So I guess it's not a one shot after all. Hm. I have no idea where this is going. I guess I'll figure it out when I get there.
Orzamar had taught Aine one important thing at least. Angry dwarven women hit as hard as any golem. It wounded her pride a bit to remember it, but she'd spent a good portion of the battle against Branka unconscious on the ground. Aine half remembered opening her eyes and seeing Alistair standing over her, fighting a stone monstrosity that was threatening to step on her. Or at least she thought she remembered that; it might be just wishful thinking on her part. Especially considering the new coldness she could practically feel emanating from Alistair in waves ever since they left the deep roads.
Cracked skull and all, she had managed to stay upright long enough to see Bhelen on the throne and receive his promise of aid. And then, they stumbled out into the Frostback mountains, trudged downwards for a day or two, where Aine had quite gracefully vomited and passed out in a heap on the side of the trail.
When she finally came to, she found herself on the edge of a rather somber little camp. Wynne was clucking about like a mother hen, tending to wounds. Luckily it appeared that her own smashed head was the worst of the injuries, although the rest were certainly in less than perfect condition. Zevran had a thick bandage tied around his upper thigh, Lelianna wore a sling on her left arm and even Sten looked pale under his bronze skin.
Aine found herself propped up on some furs, covered by a blanket that she immediately recognized was Alistair's. It was worn and threadbare, but still warm. And even better, she thought, taking a deep breath through her nose, his scent clung to it. Faint, but there. She tried to sit up and was assaulted with dizziness so profound by just lifting her head that she immediately thought better of it. She reached up a felt the top of her head. Surprisingly, her hair felt clean, as it someone had washed the blood away while she was out. She winced when she touched the crown of her head and her eyes watered. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and blinked a few times, looking around the camp, trying not to move her head. Alistair was no where to be seen.
Wynne realized almost as soon as Aine had that she was awake and she made her way over to her. She crouched down next to Aine's nest of blankets. And she crouched rather gracefully for a woman her age. Aine couldn't help but smile. Her own mother was gone, that was a true and sad fact, but Wynne was the next best thing.
"I'm glad to see you are finally awake," Wynne clucked, handing Aine a mug of warm broth. "Drink it all, you need it to heal. And as much as I would prefer to see you not have to do a thing for a month, there are things to be done I suppose."
Aine nodded. "Now that all the treaties have been promised, it's time to return to Redcliffe. We've got a nation to unite and a Blight to stop." Aine sipped the broth, and it felt like life was suddenly returning. The sick dizzy feeling in her head started to recede.
"What's in this broth Wynne?" she asked.
Wynne clicked her tongue. "I am a mage dear," she said, getting to her feet.
"In other words, I don't want to know, right?"
"Smart girl," Wynne replied. "Now, let's see if I can get you to your feet." She offered her hand.
Gingerly, Aine set the cup on the ground, swallowed and took her hand. She managed to get to her feet, but the world felt . . . wobbly. She tried to take a step but stumbled back. She would have fallen, but she fell into something solid. Something solid with arms that grabbed her before she fell down again. For a split second, she expected it to be Alistair, but she realized soon enough that it wasn't.
"Thanks Sten," she said. "I seem to be a little on the woozy side."
"So it seems," he replied, terse and short as always. He passed her to Wynne like a doll who steadied her with soft hands on her shoulders. Sten handed her the mug of broth. "Drink," he said before walking off.
"Strange man," Wynne said softly. "But loyal. He adores you, you know. Well, at least as much as a Qunari can adore anything, I suppose."
Aine smiled. "Hey, anything's possible. I've definitely come to realize that fact in recent days. Or . . . wait, I guess not all that recent. How long has it been since Ostagar anyway?" she asked.
"Nearly a year, "Wynne replied. "And we are all still alive and kicking. I am amazed; If someone had told me before I went to Ostagar that I would end up in the foothills of the Frostback mountains with a Qunari, an elven assassin, an apostate witch from the Kokari Wilds, Lady Cousland and the future King of Ferelden I would have had a good long laugh. But here we are."
"Speaking of the future King of Ferelden," Aine asked softly. "Where is Alistair?"
"Still sulking, I imagine," Wynne replied.
"Sulking?"
"That boy has quite the deep pool of guilt. The Chantry taught him well, I suppose," Wynne said. "So between his rambling guilt about 'letting' Branka break your skull, and his new found anxiety about the impending Landsmeet. Well, let just say, he's been even more useless in camp than usual."
Aine sighed. "I need to find him." She pulled away from Wynne, tried to straighten her shoulders, but the dizziness hit her again.
"Oh no you don't," Wynne said. "He'll be back when he's ready, and you are in no condition to go looking for him anyway. Come now, lets sit you by the fire and I'll get you another cup of broth. A few more mugs, and tomorrow morning we might be able to be on our way. Redcliffe isn't coming to us, after all. And it's a long walk, as my old bones are reminding me."
"You're right," Aine said sadly, letting Wynne guide her to the fire. She flopped down on the ground next to its warmth and obediently took the refilled mug. She stared into the flames as Wynne wandered off to fuss over someone else.
