On the Road to Ostagar
Duncan sat beside the campfire, his legs crossed in a comfortable tailor's seat, stitching a patch onto his shirt. The act of sewing, though he wasn't particularly good at it, soothed him. And at the moment, he needed a good deal of soothing. That had been a bad business back at Highever, one that required careful thought. Arl Howe had behaved unusually for a Ferelden noble; assassination was more an Antivan or Orlesian thing to do. He glanced up across the campfire and sighed. But political implications took second place at the moment. Of primary importance was the young lady sitting across the fire from him.
Keladry Cousland, Bryce Cousland's youngest daughter and Duncan's newest recruit, sat with her back leaning against a boulder, staring into the fire. Jump, her Mabari warhound, lay on the ground beside her, his head resting against her knee. The "bad business" in Highever had killed her parents, her friends, her sister-in-law, her nephew, dozens of servants and guardsmen. The fact that Keladry had managed to fight her way free of that mess spoke volumes for her skills and her determination. Duncan hoped he was right about her determination; since leaving Highever very early that morning, she had not spoken a single word. She seemed trapped in her mind, running through her thoughts again and again.
Instinctively, he left her alone for the moment. She needed to process the events of the day, needed to find her feet again. Above and beyond the shock and pain of losing her family and friends, Duncan was reasonably sure this was her first real combat experience. Practice had not prepared her for killing someone else, evidently; he'd heard her go into the bushes to be violently ill a couple times during the day's travel.
She looked relatively calm now, almost twenty-four hours after the attack and subsequent flight. But Duncan didn't miss the signs of shock and mental trauma. She wasn't eating, for a start; she'd picked at the dinner he'd made, eaten a couple bites, then grimaced and put the bowl aside. She hadn't touched it since. Occasionally, a tear trickled down her face, to be brushed away almost absently.
Her lack of tears worried him a lot. He'd prepared himself for the situation, as best as he could. This was hardly the first time he'd gotten a recruit after said recruit lost everything else; he was used to tears, and anger, and angered rants of pain and despair. But she was just…still. No tears, except for those that escaped when she wasn't paying attention. No ranting, or any words at all. That scared Duncan a little, though he didn't want to admit it. Bottling grief up never made the situation better; it just made the inevitable breakdown that much worse when it came.
He glanced at the moon's position and shook his head as he folded his shirt and put it away. He had taken advantage of the small stream by their campsite earlier, but young Keladry hadn't yet. Her hands and arms were still smeared with blood, and even if she didn't realize it now, she would want to be clean whenever she broke from this trance state. "Keladry," he called softly.
She didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't respond in any way. Had she even heard him? Or was she so lost in her memories that his voice didn't get through to her?
Duncan rose and went to sit beside her. "Keladry," he repeated a little louder. She blinked this time, but didn't respond.
"Keladry Cousland!" he called.
This time, he got the reaction he was hoping for. She jumped and her hand darted to her sword before she realized who was calling her. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, then looked at Duncan with a slightly raised eyebrow.
That seemed to be all the response she was going to give him, so he accepted it as the question it probably was. "There is a stream a little way from here," he said, his voice slow and gentle. "I would suggest getting clean before you go to sleep."
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked down at her hands. Dried blood had collected under her nails, and in the cracks of her skin. She shuddered and nodded as she stood up. "Thank you," she whispered.
Duncan smiled a little. At least he'd gotten her to say something. That was a start. He watched her as she retrieved her pack from the tent and headed toward the stream, Jump at her heels. Well, he couldn't deny that she was a tough little thing. Even with the throwing up, and the silence, she hadn't been a burden for him yet. She'd taken half of the salvaged supplies in her pack and carried them uncomplainingly, and kept up with him even with the faster pace he demanded. She even helped put up the single tent and set up her bedroll without a complaint, even though most gently reared young ladies would protest sleeping in the same tent as a man. Of course, most gently reared young ladies didn't have the inner grit required to be a Grey Warden, and Duncan thought Keladry did. She was her father's daughter.
She was gone quite a while, making him worry a little. Though he didn't sense any darkspawn close by, there were other dangers in the wild lands. Yes, she'd taken her sword and her warhound with her, earning her points in his book, but still…until she was a full Grey Warden, she was his charge, placed in his care by her father.
