Interlude: On her own

Story by Alexia Symeonidou (Gwpe)

 

 Art by gwpe

All was still inside the tavern.

It was to be expected, one supposed, at such an ungodly hour; dawn was still just a thought behind the horizon. What air managed to push through the cracks in the wood and the stone of the worn and tired building was cold, and the elf’s ears and fingers were thoroughly numb. Not that she was dressed warmly – a few scraps of leather stitched together in what barely constituted a top and a skirt, open-toed boots, and a thin cloak she had scavenged from someplace or other. The rough hide bracers and bands on her arms were little more than decoration and adolescent whim.

With a last careful look about the room, Evelyn slowly opened the door and snuck out. She had expected Ser August to be in his room at such an hour, and sleeping soundly; she had been fully prepared for the quiet maneuverings that getting in and out of his room undetected would entail. He had not been there.

The bed was made, and everything was neat and tidy as it always was when he had left for the day. But there was no Chantry nearby; would he still have risen for morning prayers? Evelyn had been briefly concerned at his absence, but then shook the thought away. Ser August was more than capable of taking care of himself. And in any case, it made her task easier. Much easier.

She had left two pieces of paper – one a note for Mari, who was still sick and recovering in the Alienage, and another for the templar – and more than half of her current share of coins on the table by his bed. She hoped they would understand. 

It was impossible for her to stay here any longer, Evelyn reminded herself as she picked up her weapons and her pack from the hallway, and strapped them on.

The place had been getting far too crowded for her. She hated crowds. Well, except for those out on the streets and in the squares, where you could pick a pocket without being seen and could easily lose the guards on your tail. Some crowds had their uses. But there were so many people living here permanently that she could barely think anymore.

It was one of the reasons why she and Mari rarely used their room in the orphanage – it was much more preferable to find their own spots on rooftops and in alleyways, where there weren’t all these bodies around you, hemming you in.

Not to mention the noise. The walls of her room were so thin, it was impossible to use it as any sort of sanctuary. And it was the first place where people would look for her, if they wanted her for something. The incessant knocking on the door had been driving her mad. All she wanted was some time to herself; some privacy.

She tried the common room during the hours when everyone else was supposed to be in their rooms – but there was so much traffic at the tavern that there was not a single hour when the common room was unoccupied. Then she tried the private backroom. And then the cellar.

One night found Eve on the roof of the tavern, her back pressed against the chimney in an attempt to get as warm as was possible out here. Huddled against her neck was Fox, whose noises of disapproval at being outside at such an hour during this time of year Eve tried to ignore, as she watched her breath form and curl and fade in the weak moonlight, over and over again. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

But it was the furthest she could get from everyone, without actually traipsing down the road and through the fields in the dark, unarmed and alone. And she had not brooded quite enough to do that. Yet.

Form, curl, fade; form, curl, fade. If anyone had asked Evelyn what exactly was wrong, she most likely would not have been able to answer. It was simply progressive annoyance towards everyone, even Ser August, for no apparent reason. Form; curl; fade. It had reached the point where everything about everyone had been irritating her – the way they walked; their breathing; the sound of their voices. She knew she was being unreasonable. She should not have felt such anger at people’s laughter, or the desire to hurl a chair across the room because someone was chewing a fruit too loudly.

So, what was the point in staying, she reasoned with herself. Her sister was in the Alienage, since she needed proper care and rest, neither of which was possible at an establishment like this. Ser August was busy all the time with this mage, or that templar, or some mercenary, or a representative of the Chantry – he was almost never there during the day. And as for everyone else … she did not really feel comfortable with them. At all. And there was nothing to do. For weeks she had started her day by going up to Ernie and asking him whether there was any job, any news, anything; and for weeks, the answer had been no.

There was nothing to do but to sit on the left side of the common room in the morning, switch to the right side of the common room in the afternoon, run to one of her hiding places when the hordes descended in the evening, and then crawl to her bed at night and try to block out the shouts and the voices that drifted up the stairs. She was just wasting her time here, and being miserable on top of it.

No sooner had she resolved to go back to Denerim and Mari than all of the unwelcoming faces in the Alienage swam before her vision; and the guards; the smells; the uncertainty of food. Almost a full year out in the countryside had spoiled Evelyn for city life. The thought of going back to stay at the orphanage was enough to make her nauseous.

The only thing she looked forward to there was her sister, and she was quite certain she would not be allowed to see her. If Mari was as sick as rumor had it, visitors would be denied for fear that it might be contagious. It happened every time someone fell ill. The last thing the Hahren wanted was an outbreak of disease in the crowded elven quarters of Ferelden’s capital.

