They were making haste to Lake Calenhad, travelling from Denerim under increasingly alarming reports of distress at the circle tower, when Neria had them stop for rest.
It was barely sunset – they had a clear view of the coast, since they'd just left the nearest port city to stock up. This was the most he'd seen of the sea since he'd joined the Wardens, Alistair realized with a start – trips at leisure had been impossible in the state of absolute disarray the Wardens were – had been in, preparing for a Blight no one else wanted to see. And so far, the only times they'd gotten near the shore were coastal towns where lingering for sightseeing purposes might have alerted people who should not be alerted to their presence.
Like Denerim. Denerim had not been, in Alistair's opinion, the greatest idea (not least because it had been initially brought up by Morrigan, which Alistair resolutely refused to acknowledge as a part of his reasoning), mostly because they were a travelling miss-matched collection of dodgy characters, led by two Grey Wardens currently accused of regicide. Coincidentally, also the only two people in the group with reasonable explanations for their death wishes, which made the entire arrangement even less ideal.
Still, just because the water looked pretty, it didn't justify Neria's decision to call it a day. They had a long way ahead of them, and the situation with the mages grew in urgency every day, according to reports they seemed to overhear everywhere they went. Neria had been feeling it too – she looked pale, her demeanor was more distant each day, she'd barely said a word to either Leliana or Alistair in days, and she'd been poring over maps late into the night as though she could find a faster way to her former home somehow.
She'd be the last person to stop now.
"We're tired." She asserted firmly. Sten huffed, Morrigan sniffed, Zevran tripped on a tree root and pretended it was anything but a product of exhaustion, and Neria cleared her throat, which Alistair noted was a pointed way to cover up an eyeroll. "I'm tired. We've been getting up early in the morning and stopping only late into the night, we cannot go on like this. We rest for a longer night today, and set out before sunrise tomorrow."
Which was fair, Alistair supposed. It was certainly no lie. He could feel it in his muscles as well, and he was fairly certain there was now blood under his feet. The backpack he carried had strained two permanent grooves unto his shoulders, and he was sweating so much he might start rotting the metal in his armor. Stopping was logical, even the smart decision. Unfortunately for logic, Neria had ever been the type to prioritize things like rest. None of them were, in fact. Except for the dog, he wouldn't know. He never did work out a feasible way to communicate with it.
Which made the whole thing weird. Not unreasonable. Not the kind of weird where a witch of the wilds allegedly turned into a bird to pluck a couple of Grey Wardens out of a hopeless battle in her talons, but the kind of weird where Neria kept wandering off the road as though she weren't looking at where she was supposed to be going. And while he might not be the sharpest sword in the armory, as Morrigan kept kindly reminding him, he was at least not blind, deaf or stupid.
He kept an eye on her for the rest of the night. Saw her stealing glances at the water as they set up tents, supplies, fire. Saw her remain outside (again) instead of getting in the tent to rest as she had claimed she wanted to do, fidgeting with some random papers (okay, so maybe not random, probably even important, possibly the treaties they were depending on for continued survival). Casually casting long looks around her as though distracted, but actually sharply focused on whether everyone had disappeared from sight yet or not. Which Alistair noted because he was doing his best to irritate her to no end, by staying outside long after everyone had definitely fallen asleep.
She wanted to be alone and Alistair wanted to know why, and that might have been one of those immovable object meets unstoppable force things if Alistair weren't smart enough to know nothing was an immovable object when stared down by Neria. So in the tent he went, laid down, became quiet, and listened, perfectly willing to take the dirty route and wait her out until she thought he was asleep.
She took her time. Alistair honestly thought she could be unnecessarily overzealous sometimes. Paranoid, even. Which, considering someone – for instance, Alistair – was absolutely paying attention when she did not want him to be, might be another reason she was the better fit to lead the merry band of questionable individuals they'd managed to collect.
Alistair had begun dozing off by the time her shadow against the fire finally moved, which immediately left him sharply alert. For a few seconds, she lingered in hesitation, probably making sure no eyes were on her. Alistair held his breath and then she took up a brisk pace in the direction of the coastline, which made the shadow cast by the campfire disappear quickly. Alistair scrambled to get out of his tent and follow her before she disappeared into the dark while at the same time not draw her attention to him, which was easier said than done.
