Chapter 16: Tremble
„Lyna is weakening", Duncan had said. "She has never left her clan before and the path to Ostagar was rough on her. She needs to undergo the Joining as soon as possible, there must not be any delays. Watch over here tomorrow in the Wilds", he had said.
Alistair disagrees with that choice of words. Weak and her name do not go in a sentence together - not ever. He is pretty sure that if anybody is vulnerable and in need of aid at the moment, then it is him.
Lyna levels a glare at him that makes him stop dead in his tracks. Mountains would crumble under such a look. Bears would cower and retreat in fear. He is pretty sure he himself is close to getting some cracks, the smile threatening to crumble away from his lips. In order to relax the situation he instead widens the smile, but the glare only darkens. Fidgeting, he presses his fingers against the smooth surface of the bowl in his hands and looks at her, not finding any words to speak.
Her copper red hair is tousled and falling around her pale face, framing it like a pretty picture. He can see the pointy tips of her ears between strands of hair and somewhere not so very deep within, he finds them oddly… fascinating. She is sitting next to the fireplace, her small frame leaning against a cracked wall, and he is almost tempted to think of her as cute, in a way… except, there is that murdering stare from those unbelievably green eyes. The glare defies the exhaustion that is evident in her face. The barely visible sight of her veins turning dark and protruding is unsettling. Her unnaturally pale skin is a disturbingly stark contrast to the dark lines tattooed on her brow, chin and cheeks. Duncan has not said a word, but Alistair is pretty sure that whatever happened in the Brecilian Forest – she was tainted somehow and the Wardens are her last chance.
Maybe she is weakened, in a way. She is far away from her family and friends and from everything she knows. He knows that he was scared mindless despite all the anger when he was given to the Chantry. Being Dalish helps probably little – people are looking at her, pointing and staring, humans and elves both. Everything about her is different: The ink on her face, the form of her ears, the vibrant colours of her eyes and hair, her pride. She is exposed in a foreign world and he knows the feeling. So maybe he can take care of her, help her through this. He knows what it's like not to fit in.
"What are you looking at, shem?", she snaps finally, raising her chin defiantly. She curls up tighter, arms crossed in front of her chest, and even from where he is standing he can see that she is shivering. There is little poison in her words, mostly she sounds exhausted.
"I just thought you might be hungry, you have had a long walk", he answers after a moment. He thinks about offering her the bowl of food, but he is half afraid she will snap his arms like twigs or gnaw his knee-caps off – she is in a perfect position for such an attack, after all.
"I brought stew – I know it looks bad, but it tastes alright. Well, actually, it tastes worse than it looks, which is saying a lot. But it's warm and I also got some bread and it fills the belly. Also, I pre-tasted it and I'm still alive and kicking, so I can guarantee that it's not endangering your life – only your taste-buds." He stops himself when he realizes that the more she stares, the more he rambles. He isn't good with this. With her. Really. He should be on the other side of the camp, doing… stuff. Like hitting his head against a wall.
"I'm not hungry", she says and finally looks away. She pulls the blanket up and around herself and closes her eyes. He feels his shoulders slump.
Alistair woke up with a start and sat up immediately. He hadn't dreamt in a long while or least he had never been able to remember and he would have preferred if it had stayed that way. These dreams weren't exactly nightmares – he didn't wake up in cold sweat, he didn't feel especially panicked. He especially never woke up screaming, it was never that dramatic. But he could feel them tugging at his heart. Sometimes the dreams were memories, sometimes his mind just conjured something out of thin air, but it always reminded him of back then. He hated dreams.
The thirst made his tongue feel like parchment, dried out and dusty. Blindly he reached for the mug Aífe had left standing on the nightstand next to the bed and he gulped the water down. It didn't help. Water did not help at all.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a quiet grunt, his arm pressed to his chest to keep it as immobile as possible. It went well up until the point when he tried to actually get up and put weight on his legs, pushing himself upright. His vision went black and he almost lost balance, letting himself drop back onto the bed just in time.
Bit by bit the darkness receded and Alistair rubbed a hand over his face, scraping over the beginnings of a beard. It felt awfully prickly under his fingers.
He let his hand drop back to his lap and lowered his gaze, grimacing at the blood and dirt under his fingernails. His fingers twitched almost inconceivably and as he lifted his hand slightly, it started to shake. Taking a deep breath he stretched out his fingers, tried to keep them stable, but the trembling only grew worse.
