No time to consider it further: the fat innkeeper was still outraged at the memory of elves soiling the public highway with their presence.
"Had the gall to want to trade with me! Told them could talk to the dwarf peddler on this stretch of road. Good enough for them, I reckon."
Cauthrien cut in, bored with his natterings. "Did they say where they were going?"
The innkeeper made a face. "Wanted to know how far to the nearest port. Looking for a ship. They turned up the Highever Road. Good riddance, I'd say."
Turning her back on the fool, Cauthrien consulted her map. "All right. They were going to Highever. If we move, we can likely catch them up. It would take them a bit of time to find a ship to carry them."
* * *
Hawke had never been to Highever. If it was like this all the time, he would not be back any time soon.
Of course, it was a city occupied by conquerors. Word was that the ruling family—the Couslands—had been murdered in the night by the Arl of Amaranthine and his men. Everyone in the castle had been slaughtered. Amaranthine emblems were everywhere, and swaggering soldiers lorded it over the frightened, hostile populace. They took what they liked from shopkeepers at the market, daring them to say anything about it.
"What's the Teyrn going to do about this?" Hawke asked Cauthrien.
"I don't know that he's going to do anything about it," she shrugged. "It's an internal matter. If Arl Howe proves useful, it's possible he'll get to keep the teyrnir. He says that the Couslands were traitors."
"All of them, eh?" Hawke asked cynically. "Wives, children, servants, and all? It's convenient there are none left to contradict him."
"That is none of my concern," she said, "and even less that of a Grey Warden. I shall introduce myself to the commander of the garrison. Come along. I imagine he'll put us up in the barracks, or in the castle itself."
Alistair muttered, "I hoped they cleaned the blood from the beds."
He gave Hawke a look. Carver's death had brought them together. Nor was Oghren impressed by his first visit to a surface city.
"Seen better days," he grunted. "Heh, seen better ages, from the look of it!"
The commander was expansively welcoming to the distinguished Ser Cauthrien and the Grey Wardens.
"If there are Dalish in the city, we'll rout 'em out for you," he promised.
"They're not to be harmed," Hawke felt compelled to say. "We simply need to speak to their leader."
The gleam in the commander's eye did not indicate he had comprehended the words "not to be harmed."
"We'll have the lot of 'em here quick smart, don't you worry, Warden!"
"Just a minute," Hawke said to the man. "Ser Cauthrien? A word, if you please."
She was annoyed, but allowed him to take her aside. Hawke saw no point in beating about the bush. With a tight smile, he lowered his voice.
"It may be just me, but sending a squad of soldiers to arrest the Dalish really doesn't seem very diplomatic, somehow."
"They are not being arrested," Cauthrien snapped. "They are being summoned."
"You've been part of the 'summoning' class too long, if you don't understand how common folk would see it. Been too long around Teyrn Loghain and the rest of those high-and mighty nobles, snapping their fingers whenever they want something. Being 'summoned' under guard generally means something very unpleasant is about to happen."
Of course, the first thing she did was defend Loghain.
"Teyrn Loghain was born a commoner! He knows the people! I was a farmer's daughter myself—"
"A long time ago," he countered. "And what would you and your family have thought, back when you were thirteen or fourteen, had the local lord sent some of his louts to 'summon' you?"
She took an angry breath, and then was silent. Hawke did not back down.
"At the worst, they may even put up a fight. Killing the Dalish is not the mission, as I understand it."
"What do you propose, instead?"
"Alistair and I will go to the docks ourselves. If anyone's been asking about a ship, that would be the logical place to start. Maybe we'll take Alyson with us. She's less abrasive than Morrigan."
She looked at him, inscrutable. Hawke could not know that this sounded quite a bit like an escape attempt to her.
"No," she said. "No. I'll go with you, and two of my men. Alistair stays here with the rest. We'll let them get some rest, while we go looking."
She gave the impatient commander a conciliatory smile and spoke to him.