At last, she returned. She looked much cleaner than she had before, her wet hair hanging around her face and a wet bundle held out in front of her gingerly. He understood then why she had taken so long; she had taken the time to wash her blood-smeared clothes and she'd taken a wet cloth to her bloody armor. And now she was wearing a tunic that was entirely too big for her, and trousers that were a little small. At least she was covered, Duncan reflected. She could have returned in her small clothes, after all. She glanced at him briefly, then went to a nearby tree and began hanging her clothes up to dry. As she worked, she stifled yawns.
"You should get some rest, Keladry," Duncan suggested quietly. "We will be traveling hard tomorrow."
She didn't look at him. "I'm not tired," she said. She sat down by the fire and began wiping her armor dry with care, something he noted with approval.
She wasn't a very good liar. He could tell she was exhausted, almost asleep on her feet, but he had a feeling she would manage to stay awake through the night if he didn't help her a little. Duncan had a suspicion he knew why she was staying awake; bad memories made for nightmares. Who would know better than a Grey Warden who had spent over half his life fighting the darkness without and within?
Duncan sighed and retrieved his pack. These days, with the Blight rising in the south, he always carried certain items to help him sleep. His normal dreams were bad enough without the help from the Archdemon's call. After a moment's search, he found one such item and mixed it carefully into a flask of sweet tea. He glanced up every so often to make sure Keladry didn't see what he was doing. Deception didn't work so well when the target was watching. Fortunately for him, she was so focused on staying awake and getting her armor in shape that she hardly seemed aware he was still sitting there.
"Have something to drink, at least," Duncan said, offering her the flask.
She jerked a little, startled, but relaxed a little as she reached out to take the flask. "What is it?" she asked.
"Sweet tea," he replied. "It helps refresh me when I'm on the road."
She nodded and took a deep drink. "Mm," she murmured. "Rather good, actually."
"I do prefer to drink things that taste good," Duncan smiled. "Since healing potions taste quite nasty, overall."
"Too true," Keladry sighed. She sniffed the flask and drank deeply again before setting it aside and going back to work on her armor.
Duncan took the flask back and closed it tightly, watching his young recruit with eagle eyes. The sleeping aid didn't take long to work; within a minute, he saw her eyes flutter and she leaned against the boulder for support. "I feel…odd," she murmured. "Think I'll…lie down for a moment…" And, to Duncan's private amusement, she did just that right by the fire. Moments later, she was fast asleep, snoring softly.
Jump looked at her, his head tipped inquisitively to the side, then looked at Duncan. "It's all right, boy," Duncan said reassuringly. "She wouldn't sleep otherwise; surely you know exactly how stubborn she is."
That seemed to be the right thing to say; Jump grinned a doggy grin and sat back on his haunches, watching Duncan as the Grey Warden picked up his new recruit and carried her into the tent. He took her boots off and tucked her into her bedroll before going back outside and banking the small fire for the night.
The next morning, Duncan knew Keladry was angry with him; not because she ranted and raved at him, but because she was coldly, politely silent. He didn't press her to talk, knowing she would talk to him when she was ready and not a moment before. And, as a nice little silver lining to the whole thing, she seemed less focused on her grief. Maybe because grief and anger had difficulty co-existing when the targets were vastly different people.
When they stopped for the night, Keladry crossed her arms over her chest and looked coolly at Duncan. "Why did you drug me?" she asked, her voice level and calm.
"You needed sleep," Duncan replied in exactly the same tone, glancing up from the tent. "You would not have slept as deeply or as soon if I had not drugged you."
She tipped her head to the side, a gesture that reminded him of Jump's quizzical stance, and considered that a moment. At last, she nodded slowly, to his surprise, and said, "I'll accept that."
"Oh?" Duncan asked. "And here I was sure you would be angry for days to come."
Keladry's eyebrow went up a little. "I was trained to be practical." She sighed and turned back to helping him put up the tent. "And I've had all day to think about it. I suspected that was your reasoning." She glanced at him again. "I'd rather you didn't do that again, though. If we're attacked, having one of us down in a drugged stupor could be a really bad idea."
