Lothering
Two more companions. Elaine sighed. If her father knew she was travelling around with a qunari of all things, he would – well, she didn't actually know. Since leaving Highever, she'd realized she didn't know very much about her family. Of course, she knew them. She loved them. But she couldn't say she knew her father's views on the qunari. Or the Chantry, even. Of course they were believers. Every good Fereldan believed. But listening to Leliana's far-fetched tale about the Maker personally sending her to help – well, that was a stretch. Somehow, she didn't think her parents would approve. Not that it mattered anymore.
She looked around her. There were refugees everywhere. None of them were Fergus. They were dirty, desperate, begging, frightened, some even raving and panicked. She wanted to run away from their wretchedness, find her brother and get as far away as possible. Again, she tamped down the panic and put on a calm face. If you act like you know what you're doing, people will think you know what you're doing, she told herself. She could almost hear her mother's voice: confidence and poise will get you far.
She stopped to speak to a lost little boy, and her stomach dropped as she realized that the body they had found being devoured by wolves was his mother. She put on her "innocent and kind" expression and sent him to get help at the Chantry. As she turned back, she saw Alistair glaring at her.
"How can you do that?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Act so nonchalantly. That boy's mother is dead. Don't you think he deserves to know that? And you just send him off to the Chantry without a word? What if he goes and looks for her himself? What happens to him then?"
She met his eyes for a long moment. Of course he wouldn't understand. He grew up in a stable, for Andraste's sake, even if it was a nobleman's stable. She couldn't expect him to understand the delicacy of maneuvering around the feelings of others, of having to hide your own true thoughts and feelings so those around you felt comfortable. He certainly seemed to have no problem blurting out every inane thought that popped into his head. Well, she wasn't going to do him the courtesy of hiding her feelings anymore. For the first time since Ostagar, she let her anger bubble to the surface and turned it on him.
"I'll tell you what will happen to him: he'll die. But he's going to die, anyway, isn't he? The horde is headed right this way, and he's got nowhere to go. So I sent him off with at least the hope that he'll see his mother again. At least he has that. He's got more than I have."
Alistair scoffed. "Oh, I see. So we're back to you, are we? No one else here has suffered as much as you have. No one else here has lost anything or anyone they cared about. Your pain is the only pain that matters."
"So, first I'm unfeeling and now I'm suffering? Which one is it, Alistair? You can't judge me both ways."
Leliana stepped in. "Alistair, you are being cruel. Elaine has suffered. And so have you. Stop taking your grief out on her. This sarcasm is not helping."
"Yes. Alright. Sorry." Alistair turned around and stalked off. Elaine stared after him. Maker's breath, he was right. She hadn't given a thought to him. He'd been silent and brooding and she had even heard Morrigan tease him, but she hadn't let it penetrate her own thick shield of grief. It was time to move on.
She rubbed a hand over her face and looked over at her other companions. "Will one of you please go after him? We need to get out of here before the horde descends."