He swallowed and blindly grabbed for the pitcher with water on the nightstand, filling the mug and immediately lifting it to his lips again. He emptied it with big gulps, the water washing down his dry throat and some drops running down over his neck. He was still thirsty and a throbbing headache was starting to pound just behind his eyes.
The little house, barely more than a glorified hut, was confining. It felt like it was becoming smaller by the minute, the air suffocating. There were no windows and the stench of blood and metal hung in the air. Worse than that was the clearness of his thoughts, the shimmer of something long lost and long killed off that would just not stay dead, no matter how much he drowned it. He knew how to at least quiet it.
Alistair pushed himself to his feet again, the sweet smell of honey wafting up from his bandages. This time he managed to keep on his feet and when he took a step away from the bed, a flicker of movement caught his attention.
There was a tall mirror leaning against the corner of the room, matted and dirty and cracked around the corners. He barely recognized the man staring back at him. The beard looked even worse than he had imagined – he had seen the like on pirates, dock workers and on occasion fellow mercenaries. The bandages wrapped around his shoulder looked unnaturally white, a stark contrast to his skin and the dark breeches that had at some point been of quite fine quality. A long time ago. Just like he himself.
The beard did not fit him. And his hair looked awful.
Scratching his chin he turned away from the mirror, unwilling to contemplate the thought, and found Grimm standing in the doorframe, staring up at him. When he said nothing, the hound cocked his head to the side as if puzzled.
A quick look around showed that Aífe was nowhere in sight and the only conclusion he could draw was that she had left the house. There was a nest consisting of a blanket and a bedroll on the floor, now messy and quickly pushed aside. A few blades were on the table and only now he noticed that she had propped his sword and shield against the nightstand, almost within reach of the bed. The leather stretched over the shield hid the silver griffon, but he could trace the outlines even without seeing them. The longsword was plain and simple, lacking any ornaments. Despite its looks, it was one of the finest blades he had ever wielded. More importantly, it had belonged to the one man that had ever stood up for him.
He felt a lump settle in his gut and averted his eyes, hand trembling slightly as he pressed it against his thigh. He'd get another sip of water. Maybe some ale or whatever else. There had to be something in the house.
Alistair was ripped from his thoughts when Grimm barked at him sharply and padded past him, looking at the abandoned bed. Then the dog returned his gaze to him and huffed.
"I am fine, I can stand up", Alistair said gruffly.
Grimm huffed again and sat down, letting his tongue loll out. The look was accusing. At least it felt accusing.
"Look, I'm not going to argue with you about this. It's only a superficial wound now, I can very well get up if I feel like it." Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised his chin.
The Mabari cocked his head to the side, then to the other one. After a moment, he got up and uttered another sharp bark, ears flat to his skull for a moment.
"You know, here I was, thinking you're a war hound and not some kind of midwife. My bad. I think the muzzle threw me off." Leaning forward as if to get a closer look, Alistair nodded slowly and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The muzzle and the ears."
There was a moment of hesitation and Grimm's ears twitched this way and that way as if the dog wasn't sure what to do with the statement. Finally he threw Alistair a dirty look and got up, staring silently and accusingly.
"I'm a grown man!", Alistair snapped and threw his hands up in the air. He regretted the motion immediately as the bandages pulled tight over the wound and he winced, letting the arm sink again. The look in Grimm's eyes was way too smug. "I'll not lie down again, get over it. So unless you body check me to the floor, I'll stay up."
For a split second Grimm seemed to consider that and Alistair put his legs wider apart in case he had to try and withstand the dog. He should not have given the hound ideas, he really shouldn't have.
"Don't you have other things to do? Things to sniff? Stuff to lick?", Alistair asked wearily, unwilling to have a discussion with somebody that didn't even have the decency to turn away when licking his private parts. "Where is your mistress anyhow?"
At the mention of Aífe, Grimm got up and walked passed him towards the door, pawing at it with a whine. The hound pressed his nose against the small gap between door and floor and sniffed audibly, then pawed some more with a deep sigh.
Alistair was actually surprised that she had left - the candles were already burning low and while he was not sure how long he had slept, he was pretty sure she had been gone for a while now. He had no idea where the woman had gone and when looking around could also not see a note of any sort.
