"Come on, lad! Join us!"
Alistair's face split into a grin as he made his way to the table where the rest were seated.
"Been three months with the Wardens. About time you joined us for a drink." Kherek, an older dwarf with grey streaks in his russet beard, poured a goblet for Alistair. "Good to see new blood before I go."
"You're leaving?" Alistair straddled the seat with a goblet in hand. He sipped at the brew, a beer so dark it was near black, a favorite the dwarf swore by. The head rose so thick it stood three inches straight up from the goblet. Alistair didn't know what to do with the foam. Did he lick it away? Blow it off? Try to drink with it? He decided the latter. The rest laughed when Alistair put down the goblet with a foam stalactite hanging off his nose.
Kherek laughed hardest, slapping Alistair on the back. "Good lad. Yar, I be off at the end of the week. Time to take my Calling."
"What Calling?"
The rest sobered up though a few sad smiles remained. "Aye, lad. Happens to all of us who live long enough."
"That's the way to look at it." Marcus had a friendly face, heavily lined with both laughter and scars. One thick scar marked his right cheek and split his wide mouth. Though not handsome, Marcus had a face full of character that made him easy to like. "The Calling means you survived more years than most Wardens have a right to."
"Here, here!" Kherek lifted his goblet, and the rest joined in the toast. "I'll be thanking the stone, were I a not a surfacer. Aye, but it's been a good life with good fights. And one more for the Wardens."
Levine pulled Alistair close. Alistair warmed with the weight of his senior Warden's hand on his shoulder. Maker, but it felt good to be with the Wardens. Never before had Alistair felt so accepted. Almost immediately, he was a brother, treated just like the rest. He hadn't even realized how alone he felt for so many years until the Wardens took him as one of their own. Tarimel remained distant, but he was like that with everyone, so Alistair didn't feel excluded. Besides, the rest more than made up for one man's cool treatment.
Praise the Maker, Alistair couldn't remember a time he had been so happy. Every night he went to bed with a glow in his chest, near tears that he had found a place where he belonged.
"Don't let this get you down, lad," Levine said in his ear. "You know being a Warden isn't an easy life. Constant war with darkspawn."
"Oh yes. Of course." Whatever the Wardens wanted, he would give. For the first time in his life, he had been chosen. Not shuffled off as an embarrassment or inconvenience, he had been chosen. Fought for, even.
"Ah, maybe Duncan should be the one to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Alistair lifted his head to look at Levine. Instead of Levine's light brown eyes, he saw empty sockets.
"The Calling. Comes to us all if we live long enough." Levine, eyeless, smiled sadly.
Alistair looked to the rest. Empty sockets gazed back.
"The Joining," Marcus said, one bloody tear sliding down his cheek. "When you take in the taint, eventually, it takes you."
"Aye," said Kherek. He grinned over his mug of beer, two bloody streams leaking out his eye sockets. "Can't escape the taint. You have nightmares, the song starts to get into your head. No help for it then."
The mountain of a man, Grigor, slapped Kherek hard on the back. "Who wants to live forever, anyway? Be some doddering cripple who needs a wench to wipe the drool off your chin and shit off your ass?"
"Eh, there are worse fates than that," Marcus laughed. "I could use more wenches in my life." Short, brown hair and a few patches of flesh remained on his skeletal face.
Grigor laughed, his teeth looking large and blocky without the rest of his skin to cover them. "Drink up, me lad! Or do you feel up to another challenge?"
Levine shook Alistair's shoulder companionably. "After the headaches you settled the rest of us with, no thanks. Can't wear out our newest member so quickly!" Alistair felt each bone of Levine's hand. When he glanced back at his senior Warden, all that was left was a laughing skull.
"Maker's breath, Grigor." Marcus leaned over the table to make his point. "You've got an unfair advantage now that Alistair's the only one with a stomach left."
"That's right," Levine chimed in. "With the rest of us dead, beer will go right through us!"
The skulls all laughed, their bones clicking.
"You're not dead," Alistair protested. Can't be.
"Ah, lad." Grigor slapped a giant bony hand on Alistair's back. "Can't be wishing back yesterday."
No. Alistair felt his smile slipping. "But… here you are. Talking."
