Vir Bor'Assan, The Way of the Bow: Bend but do not break.

The bear moved ponderously just outside the Dalish camp, snuffling and pacing. A cluster of storage aravels lay between it and the main campfire where many were huddled trying to keep warm in the frost of a Korcari spring. The elves around the campsite were heedless of the bear's presence, but as a commotion began in their midst, the bear took keen notice of them, rising up on its hind legs. The aravels were in the way, however, so the beast dropped back down and started to lumber towards the camp. As it passed between two wagons, the bear transformed without breaking stride into a young dark-haired woman in a bright blue close-fitting robe.

The commotion was caused by the return of a scouting troop, obviously wounded. Trailing them was the youngest, a youth with a single copper-colored braid, limping and holding his shoulder where a trail of blood had spilled out over his leathers.

"Tamlen!" the bear-woman called, running towards him. The crowd of Dalish that had clustered around the scouts parted to let Idun pass. She reached Tamlen just in time to keep him from faltering on his feet. "Come into the aravel, lethallan. I'll tend you. Ashalle, please bring warm water." Idun's foster mother nodded and went to retrieve the water while the girl put her arm around Tamlen's waist to support him, leading him towards the sleeping aravel she shared with several others.

"I'm fine, Idun," the scout protested wearily, but she could see that he was far from fine. Blood streaked his face and caked in his hair, and his leathers were criss-crossed with cuts. That was not the worst of it, however. Normally Tamlen's amber-colored eyes (he jokingly called them "dung-colored") were full of fire and mischief. Now they held a haunted look that his childhood companion had never seen. She pushed such concerns away for the moment, however, concentrating on undoing armor straps swollen with blood. When Tamlen was stripped down to his wool undertunic and pants, Idun helped him into the aravel and settled him on her own moss bed, throwing back the blankets. He made no protest. Ashalle brought the water, exchanged a concerned look with Idun, and retreated back out to the campfire.

Inside, the aravel was dim and not much warmer than the frosty air out in the camp. They dared not burn braziers in the wooden structure while it was unattended. For light, Idun had to open up the side panel a little and prop it, which let even more cold air inside. She needed no coals, however, to warm someone. She was a mage and one who knew the manipulation of heat and fire. Heedless of the blood that stained her hands as she did so, Idun rubbed them over Tamlen's limbs, the warmth she created with her mind causing the fabric of his clothing to steam. The clean, herby smell of the moss mattress became mixed with the musky scent of warming sweat and blood.

"I killed them, lethallin." The young man's voice was wooden. Idun glanced up at his face and said nothing, turning to draw the basin closer. She motioned for him to remove his shirt. As he did so, it became apparent that the majority of the blood on him was not his own. His chest had a few criss-cross cuts and there was one deep gash across the front of his left shoulder, but Idun recognized these as wounds made by someone who did not know how to fight to kill. As if reading her thoughts, Tamlen said, "They were just lost, I think. Scavengers, maybe, or villagers out of winter food stores and trying to hunt. But they were too close to the camp, so we..." Tamlen stopped, wincing as Idun began gently washing his wounds. After a moment he went on, "I've shot arrows into men before. Killed many animals for food. But this... They closed on us and I had to finish him. I had to put my knife in him. I had to watch his eyes as he..." His head lolled to the side with weariness. They had been at the tail end of a long scouting trip, preparing for the camp to move north.

Idun kept up her washing, listening but also concentrating. Tamlen felt a tingling in his skin and knew that she was putting forth her magic to heal him. The stinging pain from his cuts subsided, but it left the dull ache in his chest.

"You protected us, lethallan," Idun replied, reaching back to rinse her cloth. "That's all. You did what you had to do. You protected me." Tamlen's eyes lifted, though she didn't meet them. It was understood between them for many years, almost their whole lives, that they were two horns of a halla, like the right hand and left hand of the same body. Still, since the previous summer when they had both taken their vallaslin- the blood writing on their faces that signified their full maturity and acceptance as adult members of the clan- Tamlen had stopped saying that he loved her. As children he might say those words, just before grabbing her into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles on her head until she screamed. It was different now. It meant more, and he found that the words stuck in his throat.

