Alright. It's been a very long time since I've updated this story. I realize I've written in a wonky timeline, and hope those who read this can forgive me a little in that department. I'll clean it up I promise! This chapter is also kind of long. I played with certain breaks in the chapter, but this seemed to make the most sense so I left it. Otherwise, thanks for taking the time to read my story! :D
Bodahn and his son Sandal joined the group towards the end of their meal. They talked together of their travels that day, shared a laugh or two. Bodahn had made a point to stick to the same route as the Warden's, for safety and profit's sake.
It was a week and two days journey to Redcliffe from Lothering, where it was rumored that Arl Eamon was ill. They were already most of the way there. They needed to reach him as soon as possible. He was the first ally they had on their list of recruitment, so to speak, in their struggle against the Blight and Loghain's betrayal.
Emma yawned. "Ohhhhh... it's late. Everyone should get some rest," she stood and stretched. "Ow..." she flinched quietly, having pulled to much to the side that harbored her wound.
Wynne looked up, "Are you alright, dear?"
She nodded. "Yes. It's just healed so much already I keep forgetting it's there," she held her side. "It's alright. I just pulled it a bit."
"You need to be careful. It can reopen from the inside, you know," Alistair advised her as he stood as well.
"Really?" she frowned, her eyes slightly widened in fear.
Wynne agreed. "It's true, but you should be fine. I'll have a look at it in the morning."
"Oh. Yikes," Emma didn't realize that and kept a hand over it protectively.
"Why don't you go try and get a few hours sleep? I'll take first watch," Alistair offered to Emma as Wynne and Leliana began gathering themselves up for bed.
"No. I'm not tired," she insisted. "I'll wake you when it's your turn."
Leliana grabbed up her fur mantle and stood. "Good night you two. Wake me for my watch," she waved to everyone as she retreated to her tent.
"Goodnight Leliana," the three spoke intermittently.
Alistair watched as Emma walked to her tent and begin to put her armor back on. He sighed a sad sigh for her.
The Grey Warden's joining ritual was a brutal task to endure. Most initiates had trouble adjusting to the taint that newly flowed through their veins, but it was said that these symptoms were stronger in those who joined during a Blight.
Alistair knew Emma was silently suffering the aclimation. She only spoke to him of her nightmares, but he could sense her troubles ran deeper than that. One thing he, and everyone else noticed, was the lack of sleep she got. She always took first watch, and often stayed up all night, never switching shifts with him or the others.
The nightmares plagued her, giving her no chance at rest. Everyone at one time or another would insist she sleep, but their pleas were always met with protest, Emma stating that even if she went to lie down she wouldn't sleep anyways. She tossed and turned, often waking in a fright. Sometimes she would wake up screaming.
But after their months of travel together everyone would still offer their turn at watch, knowing Emma would not give it.
He watched her lift her chain-mail sheath over her head and pull it down. He checked to see Leliana and Wynne slinking into their tents for the night. Perfect, he thought, as he went to approach Emma.
Emma picked up her breastplate and slipped it on. She looked over and saw Alistair walking her way, the happy look on his face making her smile. As she clipped the latches to her armor, she bit her lip and recalled the feel of his lips pressed to hers. Heat flowed through her veins at the memory. She quivered with excitement at the sight of him nearing her, taking a deep breath through her nose to calm her nerves.
"Hey Emma," Alistair stood with her as she donned her armor.
"Hi Alistair," she replied. She sat on a large rock next to her tent and began buckling her shin guards on.
He looked on as she buckled the leather straps together. As she sat up to grab her other shin guard, Alistair gazed upon her face and felt a strong urge to kiss her overwhelm him. Her lips were so soft, he recalled...
"Uh um..." he stuttered, trying to be a gentleman and not think about her lips. "Um, are, you sure? About taking first watch?" he managed to ask.
Emma nodded. "I'm not tired," she lied, "and, well... you know," she insinuated her trouble with sleep.
"Emma," he knelt down in front of her, "I'm worried for you," he admitted.
She looked to him and saw the concern on his face. She finished with her left shin guard and smiled at him. She rested her hands on her knees and sighed. "I would sleep if I could," she insisted. "Please, don't worry."
"I can't, not," he spoke. He tilted his head as he expressed how he felt. "You, I can't even remember the last time I saw you asleep."
Emma didn't mean to be, but she was becoming frustrated. It wasn't that she didn't want to rest. She was exhausted. But listening to the darkspawn, the archdemon, in her dreams, seeing them... it sent torrents of horror and fear and anger throughout her.
