I woke up enough to grumble when he laid me down on my bedroll back at camp, and squirmed around peevishly until I was more or less comfortable again, half-aware of Leliana interrogating Alistair - "Is she all right? What did you tell her?"
"'M'fine, leave 'im alone," I muttered, finally shutting her up.
In the morning, we gathered the Wolf Tribe together to explain the situation to them. We had decided what to do with them while we awaited their arrival, and told Swiftrunner what to say so he could relay the information to his people; he insisted this was necessary or they would protest at taking orders from strangers. "And tiny dwarf women," was the unspoken subtext.
"My people," he began in a declamatory tone. They settled into place like attentive schoolchildren, and I smiled. They were pretty cute. "The Gray Wardens have promised to help us join human society. It is their belief that our best hope is to join a human war pack in a territory known as Redcliffe, where we will be given a den and training for our new lives."
He waited while the pack mulled this over, muttering to each other and fidgeting a great deal, until he waved a hand for them to settle down and went on. "Humans, like us, are suspicious of strangers," he told them seriously, and they nodded. "If they are to accept us into their territory, we must learn to look like them, wear clothing properly and speak and act like they do. Consider how we wore marsh mud to hide our scents when hunting deer."
The ones that were wearing their clothes looked down at them in a new light, some of them holding up the cloth and sniffing it. Others, too subordinate to have clothes or too uncomfortable to wear them, eyed the clothed ones enviously.
"To that end," he concluded, "we will follow the Wardens for some weeks as they travel to the great human den called Denerim – a most suitable name, I think – and from there, to Redcliffe. We must learn as much as we can while we travel with them, for their time is short and we have not a day to waste. I expect all of you to attend most carefully to them. Listen, and obey. If any of you cause trouble, you will answer to me. Understood?"
"Yes, Alpha," came the loud chorus from his pack as they all ducked their heads ritualistically.
Swiftrunner, having given his command, strode off stage (metaphorically) to get his breakfast, everyone else waiting patiently for their turn. Meanwhile, Gatekeeper stood up in his place to take care of the messy details.
"Now, I want everyone to wear their shoes, and nobody is permitted to keep more than one pair. Extra shoes belong to the Alpha and he shall give them as he sees fit, understood? The same goes for clothing, nobody is to hoard clothing..."
And he went on and on, while behind him, Swiftrunner calmly ate his porridge and invited his wife to do the same. She looked terrible, pale and thin, and Wynne frowned when she shook her head at the offer of food. Gatekeeper introduced us all, gave a rather awkward account of our relative skills and position in the "Warden Pack," and told everyone that I was Alistair's mate.
"What? No-" Alistair spluttered in horrified embarrassment, blushing furiously.
"You wish them to respect and obey her, do you not?. It is easier for them to obey a small young female if they think she is the alpha male's mate," Gatekeeper murmured to him.
"This is the worst wedding ever," I muttered to Alistair, who was sunk in appalled anticipation of the jokes Zevran would make, the latter's feline eyes glittering with suppressed mirth.
He managed a weak smile. "At least it's cheap. I can't afford – what was it you said? So many jewels you can't stand up under the weight."
"Dear, please try," Wynne was saying to Sundancer, who stubbornly clutched two of her infants to her chest while the same black-haired women held the third asleep in her arms. She shook her head.
"I'll take one," Swiftrunner offered, taking one of the boys. "You need a free hand. Now eat."
"Try the yogurt, it's still quite fresh," Wynne suggested, pushing the bowl towards her. She grimaced, trying a bite only to spit it out and burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, I'm so tired," she sobbed. The babies woke up and started wailing.
Wynne and the two attendants persuaded her, bullying and cajoling in turns, to choke down some porridge and a few bites of cheese, before she had to stop and try to feed the infants who, of course, all got hungry at once and had to be fed right now.
"Why do humans have only two breasts?" she demanded almost hysterically.
Morrigan materialized at my elbow and told me grimly, "We had best make for the Crossing with all speed and obtain a milk goat. Assuming you would rather she not starve herself trying to feed them."
We made good time on the way back, but would still need another half-day to get out of the forest and then perhaps two days' travel on the road, depending on how well the newly-bipedal Tribe could manage. So when we camped that night, my "Warden Pack" gathered to discuss what we could do in the meantime to help the Tribe get ready for Orayan's Crossing.
