The heavy silence that had settled over her and Alistair shattered with the sharp snap of the door behind them. He seemed to have found a sense of calm somewhere within the shroud of quiet contemplation they shared, and his face was less stricken as he looked at her now. Olivia wished she had found the same strength as he. Instead, the silence had crushed down on her, pressing air out of her lungs one breath at a time until she was feeling rather light-headed. The magnitude of their loss hung in the air like rot.
She felt like a creaky old rowboat that had slipped its tether and was now drifting out into a windswept sea.
"You've had your moment, but the time for mourning has passed." The old witch was stoic and imposing as she exited her hut, and the two Wardens straightened at the sight of her. For the first time, Olivia noticed the odd ethereal grace Morrigan's mother possessed, despite her shoddy appearance. She had always gotten the feeling that the woman was not as lowly as she presented herself, but it was only now that she began to feel that she was even more powerful and unknowable than Olivia could possibly imagine. "You must decide now what your next step will be."
Alistair's brow wrinkled. His voice, soft and dry, was as full of despair as it had been before. "Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king… they're all dead. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead too."
"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."
"I-I didn't mean... but - but what do we call you? You never told us your name..."
"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."
Olivia's head snapped to meet the old woman's piercing yellow gaze. She had only barely been listening. Her mind was so overwhelmed as it tried to assess her situation, but now as she gazed at the woman she felt fully alert.
"The Flemeth, from the legends?" Alistair looked stunned for a moment, and then his face sagged with exhaustion. He rubbed his face with one large hand. "Daveth was right - you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"
"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"
Though Flemeth was speaking to Alistair, her gaze was on Olivia, who was surveying her like a silent, cautious animal. Her mind was a speeding loom, weaving brightly colored threads into tangles and leaving her unable to make out the pattern left behind.
"If you're Flemeth, you must be very old and powerful," Olivia said finally, her words careful and heavy with implication. The woman who could destroy the lives of prideful men on command. She was well familiar with the legend of Flemeth. As a girl, she had begged Aldous to tell her the tale until she had just about memorized it, so entranced had she been with the idea of such a woman. As she had grown, she simply accepted the tale as fancy, a story meant to inspire fear in the hearts of men and nothing more. The idea that this, here in front of her, could be the woman of the impossible tales sent a breath of excitement across her skin.
"Must I? Age and power are relative - it depends on who is asking. Compared to you, yes, on both counts."
It was all the answer she needed. Tales of Flemeth spanned over centuries, a permanent figure in an ever-changing world. Many times, she was central to that change. Despite her tattered clothes and ratty hair, Flemeth held herself nobly. Her eyes were full of the assurance of a woman who had no predators.
Alistair's voice interrupted her thoughtful reverie. "Then why didn't you save Duncan? He is… he was our leader." The sorrow had returned to his face. In his expressive eyes, she found a bitterness she would not have been able to imagine on his face before that moment. Flemeth's gaze turned steely, though not unkind.
"I am sorry for your Duncan, but your grief must come later… in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now."
Olivia looked to Flemeth through the side of her eyes and finally found the courage to ask the question that had been burning at the back of her mind.
"So why did you save us?" Flemeth's golden gaze landed on hers, sharp and dissecting. "I mean, we're just two young Warden recruits who were easily overwhelmed."
A grin, nonchalant as though she had asked about her favorite pie, spread across the woman's face. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn." Olivia wondered, not for the first time, just how much the Witch was not telling them. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"
Olivia bristled in annoyance. She glared at the woman, arms folding across her chest and fingers flexing against them. "It changed when most of them were slaughtered," she snapped. She could feel the anger that had simmered in her for the past few weeks rolling to a boil in her gut, and gave only a halfhearted attempt to suppress it. She wondered what the Witch would do to her if she stopped playing her game. She wondered how far her usefulness would extend.
But Flemeth did not react. She merely crossed her own arms in a mimicking gesture and gave a thin-lipped smile, though her stare was icy. "If you think small numbers make you helpless, you are already defeated."
"We're two fledgling Wardens with almost no training! That isn't 'small numbers,' that's a funeral procession!" She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, searching for some kind of foothold on reason. "The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain."
