Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!
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Chapter Nine: Regret
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The wind blows cold against my face, freezing the tears it finds there. I clasp the vial close to my chest, wishing my heart did not have to be so empty. I look up at Mother, who nods encouragement.
You need to have the wind at your back, little fox, she says gently.
Obediently I turn, my long hair whipping around my face in a frenzy as the leaves above me rustle before the force of the gale. Uncorking the vial, I fling its contents out and up. For the barest instant, I see the ashes flicker and shine in the wind, and then they are gone.
He will dance forever with the wind? I whisper.
He will dance to the edge of the world, and then to the stars beyond, she replies. And the stars will always be with you.
I nod, my eyes filling with tears again. Goodbye, my Nehn, my joy, I tell him, until I can join you in the dance.
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.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.
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Since sunset wasn't for a few hours yet, Kalindra decided to check on the Mabari that she had inadvertently aided with her flower. She closed her eyes and took a few moments to orient herself through sound, hoping to hear a cluster of barking since she didn't remember where her feet had taken her the day before. For that matter, she wasn't sure where, exactly, in the camp she currently stood, the tent from which she had emerged being in a place unfamiliar to her. As she took a deep breath and released it, however, she heard no obvious signs of canine habitation. Like it or not, if she wished to see the Mabari, she would need a guide.
And aside from Duncan, there was only one person she knew that was still aliv- Shaking her head quickly, she opened her eyes and began moving towards the camp proper, judging by the bustle of people as they prepared for battle.
She ended up not needing to ask for aid in finding Alistair: she found him not fifty feet from the tent, apparently waiting for her to appear. He pushed himself from the post he'd been leaning on and headed towards her as soon as she came into sight, a look of concern on his face. Kalindra stopped immediately, a cold wave running over her body as his presence brought back all the events of the Joining even more than Duncan's had.
He came to a halt in front of her, silent for a minute. "I- I'm so sorry, Kalindra," he said softly.
She couldn't help it. The pain, the memories, the anger, all focused and centered on this shem, regardless of the fact that he was almost entirely innocent of inflicting any of them. "Why didn't you tell me?" she lashed out.
He winced. "Look, we're not allowed to tell recruits about the true dangers of the Joining. We just can't. The recruitment numbers for the Grey Wardens are low enough as it is already. How many people would volunteer if they knew there was a pretty good chance of dying before getting the title?"
Deep down, she knew he was right, and her anger unjustified. Yet where she couldn't get angry at Duncan, she couldn't let go of it around Alistair. "You saw even more than Duncan what he meant to me. He's the Commander, he has to... to hold himself away from others to fulfill his duties. All leaders need to." A childhood memory surfaced, of the way Slim would look at her mother, and then just as quickly diminished again. "But you- I thought-" She looked down, shutting her eyes tight as she struggled to get herself under control, repeating to herself that this was not the shem's fault. When she'd regained a semblance of control, she managed to lift her face to look at him once more. "You were waiting for me?"
He nodded, though now he looked even more uncomfortable than before. "The Wardens... well, after a Joining, there's usually a need, so we... had a pyre ready. I thought you might like to... say goodbye." He glanced up. "They'll set it to light when the sun peaks. Not too long, now." One of his hands started to reach out, stopping when she flinched back. Letting it fall helplessly, he repeated, "I'm sorry, I truly am. I just thought it might... help."
The sting of unshed tears was overwhelming, but at the same time she was touched he'd sought her out to tell her. Vision blurring, she nodded her head. "I... Yes." Blinking rapidly, she brushed her gloves under her eyes. "Where?"
"Where the Joining took place. It's... tradition." He hesitated for a moment before offering his arm for her to lean on. She regarded it for a second, then looked up at him. "Allow me to do what I can, no matter how small."
After a further moment's consideration, she wrapped her arm around his. "Thank you."
As they walked through the camp, he kept glancing at her, little darting looks that started to unnerve her after a while. Finally, he said, "Someone died in my Joining as well. It was a shock, and... while I wasn't as close to him as you were to Daveth, it helped to see him be granted the respect and dignity that all recruits deserve."
"Even Jory?" she asked. Though she couldn't remember all the words that had been exchanged between Duncan and the oddly weak strongman, she still remembered Jory's blood pooling around her and... "He didn't even try."
"He's not the first to falter before drinking, and he won't be the last. He still volunteered to be a Warden, and was chosen because of his skills and abilities. Regardless of how he met his end, he perished during the Joining. We honor that."
