A very sincere thank you to my first story follower, Yuki-Sama12. It means a lot. :)
Chapter Two: Promises
Alistair watched the angry mage stomp away and let out a breath of relief. He hated being a messenger owl for other people, but to mages? He winced and ran his hand over the back of his neck. He turned to walk from the platform to see if Duncan had returned from Highever.
A girl was behind him, looking uncomfortably lost. She walked up the ramp to the higher level of the Ostagar architecture, getting shoved aside by the mage. He noticed her and took a moment to stare. He liked to do so; he had been cooped up in the Chantry for far too long to appreciate the beauty of women.
She was a different kind of beautiful. Her hair was as white and light as clouds and it curled around her face daintily. Her copper skin made her green eyes pop. She had a cute overbite rimmed with a pair of pink lips. Her armour looked too big for her, but the leather skirt still betrayed her thighs. Alistair felt a blush emerging, so he averted his gaze out of politeness. He looked up again to see her staring at him. She approached him. Up close, her eyes had flecks of ocean blue, and her cheeks were rosy with excitement.
"You must be Alistair," she said in a surprisingly aristocratic voice. Alistair blinked.
"Must I be?" he asked jokingly. The girl's face faltered.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to find a man named Alistair."
Alistair opened his arms. "Look no further! Here I am." The girl relaxed. She smiled. "But who's asking, if I may know."
The girl nodded and did a small curtsy. It was very strange to see a soldier do something so dainty. He wanted to laugh.
"Duncan sent me."
Alistair's smile went serious. He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Has he returned?"
"Aye, he's with the king."
Excitement arose in Alistair's chest. "So that must mean he's returned with a new recruit!"
He rubbed his hands together and looked around as if Duncan was close by. He looked at the girl, who looked back at him with an awkward sort of anticipation.
"Tell me, does this one have a funny nose like Ser Jory? Or is this one shady like Daveth?"
The girl's eyebrow's furrowed. "I'm sorry?"
Alistair thought for a moment. "I certainly hope this one bathes. If I have to sleep with two people that smell like goats, I'll just hand myself to the darkspawn and save them the trouble." Alistair jumped and touched a finger to his nose in thought. "Maybe this one is a noble man who has never held a sword, but has impressed Duncan with his exceptional skill at tossing biscuits into a lake."
The girl simply stared at him, dumbfounded. Alistair dropped all humour and raised his hands. "Okay, no more jokes. I'm simply excited to meet him."
The girl grunted and placed her hands on her hips. "The king is waiting for you."
"Righto!"
The girl turned and began walking. Alistair jogged to keep up. He clasped a hand on her back.
"I didn't catch your name!" he said.
The girl shrugged away. "I didn't give it."
Alistair frowned. "I'm sorry about joking with you."
"Oh, no, no!" the girl replied, overly enthusiastic. Alistair felt a tug at his gut; something wasn't right.
Duncan was waiting for them as he talked to King Cailan. Alistair didn't like to be close to King Cailan; it felt too awkward, too fake. Did Cailan know the blood they shared? Would he care?
And there was Loghain. Loghain paid Alistair no attention save for a twitch of annoyance at the interruption. The girl stepped aside as Duncan reached to Alistair. They grabbed wrists and smiled at each other.
"Alistair."
"Duncan," Alistair replied with a grin. "Glad to see you made it here in one piece." Duncan snuck a wink at him. Duncan looked past him and motioned outwards.
"I see you've met the new recruit."
Alistair turned and saw no one but the girl, who looked at Alistair with an incredulous look.
"Only partially," the girl said. "She reached out a hand with soldier formality. Alistair bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm Aela."
Alistair grabbed her wrist and played along, kicking himself and choking down curse words. "Alistair."
He felt a wave of cold embarrassment wash down his back. He tried to release the grip, but Aela squeezed his wrist for a few extra - and tortuous - seconds.
"Pleasure," she purred. "Now, on with the plans."
"Right," King Cailan said.
The plans were mapped out, and the entire time, Alistair tried his hardest to not notice Aela's grin. She didn't even glance at him with those amazingly emerald eyes of hers, but he knew lips lips were smirking at him. Alistair grumbled.
"We should march out tonight," Loghain declared. "We have enough forces here as it is."
