Chapter 20: Strange Bedfellows - Provincial Divide

Usually Duncan awoke with a start, covered in sweat from his nightmares. Terrifying shadows hunted him down in the endless dark tunnels of the Deep Roads, but the persistent, maddening song of the Archdemon had been muted so as to be unnoticeable during the last two nights. He was surprised to find he woke feeling more rested than he had in a month since the dreams had started. He took a moment to savor the feeling. Instead of taint induced nightmares, he had been back at the Warden compound in Denerim, the inviting aromas of cooking making him long for supper. The Calling was still in the near future, but respite was welcome. He was equally surprised to see the sleeping elf curled up next to him with a warm hand on his bicep. Raviathan was being downright cuddly.

Rain fell hard against the window. Duncan tried to ease out of bed so as not to disturb the elf, but Raviathan’s head raised slightly with a murmured “mmm?” that was entirely too cute. Duncan smiled down at the elf, and, on impulse, brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over Raviathan’s features. Raviathan stretched under the blankets then blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“You can sleep in if you’d like,” Duncan said, his voice carrying a familiar rasp in the morning.

“Mmmh. Rain’s too heavy for travel I take it,” Raviathan said, looking out the window.

“For now it is. If it clears up before noon, we’ll go. Otherwise we’ll need to stay another night.”

The elf sat up and stretched again, his muscles flexing this way and that, and for a moment, Duncan envied the easy health of the young. They dressed for breakfast, and following Duncan’s example, Raviathan left his armor behind. It made sense, Raviathan thought. If they might not be leaving, why wear the heavy stuff. This was the first day he hadn’t worn armor since he left Denerim, and as ill fitting as it was, he was surprised by how quickly he had gotten used to it.

Breakfast consisted of potato cakes and onions with some bacon for flavor, yogurt, butter, fruit preserves, and dark wheat bread. Raviathan smiled and shook his head at Duncan’s appetite. “I don’t know where you put it all. I’ve been watching. Not all shems eat that much. Not even the guards.”

Duncan merely shrugged the comments away. The elf’s eyes sharpened on him. “Can’t pull that one on me, Duncan.”

“What am I pulling?”

“I’m getting better at reading shems. I can tell you’re hiding something.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows at the comment then took another bite of bread. Raviathan grinned, mischief written in his shining eyes, and Duncan couldn’t help a small smile in return before sobering. “I am not allowed to speak of its cause. Otherwise, I would tell you.”

Raviathan regarded him, his head cocked as he thought. “Something that’s particular to you, or something that’s common among Grey Wardens?”

Duncan squeezed Raviathan’s forearm, and gave the elf his full attention. “If I could tell you, I would. You’ll have to be content knowing that I wish I could answer all of your questions.”

A bit startled by Duncan’s intensity, Raviathan nodded before they both turned back to their meal. “So,” Raviathan started, “what are our plans today? Since we can’t travel.”

“One, we’ll see if we can get a tailor for your clothes. Maybe some other items. If there is a barn or large enough room available here or further in town, I thought we might train.”

Raviathan perked up.

“You like the idea then?”

“It’s been ages since I’ve trained,” Raviathan said. “If I’m going to uphold the Order, I’d better sharpen up.”

“You might regret that tonight.”

Raviathan scoffed. “You think I haven’t earned a bruise or twenty before?”

The ate in comfortable silence as Duncan pondered that statement. Why hadn’t he thought of Raviathan’s lack of injuries before? The elf didn’t have the slightest mar on his skin, not from training and not from his battle at the estate. Surely he had been injured. “Do you know how to make healing potions as well?”

“Sure. Cinimar, elfroot, and a base to mix it. It’s not hard. Problem is cinimar is expensive and needs to be processed. I’ve been able to get roots, but the oil is most effective.”

“How expensive is the oil?”

“Usually around thirty silver or so for a vial. Half sovereign or more for higher quality stuff. Elfroot is the healing agent. Cinimar makes the natural properties of elfroot that much more powerful. There are other concentrating agents, but cinimar is the most common in Ferelden.”

Duncan almost shook his head but caught himself. Though the costs for ingredients would add up, the price still seemed meager compared to the necessity of a whole and healthy body. Most households would have a vial of the fast acting healing potion for emergency injuries, but elves would likely not even have that. In the alienage, elves had beautiful children and crippled adults.

When the serving girl passed by, Duncan signaled for her. “Is there an apothecary in town?”

“East, at the edge of town. Old Beth. Backyard overgrown with weeds. Can’t miss it.”

Duncan pulled out a purse that had five sovereigns worth of coins. “Here. Buy what you need.”

The elf took the purse, his eyes widening when he saw gold mixed with silver. “I ... Duncan.”

“You will be the Wardens’ healer. You should be equipped, especially considering that we are going to war.” With solemn ceremony, the elf tucked the pouch of coins under his shirt. “Take your clothes to be altered by a tailor first. When I’m finished with breakfast, I’ll see if there’s a barn for us to spar.”

“Do you want to meet back here?”

“I’ll find you.”