"You are up, good."
Alistair almost jumped out of his skin at the quiet voice that cut through the silence. Only slowly he transferred his look from Grimm to the small bed to his left and saw that Nelaros had turned his head to look at him. The elf's skin was still pale, but his green eyes were vibrant as ever and if nothing else, so he looked at least to be without pain.
"Sorry if I woke you up, I thought you'd sleep deeply", Alistair murmured, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes dropped to the floor, noticing the huge stain of red below the bed. Looking up to Nelaros again, he saw the elf was smiling softly at him.
"Don't worry, you didn't wake me up. I just had my eyes closed. You are alright, yes?", Nelaros asked and nodded at him. "Grimm is also in best health, if all the pacing he has been doing is any indication."
The hound perked his ears at the mention of his name and turned to look at them, little tail wagging slowly as a way of answer. He got up and trotted over to the bed, putting his head on the mattress next to Nelaros' fingers and licking them.
"Me and Grimm are fine, as far as I can tell." Alistair shifted his weight, unsure what to say or do. "Don't worry about that", he added with a throw-away motion of one hand.
The smile on the elf's face widened and he nodded again. "I'm glad to hear that." Then his features turned more serious and he glanced around in the room. "Lady Aífe is not here? Is she alright? I haven't seen her. My memory is… hazy. I barely remember anything. What happened?"
Nelaros started to cough violently, effectively cutting himself off from further questions. The warrior quickly filled water into an empty mug and returned to the elf, unsure how to proceed. After a moment's hesitation he slipped his arm beneath the other man's shoulders and helped him sit up, wincing at the pain that laced through his own wound. It wasn't too bad, however, and this way he could actually let the elf drink.
"Aífe wasn't wounded, she and Grimm were a bit smarter than the both of us", Alistair said and quickly cleared his throat. "Not that I wanted to say you're not smart, I just meant…" He let the sentence trail off and lowered the mug after Nelaros had taken a few slow and careful slips.
The elf was chuckling quietly, eyes closed briefly. "I get it, and I agree." Breathing a deep sigh as if relieved of some sort of burden, Nelaros opened his eyes again, the smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "At least I'll know what part of my armour I need to reinforce when I have a good look at it, hmm?"
Which would not exactly have been Alistair's first thought, but then he was no smith and his sentiments had been far more crude and along the lines of 'blasted assassins with their blasted poisons poisoning people in blasted, back-handed ways'.
Letting the elf drink a bit more, he recounted the fight and what had happened after - as much as he knew, anyhow. When the mug was empty, he gently lowered Nelaros to the bed again and took a step back, the mug still in his hands. "Aífe wasn't here when I woke up. I guess she's out, but I don't know where."
Grimm barked his affirmative and nudged Nelaros' leg, clearly wanting to jump onto the bed and barely resisting. He already had one paw on the mattress and was half propped up. When they locked eyes, the hound dropped the paw down onto the floor again and averted his eyes guiltily.
"Thank you, Alistair. I... thank you for aiding us. Not everybody would have", Nelaros said suddenly and Alistair gripped the mug tighter. "I didn't think you'd really come to the meeting point that night. I'm glad you did." The smith's eyes flickered to Alistair's fingers and seemed suddenly worried. "Are you really alright? Your hand is shaking."
Alistair quickly nodded and put the mug down on the table, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. The headache was back or perhaps he had just not noticed it before, and he could only hope the smile on his lips wasn't as shaky as his hands.
"Perfectly fine, just not fully awake yet, I guess", Alistair said and rubbed his hand over his cheek. As long as he was moving, it wasn't even noticeable. It would go away once he had a quick drink. "It's been a long night. Or long nights. I'm not quite sure." He laughed and shrugged with one shoulder.
Grimm turned to look at him and huffed in an all-too familiar tone. Alistair was fairly sure that it had been the dog-version of 'I told you so'. He spread his fingers in a gesture of surrender and sighed.
"I'll go back to bed soon. Don't pester me", he mumbled and heard Nelaros chuckle.
"Is there anything you need, though? You aren't completely healed, you still wear bandages", the elf said and carefully tried to prop himself up on his elbows with a grunt of effort.
