A Challenger Arrives!

[fortheloveoffalondin]

WHO: Salem of clan Ghilan, and whoever finds him there at the gates
WHAT: The arrival of one small, cold elf that is not part of clan Ashara
WHEN: After most people have returned from the Mire
WHERE: Skyhold's front gates, then possibly the healers' tents


Keeper
I've made it to the mountains. It's so cold in the South.

I will find our missing brothers. They deserve to be home, or if they've not survived, they deserve to be buried as the knights are.

Updates will be sent as events escalate.

You have my thanks for allowing me on this journey. Now you must endure until I return.

The scroll was kept in a skin tube at his side, to be delivered when he arrived at Haven. When he'd arrived in the valley where it had been tucked, though, all he'd found was a mound of snow, rattled off the mountain, and droves of corpses. He'd lingered only long enough to offer prayers, ask that the souls be guided from the place to what afterlifes they would seek, then started off into the mountains. It was fortunate that one of his few great skills was tracking, as he'd been able to pick up a trail, first wide and hectic, trampling the snow as people had fled, but as he'd followed, stopping where the ground was swept clean and there were still traces of campfires, humps of snow and crude markers over the graves of villagers that had fallen, he'd started to slow. He was persistent, stubborn, and had a good capacity for endurance in conditions that really should have killed him within days.

The snow had all but completely erased the tracks he'd been following in some areas, but people always left markers behind that were easy enough to find, for one with keen eyes and determination that bordered on obsession.

When the hold had come into view, Salem was draped in furs, wrapped up tight to stave off the cold as his armor hadn't been able to. There were still parts of him that were frostbitten, and by the time he'd started the trek up the last leg of the path, his vision was swimming, legs shaking. His food had all but completely run out, hard tack and dried herbs the last scraps in his bag. He'd been chewing on strong mint to keep himself conscious, but even that was failing, and as soon as he'd rounded the top of the last slope and found where the land had mostly leveled off on the path up to the gates, he'd finally fallen.

An alert was put out to some of the healers: an unknown Dalish had been found in front of the hold, freezing, dehydrated, delirious upon being shaken to consciousness, but alive.

Two days later, after regaining the ability to walk without wobbling
Where was he now? The question went out among the healers, unanswered as the elf had disappeared from his cot while their backs had been turned. His armor was gone, his blades were gone, but it had apparently been too hard to drag his axe away unnoticed, so it was still dug into the dirt where it had been.

Now one elf a little too thin and dressed a little too sparsely was tucked away into a shadowy corner with a good view of the courtyard, a book in his hand and charcoal pencil scribbling away as he took notes on everything that he could see, from the Orlesian humans wandering the hold, to the elves here and there both from the city and from some other Dalish clan. He'd caught sight of an armored human man that looked like he'd had better days, a sword sheathed at his hip and an empty harness across his back similar to the one that he wore when he carried his greataxe, and had leaned out of his corner to track his movement until he'd disappeared into the tavern. Then he'd caught sight of another human, blonde and older and tired but with the bearing of a leader and a scar on his mouth that he wanted to see close-up and no his face was not turning pink over these stupid gods-forsaken shems you see nothing.

Comments

[amygdalae]

[Bruce had been taking one of his personal scheduled breaks when the alert came - and what an alert it certainly was. It's not everyday when one talked about a Dalish that had collapsed right at the entrance to Skyhold - especially one that was right on the verge of death.

The healers (the ones with magic) were the ones who took charge, but Bruce tried to help however he could, providing herbs and advising them where possible. The elf was in bad shape, and the fact that he was barefoot certainly didn't help either. Even Bruce wasn't entirely sure if the healers could manage this. But if he managed to make it all the way here, then surely that would be a testament to his spirit.

All Bruce could do was to try and push the odds in his favor.]

[el_tybs]

[He was already at the tents, checking up on those who got injured on the journey back from the Mire, when the alert went out. It was mere minutes before the some people showed up with the Elf, setting him down on a cot in one of the empty tents.

Verge of death they said. Maker damnit.

Sam was in the middle of stripping the Elf out of his clothes - armor? - when Bruce had showed up. Oh thank the Maker he didn't have to do this on his own. Unlike the first time they had met, Bruce was more talkative this time around, snapping out directions as time was of the essence. With the two of them the clothing came off relatively quickly, wrapping him up in blankets right after, and Sam working on getting some water and heating it up in a large tub after that.

