"Ariadne!" Alistair exclaimed when he saw she had been taken down. Sprinting towards her, he sheathed his sword still coated in darkspawn blood. Zevran was not far behind.
The poison burned through her veins like the magma that flowed through Orzammar and Ariadne gritted her teeth against the pain. She was hunched over her injuries and Alistair had to force her hands away from the wounds himself. He laid her down on the cold stone of the ground while she twisted in agony.
"We need to remove the arrows." Alistair said urgently, but Zevran stopped him.
"Wait, these are not simple arrows; they would not cause this much pain. They must be poisoned."
"Well you're a poison-making, assassin whatever! Do something!"
Zevran crouched down next to her, first inspecting the wounds, then beginning to remove her armor. Alistair caught his wrist, but Zevran shook it off, knowing what had passed through Alistair's mind. However, their leader's privacy was not the top priority with her life on the line. Once she was down to her undershirt and leggings underneath her armor, he tore openings in the cloth around the two arrow shafts to get a better look at the wounds. Zevran bent down to sniff the poisoned wounds then pulled back with a grimace. "Some sort of crude mixture I don't recognize. I do detect a small hint of deathroot extract, however."
"Deathroot?" Alistair's face was a mixture of disbelief and utter despair as he cradled Ariadne's head carefully in his lap. She had gone from writhing to violent shivering, still barely conscious but with her eyes tightly shut. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, trying not to move them into Zevran's way. Sweat poured down her skin despite the cool rock she laid upon. Her breath came in short whimpers and the pain was everywhere in her body and veins, so hot it felt as though it had frozen her blood. She coughed several times and blood spotted her lips, dripping from the corners of her mouth.
"There's not much of the deathroot in it, but I can't identify the rest of the mix."
"So these are the lessened effects?" Alistair's voice trembled with concern, it didn't seem possible with all the pain it seemed to be causing her.
"Yes, concentrated deathroot is much worse and always fatal. This is much weaker and our Warden is strong. She has a much better chance to survive." Zevran tried to assure Alistair and Ariadne, if she was still managing to listen, but he was mostly trying to convince himself. She was strong, she would survive, right? She had to survive. How could they go on without their leader? Without their friend?
"What about magic? Where the hell is Morrigan!?"
"No," Zevran shook his head, "Magic will do little good against poison and Morrigan is no healer. Our only hope is to remove these arrows and keep the wounds clean. It is up to our Warden to cleanse herself of the poison. Hold her down while I pull the arrows out." Zevran instructed.
Of all things, Ariadne felt herself missing Zevran's playful flirty tone he usually bore. The seriousness dampened the mood. And Alistair, she missed his jokes. She wanted him to goof off again. Why was there so much pain coursing through her? She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the situation any longer. The pain was turning to numb and she began losing feeling in her legs. It felt almost nice, like being dipped in warm water.
Suddenly, Zevran yanked out the first arrow and the pain returned tenfold. She shrieked, jerking involuntarily against Alistair's strong hold. Tears sprouted from her eyes and all she could manage to think was that she didn't want the other arrow out. She tried to form words through her trembling lips, to tell Zevran to leave the second arrow in, but all that came out was a string of slurred "no's", hardly discernible from a moan.
Alistair long to take her in his arms, to take away all her pain, but he continued to hold her steady as the Antivan elf went for the second arrow. Ariadne didn't scream the second time, she couldn't. She could only whimper and try to steady her breathing, which was difficult enough as it was.
"We need to get her out of here," Alistair urged once the second arrow was out and Zevran was wrapping bandages around the bloody holes.
"Sword…!" Ariadne choked out and both were surprised to find her still conscious let alone listening.
"You mean this sword?" Morrigan's unexpected voice came from behind and a clatter as she dropped the sword they had been searching for at her feet.
"Where have you been?" Alistair snapped angrily.
"Finishing our job so our Warden's death will not have been for naught." She replied coldly.
"She's not going to die!"
"Nothing last forever." Morrigan said, her voice quiet but hard, and Alistair did not respond. Once Zevran had finished some temporary bandages, Alistair lifted her limp body into his arms.
"Can we get back fast enough? It took us days to get this far."
"That was fighting darkspawn and being led by Ariadne's sense of direction. Going back will be much faster." Zevran assured him.
It was true Ariadne's sense of direction was poor at best. She had a talent for getting lost anywhere even with a map. She always said that in the forest, the starts and the trees would always guide her wherever she needed to go, and sure enough she could always manage to find herself through a forest, but when it came to caves or even buildings, she was utterly hopeless.
Zevran led the way, dashing forward to check for any darkspawn stragglers the hadn't fully cleared out, only returning a few times with a blade covered in blood. Alistair was greatly distracted by Ariadne's body in his arms. He cradled her gently like she was but a sleeping child that was to be protected, rather than the fierce warrior he had fought beside time after time. She had always been there for him whether it be saving him in the midst of a battle or just listening to him when he found himself thinking of Duncan's death or the Wardens before Ostagar.
She would always listen, and you could see in her eyes that she cared whether they were filled with pain, fascination, or something far beyond the trivialities of sympathy. She knew all about him, his past as a Templar in the Chantry, raised by Arl Eamon and the bastard child of the late king. He would tell her anything if she asked, and he could see her enjoyment through her green eyes. Those were the only was he could ever tell what she was feeling; even if prodded Ariadne would never tell you herself. That is, you could see only if you could catch her eyes long enough to read them.
Ariadne was quite most of the times and perhaps a bit too independent. She hated asking for help no matter how much pain or trouble she was in. She never talked about herself; she wasn't stoic like Sten, but merely reserved. When he thought about it, Alistair realized he knew nothing of this girl he held in his arms. Only that he loved her company, her laugh however rare, the awkward grin she wore when she looked up from her map for the 6th time and would shrug "We're lost!".
He recalled one night when he had been unable to sleep and slipped out of his tent to find her sitting quietly on a stump, staring far into the bright stars of the night sky. He had sat next to her; she had already registered his presence but made no move to show it.
"Darkspawn nightmares?" He had guessed, knowing the horrors of these that came with being a Grey Warden, but she shook her head silently, never taking her eyes off the stars. So he stared with her. Unexpectedly, it was she that spoke, quiet but clear into the undisturbed night.
"The Keeper used to point out a line of starts in the night sky and tell me if I was ever lost and needed to find home, I only had to follow them. I guess she never expected me to wander so far from home." Her eyes were sorrowful but bright with the reminiscence of childhood memories.
Alistair had figured she had been in a clan with a Keeper, she was Dalish after all, but she had never mentioned her home before. He nearly made a joke about her poor sense of direction, but figured it wasn't exactly a good time to be joking. She continued.
"Tamlen and I used to look up at the stars at night when we were children and pretend they formed the shapes of the Dalish Keepers of old watching over us. He always did love those stories."
"Tamlen?" Alistair had asked, not recognizing the name. She hadn't responded and her eyes filled with mournful sorrow.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." She said, turning her eyes away and standing, "Just tired. Goodnight, Alistair."
"Wait!" He jumped to his feet, catching her wrist. She turned to look at him. "If you want, after this is all over I mean, we could go, y'know, visit your clan if you'd like. If they don't try to kill me or anything."
She gave a weak, sad smile and broke eye contact, "Thanks, but… they'll be long gone by now."
She had pulled her hand away from Alistair's and silpped into her tent without another word. He was still unsure of what she'd meant by long gone, but the subject was never brought up again. That was before Riorden had sacrificed himself to slay the Archdemon.