-oo-
Chapter 28 – Secrets Between Friends
"And here's my favourite Grey Warden!"
Bodahn Feddic grinned at Merran's approach, revealing an impressive collection of gold and jewelled teeth. "How goes it, friend?"
Merran returned the smile with a small one of her own, indicating with a surreptitious wave of her hand they move their conversation to the rear of the merchant's wagon. Just being cautious.
They passed by Sandal working diligently at his portable workbench. The young dwarf barely acknowledged their presence yet Merran continued to the water's edge, turning to place the glittering lake and the foreboding shadow of Redcliffe Castle at her back.
Flashing his teeth again, Bodahn rubbed his palms together. "I do like this cloak and dagger stuff!" he said gleefully. "I hope you have a good lead for me Warden. Not that you've ever let me down before."
Merran favoured the dwarven merchant with a grimce. Muffled laughter from the direction of one of the tents caused her to cast a wary look towards the campsite. She didn't want her conversation with Bodahn…this conversation in particular to be overheard by the others, especially Alistair.
"Not yet," Merran released a breath, forcing her attention back to Bodahn. "My request this time regards a little more dangerous territory than usual, so you might want to reserve the right to change your mind later."
Bodahn chuckled at the suggestion. "When has it never been dangerous, Warden?" he asked, tapping the side of his nose. As the young Grey Warden's expression remained serious, he sighed and gripped her arm in as encouraging a way as he could. "Speak your mind, Warden," he instructed in a quiet voice. "You know me well enough by now, methinks. I've dipped my toes in deeper water I'll wager, but my policy is if a person doesn't ask well…"
Merran handed him a small roll of parchment; barely the size of a leaf. "There are two things," she said mysteriously, watching Bodahn unroll the scroll. At first he frowned, then raised his eyebrows. With a nod, he crumpled the parchment into a tight wad in his fist and held out his other hand to shake.
"Nay Warden," he told her confidently. "This isn't as bad as you're making out." Another blinding grin appeared to finalise their transaction. "You can count on Bodahn Feddic to deliver!"
"You're absolutely sure?" Merran persisted. She knew Bodahn's agents were skilled; their network extensive, but what she was proposing would lead them into territory that was being watched very, very carefully by Loghain's people.
"What's a little risk, now and again, eh?" Bodahn laughed. "Especially if there's a profit to be made! Now…" Firmly putting an end to further argument, Bodahn steered the young mage back towards his wagon. His movements were sly, but his eyes were twinkling. "As to our other arrangement…"
-oo-
Alistair stood at the entrance to Redcliffe Castle bridge, running an impatient hand through his hair. The high stone walls and cone-topped towers loomed even more forebodingly than he remembered and he felt incredibly nervous in its shadow. The others should have been here by now: what was taking them so long in the village? Of course, he could simply have met with Arl Eamon on his own, but without Merran – the other Grey Warden – he didn't feel as though he had enough…context.
Or so he kept telling himself.
As a way to pass the time - and keep his anxiety at bay - he leaned over the balustraded hand rails, picking out places he'd known from his childhood; that shallow over there where he used to go digging for cockles…the boat ramp where he learned how to swim. The strategy worked for a while, thinking he would like to have the time and the opportunity to teach Merran how to swim. There were a few secluded places where the two of them could spend some 'alone' time...but then the darker thoughts of: how much time the two of them had at all before their appointment with the Horde and the Archdemon inevitably took over the happier ones.
He'd been thinking moreover about…Merran. Well, he was always thinking about her, quite frankly, in between fighting Darkspawn and steering clear of Morrigan's snide remarks about his personal hygiene.
Really thinking about her.
Since the night she'd crawled into his tent he'd been contemplating asking Merran about…but how did one go about doing that exactly? They didn't teach that sort of thing at the Chantry. How to ask a member of the opposite sex to spend the night together hadn't been part of the Chantry curriculum. And this morning Merran had barely spoken more than a handful of words to him. It was hardly encouraging. When she'd asked him to wait for him at the bridge, he'd gotten the feeling he'd been banished. For what, he wondered? What am I missing here? What's going on in that head of hers? What have I done/not done/about to do that's upset her?