"Dead men tell no lies!" Marcus slapped his hand against the table. Though there were no eyes, Alistair felt Marcus's skull staring at him. "Read my lips, Alistair. Dead men tell no lies."
This was just one of their jokes. Had to be. Something cold settled in Alistair's stomach. His smile faltered. "You… you can't be dead. You can't leave me."
"Laddie." Kherek took a long drink from his beer only to have the contents slosh over the doublet that hung limply from his bones. "Death comes to us all, in time."
"But…" Panic chased away the warmth Alistair felt. "But… what about Duncan?"
"I'm here, Alistair." A skeleton walked in wearing Duncan's armor, black hair tied back in a leather thong and beard neatly trimmed.
"Duncan!" Grigor shouted. "Join us! A last drink before we go."
"You can't go." Alistair looked from one skull to another. "You can't. Not now."
Duncan's voice, warm and patient and so familiar Alistair could feel his throat tighten, "The time has come for us, my boy."
The Wardens rose, some patting Alistair's shoulder or back as they left. Where they touched the chill of death penetrated deep into Alistair's skin. Dread followed panic. "Wait! Just wait! Or let me go with you."
"It's not your time, my boy." Duncan turned away. Where a stone wall had stood now only grey mists swirled.
"Duncan! Please!" Not this. Not now. Not when he just found a family.
"It's been good, Alistair," Marcus said.
"Marcus," Alistair pleaded. He followed after the rest. "I'll go with you!"
He chased after them through grey smoke. A flash of armor, a white bone, the last remnants of voices laughing, but as Alistair ran, the ghosts eluded him. "Please! Let me stay!"
Alistair ran until he couldn't breathe, until he was so exhausted he thought he would throw up. Please don't leave me! "Duncan."
With a gasp, Alistair sat straight up. Leliana's hand shook his foot. "You're turn for watch," she whispered.
A fresh wave of grief threatened to stop his heart. Maker, if only it would stop. Duncan, it should have been me on the field. "I'm awake."
Thankfully the tent hid his face. Even so, Leliana remained crouched at the front. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Just dreams, you know?"
She murmured, though acknowledgment or agreement, he couldn't say.
"I'll be fine. Go on." The pain in his chest wasn't just from the dream. He touched the bandage that covered the slashes the bear gave him two days before. Blasted thing itched. At this rate, he was going to have a complex about bears. And trees. And wasps. And poisonous vines. And forests in general.
His armor and boots felt extra cold as he struggled into them as quietly as he could. Rain soaked what wood they could find. He poked at the pitiful fire. Misery threatened to overtake him again. Try as he might, Alistair just couldn't shake the loss he felt. He knew the others were tired of it, tired of him and his tears.
So what? They were asleep now, and Alistair could let his grief out.
The fire sputtered, gave a few pops, then settled back into a weak, low light. Alistair heaved a sigh and rubbed his short hair with one hand. He had been ready, too. Had been ready to follow the others and never wake up. He knew Duncan was heading into danger. He should have fought to stay by his side.
Duncan would be alive now. Everything would have been better.
A winking light in the distance caught Alistair's attention. Too pale to be firelight. Should he wake the others?
Scowling, Alistair stood at the edge of their little camp. The light wasn't winking, exactly. It bounced a bit as it moved, its light coming through trees as it floated back and forth. The light had a bluish tinge, almost cold.
There were no werewolves as far as Alistair could see. Definitely no darkspawn. He took a few steps to get a better look. Well, as far as he knew, plants and bears didn't cast or hold light, but he wasn't putting anything past this forest at this point. Was that a person or a shadow? Wake the others?
After they yelled at him for crushing the wasp nest, Alistair wasn't too keen on giving the rest another chance to berate him for a mistake. How was he supposed to know the log was full of wasps? At least the itching from the poisoned oak distracted from the painful stings on the back of his neck and arms, and the bear scratches made the oak less noticeable.
Just a better look, make sure it was something the others should know about. Alistair tried to stay silent as he followed the light along the path. It kept bobbing and weaving about. Almost as if it was playing with him.
It veered further into the woods as Alistair followed. Maker, what was it? It would hide behind a tree, then peek out like a child playing tag. His earlier grief forgotten, Alistair smiled as he trailed after the bouncing light.
What a silly little thing.
The light hid under a fern, and as Alistair approached, it whizzed away. He swore he could hear it giggling.
