She didn't realize Cailan and Alistair looked so much alike in the brief period of time when she'd seen them both living. Of course, they weren't side by side then. They'd been separated by the entire camp, she suspected on purpose. She wondered who avoided who more, the bastard or the prince.
Now, with Alistair lighting Cailan's pyre, she could see it. They were clearly brothers, Alistair's face a younger portrait of Cailan's, serious and somber when the torch touched kindling. Even in repose, even covered in blood and gore, there was still a trace of Alistair's smile around Cailan's lips.
"I'm going to take his throne, aren't I?" He asked Chantal grimly.
"I don't know." She leaned her head gently against his shoulder as they watched the pyre burn. "I don't see a way around it."
"The dead have no use for crowns, Alistair." Wynne placed a comforting hand on Alistair's other shoulder. "I do not think he would have minded terribly that Arl Eamon asked you to fill his place after his death."
"I believed in him." Alistair's voice cracked and Chantal turned, burying her face into the cold metal of his armor.
"We all did." Wynne sighed.
Ostagar was still beautiful underneath all the carnage. The moon shone down through the arches as they trudged backwards towards the main road, clutching the precious items they'd come to retrieve. Alistair and Chantal brought up the rear, trying to sense any encroaching darkspawn as they fled.
"I think, sometimes, we should have died here." Alistair confessed. "With Duncan and the others."
They should have, would have, if not for Morrigan's mother. Now they were alone, the last two wardens in a world on the edge of disaster. Still… she cast her eyes ahead, made out Zevran's figure ambling leisurely ahead as if he wasn't ready to strike at her first warning of danger.
"Maybe we should have, but I'm not sorry we didn't." She admitted. "And I'm glad you're with me too, Ali."
He smiled, reached out to tap her shoulder affectionately. "You know, you're the nicest witch I've ever encountered."
"You're the most polite templar." She teased. Alistair looked over his shoulder, frowned at Ostagar behind him.
Wynne died in the circle tower, she told Chantal. But he'd been saved, brought back, for some greater purpose, Wynne believed it was to stop the blight. Had they been rescued from the clutches of Ostagar as some part of a divine plan? It seemed insane. She told Wynne as much, pointing out that all Wynne did by agreeing to come with them was sign her own death warrant with a later date.
"Some people don't get to choose how and when they die." Wynne claimed serenely when Chantal pressed. "I'm at peace child, I want to fight by your side until my time comes. I refuse to spend the rest of my days knitting."
She'd been darning Alistair's socks then, but Wynne didn't see the irony in it the way she did.
"Ali… I don't want to die in the deep roads." She whispered softly.
"Well, the good news is that we're probably going to die in the archdemon's throat." Alistair joked weakly. "So, we don't have to worry about it."
"I want to survive." Chantal felt her mouth thin in determination while she craned up to stare into Alistair's face. "I want to choose how and when I die, and I don't want to die underneath the archdemon. I don't want to die in the deep roads."
"Maybe you should be queen. You're very demanding for a circle mage." Alistair chuckled, shook his head.
"I'm not a circle mage. I'm a grey warden." She flipped one of her braids over her shoulder. "You said the taint will get us, eventually. In what, fifteen years? Then we're supposed to go die gloriously in the deep roads."
"That's the plan, my friend." Alistair sighed.
"No it isn't." Chantal stopped, crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "We'll come back here. Me and you, we'll… we'll go where Duncan and the rest of the wardens went. Right here at Ostagar."
"Where we should have died." Alistair said slowly, letting his eyes flick behind her again. Up ahead, everyone else stopped moving, as if sensing their leader had no plans to continue until Alistair agreed.
"La belleza?" Zevran called back. "If Alistair is stuck in the mud, I very well think we should leave him this time, si?"
Chantal giggled in spite of herself, but she didn't break her gaze away from Alistair's face as he examined the ruins behind them. Finally, he nodded. "It's not like I've ever been very good at saying no to you, and now I'm frankly terrified to start trying."
She threw herself into him, embraced him tightly and pulled his face down to hers so she could kiss his cheek. "You're a good friend, Ali. A good brother."
"Only you would think entering into a mutual suicide pact earns me 'good brother' status." He huffed, but his strong arms circled her waist and lifted her off her feet. "I am glad you're here. I couldn't… I couldn't do this without you."
His fingers bunched in the fabric at her waist, his voice thick with unshed tears. Chantal blinked them away from her own eyes, threaded her fingers wordlessly though his mop of unruly hair. "Until the end, Ali." She promised. "Me and you."
