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Bellara knew magic. Much like she knew being Dalish. Both were as much a part of her as her pointed ears. But she hadn’t quite known what it’d meant to be heard, until she’d fixed the Vi’Revas and the others looked to her for her opinion when she spoke. None of her new friends seemed to mind when she had a million questions, or when she talked of home. It didn’t matter she was an elf. It didn’t matter her words often tumbled out or her thoughts would take wing and scatter. It didn’t matter her brother had chosen the wrong path. All that mattered was her. Still, she was homesick. Longing for the brother she couldn’t forgive and the clan she didn’t know how to face without him.
One night, camping in Arlathan, it was just her, Rook, and Davrin, and Bellara still had more questions. It was nice that they were both Dalish, and surprising that they'd both left their clans. He was carving and Rook was fletching arrows, and she was thinking about why Davrin had left again and what he’d found instead and she looked at the scar over Davrin’s eyes the question jumped to her tongue.
“So how different was life outside your clan?”
Davrin glanced at Rook, then the fire. “I started to see what I took for granted. I missed the food.”
Bellara leaned forward, glad he wanted to answer. “They didn’t have any where you went?
“Dalish food. You don’t appreciate halla milk ‘til you don’t have any. Butter too. Nothing like it in Thedas.” Davrin gave her a smile that she returned as she turned it over in her mind.
After a moment. “What about the people?”
That’s what she liked about Davrin. He thought about it again before answering, dark eyes capturing the warmth of the flickering flames. Or maybe it was the warmth he carried inside him like a light.
“I missed the sense of a common purpose. A clan acting as one. Everywhere else, people were in it for themselves.” He looked at Rook again, who watched him back. “There's a reason I joined the Grey Wardens. Guess I needed that purpose again. The shared fight.”
Bellara nodded, and she understood. It wasn’t so different at all then, from being a Veil Jumper. “A shared fight. I like that.”
Rook smiled. “That does sound familiar.”
She turned it over again, and again. Then took up her journal again, jotting down notes. Davrin groaned.
“More fodder for your story?”
Rook flicked his ear lightly and he swatted her away with another broad smile.
“It’s good. You should read it.” Rook chided.
“Mmm if there aren’t any monsters in it not sure it’ll hold my attention.”
Bellara shook her head. “Not my story. A grocery list. You know. Now that we can get halla milk and butter.”
Rook got up and all but tackled her, giving her a tight hug. “Ah! Can we make stuffed squash? And fry-bread! And-”
Bellara hugged her and Davrin clucked his tongue. “No we’ll make it. You watch.”
Rook tackled him next and Assan jumped her, and then it was a flurry of feathers and laughter and Bellara found she wasn’t missing home quite as much as she had been before.
~~
Weisshaupt. It lingered like a hungry beast, threatening to take Davrin and Rook and thus all of them down with it. With Rook hurt Davrin had barely left her side even to eat, and it was wearing on him. Those wide shoulders could only take so much. When he found her, trying to write but really just staring at the blank page, images of fallen Wardens and monsters dancing through her mind, it was with a grim expression.
“Hey…Did you know someone named Trelan? Little bit younger than you. Dark hair. Big, for an elf.”
Bellara was relieved she could answer. “Oh! I know him. Knew him, I mean, when we were kids. Is he a Warden friend of yours?”
“He was. Until Weisshaupt. Now they want to find his family. Tell them he died a hero.” His voice was heavy, and he didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I'll talk to Strife. He'll know what to do…Hey Davrin?”
He’d been turning to leave but he stopped, body rigid. Bellara wasn’t sure she should ask but didn’t know how she couldn’t.
“Are you…ah are you alright? Is there anything else I can do? How’s Rook?”
Davrin braced his arm on the doorway, sighing. “No. I’m not. And no that’s…that’ll be good. She’s better. Emmrich says she can start trying to walk tomorrow.”
“I was thinking-it might be stupid.” She fidgeted, the thought burning under her skin.
“It’s alright. What were you thinking?” He softened, finally meeting her eyes.
Bellara spread her hands. “What if I made that dinner for everyone? Think we could all use it. The one we talked about with Rook…do you think she’d like that?”
