Camp. It felt like falling into a soft bed at the end of a long day. But of course the beds in camp weren't beds, they were thin rolls of padding covering rocks and sticks and back-grinding lumps in the ground. And there was no roof to shield the party from the erratic mists of rain, but the stars blinking into existence over the distant horizon promised that the storm clouds were finally beginning to dissipate. Flames crackled as they climbed up the cone of dry branches that Nathaniel swiftly arranged; he had an inferno breathing a wash of glorious heat through the campsite before either Anders or Solona had time to offer their services in firestarting. Shortly after, he'd faded into the shadows of the forest, sure to return eventually with
several hairy, already gutted bodies slung over his shoulder, needing only to be skinned before getting mounted upon the spit.
One thing that Solona could not deny: when it came to making a comfortable camp in the the wilderness, her taciturn would-be assassin was indispensable.
Solona stood with the bonfire to her back as she took in the impressive extent of her own filth. Darkspawn blood mixed with mud and coated her leathers in a thick, rancid paste. Dried smudges itched the skin on her cheeks, and cemented her hair into heavy ropes that whipped her in the face any time she turned her head too quickly. The filth was why she'd insisted that they camp next to the little lake Nathaniel had spotted an hour's walk off the main path. It'd add a little extra travel time, but at least she'd be able to bathe.
With a mindless grumble she scraped the mud off her buckles and began to unlatch and loosen her leathers, feeling chunks of cold dirt breaking free and scattering down her legs. Anders and Oghren laughed behind her, both absorbed in their own conversation. Exhaustion seeped through her bones, but although the lake water was sure to be bitterly cold, the opportunity to float alone for a while under the twilight sky was irresistible.
One by one her leathers thumped heavily to the ground, followed quickly by her stained tunic and breeches. The fire's warmth hit the bare skin of her back once only her breastband and panties remained, the heat penetrating into the ball of tension coiled in her gut. She rolled her shoulders and felt the stiffness bleed out of her limbs. The chatter behind her quickly hushed, and she had no doubt two pairs of curious eyes were observing her from the fireside. Gathering up her pile of soiled leathers, she walked barefoot to the water's edge, her eyes drawn into the reflection of the slowly emerging stars on the lake's glassy sheen.
The water was warmer than she'd been expecting. With little light to see by she scrubbed her leathers clean, prying loose thick chunks of clinging mud and wiping away the polish of souring red. Slowly the stench of darkspawn receded, replaced with the fresh, mulchy scent of the forest. The sharp green pines and wilting laurel permeated the air, filling her lungs and loosening the vise around her temples that she'd been ignoring for countless tedious hours. Before her gaped a dim, welcoming expanse of space, dark sky over calm waters, the thick clouds developing a lining of radiant silver as the moon behind them rose and grew brighter.
The air still held a wet chill, but Solona didn't mind it. The bite of cold was at least something she could feel, some bit of sensation that broke through the day's unrelenting numbness. The only highs so far had been the few battles they'd had with the darkspawn, where she'd been able to open up that angry chasm inside of her and purge some of its contents, and leaving the Keep far behind for the simplicity of the forest.
There was something deeply soothing about a landscape of craggy woods, with its own shadows and inhabitants, its own contagious silence. It cared nothing for the squabbles or dramas of people, and could be just as lethal as it was life-giving. In an existence weighed down by so much expectation and responsibility, so many eyes watching and people wanting answers and directions, it was a relief to lose herself within a wilderness that didn't need her. It, in fact, disregarded her completely.
A quiet voice in the back of her mind kept nagging at her to apologize to Nathaniel. What she'd done with the ice earlier in the day had been dangerous. If she'd been in her rational mind she never would have put him in such a vulnerable state, regardless of how many darkspawn had been killed. But her rational mind was difficult to reach in the heat of battle lately, drowned out more and more by bloodlust and rage, sometimes resulting in mistakes and missteps, little things she'd dwell upon for hours afterward. This was no different.
She tuned into her Warden sense, scanning the woods beyond them for Nathaniel's presence, but felt a gulf of silence, punctuated only by the two behind her, unmoving at the fireside. He had probably taken himself of out range deliberately, seeking, as she so often did, the rare respite of a quiet mind.
