Or Else....

Please Stay...

Glossary:

•alin n. other, stranger, person
•ha'hren n. old respected person, wise person, elder, teacher
•Vallaslin, sometimes referred to as blood writing, is what the Dalish call the intricate facial tattoos worn by all adult clan members.
•Elgar'nan, Spirit of Vengeance, Dalish God
•Ame surem ir mana, "I arrived [in the] very distant past." This is a phrase of my creation! I'm so sorry if this is wildly wrong!
•Ar ame ir abelas, "I have great sorrow."
•lea'vune miol, "moon light insect" I don't recall an actual phrase ever used for fire flies, but this seemed a fitting one.

Others:

•Dashanthra, the name of Miralha and Pelvera's clan
•Fenlan, the clans hearthmaster and Miralha's mentor

Resources:
https://archiveofourown.org/series/229061
Dragon Age Wiki

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It had been a year. A year since Miralha had been around a large group of Dalish. A year since she had seen the most horrific thing in her life. A year since her clan was slaughtered.

After the few of them that were left preformed death rites for their slain clan mates, the group dispersed. Miralha and Pelvera had been traveling ever since, never staying in one place too long, and never getting too attached.

It had been a year... And Miralha still mourned every day for her family. But she had Pel and that's all that mattered anymore. Pel was her rock, and she was Pel's.

Miralha had lived a while, much longer than many others she had known, simply because life was hard. Even with their Elvhen blood increasing their life-span, Miralha knew of so many that did not live past forty years of age.

Without Pelvera by her side, she wouldn't have lived this past year, she was sure. Whether it had been death by a group of bandits or by the dagger she now wielded, it was certain.

Miralha huffed out a heavy breath, trying her best to control her breathing. Blood soaked her right pant leg and she was sure to shift her weight onto her left foot, otherwise she'd collapse from the injury.

Before her were a group of Dalish hunters, bows drawn, and aimed straight at her. She had dropped her own when one of their arrows skimmed her right hand, her drawing hand, and she could no longer pull the string. It would heal, likely with no weakness in the hand, if she survived the encounter.

Now, they all stood still, their eyes cold and calculated, trained on her. While she just tried to control her breathing.

One of them dropped their bow, likely the hunt leader, she could tell his age and wisdom by his greyed locks and fine wrinkles.

"Alin, what's your business?" The elder man spoke, no aggression in his voice, despite the onslaught of arrows they had loosened at her just moments before.

Miralha was never one to hold her tongue, but now was not the time if she wished to live... To live and see Pelvera again.

"I'm seeking a friend, ha'hren," while the term respectful in nature, her tone said otherwise.

The elder stared at her for another moment longer, eyes looking over her, judging.

"Your Vallaslin... " He took another step closer, Miralha attempted to adjust her position, but grimaced as pain shot up her leg. "I've not seen Elgar'nan represented so simply in a long time." He let out a small chuckle, "A friend indeed is what you seek... What you have been seeking for a while now, no?"

Miralha felt chills run over her, recognizing her mark must mean that he had known some of her clan. She had only met a few people with her exact vallaslin, and they had all been in her small clan.