"That doesn't make any sense," Alistair growled. "Why would he do it?"
Flemeth smiled, and she looked rather predatory. "Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."
Alistair's face darkened. "The archdemon."
Desperation had been quietly winding its way through her since she had stepped out of Flemeth's hut, and now it had built into a small frenzy. Her hands shook as she scrubbed her face, and her voice came out a faint warble that infuriated her.
"Alistair is the real Warden here - not me."
His face snapped to hers, but she avoided his eyes.
All at once he seemed to crumple into desperate fear. "All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except for us. I've lost everyone!" His voice broke on the last syllable. His Adam's apple dipped low in his throat and she could see in the way his face had tightened that his composure was faring no better than hers. His next words were so soft and sad that she almost didn't catch them. "For the love of the Maker, don't back out on me now."
Their eyes clicked together as if magnetized, and for one long moment she could not breathe.
"I can't do this on my own. We have to do something."
His eyes gleamed with a wild desperation that sparked a hot flash of guilt in her chest. But those eyes, those stupidly earnest eyes that seemed to shine like drizzled honey in just the right light - not that she had been paying attention -
She had never seen a grown man look so much like a kicked puppy. It was easy to forget in that moment that she had seen this same man slice a hurlock clean in half with one arm.
With a frown, she diverted her gaze from his and down to her hands, unwilling to look at the sadness in his face any longer. She busied herself by scratching at a bit of dried blood on the back of her glove when her gaze landed on his fingers. He was clutching a small, formless object in his hands, his thumb tracing a circular pattern over the glassy surface of it. It looked to be some sort of stone, but she could not make out more than that.
Despite his background as a trained swordsman, his fingers were long and gentle. She remembered how soft they had been against her own when he had helped her recover from her flashback in the Wilds. They had barely spoken more than a few words to each other, then, and yet he had not hesitated in helping her. And he had known all along that he might have to watch her die that night despite his efforts.
Olivia raised her head to meet his eyes, and she felt a part of her resolve, if only a small one, harden.
"Then we need to find this archdemon."
It was decided that they would go first to Redcliffe, to speak to Arl Eamon Guerrin about raising an army against Teyrn Loghain. Alistair began to perk up, even becoming excited as they spoke of the Grey Warden treaties. With only some small nudging from Flemeth, they finally had a plan. Olivia was still sure she was going mad and this was all a dream, but Alistair's hopeful enthusiasm was infectious.
Flemeth had also given them another "gift": Morrigan. The Witch had insisted they take her daughter along with them, both as repayment to her for saving their lives and as extra assistance on their monumental task. And yet only Flemeth seemed to actually be happy with the arrangement. Alistair seemed nervous about traveling with an apostate. Olivia did not trust the woman with the secretive smile. Morrigan seemed generally belligerent about the entirety of the idea, but acquiesced with a heavy sigh and disappeared into the hut to collect her things.
It was when she emerged again that Olivia heard the raucous barking from somewhere behind the hut. She felt her heart bound at the sound of it. Only moments later, a blur of brown fur came speeding toward her. She hardly had time to open her arms before she was tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and a long wet tongue.
"Hessarian!" She wasn't sure if the sound that escaped her mouth was a laugh or a sob, but her heart felt as though it had swelled three sizes. His stubby tail was wiggling so fast it was just a blur, and he was crushing her under his enormous weight. She didn't care. She had noticed his absence, of course. But she hadn't allowed herself to pay any heed to the sorrow that had threatened to crush her at the thought of losing her last surviving family member. There had not been time to mourn.
She wrapped her arms around him in a crushing embrace and buried her face into the warmth of his chest. She could feel tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. As if knowing this, he stilled under her embrace, resting his head gently against her back. He gave a small, satisfied huff of air, and she knew that he had missed her too.
She heard Alistair's voice from somewhere above them. "He just about managed to take down the darkspawn at the tower singlehandedly after you fell. Remind me to stay on his good side."
She grinned at her mabari, who grinned proudly back. "Did you? I bet you had those darkspawn running scared, didn't you?" His joyful bark as he bounded around her elicited an adoring laugh. "Who's my big scary darkspawn killer?"
