Chapter 23: Strange Bedfellows - One's Purpose

The rain continued as unrelenting as it had been the day before. The land was soaking in much of the excess water, the nearby river swelling higher along the banks. Duncan sat in the corner of the bathing room, now Raviathan’s clinic, and tended to some basic repairs of his armor, sharpened weapons, and drafted a letter for the Wardens about his newest recruit.

One by one or in families, people came with all sorts of issues, some of which Duncan was embarrassed to hear: persistent coughs, aching joints, rashes, chest aches, back pain, all sorts of odd skin issues, foot disease, digestive problems, excessive flatulence, injuries that had gone untreated without a physician, one man with a swollen leg, ulcers, infections, a waif of a girl who was anemic, pregnant women who wanted to make sure their baby was healthy and if he could tell what sex it would be, couples who were trying to get pregnant, sex diseases, and on it went. It seemed like everyone in a ten mile radius had been willing to trudge through the rain while a physician was available.

Watching Raviathan work had been an education unto itself. When a family came in, Raviathan invariably addressed the mother who would detail every symptom of her husband and children while the others stayed quiet and compliant. Three times Raviathan had to send the inn’s servant boys to Old Beth to restock items. Selice, the innkeeper’s daughter, kept the line of people organized and made sure Raviathan had plenty of hot water. On top of crafting various medicines, the elf needed a constant supply of hot water for washing his hands and equipment to an obsessive degree. If Duncan had ever wanted to see a display of his abilities, this was it. Solyn must have been a tremendous healer to pass on all that skill. The boy was a wonder.

Most of the villagers ignored Duncan or pretended to. No one questioned his right to be there. In return, Duncan tried to appear busy in order to give them some illusion of privacy. They may have been nervous, but what put people most at ease was the efficient competence that Raviathan projected. He wasn’t at all cold, but there was a briskness to his manner that cut through his patients’ modesty.

Maker, please let this boy live, Duncan prayed as he surreptitiously watched Raviathan tend to a child with breathing problems. A healer of his skill was invaluable and almost made up for the loss of a mage. Raviathan wrote down two recipes for the mother, a salve to rub on the child’s chest at night and a twice daily tea to use for a month then as needed when the problem returned. He ended the session with the good news that most children grew out of such problems by young adulthood.

Raviathan was just finishing up, cleaning the table with a formula of water and spirits as he did after each patient, when a commotion sounded outside the door. Duncan stood up and kept his weapons near but did not draw them. A boy, black hair contrasting against his pale face, flung open the door. He looked between Duncan and Raviathan. “We heard there was a physician here.”

“What is it?” Raviathan asked in a commanding voice.

The boy hesitated only a moment as he looked the elf up and down. “My brother. He had a broken leg, but it’s gotten all worse.”

“Where is he?”

“My parents are bringing him. They should be here soon, but they wanted me to make sure you was here.”

“What are his symptoms?”

“Um. His leg is hot. Says it hurts.”

“Anything else?”

“Um. He sweats a lot, but he’s cold. Sort of shaky. And he sleeps all the time. Even when he’s awake he can’t do anything.”

“Tell your parents to bring him straight in,” Raviathan said. The boy left without another word. “Selice,” Raviathan called to the innkeeper’s daughter. “The boy with the broken leg comes in next.”

“Yes, ser,” she called through the open door. Mumblings from the other patients spoke of concern for the child and family. Raviathan prepared his table, giving it a fresh wash and taking out instruments that had cooled after being steamed. These he placed on a tray that he had insisted be cleaned with boiling water. Though Duncan kept his eyes on the sword he was sharpening, he was intensely curious.

The exterior door banged against a wall, and a man and woman entered with care, carrying their son in a sling made by their arms. Both boys took after their father with his coloration and sharp cheek bones. Raviathan said, “Bring him here. On the table.”

Words of encouragement from the other patients followed the family. The injured boy was near a man grown, his pale skin slick with rain and sweat. The mother and father shook with exhaustion from the trip, their shoulders slumped but faces lined with worry. The father started when he saw Raviathan. “He’s so young,” the father whispered.

With their help, Raviathan removed the boy’s pants. The rough splint made of wood strips banded tightly together couldn’t hide the scent of sickness. Raviathan removed the splint with practiced efficiency. The boy’s leg was swollen with an angry, red patch around a scar in the lower half of his thigh. Raviathan said, “I was told he broke his leg. The bone went through the skin?”

“Yes, ser,” the mother said. “Kelly here was working the field setting up water ways. ‘Cause of the drought and all. The ox spooked, and he got caught in the trowel. Broke his leg right clean it did. He was screaming so, holding his leg. I could see the bone. My father said that was good that it was a clean break. That it would heal better.”

“How long ago?”