Now submerged in the jumble of his thoughts, Alistair failed to notice Zevran approaching him until the elf poked him hard between the links of his chest plate.
"Alistair, my friend…" Zevran spoke, startling the Warden into stumbling back into the bridge hand rail. Zevran clucked his tongue in disappointment. Darkspawn appeared suddenly out of the ground and theydidn't make the little Templar Who Couldn't jump the way a simple greeting did.
On the other hand, Zevran was not one to waste an opportunity to discombobulate the muscle-bound Grey Warden. Sidling in close, he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "May I offer you a bit of advice, Alistair?"
Instinctively, Alistair backed onto the bridge; putting some distance between him and Zevran. Advice he thought? I'm not too sure I like where this is going… "Thanks," he replied, choosing to ignore the not-so-veiled innuendo speeding rapidly his way. "But I like my hair the way it is."
"Truly?" Zevran's eyebrows climbed; the gesture suggesting he would dearly love to pass on some advice in that area too. "If you say so." He shrugged then plunged ruthlessly onward. "My advice is not of a…" The assassin stared in particular at the sparsely cultivated collection of hairs beneath the Warden's lower lip, "…hoary nature. Indeed, this concerns your fellow Warden."
Alistair stared blankly ahead, sighing inwardly. Yup, it's going where I think it is…and attempted a diversionary tactic. "You want to talk about cheese?" he enquired.
"You wish to bed the lovely Magette, yes?" Zevran ignored the ploy completely while suppressing the urge to give up and walk away. "Yet you have made little to no inroads at seduction. I wonder-"
Neck burning now, Alistair absolutely refused to look at Zevran. "I could tell you all about cheese," the blushing Grey Warden stated stubbornly. "For instance, did you know that Ferelden alone has twenty-five recognised cheeses?"
"Avoiding the subject is unlikely to further matters." Zevran began sternly…narrowing his eyes as something about Alistair occurred to him. "Unless of course, you are already taking things into your own hands…As it were."
"Twenty-five," Alistair repeated firmly. "There are several cheeses I could name that are particular to this very region.
Folding his arms, Zevran clucked his tongue again. "I say bring your Magette to your bed. You talk cheese-"
"Caseiculture," Alistair pointed out.
"When this may be at the root of your problems, my dear Warden," Zevran leapt nimbly over Alistair's embarrassment, evaded the awkwardness with nary a blink and ducked under a load of Chantry inhibition to move on. "When I say I have your best interests at heart," Zevran assured him, hand over his heart, "I mean it."
"Best interests?" Alistair repeated in disbelief. "Not say…my privacy?"
"Privacy? Pshaw…" Zevran dismissed the larger man's concerns with an airy wave of his hand. "You are my friend. What is privacy between friends?"
"Uh…privacy?" Alistair countered. It was tempting, almost tempting to just take the advice and run, but Alistair could not bring himself to go anywhere near any kind of advice the elf might have. Not since that conversation he'd mistakenly overheard between Zevran and Wynne about her…assets. Honestly, he could barely look Wynne in the eye these days.
"But of course," Zevran winked…winked. "To that end I have devised a plan that will have your Magette begging you for your…sexual attentions."
The copper – as they say – finally dropped for Alistair. It was a conspiracy. And oh Maker, I've been an idiot. That little 'talk' Wynne had had with him a few days ago about where babies came from…The mysterious appearance of a packet of certain herbs in his tent…Leliana's incessant discussion about ladies' undergarments within his hearing. They were all in on it weren't they? And it was none of anyone's damned business but his and Merran's!
And how in the Maker's name am I going to ask her now, he demanded silently? Without being scored for it, or more likely told afterwards that he'd done it all wrong or…"You know what?" he began, "It really is impolite to keep the Arl waiting. So I'll just head on up there now. Warm everyone's seats for them shall I?"
