Alistair curled up in his bedroll just outside Lothering. The others were still in the village, negotiating for the release of the Qunari. He had just been too exhausted and quite frankly, displeased with everyone being brought along on their merry adventure. Morrigan had been at him since they left Ostagar, the dog had generally ignored him even though Alistair had been the one to beg to take him along, his fellow Warden Tabris was this tiny little thing who seemed so smug and cocky and completely oblivious to how dire their situation was. And now they had a seriously insane Chantry sister and soon to have a murderous heathen.
This is not what he signed up for as a Grey Warden. Wardens were brave, heroic, and selfless. Tabris so far had whined about becoming a Warden and haggled with poor merchants to reduce their wares even further. They were supposed to be brother and sister in arms, but she had ignored his mourning, and seemed to be completely unfazed by all that had happened. He was starting to wonder if she even wanted him along, never mind liked him.
He rested his head, closing his eyes. The nightmares had gotten worse since the Blight had begun and worse still since Ostagar. But maybe he could get an hour or so rest before they were on the road again.
He was just drifting off when he vaguely heard people in the bush. He glanced up, barely catching his breath before he saw three mages standing before him.
"All alone, Templar?" One chuckled darkly.
Alistair tried to cleanse the area of magic, but the three tackled him, binding him in rope and leather. He yelled as he tried to pull them apart, but a swift punch to the jaw left him dazed as he fell to the ground. When the assault suddenly stopped, he looked up, seeing a sudden dash and the mage falling to the ground, just as the demon appeared. The demon fell with a scream. His eyes focused. It was his fellow Warden.
Tabris smirked as she swung her blades to the left, breaking through the second mage's staff. She did not stumble as the mage tried to drain her blood, merely wincing before stabbing her in the gut. The third ran and she started to pursue, but then saw Alistair's bloody face. She sheathed her weapons and went to his side. She cut through his ropes silently, rubbing his wrists to help the circulation come back.
She reached into her satchel and found a healing balm. She tenderly applied it to his cut lip as he looked at her in awe.
"Are you okay?" She asked, a softness to her voice he hadn't heard before.
He nodded.
She shook her head, "I came to make sure you were alright, emotionally, I mean. Then you manage to find the three blood mages in Lothering. You really have no luck, kid, you know that, right?"
"I'm older than you," Alistair reminded indignantly, standing to his feet.
"Apparently those two years didn't help you any," she teased.
He wanted to protest, but then instead, blushed. She was joking with him.
"Go on," she said, "Get some sleep. I'll make sure no bad apostates attack you."
He was too tired to argue and curled back into his bedroll. He closed his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of her speaking quietly to the returning party. Just before he passed into the fade, the dog curled underneath his arm.