A/N: This was written for the Bioware Bang on Livejournal - please go check it out on livejournal to see the lovely playlist that Evesharmony made for it (biowarebang dot livejournal dot com slash 12482 dot html). Thanks very much to Decantate for the pinch-hit beta and to Sagacious Rage for organizing everything, and for helping me write the summary.
Title is from the W. B. Yeats poem, "Friends"
-o-
Cody nipped her heels impatiently. Naomi snapped a warning at the mabari, then lifted her nose, scanning the air for traces of darkspawn or rabbits. As a bear she had a nose like a spyglass. A cold wind blew down the North Road, carrying with it the biting smells of the Amaranthine Ocean, and she parsed out the salt air, and the tang of the evergreen trees, and then her hair stood on end as she caught another scent, one she had never expected to smell again, the sweat and polish smell of one Alistair Theirin.
Naomi shook her head in disbelief and then she lumbered to a run. The bear was fast and it covered ground quickly, and Cody barked happily as he stretched his legs to keep up.
Naomi found him on the North Road, and she skidded to a halt and bellowed before he saw her. Alistair turned. It was the same Alistair that she remembered, with the same stance and the same eyes and wearing the same gray armor that she had given to him in Denerim. His face broke into a grin when he saw her.
"Naomi is that y—" he began, but she knocked him off his feet before he finished. He yelped.
Where the Fade have you been? she growled, pressing her claws into his shoulders, and the color drained from his face. As a bear she had very little control over her emotions. Who do you think you are, waltzing back here like you own the place? If I wasn't so Maker-cursed—
He swatted at her with his hands. "Please tell me that I'm not just being attacked by a wild animal," he said. Her lip curled and she snarled at him, but she drew back on her haunches, and he pulled himself to his feet. "I can't understand anything you're saying, Naomi. You're a bear."
Naomi snarled again, then she closed her eyes and released the bear shape. Her senses numbed, and she was small and weak again. From the ether her staff appeared. Her robes reformed themselves around her, constricting her movements and scratching at her skin, and her chestnut hair fell long and wild over her shoulders. She tied it back roughly as she stood up.
"Sorry," she said. "I was hunting."
"It wasn't exactly the welcome I was hoping for." Alistair managed a smile.
Naomi breath caught; she had forgotten that smile. She swallowed. "I didn't think you were ever going to show up," she said. "Varel thought you were dead."
"Who's Varel?" Alistair asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Don't change the subject." Naomi hugged her arms around herself and frowned. "Where were you?"
Cody pushed his nose into Alistair's hand, licking his fingers, and he stroked the mabari's great head. "Everywhere," he mumbled, then he ruffled the dogs ears. "Nowhere. I just... after everything that happened, in Denerim, and... Redcliffe..." She stiffened, remembering those particular moments in Eamon's castle, and he shook his head. "I needed some time to think. I spent some time in Highever."
Alistair ruffled the dog's ears. Then he took a deep breath, and held it, pursing his lips. It was a tell, and Naomi sighed.
"Did you find Morrigan?" she asked.
"What? No, I wasn't..."
"Alistair." She scowled at him.
His shoulders slumped, and he looked away. "No," he said. He looked back at her, and his eyes went wide. "I wasn't looking for her, not really. I mean, I just needed to know... about the baby." He reached out to her. "You don't need to be—"
"I'm not." She pulled away and turned towards the Keep, walking up the road at a brisk clip. Losing Morrigan was a pain tied tight together with losing Alistair; she could not say which hurt more.
"Just because you aren't King doesn't mean you don't have responsibilities. I should have you hanged for desertion." She forced heat into her voice before she exhaled. "But we're desperately short on fighters. Last week I had to give Anders a sword." She glanced over her shoulder. "When you meet him, you'll understand how terrifying that is."
His face brightened considerably. "Does that mean you're letting me stay?" he asked.
They reached the portcullis, and Naomi waved at the guards. The gates opened, iron ringing against stone, and she fixed her eyes ahead of her as she stepped through.
"As a Warden you're welcome here," she told him. She had hardly considered any other option, and if she was being honest with herself, she knew exactly how this ended, too. Naomi shook her head. "But we're not together," she insisted. "It's been too long."
Alistair followed meekly after her. "I understand."
