The only sound as the group moved was the occasional gust of wind through the treetops, and the sucking and sloshing of feet trampling through the mud. Solona had expected more complaining, but everyone seemed too focused on their footing to bother. It was the one upside to the wet conditions. The breeches she'd put on that morning were a good call. Anders had repeatedly had to knock chunks of drying mud off the bottom of his robe, and she noticed him eying her outfit with a frown anytime they stopped or changed course. But mostly Solona kept her head down and charged steadfastly forward, wanting only to get as far as possible while the daylight remained. With the heavy clouds obscuring the sun, darkness would come early.
She'd awoken that morning in a disoriented state that had lingered all afternoon, casting the world under a dreamlike pall. She kept hearing the click of her bedroom door closing shut, feeling the energy of another Warden retreating down the hall, what she'd assumed then was just a strange end to a strange dream. She'd been up and on her way to breakfast before she'd even given it a second thought. The ravenous hunger tearing through her stomach was the most urgent priority, as was usually the case upon waking. The need to eat didn't leave much room for deep, early morning contemplation.
She sighed at her appearance in the mirror as she hastily crossed the room to the door. She'd slept in her boots and robe again; not exactly the most comfortable night clothes. Whatever sliver of coherency that had helped her get down off the roof and to her room the night before apparently didn't see the need to undress. Or get under the covers, for that matter. Yet despite the puffiness around her eyes and the scratch of dryness in her throat, she felt unusually warm and well rested.
So she'd rushed to breakfast, securing a mouth full of food before even bothering to grunt hello to Anders or locate a clean plate. She was completely absorbed in filling the painful vacancy in her stomach while the others streamed in and gathered up their own breakfasts. And then Lya had arrived.
It was the sudden silence that got Solona's attention. At the end of the table Lya scowled, her skinny frame towering over the feasting Wardens. Holding up an empty burlap with a hole torn in the middle, Lya began her angry tirade, one they'd all heard before. I thought at first the rats were back, until I saw the mess ye left me in the basin…
Solona searched what slivers of memory she could locate for any indication it had been her that visited the kitchen in the middle of the night. Most nights the liquor dulled her cravings, which she assumed was why her morning hunger was completely without mercy. But she still had been the guilty kitchen raider once or twice. The last time she'd even stumbled upon all three of the others already stuffing their faces, with the kitchen counter covered with half eaten items pulled from the larder. That had been Lya's final straw, and what had led to their tenuous agreement of an extra-early, oversized breakfast.
But Solona's memory of the night before was filled with darkness, and what images did seem to slip through had nothing to do with food.
Maker, how she wished she truly could feel Alistair's arms around her again, his body against hers, tangling up tight and sharing warmth and breath. Solona closed her eyes as she chewed, trying to soak herself in the memory. Alistair had a magic in his touch, and the desire to feel it again was often so intense as to be physically painful. Last night's dream had a vividness to it that stretched beyond mere images, and, even stranger, there were times she was certain he was with her in her own room. She recalled the chest below her head rising and falling with breath, the lubbing of a heartbeat in her ear. Hair had tickled her cheek.
But Alistair had never worn his hair long. What an unexpected thing for her mind to insert into a dream.
And then there was the click of her door that morning… The presence of another Warden in the hall…
Silence again. Lya had finished her admonishments. Solona looked up and saw all three of the others sitting with their heads hanging, their cheeks pink with shame. Oghren's was an especially deep shade. Lya's stare was piercing Solona, waiting expectantly, but Solona had hardly heard a word of whatever she'd said.
Sitting up, Solona cleared her throat.
"My apologies Lya," she offered. "I'll tell Thom to have locks installed on the larders while we're away."
Lya sighed, her hands on her hips.
"You'd best be securing more merchants 'round here before you make any more Wardens." She wagged a thin, knotty finger at Solona. "The soldiers' is gonna starve to death if they have to share provisions with more of you animals!"
Solona picked up the lambshank bone resting beside her plate and lobbed it at Oghren. It thunked against his head, then ricocheted off and skittered across the floor.
"Apologize Oghren," Solona ordered.