Grimm's head swivelled around and he immediately put his paws on the bed, propping himself up, barking two times sharply. Then he turned his head towards Alistair and barked one more time. Finally, with a huff that made a few loose feathers from the mattress float up and away, he put a paw on Nelaros' leg. The two men stared at the dog for a moment, then Nelaros lowered himself onto the bed again, leaning his head back in quiet laughter.
Alistair felt a grin pull at his own lips and shook his head.
"You seem displeased, Grimm. Something the matter?", he asked innocently and raised an eyebrow.
The reaction was immediate. Grimm growled as he pushed himself away from the bed, turned two times around himself and then sat down, head thrown back in a yowl of despair – eyes closed and ears flat against his skull in a display of total frustration or concentration, Alistair wasn't quite sure.
Biting back a laugh, the warrior turned back towards Nelaros, who was watching him with a friendly smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling. Alistair pressed his hands against his thighs, keeping the tremble in check and shook his head at the elf.
"In case you haven't noticed… I'm already on my feet again. If anything, I should ask you if you need anything. Well, anything that I can provide. Or find", Alistair said and murmured under his breath as he looked around. He had no idea where anything was, really. He knew that there was an almost empty pitcher of water, he knew that there were a few more candles on the table and that was pretty much it, really.
"That is kind of you", Nelaros said. "If it's alright, could you please hand me the cup again? I still feel thirsty." He looked almost embarrassed at the request and with an apologetic look towards Grimm, he propped himself up on one elbow. Alistair noticed the tremble in the elf's body and quickly put a steadying hand on his shoulder, offering him the cup. "Thank you", Nelaros murmured and took it from him.
They remained in awkward silence for a moment after the cup was empty and Alistair had stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. He licked his dry lips and carefully set the cup down.
Unable to bear the silence much longer, Alistair pulled out the chair and let himself drop onto it, which Grimm took as an invitation despite his previous indignation with the men. The hound trotted over, sat down in front of him and let his head drop on Alistair's lap. It was fairly obvious what he expected from the long and soulful stare he directed at the warrior.
The silence grew and Alistair winced. He might as well use the moment to get some more answers. There had been questions that bugged him – he had ignored them before and would probably still have, if he hadn't felt so compelled to break the silence.
Petting Grimm, he looked back to the elf. "I was wondering something. You said you're a smith?"
Nelaros smiled and Alistair thought to see a hint of pride in it. "I am. I was allowed to train under Master Veland after I showed promise. The last years have been very kind to me, I've been able to work with materials I wouldn't have dreamed of when I started out. Silverite, white steel – and even drake bone once!" The smith smiled fondly at the memory and seemed to be much more relaxed. "Master Veland had a very special technique, it originated back in the Black Ages. It's said that back when the warriors rode against the werewolves under Mather and later Haelia Cousland, they needed stronger and sharper blades and a master smith developed those after long years of study. The trick is a combination of materials that need to be welded together over several days, the blade needs a soft and light core. At the same time, the blade must be hard and resistant, so it's vital to…"
Nelaros cut himself off, an embarrassed smile on his lips as he averted his eyes. "That's not what you asked, though. What's the question?"
"I just…" Alistair gestured vaguely towards the table in the other room, where some of Aífe's weapons were laid out as if she had assessed her arsenal before leaving. There was pretty much no way to ask without sounding at least somewhat rude, but it did make him wonder. "I'm just curious as to why a lady Cousland and a smith would travel Thedas. I mean, Aífe told me that you're looking to find those that were sold by Howe, but I imagine it's barely possible to find them all at best. It didn't seem like anybody would care enough to even try, back when I saw it first-hand in Denerim. I just… why Aífe and you of all people?"
He had pondered that quite a bit since she had told him and it still didn't make perfect sense. All things considered, it was unusual that an elf was even allowed to smith weapons, let alone carry them. Perhaps Highever was different from Denerim in that respect? Still, Nelaros had introduced himself as a smith and not as a warrior or archer or anything else and that was quite telling. He didn't consider himself a fighter, he considered himself a smith, period.
Alistair had watched, of course, and he had seen that the elf was above average with a bow and had fast reflexes and quick thinking. However, it had become obvious that he was not a trained fighter – or at least hadn't been for a very long time. So why take the elf on such a quest? Moreover, he would have thought that Aífe was needed in Highever after the Blight… Unless… Unless the land had never been returned to her.
