Natia stared across the campfire at the human that took her away from Orzammar. Not that it was much of a home, to begin with, but she had to leave her sister and mother there. Of course, joining Grey Wardens was a better perspective than either a quick death or a slow one — after all, no one exiled to the Deep Roads survived long — but didn't it also spell death at the end? She had seen more than her fair share of Grey Wardens, seasoned warriors with grim faces, marching into the Roads never to be seen or heard of again. Despite the lack of formal education — ha! — Natia wasn't stupid and could do the math just fine. So Duncan's offer, if she could even call it that, was also a death sentence taking place in the same ol' Deep Roads. Fabulous.
The human stirred, and she held her breath, but a moment later he calmed down, his forehead smoothing. Earlier that evening, he said that tomorrow they would take a boat across Lake Calenhad to Redcliffe. Well then. It was prime time to part ways. Like void was she throwing her life away when she had a chance to start over.
Silent as a mouse, Natia Brosca shouldered her backpack and slipped into the night, leaving sleeping Duncan behind. His purse — a pleasantly heavy weight in her pocket.
-[break]-
"What do you mean, no recruit?" Alistair said as soon as Duncan joined their troops at Ostagar, alone and three weeks later than planned. "Your letter told me to await you with a dwarf, or did I read it wrong? I can never tell with your handwriting."
"Not now, Alistair." Duncan suppressed an irritated scowl. Lately, it was becoming harder and harder to control his temper. That little rogue had outfoxed a fox, stealing away with all his money and leaving him with no other choice but to waste even more time on the road. Not only did he have no means to pay for a boat, but he also had to trek all the way up to Highever, only to find the castle half-destroyed and ransacked and learn that he came too late: almost the entire family and most of the guards had been slaughtered a week prior. He should have gone to the Circle instead! Because when he finally got there, there was no one to recruit! That damned dwarf! He should have tied her down. Add to that the dreams… Suffice to say, Duncan was in a mood most foul. He rubbed his forehead; his headache was killing him.
"Gather the recruits and lead them to the Wilds. I also want you to collect the old treaties. I've crossed the location on the map, here. We will conduct the Joining on the morrow."
Not waiting for a reply, Duncan shoved the map at Alistair and trudged closer to the fire to set up his tent.
-[break]-
"Why are you looking at flowers?" Ser Jory asked, an hour into the journey, darting nervous looks at the swamp as if expecting a hoard of demons to spring out of its depths. They had already had a skirmish with a small group of the darkspawn, and — grumbling and whining in Jory's case — collected the vial of their blood each.
"Maybe it's a secret ingredient, eh?" Daveth made a move to nudge Jory in the ribs but thought better of it. Ser knight's armour was a lot harder than his elbow.
"Or maybe," Alistair said, carefully plucking Wilds Flowers, two to be on the safe side, "I want to make a circlet. Every Warden wears one to battle."
Daveth snorted. "Yeah, right, mate."
"You say this now," Alistair said, his tone serious, "but once you see how pretty it makes me, you'll want one, too. Don't say I didn't warn you."
-[break]-
"… What have we here? Scavengers? Thieves?"
The Chasind-looking woman that swooped on them like a hawk was pretty in a wild way, like the spirit of the Wilds itself took form and came to mock him.
"Look, we need these treaties. Whatever you've done with them, they are better not be destroyed. Or —" Alistair had to think of a suitable threat. As luck would have it, nothing came to mind "— I will do something bad. You don't want to see that."
Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "I quiver in my boots."
"You should."
The witch shook her head and heaved a sigh, probably asking patience of whatever evil deity she worshipped. "'Tis pointless. Your precious treaties are with my mother."
And, of course, he couldn't find a better way to negotiate their return than accuse the infamous Witch of the Wilds of theft and demand of her daughter their immediate return. Way to go, Alistair. Sometimes, he surprised even himself.
The young witch before him was talking again.
"… Mother has kept them safe."
And now he felt bad for insulting the old woman. Great. Well, nothing for it.
"Just… Tell us where to find your mother," Alistair said. "We will fetch the documents and be on our way."
-[break]-
The Joining was a disaster. Neither of the recruits had survived, though for two completely different reasons. Alistair mourned Daveth, the third brother he witnessed lost to the taint. Ser Jory, however… The knight's cowardice hadn't surprised Alistair, and while he understood the need for secrecy of the ritual, it didn't lessen the shock of watching his mentor kill an innocent man.
-[break]-
"You want me away from the action? Is it because I'm the youngest Warden or because of my parentage?" Alistair's voice rose in a challenge, daring Duncan to contradict him. "I thought you'd stop mollycoddling me."
"Watch your tongue!" Duncan snapped. Pressing his lips together, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Alistair —" he sighed "— but this is non-negotiable. The beacon is important, and I trust you to light it in time."
Suitably chastised, Alistair lowered his head, eyes downcast. "All right. But just so you know, if you kill all the darkspawn by yourself, I will be very sad."