He hung his head and mumbled something. Whatever it was seemed to have been enough for Lya. She stomped away, shaking her head.
Anders tut-tutted at Oghren. The dwarf rose from his bench to retrieve the lambshank, and inspected it closely for any remaining scraps of meat. He saw quickly that Solona had already stripped it clean.
"You're going to let that little woman get away with talking to you like that?" Anders asked with a raised eyebrow. "The Commander of the Grey Wardens, given a right scolding…."
Solona met his gaze and inspected his face, his arms and shoulders. If his hair had been loose from his ponytail, it would have been the right height to tickle her cheek. He also had the right build, but she had a hazy memory of leather… but then Alistair had worn leather in their early days. Another strange thing for her mind to insert.
"Sol?" Anders asked, waiting.
"Ever heard the phrase 'you don't bite the hand that feeds you?'" Solona responded flatly. "Lya is literally that hand."
She dropped her eyes back down to her plate, surprised, as she always was, that it was empty. The food always disappeared so quickly. Instead she grabbed at her mug of coffee, letting herself inhale the steam and feeling her tired pores open, her stuffy sinuses clearing. Lya always made their coffee nice and strong.
"What was in it?" Anders asked, nudging Oghren.
"Turnips," Oghren croaked.
Nathaniel snorted, almost choking on his coffee. "You did the soldiers a favor. They should thank you."
"And why in the Maker's name would you eat a whole bag of turnips, of all things!?" Anders exclaimed.
Oghren shrugged. "Reminds me of home. Some of the only food you surfacers have that does. Like Ma's roasted turnips and suckling nugs…." He groaned hungrily and trailed off.
A few more flashes of the night before surfaced. Arms squeezing her close, fingers tenderly brushing through her hair. The memory, now that it had emerged, was real enough to make her shudder. She rolled her head on her shoulders, feeling the skin under her robe tingle with shivers.
Solona's eyes flicked back up to Anders. He was looking at her again, with a little smirk this time. She looked away quickly.
Was it truly possible that someone had actually been in the room with her? Might she have propositioned someone on the way back from the roof? That was not the sort of thing she would normally do, but who knows what madness she'd get up to while blackout drunk on shitty Brandy. That she could walk back from the roof at all was surprise all its own. Not the most dignified of things for a Warden-Commander to do, but it wouldn't be much longer that anyone would have to tolerate her anyway.
And if the presence she felt this morning was an indication, it clearly had to have been a Warden…
It was a thought that was both a little disconcerting, and enough to stir up a horde of butterflies in her stomach.
Solona looked next to Nathaniel. His eyes were fixed distantly on his plate, his attention lost to something deep within his own mind. He had that severe countenance and sallow complexion that all the Howes had. Solona sometimes saw shades of his father in him, particularly when he was irritated. Anders brought that out of him regularly. Nathaniel was naturally much more attractive than Rendon had been, but still, nothing about him screamed warm. Solona couldn't imagine him being particularly affectionate to anyone, though she admittedly hadn't spent the time to get to know him.
It was difficult to talk to him without being reminded both of Rendon's treachery, and of Nathaniel's own lowly opinion of her. She was a squatter in his family home, he'd said, and the reason his family were now "pariahs." As though his father hadn't sicced an Antivan Crow on her first, or tried to plunder Ferelden for his own gain, or gone well out of his way to earn that title The Butcher of Denerim.
He just got caught up in politics! Nathaniel had argued about his father once. If he actually believed that was true, then he was woefully misinformed. Who knew what other, equally incorrect opinions the man still quietly held.
It hardly seemed a possibility that he might accept any invitation back to her room. And equally unlikely that she might extend one.
Meanwhile Anders seemed to lavish his affections generously. Well, generously to everyone else. Still, she supposed it was possible that eventually he'd work his way through all the other prospects in the Keep, and then would find himself in need of new blood.
And he had squeezed her arm the day before….
No, that was too pathetic a gesture to latch onto. An arm squeeze could mean absolutely nothing.