That was when a small voice whispered to her that the road led to more places than just Denerim.

She had quickly dismissed it. It was a ridiculous notion after all – she had no idea how to survive on her own, travelling, outside of a city; she could fend people off, but only so many. She was not that experienced of a fighter, and there were bandits out there; and wild animals. And what of food? It was absurd. And yet, the thought would not let up. It haunted her movements, and dwelt in the shadows she cast. It kept her company day and night, and only fell into a slumber when she relented and began making serious plans and preparations.

It was the first time that she had been so long without Mari – no, actually, it was the first time she had been without Mari at all. Perhaps that was why she had been feeling so strange lately.

Evelyn ended up planning to … well, she did not know. Go off, somewhere. Wherever the road went. She had no idea how far, or for how long. Maybe just a few hours’ walk, maybe her head would clear by then. Maybe for days or weeks …

Evelyn was half-way down the stairs when she heard the sounds of a whetstone against a blade. She closed her eyes in frustration.

People had taken to caring for their weapons at the oddest hours imaginable, due to fear of Doctor Opos – that miserable quack, as she called him. He had developed the habit of approaching everyone with this oil and that “tonniq” and his fantastical fabulous potions that battled rust for greater justice! Right. Evelyn thought them much more likely to ruin good, sturdy weapons. She didn’t trust that … man, as far as the Dalish mage could blast him.

Turning around the corner of the stairs and taking care to stay in the shadows of the wall, Evelyn saw that it was Azdad, sitting in the corner by the door that led to the kitchen, sharpening his array of knives. Of course, it would be Azdad.

She doubted that even the quack would risk the qunari’s wrath. His attention seemed to be completely on the task at hand. She padded softly down the last couple of steps, and eased her way towards the exit.

A floorboard creaked. 

Evelyn froze.

Art by gwpe

Azdad had seen her, of course. Looking at him warily, she thought it must be painfully obvious to him what she was up to. It was common knowledge that, beyond their packs, their weapons, and the clothes on their bodies, the Lyns did not have any belongings. She was clearly dressed for travel and sneaking out. He would call Ser August – never mind that the templar did not seem to be about, the qunari had an uncanny ability for making the impossible happen – and it would all be over. And not only would she get a harsh talking to, she would also have to face the hurt that would undoubtedly appear in Ser August’s eyes once he realized that she was running off.

Azdad looked at her, for a moment, and then stood up and went into the kitchen. Evelyn debated about sprinting out, but decided against it. It was probably better not to make it worse than it was. With a sigh, she resigned herself and waited for the cook to return with Ser August in tow.

When Azdad appeared a minute later, he was alone. He simply tossed a pouch at her and sat back down at his table, without a word, and continued his work.
Evelyn caught it, and opened it, utterly confused.

It contained a generous amount of waybread and some copper bits. After her initial shock passed, she chuckled a little under her breath. Softie. She glanced at Azdad and gave him a smile, though, after weeks of scowling, she probably managed nothing more than a grimace. Then she turned the handle of the door and walked out.

It was autumn, closer to winter really; the air was chill and, when a slight wind blew, it bit even her unexposed skin.

Evelyn was about to step on the path, when she heard a shuffle. It was Garrett, playing around in the grass. She knelt down and pet the ferret tentatively, looking around for his mistress. Not seeing the dwarf about, she snuck him a treat from the pocket where she kept tidbits for Fox, picked him up, and shoved him back inside the tavern through a half-open window.

She turned and walked down the short path in front of the tavern until it reached the main road.
One end of the road led to Denerim. One led further out into Ferelden.
“Let’s try this whole ranger thing, shall we?”

A stranger would have assumed that Evelyn was talking to herself. But there was movement in the black pouch she carried on her side, and she adjusted the flap a bit to allow better flow of air. A small rodent’s head popped out. Anyone who saw his face would say that he carried the expression that any rat carried.

To his companion’s eyes, Fox appeared skeptical, questioning her ability to survive out in the wilds alone. Sure, she and her sister had scraped by in the city on their own for years, but they were street rats. City dwellers. She barely knew how to light a fire. She did not even have a map.
“Don’t give me that look.”

Fox produced a small squeak.

“We’ll be fine. And there’s always bound to be a farmstead or lone hut or a small hamlet somewhere where they won’t notice a few apples and bits of cheese missing.”

Another squeak.

“And leeks, of course. You shall have your leeks.”

Forbidding herself to cast a last look back or to the right, Evelyn pulled the hood over her head, and set off on her own.