Duncan sighed again, this time in exasperation. Then he put a hand on Alistair's shoulder and waited until their gazes met. "Maker watch over you, Alistair."
Swallowing with unease, Alistair bit the inside of his cheek and, after a moment of indecision, pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Please, be careful, Duncan."
Later, reflecting on this moment, he would be glad they parted ways more or less amicably.
-[break]-
Waking up was a surprise. An unpleasant one.
"And so you live," the witch, Morrigan, said, staring down at him from the foot of the bed, her face impassive. "Interesting."
"Ugh." Everything hurt like Alistair had challenged a windmill to a hand-to-hand and lost, not counting on its buddies scarecrows joining in on the fun. Spotting a mug nearby, he gulped down some water, choked, and spluttered.
"Very articulate. No, I don't blame you — your skull was cracked. And you didn't seem very intelligent, to begin with. How mother expects you to rally an army against the Blight is beyond me." The way the witch said it, volume gradually lowering to a mutter, Alistair assumed she was thinking aloud. Still, it didn't sit well with him to be called stupid.
"I'd like to see you try to do better after going against an ogre and then getting swamped… by a horde…" His croak trailed off as memories flooded in. The battle, the beacon, the army! "What happened?" Alistair pushed himself up on his elbows. "Did anyone else survive?"
"If they did, I am not aware of it." Morrigan shrugged with casual indifference. "You will have to ask mother for details. She brought only you."
The witch walked out, leaving him in suspense until he could get up and question Flemeth.
-[break]-
"How long are you going to mope here?" Morrigan asked later, finding him outside of the hut. "Mother healed you well, did she not?"
Alistair ignored her, resolutely staring into the fire.
"I'm wondering when I will have my bed back."
When he failed to provide an answer, a booted toe poked him in the ribs, and Alistair regretted not putting on his armour. He turned to glare at the witch. "Do you also kick puppies in your spare time?"
"Only the irritating ones," Morrigan sneered.
"If it were up to me, I'd be out of here hours ago."
"What's stopping you then?" She arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Is it the pleasure of my company you seek to prolong or the fascinating sights of the swamp you seem riveted to?"
Alistair scowled. "I'd like nothing more than to never see your face again. It gives me indigestion."
"Believe me, the feeling is mutual!" With a huff, Morrigan stormed back into the hut, banging the door closed with such force, it barely stayed on its hinges.
-[break]-
"Thank you, I guess, for saving my life." Alistair twirled the treaties between his fingers, velum soft and seemingly untouched by age. "And for saving this documents. Again." Sighing, he put them into his backpack to keep company with some basic supplies Flemeth had so kindly provided.
"Ah, you do have manners after all! How novel." Throwing her head back, Flemeth laughed.
Goosebumps broke along Alistair's back, and he shivered. "Yes, well." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I do need to go."
The laughter stopped abruptly. "Tell me, boy, how do you plan to stop the Blight?" Flemeth's piercing eyes rooted him to the ground.
"Uh." Feeling small and uncertain, Alistair scratched the back of his neck and stared at the hut behind the old woman. Anything to escape her gaze. "I was thinking of contacting the Grey Wardens in Orlais and the Free Marches."
"And by the time your messages reach them, and they come to your aid, Ferelden will suffocate under the darkspawn forces."
Alistair swallowed. "I… can't go to the king, obviously, because he is dead. Maybe the queen will listen?"
Flemeth gave him a flat look. "Why don't you use your head, boy?"
"A-and I can call on the Dalish elves and the dwarves, right. Surely, they will help?" Against his will, it came out as a question.
Flemeth shook her head; dirty grey hair briefly obscured her face. "That won't do. That won't do at all. You need to toughen up, boy."
Her eyes bored into him again, making it hard to think. And why was she calling him a boy, anyway?
"You are the last Grey Warden in Ferelden. The fate of this land depends on you." Each word sounded like a new branch thrown onto his funeral pyre. "You need to be a leader."
"But I, I'm not sure if I can." Alistair had no idea why he was being this forthright with her, but he didn't have anyone else to turn to, and it felt good to voice his doubts. Besides, the look in her eyes… It was like Flemeth knew everything. It was more than simply unsettling. And so he said, "I'm more of a follower. I was never meant to lead," hoping she'd give him some kind of useful advice, but—
Flemeth pressed her lips into a thin line. "Do you see anyone else who can take this mantle?"
She didn't call me a boy this time, Alistair thought inanely, gripping the straps of his backpack tighter and striving not to feel disappointment.
"I ask of you that you take my daughter on your journey. She is a skilled mage and will help you complete your mission."
"Wha—?!" Alistair sputtered, all his fear of the Witch of the Wilds temporarily forgotten. "What? No, I can't do that!" Go anywhere with that harpy? Maker, no!
Hands on her thighs, Flemeth stared him down.
"She will kill me in my sleep!"
