"So, Denerim, huh?"
Alistair settled down near the fire. The entire group encircled the tall flames, and they were in oddly cheerful spirits. After Arryn successfully defeated the demon within Connor, Bann Teagan pulled Cailan aside to give him news of his uncle. Arl Eamon had not recovered, but there was a newfound hope. One of his men had unveiled a possible heading. A brother in Denerim by the name of Genitivi was said to be researching the Urn of Andraste.
As far as any physicians or mages could tell, only the prophet Andraste's ashes could heal the dying arl. Cailan insisted this was a worthy quest, even if it would lead them far away from the task at hand. The others could wait. "Family comes before glory," he said. Hearing those words come out of his mouth nearly shocked those gathered to death. He surprised even himself and gave a little nervous chuckle before quickly changing the subject.
"Yeah," Isobel smiled. "Denerim. How long has it been since you were there?"
"Huh." Alistair kicked back. It was odd seeing him without his armor. In all of her time knowing him, she's only caught him in such casual attire once or twice. The lack of heavy plating made him look smaller. "It's been years, I think. I traveled there a few times with the sisters to visit the Chantry there. Other than that… I don't even remember. I suppose I went there a few times as a child, with Eamon."
Isobel nodded, bringing her knees up against her chest. Across from them, Cailan was talking with Godfrey and the rest of his men - the ones who hadn't been able to follow them into Castle Redcliffe. His expression was animated, as were his wide, sweeping gestures. Despite the gravity of their current quest to find Brother Genitivi and the magnitude of Arl Eamon's current condition, he was smiling and laughing, lapping up each shout of praise from his men.
He was truly a sight to behold. Without his armor, he still cut an intimidating figure, one inherited from his father. With his long, golden hair and boyish smile, he was the picture of a hero. His arm was completely mended now due in no small part to Arryn's excellent skill with healing, and he was back to his usual self from what Isobel could tell. This was the man she met the day she arrived at Ostagar. As he stood and gave a show of the killing blow he gave a shrieking demon, his men clapped and cheered and they were completely his again. The army was lost and many had died, but there was still hope. It was amazing to watch.
"Oi! Isobel," Alistair nudged her in the arm. She tore her eyes away from Cailan and looked to him. She didn't mean to glare at him, but he winced regardless. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't know I was interrupting anything." She could hear the sarcasm in his voice. He hated it when people didn't pay attention to him, especially if they were talking. "When's the last time you were in Denerim? You asked me. I felt I should reciprocate."
"Oh," Isobel chuckled. "Hmm. The last time I was in Denerim, I was with my brother Fergus. We'd gone to find my mother a gift for her birthday. It was a fairly long trip, and I got sick on the way. He swore up and down that I'd have to suck it up and get better because he wasn't going to turn around."
Alistair tried his hardest not to laugh and ultimately failed. "He really said that? Sounds like quite a trooper." He paused, "The both of you, actually."
"Me?" Isobel laughed with him. "A trooper? I was barely thirteen! I wanted to go home!" She grinned at the memory of her coughing and sneezing in Fergus's direction for the entire week-long trip. "By the time we reached Denerim, he'd gotten so sick of my complaining that he tried to sell me to the highest bidder." She heaved a heavy sigh. "My brother loved me so."
With that, they both nearly burst with laughter.
At the sound of the two cackling like crows, Cailan's story came to a shuddering halt and he looked towards them. Isobel was grasping Alistair's arm to keep herself from falling over, her mouth wide and eyes shut tight as she laughed. He wiped a tear from his eye as he patted her hand, his own belly laugh filling the campsite. As they both quieted, Isobel clutched at her stomach, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
The men to his right begged him to continue his story. They were all eager to hear how he'd slain demons and helped save the arl's possessed son. "Just one moment," Cailan promised, "I have a much better idea."
He left his side of the fire and strode up to Isobel and Alistair. The two looked up at him, laughter still in their eyes. "Yes, your Majesty?" Isobel asked, a brow lifted in curiosity. "Is there something we can do?" Cailan nodded, holding out a hand to her. She merely looked at it.
"I'd like it very much if you told the men of slaying the revenant." He gave a tight smile to Alistair. "They enjoy such stories, you know. And your story, Isobel, should have them riveted."
"That thing almost killed me," she reminded him, "But… sure. I guess." Placing her hand in his, she lifted herself off of the ground. She looked back to Alistair. The man didn't look very pleased with this turn of events. Not pleased at all. "Come on, Alistair. You helped." The barbed comment with directed with very little grace towards Cailan, though she wouldn't have been surprised if he was unaware of it. Slipping her hand out of Cailan's, she offered it to her fellow Grey Warden. "Up you come. We shall tell the story in turns. And I'd appreciate it if you left out the part where he flicked me off of him like a bug."