“Um,” the mother’s forehead creased as she thought. “Six weeks?”

“Tell me when it hurts.” Raviathan touched the swollen area, probing various spots, and the boy hissed in pain. Raviathan felt the boy’s forehead and kept his hand there. “He’s been tired lately?”

“Oh yes, ser. Sleeps most of the day, he does,” the mother said anxiously.

“Your son said he has chills and that his leg hurts him?”

“Yes,” the mother said, both parents looking between Raviathan and their son. Duncan pitied them. They were both wet to the bone and sick with worry. “He’s been saying his bone hurts. Says it over and over and we’ve told him not to move, we did, but he can’t stop worming about so.”

Coming to a conclusion, Raviathan took his hand from the frightened boy’s head. “The wound is infected. I’m going to give him medicine to make him sleep then operate. How good a cook are you?”

Startled, the mother said, “Eh? Well enough, I suppose.”

“Can you follow a detailed recipe?” Raviathan asked sharply as he continued a cursory examination of the boy’s leg. “Measure exact amounts?”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“Please, ser,” the father said. He was clutching his hat in his hand, wringing the old leather to a shapeless mass. “Will he loose his leg?”

The already pale boy went bone white. “No.” He pushed away on the table, turning from his father to the elf. “No, please. Please, I don’t want to lose my leg.”

“Quiet,” Raviathan said, not unkindly. “I have a recipe for a very powerful medicine, but it must be mixed exactly and given to him twice a day for six weeks. Each batch needs to be prepared fresh each day, and it might get expensive.”

“Expensive?” the father asked.

“I think baccas gum is the most expensive ingredient. Can you afford a pint?”

“We have a tree,” the mother said, seizing on new hope. “We’ll cut down the whole thing if we have to.”

“I’ll do my best to save his leg,” Raviathan said, “but you must commit to this potion for six weeks. No less. Even one day, and the infection can come back. It doesn’t matter how healthy he seems. You must promise, six full weeks.”

“I swear by the Maker,” the mother said.

“If I can save your leg,” Raviathan said turning to the boy, “you have to make the same promise. Six weeks, twice a day, not one day less. No complaints or trying to get out of it. If you don’t take the potion, you will lose your leg.”

“I promise, ser,” the boy said, desperation and hope mingling in his feverish face. “Swear by the Maker.”

Raviathan nodded once and went to his kit to begin mixing a potion. “Go sit outside,” he said to the parents without looking at them. “This room needs to be as clean as possible, so don’t let anyone in. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Duncan, I need you to guard the door as well.”

For the first time the parents gave Duncan more than a cursory glance. “As you say,” Duncan replied gravely and gathered his things.

The boy turned to his parents, looking lost, and the mother lifted her chin and squared her shoulders to encourage her son. He nodded, still looking afraid but working to master it. “I won’t lose my leg?”

“I’ll do my best,” Raviathan replied. “Here. Drink this. It’ll taste horrible, so get it over as fast as you can. Then lie back.”

The boy did as he was told and gagged on the potion. “Maker’s breath. What was that?”

“Something to make you sleep. Lie back,” Raviathan said gently.

Duncan and the parents left the room.

Hours turned by as the injured boy’s parents sat or paced. Selice kept bringing them fresh tea that went untouched. Other patients who lingered at the inn spoke to them. “Finest healer I ever saw. Really. Much better than Old Beth was in her prime.”

“Your boy will be alright,” a woman said, followed by some story meant to be comforting.

When Raviathan came out, drooping with exhaustion, both parents jumped to their feet. A tea cup fell, rattling on the floor. He raised a hand for them to sit. “Kelly, you said his name was?”

The mother nodded. She clutched her husband’s hand, her knuckles white.

“The operation was successful, and I expect him to make a full recovery,” Raviathan said, sitting next to them. “An infection settled inside his broken bone. I had to open his leg up, open his bone to remove the infection and puss. I cleaned out everything, stitched him back together. He’s sleeping now, will be for at least half a day. I’m going to recommend he stay here for a week. When you do move him back home, keep his leg up and immobile. Use a cart and drive slow. Here are the recipes.” He handed her two folded papers. “One for pain, though he shouldn’t have much of that, one to make sure the infection doesn’t come back.”

“Twice a day. Six weeks. Promise, ser.” The mother took the papers with numb fingers. The father put his head down, kissed his wife’s hand, and sat very still.

“Any questions?” Raviathan asked.

The mother shook her head. “Maker bless you, ser. Maker smiled the day you came here.”

Startled, Raviathan patted her shoulder. “Let him sleep. You can see him in an hour. I gave him a heavy dose of pain killer, so he’ll be dazed when he wakes.”

She nodded, tears welling.