"Don't be ridiculous, boy," Flemeth snapped. "Morrigan doesn't want to see the world burn any more than you do." Clearly deciding the matter settled, she turned away from him and saying, "I will tell her to pack. It won't take long," left him to stand alone. Only then did Alistair notice that the Wilds were eerie quiet.
-[break]-
They made the way to Lothering in heavy silence, Morrigan smarting from being ordered to go with him and Alistair mourning the deaths of his brothers. The village could be seen in the distance when the witch finally broke their unspoken truce.
"Is brooding the special Grey Warden skill that is supposed to help us stop the Blight?" she asked out of the blue.
Alistair glanced at her sideways, not breaking his stride. "What are you talking about?"
"You have been wallowing in self-pity for long enough, don't you agree?"
His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me that my need to grieve has inconvenienced you so. Shall I just stop having a heart like you seem to have done?"
The witch scoffed, "Tell that to the Archdemon when it bears down on you, and all you have to use against him is your powerful brooding technique."
Alistair stopped and turned so he could glare at her properly, fists clenched. "I have a better idea: I will just throw you at it, and it will instantly die of poisoning!"
A rustle, followed by the sound of someone approaching at speed, interrupted whatever Morrigan was going to say. A huge mabari hound bounced Alistair's way.
"Oh, it's you," he said, relaxing and kneeling to scratch the dog's neck. "I'm glad you survived. How did you find me?"
"How do you expect it to answer? It cannot speak," Morrigan said, rolling her eyes, which Alistair ignored in favour of looking the dog over. The mabari's fur was dirty, but he was unharmed.
The dog whined and licked Alistair's face, short tail wagging, and grimacing, Alistair wiped the slobber off. "I'm happy to see you, too, but please, don't do this again."
The dog's whine changed in pitch.
"Oh, don't be sad." Alistair scratched one of the dog's ears in apology. "Hmm… How should I name you?"
"Ugh! Don't tell me you are going to keep this mangy mutt." Taking a step away from them, Morrigan wrinkled her nose in disgust. "It smells worse than a cesspool."
Taking the dog's head in both hands, Alistair looked him in the — very intelligent — eyes. "Don't listen to her, Dog. She doesn't know what she's saying."
"You are naming your dog Dog?" the witch asked, eyebrows raised. "How imaginative," she scoffed. "As if it wasn't bad enough I have to stop you from getting killed. I'm not looking after your mutt too."
"Don't worry" — grinning, Alistair scratched Dog's ears one last time and stood up — "he is a fierce warrior and can look after you himself."
Morrigan sneered in disbelieve. However, the next battle, during which Dog saved her from getting skewered on a hurlock's scimitar, proved Alistair's words right.
-[break]-
"Oh, a pious Chantry devotee, and crazy to boot. Just what we need. Tell me you aren't seriously considering letting her join us," Morrigan said, crossing her arms and tilting her head back to look at Alistair down her nose.
Alistair wasn't, not until she'd said it, but now… The idea suddenly gained merit. Besides, Leliana was pretty, and her clear, open gaze provided a refreshing contrast to Morrigan's narrowed glances.
"You are most welcome," Alistair said, ignoring the witch's huff.
"I am?" A radiant smile bloomed on Leliana's face, making her even prettier. "Oh, thank you!" She clasped her hands and brought them to her chest. The way she was holding herself, Alistair got the impression Leliana was a breath away from jumping in place, she looked that excited. "Meet me at the gates in thirty minutes. I will get my things and get ready." Darting to the door, she paused at the last moment, turning to Alistair long enough to say, "You won't regret it, I promise!"
"I do, already," Morrigan muttered with a sour expression, and Leliana must have heard it because her face had darkened slightly before she disappeared out of sight.
"Good thing your opinion doesn't count," Alistair told Morrigan. Dog bumped into his hand, asking to be petted and distracting him from the glaring.
-[break]-
A caged Qunari joined them at Leliana's urging, and this time, even Morrigan agreed with his decision to bring Sten along, gaining Alistair's suspicious stare. The witch just stared back, a slight smile playing on her lips, until Alistair shook his head, muttering, "You are so evil," and turned away.
Sten, quiet and taciturn, answered questions reluctantly and only ever spoke first to offer remarks on Alistair's leadership, to Morrigan's open delight. It was irritating, and Alistair foresaw the inevitable confrontation not far in the future, but for now, he deflected with humour and moved on.
His first major decision as a leader, aside from picking up new companions and agreeing to let Bodahn and his son tag along, was to go to Redcliffe. Morrigan, predictably, sneered when Alistair announced it but didn't comment, and for once, he refrained from asking.
One night at the camp, Leliana asked him about the Wardens that died at Ostagar. Alistair hadn't spoken with anyone about that day, but his grief was a heavy burden to carry alone. He was suffocating under the weight of responsibility. In halting sentences heavy with long pauses, he told her about them. About Duncan, and who he was to Alistair, and what his loss meant.
When he was finished, she covered his hand with her own, so much smaller and softer, and said, "Maker, guide their souls into the light. I am sorry for your loss."
And the feeling of intense loneliness abated just a little.