Alistair grinned, taking her hand and hoisting himself up. "Aw, must I? But that's my favorite part." He gave a pained "oof" when Isobel elbowed him in the ribs. Rubbing them, he chuckled. "Fine, fine, I'll leave it out."
Well, Cailan thought, that didn't exactly go as well as I'd hoped. He shrugged it off, graciously accepting the two Grey Wardens over to the other side of the fire, where his men waited, curious to what was going on. When they saw Alistair and Isobel following him over, they were whipped into a similar excitement as they had earlier. Godfrey was all but beaming at the two of them, finally tearing his attention away from the elf at his side.
"Isobel here is a hero in her own right," Cailan gushed, taking her by the hand to pull her out in front of the men. "If it wasn't for her, I would have been killed by the revenant." The gravitas in Cailan's voice at the word sent a wave of respect through the crowd. It sounded like he was telling a story of ghosts and ghouls, not actual events that were still fresh in her mind. And for some bizarre reason, it rubbed her the wrong way. "It was at least seven feet tall, perhaps more," Cailan continued, "with purple flesh and armor as thick as dragon scales. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before."
"It was enormous!" Godfrey shouted, "I never thought we'd be able to bring him down."
Isobel looked to Alistair, unsure if she should say anything. He shrugged. "It was a difficult fight," she began, her voice unsteady. "It wasn't easy. I had half a mind to turn and run." Her eyes went to Cailan. He was staring at her, nearly as rapt as his men, but his expression changed when he saw the critical glint in her eyes. "We're going to be facing many of those same foes on the road ahead, so don't think lightly of them. Or you will end up dead."
She hated being the bearer of bad news, but it was the truth. She knew it was. If someone went into a fight knowing they'd win, it weakened them in some small way. Overconfidence would lead to defeat. If anyone in this campsite should've known that, it was Cailan. His own audaciousness led to him being betrayed and nearly killed on the battlefield. Surely he wouldn't lead his men directly to the same fate.
But there was something childlike about the king, and it was that which kept him from realizing the magnitude of what he was doing. Even after five years on the throne, he was still merely playing king. The only difference was that he had a real sword this time and peoples' lives were on the line. There was something alluring about the life of a hero. Everyone seated around the fire had no doubt dreamt of such things at least once in their lives. To be heralded as a savior, to be lifted up in the esteem of your peers - it was a common aspiration. The king, however, seemed unable to realize that that was all it was. A dream.
The men seemed unhappy with her sudden seriousness, and they shifted uncomfortably as silence overcame them all. Instead of continuing her tirade and not giving Cailan the chance to glorify her, Isobel turned away from them and left. Everything was still fresh. Her meltdown in Castle Redcliffe left her feeling exposed; vulnerable.
Passing up her tent, Isobel made her way into the forest. The foliage was thick and the air was chilly, but she could've cared less. She hugged her arms around herself as she made her way to the brook where she'd washed up earlier that day. She felt ridiculous for running away like that, but she couldn't stand it. She couldn't bear to hear Cailan elevate her to something she was not. She wouldn't let him lift her up as he did with himself. No matter how many demons she forced from this world or how many times she'd saved his life, she was still some young girl who didn't know top from tail most days.
Isobel bent down near the stream, plucking up a pebble from the frigid water. The moonlight made everything so beautiful. She preferred the darkness to the bright sunlight of midday, a fact which often got her odd looks from her friends. Running her fingers over the smooth rock, she peered at it, admiring the soft gleam it seemed to give off in this light. She was just slipping it into her pocket when she heard the crunching of leaves and branches behind her. Her breathing slowed and her entire body tensed. She wanted to turn around, but something stopped her.
It wasn't until there was a loud swat and the being moving through the woods cursed aloud that she knew it wasn't an attacker. It also wasn't Alistair, that was for sure, as she'd never heard the Grey Warden utter so many profanities at once. "No need to be frightened! It's only me!"
She let her breath out in a sigh. Cailan. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than for it to be Alistair. She didn't want to talk to Cailan. She didn't want to be in the same space as Cailan. Nonetheless, she could hardly tell him to leave her be. He was still the king. Struggling to move through the much smaller path she'd made, he hopped over the final stump, giving a triumphant chuckle when he finally made it out of the brush.
Making his way over to Isobel, he stood beside her near the stream. He was almost rendered speechless by this spot. It was magnificent in an almost spiritual way. "You make it hard to find you," he said. His voice was much quieter, as if he didn't want to disturb the peace of the moment. "I nearly got a branch in the eye back there."
