Winter's icy breath lashed at the exposed forms of two women as they walked along the mountain road to the humble hamlet of Haven. They kept their cloaks near to their bodies, but only the leader of the pair wore one that would be effective in such terrain. This woman, a proud Chasind standing firm and tall, narrowed her burning hazel eyes as the lights of Haven gleamed past the frosted fog. Lathered in a traditional salve, the two would be safe until they found adequate shelter, and until the smaller Lenavel found a new guardian. Cunoan had tried to guide the girl into a manageable state, but she knew in her heart that she simply could not provide all that the elf needed to mature and grow past the darkness which plagued her very soul. This inadequacy tortured Cunoan, knowing that she would perhaps never be enough for the elf, but it was thus of mutual benefit that they split. She might miss Lenavel, but if there was one lesson that life had taught her, it was that when something had to be done, it had to be done.





"Almost there." Cunoan the Silent uttered to her companion, who looked on hopefully. The two continued to trudge up, hiking to Haven with scarce a sound. Upon reaching the gate, Cunoan gave the briefest hint of a smile in the knowledge that their journey was, more-or-less, done with. Staring into the hamlet, it was more a city: the tents of pilgrims filled up every nook and cranny that could be given, and the swarm that currently resided therein was more then ten times the natural population. The atmosphere of the town seemed just as much more lively than the expected dim and grim reception. Lenavel, however, stood in a shocked and terrified silence. Cunoan looked to her companion, seeing how stiff she had become, and gave a gentle push forward. "It will be...alright." Words were never quite her strength.



With that push, Lenavel began to walk forward with all the lithe grace of a newborn deer. Cunoan walked beside her, keeping an arm around her to guide her through the crowds and somewhere much safer. Warmer. More private. While Lenavel kept her head down, Cunoan kept hers high - watching for anything, positive or negative, that might cross their path. The pair ultimately arrived at their destination, the inviting orange glow of the inn's hearth all too recognizable despite the overcrowding of the city. Pushing through the door and entering into the embrace of the inn, Cunoan approached the innkeeper and spoke: "Is there a room available for just this night?"



"You're kidding, right?"



"I can pay."



"There's no room."



"A lot."



The innkeeper paused as she tossed a jingling bag onto the counter. The two looked at one another for a brief period, though it may have felt as if an eternity. Lenavel kept her head low, refusing to look anyone in the eye and hoping to remain as hidden as possible. Cunoan by contrast kept her eyes steely and directed straight to the innkeeper. His very essence seemed to shake a little, to bend as wood does under great stress, and he gave in at last. "I can make accommodations in the basement. That's the best I can do."



"It will suffice."



She was handed a key and immediately went to inspect the area. Holding Lenavel tenderly by the hand, feeling the cold, slightly frosted leather of her glove - which was quite higher quality in its buttery texture than an exiled Dalish had any reasonable expectation to have - she guided the elf to the lonesome basement of the building. It was a simple door, just near the stairs, a few creaky wooden steps down, and there it was. The air was damp, and perhaps a bit chilly, but most certainly better than staying outside. Moreover, there were no others here to cause great panic to the elf; there was nothing to fear in the basement. Lenavel took a seat on a crate, while Cunoan took a lit candle from a table and explored the area. Filled with various stores of various goods, the small amount of open space was far from ideal. Dropping the candle from whence it came, the barbarian approached the elf, put her hand on her shoulder, and knelt slightly to match her eye level.



"Is this place alright?"



Lenavel paused, looking around the room. "It...yes. It's alright."



"Good, I'll head upstairs and get you something to eat. I'll be back shortly. Don't touch anything."



Lenavel simply nodded, and thus Cunoan went off. Climbing the stairs once more, she stopped by the counter and bought a cup of milk and a chunk of bread with some cheese on it. Shrugging it off, she returned to Lenavel with the monk's feast. Handing her both items, Cunoan took a seat nearby and watched as Lenavel took small nibbles and small sips; she appeared as cautious with each bite and drink as a rabbit. The two women sat in appreciable silence, neither necessarily prone to conversational tendencies. They enjoyed it well enough, anyway. At least, Cunoan did- she could only expect Lenavel had the same attitude given her own behaviors.



In short enough time, the innkeeper returned. Holding Lenavel's hand, Cunoan watched as he laid out two crude bedrolls. That would suffice, thank you very much, they exchanged the typical pleasantries and off he went back to his business. The barbarian turned to her companion, "You're fed, traveled, and now you can retire as necessary. I shall be upstairs if you need me."



Lenavel hesitated, averted her eyes for a moment. Those beautiful, stormy eyes - Cunoan had seen them oft but never had they looked at her before. Nay, there was always something in the gaze of the elf, some terror, some darkness that haunted her. Even when staring into Lenavel's eyes, face-to-face, she could tell Lenavel was looking at something else. Ghosts, shadows of the past. This was different, as Lenavel raised her eyes once more to look to Cunoan; for the first time since they had met, Lenavel's vision seemed as clear and direct as the day she had been born, with a childlike mixture of fear and love and wonder as if she had truly seen the woman for the first time. This made Cunoan a bit uneasy, but Lenavel replied simply "Alright," and nodded.



With an internal sigh of relief, Cunoan rose the stairs just one more time, and took a seat at an empty table. That's when she saw the Qunari walk in. A brave warrior, proud and tall, he reminded her of her own people. His presence this far from the homeland, and his general appearance, gave the image of a mercenary - someone wiling to work for the right price. But he was Qunari, a devoted and honorable people willing to fight for their mission at any cost. It was perfect. An idea sparked in her head - a solution to the ills facing her, and to Lenavel. It was what they had came for, and so it would now be achieved. Letting loose a whistle as he walked by, she called to him- "Qunari, here. I've an offer for you."

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