Authors Notes: Despite thinking I wasn't going to write anything for this challenge, here I am with two days to go! This is about Tamlen. The title was based off the Regina Spektor song "Laughing with". Hope you enjoy it.
Maharial sat in front of the campfire stunned; wishing the lick of flames would swallow her and turn her skin to coal. Like Tamlen, black, poisoned and dead. Her nostrils still had that sharp acridity of Darkspawn blood, even now he was gone. She felt that sick, intoxicated with pain. The talk around the campfire was distant, hushed and secretive, purely speculation and gossip. Leliana, shut up. Zevran, be quiet. It was an insult to her friend. He deserved better than whispers behind closed doors.
They didn't understand. It happened too quickly. His voice, distraught. Those eyes, wrecked beyond recognition. It wasn't Tamlen. That boy was kinder, softer – that… creature was harsh, his heart brutally tainted. For how long had he suffered so terribly?
Maharial couldn't imagine anything worse than the nightmares that would have haunted her friend. Piercing her sword through him wasn't difficult in the moment, but it always came to curse her afterwards, insulting her, a thousand times worse than before.
It hurt. She knew tears would come, but she didn't want them to.
"My dear. I can see you are troubled, have a weighty burden on your shoulders."
The elf didn't look up. She knew that elderly voice anywhere. Wynne had come to speak to her.
"Is it that surprising?" Maharial asked, finally peering up. The mage's eyebrows were knitted together with a polite concern, one of a mother. It made the elf's heart clench. She wasn't family, just a companion. What business did she have here?
Still, Wynne sat down on the dirt next to the elf, not caring for the dignity of her robes, not caring that the night was as silent as Tamlen's decomposing heart.
"I am not surprised, not in the way you might think," she said pointedly, gazing into the blazing orange of the fire, "I am only worried."
The mage wasn't being mocking, wise enough to avoid tactlessness. It would do. The Warden chose she'd let Wynne keep her company and not show resistance. As such, the elf took a deep breath to loosen her shoulders.
"I am worried for me too." Maharial admitted after a while. Having the words out in the open was painful, but she tried to block out the mutters of the others in their camp who had returned to their tents, which somehow made them easier to hear.
Wynne gave a weary sort of a smile, "I don't believe Alistair has much experience with consoling a friend who's loved one has been painfully taken from them."
"He talked to me about Duncan." Maharial pointed out.
"Yes, but… it is sometimes more difficult when trying to comfort another person." The mage admitted, resting her wrists on her lap, "The words may not come so easily, especially when more is at stake than a friendship."
The elf grumbled, and tossed a small rock into the flames, where it bounced off hot coals. Wynne was implying they'd be a couple. Even if it was increasingly tempting the more time passed, this had dampened much of her warmth toward the man. How could Alistair be so deadpan and emotionless when something horrific had happened? Happened to her?
"It's better this way," Maharial repeated Alistair's words, anger pooling into her gut, "It's a mercy. You know what's mercy? Not getting the taint in the first place. Getting rid of it – saving his life. Not dying! Not spending your last years as a shell of yourself. That's unfair!"
Maharial heart pounded, threatening to pierce out of her chest. Tamlen didn't deserve this, just like she didn't. All of this was too painful. Without meaning to, her vision blurred, announcing that tears were about to start falling from her eyes.
"I knew that he loved me," she choked out, not caring that Wynne would hear. This secret she held inside was a curse that had lingered in the back of her mind for years, "The whole time. I saw how he started to act different. That he'd kind of awkwardly look down and nearly flutter his eyelashes if I said something funny. How Tamlen would smile just a little bit wider. I was no fool. I always understood it. I always…."
Wynne waited patiently for the explanation to stop, and while she didn't interrupt, Maharial found she couldn't say anymore anyway. Instead, she pretended she wasn't crying, pretending she wasn't hurting and continued to stare into the fire, that was nothing but a blur of orange and yellow in her vision. Maybe here she could pretend she was burning, suffering like Tamlen was.
"Death has a certain gift for bringing truths and other views to the deepest part of ourselves," Wynne observed, moving a little bit closer to Maharial, "It is like tearing a hole in a dam in a river. It allows flow and potential for greater peace of mind, but at the cost of destruction. It is an experience many are not willing or ready to face, for they are painful. It is not a surprise, not a pleasant ability, but it is a process that requires much care." Maharial met Wynee's kind eyes, "It is a quality, I'm sorry to say, I believe Alistair needs more practice at. Thinking before speaking."