"Come here, you."
Laughing with the little light, Alistair started jogging to keep up. "Hold on."
No more cares or worries, no more shame or loneliness. Leave that all behind. Just follow the happy little light.
"Oh, there you are!"
The light bounced around a small meadow, little sparkles trailing behind like laughing children. Alistair stumbled into the meadow, but no one laughed at him or sneered at his gracelessness. The light giggled, and Alistair giggled with it. The light spun around him, bobbed in front of his face.
Just out of reach. Alistair raised an arm, going to catch it, just a little more. The light danced around him, happy. Alistair grasped, aww, just an inch short. "I'm going to catch you." Another swipe, just a finger's breadth away.
"Alistair!"
He lowered his arm as if caught doing something wrong. What? No, he didn't do anything bad. Not this time.
An elf. He knew that man. Why was he so angry. Always angry, Alistair thought with a frown.
A scream sounded, but as if far away. It echoed as if from a tunnel.
"Alistair, get your sword!"
What?
The elf lunged forward, sword in one hand, torch in the other. No, don't hurt the light. It's a sweet little light.
"Alistair!"
When Alistair turned, ready to put a arm out to ward away the attack, he didn't see the light. Shocked, Alistair stumbled back. Shadows made substance, two eyes like burning coals filled with hate. Alistair tripped, scrambled backwards to get away from the gaping mouth filled with teeth, like a cave with row after row of needles to swallow him down. "Maker!"
Sticks crunched under Alistair's weight, the meadow filled with dozens of twigs. No, not sticks. Alistair yelled in horror at the pile of bones he lay on. He couldn't get to his feet fast enough.
Raviathan crouched between him and the shade. He feinted with the torch, making the shade shy back, then shoved his sword into the shifting shadows. The thing hissed. It moved like nightmares, twisting and flowing.
The crack of old bones under Alistair's feet made him sick. His sword shook in his hand.
Maker, light my way through the dark,
Let no shadow touch my heart.
The words came to him unbidden, repeated over and over like a mantra. Still, he couldn't get his nerve together to fight the shade.
A choking cry, the shade shuddered, and the last remnants of solid shadow shifted to nothingness.
Alistair felt ready to collapse. His knees shook and cold sweat covered him. He would have fallen had the ground not been littered with scores of bones. Sickened to his core, Alistair tore out of the death trap back to the woods. He leaned against a tree so as not to fall.
That thing nearly had me.
"What were you thinking?" Raviathan stormed up to him.
"Th-There was a light. At first I just wanted to see what it was."
"You idiot! You could have been killed. Who sees a wisp in the middle of nowhere and thinks, 'oh fun, let's just see where this mysterious light goes?' For the love of the Maker. Next time, Alistair, think! It can't be that hard."
At this moment, he didn't even care. He leaned down with his forearms against his thighs, sword barely held in limp fingers.
"Are you going to vomit?"
"I don't know."
Raviathan huffed and leaned against a tree opposite him. "Use your finger if you need to. You might feel better. Not that we can waste the food."
"I think I'll be fine. Just a minute."
"What were you thinking? When you saw the light."
The misery that always followed him surfaced. "I was… I had a dream. I was with the other Wardens. We were talking. Drinking together, but they were all dead. I wanted to follow them." He tried to hold back the sob, but it only hurt his chest more from the effort. "I just wanted to see what it was before waking everyone up. And then… I don't know. I started feeling happy."
A long moment passed with neither speaking. When Alistair looked up, Raviathan had an unreadable expression.
"Come on, Alistair," he said gently. "Let's get back to camp."
He felt better after a few sips of water. The torch light wasn't as easy to follow as the wisp had been, but it was warm. The shadows seemed thicker this time. "You called it a wisp?"
Raviathan glanced back at him, his eyes reflecting the light like sun through stained glass. How could his eyes be brighter than the torch that reflected through them? "Yes. Wisps are fragmented spirits. Looks like that one had been here awhile. Preying on travelers. Seems that one entices you with what you want. Like a desire demon."
Alistair thought about that for a moment. He had heard about wisps in his training but never seen one. Maker's breath, he should have known better. "How did you know…"
A soft green light rose from further west. Dousing the torch, Raviathan started in that direction.
