Alistair awoke with with a startled cry, his heart pounding and the archdemon's roar echoing in his ears. He blinked at the sloped slides of his tent as shadows moved across it in time with the creaking sway of the branches overhead, cast in relief by the flickering of the campfire. It was warm within his waxed-canvas shelter and he lingered long beyond the moment when awareness returned, dreading going out into the cold night to take his shift at watch.
He wasn't certain what time it was, but since he was awake, he decided he might as well go spell Rìona and let her get what sleep she could. Today she'd stumbled, nodding off on her feet as they trudged their way west toward Redcliffe. Considering that after her Joining she should be less likely to suffer fatigue, that worried him. He wondered if her nightmares of the archdemon were so severe that she wasn't sleeping well. Or perhaps it was because they had five people trying to cover six watch shifts, and she insisted that as their leader it was her place to take the extra watch shift every other day. Which meant that alone out of all of them, she never got a full night of rest.
Thinking of his fellow Grey Warden and single surviving comrade, he frowned unhappily. They had been getting along well until Lothering, the first awkward overtures of friendship having been made and accepted. Alistair had been revealing to her his—admittedly limited—knowledge about the Grey Wardens, and they'd shared some tentative confidences about themselves and their pasts. He'd told her about his life at the monastery and his childhood in Redcliffe, and he'd come close to disclosing his family history once or twice, knowing it was only a matter of time before he needed to reveal it to her. She had discussed some of her life back in Highever, though she didn't say much of the deaths of her family, other than to refer to them in passing when she sympathized with Alistair for the loss of his Grey Warden brothers. Things had been going just fine.
Until Lothering.
Alistair practically cringed with shame, thinking of the way he'd dumped the responsibility for leading them upon her. But she couldn't understand. She couldn't know how many times he'd been told that being in charge, or making decisions, was the absolute last thing he should ever attempt to do. She couldn't know just how precarious it had been for him with the fine line he had to tread. Had he been seen as taking initiative, or doing anything other than what he was ordered to do, he might have ended up imprisoned, or even dead. And now, with all that had happened since Ostagar, it was more important than ever before that he not be seen as a potential leader.
But he'd chosen the worst possible time to do it. If he'd just opened his eyes a few minutes earlier and taken time to notice what had clearly happened in that room at the Lothering inn, he might have at least held off for a better time. Even with his purely theoretical knowledge of carnal matters, it had been impossible to misunderstand the situation, despite her denials. After what she had been through that day, for Alistair just to foist leadership upon her as he had... His timing was truly atrocious.
Things hadn't been the same between them since. She refused to talk about what had happened with Loghain's soldiers, and Alistair supposed it really wasn't any of his business, anyway. She merely clenched her bruised jaw and grimly took the reins of command into her hands, leading them to a freehold outside Lothering where she had found lodging for them in a barn. There, another apostate mage named Bethany had healed her injuries. Since then, Alistair could muster nothing more than the occasional solicitous inquiry into her well-being, which Rìona quickly brushed off. She no longer asked him about his past, or questioned him about being a Grey Warden. She no longer offered him insight into her own life, either. As the days of their journey passed, she grew ever more terse and distant.
Flipping back his blanket and bracing himself against the chill, Alistair donned the padded woolen arming doublet that went under his armor. He did not, however, attempt to put on the armor itself except for the chainmail hauberk. It turned out one of the soldiers Rìona had driven off in Lothering had left behind a set of veridium chainmail that fit Alistair fairly well. As a result, he had finally gotten something better than his rusty gray iron splintmail. The chainmail was easier to don but putting it on was such an awkward enough process to accomplish wide awake in the daylight; attempting it in a dark tent with his eyes still heavy with sleep would just be ridiculous.
To that end, a strange sort of platonic intimacy was developing among their company as they traveled. Rìona and Leliana often helped one another with their armor before they broke camp in the mornings, and one of them—more frequently Leliana as his fellow Grey Warden continued to be withdrawn—usually helped Alistair with the harder to reach buckles and ties. Sten, the qunari prisoner they had rescued from the cage in Lothering, disdained all help, which really surprised no one. Finding armor to fit him would have been a nightmare, but thankfully his gear—except, oddly enough, for any sort of sword or weapon—had been stored in a chest in the Lothering chantry and the revered mother had given it to Rìona along with the key to his cage. The revered mother said the templars had reported he'd been without a weapon when he was found.