Newly reunited with her best friend, and with some fresh supplies from Morrigan filling their packs, they set out for Lothering. It was a small village to the north near the center of Ferelden. With the darkspawn horde still taking its fill at Ostagar, it was not as difficult to sneak past them as she had initially feared, especially with the help of the strange-smelling herbal concoction Morrigan had brought for that purpose. She had instructed a scowling Alistair to slather a generous amount on his skin. When he had argued, she stated in a tone that brooked no argument that it was their best hope of distracting the darkspawn from sensing him as they passed.
Yet for all the ease of skirting the horde, their passage through the Korcari Wilds was arduous. The swampy terrain did not make for an easy hike. Water filled her boots and soaked her feet, and pulled at her legs with every step she took. Alistair did not seem to fare much better than she, and the leg he had injured at Ostagar was moving slower than his other.
Hessarian, for his part, seemed to be having a grand time as he bounded through the water and pounced on fish, waiting for them to progress.
They were completely silent except for the occasional shout of warning or instruction. Morrigan had developed a perpetual crinkle of distaste in her nose. Whether it was directed at them, or the swamp, or the fact that she had been unloaded onto strangers, Olivia could not tell. She navigated the swamps with a strange ease, carefully picking her steps and never once needing her staff for balance. Olivia couldn't help but wonder why she didn't turn into a crow and fly ahead, if only because that's what she herself so desperately wished she could do.
Alistair hadn't spoken a word since they had departed from Flemeth's hut. It did not take long for her to miss the easy companionship and playful banter they'd had before their fall at the Tower. But he maintained a contemplative silence instead. The hope that had begun to creep into his face earlier had slipped away into the bog, and Olivia was uneasy in the presence of the grim, dutiful mask that had replaced it.
She knew she wasn't much better. She felt detached from her own body after the whirlwind of their rescue and the outset of their subsequent journey. She had joined the Grey Wardens out of grief-stricken necessity, and now she was one of two remaining members. They were tasked with an impossible goal, and even now she was not sure she could complete it.
And still, buried deep below her fear, still she held on to the tiniest shred of hope that somewhere out here in the Wilds as she trudged toward Lothering, she would stumble upon her brother. She knew it was beyond foolish. She knew in the back of her mind that it was far more likely he had perished by now. But still she found herself scanning the trees and the waterline for any sign of a body, a sword - anything that could lead her to Fergus.
Even if all she found was his corpse, it would be better than not knowing.
When the sun had passed the apex of the sky and began to cut a lazy path toward the horizon, the swampland turned into the solid grass of the Hinterlands. She began to see trees sprout up around them and hear the bustle of wildlife. The terrain would inevitably turn to steeper hills and cliffs, but she was glad to be able to put the wet and the quiet of the Wilds behind her.
Olivia was beginning to feel the wounds she had obtained at the Tower of Ishal pulsing painfully at every step. Her ribs began to ache with the weight of her pack, and underneath them her lungs heaved with the strain of finding each breath. Although she had hunted with her father and brother many times back at Highever, she had never had to hike through varied terrains as they were doing now. She felt her lack of experience in every step, as her muscles quailed with exertion.
When they were well into the Hinterlands, she felt her legs begin to shake beneath her and knew she could not walk another step. With a careless finality, she dropped her pack to the ground and collapsed onto a nearby boulder. Alistair turned to stare at her, perplexed, and Morrigan did not hide her annoyance.
After a long moment to catch her breath, Olivia met Morrigan's impatient gaze with a halfhearted smile. "Can we stop for the day?" Her voice was still breathy despite her best efforts to contain her exhaustion.
With a spectacular frown, the witch crossed her arms over her chest. "We have barely even started. If we stop now, we will not reach Lothering for a fortnight."
"We've been walking all day," Olivia placated her with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We've made good progress, and we're out of the direct line of the darkspawn. Lothering will still be there." She paused thoughtfully. "Probably."
Morrigan was not amused. "And do you think the darkspawn will be stopping to rest their tender feet while you do?"