Solona shook her head and finished up her coffee. She stood and barked the orders to meet at the outside gate in an hour, then rushed back to her room to change her clothes and grab her pack. As she entered, she felt her breath leave her. Memory took the reins of her mind again. Her stomach clenched as she reveled in the memory of being held. Whatever, whoever it was, dream or reality, it had scratched an itch that she'd been trying her damnedest to ignore. Yet the itch only seemed stronger now. The need to be held, to not feel alone, to have the man she loved so desperately return to her, was enough to make her knees almost buckle.
She ended up walking over to her bed and standing there for longer than she could remember, scrutinizing the mess that was her blankets. The Maker created miracles, didn't he? Could it be possible that Alistair had returned for a night, except she'd been too drunk to register it as anything other than a dreamy blur?
No, that sort of thing didn't happen to people. As much as the Chantry liked to claim that miracles were real, no one she'd known had ever genuinely experienced one. It was much more likely that it was all just an unusually realistic dream. Or, a visitor in the night, one of the very few other Wardens who shared the Keep.
Wrinkles covered enough area for two people, particularly down where boots had cut trenches into the fabric. But she also could have just tossed and turned in the night, resulting in what only looked like the imprint of two distinct bodies. Dreams of Alistair always made her sleep fitfully at best. Sometimes she even woke with tears streaming down her cheeks. The next morning she'd feel like an anvil had landed on her head.
Though that wasn't her reality this morning. And if it hadn't been for that blasted Warden hunger, she wouldn't have wanted to leave the warm cocoon of last night's sleep at all.
Was it actually possible that Anders, the very Anders to whom she'd been completely invisible for an agonizing handful of years, might have come to her room last night?
The longer she stood there, the less certain she was of anything.
—-
The walk throughout most of the morning was a slog, with poor short Oghren most burdened by the mud. Puddles that were only just past everyone else's ankles had him sinking down nearly to his knees. In a fit of rage, Oghren took his battleaxe to a puddle, slicing angrily at the minefield of mud, succeeding in only sloshing himself further. It had been a laugh though, which the group sorely needed. The heavy grey clouds were oppressive, both physically and spiritually, and they'd regularly belched new mists of a frigid rain down upon them, coating them all in a bone-chilling sheen of moisture.
The only who didn't seem to mind was Solona, which was par for the course. She looked right at home among the misery.
Meanwhile Anders just felt downright ridiculous in his skirts. They swept through the mud, picking up a paste of brown that grew heavier and heavier as it accumulated. Solona had the right idea wearing breeches. She seemed to agree, based upon the sympathetic looks she offered Anders any time he stopped to try to kick some of the weight off.
He'd been watching her more today than he ever had, his mind boggled by the conversation he'd had with Nathaniel after breakfast a day prior, after he had cautiously asked if Anders and Solona had history back at the circle.
"History?" Anders had laughed. "You mean that kind of history? Solona and I? Why would you think that?"
Nathaniel's brows raised, and it took a moment for him to formulate a response. That had apparently not been the answer he expected.
"Well surely you knew each other at least?"
Anders sighed. "Why because we were both there at the same time? You must imagine the Ferelden circle as a small place? A cozy little retreat where we all sat around a fire and sang kumbaya?"
Nathaniel only regarded him with that cold, unamused stare.
"Nope, sorry Howe. There were literally thousands of mages in the circle. There's no way I could have tasted every attractive little morsel there. And trust me, I tried."
Until Karl, at least. That had pretty much taken him out of the game for a while. And then there was the blighted year in solitary…
Anders studied Nathaniel's face. He wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his surprise. Anders scoured his memory, realizing that there were quite a few ladies, and men, who he'd met in some out of the way place a time or two, and whom he'd hardly be able to pick out of a line-up now.
"Unless…" he coughed, almost ashamed to admit it. "Well, maybe I did? I mean, I guess it's possible. A lot of them sort of blur together in my memory to be honest. Ouch, that would sting, wouldn't it? Assuming she remembered. Or cared. Do you think that maybe that's why she's so mean to me?"
"Mean to you!?" Nathaniel had snorted. "She's nicer to you than she is to anyone. Which is precisely why I wondered…"
"She is?" Anders laughed, cocking his head. "Well. If that's nice, then she must really dislike the lot of you."
