AN on 11-15-2015: Finally! An update after a really long time! Apologies to readers who have been kept waiting. Enjoy! =)


Chapter 7

The Road to the Follower Camp

Diora leaned on the bridge that spanned across the great ravine of Ostagar. While Wynne was healing Alistair and Leyonir, Diora pondered over the whirlwind of events that was her life the past few days - or months, if she was to believe Alistair's words. Duncan and Aedan had gone on to the war council. Of course, the trip to the follower camp was now delayed until after the war council.

She sighed deeply and drank in the beauty around her. How wonderful it felt to be able to let her guard down, just a little bit. Ever since meeting Duncan and especially after this morning's meeting with the king, it seemed things were finally looking up for her.

Though the sun blazed in the Ferelden sky, the mountain gale swept away most of the warmth the golden rays may have provided. The pine boughs groaned and creaked, rocking in tune to the wind's howling symphony. A great river rippled across the green valley, sparkling like a silver thread in the sunlight. Many times before in her enraptured imagination, Diora had traveled to the shining shores of Elysium and drank in the beauty of the fair lands that lay beneath alien sun and stars, but never in her imagination had it been as majestic as what she was now experiencing.

The subtle spell the beautiful landscape had woven over Diora was broken when Alistair walked over and joined her on the bridge. Seeing him now, an uneasy truth dawned on Diora. She remembered the warm pressure of Alistair's arms around her, could feel it even now, as distinctly as she had felt it when he had protected her from Vaughan's whip. Even more alarming was that the sensations he had stirred in her earlier had been far from unpleasant.

"I see Wynne healed you up quite nicely," Diora observed, trying to sound as light and normal as possible.

Alistair smugly crossed his arms and replied, "Didn't even scar. You haven't thanked me, yet, by the way."

Diora sighed gently and turned her gaze to the horizon. Guilt washed over her, and her voice trembled as she spoke, "I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you did. I do. But…" She cleared away the lump that had risen in her throat. "It's my fault you got hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of my actions. Ever again. Not you. Not anyone."

Alistair's face softened when the meaning behind her words sank in. He tried to lighten the mood with a his special blend of Alistair's self-deprecating humor. "Lady Diora, you don't have to worry about me. That was hardly a scratch. I've suffered worse in sword training. Besides, what I did was nothing compared to how you stunned the crowds and won King Cailan's favor."

Diora chuckled and rolled her eyes. "You're just trying to make me feel better. I'm sure you'd think differently if that handsome face of yours had been permanently scarred."

She instantly regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. What in Thedas had possessed her to say such a thing?!

A smile slowly crept up Alistair's face. "Wait… Is this your way of telling me you think I'm handsome?" This was not the first time a woman had told him he was handsome, but hearing those words from Diora was different somehow.

"You know you're handsome, Alistair." Something in the way he looked at her made Diora's heart give a quick, strange little beat. Still, she kept her tone light.

What Diora really wanted to do was smack herself upside the head.

"Maybe, but it doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say it. Beats getting run through a sword any day, or getting flogged by some noble's whip." Alistair looked up at Diora with a half-shy, half-eager expression in his hazel eyes. He slowly asked, "So...is this the part where I get to say the same?"

Diora lips parted and she drew in a gentle, wondrous breath as pleasure bubbled forth within her. Then she realized that Alistair was still waiting for a response from her. Her hands dropped down to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles on her skirts. A flush of nervous heat rippled through her.

Alistair chuckled nervously. "Unless you would rather I not?" he offered.

"N-no! I mean, yes," Diora blurted out, then shook her head. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't think so." 'God, I'm an idiot!'

"Oh, I think so. I'll just spring it on you when it's a surprise," Alistair told her with a laughing voice. Maker's breath, that girl probably did not even know how adorably flustered she looked right now. A bright pink flush had spread across her cheeks, bringing out the starry blue-grey of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin.

Diora's lips parted slightly and she drew in a gentle breath of wonder. Mush. That's what her mind had turned into. She was at a complete loss for words. She could solve derivatives, calculate the mass of atomic molar molecules, and name all the US presidents backwards, but flirting was a completely foreign subject for her.

Alistair simply was not like the boys back home. Unlike Alistair, boys back home did not evoke flashes of a time long gone, of chivalry and courtly love, princes in shining armor… That train of thought triggered another thought - one that had Diora narrowing her eyes in speculation.

