At noon we left the Dalish just as Morrigan said. I began to worry when Bodahn's cart was nearly ready and Morrigan still did not appear, at least not until the last moment. She seemingly materialized from the side of the cart as if she'd never left, and took point at the furthest corner of the gathering.
After double-checking over a drawn map with a hunter called Mithra, we set off and soon enough the tall sails of the Dalish aravels disappeared behind a wall of trees. I fell in step behind Sten, with Leliana at my back and Bodahn bringing up the rear as always.
It was a surprisingly easy journey from the forest, and soon enough we were free from the thicket of trees and bushes and once again walked upon cold, unwelcome plains that stretched on into the distance. I could see Isthalla at the front of the line holding up what appeared to be the treaties, then quickly rolled the parchment up again and strode onward.
I soon became distinctly aware of a change in rank to our party's assembly. Where Morrigan usually stood, Sten had replaced nearly beside Isthalla. Behind him, Wynne, then Morrigan and Zevran, and myself and Leliana a good dozen paces behind to give ample personal space. Leliana, I was told, was injured also and had been out of the fray of our fun-loving leader's adventures just as long. I found a common interest in conversation, and decidedly fell back to have a chat. Perhaps she would prove a little more receptive to friendliness than the other women in our group.
"So, how's werewolf-ism treating you?" I decided with a serious brow-raise. She chuckled and flashed a warm smile despite the pallor to her face from the infection.
"Quite nicely, it seems," she nodded. "And you?"
"Other than the excessive shedding and occasional bloodthirsty hunger, I think I could get use to this," I said quite seriously. "Though I'm not too fond of the fleas."
She laughed - it was a warm and happy sound. Something our party dearly lacked. I sighed when the warmth faded and I was reminded of our dreary and miserable companions. My eyes once again fleshed out the crowd, and noticed both of our witchy young companions were exceptionally rigid on this day. And still separated.
"Know anything about that?" I inquired with a tilt of my head. My wary eyes jumped to Isthalla, who was impossibly distanced from us both, though that didn't stop my suspicion as I waited to see those giant ears twitch in response.
"What do you mean?" Leliana asked. I nodded again.
"By now Morrigan and Isthalla should be cooking up another new hex to try out on me for supper," I frowned. "They haven't spoken a word to each other all day."
"You don't know?" she gasped. Leliana put a hand to her chest and I swear she smiled. I furrowed my brow in confusion.
"What, no. Why would I?" I shrugged. Her open mouth quickly twisted into a smile and she giggled before taking hold of my arm and leaning close. I blushed in slight alarm, though did not push her away.
"Morrigan is jealous of Isthalla," she whispered to me. By the tone of her voice, she thrived on this news. Obviously she had been waiting to tell someone all morning. I was more confused than before.
"Why would she be jealous?" I asked in surprise. Morrigan did not seem like the petty sort, especially over something like envy. No, she was way too proud.
"You must truly be blind, my friend," she chuckled, still keeping her voice low despite the fact neither Morrigan or Isthalla were remotely able to eavesdrop. Despite this, I leaned in to humor Leliana's incessant need to whisper her gossip. "She is jealous because of you, silly Alistair."
"What?" I barked a little too loudly. I caught a glance from Wynne, and quickly hunkered down and returned to whispers. "How is this possibly about me?"
"Well," Leliana began with a mischievous glint in her eye, "when we were attacked at camp, Morrigan realized too late you had gone after Isthalla."
She pointed briefly to the front of the line where Isthalla walked, then nodded. "And when we rejoined you both, Isthalla was sitting on the ground holding you in her arms. We didn't know what to think," she grew a bit serious. "But then we saw the blood; I cannot imagine what Morrigan thought."
"Oh," I quieted, feeling the color begin to drain from my face. Maker, I hadn't realized-
"She was so angry, she wouldn't let anyone touch you. Morrigan didn't much like that," Leliana shook her head. "I wasn't awake for much longer, but I remember they were both arguing when I passed out, and still arguing when I awoke this morning." She laughed at this last part, though I found no humor in it. Only grave concern.
"And Morrigan?" I tried. Leliana's eyes flashed to the witch, who paid no heed to us both. I waited.
"Isthalla made her stay behind, to look out for us both," she explained. "Bodahn said she looked positively livid when Isthalla gave her the order, though supposedly she stayed by your cot most of the time."
"When they got back, Isthalla stepped right over Morrigan and demanded you be attended to first. I heard it was a nasty argument."
"O-Oh, I'm… sorry Leliana," I tried to comfort her awkwardly for the neglect she'd suffered. She seemed unperturbed, and shrugged it off meaninglessly.
