Author's note: I've officially hopped on board the Dragon Age ship and added a story to the growing archive! I look forward to playing these characters in stories just as I have in the game.
Thoughtful
The furious roar of darkspawn chilled her insides. One or a collective mass, she couldn't discern. Inevitability was approaching. She couldn't deny this, couldn't push it away. The end galloped at her heels and threatened to gnaw at her ankles to yank her down in a heap. Strike terror in a Grey Warden or forge ahead with destruction? What would the darkspawn do to torture her?
A shrieking cry of evil resounded once again. The sound echoed in Solona's ears. Heavy breathing huffed so closely behind her. The noise hovered at her ears. Razor claws would reach out, sink into her muscles and tear them from bone-
Solona's body snapped up and her head collided hard with another. She was laying face down on a cot. Dizzily, she titled her neck and peered over its edge. Frayed pants legs and a pair of bare male feet. Not darkspawn.
"Andraste's lightning reflexes, that hurt!"
Slowly pulling herself up to a seated position, Solona cricked her shoulders. Alistair rubbed his eye while she apologized. "You should be so glad my fast response time is intact. What if that were darkspawn come to whittle my life away?"
Alistair chortled. "Darkspawn do not watch over you while you take up residence in one of their tents." He gestured with a hand to the interior of his tent. She swore she talked a minute ago, and then sometime during those 60 seconds she must have fallen asleep. Soft lamplight nearby threw shadows at the far corners.
"Point taken. Sorry about that. Why didn't you wake me?" She was hogging his slumbering space, after all.
"I liked... I mean, I didn't mind. You weren't out for too long." A creep of red crossed his face at some private reason.
"I meant to keep up the conversation and leave for my own share of the camp."
"No need to," Alistair murmured fondly. Upon spotting her interested expression at his remark, he hurriedly added, "Do you require anything? Water?"
"Please. My head is heavy." Tapping out an abundant amount of mana over the day did wonders with the mage's body as it was taxed further than the day before.
He would understand the toll of physical slaying, too. Muscle seizures and tendon twists and the like. "Headache? I've got the remedy." He fetched a faded canteen and a worn pouch from his cramped pile of belongings. Solona took the water and the pressed herb Alistair shook into her palm.
"You're a lifesaver." The unpleasant herb grew heavily bitter as soon as her tongue wet it and she immediately drowned it with copious liquid. Through her squinting, Alistair copied her expression, but he stopped when his canteen flew at him.
"No, I deem you are the lifesaver of the group. Healing spells versus my clumsy attempts to open a potion amidst slinging arrows or stray fire-casters," Alistair amended with an affirming nod.
Solona smiled at his astute observation. She forgot how non-mages resorted to uncorking vials in a panic when they needed emergency healing.
Alistair turned around to mess with his belongings, giving Solona a moment for the basil knockoff to kick in and the pounding at her temples to subside.
"Uh, here. I found this."
Alistair presented her with something akin to a pale yellow piece of straw cradled in his hands. Its thick stem lined with thorns. A fuzzy bud formed the top. The difference between this and a normal field flower was the diffused blue light edging the bud. Quite an odd occurrence for a random find. If it were a flower, it wasn't remarkable at all. It essentially was a weed. There were no petals, but they could have fallen off. This... stick didn't have the same magnetism as the rose Alistair had given her before. Still, the light radiated in such a way that it drew her in.
Solona accepted it wordlessly, gripping it by the sharp stem. She began squeezing her fingers, feeling the pricks. The pain was welcomed if it brought her respite from the shaking nightmare. Alistair opened his mouth to protest, naturally, and she kept right on going. Would the final battle be won? Was victory the ultimate win? Did being a Grey Warden guarantee their victory?
"What are you doing? Stop." When she didn't, Alistair seized her arm, forcing her to drop his gift.
"It'll fade away," she spoke sullenly, jutting her chin at the fallen stem which continued to shine. "Just like everything else when the Blight hits us full force."
"You're being ridiculous." Already, Alistair moved in to examine the trickle of blood seeping through her closed fingers.
Solona shifted tiredly. She felt edgy after waking.
"The dreams still hurt?" Alistair gently pried open the fingers of her injured hand to check. "I'm surprised you suppressed them as swiftly as you did. After that first night in camp I barely saw you tossing and turning in your sleep. Now that we're nearly upon the last fight, the insomniac returns."
It wasn't until Alistair's flesh grazed over her own that she realized his armor had been removed. Whenever she was conscious, the bulk of metal always surrounded his body. The flimsy chambray shirt and the weathered pants were a testament to what "casual dress" meant when one was a soldier 24/7.
She must have been staring because Alistair smirked and went to his satchel on the floor. He retrieved a handkerchief. He wiped away the red staining her skin. "Once the Blight is eliminated the nightmares will ease off. That is something a Grey Warden can relish in looking forward to."