Davrin swallowed thickly, and for the first time in days something like his usual charming smile ghosted his lips.
“I’ll help. Might take a bit before I can but…I’d like that. Thank you.”
Bellara nearly sagged with relief. “Please…if there’s anything else I can do until then let me know.”
“I will. Promise.”
Then she got up, going to him, and pulling him into a hug. Davrin froze at first, then returned it, sinking against her. He was lighter when he pulled away, tears in his eyes and hers.
But Bellara liked to think it helped. At least a little.
~~
The day came and they’d picked out the squashes themselves the day before, and Davrin had a good eye for what was fresh and she was better at haggling even if he’d never admit it. Bellara was already cutting the squashes when he walked in. Davrin grinned at her and went for the flour. And it was already so much like home it hurt, but in the good way. Like stretching an aching muscle.
“Sure you trust me?” He was talking like himself again, since Rook was out of bed and the dust had settled and they could all breathe again.
“Better you than Rook.” Bellara shook her head. “You…you know what I mean.”
“You said it not me.” His chuckle was warm and easy. “Haven’t done this in a while.”
“Me neither. Guess I didn’t really want to after Cyrian.” That was the truth.
Davrin started prepping the dough, and he was humming to himself. Bellara liked the sound of it. It was familiar, like a song she’d forgotten the words too, but she knew she didn’t know it. Davrin snorted and Bellara shrugged.
“I like when you sing. You should do it more.” Then she started again just to make him make that face again.
“I don’t sing.” Davrin fussed with the stove, bringing the pan to heat.
She bobbed her head in time, already memorizing the tune. "I don't recognize it."
"Lullaby my mom used to sing. I can probably write it down for you later."
He rolled his eyes when Bellara smiled at him in victory. "I'd like that."
It already smelled like home. Like Cyrian. Like Strife and Irelin. Like aspens and woodsmoke. Davrin started skinning the rabbits with the ease of someone who had been doing it his whole life, quick and neat as could be, not wasting an ounce of meat.
“You’re staring.”
“Watching a master at work.” She laughed. “You miss home?”
Davrin shrugged one shoulder. “Weisshaupt was as close to a home as I had.”
“For what it’s worth I’m sorry. It was horrible to witness. I can’t imagine how you feel.”
“Thank you.” He was quiet, carving away. “What about you?”
Bellara gestured to the room around them. “I miss this.”
His eyes were lost a moment, then he nodded.
“I know what you mean.”
Davrin threw the dough on to fry. Bellara took over so he could finish the rabbits and get them in the pot. Lucanis had found them, leaning on the wall, his expression intensely curious. Davrin stiffened and Bellara fought back a groan.
“What are you making?” It was innocuous enough, to her anyways.
“Old-fashioned Dalish food. Might be too simple for your tastes.” It was rote, and he didn’t seem to mean it by now.
Lucanis scoffed. “I’m sure Bellara did most of the work.”
Davrin glanced at Bellara. “You got it?”
She waved him on. “For now. Play nice.”
That left her alone with her thoughts, a relief and a kind of curse. Being with Davrin and Rook, both Dalish and not, had that effect. But this was good. She could lose herself in the familiar rhythm of the cooking, and even with the freshness of the food and the coin they’d spent on the meal, it was home enough.
When Davrin came back he had Rook in tow, and it seemed like he and Lucanis hadn’t come to blows. Bellara started humming again and Davrin sighed and Rook joined in, not knowing the words either but picking it up as fast as Bellara had. That was the way of it. No two clans were the same, but they shared this. Feeding their loved ones and working together. It helped.
Before they rejoined the others and plated the food, Rook did pour them all a glass of halla milk, her sole contribution to the meal and held it up for a toast.
“To the two of you. Ma serranas. Lethallin’las.”
Bellara smiled, and her heart full as Davrin tapped his glass to hers with a wink. “Lethallin’las hmm?”
“Ma serranas.” Bellara answered, tapping her glass to Rook’s.
And she meant it. She gave thanks to the forces that had brought them together, Creators or no, and went to help feed their friends.