In the wee hours of the morning, Godfrey left his tent to find Cailan already awake. The king was pacing, his every movement wrought with anxiety. Still, he was a beacon in his shining golden armor, which glittered under the early morning sun that filtered in through the thick canopy of trees. With every step he took, he seemed to move closer and closer towards the edge of the camp. He was tired of waiting. They all were. But Alistair and Isobel hadn't returned yet from Denerim. Leaving without them was unheard of.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, Godfrey went to the king. Cailan's eyes shot from the ground in front of his feet in the direction of the sound of someone approaching. At the sight of his most trusted soldier, he smiled faintly. "Good morning, Godfrey," he said, "Sleep found you well enough, I hope?"
"Aye," Godfrey nodded, "And you?"
"I fear not," Cailan chuckled, looking away from the man and into the forest. "I have been having these dreadful nightmares. I suppose that's not uncommon." He'd often heard men crying out through the night, a response garnered from only the most terrible frights. He, too, often found himself sweaty and shaking when he stirred from his fitful sleep.
The two men stood there for a long moment. The camp was quiet for the most part, save for a few men snoring here and there and the sound of those keeping watch. They hadn't stayed in one place for so long in what felt like an eternity. Staying this long was dangerous. They all knew it.
Godfrey ran a nervous hand through his hair. "So… what are we going to do, your Majesty?"
His question took Cailan unaware. Blinking, he looked to Godfrey, an almost lost expression on his face. "About what?" he asked, his voice distant, "Oh. About Alistair?"
"And Isobel, your Majesty."
Yes, and Isobel, Cailan thought, releasing a long held breath with a sigh. "We wait, ser. We wait and see what news they bring to us." That was his only plan. After so many hours of deliberation, that was the only thing he could come up with. They were to wait. They could do little else. With their thin numbers, Cailan could not offer to send anyone out to look for them. What would happen if their camp was attacked while the others were gone? The Grey Wardens would return to see their company slaughtered.
Godfrey nodded to him. For a moment, Cailan nearly believed that Godfrey agreed with his plan. No one actually agreed with him. They accepted his plans because he was king, not because they were any good. For once in his life, he found himself desiring the company of someone who was unafraid to speak their mind. He'd have bet his shield and all the gold in his pack that Isobel would've spoken up at the delivery of his pathetic excuse for plans.
Sharing a small smile with the soldier, Cailan turned and left him to his business. His tent beckoned to him, offering solace from the somber eyes of his men. He hated this as much as they did if not more. No one understood how badly he wanted to be out there with Alistair and Isobel. He wanted to experience everything. He didn't want to be expected to walk in at the last moment to collect the glory, contrary to popular belief. The thrill of battle, the intensity that came with bargaining and persuasion - he wanted that, as well. Sitting out in the forest in his tent was the farthest thing from his dreams as a child.
For many hours, Cailan remained in his tent, pouring over his father's accounts of the battles he faced against the Orlesians. Every mention of Loghain lifted the man above even the Maker himself. It made Cailan sick to know his father loved that man so, the man who'd betrayed him and left him for dead. This was not the Loghain his father knew.
It was nearly midday when Cailan heard noises coming from outside. They were human, he knew that much, and they sounded oddly like… whistling? Furrowing his brow, Cailan shut his father's journal and replaced it to its rightful spot below his pillow. When he lifted the flap of his tent and emerged, he saw two men approaching. But it wasn't just two men. They were half-dragging someone with them. From the length of this someone's hair and skirt, he could tell immediately that it was a woman. And by the way she was thrashing about, he could tell that she wasn't happy with the turn of events.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice uncommonly sharp. "We do not take prisoners. You both know that."
The soldier stopped in their tracks, and the woman calmed. When she lifted her eyes from the ground, Cailan was rendered speechless. He'd seen many great beauties in his life. His wife, Anora, was one of them. But this woman… Clearing his throat, he narrowed his eyes at her. Her unspoken response was a subtle sneer. "Who are you?"
"My name is Chella," was her swift reply. Her accent was clearly Orlesian.
"You're far from home," the king mused. "What are you doing so far from Orlais?"
She looked to the men holding either of her arms. Her glare was not veiled. "I would appreciate it if you would first give your guards an order to release me." She glanced back towards Cailan, making a show of the fact that she could hardly move her arm in the men's tight grasp. "Then I will answer your questions."
Cailan lifted a hand, waving both of the guards off of her. They released her wrists without a word of objection, but they did not leave her side. Most men did not trust her kind. It was wise.
The woman yanked her hands away from them, drawing herself up into a more comfortable stance. He could tell by the way she stood that she was a trained fighter. For a reason unbeknownst to him, this did not frighten him. "I was in the forest, hunting, when your men thought it best to arrest me," she spat, glaring at them again. "They were not gentle, but I am not surprised. You Fereldens are as coarse as anything."
"You are speaking to the king of Ferelden, wench," one of the guards growled. "Show some bloody respect."