"No," the king responded. "We must wait for more of Duncan's comrades to arrive from Orlais."
Loghain clearly hated the notion and voiced his opinion, but the king merely shut him down and gave his final royal word.
"Your Majesty," Duncan interjected. "I recommend we march tomorrow as planned. I have three recruits that need to go through the Joining. Five Grey Wardens would prove more valuable than two."
"Of course," Cailan agreed. "So then it's settled. Go then, go prepare for this 'Joining' and report back to me when it's done."
Duncan bowed and motioned for Aela and Alistair to follow him. The last they heard from the king was a terse word or two towards Loghain, who said nothing.
"Aela, you and two other recruits are to go with Alistair into the Korcari Wilds. Go find them by the war hound kennels. I must speak with Alistair alone."
Aela nodded and walked briskly down the ramp. Alistair leaned over.
"Why?" he asked. Duncan sighed.
"What's wrong with this one?"
"Does she even know how to use that sword? And that dagger looks ancient."
Duncan grunted and shook his head. "There was a time when you didn't know what a sword was, Alistair."
"That was before the threat of a Blight."
"She has skills," Duncan interrupted. "She will be of great value to the Grey Wardens."
"She articulates too much," Alistair complained. "She talks like Anora and stands like Isolde. Which family did you take her from?"
Duncan halted and looked at Alistair in a way that made him feel small. "If Aela wishes to say, then she will. I haven't told her about you, or your bloodline, so I respect her in the same way."
Alistair frowned at the words 'bloodline' and 'respect'. "I want to know who I am fighting beside."
"Then find out," Duncan said simply. "Not knowing won't make her any less of a soldier."
Alistair felt like he'd been told his pants were missing. "All I am saying is that I don't know if she is even that! Gentle words and timidness won't win a war."
"No, skill and teamwork will. Get used to her. You said you wanted someone pretty in the party and since you weren't happy with Daveth, I'd say try to cooperate with Aela."
Alistair stalked onwards, muttering obscenities about the Maker and Duncan and intelligence of the same degree as a muffin.
In the Wilds, however, his annoyance had turned into fear. Ser Jory kept bumbling on about how he wished he could go back home to Redcliffe, a sore spot to Alistair's personal opinion, and Daveth kept drooling over the wenches he'd earn after slaying the archdemon. Alistair wanted to kick them into the swamp to shut them up, both for personal and safety reasons.
Aela, however, remained completely quiet. She did not make any comments or gestures, she remained freakishly manic as she scouted the barren hills for signs of darkspawn.
"Let me tell you," Daveth blurted as he swung his sword about out of boredom, "it is so nice to have a lady Grey Warden with us, eh?"
He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her against him. She gave a little squeak and suddenly looked very upset as Daveth laughed. Ser Jory scoffed in anger and Alistair glared.
"And I thought I'd never see a lady again! Those nice legs, them soft bubbies that bounce when you -"
"Daveth, that is hardly appropriate," Ser Jory piped up. Aela tried to wriggle away. Alistair could see Daveth's grip tighten in a manner that was less than jovial.
"The only thing right in that statement is the 'hard' part," Daveth snickered. Alistair rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Aela, however, delivered an elbow to his cod piece. Daveth cried out in a huff of breath as he doubled over. Aela, now free from his slimy grip, sauntered away. She was furious, and yet totally silent. Alistair, however, couldn't help but give her a small smile. The group had no choice but to follow her up a hill, where she halted.
"Oi, that wasn't very nice," Daveth whined. He stepped in front of Aela, who fumed. "I was only joking around."
Aela tried to look past him, but Daveth blocked her view. He sneered and dropped his voice menacingly.
"Don't I get a little apology?" he asked angrily. Ser Jory and Alistair looked at each other. Daveth grabbed Aela's chin and wrenched her head up.
"Daveth!" Alistair growled.
"I think this one's broken," he said. "I don't think this one has a tongue. Come on, say something, or do you save your mouth for other things?"
She didn't say anything. She drew her dagger from her side and thrust it forward.
"Maker's breath!" Alistair cried, thinking she had stabbed Daveth in the belly. But behind him, a gargling howl pierced the air. Daveth jumped to the side, releasing Aela, who had buried her blade into a Gemlock's eye. She twisted it and the beast went limp. She kicked it off her blade and turned to Daveth.