They passed a section of wall that had collapsed, the reinforced stone scattered across the grass like spilt rice. Alistair scanned the Keep and she heard him draw a breath when he saw the burnt out husk of a barracks, the inverted hollow of a storage shed that had exploded in the firefight.
"There's so much damage..." he said.
"Yes, well, we had a battle," Naomi returned. "It's over. You missed it."
She mounted the steps into the Vigil two at a time, fuming silently. Alistair should have been here to help her fight the Architect, he should have been here to defend the Keep, he should have been here. Learning to fight without him had been like learning to walk again.
They entered the Great Hall, and she could hear his footsteps behind her, metal ringing against stone. Naomi found herself remembering Orzammar. He wore different armor then, but the sound was the same. He had snuck his first kiss outside the Proving Grounds; she remembered blushing. Her steps slowed.
Alistair caught up to her and walked beside her, close enough that she could reach out and take his hand, if she wanted. She remembered holding his hand, that night in Redcliffe Castle, and she remembered letting go. Two months of timid flirtation stood between that first kiss and those first fumbling moments in his tent, but it had taken two minutes to convince him to sleep with Morrigan. Naomi saw too many people when she looked at him, and the man who had been with the witch was someone she could never know. She laced her hands together behind her back.
As the door closed behind her, a man stood up from his perch beside the firepit to intercept her. Beside her Cody barked a warning, but she raised a hand to silence him; it was only Stroud. She stopped obligingly.
Naomi had been surprised when Weisshaupt had sent the Orlesian to be her second, but she supposed they wanted someone in Amaranthine with experience. Naomi was still very young. Stroud was an accomplished warrior, and tough as nails, even if she sometimes had trouble looking at him without giggling.
If moustaches could kill, Anders had said, Stroud would be the deadliest Grey Warden in all of Thedas.
"Who's this?" Stroud nodded at Alistair. Naomi introduced him, and his eyes widened. "Well, that is unexpected," he said. "We were told you were dead!" Stroud addressed Naomi. "Will he be staying with you?"
Naomi winced. The Orlesian knew too much about her. "No," she said.
"Ah." Stroud stroke the long hairs of his moustache, and Naomi bit back a laugh. "Well, there are no free rooms, so I suppose he'll have to bunk with Nathaniel."
Naomi frowned. "I was thinking of Anders, actually," she said. "Nathaniel is so prickly with strangers."
"Mm, but the thing is I have already put someone in Anders' room, and it would be rather crowded with three." Naomi's brow lifted, and Stroud elaborated. "A templar I recruited this morning. His name is Rolan. He's from South Reach."
The world suddenly seemed to slow down and tilt sideways, and Naomi was keenly aware of Alistair's presence. She lowered her voice. "I don't understand," she said. "You Joined someone without me?"
"You were indisposed, and he was dying." Naomi opened her mouth to object, but Stroud cut her off. "We do recruit people, don't we?" She nodded, and he shrugged. "He survived, you should be pleased. He's very good with a longsword."
"I suppose I'm glad there isn't a dead man on the floor," she allowed, "but you can't possibly think that Anders is going to room with a templar, are you out of your mind?"
Stroud's face darkened. "I should ask you the same thing," he said. "The Wardens have a long history of looking the other way when it comes to blood mages and other maleficarum, but your man Anders..." Stroud clicked his tongue. "A little templar oversight is the barest precaution we should take."
Naomi scowled. "He isn't—"
"Bah, who am I to question the Hero of Ferelden?" Stroud laughed and waved his hands. "I'm sure you think you can handle an abomination, if it comes to that."
"Abomination?" Alistair asked, and she grit her teeth. Stroud nodded.
"Mmm. Anders has been consorting with a Fade spirit. The Commander is rather liberal when it comes to demons, isn't she?" Stroud gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Perhaps because she killed an Archdemon. And survived." Alistair didn't react, but Naomi thought she heard his voice sharpen. The room grew smaller and darker and she felt her chest tighten. "The Chantry is still up in arms that we recruited Anders at all. Better one templar than a whole army, n'est-ce pas?"
Naomi gaped at him. Sometimes she still had nightmares about the night she was taken away. The faces of her siblings were lost to time, but she could still see her mother's face, and she could still hear her sobbing as they took her, could feel that terror echoed in her own chest. The thought made her feel three feet tall and helpless, and she pulled inward, like a little girl with her head down.
