3: The walls stand strong
As the darkness of the night embraced their camp, Kallian leant back on the tree she was standing at, and let her eyes sweep over the grassy field they temporarily called "home". Wynne seemed utterly focused on some old scrolls, and Leliana was sitting next to her while humming on some unknown melody. Alistair was busy trying to melt some cheese at their campfire, while she could just barely make out the silhouette of Sten standing guard on the other side of the field. Their Antivan Crow was sitting on some furs, sharpening his daggers, while her mabari seemed rather preoccupied with a stick he'd dragged out of the forest. As she turned her head to the right, she could see smoke rising from a campfire away from the rest, indication that also Morrigan was still awake. These were her comrades; it was her responsibility to keep them alive in their battle towards the Archdemon. And at times, that very responsibility sent chills down her spine.
She must've dozed off for a moment, and nearly jumped as she heard Zevran's voice next to her.
-You do not spend much time socializing, no? Sneaking off, sleeping in the bushes. You Ferelden women are something else, I must say.
-Zevran. Do you not have poisons to make? Daggers to sharpen, armor to polish, old mages to trouble with cheesy pick-up lines? I am standing out here because I needed time to think about where we will head tomorrow morning, and I don't need you interfering.
-Oh, you break my heart, dear Warden! What has happened to you in your past, to make you such a queen of ice, if I may ask? A beautiful man broke your heart? Or perhaps there was an evil stepmother who abused you in the most gruesome way, mad with envy of your beautiful appearance, no?
For a second, Kallian went silent. A part of her wanted to tell him about the life in the alienage; about that day when Duncan came to Denerim, about that day when it all fell to pieces and she so clearly was presented to how little influence she had on the wellbeing of her loved ones. Instead she let her mask take its usual place, and sternly looked Zevran in the eyes.
-No, you may not ask me of anything. My past is my own, and I do not see why you'll gain anything from knowing anything of it.
With that she left the Crow to himself, letting her feet take her away, anywhere but a place with a chance to have her emotions take control over her. While she felt confident that she easily had brushed the Antivan off, it was not that which was reflected on his face where he stood at the edge of the woods. He'd seen the flutter of her eyes, the quick brush on the ring she always wore. It amazed him at times, how little some seemed to know of the skills required in the Antivan Crows. If he had not been able to read body language, had he not mastered the art of noticing the little things, what kind of Crow would that make him? Puzzled, he looked at her as she hurried away from him. He didn't like it, seeing the pain that could linger in the eyes of his leader – the woman he owed his freedom. If he'd only known what was causing it.