Duncan smiled reluctantly at that. "Will you sleep tonight, of your own free will?"
"I will at least make the attempt," Keladry said. "I…" She looked at the ground. "I don't know that I'll be able to sleep, but I'll try."
Duncan nodded, satisfied with that.
They finished setting up camp and cooked dinner in companionable silence. Her appetite was better, he was glad to note; she ate all her portion quickly and volunteered to clean the dishes. She even played with Jump a little, the two of them rolling like oversized puppies across the grass. Keladry wasn't all right, it was too soon for her to be all right, but Duncan was pretty sure she was starting on the path to recovery, and that did his heart good.
At last, she stretched a little and said, "I'm going to bed."
"I will be in shortly," Duncan promised.
She nodded a little, apparently unsurprised. "Sleep well," she said before disappearing into the tent. Jump looked at the elder Warden and lay down in front of the tent, obviously standing guard over his short mistress.
Duncan took his time banking the fire and tidying the campsite as best he could in the moonlight, letting her have time to get properly settled in her bedroll without feeling uncomfortable or awkward about disrobing in a man's presence. At last, he yawned widely and headed for the tent, tapping lightly on the center support beam as he entered. There was no response, and he had to smile at the picture in front of him.
Keladry was tucked into her bedroll, curled on her side with her arms pulled close to her chest. As hard as it was for him to believe, she was already deeply asleep, as evidenced by her steady breathing and her slightly fluttering eyelashes. Though to be fair, she had probably never traveled quite so far before the last couple days, and this was her first night sleeping without drugs.
Moving carefully, Duncan changed into his sleeping clothes and slipped into his bedroll. Though he was more accustomed to hard travel, he was exhausted as well; he was asleep very shortly after lying down.
Now that a Blight had begun, Duncan had to actually work at keeping darkspawn dreams at bay, let alone any dreams about the Archdemon. He had a bad feeling about the dreams he was getting; they told him his time was limited. Soon he would have to follow the Calling or follow his old commander into ghoulishness. But by and large, he was pretty good at not dreaming. So when the screaming broke his sleep, he didn't waste any time thinking it was a dream.
Duncan sprang awake and grabbed his sword as he rolled out of his bedding and rose into a low crouch. His first thought was that they were being attacked by Shrieks, the darkspawn assassins that came out of nowhere. But his darkspawn sense wasn't tingling, and the screams sounded too…human.
He blinked once, twice, and realized the screaming was coming from inside the tent. He looked down and realized the source.
Keladry was flailing on the ground, her eyes closed and her mouth wide open as she shrieked incoherently. She'd fought free of her bedding, so Duncan could see she slept in the overlarge shirt she'd worn the other day and her small clothes. But there was no time to worry about modesty; he needed to wake her before she attracted any enemies within five miles.
Tossing his sword onto his bedroll, Duncan knelt next to Keladry and watched her for a second. She was struggling against something in her dreams, her hands moving in fighting gestures. He could imagine a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other rather easily. Quite likely, she was reliving the events of the fight in Highever, which was hardly surprising, given the circumstances. Duncan sighed and moved her weaponry well away from her reach, then gripped her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. "Keladry!" he snapped.
She went still, her head turned in his direction, but her eyes didn't open. "Well, are you going to help us or not?" she demanded, still caught in the throes of her dream.
"Keladry, wake up," Duncan said, his voice a little softer now that he'd caught her attention.
Keladry struggled against his grip, her slender body almost slipping loose. "No, no, let me go!" she cried. "Mother…Father! Damn you, Duncan, let me go!"
"Keladry Cousland, wake up!" Duncan snapped, shaking her a little.
Her eyes, an interesting mix of brown, green and gold he'd heard called hazel, snapped open and she stared up at him. "No, no…" she whispered, but stopped struggling. Her eyes traced his face, seeking confirmation of some suspicion, and her body relaxed a little. "Oh," she said flatly, turning her head away from Duncan.
Duncan released her shoulders and sat back on his heels. "Take a few deep breaths," he advised. "That always helps me when I have nightmares."
That comment drew Keladry's eyes back to him. "You have nightmares?" she asked, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.
