Terill awoke from her haunted slumber to the realization that her two shemlem companions were no more. She felt almost guilty for their passing, and for this, felt even more guilty. She was meant to hate or fear these men because of what they were and what their people had done before but she was never able to force these emotions. She had tried that harrowed and bitter Dalish perspective that her clansmen so adamantly stuck to but it just never stuck. She knew she was naïve. She was probably scum to at least one of the men but it did not make their deaths any less painful to bear.
Her gaze groggily focused on the roof of a tent she did not recognize. She sighed heavily. She certainly did not fear death nor sought it actively but the prospect of romantically perishing in attempts to fix a world that rejected her seemed so romantic, no? Even Merrill told her she was mad, and that coming from the enigmatic first was interesting to say the least. She mulled this thought in her head. She liked existing certainly, but was it for the sake of existing or something else?
Rustling form somewhere nearby made her bolt up in alarm. Even in the midst of the first blight in centuries she was wasting her time on silly dalliances that matter to no one but herself. Alistair poked his head through the flaps of the tent sheepishly, flashing her a smile and chuffing in relief that she was awake.
"Thank goodness!" He exclaimed, certainly louder than he needed. "I was worried." His face contorts in uncertainty. "I have not yet been to any joinings… Well, save for my own. I was not certain how long it would take for you to awake."
She looked over his face, seemingly wracked for worry of an elf he did not know. She made a quick note to play cards against Alistair whenever the chance, he was certainly the easiest read of anyone she had met. She shook herself of the bedroll and quickly crawled from the tent, almost pushing Alistair over in her urgency. She brushed off imaginary particles of dust from her leather armor and ruffled her blonde mane that had become matted with the moisture and mud of the Kokiri Wilds. "How long was I out?" she asked with little affect. Apparently the great battle had deemed her worthy enough to wait for her nap to be over.
"Hmmmm…." He answered not certain, looking to the midday sun, "A few hours at most, Duncan is meeting with Calian at the moment and has left me to be your keeper, and if need be, nursemaid. Your coloring is good, not that I could say the same soon after my joining… Let us just leave it at your body definitely took the taint easier than mine did." She nodded her head, not wanting to tell him that she was tainted a few weeks prior.
She worked her hair into a manageable bun; certainly not ascetically appealing but far enough from her face it would not blind her if caked with blood. "Duncan must be waiting for us then?" she asked, certainly ready to leave the thoughts of Daveth's last moments and Jory's cowardly death from her mind.
Alistair shifted from foot to foot, seeming to be slightly less excited about joining the meeting between Duncan and the king, but nodding in affirmation. "He told me to bring you if you were able… Are you able?" He raised his eyebrow with more scrutiny than she liked.
"Alistair," said stoically, attempting to suppress an annoyed sigh in the process, "Let us be off then." She touched his back lightly and motioned for him to lead the way. He took the cue and led her towards the tent.
Again, she is cheated the chance to romantically die fighting for a cause that means little to her people. She notes the thatched roof and curses under her breath slightly; hoping waking in strange places would not become a habit of hers, and if it was to become one, at least bring with it a funny drunken story.
Ostagar has surely fallen. The light went up but the retreat was still made leaving the King, Wardens, and many men to perish in a slaughter not fit for dogs. More men, fallen to a cause that none were sure could be won. She wished she had the confidence the late king did about the blights eventual defeat and this appeared the one area her realism trumped her natural naivety. It was certainly discouraging to consider the bleakness of her existence at the moment.
She then noticed she did not even know if she did still exist. She wriggled her toes, no longer bound in the straps of her Dalish boots and brought herself into a sitting position, looking across her already badly scarred arms. No fresh scars, that is a first.
The door opened to reveal a scantily clad woman, that despite the circumstances, still made Terill blush. "I see you are awake. Mother will wish to speak with you and your companion." Morrigan says, seeming almost apathetic that Terill lasted the night.
"Alistair lives?" Terill asks, happier than she thought she would be at the goofy-wardens ability to skirt death.
"He does." She nods, "He would certainly like to know you are awake and well. He has been almost inconsolable since mother saved you from the tower."
Terill flinched, perhaps now realizing exactly who she owed her life to and what that may mean in the future. Perhaps spending time with the Shemlem managed to make her cynical but she knew Flemeth would collect on this debt one way or another. She hoped that she would be able to keep her life for it in the least; it was certainly possible she wouldn't, but she hoped.