Raviathan opened his mouth to protest before shutting it. Despite his travel through the countryside of the Bannorn, Raviathan still measured everything by the sprawling maze that was Denerim. Even Tradetown, which was less than half the size of the Denerim Market, was twice as large as this village. Shaking his head at the strangeness of his new life, he left to get his new clothes to take to a tailor, dressed in armor and weapons, got his oiled cloak, then headed out after receiving directions from the serving girl.

Though the town itself consisted of little more than a collection of houses, a humble chantry, and an inn, Raviathan was fascinated. Everything from the slumping stone and mud architecture to the spaces between buildings he would never see in Denerim was vastly different than anything he had known before. What must it be like to grow up here? Have these homes and muddy streets as your only reference? What would these people think of Denerim’s noise and crowds let alone the foreign goods found in the Market?

While the town didn’t have a tailor, there was a woman who took in washing and could make alterations. She measured him without fuss after he showed her his coin, though his ears and eyes did get a close examination. Her children stood around the main room staring at him as if he were some exotic animal. They didn’t even try to hide their unwavering gaze. “Not many elves around here, are there?”

“Naw, ser. Servants following their lord sometimes. Or the odd Dalish to trade, but that be rare.”

One child whispered to his sister, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “He’s so small.”

Raviathan raised an eyebrow at the comment. The boy, about ten or so though Raviathan was a poor judge of human children’s ages, was still a few inches shorter than he was. Snot ran unchecked from the boy’s nose. Most of her children had red noses they either left to leak or rubbed at occasionally. All of them sniffled.

“Look at his eyes,” his sister whispered back.

In the alienage, the children would have been given chores to do if they couldn’t be polite, especially to a stranger in their home. Raviathan couldn’t tell if the difference was from them being human, if humans had a different standard of behavior for elves than they would for their fellows, or if it was this particular family who lacked manners.

“First time they’ve seen a knife ear up close,” the mother said.

Knife ear. Raviathan stiffened at the comment. Heat burned his face, and he wanted out of the house immediately, enough that his skin was itching to get back out into the rain.

“Pretty folk, aren’t they,” the mother said casting a smile back at her children. Raviathan’s brows knit. She hadn’t the slightest embarrassment or hesitation at the slur. Bloody shems, he thought.

A child’s cry sounded from further within the home. “Ack. That sounds like Ellison. Billy, go see to her, would you, dear?”

The eldest boy left, his gaze focused singularly on Raviathan until the child disappeared into the hall. The other four children continued to stare, the youngest with her thumb in her open mouth, a trail of drool sliding down her hand. Except for the youngest towheaded girl, they all had their mother’s unruly, brown curls, square jaw, and thin lips.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with that child. Just won’t stop fussing, especially when I put her down. Not got a wink of sleep last night.”

Tension remained in Raviathan’s shoulders, but the child’s cries called to him, pushing through his resentment. The mother may be another worthless shem, but he couldn’t allow her child to suffer for that. Raviathan looked at her children with a critical eye. “Has your family had many colds lately?”

The woman snorted. “Think one is done, then another comes along. All seven of them were laid up.”

Seven? No, he must have misheard. He glanced back at the woman who was measuring his legs. She still looked to be in the midst of her third decade. “Seven ... children?”

“Seven and this one on the way,” she said patting her stomach. She turned her grin up at him. Three of her teeth were missing. “That ain’t including my husband neither when he’s sick,” she said with a wink.

Maker! “Is...” Raviathan cleared his throat when his voice cracked, “is that normal for humans?”

She shrugged. “I was fourth of twenty. Three died as babes, then lost a few brothers and a sister to bandits that came through.”

“I ... I’m sorry.”

“Aye. Jaken was my favorite brother. Took care of me when I was young, he did. Me mother used to say he was too sweet for this world. Maker had a better place ready for him. Ah, but that was years ago. Don’t trouble yourself about it.”

Twenty children and so many dead. Raviathan couldn’t comprehend the numbers. “Your baby, um, had a cold recently?”

“Yeah.”

“Has a fever?”

She looked back up at him, curious. “Yes.”

“Vomiting or diarrhea?”

Now she sat back on her heels to stare at him. “Yes to both.”

“Any ear pulling? Or liquid coming out of her ears?”

“No.”

“May I take a look at her?”

She stared at him. “You know about this sort of thing?”

Raviathan indicated his case. “I’m a healer.”

“What sort of healer?”

“I took care of all the elves in my alienage. I was going to start a practice, take in humans too, but then the war in the south started, and I was conscripted.”

She didn’t speak for a long minute, her guard up as it hadn’t been before. “How old are you?”

“I’ve been practicing medicine for six years, on my own for two. Before that, I mixed potions and poultices often.” He returned her gaze. “I’m young, but I’m good at what I do.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before standing. She beckoned him with a small wave down the hall. Billy was cradling a large baby. Another baby a few months old lay placidly in a crib ignoring the fuss of siblings. Billy looked startled to see him.

“How old is she?”

“Almost two,” the mother replied.

