Chapter Thirteen
The night is calm, the first of its kind since before the battle. Gentle winds pick up the edges of her clothing and Solona leans her head against the stump that's become her back rest. The fire is warm, their bellies are full, and she can almost forget that earlier their little band of travelers was cut to ribbons.
The people of Fughett, those few that remain, have made their own campfire a stone's throw away from where she and Marian rest. She can see their shapes, really just shadows from here, moving around the clearing as they prepare to bed down for the evening.
Stopping for the night had not been in the plan, at least not according to Marian. However, they were still hours from Lothering when the townspeople voiced their exhaustion and the pair from Ostagar were helpless as weary bodies started dropping down to rest.
The fire in front of her crackles and a shower of sparks flies into the air. She itches to feel that feeling, that pop of power, fly from her fingertips but her hands remain useless. Marian sees her flex her grip and passes over a jug of water.
"Strange that you'd still be recovering, isn't it?"
Solona looks down at her free hand and contemplates the skin there. There are several long, pink lines from her injuries that are still healing. "Strange, but I don't think it's unheard of. I've read of a few instances where a mage has been struck powerless for an extended period of time following a particularly strong burst of magic. I'm sure it'll come back. Eventually." She says this for her sake as she does for the rogue's.
"So, life in the Tower. You've never really talked about it." Leave it to Marian to jump into topics with no preamble.
Solona drinks deep from the jug before handing it back. She can feel sleep tugging gently at her. "What do you want to know?"
"Is it really as bad as I've heard? My father used to tell horror stories." Solona glances up at Marian, noting the tightening around the other woman's lips and the faraway look on her face.
"I don't think I would say it's terrible. I'm sure there are better places to be but it serves its purpose." She thinks about Cullen, and smiles. No, the Tower hadn't been a terrible place for a long while. Despite the other templars, like Emic and Greagoir. Despite losing Shuul and her Harrowing. Despite these things, she still loves her home for the peace it gives her and the good things it contains.
"Now that's an interesting smile." Marian laughs and rests her knees on her elbows. "Let me guess . . . there's a man. And he makes everything better."
Solona can feel her face heating up and she knows she's turned bright red. She doesn't bother denying the rogue's words though. She feels comfortable enough around her new friend to open up. "His name is Cullen. And it's complicated."
"Ahh, those are the best ones to have around. They'll keep you on your feet. Trust me, I know."
"Oh really? Care to share?"
Marian gives her a wink and a smile. "Not a chance. I'm hoping he'll be waiting when we get back to Lothering. I wouldn't want to jinx anything by blabbing about it now." The jug is raised again. Passed between the two of them. "Cullen, eh? What's he like?"
She closes her eyes and allows the image of the man to rise in her mind for the first time in days. "Well, he's a ginger. Short curly hair. Kinda soft, but not really. Green eyes. I think. Sometimes they look light brown. Mostly green though. Ummm, about this tall." Solona holds up a hand in the air, as though she could legitimately gauge Cullen's height while sitting.
"No no. Not what he looks like. What is he like?"
Oh. "Oh. Well, he's not like the others. He's nice and kind and really smart. I mean, really smart. I've got a good head on my shoulders, most of the time, but he knows more about the world than I think I could ever imagine. He joined up at sixteen, I think he said. Sometimes, when we're alone, he'll just break into a sort of rambling description of the places he's been and the things he's seen. Once, he was telling me about Denerim-" Solona pauses and takes a drink.
"Woah, wait. Cullen was an apostate? He must have been quite the mage to avoid detection for so long, and in Denerim of all places."
She snorts in surprise and manages to swallow her water improperly. She's sputtering and coughing when Marian reaches over and pats her on the back, hard. "What?" She sounds panicky and high pitched.
"Did I say something wrong? He didn't get picked up until he was sixteen, right?"
Solona shakes her head, clearing the last of the water from her windpipe. "No . . . Cullen isn't . . . I mean to say he . . . oh, blast it. He's not a mage."