Exasperated, Nathaniel had called him a nitwit and stormed away.
Little curly hairs had broken free from Solona's messy bun, and were sticking to the back of her neck. Anders had been eying that slender neck of hers ever since there'd been light enough to see, admiring how delicate and pale her skin was. It was such a contrast to her steeliness, which made it seem all the more mesmerizing. The prospect that he might possibly have bedded her at some point and not remembered it nagged at him. Of course she hadn't been the Hero then. But if he could claim to have slept with the Hero, even if it was back when she was a total unknown, then that would be something special wouldn't it? Not every man could claim to have intimate knowledge of the woman who'd saved Thedas from the fifth blight.
And really, she was a bit prettier than he'd given her credit for. Perhaps not upon first glance, but she had the sort of aesthetic pleasantness that revealed itself in little flashes the longer that you looked at her. Her features were symmetrical, though not overly dramatic or striking. She had heavy, sort of silky eyelids that draped over her large brown eyes in a very sensual fashion. Bedroom eyes, he'd heard it called. Come hither eyes. Though on Solona they didn't exactly say "come hither." They mostly just said leave me alone. And her mouth was nice. Small, pink and heart shaped, like a perfect little rosebud. Though in every other way she was exactly the type of girl who would sort of fade into the walls, at least while next to some of the circle's more ostentatious beauties.
Exactly the type he probably would have had a go with in some corner of the circle and then forgotten quickly after. But he assumed they all forgot him too. That's what they all did! It's not like none of them knew what the game was!
But it was hard not to see her, really see her, when she got that look in her eye and took down a whole swath of darkspawn singlehandedly. Anders had always been a little jealous of the mages who could pull off all those complicated destruction spells. Oh he could do it too, no question about that, but not without cost to his mana and energy. He was perfectly deadly in fact, thank you very much. But, well, so what if destruction was not his primary talent? He could do so many other things, like bring horribly injured people back from the brink of death! Not everyone could do that!
Solona, however, made those complicated destruction spells look effortless. And, he had to admit, that was kind of hot.
Anders offered her a half smile as he stepped gingerly through a particularly wet patch of road.
"I feel like a debutante at a ball!" he joked as he daintily gathered up his robe skirts and dramatically extended a booted foot. "Minus all the filth."
Her lip sort of curled. Anders sighed. She wasn't an easy one to make smile. Even catching her eye could be a chore since she was always so bloody distracted. She seemed to have quite a lot to think about, even when she wasn't exactly doing anything. He could only guess what horrible things she was thinking about him. Of course if they had known each other back in the circle, and she was sore about being tossed aside and forgotten, she was probably convinced that he was absolute slime now.
Anders wished he knew what the truth was.
Off the to far left of the pathway came that sickly tickle, a scratching at the corner of of his reality. The group came to a stop simultaneously, all four heads turning toward the shared sensation. A gust of wind picked up over the trees, bringing with it the slight stench of decaying flesh.
In less than a breath, Solona was off, taking a sharp turn away from the path and striding deep into the woods. Darkspawn lay within, a large horde of them, but still too far away to determine number or types. Anders sighed and followed her, with Oghren and Nathaniel only a step or two behind. They had to sprint for several yards to catch up with her, their footing easier to find among the network of tree roots and rocky outcroppings within the trees. Anders still felt the muddy hem of his robe slapping against his boots, but he tried to put it out of his mind.
Silently they weaved through the trees until their Warden sense grew sharp and numbers of darkspawn became more discernible. Clusters of spawn that moments before had been only a chaotic mass were now organizing as they responded to their own growing awareness of the approaching Wardens. The numbers were changing direction to meet the Wardens head on, coalescing into a horde that felt in his mind like a tumor upon the world.
Solona pulled her staff free from her pack. A purple flash of light emitted from her staffhead, and at the same time the air around them prickled with a sharp, magical vibration. Anders pushed out a barrier spell, absorbing them all within its percussive blast, and leaving an orb of protection around each of the Wardens. Nathaniel was the first to split off to the right as he headed for a cluster of rocks on a nearby hilltop. Oghren's little legs had to work twice as fast, but his energy seemed endless, and he quickly overtook Solona as he banked left, aiming for an arm of darkspawn that would be out of her blast radius.
