"I pray she finds your light and holds it in her heart. As darkness falls each night, remind her where you are."
It was the last tent to come down. All the others had dispensed with theirs long ago - even Oghren had risen for the occasion. Alistair too had packed up his tent and scarce belongings. All that was left was hers. Somehow though, amidst all of her sketches, the menacing - and attestably sharp - Dar'Misu, and the coarse blankets that smelled of sweet pea, honeydew, and entirely too much... her, he'd gotten distracted. So instead of packing her things, he now knelt within them doing something he'd long ago promised himself he wouldn't - praying.
"It is a good thing you do, Alistair." The words of the redhead floated in, leaving the warden visibly shaken... for all their sweetness and such.
Still bearing a faint sheen of red, the once-templar turned to face the parted doorway. "You don't think it's wrong somehow? She was-isn't exactly a devotee."
Leliana nodded. "Andraste watches over all her children, no matter their path."
"From that great burning pyre in the sky?" The words were out before thought had time to rush in screaming Nooo! But there they were. Alistair watched in slow motion as the little bardess before him transformed into a wrathful avatar then stomped away from the tent.
"I'm sorry!" he called. That would be good enough wouldn't it? No, there would be hell to pay later, but at least now... now he had time to himself. That is until Wynne came by to scold him silly...
The warden sighed, closing his eyes as he relished the one last peaceful memory of his Mahariel he suspected he had left.
I pray you'll be my eyes and watch her where she goes.
Help her to be wise...
Finally, when the last of the elf's belongings were packed into smaller, more manageable parcels, Alistair made his way out toward the rest of the group. Truthfully, there wasn't much of it. It scared him a little to think of what she had left without - personal affects, weapons. Those things only lost their meaning when their owner was dead or intending to become so...
Maker, Help me to let go.
The warden wasn't in a speaking mood when he reached the rest of the party. Thankfully, neither were they. It was a gloomy, sullen affair appropriate for a cold, misty morning. But no, the sun was shining and he could even hear - were those birds singing?
No.. no birds. Dwarves. The representatives from Orzammar had packed up as well and rather quickly too. As his own party muddled toward an exit, the dwarves had already begun marching, singing... or was it more like chanting... as they went. Alistair envied their spirit - until he realized they were heading in the wrong direction. No, no, no. This had to be remedied shortly. The warden rushed over as he silently thanked the Maker than one existed out there with a lesser navigational sense than he.
"Excuse me, ser dwarf, I couldn't help but notice you seem to be moving away from the party on this fine morn. I realize we are rushing to certain death, but that's no reason to get cold feet, right?" Alistair resisted the urge to bump the dwarf's shoulder at the conclusion of his jest. Rather, he was stopped cold in the process of doing so by the look on the shorter man's face.
The bearded man was living stone - eh expression-wise rather than Shale-wise. "Don't have the time to talk to you, surfacer."
The warden skidded to a stop, found it counter-productive to his attempt to speak to a moving creature and resumed a quick walking pace. "What!? Why? I am the leader here while our other leader is absent which means you have to speak to me." Ha. Alistair folded his arms, let him wriggle out of that one.
The little man was not impressed, but the anger Alistair had managed to instill was enough to stop him in his tracks. "Look, kiddo. King Bhelen's recalled his troops. Seems his little wench of a sister got loose and fancies herself some sorta ninja. We go where he says - not you."
"Listen you run-he has a sister?" The warden quickly shook the perplexed look from his face. That is not the important part here. Need to recover. "How... were you planning on dealing with this sister?"
"Same way we deal with any opposition to the throne." Judging the look on the taller man's face, the Orzammarian representative relented. "What, you want us to serve her tea and crumpets?"
"No... no. I simply want you to... bring her back here. If she's as much trouble as you say then she would be a valuable asset to our team." Alistair tried particularly hard to hold his smile of self-pride to a minimum. He nearly succeeded until he became proud of himself for doing so.
"Sure, why not. If she doesn't wind up impaled, we'll trot 'er right on back to Denerim," the dwarf grunted before moving on.
The warden stood smugly. He had gotten what he wanted - well sort of. Then he recognized the look on the retreating man's face - that anything to get this fool away from me look. Yes, the look was all too familiar and hardly worth pursing at the moment. Not when he had a team to command anyway. Lucky for him they were all conveniently corralled around the fire.
"Everyone," Alistair began, "Let's go over where we stand a minute. Under Sarel, we had the support of the elves, the dwarves, the mages, the templars, and the nobles - well almost."
"Humans," Oghren muttered, "Stubborn bunch won't recognize our efforts hauling their collective asses out of the forge. Got no honor - not like us dwarves."
"Indeed? Was that our honorable dwarven support I saw leaving earlier?" Morrigan arched a smug brow.
