Uncertainty
Five days of sleeping—not sleeping, having nightmares—on the cold, hard ground and they'd finally gotten tents. Isabel could finally attempt to sleep in the comforts of a measly shelter instead of out in the open in the freezing Wilds. If only she could figure out how tobuild the tent.
After her third attempt, she gave up, stomping her foot into the ground and groaning in complete and utter frustration. She attracted the attention of the Qunari and the lay sister they'd recruited earlier that day, and she glared at them until they got back to their own business.
Isabel looked down at her tent, biting her lip and blinking back tears. She should be backhome, tucked under the covers of her own warm bed instead of some stupid bedroll in a tent she couldn't even build. She should have a belly full of Nan's delicious cooking instead of being so hungry all the time. She should be able to take a hot bath instead of being covered in such filth. She should be able to wake up from the inevitable nightmare she was going to have and find comfort in her family, instead of waking up alone, remembering that she didn't have a family anymore.
"Do you need help?"
At the sound of Alistair's voice she sniffled, wiping away the few tears that escaped her eyes. She met his gaze and nodded, and without another word he got to work, setting up her tent for her. Isabel tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but she found herself watching him instead, intrigued by the way he seemed to focus so much on something that seemed so simple. When he finished, he stood next to her, admiring his handiwork.
"Thank you," she muttered.
"You're welcome," he replied. "It's not so hard once you get the hang of it."
She huffed. "I'm never going to get the hang of it."
"With some practice—"
"You don't get it," she snapped. "I'm not cut out for this." Her anger dissipated, leaving her with her grief again. "I'm not supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to happen," she said, starting to sob. She ducked into her tent and pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face between her knees and her chest.
"Isabel?" Alistair called out.
"Go away."
He poked his head through the flaps of her tent. "Please?" She sighed and rolled her eyes, before giving him permission to come in. He sat beside her, and she sniffled, turning to face him. "For what it's worth, I think you're cut out for this. You got us this far," he pointed out, and she shook her head.
"Morrigan got us this far. Or did you forget that she was the one who got us out of the Wilds?" she said. Alistair bristled at the mention of Morrigan, and she snorted a laugh. They really didn't get along, at all. Isabel sighed, getting serious again. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you think I can handle this, but I can't. Fancy parties I can do, but this? Being a Grey Warden? Stopping an entire Blight?" She shook her head, looking away from his amber gaze. "It's too much for one person."
"Well, you're not alone," Alistair stated. "You've got a hulking, murderous Qunari, a lay sister who actually can fight and claims she's had visions of the Maker, a mean, nasty swamp witch, and your lovable mabari at your back." She met his eyes again and he smiled lopsidedly at her, shrugging his shoulders. "And you have me. I know I'm not much compared to our other esteemed companions, but I'm here. If you need me."
Isabel forced herself to smile. "Thank you, Alistair."
"I mean it, Isabel," he muttered. "I promise I won't lose it again. We can do this."
She almost believed him.