"Isn't it dangerous?" After he just had gotten yelled at, Alistair felt that tracing after mysterious glowing light was hypocritical at best.
"Probably. Be on guard."
He followed the elf's lead, though how Raviathan managed to be so quiet walking through a forest of blackest shadow, Alistair would never know. A hole jarred his ankle then a root tried to break it with his next step.
"Oh, wow."
Cursing the forest under his breath, Alistair got to his knees to peer under the tall fern with Raviathan. What he saw stole his breath. "Maker. What is this?"
Raviathan shook his head in wonder. "A battle? Sarel said the Veil is thin here. Perhaps the remnants of spirits reenacting the last moments of their life?"
Before them translucent elves in bright armor fought, but their enemy remained in shadow. The whole field was awash in a blue-green glow. Tendrils of smoke obscured details, yet the noble bearing of the warriors shown clear. Their features seems odd to Alistair, the bridges of their noses more pronounced, their faces longer and narrower with shorter foreheads, and more angular features.
One powerful elf commanded the rest. His sword glowed bright as if reflecting sunlight through water. He showed no fear, only grim determination, as if he knew his life would be over shortly but he would fight to the end. Behind him, more elves, outfitted in the same ancient armor, stood at the ready. An army?
"I've never seen armor like that. Not even in the histories." Alistair scared breathe as he watched. Intricately designed, the armor appeared to be silverite though the elves wore robes over the shining metal. Hard to tell with the strangeness of the image, but the craftsmanship remained clear.
"Could this be before Tevinter?"
Awed, Alistair could only shake his head bemusement.
Snatches of command rose from the vision. Raviathan grasped Alistair's arm as they listened to words whose meaning had long been forgotten.
"To think what we've lost."
Alistair tore his eyes away to glimpse Raviathan. Unshed tears glistened, a look of longing naked on the elf's face. He gasped, and Alistair turned back to the ghostly vision.
The lead elf held a sword in one hand, but a ball of fire floated above his open palm. At a final shout, he hurled the fireball ahead to the unseen enemy. The rest shouted, and as one, they charged forward, the vision disappearing into the past.
Introspective, Raviathan sat back on his haunches. What would it be like to lose so much of your history? Alistair didn't know what to say. Seemed like it didn't matter. Everything he said angered the elf, but he should try. "Amazing. Warriors and magic in one. I'm… I'm sorry so much history has been lost."
Raviathan gave him that unreadable expression again as the last light faded from the clearing. "Indeed." After another moment shared in the privacy of darkness, Raviathan re-lit the torch, then handed it to Alistair. "Here. I don't need this to see at night."
"Oh. Thanks."
With the torch in hand, Alistair had an easier time picking his way through the forest. His journey with the wisp didn't seem half so long as the way back. "Rav? How did you know to find me?"
"Venger woke me. He's about, somewhere. Probably marking a tree."
Alistair snickered at that. The dog was on a mission to mark the entire nation. A low whistle from Raviathan, and Venger came bounding through the woods. "Lot of good you were against that shade."
The dog whined at his master's mild rebuke. Raviathan gave the dog a rueful smile and a scratch behind one ear. "Silly git."
At least Alistair wasn't the only one to find himself in trouble with the elf tonight. Now if only he could figure out the trick of getting off so lightly. Sod it. Alistair could do pathetic, but pathetic and adorable were beyond him.
They reached the well worn trail near camp when Alistair tripped over a root. The torch bounced a few feet away before Raviathan snatched it. The elf continued on with a huff and shaking his head in a typical combination of frustration and disgust at whatever Alistair did.
Annoyed, Alistair yanked his foot to get up. He grunted, yanking again. "Wait, I'm trapped."
Scowling, Raviathan glanced back over his shoulder. "What's wrong now?"
Alistair gave another tug then twisted his ankle to try to free himself. Shadows obscured his ankle so he couldn't tell if it had been a root or something else.
Raviathan opened his mouth, but his words froze on his lips. Alistair glanced up to see the elf's eyes gone wide. Turning, Alistair saw the ground around the trail swell and heave like water. A second later, Raviathan started kicking at Alistair's restraint. A bony hand grasped Alistair's ankle. Bits of rotted leather armor clung to the thing's wrist. He shrieked at the sight. Another foot fall, and the bone broke, though the hand continued to clutch Alistair's ankle.
