Her first death was an accident. A sharp needle of steel aimed at an unwary back penetrated a full five inches into the unprotected flesh between the metal straps of her armor.
It took her five minutes to realize there was blood pooling beneath her feet. It took her another four seconds to find the knife protruding obstinately from her left kidney, dripping a deadly, numbing toxin. Another three seconds, and she was unconscious. Two seconds passed before Alistair caught sight of her body lying prone in a river blood.
And then she was dead.
To be fair, death wasn't a terrible experience. Sure, she would never again dream about kissing Alistair. Sure, she would never eat the chocolate cake that her dog had so loyally retrieved. Sure she would miss Zevran's unsubtle sexual harassment.
Well, maybe she wouldn't miss that.
But, the point being, death wasn't so bad. It was just a matter of looking on the bright side. No blight, no fighting, and no snarky comments. Not so bad at all.
And then she woke up.
"Blagh!" she sputtered, shooting up into an uncomfortable squat. Looking up, she saw the twinkling light of millions of stars filtering through the branches of a giant tree. A fire shed uneven light across the dry grass. The hum of cicadas provided a pleasant backdrop for a decidedly unpleasant awakening.
"Couldn't sleep either?" A familiar voice broke through the night. She spun around to confirm what she had heard.
"Alistair?" This was impossible. She was dead. She knew that. She could remember dying. But there he was, sitting on the other side of the campfire, looking ruffled and bedraggled and not particularly shocked to see her.
"I had dreams too, after the joining. Did you see it, the dragon?" She stood, unable to meet his eyes, and walked off away from the camp. He gazed after her, dumbfounded.
Dead, dead, dead. Her muffled steps crunched through the fallen leaves as she strode towards the nearby forest. She had felt the sting of the knife. She had felt the life draining from her body. She was dead.
"What's wrong? It wasn't that bad, was it?" He was two paces behind her, clearly deciding that it was too dangerous for her to enter the forest alone. "If it makes you feel better, I nearly wet the bed the first time I saw it"
She swiveled around, almost barreling into him. "Alistair."
"Yes, that's me." He said cheerfully.
"I'm dead."
He frowned in confusion, "You know, I've had a few dreams like that too. I don't think it's something to get too worked up over."
Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. What if she was hallucinating? Maybe it had all been an elaborate dream.
With a firm nod and forced smile, she decided to go back to camp. Maybe she would understand later. At least Alistair looked relieved.
It was a full two weeks after the death of the boy, Connor, before her curiosity and guilt got the better of her and she accidently walked off the side of the road, inconveniently situated above staggering, deadly cliffs.
There was no way that she could have survived that fall, they had agreed sadly. They arranged a shrine in her honor, lamented her unprecedented clumsiness, then continued to the circle. Just one more tragedy in a sea of deaths, they agreed.
And then she woke up. And this time, her gaze shot immediately to find him sitting on the other side of the fire. The cicadas hummed contentedly in the cool, quiet night.
"I had dreams too, after the joining. Did you see it, the dragon?" he asked.
She smiled a full, wide smile. "Change of plans" she said, "We're going to the circle first." This time, the boy lived.
It was scarcely three days after they crowned King Bhelan when she accidentally drank a whole bottle of poison. They all agreed that it was a terrible, unexpectedly dim-witted accident.
She knew better.