Vhenan Aravel
Chapter 24: Strange Bedfellows - Divisions

Copyright© 2017 by eatenbydragons

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 24: Strange Bedfellows - Divisions - Raviathan, a city elf with too many secrets and regrets, undergoes a long journey in order to find his way in the world. Part 1 is a Dragon Age Blight fic with many additions and twists to the original story. This story starts off on the fluffy side, but beware. Thar be dragons, and it will dip into darker territories. I'd rather overtag for potential triggers than undertag. Rape and prostitution occur rarely in the overall narrative, but they are present.

Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/Ma   Consensual   Magic   Rape   Reluctant   Romantic   Gay   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Fan Fiction   High Fantasy   Interracial   Anal Sex   Analingus   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Prostitution  

What had gone through Raviathan’s mind, Duncan wondered. The lad’s reaction to the taint from the blighted wolves was singular in Duncan’s experience. Disgust, nausea, and terror were all normal responses, ones Duncan had seen often, but to be thanked? More often than not, new Warden recruits balked at their first encounter with the taint. While the elf’s motivation was a mystery, it was not the most pressing. The lad knew less than most about history or darkspawn, yet his recitation of theories matched Duncan’s own knowledge. “Rav, how did you know all that about the taint?”

“Hmm? Know what?” Raviathan couldn’t tear his gaze away from a half-frozen waterfall. Fresh water poured over long-formed icicles, transforming the waterfall into a sculpture of shimmering light. A hazy rainbow muted the flashes of hard, bright light—light that turned the refracted sun, cold and pure. “Maker’s breath, Duncan. I had no idea how beautiful this land is. Just look at that. It’s extraordinary, like winter distilled into one perfect moment. And that will only exist for such a brief time. The ice melts or the sun leaves, and we’ll never see this again. I don’t know if that makes the sight better or not.”

Startled from his question, Duncan stopped to join Raviathan in watching the waterfall. “How do you mean?”

“My aunt and I always had this discussion. She would say strawberries are sweeter because we only have them for a season. I would say strawberries are sweet no matter what. It’s just that we don’t always take the time to appreciate what we have. She thought that’s what made her win the argument, and why I think she lost. We can appreciate the world around us anytime by becoming mindful of what we have. Rainbows aren’t beautiful because they’re temporary. They’re beautiful because they are beautiful. It’s just that people are more willing to pay attention to them because they’re rare.”

On impulse, Duncan rested a hand on the lad’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. Elven eyes flashed in his direction, warm as an Antivan sea, before turning back to the waterfall. Duncan said into the peace of the morning, “I agree with your aunt. Some things are precious because they are so rare.”

The two continued to watch the waterfall. When he noticed Raviathan’s faint trembling, Duncan pulled his eyes away from the sight to glance at his charge. Tear tracks marking his face, Raviathan stared without seeing, an expression of exquisite pain naked as a blade.

“Rav?”

The elf turned his head away, hastily wiping away his tears. “S-sorry. Uh, you were telling me about the Emperor Drakon’s battles in the Second Blight.”

“What’s wrong?”

Raviathan breath hitched, and he turned to continue down the road. “The Battle of Ghislain? In the year Divine 32, wasn’t it?”

“Rav...”

“Dun-can.” Raviathan’s guttural voice broke his name. “Please?”

The more Duncan knew of the boy, the more of a mystery he became. Whatever Raviathan’s thoughts, escape from pain Duncan did understand. “When the contingent of griffin-trained Wardens arrived from the Anderfels, Emperor Drakon planned an aerial assault on the captured city. Fortresses were not as common then, but the city used the natural marshlands it was built upon as a defense.”

What was going through the lad’s head?


Instead of leading an army ready to move south to battle darkspawn, Duncan found himself being guided up the foothills south of Lake Calenhad that led to the Frostback Mountains. A thin drizzle sought every crevice and opening of his armor to soak him through like cold sweat. Scrub brush accompanied the scant weeds that struggled for purchase in the stony earth in this patch of Ferelden. Brow furrowed in consternation at the weather, Duncan eyed grey skies, grey rain, and land colored in shades of brown, grey, and more brown.