"I would if I could Alistair. You know this." She stood quickly, her anger at the topic expressed in her sudden movement.
Alistair stood as well, sensing he'd upset her. He watched her as she angrily yanked her gloves on. His shoulder's slumped and he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry Emma. I understand," he looked to her. "I didn't say it to make you upset."
Emma tightened her gloves and kept her angry eyes down at the ground. "I know. It's just..." she lightly threw her hands in the air as she confessed, "I don't know how long I can sustain focus on what's needed of me if I can't upkeep my, my body, my senses," she looked to him. She sighed at the sad look on his face. "Alistair, forgive me. I'm not angry with you."
She was torn on whether or not it was appropriate for her to reach out to touch him. Although she knew he felt the same for her, it was still so new to her. Her anger faded as she thought about the long journey ahead, and that there was nothing she could do except continue fighting with all she had. "I guess I've been alright thus far. I shouldn't worry about something not yet manifested as a problem," she reasoned aloud.
Alistair's heart ached for her. Her duty to the Grey Warden's, to Ferelden, was unshakable. He couldn't help but smile proudly at her.
"What?" she asked at his smile.
"You make me proud," he told her.
Emma flushed lightly. She leaned down and grabbed her axe. "Because I can't sleep?" she joked as she fastened her scabbard with her axe at her back. She wanted to lighten the mood and not feel the sadness and frustration that was with her most of the time now. She wanted to see his smile.
Alistair watched as she fastened the giant axe to herself. "Because you are a good foot shorter than me and have no trouble wielding that beast of a weapon," he motioned her axe.
Emma smiled. She had bent down and was digging around in her pack for something. "Jealous?" she looked up at him mockingly.
He scoffed. "Yeah, right."
Emma pulled out an apple and took a bite as she stood again. She chewed and remembered Alistair had complimented her. What he'd said meant a lot. His opinion was very important to her, and to hear him say he was proud of her filled her with glee.
She swallowed the bite she took and looked to him lovingly. "Thank you, Alistair. For... everything."
He smiled. He didn't know what everything was, but knew it was her attempt at accepting a compliment and left it at that. "You're welcome... where'd you get that apple?" he eyed it, hungrily.
"I picked some from a tree, down the road," she pointed back to the road they were camped adjacent from. "Want one?" she offered as she bit into the apple, holding it in her teeth as she went to grab one for him.
"Mmm. Sure," he smiled. He loved apples.
"Here," she handed him one, then ripped a bite from hers and chewed.
He took a bite from the green apple and smiled as he chewed. "Aw, wow. These are delicious." He took another bite. "Mmm-mmm..."
"I was expecting them to be sour. They're still small," she turned hers in her hand, examining it's size. "But it's quite sweet."
"Yeah. They are small," he noted as he was already halfway done with his.
Emma nodded as she bit into her apple again and chewed. She then turned and walked to post herself at the opening to the road. Alistair followed. Emma noticed and looked to him. "Aren't you tired?" she asked.
"Eh," he shrugged. He honestly was so full emotions rushing throughout his mind and body he couldn't think. He'd kissed her. He couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful she was. He never imagined someone as gorgeous as Emma would ever feign interest in him, let alone feel how he felt about her about him. "My brain isn't," he finished his answer.
"I know what you mean," she nodded. She worried for him though. He could sleep. And snore. "You should try to get some rest. We're only a days journey to Redcliffe," she mentioned.
"I'll sleep when I am ready. Besides, I'd like to keep you company for a while," he stated. He was tearing the last bit of flesh from the apple as he looked to her.
Emma had a few more bites left. She smiled. "I'd like that".
They reached a boulder near the edge of the road and stopped. Alistair finished his apple and tossed the core into the bushes nearby. He happily licked the sticky remnants off his fingers. Emma was chewing as she took a seat on the boulder. She sighed as she looked out into the darkness and chewed. She looked over to the fire still burning bright in the camp. Leliana's lamp was still burning. Wynne's was not.
Morrigan came to mind suddenly. Emma felt something cold rush over her at the thought. She sat up and felt a sensation to look over her shoulder. She turned her head to see two glowing, yellow eyes in the distance, bouncing their way in her direction.
Alistair saw Emma's gaze and had his hand gripped around his sword. He didn't see what she saw, yet. Emma stood and reached back and gripped the handle of her axe as well. She had a feeling she wouldn't need it, but...
Just as suddenly as Emma felt the presence of those eyes they vanished, a woman's form appearing in their place. Emma let go of her axe and tossed her apple to the trees. "Morrigan," she spoke, letting Alistair know what she saw.
