Chapter 11: Nights in the Camp

Summary: Solona and Alistair try to get used to each other.

Alistair gathered firewood with the Qunari they picked up in Lothering. They did not speak a during it. Not even a single word. He is hilarious. He sulked. This whole Blight will be hilarious with brightening companions.

He didn't like them, any of his companions. Morrigan, that cruel and rude cunt he just wanted to suffocate. Sten, the Qunari, a convicted murderer which was not a comforting thing. That Chantry sister, Leliana who they also picked up in Lothering. With her visions he couldn't decide that she was delirious or simply a blinded religious fanatic. Neither option was cheering up. What an illustrious company to save Thedas from perishing in darkness.

And of course Solona.

She was... she was... she was a puzzle. Sometimes she was just cold and insolent, the other time gentle and caring. He couldn't even predict how she would react on something. But something was in her.

Alistair had to admit she was beautiful. But Leliana was beautiful, even Morrigan if he forgot for a second what a bitch she was. But she was different than them. Alistair wondered why as he watched her in Lothering all day. She was unique in many ways. Not just her magic, which was more powerful than any mage's he met before. She was young and yet so confident, a natural leader, commanding their party and nobody questioned her legitimacy. She was mesmerizing in some inexplicable way. Sometimes he wondered that he admires or fears her.

As they returned to the camp he instantly noticed that Solona's face became smoother, less haggard. Maybe at least that tearing migraine has already left her, which lacerated her all day. Alistair felt guilt for making it worse for her with his fights with Morrigan. She shouldn't be here, she should be in the safety of her Circle doing her ordinary stuff unknowingly the horrors of the Blight or the pressure sat on their shoulder now the other Wardens were dead. But for some reason, despite she could be very infuriating, despite her arrogance he was grateful that she survived the Joining and the battle and she didn't accept his offer to leave. He was grateful that there was somebody beside him in this whole thing even if it was a mage girl on who he could not to conform.

She took a short glance on him as sat down on her bedroll. Her sparkling eyes, as she ran them through him, they penetrated into him, like she saw through him. She was a puzzle and Alistair wanted to solve her, wanted to understand her. And wanted to make her understand that they were together in this.

She rested on her bedroll and watched the fire thoughtfully, just as a day before. It seemed a perfect time to speak with her, but still he was reluctant. He always felt like a bumbling idiot when he had to speak with her and she never made his job easy with her sarcastic comments. And when he finally determined himself, somebody always demanded her attention. And she attentively and kindly listened all of them. And this infuriated him. She was nice with them, even with Morrigan, but never with him.

It was around midnight when he woke up to wailing and whimpers.

It came from her.

She trashed and shifted on her bedroll violently, mumbling things, swimming in cold sweat. He got up to wake up her but just as he reached her she startled from her sleep with chocking pants and an absorbed scream. She looked at him with frightened doe-eyes like she was scared to death.

"The Archdemon again?" He asked sitting next to him. She just shook her head as embraced herself and tried to be smaller by every second.

"Worse." she whispered her voice breaking. "Memories." She watched the fire with glassy eyes, her half-undone hair in her face. She seemed so vulnerable and fragile.

"It was just a bad dream." She murmured but Alistair wasn't sure she wanted to convince him or herself. She repeated this like a chant, her voice more trembling by every word, like she was in some kind of trance. Alistair tentatively took his hand on her back, making her wince and look at him. Her eyes glistened by her unshed tears.

"Can I...?" he began but he was uncertain what he could do for her or she needs his help at all.

"No, you can't." she cut him before he could say anything else. Alistair knew that it would be useless to say anything else or trying to persuade her. So he just nodded resignedly and stood up and headed back to his place.

"Alistair, wait." He turned back to this. "I can't sleep back. Could you... could you...?" She searched for the words. Alistair doubted that she has ever asked for help or she has ever needed someone's help. He went back to her and sat down on her bedroll and leaned on the base of the tree behind them.

They didn't speak, just watched the fire as it slowly died until nothing left behind just embers. The dawn found like them like this, in comforting silence, not even stealing a glance to the another. The mabari rested its head on her lap and snorted peacefully. She scratched the base of the dog's ear. Alistair had to admit it was somehow comforting as they sat there peacefully rested there, and watched the rising sun.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked breaking this state.

Alistair raised his eyebrows and looked at her questioningly but she just stared the horizon. "About what?"

"About Duncan." she answered. "You seemed so devastated at Flemeth, so I thought... if you want... I'm here for you to talk." she searched for the right words and Alistair realized she is as clumsy as himself, lost in this whole situation. It was surprisingly thoughtful of her like she cared and he began to wonder that is this her real face and that arrogant and insolent mage girl is some kind of shield as Duncan assumed.

"I didn't realize you mourn him too. You barely knew each other." he replied.

"Indeed, but I know how hard to lose a mentor, especially when you were close. I lost mine because of a stupid mistake." He shifted on the bedroll and turned to her. She was so beautiful as the first golden rays of the sun shone on her. As her ginger hair softly fell on her shoulder like a fall of flames by it.

"What happened?" he asked not hoping that he gets an answer..

"I trusted." she replied bitterly as turned to him. Alistair watched the glistening tears in her eyes. How desperately she tried not to shed it. In that moment she seemed so undisguised. And for the first time Alistair saw her as a fellow Grey Warden, not an arrogant infuriating mage girl he was forced to fight with.