“A very strange time of year for the Avvars to attack, isn’t it?” Duncan asked.

“Indeed,” the messenger replied. “We get raids in the summer, then they go back up to their mountains to hole up the rest of the year when the snow makes the trails impassable. It’s our guess that the light winter has made them bold, so they decided to use that to surprise us.”

“What’s an Avvar?” Raviathan asked.

The messenger ignored the question until Duncan gave the man a hard glare. “Avvars are the barbarian tribes what live up in the mountains. Call us ‘lowlanders’. Raid our farms. Steal foodstuffs and whatever they can’t make on their own. Sometimes they take people, but that’s rare.”

“Take people?” Raviathan prompted.

“Yes, ser. We hear some become slaves. Others are used as mates to bolster their numbers. But Avvars don’t have proper marriages. The keep a woman long enough to get them with a child or two, then the poor girl’s passed to the next. Avvars ain’t much more than animals, you ask me.”

“Where did they come from?”

When the messenger shrugged, Duncan asked Raviathan, “How much do you know of King Calenhad?”

“He united the tribes of Ferelden into one country. Then there’s the legend that he was part dog.”

“That’s all you know?” The messenger turned his head to look at the elf. “Maker’s breath, even I know more than that.”

Raviathan opened up his mouth to retort, but Duncan’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “We’ll continue in more detail later. Suffice to say, the tribes that did not integrate with the rest of the nation moved either to the Frostbacks and became known as the Avvars, or went south into the Korcari Wilds, the Chasind.”

Duncan let the messenger move further ahead so he could speak with Raviathan privately. “When I was in my first years as a Warden, one of my compatriots was an Avvar. A fine man with a level head. An excellent leader who sacrificed his life so that I and others could live. A good skill to cultivate is learning to distinguish fact from prejudice. Not that the Avvars haven’t earned the enmity of the arls and banns in this region, but they only see one side.”

“You have that skill down well enough,” Raviathan said.

“And one I want you to work on.”

“What, about humans? Duncan, he wouldn’t have even talked to me if you hadn’t glared at him. That wasn’t prejudice on my part. Honestly, you’re the only human who hasn’t treated me like a rat to be killed or an ox to be bought.”

“No? Haven’t I viewed you in terms of your usefulness to the Grey Wardens?”

Raviathan opened his mouth then closed it. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

After a moment’s thought, Raviathan answered. “You wouldn’t have let me risk the Arl’s estate back at the alienage if you just desired a recruit. You may have gone to the alienage to get a recruit, but I was always a person to you, not like some sword you were purchasing.”

“That’s a rarity, Rav, and not one that should be indulged in.” Duncan gave Raviathan’s shoulder a final squeeze then let go. “You’re just starting out, so you’ll see in time. When we recruit, we can’t judge, and that also means we can’t show favoritism. If that means you come across a templar and a blood mage who could both serve as Wardens, you take them both. It would be a hard battle to get them to work together, but that’s part of the sacrifice of the Grey. First and foremost, in every decision you make as a Grey Warden, your goal is to stop the darkspawn. By any means necessary.”

Raviathan gazed up at Duncan, his eyes trusting yet measuring, weighing Duncan’s words and the intention behind them. “Do you mentor all your recruits like this?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re worried about the war in the South.”

“Of course. I would be foolish not to be.”

Raviathan studied him, his eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to puzzle Duncan out. “More than that. Something new you’re concerned about.”

A stony glint hardened Duncan’s expression as he viewed the towering wall of mountain before them. “I wonder if the darkspawn could be driving the Avvars out of the mountains.” Raviathan’s head snapped forward to stare at the mountain, as if there was some clue he could find by looking closely enough. “If my suspicion is true, tell me what that means.”