It wasn't until the Elf's feet were submerged in the warm water that Sam allowed himself to breathe, rubbing his face tiredly. Sighing he looked to Bruce.]

How's he doing?

[amygdalae]

[After what seemed like an eternity onto itself they had managed to pull the elf out from the jaws of death - figuratively, of course. But it was still going to be a bit before the elf was going to really be able to do anything, although that didn't matter so much now with the comfort that he would be well again, in time.

Bruce takes a moment to wipe off the sweat off his forehead with a rag, tossing it over his shoulder after that as he glances over to Samouel.]

Out of danger, at least. But the frostbite's got him good - he'll still need a good amount of time to heal up from all the damage he's taken. [He shakes his head at this point and lets out a brief sigh.] It's a miracle he's even alive at all when he arrived here. Malnourished, dehydrated... we're going to have to keep an eye on him for at least a week to make sure his recovery is progressing.

[el_tybs]

[When Sam said he'd like to talk or possibly work with Bruce in the future, he had not planned on it being like this. Well it was probably fortunate for the Elf that they were since Bruce had more knowledge on treating frostbite then Sam, but the Mage could speed up the physical recovery quite a bit.

Still even with magic they had to at least soak the frostbitten parts in warm water first. Sure, Sam could have healed the man right away, things could heal badly if not treated correctly before hand, and with frostbite the man would have likely lost his toes because that. Something none of them wanted of course.

Like the feet, Sam places the man's hands in a bucket of warm water. They didn't look as bad as the feet, but still bad enough. He gives a hum, showing that he was still listening to Bruce.]

We're going to need to figure what he can eat if he's that bad. I doubt he'll be able to tolerate solids for a while. How long do you think he was out there?

[fortheloveoffalondin]

<sub>[The continuing discussion between Sam and Bruce eventually stirs him. It's darker than he could remember it being...how long had he been asleep? He'd had a dream, he'd been revived by the goddess Sylaise, then handed over to armored monsters... Ridiculous.

Sitting up, Salem groans deeply and rubs his hands across his face, his feet pulling up in front of him and his elbows propping on his knees. He glances down when the blankets on him shift, and immediately yank them back up when he realizes that he's not wearing anything.]</sub>

Where is this?

_{[The demand is loud, made in a cracked and hoarse voice as overbright green eyes scanned the tent, then came to the men sitting and talking with their backs to him. His eyes narrow, teeth baring.]}

Shems.

[arlathvhen]

It will endlessly irritate her that as soon as someone sees a tattoo on an elf, they assume that she has a personal relationship with them. However, today it proves useful, because as soon as the other scouts catch sight of a collapsing Dalish on Skyhold's doorstep, she had been informed.

Beleth probably doesn't know the elf, but there's always a chance, and if someone has to go rescue the poor thing, it should be one of the People that they see.

So she passes by the scouts that had been coming out to see what the matter is, waving a hand at them as she ran to the unfortunate lump of furs. Whoever it was must have been traveling for some time, because despite the layers, what skin she could touch felt frozen. She frowned, and flipped them over to get a better look. A male, with Mythal's vallaslin. She touched his face--also cold. Not good. While it wasn't much against the other layers, she figured that her scarf would at least have some warmth to it, and stripped it off, wrapping it around his neck, and then promptly grabbing him on the shoulders, and shaking him silly.

"Aneth ara, lethallin! Wake up, if you can!"

[fortheloveoffalondin]

Maybe shaking him awake wasn't the safest thing she could ever do, but it has the desired effect, to an extent. At least, if the desired effect is seeing just how delirious he is.

This close, it is easy enough to see that the tips of his ears were damaged by the cold as badly as his digits were, and they barely move in reaction to his waking up and seeing someone doing the shaking. His eyes are glazed over some, vision obviously not focused when he murmurs in return, "Aneth ara, ma Sylaise..."

[arlathvhen]

". . ." For a second, she looks at Salem, eyes wide and startled. Did he just call her Sylaise...? For a moment, her fingers brushed against the twisting vines on her cheek, then she shook her head, and gripped him, attempting to haul him up.