He swallowed and locked eyes with Nelaros, who had been quiet for a moment as if considering his words. Not good. He shouldn't have asked. He should just have accepted the silence. Or talked about the weather. "I'm an idiot, I'm sorry. I didn't think before talking, that happens to me quite a lot. Sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up like that, it's not something that I should ask, it's personal. Forget I asked."
The elf's eyes widened in surprise and he blinked, clearly confused. "Why are you apologizing?" After a split second, he struggled to sit upright, leaning his back against the wall with a small grunt. Grimm, clearly annoyed that any and all of his earlier warnings were ignored, uttered a huff and rubbed his head against Alistair's belly after the warrior had stopped stroking his head.
"It's not what you think!", Nelaros exclaimed and shook his head quickly. "I'd never think that way about Lady Aífe!" His eyes wide, he shook his head again, clearly distressed about the thought. If possible, he had turned even paler. "We've at no point – not ever…! I hope I didn't give that impression by any of my actions. Truly, we're friends and I have sworn an oath to serve and protect her. She's done much for me and my family. It has nothing to do with..." He stopped talking when he caught sight of Alistair's expression.
"Wait, what?", the warrior asked and tilted his head to the side. The gears in his head started to finally work together and his eyes widened as he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Oh. Ooooooh.
"No! Maker, no! That is not what I had meant!", he felt heat creep up his neck and busied himself with rubbing Grimm's neck extensively. The hound was looking back and forth between them, licking his chops. Alistair was pretty sure it was an expression akin to amusement. "I really didn't mean that, let me explain. It just occurred to me that perhaps after all that happened in Ferelden and because Highever fell to Howe during the Blight… Perhaps it wasn't even reinstated returned to Aífe as Teyrna of Highever, after what happened. I only realized it now. I just… I didn't think what you thought I thought."
Nelaros' shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes briefly in relief, blowing out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions. It just sound like you thought… well. I see."
The elf suddenly found the pattern of his blanket very interesting, fixating them as he was biting his lips. "In any case, after the Battle of Denerim and after the queen was crowned, Highever was officially returned to the Cousland family and their title reinstated. Teyrn Cousland – Lady Aífe's brother – had returned to Highever just shortly before and succeeded his father", he explained. "The Howe's were stripped of all titles and most of their lands given to the Wardens, as far as I've been told. Some towns close to the border that joined the rebellion were given to the Cousland family as compensation."
Alistair nodded slowly. He hadn't known that Fergus Cousland had survived the Blight, all the rumours back then had said he had perished with most of his soldiers at Ostagar and that the younger Cousland sibling was the last of the line. He hadn't really tried to find out what happened after the Blight. Not with anything in Ferelden. All he had asked was – well. He knew Teagan and Eamon were alive and he knew that the Hero of Ferelden was alive. That had been hard to overhear, anyhow. Just as hard as the praise for the Hero of the River Dane, being once again celebrated as the saviour. Alistair shook his head, gritting his teeth.
"We left Ferelden soon after the coronation and the first Landsmeet. There were several reasons… I'm not even sure I know all of them, you'd have to ask her yourself. Some were political." Nelaros smiled apologetically.
"It's fine, I didn't mean to pry, really. I just figured since we're here and we can't go anywhere right now anyhow…" Alistair let his voice trail off and buried his fingers in Grimm's fur. The hound panted in delight, humming deep within his chest.
"Oh, no, don't worry. There's nothing secret about it, it's just not all that simple or quick to explain." The smile had returned to Nelaros features – something that came easy to him, Alistair thought. "Many things happened during the rebellion and we didn't come out of it without some cracks and breaks. Basically, I'm here, because Lady Aífe is here." He shrugged and the smile deepened, his eyes crinkling. "One day I'm working at the forge and she comes and tells me that she'll leave that very day. She didn't say much, just that she had come to the conclusion that it was her duty and that she'd need to set out as soon as possible. Asked me to help her brother with the alienage and then tried to slip away just like that."
Alistair raised an eyebrow at the elf. He wondered what had happened during the rebellion up north and regretted not paying better attention in all the taverns back then. He knew the rebellion had even been called civil war at a point, that people had been hanged and some nobles actively banded together against Loghain but ultimately lost. He also knew that while some Banns and Lords banded together, Aífe had never joined them. She had let guerrilla attacks on incoming troops and had cut off supply lines, but she had never led an army or joined the others. Beyond that, he'd only heard bits and pieces of rumours and he was pretty sure most of them were just that. Rumours. He couldn't very well imagine that she had a cloak woven from shadows that hid her in the dark and allowed her to walk unseen.