She nodded, not responding as they continued on their way. The glances continued, until finally she couldn't let them pass uncommented any more. "What?" she demanded, pulling her arm from his grip.
"I'm sorry, it's just... When Duncan told me to get the mage, I thought-" He shook his head. "I guess I'm just glad you're alive."
"I wish I could share the sentiment." The words were out before she could stop them, and before he could do more than look startled, she ducked past him and ran the rest of the way.
.~^~.
The Grey Wardens gave her another amulet, one marked with the symbol she remembered from the book Connor had shown her an eternity ago: a griffon. She tried to listen to what the strangers said, these people who were Grey Wardens like herself, but all she felt was numb, and all she heard were words that faded into the wind. Still, she accepted the amulet and placed it around her neck, hoping one day to mean the words of thanks she murmured in response to their congratulations and welcome. Alistair, though he did arrive shortly before the torch was laid to the wood, did not approach her, choosing to keep his distance. She was guiltily grateful for that. Whatever it was that set her on edge around him did not seem to diminish as time passed. As soon as she could, she slipped away, clutching a small cloth full of ashes tightly in her hand.
Swiftly she made her way to the bridge just outside Ostagar, moving past soldiers that attempted greetings without acknowledging them, until she stood at the point where the wind was sharpest and the view most spectacular. Facing away from the wind, she stood on the edge of the precipice and closed her eyes. A part of her wondered what it would be like to take that step to where no ground would catch her foot, but another part still refused to grant her enemies and her pain that victory. So instead she forced herself to revel in the feeling of the wind against her, letting the chill wash over her as pure and as ruthless as water from a stream in winter. Her hand stole up and removed the bind that held enough of her hair in check to allow her vision, and the wind picked up its length and played with it, introducing a chaos to her tresses that would be difficult to undo.
She didn't care. Nothing mattered at this moment, not herself, not her past, not her future. The coldness numbed her, divorced her from everything, and allowed her to forget for the moment the significance of the amulet around her neck and the small cloth and its burden in her hand.
Still, the cold could not be ignored forever. As the chill penetrated even past the leather and chainmail of her armor, she brought her hand up, scrutinizing the tightly rolled cloth. Daveth... reduced to a small bit of smudge and dirt. She remembered a similar moment in her past, save that she had stood on a hill outside Denerim and clutched her mother's ashes in her hand, waiting for the moment within to tell her when she would be ready to release them into the wind.
The moment did not arrive for her mother until a year after her death, when, with the blood of her mother's final murderer still wet on her face, she had scaled Fort Drakon - his place of employment - and stood on its ramparts. Then, as now, the chill wind had washed over her, freezing the blood into a reddish brown mark and cleansing her sorrow as she had finally released her mother's ashes to wander free upon the wind. She had descended triumphant, her fifth and, she had thought, final mark etched into her face.
And now she stood on top of another human-made monstrosity, the signs of her mother's expiation marred by the evil of yet another shem, and more alone than she had ever been in her life. The tears rose in her eyes and this time she allowed them to flow, trusting in the curtain of black hair snapping in the wind to conceal her weakness from the eyes of those around her.
Her hand tightened around the ashes, wondering if she should release him, to dance an eternal freedom on the wind... without her. She had no one to blame for his death, aside from those that she now counted herself among, and the anger that had consumed her pain during the hunt after her mother's murder could not be used this time to force the pain down, or redirect it. For a moment, she was back in that room with the Bann and his arrogance, with Nelaros and his last gasp, and then again watching Daveth's body pitch forward. She staggered, falling to her knees at the edge of the bridge, and tried to find yet another reason to not simply... fall.
The answer came in a simple sound, close to her ear: "Whuff!"
It caught her by surprise, of course, and she turned her head to stare at the Mabari standing next to her with something akin to shock. "Wha—"
Her word was interrupted by the sensation of a long, warm, and wet tongue trying to get to her face through the hair. Instinctively she fended off the enthusiastic hound with a firm "No!" The Mabari took the rebuff in good grace, sitting back on his haunches and panting with his tongue lolling to one side.
Still, it was precisely the kind of interruption she'd needed - something that was alive but demanded nothing more than what she was capable of giving. "Fen'len," she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. The Mabari barked, tail wagging and shaking his entire body in his enthusiasm, and she laughed at his apparent eagerness. "And how did you come to be here?"
