The knife on her belt makes her feel safe. He realizes this early on in their travels, so after a time he becomes used to her unconscious need to touch the weapon when she feels nervous or upset. She has never before actually drawn the weapon on anyone who is not an enemy, but now she does so on his sister no less, and he has no idea what that means. It is not difficult to guess that it will not be pleasant.
"I'm shocked no one has cut that tongue from your mouth yet," she snarls with a threatening wave of the sharp weapon and a quick step forward. Goldanna stumbles back from them, looking as though she will scream for the guards at any moment, but Alistair grips his companion's arm and eases the weapon down.
"Come on," he urges with a dark frown at the only family he has left. "There's nothing here for me."
The Dalish looks fully prepared to carry out with her threat, but after she glances up at his expression, she silently sheathes the knife and follows him from the house. The feeling of suffocation that is wrapped around his chest eases a little once they are out in the bright sunlight.
"Well," he says, awkwardly running his hand through his hair a few times, "that was…not what I was expecting. To say the least."
The elf says nothing, and when he looks over at her, she looks pained and angry. Her lips are pressed into a thin line and her hand still lingers on her knife. She is nervous enough being in the city, but now she is downright agitated. It is hard to imagine, but she actually seems more upset than he feels.
"Are we done here?" she suddenly bites off with a guarded glance at him that quickly dances away.
"Uh…yes." Her harsh tone hurts him, but he calls himself a fool for that. What did he expect? For her to hug him? To feed him false assurances? That is not who she is. "I…"
She mutters something he cannot quite hear, though he suspects it is in a language he would not understand anyway, then she is off and striding away from him, back toward the city gates. With a brooding sigh, he follows.
It is not until they are back at camp, just before first watch when everyone is drifting off to their bedrolls, that she says another word to him. Silently she moves around the fire and folds her legs to sit close beside him. She stares into the fire for several minutes, apparently oblivious to his uncertain sidelong glances.
"I feel I owe you an apology," she says softly.
As startled as he feels to hear her say this, Alistair cannot help but make it into a jest. "For what? Waving a knife in my sister's face? Don't worry – I don't blame you in the least."
She does not smile, but she does seem to relax a little. Her eyes still on the fire, she says, "Not for that. I have not been a very good…" she frowns, "friend…to you. At least not today. The Keeper would say I am being selfish."
"I don't understand," he answers with a confused shake of his head.
"I have been away from my clan for nearly a year now," she begins to explain with some difficulty. The elf pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "I have learned much of what it means to live in a human world, but sometimes…" she finally looks at him, and her eyes are cautious but sad, "sometimes your world's cruelty burns me, Alistair."
The sincerity in her stare is a little unnerving, and he hears himself lamely reply, "It's not exactly my world, you know…"
She shrugs and turns her face back to the fire. "My parents died long ago." Alistair's full attention is on her now, hearing her speak of her past when she has never said more than two words about it. "My father was killed by shemlen bandits before I was born, and my mother died of grief when I was just a babe."
She says it so matter-of-factly, but Alistair's chest aches at hearing this. "I am so sorry."
A small frown touches her face, but other than that, she does not acknowledge his statement. "I have no blood kin, Alistair, but I did not grow up without family. My clan raised me. I was fed, I was clothed, I was trained to hunt and fight and protect, I had friends and love. Such is the way of the Dalish – we do not leave our own behind. We do not cast them aside."
He has never heard her speak so many words at once, and Alistair is at a loss for a witty retort.
"You are the perfect example of why your people baffle me." She turns to look at him and it takes Alistair a moment to recognize the look on her face because he cannot recall ever seeing it there before. Compassion. Sympathy. For him. "Your whole life, your 'family' has done nothing but cast you aside. Perhaps you do not see it that way, but…your father, the Arl, the Chantry, your sister…how can shemlen treat each other this way? Doesn't it hurt?"
And she is genuinely asking him this question, but Alistair is so blindsided by it all that he can only stare for a long moment before he draws in a shaky breath. "I…suppose," his voice cracks and he looks away from her and runs a hand through his hair. "I suppose we've just had lots of centuries of practice at it."
It is a cheap answer, and they both know it, but she does not press him for a better one. "This life can be a lonely walk, no matter where we come from," she comments quietly. Her eyes leave the man's face and drift across the camp, pausing on each person preparing for either rest or for watch. No one acknowledges her glance, aside from the Mabari, who raises his head curiously when her gaze swings his direction.
She smiles and looks back at Alistair. "But it doesn't have to be, even for Grey Wardens. We have a clan," she explains with a subtle gesture toward the others. "We have a family."
Her fingertips brush the back of his hand, and she stands quickly to make for her tent. Alistair stares after her, his mouth hanging open a little and the skin on his hand tingling where she had touched him. Of all the words she spoke, the word "we" means the most to him.