Alistair had been used to receiving this sort of aid when traveling in the company of his fellow Grey Wardens, but none of them had been female. He found himself struggling with an awareness that he hadn't often had to deal with before, either in the monastery or with the Grey Wardens. With Leliana it was easier to dismiss, since she'd been a cloistered sister, but with Rìona it was a bit more difficult. Which made him feel wretched because it was also extremely inappropriate: not only was she a comrade-in-arms, but considering what she'd been through in Lothering—despite her denials—those were the absolute last thoughts he should be thinking.
Refusing to let his mind go down that path, he gathered up his shield and the new sword they'd been given by the Chantry in Lothering as payment for performing a number of odd jobs posted on the Chanter's Board, which he had dubbed Oathkeeper. Leliana was capable of using a longsword, but was more proficient with a bow, and Sten preferred a greatsword, which they had scrounged up among the gear of some of the bandits they had dispatched, so the blade had fallen to Alistair. He hadn't mentioned that it resembled the sword Duncan had carried, but Rìona had caught him staring at it and he suspected she knew.
All told, despite the terrible things that had happened there, Lothering had been a profitable stop for them in many ways. It had netted them two new—admittedly bizarre—companions to aid in their efforts to stop the Blight and several pieces of armor and weapons that were better than they had possessed before.
Still, Alistair wasn't sure it had been worth the cost.
He pushed aside his tent flap and saw Rìona sitting huddled under a blanket on a log by the fire. Unlike Alistair, she wore no padded garments beneath her close-fitting leather with its bits of finely-wrought chain mesh, merely a linen undershirt. Her arms were covered by rerebraces and couters and vambraces, but beneath that strapped war skirt her legs were bare. Most nights he found her pacing around on her watch shift for warmth. Now, however, her chin was resting on her chest, and her eyes were half-lidded and drooping. They sprang open as he approached, a worried frown creasing his brow.
"It's not time for your watch yet," she said as he sat down beside her.
"Nightmares," he shrugged, and she nodded in understanding. "Besides, it looks like you could use some rest."
Rìona waved off his concern with a dismissive flap of her hand. "I'm fine."
"So you keep saying. But by this point after my Joining, I felt like I could march for days and not need sleep, and the past couple days you've been nodding off on your feet."
"It's nothing, really." She shook her head but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Maybe not, but I'm still concerned," he insisted. "I know you don't want to talk about what... happened in Lothering, but if you've been injured, or—" Alistair's voice trailed of lamely as she turned a glare on him.
"What happened?" she hissed.
Alistair set his jaw determinedly, fighting the urge to back away from her ire. "Yes."
"Just what exactly is it you assume happened, Alistair?" Rìona asked softly, something cold and venomous in her tone.
He blushed, thanking the firelight for disguising it, and stammered. "Well, I... it seemed pretty obvious, given the state you were in."
"What seemed obvious?"
Maker, was she going to make him say it?
"That you were, um... im—imposed upon."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Andraste's tits! Your mind is lurid enough to imagine it but Maker forbid you should actually speak the word aloud. You believe I was raped, despite the fact that I already told you I was not."
"Well... yes," he muttered.
"Tell me," she asked with deceptive casualness, "Do you think I've never been fucked before?"
His mouth fell open, and his face flamed again at that word. Sweet Andraste, he was
stammering again, groping awkwardly for a response. "I... um... I hadn't given it much thought," he said finally. That was a lie, but it was better than admitting he'd spent enough time dwelling on the subject to have formulated a theory that, as the pampered daughter of a nobleman, she'd been all but cloistered pending marriage to someone of her station and was therefore as inexperienced as he himself was. Or that she had been, at least, until Lothering.
"Well allow me to assure you, I'm not some chaste or delicate damsel in need of rescue and coddling," she said sharply. "Even if I had been 'imposed upon', which I was not, it changes nothing. What happened in Lothering was that I took a near hopeless situation and turned it to my advantage. They were so preoccupied with the idea of sporting with me that they let down their guard, sparing me and possibly you the ordeal of swinging from Loghain's gallows. I was able to translate their distraction to victory. If you make it out that I've been irreparably damaged by it, or that I'm some fragile, traumatized victim, you take that victory from me and I will not have that!"
"That's not what I was trying to do!" Alistair protested, affronted.
"Isn't it?" she glared at him, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.
"Look," he said impatiently. "All I'm saying is that as a Grey Warden, you should have more energy and endurance, not less, and if you don't, it's because something isn't right."
Abruptly her shoulders slumped and Rìona sighed. "I know. And I thank you for your concern, but honestly, I am well on the mend from my run-in with Loghain's soldiers. There's no lasting injury, I promise you. And I'm... sorry I snapped. I understand you mean well, Alistair. I'll be fine, really."