Alistair backed away a few steps, then swivelled neatly about. Without a backwards look, he walked rapidly across the bridge, seriously hoping the assassin did not follow. Thankfully, Zevran did not.
-oo-
Merran frowned across the wide stretch of lake between the mainland and Redcliffe Castle, half going through the still huge list of things they had yet to do, half wondering why Alistair couldn't have waited for them. She recalled the glimpse of a scowl when she'd suggested he head on to the bridge before the rest of the group; to give him some time away from the distractions of the others so he could collect his thoughts in preparation for meeting with the Arl. Yet he hadn't seemed particularly pleased about it. She sighed. Perhaps she had been wrong. What if he had just wanted to get the meeting over and done with quickly, like ripping off a sticking plaster from an old wound?
A peal of Morrigan's hearty laughter cut unexpectedly into Merran's thoughts. The mage turned to see the lovely witch and Jowan walking with heads close together, the two sharing some jest. It sent an even more unexpected pang of what felt very much like envy through her.
It must be nice, Merran thought, to have something like that.
Time. Even if it was just time to simply be.
Unable to watch any more, Merran turned her attention back to Redcliffe Castle, Leliana stepping quietly and solemnly to her side. As was her custom, the red-head slipped an arm about the smaller woman's shoulders, bringing Merran in close for a quick but affectionate hug on the move.
"You are quiet this morning," Leliana said with a nudge. "I hope it is because your thoughts are consumed with your handsome, fellow Grey Warden and not something…darker."
Receiving neither confirmation nor denial; only a slight and fleeting quirk of the mouth, Leliana too sighed. She knew where Merran's thoughts were. Exactly.
"Is this truly necessary, Merran?" the Bard asked softly, the use of the mage's full name over the usual endearment an indication of the depth of Leliana's concern.
Merran nodded, knowing they were travelling over ground well-trodden. "The Arl will call a Landsmeet," she sighed. "In order to challenge General Loghain. Too much blood has been spilled in this civil war to let him continue." And it must stop. The news Bodahn had given her of the events at Wintersbreath had been distressing. The Hero of the River Dane, once a champion for Ferelden's freedom…using precious troops to oppress the very people he had fought to free. Had Loghain become so power-mad that he could not see their true enemy were the Darkspawn; that the country he had fought so hard to save was now being destroyed by his insistence on Ferelden recognising his rule? At a time when hordes of the monsters ravaged and advanced across the country unchecked?
Calling a Landsmeet might be enough. It might not. She was no expert, but she knew someone who was.
Someone who was not the Arl of Redcliffe.
Unfortunately, that someone was not…immediately available. Yet. Not according to Bodahn's information.
"This is so complicated…" Merran lamented with a sigh.
"That'sunderstating it," Leliana rolled her eyes. "And what if this all comes to nothing?" she asked.
"Then it will still be complicated," Merran admitted with an even more self-deprecating grimace.
"Mer-Mer…"
Merran found her arm being tugged insistently. She looked up to find Leliana giving her that look.
"When are you going to tell Alistair?" Leliana asked quietly, the sound of a scold in her sing-song voice.
Never, Merran thought, unable to give voice to the word. She knew Alistair wouldn't like her going behind his back like this, making decisions without him and being involved in things Grey Wardens shouldn't involve themselves in but…Merran had decided protecting Alistair was far more important than him thinking she couldn't trust him. It might even work out better that way: Alistair learning to dislike her. Maybe.
I'm beginning to understand what Wynne warned me about…choosing between duty and love…
Hands clenching by her sides, Merran gave herself a brisk, internal shake. "You're sure you and Zevran will be able to leave at short notice?" she asked abruptly.
Leliana paused, frowning. "Of course," she confirmed. "But-"
"Thank you Leliana," Merran forced herself to smile, hoping it made her look as confident as she didn't feel. At all. "You're a good friend."