Noises of shifting shook them out. The others were waking. Solona looked away perplexedly, smoothing her hair behind her ear like she was nervous, and began pottering with her bag, wiping those tears from her eyes.

"We should get ready." she suggested fixating her glance on her backpack. Alistair silently nodded and went back to her place.

The next two day were eventless beside the regular encounters with darkspawn and hostile fauna. Alistair could swear that there were a hurlock, a bear or a rabid wolf in every bush waiting just for them. Being in constant danger became the natural way of existing. He always kept his sword ready, resting his hand on the hilt. He was always on alert, even if they stopped for a rest, especially when they stopped for a rest.

Morrigan mocked her all way long, said cruel things, trying to humiliate him any way she could. And he just couldn't let her to do it, so they argued all day long. Solona sometimes shot a glare on them to stop. Morrigan just shrugged on this while Alistair grimaced. But she did not yelled with them anymore like she bowed to the fact they will fight all way long. Instead she asked Leliana to tell her tales, or Sten to talk about the Qun or just threw sticks for Barkspawn to fetch them. Anything to help her ignore the rudeness they threw to each other.

As they camped after the third day Alistair couldn't stand more and wandered to a forest to find a suitable tree for sword practice. As he found it he began to flail with his sword to derive his frustration. He grunted shouted as another strike landed on the poor tree. He continued until the last drop of anger left him or until he destroyed the bark of it. He panted heavily as took say his blade and observed his handiwork. He couldn't decide what was more infuriating. That Morrigan mocked her or that Solona did nothing to stop her or he was so incompetent that couldn't stand up for himself.

By he returned to the camp everybody was sleeping except Solona, who sat on her bedroll and watched the dancing flames as usual and Barkspawn who delightfully chewed a lamb bone.

"Hey boy..." he wanted to pet the mabari's head but before he could touch it bit through his hand with an angry snarl. Alistair cried out and the blood began to stream.

"What happened?" asked Solona as rushed to them looking at his bleeding hand. "Shit, Alistair! This is not a lapdog." she hissed. "It could have torn down your half arm. Let me see it." And she took his hand but he pulled it away nervously.

"No leave it be." he said. He didn't know why but felt awkward as she touched his hand.

"Don't be ridiculous, I can spirit heal. So give me your hand and let me help before it infects or you bleed out." He was still reluctant however his blood flew from his bruise so strong that even soaked the ground under them. "Or I can ask Morrigan to make you a regeneration balm or a healing potion." That option was more horrifying than being nervous by her touch. She would definitely poison him or do something unnatural with him, maybe planting something in him, a demon or an abomination.

"Anything but that." he heaved.

"Then give me your hand." She ordered peremptorily and he reluctantly obeyed. She took her hand on his still bleeding wound. Her palm was incredibly warm, like the embracing fire. Hot, but not burning. And this sensation somehow caused goosebumps on his arm as she examined him.

"He bit through one of your veins." she stated as took a glare to a dog who whined penitently and pulled its tail between his legs. Her hand began to glow in golden and as her energies entwined his hand. It was even a stranger feeling that the warmth of her palm. It tingled in him and caused him somehow to weaken, leaving shivering sensation running down his spine. And his pain began to fade and he felt that under her skilled and healing hand his broken skin and vein restore.

As she ceased it she went to her backpack for a fresh roll of bandage and a wet cloth. She began to clean the half dried blood from his hand when suddenly upturned the sleeve of his shirt and watched the Templar insignia on his wrist.

"So you are a templar." she stated stoically. "That explains a lot."

"Like what?" he inquired.

"That why you are thinking that all mages are so bad." she replied as begin to wrap his hand into the bandage.

"I was just a recruit. I've never took my oath. Duncan recruited me before it." he explained.

"So you didn't believe in the principle that 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him'?" She chuckled sarcastically as fixed the bandage.

"It just didn't suit me. Serving the Chantry." he answered.

She hummed. "They called me Fiery Witch. The templars."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know maybe because of my obsession with fire." and she formatted tiny flames in her hand. "Or maybe just because of my hair."

"You obsession with fire?" Alistair inquired as watched the reflection of the flames in her eyes. She seemed so radiating as glanced the blazes in her hand. She was a mesmerizing, magnetizing beauty and for a quick insane moment Alistair wanted to touch her.

"I love fire; I love the feeling it pulsating around me. It understands me. They feared that one day I would burn the whole Circle down with a wildfire." she chuckled. Alistair just watched the blazes in her eyes and still tried to figure out for a thousandth time why she is so entrancing.

"Sooo" he said lastly. "Are you being nice with me now? Why?" She clenched her finger and her cherry red lips curved to a perky smile.

"Don't get used to it." She answered and wanted to get up, but he stopped her grabbing her wrist.

"Why?" he persevered.

"We are left alone in this, Alistair. And believe me, nothing worse than being alone against the whole world." She answered bitterly as stood up. "Like it or not we stuck in this together." And she began to walk to her bedroll.

"And do you like it or not?" he asked. That made her stop. She carelessly turned back to him with that insolent smirk on her face.

"I haven't decided yet." she replied "We should sleep. Tomorrow we'll reach Redcliffe. Good night, little soldier-boy." And she lay down on her bedroll and turned her back to him. Alistair didn't know why but he liked this nickname very much.

"Good night little girl on fire." He whispered but she didn't hear it.

For the first time since she left Kinloch Hold, Solona could sleep through the night.

A/N: So, an awkward question: What do you think, what would be Solona's spirit animal?

I'm looking forward your opinion (about this and the chapter too) :)