"He can't be good at everything," Maharial admitted, pushing some of her red hair from her face, "and yet I wish he was bad at something else."
"That is why you have some… more sensitive companions in this camp side," Wynne said with a hint of jokingness, "Did your friend mean something more to you as well?"
The elf pondered back on her memories of lush rivers, green fields, hallas, hunting and preparing meals. Tamlen was almost there the majority of the time. This used to make her feel comforted, now the entire thing was painful. When she'd noticed a change in her friend, she'd pushed away all thought about it, not wanting to change their dynamic.
"I don't know," Maharial admitted, turning closer to face Wynne too, and then she realized she was lying to herself, "No." she corrected, "I never did. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I could see what was going on, I wanted to confess that I did care for him like he did for me. But I didn't. I refused to lie. He was like family. I couldn't hurt him. But when I just saw him…."
The talking around the camp side was lessening, but somehow this was more intimidating.
"Did you have a desire to apologize, perhaps?" Wynne probed, trailing off where the elf went silent.
"An apology would never be enough;" Maharial said solemnly, "an apology for the rest of my days wouldn't be either. I'd need to fix his heart with stitching. I'd find him someone else. I'd never give up until I did," tears fell down the elf's face, "I didn't even do that. Even when he was about to die, I couldn't say anything. I was frozen. I couldn't make him feel worse. I never said sorry. Oh Tamlen, Ir abelas. abelas." (*I'm sorry, my sorrow to you)
She wiped her eyes many times, tried not to make herself shudder or sob loud enough to be overheard, but it was too late. Wynne placed a gentle hand on the back of her armour, but the softness of that skin was impossible to feel through the metal.
"I see how difficult this is for you, dear friend," Wynne said under her breath, "You have every reason to feel this. Let no one stop you from feeling you have that opportunity."
"Y-You don't know how I feel!" Maharial tried to bury her face in her armor, but it wasn't very comfortable. It was frustrating. Wynne didn't see how sad Tamlen had been. Words were not enough to calm her. "You have no idea how horrible I am!"
"You do not have a soul that intends to do harm onto others," Wynne continued, ignoring the Warden's anger, "You are simply a thoughtful, well-spoken young lady in shock. It is nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of us." Realizing the hand on the back wasn't very comforting; Wynne placed a hand on the elf's wrist, "What would you have liked to have said? If you could imagine for a moment your dear friend was impossible to hurt."
"That I cared for him," Maharial said immediately, her voice getting stronger now, "That I cared for him and I didn't want him to get hurt. That I loved him, in a way, just not in the way he did for me."
"You'll have to forgive me – I understand it might sound foolish now to presume – but do you think he kept it from you for so long because he knew you did not reciprocate those feelings?" Wynne explained. Her voice was as comforting as Maharial's clan, her Keeper, the ones she held so dearly. "Why else would he put in so much trouble to find you? Perhaps it was how Tamlen wanted to say goodbye. If the two of you knew each other for such a long time – these sentiments have mischievous ways of travelling."
"I don't know," Maharial said stiffly, picking up another rock and playing with it in her fingers, "I hope you're right."
"This kind of hurt might stay for a long time," Wynne said carefully, "but if you're fortunate, with the proper care and attention, one hopes it will lessen. I will, anyhow. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I feel like I did." Maharial said, still feeling hurt and bitter, "but… thanks for being better than Alistair when it comes to listening."
The fire was still crackling, but it was less threatening now. Kinder, and so was the presence of her feelings inside.
Wynne chuckled, "I've had my fair share of misleading others with my words, much like Alistair, but there is only so much that can be done, even if we wish we could do more." She got to her feet, "I take it you have said all that you need to. If I was to return to my tent, will you be able to sleep?"
"I'll try." The elf said, nodding to Wynne as a way of encouragement, "I'll stay here a little longer. But thank you. Again."
"Goodnight, my friend." The mage said as she departed to bed.
As she did, Maharial wept, silently but surely, trying to simultaneously push it all away and cherish memories all at once. Tamlen didn't deserve this. He deserved to love somebody better than her. He deserved the truth, an apology, but he got none of those things. That wasn't mercy. That wasn't justice. It was cruel and unfair. Just like the taint, vicious and unforgiving.
