Justinian 9:34

For the first nine days of the trip from Kirkwall to Ansburg, Meghan was buzzing with excitement. When she was 17 and working as an apprentice in Amaranthine, she would have never imagined being hired as a healer to work with the Grey Wardens. And now she was marching with a troop of ten Wardens and one new recruit. The Wardens camped each night and took turns keeping watch while the others drank, belched, fought, told awful jokes, sometimes slept and sometimes woke up screaming from what she now knew were "normal" nightmares. And Alistair had told her that she would be a Warden in every way save the darkspawn blood. She'd have a home in the midst of the bustling military fortress and the opportunity to train alongside the Wardens. He even said she'd get her own silver and blue armor, official Grey Warden regalia, when they got to Ansburg.

But then there was Carver. And somewhere around that ninth day, she started to panic about Carver. When he'd asked her to come, she hadn't hesitated. She wanted to be with him. She loved Carver. There was no question there. But she had no clue what she was doing with him. They'd kissed twice. Twice. And while both kisses were lovely, especially compared to the two other experiences she'd had, she'd only had the two other experiences. She knew Carver frequented the Blooming Rose. He'd probably left girls behind in Lothering, too. But she was different. Nothing more than a kiss and nothing even remotely close to relationship, and now she was following Carver to some strange place with some unspoken promise of something. But she had no idea what.

Once she started thinking about it, she couldn't stop the onslaught of uncertainties. She had no idea what his expectations were. Or if she would be able to meet his expectations. Or what would happen if she didn't. Even though she had overheard him tell Alistair he loved her, he hadn't said it to her. Of course, she hadn't said it to him either. But she wasn't sure if she was supposed to. Make a potion, heal a cut, throw a lightning bolt, those were things she could do. Swing a sword or defend herself from some lecherous sot, sure. But the more she thought about it the more she realized that she didn't know how to handle having someone else's life so intertwined with hers.

The shout of "Darkspawn!" startled her out of her thoughts. On instinct, she reached for her staff, instead finding only her sword. She had a fleeting moment of resentment at Alistair's friendly order that she carry the sword instead while they travelled, even though his reasoning was sound. Best to not draw attention to an apostate, he'd said. She wasn't uncomfortable fighting with a sword. She'd been training with a longsword every day for nearly three years. After watching her for only a few days, Gordie had taken her to the smith to have a new sword made, one with a slightly shorter than average blade but a hilt just long enough that she could grip with both hands to make up for her smaller stature against larger opponents. Between the new, custom sword and Gordie's mentorship, she had become a decent swordfighter. And she had fun fighting with the combination of sword and magic. Even still, it felt different to have someone else tell her to fight without her staff.

She drew the sword and focused her sights on a genlock archer off to the side. Someone else had already hit it with a couple of bolts, probably Kethan, so she was able to bring it down with one thrust. She saw a hurlock charge in from somewhere in the trees and reached for her magic. At the same moment she sent the hurlock spinning, she felt a flare of energy hit her from behind. She staggered a step then spun to face her attacker, expecting to find an emissary. As she turned, she noticed two things. One was that she had an abrupt and overwhelming sense of emptiness. The other was that the sword in her hand was suddenly very heavy. And then she found herself face to face, not with a darkspawn emissary, but with the new recruit. His sword was pointed at her, his face a snarl of hatred and confusion.

She stared back at the recruit warily, watching him for any flinch, any hint that he might lunge for her, but he just stared back. She felt the fight around her fall to the background as she focused all of her attention and energy on the man in front of her. And on not falling over.

"What in the bloody Void are you two doing?"

Gordie stepped between them, blocking her line of sight.

She heard the recruit spit out, "She's a mage!" and Gordie respond with "Of course she is, you daft walloper. She's our bloody healer."

And then Gordie was facing her, slowly taking her sword out of her hand. As he stepped toward her and pulled her arm over his shoulder, she realized that she was shaking.

"It's alright, love," he said, guiding her back through the trees toward the path. "Let's get you some lyrium, yeah?"

A moment later, she was sitting on the ground, feeling the lyrium course through her veins, and watching the trembling in her hands subside. When she finally looked up, Gordie was crouched in front of her. There was concern in his eyes, but his lips were curved in a small smile.

"Was that what I think it was?" She asked.

"If you're thinking it was a right beast of a smiting, then aye. It was."

"Right." She started to stand. "Is everyone else okay? Do I need to heal anyone?"

Gordie laughed. "There's my girl. No, I think we're all fine, but I'll go check. Sit." He waved her back down.

Before Gordie returned, Alistair and Carver both descended on her. They were a blur of anger and distress and apologies and questions, and she couldn't keep what either of them was saying straight.

"Andraste's tits, would you both shut up!"

When they stopped, she said, more calmly, "I'm fine. I just needed a minute. And a potion. And I think I might need a drink in a bit. And I need to tell Isabela that she's wrong about everyone needing a good smiting now and then."

"He smote you?"

She wasn't sure if it was Carver or Alistair who asked. She didn't realize they didn't know already. Carver's face was a storm of fury. He snapped up and turned in the direction of the new recruit. But Alistair stood just as quickly and gripped Carver's arm, pulling him back. Alistair looked back down at Meghan for a moment, lips pressed in a grim line, then stalked off. Carver dropped back to his knees next to Meghan and dragged her into a crushing hug.

At first she felt a small wave of relief at being in his arms, but it was followed by a twinge of discomfort. She couldn't tell if it was because she was being hugged like that in front of a troop of Wardens or for some other reason, but it brought all of her doubts rushing back. She pushed him away, making a joke about her face being smashed against his breastplate, reassuring him that she was fine. She knew she was going to need to talk to him. Eventually.