Shuddering, Alistair continued to kick at the hand until it broke off.
"Come on!" Raviathan grabbed Alistair's arm, tugging him to his feet. "Wake up," he yelled at the camp. "Attack! To arms!"
Venger bounced around the tumultuous ground, barking madly. Sten emerged first with his sword in hand.
Arms reached out from the earth, grasping, some pulling the rest of their remains out of the earth. Alistair recoiled in horror, stomping on the nearest arms as if they were cockroaches. Raviathan wielded the torch in one hand, his sword in the other. He brought the blade down to crack brittle skulls or kick at arms, though more came to replace the old.
Gathering his wits, Alistair armed his sword and shield, discipline taking the place of panic. He tried to find the edge of the field of battle to keep himself from being flanked or lose his balance in the continually churning earth. Though he had heard of spirits taking over the bodies of the dead, the reason corpses needed to be burned, he had never seen undead in person before. No book or lecture could prepare him for the strangeness of walking skeletons or for the scent of earth and rot that clung to the decayed bodies. At least the battles against darkspawn seasoned him against the monstrous.
Rib cages followed skulls as the mass of skeletons emerged from their graves. Debris of their former lives clung to the undead: bits of rusted armor hanging off of shoulders and hip bones, tattered fabric that disintegrated as it was pulled, a leather greave that stuck to bone. A few retained jewelry, the dull glint of a dirty ring, a soft shine of stones in a necklace, tiny hints of the history of people who had died here. Though the skeletons had no lungs or voices, somehow they still emitted angry hisses.
By unspoken agreement, the party formed a line between the skeletons and their camp. Morrigan stayed behind the line while Leliana found a boulder to give her a vantage point for her arrows.
Good, thought Alistair. Their fights always fell to chaos. This show of discipline is what they needed.
Swords cut through brittle bones. It would be a long fight, but it was a winnable one.
A cry of surprise, and the torch lighting the battle was flung in the middle of the skeleton field. A chaos of light and shadow confused Alistair's vision. The remains of the fire stung his eyes so he couldn't see through the shadows. A weapon scored along his breastplate, another on his thigh. Alistair felt the heavy weight of the weapons though they did not penetrate. A heavy thud on his left side staggered him.
Maker's breath, how? Morrigan called out in fear. Alistair turned to see her backing away, flinging spells out wildly, precision gone. What happened to Raviathan? He had been defending the middle. Sten's sword slammed through a few of the skeletons, but his style left many openings for attack.
Clawed fingers grabbed Alistair's face, the bones digging into his flesh. Alistair turned only to see the open maw of a skull. Dirt clods kept together by tiny roots hung inside the skull's mouth. Death and earth. Blocky teeth snapped together next to his eye. He yelled, panicked, kicked and shoved to get the thing off him.
Alistair backed into the edge of the wood, anything to block these things. He heard screaming, not his own. Leliana had some safety on her boulder with Sten defending her, but the two would be swamped in little time. He couldn't see Morrigan, but spells kept coming. Where was…?
A shift of the shadows, and Alistair spied Venger racing through the field of undead. A suicidal act, to be sure, but the powerful dog cut a path through the monsters.
The undead kept coming, wave after wave, arms outstretched, grasping. Alistair shattered one's ribcage, swept another's legs away, sent his shield smashing into another. Still they came. He'd break one, but it wouldn't stop. Break their legs, and arms would pull them forward. Shatter ribs, and the skull atop a spine continued forward like a grotesque snake.
"Help!"
A raven swooped over the army of undead towards the cry. Alistair couldn't see through the flickering light and legion of shifting dead.
A chill encapsulated him. Magic! Could it be some hidden apostate making the dead rise? Where? The cold encased him as solid as a fist. In an instant, Alistair went flying, crashing through a field of bones.
An armored figure, dark as night with eyes that glowed like embers, towered over him. Alistair dove as a massive two handed sword came for his death. He rolled, but the blade sliced along his back. He could hear the screech of the sword cutting through his armor, the heat that came as his skin sliced open before the pain set in.
Alistair scrambled for his dropped sword, his shield raised in defense from another blow. Maker, the thing moved so fast! Not even Sten could swing his sword like that. He heard a savage growl, turned to see Venger leap at the towering undead. Teeth buried deep, Venger stayed locked even as the monster swung the great dog back and forth, trying to dislodge him.