Anders fell back, his staff coming free and charging with the hum of his power. He waited for the others to take position first, so that he could maneuver himself to keep the others in his line of sight. He needed to locate a good place to send a blast of healing at the first indication of blood or flagging strength, and needed to find it quickly.
Solona, like in so many other ways, was tricky to tune into in the heat of battle. She seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time making Anders job harder by repeatedly moving out of his range. It was almost like she was doing it on purpose.
Nathaniel was quick with his arrows, bringing the first darkspawn down almost immediately after they came into view. The runners behind the first wave stumbled as they encountered the fallen bodies of their comrades, which only made them easier targets for Solona. The ambling bodies that made it past Nathaniel's onslaught were quickly frozen into place by a barrage of Solona's ice, which was her usual leading tactic, and an effective one at that. She spent the first few minutes slinging frost far and wide, encasing darkspawn into place so that Oghren or Nathaniel could finish the job, while Anders fed their protective barriers strength, keeping them nearly impenetrable.
Oghren sent frozen spawn bodies cascading to the ground in sparkling shards, his deep voice nearly roaring with the effort of swinging his massive axe. Nathaniel's arrows seemed endless, though he paused between every wave of spawn to apply a mist of poison to his arrow tips.
The darkspawn horde was massive, consisting of a few dozen at least, with hurlocks and genlocks making up the first few waves, but bringing up the rear were an army of brutes surrounding three towering Emissaries. As soon as the tall, spellcasting spawn came into view so did the sickly green light of their magic, spiraling toward Nathaniel and Solona and slowly chipping away at their protective barriers.
Off to the left Anders' attention was drawn, as the telltale slowing of Oghren's swinging axe communicated the dwarf's need for aid. As formidable as the little man was, he was also precisely at arm's height, causing his helmeted head to absorb nearly every blow levied in his direction. Which, honestly, explained quite a lot. Whatever braincells survived Oghren's drinking, were at least knocked silly during any battle. Anders took a breath and pulled a long drink of mana, sending a considerable burst of healing toward the dwarf. He held it strong even as he saw a few darkspawn manage to skirt Solona's chain lightning and make their way toward him. With a swing of his staff he sent a wall of fire in their direction, but the spawn kept running through the flames, even as licks of fire clung to their tattered leathers and climbed up their bodies. The stench of sizzling flesh made Anders' stomach heave with repulsion.
Anders jumped back a few steps and sent the spawn reeling back with a psychic blast. He heard himself howl as he put fireball after fireball into their faces, until finally each body flew off its feet and landed in a smoking heap before him.
When the flames cleared he looked up to confirm what his Warden sense was indicating: that the others were advancing further, taking themselves out of his range. Anders re-erected their barriers and leapt over the steaming darkspawn bodies, to see that most of the horde was down, their bodies laying in a grotesque array of unnatural angles and spilled entrails.
Nathaniel had his eyes on Solona, watching her every step as he sprinted up rocks with a feline grace, pacing her speed to the best of his ability. He turned quickly and in a single swift motion had an arrow drawn and fired, lodging itself perfectly centered in the eye on an Emissary. Solona, swung her staff, which flared with a blinding brightness as it stirred up a cyclone of power that had Anders' hair standing on end. He felt the breath sucked out of his lungs as the air churned, drawing itself tighter and tighter around her. Her health was almost untouched, but Anders sent her another strengthening of her barrier anyway, especially now that her cyclone was drawing the remaining darkspawn close. Almost as if she had felt it, she sprinted forward again, putting more distance between herself and Anders and closing the gap before the last standing genlocls and emissaries.
Nathaniel's arrows continued to fly, landing with deadly accuracy and picking off darkspawn one by one. Solona's head turned sharply toward him, her face snarled with annoyance. Nathaniel was too busy to notice it, his focus absorbed in sending lethal arrow after lethal arrow, with new darkspawn dropping even before the last had hit the ground.