"We decided that it's best to find the Dalish ourselves. If any of your men have heard of Dalish in the city, pass the word on to me, and Warden Liam and I will seek them out. In the meantime, if you could see your way clear to assigning us a place to stay..."
They were given very good quarters in the castle. The beds had clean straw, though scorchmarks and the dark brown spatters on the stone walls and floors told of a bitter struggle.
By the time they had washed the dust of travel from their faces, they were sent word that Dalish had indeed been seen in Highever, and were known to be camping outside the city walls.
* * *
The Dalish, unsurprisingly, did not particularly want to talk to them. The tattooed archers at the edge of the camp were unwelcoming.
"We wish to speak to your...Keeper," Cauthrien said, pleased with herself at remembering the proper term.
"Our Keeper does not want to speak to shemlen," an elf shot back. "Be off with you!"
Hawke had never heard an elf speak in such a way. It was rather startling. Not just the odd accent, but the air of independence. He decided to take charge of the conversation, because Cauthrien was close to losing her temper.
"I'm a Grey Warden, and I've come to discuss the Blight with your Keeper. There is a treaty between Wardens and the Dalish."
He was rewarded with a long, suspicious stare, and then the two elves exchanged a few quiet words. One of them turned away and headed into the camp.
"The Keeper will decide," said the remaining elf. "Wait here, and keep your hands from your weapons. Our arrows will find you, if you betray us."
A very tense few minutes followed. A length, an old woman approached, and from the deferential way the elves treated her, it was clear that this was the mysterious "Keeper." At her side was a very pretty young elf girl, dark-haired and delicate.
"Andaran atish'an, Grey Warden," said the old woman. "I am Keeper Marethari. I do not know you. I had expected to see Duncan some months ago, but word came by wind and rain that he was no more."
"Greetings, Keeper," said Hawke, hoping that Cauthrien would let him talk for a bit without interrupting. "I am Warden Liam Hawke. It's true. Duncan was killed at Ostagar. Before he died, he directed me to find and use the ancient treaties with the Grey Warden allies. One of them is with the Dalish. We have come to talk with you about how best the elves can discharge their obligation."
Hawke had thought he was being pretty diplomatic, by avoiding words like "compel" or "enforce." Apparently, he was not nearly diplomatic enough. The gathering crowd of elves growled and muttered.
The young girl next to the Keeper spoke up pertly. "And I hope we'll get proper thanks for it!"
"Hush, da'len," said the old woman. "They are our guests. Will you join us at our fire, Grey Wardens?"
Cauthrien did not trouble herself to disabuse the Keeper. She turned to her two soldiers, and said quietly, "Wait here. If anything happens, get back to the others."
Hawke glared at her, but the two of them walked past the gauntlet of unsmiling, unfriendly elves to a large campfire, with logs scattered around it for seating. Not too far away, the light elven wagons were arranged, and there was a paddock for the strange white deer the elves used as beasts of burden. It was all very interesting and exotic; all very like a fairytale of the darker sort, where there was danger on every side.
Thinking it polite to wait until the Keeper had seated herself, H
awke did not sit until the elderly woman had made herself comfortable. Apparently, that was the proper thing to do. Gingerly, he sat, exchanging a wary look with Cauthrien, and waited for the old woman to speak.
"Duncan was my friend for many years. I had a personal reason for hoping he would come, as a young hunter of the clan was infected with Taint. Last month, she died, after great suffering."
"I am very sorry for your loss, Keeper," Hawke said, his feAstridgs raw at the memory of Carver. "It is a terrible thing."
"Afterwards, it seemed to us best to leave Ferelden, and avoid the coming Blight."
"Then you do believe that this a Blight?" asked Cauthrien.
"I know it is, young warrior. The signs are there for those with eyes to see."
"Do you wish to look at the treaty, Keeper?" Hawke asked. "I do not ask you to take my word, since I am unknown to you."
"You are courteous," smiled Marethari.
"—for a shemlen," sniped a voice in the crowd.