Chella's blue eyes widened, her cheeks darkening. "I apologize, your Majesty," she said quickly, bending at the waist in a bow. Cailan's eyes trailed down her neck to her more than ample bosom, lingering along the curve for much longer than was proper. "I did not realize… Teryn Loghain claims that you do not live. Many, myself included, believed him."
Cailan averted his gaze, looking to the Orlesian's eyes instead. "I figured as much," he said softly. "Is there much talk of what happened at Ostagar in Denerim?" Curiosity burned within him. If Loghain had already declared him dead, what else had the bastard heralded to his people? His worry was quenched for the moment, replaced by a boiling anger that he hadn't felt in quite some time. "I trust none of it is the truth, as I am more lively today than a month ago."
"I fear it is worse than you can imagine, your Majesty," Chella replied. She spoke in a slow, halting voice as if talking to a child. She was being careful with him, almost delicate, and he wasn't sure if he appreciated it or if it infuriated him. "I would not want to discuss such dire matters in front of your men." She looked to the guards, who only moved closer to her.
Could he trust her? She was some Orlesian rouge plucked out of the forest by his soldiers who offered information. With Alistair and Isobel still absent, the offer was tempting. Nodding to his men, they left the two of them alone, though they did so with obvious hesitation. "We can speak in my tent," he offered, turning to lift the flap leading into it. Chella nodded, accepting his offer without a word otherwise.
As she ducked into the tent, a wicked smile flashed across her lips.
This was going to be too easy.
Some hours later, shouts once again rang out through the camp. This time, Cailan was too preoccupied to even bother removing himself from the astonishing charms of the Orlesian. While their conversation began on a shaky, uncertain note, they were now conversing like old friends. He found that she was clever and warm, as well as a warrior in her own right. She had the scars to prove it, though she commented with a hearty laugh that he wasn't going to see them quite yet.
While the king proved elusive, the rest of his men gave joyous shouts as they watched the two Grey Warden's make their way closer to the camp. It was a great relief knowing that the two were finally back and they could all finally move on. Alistair gave Isobel a nudge with his arm, and she laughed, nudging him back a bit stronger. The men hooted and hollered when he rubbed his side.
They were met by Godfrey, who suppressed the urge to hug them both. Instead, he stood at the front of the group, a wide smile on his face. "Decide to take a day off, did you?" he chuckled. "Not that we mind fighting off a horde of darkspawn by ourselves."
A look of worry crossed Alistair's face, but it was gone when Isobel hurried her steps, knocking Godfrey firmly in the arm. "You can't let us have all the fun, can you?" she joked, a healthy flush returning to her cheeks. After the sickly day before, she was feeling back to her old self. Except this time, there was an extra weight lifted from her shoulders. Before the soldier was able to prepare a comeback, she looked around, "Where's Cailan?"
"I, I'm not quite sure," Godfrey stammered, looking from Isobel to the men standing behind him.
"In his tent?" she asked, smiling. "We have news. Quite interesting news, I dare say." Turning towards Alistair, she tilted her head towards Cailan's tent. "Come on, you have to tell him, too."
Alistair gave a mock laborious sigh. "Very well."
They all but ignored the men looking from face to face. The ill at ease feeling that settled over the camp was all but lost on them as they made their way to the king's tent. Alistair was glad to see that Isobel's spirits had taken a turn for the better after another decent night's rest. She'd talked nearly as much as him on the way back to camp, which was a miracle in itself. She'd also promised not to bring up Alistair's paternity. Promised, vowed, swore - any number of oaths were pledged to the Grey Warden before he was satisfied.
When Isobel neared the tent, she heard something within that puzzled her. The giggle certainly hadn't come from Cailan. It was distinctly feminine, and she knew that giggle. It was the laugh of a woman who was interested in enticing the man opposite her. She'd used that giggle on occasion to get her way, though those years were long passed.
Arching a curious brow, she lifted the flap and peered into the tent. Her sudden, unannounced entrance startled the woman, who uttered a soft gasp. Cailan, whose back was turned to her, looked over his shoulder, clearly perturbed at the intrusion. He was about to snap an order for the soldier to leave them be when he recognized Isobel's face. He brightened, and she felt the smallest bit reassured.
"Chella, please, let me introduce you to Isobel Cousland," Cailan began, gesturing her forward into the tent. She ducked into it, her eyes still locked on the strange woman. "Isobel," he smiled, "This is Chella Gralier."
Chella allowed herself a single, short-lived smile. "Cailan speaks very highly of you, Lady Cousland. While you are not exactly what I expected from his tales, I am not surprised with what I find." She laughed. "I'm almost certain you are used to your dear king weaving such complimentary tales." The way she spoke as if they were already close friends only made Isobel more wary of her, but she wasn't about to offend the king's new friend.
"What has he said of me?" Isobel asked, shooting Cailan an inquisitive look. She was too late. He'd already turned back to Chella and was smiling to himself as he watched her speak.