"I'll send them a formal request." Olivia gave her a toothy grin, and Morrigan only scowled in return.
"Perhaps we shall ask them to kindly return to the Deep Roads as well, while we are at it?"
"Now you're thinking!"
The two women fell silent, their stares unyielding, and the air between them was charged with tension. Morrigan had squared her shoulders, her arms still crossed over her chest. Olivia had affected a callous grin, but her teeth gritted so fiercely together that it more resembled a snarl.
After a long, torturous moment, Morrigan gave a flip of her head, tossing her fringe from her eyes, and turned to Alistair. "Perhaps we shall see how your fellow Warden feels?"
Olivia did the same. "Great idea! Alistair, what do you say?"
His head whipped up at the sound of his name, and his voice was distant. "Hmmm?"
Olivia furrowed her brow at him for a long moment before leaning back on one arm. She shrugged at Morrigan. "He says yes."
The witch scoffed, and her frown deepened even further, a feat Olivia had been sure would be impossible. "You may find yourself less amusing when you are skewered on the end of a darkspawn sword."
"I hardly think the entire country will fall in one night just because I need a nap," she responded. It was growing harder to keep her voice even when all she wanted in this world was to sleep. "And if it does, then I suppose it wasn't very wise to leave the fate of Ferelden up to me after all, was it?"
"That, I already suspected." Morrigan rewarded her with a pointed raise of a fine black brow and a malicious smirk, and it snapped the last thread of her patience. She pulled herself gingerly from the boulder and stood to her full height, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, and noted with great satisfaction that for all her condescension Morrigan was several inches shorter than she.
"Morrigan." Her voice was low, her words studded with danger. "I am tired, my boots are still wet, and, more importantly, my bloody ribs hurt. If you are so intent on continuing on, you will have to carry me."
There was a long pause while Morrigan studied her face. Finally, she unraveled her arms from her chest and stepped away with a shake of her head.
"Very well. I suppose 'tis as good a spot to camp as any."
Olivia nodded, and kneeled beside her pack to keep her legs from swaying beneath her. "It's a great place, actually," she replied, matter-of-fact. She unloaded her bedroll and rolled it out on the flat patch of grass beside her boulder. "The Hinterlands are fertile, and we should have no trouble finding herbs and wildlife. I've seen some rabbits and squirrels running about. Usually from that direction, which might mean there is a stream there."
She stood with a groan and sighed as she looked at her lumpy bedroll, wishing for a tent. Alistair had laid out his own a respectful distance from hers. Morrigan had set up in a corner further off, as though afraid she would catch the taint from them by sharing the same air for too long, though more likely out of pure spite. Olivia shook her head. She planted her hands on her hips, surveying the space thoughtfully.
"Right then, first thing's first: we'll need to build a fire." She looked to Alistair, who was pulling blankets from his pack and carefully folding them in a pile. "Alistair, would you mind? I can take Hessarian out and try to find some rabbits for dinner, though he'll have to do most of the work without any traps." He nodded and gathered his lightened pack back onto his shoulders. She looked to where Morrigan was sorting vials. "Morrigan... Do you cook?"
The witch looked up at her rather sternly. "I do," she answered, her eyes wary, "yes. I also know several different poisons that grow right in this area. Not that I would suggest 'tis at all related to cooking."
Olivia grinned in response to the thinly veiled threat. "Perfect! Then you'd know what sorts of herbs we could find here that we may need on our way. Would you mind gathering a few?" She gave the witch the sweetest smile she could muster, and Morrigan heaved an exasperated sigh, but nodded just the same.
The three of them went in separate directions to complete their chores. Olivia was glad for a moment alone. Hessarian trotted happily at her side as she picked her way through the trees, listening to the sounds of the birds in the canopies. The trickle of water that had been distant before was becoming louder now, and she headed further into the forest.
It had been a fair while since she had last hunted in Highever, but she had been tracking game since she was very young. She'd received extensive tutelage at her father's insistence, and it had not been so long that she had lost her touch. Their camp was in an area that was highly populated by game, and she found no small amount of tracks and droppings left by rabbits. She was familiar with traps, but useless with a bow - her father had always told her that her aim would be much improved with a blindfold. Yet out here, she had access to neither, and would have to improvise.