The crickets seem to grow exponentially louder as Marian stares at her. It looks like horror and confusion until the rogue lets out a bark of laughter and dissolves into loud guffaws. Solona doesn't particularly like being laughed at and she pulls her knees in tighter to her chest. Marian keeps going. Solona hides her blush by taking another drink, this time avoiding the choking part.
"All right, that's enough!" She glares over the lip of the jug. Marian is wiping tears from her eyes.
"'m sorry. I just . . . if he's not a mage, then he's what? The laundry boy? A tranquil? Not a templar, for sure."
The mage blushes even harder.
"Maker take me. He is a templar, isn't he?" She'd been so sure that the honesty of her feelings, and of his, wasn't something to be ashamed of but her friend makes her feel so guilty. "Oh Solona. I should have known you'd be into doomed relationships."
"It's not doomed. I think I love him." She can't think of a better come back. Marian places a hand on her shoulder when she sees how upset Solona is.
"He must be quite the man, then. And he's lucky." She squeezes Solona's shoulder and shakes her a bit, forcing the mage to look her in the eye. "Seriously. Lucky. You're an amazing person. The last few days have shown me that much. And I hope, with all that I am, that he treats you right because so help me Maker, if he doesn't, I'll turn aside the Blight to come to the Circle and kick his arse."
Friends. This is what friends are for; Solona has almost forgotten in the wake of all that's happened among her group at the Tower. In this moment, she's reminded of Neria and the pep talk she'd given about Cullen. Friends have each other's backs, even as they're poking fun at one another. She is lucky, truly, that the rogue had been bleeding to death at Ostagar. They're both lucky.
"Thank you, Marian. Truly."
"Oh, don't get all serious on me now. Get some sleep; I'll wake you for watch in a few hours." Solona retreats to her bedroll, recently acquired during the exodus from Fughett. She mulls over Marian's words and falls off to the Fade with visions of Marian pulling the Tower apart stone by stone to find Cullen.
-!-
The road to Lothering is littered with the dead. Solona holds up the edges of her robes as the small group gets off the Imperial highway. Below them, the city of salvation is abuzz with activity. They can see fire pits burning and tents pitched everywhere. To the mage it looks like the whole area is swarming with ragged people and she thinks that this cannot be the answer. Too many people stuffed too close together. The few refugees at her back will be lost and adrift in this mess.
Marian seems to have similar thoughts. She stops at the foot of the steps leading into town and turns to her former neighbors. "Lothering appears to be overwhelmed. It may be best if you folks keep going; to Denerim or perhaps to Redcliffe."
The people bristle at the suggestion. "And what about you, Hawke? Where will you go?" The loudest of all is the childless woman. With no infant to hold, her arms hang at her sides. "Will you lead us from our homes only to abandon us when we reach the most convenient destination?"
Voices rise. One of the old men from earlier pushes to the front and pokes a finger into Hawke's face. "Your family has always caused problems with our people. We left Fughett because you told us to and you led us to slaughter! And now this!" He waves a hand dismissively. "Run away again, Hawke. Run." The people move away, towards a templar directing refugees.
Beside her, Marian sighs and hangs her head. "No gratitude, let me tell you." She tries to sound funny, making light of this, but Solona can tell the man's remarks have cut deep. The rogue turns her sad eyes to the other woman. "Well, how would you like to meet the family?"
Solona tries to smile and assure her friend that everything will be okay. "I'd love to."
Marian leads her down into the maelstrom that is Lothering. The press of people is almost too much for her; she can smell the fear and hopelessness wafting off the lot of them and it seizes something in her chest that could have been her courage. Marian takes her by the hand as she guides them through the worst of the mob and the mage is glad for the anchor. Glad to know that she's not alone in all of this.
They cross the river and the air clears along with the refugees. Between the alehouse Marian points out and a lay sister calling for those who are injured, Solona can see the burnt remains of fields and outlying buildings. Where the walk to Ostagar had been crisp and so very green, the buildings of this town look that much worse. She remembers crossing through this hamlet on the way to the battle, almost two months prior. It is no longer the happy trade center. It makes her quake violently and she refuses to let go of Marian's hand until they stop in front of the entrance to a house.
