A cold wind swept over camp, sending a shiver down Kira Cousland's spine. Her Mabari hound, Isaac, slept soundly at her feet. The Grey Warden silently hugged her knees to her chest, bracing against the cold. She stared ahead, listening for any sounds that would indicate enemies approaching. They were a day's journey from Redcliffe, where Alistair was sure they would find assistance from Arl Eamon. Kira's thoughts, however, remained in Highever.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw little Oren lying cold and lifeless on the floor. She saw her parents, clinging helplessly to each other, her mother vowing to cut down as many of Howe's men before the end. She saw herself, running away.
Duncan had saved her, offering her a spot in the Wardens. He had saved her and now he was dead. Her parents died to ensure her survival. How many more people would die so that she would live?
Kira choked back a sob, and glanced nervously around the camp. No one could see her crying. She was being weak, and she was the leader. The leader could not be weak. Not now. Not ever.
She heard movement behind her; the flap of a tent opening. She wiped her eyes in vain, but knew her face would give her away. She buried her head between her knees, willing herself to be calm. A hand gently touched her shoulder.
"Kira?" Alistair asked softly.
She lifted her head and turned to him, but remained silent.
"You've been crying," he said.
"It's nothing, I got some dirt in my eyes," she said, voice wavering.
"Right, dirt," he hesitated. "So, I'm an idiot and realized something today after you talked to me about Duncan and the others… you've just lost your family and I didn't even bother to ask you how you were feeling."
"You don't have to do this," Kira replied.
"I know, but it really did help when you talked to me and… I'm sorry. I'm just really bad at this whole talking… thing. Well, when it's important anyway."
Kira closed her eyes.
"They killed my nephew, Oren," she whispered. "He was just a boy, and all he wanted was to play with swords and be like his father when he grew up."
Without thinking, Alistair threw his arm around Kira's shoulders, hugging her to him.
"Mother and I ran into the room to check on them, but we were too late. Oriana, Fergus's wife, had tried to save him, but she died, too."
Kira's throat felt dry. Her eyes burned with tears that would not fall.
"Mother and I had to find Father," she continued. "We fought our way through Howe's men and we found him… injured. Father said he would not make the escape, and Mother refused to leave his side. Duncan came and he said he could save me, if I became a Grey Warden. They made me leave… I should have stayed… I could have saved them!"
Kira sobbed, shaking violently against Alistair.
"Why couldn't I save them?" she cried.
Alistair held her close, wrapping both of his arms around her now. Kira allowed herself to be held, and laid her head against his chest. She cried for what seemed like ages in Alistair's arms, his chin resting lightly on her head. She stayed like this in his arms until she slept, tears still streaming silently from her eyes.
Alistair carried her to her tent and laid her down, as he had done after the Joining. She whimpered softly, but did not wake. Alistair gently kissed her forehead without thinking, and slowly backed out into the open. He remained on watch outside her tent, silent and resolute, until daybreak.
She awoke with an unfamiliar flutter in her chest, and found him outside. She kissed his cheek shyly, and a blush spread quickly over his face. They lingered there for a moment too long, unsure of what was unfolding between them.
Soon the camp was a flurry of movement, with their companions working swiftly to pack up their belongings. The last Grey Wardens of Ferelden shared a smile, and worked together to take down the remaining tents.
Together. Always.