"We're not actually keeping him?!" Alistair's voice was raised with incredible shock which halted all the setting up of camp—apparently it would be best to recover fully before tackling whatever problem Redcliffe faced as Andra was convinced that something would be wrong there and Kiara didn't even bother to give her false reassertions. "He tried to kill us!"
"It was only business," Zevran shrugged almost idly as Andra rubbed her temples.
"We're not keeping him," she finally said and Sereda looked up with narrowed eyes.
"Does that mean we are killing him?" the dwarf asked easily and Alistair looked torn—he obviously didn't like the idea of the assassin with them but he also wasn't comfortable just killing him.
Kiara almost sighed, he was too soft-hearted still but Kiara knew, hoped, that it would change before the Blight was over and he found himself in the throne—because Alistair would be king and Andra his queen even if he had yet to give her that rose he had been fiddling with the last two nights though he had glanced over at her with love-sick eyes. The sappiness of it all had apparently made Morrigan feel sick and Kiara had spent most of the night making her feel better.
"No," Andra said firmly and Sereda opened her mouth to argue that they couldn't let him go when the noble continued. "Kiara is keeping him."
"WHAT?" Three different voice chorused as Kiara leaned back against Morrigan's legs—her dark haired mage was currently studying the black tome that Kiara had swiped from the Tower—and smiled slightly as long fingers tangled briefly in her loose hair before going to flick to another page, slim dark brows furrowed slightly as Morrigan read the elven language that Flemeth wrote in—not that anyone seemed to be aware that it was elven.
Zevran, Alistair and Malika were all staring at Andra with varied shades of shock and a hint of horror in Zevran's face.
Interesting, Kiara idly thought, she hadn't even done something to the elf and yet he looked like she was going to be his killer—which she could be if he tried to betray them.
"Elion," Kiara's voice cut through the protests of the three and the golden elf looked up from where he was easing an arrow out of the ram's eye that he had taken down for dinner. "He's your problem."
A scowl brief creased his inked features before he glanced at Zevran with golden eyes and a look that Kiara knew well and she smirked—yes, Elion would make sure Zevran wasn't a problem.
"You know how to skin an animal?" Elion's voice was doubtful and Zevran's face was resigned yet slightly pleased as he made his way to the other male.
"Well," Zevran hesitated slightly as he glanced down at the large ram. "Not really."
Elion's scoff told all what he thought of that and Zevran's face tightened at the blow to his ego before he plopped down beside Elion with a determined look.
"But I am a fast learner," Zevran declared and Elion gave him a once over before he finished pulling the arrow out with a sickening sound.
"We'll see about that," was all her elf-boy said before he began to teach Zevran how to skin the ram so they could get to the meat and eat tonight.
"Are you playing match-maker with my brother?" Ellana's voice was low and amused where she and Vala was cutting up herbs and such to go with their meat and Kiara smiled at her friend.
"Of course not," she denied easily even if the thought of Elion and Zevran had crossed her mind briefly. "I just don't want to play baby-sitter for a little fledging."
Vala snorted, unconvinced, as Ellana stared at her for a brief moment before returning to her cutting.
"If he attempts to hurt my brother," Ellana began lightly. "I will kill him."
"I'll hold him down for you," Kiara promised reaching up and capturing one of Morrigan's hands to her sighed annoyance though Kiara smiled when Morrigan didn't attempt to reclaim it and pressed her smiling lips against the back of Morrigan's pale hand making Morrigan pause and lightly slap the back of her head in false annoyance.
Kara grinned up at her, lips still pressed to soft pale skin, as Morrigan returned to her book with a hint of a smile. Kiara always knew that Morrigan could be a real softie.
Alistair slopped up the gravy of the stew with the bread that Bodahn had stored in his cart—it was mostly hard and going onto stale, but with the gravy from the stew it was still delicious—and popped it in his mouth, only having to keep himself from choking on it as Kiara decided to sit on the log next to him.
He glanced over to the fire where the Companions—which now included Faren, Sten who was following the dwarf more, Zevran and Morrigan—and met the burning inhuman golden gaze of Morrigan, and felt a shiver trail down his spine.
Morrigan's eyes were too gold, too animal like to belong to a human, and that was made him so wary of her—that and her shining personality and their mutually dislike. He didn't know what her mother, Flemeth, had taught her and he didn't want to find out first hand either.