Where the Dark Thoughts Lie

Hard to believe bread could taste good after stealing a stale loaf from a bakers store, especially a small bag full of bread that could easily last him some time. Dorian could never understand why shems would throw away food that wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t care. More for him. Tearing into the crusty ‘flesh’ and softening it with some water he’d also nicked from a stall, he enjoyed his lunch.

It had only been a few days since he’d up and left the orphanage, hanging around in the dark alleys in the shemlen areas of Denerim and just preferring his own company over anyone else’s. Being alone felt less lonely than being around others to him, though he did admit he missed a pair of twins who would bug and pester him. The routine felt broken and for some reason he missed it. He shrugged, shaking the thoughts from his mind as he continued his meal. At least until he heard shouts from the entry to the alley.

“Where are you knife-ears gone? Come have some fun with us!” one shouted out loud, his laugh echoing through the alleyway. He sounded young, perhaps only a couple of years older than Dorian himself.

“Sheesh, you think you knife-ears don’t want to sit on our laps, since that’s all you’re good for!” another boy shouted, his loud laugh more shrill than his friend’s. Their voices however were getting closer, making Dorian’s spine tingle as he reached for his bread bag.

“Oh hey Lanis, look at this! We found a knife-ears!” a very dopey sounding boy shouted, Dorian turning to see him staring right at him, “I think it’s that cripple one your Da was on about!”

Dorian stood frozen as three more shem boys rounded the corner, each one looking at him with evil smiles only shems could possess. “I think you might be right George, an arm and an eye missing. Looks just like what my father said. Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. We come here looking to fuck some elf girls, and we come across this dog.” The one apparently known as Lanis said, definitely the first voice Dorian heard only moments before.

He glanced the opposite end of the alley, hoping to see an exit magically appear from nowhere though had no such luck. He was stuck with four shems staring him down, the looks in their eyes clear in what they intended. Shem’s were predictable like that. “Shame, I thought I was doing him a favour. Making sure he couldn’t afford to fuck some whores, though it seems my good charity failed.” Dorian said, knowing he had no chance to just walk away, “Then again that’s how he met your mother isn’t it?”

The intended effect from the insult was instant, Lanis lunging forwards and throwing the first punch. Dorian dodged, but didn’t expect the foot coming up belonging to one of the other boys. It caught him across the chest, knocking the wind from him and allowing Lanis to catch him across the back of the head with another punch, one that actually landed that time.

“Shut your hole knife-ears, you don’t get to talk to us.” Lanis said, gripping Dorian’s hair and throwing him backwards, smiling as the elf hit the hard stone, “So, where’s my father’s money?”

“Why not ask your mother? I paid for a good time... and I was utterly disappointed.” Dorian spat back, earning himself another kick to the stomach. In desperation he tried crawling down the alley, his blue eye darting everywhere to find something to fight with. A broken wagon was nearby with some rusted metal bars scattered across the ground. His sight was broken from it once more with a kick to his face.

“I said shut up you piece of shit. You speak when spoken to like the dog you are!”

“You’d know all about that wouldn’t... wouldn’t you, considering the amount your mother had to fuck to make you...” Dorian laughed loudly to mock him, cut off by a second kick to the face that broke his nose and caused blood to start pumping freely.

“Hold his legs. I want to make sure he fucking suffers for this...” Lanis growled softly as he reached into his pocket and produced a pathetic looking knife, “I’m taking his tongue.”

Two of the boys took a firm hold of Dorian’s ankles, dragging him back towards their group while Lanis prepared his knife, chuckling as the George shem tried to grab Dorian’s wrist. “Stop struggling, the more you do, the less fun for me this is. It seems it’s very long overdue that you learned your place knife-ears. Not like the word of a cripple means anything anyway. ”

 Dorian froze for another reason as the shem used his disabilities in such a way, the surge of anger rising up inside him. He’d been called cripple for years; by shems and by other elves in the Alienage and the orphanage... yet somehow this one boy’s venomous voice and his shit-eating grin put Dorian’s anger over the edge.

The shem named George screamed in agony as Dorian lunged his hand forward and lodged his fingers into his eye sockets, gripping tightly and twisting his wrist to do some serious damage to the boy’s eyes. Lanis jumped in shock as his friend fell to the floor clutching his face, his and his friend’s join hesitation offer Dorian the chance to escape. Kicking the two boys in the groins, Dorian scrambled towards the end of the alley and quickly gripped a metal bar, swinging around immediately to hit anyone or anything.

Lanis was struck in the arm not holding the knife, crying out loudly as pain surged through him. The shem’s pain only made Dorian smirk, as well as drive the bar down onto Lanis’s right wrist to shatter it and cause him to drop the knife.