Ice encased the monstrous undead's feet. Raviathan limped from behind the shadowy form. He was bent over, clearly in pain. The undead, a revenant? It swung around, backhanding the elf and sending him flying. Alistair took the opening to try to stab the revenant. He blocked a swing of the massive sword, the shock making his arm go numb. Alistair staggered, his swing off, but sheer desperation won him a glancing blow.
The massive sword came again. Alistair barely got his sword up, enough that he dulled the main of the blow, but the shield bent, crushing against his chest. Venger kept biting at the revenant, savaging the monster with fierce pulls, but the dog seemed to have no effect. Another blow from the sword to his shield, and Alistair was sure his arm was broken.
An inhuman scream pierced Alistair's ears, the sound turning his blood to ice. Two bolts quivered in the revenant's chest. It looked down at the arrow shafts, took a few fumbling steps back, as if shocked by their appearance. Another arrow thudded into its chest. Venger dragged the flailing monster down.
With a pained scream, Raviathan slammed his knife down into the creature's throat. He sawed at the neck, black blood streaming out of the wound, gushing out like a geyser to turn to smoke as it touched the ground. The elf kept stabbing, sawing back and forth long after the monster had died, didn't stop until he had pried the head clean off.
Alistair stood on shaky legs. He knew he had to get to his feet now or the pain would paralyze him once the adrenaline wore off. Already his body burned with reaction. Whatever force had animated the undead was gone. Alistair watched as the bodies fell to the ground in heaps, the bones clacking. On the other side, Sten heaved great breaths. Leliana slid down to her knees and buried her face in one hand.
"Mor-rigan." Raviathan's voice shook. Venger whined as he pranced back and forth on his feet, wanting to help but not knowing what to do. Blood coated the elf from a dozen wounds. The witch was at his side, an arm around to help him to the woods.
What?
"Where are you going?"
"He needs healing." She glared at him as if his question had been stupid.
"Well, clearly, but why not just heal him here?" When neither answered, Alistair moved forward to help.
"No!" Raviathan shouted at him. With an effort, he spoke calmly though his voice remained tight with pain. "Just stay there. She'll help me."
Alistair didn't know what to do or how to feel as he watched the two limp off with Venger close behind. He felt hurt and shame for being excluded again, for being someone who couldn't be trusted. On top of the attacks, Alistair wanted to fall over and weep. Nightmares and chaos and everything out to get them.
Shaking, he leaned against a tree, desperate to get his feelings under control. Was he wrong to feel hurt? Raviathan was in pain. He had a right to seek healing however he needed. But the hurt feeling wouldn't abate. Alistair wondered why he was always shut out.
Unsure what to do, he walked around the edges of the field, not wanting to get near the bones again, and made his way to Leliana and Sten.
As the least wounded, Leliana did her best to shore up the weak campfire. By the wane fire's light, Alistair found more wounds that went unnoticed in the heat of battle. Most were shallow but would need attention to keep from festering. The worst was his back. With Leliana's help, he got his breast plate off. He couldn't breathe, and Maker, his arm hurt something fierce. Sten, woken from sleep in the middle of the night, had no armor and far worse cuts that Alistair could see. Nothing to do but wait for their healers to return.
Alistair broke out of his thoughts when he saw Leliana roughly wipe away a tear with a shaking hand. Even with the warmth of firelight, she looked pale.
"Leliana?"
She sniffed, her head turned away as if embarrassed. "I…" She stopped with a little laugh. Both he and Sten watched her, waiting for her to continue. "Who knew? The nightmares, the endless danger. Who knew this forest would hold so many terrors? I did not think this would be easy, but undead in the middle of the night?"
Alistair didn't know what to do. He had no words for her. Should he put a hand on her shoulder? Maker's breath, he felt so awkward. Everything he could think of to say sounded trivial and weak. And if she started, he didn't think he'd be able to stop. Oh, Maker. Duncan would know what to do.
"Shhh. It's alright, Leliana."
Alistair hadn't heard the elf or witch approach, but there they were. Raviathan had an arm around Leliana. Such gestures seemed so natural from the elf.