"I do not doubt your word, Grey Warden," said Marethari, speaking clearly. "However, I would like to see such an ancient writing; one so full of history. Merrill, come close, you must learn to recognize such lore as well."
Apparently the pretty young elf's name was not "Dahlen," as Hawke had assumed, but "Merrill."
"Merrill is my First," explained Marethari, "or as you shemlen would say, my apprentice. She is learning the ways of a Keeper."
Hawke carefully drew out the parchment, making certain that nothing he did resembled drawing a weapon, and unfolded it carefully. In places it was worn thin, and the corners were crumbling. The seals, however, were still bright with gold leaf and vermilion dye. The two elven women studied it with delight.
"It is in the olden tongue," Marethari murmured. "Look there... and there... You can see how the words have altered over time."
"It is fascinating," agreed Merrill. "However..."
She cocked her head like a bright little bird, and spoke thoughtfully, in a very sweet voice. "However... though the point may be academic now, I would like to point out that this treaty was made between the Grey Wardens and the Lords of the Dales."
"Er...yes?" Hawke said, not quite following.
"Well," continued the sweet voice, "there aren't any Lords of the Dales anymore. They were all killed off ages ago when your Chantry attacked the Dales and gave them to Astrid, and drove part of the elvhen into wandering exile, and the rest into your so-called Alienages."
Another growl from the gathered Dalish, this time of agreement.
Cauthrien bridled a bit. "That is a trick of words. You are the Dalish. This treaty is with your people!"
"And we will honor it," said Marethari sadly, "thought I see no possible benefit to my people—and death in battle for many of them."
"The benefit," said Cauthrien, "is that Ferelden will be made safe from the darkspawn!"
"Tell me, young warrior," said Marethari, very gently, silencing the indignant Merrill with a single gesture, "what is Ferelden to an elf? Is it our country? I think not. If you doubt me, ask your nobles if they consider elves to be citizens of Ferelden. Are we protected by its laws? Are we not regarded as the lowest of the low? Do we have any rights whatsoever to defend? If we fight bravely, will our deeds be honored?"
Cauthrien was almost angry to speak. Hawke wished she were anywhere else.
She ground out,"Teyrn Loghain, the Regent of Ferelden, honors and respects those who have served him loyally."
"Ah, Teyrn Loghain..." Marethari was unimpressed. "After the Orlesians were driven out, some city elves came to us who had served in the Night Elves. Have you heard of them?"
"Of course!" Cauthrien replied. "The Teyrn led them! They were among the most feared of the rebel army!"
Hawke knew that, too, of course. Marethari only smiled.
"And then, after the fighting was over, and the King was crowned. What then? Yes, yes, Loghain Mac Tir was made a teyrn and rose to power, but what became of the elves? Have you seen any of Loghain Mac Tir's loyal old elven comrades about him lately?"
Hawke sighed. Cauthrien gritted her teeth, waiting for the inevitable.
"No," said Marethari. "You have not. They received no rewards whatever for their services; no compensation for lives or limbs lost. They went home, and absolutely nothing changed for them. To this day it is a crime for a city elf to be caught bearing a weapon. One of the elves who came to our clan left the Alienage after his only child, a daughter, was seduced and corrupted into whoredom by a powerful shemlen. The shemlen was, by the way, not an Orlesian. The other left when his family was massacred in a purge egged on by priests of your Chantry. The elves thought things would be different, but they were not. In the end, the dead died for nothing."
Hawke put his hand on Cauthrien's arm, trying to keep her from leaping to her feet.
"It's their camp," he hissed. "Let them have their say."
Marethari gave him a brief, cool smile.
"If we fight it will not be for Ferelden, and certainly not for Loghain Mac Tir, whom is considered by elves to have used them and then tossed them aside when they were no longer needed. If he were a true friend of elves, the Gwaren Alienage would be a place for elves to flock to, and we Dalish would not be hunted like wild beasts in his teyrnir."
"The Teyrn," Cauthrien growled, "has never ordered anyone to hunt elves!"
Marethari smile turned bitter. "He has never ordered them to stop."