A quiet scuffle over food precedence suddenly exploded into shouts and hoots as, with a sound like throwing a roast chicken at a wall, a tribesman punched an insubordinate male in the face, knocking the man out while simultaneously breaking his hand with a loud crunch. Sundancer's black-haired attendant gasped and ran to the man with the broken hand, who stared at the injury with a baffled expression, and began to fuss over him and try to pull him over to Morrigan. He shook her off and shoved the downed man aside to retrieve the contested sack of jerky from beneath his limp body.
The woman ran to Morrigan on her own, crouching on the ground before her and begging the use of her "magic stuff." Morrigan gave a put-upon sigh and heaved herself up, crossing to hold out the elfroot ointment and, when he mulishly refused it, to make pointed remarks about "males too foolish to make a proper fist" until he took it just to shut her up.
Meanwhile, Sundancer's black-haired attendant introduced herself as Nightsong and told me, in an awed whisper, of how Morrigan had hunted for them by magic and shapeshifting. "And then she turned the deer into ice, and Firetooth – that's him she's healing – he hit it with a log, and it broke! Oh, Sundancer's looking for me, I have to go, sorry!" And ran away again.
"I would appreciate it if you'd share your experience with them," I told Morrigan over my biscuits and honey once she'd returned. "You know best what it'll be like for them, their first time in a town."
"Fine," she said shortly. I'd expected more complaints from her, but when she stood and crossed to one of the larger gatherings of tribesmen and they all fell silent and attentive, I smiled at how she stood extra-straight and tossed her hair back from her face before beginning to lecture them on how to shake hands. Evidently she had earned some respect, and enjoyed it.
"It must be nice for her to be the knowledgeable one," Leliana commented, voicing my own thoughts.
"Yeah," I agreed. "We should make her our official liaison with them or something. Give her a title to use. They seem to respect official titles."
"I still can't believe they think I'm alpha," Alistair grumbled.
"Well, Zevran certainly isn't, and that just leaves you," I pointed out. "No offense, Zevran."
"None taken." He toyed with one of his slender Crow daggers, idly testing its blade against a fingernail. "The one who broke his hand – Firefang, yes?"
"Firetooth," Leliana corrected.
"Close enough. At any rate, it has occurred to me that we might have trouble on the road and we cannot have the entire Tribe breaking their fingers and trying to bite." He chuckled at the mental image. "Imagine if we encounter darkspawn and the whole tribe dies of the blood in their mouths?"
"We don't have any weapons for them," I said. "Except dinner knives, and only a couple of those."
"True. But we can at least show them how to throw a punch, no? And perhaps some of your Leske's brawling? In the Crossing, we can try to buy them some better equipment."
"With what money?" I asked sharply.
He raised an eyebrow at me, before going and politely asking a surly guard for permission to take a bag from the small pile of belongings the pack had brought with them. He brought it over and opened it, revealing an incredibly ornate helmet, worked with a pattern of leaves so exquisite, every vein and insect nibble was clearly visible in the ancient viridium.
"The pack brought its treasure," he said, showing his teeth in a mercenary smile. "I am sure your Bodahn can find us a good price, enough to buy weapons and armor for all their fighters and a good deal more besides."
"Ooh, this is nice," I breathed, picking it up and turning it over. "It's almost a shame to sell it. It must be elven. It's certainly not dwarven."
"You know, humans make things, too," Alistair said mildly.
"Humans made you," I batted my eyelashes at him. "But they make crap armor, everyone knows that. Someday we will get you into something better, something that doesn't show off three inches of your armpit whenever you raise your shield. And don't get me started about the backs of your knees."
"Hey," he protested, "this is my Gray Warden armor! And it's not like anyone else is looking at my knees, you know."
"Is that a crack about my height?" I demanded.
"Oh, no, I would never," he said earnestly, all wide-eyed innocence. "Thank you for being so concerned about me. That's really big of you."
"She has a point," Zevran cut in, grinning evilly, before I could retort. "Humans excel most of all in the production of other humans."
"Thank goodness we have you to help with all the excess population," Alistair grinned back at him.
The assassin smirked, polishing his fingernails on his leathers in false modesty. "I do my best. I'm quite selfless that way, actually."
The next day, we made it out onto the open road in time for lunch. The boots the elves had given us were worn and well-used, and what had probably been intended as a subtle insult had actually been a boon, since none of the pack were having trouble with blisters. We stopped for lunch in the cleared space at the side of the road, and Zevran and Alistair took the opportunity to discuss fighting with Swiftrunner, Gatekeeper and Firetooth after they had finished their meal – they always ate first, and in that order. I watched, ready to advise if necessary, but we'd agreed that the poor men would never get over it if they got their arse handed to them by a woman.