Alistair groaned and let go of the hilt of his weapon. "Oh. Great," he turned and took a few paces away.
"Don't sound too disappointed, Alistair," Morrigan curled at him as she stepped into the dim light of the fire that hit them.
Emma stood tall. "I didn't think you would return," she spoke solemnly.
Morrigan sighed. "I..." she began, but was cut off by Emma.
"What happened to you?" Emma asked, concern over-taking her previous apprehensive tone. Emma noticed Morrigan was favoring her left leg, and the blood soaked scarf tied around it.
"I, hate to admit it... especially with him present..." she said angrily and quietly, "...but I've trouble healing my wound. I could venture no further without aid." She looked to Emma with immense pride that was crumbling with every word she spoke. "I sensed your presence near, and I..." Morrigan breathed in and spoke as if it hurt her physically, "-need your assistance."
Emma nodded without hesitation. "Wynne's just to sleep. I'll wake her," Emma looked to Alistair. "Will you keep watch Alistair?"
"Of course," he nodded to her. He avoided any glance to Morrigan, turning away as the two women ventured back into camp.
Morrigan paid him no mind, as well. She followed Emma, limping lightly.
"Wynne?" Emma stopped at the front of Wynne's tent. "I'm sorry to wake you..."
"I am not yet asleep, don't worry dear," Wynne's hand came out from the slit in her tent door and pulled it aside. Wynne was surprised to see Morrigan. "Morrigan?"
"Wynne." Morrigan acknowledged her.
"Morrigan's been hurt. She needs healing, in her leg," Emma motioned Morrigan's wound. "It's bled through. I'm not sure when this occurred?" Emma looked to Morrigan for an answer.
"I 'twas attacked three days ago. It took me two to reach you," Morrigan answered with pride. "I would not have returned were I another reasonable option."
Wynne scowled at Morrigan's pride. "Well I'm honored. Let me dress and I will tend to your wound," Wynne's tent closed.
"Do you have your tent?" Emma offered. "I'll set you up here, in camp."
Morrigan nodded. "I do, but I do not plan on staying."
"Where are you going to go with a hole in your leg?" Emma spoke sternly. "If you want your leg to heal properly, you will need to rest. You will also be at risk, since you have expressed your lack of self defense at the moment. We'll be here to make sure your leg has the time it needs to mend," Emma held out a hand. "I will set up your tent."
Morrigan wanted to argue, but was indeed tired and in pain. She pulled her pack off of her back and handed it to Emma. "Here," Emma took it and headed over to where her own tent was. There was a space next to it, where she would be near enough to assist Morrigan if need be.
Wynne pulled the door of her tent open again. "Come in, Morrigan," Wynne invited.
Alistair looked over from afar. He watched as Emma unsheathed her axe and set it down, beginning to pull tent remnants out of Morrigan's pack. He shook his head. "Crafty wench," he muttered.
Morrigan was a mage, and apostate according to the Chantry. A mage out of the Circle was considered a lost cause, an abomination, and was sentenced to death beyond all reasoning. The templars, what Alistair once trained to be, were the soliders of the Chantry bred and raised to hunt such mages. But Alistair's dislike wasn't rooted only there. The two did not get along. Morrigan felt Alistair a stupid, incapable being and treated him as such. Thusfar, Alistair treated her as an unruly Witch of the Wilds, and garnered her no benefit of the doubt.
Leliana and Wynne seemed fairly indifferent about the mage. Emma felt neither side deserved a voice. In the dire times they were in, even the amusement of their hate of one another ran thin. Emma played no games, and made that very clear.
As she tied rope to the tree sharing her tent, Emma thought of this and sighed to herself. She thought about the peace the camp had shared with Morrigan's leave. She felt guilt at the regret of seeing Morrigan again. It seemed a test she was tired of failing, trying to hold a group together with Morrigan's hostile practicality hindering her spirit.
But she wished Morrigan no ill will, and respected Morrigan's talent's and logic. She would help a once comrade, no matter the trials and tribulations of their relationship. She finished setting up the tent, placing Morrigan's bedroll down for her and setting her pack atop it. She grabbed her axe and walked to Wynne's tent to see how the mending was going.
"How are you, Morrigan?" Emma asked from outside the tent, resting the head of her axe on the ground and leaning lightly on the weapon.
"I... am fine," she answered flatly.
Wynne spoke. "Her femur was fractured. She was able to mend the bone, but it set crooked. And the flesh seems to be infected and will not close. The ointment you used helped, Morrigan. Without it, you may not have a leg as we speak."
Morrigan sighed. "Flesh wounds are normally no task. But, thank you."