Ahead of her, the water beckoned. She could swim out of range herself, spend some time soaking in the lake's calm, blessed solitude. At least until Nathaniel returned with dinner, but even then it'd take time for his catches to cook.
Eager to be immersed, she gathered up her cleaned leathers and walked them over to the fire, ignoring the awkward way Anders and Oghren were averting their eyes from her body. It was hard to believe she was anything to look at, as streaked with mud and blood as she still was in the places her leathers had been soaked to the skin. Even cleaned up she didn't really feel like a beauty, or anyone who'd normally draw an admiring eye. Only Alistair had ever made her feel pretty, and since he was gone she cared less about her appearance than ever.
Anders took a long drink from a glass bottle, its contents glimmering a golden caramel in the firelight. After her leathers were carefully arranged on a rock beside the fire to dry, she walked up to him, a deep thirst drawing her toward the bottle.
"May I?" she asked gently, resolving to share her own once she returned to camp. Anders cleared his throat and handed it over. She found it vaguely amusing how he didn't seem to know where to put his eyes. They landed on her legs, her stomach, her hands, flitting from place to place like a bird unable to choose a perch, and then falling down to his feet where he cleared his throat again. Solona almost told him to knock it off. The awkwardness seemed completely unnecessary, especially if he didn't really consider her a lady anyway. Instead of bothering, she gulped down two long swigs, letting the liquid fire scorch its way into her stomach. From there the numbness spread upward, churning out warm tendrils that wound pleasantly toward her head. She took one last drink and handed the bottle back before turning and walking out of camp and back to the water's edge.
As the day had progressed, the mystery of the night before appeared more and more inconsequential. For a little while, a few of the flashes of memory stuck in her mind with enough clarity to fan the flames of her suspicions, but as the day had dragged on those images grew increasingly scattered, leaving only a jumble of confusing sensations and impressions that she couldn't reconcile. Eventually she grew weary of the whole thing and decided not to dwell on it, especially since the prospect of asking Anders anything outright was a little too humiliating to bear. The only reasonable option was to either file it away as unknowable, or wait for more information. If it had really happened, then the likelihood was good that Anders might say something to her about it on his own. If he didn't, then it probably really was just a frustrating dream.
The water felt like icy satin on Solona's bare feet, sending a tremor of shivers up her body as she moved further into the depths. Once the water reached her thighs she dove in completely, letting the shock of cold peak and then subside all at once. It penetrated deep into her bones, blotting out awareness of anything but refreshing, cleansing darkness. She came up for air and began to kick herself toward the center of the lake, pushing further away from the awareness of the other two Wardens. The liquor in her system seemed to be aiding her temperature regulation, and within moments she only felt the cold of the water distantly, replaced by a numb contentedness. Once she'd lost the ground with her toes, she dove under and scrubbed at her hair and scalp with her fingertips, clawing and rubbing at the plaster of filth.
Finally, she rolled onto her back and gazed up into the heavens, half of it now dotted with a tapestry of winking stars, each staring back down at her like a sea of tiny eyes.
If there was anything left to love in the world, it was a clear night's sky.
It was the stars that had drawn her to the rooftop in the Keep that she'd begun to frequent in the first place. She'd lay on her back and let the night fill the entirety of her vision, hoping it might make her to feel closer to the Maker, and consequently, to Alistair. That is, if he was truly up there at the Maker's side as the Chantry always promised.
The thought of him watching her from the heavens was alternately comforting and something she struggled to come to terms with. It was impossible to imagine how he might feel about their situation now if he was there. They'd made the pact to die together but it had taken quite a while for him to agree to it. For so long he kept insisting that he'd take on the Archdemon alone, that she should survive without him, at least unless the Maker intervened. And she'd always argued that she'd rather it be her if it absolutely had to be one of them. The prospect of life without Alistair was as unthinkable then as it was unlivable now.
But there had naturally been moments that she'd wondered if this had secretly been his real plan. Had he only been humoring her that whole time? Had he never intended to let her die by his side as she'd insisted? And would that mean that now he was up there disapproving of her behavior, cursing her for throwing herself into harm's way again and again?
Maybe he was hoping she'd move on with her life. That she might try to find happiness again instead of doing whatever she could to return to him, as impossible as that seemed.