"He's delirious! And hypothermic, and--Hello! Help, please." She shouted off into the distance, as she struggled to gather up the other Dalish. She had to move the furs off of him to do it, and even then, it was more like...half dragging him. Once some of the other scouts managed to move their butts and lend her a hand, Beleth could focus on inspecting him. She frowned, putting a hand over one chilled ear.

"Hold on, lethallin. What happened to you? Whatever it was--you're safe now."

[fortheloveoffalondin]

Some weak struggling is really all the fight he can put up when the Inquisition scouts gather around to offer Beleth their assistance, but at least it's something keeping him conscious as he grows colder when the furs are stripped away. He clings to Beleth's sleeve and slurs out half-coherent epithets, but it's clear he can't really support himself very well, being so exhausted.

"Halani...ma vhen'an," he breaths before letting his head loll against his shoulder. The scouts exchanged looks, then shook their heads. Damned elves...

He'd come to help his people. That was the last anyone would be getting out of him for the moment.

Healers' tent

[mythalenaste]

Someone had insisted to her that "one of yours" was now terribly sick and in one of the healers' tents. She'd fled in search of them, images flashing through her head of Merrick bleeding out after one of his attacks, but when she found the elf, she found she didn't know him.

Wait.

No, he's familiar. She's not sure how. The Arlathvhen, no doubt, though many elves who were at the Arlathvhen escaped her memory. He is awake and seems to have stopped shivering, so she is sort of trapped into explaining herself if he sees her.

"Andaran atish'an."

[fortheloveoffalondin]

He's awake, and eyeballing the food he'd been handed, tearing it apart with slightly fumbling fingers before popping it into his mouth. He has to take it slowly, carefully, as his stomach is still rebelled at much more than bread, water and milder cheeses. He pauses at the sound of the traditional greeting, a piece of bread at his lips.

"Aneth ara lethal...lan... Pel?"

The bit of bread crumbles between his fingers and falls away as he looks up at her.

I did not get this notif, sorry!

[mythalenaste]

She frowns, squinting, eyebrows lowering. Slowly, she puts it together: the reason he looks familiar, but not so familiar that she knew him immediately. Her eyebrows lift, a gleam coming to her eyes. He is changing so constantly. She reaches out hesitantly to touch his brow under the pretense of checking for a fever, but she simply can't believe this is real until she feels him solid to the touch.

It had been so hard to leave him behind, once. So hard, knowing he was really hers, and she couldn't keep him.

"Salem?" she whispers, her fingers brushing across his brow in something more akin to a caress.

<3 Don't worry about it, I know the system is a little screwy sometimes.

[fortheloveoffalondin]

At first, Salem can't find his voice to say anything in return. He reaches up and lays his hands against her arms, looking up at her as his eyes brim then overflow.

"Why are you here? I thought..." The last time they'd seen one-another, Pel's talents had been honed,and she'd come into her own as both a mage and as a woman of clan Ashara. He was certain they wouldn't get to see one-another again until the next Arlathvhen. He'd talked for days about her to his- no, their parents after they'd parted again, but now he can't quite find his words anymore. So his lips press against her forehead and he lets out a slightly shaky little sigh. "Are you keeping safe?"

[wickedchase]

"Well now. You gave a bit of a scare."

Time has passed now. Enough of the other Dalish have come and fussed over the new arrival, healers fussing even more. The nice thing about the Inquisition, at least, is how quickly word travels and how eager everyone is there to help. Terribly fortunate for new arrivals and the like.

Undoubtedly, he expects his fellow elf is still recovering. Traveling through snow for who-knows-how-long is a bit traumatic for any normal person.

Twisted Fate is sitting back, looking casual, watching him with a curious look while sipping some mead.

"Welcome to Skyhold, stranger." There is no formal Dalish greeting. Not from him. "How you feelin'?"

[fortheloveoffalondin]

Well, that at least tells Salem that this man isn't Dalish, though that is obvious enough by the man's attire. When Salem turns over in his cot and registers that he's being spoken to, he curls in some on himself, narrowing his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmurs, though his brow furrows some. "You said Skyhold? Then...I've made it. But who are you?"

[wickedchase]

"You did. Congratulations." He chuckles.

At the question, the mage shrugs and pours a cup, holding it out in offering to Salem. "I go by Twisted Fate. That's enough for anyone. Fate or T.F. if you'd like. Just as long as it isn't rude, I don't really mind what you call me." He grins. "And what about you?"

