Chapter 13

Among the things Alistair had expected to fight when he took his oaths as a warden, trees were the farthest thing from his mind. Trees possessed by demons at that.

Nothing surprised him anymore. It was as if everything that could go wrong usually did go wrong whenever they were concerned. He huffed. We'll have rainbow pooping pink unicorns next.

The man poked the crackling fire before him with a stick listlessly. He reflected on everything that he had come across on his journey thus far, and the world just... disappointed him.

From Howe to Loghain to Uldred to Branka... it was a sad tale. Once great people, fallen from grace for various reasons. It was a depressing time for Ferelden. It was a dark time for all of Thedas. What was worse was that the eyes of every nation were on Ferelden because of the Blight. If Ferelden fell under the weight of all the shit that was going on, then, well...

He rubbed his face tiredly. Ostagar seemed so long ago now. He wondered why Loghain did what he did. He wondered why Howe did what he did. Had they won at Ostagar, he wouldn't have had to put up with everything he had. He could still be with the Wardens, with Duncan. He could've been happy with the family he'd made for himself.

But then...

Alistair turned to his right and observed the sleeping figure beside him. She was sitting, with her head leant back against the bark of a tree, legs spread out before her and her bow on her lap. Her red hair fell like a curtain over the left side of her face. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. He smiled to himself and turned back to the fire.

If Ostagar hadn't happened, he wouldn't have met her. Or Aedan. Or Wynne, Solona, Faren, Bodahn and Sandal, Sten, Oghren... even Zevran and Morrigan he supposed. He shrugged to himself. This is my family now, for better or worse. They're what keeps me going.

Good things came from bad things and bad things from good. It was cyclical. He knew that now. There was always something more fucked up around the corner, waiting to pounce on them.

Alistair looked around at the forest, watching the shadows dance in the firelight. It was quiet, for the most part. The crickets chirped, the owls hooted, the halla barked and the leaves rustled. It unnerved him sometimes, having never camped out in a forest before. The atmosphere was eerie.

In the distance, a wolf howled. A long call. When it died down, another took up its call. Then another and another. Soon enough, it seemed as if the hills were alive with the sound of howling.

Alistair kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. Just in case. He wasn't experienced enough to tell whether the wolves were actually werewolves.

"Such haunting music they make, no?"

He started, but succeeded in biting back his urge to yelp. He turned to see Leliana grinning sleepily at him.

"You were awake?" he asked crossly. "How long were you awake? And how many times have I told you to not startle me?"

Leliana chuckled as she rubbed the sand from her cuticles. Then she sat up straight and stretched, purring slightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Alistair dropped his chin into his palm and grunted. Blasted Orlesians.

"Sleep well?"

"Indeed. The song of the forest woke me."

"The what?"

She placed her bow in the space between them and drew up her knees. Wrapped her arms around them and placed her cheek on her knees, turning to look at him.

"The forest... how you say... it sings to you. In its own language. You can hear it only if you make the effort to listen." She smiled. "It's a romantic thought, I think."

He wouldn't know about that. So he turned back to the fire. "Huh."

"Alistair?"

"Mmm?"

"Is something the matter?"

Nothing surprised him anymore. "You can tell, eh?"

"Mhmm. You seem tense. Preoccupied."

With a sigh, Alistair sat up straight and locked his fingers behind his head. He looked up at the sky. It was overcast.

"The world just seems so... bleak. You know what I mean? Howe served in the war against Orlais. Loghain is basically a hero to everybody. Branka was a Paragon. All good people at some point, but then something happened and they just... became someone else. Or they were always this way." He sighed. "I don't know whether the Blight influences negative behaviour either. At this stage, right now, I'd be willing to believe it."

He was silent a while, gathering his thoughts. Leliana didn't speak.

Alistair said, "We've done some solid good, we have. I think so, anyway. But sometimes I think whether that's enough, you know what I mean? Like, what if everything we do isn't enough? What if something bad happens and sends one of us over the edge? I know Aedan is basically there. If he even sees Howe, he'll snap. He's been one step away from the abyss ever since Bhelen butchered the Harrowmont house." Another pause. "It's just... with everything bad happening, I wonder if we'll be impervious to the negativity. It just feels so bloody hopeless sometimes."

