Fenris growled. "We have our own tasks."

Ferevale gave a flat, smug grin. "I expected your protest. Nevertheless, I believe you will go."

Fenris stood, ready to walk away but Riese motioned for him to sit. "Why do you think we will do anything you ask? I am going to Jader to see a - a friend. And then home." She looked to Fenris as she said this, giving him a slight, soft smile. It made the elf warm inside to see it, waking memories even on this dark night of happier days.

The Keeper shrugged. "Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe you are not who I seek. I would ask that you hear me out. If you cannot help, we have lost only time. If you are . . ." He spread his hands, fingers long and spider-like in the crackling firelight. Fenris wanted to say no, to throw the tea in his face and walk away. But Hawke nodded, still sitting.

"Our clan has traveled the dales and wilds for centuries, unmolested. We do not hate humans but we make a point to avoid them." Ferevale held up a hand as if he expected disagreement, but the two travelers held their peace and the Keeper continued. "This year on our way through the Dales, we passed closer to Lydes than usual. It was a cautious trespass, of necessity rather than desire. We were following game, scarce in winter and for some reason, more so this year than last." He paused, sadness aging him a decade in a moment.

"We made camp near a small creek, frozen over in the cold, and the hunters went out. The youths and elders were left to watch the youngest children, and to go about the usual camp chores. We live a hard life and none are spared work." The Keeper took a breath almost as if he was afraid to go on.

Riese motioned that she understood, impatience in her gesture. Fenris felt much the same, wishing they could be done already.

"I was with the hunters and my first. We go sometimes to help track the game when they leave no physical sign. When we returned to camp, all was silent. Every man, woman, and child left behind was gone. All that remained was a fading campfire and churned, bloody snow. Fearful and angry, we followed. It was only a few hours later that we found the first body. Ilinael. She was old and half blind. Her body . . ." Ferevale stopped and rubbed a hand across his eyes, breath trembling.

"You don't have to tell us the gory details," Fenris said quietly.

"But I do," the Keeper replied. "You must understand." Ferevale steadied himself, though his eyes still held a damp glimmer. "They did not just leave her behind. She was raped and beaten to death, her head smashed in until there was nothing left but bone and hair. If not for her clothes and the vallaslin upon her body, we would not have known who it was."

Despite his intent to dismiss these elves and their need, Fenris felt a stir of anger. For this moment, he shared Ferevale's sadness and rage and he knew then, he could not deny this request. He looked to Hawke, but she was watching the Keeper intently.

"A few miles on, we found another body. This, a child. Barely old enough to be done nursing. His name was Nyras. We found his body without the head, bruised and deformed by the beating he endured. The head was further on, set atop a rock, lips stretched to a grin facing the trail.  It was only a half hour after that we found another of the elders-" Ferevale's quiet, trembling speech was interrupted as Riese stood.

"Please. No more. I don't need to know what else - what else was done." The words choked from her and she looked ill. Fenris couldn't blame her. The descriptions chimed in his ears, wakening the memories of torments suffered in his long years of slavery. The horrible things he had done at a magister's order. The horrors he had born witness to.

Ferevale gave her a grim smile. "Twenty three dead before we reached the walls of a small fort, home to a chevalier and his men. They stood atop the walls and pissed on us when we asked for the return of our people. My hunters feathered the ones foolish enough to expose themselves. But the others . . . they kept behind their walls. They kept behind them and toyed with our children, torturing them. When we assailed the iron door of the fort, they flung bits of their bodies at us. An arm, a leg . . . ringing from their captives screams to rend a father's heart. I would know, for my two children were with those taken."

"What did you do?" Fenris asked, barely able to force the words past a lump in his throat.

"What could we do? We begged them to stop, asked what they wanted from us. They only laughed and said to send our women. That for each one we gave, they would return a living child." The Keeper shook his head, "Most of the women in our clan volunteered. We sent them in. We sent them to their hell." At this, Ferevale's voice broke and he could not finish his tale.

"We will help you," Fenris told him, his eyes a burning jade. "I will kill every one of those bastards."

Ferevale looked up at him and nodded. They understood each other. No more need be said.

---

Tensions ran high the first few days with the clan. Stiff backs and flashing eyes at every turn, deprecating sniffs and comments flying back and forth as soon as a back was turned. It had Hawke on edge. You'd think offering to help the Dalish recover their lost family and friends would be worth at least a kind word, but the hunters barely tolerated the two travelers.

It didn't help that Riese felt conflicted and confused. If there were women and children still held by the men of the fort, their rescue couldn't come soon enough. But if Justice had been honest with her in the Fade, thousands of lives depended on her stopping Anders - the demon really - and this Orson. She felt torn between duties, and more than once wanted to just walk away from these surly elves. Traveling alone would be more peaceful, and she could focus on her priorities instead of worrying about the fates of a hundred elves she didn't know.