"Wh...Why are you looking at me like that? Was it what I just said?" Alistair asked, slowly growing anxious under her scrutinizing stare.

"You…" Diora slowly lifted a finger and pointed at Alistair.

Alistair raised his brows inquisitively. "I…?"

Diora angled her head to catch a profile view of Alistair. "And the king -"

Alistair froze in place.

" - look remarkably alike."

"Don't...be silly," Alistair said weakly, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was in earshot.

Diora scrunched up her nose at him, slightly miffed. "I'm not being silly. You two do look like you could be brothers."

"We...do not," Alistair, having regained some of his composure, insisted.

Diora was not deterred. "If you just grew out your hair and-"

Alistair had no idea how he managed to do so, but he convincingly laughed off Diora's observations. "Sure. That's right. I'm the king's long-lost brother. I'm sure that story's never been told by anyone else anywhere else before."

"Now you're just making fun of me," Diora said, not sure to be pleased or annoyed at his teasing. "It was an honest observation."

"Dear lady, you wound me with your accusations. I dare not tarnish your honor with such mockery."

"You're doing it again!"


.o0O0o.


It was shortly past high noon when a messenger arrived with a message for Alistair, Diora, and Leyonir to meet with Duncan and King Cailan in His Majesty's canopy.

King's Cailan tent was huge - large enough to comfortably fit Diora, Alistair, Leyonir, and the dozen or so guards that made up the Cailan's retinue. Dominating one side of the tent was a woven tapestry depicting a hunting scene. Hanging over Cailan's king-sized cot was a banner of two red hounds against a white and gold backdrop. Each hound was standing on its rear legs while facing each other, and the way their front paws were positioned, it looked to Diora like the hounds were playing patty-cake with each other. She had to stifle the urge to giggle. She had no intention of offending His Majesty.

In the center of the tent, King Cailan poured over a pile of maps strewn across a sturdy and plain wooden table. Duncan and Teryn Loghain each stood on one side of the king, discussing the troops' next movements. Aedan and the rest of the soldiers watched silently.

Cailan raised his head and smiled as Diora, Alistair, and Leyonir made their way into the tent. He raised a hand to stop Diora from curtsying. "No need, m'lady. I've never cared much for such formalities, and I suspect all of us here dare not repeat this morning's episode," he said good-naturedly.

Diora blushed profusely as a few chuckles filled the tent. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Duncan tells me of his plans to have you delivered to the follower camp," Cailan continued.

Diora nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Alistair-"

"Actually, it is no longer necessary for Alistair to escort you," Cailan interrupted her. "The Grey Wardens are needed here to help train our troops, and we can scarce afford to spare even one. I have called you here to inform you that you will now be traveling to the follower camp under the protection of my royal guard. And your servant boy will of course accompany you as well."

A crestfallen look marred Alistair's face. What was Cailan up to?

"Really?" Diora squeaked, unsure of how else to reply. Honestly, she would rather travel to the camp with someone she trusted, like Alistair - not a handful of strange guards, no matter how loyal they might be to the king. But how was she to convey her message without offending King Cailan?

Sensing Diora's discomfort with Cailan's plan, Duncan spoke up, "Your Majesty, as I stated before, I express my gratitude for your help, but surely-"

"I've made up my mind, Duncan. Alistair must remain here and assist in training our troops against the darkspawn," Cailan said firmly.

And that was how Diora found herself in a carriage on her way to the follower camp a few hours later.

Okay, okay.

So King Cailan's royal carriage was less like a carriage and more like a palace on wheels - or a deluxe medieval party bus.

It had been built for comfort and elegance and needed at least six horses to pull it. The outside of the carriage was elaborately decorated with wooden carvings of mabari hounds and gilded with gold. The inside was capacious and lofty, and could comfortably hold at least half a dozen passengers. It was tall enough for a person to stand up and walk around in. Thick, velvet drapes hung from the windows. There was not an inch that was not lined with leather, or silk, or velvet. The seat cushions were padded and plush pillows and throws were available for extra comfort. There was even a small dining area in one end of the compartment, piled with fruit, and wine, and bread, and cheese.

Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop...

A single horseman would make the trip in half a day at a full gallop. At the the pace these horses were trotting, it would be nightfall before they reached the follower camp.