"If we let this Rolan in," she said, "do you think they'll leave us alone?"
"It's a possibility, yes."
Naomi swallowed. "I'll talk to Anders," she mumbled. She thought there was nothing she would not do to keep from losing the people she loved; she wondered if this was how Maferath felt. Naomi shook her head and turned to Alistair. "You can stay with Nathaniel. And yes, before you ask, he's a Howe. Don't stare at his nose."
Alistair nodded. "I'll try not to," he said.
She met his eyes, and he smiled again. Naomi leaned against her staff. Then Stroud grunted in self satisfaction and Naomi imagined herself as a bear, rending flesh from bone.
-o-
Anders found her before she could find him, cornering her in the small space between the pantry and the kitchen. She backed into shelves full of dry goods.
"Did you really think I would stand for this?" he demanded. Tendrils of blue light snaked across his skin, a manifestation of a rage she had never seen in him before. The air began to crackle.
Something had changed in him the day Justice passed from this plane. Naomi knew there was something between the spirit and her friend, some forming alliance in the Fade, but she never imagined it was dangerous. She clutched a jar of honey as though it might offer some defense.
"I've tried to protect you," she said, "but it isn't that simple-"
Anders wasn't listening to her. "That a mage would do this to another mage." She felt the Veil tearing, like glass cracking in the cold, and the temperature dropped sharply. His body trembled. "I don't know why I expected any different. You did the same thing to Jowan."
Sometimes the weight of her own choices felt like a literal thing, pressing down on her and making it hard to breathe. "Jowan was a blood mage," she tried to remind him, but the point was lost. Anders' eyes flashed cerulean as something other tested their reality. Naomi knew it must be Justice. She pushed back with her own power, testing a dispel against his wrath, finding it lacking.
"Anders," she panted out. "I've known you since I was twelve. You're like a brother to me. I love you."
Her hands tightened on her little jar. "Both of you," she amended. "But I think this transition has been somewhat... rocky, and you might benefit from a little templar assistance." A thought struck her. "Alistair's back," she said. "If you don't trust this Rolan, I could ask him to—"
"They're all the same!" Her own mana pulsed and swelled as the Fade came crashing in around them. Naomi reached for her spirit magic, for the bear, for anything, but she was overwhelmed by the unsteady power in the room. She did not think Anders would ever hurt her but then she had never guessed he might be vulnerable to possession, either. She felt herself drowning.
And then she felt the cool cleansing numbness of templar skills, and then the rough slap of a smite knocked her to the floor. Anders whirled away from her. A severe looking man she assumed must be Rolan stood in the doorway, holding a sword low near his hip.
"Commander," he said. "I came as soon as I felt—"
"Well, jolly good for you!" Anders picked himself up off the ground. His robes snapped with static as he brushed himself off. "You took the big scary mage down from behind. Very noble. Crisis averted."
Naomi smiled weakly at the templar. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep," she said. "I'm Naomi."
"Rolan." He dipped his head
Anders glared down at her. "I know you're fond of templars, but this one's taken," he said. "The man follows me everywhere. He's quite besotted."
Anders brushed past him, and Rolan nodded again before turning to follow him. Naomi sat on the floor, and she realized she was covered in honey. The jar had broken. She watched silently as her friend disappeared.
-o-
Naomi made her way to the back of the Keep, holding a potted plant. Sometimes she thought the only way that she related to people was through gifts. She wished there was a gift so extraordinary that it could smooth things over with Anders, and coax him back from the brink.
She found Velanna in her herb garden, tending the new crop. She was crouched low, her hands furrowed in the dirt, and magic flashed from her fingertips. An elfroot seedling sprouted.
"Anath era, Velanna!" Naomi called out. The elf looked up and Naomi waved.
She crossed the garden to her. "I brought you a prickleweed," she said, and she held out her hands. "I had Ines send it over from the Tower. She said they're rare."
Velanna squinted at the plant, and Naomi pushed it into her hands. "Ma serannas, Commander," she said. She looked up at Naomi. "I have never understood why you insist on being so nice to me."
Naomi looked down at her feet, dragged her toe through the dirt. "I don't know how else to be," she said. "Anyway, I like you," she added. "I think you're interesting."