Hawke felt bound to stay for now though. The clan was headed generally toward Jader and the caravels made better time that she had expected. They covered twice the distance Hawke and Fenris could have in a day, even when a wheel broke or got mired in the soft mud of the forest floor. It wasn't so much the speed of the halla but the woodcraft of the Dalish. They knew what paths to take and how to avoid the roving bandits. Besides, she hadn't found a chance to talk to Fenris about it yet. He seemed focused on rescuing the captured elves without any thought of their original purpose in leaving the farm. Riese hadn't breathed a word of what she learned from Justice either, unsure how the elf would react. It might only secure his decision to chase after the Dalish. She hoped to convince him they could first meet with Sebastian and then head west to this fort on their way to Anders. It was important, but surely not so important as the lives they would save in dealing with the angry prince.

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made to her. Perhaps even Sebastian could be swayed to their cause and bring troops against these chevaliers. It would be a lot more effective than just the help she and Fenris could provide. Hawke wanted to talk the warrior around to her point of view, but each night he sat with Tarun, the Keeper, and the First in conversation. They didn't speak of the divide between city elves and the Dalish, but dwelt instead on plans to attack the fort. Hunters would come and sit with them sometimes, giving their opinion. Riese wanted to join in, but her heart wasn't in it. Besides, all their planning would look foolish when Sebastian came in with his knights and archers - which he surely would. The prince was many things, and not all of them good, but he had a soft heart for suffering. So the mage's mind instead fled to the mystery of Orson and the magics that bound her one time friend. She held long silences, contemplating how to free Anders from the demon and what to do when and if they succeeded.

If Fenris was aware of her thoughts, he gave no voice to it. Each morning he kissed her sweetly and went out to hunt and scout. She saw him through the day, a glimpse of white hair or dusky skin as he looked in on her. If she caught his eye, he would smile. Ferevale didn't seem interested in speaking with her as they walked, spending time teaching his First. The First was a short elf, even compared to the other Dalish. He stayed hooded and in heavy robes, which seemed to swallow him up, leaving just his shifting hazel eyes in a sun-browned face to peek from the rough fabric. Hawke had learned his name was Parven and that his wife was one of those that went into the fort. He seemed a decent enough, if unusually quiet and reserved. Nonetheless, Riese was wary around him. He held a tempest within, a barely controlled fury that filled the air, suffocating and deadly. Riese watched their lessons sometimes, noting how Parven used his anger to fuel his spells with Ferevale gently chiding him.

The only friendly face was Tarun, who often took his meals with Fenris and Hawke. He was reticent about his clan and said spoke little about the other elves they journeyed with,but he did turn out to be a fount of knowledge about the forest they traveled through. For every ruin they passed he had a story or two, and seemed to know the history of the region inside and out. He also had a broad knowledge of plant and animal lore, and was happy to share tidbits along the path.

Hawke walked with him most days, listening to his trivia and helping with his chores. Today, she and Tarun followed along behind the caravels in the forest edge, picking mushrooms and berries. It was a lot of stooping and squatting, combing through musty, damp leaves. Riese was absorbed in the task, the spicy smell of rot and wet earth filling her nose as her keen eyes picked out the tiny white knobby tops of the tasty mushrooms the Dalish called bone-cap. Her hands were filthy, her legs muddied up to the knee. 

"We usually sent the children for this," Tarun commented. "It's good training for them, finding food, learning to be alert. What plants to eat, what to avoid . . ." He smiled at her and shrugged. "I usually took them out like this. For mushrooms, berries, roots, whatever we thought we could find to add to the pot."

"Is that why you know so much about the forest? All that practice?" Hawke pushed a bit of hair out of her face, smearing dirt across her forehead. 

"No. That's because I am odd. I remember things better than most. The Keeper took me as a second for that skill. He sings me a tale once and it is in my mind, the words and meaning and cadence. I was chosen to take the children out because I am young and because I knew enough to teach them basics." The youth picked a brown, wrinkled fungus from the base of the tree they squatted near and tucked it into his pouch.

"Makes sense," Riese nodded, unwilling to prod further. This was the most he had said about the clan and his role, much less the missing children, since she had met him. He didn't speak for a time as they moved on, only pointing occasionally when the mage missed a mushroom. She thought the moment lost and turned her attention back to their task, still picturing Tarun guiding a gaggle of laughing children through the shadowy forest, teaching. It fit him, she thought.