They looked good together, side by side. His warden and the man who could be king, a bastard prince come home from the wilderness to save his kingdom from death and destruction by the side of a beautiful enchantress. It was a perfect story, the kind bards like Leliana would sing for the rest of the ages.
There was no place for an assassin in this grand epic. He would be written out entirely, the most unsavory of his warden's companions. The dog would get more recognition than him.
As if Trout heard his thoughts, the dog woofed in disgruntlement. Zevran glared at him from the corner of his eye. "I thought I was past this sass from you, si?"
Trout whimpered, cocked his head to the side. "No, I will not be fooled by your innocent face. I know exactly what you are up to."
"What's he up to?"
He hadn't realized she'd broken from the group by the campfire. Her footsteps were covered by Wynne and Morrigan's argument, Leliana's sweet song and Oghren's horrid attempt to sing along, the clash of blades as Alistair and Sten practiced under Shale's watchful eye.
Zevran threw one of his blades, watched it land with satisfaction in the tree trunk before he turned to her. The fading light turned her pale skin as luminescent as the finest pearls dredged up from Antiva's ocean. Her hair was like the night sky itself. His heart ached with how lovely she was.
He had her for a moment, yes? Surely, more than he deserved. There was no use mourning what he never truly owned. "He is mocking my skills with a blade, as if he could do better! Truly, my warden, this is cause for a duel to the death in Antiva."
Trout whined in confusion. Chantal giggled. "I'm sure he meant no offense. You must forgive us Fereldens, we are naturally a barbaric people. Particularly our dogs."
Not her, but certainly Alistair. He had no refinement, lacked Zevran's complete appreciation for the most beautiful and strong creature in their midst. Zevran fought the urge to pick up another blade and launch it at the sweaty beast Sten knocked on the ground.
"Apologize to Zev, Trout." Chantal directed in mock sternness. The mabari barked, his whole butt shaking with his tail. Chantal smiled and turned her dark gaze to his. "There, duel averted?"
"For you, my warden, I shall forgive this insult." For her. This was for her, he needed to remind himself of that. It was not about him, he did not deserve to keep this goddess in his bed. "I see you have found another? More compatible with your tastes?"
"Another dog?" Chantal asked in confusion. Trout whined in an almost perfect mimic of her lilting voice. They both cocked their heads to the side and looked at him.
"No there is… no need to deny it. I… I do not mind." He lied through his teeth. He had no right to mind. "Such is how it goes, yes?" He asked lightheartedly.
"How what goes?" Chantal asked quietly, taking a step forward. Her brows drew together in confusion.
"Alistair does not seem the type to share, si? You and I have had our fun, but I will gladly step aside to avoid complications."
Trout barked again and Chantal laughed nervously, brushing her hair away from her face with those slender, elegant fingers. "Zev… I… I'm confused. Or you are."
"I have made no claims on you, nor do I wish to do so." It was like a speech he had memorized. "You are free to pursue your happiness, my sweet lady."
"Oh Maker…" Chantal was blushing now. She took another firm step forward. If he had a mind to, he could reach out and close the inches between them. He could crash his lips to her, swallow up her needy little mews, take her to his tent and make her forget any man but him. He could touch her like that lout could not. He knew how to make her sing. "Zev… you're definitely the one confused."
"I saw…"
"No." Chantal stated firmly, eyes flashing. "Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn't that. Ali is like… he's like a brother, I think. He's one of my best friends, but we're not… Andraste, we could never be lovers."
Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he so enamoured with his warden that he mistook a friendly embrace between soldiers for something more? And - more chilling yet - if he was so emotionally compromised already… well, then he was more involved than he had ever been. With anyone. And yet, she would almost certainly not survive this war, this blight, these darkspawn.
"I… I apologize then." He began stiffly. Chantal giggled, easing the tension, closing the space between them and pressing herself flush to his body.
"Is this what you were really arguing with my mabari about?" She teased. Trout, the traitor, barked again.
"I am offended by the very implication." Zevran sniffed, allowing his hands to rest of the smooth curve of her waist. She felt like home under his palms, warm, soft. Chantal simply sighed, melting into his embrace, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
"I get to make my own choices, Zev." She murmured. "And I choose you."
It was a rather poorer story, but Zevran didn't mind. The bards didn't need to sing of her for him to know how lovely she was, how brave and powerful.
"As you wish then, Chantal." He whispered into her dark hair.