Velanna's eyes softened, just a little. "If you say so," she said. Velanna set the plant to the side. "You can't plant a prickleweed with elfroot, they poison each other. But I appreciate the gesture, I suppose." After a moment, she made a small motion with her hand. Naomi sat down beside her in the dirt, cross legged.
Naomi watched Velanna work the earth. She could not remember her siblings, but she had the vague impression that they had also been mages. She thought about them sometimes, and she imagined that if she had a sister, she would have been something like Velanna. Not elven, of course, but sharp-tongued and wild, where Naomi was quiet and restrained.
"I saw that your sa'lath had returned," Velanna said. Naomi didn't respond, and Velanna frowned. "Between him and the seth'mi that Stroud dragged in, that's two more templars than we need. Anders isn't pleased."
"It's complicated," Naomi said. "And Alistair isn't really a templar. Or my sa'lath."
Velanna scowled. "That may be," she said, "but I need you to understand that I would not chose to share a bed, or a roof, with a templar." Her green eyes flashed. "If Stroud deigns to assign a templar to me, you can expect violent retribution."
"Stroud can't assign a templar to you, or anyone." Naomi slashed a hand through the air. "He's not in charge here."
"As you say," Velanna said, and she nodded, but her brow creased in concern.
Naomi looked down at the ground and her eyes found the sprouting elfroot. "I've been practicing the incantations you taught me," she said, to change the subject. "I still can't get the roots to talk back to me."
Velanna rolled her eyes. "You push too hard, shemlen. Watch closely." Velanna reached her fingers into the dirt, and Naomi did the same.
Naomi closed her eyes and breathed in the rich smell of the earth. She reached out with her senses and ran into Velanna doing the same. Their powers mingled. She could hear the roots whispering, very faintly, but over that she could hear Velanna breathing, feel her warmth beside her, sense the heady buzz of their shared connection to the Fade.
She remembered doing this with Morrigan. She would sit beside the other mage for hours in the dark forest, watching a wild thing, until she thought she knew enough to take its shape. They would race each other through the trees as bears; Morrigan always won. The memory overwhelmed her, and Naomi's chest swelled with pain as she gave in to that hurt and regret and loss. Her fingers warmed and the ground heaved.
"Gah! Naomi! Stop!" Velanna's hands closed on her arms, and she looked up. Velanna was wide eyed and pale, and Naomi tamped down her light. Velanna shook her head. "Gods, Commander. Sometimes I forget how strong you are."
"Sorry."
"Forget it. You have managed more than I thought possible for a shem." Naomi sat up, and Velanna bit her lip. "Meanwhle, I tried to turn into a spider last week, but I only had six legs."
"That's nothing," Naomi said, and she smiled. "One time, I turned into just one bee."
Velanna let out a laugh, and then the sounds of a sword fight reached them and they both looked up. Naomi sprang to her feet and followed her ears, but when she found the source of the noise she let out a breath: it was only Alistair and Nathaniel, sparring in the courtyard.
Nathaniel took his duties as a Warden very seriously, and he was always practicing with someone, either dueling with Sigrun or trading blows with Varel, but she had never expected to see Alistair on the other end of his sword. For Nathaniel this amounted to bonding, and she smiled.
Naomi rocked back on her heels, watching them. Alistair still fought as he had during the Blight, with a longsword and Duncan's shield, while Nathaniel wielded a sword and dagger. Alistair had dropped behind his shield to forfend Nathaniel's sudden attacks. The archer was overmatched for strength but he was much faster than Alistair, and it was unclear who was winning.
She walked to the center of the courtyard, where the statue of Andraste stood watch, staring blankly into the wall. As a mage Naomi had some resentment of Andraste. It was strange that she should have such a thing in her castle, but then this was never meant to be her home. Andraste's marble pedestal made a convenient seat, and Naomi saw that Anders was sitting on it, watching the fight.
He looked up when he saw her, and Naomi went tense. After a moment he patted the stone beside her. Naomi hesitated before she sat down beside him.
"Where's Rolan?" she asked carefully.
Anders grimaced. "Off with Stroud somewhere, conspiring against me, I think. I've been released into Alistair's care." Naomi nodded, trying not to let her eyes water, and Anders took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about the other day. I do know that you're on my side. Of course I know that. But some days... some days I am less myself than other days." Anders blew out a breath. "Today I am myself."
