CHAPTER 4

..x..

The four of them traveled through the wilderness in silence, each step taking them further away from the girl's home. Duncan was grateful for the full moon's light, as torches would have drawn unwanted attention in the dark of night. His plan was to keep Everil hidden long enough to make it to Ostagar by avoiding the road or other frequently used paths. They knew Howe would most likely have soldiers guarding the way out from Highever, ready to eliminate anyone coming from the castle.

He glanced over a shoulder at his charges. They had been walking for hours, bloodied and worn from all the fighting. Alistair was pushing on, but he could tell his feet were dragging. Everil seemed to be the most tired, but she kept her head up despite her slouched shoulders. Even their canine companion was panting heavily, his drool dripping on the dirt.

"If—or when—we stop to rest..." Her soft voice broke the silence. "Could we do so soon? And perhaps near a stream? I would truly appreciate the opportunity to wash off the blood and sweat currently caked on me."

"I second that request," Alistair added tiredly, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

Duncan quietly agreed, deciding it was probably more dangerous to continue as they were. He led them further into the forest, walking through bushes and over roots. The sound of running water soon reached their ears as they neared a small clearing between the trees, big enough for a small camp. "You two set up a campfire, but stay close to this area. I shall ensure we were not followed." He turned and stepped back into the woods, leaving the three of them behind.

After he was gone, Everil moved towards the nearest stick she could see under the moonlight before crouching to pick it up. "So he's your commander..."

Alistair briefly glanced at her and stepped over to another dry piece of wood lying on the ground. "Yes. He's the leader of all Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Although he would tell you that doesn't mean much since there's so few of us."

She cradled the growing bunch of sticks and small branches under one arm. "How few?"

"Not enough to defeat the Blight on our own." He knelt at the center of the clearing and began arranging rocks and wood in a circle. "We called for the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but the king doesn't want to wait for them to get here."

"Wait for them?" Everil approached him, handing him what she'd gathered. "Is something going to happen? I wondered why he called for our soldiers in such short notice."

"The king is planning one last assault against the darkspawn, in hopes to end the Blight then and there."

"I see… But why in the south? Why Ostagar?"

"The darkspawn came from the heart of the Korcari Wilds, so that's where you'll find the bulk of the horde. Ostagar's an old fortress built at the edge of the woods long ago, to keep the barbarians from invading. It's in a great defensive position, so it makes sense we use it." He took the last stick from her. "You'll see when we get there."

Quietly, she watched Alistair pull flint out from the leather bag at his hip before flicking them over their pile. Soon flames illuminated the clearing, warmth replacing the biting cold of the Fereldan eve. The light from the fire allowed her to see just how bad a shape she was in as she looked down upon her hands and chest. Blood clung to her armor, staining the steel a dark, almost black-red as bits of gore hung from the chains on her gauntlets. Any other day she probably wouldn't have minded as much. But right now… Right now she just wanted it all off.

Swallowing a knot in her throat, Everil looked towards the stream hidden by the woods behind them, the rolling water calling to her. She craned her head down to her companion, a subtle frown creasing her brow. "Would it be incredibly rude of me to ask if you carry an extra undershirt and breeches in that bag of yours? I… would like to wash mine and it's a little cold for wet clothes."

"Uh, yes… I do have some." Alistair stood and fished out a tightly-rolled bundle before handing it to her. "Here you go."

Her hands gently took them. "Thank you, Ser..."

"You can just call me Alistair, my lady." He smiled lightly at her.

"Then just Everil is fine to me, as well. We'll be working together from now on, after all." She offered him a small smile of her own. "I look forward to traveling with you."

"Uhm, thanks… So do I."

Alistair watched as she spun about and began trekking towards the stream, leaving him by the fire. He imagined merely rinsing her armor wouldn't be enough to get rid of the blood that once belonged to her family and castle staff. And he couldn't blame her for wanting it off of her as soon as possible. Letting out a puff of air, he sat down on a nearby log and shook his head. He was certainly not used to talking to women, especially those as beautiful as her.

She looked back at their small camp, making sure her companion was a good distance away and seeing that his back was turned to her as he watched the fire. Now knowing it was safe to undress, Everil tiredly began untying the straps on her armor, carefully ridding herself of it. Then she stepped into the stream, shivering as the cold water touched her bare legs. It barely reached her hips, but it was enough for her to kneel and wash the dried blood off her body.

With a running start, Bjorn jumped in next to her, splashing her before shaking off the grime clinging to his fur.

"Aww…" She laughed wryly at his obvious discomfort while running her fingers through her hair. "It reeks... doesn't it boy?"

Bjorn stopped and looked at her, slowly walking over, deeper into the water. She scratched the back of his ears and proceeded to gently rub his face, trying to help him wash off what he couldn't reach. Everil didn't know what was in store for her in the war, but she was glad at least her hound was with her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Already she'd said there would be no mourning. Not yet.