[fortheloveoffalondin]

"That tells me very little," Salem grumps at him, though as soon as the cup is offered, he reaches for it, raising it to his lips and continuing to watch Fate over the top of it.

"Honestly, I'd prefer to keep some of the things I would call you and most others around here to myself." Not really doing himself a favor making friends here, but he's not exactly here for that. "Salem."

[dalishious]

Of course Merrick had heard of the newest addition to Skyhold's Dalish population, but that doesn't necessarily mean he cares all that much. He's a bit curious, sure, but he isn't about to go looking for the other elf, not with so much else going on. And the little free time he had? Was smoking time.

He heads to his usual spot one afternoon, intending to work on his latest woodcarving project and, yes, smoke. He relaxes beneath the shade of the tree and lights up his pipe, taking the smoke in deep. It's rich and smooth, and the sun feels good on his face, and there seems to be no one around. In other words, it's just the way he likes it.

Pipe nestled comfortably between his lips, he takes out a half-finished carving of a bird and goes to work.

[fortheloveoffalondin]

The smell of the smoke draws his attention, and Salem leans out of hiding, keeping his journal clutched tight against him. He creeps out, like a kitten someone's trying to entice with a treat, ready to bolt back into his corner at the slightest twitch. Another elf, he can tell that from the back, which helps him ease off on his guard.

He stands under the tree unobtrusively and watches Merrick's hands, a soft smile coming to him when he recognized the shape of the bird.

"It's beautiful, lethallin," he comments quietly, his hands coming together behind his back.

[dalishious]

The arrival of the other elf is less than favorable to Merrick. He glowers a bit, looking up at Salem from under tightly knitted eyebrows. That tends to chase most people away from his smoking spot, anyway. Few dare to cross him around here.

"Who are you?" he says gruffly, ignoring the compliment for the moment.

[fortheloveoffalondin]

The look Merrick gives him only prompts Salem to tilt his head some, looking down at the other and taking a moment to recognize the vallaslin, and the general bearing of him.

"Merrick!" he immediately figures from what Pel has told him. "My name is Salem. I'd just...well, I had actually wanted to meet you." Along with the rest of the Asharas, but Merrick was one of them he'd been looking forward to putting a face to the name most.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin missed the initial excitement of Salem's arrival, but she returns from the mire in the span of those two days afterward. After what feels like the world's longest hot soak and the chance to sleep in a tent that isn't threatening to drip all over her, Korrin makes her way to the kitchen. She's dying for some food that isn't rations or poor-quality tavern fare. Piling some hearth cakes onto a plate, she decides the courtyard would be a better spot for a snack, so she can watch whoever's in the training ring at the moment. That's a decent way to spend her first real morning back, isn't it?

She paces around looking for the best vantage point, preferring some shade and a chance to enjoy the show without the risks of being too close. She has no interest in sparring either, not now, not after her arms ache from all the demon and corpse-fighting she's just been through and will see again after her reprieve is over. Supplies won't deliver themselves, and she promised to guard the return trip.

[fortheloveoffalondin]

When he spots her silhouette, he's almost certain he's mistaken; battlemage qunari lady standing head and shoulders above everyone and everything else, wandering around with a plate of cakes? It just doesn't quite fit in his mind. But still, it's someone familiar in this clusterfuck he's found himself in that's not his sister.

"Ser Korrin!" He darts out of his corner and bounces up to her, albeit a tad clumsily, looking up at her with a bright smile. "Hullo!"

[gatheringstorm]

Hey, even badass battlemages have to eat sometime. Korrin stops short, surprised but pleased to see him again. "You don't need to call me 'ser', Salem. No title, here. It's good to see you again!"

And she looks him over, brow furrowing as she notes the thinness. That prompts her to extend her plate, readily sharing the hearth cakes. "Here, have some. You look as though you need them more than I do. What happened?"

[fortheloveoffalondin]

Salem glances between Korrin and the offered cakes, taking one and turning it over in his hands before taking a small bite. "Walked here," he replies simply, glancing down at his feet, though for the moment they're concealed in slippers given to him by one of the healers to help keep his toes from dropping off. He makes a face at them, then looks back up at her. "It's good to see you as well! I hadn't even thought about running into you here after leaving in the Hinterlands."