Soon, the landscape soon changed from rocky mountains to rolling hills. Pine trees evolved into more leafy, deciduous trees. And without the sweeping mountain gales, the sun's rays hinted at a warm spring to come.

In the later half of the trip, the convoy stopped to break for supper. Diora took this time to stretch her legs. The path ran between Ostagar and the follower camp ran right through the middle of a dense forest. Despite that, Diora decided that a bit of exercise wouldn't hurt, as long as she kept the convoy in sight.

While the dozen soldiers who served as her escort ate their supper, Diora and Leyonir, having helped themselves to the food in the carriage during the ride, explored. Dry twigs snapped and ferns rustled beneath Diora's feet. Here and there, golden sunlight splashed on the lush foliage growing wild across the ground, but for the most part, the spaces beneath the trees were quite shadowy and filled with an airy and ethereal glow. The mountain winds continued to make their sweet music across the leaves, a melody Diora had grown accustomed to since her arrival at Ostagar.

Nearby, Leyonir found small clusters of tiny white flowers called 'star flowers.' He delighted Diora when he presented her with a delicately woven crown of star flowers. The dainty, white stars shone bright against the dark waves in Diora's hair. Their gentle, dewy scent was sweeter than any designer perfume Diora had ever smelled.

Diora had learned much about her new "servant" during the past few hours they had spent together. She could not help but be reminded of her younger brother Teddy whenever she saw Leyonir. The physical resemblance was uncanny - both had dark chocolate-colored curly hair and bright blue eyes. Replace those pointy ears with human ones and add a few inches of height and Diora could have been looking at her brother's doppelganger.

Leyonir was only twelve years old. His parents had both passed away when he was young. He had one sibling, an older sister named Meriel, who worked in an Arl Urien's kitchens in Denerim. Leyonir showed Diora a braided leather bracelet that his sister had made for him before he had been chosen to accompany the arl's son, Lord Vaughan, to Ostagar.

"Meriel's got one, too, just like this. When she gave it to me, she said if I missed her, to just look down at the bracelet, and know that she was thinking of me, too,"

Diora smiled, touched by the affection that Leyonir and his sister had for each other. It just made her feel more homesick, and she silently promised to herself to be much nicer to Teddy if she ever made it back home.

"Lady Diora, look what I've found!" Leyonir suddenly called out excitedly.

Diora lifted her head in his direction. In his hands, Leyonir was holding up a cluster of the tiniest, but reddest strawberries Diora had ever seen in her life. Diora gingerly picked one up and plopped it into her mouth. Her eyes lit up with pleasure.

"Ohmigod, these are the most delicious strawberries I've ever tasted!" she exclaimed, indulging in the gush of tangy sweetness bursting in her mouth. "Try one, Leyonir!" she insisted.

Leyonir hesitated. "Me? A-are you sure, m'lady? There's hardly enough for one person."

"I order you to eat one," Diora said with mock seriousness.

Finally, after some more persuading from Diora, Leyonir picked out the smallest strawberry out of the bunch and placed it in his mouth. His eyes shone with satisfaction.

"Go on, have another," Diora urged him kindly.

The two of them enjoyed the strawberries in silence for a few moments, before Leyonir grinned at her with strawberry juice stained lips. "You looked so sad this morning. I'm glad you're in better spirits, Lady Diora," he said to her.

Diora gave him a little half smile and thoughtfully said, "Well… I am in better spirits. Thank you for noticing."

"I should be thanking you, Lady Diora. You saved me from Lord Vaughan. I promise, Lady Diora, I will always serve you faithfully," Leyonir swore solemnly.

Diora was not used to hearing such grown up sounding words from someone so young. Twelve year olds back home were more interested in video games and hanging out with friends, not swearing their lives away to a person. Her heart suddenly went out to Leyonir. She wanted to cry for him and his harsh way of life. Based on what she had learned in her short time in Thedas, elves did not live an easy life. How terrible it must be to be an orphan and an elf.

"Leyonir, I know the king made you my servant, but I really would like it if we could be more like friends instead," she said gently.

Leyonir's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Friends, Lady Diora? You want to be friends? With an elf? With me?" he asked, amazed.

"Yes. What do you say?"

"Forgive me for saying this, but you are not like any human I've ever met, Lady Diora. But if you want to be friends..." Leyonir cast a doubtful look at Diora. "Are you sure?"

Diora nodded. "I honestly could use a friend more than I need a servant, Leyonir."