The relief Naomi felt was so overwhelming she was almost nauseous. "I'm so glad," she said. "I missed you." Anders smiled, and she squeezed his arm.
"I think you might be right," he said. "This thing I have with Justice... it's a lot to handle. Maybe if I spend some time with Rolan, he can help me stay in control. At least until I learn how to—" Alistair let out a yelp, and they both looked up. Nathaniel had pushed past his defenses, surprising them both, and his blade sunk into Alistair's skin before he could squeeze it off.
Naomi reached for her staff and started to get up, but Anders stopped her. She watched him take Alistair's arm, and blue light poured from his hands. The air shimmered with warmth. It was not the same spirit magic she remembered. The feeling of the spell was different, somehow, altered by the influence of Justice, but the effect was the same: the gash healed, the bleeding stopped, a man was restored.
"Handy guy to have around," Alistair said. He clenched and unclenched his fist, then lowered his arm. "That... wasn't actually meant to be a pun."
Anders laughed. "It would be easier if you didn't let him cut you open in the first place," he said. He glanced at Nathaniel. "Why are you working so hard? The war's over."
"It's never over," Nathaniel chided. "In peace, vigilance, remember?"
"Huh." Naomi looked up at Alistair, who grinned back at her. "All this time I thought it was flatulence. Makes so much more sense now." Nathaniel smiled faintly, and Alistair shook his sword at him and shifted his weight, resuming battle stance. "Again?"
Nathaniel shrugged, and then advanced. Their swords rang together, and Anders bumped into her with his shoulder. She looked at him. "He's all right," he said, nodding at Alistair. Anders turned and smiled. "I wish I'd known."
Naomi quirked a brow. "Known what?"
His smile grew mischievous. "That I was your type."
"Stop." She shoved him gently, and he laughed.
Alistair charged then, but his attack was clumsy and unfocused and Nathaniel turned his blade easily. He sidestepped around behind him and then his dagger was at his throat. It took a moment for Alistair to realize he was dead. He yielded.
"I think I'm a bit out of practice," he said.
Nathaniel smiled. "Same time tomorrow, then?" Alistair nodded.
Nathaniel extended his hand, and Alistair reached out, but instead of shaking it, his hand slipped through his. Nathaniel looked at him quizzically, and then Alistair turned to Naomi.
"You never taught them the Grey Warden handshake?" he asked.
She cocked her head to the side. "I don't believe I know any Grey Warden handshake."
"Oh, travesty. I must have forgot to teach it to you." He took a step towards her, and Naomi rose to her feet. He held out his hand. "First, you slap hands, palms open," he said, and his fingers brushed past hers, "and then knuckles," and his hand brushed past the other way. Then his palm met hers, and Naomi stopped breathing. He always seemed so much warmer than other people. "Then slide..." His callouses scratched her skin as his hand slid down, and then his fingertips hooked against hers and he paused, smiled, "and then snap." He pulled his hand up and away and snapped, high, near his shoulder. "Grey Warden handshake."
Velanna snorted, and Naomi remembered to breathe again. She shook her head. "You just made that up right there," she said.
"Maybe a little," Alistair admitted.
Anders laughed, and Nathaniel smiled politely while Velanna rolled her eyes. Naomi wrapped her arms around herself, feeling warm to the tips of her fingers. For a moment she did not feel the sting of those she'd lost. Her home was right there in Amaranthine, and these were her Wardens, her family, happy and whole.
-o-
Three weeks later Anders was gone.
As Naomi waded through the sea of carnage he left behind, the pulpy mass of ruined templars and shredded tatters of the Veil, she was swept along on a current of guilt and loss. Blood soaked through to her skin as she helped Stroud and the others burn the bodies. Stroud said nothing to her and she said nothing to him, but she knew he blamed her for their deaths, and she blamed him for the loss of her friend.
Alistair did his best to cleanse the area. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and her skin tingled as he reached out with his templar skills. The Fade receded into the smoke as his power washed over her. She felt her senses go numb.
Naomi knelt beside him. She remembered the first time she had seen him like this, remembered thinking he had never looked so beautiful. For a moment she forgot herself, and she touched his cheek, the way she used to. His eyes snapped open and his concentration broke, and the Fade encroached again, making her dizzy.