"Oh yes," Duncan said. "I've seen a lot in my time as a Grey Warden, and will see more. I've learned how to deal with my nightmares, but I've had a lot of time to figure out the best way. You will learn."
Keladry flung an arm over her eyes and shuddered. "I don't want to learn," she said, her voice a little muffled. "I wish…" She sighed. "But that does as much good as spitting into the wind."
Duncan smiled, because she was right. Wishing to undo what had been done was a waste of time, and she was wise to have learned that so early.
Keladry rolled onto her side, pulling her blankets back around her. At first he thought she just wanted to go back to sleep; a silly thought, really, given what had just happened. He realized moments later that she was crying, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Duncan reached out a hand, then stopped himself, unsure how she would take the meager comfort he could give. He sighed quietly and rested his hand on her shoulder gently.
She jerked a little, but didn't pull away. That was a reasonable start. He felt her vibrating under his hand with the force of her silent sobs, and wished he could think of something to say. At last, she sighed, and her body relaxed into sleep. "Peaceful dreams, Keladry," Duncan murmured, slipping back into his bedroll. "May the Maker give you peace."
The next morning, he woke to find Keladry sitting by the banked fire, her knees pulled up to her chest. He had an idea she hadn't slept much, a thought that was supported by her pale face and red eyes. He suspected she had spent the night crying beside the fire so as not to wake him. After getting a good look at her face, he decided not to ask. She would talk to him in due course, if she trusted him enough.
Keladry didn't say a word about the incident the night before; she appeared to want to act as normal as possible. She helped with the morning meal, tore down camp, and followed Duncan onto the main road.
They traveled mostly in silence throughout the first part of the day. Duncan silently cursed his inability to find the right words to draw her out—on the rare occasions he got her to say something, she used small, curt words, indicating she really didn't want to talk.
When they stopped for a midday meal, he had an idea. He didn't know how good an idea it was, but it was the only one he'd had so far. He rummaged through his pack and found his empty journal, the one he had bought in Denerim to replace the journal he had almost filled. "Here," he said, tossing it into Keladry's lap.
She picked it up and examined it. "Thank you," she said automatically. "But… what is it for?"
"Grey Wardens are required to record anything they encounter that might be of interest to future Grey Wardens. I daresay a well-written eyewitness account of the Fifth Blight would be interesting to everyone." And, Duncan added silently, the act of writing things down helped clear the mind.
Keladry looked at him, her clear hazel eyes searching his face. Then she nodded slowly. "But this is for me, to be my personal journal?" she asked.
"Yes. Write down anything you want." Duncan paused, unsure how much to tell her. He decided a portion of the truth would do for now: "I think, in time, you will have a leadership role in the Grey Wardens. People always like to know why the leaders make the decisions they do; your personal journal will help."
A very tiny smile curled the corners of Keladry's mouth upward as she nodded again. "I know," she said. "I used to read my ancestors' journals at…at home."
That smile was the first he'd seen from her since leaving Highever. Its presence told him he'd made the right choice of action. And, he noticed, she hadn't argued with his assessment that she would have a leadership role. That didn't surprise him overmuch; she had been born to lead and trained in the necessary skills by her Weapons Master and her father.
Keladry tapped an idle rhythm on the cover of the journal. There was a new light in her eyes, and her shoulders set with a sense of purpose. "Have you pen and ink I can use?" she asked. "I…did not bring any with me."
"Of course," Duncan replied. He found both pen and ink in a small pocket of his pack and handed them to her. She checked the pen's tip, nodded, and opened the ink bottle.
She spent the next ten minutes writing. Duncan could see that she wrote with a quick, neat hand. He had expected no less from a noble's child, who must have been writing since she was big enough to hold a pen. That would make a nice change from the usual common-born who wrote only when forced to. Alistair was the only other Grey Warden currently in Ferelden who wrote for fun, and wrote well.
Alistair. The former Templar might be the best friend Keladry could have in the Grey Wardens. They were close in age, he understood the pain of being suddenly alone, and he had a way of accidentally saying the right thing at the right time. It would be no bad thing to direct her toward Alistair when they reached Ostagar.