"Tried?", Alistair asked finally.
Nelaros looked thoughtful as he nodded. "You see, after Arl Howe… Howe had taken over, things changed drastically in Highever. It went really bad really fast. There were curfews in place, people vanishing in the castle and soldiers everywhere. Whoever so much as asked one too many questions was put to work at the castle and vanished after some time or came back… different." Nelaros looked down at his hands as if remembering something, the smile leaving his lips as he shook his head. "It wasn't right and I knew it and everybody else knew it, but nobody did a thing. We were scared, but that doesn't make it right. We should have acted earlier", he repeated.
The warrior nodded again, unsure whether he was supposed to say or do something. Grimm had lifted his head, ears perked, and was listening to the elf intently.
"They banned me from the forge. Elves touching weapons was not allowed, you see, so I could no longer work. Many were forced to stay at home like that. We managed to get by – scraps, hunting out in the woods and hoping nobody caught us. One day they took away my sister. She is very pretty, you see. My father tried to fight them, but they just killed him. He had no weapons, it was easy for them. The few soldiers that were usually kind and turned another eye for us, they didn't do anything. Nobody did anything." Nelaros paused, taking a deep breath and leaning his head against the wall.
"I only got to know what had happened when I returned from the forest days later. I'd have gone to the castle to get her back, but they said I'd just die and what use would that be. I wanted to go, I really did. Nobody ever did anything, but I needed to do something. I left the city and went to search for Lady Aífe. We'd heard rumours that she was alive and close-by and I knew that back then, when Teyrn Cousland held the castle, nothing like this ever happened. Back then we were people and not just elves. I searched for her and one day she found me. I begged her for help and she helped, no questions asked. I swore to serve and protect her, stand at her side, since I didn't have anything else to give in return. I know it isn't much and I'm no knight, but I swore to not stand by and let things happen anymore. It wasn't right. So, when she stands in my forge and tells me that she's leaving, I decide to come with her and help her. Even if I'm just a smith", Nelaros explained.
Grimm woofed quietly, putting his paw on the bed and cocking his head to the side. "Yes, as did Grimm. Initially, she wanted to go alone and she wasn't too thrilled when she found us on the ship, to be honest", Nelaros admitted and reached out to pat the hound. "So, I'm here because I owe Lady Aífe and because it's right. I'm no warrior and I know it, but I'm good with a bow and I do what I can."
He looked up finally, locking eyes with Alistair, and shrugged almost sheepishly. "It's not much and I'm mostly just a smith, but I do what I can to help make things right."
An odd feeling surged through the warrior, one he couldn't quite place. The statement was so genuine and without any filter. Perhaps a bit naïve. Perhaps a bit like he himself had been a long time ago. He felt his fingers twitch and clenched them into a fist in his lap.
"That might have been a bit too much information", Nelaros said slowly and cleared his throat. "I just thought it might be easier to understand why I'm here, if I told you."
"It is. Thanks." Alistair looked the other man over for a moment. "Could you free your sister?"
He didn't even need to wait for the elf to speak, the way in which he lowered his gaze and the manner in which he pressed his lips together was already answer enough. "Others were still at the docks when we reached the port. Some children and a few others that had been selected. My sister was no longer among them."
"I'm sorry." He really was. It was unimaginable how many had been simply taken and sold like cattle – in Denerim, in Highever… perhaps even in Amaranthine or Gwaren. Nobody paid attention to a few elves during the Blight, especially not in cities that had nobody left to actually look after the people. Alistair didn't even want to consider the number of people shipped off.
"Me too", Nelaros answered and rubbed a thumb over the blanket. "It's not over yet, though. She's very pretty. Lady Aífe says it's likely they put her to work in some noble house as a servant and that she's still alive."
"Yeah", Alistair agreed and hoped Nelaros didn't pick up on the doubt in his voice.
They set in silence for a bit, before the elf raised spoke again. "You're a warrior, though. I've not seen many with your skill. Why'd you leave Ferelden?"