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that those were the words with which they had begun the conversation—they were no more informative now than they had been then—but he bit back the impulse. Her apology made this the closest thing they'd had to an amicable conversion since they'd left Lothering.
A long, pregnant silence fell between them, rife with the sense that there were things unsaid, things yearning to be spoken. But then, Alistair mused, it was rather unreasonable of him to expect that she would disclose everything when he was being less than forthcoming himself, wasn't it?
He opened his mouth to speak, on the verge of putting an end to his share of the withholding, at least, only to find himself saying something else entirely. "Now that I'm awake, you may as well get some rest. Sometimes I forget you're not used to this life, the travel and sleeping rough. Maybe that's why you're so tired all the time."
Her answer was barely audible as Rìona stared down at her feet. "Yes. I'm sure that must be it."
"You'll get used to it, in time. Why don't you let me take the extra watch shift tomorrow night? Don't give me that about you being the leader; our entire command structure isn't going to disintegrate just because you didn't take a watch shift one night."
Rìona rose and offered him a halfhearted smile. "Very well, then, I shan't argue. A full night's sleep will be nice. Thank you, and good night."
Her shoulders drooped wearily beneath the blanket she had wrapped around her as a cloak as she shuffled toward her tent. Alistair settled in on the fallen tree-trunk, frowning at the tent flap through which she had disappeared. Something wasn't right, he thought again, fretfully stroking the rune-marked ring he wore on one hand with the opposite thumb.
He didn't understand her, and couldn't fathom why Duncan had recruited her. Maker knew she was lovely, and a very pleasant person with whom to converse—when she wasn't being prickly, at least. Her skills with her bow were solid enough, and had improved since her Joining, but he'd seen her spar with Leliana and she was barely a step over mediocre with her daggers. Certainly that wasn't the sort of fighting expertise Duncan normally looked for in his recruits. She was a capable leader, he was relieved to discover, but that wasn't really surprising. She'd been raised to rule over people, after all, and the Couslands had a good name for managing their estates well; freeholders always spoke well of Highever. As a noblewoman, she also knew the ins and outs of Fereldan politics, something at which Alistair was completely—and quite deliberately—inept. Perhaps that was why Duncan had recruited her. It certainly wasn't for her vigor or stamina.
But then, she hadn't seemed quite so easily fatigued on their mission into the Korcari Wilds before her Joining. In fact, he'd been impressed with how well she'd handled herself in spite of her pampered upbringing and fighting inexperience. Ser Jory had begun pleading for a break long before she had admitted to any weariness. When exactly had her energy started to flag? Before or after her beating in Lothering? She'd been badly injured in the Tower of Ishal; one of that last wave of darkspawn had been charging her with a mace when Alistair went down, and Flemeth and Morrigan had both made mention of a head injury as being the reason she'd been unconscious for nearly three days. They had reached Lothering over two weeks after the battle at Ostagar, though. Surely she would have recovered fully by then, and certainly by now.
Perplexed, Alistair continued to stare at her tent as though willing it to provide answers. The tent, however, was not particularly forthcoming, and Alistair promised himself he'd keep a closer eye on his comrade in the days to come.
Sten relieved him for the third watch shift, and Alistair slept soundly until he heard the sounds of Leliana humming and Morrigan grumbling about something. Rising reluctantly, he stepped out of his tent to see Rìona walking back into the clearing where they were camped, her face pale and tinged a greenish hue and her mouth drawn into a grimace as though plagued by a foul taste. She drank deeply from the water skin, but turned away with a shudder from the salted pork Leliana offered and nibbled upon a piece of bread instead. She would not look up so that he could get a good look at her face, but Alistair was almost certain her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
She was silent and withdrawn during their walk that day, her eyes downcast. She ate a hearty supper and retired immediately to her tent, taking Alistair up on his offer to take her watch shift for the night. Leliana was clearly startled by the haste of Rìona's retreat into her tent; usually as their leader she made a point of checking in with everyone each night, getting to know them and making sure that all was well with each of them in turn. There were no such pleasantries this evening, however. She didn't even take the time to visit and play with her mabari as she always did.
He caught Morrigan looking at Rìona's tent with a perturbed expression before the witch turned and retreated to her own lean-to shelter, which she had erected away from where the rest of them were encamped.
His watch shift fell last that night, and so he was awake when the others began stirring the next morning. He had already used some of the oats they had purchased in Lothering to start a porridge simmering—much to Leliana's shuddering dismay—and was warming slices of salted pork on a rock at the edge of the firepit when Rìona emerged. He saw her turn green as she inhaled the aroma of the sizzling meat and she dashed for the edge of the clearing, unable even to make it fully out of sight before she bent behind a tree, retching upon the ground.
