The Vigil

Delia started wearing an old cotton shirt to bed, one of Zevran's that he had been about to throw away. She liked how soft it was, and that it smelled like him, at least until she washed it. It was badly worn, ripped and repaired many times, but it was about the only thing she could tolerate sleeping in. She just didn't want to sleep in the nude while Wolf was likely to be visiting her in the middle of the night.

She had difficulty sleeping that night. Her blood felt fizzy, like champagne. It disturbed her to think of him. Some guy puts on a mask and plays at being mysterious and she goes all gooey inside. It was disgusting. Yet, what she saw of him was intriguing. He had a strong, wide jaw and rather dark skin. If she were to guess, she thought he might be Rivaini, although she detected no accent. Maybe removing the mask would free her from this... whatever it was.

She tossed and turned for awhile then decided to go sit on the sofa, by the fire. She thought about Zevran and wondered what he was doing. He had wanted her to come with him to Antiva. We'll take over the Crows, amora. He whispered his plans into her ear whenever they laid down together at night. She had been tempted, Maker knew she was an unfit Grey Warden, perhaps she should just give in to her nature and become an assassin. But she had ultimately decided to stay in Ferelden.

She reviewed the decision constantly for months, thinking about hopping onto a ship and surprising Zevran. But with her luck, she'd probably find him in screwing someone new and she didn't like to share. So, to cement the permanence of their ended relationship, she slept with someone new. Then there was a string of lovers after that one. And booze, lots of booze.

Finally, after hearing about her through the rumor mill, Alistair went out looking for her. He found her drunk in some shady tavern, about to start a fight. His guards cleared out the bar and they escorted her back to palace, not precisely willingly.

He locked her in a room for days, until she stopped yelling and threatening him. Then he had her bathed and fed, and they talked. He reminded her that she was the Hero of Ferelden, and his friend, and, of course, a fucking Grey Warden. That made her yell even more and they spent two entire days yelling at each other, until she realized he was probably right. She should stop the drinking and carousing. She had decided not to go to Antiva, so she needed to make a life for herself here. Doing what? She had no idea.

She spent several weeks moping around the palace, looking for something meaningful to do, when the First Warden's letter arrived. Alistair brought it to her with a grin on his face, hoping it would ignite something within her.

"Oh boy," she said tonelessly, "I'm sure he has no idea what a huge mistake he's making."

"Don't be silly, Delia, you'll be a great Commander," he lied.

"I guess I did put an idiot on the throne," she replied. "I'm sure the Maker will have some special punishment for me for that." She meant it.

Alistair actually laughed at her jab. He was getting rid of her, he could afford to be generous and overlook her barbed comments. He directed the servants to get her packed and ready to go to Amaranthine. Delia thought he could at least try to look a little sad about her leaving. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She'd worn out her welcome long ago.

Her depression only lifted when she had seen darkspawn had overrun the Vigil. Killing darkspawn was something she could definitely do. It invigorated her. She felt alive again for the first time in months. However, as much as the sport of slaying darkspawn invigorated her, the duty of being in charge of the Arling sapped her.

She grew very attached to Varel, wanting him to take over as much of the duties as he possibly could. She eventually confided to him that she was vastly unsuited to the task. He assured her that she could concentrate on darkspawn, he would handle almost everything else. He did too. She weighed in from time to time, but most of the decisions were his.

So it was bearable, perhaps, at times, enjoyable. There was no lack of entertainment for her senses, with the array of attractive men under her command. That she had, so far, not bedded any of them was testimony to either how much she had changed since her extended debauchery in Denerim, or that she was too busy and too tired. She feared it was the latter, however. Maybe this was how it was for Duncan and Riordan too. Perhaps they had been too busy to indulge in their baser desires, and then, eventually, too old to want to. Was that was the secret to being respectable? Being old and tired, more in need of a nap than a good hard frigging?

She laid her head on the arm of the sofa and watched the fire flicker until her mind finally stalled and she fell asleep.

...