She and Hessarian found an easy pattern in the hunt, as though nothing had ever changed. She let the tracks lead her to her prey, and then sent Hessarian in after it. He would snap its neck in his jaws with an easy flick of his head and return to her looking entirely satisfied with himself, and it did not take them long to collect enough to feed the four of them for the night.
The calm of the forest, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, and the dampness in the air made her heart ache with homesickness. She had spent as much time as she could out in the forests around the Cousland estate, hiding in trees or chasing down rabbits with her mabari. Some days, her parents or Fergus would join her on horseback, and they would chase down foxes and deer together. They would then race their horses back to the estate with enormous grins, utterly carefree if only for a moment.
The sun was sinking low toward the horizon when she and Hessarian came back to their little camp to find a cheerful, blazing fire. Morrigan knelt beside it, sharpening a long stick into a spit, and Alistair was nowhere to be found. Hessarian sat himself beside the fire, his eyes watchful, while Olivia lowered her quarry to a blanket Morrigan had laid out for skinning. The apostate looked up at her with a raised brow. She raised hers in return.
"Where is Alistair?"
Morrigan gave her a careless shrug. "He said he wished to bathe. Far be it for me to discourage him." Olivia rolled her eyes and, sinking gingerly to her knees, pulled a knife from her boot.
As she began slicing expertly into the first rabbit, Morrigan watched her, her gaze appraising. "I must admit, your knowledge of hunting and tracking surprises me," she said conversationally. Olivia marveled at how easily condescension rolled off her tongue and she couldn't help but smile, glancing up at the witch with a raised brow.
"Your high opinion of the Grey Wardens is much appreciated."
"I have no opinion of the Grey Wardens," Morrigan replied, impassive, "but a low one indeed of the noble class. You surprise me, in that respect."
Olivia's hand stilled, and she furrowed her brow at the other woman in surprise. She tried to steel her face into a mask of confusion. "And you have ascribed me to such a title? What makes you so certain?"
Morrigan gave her a knowing smile, her eyes shining like molten gold in the low light. "'Twould seem your carriage and your manners tell tales you do not want told." She reached out to take the proffered rabbit from Olivia's outstretched hand and skewered it on her spit with a quick flick of her hand. "Soldiers are simple creatures, and do not have the presence of mind to apply such things. Your fellow Warden is a fine example of this. But nobles are born into pretense, and carry it in every action."
Olivia shook her head. "An accident of birth I hope you'll forgive." She paused in her work, and her next words were thick and cumbersome in her throat. "It doesn't matter anymore. I am a Grey Warden now, and Grey Wardens hold no rank."
The witch hummed low in her throat. "Perhaps." She did not elaborate further, and Olivia was grateful for an exit from the conversation.
Despite how eagerly they seemed to butt heads otherwise, the two women found an easy rhythm in the preparation of their meal. She made quick work of her remaining prey in silence.
Olivia stood with a pained groan and stretched her shoulders. She rolled up the now bloodstained blanket with her likewise bloodied hands.
"I'm going to wash up. I'm rather tired of being covered in blood all the time." She gave Morrigan a halfhearted grin. "If you were going to poison the food, here is your opportunity."
The sun had nearly disappeared from sight now, casting the land in muted hues of blue and pink. She could hear the song of crickets around her, could see the rare flicker of fireflies dancing among the trees. The smell of the fresh dew on the grass was sweet to her nose. It was a peaceful scene, the land untouched by the conflict that would soon overtake it, and she felt a pang of anxiety at the thought that it would soon be destroyed.
When she finally came to the bank of the stream, it was to find Alistair standing with his back to her in only his trousers. Careful fingers worked to unfold a clean white shirt, and she nearly choked on her tongue. He looked to have just finished bathing. His hair was wet, and the long expanse of his well-muscled back gleamed with condensation in the moonlight. Her eyes followed a small drop of water as it made its slow descent from his hair and down the curve of his spine, where it disappeared below the hem of his breeches.