He heard Leliana give a soft gasp and turned to see her staring after his fellow Warden in shock. The minstrel-turned-lay sister grabbed up a water skin and a heel of bread and followed Rìona without another word. Alistair watched as she crouched beside Rìona, wrapping a soothing arm around the young noblewoman's shaking shoulders. Presently they returned to the campfire, though Rìona stayed well upwind of the cooking salt pork as she wiped her wet face on the back of her hands.
Alistair opened his mouth and she immediately glared at him. "Do not ask if I'm all right."
Unable to string together a series of words that wasn't in some way a paraphrase of that exact inquiry, Alistair said nothing.
In ideal conditions, traveling on the main roads, the journey from Lothering to Redcliffe would have taken about four days. But they were avoiding the roads, in case Loghain's troops were hunting for them, and in addition to the uphill climb, there were places where the rains had made the earth boggy, so the trip would likely take them well over a week. As they drew nearer to the town on the southern shore of Lake Calenhad, Alistair found himself growing more anxious. Not only was he concerned over the news of Arl Eamon's illness, he was now thinking it might be worth suggesting that Rìona be seen by a healer. Not that there was likely to be a healing mage in Redcliffe, but perhaps at least there might be an apothecary or physician.
He regretted shrugging off the burden of leading them and laying it upon her more than ever. Rìona was unwell, that much was certain; if she got any worse, she'd be in no condition to lead them at all. He was going to have to find a way to make himself start shouldering some more of that responsibility, at least until she started feeling better.
He had expected another day of withdrawn silence from his fellow Warden, but after they broke camp and were underway, her mood seemed, if not to brighten, then at least to approach something akin to calm resignation. The change became apparent when they paused for the midday meal. He saw Morrigan approach Rìona, though he was too far away to hear what they said to one another. The two had often spoken together since Morrigan had come out of the Korcari Wilds in their company. Alistair couldn't fathom what they had to talk about, especially given how prone to irascibility the witch was, but Rìona spent no less time getting to know Morrigan than she had any of the rest of their company. Still, this was the first time he'd seen the apostate mage take the initiative in starting a conversation.
Whatever Morrigan said to her, Rìona shook her head in what was clearly a denial. Looking put out, the witch argued, but Rìona again apparently refused whatever Morrigan was proposing. Something resembling peace came over his fellow Warden's expression as she did so. She spoke softly to Morrigan, and Alistair noted the increasing frustration with which Morrigan received her words. The witch's reply was sharp enough for him to make out.
"You are being a fool!" she spat and stalked away from Rìona, who stared pensively after her, then sighed and turned away.
Taking his courage in both hands, Alistair approached her. "What was that about?"
"Nothing. Morrigan was merely offering me a potion."
"You know I'm not overflowing with trust where Morrigan is concerned, but if it will make you feel better, wouldn't it be a better idea to just take it?"
Rìona smiled gently and shrugged. "Perhaps I should. But I won't, and I have my reasons for that. Don't worry, Alistair. I'll be well enough."
It was a strange turnaround, watching the young noblewoman go from such distress to an almost contented state, if not actual joy. He was still puzzling over her moods when he ducked into his tent that evening. When he jolted awake from his nightmare hours later to find she hadn't awoken him to take his watch shift, his confusion returned full force.
He emerged expecting to find her asleep but her eyes were wide open, her hands folded over her abdomen, as she stared off into the campfire with a slight smile on her face.
"Why didn't you get me up for my watch?" he asked.
"Is it that late already?" Rìona asked, blinking distractedly at the sky. "I'm sorry. I must have lost track of time while I was thinking. Maker, it's almost time for third watch, isn't it?"
He found himself once more speaking the stupidest, and possibly most oft-repeated, words in his repertoire. "Are you—"
"All right?" she said, turning that distant smile upon him. "Yes, I rather think I shall be."
Finally it was Alistair who looked away, unsure what to say and wary of provoking her ire again. When she made no effort to go to her tent and claim some sleep for herself, he darted a cautious sideways glance in her direction. She was staring into the fire once more, that strange half-smile still upon her face. Seeing it, Alistair was struck by how lovely she was. It was easier to ignore that fact when she was being irritable and snappish, but now, cast in the vermilion glow of the campfire, it was all too noticeable. Her narrow chin and high cheekbones made her look fragile, but he'd seen her fight: there was steel in her, hidden beneath all that softly glowing, delicate ivory skin. Somehow that made her all the more attractive.