Terill suddenly realized that not only did she and Alistair live, but Duncan must not. Terill's heart broke at the thought of Alistair's first realization that his friend and commander was dead, and to such a betrayal at that. Alistair, for all purposes, appeared to be the embodiment of what did not make her hate the Shems as her people did, his curious eyes, earnest smile, and ability to admit fault even where it was not his own. He seemed and honorable man, and even though she knew little of the extent of Alistair's relationship with Duncan, she recognized the admiration in his eyes to know he lost a good friend.
Terill did not wish to speak to the witch in front of her, much less the one waiting outside but she knew she must. She waved Morrigan to go ahead of her, giving her a few minutes to refasten her now tattered armor over to tunic. She certainly felt sore, but not in the way that one would expect when you must have experienced mortal wounds days earlier. She ran her thin fingers over an odd shaped bruise on her leg that seemed to span her whole leg. It was peculiar. She had been magically healed on few occasions by the keeper, once during a hunting accident, and the last after her contact with the mirror. The Keeper refused to heal her broken arm as a child, maintaining she needed to learn her lesson for climbing trees in a storm. She still remembers the chuckles of the Keeper and her clansmen as she pouted continuously for the few weeks her arm took to heal. Some claim she learned to even pout in her sleep.
Terill finished fastening the last of the armor and tested the sturdiness of her legs, being pleasantly surprised that she could walk easily. She walked out of the house, fully prepared to be told to become some sort of elven sacrifice for Flemeth's help. Really, it seemed counter-intuitive to save the wardens and then kill them after wasting so much magic but Terill hardly understood the motivations behind anything nearly anyone did really.
Morrigan groaned loudly again, seeming to egg Alistair to say something to start a fight. Alistair surprisingly did not take the bait and continued to walk, his eyes becoming extremely intent upon the men standing further upon the road. Terill noticed them as well, standing in front of what appeared to be an overturned caravan. Bandits. For the love of the creators.
Terill checked her sides for her sheathed daggers and was glad to find them where she last left them. She had been known to lose her daggers on occasion, flashing back to the memory of finding one within the knot of a tree a few yards from camp. It took nearly an hour to free the steadfast blade, and after all the sweat and cursing, she never did understand how it ended up there.
The men made no attempt to lunge or reach for their weapons as the three approached. Smart for bandits. There was little chance the refuges passing through the area appeared as formidable or as armed as Terill and her companions so perhaps the men knew enough to let them through. Unfortunately for them they were not.
The two men in the front made up a bogus story about paving the roads that made Morrigan snort from behind. "You two are certainly the most capable of highwaymen I have yet to encounter." Morrigan let her sarcasm linger on every word before correcting herself, "Or perhaps I was thinking of the last two left alive." She brought her finger to her chin to attempt to look thoughtful.
Alistair piped up, "Let's just kill them already. I can hardly listen to you belittle every person before we behead them… You would think it is bad enough how much you seem to enjoy lighting the large ones aflame" Alistair shuddered at the thought.
Terill nodded and unsheathed her daggers slowly, giving the men one last chance to relent. She wasn't sure she would have let them live even had they surrendered. She hated bandits, hated the way they preyed on the weak, and hated the way they acted as if every forest was their own. Luckily for her, they too unsheathe their weapons. Terill arched her back as the leader swung at her, not considering she would be considerably more agile and quick than he. Before he could finish the follow through and balance himself, she flicked her dagger across his neck, drawing a jagged line that was more brutal than need be but shallow enough to not kill him in moments. What could she say, she really hated bandits. The man looked to face her again, losing blood quickly and making another sluggish move to catch Terill in the arm. Again, his attempts failed and she moved away from the dying man to a rouge that seemed intent on pestering Morrigan.
She truly felt for this man who appeared too scared to get close enough to use his daggers correctly. The mage took advantage of his uncertainty and lit him aflame with a smirk. It took a man a second to recognize the pain, his eyes wide with terror as his whole being was licked by ethereal flames. Terill turned her gaze from the man, not wanting to watch as he burned away, her stomach churning as the man's screams soon silenced.
Alistair had already made quick work of the two warriors attacking him with broad swords. He used his shield effectively and let the force of the men's large blades stagger them before quickly ending their lives. It was hardly a challenge for him or the rest of his companions. The archer seemed to make off into the woods somewhere as the battle seemed lost. He could likely meet a less timely fate as some group of dark spawn takes advantage of his loss and feeds on him in the night. The thought was not something she enjoyed, but it persisted none the less.
"If only dark spawn hordes were as foolish and easy to kill as untrained highwaymen." Morrigan mused.
