A chapter I've wanted to write since I began Armour.
Stars
Morgana
No-one, not even Leliana, understands why they sleep later than the others. Surely they've heard the screams, the thrashing, in the night?
Only he seems to truly know how she feels. Their bond is silent except for the thrum of the taint-song in their veins; she looks into his eyes and sees the same agreement, the same fear. It truly is, as he'd put it, "a Warden thing".
All they can do is try in vain to stave off the nightmares, wake the other from them when they come, and, without ever actually saying the words, it's something they've agreed to do for each other. As comrades. As friends.
There are so many wonderful things about this strange new world (well, not new, exactly - it's always been there, she just hasn't been in it) - rain is one thing; stars are another.
She lies near the fire and watches them in silence, remembering a book she read. Yellow pages crackling in the midnight silence of the library, no song there tonight; dark rings under her eyes, the carefully drawn star maps blurring, constant yawning. Still she read, determined to finish it.
She has forgotten most of it now, but a cluster of stars catches her attention.
It isn't long before Alistair sits next to her, a habit they seem to have comfortably settled into, and sees where her gaze is directed. "Pretty, aren't they?"
She looks to him as if he is mildly insane. Pretty? A huge understatement, but then, he's probably used to seeing the stars, probably didn't have a roof over his head for most of his life.
She nods slowly, still looking to the sky, and is surprised when he settles next to her, with a quiet, "See that?" He points to the cluster she's been wondering about, and she nods. "Aveline's Helm." He sees her look of surprise. "We had to study star maps, for navigation. If you're chasing apostates in the middle of a forest, it's useful to know where you're going. I always liked the stories behind the constellations, though - stupid, really."
She leans on her elbows to look at him. "Not stupid at all, Alistair. I used to like wisps, because I discovered you could cluster them together, paint words in light with them. It used to disappear fairly quickly, but... Anders and I got in dreadful trouble, because he stood in the library and formed the word 'arse' in wisps." A smile twitches the corner of her mouth. "Huge letters. Very juvenile. Jowan managed to avoid him a beating that time, though." She sees another row of stars, points. "And that?"
He takes a look, seems to think for a moment, then remembers. "Andraste's Sword. I think. I know that one, but you'd have to ask Leliana about Aveline."
There's always one more constellation, one more name to find; sometimes he remembers the stories, sometimes not, but he always tries to think of something, seems to enjoy making her laugh. For a while, they lapse into a comfortable silence, just staring at the sky, but then it begins again.
Sometimes it's not the mythology, but a memory of the Chantry a constellation's brought back; she supplies stories of the Tower, the old favourite of the rabbit explosion in the mages' quarters.
It's like something's been lifted off her shoulders, just for one night. They share a smile, him still talking about Brother Ronald's terrible lute-playing, and she wonders how he can look so peaceful in the midst of all this. Then she realises, because her grin is as wide as his own.
Her second dream, after he pours a canteen of water over her face to wake her from the inevitable archdemon nightmare, is of stars and pillow fights in Chantry dormitories, and before she enters the Fade again, she murmurs, "You were right, y'know."
His eyes are still on the sky. "Hmm?"
"They really don't make stupid templars."