Alistair looked at her, and for the first time she saw her own longing reflected in his eyes. She stood quickly. "I'm sorry," she said, and walked away.
Naomi stumbled back to her room and tossed back a lyrium potion that she didn't need. She cast a rejuvenation spell, letting it wash over her, clearing her mind, while the lingering effects of the lyrium filled her with euphoria. She doused her face with water until it ran clear, and began to unbuckle the intricate ties that held her clothes together. She was half out of her soiled robes when she heard his voice.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.
She hadn't meant to leave the door open. Alistair stood in the doorway, his hand testing the frame, his whole body respecting the invisible line that was the boundary of her quarters. Not even the tip of his toe was inside her room. She wondered how long this détente would last.
Naomi blew out a breath. "Help me with this," she said, touching the nape of her neck, where her collar laced together. "It's stuck."
Alistair paused before accepting, feeling the weight of that invisible line. He knew, she thought, but he came anyway. She watched him cross the room before she turned from him. His hands brushed her neck as he worked at the knot.
"He wasn't supposed to be able to run away," she said. "It's a blood bond. It's forever." His hands went still, and her collar slid free. Naomi exhaled. She turned around and closed the door, her hand lingering on the handle.
"Why did you come back?" she asked.
Alistair blew out a breath. "Why wasn't I always here, is a better question. I don't even know any more."
He touched her arm and she turned back to him. "One day I was walking through the Brecilian Forest," he said, "and I walked by this tree. It was just a regular tree, but I got this flash of the Grand Oak, and I remembered when you did that impression..."
Naomi blushed. "I'm just a tree, oh woe is me, how do I pee...?"
"Yes, that one." He smiled, and Naomi felt her heart skitter. "And I realized I had no idea what I was doing in the Brecilian Forest. I never should have left you."
He looked down at her hand, so small beside his. Naomi let out a defeated whimper, and Alistair looked up. She pushed her lips into his.
The kiss took Alistair by surprise, and it took Naomi back. This was easier, she thought. She was overwhelmed by the sense memory of dark nights by the fire, the half-forgotten feeling of falling with him through tent flaps, sharing urgent kisses on a rumpled bedroll and giving in to less complicated needs. She pulled away to draw a shaky breath and found his eyes; they were searching.
"Just like that?" he asked.
"You can't tell me you don't want this," she said. She could see him fighting with himself, and she remembered how his hesitation used to delight her. Her hands tugged at his shirt. "Please. I just want everything to be like it was."
"Naomi..." He pushed a damp curl back from her face, and she kissed him again. He yielded and she pulled away.
She shimmied out of her clothes, and his eyes followed them down and back up and Naomi saw him give in. Alistair swallowed. He touched the soft skin of her waist, as tentative as their first time, but then she closed on him and slid her tongue inside his ear and he let out a needful moan. Alistair threaded his hands under her arms and lifted her up to him, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He was carrying her to the bed, she realized; she had forgotten how strong he was.
He dropped her down to her bed and she pulled him down with her, rolled over, leaned over him as she tore off his clothes. She cried out when she took him inside her, overwhelmed by that half-forgotten feeling. For a blissful moment she let her thoughts blink out, but when she arched her back his eyes rolled back and she could not help but wonder if he had done the same with her. When he found release he bit back a shout, and she buried the thought that he might have let loose with her. In that moment she imagined she herself as Morrigan, thoughtless and wild, and despite herself she came with him, letting him pull her over the edge.
Afterwards she collapsed beside him, and he gave her a contented smile. Naomi bit her lip, and his brow creased. He started to sit up. "Maker, I never meant... if you want me to go—"
"Please don't." Naomi clutched his arm. "Don't ever leave me again." She rested her head on his shoulder. His blood hummed beneath her ear, and beneath that she could hear the faint buzz of the taint, the shared poison that joined and separated them. With the tips of her fingers she traced circles over his chest, reacquainting herself with the dips and swells. Alistair nestled his face in her hair, and she sighed.
"What were you were going to do if you found her?" she asked.
Alistair shifted beneath her. "I'm sure I have no idea," he said. "Slap her. Hug her. Steal her kid and run away." He blew out a breath. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."
She drew back, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him. His face was the same but his eyes were darker, somehow, and the lines at the corners had deepened. Some part of him had left with Morrigan, she thought.
