He watches the candle, eyes unseeing. The little flame flickers and dances, always on the verge of dying. It paints dark shadows on the wall and only then and again it burns bright enough to erase them again. He doesn't see, because he doesn't really look.
There is a certain rhythm in his life these days, a rhythm he can't and won't escape.
Every day when he comes back from the Hanged Man, he lights a candle and puts it on the small table, just out of reach. Every day he watches the candle and he says his very own prayer, over and over again, a prayer consisting solely of names.
Duncan.
His prayer always starts with Duncan, his mind conjuring a picture of the man that meant the world to him. He always apologizes, over and over again until he isn't sure any more what for. Sometimes he apologizes for being what he is, sometimes for not being strong or brave or smart. Often he asks for forgiveness for not being good enough, for not living up to the legend and for letting a traitor triumph in the end. He says sorry for letting a man like that become a Grey Warden, a beacon of hope, a warrior of legend, says sorry for letting a man like that be one of them. Even more often he apologizes for running away and not doing what was necessary – and then for falling in love and forgetting his place. Always he asks for forgiveness for surviving.
Gregor.
At some point, he remembers them all, pictures their faces and voices and the way they sat together. It feels like centuries have passed since. He thinks of Gregor and smiles a bit as he recalls the huge and burly man, laughing heartily and readily and wearing his heart on his sleeve.
Richu. Tarimel. Kell.
He remembers them one by one, every detail, afraid to forget. Some will forever remain nameless, for he has only seen them briefly. Other remain faceless with only their names remaining in his memory. He still tries to put the bits and pieces together. Richu, as good and brave as Duncan, a warrior worthy of being a Grey Warden. Tarimel, the best archer they had, swift and deadly and grim, but always patient and always calm. Kell, a small man who was deadly with his mace and shield.
He stares into the flickering flame that is dying more and more each moment and he remembers, because nobody else does.
At some point he normally falls asleep, but sometimes he cannot, because he recalls the way Duncan looked at him that very first day and nodded with a smile and chose him. He remembers the older man putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from his prison and he knows that he has failed. So when at some point the light dies completely and darkness covers him like a blanket, he still cannot sleep. It is one of those sometimes today and somehow the darkness always makes it worse.
He gets up and walks to the table, blindly, grabbing for one of the bottles he knows are standing there. He doesn't bother with a glass, he lifts the flask to his lips and drinks in huge, hasty gulps. The wine tastes like vinegar, but he empties the bottle and when there is nothing left in it, he throws it against the wall with an angry grunt. As the darkness creeps up his spine with cold fingers, he starts to feel the icy breath of loss and then, hastily, he stumbles to the door and rips it open. There is a bit of light, but not enough, never enough, and he pulls on his boots and leaves his room and the broken bottle and the darkness behind.
It sometimes happens. It will go away after a time. When he's back at dawn and there is just a bit of light in his room, he will be able to sleep, he knows. He leaves the cheap Darktown tavern – leaves, not flees – and somehow he ends up in Lowtown, aimlessly wandering the streets.
He knows well enough that he shouldn't be here, Lowtown at night is dangerous, even more so than during the day. He is too drunk – not drunk enough – and he just keeps walking, stumbling at times. Let them come, he thinks with a smile, let them come and try it. Nausea is rising in him and he takes a deep breath, reaching out with one hand to lean against a wall. The world is out of focus once again and he shakes his head, once, twice. He looks up at the sky and watches the blurry glowing dots far up in the sky, wondering when the world might stop spinning.
Not even a moment later he finds himself on the floor, flat on his back. While he is still looking at the stars, blinking against the veil of dizziness that has settled on him, he realizes a few things quite clearly. He doesn't know why he's on his back, but he is quite sure he bumped his head on the way down. Also, and most importantly, breathing has become very hard and the pressure on his chest feels unnatural – and in addition something digs into his liver and makes him flinch. He groans and puts a hand to the back of his head, trying to get his senses back together, when he finally realizes that yes, he is probably hallucinating, because he can see now that a woman is sitting on his chest, looking as confused as he feels. He has time to notice her grey eyes are wide open and that there's blood on her cheek and then she tries to scramble off him, digging a hand into his side and a knee into his thigh and he groans in pain and blindly grabs her hip to keep her from doing even more damage. "Sorry", she mutters, again and again and then finally he can breathe again. Slowly his brain connects the dots – he is fairly sure that she detonated against him and is the main reason for his current predicament (and he refuses to call it any differently, because she surely had all the ballistic force of a missile launched by a catapult). He is less sure about the current intactness of his rips, because they certainly do not feel very good. He is not in the least sure how it is even remotely possible that somebody so small can move with that much momentum. While he has never sympathized with trees in particular, he begins to now. Being chopped down with one mighty swing like a tiny little sapling does that to you.
She has not wasted quite as much time to consider the boundaries of physics or the recent happenings and is already standing again, casting him an unsure glance as she draws a little flask from a pocket on her belt and moves in front of him. "Get up!", she snaps and he isn't sure what exactly he did to deserve the ire. All he had been doing, was leaning against a wall and idly looking at the sky – and then she had happened.