-oo-
The Grey Wardens' company made for quite a crush in the waiting area outside the Arl of Redcliffe's study. It wasn't surprising, given the party included a giant and a stone golem. Merran squeezed herself through the crowd to Alistair's side, taking his hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. In return, he bestowed upon her an odd, searching look before returning her smile, curling his own fingers around hers while they continued to wait.
Bann Teagan arrived moments later, his warmest greeting unsurprisingly reserved for Leliana. A second after his arrival, there came a muffled crash from the other side of the door, along with a high-pitched squeal.
Merran glanced upwards at Bann Teagan. The nobleman's expression was stony. Another crash…followed by girlish giggling. Merran opened her mouth to ask when the Arl's Seneschal arrived, slightly out of breath.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon, Wardens…" he puffed. He reached out, opened the door to the Arl's study just as the cry of: 'Where's Mr Ferret!' emerged from within. "Oh, excuse me…" The door closed after the Seneschal and a few more minutes of waiting passed.
Bouncing on her toes, Merran tilted her head to the side. "Sounded like the Arl was playing 'Where's Mr Ferret'," she explained. Leaning into Alistair's side, she added; "We should play it sometime, Alistair."
"Geh…?" Alistair stuttered. "Do I even…?" he tried again but stopped when he caught Zevran's meaningful grin. "Never mind."
"Just in case anyone asks," Jowan's voice emerged from the back of the group. "I have absolutely no idea either."
"Jowan!" Merran bounced again. "Don't you remember? We used to play it with the Knight Commander."
"With the…?" Jowan choked. "You might have but not-" Anything else Jowan had been about to say was halted by the timely reappearance of the Seneschal and the study door being thrown open for the Warden party to enter.
While the others paused, unsure whether to enter, Merran skipped through the doorway, calling out – to her companions' collective horror - "Good morning your Grace! Where's Mr Ferret?"
The pretty blonde servant that had been perched on the Arl's knee rose to her feet with a giggle and a blush while the Arl cried out: "There he is!"
Even as a pained groan emerged from Bann Teagan, the Arl of Redcliffe produced what appeared to be an old sock with two buttons sewn onto it. A sad collection of thin rope 'whiskers' hung on either side, but Merran did not seem to care; clapping her hands in delight as she reached out to 'pinch' Mr Ferret's nose affectionately.
"Oh my word…" Wynne sighed, shaking her head.
"Word?" Arl Eamon repeated. "Oh no. Ferret, see?…Oh hullo, little brother!" the Arl appeared to notice his sibling for the first time. "My goodness, you look peaky. Have a humbug, there's a good lad." With his free hand, the Arl extended an open jar towards Bann Teagan, startling a little at the crowd filtering into his study. "Good gracious! Have you been breeding? There certainly seems to be far more of you than I remember."
"The fate of the entire country relies on this lunatic?" a grittily sarcastic voice sounded from the back of the group. "You squishy things are all doomed."
"Ah…" Bann Teagan cleared his throat and stepped up to the Arl's desk. "As arranged," he began briskly. "Anthony and his companions have returned from the Dwarven capital and Brecilian Forest. The treaty the Grey Wardens held with dwarves, elves and Circle of Magi have been secured. Now is the time to strike quickly at Loghain…At his seat of power."
Arl Eamon stabbed the air dramatically with the sock puppet. "Best seat in the house!" he agreed. Re-seating himself, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So…" he murmured. "Elves, Dwarves and Mages…oh my! But yes! You are absolutely correct little brother. Now that we have our allies, we must strike while the ire is hot!" He pierced the air again with Mr Ferret. "Make hay while the sun still blinkers!" he added forcefully. "A stick in time is a tear well mended, I say!" Pinning the three nearest with an intense glare, he told them: "A rolling stone…gathers no horses…Too many cooks haul the bunion…etcetera, etcetera."