"Promise me you won't go after her again," Naomi said. Alistair bit his lip, and she shook her head sharply, shaking her hair loose. "She left us, Alistair. She isn't worth our attention." He looked away from her, and she took his chin in her hand and pulled him back. "Promise me."
Alistair nodded. "I promise," he said, and his word was his bond, but she could hear how much it cost him. Naomi rolled away from him. Alistair's breath came slow and even as he surrendered to sleep, and she pushed her hands under her head and tucked in her knees, curling inward.
-o-
In the dark when her mind ran in circles and she could not sleep, Naomi remembered.
The forest outside Denerim is cold and damp, and the trees crowd their campsite like shrieks with outstretched hands. Naomi huddles in the warmth of Morrigan's fire, as she often does when Alistair is meditating. The other mage sets a mug of hot tea in her hands, and then pauses to sip her own. Naomi waits indulgently. While Morrigan would never seek companionship, she is never at a loss for words when Naomi seeks it herself.
Morrigan lowers her mug. "And then he says, 'Sister.'" Her voice is a simpering imitation of Alistair. "'Siiiister.' As though it is so remarkable that a single womb might have produced two idiot children. And then he had the nerve to expect that Goldana would love him, despite never having met him before in her life. Imagine my surprise when she did not." She rolls her eyes. "I will never understand what you see in him."
Naomi suppresses a laugh. "You are too hard on him," she chides, and she looks over to where Alistair sits by the other fire. His eyes closed and his head bowed, he is completely still except for the steady rise and fall of his breath. Naomi smiles fondly. "He only wants to know a family."
"'Tis not blood that makes a family," the witch asserts, scowling over her tea.
"I know that." Naomi reaches for Morrigan's hand, and with a snort her friend pulls away.
"You and your endless touching, Amell," she snaps, but her lips curve slightly towards a smile. Morrigan nods at the templar. "Do you intend to make him King? I gather this is Eamon's wish."
"No." Naomi shakes her head. "He wants nothing less, and Anora seems capable enough." She does not add that as a common mage she knows that she could only ever be his mistress, and Naomi has no intention of sharing him.
After a moment she frowns. "He told me something today." Morrigan turns to her, and Naomi blows into her tea, watching the water churn. "Apparently Grey Wardens can't have children. Not together, anyway. Something about the taint..."
Morrigan's lip twitches. "Does that bother you?" she asks.
"No, it's fine." Morrigan regards her skeptically, and Naomi shakes her head. "All right, yes. I thought... I mean, I just imagined we would have children. Two girls and a boy. The boy is named Jacob, and the girls are Rosalie and Mara. Mara is the only blonde, but Jacob's the one who really resembles his father. He loves puns and he has his nose." Naomi feels her cheeks color, and she bites her lip. "You have to understand, in the Tower I couldn't have a family. Since I got out, my fantasies have... got away from me, a bit." She looks up at Morrigan. "It was foolish, really."
Morrigan is watching her in the unblinking way she evaluates an animal she wants to mimic. Naomi expects her to sneer, or roll her eyes, but after some time the witch only nods. "You should consider another lover," she suggests. "Perhaps the elf?"
Naomi laughs. "You aren't serious."
"No, I suppose not." Morrigan sets down her mug. As she does, Alistair lifts his head and opens his eyes. He stretches his arms over his head and then stands, flexing his shoulders, and Morrigan lets out a sigh that is almost wistful.
"It would be easier for both of us," Morrigan says, almost to herself, "if you did not love him so much."
Naomi turns to her with wide eyes, but Morrigan does not elaborate, and Naomi does not pursue it. She has learned not to harry her friend when her face has shuttered like that. Morrigan stands quickly. "Shall we resume your lessons, then?" she asks. "You have yet to master the spider shape, or the swarm."
Naomi shrugs. "I like the bear."
"Mmm, 'tis a shape that suits you." Morrigan gives a half smile, then crosses her arms under her breasts and scowls. "However, you must learn that the others have value as well. I will not have you limiting yourself in this way."
Morrigan's tone is disparaging, but the intent is affectionate, in its own way. Naomi smiles and allows the witch to share her magic. And in the dark, in the now, Naomi closed her eyes and tried to forget everything else that they had shared.
-o-