Chapter Nine: The Right Thing

"Love me when I least deserve it for that is when I most need it."

~Swedish Proverb

When did everything go so wrong?

Lana sat alone in her camp tent, slowly running her sword over a whetstone. Every couple of minutes, she glanced toward the tent flap, hoping to see a certain familiar face but…

…but…

…but she knew Alistair wouldn't come. He hated her. There was no other word for it. After what happened in Redcliffe, he just…hated her. But for all the Ancestors, Lana couldn't figure out what she could've done differently.

…or for that matter, what she had done so wrong.

Yes, the arlessa was dead. But the child was safe! The village was safe! Teagan had told her that once she was inside the castle, Eamon was the priority; the rest of the family was expendable. Harsh, yes, but she needed Eamon's support or their battle against the Blight was going to be extremely short lived. Teagan had understood. Isolde volunteered to be the sacrifice, so she had understood as well. These people raised Alistair…why did he not understand?

Lana set her sword and whetstone off to the side. She was probably damaging the blade more than actually sharpening it and Gorim (oh how she wanted to hate him) taught her better than that. She wanted a cup of that Warden specialty drink—the liquid chocolate. More importantly, she wanted her friend back. Ever since the double-disasters of her exile and Ostagar, Alistair was all she really had left.

She missed him.

He was right across from her at the camp—couldn't be more than fifteen paces!—but he was worlds away. If she peeked outside her tent flap, she would probably see him brooding by the fire. Lana refused to look. If she looked, she would go to him and if she went to him, he would scream at her again. And she just could not take another fight. She'd rallied a village, battled through undead, faced a demon and contributed to the death of an arlessa, but Lana Aeducan could not bear to see the sheer hatred Alistair would look at her with.

She started to reach for the tent flap—just to see—and caught herself. Her hand fell limply to her side, "I did the best I could, Alistair," she whispered hoarsely.

Did you? asked a sneering little voice.

Well, what was she supposed to have done? Run off to the Tower of Magi and leave the village defenseless again? It would've taken the party several days to get to the tower—what was to stop Connor from sending another horde of undead to the village while they were gone? Should she have killed the boy outright? Lana shivered at the thought. If Alistair hated her now…

Another night with no sleep. It's not that she wasn't tired it's just…sleep brought dreams. And after Denerim and so many random encounters with darkspawn on their way to Redcliffe…it just seemed easier to stay awake. How did surfacers cope with…this? Falling asleep and never knowing whether or not you would have a good dream or a bad dream? Alistair had told her that there were good dreams to be had as well as bad dreams but she didn't feel like playing that particular game of roulette tonight. Or most other nights.

But Alistair, Ancestors bless him, understood. While everyone else in camp slept on, he always stayed up with her. Sometimes he'd have the liquid chocolate (which Lana suspected that she was forming an addiction to) or some hot tea. Sometimes they'd talk until the sun rose…

(("What are abominations, Alistair?" / "Oh, bad. Very, very bad. Kill-stab-them-immediately type of bad."))

(("Hey, Lana…is it true that dwarven ale can dissolve your stomach lining?" / "Only if you don't eat something first."))

(("You've never seen the night sky before?" / "Well, no, how could I?" / "True that…you aren't, um, y'know, gonna fall up into it or anything." / "…really?"))

(("So…d'you miss it? Orzammar? Rocks, lava, clothing sold in your size?" / "…I did. But I doubt they feel the same way. What about you? Do you miss Redcliffe?" / "Welllllll…I miss waking up every morning to the smell of horse dung, but Chopper makes up for it."))

Sometimes he'd fall asleep himself as the two of them just sat, staring at the fire…

(…and she would watch him sleep and study how the fire caused shadows to dance across his face and wonder if she was falling in love with him or just rebounding from Gorim…)

But he never left her alone.

Until now.

Without thinking, she pulled back her tent flap and looked outside. And yes, there he was sitting and brooding by the campfire, just like he was most every other night. And before she could think, Lana grabbed up a small satchel that lay next to her bedroll and pulled herself out of her tent. Alistair didn't even look up as she approached or when she kneeled down next to him. That was fine by her.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Lana said softly as she stared into the fire herself, "I know that doesn't make up for…anything, really…but I am sorry," she set the satchel next to him and stood back up, "I found this at the castle….thought you might like to have it."

Alistair didn't move.

Lana sighed unhappily and turned to go back to her tent. Well, she'd already lost her home, family and Gorim. What was another friend to the pile? She was Aeducan and would overcome.

Well, overcome all and all tomorrow. Tonight she just wanted to lie down and dwell in feeling heartsick. She'd earned it.

"Where did you find this?"

Lana turned around at the question. Alistair had opened the satchel and was running his thumb over the amulet inside, "The arl's study," she said, "In his desk. Why do you ask?"

But she already knew the answer.

"This was my mother's," Alistair said quietly, "It has to be, even though it isn't broken…but why…" he trailed off.

But why…what? But why wasn't it broken? Because someone had fixed it! But why had she been going through the arl's desk? She hadn't—the drawers had been askew and she tried to righten them. But why had she given it back to him? Because she wanted her friend back!

And now Alistair was looking at her, actually looking at her, and much to her relief, the hatred from earlier is gone. So was the usual mischievous sparkle, but she could take "old" "weary" and "heartbroken" over hatred any day.

"Thank you," he whispered as he slipped the fine silver chain around his neck.

Lana nodded, "You're welcome."

Alistair looked as though he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Lana gave him a moment, and then two more, before heading back to her tent. She was just pulling back the flap when—

"Lana?"

She turned, an eyebrow raised.

Alistair still looked weary, but the hatred was still gone, "Do you have my kettle? Leliana left her tea rations over here if you're interested in…y'know…some tea."

Lana quickly turned back towards her tent so he would not see the relieved smile. Oh, thank the Ancestors… "I'll be right out."


A/N: I'm sorry if this seems choppy and disjointed. My husband has been playing Borderlands all day with the stereo bass on Super Extra Loud, so the moment Alistair and Lady Aeducan start to feel sentimental, I get BOOM!RATTATATATATA!BANG and other types of loud onomatopoeia.

Thank you for all the kind reviews thus far! I'm so happy so many people are enjoying my snippy-series! Gives me the warm fuzzies. ~R.