Over the next few days, Duncan watched Keladry allow herself to grieve. She spent every rest period writing in her journal, sometimes writing until she was squinting in the chancy light of the fire. She woke him several times with her quiet sobs in the middle of the night, but when he rolled over and rested a hand on her shoulder, she was able to accept the comfort and drift off to sleep again. And more than once, she dropped a little behind during the day's travel to have a private cry. Her eyes were constantly red, but she slept through most of the night and her appetite was good. And as they traveled, she talked to him, telling him about her family and funny stories from her past. In exchange, he told her about his adventures as a Grey Warden, carefully leaving out some parts she couldn't know yet. It pained him to hide anything from her, as she drank up knowledge with a delightful relish, but there were things she couldn't know until she went through the Joining.
"We will be at Ostagar tomorrow," Duncan told her one evening as they finished their dinner. "Once there, you will become a Grey Warden."
Keladry nodded, setting her empty plate down. She looked at her hands for a moment, then up at Duncan. "I guess this will be our last chance to talk in any sort of privacy for a while, then."
"Quite likely," Duncan agreed. "Two other recruits wait for us at Ostagar, along with the other Grey Wardens."
"Not to mention the entire army and the King," Keladry said. She bit her lower lip, something she tended to do while thinking. "Then this is my last chance to give you the thanks I owe, twice over."
"Keladry…" Duncan started, but stopped when she raised a hand slightly and shook her head. There was something almost imperious in that gesture, something he responded to automatically.
"Let me finish," she said. "You saved my life back in Highever. If you hadn't recruited me and dragged me away, I would have died beside my parents." She half-smiled wryly. "I'll admit, I was rather angry with you for making me live when my parents died, at least for a while. But then you saved my sanity by giving me this journal." She looked down at the journal in her lap. "I don't think I could have grieved as I needed to without something to pour all my feelings into. So…I can't ever begin to give you enough thanks for all you've done for me. But…thank you." She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.
"I am glad," Duncan said quietly, returning the squeeze before releasing her hand. "Losing your fire and strength would have been a criminal loss."
"I'm glad to not be lost," Keladry said with a very brief smile. At least she was able to smile, however brief the smile was.
They settled into a comfortable silence for a while. Keladry threw a stick for Jump while finishing a journal entry for the day. Duncan wondered what she was writing and resolved to ask before following his Calling.
"I think I will turn in," Keladry said, punctuating a last sentence and setting the journal aside to dry. "Sounds like tomorrow will be a long day. You should get some rest too, ser."
Ser. Duncan knew Keladry well enough by now to know she didn't use titles of respect lightly. If she called someone "ser", she felt that person had earned the respect implicit in that title, and Duncan felt a moment's warmth at his recruit's show of honor. "I will," he promised, smiling at her.
Keladry nodded her head in an almost-bow and headed into the tent, her journal open in her hand. As ever, Duncan gave her a few moments to settle before going into the tent and taking to his bedroll. And for the first night since leaving Highever, she didn't wake him with sobs or screams. She still had a ways to go to be fully healed, but Duncan thought she was well on her way to recovery.
They reached Ostagar shortly before noon the next day, and they were met by the king, to Duncan's surprise. After a short conversation that seemed to lift Keladry's spirits a little, King Cailan left them to their own devices. Keladry's eyes shone as she looked at the ancient fortifications, which didn't surprise Duncan much; she'd mentioned several times that she loved history, and Ostagar was filled with stories. He told her to go and explore as she willed, within the camp, and find Alistair when she was ready to settle again. He smiled to himself as he watched her trot across the bridge, leaving Jump in his care. "I think she will be just fine," he said to Jump, who sat and watched his mistress on her way.
The warhound woofed cheerfully and got to his feet. Duncan chuckled and nodded. "All right, boy," he said. "Let's go wait for her and Alistair by a fire, where we can stay warm."
Together, warhound and Grey Warden crossed the bridge. Duncan felt a shadow cross his face and looked up at the Tower of Ishal. For just a second, a shiver of foresight and intuition touched his spine, a sense of death approaching. Then he shrugged it away. The Calling would be soon for him; he hoped it would come as he struck down the Archdemon. That would be the perfect way to go, in his opinion. Until then, there was work to do.
