"I'll take first watch," Charlotte called as they finished their meager meal. "I can't get to sleep easily anymore anyway," she finished to herself.
She watched them for a few moments as they settled down—Morrigan disappearing quickly enough to her own corner of the encampment, apart from the others. Leliana and Alistair ducked into their respective tents, and the huge Qunari regarded her steadily for a few moments before rolling himself in a blanket near the fire. Her Mabari hound, Dog, whined slightly as nudged her leg with his nose.
"Go to sleep, boy," she told him softly, scratching his flat head between his ears. He whined again, but turned and lay on a patch of grass, his nose on his paws. In a few moments, the camp was silent but for the crackling of the fire.
She picked up her pack and walked to the edge of light cast by the fire, sat down on a log and faced out into the darkness. After a time, she reached slowly into the bag and pulled out a book bound in deep brown leather and gripped it tightly in her hands.
There was a noise behind her. She was alerted to it, but didn't move. It was coming from inside the camp; someone was leaving their tent. She didn't realize it was the other surviving Grey Warden, Alistair, until he sat down beside her on the log, facing inward toward the fire.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, shrugging. "I thought I'd come out and keep you company for awhile." He was dressed for sleep, wearing a rough shirt and loose pants. She realized it was the first time since they met that she had seen him wearing anything but armor.
"You needn't have." Her voice was very quiet. She stared down at the book, moving her thumbs over the embossed laurel leaves on the cover.
"What's that?" Alistair leaned back to get a better look at what she held.
"A journal. My brother gave it to me on my last birthday." She frowned. "I was thinking of writing in it. Keeping track of our journey. I thought… maybe someday someone would read it and know the truth."
Alistair nodded slowly, looking at her face closely. He didn't know the new recruit very well yet, but he had spent enough time with her to recognize the pinched expression now on her face.
"Do you, I mean, if you wanted to," he started, "we could talk. About things. Are you okay?"
Charlotte turned toward him. Her grey eyes were wide and shining with tears, but none spilled out over her lashes. She frowned, drawing her brows down in a straight line.
Her voice was still low. "You and I, we have a lot to do now. It's good, I guess, to have such a goal. To keep us busy. Maybe Morrigan is right. Only vengeance is before us. Against Loghain, against Arl Howe, against the darkspawn."
She saw Alistair's face crumple at the pain in her voice. "Don't pity me," she said quickly. "We've both lost much these past few days. I don't want your pity." This last sentence came out much quieter than the others, almost whispering it to herself.
"I can set the pain aside," she continued, looking back down at the book in her hands instead of at him. "I can leave it to the Maker, or fate; if my brother lives I will either find him, or I will not. Either I will be the last of my house, or I will die and the Cousland name will be gone. Either we will somehow end the Blight or we will not and Ferelden will be destroyed." She sighed heavily. "The only thing I fear is that my heart will be so full of vengeance that there will be nothing left of me."
This was the longest she had spoken since Ostagar. Even after losing her family, as part of the Grey Wardens she had been able to let her guard down a little and not be consumed by the pain.
Alistair swung his leg over the log suddenly, sitting astride it, and grasped both her hands. The book dropped into her lap.
"I won't let that happen," he said fervently, staring into her surprised eyes. "We won't let it consume us. We're in this together, all of us, now."
"Thank you, Alistair," she said, dropping her gaze after a moment to their clasped hands. "I'm glad you're here with me."
She hadn't meant the words to be flirtatious, just an honest expression of her feelings, but she saw through her lashes a blush on his cheeks.
Before he could stammer out something awkward, she stood, pulling him up with her. "Come with me, I want to give you something." After pausing to put the journal back in her pack, she led him around the sleeping Bodahn and Sandal to the back of the supply wagon. After rummaging around for a moment, she pulled out two large packages and motioned for him to follow her away again.
"Are you sure you want me to have this?" Alistair watched as Charlotte unwound the cloth from the shield and held it out to him. He took it and tilted it toward the firelight to see the heraldry painted on the face. It was the emblem of house Cousland, two crossed laurel branches.
"The first time I tried to use one of these," Charlotte said, running her fingers along the edge of the shield, "I nearly got my arm broken. I wanted to spar with the boys so badly that I took up a shield and longsword. Fergus's friend, even taking it easy on me, splintered the shield and almost my arm beneath on the first hit." She pushed it resolutely into his hands. "I cannot use it, and I want someone… worthy to carry it. And this." The second wrapped item was a sword, which she pulled from its worn sheath noiselessly. The blade gleamed with polish and care.
"No," he said, holding up his hands. "It's too much. That's probably important to your house, or your father's sword or something, and I can't take it."
"It is important." She resheathed the sword. "These two things, other than my life, are all I took from Highever Keep before I fled with Duncan." Holding the sword out to him pommel first, she reminded Alistair of a beautiful statue he had once seen in the chantry where he had grown up. "All three I entrust to you."
Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but instead closed it again. He placed his right fist over his heart and bowed his head.
"I am your knight," he said gravely, recalling ceremonial words from long ago, "your sword and shield. I pledge myself to you until you no longer have need of me, or until I fall in your service."
He trailed off, not remembering if there was more to the oath. Glancing up, he met Charlotte's eyes and they exchanged a long stare that was full of emotion. Color rose in her cheeks as he finally reached out to take the sword.
"I'll take good care of it," he promised.
"So you'll be the shield part," she smiled, trying to quiet the pounding of her heart. The sudden gravity of the situation between them left her feeling breathless, and she wasn't sure what that meant. "And I'll be the sneaky, pointy dagger of death part, okay?"
Alistair laughed a little too loudly. "Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the funny one."
She smiled at him with a wicked twinkle in her eye. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"