She was too tired to even think. Her eyes glazed over as she watched the dancing flames. The base of the flames nearest to the logs has a blue-violet tint. Like the fire the archdemon spewed out in her dreams. Aine shivered a little. She was startled out of her glassy state as Lelianna draped Alistair's blanket over her shoulders and gracefully sat down next to her. She wrapped her arm around Aine's waist.
"Are you alright?" Lelianna asked.
"No," Aine replied. "But I will be. At least physically anyway."
They sat in silence for a bit. Aine was grateful to have her friend there, and there was a certain comfort to Lelianna's presence. But it wasn't Lelianna's arm she wanted wrapped around her waist. Maybe it was the head wound, but tears sprung up in Aine's eyes despite her best attempts to prevent it.
"Once we go to Redcliffe, things are never going to be the same, are they?" Aine asked.
"But who can say what they will become, no?" Lelianna replied.
"I just . . . ," Aine stumbled on her words. " . . . I just . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just don't want things to change. I must be insane, but living like this, with all of you . . . I've never been happier in my life."
Lelianna chuckled. "It is not so strange. Friendship and love will do that."
"Love," Aine spat. She choked on the word. "I'm a fool."
"Why do you say this?" Lelianna asked, her delicate brows furrowed.
"Love an irreverent Gray Warden? Certainly. Love the King of Ferelden, who will need an heir I probably can't provide him? Hardly," Aine spat.
"Ah, do not get ahead of yourself. Besides, you are young, many things are possible," Lelianna said.
"Young, and tainted."
"Why does that matter?" Lelianna asked. "There have been stranger things in Thedas than this, no? Besides, before you decide your love has ended, you may want to speak with the future king yourself." Lelianna inclined her head towards the trees.
Aine looked up and saw Alistair appear between the pines. He was pale, but whole. He'd left his armor off, and wore only a much patched shirt and the leather leggings he wore under his plate. He didn't see her at first, but once he realized she was awake and upright, he quickened his pace towards her. Before he could reach them, Lelianna kissed Aine gently on her cheek and got to her feet.
"Remember," she whispered. "Anything is possible with love. May the Maker watch over you. Both of you." Lelianna winked and walked away.
Aine glanced back at Alistair. He walked towards her with a wan, grim look on his face. Aine felt the sudden urge to pull the blanket over her head. She swallowed weakly, and her stomach did a shockingly painful flip. She took a sip of her broth, hoping it might get her heart out of her throat. She stared into the murky liquid.
Alistair didn't say anything, just sat down next to her, conspicuously not touching her. He didn't say anything for what seemed like an entire day. If she could have, Aine would have crawled inside the mug and drowned herself.
Finally, he spoke. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean . . . ,"
Aine interrupted him. "You don't need to say it," she said, looking up at him with blazing eyes. "I'm not the clinging type. I know you didn't mean what you said before when left for Orzamar, and I won't hold you to it. You have more important things to deal with than a weepy Gray Warden. There's no need to say anything."
"What?" Alistair asked. "Wait. What are you saying? Did I hit my head too?"
"I know what you are going to say," she said. Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she looked back into the mug. "And I understand. Once we go the Redcliffe and the Landsmeet, and you're king . . . I know what that means. I mean, I'll still lead the armies into the battle and all. And we'll still be . . . you know, friends. But I know that . . . ."
"What? No!" Alistair laughed. "That's not it, at all. I wanted to apologize for letting Branka hit your head, when I should have had your back. You don't actually think . . Maker, you thought I was going to. . . I just feel like an ass, about that fight. And a bit preoccupied with what's to come. If I'd thought that you'd get so upset about me being morose, I would have faked it." Alistair sighed.
"You mean, you aren't going to tell me that I need to go back to my own tent?" she asked, her voice barely a whimper.
"Of course not!" Alistair moved in front of her and took the mug from her cold hands. He put his hands on either side of her face, so she couldn't look away.
"She must have hit you harder than I thought if you think I'm just going to let you go," he said. "I meant every word. You do make me feel crazy, but I don't want to be without you. Ever. Whether I'm the King of Ferelden or not."
"Do you think we really get to make that choice?" Aine asked.
"I'd hope there was a least one perk of being King, by the Maker. I'd expect one of them is who I get to spend my life with," Alistair said.
"You'd have to ask Cailan about that," Aine said, turning her eyes away, even if she couldn't turn her face away.
"Ha," Alistair snorted. "I don't exactly have any parents around to arrange such a thing. Besides," he continued, "I can't imagine anyone else could put up with my bad jokes." Aine smiled a bit, completely against her will. Alistair leaned in and kissed her cheek softly.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves anyway," he said. "I'm not king just yet. Although it's a little . . . okay, a lot scary to think about trying to be king when I have a hard time getting even you to listen to me."
Aine chuckled. "I'm especially dense, so I'm not a good marker of your oratory skill."
"That so? Well, that's fine with me. I have all other skills to use on you." He winked at her.
"What am I going to do with you? Or me for that matter?" she said around her grin.
"How about we start with lunch?" he suggested. "I'm starving."