Catching Duncan’s eye, Raviathan left with him to the main room. He stretched his neck and arms, flexed his shoulders trying to get rid of the tension that had built up.

“I have some letters that need to be sent off. I trust you’ll do your utmost to stay out of trouble while I’m away?”

Raviathan gave him an ironic grin. “I think I’ve got a village full of defenders now.”

Duncan squeezed his shoulder and left. Raviathan sank into a booth, still trying to work out his tired muscles. Selice stopped by with a small platter of food, thick butternut squash soup with cream and a sandwich with thin slices of beef. “Missed the luncheon, but cook made you something special for when you were ready.”

“Thank you,” Raviathan said, his eyebrows raised at the quality of his meal.

“My father has a black lager he wanted to open for you, but I said you didn’t drink.” Selice put a tankard of warm spiced apple cider before him.

“Uh, thanks.”

As soon as Selice bounced away, a boy slid into Raviathan’s booth. The elf raised an eyebrow at Billy. “How’s your sister?”

“Stopped crying so much. Mama said it was the Maker’s will you came here.”

Maker’s will I almost get strung up then kidnapped? “That’s nice of her.” Raviathan took a bite out of his sandwich. The sharp heat of horseradish filled Raviathan’s nose for an instant followed by the tangy flavor of an unfamiliar white sauce. The cook had gone all out. Raviathan made a mental note to talk to him again before they left. He had to get this recipe.

“Your food smells good.”

“It is.”

“Are you going to stay long?”

“No. I have to go south to the war.”

“So you won’t stay?”

“Nope.”

“We need a healer.”

“The soldiers need healing too. If they fall, the darkspawn will come north.”

“I thought darkspawn were all gone.”

“Well, seems there’s some left in the south. The King is there, fighting them. That’s how important the war is.”

The boy scratched his cheek then fidgeted. Billy’s blue eyes stood out large and innocent from a dirty face. “You didn’t like it when mama called you knife ears.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s rude.”

“Why? You’ve got pointed ears.”

“Knife ears isn’t about having pointed ears.” With reluctance, Raviathan put down his sandwich to turn to the child. “Did you know that elves were slaves for a thousand years?” Billy shook his head no, his eyes growing wider. “We lost our language, our stories, our culture. We were beaten, hurt, had our children sold never to see them again, were slaughtered for blood mages to gain power. Terrible things happened to my people during those long years. We’ve never been the same after that. We fought with Andraste for our freedom, but the slavery of my people still continues in Tevinter. After my people were freed, humans didn’t want us to be equal. Do you know how farmers marked their animals? They brand ox and cattle or cut a pig’s ears?”

Billy nodded.

“The same was done with elves. ‘Knife ears’ comes from ‘take a knife to their ears’. As slaves, our ears were marked. Date of birth, lineage, the house we were born to. Even in free lands, when humans thought elves were getting uppity or wanting too much, they would cut or dock an elf’s ears to remind us we were slaves, that we’re still beneath humans. Calling one of my people ‘knife ears’ is saying our ears should be cut, that we’re just like animals.”

Billy picked at his lip, and Raviathan went back to his sandwich. Finally, the child said, “Mama didn’t mean anything wrong. She likes you.”

A shred of bitterness left Raviathan. “It’s a very mean thing to say. You know not to call us that anymore?” Billy nodded. “Not even when you’re mad?” Billy nodded again with a very serious expression on his young face. “Would you like part of my sandwich?” A third nod. Raviathan cut off the last third and handed it over. He put the bowl of soup between them so they could both dip their sandwiches into it.

“You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Prettier than any of the girls here.”

Raviathan hesitated a second before taking his next bite.

“Are all elves so pretty?”

“Some are,” Raviathan said through a mouthful of food. The boy seemed too young to have a crush, but what did he know about humans? One lecture was enough, so Raviathan let the ‘pretty’ remark go. “Eat your food.”

Billy seemed content to stare at him, so Raviathan finished his lunch in silence. The respite was welcome after seeing to all the villagers. Raviathan couldn’t understand why he was so tired. Working at the docks or the miles of walking over the last days had used far more energy. Today he had stayed in one room, yet he was ready to do nothing more than sit by the fire and read for a few hours. So many humans. They had been nice enough today, but Maker he missed his kin.

Meal finished, Raviathan returned to a hallway of ready patients. Hours passed as the injured, the sickly, and the worried paraded in and out. When the last man left, after shaking Raviathan’s hand hard enough to pull it off, the elf slumped against the wall next to the fire. Duncan poked his head in, spied the elf, and grinned. “Come along. Dinner is waiting.”

With more effort than he cared to admit, Raviathan hauled himself up and followed the warrior. Again, the chef had a special meal planned for them. Delectable sweetbreads in a port wine sauce with buttery vegetables and fresh white bread that made Raviathan think of his grandmother’s finest on special occasions.