He technically managed to tumble out through the cloth serving as an entrance to his tent (and doubling as a feeble illusion of privacy). Thankfully, she'd been distracted all day and had already managed to cover sufficient ground that Alistair's distinct lack of grace went unnoticed.
He followed her all the way to the water, leaving a wide berth between them. For a few moments, he waited – but whatever she was there for, he was either completely missing it or it was just to stare at the waves while wringing her hands.
Alistair was aware stealth was not one of his many qualities. He decided not to risk further wrath by attempting it, and cleared his throat preemptively.
"So… Midnight seaside stroll? Never took you for the dreamy type."
She jumped so high he feared for his life, because weird things tended to happen to people who managed to catch her unguarded, like bursting into flames, and she had her weapon very much within reach. She'd known him long enough by now to identify him as an annoyance as opposed to a threat however, so she just crossed her arms and looked unimpressed.
"You're supposed to be resting. What are you doing here?" She demanded.
She was the picture of a glaring, poised, displeased queen, but it wasn't dark enough outside to hide that her cheeks had reddened. Alistair felt safe and curious enough to approach.
"Well, I would never suggest you're anything but unfailing and that you've been getting anything short of the exact amount of sleep you should be getting, but I could really say the same."
She pulled an undignified face at him, which utterly destroyed whatever regal analogy he'd come up with before, and turned back to the water. She plopped down on the sand, apparently resigned to his presence. He noted her shoes were held loosely in her hand as he sat beside her.
The waves were not particularly noisy, and for a few short seconds, a sort of silence settled. Her eyes followed the line between the ocean and the sky, then the pattern of the waves, on repeat. It wasn't like she could see much of anything at all – their only proper source of light was the moon and whatever faint shade of red still peeked through back from the camp.
"It's rather endless, isn't it?" She wondered out loud, and he did not answer immediately, mostly because he had no idea what she was talking about.
It took him an embarrassingly long time to remember what should have been the obvious conclusion. In too many ways, she was still a little girl stuck in a tower, watching the lake through a window. Even in the unlikely possibility that she had not come from some deep Ferelden city, a long way from the sand, she'd been open about remembering nothing of her life before joining the circle.
"It – well, from where we're standing, maybe. There's always more beyond that line. Like, for example," he pointed northwest of them, assuming he was vaguely pointing toward the geographic north, "the Free Marches are somewhere over there."
Her eyes lingered where he pointed, squinting as though she were trying to make out Kirkwall. "Hmm," she said, dubiously.
"What's this? Questioning my vast expertise?"
"More like your directions."
"Hurtful. That's hurtful."
She grinned at him and he made a split-second decision. He got up and offered her a hand. "Come. I'm going to show you something."
She raised an eyebrow, but took his hand. "Show me something?" She said apprehensively.
He did not answer, and pulled her forward. Her steps got more reluctant the closer they got to the water.
"Alistair-" He wouldn't describe her tone as panicked, precisely.
"When have I ever had a bad idea?"
She stopped at that, which legitimately offended him. "Hey! Ouch!"
She was not fazed. "Show me something?" She repeated.
"The water does not bite, Grey Warden Surana. Honestly, yesterday you literally threw yourself at a wolf. Wolves do bite, incidentally. How is the sea where you draw the line?"
"Unlike that wolf, the water doesn't seem to be posing any immediate threat for me to throw myself at."
"A wolf," he repeated. "You are a mage. And an elf. You have a wooden stick for a weapon," he added to drive the point home.
"Do you know where wooden sticks can be shoved?"
"What I obviously meant was that that wolf did not know what hit him, so what's the water got on you?"
After a minute of deliberation, she cautiously took several steps into the water until it reached up to her ankles. She lifted her robes, which was pointless, considering the splash of the waves had already reached her knees. She seemed to reach this conclusion herself, so she dropped them almost immediately.