A giant smile broke out on Leyonir's face. "Friends," he simply stated, but Diora could hear the joyful hope in his voice.


.o0O0o.


It was not long after the convoy had resumed its journey after supper that the carriage lurched to a sudden and jarring stop.

Like before, when they had paused for supper, Diora expected a guard to knock and inform her why they were stopping. Instead, shouting suddenly broke out. The sound of metal blade striking again metal blade rang in the air.

Diora pulled back curtain in the window and peeked outside.

"Lady Diora, is it darkspawn?" Leyonir asked fearfully.

"No...it's…" Diora's struggled to see through the encroaching evening shadows and the dissipating sunlight. Confusion, then alarm filled her eyes. This was no darkspawn attack. It was the king's guardsmen. Why were fighting each other?

Diora snapped her body back and screamed as two arrows lodged themselves into the side of the carriage where she was sitting.

"Get down, Leyonir!" she screamed, grabbing the elf and pushing him both to the floor of the carriage. She crawled on her knees to the carriage door and pulled down the set of bronze drop bar latches, just in time to prevent one of the soldiers from entering the carriage.

"She's locked us out!"

"Nevermind her for now, kill the others! We'll get her after!"

"What are we going to do?" Leyonir asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Diora's eyes scanned the carriage for anything to help them, a shield, a weapon, or a - She scrambled to her knees and began pulling up the fur rugs from underneath them. She hoped, she prayed…!

A trapdoor.

Diora lifted the trapdoor. "Hurry, Leyonir! We can escape through here, and make a run for it in the woods, or maybe-"

A pounding crash sounded at the door.

"Go, Leyonir! Hide underneath the carriage, and when you see the opportunity, run for the woods!" Diora ordered.

Another pounding crash, followed by the sound of splintering wood.

"But-"

Diora pushed Leyonir through the trapdoor just as the carriage door burst open.

"RUN!" Diora screamed, before someone reached down and pulled her up by her hair. A pair of dirty, bloody hands roughly grabbed her around the waist and half-dragged, half-carried her out of the coach.

Diora sobbed through grit teeth, kicking and clawing at her captor with all her might. Her captor unceremoniously dumped her on the ground in the center of the carnage. She blinked back her tears. Dead soldiers and weapons littered the area. The ground beneath them was soaked with blood.

Everyone else was dead, except for the two men who now leered down at her. The first, the one who had grabbed her, was the same man who had shot the arrows at the carriage. He was a slender man with an acne-riddled face and long, unkempt, oily strands of dark blond hair.

The second man was darker and stockier. He had a bloody sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"Well, Doyle, look what we got here," said the man who had caught her.

"Let's have a bit of fun with her before we do her in, Tate," suggested then Doyle, reaching for a strand of Diora's hair.

"Don't touch me!" Diora slapped Doyle's porky hands away from her. "The Grey Wardens and the King-"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch! The King and and Wardens will never find out. You'll just be victim of a brutal darkspawn attack once we're done here!" Tate snarled at her, backhanding Diora hard across the face.

The taste of blood filled her mouth. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Give me your dagger, Doyle," Tate ordered, holding out his hand.

"What for, Tate?"

"Just give me your dagger."

Diora inched back. 'If I'm going to die, then at least Leyonir got away. I hope he's -'

She let a out a scream when Tate took Doyle's dagger and slashed Doyle across the throat. She crawled back, repulsed by the warm, sticky spray of blood. She could not stop screaming, even after Doyle collapsed in front of her, blood spurting from his neck.

Tate crouched down until his eyes were level with hers. "Now… I want to see what's so special about the king's new plaything, yeah? If you're nice, maybe I'll even grant you a quick death," he sneered at her. He tossed the dagger aside and began to disassemble his armor and unfasten his leather chaps.

Diora crawled away from him when he reached for her. The bodice of her dress tore off one shoulder as she struggled to escape from his grasp. She squeezed her eyes shut. No! This couldn't really be happening! This-

"Let go of Lady Diora!" a voice rang out, followed by the dull thud of a rock cracking against the back of Tate's skull.

Tate's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped over to the ground, unconscious.

"Leyonir!" Diora embraced the elf and sobbed into his dark, curly hair. Relief coursed through her. "You came back. You came back! I was scared…. I was so scared!" She pulled him away from her and examined him for signs of injury. "Are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere?"