"I was with them the day they were taken. Or I was supposed to be," the youth said some time later. It took Hawke a moment to put the words in context. She sat back on her heels, putting her latest find in the sack.

"You were there when the chevaliers came?"

"No. I should have been, but I was not." Tarun frowned, wiping his dirt stained hands on dirtier leather trousers. "I am usually left behind on hunts. I have no - no taste for it. And less ability. So I am left behind to mind the children and elders. Nothing ever happens . . . I make tea, settle fights between the little ones . . ." He sighed, mouth twisting with the bitter taste of guilt. "A few times in these last months, I have left them to themselves. I go out to find things. Useful things!" The youth looked at her, self loathing and hope at war on his tender features.

Hawke patted his knee awkwardly, "I am sure you had the right intentions."

Tarun nodded jerkily, face going red. "Perhaps. That is what the Keeper says. But in my heart I know it was only my selfish desire to be more than I am." He waved his hands as if fanning away a fog. "It doesn't matter what I was thinking. That day I went to a ruin, barely a few stones peeking through the snow, but I hoped as old as it was to find something of our people. Something to bring back and be proud of. It was probably mid-day when I heard shouting from the camp. I went still when I heard it and listened, but I swear to you, it sounded only like the usual camp noise. Elders calling out to the children to behave, children shouting and playing." 

"You didn't know," Riese interjected. 

He motioned her to silence. "I ignored it and hunted for hours through the rocks, but there were only bits of shattered pottery and weathered stone. A waste of time.  But it wouldn't have mattered if I did find something. When I came back, there was no one at camp. It was so silent . . . empty tents, campfires untended. The halla were scattered, the caravels still as graves. And there was blood. So much that it soaked through the snow and into the ground beneath. I called and called, but no one came."

Hawke was still, waiting for him to go on. Her heart went out to him, understanding his guilt and sorrow, that inescapable sense that you should have done more.

"I thought perhaps the whole clan slaughtered, so I gave up and simply followed the trail torn into the snow. I didn't think of vengeance, I just didn't know what else to do. I thought to find what was left of my clan or death. And I didn't care which it was." Tarun's body trembled as he spoke, as if just in telling the story he relived the loneliness and cold of that day. "I ran until my lungs rasped with cold and my legs shook, and then I walked. When I came to the fort, I thought to throw myself at the gates and demand they kill me. I should have."

"No," Riese shook her head firmly. "As long as you live, there is hope. Death is just an easy way out when guilt eats at your heart."

The Dalish looked at her curiously, an odd light in his eyes. "Do you think so? I think I am a coward. Instead of running to the gate, I hid in the forest edge, frozen with fear and cold. I sat there, listening to my friends, my family, scream in pain and terror. I heard the laughter of coarse men and I could do nothing but cry." Tarun rubbed a hand over his eyes, the dirt smudges trailing down his face. "When the hunters of my clan came up the path, I thought I was hallucinating. That death was upon me from the chill snow. But the Keeper found me - almost seemed to know where I was without searching - and he carried me from the forest edge to the clan."

"What did he say?" 

"He wanted to know what happened to our people. Who these humans were that stole them from us and what did they want. I had to confess I knew nothing. That I abandoned our people to go exploring." Tarun took a deep, steadying breath, his voice thick with emotion when he spoke again. "I told them I only followed the trail as they had. That I had not defended the children or our eldest, that I had not run to find aid. I abandoned our people and in my panic did nothing to help. But the Keeper . . . he was not angry. He only looked sad. Some of the hunters wanted to beat me or to put me out then and there, but Ferevale said no. That he would stand with me and that he shared my blame. It quieted the demands for justice, but not the hate in my clan-mates eyes when they look to me."

Hawke did not know what to say. It was a lot for such a young heart to bear and she wished she had words to heal him, but only empty condolences came to mind. The youth seemed to sense this and nodded as if in response to her silence.

"Ferevale said our duty was to those taken, that we must get them back. He has always taught that every elven life is a sacred thing, that we are the last of a dying race and that we must conserve our blood. That is also why we did not dash ourselves against the walls of that fort, though many a hunter wished to." Tarun closed his eyes as he continued, lids flickering with remembered images of the horror he survived. "You know, of course, that they demanded our women. Ferevale did not want to make the trade. We all knew what those that went would be put through, but they would live, at least. Only those that volunteered were led to the fort, but that was nearly every woman of the clan. None could stomach the idea that her life was bought by the death of a child . . ."

"No decent person could," Riese said softly.

"Just so," Tarun agreed, "though Ferevale would not let the pregnant ones be sacrificed, and one woman did not volunteer.  Perhaps she was the smartest, she said they would not deal with us in good faith. I do not think she enjoyed being right."