"He has praised your prowess with a weapon, which is obviously the truth," the girl began, an indefinable light in her eyes. Smug was the perfect word to describe her. From those big blue eyes to her upturned nose and full lips - smug. "But he also spoke volumes of how you were a great Ferelden beauty. He's utterly besotted." The matter-of-factness in her tone would have softened the blow to anyone dumb enough to be taken by this woman. Isobel was not one of them.
She gave a short bark of laughter. "A 'great Ferelden beauty,' huh?" she asked. Her words crackled in her throat as it went dry. "I find that hard to believe."
Chella did not have to agree with her. The smile she wore was enough of an answer. Isobel's lips parted to say something, but she felt a tug on her arm before she could vocalize any number of rude comments towards this Chella woman. She turned to see Alistair with his hand on her elbow. "Well, your Majesty, should you wish to know the location of Brother Genitivi and the Urn, I will be outside."
She left the tent in a huff, slipping past Alistair only to have him hurry to catch up with her. Matching her long strides, he walked at her side for some time before speaking up. "Where are you going?" he asked, "Back to Denerim?"
"No," she replied, climbing through the thick brush she'd retreated through days before. The spindly branches caught on her hands, but she didn't bother with them. Nor did she stop to ask herself why she was so angry. Why was she running away from the camp again? What had changed? When had the tables turned in such a way? Grimacing, she hopped over a fallen tree, her feet coming down onto the damp leaves with a dull crunch.
Alistair followed her in silence. He was curious to see where she was headed, but he was doubly curious as to why she was suddenly so upset. He could hardly see her through the thicket, but he soldiered on behind her, careful not to get a smack in the face by any rogue branches. When he finally hit the clearing, he saw why she'd chosen this destination.
She was crouched near the stream again, just as Cailan had found her before. This time she wasn't concerned with the rocks. Instead, she scooped up some of the frigid water in her hands and tossed it into her face. The chill numbed her flaming cheeks instantly, and she rubbed at her eyes with frenzied palms. Scrubbing the skin with her hands, she stood, turning to Alistair. For a moment, their eyes locked and she said nothing. This lasted all of a moment.
"We could have died," she began, her voice vehement despite a noticeable hitch. "We risked our bloody lives going into Denerim and for what!? So we could be ignored? Cast off for later while he keeps company with some strange woman in his tent!? She could be an assassin! Any minute now we could hear shouts from camp about how she slaughtered the king!"
Alistair opened his mouth, but she wasn't done. "We're trying to save his beloved uncle, and he's entertaining some… some… tart of a woman!" She threw her hands into the air, whirling around so her back was to him. "I cannot believe she had the audacity to even say that to me! You don't blatantly insult someone with a sword, especially not when you're unarmed. Did you hear her? Did you hear what she said?"
"Yes, I heard," Alistair finally interjected. "I don't believe a word of it, though."
Turning back around to face him, Isobel's grimace deepened. "What do you mean by that?" Was he saying that he didn't believe Cailan would say something like that about her, or that she didn't deserve such praise?
This seemed to startle him, and he looked away, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. So this was all about Cailan. He'd seen the look on the king's face - all distant and dreamy. He knew that face just as well as Isobel knew Chella's. It was the face of a man utterly entranced in a way no magic could mimic. And whatever Isobel was feeling was jealousy and anger mixed into one. He suddenly felt self-conscious… and like a complete idiot. "I don't know. Don't mind me."
She hadn't meant to snap at him. Her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Alistair." She heaved a sigh, kicking the ground at her feet. She didn't know how to be gentle with a man's feelings. After years of trying - and failing - to wound her brother's monstrous pride, she never learned how to deal with someone more like Alistair. And she felt badly for it. "I'm just… shocked, is all." A bitter laugh passed her lips. "We're gone for two days, and he's already found another woman to fill the empty space I left."
"I don't think that's it. At all," Alistair pressed, moving forward to rest a comforting hand on Isobel's shoulder. "We don't know the full story. She could just be traveling through and had news for Cailan." Isobel tilted her head up to look into Alistair's face, and he tried his best to scrape together the remains of his pride to give her a supportive smile. "Plus, I doubt she could live up to anyone's expectations. You'd leave a very daunting hole."
"I just don't trust her, and it's pretty obvious that Cailan does." He really was a fool, wasn't he? If this was any confirmation, they were on an impossible mission, and they were only preparing themselves for defeat. "If she causes any trouble, I swear to the Maker, I'll…"
Alistair smirked. "Kill her and make it look like an accident?"
Isobel rolled her eyes at him. Another serious moment ruined by his sense of humor. She turned to make her way back to the came, smiling a small smile once she knew he couldn't see.
A/N: Hello, everyone! Once again, thank you a million times for the reviews! You have to trust me, though. As a lover of Alistair myself, I wouldn't dare put him through anything he can't handle, I promise! I have good and bad news, though. I finally got my hands on my own personal copy of the game last night... so... you know how that goes. I'll try to keep up with my updates!