She felt her ears burning, but she could not tear her eyes away. If she found him distracting before, she was sure now that she would never sleep again. The way his muscles moved under the tanned skin of his broad shoulders as he pulled the shirt over his head was hypnotizing. The spell was only broken when he tugged the hem down over his hips.
She shook the lecherous thoughts from her head and gave an audible cough, hoping to the Maker that it was too dark for him to see the fetching shade of red her face had turned. Though perhaps she should be saying a prayer that the Maker wouldn't just strike her down instead.
He turned his head toward the sound of her cough, and though his warm smile made her feel more unclean than did the blood coating her hands, she returned it as best she could.
"I'm sorry. I... didn't mean to intrude," she murmured, hovering awkwardly near the bush she had entered through. He shook his head, eyeing the mess in her hands with a small smile.
"It's all right. I take it the hunt went well?"
She kneeled at the bank and plunged the ruined blanket into the water. Blood rose from the fabric and her hands like dancing red ribbons, and she watched as though transfixed, refusing to allow her eyes to travel anywhere near him from this angle. "Well enough. We won't be eating like royalty, by any means, but we won't starve either. Once we get to Lothering I'll see about finding some traps." She scrubbed the cloth in her hands against the bedrock of the stream. "It would be nice if we could get our hands on some tents, as well, for when it gets cold at night."
Alistair chuckled as he lowered himself to sit on a nearby rock, and the sound of it summoned gooseflesh to her skin despite the muggy air hanging between them. He began pulling on an old pair of leather boots, his fingers pulling deftly at the laces, and then gathering the pieces of his armor to stack them carefully into his pack. "I dunno, I found a really soft patch of dirt back at camp, I'm rather excited about it."
Olivia grinned. "Yes, and that patch of dirt will be even softer when it rains."
He scoffed. "Oh, she wants to be warm and dry? You are spoiled, my lady."
She tried not to flinch at the honorific, affixing a smile instead. "What can I say? I've grown rather accustomed to a certain lifestyle."
He gave her a broad smile and she held up her blanket appraisingly. It still seemed a bit too red, but it was about as clean as it was going to get. She wrung the water from it and flung it over her shoulder as she stood. Alistair followed suit, falling into step with her as they headed back toward camp. There was a light breeze, and it brought to her nose the sharp, clean smell of his soap.
"Anyway, you're one to talk about being spoiled," she added with an arched brow, trying to block out the images of his bare skin that flooded her mind unbidden. "You with your clean clothes, and your bathing, like some kind of prince! A shameful display."
He fell silent at her words, and when she glanced up at him, she found him frowning. She swallowed nervously, confused by his sudden change in disposition, and their playful banter fell away. They spent the rest of the walk back to camp in uncomfortable silence.
Dinner was simple, and Olivia found she was more ravenous than she had ever been in her life. She tore into her food in a way that made Hessarian look downright dainty. Alistair was no better, and Morrigan looked at them both with unveiled disgust.
Despite the peaceful appearance of the area, they decided to split up into shifts for a night watch. Alistair volunteered for the first, and Olivia did not bother to argue with him. They divided once more. Morrigan retreated to her own little camp and Alistair settled down at the base of a nearby tree that offered a good view of the area.
Her bedroll was calling to her now, and every bone in her body felt ten times heavier than normal. With slow, careful movements, she shucked her filthy armor down to her sleeveless undershirt and leggings. She reveled in the breeze on her skin and the cool grass under her feet, and didn't bother unraveling her hair. She didn't have the patience to deal with the unruly mess she would inevitably find it in.
As she settled into her bedroll, her gaze landed on Alistair, who was staring at her in return. She raised a brow, and he blinked, startled, looking as though she had just pulled him out of deep concentration. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees, giving him a small smile.
"How are you feeling?"
His brow furrowed, and he was silent for a long moment, as if he didn't understand her question.
She offered him a small smile. "About Duncan? Do you... want to talk about it?"
"Oh." He looked away from her, but not before she could see the sorrow that creased his features. "You don't have to do that," he said quietly, and his voice was hard. "I know you didn't know him as long as I did."