Duncan broached the subject he had been thinking about since the previous evening. “Why was it so uncomfortable for you to share a bed when we were first traveling? It’s a common enough practice, and we have to share tents and the like often.”

The elf’s flashing eyes regarded him for a moment. Elves had a reputation for having unreadable eyes, which Duncan was reminded of with Raviathan’s steady gaze. They held an otherworldly beauty, and he could understand the stronger, single emotions like rage, but the more subtle aspects escaped him. It wasn’t a lack of emotion, but the expression in elven eyes was different from a human. Raviathan asked, “You mean, humans do that a lot?”

“Certainly. The nobles are exceptions, not the rule. What I understand from Valendrian is that most elves live in one room apartments. It can’t be that unusual.”

The elf seemed startled by the idea that humans had different customs about sleeping. “Well, sharing a room is different. I didn’t mind that. But ... sleeping with someone ... that’s intimate.”

“But it isn’t sex.”

“No,” the elf admitted, as if considering how to explain. “With sex, you don’t have to care for someone. Sometimes it’s just a physical release. And random.” He squirmed. “Like with prostitutes. Sex is better when it’s with someone you care about, of course, but that isn’t a requirement. Elves only sleep with someone we’re very close to.”

Duncan frowned as he thought. “So you wouldn’t even sleep next to someone for warmth or because there isn’t enough room?”

Raviathan shook his head. “Even if you have eight to an apartment, everyone has their space. Couples and siblings sleep together, so space isn’t that much an issue. I didn’t mind sleeping next to my cousins or aunt because I love them. It’s a mark of trust and affection to do that. Never with a stranger, though. If it came to sharing a small tent or sleep outside in the rain, I’d sleep outside.”

“You know,” Duncan said, hoping to clarify so the elf wouldn’t be confused in the future, “we use the terms sleep with and sex interchangeably. Sex is considered a more intimate act though there are exceptions.”

A far off look came into Raviathan’s face as he tried to digest that bit of information. “That seems so strange. You sleep together easily, and yet the terms are one and the same. How can you tell what someone is asking for?”

Duncan chuckled. “If you ask someone to sleep with you, it’s usually sex. Otherwise it’s ‘sharing’ a floor space, tent, or bed.” This explained some of Tarimel’s behavior. If only the other elf had been open enough to say just this, a lot of confusion and unintentional slights would have been avoided. Only a moment’s time, and all those stupid misunderstandings the rest of the Wardens had about Tarimel and vice-versa could have been eliminated. “Thank you for explaining that to me.” The elf nodded with his mouth full of potatoes and carrots. “Are you getting use to the idea of sleeping with others? Like with us?”

Suddenly shy, the elf looked down, concentrating over much on his dinner. He was hunched in again, and Duncan thought he wouldn’t answer when Raviathan admitted very quietly, “You’re not a stranger. I ... I trust you.”

Realization settled into Duncan with those little words that said so much more. He felt his throat constrict and took a swallow of ale to ease it. The elf had been showing him a deep trust and respect, and he hadn’t even realized it. Was it all elves, or just this one who had such delicate emotional lives? Valendrian had said Raviathan showed a heightened sensitivity. That was true, but Tarimel’s behavior was much clearer now that he learned just this one aspect of elven culture. It wasn’t just this elf’s sensitivity.

Raviathan was a bigger responsibility than Duncan had realized, but one that came with rewards as well. Alistair had made him feel that way shortly after he had conscripted the young man. The young, despondent templar had a desperate need for a father figure, and Duncan knew the boy had attached to him quickly, more than he had the rest of the Wardens. There had been only a handful Duncan had confessed his nightmares to and what it meant. Alistair, despite being the most junior member, had been one of them.

Maybe he was getting overly sentimental in his final days, but Alistair and now Raviathan’s affection touched him. He knew he shouldn’t allow it. They would be mourning him all too soon, and if he wasn’t careful it could show favoritism which could breed resentment from the others. Perhaps it was because he didn’t have that much time left that he indulged in these relationships. They made him feel that his life had been worthy. After a long life of duty, it was a comfort that he was cared for.

That night as the two got ready for bed, Duncan made a decision. For whatever time he had left, Raviathan would bunk with him. He would have to talk to the other Wardens, and there might be some rumors about their relationship, but if he explained it carefully, how the boy helped keep the nightmares at bay, it might not be an issue for Raviathan when he was on his own with the Wardens. Duncan realized he was probably fooling himself, but now that he was nearing the end, he didn’t care. Duncan got into the cold bed with the elf already there. The eyes flashed in the near darkness as they watched Duncan. The two hadn’t said a word since Raviathan’s confession.