The two boys attempted to protect the leader of their group and paid dearly for it, with Dorian smashing one over the top of his head with the bar and instantaneously reducing him to the human equivalent of a twitching vegetable. The second had his left knee smashed, followed by a few ribs as Dorian stomped on his chest once the boy was down on the ground. George stood only to receive a smash of the bar across his face, crushing the bones of his nose and around one of his sockets, allowing one of his already damaged eyes to fall out and hang painfully from the tendon.

Dorian watched three of them writhe in agony, letting the sounds of their pain fill his ears and make him smile. He’d never hurt anyone this badly before, not even shemlens, and how it felt so good...

“You fucking shit! You fucking shit! How dare you!” Lanis screamed at him, the shem boy’s face red with rage. When Dorian turned to look at him with a large, evil smile Lanis’s face turned pale.

“Oh... how long I’ve wanted to do this. To kill a bunch of you fucking human parasites. Living pieces of shit that can’t seem to ever shut the fuck up and die.” Dorian said, his voice drenched in hatred as he slowly advanced on Lanis, “Doesn’t matter to me who you are. You’re just another shem, and you’re the first I intend to kill. Don’t worry... I want you to suffer...”

Dorian began striking the boy over and over again with the bar, breaking a new bone or more with each swing and enjoying the sight of the boy’s blood. He didn’t care, all his pent up emotions coming out in such a satisfying way.

“Dorian stop! Stop it!” a familiar voice cried from behind him, a pair of feet rushing towards him. Dorian did stop for a moment, though as that moment ended he struck Lanis once more.

“Fuck off Eve.” Dorian spat, turning his head a little to see one of the Lyn twins. With Marilyn following just behind, the comment from before said by Lanis as to why the shems were even there made even more sense.

“I said stop this right now!” Evelyn shouted again, stopping only a few feet from him. It appeared from the loud gag in her throat she didn’t notice the damage he’d already done, though now she was surrounded by it. Her eyes widened a little too from the blood flowing from his nose.

“Stop? Why? A few more corpses never hurt anyone, and besides... you two are the reason they’re here.” He spat once again, turning to face the twins. His eye was alight with rage, though his smirk told of a sadistic pleasure he took from it all.

“...We... we didn’t know you were here. Just please stop...”

“Why should I? Still not hearing a reason for you to.” He eyed Marilyn who was looking to the boys, curious as to what she whispered to her sister.

Evelyn seemed to shrug away whatever her sister had said, her eyes returning to Dorian once more. “Because... because it’s not you! This isn’t what you do, Dorian...”

Dorian allowed her words to sink in for only a moment before his head was thrown back for a loud, manic laugh. “What would you know?! The only time of day you give me is when you and your bitch sister talk about me like I’m less than you! You don’t fucking know ANYTHING about me, so don’t even fucking try!”

“That’s because you never let anyone in you fucking idiot!” Marilyn shouted back at him suddenly, “You bitch about everyone not giving you a chance, yet you do the exact same thing! Drop the damn bar already”

“No... I won’t, and leave me alone. Neither of you have something worthwhile to say to me, after all you two act like you’re better than me because of stupid shit. Better than me because you have friends, people who give a shit about you... hell, you act better than me just because you’re not deformed like me. So you two can fuck right off and leave me alone!”

“We’ve NEVER acted better than you because of your arm or your eye! You just keep making shit up to make yourself have a shitty reason to hate anyone! You kill them, you’re going to bring the shems you hate too down on the entire Alienage! We have it bad enough already, we don’t need YOU doing this to make it worse!” Marilyn practically screamed at him, her face red.

“Why should I give a shit? We all know that once this is done you’re just gonna run back to that shem you and your sister love so much. Nothing like two beautiful girls walking with an old shem bastard to keep your own lives safe huh? All for a few nights a week of sweaty disappointment.” Dorian spat back, his voice just completely filled with anger, every word laced with a venom to try and wound them.

Marilyn tensed up, her hands curling into fists and looking she just wanted to punch the boy. She held herself though, biting her lip and turning to Evelyn. “Let’s go Eve... there’s no point. This idiot’s going to get us all killed because he thinks he suffers more than anyone else. What’s the point in helping someone who doesn’t even try?”

“...Dorian, please...” Evelyn said softly, trying to get closer to him, though Dorian’s grip on the bloody bar tightened, “If you keep doing this, you only prove you’re as bad as they are... and it only gets worse from there. We’re trying to help you... please.”

It took several minutes for the twins words to get through to him, his eye moving away from them as his mind raced with conflicted thoughts. Thoughts of “They’re trying to help YOU Dorian...” and “They’re only out for themselves” battled on in his mind, with an eventual victor in the one pleading to his heart.