Emma sighed, relieved her wound was fixable. "Well I am glad to hear it is mend-able. How long do you think she will need to rest, Wynne?"
"A few days. We will be at the arl's soon. She can have it there with no trouble," Wynne assured.
Morrigan huffed. "I will not make myself present in the company of such."
Emma's jaw tightened. "You will rest until you are healed. You sought our company for assistance. I would take it." She raised her axe and again clasped it to her back as she headed over to Alistair.
Wynne looked up at Morrigan. "I will be honest with you, Morrigan. Mercy is only shown because of her."
"Well if your so disinclined to help, I shant bother you-" Morrigan made a move to leave, but Wynne held her leg.
"Don't be ungrateful!" Wynne spoke angrily. "You selfish girl."
Morrigan looked to Wynne with fire in her eyes.
Emma heard Wynne and sighed a heavy sigh. Morrigan...
"Emma... why are we helping her? She left us of her own accord to 'fend for herself'," Alistair asked as Emma neared.
"Alistair, would you turn away someone with such a wound?" she asked. She clenched her hands into fists as she grew angry with the topic. "I tire of this constant feud," she said coldly.
He was hurt by her words. "Fued? You say it like I am the one who instigates," his voice was even as he spoke.
"I speak against the unwillingness to accept one's plight," she looked to him. "You a templar, she an apostate." Emma looked to him very seriously. "You, yourself, have expressed immense rebelliousness for the Chantry, yet you judge based on the fact she is of no religion?"
"She is a complete and utter bitch, Emma!" he spoke angrily. "She is nothing but, but ungrateful for what's done for other's, even for her! You heard her just now!" he said. He had stepped closer to Emma and demanded her attention with his words. "And yet you oblige this. You welcome it," he challenged.
"I will not let anyone suffer in the time of a Blight, Alistair! I don't care if they are ungrateful!" she yelled back. Alistair had kept his voice down, but Emma had no control over her emotions. To much had transpired for her that day.
Atop her need of rest, her healing wound, the transformations caused by the taint... even the first real hope she'd felt since she survived her joining of knowing Alistair's warmth, it was too much for her to contain. His anger towards her now made the latter fade to a dim glimpse of a hope she still yearned for.
"I don't care if they hate me! Or if they won't return a kind gesture with another!" she glared at him. She looked to see his stance recede. It angered her to see him back down so quickly. "This isn't about how we feel, Alistair. This is about saving people, saving free will and the right as living being's to continue to be!" She stepped forward, her rage growing. "What do you fight for, Alistair? I see you follow, but what do you fight for!"
Alistair had never see Emma angry like this, and never imagined he would ever have made her this angry. But he was being attacked, and he needed to defend what he believed in. He needed to stand up for himself.
"I fight for a future where corruption is no longer acceptable! Where men and woman, elves, dwarves... where we all can unite as one in this world and erase the lines of hatred and biggotry that hold us apart!" he answered.
"And of mages? Where do you stand with them?" she asked. Her voice froze him where he stood. "Are they not people?"
"Of course they are!" he yelled. "I never said-" Alistair went to defend his feeling's towards mages. He held no contempt for them, Templar or no. But Emma interrupted.
"That's just it, Alistair! You never say anything!" she yelled. "You let other's speak for you! You are guided by pre-existing thought! Even now, you step down from me out of fear to lead. Out of fear to hold your own right to be!"
Alistair hated what she was saying to him. But he could not argue. He wanted more than anything too, but he had no words. He stood before her, his rage ever-present. But silent.
Emma turned away from him. "You don't understand the strength you have inside of you. You..." she felt like she wanted to explode into sobs, but would not let herself. She would not be weak when this moment needed her to be stronger than ever. When he may have needed her to be. She was overcome and couldn't speak for a moment.
He looked at the back of her head. Her dark auburn hair falling down her back in a V. It was wavy from drying in the cold that night. He wanted to grab her and make her look at him. Not knowing what she was thinking was making him go mad.
"Emma..." he started. He lifted a hand to touch her, but recoiled. She'd never expressed that she felt this way about him. Not a hint. He didn't understand why, but at the same time didn't want to know why. He was afraid. This enraged him more. He was tired of being afraid of feeling. Afraid of his own damn feelings.
"It's always been my place to be out of sight. I was a mistake," Alistair began.
Emma turned to him, not understanding the meaning behind his words. She yearned to know why he preferred to be so weak when he was indeed bold and strong.
He was relieved to see her amber eyes. She looked to him with faded rage. He was still hurt by her accusations, but wanted to explain himself before he gave her more reason to be upset with him.