Under the weight of his gaze, she turned her attention back to him, and something in her smile changed. The way her eyes narrowed and her lips curved up was knowing, almost predatory, as though she was well aware of what he'd been thinking. Suddenly Alistair felt uneasy.
The tip of her tongue touched her upper lip for a long, thoughtful moment as she cocked her head to one side and stared at him, squinting as though studying him closely. He was on the verge of making a joke to break the suddenly-threatening silence when she finally spoke.
"Sten should be awake for his turn at watch soon, and I find I'm not at all tired for once. Perhaps I'm being forward, but would you care to join me in my tent?"
Alistair choked, coughing as he stared at her in alarm. "What?" He cleared his throat, trying to bring his voice down to a somewhat more dignified, or at least masculine, register. "I mean... your tent? Are you serious?"
"Yes," she replied casually, as though she'd offered him a cup of tea rather than... that. "You'll forgive me, but you remind me of someone I've been thinking about a great deal tonight, and I find I really would rather not pass the night alone."
"I don't—! Why would you—?" Alistair ran a hand over his hair, pulling on the braided queue behind his head in frustration. "Maker's blood, your moods are going to be the death of me, I swear it!"
Rìona blinked at him, surprised by his sudden vehemence. "I beg your pardon?"
"Ever since Lothering you've barely wanted to hear from me, and now you're asking me something like this?" He stared at her incredulously. "I mean, you're a beautiful girl—woman—and I'm sure there are many men who would jump at a chance like this, and maybe I'm mad for not doing so myself, but... I rather think I would like it to mean something."
Then it was Rìona's turn to stare, her eyes wide with astonishment. "You've never—"
Alistair cut her off before she could complete her sentence and put the seal on his humiliation. "Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?"
"Never been with a woman," she said bluntly, giving him a slightly quelling look.
Alistair groaned, looking up at the sky and hoping the firelight disguised his blush. "Fine, then. No, I've never. Life in the Chantry isn't exactly suited for rambunctious boys, you know."
"Andraste's mercy!" she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I suppose I should have guessed. But you were recruited, what? Seven, eight months ago? All that time at the Warden compound in Denerim and you never found the opportunity?"
"Well, it's not something I take lightly, right?" he retorted, feeling his shoulders stiffen defensively. "I'd rather like to think I'm trying to be a gentleman. I mean, wouldn't you want a gentleman to court you... if you were to be courted, that is?"
She shook her head again, something bitter tightening the line of her lips. "I... suppose that would be an interesting change of pace. Well. Forget I mentioned anything, Alistair. I'm sorry, I really don't know what has come over me tonight."
"I suppose you've been... courted a lot."
Her eyes grew distant. "Not really, even if sometimes it seems that way. Though, comparatively speaking..."
"Yes, yes." Alistair rolled his eyes as she offered him a teasing smile. "I guess it was too much to hope you wouldn't make fun of me about it."
"I'm not making fun, Alistair, truly," Rìona said sincerely. "I suppose it's all a bit gallant, even. Yours just... isn't a mindset to which I'm terribly accustomed."
"I thought you noblewomen were supposed to have been brought up all... dainty and demure!"
"Oh, you might be surprised at the level of decadence to be found amongst the nobility," she murmured, something sad chasing across her face.
"Then again, perhaps not," he corrected, drawing a deep, hissing breath between clenched teeth. "I mean, I told you how I was a bastard, right? How my mother was a serving girl in Castle Redcliffe and the arl took me in after she died?"
Rìona nodded. "Yes."
"Well, what I didn't mention at the time—and I guess you really ought to know this—is that my father was King Maric."
She stared at him. Stared, with her shocked expression and wide, round eyes, her mouth open in a soft O of amazement.
And then she began to laugh.
Confused, Alistair watched as she laughed; loud, ringing peels of merriment echoed through the clearing, until he heard Leliana begin to grumble inside her tent. Tears began to stream down her face as she clutched her middle, giggling hysterically.
She was mad, Alistair thought glumly, as a growl emitted from Sten's tent. That's all there was to it.
"So!" She wiped at her cheeks while gasping for air. "You're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"
He didn't even have a chance to respond with something witty before she doubled over with another bout of laughter.
It was some time before she was able to draw her next breath, and when she did, she asked, "You are Cailan's half-brother?"
"Yesss..." Alistair answered slowly.
Her shoulders jerked with restrained laughter. "Of course you are!" she cried, and then she was off again.
Alistair sighed.
Absolutely barking mad.