His expression softened slightly, culminating in him violently throwing the bar away and pushing past the twins. “Leave me alone.” He said darkly, though he couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice as he did. After a few steps he broke out into a run, disappearing into the crowds and headed towards the Alienage.

He’d exploded and nearly killed a group of humans, and had snapped angrily to the closest things to friends he’d known, not that he could actually even call them friends. The twins, despite having lead the boys to their fate at Dorian’s hand, had tried to stop him from making not just his own life, but the lives of hundreds of elves in Denerim worse. The heavy weight starting to form in his heart as his mind remained focused on what had been said. Evelyn and Marilyn tried to help him and he shoved it back in their faces, all because he couldn’t contain the hurting and the pain he’d endured for so many years.

That sense of freedom he felt only a short time ago was now replaced with a loathing self-hate, and all he wanted to do was fall away into the darkness that filled him now. The matron of the Alienage scolded him for being gone so long, scolding him even while his nose was looked at by a doctor for ‘a fight with some local boy’.

He was aware that Marilyn checked on him sometime before nightfall, though neither of them exchanged anything more than a look.

Her eyes fixed on his, not saying a word at the sight of his reddened cheeks from constantly wiping them with his sleeve. She simply left him alone, just as he asked... and yet, it only made that void in him larger...

                                                                                   

Falling back against the pillow he stared up at the ceiling, just wallowing in his own self-hate. He was alone... and he’d proved why he deserved to be. 

Dirty bread and twins

Written by Eoin O'Mahony (G0dslay3r/Moonsilver-Knigh), originally posted here

"Come back here!" the shemlen shopkeep bellowed, his round belly keeping him from being able to catch up to the Elven thief. Dorian smirked, oh how he loved to annoy the shemlens and their lives. They deserved it, he thought as he returned to the Alienage, ready to feast on what bread he'd taken. Only a boy, and he'd already begun his embark on the road to tyranny. And he liked it.

The streets, always filled with muck and grime, and the occasional bit of animal defecation, never bothered the boy who never wore shoes. The liked the feel of mud seeping between his toes, and had no intentions of ever changing.

He rounded a corner, was suddenly thrown back on his backside as he hit something. But from the sounds, he'd actually hit someone.

"Hey! Watch it!" the girl shouted as she stood up with the help of her twin sister. She rounded on him, looking down at her clothes. "You'd better be planning to wash these you little fool!"

"I'm not cleaning anything you red-headed idiot!" Dorian shouted back at Marilyn, his eye shooting a glare at Evelyn for good measure. The two girls who hated him for being different, shem-lovers he'd heard as well. Most people could never really tell the two apart, but for Dorian it was as simple as turning the page of a book, not that he'd ever done that.

Marilyn and Evelyn always had a different scent to one another, it was feint, but it was there. That, and Marilyn's eyes –always- seemed to sparkle when she saw him. She was the one who enjoyed tormenting him the most, Evelyn not as much.

Not noticing he'd dropped his bread into the muck, Marilyn darted down and seized it, groaning as she turned it over to see how dirty it'd become. She casually tossed it back to him, letting it bounce onto his lap. "Beggar boys need their strength. Shame you didn't get any gold to get yourself some shoes." Marilyn sneered, raising her foot and showing off her boots, paid for by stolen coins. Dorian scowled, he hated when anyone saw him as lesser for being barefoot, "Besides, begging is all you're good at. Lemme guess, you got caught 'trying' to steal again, didn't you?" Marilyn laughed, her eyes on the bread.

"Who gives a damn about what you two think? We all know you're just gonna sell yourself on your back to shems when you're old enough, that is unless you haven't already ." Dorian replied, his hand clenched into a fist, and it was shaking.

"Nice comeback, like you haven't said that… how many times has he said it sis?" Marilyn turned to Evelyn.

"About… forty I think." Evelyn replied. By the look on her face, she wanted no part of this.

"Come up with new insults, and maybe we'll raise you up a bit on how low you are compared to us. Bye bye beggar-boy!" Marilyn jeered,  turning and pulling her sister away. Evelyn glanced back, a brief apologetic look in her eyes.

Dorian sat in the middle of the street, watching the twins leave and disappear, leaving him alone, filthy and with a bread loaf too dirty to eat. His fist tightened even more, and he slammed it into the muck. "I'll show you, shem-lovers. I'll prove I'm better than you'll ever dream of being…" he said to himself, "I'll show you..."

Dorian Sester belongs to Eoin O'Mahony
Evelyn Lyn belongs to Alexia Symeonidou (gwpe)