Wolf found her on the sofa this time, her neck at an uncomfortable angle, sound asleep. The fire had died out and the room was chilly. He decided to move her to the bed. He might suffer a severe beating for it if she awoke, but he knew she'd be cold and her neck would be stiff when she awoke. Besides, it was an excuse to hold her, however briefly.

He marveled again at how deeply she slept, she never stirred as he slipped his hands beneath her small body and scooped her up. He felt her bones poking him through the thin fabric of the shirt. The girl - no, woman, he corrected himself - was way too scrawny. He was almost ready to believe her hardship story.

As he carried her to her bed her face rolled into his neck and her warm breath tickled his neck. He put her down on the bed, checking that her daggers were under the pillow. They were... fat lot of good they would have done her while she was sleeping on the sofa. He pulled her covers up. He wouldn't wake her, she looked exhausted. He noted the deepening circles under her eyes. He did bend over her and pressed his lips just barely against hers.

Maker, she was lovely. He wondered what her life was like. He wanted to know who she was, outside of what the stories said, but their interactions had been few and brief. Well, perhaps that would change.

He pulled something out of his pocket and put it on her desk, then used her quill and wrote out a note. He signed it with a flourish and stuck it under the object from his pocket. He left the way he came in.

...

The sunlight flooded through her window. She must have slept late. She sat up in bed and stretched.

Bed?

She looked around the room, distinctly remembering having fallen asleep on the sofa. She had no memory getting up in the night.

Sleepwalking?

She shrugged and just hoped if she was becoming a somnambulist that she confined it to her room and not wander the Vigil in the nude. She got out of bed and scurried to her armoire, pulling out clothes quickly. The room was chilly. She was about to dump them on the bed when something caught her eye. There was a small box on her desk she didn't recall seeing before. She set down her leathers and ignored the chill. She picked up the box and saw the note underneath.

You looked too tired to wake, last night.

Names:
Ser Guy - He visits his mistress in Amaranthine every Thursday night.
Lady Liza Packton - Fond of Antivan wine
Bann Esmerelle - We need to discuss this one.

Meet me in the apple orchard at sunset to discuss Bann Esmerelle.

Eat something.

Wolf

Delia unfolded the top of the parchment box and looked inside. There was a large, beautiful confection inside. It made her mouth water. It was studded with almonds, dates and caramel. She picked it up and bit into it. Marzipan too. It was marvelous. After she swallowed she wondered how wise she was. It could be poisoned. She laughed at herself. Wolf had had ample opportunity to kill her, including, apparently, last night.

Had he put her into bed? She mulled it over. He was a strange man. She felt the fizz start up in her blood again. It was a little like having a guardian spirit watching over her. One that was an irritating nag at times. She wondered again who he was and what his story could be. How did he know so much about her being the Dark Wolf? What was under the mask?

The last of the confection went into her mouth and she licked her fingers off. She got dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs. The other Wardens were already up and eating. She joined them and ate a very hearty breakfast, remembering Wolf's admonition.

After breakfast Varel cornered her and asked about the conspiracy.

"Did you ever find the Dark Wolf?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, he's helping me with the problem. We've identified a few of the conspirators and they're... being taken care of."

Varel pursed his lips and looked at her. "Be careful, Commander, you can't afford to be implicated in this."

Delia nodded. "I'm not entirely inexperienced in this area, Varel."

"Word is, Ser Timothy was ambushed by darkspawn a few days back."

"Imagine that. Such a tragic end. Could you be sure to send condolences to his wife?"

"Of course, Commander." She thought there was a little twinkle in his eye. "Do you think there will be other darkspawn attacks?"

"Oh, undoubtedly. And other tragedies too. Life is unpredictable. I hope you have plenty of stationary and ink."

"How much stationary should I have?" he asked, obliquely.

"I'm uncertain as yet, perhaps ten pieces."

Varel nodded. "Very well. I'll be sure to have it on hand." He walked off to his study.

Delia smiled at his retreating back. Varel understood her perhaps better than she had imagined.