"Perhaps Alistair would be of some use to you."
Terill couldn't help but laugh at the comment, making Alistair narrow his eyes in annoyance before mumbling something under his breath as he could not think of a witty comeback. Terill patted Alistair's back to let him know it was all in good fun, but his poisonous glare would not leave Morrigan for some time.
"Again Alistair, I do not have time for you to finish courting the witch of the wilds." Terill teased, leading forward past the makeshift bandit outpost and towards Lothering. "You two will be spending plenty of time together if you truly need more time to woo each other as you have."
Morrigan rolled her eyes, "I would sooner take chantry vows."
Alistair followed closely, "As if speaking them would not make you light aflame."
"By the Creators you two, your bickering served as a distraction for long enough. Let us not forget our mission so you two can fight over the true shade of blue that the sky is." Terill said, starting to notice the tents of fleeing refugees, probably hoping that Lothering would offer more than it could. They walked in silence for a while as they came closer to the town. Terill noted the continual sounds of sobs from both children and adults, presumably morning the loss of homes, families, and friends. She felt guilty for their losses in a way that she could not make sense. She had always been to empathetic to people in need, but this guilt burned in her gut, raising self-doubts and self-defeating ideas. She pushed the thoughts into the back of her head hoping Falcon'Din guided their crossing as easily as possible. She still could feel the gazes upon her, the looks of curiosity of her tattoos and clothing now seemed so accusatory she could not face to look any in the eyes.
Pov change:
Alistair looked over to his companion, seeming to notice a change in her mood and patted her back reassuringly. He was still hurting from the loss of the whole order he thought he could finally call family but found comfort in the companionship of this strange Dalish elf. She talked so often of things, ideas, and people but in such an uncertain way you could never be sure what she really thought. She seemed to think aloud at times but quieted as her mind wandered to dangerous territory. She deflected questions in such a seamless way it could be hours before he realized. After the three nights to Lothering she had finally told him she became a warden due to a taint she gained a few weeks before her joining but avoided answering how it happened.
He did not want to be insensitive to such a recent event but felt the need to understand. Jory and Daveth had not seen dark spawn their entire lives but this young Dalish elf had managed to become tainted in just enough time for Duncan to find her. It was odd, curious really, he had been taught of the maker but believed the Chantry's preaching that he had long ago washed his hands of mankind, yet the story seemed so much like an act of fate.
He almost sighed in relief as he saw the gleaming of Templar armor in the distance and notice, to his amusement, Morrigan bristling at the thought of being so close to these men. The Templar at the gate attempted to "warn them" of the lack of aid to be sought but Terill pushed past him, uninterested in what he had to say.
"What now?" Alistair asked Terill carefully. He was certain Terill would be in quiet a mood with all the Templars so close by and everyone praying to the Maker as of late. Terill has expressed her distaste of the Chantry recently, seeming to equate the institution with all that oppressed elves as well as humans.
Other than her disregard of the Templar, she did not appear to be in poor spirits. "I would like to see if we can assist these people anyway we can as we pass through," letting a certain expression flash across her face that Alistair did not understand. "After losing your homes and being forces into such a chaotic place where no one seems concerned in the slightest of the next person survival…" She tapered off thoughtfully before she could finish the full thought.
"Should we arrest petty thieves and rescue kittens from trees as well? Ah, the order of the Grey Wardens will have such a legacy to live up to after you two." Morgan almost spat from behind them.
Terill simply ignored the comment and did not seek to defend her actions as they accepted missions from the chantry board. Alistair knew it was silly for them to be doing such things but his humanity weighed heavy on him here. He hoped in the least, if they themselves couldn't stop the blight that they could at least save one person who might not have lived otherwise. He knew it was his childish view of chivalry that fueled this hope but he did not really want to remedy it. He feared that if he lost it, he may become as uncaring as Morrigan. That existence seemed almost worse than death to him and it was only partially fueled by their mutual hatred.
They were amazingly efficient as a team at dispatching multiple foes and seemed aware of where the other ones were at all times. Morrigan complained during the first "chore" but stopped bothering to complain when she realized both of them would ignore these. They finished a number of missions in the span of a few hours and headed in the direction of the tavern.
Their team was certainly not ideal, an apathetic apostate, a quirky Dalish girl, and a silly warden who easily deferred leadership and judgment to his younger warden. Alistair felt as though someone was playing a cruel prank of Ferelden for giving these three with such a vital task. Perhaps he was right.