When the wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Idun motioned for him to lie back. "You can rest in here," she told him. "No one will disturb you for a while."

Catching her hand, Tamlen said, "Don't leave, Idun. Not yet." She settled back, sitting on the edge of the mattress while he let his head fall back on her pillow. Tamlen's eyes drifted upward to a shelf where she had placed some of her belongings. There were books and scrolls, of course. Idun read a great deal, and not just lore regarding magic, but also history and languages. The keeper paid estimable sums to the traders for these, but insisted it was worth it. There were also figurines and pretty stones, most of these items that Tamlen himself had made or found for her. He picked up a wood-carved wolf and turned it over in his hand, smiling faintly. It had been something he made for her back when he fancied that he might become a crafter, and its crudeness pointed to why he ended up a scout instead. Scouting suited his adventurous nature, though it was lonelier than when he and Idun had prowled the forests together, searching for treasure or simply a quiet place to hide from the hahren's nagging.

In one of those quiet places in the forest, they had first touched and lain together. They would bond formally one day, they knew, though they had not openly spoken of it. Now such retreats were rare. Neither of them were apprentices any longer, and Idun had a rigorous regimen of study and practice. The magic she wielded was powerful, but that meant that she had to work even harder to learn to control it. Sometimes it was she who was asked to help the crafters, since her manipulation of heat was more controlled than any natural fire. She also needed to train with weapons. Though the human templars did not fare too well in the wilds, the keeper did not want her to be defenseless if her magic failed her.

The fact that Tamlen and Idun saw much less of each other was cause for the distance between them, or so they each told each other in their minds. She, to satisfy herself that nothing had really changed and that his distance was not disinterest. He, to assuage his guilt that he had not yet found the courage to be what she deserved.

"You should get rid of this old thing, it's embarrassingly bad," Tamlen said, gesturing at her with the wolf figurine before replacing it on her shelf in an even more prominent place than it had been.

Idun gave him a half-smile and nodded, answering, "I'll get right on that. Meanwhile, you should try to sleep. No, you will sleep. That's an order." She then turned to examine the foot he had been limping on.

"I'll always protect you." Tamlen met her eyes when she turned back to look at him. The young woman's heart picked up pace in her chest. It was not "I love you," but it was something.

Nodding, she replied, "And I, you, lethallan. We watch out for each other. Always."

He smiled weakly and rested back. He said nothing more, but while Idun washed and bandaged his ankle, Tamlen's eyes never left her.

The dreams were worse than any waking horror. Idun could almost taste the foul blood again when she woke from one, as if she had only just taken her Joining, though that had been several months ago. Roused out of her sleep yet again by one of these, she went to the edge of camp to relieve herself, then came back and fished through her pack to find her sweet chewing herbs. As she searched, her hand fell on a hard knot, and Idun drew out the wooden wolf.

Settling back on her bedroll, she turned the figurine over in her hand, feeling her stomach roil. Surely Tamlen was dead by now. Even if he had been tortured, the darkspawn would have no reason to keep prisoners. She would never see him again, nor perhaps any of her clan. The thought threatened to open up great chasms in her, though Idun fought hard to beat them back. The Dalish could nurse a hurt longer than just about anyone, but she did not want to end up like her mother, who had cast away a baby who needed her out of despair for the loss of her mate.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that Idun did not hear another stirring in the camp until a voice said, "The dreams again, eh. It does get better. Eventually."

Looking up, Idun saw that Alistair had awoken with his hair jutting out at impossible angles. If she had been feeling more herself, the sight would have made her say something rude and potentially witty. As it was, she just nodded and turned back to look at her wolf. A few moments later, Idun could feel that Alistair was still watching her.

"That's nice." He gestured at the wolf in her hand. Assuming that he was being insincere, Idun's hand closed over the wolf as though protective of it. Reading her gesture, the man went on, "No, I'm serious. I haven't seen that style before. Does it mean something?"

"Mean something?" Idun answered, more sharply than she meant to. She was keenly aware of how alien she was to everyone she now met, even to the other elves. The impertinent questions were no worse than the veiled insults, at least, but Idun tired of being looked at like an exotic specimen. That, when she wasn't being looked upon as an outlaw and a traitor, along with all the other Wardens in Ferelden both alive and dead.