With a quick squeeze, her hand is released and Marian opens the door. She takes a few steps in and calls out for her mother. What answers her is a happy bark and the rogue is bowled over by a flash of brown attached to a rolling tongue. A mabari. Solona takes a step back despite the clearly friendly nature of the beast. Marian wrestles with the dog, a series of pinning moves that are quickly countered. The sight makes her laugh. The shadows of the house produce an older woman as well who sees only Solona and the dog holding down another person. At her side, the woman grasps a knife.
"Who are you? What do you want?" At her words, the mabari springs back and turns. The dog seems to be grinning as it gives one sharp bark. Marian sits up and the woman in the doorway gasps. "Maker be praised! You made it!"
She stands in the open air and watches the warm greeting of Marian and her mother. It has to be her mother, Solona thinks. The two are so similar its painful. That something in her chest is grabbed again; this sort of interaction between parent and child is a distant and painful memory for her. From the side of the house, a young man with a large sword approaches. His armor speaks of bloody battle and Solona finds herself backing away even further. His face wears an expression of violent intent and its not until he sees Marian embracing her mother that his blade lowers. He scowls now. The brother, then. Another clear family resemblance.
Marian greets the young man by Carver and pulls him into an unwilling embrace. She holds on longer than Carver seems to want; when her brother tries to push her away she holds on tighter. "I'm glad you made it out alive as well. I've been worrying all the way from the Wilds that you died with the rest of the army."
"No, dear sister. Alive and well and taking care of the family you took long enough getting back to." There's accusation in Carver's words that makes Solona wonder what conflict lies between the siblings. Marian seems to shrug off his negativity though and glances back at her.
"I was delayed by injury. Which brings me to my companion. Mother. Carver. I'd like you to meet Solona, a mage with the Circle who patched me up enough to get me home. Solona, this is my mother, Leandra, and my baby brother, Carver." Two sets of blue eyes, eerily similar to Marian's, fix on Solona and she squirms under the attention.
Leandra steps forward and sweeps Solona into a hug. The woman is soft with motherly affection and age. There is hint of something familiar as well; she smells like baking. "Thank you, Solona, for getting my daughter back to me. We owe you a great debt."
"Please, I really was just doing my job. Saving what could be." She still looks to the ground and shakes her head against embarrassment. "Your daughter saved me as well. I would think that we are even between the two of us."
"Oh, of course she did. She can't go out for a walk without trying to save the world." Carver spits the words at the three women and goes back into the house. Leandra doesn't seem to notice but Marian watches his back as he departs. Solona has never seen her friend look so irritated.
"You two must be famished. Come in and I'll find something to eat." Leandra is already heading to the kitchen when she calls back to the two women on the doorstep and they enter.
Solona wonders, over the course of the next hour, at the interesting dichotomy in the house. Leandra putters around the kitchen and constantly asks about the welfare of the children. Carver is disgruntled and surly when questioned. A third child, Bethany, is charming and inquisitive about her life at the tower. Solona answers what she can about the Circle; Bethany is an apostate and she's just as curious about her life outside the Circle. Her expectations about apostates, ruthless and evil, is torn apart by the younger woman as they talk. And talk. After a particularly lengthy discussion on the irritation of true arcane bolts, Carver pushes away from the table and stalks off into the depths of the house.
Marian dismisses her brother and opens up in front of the other women in her family. She has been calm and collected these last days as they've fled Ostagar but here, where she is comfortable, Solona is pleased to see that her friend is still somewhat girlish. At one point a man is discussed and Marian blushes bright red; Solona is so very tempted to question, especially when Leandra mentions he's still been asking about the oldest daughter. She keeps silent, however, and just enjoys the banter.
When the sun finally sets it feels like it takes away all of the panic of the fight. Solona goes to sleep that night with a smile on her face.