Not having expected the question, Alistair sat up straight and opened his mouth, but was unsure what to say. Because... Because of what? Because for once he refused to blindly accept what fate was throwing his way? Because he meant too little to be listened to but too much to be executed right on the spot? Because they bound him and shoved him onto the ship, held him down and threatened to cut his throat if he so much as thought of coming back? Because he was a coward and he had actually accepted that.
"I wasn't welcome any longer. I had no place left there. Kirkwall was the first city I entered and I stayed here since then", he said finally and could hear the grit in his own voice and feel the angerpainnumbness in his chest.
Once Aífe returned, he'd say his good-byes and leave. He'd go to the Hanged Man, sit down, and drink. He'd be alright, as he always was.
"I'm sorry about that", Nelaros said, his expression open and honest as always. He looked at his hands for a moment, and then searched Alistair's eyes. "Not that it would help much, but I could have a look at your armour and weapons. Repair them for you."
The warrior almost laughed in surprise, and while the laughter didn't quite make it up all the way, a smile spread on his lips. "It's alright."
Grimm, who had been watching him with far too intelligent eyes, suddenly swivelled around and was at the door with two leaps. Nose to the crack between door and floor, he whined and wagged his tail excitedly. With a bark he jumped back, chest to the floor and butt in the air, staring at the door.
It opened with a creak – just enough for a slim form to slip in – and was closed and locked quickly and quietly. The only reason Alistair was fairly sure that the back that was turned towards him belonged to Aífe, was the Mabari that was now dancing around her, shoving his head against her hips to get her attention. Also, the small yelp of pain as the hound trampled over her toes sounded very much like her.
Otherwise, she looked very much like she wasn't Aífe. For starters, he couldn't see any weapons on her. She wore a filthy brown skirt barely reaching below her knees and a once-upon-a-time-white blouse that looked like it had seen better days. Truth be told, his gaze was drawn to her shoes, though. They were red. Really red. Kick-you-in-the-eyes-red. And a particular kind of ugly. As she turned around, he could see that she had braided her hair rather clumsily as if she was completely unused to doing it or perhaps as if she had been through a lot in this day alone. She looked very… refugee-y for a lack of a better word.
Aífe caught sight of him and seemed clearly surprised as she faltered in mid-step.
"You have woken up", she said and blinked. His fingers relaxed against his thigh ad he raised his eyebrows.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but then her eyes landed on Nelaros and she dropped the pack she was carrying instantly.
"Nel!" She was at the bed with a few steps, took her friend's hand and squeezed it as she leaned forward to pull him into a hug. Nelaros laughed breathlessly, perhaps a bit embarrassed, and hugged her back with a smile.
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Author's Comment:
Again, a bunch of things I need to babble about.. as always. X'D
1) Originally, this chapter was titled "Insanity's Fat Prey" and had a very different dynamic and ending. Then, however, Nelaros swooped in and kinda took it from me. He needed more characterization and spot-light and I hope I could achieve that.
2) Some background info woven into this for you. Lyna and Loghain are both alive and heroes; Aífe never joined the Banns and Lords that actively battled Loghain and were defeated at Winter's Breath. Reasons as to why will come later. :)
3) The return of some issues that were a bit less important with all the blood and near-death and all, I hope you'll notice which ones I meant. I didn't want them in-your-face-obvious, but still clearly visible.
4) Grimm is very frustrated. I think he needs a cookie. Nobody is listening to him. D:
5) Whoa, we're getting pretty close to 100 reviews. *_* Just... whoa. I have the feeling I should do something special for reviewer #100. X'D
Thanks, Eynla and alyssacousland, for reading over this to check for mistakes. =) You know the drill, should there be still mistakes hiding... EXECUTE THEM!
*cough* *cough* Or just tell me. And I'll correct them.
Thanks very, very much to BlondMoments, alyssacousland, Darkly Tranquil, reality deviant, Melysande, Graymalkyn and EkoCentric. I love your reviews, I squee when I read them and I'm not even ashamed to admit, they're saved in my mailbox in a folder. :p NOT ASHAMED! \o/
Thanks also to you guys who put this on their alert or favourite list - I got a few notifications these days and am grinning like a freshly painted rocking horse. :3 (meaning - all shiny and happy)
I hope you all enjoy this chapter and would love to hear your opinion on it!