Morrigan had made very sure that everyone knew that Kiara was hers, if the sounds at night didn't show it then the marks of claiming that littered Kiara's neck did it. The Companions and Morrigan were in an uneasy truce at the moment and part of Alistair wanted to know how long that would last while another part didn't want to be there when it ended.
"So," Kiara began, her voice casual and low in a way that Alistair was sure was meant to put him at ease—it didn't. "Are you going to tell her that you fancy her? Or are going to wait till she knows who your daddy was and what the future with you means?"
Alistair's back cracked with how fast he straightened and stared at Kiara as she licked her fingers idly.
"What?" he choked out as he gaped at her and a cold sweat seemed to break out across his skin as he stared at her. "How do you…?"
"Know?" Kiara finished for him with a smirk and Alistair was startled to feel his blunt nails dig into his palms. "I met your father."
She shrugged like it was nothing, like meeting Maric meant nothing to her, and in that moment Alistair hated her and he envied her. How many times had he wished as a boy to meet his father? To talk to him? For him to acknowledge Alistair as his son? How many times had he wished to run away to Denerim when Isolde was cruel and be protected by his father?
And this woman, this woman in front of him, didn't seem to care that she had met his father, had talked to him in a way that Alistair was never allowed because the Theirin blood ran too strong to really hide. And meant he had to suffer because of Isolde's jealousy, had to listen to the cruel taunts of the other children for being a bastard that even his own father didn't want—and how many times he had wanted to scream at him that his father was King Maric and he would make them pay? How many times had Eamon gave him that disappointed look like he knew what Alistair was thinking?—and meant he had been kept to the kennels when he was finally allowed to go with Eamon to Denerim.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the painful feeling of his bones protesting under a strong grip.
"You better reconsider hitting me," Kiara's voice was lower and there was no casual tone to it. "Because I will not stop anyone from defending me."
Alistair shook his head and was almost appalled with how close he had probably come to hitting Kiara.
"What did you mean?" he choked out, trying to distract himself from his bitter thoughts. "About our future?"
Because thinking about Andra was safe, thinking about having a future with her nice, because Andra was a light in this dark world. But Kiara made it sound different, almost difficult, and Alistair didn't want that. He wanted a simple life with Andra.
"You are the last of your father's bloodline, the last living heir," she looked him right in the eyes as she spoke so he knew that she was serious. "You will take your father's place, your brother's place, and if you don't realise that by now then you are as stupid as Morrigan insists you are."
"Anora…." Alistair trailed off as he almost felt his stomach reject his dinner in horror and panic because she couldn't mean what he thought she meant.
"Anora is a good peace time ruler," Kiara acknowledged briefly before shaking him slightly so he was looking at her, looking into her serious dark eyes. "But she is Loghain Mic Tir's daughter, she isn't of Theirin blood, she is letting her father rule instead of her."
He shook his head in silent denial but Kiara was ruthless, she wouldn't leave him to his denial.
"Do you honestly believe that Arl Eamon will petition against Loghain and still let Loghain's daughter rule? The daughter of his rival? If need be, do you think he won't marry you to Anora if he believes it would be the best?"
Alistair almost reared backwards at the thought and the worse thing? Alistair could see Eamon doing that and he almost certainly would do as Kiara so ruthlessly pointed out.
"If you tell her, tell her your feelings and the truth, if you have a relationship you both want then you can be together, you can marry her and be together and there will be nothing that the Arl can do to stop you.
You won't have a simple life, you will be bound by duty, but you are a Grey Warden and you know all about duty. You will be together, you'll share it together, and by the Maker, if there is anyone who I trust to keep you from being manipulated into doing things and doing the best for you and Ferelden then it is that woman," she spoke with conviction and Alistair believed her—though he didn't need much convincing as he already thought that about Andra. "So man up and tell Andra how you feel, tell her the truth, build your relationship and get ready for your duty because it became your future the moment Cailan died."
Kiara took his bowl and pushed him so he stumbled off the log and looked at him sternly.
"Go on then," she nodded to where Andra was watching them, her blue eyes worried and biting her lower lip.
Alistair stared at her for a moment—no one had ever been so blunt and honest with him or as ruthless while doing it—and knew that she was right—loathed though he was to admit it—and knew she spoke the truth.