"Yes, I just mean..." Alistair stopped and rubbed a hand over his head in frustration. He seemed about to leave things there, but after a hesitation, he reached into his own pack and pulled out a leather pouch. Sliding closer, he unrolled it on the ground, revealing other bundles that the man carefully unwrapped one by one: figurines, amulet heads, carved stones and other oddments. "This one was a healing rune, I'm told, though the lyrium wore off long ago. And this is Chasind, I think," he said, listing off what each one was as he unwrapped it.

"Avvar," Idun corrected, picking up the soapstone figure of a man with arms crossed. At Alistair's surprised look, she explained, "I have seen one like this before. We traveled many lands, you see, and I have an interest in such things. History and arcane lore and the like."

"You did? You do? That's great," Alistair said, gearing up for babbling trajectory. He went back to his collection, enthusiastically unwrapping another bundle, but stopped short he saw that it was a carving of a woman with huge, drooping naked breasts. That stopped the babbling trajectory dead in its tracks. The figurine was a fertility god and nicely preserved, Idun noted, not seeing that Alistair's rounded ears had turned red as radishes. "I, uh, this one is rather unusual, I know..." he stammered.

Idun chuckled. "Unusual? Every Chasind family carries one, and they bury them if one breaks. So you can't dig a latrine in the Wilds without turning up one of these."

Alistair was still blushing, but he grinned and replied, "Yes, well, I don't get down there much. Didn't, before... before Ostagar." There was a heavy silence, then the human broke it by saying, "So what I meant to ask was if the wolf means anything to your people. Like, if it's a god, or, I dunno." He gestured lamely.

Idun's defenses weakened a little at the mixture of discomfort and earnestness he displayed. "Wolves do mean something to us, but not this one," she replied. "It was simply a gift, made for me by... a friend. The man Duncan told you about."

"The one who found the mirror with you," Alistair finished, nodding. Though he was not quick in such matters, the former templar could tell there was more to the story. He didn't know how to get from here to there, however. His fellow Grey Warden, the only other Warden left in Ferelden and the one person on whom he was forced to depend, was a closed book. It was a lonely thought. As desperate as their task was to unite the country against the Blight, if they didn't have this task, he wouldn't know where to go or what to do. He had no family, no home. Not even a name that he could claim openly. As little as he knew about the Dalish woman with the soft accent that reminded him of music, she knew even less about him.

"Will you go back there when all this is done?" he asked tentatively. "Back to your clan? I mean, you're a Grey Warden now, but you must still consider that your home."

Idun's eyes fell and she glanced at the wolf in her hand. The answer came to her and the truth of it only became apparent as she said it. "No," she answered, shaking her head. "I think not. I am a Warden. My duty is to protect my clan, but only from afar. I suppose I have no clan any longer."

Alistair paused, and then his hand began turning in a nervous gesture as if he was kneading dough. "You know, sometimes the other Grey Wardens used to say that the order was like a family. Most of them had left their old lives behind, after all. I guess that is all different now. They're all gone."

Idun looked up and said, "Then I suppose that means you are my clan now." She said it jokingly, with a little grin, but a pinprick of truth about it touched her regardless.

The man laughed nervously and replied, "Hey, lucky you." Shortly thereafter he wrapped up his collection and retreated back to his bedroll. A few moments later, he nearly jumped straight in the air when he heard someone crouching next to him and felt Idun's hand on his shoulder. For a wild instant, impossible thoughts crossed his mind.

"Here," she was saying, holding something out for him. It was the wolf figurine. "Something Dalish for your collection."

"But I thought..." Alistair began to protest.

"Clanmates watch out for each other," she answered gravely. "You saved my life in the Wilds and probably a few times since. This is my thanks. If we really are one clan, then what is mine is yours anyway."

After he had reluctantly accepted her gift, Idun went back to her bedroll and lay down with a heavy heart, unsure if she had done the right thing. In truth this way of thinking about the Grey Wardens did little to comfort her. She had never imagined that she would have to figure out how to say goodbye to Tamlen and her clan all at once. Yet if she was going to survive, let alone defeat the Blight, she could not let the despair break her. A way forward was still a way forward, no matter how bleak it seemed.