"It's no matter, really," she smiled. "You were far more injured than I; it was only right that she look out for our only other Grey Warden."
"Wynne eventually stepped in and convinced Isthalla to tend to the injured Dalish first," she said. "You see, they returned without the Keeper after he'd left to go find them earlier that day. Isthalla would not immediately explain what had happened, which obviously caused tension. We were only a few words away from turning into a pincushion for arrows, it seems," she laughed. I felt my stomach drop.
"Maker's breath," I muttered.
"Morrigan was left to attend to you, from what I could tell once I awoke," she continued. I furrowed my brow and turned to her.
"How did you find all this out?" I asked, honestly confused. She couldn't possibly have seen it - she was unconscious the entire time.
"Bodahn, of course," she smiled. "He tells me all sorts of things."
"Oh, right," I flattened. How stupid. She was always sitting on the back of the cart and endlessly chatting away to him. Of course he'd tell her all of his secret observations. I should make note to befriend him in the future.
My attention shifted again to the pointy-eared, fierce little elf at the front of our party. Her feathered black hair bobbed with her step, heels barely touching the ground before she glided ahead. She made walking look so easy; I wondered if it was some form of natural art to elf-kind. I'd never stopped to consider before.
"I see your admiring eye has found our pretty leader," Leliana's sing-song voice tittered in my ear. I immediately went red and hunkered into my shoulders before glancing anywhere else.
"What? No, no- I just-" I struggled for an excuse, my ears burning. I found a meager explanation and grasped to conjure it into a sentence. "I'm just surprised she made such a fuss over me," I tried. That didn't help any. The words sounded foreign on my tongue, and suddenly I was blushing all over again.
"Maker, I didn't mean that, I just-" I stumbled, then gave up in frustration when I had no means to explain myself. Leliana giggled.
"It is not so hard to see why," she smiled. My eyes went wide as I considered her accusation and felt my entire mind and body reject the notion.
"Maker's beard, you're joking! That woman detests me!" I yelped. Another glance, this time from Morrigan. I withered and tried to lower my frantic voice. "Common sense would tell anyone that she considers me the bane of her existence," I laughed in a strained, exasperated tone.
"Not from my perspective," Leliana smiled in that clever sort of way. I was beginning to get frazzled in my attempts to defend myself. I paused for a moment before I spoke, and looked back to the front of the line where she walked.
What exactly was I trying to defend? The concept that Isthalla hated me with every fiber of her being? I frowned as I took in her posture - rigid, confident, closed. Not that I ever wanted to earn her loathing, but affection was the last thing I would ever pair with a creature like her.
"That was unkind," I frowned and shook my head.
"What was?" Leliana appeared after a few minutes had passed between our last conversation and my thoughts. I jumped slight and glanced to her.
"O-Oh nothing. Nothing. Just-" I looked back. "I was talking to myself," I corrected while shaking my head. She took this signal to leave and fell back to climb on the cart and sit beside Bodahn. My eyes drew back to their leader, my leader and companion.
We began to curve around a fairly-marked trail across the plains, allowing me for a time to survey her profile. Her eyes were strictly set ahead, though I could see something had changed. I had been with her longer than all of the others, yet still I felt sometimes I knew absolutely nothing about Isthalla.
As a boy I was taught to fear and oppose everything she represented. She was a considerable threat for any templar - fearless, brave, and confident. She could will herself into any guise she supposed, and at times I believed even outshined Morrigan in terms of shape-shifting personas. Despite this, the remaining constant that structured what was considered her true face was scarred and bitter.
The last time I'd witnessed her truly cry was after Ostagar. I'd stumbled upon a seemingly powerful creature, one I considered as hard as stone, only to find instead a weeping child curled up in the roots of a tree. This was not the image as painted by the templar. Magi were supposed to be evil, wicked creatures that took any opportunity to strip others of their dignity and will for the sake of their own greed. In all my time traveling I'd waited for this monster to appear, but it never did. The closest monster I had ever witnessed was simply a wounded young woman who had been wronged by her peers and only sought to defend herself, whether by reputation or her own flesh.
The hatred I had so often perceived as directed only at myself I discovered over the months was instead a vast and deep well that drew upon old wounds. She had been wronged so many times before by templars that she lashed out at anyone bearing a slight association to the title. Myself included.
Perhaps it was my lack of knowledge over females, or that I was simply bad at reading someone on a first try. I came to the conclusion that her anger was directed towards anything that represented a templar. I fell under that unfortunate category, despite my attempts at rectifying that issue. Regardless of how many times I explained, I was seen to her as a templar.
