Chapter Ten: Imprints and Dependency

'So can we do this? Can we go to Arl Eamon and the other people in these treaties and form an army?'

The watery sunlight of a new day screamed through the tangled foliage of the Korcari wilds, slipping around the form of Flemeth, mother of Morrigan, in ragged tatters as the old woman kept one eye on Alistair and the other on Mahahlia.

Tired and aching Mahahlia stared blankly back at Alistair unable to understand or interpret the look in his shadowed, sunken eyes. He looked at her the way he had looked at Duncan – as if in her he saw an excuse not to think for himself.

'You are the senior Grey Warden.' She pointed out in quenched voice feeling cold in the weak sunlight and longing for nothing more than more sleep. Except of course that to sleep was to dream and to dream was to be in the presence of the dragon once again.

'But I don't know what to do!' Alistair looked pale and greyish in pallor. Mahahlia was not completely sure how long she had been unconscious, convalescing in the witches hut, but however long it had been the time interim had not been kind to Alistair. He looked thinner, and somehow less - contented – like a man who had suddenly had all his assurances ripped away from him. In many ways he had. He stared into her with hollow eyes. 'I've lost everything; Duncan, the Grey Wardens, everything is gone. Don't leave me too.'

Mahahlia stared at him and something like rage flared in her gut. I owe you nothing shemlen. You are a stranger to me! My clan forsook me because of your precious Duncan. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs. She wanted to break his nose and poke his haunted eyes right out. She wanted to spit at him and curse him. She wanted to turn and walk away, leave him and his Blight behind. She did none of these things. Instead she turned her gaze inward, swallowed her rage and her resentment, and turned back to Flemeth.

'I suppose we should thank you.' She said softly. Though I am not sure dying wouldn't have been preferable.

'Yes I suppose you should.' The old woman's gimlet eyes danced with amusement. Mahahlia did not doubt that the woman knew well the thoughts percolating inside her right now. Just as she did not doubt the old woman was silently laughing at both she and Alistair. 'There is but one thing I would ask of you wardens….'

Mahahlia braced herself for the worst. Alistair continued to look haunted and helpless. It was then that Morrigan stepped out of the hut and Flemeth's trap was sprung.

******

They had been walking for hours. By general agreement the trio wanted to get out of the Wilds before making camp on the road to Lothering. Not even Morrigan wanted to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this Darkspawn infested forest. Still it was hard, slow progress for the two Grey Wardens. Mahahlia ached all over, so much so it felt like the nubs of her bones wore away at the thin sheath of her skin. She gnawed on a hunk of rye bread Morrigan had packed as travelling provisions and tried to keep mobile through the endless deep green shadow of Korcari. No one spoke, Mahahlia kept her silence because of exhaustion, Alistair in grief, and Morrigan – well – the gods only knew what stray sentiment stayed her tongue.

A rustling in the long grass running parallel to the dirt road they had stumbled upon out of the wilds alerted Mahahlia to danger and she stopped in her tracks, holding out a forestalling hand for silence before either of her travelling companions could ask her why she stopped. Utterly still Mahahlia stretched out her senses, listening to the rustling grasses, tasting the dust of the road floating in the still air, hearing the soft subliminal harmony of wide open space teeming with life. That's when her mind erupted into a smattering of red hot flames: darkspawn.

Alistair had already drawn his broadsword and stepped up beside her as Mahahlia wrestled her dar'misu free of the back-sheathe with tired, uncoordinated fingers. Morrigan, taking her cue from them, readied the long, fire hardened branch she used as a focus for her spells.

'I make four……maybe five?' Alistair squinted into the far horizon where the grey sky melted into the dirt road. Mahahlia didn't answer him, instead she cocked her head to the side as a new sound entered her consciousness -barking.

In a blur of brown pelt and powerful muscle a Mabari leapt the ramshackle fence tracing the road on one side and bounded straight for Mahahlia. For a moment she thought it meant to attack and then she recognised the hound.

'Lethallin!' The word popped into her mind and forced its way from between her lips almost without her conscious thought. The dog skidded to a stop, tongue wagging. Mahahlia reached out a hand, questions fizzing within her tired mind, and then the Mabari loosed a series of shrill barks, wheeled around, and charged back down the dirt road ahead.

'Incoming!' Alistair shouted, needlessly, as a Darkspawn scouting group appeared at the end of the road. Morrigan loosed a spiralling comet of eldritch energy towards the group as the Mabari hound lunged straight for the Hurlock leader, massive jaws clamping down upon the creature's foul neck and four paws ploughing into the creature's chest, knocking them both to the ground.

'Charge!' Alistair roared, doing exactly that, straight for the scout group. Mahahlia followed him with Morrigan flinging ice and fire ahead in a ruthless barrage.