"Next time," she hissed, "I'm going to let it get you. So shut your bloody mouth and keep your filthy hands off me."
Daveth managed a tiny nod before Aela wiped her black blade on a nearby Elfroot. She pulled a flask from her pack and filled it with its blood. She kept moving, leaving Daveth with a very furious Alistair and Ser Jory. Aela turned around one more time, dagger pointed at them. "And that goes for you two, as well. I don't want either of you touching me, ever."
Ser Jory nodded and Alistair grunted in agreement. Once she was moving again, Ser Jory leaned over.
"Did you even see that thing behind him?"
Alistair shook his head. "No. No one else did."
Ser Jory blew out a breath and shoved past Daveth, who was busy limping away, muttering angrily. "Stupid bitch, should'a known, can't believe..."
Alistair took the back of the pack, glancing over his shoulder at the Genlock corpse that still twitched in the chilled air. A shiver swam down his spine.
He looked back towards his small party. He lingered on Aela... her white hair was dirty and tousled, her skin bruised and scraped and otherwise imperfect. Her eyes scouted ahead, seeing things no one else could. What sort of life did she lead before? How did she end up here? How could that tiny body of hers survive the Joining?
He really had no clue, but had no choice but to follow her deeper into the Wilds.
"He's there," Alistair growled. He kicked his horse to go faster, Denerim miles away and under siege by the impending doom that was the fifth Blight. Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon rode just behind him, barking at the generals. Aela felt it, the looming presence, the hatred and death seeping into her skin and mingling with the Taint within her.
The archdemon had set his forces on Denerim, not Redcliffe, they had learned. And Aela, flanked by Alistair and Riordan, pushed her stallion to the very edge of his breaking point. The rest of her companions were behind her. Wynne kept a constant flow of regeneration among the horses so they would not tire while Zevran and Leliana acted as second sets of eyes to Aela, pointing out faults in the road and shortcuts. Sten rode onward next to Oghren, who was surprisingly sober and quiet, while the Qunari growled at his horse to press on. Duckling bounded next to them in the trees.
Morrigan, however, was gone.
Aela pushed the thought out of her head as they reached the top of the hill that marked the final stretch to Denerim's gates. Once they had topped it, the party pulled their horses to a stop. Aela's spirit sank into her boots as she stared over Denerim's outer fields and farms. They were crawling with filth, with the plague, with the beings that hungered for life and blood upon their swords and tongues.
And from the sky, there was no sign of the archdemon. Aela and Alistair looked at each other and knew if he was not yet showing, then he was close to emerging.
Eamon dismounted his horse and ran to a sign post on the side of the road. Aela followed suit to protect him as he ran his fingers down the post, muttering. Suddenly, a smile broke over his face as he turned and took deliberate and calculated steps into the trees. The rest of the party followed cautiously.
He paused at just over twenty paces and bent to his knees. He, with Aela's help, felt around for what Aela had no idea of. When the feeling of metal hit her fingertips under the moss, her eyes widened. She peeled the moss back to reveal a door handle.
"Redcliffe wasn't the only place to think of a secret passage," Eamon grumbled. He heaved the door up. Under were a set of old, withered stairs that descended into darkness. Wynne and Zevran entered first, Wynne using her staff to create light, and Zevran's daggers at the ready. Everyone followed until the ground had swallowed them all.
As they ran through the underground, Zevran ran next to Aela while Alistair ran ahead. Aela leaned closer to her fellow roguish fighter.
"I need a promise," Aela breathed.
"Anything," was the reply.
"At the Landsmeet, Alistair was chosen as rightful heir to the throne."
"Aye, it is true." Zevran's flirtish grin faltered.
"I need you to swear to me that if plans do not work, or if the fight turns, you will make sure he makes it out of this alive."
Zevran slowed his pace and stared at her. "My Warden, do you have doubts for this plan of yours?"
Aela placed a hand on Zevran's shoulder. "Plans don't always work. You of all people should know that. It is, afterall, how you and I met."
The look of understanding Aela was hoping for flashed over his face.
"Do you swear to me to listen to my orders no matter how insane?"
Zevran smiled. "Insane is how I prefer my women," he purred. "So be it, I will try."
Aela returned the smile and trudged on, the sounds of the fall of Denerim echoing over her head.