But he loved her, that was not a question. He'd sworn to be hers for eternity. Why shouldn't that eternity be allowed to start as quickly as possible?
Then there was always the possibility that he wasn't watching at all. That he'd moved on himself, and was too busy exploring the mysteries of the afterlife to bother with much else. Or that, despite the Chantry's claim, the end was simply that. The end. Maybe there would be no reuniting. Ever.
But regardless of which was the truth, it didn't really matter. Life held little to interest her now. She'd done her part for Thedas, and she'd been rewarded by having the love of her life stripped away from her. At best, she could only claim to be going through the motions.
Solona let her eyes blur, and the glow of stars faded into a milky darkness. It was taking so long. Why was it that when someone made up their mind that that they wanted to die, death seemed determined to outrun them?
She could hear Alistair arguing that it was because the Maker had other plans for her. That she might think that she didn't need the world, but the world still needed her.
She could only vehemently reject that notion. Hadn't she done enough? Was there no one else who could take up the mantle of world's savior? This was her life, it should be her choice.
And even that was already so limited already, by her own regard for Alistair's opinion, by her conscience. She wanted out of this lonely existence, but certainly couldn't lead the other Wardens into a situation that would take them all down with her. And she always faltered in those few times she'd sat with a blade out, teasing its edge at the thin skin of her wrists. She'd yet to be able to take the step off the roof, or walk into the thrusting spear of a darkspawn. Such blatant forms of suicide were a sin in the eyes of the Maker. Might the Maker find such actions so deplorable that he would keep her from entering his gates? That she might doom herself to an afterlife as barren and devoid of joy as this one?
Even if the Maker did have mercy, in the back of her mind was always that little whisper. Alistair's voice in her head, as well as her own voice, as much as she tried to suppress its constant chiding. It harped upon her how such a death was cowardly. That she should at least go out the way Grey Wardens always had through all the annals of time: in battle, ridding Thedas of darkspawn.
Fucking Alistair! That brave, beautiful fool! It was his fault anyway that she had to resort to this now.
Or maybe… maybe her surviving the Archdemon was merely a fluke. A stroke of bad luck. The sadistic plan of the blighted Maker himself.
Maybe Alistair really was up there somewhere, longing for her as fiercely as she was him.
Like so much else, it was impossible to know. And constantly repeating the same circles in her mind was wearying.
Solona exhaled all the air from her lungs and allowed herself to sink down into the depths of the lake. She was out far enough that the tickle of the other Wardens was gone, and the water was too deep for her to touch the bottom. The chill of the lake had begun to grow in intensity the further toward the center she'd gotten, but she wasn't ready to give up the solitude yet. Water roared softly in her ears as she floated, weightless, suspended in an abyss of liquid black. If she had to guess, it was the same as what it must feel like to be dead. No up, no down, no light or warmth. She let her limbs fall motionless and quieted her mind, becoming one with the lake and the night.
It took only a minute or two before her lungs began to clench with the need for air. Her chest burned as her heartbeat started throbbing in her ears.
No, there would be no pain, no heartbeat if she were dead.
She broke the surface again without trying, her body bobbing sideways up into the brisk air. She took a deep breath and turned to begin to swim, throwing one arm over her head and then the other. Slowly she built up speed, propelling herself into kicking and pulling, cupping her hands and synchronizing her breaths. Swimming was tedious, repetitive work, but she found a rhythm and kept to it, not even sure where she thought she was going. She let herself move mindlessly, a mote of insignificant dust in an endless sky.
Until the tickle reappeared. Solona felt it growing clearer as she made her way through the darkness, and came to a stop once she locked onto its exact location. She bobbed in place, blinking out at the shadow of dark shoreline. In the distance, far behind her flickered the tiny orange glow of the campfire. It couldn't have been a single darkspawn standing stationary in the woods. It could only have been Nathaniel.
She turned toward her sense of him, figuring now was as good a time as any for an apology. Stroke after stroke her muscles worked, pushing her closer to the thick shadow of the trees. When finally her toes bumped against a soft ground she slowed, scanning the waterline in his direction. Deep in the shadows, she located the figure of a man.
"Hello?" he called toward her, breaking the night's silence. "Who is there? "
"It's just me," she answered tiredly as she made her way closer. "Solona."