Try as she might, Isobel couldn't keep herself from giving a quiet chuckle. He was almost sweet in his innocence. It was the very thing that annoyed her most about the king, but at times it was also the most charming. Biting down on her lip, she stood from her crouched position. "I didn't really want to be found, actually."
"Oh?" Cailan replied, glancing up and down the stream, "Why ever not? We can't continue on without our hero." He looked to her, a good natured smile dimpling his cheek.
"Your Majesty, please," Isobel protested, her irritation evident.
Lifting a hand, he silenced her. "Cailan."
"Cailan," she repeated. His name felt odd on her lips. "I'm not a hero. I… I don't want to be a hero. It's incredibly stressful. I could do without the added pressure." She felt a weight lifted off of her shoulders at her admission.
Cailan gave a quiet, thoughtful huh, before turning away from her to look back at the stream. "I'm so used to everyone being so eager to be called a hero," he replied, a tremulous chuckle interwoven in his words. Crossing his arms, he continued, "So used to wanting to be one myself. Not a hero, eh?" He glanced at her, a smile tugging at his mouth as she shook her head. "Well, you're certainly not a damsel."
Isobel gave a quiet bark of laughter. "No, not a damsel. I'm not anything from those stories we heard as a child. You aren't, either." She looked up at him, lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "No one actually is. Try as we might, we won't be heroes like those in the tales of old for a few hundred years. By then, I doubt anyone will even remember our names. Just our deeds, and even then they'll be so bloated and changed that it'll be like we never existed at all." She smiled. "They'll remember your name, though. You are a king, after all. History and whatnot."
No one will remember Isobel Cousland, daughter of Bryce and Eleanor, one of the last of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, she thought to herself. And she would be better for it. To be remembered was also to be criticized for every decision made. That was another pressure she could do without. "You may have black hair in a few years, though. Or orange." Her smile was wicked, and Cailan found himself laughing.
"You mean, they won't remember me as the striking blonde that I am?" he asked. "And you, they'll remember you. I have no doubt of that. History seems pretty set on recording instances of beautiful warrior women."
Isobel's breath caught in her throat, and she turned away from him, unable to keep her cheeks from setting fire. She hoped the poor lighting would keep him from seeing the color that wasn't there moments before. "Well, thank the Maker I'm not homely, then. Else I should be forgotten before I'm even dead by the looks of it."
Cailan's fingers were chilly as they brushed across her cheek, down across her jaw, and to her chin. He tilted her face upwards so she would regard him. "That's not it," he murmured, his smile all but disappearing. It left a small curl in the corner of his mouth. "That's not it at all. I'm not sure what they'll say about you, but they will say something. You are a mystery, that's for sure." He took a deep breath, and Isobel felt herself drift forward slightly, closer to him. "When I figure you out, I will be sure to alert the historians."
She wanted to say something. She wanted to give him some sarcastic remark. Another part of her wanted to remind him that she didn't actually want to be remembered, not for anything. All she could do was stare up at him, lips parted, her entire being focused on the feeling of his fingers as they left her chin and brushed against the warm skin of her cheek. He didn't know that she was just as confused as she was. She scarcely knew what she was thinking on most days. The road to her own self-discovery was a long and winding one, and she had less than an idea of where it would end.
She could feel Cailan's eyes as he drank in every detail of her face. Freckles, her blush, a tiny scar above her brow - these things he'd never noticed before intrigued him. When his eyes fell to her mouth, he felt the intense urge to kiss her. She could feel him moving even closer to her. She could see him bending down, closing his eyes, parting his lips.
"I… We should get back to camp," Isobel interrupted, taking a step back. Cailan's eyes shot open, overcome with shock for a split second before his features hardened. Her heart fell to her toes at the sight of the anger on his face. Gulping back the urge to apologize, Isobel gave him a small smile. "Arryn was cooking stew, wasn't she? We, uh, we wouldn't want to miss that." With that, she turned around and made her way back through the forest, leaving Cailan standing by the stream alone, feeling like a solid fool.
If there was one thing the king wasn't used to, it was rejection. Turning him down once was coy and almost attractive, but twice or more was frustrating. He was the bloody king, after all. What right had she to deny him in such a way? He was hurt, and it was this wicked emotion that made him feel like an imbecile. If she was any other woman, he'd have dusted himself off and moved on, but she wasn't just any other woman. She was strong and beautiful and intelligent…
Should he find her flirting with that damned Alistair on his return to the campsite, he didn't know how he'd get through dinner. Jealousy was an sentiment he wasn't used to. It tasted like bile and felt even worse.
"No," he grimaced, "I don't suppose we would."
A/N: Again, I want to thank you all for such encouraging reviews! You're all so sweet! I haven't enjoyed writing a story this much in such a long time, and it only makes me happier knowing that there are those out there who are enjoying it just as much as I am!