He may not like her, but somehow he trusted her and knew she was right. It was time to start thinking for himself, for doing things his way and how he wanted them done. She was right, he couldn't run away from the throne and he had been fooling himself to think that he would be given a choice in the matter. But he would have a choice, he would choose how he ruled and he would choose his queen—and his queen wasn't holed up in Denerim letting her traitor of a father rule in her name.
So he turned, making sure the rose was safe in the pouch tied to his waist, and made his way over to Andra, his chosen queen, and resolved himself while behind him Kiara smiled to herself before making her way back to her own lover.
Things were going well.
I should have known better, being optimistic never gets me anyway.
I had always thought that the movies, the books, the games and the TV shows had downplayed things—I guess they had too for the audience to be able to stomach it and watch it. Yet I still was surprised by somethings.
It was the feel of Morrigan slipping from their shared bedroll that makes her wake more than the constant growl of Logan. Kiara opened her eyes, instantly awake and aware, to see Morrigan grip her staff tightly, her golden eyes narrowed and wary as they met her own dark gaze.
Logan was crouched, low and threatening, fur bristling as he stood between both the women and the mouth of the tent—Kiara could hear the answering growls of the Mabari; Elethea, Stanton and Ri.
"Something is not right with the Fade," Morrigan muttered, wary and watchful as both she and Logan stared at the mouth of the tent.
Kiara's hand wrap around her swords; longer and heavier sword in her left and short sword in her right, as she stands in a crouch and moves slowly, bare feet against the leather of the tent's floor, it's a cautious move that she abandons when she hears a scream—Vala's scream—and the bellowing of Bodahn's Bronto.
The walking dead had come for them and Kiara couldn't, doesn't, think—all she sees is Vala on the ground, clutching her stomach, a corpse raising its sword to finish her—and just moves.
Fire bursts across her blades—made of silverite and dragon-bone and damn near unbreakable—and she removes a head from a grey and rotting body as Logan lunges, snarling, and tearing apart another of the corpses as the others stumbled out of their tents with weapons ready.
But Kiara doesn't care, she just braced her legs and stood in front of Vala—there was too much blood seeping between her fingers, clinging to that golden ring—and for a moment Kiara was afraid before she pushed that feeling away—she would have time to feel fear and panic when they were safe—and could hear Logan's paws padding as he circles behind Vala to protect her back.
A burst of fire, devastating and ruthless, seared across the ground and devoured the corpses moving towards them—a corpse shouldn't be that fast, then again corpses shouldn't be moving at all—and Ellana slipped through Kiara and Logan, hands glowing as she reached for Vala.
"Shh, Da'len," Ellana crooned, her voice so soft and gentle and at odds with the battle raging around them. "I have you, you'll be okay."
Kiara was a murderer, a monster, but she was also a protector and by all the gods she would fucking protect Vala and Ellana.
A bear roared, the golden eyes marking it as Morrigan, as she tears through the corpses with her claws and teeth—and part of her, a small part of her that she barely acknowledges as she stabs and blocks and parries, was glad that it was a bear that she used and not a spider.
Bann Teagan rubbed his face, feeling his beard catch on the callouses on his palms, as he watched over his brother's people. No more had died that night which meant they wouldn't have to deal with a familiar face attempting to kill them.
There was few serious injuries which were tended by the women as the men counted their weapons—not enough he could tell—and the children scampered around, all trying to help where they could.
Dawn was a welcomed relief to them now, only at night did the dead return in hordes, and it had been an hour since light broke free.
Only stragglers that were more easily dealt with remained.
They needed help, Teagan knew that. He had sent as many men as they could spare to gain aid—which wasn't many—and wished that Isolde hadn't sent all the knights off to look for a myth. He had no idea how many guards Isolde had with her in the castle but he couldn't leave the people to fend for themselves to find out nor find out what was the cause of this undying horde.
A mage most likely, but what was a mage doing in Redcliffe? And what in the Maker's name did Isolde think she was doing inviting a mage into the castle? She hated and feared them and yet she let one into the castle—where, if rumours were to be believed, he poisoned the Arl and then started this nightmare.
"Bann Teagan, Bann Teagan,"
Teagan looked up as one of the young men, Thomas he believed, rushed towards him with a strange collection of people following them, all of them dressed in soft trousers and cotton shirts, weapons attached to their waists and backs, blood and dirt covering them, and—was that two Qunari?
"They've come to help us," Thomas declared as he came to a stop.