"What?", he managed and slowly picked himself up off the floor, an arm wrapped around himself, prodding for his rips for a possible fracture. She seems unsure what to do, moves a few steps forward and then looks at him again, before she finally turns to him and grabs him by the arm, pulling him along. "Hurry!", she urges him on and then an arrow clashes against the wall just a few inches from his head. They both whirl around and he makes out the silhouettes of five men in one of dark alley ways, quickly coming closer. A second arrow thuds against the wall and she pushes him back behind her, moving forward and throwing the bottle she has been holding. Glass shatters and the next moment fire envelopes the five men that were advancing on them. Even in his state, he notices the shaggy armors they are wearing and the symbol etched into the leather. He reaches for a sword that isn't there and grits his teeth, unsure what to do. The fire has only slowed them down, but now the men are upon them, shouting out their rage and still smoldering, and she dives forward without hesitation, slashing out with sword and dagger in quick thrusts and stabs. It is almost mesmerizing, the way she dances around them, cuts their legs, stabs unprotected arms and moves out of harm's way only just in time. She is fast, but not fast enough, and stumbles back as one of them knocks her back with his shield. Before he really knows what he is doing, he stretches out his hand and concentrates his will, feels the familiar flow of energy through his body and lets it build up until he almost cannot hold it any more – and then, with an exhale, he unleashes it upon the rogue that has moved in behind her. The man cries out and falls to his knees, clutching his head as the Holy Smite fully strikes him, but he himself feels pain lance through his head as well. He had forgotten that the backlash of a Smite is this bad, had forgotten that only with full concentration and focus it did not affect himself. As he inhales shakily, he drops his hand. He sees the sixth man far too late, isn't able to do anything before the archer loosens his arrow. Reflexes kick in, but too late, he feels the cold metal cut through his flesh. Groaning he stumbles back, resisting the urge to grab the arrow. It has hit bone when it struck his shoulder and is still quivering, making him grit his teeth as he sinks to one knee. The pain is familiar and not quite that bad. He is used to worse, so he pushes himself to his feet again and grabs the arrow's shaft, breaking it off with a grunt, so it cannot get in his way. His feet don't fully obey him and he sways a bit, his vision blurring for a moment, and when he can focus his eyes again, he sees that two men are already dead and with a clean strike she cuts the head off a third one. It's almost surreal how easily her blades goes through flesh and bone, the silver blade shimmering in the starlight, before it's darkened by blood. The woman is panting heavily, blocking the attack of a fourth man as she dances out of the way and places a heavy kick against the last man's knee. There is an awful crack and the man goes down with a howl, dropping his weapons. She jumps to the side and kicks a dropped sword into his direction, barely dodging and arrow, and then she moves in again for another attack.
He doesn't feel very stable on his feet – and it's only getting worse by the minute. He stumbles back a few steps, trying hard to keep his breathing calm and even. It doesn't even hurt yet, the shock and the alcohol numb his senses. He staggers back to keep his balance and another arrow hits the ground right where he stood just a moment ago. He shakes his head to try and clear it, grabbing the sword she kicked over. Somebody is shouting orders that he cannot fully hear through the buzzing in his ears, and the smell of blood fills the air. He barely has time to straighten up before one of the thugs is before him, bringing a mean-looking sword down in a heavy swing. Bringing up his own arm, he blocks the swing and pulls back to stab forward with his own sword. His opponent is not very talented – but he is neither drunk nor disoriented, which is a clear advantage. He is reacting and not even thinking. Stab, thrust, parry, move to the side, circle. Evade the swing, dart in for a cut, severing tendons and muscles. Only when the warrior is already stumbling backwards, clutching his heavily bleeding leg, he realizes that he is actually winning. He uses that chance and advances again, bringing his sword down on the other man's arm. The metal bites through the letter and the muscles, but stops when it his bones, so he pulls it back and swings it around again, cleaving through the leather covering the rips. There is not much resistance anymore and finally he sees his opening and brings the sword down on the warrior's neck. The man drops down without so much as a whimper and he stumbles back, dropping the sword he was holding.
He drops down to his knees, sucking in the air greedily and dips his head back. The stars are shining bright and dancing before his eyes and there is a faint whisper in his blood that makes him shiver.
Author's Note:
Thank you for the lovely, lovely feedback I got. :))) I'm really sorry this took so long, but I was changing this about a hundred times. At the beginning, their meeting was vastly different from what just happened up here and even so, I'm not 100% satisfied. I hope you still like this chapter, though - and as for Alistair... poor guy. At least he'll learn right from the start what kind of person Aífe is. X'D
I hope I will update more regularly from now on, since I got over the scene that kind of blocked my writing. As always, I'd be happy for any feedback on this chapter and the fic in general - be it suggestions of how to improve, things that didn't make sense or some questions you'd like answered. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)