Nibbling his lip, Raviathan thought. “It could be that the darkspawn are moving west to Orlais. You said Orzammar is the only dwarven city left, and that’s at the north pass. So the darkspawn could be traveling underground in the path of least resistance further south. They could be sneaking up on Orlais from that direction, or the darkspawn could be looking for a defensible position in order to build their numbers up, particularly if the war in the south has been successful so far. We would have a much harder time fighting them in the mountains, and they would have the advantage of easy navigation in the tunnels under all the weather and snow we would have to fight through.

“They could also be flanking us to surround the army, though. Or picking off allies rather than face a unified front. Could they be calling more darkspawn to the south? Like the reinforcements we’ve called from Orlais? How much do darkspawn think? How do they communicate?”

Give the boy half a chance, and Raviathan rose to the challenge. The history lessons were paying off in gold. Though his expression didn’t change, Duncan felt a surge of pride in the lad’s intelligence. “All good questions, Rav, though some of the answers will have to wait.”

The camp was readying to move. Squires and lesser soldiers had the task of packing tents and equipment while more experienced soldiers continued to train.

The messenger was speaking with an older man surrounded by knights and a Chantry mother. Raviathan couldn’t tell the older man’s age. He had a full grey beard and long grey hair held out of his face with braids, but grey hair could mask a person’s true age, making him appear older than was necessarily the case. His armor was plain at first glance, but on closer inspection, Raviathan saw that it was very well crafted from fine materials. That could mean either the human wasn’t pretentious, or that he preferred to blend in to be less of a target to a hostile enemy.

“That would be Arl Eamon,” Duncan whispered to Raviathan.

“ ... issues with the recent rain,” the messenger stated, his chest puffed out.

“I’ll allow for compensation of the east dock homes,” Arl Eamon said. “What else?”

“The arlessa is looking for a new tutor for your son.”

“New tutor,” Eamon said, mystified. “What’s wrong with Torrme?”

“She said she caught him drinking excessively during his lecture hours. She fears his influence on the young master. But she says...” The messenger quieted when the arl waved him off.

“Whatever she thinks is best. I have other concerns at the moment.” The men around the arl chuckled at his dry humor.

“It’s only an Avvar invasion followed by some darkspawn horde, Your Grace. Surely you can personally oversee every staff appointment,” one of the knights commented, eliciting more laughter.

Raviathan wasn’t sure what to make of the arl. Despite the grey in his beard, he carried himself with the competence of a man used to fighting. A warrior certainly, but he didn’t have the arrogance that William or Vaughan displayed so readily. Raviathan nibbled at the inside of his lip. Elves he could read with no problem, but humans remained a mystery. Though he was getting better at intuiting their personalities, he needed to adapt quicker.

“Duncan!” Eamon said with the warmth of an old comrade. “Good you came when you did. We’re going to move camp further west in an hour.”

“I take it you will not be heading south any time soon then,” Duncan said.

“Not necessarily. I’ve been having some success in negotiations with the Avvar messenger. But come. We’ll discuss in more detail.” Eamon left to return to his tent, his knights following.

“Stay in the camp while I talk to the arl.” Duncan turned back to Raviathan, eyes narrowed in mock irritation. “And no getting in trouble or kidnapped.”

“So many shems about. That’s going to be a tall order.” Raviathan grinned back at Duncan’s suspicious look, relieved that his mentor understood him. “Well, with this much fabulousness, I can’t blame them for being unable to resist me.”

“Yell if one of them throws you over his shoulder.”

“Will do.”

Raviathan caught the flash of white from Duncan’s grin when he turned to follow the rest to the arl’s tent. Watching the old warrior’s retreating back, Raviathan nibbled his lip. He might be able to ease some of Duncan’s old scars and arthritis if he was careful. Stinging nettles and burdock root grew in abundance here, perfect for teas and ointments. Raviathan would have left to go hunting for herbs if Duncan hadn’t ordered him to stay. With so many new landscapes, Raviathan was itching to explore. How amazing this world was outside of his alienage. If his people could live free as the Dalish, out in the wonder of this land, their lives would be near perfect.