"I want a sword," Firetooth interrupted, pointing at Alistair's. "Is that the biggest they make?"
"I wouldn't recommend that, actually," Zevran interjected smoothly, drawing his own daggers. "You see, our large friend has been practicing with that rather ungainly penile metaphor for most of his life. You and yours, however, have fought with claws. Do you really want to start over from scratch in a vain attempt to imitate him, or would you rather keep your hard-earned expertise and fight with claws of steel?"
Phew, he really pulled out all the stops on that one. Firetooth bristled and eyed Zevran's daggers, then looked him up and down as though deciding whether he outranked him and could try to take them.
"I don't advise it, my friend," Swiftrunner murmured, laying a hand on his man's shoulder. The smaller man settled down, and I was struck by the difference in their size – I actually hadn't even thought of Firetooth as smaller until just now. The man radiated controlled violence in a sort of aura that made him fill up all available space, regardless of his actual size.
Then his eyes flicked over my shoulder. He drew himself up and turned back to Zevran and Alistair, jaw set. "All right. Teach me – us. Let's go, come on!"
Alistair held a sack of flour for them to punch and I left them to it for now, looking behind me to see what had inspired Firetooth. Nightsong lurked at the edge of the road, watching. When I caught her eye, she blushed prettily and lowered her gaze.
The men managed to get a pretty good handle on falling without getting hurt, and made some headway on the redirection move I'd taught Zevran, before it was time to move out again. Gatekeeper and Swiftrunner seemed especially interested in learning more of the Carta's method of controlling a fistfight, no doubt planning to use it as it was intended – to enforce discipline with a minimum of damage to valuable resources. No sense in breaking your best pickpocket's leg and rendering him useless to you for the next six weeks while it healed, not when you could just as easily pin him down until he came to his senses. They walked with heads together the rest of the day, discussing it, while Firetooth chattered excitedly to his friend, a lean, nondescript man, about what kinds of weapons they might buy.
"And then you put the milk in a bottle with a soft tip, and the babies drink it," Leliana's voice came from behind me and I slowed down to walk with her. She was holding one of the babies, Sundancer and Nightsong holding the other two and wearing the slightly dazed expression common among victims of Leliana's charm. The woman had a way of informing people that they were her friends now, with such conviction that they were left wondering what they'd missed.
"Also," she continued without breath, "we can have a hot bath and that will be really good for you and the babies. And we can wash our hair. Your hair is so pretty - so is yours, Nightsong. And we can go shopping for some clothes that fit you better, and slings for the babies so you can carry them more easily. And-"
"Will there be nicer shoes?" Nightsong interrupted eagerly, and I almost laughed at Leliana's rapturous expression when she realized she finally had someone who appreciated the finer things in life.
But we'd lost enough time with the informal training session that we didn't quite make it back to town before Alistair pointed out that, considering how long it took to feed the Tribe, we ought to start setting up camp or we'd be up all night long.
"All right," I sighed, and tried not to sulk over another night out-of-doors without the excellent comfort of the Bear's Den Inn.
"I'll just go and start everyone's fires, shall I?" he offered. I nodded, and he laid a hand on my shoulder and gave me a private smile before striding off to arrange things with Gatekeeper.
"Thank the ancestors someone here has a clue about large groups on the march," I said, mostly to myself, but Wynne was standing nearby and she came over to sit beside me when I started peeling potatoes for dinner.
"I am sorry for forcing things the other night, but I felt it important that you know," she apologized, almost absently waving a hand at the ground to force open a deep fire pit and pull up a flat stone for cooking on. I bit back my anger at her breaking her promise to leave the stone alone, because I wanted something from her.
I'd decided we couldn't afford for Wynne to be the only healer. Elfroot was all well and good, and Morrigan and her vicious streak would always be my first choice as battlemage, but only bare luck had prevented any of us from sustaining injuries beyond her ability to cure while in the forest. Wynne had said her healing was part talent and part skill. Perhaps Morrigan would never achieve her level of mastery, but she could at least be taught a little. But first, I had to convince Wynne to teach her.
So instead I shrugged and said, "It's okay. You were right." Everyone likes being told they're right.
She eyed me speculatively and asked, "Do you know much about the Wardens of old?"
I grinned at her, neglecting my half-peeled potato for the moment in favor of trying to be cute. "Yes! Alistair told me we had griffins!"