"Ran out of the kennels as soon as I opened the door for his feeding," the familiar voice of the kennel master said. He sounded a trifle out of breath, as if he had been running, and when she looked up at him, he was red-faced but smiling. "I should have known that he would make right for you. Night before last night he started howling fit to bring the moon down, wouldn't quiet for any reason. I thought maybe something had happened to you, but here you are, right as rain." He looked down at the panting Mabari, then back to Kalindra. "Can you take him? Will the Wardens allow that? He's obviously bonded to you now."
She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, bonded?" The little contact with Mabari she had had in Denerim had been mostly when they were away from their masters, and limited to making sure they were neutralized without harm to them. The Mabari barked and butted his head against her chest, then sat and began to pant again, looking at her with a gaping grin.
"Oh, well, see, this isn't a typical Mabari hound, he's a specially trained war hound. As I told you, his former master was an Ash Warrior, and this one is ready to fight, make no mistake. He wouldn't have picked you if you weren't ready to fight, too - darkspawn or no." He walked over to the Mabari, who now just barked in acknowledgment rather than growling at the man, and scratched his head affectionately. "I don't think he's coming back with me now. I'll hold his stall for him in case you need it, but I think you're stuck with him."
Again, the hound barked, turning to look at Kalindra with what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. She sighed. "I'll speak with Duncan." A happy whuff delayed her next question, but when he'd subsided, she said, "What was his name?"
"Oh, only the mabari's hum- ah, companion can determine that. I think he likes the name you've given him already. What was it? Fenlen?"
"Fen'len isn't a name, it's a-" A whine interrupted her, and she glanced at the dog as he tilted his head and lowered his ears. "Oh, all right, Fen'len it is. You just want to be a wolf child, you silly mutt."
He barked happily, then lapped his tongue over her face from chin to forehead.
"Oh, and he's a friendly one, so be careful. I'd carry a cloth at all times if I were you." The kennel master's grin was obvious even in his voice as he reached into the pouch at his waist and withdrew a handkerchief. "Here you go. Least I could do for you helping me save the little fellow."
Gratefully she took the cloth into her empty hand, still acutely aware of the small pouch with its ashes in her left hand. Quickly wiping her face, she looked at the cloth a bit ruefully. "Thanks. I guess I have a lot to learn on how to take care of him."
"Oh, a Mabari's at least as intelligent as your average tax collector," the man assured her. "Just make sure he has a place to sleep and food to eat, and he won't need much more attention than that. Although..." he glanced back at the camp. "If you'd like to come with me, I could give you some things that would be useful."
She swallowed harshly, not truly wanting to return to camp yet. Still, when she glanced up, she discovered to her astonishment that the sun was already starting to acquire the deep pink, red and orange of sunset. How long was I out here? Her stomach growled in reproach at her, and she stood. Too quickly, apparently, and her hand reached out to grab something as she fought a wave of dizziness, finding a handful of fur. She smiled and moved her hand over the Mabari's back, becoming accustomed to the sensation. "I-I never thought I would have a Mabari."
"Most don't," the kennel master noted as they headed towards Ostagar. "Nobles, warriors - not scrubs like you and me." He grinned. "Still, you'll never meet a more loyal companion or faithful friend than a Mabari. Sweeter smelling ones, maybe." Fen'len looked up at him and growled, then whuffed and trotted ahead of them, heading to the pens. "Looks like he's impatient to get on with it. Tell you what, I'll go on ahead and get everything ready. Just a few cloths, a brush or two, and a sander for his nails and all that, for when you know you won't be fighting for a while." He looked nervously towards the Wilds. "Though I don't know when that will happen, honestly." With a final nod, he picked up into a shambling run, leaving her to make a more leisurely way to the pens.
A few minutes later, she and her new friend were heading to the back of the ruins, a kerchief and small pouch with the ashes tucked safely in amidst the brushes and combs and metal bits in the new pouch at her waist. She also had a new appreciation for the kennel master. Not scrubs like you and me... I wouldn't mind talking with him after the battle. After the battle...
"I guess not all shems are bad," she remarked to the hound, seeking to distract herself. Fen'len's ears perked up and he barked, almost overpowering the sound of her stomach growling. She glanced at the sky. Sunset wasn't quite upon them, and she didn't think she would do any good to the reputation of the Wardens if she fainted halfway through the meeting. Looking down at him, she said, "So, think you can find some food for me?"