"No, Lady Diora. I'm all right."

With some help from Leyonir, Diora managed to stand. Gasping for breath, she limped over to horses still harnessed to the coach. "Quickly! We need to take one of these horses back to Ostagar, to tell the Duncan what's happened."

Leyonir shook his head. "But I can't ride a horse, milady."

"That's alright. You'll just ride with me, then," Diora reassured him.

Diora had spent some time during her summer camps riding horses, but the last time she had been to summer camp was in the 8th grade. What the hell did it matter anyway? She didn't have time to be worried or anxious right now, she just needed to get them the hell out of there.

She picked the strongest looking horse, a great chestnut bay stallion. As fast as she could manage, she unharnessed him from the rest of the horses. It whinnied and flickered its ears back and forth. Its dark brown eyes roved nervously. Diora gently rubbed her hands across a great chestnut bay's side. She shushed and nicked quietly, combing her fingers through the stallion's soft mane.

Diora hiked up her skirt, slipped her foot into the stirrup, and swung herself up into the saddle. She glanced around in alarm. "Leyonir, where are you?" she asked in the growing darkness.

"I'm here," Leyonir replied, passing an object off to Diora. While Diora had been unharnessing the stallion from the carriage, he had climbed back into the carriage to grab Diora's duffle bag off the velvet settee.

Diora wrapped the duffle bag around her shoulders. She reached down and grabbed Leyonir's arm. "Pull yourself up in front of-"

Leyonir gasped sharply. He staggered back a couple of steps and looked down at his chest.

That was when Diora saw the arrow protruding through Leyonir's chest.

NO…!

NO!

"Lady… D-Diora…!" Leyonir gasped in a broken voice. Blood bubbled forth from his mouth. He slid to his knees.

Diora's lips formed a silent scream as the life faded from Leyonir's eyes.

Images flashed by. Pine boughs bending in tune to the rush of mountain wind, two small hands cupping a cluster of sweet strawberries, the dainty floral perfume of a crown of white star flowers, a delicate leather bracelet.

"Friends, Lady Diora?" the words echoed in her memory.

And then it was over.

Through her tear-filled eyes, she saw Tate, holding up an ornate bow in his hands. He reached into the quiver of arrows on his back and pulled out another arrow.

Whatever fear and sorrow Diora may have felt condensed into a single, primal need for survival from the predator that stalked her. Adrenaline kicked in. She kicked the stallion into a furious gallop, leaving behind a trail of dust and tears.

Thunk!

The arrow lodged into the duffle bag behind her. The second arrow ripped through her flesh and lodged deeply into her upper back. A sharp, burning pain shot up her right shoulder and down her arm.

Still, she rode.

She didn't know how much time had gone by or far she had traveled before she spiraled down into a restless state of semi consciousness.


.o0O0o.


A deep dark night had already set in when a lone rider, slumped over a horse, slowly rode up the torch-lit path to the main gates of Ostagar. The gates opened, and Teryn Loghain, torch in one hand and sword in the other, marched up to the horse and rider.

The soldier accompanying the teryn gasped upon recognizing the man in the firelight. "That man is one of the guards who accompanied the Warden Commander's charge to the follower camp! What is he doing back here? We didn't expect them back until tomorrow!"

Loghain reached for the object the man was holding tightly in his hand. "This is...a darkspawn arrow!" He turned to the soldier beside him. "Ser Cauthrien, go and report this man's return to His Majesty. And hurry!"

Ser Cauthrien nodded. "Yes, My Lord," she said before briskly turning around and running into the main encampment.

Once Ser Cauthrien was out of hearing distance, the Teryn shone the torch directly in the rider's face. Loghain's grey eyes stared hard into the rider's. "Is the girl dead?" he whispered into the man's ear.

"Yes, My Lord." Tate was not answering the teryn's question truthfully, but he knew that last arrow had struck the girl. In his mind, there was no way the girl would survive the night in the Wilds with an arrow stuck to her back. And Tate knew he needed to tell the teryn what the teryn wanted to hear.

"And the bodies and witnesses?"

"Dead and burned, My Lord, just as you ordered."

"Good. You know what to do."

"Yes, My Lord. I'll tell King Cailan and the Wardens that the convoy was attacked by darkspawn."


Preview of next chapter: Diora versus Morrigan, an exchange of wit and will