The battle did not take long and when it was done, and Mahahlia sank to the dusty ground, shaking with exertion, exhaustion, and post battle adrenaline, the big Mabari bounded up and lapped at her face with a wide tongue as soft as velvet. The hound snuffled her hair and nudged his head against her shoulder. With every touch, every lap of wet tongue, waves of immense happiness pushed aside her own weariness. Her friend was glad to see her; he had been searching all this time. He was hungry. This he communicated to her clearly, without words.

Mahahlia did not really understand how it was that she could tell so much about this hound, or why he had been seeking her out, and truthfully it did not matter. She felt better for the dog's presence almost immediately and hauled herself back to her feet using the dog's muscle packed shoulder as support.

With Lethallin at her side, suddenly she did not feel so tired and alone.

*****

Duncan was gone. Dead - dead and gone and not coming back. Dead as a dormouse; dead as Cailan; dead, dead, dead; Alistair stared up at the cloud scudded sky, watching wisps of smoke laden smog whisper over the thick veil of formless grey. It was going to rain soon.

Duncan was dead and it was Alistair's fault……well not literally. He hadn't killed the man, after all. If only I'd been there. If only Cailan hadn't insisted we go to the tower of Ishal….if only Duncan had come with us! The first heavy drop of rain fell from the leaden sky and plopped onto his head. Alistair shivered as the droplet snaked through his hair and ran down the back of his neck.

'Delightful – now we shall all be soaked.'

Gritting his teeth Alistair tried to ignore Morrigan, keeping his eyes dead ahead before him. He watched Mahahlia trot ahead of them, the big brown Mabari clomping along beside her. The hound had been a surprise; a survivor from Ostagar the big dog must have hared all the way through the wilds in pursuit of them. He'd brought a pack of Darkspawn with him too. Alistair shifted in his splintmail armour, rolling his shoulders. The spot where the arrow shaft had pierced his upper chest ached dully. Still it had been good to sink his sword into those Darkspawn; cathartic, he thought that was the word.

Alistair narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he watched the elf and the Mabari amble along in companionable silence up ahead. Lethallin, that's what Mahahlia had called the hound and it was obvious the Mabari had imprinted upon her. Alistair wasn't sure how or when that could of happened but he didn't feel like asking either. It didn't really matter. Nothing much of anything mattered. Duncan was dead. If only I had died instead. I'm useless, but Duncan…..Duncan was a hero.

They were on their way to a spot Morrigan said was often used by travellings as a campsite along the road. Alistair was oh so thrilled to have the apostate mage along with them, and was still surprised at how swiftly Mahahlia had accepted the witch's presence. She couldn't actually like the witch, could she? It didn't seem like it. In fact Mahahlia seemed to be ignoring both he and Morrigan equally.

The Dalish elf walked ahead of them now and made no attempt at conversation. Every now and then she touched a hand to the top of the big dog's head and scratched behind his ears. Alistair wondered what it said about him that he was getting jealous of a big, slobbery dog. Not that he wanted the elf to pet him on the head, just, well, would it kill her to speak to him? After everything that had happened was a little conversation too much to ask?

The rain continued to fall and soon they were all drenched just as Morrigan had predicted. Alistair was almost grateful for the rain – because it hid the tears. Everything seemed like a terrible dream – something from the worst corners of the Fade. Or a Taint nightmare. Alistair kept thinking he'd wake up and Duncan would be there, quiet and calm and silently sympathetic. That wasn't going to happen though. Even Alistair was not so great a fool that he could convince himself that Duncan was anything but dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Why won't she speak to me? Up ahead Mahahlia did not even slow down. He wondered if she really felt nothing for all the dead at Ostagar, but then again, they hadn't been her people, had they?

In the pack he carried on his back the Warden treaties seemed inordinately heavy; far heavier than crumbly parchment should. How were they supposed to unite all the races against a Blight? There were only two of them left! Plus he wasn't at all sure Mahahlia wouldn't just sneak away in the middle of the night back to her Dalish clan and leave him to do it all on his own. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd pointed out to Flemeth that the Grey Warden duty had ended when they had all been slaughtered. It was clear as day she didn't consider herself a Grey Warden. Truthfully Alistair probably shouldn't blame her for that; she hadn't wanted to join up in the first place, and she'd been a full Grey Warden about three hours before everyone died at Ostagar. After Alistair's Joining he'd had a pillow fight; Mahahlia received multiple arrow hits to vital organs. The experience didn't really compare.

Duncan's dead - she's all I have left. Yes, indeed, a psychotic Dalish elf who hates all humans. And she's it; she's all I have left in the world. Maker's breath! We're all doomed. Do–oooom-ed; doomed, doomed, doomed.

In silence they trudged on and the rain kept falling.