He barked and took off, too fast for her to follow. She stood rather awkwardly near a tree, waiting to see if he would come back, and was about ready to go searching for herself when the Mabari came dashing back, depositing something in front of her and then wagging his tail expectantly.
Raising an eyebrow, she picked up the bag he'd brought over and opened it, peering in hesitantly. To her surprise, she found a flask, some bread, and even some travel meat. "Ah... thank you, Fen'len." She looked inside again as the Mabari danced a little circle around her, then asked, "And who did you take this from?"
The Mabari suddenly became very interested in his paws, deciding it was a perfect time to start digging.
"I see. You stole it." She heaved a sigh, hoping that it hadn't been anyone important, then sat under the tree and began to eat regardless. She was starving. The Mabari moved to her side, settling down beside her with a sigh, then put his head down on his paws and waited patiently.
She gauged her meal to finish with what she thought was true sunset. Her stomach had been a trifle delicate of late, and she didn't want to overwhelm it. Resolutely she pushed the thought of why it had been upset aside – that pain promised to be too overwhelming – as she chewed her way through her meal, pleased to discover that the flask contained a light, if inferior, wine. When the sky was just dark enough that denial of sunset was impossible, she tucked the flask into her pouch and stood, folding the bag and tucking it into her belt as well.
Feeling much better, she snapped her fingers for Fen'len and headed towards the War Council 'room'. At least the worst has already happened.
.~^~.
"So, just the two of us, then?" Alistair ventured as they moved through the busy camp to the bridge over the chasm. Fen'len barked, and Alistair coughed. "Ah, three of us, I mean?"
She checked her weapons in their sheaths, not answering him immediately. Her thoughts were still mulling over the meeting, wondering at the men who had been handed the task of keeping everyone alive. I don't particularly like either one of them. Granted, her first meeting with Cailan had left a poor taste in her mouth, but she couldn't quite place why she didn't like Loghain.
"Loghain… He doesn't seem to like Wardens much," she ventured.
"General Loghain?" He seemed a bit surprised by the observation. "I don't think it matters whether or not he likes us, really. Duncan trusts him to help us defeat the Blight, and I think it a wise decision. General Loghain has been fighting and winning battles and wars longer than I've been alive. It's to Loghain we should be looking to win this battle, not the King." He looked around a bit guiltily. "You… don't have to necessarily tell anyone I said that, all right?"
"Oh, I agree with you," she assured him.
"Well, that's a first."
She looked at him sharply, relaxing when she saw the small smile playing at his lips. He wasn't her ideal companion – she would have preferred to be with Duncan on a mission like this - but Alistair was keeping his physical distance and… well, treating her just like a companion.
Like he had all along.
Pushing the thought away before the guilt could properly settle in, she went back to the topic at hand. "He didn't seem to like the King much, either. They didn't seem to agree on anything. Why does Cailan even keep him as a General if they dislike each other so much? He—" doesn't seem wise enough to ignore what he doesn't like seemed a bit too impolitic to say around a human, so she substituted, "—doesn't seem like the kind of person to listen to someone who disagrees with him so loudly."
"Well, even if the King," she noted the hint of reproach in his voice at Kalindra referring Cailan by his name, "isn't enamored of Teyrn Loghain, the armies of Ferelden are. He's kept them alive when a lot of other generals might not have been able to do the same. Besides, Teyrn Loghain and King Maric - Cailan's father - were quite close. Between him being the Hero of River Dane and Teyrn, and a friend of the family and father of the Queen—"
"Anora? I… Yes, I do remember that now." Cailan's marriage had been quite the affair in Denerim, especially for Slim and his crew. They'd made an obscene profit at the time pilfering from the visiting dignitaries, and she'd been so occupied with her marks she hadn't paid that much attention to the politics and personages at the time. She could count the times she'd seen Anora on one hand, but it was still more than she'd seen Cailan – and neither seemed to involve themselves with elves or the Alienage at all. "I can see why it would be hard for Cailan to set Loghain aside, then."
"Next to the King, Teyrn Loghain's the most important man in the Kingdom," Alistair said seriously. "I can't say I've ever seen them together, though, and certainly never before I came to Ostagar. They do seem to have a bit of a… personality conflict, I guess you could say?"
"I wonder if it's always been like that, or if it's mostly because Cailan's a vainglorious—" She forced the words to halt, remembering that she stood next to someone who likely didn't have the same viewpoint of those in power as she did. "Ah, improperly enthusiastic about battle."