He dropped his hands upon his thighs and fell silent. Self-doubt had always been an accompanist in his life and the Wardens had very recently beaten it out of his system. Now, however, it came back with a vengeance. Usually, he could suppress it, but it needed an outlet. Like all emotions.

Leliana moved her bow to her other side and slid up beside him, her shoulder touching his tricep. Alistair looked at her. She seemed thoughtful.

"In Orlesian, we say merveilleux malheur." Leliana focused her gaze on the fire. "Sometimes, bad things will happen to you. They happen to us all. But you use it. And the path you will take will be better than the path you will have taken had you not suffered." She placed her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. "Does that make sense?"

It did make sense. Undeniably so, but Alistair was in no shape to form a response. He was acutely aware of the closeness he now shared with the redhead. He was aware of her hair brushing against his cheek, her breath on his neck. He himself felt breathless, and a little faint. He prayed fervently to Andraste to not let Leliana see his blush.

He knew she was just trying to comfort him – like she would any friend, he reminded himself – but her efforts had a completely different effect on him. One that wasn't entirely unwelcome...

Thank you, Bournshire, for teaching me all about women.

With great effort, Alistair cleared his throat, regulated his breathing, and offered her a smile. "Thank you," he said.

Leliana smiled back, and Alistair's own smile faltered. He gulped. From that range, her smile was basically blinding. He hoped he wasn't sweating.

"Don't mention it," she replied and returned her head on his shoulder.

Alistair didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, no woman had ever done that to him before. It made him want to squirm his way out of there and run for the hills.

But on the other hand, Leliana has her head on my shoulder what is going on this feels great ooh her hair smells nice no stop thinking argh whatdoIdowhatdoIdowha-

"Alistair?"

A sudden chill ran down his spine, giving him a severe case of gooseflesh. Maker, he didn't know how to react to her soft voice so bloody close to his ear!

"I – y-yes?"

A pause. "Back in Lothering... did you think me insane, spouting what I did about having received a vision from the Maker?"

That gave him pause. More than anything, he was grateful for the distraction from his earlier sequence of thoughts. His shoulders lost the tension and he relaxed somewhat as his mind wandered, thinking back to the day which seemed so long ago now. He shook his head.

"Honestly? I didn't think Chantry sisters could fight like that. I've grown up in the Chantry and no old biddy there could fight like you, so I was confused first, sceptical second." He shrugged. "Yeah. I did think you were sort of bonkers. I think my exact words to Aedan were that you were one archdemon short of a Blight."

She laughed at that. It was a nice sound. Sonorous. "What changed your mind? Why did you let me join you, then?"

"Your pleas seemed wholehearted to me, Leli. Plus, you had the skill, so I didn't see why not, even if you were a bit strange. Besides, you seemed more..." Alistair wrung his hands together and widened his eyes as if in wonderment. "'Oooh, pretty colours!' than 'Muahaha! I'm Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!'" He held out both hands and pantomimed a stabbing action with both.

Though she giggled, Leliana sat up straight and attempted to punch his shoulder. "Don't make me stab-kill you!"

"No, don't hit me! I bruise easily!" Alistair protested meekly and held up his hands to shield himself from any incoming blows. When none came, he said, "Besides, you wouldn't hit me. I'm too adorable."

"You do realise that one day that excuse won't work anymore, right?"

Alistair laughed. "So you do think I'm adorable. I knew you couldn't ignore my boyish charms."

Leliana rested her cheek on her palm and looked at him amusedly. "Yes, you're very wily to have trapped me in my own words."

"Positively nefarious, I am."

She shook her head and smiled. Then started humming a tune Alistair couldn't quite place. She did that a lot when at camp. If within earshot, he liked listening.

When talking to her, Alistair felt that he really could be free and open. Leliana had a disarming personality. She makes you want to trust her. It might have been her bard training, but he doubted it. Leliana was just a really nice person. Anybody can see that.

She was a sweet, pure girl in these Blighted times. There was an honest innocence to her, despite her past as a spy. True, she could be a tad preachy, but she always knew when to back off. Sometimes it took a gentle reminder, but she wouldn't knowingly shove her Andrastian beliefs down anyone's throats.

Besides, it was a good thing that she wore her opinions and beliefs proudly. He could respect that.

Alistair looked at her for a while as she happily hummed away. Then he returned his gaze to the fire. Prodded it with a stick.

"Merveilleux malheur," he muttered to himself.

Perhaps the Orlesians weren't so dumb after all.