Alistair sat a little away from the fire, staring with unfocused eyes. All gone, they were all gone. He had spent days at Flemmeth's hut, but somehow it had only started to sink in as they were leaving the Wilds. He watched her, the only other survivor, as she put away the now-clean supper things. Earlier he saw her speaking with that apostate, and they seemed to get along. Well, at least it looked like they got along to him. He was too far away to hear the words spoken. Now Morrigan was settling in for the night in her own separate camp.
His eyes went back to the other Warden. Alistair wondered if the Dalish cried for their dead, or how they mourned. She had told him about losing her best friend, being torn away from everyone she knew, but she didn't shed a tear around him. Not that he had given her a chance; Alistair had bought her a pastry and did everything he could to cheer her up. Badly he wanted her to do the same for him, and badly he didn't want her to see him cry. To see him weak, as the witch kept on reminding him, he was supposed to be a warrior, not a simpering child. The elvhen woman's back was turned, but he thought he saw her glance at him out of the corner of one slanted eye.
The tears came, unbidden, free flowing. Alistair sobbed, his shoulders hunched, and holding his arms close to his chest. He shivered in the cooling evening air as he cried. Through Alistair's mind raced images of Duncan, of the other Wardens, even of his half-brother. He wondered if maybe he should tell her about the King that he was blood, but that thought only made him sob harder.
Alistair wasn't sure how it happened, but he was not shivering anymore; there was a warm cloak around his shoulders. The cloak was unfamiliar, molted deep greens, with stylized leaves and vines embroidered along the edges. Powerless, he let himself be pulled into a gentle embrace. Callused but feminine hands held him softly and stroked his hair as he cried. Alistair tried to rest his head against her shoulder, but she was a little bit too short for this to work very well, so he just leaned against her as best he could. The touches, the embrace, were more than he could have asked for, comforting, and at the same time making him sob more. He could barely believe that there was anyone left that actually cared for him.
He had flirted with her just before the battle, laughed and joked. To his utter amazement, she had returned his advances, and laughed with him. Alistair had expected her to be standoffish, after the stories he had heard about the Dalish, but instead she had shown trust in him, and they immediately found commonalties. Just as surprisingly, she had a quick wit, an impish sense of humor, and laughed easily despite all she had been through. It had taken all of his self-control not to run forward and hug her tightly the second he saw her emerge from Flemmeth's hut, alive and whole. Instead, she had walked to him slowly and serenely, before hugging him tightly.
The memory made him smile, in between the sobs and helped them to slow. Eventually he stopped crying all together, but he was still securely in her arms. Alistair went to wipe his nose on his sleeve, but was handed a handkerchief before his arm could reach his face. He mumbled his thanks, his voice cracking and barely working, and then he blew his nose and wiped his tear-stained cheeks with the handkerchief.
"You're not alone," her voice was soft but firm. Alistair looked up at her. Her eyes were sad, she looked concerned. "You're not alone," she repeated herself.
"Thank you," his voice was raw and cracked from crying. He drew her cloak tighter around his shoulders. The words sunk in slowly, but it felt good to be held, to be reassured.
Alistair spoke slowly, trying to get the words out and not start crying again, "Do you believe…," he took a deep breath, trying to get the words out right, he was scared of offending her, "do you think they're with the Maker or where your people believe the souls of the dead go. I'm not really sure where that is."
"Beyond the veil, or to the Beyond," she shook her head sadly "I don't really believe in it thought."
"What do you believe then?" Alistair hesitated, and then looked at her slightly hopefully, "It's okay if I
ask, right?"
"Of course," she picked up a fallen leaf from the ground, put it back down, and looked back towards Alistair, "I think that, all this, all of us, we're all connected, all part of the same whole. When we lose someone we lose part of ourselves, and that hurts. When they are gone, we're all diminished."
"That's umm…" Alistair tried to clean his face with the handkerchief, "very wise."
"I had wise teachers," Reshalya felt her eyes tear up as she thought of them, but forced herself to banish those feelings as soon as they appeared, "Vir Adahlen. Together we are stronger then alone."
Alistair nodded, and fidgeted with the handkerchief. Time passed and Reshalya searched her mind to try to break the silence. "So, what do you think Lothering will be like?" She said. It was the first thing that came to mind, and she was curious.
Alistair looked down at his hands, "How should I know? Ask Morrigan. She's been there, I haven't."
She smiled softly at him, but her eyes betrayed her concern, "I have, but she knows only a little bit more about human towns then I do, and I've never been to one. So I'm asking you."
He gave her a bit of an incredulous look, "You've really never been to a town?"
Reshalya shook her head, "I've seen them from a distance, but never been to them. Some members of the clan would sometimes go to really small ones to trade, but never me."
Alistair sat up a bit, but made sure to keep the cloak over him, "I might regret asking this, but why not?"
She smiled impishly, her eyes twinkling a bit, "Because I was always too busy getting in trouble for doing things like putting tadpoles in my friends' boots."
He gave her an incredulous look, "You did what?"
"I put tadpoles in my friends' boots. Not all that often, but still," Reshayla watched him.
Alistair smiled in spite of himself, "You're a strange woman. I like it," he paused, expecting her to be insulted for being called strange. When she didn't hit him for it, he continued, "Do you really think we can do this?"
Reshalya looked at him quizzically, still trying to figure out what to make out of his remark, "Do this?"
"Raise and army, End the Blight."
She chuckled, "Oh, right. That," she looked at him directly in the eyes, "I honestly don't know, but we have to try. I couldn't, I mean... I couldn't live with myself if we didn't."
"Me too, and well it feels somehow possible with you here," Alistair shifted slightly.
Reshalya gave him a look, "No pressure at all though."
Alistair stammered, "I didn't mean… I mean… Maker!"
"I know. You are kind of fun to tease, and well I do feel the same way, about you."
He sat in stunned silence, his mind overwhelmed, racing and short circuiting at the same time. Alistair tried to think of something to say, something to break the silence, his fingers fidgeting with the helm of her cloak as he did so. Looking up, Alistair surveyed the camp site. They had a fire, and a few provisions given to them by Morrigan's mother, and what they had had in their packs during the battle. They had precious little supplies, let alone tents and other sundry items. He missed a warm bed, a roof over his head, anything over his head really. Alistair's voice cracked when he spoke, he was finding it difficult to remain upbeat, "What do you think we should do, after we get more supplies in Lothering?"
Reshalya looked thoughtful, and it took her some time to respond, "Figure out how bad things really are? Use the treaties if we can?"
"And if we can't?"
"We'll figure something out. I'm sort of making this up as I go along anyways," she gave him a lopsided attempt at a smile.