Trying to calm herself, Everil breathed in and out, in and out, waiting for the pain to ease away. She began to wash her clothes and armor, scrubbing off all signs of battle. Once done, she spread everything over a nearby bush to dry before picking up the clothes the Warden had let her borrow. First, she threw on the basic white shirt, the linen soft and warm against her chilled skin. Then she lifted the trousers to look at them, shaking her head upon seeing they were obviously too small around the hips in comparison to her figure. At least the shirt went down to the middle of her thighs, enough to cover her body. It was not the most decent of outfits, especially when in the company of men, but it was still better than nothing.

Nodding to herself, she picked up her weapons and tucked them under one arm before heading back to camp. Her hound again followed protectively behind her, shivering a bit at the cold.

Alistair looked up as she approached, only to quickly turn away at the sight of her bare legs.

"I don't think these will fit and I didn't want to force them on. The tunic will do for now, however… So thank you." She offered back the trousers, too distraught to acknowledge his awkwardness at her state of undress.

He grabbed them without really looking at her. "You're welcome..."

Upon setting down her blades, she took a seat on the ground by the fire and brought her hair over one shoulder so the heat would help dry it. Bjorn lay next to her, also enjoying the warmth. After a moment of watching the flames bounce and sway, Everil began to realize just how tired she truly was. Her muscles ached from overuse and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. But she didn't want to sleep yet. She couldn't.

Fighting through it, she glanced sideways and took a brief look at the Grey Warden's profile as he busied himself with the coals. He had a strong jaw and a stubbed chin, the firelight reflecting on his eyes making them glow the color of warm honey. He was quite pleasant to look at, and she almost wanted to keep staring, if only to distract herself. But instead, she turned her eyes away, choosing to admire the dangerous beauty of their glowing campfire.

Silence stretched out between them as the crackling of the coals filled it with random pops and cracks. Concerned by her sudden lack of words, Alistair turned his attention to her from where he sat, easily taking notice of her unrest. How she wasn't crumbling after her family was murdered was beyond him, but he knew all too well what heartache looked like and not even someone as strong as she could hide it.

"You know…" he began, trying not to leave her alone with her thoughts. "I just realized there haven't been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps I just happen to be one of the few exceptions… I can handle myself better than most other women, after all."

"Yes…" He gave her a tiny, half-grin. "I certainly wouldn't want to fight you."

Everil smiled weakly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. She was welcoming the conversation as a distraction. "How long have you been a Warden?"

"Duncan recruited me six months ago. So not long when compared to the others," he said as he rummaged through his pack once more, taking out some dried meat and offering her a piece. "Hungry?"

"No, I'm all right. Thanks." She shifted her eyes to the fire while reaching down to absently rub behind her hound's ear. "I imagine you have already killed your fair share of darkspawn?"

"I have, yes. I will never forget my first, though..." He visibly shivered at the memory and took a bite of his snack, chewing it before swallowing. "Those things are terrifying… Especially the big ones. Have you ever fought one?"

She shook her head. "No…"

"Well, I'm sure you will soon," he said before finishing the piece of jerk. Then he saw her eyes slowly closing, only to snap back open as she struggled to stay awake. His lips formed a gentle smile. "You should get some sleep. Duncan will be back soon."

A streak of pain crossed her features, followed by irritation and embarrassment. Everil looked away from him, shoulders stiff as she stared off into the inky darkness of the woods. She spoke, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "I... I don't want to give Howe the opportunity to strike while I sleep."

The Warden gazed at her, full of sympathy. "Look... I know we're still strangers to you, but you're one of us now. Duncan and I will keep watch and make sure nothing happens to you. I promise."

"All right…" Everil muttered, stifling a yawn before adjusting herself. She lay down on her side, resting her head on one arm while her sword and dagger remained within reach. Never had she slept on the ground like this before, but she was far too tired to care.

Alistair watched her slowly close her eyes and drift off. In minutes, she was sleeping soundly, her soft breaths filling the quiet as the light danced over her. She curled into a ball, the position making her seem much smaller and frail than she truly was. Then a cool breeze blew over them, causing her to shiver in response. Seeing this, her mabari rose and stepped closer, leaning his large body against her exposed legs and resting his head upon them. The gesture drew a soft sigh out of her and her body stopped quivering.

"Well... Don't you look comfortable?" He whispered, giving the dog an amused grin.

Bjorn snorted, too tired himself to further acknowledge the human male.

She has Duncan, her war hound, and me watching over her. I think she'll be just fine on the way to Ostagar. Not that she needs much protection anyway...

Rustling coming from the brush behind him snapped him to alert. He shot up to his feet, hand flying to the sword at his hip. "Who goes there?"

The hound's head shot up, ears perking. But upon sniffing the air, he huffed and laid back down.

"It's me," Duncan announced as he walked up to the camp.

Alistair relaxed upon seeing him, slowly releasing his blade.

The senior Warden glanced towards the sleeping girl and her dog, taking a seat on the same log.

"No trouble?" whispered Alistair while lowering himself to sit next to him.

"No. None followed. How is our new recruit faring?"

"Better than I would in her situation, that's for sure." He took in her sleeping features from a distance and a troubled crease slowly settled upon his brow. "Duncan… This doesn't feel right. For all we know, her brother may not have made it to Ostagar alive. She could be the last of the Couslands." He shifted his worried eyes to him. "What if... What if during the Joining...?"