Had the baby been an elf, Raviathan would have guessed three from the size, but she was proportional for a two year old, if huge by elven standards. He felt her forehead, looked into her eyes and mouth, sniffed at her ears. He turned to the mother. “Ear infection.”

“Is that bad?”

Raviathan shook his head. “Pretty common. Most children get one or two, sometimes more. How long has she been ill?”

“About a week?” she said turning to Billy to confirm.

“Four days,” he said.

“Hmm. That’s getting to be a bit long. Here,” Raviathan said, holding out his arms. “I need to get a sense of her weight.”

Billy hesitated, but at his mother’s nod, handed his sister over. Her fussing and half cries stopped almost immediately. Grey blue eyes stared up at Raviathan just as her siblings had. Raviathan was astonished by how heavy and solid she felt in his arms.

The mother put a hand on Billy’s shoulder as if to steady herself. “She never takes to strangers.”

Raviathan smiled at her. “While your children have runny noses, it’s best they don’t care for her. Because babies have smaller ears, infections are easier to get. I’ll make an elfroot potion for her, but you must give it all. I’m going to make it specially for her, so don’t give any to your other children. Make sure she gets a small spoonful in the morning, noon, and at night. Now, ear infections will come back if you’re not careful. They’re like weeds. Even when you pull one out, if you don’t get the roots, it’ll grow back. We want to give her enough of the potion that we get the root of the infection as well, understand?”

The mother nodded as though still in shock. Raviathan handed her child back and left to make the potion. The difference now was that he had six children and their mother openly staring at him in silence. The only sounds in the room were the rain and grinding elfroot. Why did shems have to stare so? “So, how long for the clothes?”

“Eh? Oh, right,” the mother said, turning back to the little pile he had folded on the floor. “A day? Two perhaps?”

“If it stops raining before noon, we’ll need to leave.”

“Not likely that. We’re due for rain. Probably a few days if not a week.”

A week? Duncan would likely have them marching in the rain if it came to that. Finished with the potion, he made the mother and Billy repeat his instructions twice before leaving.

Rain pounded outside creating huge puddles in the muddy road and in the depressions in yards. Occasional gusts pushed the already cold rain in a slant that soaked Raviathan’s pants to the knees. Picking his way through slick mud and avoiding puddles, Raviathan tightened his cloak about him, his hood lowered and head down to avoid the rain.

The overgrown ‘weeds’ in the apothecary’s yard were actually one of the healthiest assortment of medicinal herbs that Raviathan had ever seen. Strange that the villagers weren’t healthier with this treasure available to them.

The woman who greeted him was explanation enough. She had four score years to her age if she had a day. Thick, grey hair knotted in long kinks around her head like moss hanging from a dead tree. Her hands were gnarled into claws, her joints bulging. Bent in spine and shoulders, she bore twin cataracts that peered at him without seeing more than a shadow of shape. “Eh. What’s this?”

“I was told this was an apothecary.”

“Aye, aye,” she said and retreated into her hut. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling giving spiders a fertile place to spin their webs. “You needing something then? Weather like this breeds illness.”

Even if she could still mix, Raviathan wouldn’t trust her goods. “I’m a healer. I was wondering if we could trade.”

One grey filmed eye boggled at him. She hobbled over in an odd sidestepping gait and poked him. “You setting up shop here?”

“No, just passing through. Headed to the King’s army in the south.”

Her hostility drained away. “Aye then. That’d be alright.”

Selfish shem. Raviathan looked around her hut again. Dried bats hung from a beam along with the oddest assortment of straw dolls and bound twigs. The dolls didn’t look like any toy he would give a child. A distillery slumped against a wall, but judging from the dust that covered the glass jars, Raviathan suspected that the crone hadn’t used it in years. Everything would need to be boiled before the distillery could be useful again. “Do you have any cinimar root or oil?”

The crone cackled. “Haven’t seen the like of that in years. And before you get started, I don’t have baccas gum or elbas oil neither.”

“How do you care for these people without them?” Of all herbalist ingredients, those three were what brought out the power of a plant. Skullcap might be a mild pain reliever, but when combined with elbas oil, the herb was almost as good as magic at calming a patient and taking away pain.

“Heh. Just from that can tell you ain’t from here. They wouldn’t know wine from vinegar. Snake piss works as well enough for them, doesn’t it. Half a healing is in the mind.”

For a moment, Raviathan couldn’t even contemplate what she meant. Snake piss? In the mind? For a second he wondered if she referred to some Fade ritual unregulated by the Chantry. When it dawned on him what she truly meant, he felt sickened. While a patient’s emotional state did effect their health and recovery, hers was a deep betrayal of trust. He regarded the remnants and dolls with disgust now that he was better able to guess at their purpose. “What are the dolls and dried bats for?”

“Child has the fits, I sells those to keep the demon from plaguing them.” Raviathan scoffed. The crone’s head swiveled at the sound. “Now don’t you go a judging. The mix ... well my hands shake too much, the oils are too expensive, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Plenty of parents are happy enough thinking the demon can’t get through.”

Raviathan eyed her with growing contempt. “Why haven’t you had an apprentice?”