"So the Keeper just sent the women in with no way to be sure the chevaliers would honor the agreement?" Hawke could not help the disbelief that crept into her voice.

"He was not that foolish," the youth replied quietly. "We demanded that they meet us outside the gate with the children and those elders that were left. And the women we brought were no gentle flowers - they are hunters as much as the men, and went armed to this meeting. We ringed one side of the meeting place with bows drawn, and the First stood among them, ready to bring down the wrath of gods if they played us false. The chevaliers opened the gate and marched the children out at sword point. They were beaten and bloody, most of them. Some were - were -" Tarun stopped, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "They had been brutalized. I never saw such blank faces. Empty, as if the soul fled the body. Clothes torn and -" he shook his head, changing the subject before it overwhelmed him. "Of the elders, there was no sign."

Riese nodded understanding, lips pressed into a tight snarl. Men such as those were animals that needed to be put down. Still, she said nothing, willing Tarun to go on.

"Many of the clan cried in anger and sorrow at the sight of their children so mistreated, and it was only their faith in Ferevale's word that stayed their arrows. The women were told to strip before the chevaliers would release their captives. They did, though there was much cursing. And when the last was down to her skin, the men let the children race across the snow to the waiting arms of their families. The women exchanged tearful hugs with them as they limped across the icy ground to the waiting humans." Tarun swallowed. "If you could have seen the looks those chevaliers gave them - like wolves eyeing the sheep. But they walked bravely into it. I do not know that I could ever do that willingly. Knowing what I would face."

"I am not sure I could either," Hawke agreed, feeling sick to herself at what these people went through.

Tarun's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Our sorrows did not end there though. When the women reached them, the men grabbed them about the waist or by the hair and held them aloft as shields and the row of chevaliers behind them began to feather us with arrows. The walls lofted rocks and flaming offal at us as the chevlaiers retreated, leaving the ground littered with our dead. We could not fire back without hitting our own, and yet many hunters did. The women fought tooth and nail against the men that held them, biting and kicking, but barehands against armored men . . . it was futile." He sighed, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Parven rained fire and ice down on them, though his own wife was held tight in front of him. I do not know if she lived. Better, I think, to believe she died at his hand than lived. It was chaos. There was screaming and crying. I tried to put myself between the children and the chevaliers, but I saved no one. I watched a girl I have known since she was born die with an arrow in her neck. I saw the man that taught me to carve wood gasp his last breath as he wrenched a shaft from his ribs."

"What did Ferevale do?"

"What could he do? He saved as many of us as he could. He used the winds to push away the rain of arrows and fled with those that could still run, away from the walls of the fort and the treachery of men." Tarun's voice fell to a whisper. "None of the children lived. There were a few that made it, carried by swift hunters, but the arrows were smeared with offal or poison. All the wounded died of fevers in the days following. It was horrible. I could do nothing but bring them tinctures to ease their pain and water for their thirst. So much death, so much sadness. Some blamed Ferevale, and there was much arguing. It was as if the loss drove a wedge between the living. Everyone wanted someone to blame, someone to hate. Many wanted to attack the fort right then. Die seeking vengeance. It would be cleaner."

Hawke shooke her head, "It would save no one. You would just force the women they have held to suffer the death of their family. They would lose their last hope."

Tarun nodded once, "Yes, much what the Keeper said. A waste of our lives. After much debate, he and Parven went to consult the spirits. The rest you know." He opened his eyes, and in them Riese saw that despite his young face, he was ancient in sorrow. "Ferevale says that you will help us, though I do not understand how. So tell me Hawke. If you agreed to help us, why is it that I see other paths in your eyes?"

The weight of his pain settled on Hawke's shoulders. She felt it like a physical burden, pressing the air from her lungs and the joy from her spirit. "I don't know, Tarun. I did swear to help, and I will but - there are other, older obligations I must meet. And lives rest on that as much as on this."

The youth gave her a grim smile, "So you will leave as I thought. And Fenris? He shares these burdens with you?"

Riese said nothing, his word stirring up a fear she had not let creep into her thoughts. What if her love wanted to stay and finish this with the Dalish, no matter how persuasive her pleas?

"As I thought. Ferevale bid me tell you, we will not stop you leaving. He says no matter what path you choose at this crossroad, it will be the wrong one. I hoped to sway you to stay. At least think on it. For your mate as much as for us."

Dazed, Hawke could only nod. Tarun left her to her thoughts then, and it was many long hours before the mage found her voice again, though melancholy dogged her even then. When Fenris returned to camp and swept her into an embrace, Riese hugged him fiercely. Her dark thoughts only made him more precious, and though the warrior noted her demeanor, he said nothing about it.