Solona nodded. "That, and shopping for shoes with Leliana." For some reason the idle idea popped to the forefront of her mind.
Alistair laughed a bit too loudly at hearing this. He waved a hand over his mouth at the startling noise that cut through the silence. He lowered his voice. "Do people normally shop without purpose? In the Chantry I had none such opportunities. It was always picking up a sack of grain or buying a tin of beans."
"Perhaps you can join us. I'm sure Leliana wouldn't mind a man's opinion on feminine footwear." Solona already imagined the archer's bubbling enthusiasm over deciding between lavender and teal. The musing picked up Solona's mood slightly.
"My dream come true," Alistair responded wryly, but his face betrayed his tone when she saw the sheen of anticipation. He set aside the blemished handkerchief and turned to the entrance. "Come, let's get some air." He seemed eager.
She moved to rise and he interjected, "Ooh, bring that." He pointed at the flower on the ground.
The blue glimmer mingled with gold again as they pushed past the tent flaps, and then only blue glowed in the night.
Solona drew in a deep, slow breath of the crisp air, held it, then exhaled. She did this a couple times until her head began to clear. The starlit sky was cloudless tonight. No rain approached yet. Neither did anyone from their party; they had already retired to their respective tents. Midnight must have passed quite a while ago.
"Do you like it?" A tinge of hope floated on Alistair's question. His gaze ticked down to her hands.
She was intrigued about the origins of the unique flora, for the glow was putting her at ease as well as taking any sedative medicinal herb. Solona was about to tell him this when she spotted a patch of shrubbery with the same weed in it.
It was definitely a weed. The decaying grass surrounding it was a giveaway.
Alistair saw where he got his present from and he smiled meekly as she shot him a ridiculing stare. "Your taste in flowers is admirable. You should have included the dying grass with it."
Despite the shadowy cloak of evening, Alistair's flush could be made out. Leave it to him to woo a lady with marshland discoveries.
"I-it's not simply a plant," Alistair explained defensively, then he prompted, "it relaxes you, does it not?"
Glancing down, the wavering stick almost unburied the cobwebs of blackness her mind dragged her through in sleep. His assessment was correct.
Intermitted light began to flicker, like a burning wick sputtering from deprived oxygen. She arched her head.
"Darn it," Alistair mumbled peevishly under his breath. "Wynne told me it'd last for hours."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing," Alistair replied a little too quickly. He ran an awkward hand through his hair.
Since the miniature torch was running out of fuel, Solona turned and reentered the tent, where the golden glow of the interior greeted her again. Alistair followed behind.
"Don't be mad."
She said nothing as she stood in the middle, her gaze sweeping over the items inside that defined him as he spent the next few hours in here. The things would be packed in the morning and off they went. How messy the junk was, what was junk or not, even when his belongings were crammed back into his backpack didn't matter as long as everything was there and salvageable and reliable.
Alistair joined behind her with tentative steps. He turned her by the elbow. His eyes fixed onto hers gravely serious. "I want to ease your pain. I don't know what I can do or say to make it possible. The most important battle is almost at the horizon and we're all uneasy."
"So you came up with this?" Solona shook the fuzzy tail, whose light had not fizzled out yet.
Alistair held up his arms. "Yes, all right, it's lame. If I had an ounce of common sense I'd have picked up a fresh dandelion or an exotic thing when we were in town. I came up with the plan when we arrived at camp. My spontaneity requires practice." His forehead creased in distress.
It flew right up when she leaned over and pecked his cheek. Her grateful smile told him what she chose not to. His compassion was appreciated.
"It's Harp's Edge, this enchantment?" She wiggled her fingers and the fading light swayed around.
"Y-y-yes, I think so." Alistair broke out in a relieved stutter. "The, er... wise woman I recruited for her assistance said something about shelf life or putting it on a shelf to give it life. I forget."
Harp's Edge was known for its erratic survival period. Solona eyed him coyly, then moved over to the lamp. She extinguished the flame, casting them in blackness. The hazy blue luminance so bright minutes ago had dimmed to almost nothing. She barely made out the shape of his profile. The lingering smell of kerosene hung in the air.
"Are we playing a game?" She thought she detected a flirtatious lilt in Alistair's question.
Seeing his shape meld deeper into the blackness until Solona no longer could spot him, she knew this particular game. She dropped the stem and carefully stepped forward with her arms outstretched. Her fingertips blindly sought for the line of his jaw. Her palm grazed the trace of whiskers when she found it. It trembled under her touch.
Alistair's chin moved and she felt his grin form. His arm linked around her waist. "Being in the dark is not bad, hmm?"
- THE END -