She loved him. A templar.
My mind hazed sharply as I heard the strange phrase murmured in my head. Though vague familiarity struck me, it slipped through my memory like sand through my fingers. Something to do with the tower. I couldn't quite place it. Ever since we left Redcliffe, our brief visit to the tower was but a foggy plane of darkness despite my futile attempts to remember. Though I could recall the half-crazed templar we met at the stairs (in which Isthalla had a shouting match with), something pricked my mind in connection to that woman's voice. I couldn't think.
Frustrated, I looked up again and was surprised to find Isthalla's face had softened. I remember that look. I'd asked Morrigan about the infernal name she kept shouting while we were clearing the tower. I'd never asked if she found him, unless-
It struck my belly like ice water. I was a fool not to consider it before. Yes, she'd said his name when we entered the room. How in Maker's name had I forgotten? The templar.
Cullen.
I could not understand how I had forgotten something so simple. A headache was forming between my eyes, and after a shake of my head I pressed two fingers to the bridge. I repeated the name again until the fog cleared. He was the templar; the same man she'd looked for. The same man that drove a stake through my belly.
How could she possibly love him after the way he treated her? Everyone saw what happened at the tower. He was a templar, a fully trained and knighted templar of the same like that she hated. He didn't deserve her attention much less love. How was I to be refuted for a simple slip of words yet he was forgiven after the wretched things he had continuously spouted over "her kind"? Just imagining his cold, greedy templar fingers all over her made me ill.
Maker, what did I care?
I realized I was blushing furiously with a scowl on my face - a strange combination sure to draw attention soon enough. I did my best to remain neutral, yet the infuriating paradox of her so-called templar lover remained burning in my mind all afternoon. How was he any different than me? I was only a half-templar, yet she appeared more than content to forgive a full templar like him. It wasn't fair.
And I am not jealous.
Though the more I mentally repeated the phrase, the more I found myself mulling over my frustration. What did I care if he'd put his hands all over her? It wasn't my business. But why in Maker's name would he even consider it? Why would he consider her, of all the spiteful and bitter little witch elves in that tower? I could understand the physical attraction - any man could.
I glanced up and caught her profile again. She was delicately built like most elves - a slender figure, lean face, and slanted eyes - yet she possessed this distinct quality that set her apart from most other elves I had met. Maybe it was her personality, or the way that she walked. She carried herself proudly, much unlike the servant elves I knew growing up.
Grudgingly, I knew it was beyond that. Her greedy, bastard templar knew how pretty she was. I'd known it from the time I met her, though the prickly demeanor much dissuaded me from any early attempts at pursuit; despite this, it didn't stop me from at least… accidentally admiring her on occasion. She was a very, very prickly rose.
To imagine her cruel-hearted, filthy templar only cared for her visage made me all the more annoyed. He was a shallow and conceited bastard if he couldn't look past that and see that she was more than that - she was smart, she was resourceful, and she was ridiculously fearless (which wasn't always a good thing).
I found myself slowly creating a reason to shed a different light on her, and by evening found myself unable to look away. In the past, I'd intentionally avoided her gaze simply out of fear she might sneak into my mind with her witchy thoughts and hex me. The more reasons I created why her templar should care about her, the more I found myself realizing just how little I'd done so myself. The less prickly she appeared.
Maybe she simply had bad experiences with templars growing up, or maybe it was for being patronized as an elf, or as a mage. Maybe both. Maybe it wasn't my business at all. I'd seen her smile before - not often, but enough to know she wasn't an entirely grumpy person. From a distance on many occasions I'd watched her sit and talk around a fire with Morrigan. Exchange spells with Wynne. Discuss important things with Sten. All the while she never glared, never raised her voice, and certainly never hexed their smallclothes.
So why just me?
In the beginning I believed it was because I was a man. As soon as her assassin entered the picture, however, I discovered quite quickly she took no issue with men. Especially men that made vulgar comments about her figure and bosom all the time. Stupid assassin.
As darkness descended she chose a marginally protected groove in the plains to make camp. Bodahn was smart enough to collect wood while we were in the Brecilian forest, leaving us with more than enough kindling for campfires. I half-heartedly busied myself with unloading the cart along with Bodahn and Sten. My eyes wandered so often to where she helped Wynne set up tents that Bodahn waved a hand in my face at one point and asked what I was doing.
After everyone settled and found their places around the built campfires, I went for a walk on my own when I decided I couldn't face sitting around everyone else. I didn't want to say something stupid to her or have an outburst and regret it for the rest of my life.