Since he was left to his own whims, Raviathan wandered about the camp. Everything fascinated him. He watched the squires bundle tents and equipment for a time, studying how they packed with an economy of space. Some of the equipment was ingeniously made, such as the cooking pots that stacked inside one another. Horses and oxen were tied up on one side of camp, which he decided to avoid. Attracted by the sound of sparring, Raviathan decided to head to the training area. He had never had the opportunity to watch men train before.

Rounding a large tent, Raviathan froze. A pack of huge, muscled mabari sat together in an open area of the camp. A pale grey beast lifted her head, her nose scenting the air, then turned to look at him. Raviathan’s breath caught. Memories of howls, jaws bared to tear him apart, the smell of burning flesh all snapped into his brain. Within seconds, the entire pack was staring at him.

The kennel master rose up from the middle of the pack, a jar of silvery clay in one hand. He looked at the pack then to where Raviathan stood. “Huh. You’d think they’ve never seen an elf before.”

At least he was called an elf. The kennel master’s calm allowed Raviathan to reexamine the pack with new eyes. Despite his fear, the mabari showed no hostility. The dogs were curious above all else.

“You afraid of them, then?”

“A bit.”

“So that’s what got their attention. Eh, nothing to fear unless you’re one of them Avvars. Last I remember, no elves among them.” The kennel master bent down to smear more of the clay on the next dog. “If they were regular dogs, you’d be in trouble. Smell of fear would make them aggressive, go after you. These beauties know they can rip off your arms before you could do more than squeak. Isn’t that right, me dear,” he cooed at the closest.

Humans made no sense. Ignoring the man’s odd behavior, Raviathan studied the dogs now that he knew the animals were controlled. They probably weighed more than he did by a few stone. The mabari came in all shades, their short fur showing off powerful muscles.

Most of the war dogs’ muscle resided in their shoulders, their forelegs oddly shaped for a dog. Their forelegs reminded Raviathan of children playing at being dogs, the way children had to position their hands and arms to accommodate being on all fours. The comparison helped Raviathan identify how a mabari’s shoulders locked much further back. Beneath their intimidating muscle mass, the dogs’ wide scapula bone covered the front ribs like a piece of armor. The humerus bone was shorter, thicker, as were their metacarpus bones, setting their forelegs further back than a normal dog. Their over large paws ended in heavy claws, unusual for a dog.

“What’s the paint for?” Raviathan asked. The analysis of the dogs’ skeletal structure took Raviathan’s mind off his fear. The dogs had returned to sniffing the air or the paint, looking about at whatever interested a mabari. Except for the grey female who continued to watch Raviathan, her head cocked in curiosity. The dog actually had quite a sweet face, Raviathan thought. Gentle eyes.

“Mabari identify their pack by smell. They’re familiar with the soldiers here, but blood has a strong scent. Can confuse them in the thick of battle, especially when they get excited. The clay reminds them who their friends are.”

The grey mabari was still watching him. When her stub of a tail started a tentative wag, Raviathan returned the gesture by wiggling his fingers. A bright pink tongue fell out to lick her muzzle. He grinned, enchanted by the animal’s plaintive whine. She twisted in her sitting position to take a step toward him, her neck stretched out.

“Hey! Get out of here!” The kennel master pulled on the grey mabari’s collar to get her to turn away. “I don’t need her imprinting on some random knife ear.”

So they were back to knife ear. Shems were all the same once their surface was scratched. Knife ear. Raviathan had a vivid image of just where he would stick that shem’s knife. “What’s imprinting?”

“I said go! A mabari with this breeding is meant for a warrior.” He pulled at her collar again, eliciting a yelp. Raviathan didn’t think she was hurt so much as distressed. She was such a sweet dog, too. Thinking it better not to cause the dog any confusion, he left.

 
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