"And she just had to make it worse." The warden pressed his fingers to his forehead. Slowly, he regained his composure. "Oghren, Shale, I need you to return to Orzammar somewhat.. behind our dwarven comrades and convince them that they really need to come back. Their experience will be invaluable in the fight ahead - you do understand that invaluable means cannot do without, I hope?"
"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, elf-lover. I got everything we need ta convince 'em." The red-haired dwarf cracked several knuckles against the palm of his opposing hand. Somehow, that answer did not set anyone at ease.
"I believe what it is trying to say is that we should have no trouble convincing the fleshy things to once more join us in squishing the giant bird." Shale glowed with satisfaction.
"I wouldn't entirely consider the archdemon to be a bi-, but nevermind that's not important. Now, we're going to need a way to communicate with you. Wynne, do you think the mechanisms that used to be the control rod could be used for some sort of sending device?"
The elder mage blinked slowly. "Why yes, I believe such a thing could be achieved. Alistair, you surprise me. I would not think a templar would know so much about magic."
"Almost templar. Almost. Just because you folk speak in hushed tones around us, doesn't mean we don't hear you." The warden shook his head, briefly recalling one too many classes he'd stood watch outside of.
"And what shall become of the rest of us, oh wise and competent leader?" The wild witch stared cooly across the fire as she stretched her legs.
"The plan will have to be the same as she left it. We go to Denerim and get the banns on our side." The once-templar held up a hand to quiet Morrigan's coming objection. Amazingly - it worked. "I know it seems useless, but where could we better find out where this thing has hit the worst than to keep tabs on which nobles have run away the quickest." He tried, oh he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it was an insurmountable task.
"You've really thought this through, my good friend Alistair." Zevran leaned closer, stroking one finger across his lower lip. "Might I suggest that Leliana and myself arrive apart from the group proper to tap the pulse of those who might be shall we say... warden-shy?"
The warden nodded, more done with the conversation than actually in agreement. "Yes, that sounds like nothing will go wrong there... Alright, we've got a really really long walk ahead of us so everyone finish your breakfast and then we'll move." And I'll just sneak off over... here for a moment...
He hadn't packed her book, not fully. Something had just felt wrong about sealing it away and out of reach... because of course that made it much harder to read.
My heart is sick with the feeling that I have put a tyrant upon the dwarven throne. The image of Lord Harrowmont bent before the axe will not drain itself from my eyes. He believed me an ally, yet shed my blood willingly enough. The tasks he'd set me upon were not meant to be survived. I am hardly certain that I have. Perhaps I am the little dwarven woman, counting the days of loss in mad terror and only wearing this skin. It is better, I tell myself, that the lord not have lived to see the changes that are to come. It is better than I do not see them either, but I meant for neither of our deaths.
Is this I or another thing that looks upon Bhelen and sees the end of strife at the far point of a tunnel of blood? It is not a hunter's thrill that grows within, but an exceptional apathy that is more terrifying than a thousand tentacled beasts.
Sitting within a stony outcrop, set just away from the fire-pit, Alistair raised a hand to his eye. Was this woman never at ease, never happy? How poor his skills at reading her had been. Granted... a blight was not exactly a call to singing and dancing. What was that on the other side there? Anxiously, he thumbed the page over.
Notes on Human Interaction
Possible that humans know no more about interacting with each other than any other race would of them. Asked Morrigan for advice on speaking to fellow warden. Results not as expected. If time allows, review following for error.
"Morrigan, when you wore your other skin and looked in upon Lothering, did you ever observe any of their courtship customs?"
"I believe most of those rituals were performed indoors, but there was one... Several of the women in town would line up against a wall each night. They would stand their, beckoning the men who passed by with bawdy calls. The men would come closer and the women would dodge away, only to call again from a different place upon the wall. I was unable to discern the next part of this affair, but eventually pairs and men and women would disappear into the inn and would not be seen 'til morning. I would not be sure that this were a mating if not for the outrageous calls that would parade out into the night, reminded me of wild cats at times. Does this answer your question?"
"That is a strange custom, but yes, I believe it does."
* * *
"Alistair, Have you a moment?"
"At your service. How did you sleep last night?"
"It was a... pleasant night."
"No more dreams of darkspawn then?"
"Not of darkspawn, no, but I did experience quite torrid dreams of you and I together."
"And there goes all of my thoughts all over the ground there. Excuse me, I think I need to go find them."
Alistair chuckled to himself. He remembered that night and was still fairly certain his little elf had had no idea what she'd just said... or prompted to run amuck in his head.
Author's Note: Credit where credit is due. Alistair's prayer is mostly taken from the Mother's Prayer song Celine Dion sings in Quest for Camelot. It just seemed fitting somehow.