"Ah…" Teagan blinked in confusion. "Also Andre here-"
"Strike Loghain where he is most weak!" Eamon forged ahead, pointing to a spot under his arm. "Just here, under his arm," he explained. "Mark my words, he'll be helter-skeltering to the Grand Cleric for succour in no time!
"Yes, but what of Adelyn, Eamon?" Bann Teagan reminded the Arl.
"Who?" Eamon frowned. "I don't recall being introduced to him."
Alistair sighed. "He means me…"
"Oh I don't need to be introduced to you, my handy little puppet!" Eamon waggled his fingers cheerfully at Alistair. "After I've called a Landsmeet and challenged Loghain, the dirty rascal, I need only install you as a handy front for my political machinations…I mean really." The Arl paused to roll his eyes. "Anora as queen? Phst! That social-climbing mushroom may have been married to my nephew but a commoner bit of mucky muck, I've yet to meet. Truly, does anyone believe that accent of hers? Can't trust a woman who can't roll her R's properly. Ask her to say 'tomato'. Go on, I dare you. Dead giveaway that."
"Uh, brother…" Teagan attempted to intercede – with an apologetic glance towards Alistair that the Arl completely missed.
"Ah but once my little homunculus has been installed on the throne," Eamon continued gleefully unaware, "who knows what might happen? A bit of an accident with the King's horse and a stray arrow…Who knew little Anora was allergic to arsenic…What a shame…What a shame…! But wait! The loyal and handsome Chancellor Eamon to the rescue, yes…I've always fancied that bit of alright Empress Celene. I hear she likes an older man, bwa ha, ha, ha, ha! And no one's going to miss Maric's unacknowledged bastard, are they? Doesn't even have the right hair for the job. How do you fit a crown on that ridiculous spike on top of his head? Makes no sense. No sense at all."
"But…!" Alistair protested, if only for appearances sake. "Don't I get a say in any of this?"
"Eh?" The Arl seemed to notice Alistair was actually in the room. "What?" he demanded. "What does any of this have to do with you?"
"Um," Alistair boggled. "Everything?"
"Don't be foolish," Arl Eamon waved a dismissive hand at him. "Young people these days," he complained darkly. "Always thinking of themselves."
"Eamon…" Bann Teagan cleared his throat in the horribly uncomfortable silence after the Arl had finished speaking "Are you sure this will work? Anora's very commonness makes her a popular ruler…and Loghain does have some support in the Bannorn. Deposing either of them could be more difficult than you think."
"Oh stop being such a spoilsport, Teagan!" Eamon scowled. "It won't be the people that decide their ruler, for the Maker's sake! What do you think this is; a democracy?" Throwing up his hands, he extracted humbug from the jar, inspecting it for fluff. "I honestly don't know what is wrong with you people these days," he complained bitterly. "All those odd notions you picked up in the Free Marches is subversive, Teagan!" he added. "In my day we had a tyrannical despot in charge of this country and if it was good enough for me, it'll be good enough for the rest of you filthy peons."
Morose silence descended upon the room, punctuated by sucking sounds coming from the direction of the Arl. After a few seconds, he blinked at them, apparently surprised his room was still so crowded. He'd opened his mouth to shoo them all out when a suspiciously rumbling noise emerged from the rear of the group…accompanied by a waft of eye-watering odour.
"Ah, pardon me, your Gracyfulness," Oghren grunted, while those who could manage it began edging desperately towards the exit. "Beans for breakfast, ya know. Does shocking things to my guts."
-oo-
This place again.
Her feet sunk deep, the rotting, diseased ground sucking wetly at each footstep. She could feel the Veil whisper thinly at her back; Hunger, Rage and Desire demons prowling the horizon, keeping well clear of her still, but hungry. Always hungry. The stench of death hung over everything, burning in her throat, turning her stomach. She stumbled, making the mistake of looking down. Bones littered across the blood-soaked ground; some still encased in armour; skeletal hands stripped of flesh still curled about weapons…
A screaming pain burst without warning in her head. Gasping, Merran fell; bones and gravel skittering from her falling form. She pushed away from the ground, raising her hands to find them soaked; dripping in congealing, blackened blood…Another screeching wail jerked her head up. Far away and yet barely a breath away, a winged shape struggled upright, the clanking sound of chains grating across her nerves.
