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Cailan set about cleaning several root vegetables and adding them to the pot hanging at the end of the tripod. He wouldn't hold it against her that she thought him a spoiled noble with no skills.
Most people thought nobles did nothing for themselves. And maybe most didn't. But he grew up with Maric, the savior of Ferelden. His father spent two thirds of his life on the run without servants. His son wasn't given to being pampered.
She had saved his life at grate expense to her own. And she was the only grey warden left. If this were a true blight, they would be in real trouble. For what could one small girl do against an Archdemon?
He mourned Duncan and had great sorrow for all who sacrificed their lives for his but most of all he grieved for Alistair. The brother he'd always wanted but never had a chance to get to know.
He had demanded Duncan put him in the safest place, away from the battle. But it seemed the Tower of Ishal wasn't far enough away.
He looked over again at the sleeping girl. Her Mabari had laid down allowing her to recline even farther. And probably in his opinion more comfortably. In her sleep, she looked to be fifteen or sixteen. When they met, he had not thought to ask her age.
Everything was in the pot and cooking at a good boil. His stomach rumbled. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. But he wasn't willing to eat with an unwashed body. The stench of blood, death and shit clung to him.
He dropped the blanket he'd been wearing as a makeshift robe while his clothes dried on the cot. Carefully not to disturb the sleeping Warden he walked over to the lake and waded in. The water was cold enough to take his breath away for a moment.
His training as a solider from the time he was ten summers gave him plenty of courage. But the will to submerge his body in the water was almost more than he could force himself.
The stiff caked strands of hair that were flaking dried blood and gore whenever he touched his hair or shook his head pushed him to grit his teeth and dunk. Scrubbing his body and hair with water and sand, he washed as quickly as he could.
He broke the surface with a gasp and a shudder. He hoped he was clean because that was about as much as he could stand. He was grateful his companion was asleep because if he had an audience, he might have felt the need to show how much more he could take.
He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his body heading for the fire. It would take the soup to warm him but for now, the fire would chase some of the chill away. As he looked over his garments, he debated if they should have pulled them off when they took the armor.
There were holes and gashes in the linen. The blood had stained the fabric leaving a brown dingy looking undershirt. Holding on to the blanket with one hand he struggled to put on his braccae, hopping with first one leg and then the other.
Leaving the drawstring of the pants untied he realized he had no choice but to but to put the torn linen shirt back on. Without it, the leather armor would chafe. When he got back to the castle, he didn't know if he would burn it or keep it as monument.
He used the free moment to look over his new, used armor and was happy with the quality. It wasn't his but sacrifices meant his life or his armor. He could have a new suit fashioned.
Suddenly a woman's scream pierced the quiet.
Instinctively reaching for that sword on the belt that wasn't there Cailan looked around for the source of attack. Nothing.
He looked to her Mabari but the hound only raised his head and looked around ears twitching, no more than just alert. Cailan debated waking her up. The stew should be ready.
"Oh Maker! No!" I exclaim bolting upright. The terror of the nightmare makes my breath short ragged gasps as I look around wildly to be sure I was above ground and that hideous dragon wasn't in the clearing.
"Are you alright?" Cailan
"The Archdemon. I saw him. He looked at me and was trying to say something to me."
"Are you sure? This was your first time in combat and killing is stressful for battle-hardened soldiers. Could you just be having nightmares because of the trauma?"
I scowled at the king. Wondering why he believed as deeply about Grey Wardens and yet he doesn't believe me when I say I saw the archdemon. "Yes. Unless trauma makes you see a big, ugly purple dragon flying over a mass of darkspawn in tunnels you have never been."
"So that is why Duncan was so certain that this was a true blight. I wish I had took his warnings a little more seriously. The dragon didn't happen to tell you when he was coming to the surface or where."
"Your majesty! That's not something to joke about. I don't know he could have been. I couldn't understand him. It was a different language or something."
I stood trying to work some of the kinks and stiffness out of my body. Which is telling me how badly I have abused it over the last several days. The smell of the stew in the pot made my mouth water. It reminded me that though I ached I hadn't eaten in days.
I didn't know what to say. I know Duncan tried to get him to wait for Arl Eamon's men but it would help reminding him of that now. I wasn't even sure that with the Alr's men the outcome would have been different with the Teyrn's treachery. And I wanted to offer some comfort.
"Well now that you do know, you'll figure something out. My teacher used to tell Jowan that we just needed to find another use for the wasted lyrium."