I walked until the sound of chattering and Leliana's mandolin faded almost entirely. It was chilly tonight - Bodahn mentioned we were heading for Denerim to follow up a lead on the Sacred Ashes. I wondered if I might be able to find my sister while we were there. I'd have to ask Isthalla perhaps before we arrived. Reminded of my frustrations, I began to kick needlessly at the ground until I uprooted the dying grass.
I circled about my empty hill for a half-hour before giving up and flopping down against the slope of a hill. I sighed and crossed my arms behind my head. The sky was clear as glass, and every star shone like a light from the Maker's throne. I remember nights like this when I was a boy, lying outside the stables and watching for a falling star. I always wished it might bring my mother back somehow.
She found her way almost soundlessly beside me. I didn't realize who it was until I caught a glimpse of her bright red markings.
"I-Isthalla," I scrambled to sit up, my heart pounding, and waited for her to start shouting. She did not. Instead, she simply sat down right beside me and pulled her knees to her chest, forming a tight and protective cocoon to rest in. Her head was turned, though she knew I was there. I rested on my elbows and waited for some form of cold remark or angry retort to send me away. When none came, my heart began to pound in anticipation of the completely foreign territory I knew I had somehow embarked upon.
"I'm sorry, Alistair," she finally said after what felt like an eternity. My heart stopped pounding as I sat completely up and tilted my head.
"W-What do you mean?" I said in a half-laugh edged by anxiety. I could see her face now; she had slightly turned, though much of her bangs hid her features. She was looking down.
"I should have done my duty and protected you," she spoke as if she had rehearsed the line all morning. This was entirely unlike her. I squinted and leaned forward as if I hadn't quite heard.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, completely surprised. She whipped her head around, but rather than anger I saw raw grief in her eyes, though not teary. Her eyes shined and face spoke sincerity.
"I'm sorry," she repeated much clearer. I was taken aback, honestly. She looked down too quickly, then shrank into her arms again.
"Isthalla," I scoffed in an incredulous voice once I connected her apology. "It's okay, really!" I shook my head. "You did more than enough," I said. "I should be thanking you, really," I smiled sincerely. "You saved my life."
Somehow I had said the right thing. Some sort of trigger released and like a late blossom she suddenly unfurled her arms and legs and released the invisible tension from her body. A deep, lengthy sigh stretched from her lips.
"Not soon enough," she mumbled, though she no longer held the edge as before. I was entirely relieved.
"Well no one expects you to be perfect," I shrugged while resuming my place on my back. I put my arms behind my head and basked in the wonderful neutrality of our conversation. This was a first. "I'm not perfect, certainly…" I shrugged, then smiled. "Though I'd like to pretend so."
"Well that we can agree on," she decided. "Your vanity and oafishness."
"Hey," I frowned, "you aren't exactly the model of perfection either, miss prickly pear."
"How are pears prickly?"
"Well I'm sure they can be."
"Do you know for certain?"
"Well…. no. But there has to be!"
"Oh?"
"Well, why else would someone use that phrase?"
"Perhaps because they are poorly-versed linguists like yourself?"
"Poorly… what?"
"Exactly."
I heard her chuckle and I felt my chest warm at the sound. Maker, it was nice to hear her laugh. Even a little. All of this war and blood and despair puts a damper on a man's spirit. I could listen to that all day and be content.
She talked for a little bit longer, and I was more than happy to listen. Odd stories about mischief from her old tower friends, tales she read in books, and a few recent adventures in camp I'd somehow missed. I never wanted her to stop talking. I didn't want to lose that moment, a place I had somehow captured and befriended an intelligent, strong woman that had sworn to hate me. We were friends here.
She got up to leave when she found nothing more to say and realized I had not said anything back. I quickly turned over in my panic and called out her name.
"Isthalla, wait-" I paused the second it left my mouth. What would I say? Please stay, I need to remain in this bubble of brief friendship? Maker no.
She was waiting expectantly and I could not think of the damnest thing to say to her. I fumbled over myself, patting my body down in a sudden, frantic need to find it. My fingers grasped my prize - in my belt satchel - and produced the carving she'd given to me earlier that morning. I saw her ears twitch in the slightest when she realized what it was.
"I, uh-" I looked down at it, then back to her. "I wanted to thank you," I slowly formed the words as I came up with them. "For this," I held it up. She looked at me for a long moment before carefully crumpling her brow.
"You're… welcome," she said, quite unsure of how to react. After a slight frown, she turned and disappeared over the hill. I groaned in exasperation and flopped backward onto the grass, statue in one hand.
"Sam, you have got to do better next time," I shook my head.