Hawke had had enough. Teyrn Loghain was not the issue.
"The treaty," he said soothingly, "is for the defense of the people of Thedas, not for any nation or kingdom. It is an agreement among the Grey Wardens, the mages, the dwarves, and the elves to stand together, united against the horror of the darkspawn. That is all."
"Yes," said Marethari, her eyes scanning the page, "I see that you are right, Grey Warden." She looked up to give Cauthrien a neutral gaze. "You are not a Grey Warden, I think?"
"I am," said Hawke firmly, not troubling his head as to how she had figured it out. "Ser Cauthrien is my companion. Only two Grey Wardens survived at Ostagar."
"Very well," said Marethari. "We shall honor the alliances of our ancestors, though others did not honor their obligations to us. I shall send runners to our allied clans. Where would your mighty Teyrn wish us to go?"
Cauthrien was ready with this. "You are to camp on the southern slopes of Dragon's Peak, near the falls of the River Drakon. I have with me a pass, signed by the Teyrn, giving you safe conduct."
Marethari looked at her awhile, and Hawke wondered if the old lady was going to tell Cauthrien where to put her safe conduct. In the end, she proved herself better than that.
"How useful it will be," she said dryly. "If those accosting us trouble themselves to read it."
Formally, she invited them to share in a meal. Ser Cauthrien was just about to tell them of a prior appointment, when Hawke interposed.
"We would be honored, Keeper. It would be an opportunity for us to understand one another better."
They were given exquisitely smooth wooden bowls of something white and pudding-like, or rather like very heavy cream, sprinkled with nuts and dried berries. The elves watched him, expecting him to eat first, even though Hawke had no idea whatever how to consume this foodstuff.
Young Merrill took pity on him. "Like this." She lifted her bowl, and sipped directly from it. Hawke followed suit, and then, reluctantly, Cauthrien. It was really not bad at all. Some sort of thin milk-pudding, made from the milk of the deer, apparently.
While they ate, an old man named Paivel was asked to tell the strangers the story of the Dalish. He was what they called a "hahren." Hawke had heard the term before in relation to the Gwaren Alienage, but thought it meant "headman." Among the Dalish, it seemed to mean "storyteller."
Warming to his tale, Paivel set aside his bowl, and began:
"You will hear tales of the woman Andraste. The shemlen name her Prophet, Bride
of their Maker. But we knew her as a war leader, one who, like us, had been a slave and dreamed of liberation. We joined her rebellion against the Tevinters, and our heroes died beside her, unmourned, in Tevinter bonfires.
"But we stayed with our so-called allies until the war ended. Our reward: A land east of Astrid, called the Dales. So we began the Long Walk to our new home.
"Halamshiral, "the end of the journey," was our capital, built out of the reach of humans. We could once again forget the incessant passage of time. Our people began the slow process of recovering the culture and traditions we had lost in the days of slavery.
"But it was not to last. Your Chantry first sent missionaries into the Dales, and then, when those were thrown out, armed Templars. We were driven from Halamshiral, scattered. Some took refuge in the cities of the shemlen, living in squalor, to this day tolerated at best, treated like vermin at worst.
"We took a different path. We took to the wilderness, never stopping long enough to draw the notice of our shemlen neighbors. In our self-imposed exile, we kept what remained of elven knowledge and culture alive.
"To this day, we repeat what we call the Oath of the Dales:
"We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last elvhen. Never again shall we submit."
After a moment of silence, Hawke said, "Thank you, hahren, for your teaching. You do know that some tell the story differently?"
The old man laughed. "Oh, I am certain we played a part in our own downfall. We believed that the shemlen would not revoke their prophet's gift so lightly. We were wrong. They took our lands, forcing us to abandon our gods and live as beggars in shemlen cities."
Cauthrien asked, looking at her bowl. "Could you not have fought?"
"Many of us did fight. We fought and we lost."
"Well," said Hawke, feAstridg horribly awkward. "I certainly hope that together we can win the fight against the Blight!"
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 43