He sounded so sad, probably despite himself, and she hugged her arms tighter around herself. She swallowed thickly and thought of the bitterness she had shown Duncan in his final days, when he had saved her life and kept her safe. She had repaid him poorly for his kindness. He had deserved a better recruit than her, and yet the better candidates lay dead at Ostagar with him. It was a cruel irony, and she clenched her teeth against it.
"No," she said, her voice no more than a whisper, "but that doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss." Their gazes met once again, and in the dark of the night she could see the reflection of flames dancing in his eyes. "I know he was like a father to you."
He nodded, looking down at his hands. The sound of crickets seemed deafening in the long silence. "I… should have handled it better." His voice cracked on the words. "Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight and… and everything." He looked back up at her, and her stomach did a small flip at the sincerity on his face. "I'm sorry."
"There's no need to apologize." Her smile was weak, but genuine.
With a long sigh, he let his head fall back against the tree with a heavy thump. "I'd… like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done, if we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of."
She remembered the way Duncan had looked at Alistair, remembered the way it had reminded her of her father. "He had you."
At first she thought he hadn't heard her. Her words had been quiet, hesitant, and he did not respond for a long time. But finally, slowly, he raised his head to gaze at her. "I suppose he did." His voice was raw and hoarse. "It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like abandoned him."
Waves of anxiety crested inside her chest, threatening to pull her down and suffocate her in its depths. She gritted her teeth against it, swallowing down the wail that strangled her.
Then go, Pup. Warn your brother.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to give way to them.
Do us proud.
"It's not stupid," she whispered, and her voice broke. She could feel his eyes on her now, but could not bring herself to meet them.
If he sensed her impending doom, he showed no indication. "I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting up something in his honor. I don't know."
Highever. Perhaps that was how he'd known her father. The reason he was in the right place, at the right time.
"Have you… had someone close to you die?" Her head snapped up then, her gaze sharp. He balked. "Not that I mean to pry, I'm just…" The sentence seemed to die in his throat.
It was an innocent question, with an answer that crushed her and stole the breath from her lungs. He didn't know. It wasn't his fault. But she wanted to scream, wanted to beat something until she felt better. She wanted to go home and hear her mother sing to her.
She almost couldn't find the strength to answer him. "I've lost enough to know what you're going through." It wasn't an answer, not really. But it was all she could give him.
They stared at one another for a long time, and she could feel the single tear that managed to escape from her eye. She didn't bother wiping it away. She knew by the way his forehead wrinkled that he had seen it. Her jaw ached from suppressing the flood that lay just behind the thin veneer of her self-control.
"Yes, I… imagine you really have, haven't you?" His voice was little more than a whisper, and his eyes tracked the traitorous tear as it traveled down her cheek and to her top lip. She was thankful for the distance that kept him from seeing her tremble. Finally he gave her a halfhearted smile. "I'm sorry I've kept you awake. You should get some sleep."
She nodded in return and hunkered down into her bedroll, pillowing her head in the crook of her arm. The ground was hard beneath her and her ribs gave a pulsating protest of discomfort, but it was good to finally be off her feet. Alistair had pulled out his sword and was quietly polishing the blade, looking thoughtful.
"Er... Olivia?" His voice was hesitant when he called out to her a long moment later, and she blinked in surprise at the softness with which he spoke her name. "Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little."
She nodded again, though she knew he couldn't see it.
She was beyond exhausted, and yet despite the reprieve her body had found, her mind was reeling more than ever. The day had been so long. In the blink of an eye, she had gone from a Warden recruit with a slightly untoward attitude, to the last great hope of Ferelden. And she didn't know the first thing about how to slay an archdemon. It was too much, and she felt as though she would start screaming any moment. She was just some noble brat, not even the heir of her family name. How was she supposed to save the entire country? How could the fate of so many people rest in such incapable hands? Her chance at success was painfully low, yet the consequences for failure could not have been higher.
Despite her desperate fretting, sleep eventually caught up to her. When she could not keep her eyelids open a moment longer, it finally pulled her into its velvety embrace.
Her last thoughts as she drifted off were of her brother, waif-thin and grey with the Blight, begging her to end him.