"Has anything bitten you yet?" He asked suddenly, far closer to her ear than she apparently expected, because she jumped again. She was either jittery from the new experience, distracted from sleep deprivation, or nervous for some other reason Alistair was not about to delve into. Or a combination of the three.
"Something's about to bite you if you don't stop making cracks."
He placed his hand on his heart. "You know you have the full loyalty invoked by my pinky promise. But as a Chantry boy, I have a lifelong commitment to make fun of any solemn situation."
"Which does not, in fact, inspire all that much confidence. And this is not a solemn situation, you Ferelden walnut."
"You realize you're not supposed to use Ferelden as an insult if you're Ferelden yourself? And what's a Ferelden walnut, should I even ask?"
"I do not play by the rules."
She seemed to have grown bolder, because she kept going forward, with minimal hesitation that Alistair could see was more from the water's chilliness than perceived danger.
"Well, you certainly went from zero to a hundred there." He noted, warily keeping close in case something unexpected happened.
She took notice of his tone of voice and slowed down, but still gave him cheek for it. "Did you suddenly go from heckling instigator to mother hen? There's a joke in there about chickens and heckling, but I can't seem to come up with a way to make it right now." She added as an afterthought.
He narrowed his eyes at the slight and, without warning, showered her with an armful of water. She gasped and pushed her now dripping hair back, blinking in shock. Then, noticing his extremely self-satisfied smirk, took on a battle stance. "You're going to regret that."
He had absolutely no doubt of it, but he chose to delay punishment by simply diving underwater and disappearing from her immediate area of attack. Which, as usual whenever he thought to underestimate her, was a mistake, because the water immediately began chilling to a degree not justified by season or nighttime.
He emerged shaking, noting her dangerous smile. "Alright, alright, please stop that now, one more second and my bits are going to freeze solid."
She chose to ignore his lack of propriety and so did he.
"Do not do that again."
He bowed only partially in irony, and she flicked some water at his face in retaliation. For a short moment, she explored, sinking down so that she was covered to her neck in water, testing out previously unknown swimming skills. She took to it pretty well, in Alistair's opinion – she at least seemed to know what her limbs should do by instinct.
He decided to put a stop to it because it was making him fidget uncomfortably.
"Shall we go further in?"
She was clearly startled at the suggestion, turning wide eyes to him before she caught herself and schooled her expression into perfect impassiveness. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"The water is already waist deep," she pointed out, standing up, and she had such a way about her he almost failed to notice the slight wobble of her voice that betrayed her nervousness.
He scoffed. "For you, at least."
The cheekiness earned him a faceful of water, which he exaggeratedly spluttered at. She rewarded him with laughter, right up until he dried his head by validating every moment Morrigan had likened him to a dog.
"Alistair!"
"What? I was just showing you that getting water on you higher than your waist is perfectly safe. Since the sea's so fearsome," he teased, gleefully watching her wipe droplets off her face. "Although I'm not entirely sure what that says about your bathing habits."
She narrowed her eyes at him and he knew he was treading dangerous waters (heh) from that point onward.
"Did the Chantry never teach you to fear big, mean mages?" Her tone was deadpan, and it was only the memory of her blasting two men twice her size away from her by looking at them funny that stopped him from openly questioning her use of the words 'big' and 'mean'.
"Well, they didn't teach me to be afraid of water," he said instead, because recklessness was a way of life.
"I am not afraid of water."
"They'll be telling stories about you, you know. The great Hero of Ferelden-"
"Maker, if anyone ever calls me the Hero of Ferelden, I will personally disembowel you-"
"The Hero of Ferelden-" he repeated, cackling despite himself, "Vanquisher of the Fifth Blight, The One Who Defeated the Archdemon, Herald of the Grey Wardens, Champion of Killing Things, leader of That Weird Bunch of Outcasts Yelling at Everyone About the Blight, Destroyer of Big Ugly Darkspawn-faces, Elven Mage Lady," he rattled off dramatically, at the point where he was just shoving words together, "and finally, and most importantly as well, The Warden, so famous she doesn't need a name: She Who Was Afraid of Water. Bards will sing your tales to the four corners."
