In Search of a Wolf - The Elves of Fen'Harel Book 1 (Dragon Age)

Losing the Clan

Hi everyone! This is my first fan fiction...ever! I'm really very nervous at putting it out here in the world, but this community seems so wonderfully supportive that I thought I'd give it a go.

In advance thank you to anyone who reads this, I love you all. 

Dareth Shiral, friends!

The Hinterlands were quiet at night, especially since the breach had closed. The scarred heavens were healing, but the wounds that Corypheus and the mage-templar war were leaving on the landscape would take a long time to fade. 

Gradually, the refugees had begun to move back in, with the Inquisition's aid, though rogue Templars, bandits and apostates still lurked in shadowy caves. There seemed a general feeling that the Inquisition would prevail against the monster who had obliterated a holy conclave. 

Laisa stared into the trees, shivering a little. Her Dalish clan were sleeping, save for the hunters on guard, and in the forest.

They had no name. Only the Clan.

Until five months ago, few of them had known one another. They were all misplaced from other clans, who had separated or simply been destroyed. Between the Blight a decade earlier, and the war, the Dalish were more disconnected than ever. 

But as they had found one another, the elves of the Clan found themselves falling into familiar positions: hunters and healers, hahren, craftmaster, and keeper. Her friend, Arana, who had travelled from the Free Marches with her, became first to this Keeper, as she had served their last and Laisa's younger brother, Lemrian, had completed his apprenticeship as a hunter.

Like him, she had been an apprentice hunter in her previous clan, but now served as Halla keeper in absence of anyone else to fill the position. The revered animals were dozing beneath the moonlight, their creamy hides and twisted antlers bright against the grass. They filled her with a sense of peace and stability in that uncertain world. The position suited her far better now. 

She'd seen enough bloodshed to destroy any desire to kill ever again.

No one seemed to care that they were there. In the old days, the sight of their aravels' would drive the local shemlen to run or come after them with swords. Laisa wandered back towards the aravels: the carved wagons and colourful silk shrouds seeming to her to be the emblem of home.

She was slim, short, and pale for an elf, with delicate, gently freckled features and a slightly pointed chin. Soft dark hair was tied back for practicality, and her eyes were a tawny brown, streaked with gold and green. Her vallaslin was that of Ghilan'nain, and her affinity with nature was reflected in that.

An arrow whistled past her to stud the tree she leaned against. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Laisa dropped to the ground, one hand instinctively reaching for a dagger from the holster on her back. Rolling to her feet, she raised the weapon, staring for the assailant. 

"Just testing you, lethallan!" A teasing voice called out from the trees.

"Andaran atish'an, Nanin." She forced a smile, lowering the dagger. Nanin was one of the Clan's hunters, an expert with a bow, silent and deadly in the forest. He was tall, powerful, handsome, sandy hair grown long and tied in a knot behind his head. 

He was popular amongst the Clan, but they had never truly liked one another. He was too full of anger and resentment for outsiders, filled with hatred for humans. Perhaps it was a justified hatred. They had killed his family.