She smiled indulgently, and then said seriously, "There's that, of course, but there's a bit more to being a Gray Warden. Ultimately, it is about serving others."
"I kind of got that, actually," I said and turned back to my potato until the bitter twist was gone from my lip. Duncan and his entire company had served with their very lives. "I think we're a little like the Legion of the Dead. Willing sacrifices to help keep the darkspawn at bay. At least, it helps to think of it that way. You know, I would have died if Duncan hadn't recruited me, so every day I live is just gravy."
"I did not know that."
She was watching me carefully and I looked up to give her another smile, to let her know I wasn't sulking or brooding or anything. "I mean it. It's not like dusters have much of a lifespan anyway, or much opportunity to do anything useful."
"Someone told me a story about the Wardens once, long ago. Would you like to hear it?" she offered.
"Only if it has griffins in it," I teased, nudging her with my elbow and grinning again.
To my surprise, she snorted and pulled away. "Again with the griffins? Honestly, it's like speaking with a child!"
Hurt, I felt my jaw tighten at what felt very much like a rejection. I said with brittle cheer, "Well, I wish I had a griffin."
"Griffins? Are we talking about griffins?" Alistair said with enthusiasm from over my shoulder. He scooped up the pot, now full of potatoes ready for cooking. "Arl Eamon gave me a griffin doll once. I kept it for years until one of the Mabari ate it."
"The two of you are quite a pair," Wynne commented dryly, and that was enough.
"Save the story for some other time, maybe," I said abruptly and followed Alistair to fill the pot with water from the jolly river a short ways downhill from the road.
Helping ladle water into the huge pot, I burst out, "Alistair, she moved the stone!"
"You've got the stone again? I mean, now that we're not in the forest?" he asked curiously.
I blinked. "Yes. I hadn't even noticed. It was so gradual." I breathed deeply in relief. "She dug up rocks by magic."
"She probably thought it wasn't a big deal. Was it?"
"...No. I guess not." I sighed again and sat at the edge of the shallow river. "She just – out of everyone here, including that pack of misogynists, she's the only one who makes me feel like a stupid girl. We didn't ask to be the last Gray Wardens in the nation! This isn't even my nation! I'm a dwarf! And she's lecturing me about serving others? When have I done anything other than my job? What did I do to deserve being called a child?"
All the feelings of frustration and inadequacy that had built up the past few days came spilling out in a tirade that wasn't quite fair, really. But Alistair and Leliana and Zevran and even Morrigan all worked with me, even if they sometimes disagreed, and I felt like we trusted each other. Wynne acted like she didn't trust me to tie my own boots.
"Nothing," Alistair said, sitting heavily on the gravel beside me. "You've been amazing."
"You've done everything I've done. If you weren't here, I would still be sitting in the Korcari Wilds, hiding from the rain."
"You know, I was just thinking the same thing," he said with a smile.
I laughed at the image of mighty warrior Alistair cowering under a bush, and let myself lean on him, feeling soft and vulnerable in the wake of my tantrum. He touched my chin; when I looked up at him he cupped my cheek in his hand and gave me a searching look. I waited in breathless anticipation until I figured out he was waiting for me, being a perfect gentleman – or maybe afraid I would fly away like a frightened bird if he startled me.
Well, no worries there – I like kisses, especially from Alistair, who threw himself into the art with the same single-minded dedication as he did Gray Wardening and smiting evil mages. I threw my arms around his neck and practically tackled him; he fell back on his elbows and laughed, a brilliant sound, and his smile felt lovely.
Too soon, much too soon, the complaining from the rest of the camp wondering where the potatoes had gone grew loud enough that we had to get up and finish our task and pretend we had been perfectly dutiful and not distracted at all, biting our lips to keep from grinning, which would have been a dead giveaway. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and breakfast went more smoothly than usual, the Tribe getting into the swing of things and no longer needing to re-establish their hierarchy at every meal.
So we were on our way only a few hours after dawn, when the air began to feel dank and oppressive. I shook my head and rubbed at my eyes, hoping I was just slow to wake up. It didn't help, and I was about to try getting a drink of water when Alistair hissed through his teeth and grabbed my wrist.
"You're feeling that?" he asked darkly.
"Is it weather?" I asked, frowning at the blue sky.
"It's darkspawn," he spat and pulled his shield down off his back, thrusting his arm through its straps. "Get ready. I think they're attacking the town."
Thanks to everyone and their incredibly supportive reviews! And thank you for bearing with me during these transitional chapters. I'm hoping things will get more exciting now.