Frosty air settled over each inch of exposed skin, making the water feel warm in comparison. After emerging up to her waist, she shivered and lowered herself back down, slipping under until the lake's surface lapped at her neck.
"You're awfully far from camp," he observed.
His boots crunched lightly over the gravelly shoreline as he made his way toward the water's edge. Solona scanned the shoreline for any rocks or obstacles at the water's side, feeling torn between rising again and approaching him fully, and keeping her distance. The darkness obscured his face completely, offering safety from his penetrating gaze. The way he looked at her often sent a chill down to her core, and she was already cold enough.
But there was no denying his voice was oddly pleasant, a fact which made itself starkly clear in the absence of his distracting appearance. Smooth and smoky, it was the sort of voice that she'd normally have loved to just close her eyes and listen to, had it not belonged to someone who hated her.
"I know," she said. The gulf of space between them made her words feel uncomfortably small and muted. She rose reluctantly from the water and resumed a slow approach, trying not to kick up much water with each labored step.
Nathaniel laughed quietly, his head nodding as it followed his gaze up and down.
"What is it that you have against clothes, exactly? Do you enjoy freezing?"
Solona shrugged.
"If I tried to swim in my leathers I would drown." As soon as she said it, she wished she had bathed in her leathers.
"I am surprised that stopped you."
Solona looked him over, taking in what details she could in the lack of light. The air was scented with blood, but not the tainted kind. On a nearby rock laid the dark forms of his kills, freshly gutted by the smell of it. Nathaniel crouched down toward the water and began to scrub his hands clean. In one hand was a curved dagger. Solona felt oddly enchanted by his silhouette. He moved within the darkness comfortably, each step he took sure and silent. Had she not been following his shadow, or felt the taint on him, she might not have known he was there at all.
"Well, speaking of freezing," she said, "I wanted to apologize for earlier. I don't make a habit of using magic against my own team."
Or at least I never have before.
"It was dangerous," she continued. "I… I don't know why I did it."
Nathaniel snorted. He finished washing his hands and stood, taking a quiet step toward her. The toe of his boot rippled the water.
"You do know. We all know." He said. "You aren't fooling anyone." He continued to come closer, until he paused only feet away. His breath caressed her body in cool waves.
She tilted her head, not entirely sure which part he was referring to. Irritation rose up her spine. He laughed quietly again.
"It's okay," he said. "I know you have… reasons."
Solona shifted on her feet, feeling little rocks biting into her bare soles. She stifled a shiver as her face condensed into a scowl.
"What could you possibly know about my reasons?" she asked. She recalled the Deep Roads again, the way he'd looked at her when she'd told him to ask his questions. He hadn't. At the time he'd said nothing, but she felt… something. Something like… understanding? Now, however, the very idea seemed absurd. Anything he thought he knew were only assumptions, and probably wildly wrong ones at that.
Nathaniel was quiet and still, but she could feel his eyes. Those piercing, glacial eyes.
"My apologies, my lady," he said more softly, "I am not trying to anger you again. I was not trying to anger you earlier. I really was just trying to help. Perhaps you could not see the numbers before you as I did from my height. I worry that you-"
"Please do not presume that I need your help. Or that you know anything about me, Nathaniel," she interjected. "Besides, I would have expected that you'd be glad to be rid of your unwelcome squatter."
She waited quietly, but he said nothing. Something unnameable was growing inside her, something that ached to lash out at whatever target dared to present itself.
"Why not turn your attention elsewhere? Let me get overwhelmed. If a darkspawn succeeds at last then that's all the better for you isn't it?"
Still he remained silent and motionless. The air around them grew heavier.
"No," he said and swallowed. "The Keep was occupied by Garavel's soldiers even before you arrived. If I blamed you for that before, then that blame was… misplaced."
"Still," Solona breathed. Her heart was pounding, though she wasn't sure why. Her mind went back to the Deep Roads again, to the moment she was sure he was going to stick his dagger in her back. Her eyes fell down to his hand, the hand that had been holding the very same dagger only moments before. It was empty. His blade had been sheathed.
"Still what?" he asked.
"The blame for your father's murder wasn't misplaced. Though it's hardly murder in my view. I would do it again. I would do it a hundred more times. That was justice."