Neria could hold a straight, dignified face even better than Leliana could - and Leliana had once convinced him that talking Neria into buying a bottle of Orlesian wine was for the good of the group - but her eyes betrayed her mirth to the experienced observer. Which Alistair was not, except he was.
"I'm okay with Elven Mage Lady," she commented off-handedly, and Alistair took it as the diversion tactic it was.
"I'm personally affect to She Who Was Afraid of Water."
"I am not afraid of water."
He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows in challenge; she narrowed hers in response. Then her expression shifted as she eyed him up and down, and he almost felt self-conscious until she said, "Turn around," and then he really felt self-conscious.
When he didn't comply immediately, she huffed. "What? You don't trust me?"
"I trust you with a lot of things," he began dubiously, "Keeping the dog from eating the entire supply of food. Keeping Morrigan from killing me. Keeping Morrigan from killing anybody who annoys her mildly. Keeping Oghren from fist-fighting highway men or, as anyone who is sober will call it, hitting a tree. Keeping Oghren from hitting on a tree. My life, all our lives in fact, keeping everybody focused – these are things I trust you entirely with. Now – picking fine cheese? Keeping yourself from laughing when Morrigan does eventually kill me after making a solid case out of comparing me to a goat or something? Keeping yourself from getting killed, by, I don't know, throwing all forty kilos of you at a wolf for example? Whatever you have planned right now? There are such things too costly to ask for."
"Turn around, Alistair."
"Yes, my lady."
He caught the shadow of her smile as he turned his back to her.
"What are you do- Oh. Okay. Okay. You're actually – alright."
She snickered from somewhere in very close vicinity to his ear. "There we go. I'm tall now. We can go further in."
It was rather like having a baby with disproportionally large limbs holding onto his neck, he decided. She was an elf, and they were in relatively deep water, so her weight on his back was practically meaningless. On the other hand, the water was cold, and the warmth suddenly pressed against him was the complete opposite of meaningless.
"You're going to regret that." He said anyway, in an uncompromising tone of voice that very much alarmed her, judging from the way her arms tightened around his neck.
"Don't bite more than you can chew." She warned, but he snickered.
"I never do that."
He propelled forward before she had a chance to rattle off every meal she'd witnessed him inhale, and Neria made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek, which he would take as confirmation of accomplishment.
He made sure to keep her head above water, but he was convinced anything else was fair game from the moment she climbed on his back. He didn't hear her protesting, and in fact felt her arms loosen slightly with each stroke of his. He could feel her heartbeat pounding against his back, but he had a suspicion it was the good kind of adrenaline.
He swam far enough that he lost footing and the beach was now in the distance, and then stopped because he was still swimming in the ocean in the middle of a night with someone who'd never even seen the sea.
"Now this is the middle of nowhere," he announced.
She untangled herself from him and for a moment he wrapped his hand around her forearm to keep her from panicking upon finding no sand under her toes. Also for other reasons.
"And here I thought it was a swim away from Ferelden," she said, relaxing into the water.
He grinned. "A fantastic, perfectly executed, peak performance swim."
"Not from your back, it wasn't," she teased, "Very bumpy ride."
"Well, I do apologize. I'll make sure to install a saddle next time."
"Now you're just trying to make me picture you with a saddle strapped onto your back. I appreciate it, thank you."
He flicked water into her face again, which he was pretty sure was not violating her order.
For a while, they just swam around. He taught her how to float. She taught him not to startle her while she was floating. The silence, the soft sounds from the water – the fact that they were alone in a bubble of sea and darkness – it all conspired to create an atmosphere where soon, his hands were lingering on her arm too long under the guise of keeping her steady, where their talking became whispering, where adrenaline kept them wide awake.
"It goes on for long, doesn't it? The water," she asked eventually, "Not endless, but far enough that we can't reach it."
"I suppose. No one's taken the risk yet, anyhow."
"Hmm." Silence. A splash. "What if we did?"
"We?"