"I haven't told you, about my father," he said. He looked at her and sighed. "I didn't know how to bring it up, honestly," he shrugged his shoulders. His anger calmed as logic returned to him, his head clearing from his defensiveness.
"Your father?" Emma asked. She was taken aback. "I didn't know you knew your father?"
"I didn't. I just know whohe is," he stated. He clasped his hands together nervously. "Arl Eamon raised me. He took me in when my mother died." He turned away from her, realizing he couldn't bear the look of her golden colored eyes bearing into him. "And he did that because... because my father was King Maric."
Emma stood frozen. This was not what she was expecting to hear. "What?" was the only word that would escape her.
"I know... but I was always told that I had no place within the royal family," he explained. He sighed, "I was always out of sight because no one wanted me. So I learned to stay that way." He looked out at the trees surrounding their camp and recalled when Arl Eamon sent him away when he was 10. "When Eamon sent me away, to the Chantry... it was because his wife, Isolde, hated the rumors that I was his son. And she was threatened by my presence. So she had me sent away."
He felt the rage he felt then, a young boy being thrown into the Chantry because he belonged nowhere else. He scoffed. "I've never belonged anywhere. It's been my life to keep out of everything. That's what I am good at," he spat the words. He'd never felt this angry about it before.
Emma's hands were over her mouth. Her fingers were pressed to her lips as her heart cracked beneath her breast. She continued to look to Alistair. His head hung down, his gaze to the ground as he explained what he'd never told her before. Never told anyone before.
"I am sorry, I didn't tell you sooner," he spoke quietly now. "I, was so used to people knowing and it meaning nothing, heh, or everything. Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew. He kept me out of the fighting because of it," Alistair shook his head.
He heard nothing from her and decided he wanted to face her, to see what she would have to say to him now that his truth was out. He turned and did not expect to see the sorrow on her face. He felt his emotions grow hands and try to reach out of his body to her to comfort her.
"Alistair. I am so sorry," she apologized.
He felt a tinge of anger at her apology. Once she knew he was the orphaned bastard of the king she relented in her words towards him. Even if some of them were true, he thought to himself. The hands of emotion retracted back into his chest.
"So now you know. And now you can think what you like of me." He turned to walk away angrily.
"Alistair," she demanded.
Her voice was strong. It surprised him, stopping him where he stood. He turned to look at her. "What?" he spat.
"Don't be angry with me because I've witnessed what you do," she spoke. "I see nothing but a tremendous warrior and a genuine and moral leader of men when I look at you. And at times, what you put forth is contrary to this man that I see in your eyes," she stepped closer. "When you look at me, Alistair, when you look into my eyes, I see a greatness in you. Why do you hide from it?"
Her voice was kind in her question. She was almost pleading to know why, how, he could not see what she saw. At his continued silence, Emma offered what condolence she felt she could after being so cruel. "You are whoever you want to be, not what anyone has told you to be."
He looked up and into her eyes. No one had ever talked to him like this before. No one ever told him how he mattered, and what he felt mattered. What he wanted, mattered. He loved her so much, he realized. Her glistening eyes filled with regret at hurting his feelings, but her honesty to him was ever present. She thought of him and no one else in that moment, and she loved him. He was washed over with a wave of understanding he'd yearned for for as long as he could remember.
"Emma... I..." he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. It was cold and soft against his fingertips. "I love you," he spoke softly. "I love you so much."
She smiled and placed her gloved hand over his, holding it to her cheek. "I love you, Alistair," she pulled him to her and hugged him tightly. "I am so sorry for my words..."
"Don't be," he held her. "I understand," he pulled her away and looked down at her. "You have always acted in the best interest of others, of myself. I was defensive, I didn't see it as such," he said. "Please do not feel sorrow for me."
Emma shook her head. "I assume before I speak. I need to learn to control my opinions," she admitted. "I do not want to force anyone to do anything."
"And you don't," he said. "You offer what you know. Nothing more. And, you're usually right," he smiled.
Emma shrugged his words away, not wanting to admit anything. "I am not always right."
"Well let's agree to disagree," he held her in his arms and lovingly looked down at her.
She agreed only to avoid upsetting him any further, the guilt weighed in her heart.
He continued to look into her golden eyes. He wished he could be lost in them forever. They way she looked back at him made him feel like he was floating on a cloud, completely at peace. She blinked and tilted her head at his gaze. He smiled, "I've, now, the knowledge that you feel the same for me as I do you... yet I am still afraid to kiss you," he admitted.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," she tip toed up to his lips and kissed him.
With this, he believed her.