Anders watched in shock as she turned her spell toward the archer, throwing a quick burst of ice toward him, freezing him motionless.
Anders went numb with disbelief, unsure if he should trust that she had a plan, or try to intervene. He could easily send some fire up to Nathaniel and break him out of his icy prison. Oghren stared on from the sidelines, his armored chest still heaving with exertion. The two quietly decided to just watch, not wanting to make themselves her next target.
The darkspawn were gathered close to Solona, but she parried unhurriedly to the side as a jagged blade came down toward her. Anders instinctively raised his staff in counterattack, but repressed the urge. The cyclone she'd conjured had brought them all in deliberately, and now she seemed to slow her movements, as though she didn't see the urgency in her situation. But despite her nonchalance, Anders could feel the pulse of power charging her staff. It was a little unbelievable how much force she was able to wield; the ground below Anders' feet was a constant storm of vibrations, her magic reverberating deep into the earth below them even when it wasn't being thrown into some deadly spell.
With a lazy swing of her staff she unleashed more ice, hitting every nearby darkspawn in the head with a blast of frost that coated them in white from the neck up. Their bodies continued to move, though once they'd been hit they seemed to lose organization. Erratically they stumbled, taking slow, dying steps while struggling for breath and sight. With another deliberate motion Solona began to bludgeon them each about the skull, one swing and then another, a swift, smooth, almost gleeful motion. Her staff went dark as the magic faded, leaving her with only sheer physical force, as one by one she left nearly a dozen darkspawn headless. One body fell, and then another, crashing down onto the carpet of bodies already littering the ground, convulsing with the last gasps of death. Solona took her time, taking measured steps that put her at just the right distance for her staff to connect, skirting blindly thrusted blades and spears, missing them by only just enough not to get skewered herself. When the last head had been reduced to an icy cloud of dust, four ambling, decapitated bodies still remained upright, but only able to take precious few steps before crashing to the ground.
The frost weakened and Nathaniel broke free from his momentary stun. He hopped from rock to rock downward, landing silently on a bare patch of earth. His expression was a decidedly unhappy one, and his eyes grew darker as he watched Solona finish. She was disemboweling any darkspawn who continued to squirm on the ground by plunging her staffblade into their lower belly and dragging it upward until they were flayed from pelvis to sternum.
When there was no movement left among the dead, she turned to Nathaniel, her eyes wild and fierce. Anders was breathless as he watched, not daring to move any closer. He wouldn't have been surprised if Nathaniel was the next target of her staffblade. Anders felt himself instinctively backing away. If she'd turn on her own party, then he certainly didn't want to test her patience.
"You were stealing my kills again," she growled to Nathaniel. She was a terrifying sight, covered from head to toe in mud and blood splatter. Her hair had broken free entirely from its ties, and wet, blackened tendrils stuck her face. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her eyes wide pools of tar. Anders' heart raced as he took her in. It seemed absurd that he might ever have forgotten someone so spectacularly lethal. Of course, he clearly had not seen her in action in the circle.
Nathaniel realized his bow was still in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready to pull. He seemed to exhale a shaky breath, and replaced them both on his back. He was still as he assessed her, and Anders was almost certain he detected a glint of concern in his eyes. The man was clearly either oblivious, or a fool. Any man in his right mind should be shitting his pants.
"I was helping you," Nathaniel said simply. It was an explanation offered sincerely, without any challenge. "With that many darkspawn, you could easily get overwhelmed."
Solona made a sound that could have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so shrill and maniacal.
"You shouldn't… I don't want…." She stopped herself, biting down on her lip. She placed her staff back on in its holster and squeezed the bridge of her nose with two bloody fingers, leaving behind a smear of red. She took a deep breath, as though trying to collect herself.
Without any further explanation, she turned away, heading back toward Anders and the distant roadway. Her gaze found Anders as she approached and locked on, unblinking. Anders found it impossible to break eye contact. He felt something stirring in the root of him, some upheaval in the pit of his stomach as she came close and then passed, leaving them all behind as she charged toward the road.