"Yes. Imagine, the archdemon dead. Blight averted. Loghain is dead, and the Wardens are rebuilt. We ditch all responsibilities and disappear into the ocean, leave Thedas to its own bothers. What else would we find?" She dove down and emerged dripping. "More land? More people?"
"How could there be other people in another land far away? Surely humans – and elves," he amended hurriedly at the dirty look that earned him, "would all develop in one place. Like the Qun. They don't have humans, wherever they're originally from, that's abundantly clear."
"I am considering the Qunari as people in this scenario, Alistair," she said drily.
"Ah." He blinked. "Well, thank the Maker we're not having this conversation somewhere Sten can hear us, am I right?"
She snorted. "He's going to kill you one day."
"I'm touched by how much worry you infused into that statement. And by the way," he said, assuming a scowl and a high pitched voice he hoped Neria wouldn't notice was a very bad impression of her, "'Sten is going to kill you one day, Alistair'. 'Leliana is going to poison your food one day, Alistair'. 'Morrigan's going to be wearing your skin one day, Alistair'. I'm a nice guy! Why are you convinced everyone is trying to kill me? What do you know that I don't?"
"I'll protect you from our friends' hidden murderous intentions, don't you worry."
"Yeah, well," he grumbled, "that would be more reassuring if something wasn't always trying to kill you too, literally anywhere we go."
"The point is - other people," she said, mostly to let him know she intended to ignore him, "different cultures."
"Very different, if the Qun is anything to go by."
"What do you think would happen if we did find them?"
"Immediately engage in armed conflict, if the Qun is anything to go by."
She groaned. "Ah. I was looking for the disaster. There's always a disaster."
He considered her for a moment. Her poignancy was transcendent in more ways than one, judging from the weight - somehow tangible - in her eyes. "You should be sleeping."
"You should be sleeping."
"Petulance is usually my thing, wouldn't you say?"
"Shut up," she sighed, and that meant he'd won somehow.
"Come on, o' Hero of Ferelden," he said, picking on her just a little. "Tomorrow's waiting for you to save this country of debatable value again."
"What exactly am I supposed to be saving again?"
Something in her self-deprecating tone struck a chord with him, which he could obviously not let be known lest some unquantified disaster happen that he was not sure he wanted happening. He pulled her toward shore.
"All the things."
"Oh, is that so? That's reassuring. Took the pressure right off."
"I'll help."
She didn't offer a response, but her muscle tension suddenly loosened considerably.
By the time they walked on fully dry soil again, Alistair could see the telltale signs of a looming sunrise – there wasn't light, not exactly, but the world was more visible somehow. They could probably sleep some three hours at most. He glanced at Neria, blinking as though sleep was just some bothersome thing stuck on her lashes. Perhaps he could convince the group to delay waking her up in the morning.
"If you try to keep anyone from waking me up, I'll have you shop for everyone's undergarments the next time we stop for supplies."
Of course she was perfectly alert even when stumbling out of exhaustion. One day, he was going to find out whether mages could read minds, just to determine how embarrassed he should be acting around her.
He decided to change the subject as they sat down next to the fire to dry themselves off. "So, in your plan to leave Thedas to flames, it wouldn't bother you to come back to ashes?"
He saw her smile from the corner of his eye. "Why come back at all?"
"To check on the ashes?"
She laughed. "I'm glad you're on my side."
"Well… I'm glad I'm on your side too."
"And don't worry. I won't drag you away from saving the world for adventure."
He hesitated momentarily, thinking. "I think I'd follow you of my own volition."
Her smile changed. Became smaller but somehow warmer. "I wouldn't let you."
"Then you should stay."
"I'll do my best," she said, bumping her shoulder against his. She stood. "I think it's time to turn in."
"Goodnight."
He watched her disappear into her tent, and unlike him, he was fairly certain she wasn't just pretending to sleep. He cast a long look at the sea before deciding he needed sleep urgently as well.
The thing was, he decided, she wouldn't just head off for adventure. That's just where she'd end up eventually. In the middle of her quest to actually save Thedas. Which was probably fine. He'd better end up there with her, however. She needed someone to keep her head above water.