"Morrigan, start boiling some water." Raviathan kissed Leliana's hair. The elf's armor was badly damaged, a testament to the wounds he had received. His voice carried warmth and authority, like a father one would loath to disobey. "I know it's hard, Leli. No one expected this. Take a moment, we'll have some tea, and go from there. Put your head between your knees and take a few deep breaths, okay?"
She nodded, doing as was told. Raviathan got his healer's kit and started to work on Sten. The two healers said nothing to each other, Raviathan doing most of the work while Morrigan watched. He cleaned Sten's wounds, made poultices and wrapped bandages around the stoic giant. At a murmured command, Morrigan waved her hands in some complex spell while the elf turned his back to put his kit back together. Green flames danced over the qunari's wounds. Though Sten looked like he would prefer to go without the magical healing, the rigidity in his face eased as his pain ebbed.
Alistair came next. He needed help to sit by the fire. After being shoved off before, it felt strange now that he was the center of the healers' attentions.
"Is my arm broken?" Maker, did that ever hurt.
The elf palpated his arm with gentle fingers. "No. Badly bruised. Probably down to the bone. Looks like you wrenched your shoulder a bit. If you can, go easy on it."
Alistair hissed in pain when the elf touched his side.
"Fractured two of your ribs though."
The elf gave soft orders to Leliana and Morrigan as he worked. Alistair closed his eyes as he was ministered to. It felt good: warm water to clean his wounds, balms that soothed away his pain, a tea that calmed him.
"Alright, Morrigan."
The witch did her little witchy gestures, and green flames danced along Alistair's skin. He watched, fascinated. Maker's breath. Wasn't magic amazing? A few weird gestures, and even someone as horrid as Morrigan worked wonders. Wounds that would take weeks if not months to heal, it was just… so cool. Alistair could swear he felt his skin knitting back together. All soft warmth deep inside him, then no pain. Just amazing.
Alistair tested out the healing. He gasped at a sharp pain in his ribs, but the cuts were gone. "Ribs still feel tender."
"They will be for a while," Raviathan said.
His shoulder was also sore. "You can't heal that?"
Morrigan opened her mouth, surprised. "I… well…"
"Um, I suppose magical healing has limits then, Morrigan?" Raviathan supplied.
"Uh, yes. Deeper… wounds. And I was taxed. After the battle."
Alistair tried to keep the smirk off his face. Don't like having your limits exposed, do you? "Well, um, shouldn't you wrap my ribs then?"
Raviathan's brows knit. "Why?"
"I don't know." Alistair rubbed his side. "Just. That's what I've seen."
"No point." Raviathan closed his healer's kit. "It won't support your bones or keep them straight. All wrapping your chest will do is restrict your breathing which will make you more susceptible to lung diseases like pneumonia. In fact, even if it hurts, you need to take as deep a breath as you can every hour."
"Oh." Alistair wasn't sure if the elf was brushing him off or if what he said was true. When he and other templars in training had cracked or broken their ribs, the trainers always wrapped them. Uncertainty and sadness warred inside. The elf didn't like him, which was painful enough, but would he deliberately risk Alistair's health?
Thank the Maker Leliana had joined their party. Of all the people here, she was the only one he felt he could ask to help him with his armor, a task that would be near impossible with the pain in his ribs. His cheeks heated as he thought of asking her for such personal help. Nothing to be done for it except sleep in his armor, which was not much of a choice.
"Let's get breakfast on and see what we can do about burning the bones." Raviathan crouched down next to Leliana, rubbed her back, and murmured soft words. The color was back in her cheeks. She was even able to manage a small smile. Alistair tried to think of what he had done that was so bad that he didn't warrant even a little compassion. Sten seemed not to care about anyone, and Alistair didn't give a fig what Morrigan thought. Sneaky witch. But here was a Grey Warden, his brother. He just didn't understand the elf's attitude.
Dawn remained hours away. No one had enough sleep, but after the battle they just fought, Alistair supposed sleep wouldn't come to anyone anytime soon. Besides, his stomach perked up at the sound of breakfast.
Thankfully, the camp hadn't been disturbed. They started the process of breaking up camp and beginning the day. Raviathan stared at the field of bones with his fists on his hips, lost in thought.
Already Alistair felt like he had had a full day. At least there would be food.
In the distance, the howls of wolves echoed.