Every word, each little movement, the slightest twitch of a brow, the shifting of a gaze, the shivering of a wounded, he noticed them all. The atmosphere felt stifling. As tension led to the mysterious letter being read out loud, Dolain stood beside the body of a fallen elf. Even though he was so close to the body, after the first few glances, he no longer looked at it or made to move away. He simply stood beside the bloody figure. As the Qunari’s voice rumbled through the area, Dolain’s gaze went to Lalin. He watched her, his face paling as he listened to the words the Qunari spoke.
It was not a stretch for Dolain to imagine what the letter could be discussing. No wonder these elves were fighting, no wonder the scene looked as it did. It was clear these elves were proud and would rather die fighting than be shipped away as merchandise. An unsettling rage rushed through his body. His heart felt like it suddenly plunged into his stomach, his blood had turned to ice and he fought back an urge to heave. He clenched his jaw tight and his gaze intensified, but stayed fixed upon Lalin. She obviously wanted to be a leader, so he would look to her. Dolain tried not to imagine what he would do as leader if it was his gang he was with instead of the party he was with now. But he knew if it was him, there would be no more questions after this point, the humans would be disposed of. But this wasn’t his gang. It was Lalin’s thing... a Grey Warden thing, something official and important... something he wouldn’t understand.
As the merchant, that had bellowed at him before, began to speak of compromise, of... discussion, Dolain breathed deeply through his nose. Discussion only led to confusion. The most expert of liars were able to weave stories that by the time they were done, no one would know what was up from down or right from wrong. Words only made things more complicated.
He visibly gulped as if he was swallowing a cup of bile. Dolain’s fingers clasped around the wooden part of his bow. They clenched the weapon, his knuckles turning white from the force. His free hand clenched in a fist. As one of the elves began to yell, the fury upon Dolain’s expression turned into something beyond the simple anger from before. He looked up to the trees, frustrated tears beginning in the very corner of his eyes. He blinked them back, forcing them away (a skill he had learned as a young boy), refusing for them to be shown.
He brought a furious glare to Brethor. As the girl revealed, what Dolain would have assumed regardless, that the shem were planning to go through with the sale, Dolain began to tremble. It showed in his shoulders as he quivered and his breath as it became ragged.
Suddenly, he pulled off his bow from his shoulder. He did not point it, but turned to Lalin swiftly. Dolain slipped off his quiver of arrows. In a strong movement, he threw the weapons at her feet. The arrows tumbled out of the quiver onto the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat tightened by his fury at the entire situation. The tears were threatening to reveal themselves again and instead of saying what he wanted, Dolain snarled, “I can’t do this.” Turning, he leapt over the dead elf. It took him only a couple seconds of swift footwork to disappear into the trees.