The dragon's head swung about, agony and misery rising like a mist about its shackled, bloodied body.
We march…it spoke inside her head, its voice etching itself on the inside of her skull. I go with them.
"I can help you!" Merran tried to reassure the dragon, reaching out to empty air. The dragon had vanished and in its place a distorted, lumpen…thing rose out of the tortured Fadescape. It twisted and writhed…becoming something horribly familiar. Hands reached out towards her; hands covered in blood. It was everywhere, falling in a stinking rain; bubbling at his feet.
A man in torn, buckled, broken splintmail…
A scream ripped through Merran. She opened her eyes, then opened them again, her breath catching in her chest in her darkened tent.
"Merran?"
Before Alistair's anxious voice could register, the tent flap lifted, revealing a tousled, sandy head. Backlit by the camp fire, she could see the splintmail…
Without warning, Merran flew at Alistair, fingers tearing at the mail, nails catching in the links painfully. She didn't notice, too busy screaming at him incoherently…and then she couldn't move. He'd pinned her arms to her sides, his breath hot and worried on her neck
"Merran, what…calm down…" A real voice. Warm. Solid. "It's just a dream right? Just another dream…"
Plucking feebly at the cold air, Merran forced the image of the dying soldier from her head. It had been him. Him.
"Never wear this again." Her voice emerged in a sob. "Not the splintmail…Never the splintmail…" A dream? Or had the Archdemon given her a vision of things to come? Not that. Never that. I won't let it happen!
To her surprise, Alistair chuckled. "Is that all it is?" he asked. "I was in the process of getting ready for bed," he added. "You know I wear this under my armour." Relaxing his hold on her, he tucked her more comfortably into his chest. "You insisted remember?" he reminded her. "Said you wouldn't be happy unless I'd layered. Extra protection, you said. Now." He dropped his head, resting his cheek against hers "You want to tell me what this is abou…?"
The arms holding her stiffened. "Maker damn it!" he swore, rising swiftly to his feet. "Darkspawn!"
A Shriek materialised in a puff of rancid smoke, slashing at Alistair and knocking him aside. The Grey Warden lunged towards the camp fire, to the place where he'd left his sword, as the ground erupted about the campsite. He turned just in time to see Cullen pinning the wailing Shriek to the ground, angry jaws tearing at the creature's neck. Merran scrambled to her feet, magic whirling about her fingertips when a dark, buzzing cloud descended upon her. Whatever it was, it bit and stung. She felt dizzy, felt her magic drain with every bite. Nearby, Cullen yelped in pain, but Merran could not see, overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of helplessness and a cold, cold darkness. Was this Darkspawn magic? When did they learn something like that?
Pain slashed at her shoulder. Merran fell to her knees…and then it was over; the familiar, dry chill of a Templar's spell-cleanse washing over her. Light and sound returned. Darkspawn corpses littered the ground about her, already being cleared rather forcefully by Shale and Sten. At her knee, covered in bleeding gashes was Cullen; whimpering but still whole.
The grey, tired visage of the Senior Enchanter swam into view, Jowan and Morrigan just behind.
In her brisk, Healer's voice Wynne commanded Jowan to take care of the injured mabari, turning back to cluck in dismay at Merran. "My," she commented. "You're a mess."
"I'm sorry," Merran winced. "My magic…something was happening to my magic."
"That," Morrigan called out. "Was a Stinging Swam. A type of magic that feeds on another's, channelling mana back to the caster."
Merran grimaced. "That's kind of…ick."
Alistair reappeared, sheathing his sword, but keeping it close by. He hunkered down beside her, looking anxious but thoughtful. "Merran…" he began.