As Wynne's footsteps disappeared, they became mixed up with somebody else's. Was she imagining it? No. There was definitely someone walking in the other direction, towards her. Curious, the elf turned around from the fire to see who had been eavesdropping, and who faced her made her skin go as white as chalk. A fellow Grey Warden, the one who had been there when it began, was standing feet away, appearing more saddened than before, but it was only a slight change, a minute difference, but enough that Maharial felt trusting enough to let him speak.
"I'm sorry for strolling in this direction." Alistair said, out of his armor now, but still looking just as robust. "I didn't mean to overhear, but it was kind of impossible. You talk loud. I don't know if you've noticed."
"I do know." Maharial admitted, "But have you ever heard of blocking your ears or humming to yourself?" "
"Maybe. Somehow, I don't think humming to myself will go well around here," Alistair admitted, "Morrigan would probably think I was trying to choke myself to death with a stick or something. Not that she'd stop me if I did."
"Haha, you probably sound better than that," the elf chuckled, "Not by much, but enough that not everybody would tell you to shut up."
There was an awkward pause between them, and they only stared, long and desperate for answers. But they weren't close enough for it to be conveyed by looks. Words needed to be spoken.
"I… you don't have to comfort me," Maharial said quickly, "I know I am a horrid fool. Did you hear everything?"
"Enough to know you are not as bad as you think." Alistair said slowly, and he approached her at the fire too, becoming more difficult to look at with each passing second, "I hardly even know what to say to you half the time, let alone if someone like Zevran started flirting with me."
Maharial tried to smile, "I swear he has flirted with you before."
"Then you get it, great!" Alistair put on a falsely jovial voice, "Flirting and whatnot aside, I don't think it's worth putting yourself down. It's impossible to tell what to do in these situations. Every single one has its own…. problems… and challenges. Whatever you want to call it," the Warden looked into the fire, pensively. "But uh, it seems everyone in this camp site knows I'm shamefully clueless when death is involved. Or being remotely romantic. Or anything, for that matter. Ergh, I'm messing this up already, aren't I? What I'm trying to say is… if you have any pointers, don't keep those to yourself. Then I might really think you're terrible."
"I'll keep that in mind," Maharial said slowly, "but it's hard to think right now. Thanks for telling me anyway."
"Um, I'm sorry what I said earlier didn't come out right." Alistair said bashfully, suddenly fascinated with one of his hands, "Death is… well, there's nothing that can bring them back. That's what makes it so horrible. And there is no mercy in it. You're right. There's just bad, and slightly less bad - which is still bad. I wish I said that before, but I… froze up… kind of like you did."
"Thanks for trying to uh… make it up to me, I guess?" Maharial said finally, and she remembered all the times Alistair had been like Tamlen. Those awkward looks, shifty smiles and often erratic laughter in order to deal with nerves… he liked her. She knew it. It was like before, the past repeating itself.
Except it wasn't. It was different.
The elf saw Alistair as more than she did Tamlen, but he was deserving of an explanation. She would be strong this time, push forward despite her reservation, for herself, for Alistair… but most of all, for Tamlen.
"I'm not good at talking either, as you can tell by everything." Maharial said nervously, "I'm trying to get better. So… I know this is a bit late… but thanks for the rose."
She blushed, even if her face felt hot from the fire anyway, even if her body still ached from grief. She needed to make it better. Maharial had to try make it right by Alistair, in the way she couldn't Tamlen.
The man didn't laugh, not even chuckle. He sounded calm, "I… worried you were just going to ignore me forever. It's a massive relief that's not the case. Did you... I mean, you like flowers, right?"
"It was beautiful." Maharial said, "I'm not used to seeing that kind of flower. It was lovely and very special. I'm sorry I didn't say so in the first place."
She braced herself for pain, anger or some unpleasant reaction, but there was none of that. Alistair was a kind person, and he replied with conviction.
"I forgive you."
She met his eyes as more tears fell down her face, and Alistair gave a grim smile. They both knew the timing of this conversation was awful. It wasn't fair on Tamlen, wasn't fair on either of them. But they'd get through it. They'd be strong. Maharial hoped deep down, that if Tamlen did understand how she felt toward him, that she would forgive her too for staying silent.
It was nice to imagine that Tamlen would forgive her. She'd hope that was the case forevermore, and Maharial promised to become stronger for her old friend. Internally, she swore it, dedicated herself to the cause, would breathe it from this day forward. No more freezing. No more keeping her opinions to herself. She'd melt the ice with fire, and she'd be a more open person. Like Wynne, Tamlen and Alistair. Someone worthy of that affection.
Then maybe one day Alistair and she could be more than friends.