"There are bigger things at stake than a noble's bloodline, Alistair." Duncan produced a flask from the bag at his side and offered him the bottle.

For the first time, Alistair rejected it, giving it a dismissive wave of his hand. "It just feels as if… As if we lied to an honorable man." He guiltily kept glancing over at her, trying to keep his voice down. "He entrusted her fate to us… And yet she could..."

"There was no deception. I made no promises outside of getting her out of the castle in one piece. Besides, her fate is not yet sealed. She may yet become that which her father wished her to be." Duncan took a long swig from the flask, enjoying the heat of the liquor he and his Warden brethren made months ago. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sternly regarding his pupil once more. "Our lives are constantly ruled by uncertainty. Hers is no different. As Grey Wardens, we must be willing to take chances when most would not. Make sacrifices most would refuse to make."

"I know… It's just…"

"You are letting your emotions get the best of you, Alistair. You mustn't."

"Right..." He let out a breath while meekly poking the fire, before tossing the stick into the flames as he stood. "I'm going to wash off now."

Smiling a little, Duncan watched him walk off and gave his head a shake. The young man had learned much in the six months they've been around each other, yet it seemed there was still room for improvement. He understood how he felt, however. He was born in Highever and knew the Couslands since before becoming a Grey Warden. They were fair rulers, and as such, they'd been loved by their people—even by him. He took another drink and gazed sadly upon the slumbering girl on the other side of the fire. And he too found himself hoping that she would survive the days to come.

.x.x.x.x.

Wetness on one cheek woke her up, and of course, she already knew who it was. Everil groaned and rolled over, vaguely noticing her bed had become unusually hard and prickly. The moist swipe of a tongue shifted to her other side of her face, persistently urging her to open her eyes. "Stop… Too early," she mumbled, gently swatting at the hound. The smell of cooking meat reached her nose, at which her stomach grumbled, obviously more awake than she. Huffing tiredly, she pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes, yawning loudly.

"Good morning."

Her head snapped towards the source of the voice to see Duncan currently cooking over the fire. He gave her a brief glance before turning to the hare. "We should eat and keep moving before Howe's men find us."

She looked at him groggily, then as his words spilled out, memories slowly streamed into her brain. An array of emotions flashed over her features as she recalled the death of her family, the screams, and the blood. She found herself grateful he was too preoccupied with their meal to witness it. "I agree…" Her firm voice carried no clues as to what she felt inside. "The sooner we arrive at Ostagar, the better."

After waking his mistress, the dog set his sights upon his next victim, who was lying asleep on the other side of the campfire. He trotted over to the young man and loomed over him with a glint in his brown eyes. Alistair was on his side, resting his head on one folded arm, while his other hand held on to the sword on the ground beside him. Bjorn nudged his cheek with his nose but received nothing in response. He huffed and nudged again, this time earning an incoherent mumble as the human rolled onto his back.

"Bjorn…" Everil warned gently, casting hopeless eyes upon her dog. "Leave the man alone. Don't be rude."

Ignoring her words, the war hound rose upon his hind legs and brought his full weight upon Alistair's unguarded gut. The Warden shot up with a breathless grunt, the dog's pounce forcing all the air out of him.

"Bjorn!" she scolded.

"Bl… Bloody…!" He coughed, folding over as he tried to regain the ability to breathe.

Duncan let out a chuckle, eyes laughing at the sight. "Well, he's up now. Good work."

"Ugh…Good morning to you too…" Alistair's irritated glare followed the dog as it trotted back to his mistress, who was shaking her head as if it were a misbehaving child. Bjorn simply wagged his stubby tail, obviously pleased with himself in spite of the disapproving look she was giving him.

"I'm sorry..." Everil offered him an apologetic smile, fingers scratching behind her hound's ear. "Mabari hounds can be too smart for their own good."

He shot the dog a dirty look, still nursing his now sore abs. "Yeah... Seems they can be real bullies too..."

The hound ignored him, panting happily.

"At any rate, I should probably go change before we go." She pushed herself up, careful to cover herself as she walked towards the nearby foliage.

Behind the cover of the brush, she promptly took off the borrowed shirt and slipped into her clothes and armor. Then Everil fixed her hair, pulling up the top half of it and expertly securing it while allowing the rest to flow down her back. She held up the shirt, picking off the dirt and twigs stuck to it before folding it neatly. When she returned Duncan had already quartered their meal and was about to hand a piece to Alistair.

"Here…" She walked over and offered him the garment back. "Thank you again for letting me borrow it. It was quite warm."

He looked up at her from where he sat, taking the bundle with a smile. "Sure. Glad it helped."

Duncan watched the exchange with interest, inwardly pleased to see the two getting along well. Recruiting didn't always go seamlessly. Characters often clashed, which could make working together difficult. In this case, there weren't many Grey Warden women, and the few who were weren't even in Ferelden. There were more prominent reasons why, but some of the most superficial, yet widespread, were the preconceived weaknesses behind the gender. This made it difficult for most men to work together with them. He was glad at least Alistair wasn't as shallow-minded. Although, he knew her obvious display of strength back in Highever had done more than enough to prove the stereotypes wrong.