She sighed. "If I didn't know any better," she joked rather pathetically. "I'd say they were targeting me."
From the way Alistair first looked away, then caught Jowan's eye, Merran knew she had been right. And it had been just a guess. She'd never felt so…overwhelmed by Darkspawn before."But that would be…" She cleared her throat, forced a chuckle. "That would be silly."
"They had you surrounded," Sten's voice confirmed – to Alistair's grunt of exasperation – "If not for the timely action of the warhound and the other mages, you would in most likelihood have been torn limb from limb by the Darkspawn."
"And what am I?" Alistair demanded. "Melted cheese?"
"You were almost bested by a mere Shriek," Sten informed him as though that was all the argument required against Alistair's martial prowess and ability to protect his fellow Grey Warden.
"Yes, well." Leaning forward, Alistair scooped Merran off the ground, barely addressing Wynne's sputters of protest to head towards his own tent. As he kicked his tent open he glanced over his shoulder, directing his best Grey Warden voice at Jowan and Morrigan.
"You two," he barked. "I want dispelling Wards set up around the camp's perimeter. Shale, Sten…back on watch duty you go." He began lowering a bewildered Merran to the ground, turning back for one last instruction. "Oghren…"
"Yeah…hic…whadabowme…" Oghren grumbled, swaying slightly on the handle of his axe.
"Breathe on any Darkspawn that turn up," Alistair said, pointing to the dwarf.
"And what about you?" asked Merran, clutching again at the hated splintmail. "You aren't going to go away, are you?"
Gently disengaging her hands, Alistair backed into the tent, bringing her with him.
"No love," he assured her with a warm, I'm on Personal Guard Duty now smile. "Not tonight."
-oo-
It was the chill of the morning that woke him. The blanket he'd thrown around himself and Merran the night before had slipped – somehow – to somewhere around his hips and he shivered as he tugged it upwards, thankful for the small band of warmth at his back. Alistair couldn't help a smug grin, remembering how easily he and Merran had simply…melted into each other last night. She'd been so determined to remove his armoured mail and he'd been equally single-minded about kissing the worried tears from her cheeks. Before he realised it, there was little left between them but skin and hands and…Maker! Her hands…were everywhere but he'd remembered to be a gentleman and asked and her reply had been a kiss that curled his toes and a threat that if he didn't, she'd turn him into something unnatural.
All this time he'd been worrying about the how and when. When…when all it took was a timely attack by Darkspawn?
Well, perhaps not.
Chuckling, Alistair began to roll over, wondering whether a repeat performance – somewhat cut down for time-saving purposes – was possible when he came face to face – or more technically, snout – with something that was not the woman he'd made love to the previous night.
"Dah…CULLEN?"
Eyes wide, Alistair found himself stupidly rummaging about the blankets, as if Merran might be hiding somehow there, but of course she wasn't. He sprang to his feet, completely forgetting he was too tall to stand in the tent. A loud twanging noise preceded the tent pegs flying through the air and the structure collapsed immediately. After a short scuffle, Cullen emerged ruffled and disgruntled from the mess of canvas and rope, followed shortly after by Alistair.
The Grey Warden glared about the camp, eyes narrowing. Perhaps Merran had gone somewhere to wash up…when Wynne strode over to him and presented him with a folded piece of parchment. She returned his glare with a sniff and only belatedly did he think to grab handfuls of canvas for reasons of modesty. For once, he didn't care.
He noticed Zevran and Leliana's tents had been disassembled already and a chill of foreboding added to the brisk bite of morning air. Slowly, Alistair unfurled the parchment, foreboding turning into outright anger.
Crumpling the parchment in his fist, Alistair hurled it into the embers of the fire with a curse.
Highever…the note had told him. She had gone to Highever…They'd been supposed to go to Denerim. They were needed at the Landsmeet. Both of them. She'd understood that. They'd agreed. Worse, she'd taken the Bard and the Assassin with her.
Not him.
-oo-