She waited, breathless, watching him for any signs that she was striking a nerve. She wasn't even sure why she was trying. This was not what she had planned when she began swimming in his direction. She'd meant only to apologize, to make sure there weren't any hard feelings, at least over that particular incident.
"I know that is the common opinion," he said.
"So?" she demanded, the wild thing inside her spurring her on. "So, wouldn't that be the easiest revenge? All you'd need to do is turn away, right? You don't need to chase me down in the Deep Roads, or pick off the darkspawn who charge me. Just let nature take its bloody course, right? Problem solved."
Nathaniel snorted, the shape of him unmoving in the darkness.
"Or," she continued, clenching her haw to stop her teeth from chattering. "We're far enough away from the others. You could take out your dagger again. Tell the others that a bear got me. Or a wolf. Or something else. They'd never know the truth." She took a step closer. "If you want your revenge, now is your chance."
Nathaniel was silent, but she could hear his jagged breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.
He reached for a buckle on his chest and her heart jumped into her throat, a rush of adrenaline opening up her veins. But it was wrong, that's not where he kept his dagger. She watched him, confused for a long minute as he unbuckled the leathers around his chest, took the pieces off his arms and shoulders.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm giving you my blighted tunic, since you insist on standing here and shivering like a damn fool."
Solona snorted. "Your tunic? Like you gave me your coat?" She snapped open her hand and unleashed a ball of fire. Nathaniel, the woods and the water all burst into a vivid orange as the ball rose into the air, cutting black, flickering figures into the shadows behind them. "You know I command fire, right?"
"And how is that going to help you right now? Are you going to set yourself on fire? Why haven't you done that already if you're so eager to die?" A piece of his armor hit the ground, followed by another. He pulled the tails of the linen tunic free from his breeches. "I want my coat back, by the way."
The fireball fizzled away into the air overhead.
Nathaniel pulled his tunic over his head, and thumped the wad of fabric against her sternum, holding it there insistently. Fragrant heat radiated off the linen and his bare chest. She reached up to pry his hand away, grabbing onto the smooth muscle of his forearm, but paused. Something like a sob was building quickly in her throat. Her need to fight was deflating, and she suddenly felt very tired. Everything about this had gone incorrectly, feeding into the permanent well of sadness in her gut. She couldn't even apologize correctly.
"Take your revenge, Nathaniel," she pleaded.
"No," he said. His second hand rose to her face. She flinched instinctively, until the pad of his thumb skimmed her cheek. Its gentleness was a devastating blow, killing the last vestiges of that wild thing inside her.
"That is not what I desire now."
A long moment stretched between them. Solona was certain he could probably hear her racing heartbeat. She was used to riding the unpredictable and tumultuous waves of her emotions, but usually she could keep it all locked up, let it rage quietly inside her while those nearby were left blissfully unaware. A confusion of words were perched in her throat. She needed to apologize again, she needed to just swim back to camp and forget all about this, she needed to brush it off and pretend like it was nothing, like she was just testing him. She needed to cry. She needed to run. She needed to explain.
His body went stiff, turning toward the trees at their rear and then freezing. It was what he normally did when he heard something the others didn't. Solona's mind quieted as she tried to tune into him, and then into the forest around them. She didn't feel any darkspawn. She didn't hear any footsteps, or the rustling of leaves. She only became aware of her hand still resting on his skin, his forearm impossibly warm and solid. For some reason she'd always imagined that if she'd touched him he'd be cold, as cold as his icy blue eyes and like his steely silence. But his arm under her touch, his tunic against her chest was blazing with a vital, invigorating heat.
She heard the low, menacing growl only a second before she felt herself jerked through space. Where once she'd been before Nathaniel, she now was behind him, the move completed in a whir of breath and force. On her right came a second growl, and somewhere beside that a third. She called up a fireball again, sending it out to illuminate their predicament. It revealed the shine of at least four pairs of eyes on all sides of them, low to the ground and connected to a pack of massive, furry bodies. The light also reminded her that she was once again mostly naked, and Nathaniel now lacking the protection of his own gear from the waist up. His bow was laid beside a rock at the water's edge where he'd been cleaning his catch. Even the belt that held his dagger was gone, laying in the pile of his leathers several steps away.
"Fuck," Nathaniel breathed.