He managed to hold back his snort, putting on a creditable mock-stern look. "He is the King, Kalindra. We should at least pretend to ignore his eccentricities. It's the least we owe him as his subjects."
Her smile faded as she remembered what the King was to the Alienage: a distant figure who never interfered when the guards harassed them, when hard workers were crippled by their employers, or when the merchants who would never dare price-gouge the shems tripled the price of food for the knife-ears to make sure they would get a profit off of their wares. Whatever hardships Alistair may have endured – and she was beginning to wonder at this point if he'd suffered any – he'd never had to watch an uncle starve himself to death to feed the children living under his roof or hold a friend's hand while her broken arm got set after 'showing disrespect' to a shem. Vaughan had been the worst of the lot, but he was by no means the only noble or authority figure that had hurt the ones she loved.
She didn't realize she'd halted, lost in her thoughts, until he heard Alistair's voice ask, "Kalindra? We're on a bit of a tight schedule—"
"I know!" she snapped. Ignoring his shocked expression, she moved past him as she whistled for Fen'len. Better to just keep ahead of him for now, and let the memories fade away…
The Tower awaited.
.~^~.
She pressed a hand to her side in an attempt to stem the bloodflow as she set the torch's flame to the strange kindling that Alistair insisted was the beacon. As the dry, treated wood flared into colorful life, she dropped the torch and danced back, covering her eyes to protect them from the sudden glare of the fire. Turning away from the conflagration, she blinked to clear her vision as Alistair closed the staring eyes of the mage with a sigh. "He's gone, then?" she asked. Fen'len trotted over to the supine figure and nudged at it with his nose, as if asking him to get up.
With a curt nod, the warrior rose and sheathed his sword in one smooth motion. "I think it was that last part," he said in a weary voice. "I can't imagine anyone could survive getting crushed by an ogre, even in full plate armor - and he had only robes, the poor bastard. Sad, really. We never even knew his name." Stumbling to Fen'len's side, he patted the dog's head and murmured wearily, "Come on, boy. There's nothing we can do for him."
Fen'len whined, then settled down on his haunches and raised his muzzle, raising an eerie howl into the night. Kalindra stared at the sight, wondering if the eldritch sensation that crept over her was because of the almost picturesque way the moonlight filtered through the window or simply lightheadedness due to blood loss. Uncertain what to say, she said the first thing that sprang into her mind. "I wonder if it was ogres Duncan was talking about when he told me there were some foes where my tree-climbing would be an advantage."
Alistair chuckled wearily as he walked towards her. "You can ask him after the battle, but I'd imagine that is precisely what he meant. So, you survived your first encounter with an ogre. Yay?"
Her laugh was cut off by a gasp of pain, and she dug her hand harder into her side. His face immediately grew concerned, and he stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch her. Retreating hurriedly, she said, "I'm fine. I just… I guess it's a good thing we don't have to rush down to join the battle."
"Of course. Right." She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the thinning of his lips that he didn't like her withdrawal, but outwardly he only shrugged and turned to the beacon. "I just hope we got that lit in time. Loghain was counting on us, and I'd hate to think we failed him or the King. You saw that line of enemies waiting to attack."
She nodded, moving to kneel next to Fen'len, who had finished his tribute to the mage and was now watching the flames of the beacon. "Yes." It had seemed impossible, a long line of torches that spread across the battlefield and back up over the hill. She'd tried to reconcile it in her mind with the plan that she'd watched Cailan and Loghain outline in that final meeting before the battle, and failed. Hopefully, Loghain wouldn't do the same. Shaking herself from her reverie, she turned and looked at her fellow Warden.
He was staring into the flame of the beacon, the light making odd shadows on his face. His gaze was distant above his frown, and she wondered what he was thinking, and if his thoughts aligned with her own. His next words confirmed her guess. "Duncan… he'll be all right, won't he?"
Before she could respond, they both heard the door at the foot of the stairs slam open, and a chill raked through her body. Without thought both of the Wardens had their blades out and ready as Fen'len growled and barked, but the first attack of the Darkspawn came not by blade but through the air. Kalindra spun helplessly before the onslaught of arrows, noticing both she and Alistair were targeted by the rain of iron, and managed to at least fall on her back to avoid digging the arrows in deeper.
A sense of the macabre swept over her with the blackness. Apparently, the worst hadn't happened yet.
