Choices
That utter wench! Elaine fumed as she watched Alistair walk away. He needed a minute, he'd said and walked back to the tavern. She hadn't known what to say to him about his gold-digger of a sister. She'd ended up saying something really trite about how we choose our family or some such nonsense. The truth was, she'd had a lovely family. She'd never experienced anything remotely like the utter rejection Alistair had just endured. Her heart ached as she remembered her father's bloody form in the castle cellar, and her mother's fierce expression as she prepared to defend him to her own death. Elaine would have chosen them from among thousands. And Fergus. She'd pretty much given up hope of finding him. The reports from the Korcari Wilds were not good, although she'd heard about the hundreds of refugees fleeing Ferelden. Perhaps he had made it out. She vowed again to look for him after the Blight, if she survived.
Alistair was not the only one upset, either. Leliana was still reeling from the confrontation with her former mentor Marjolaine. Like Alistair, she had decided to part company for a while and was nowhere to be found. Plus, there was always the danger of Morrigan lashing out and getting herself arrested for being an apostate, and Zevran had identified several members of the Antivan Crows in the marketplace before making himself scarce in case they were searching for him. Sten was visibly agitated by the delay caused by all of these side missions and had loudly voiced his impatience. It was the closest Elaine had seen him to displaying emotion, and it had been unnerving.
To top it all off, Brother Genitivi was missing, and their best lead was in a village clear on the other side of Ferelden. It was going to take a significant amount of time to get there, and time was one thing they didn't really have to spare. Plus, they were going to have to re-supply, and that took coin. Elaine had finally broken down and sold her father's sword and shield. She hadn't been able to bear selling it in the Denerim market – who knew who would get hold of it then? She'd sold it to Bodahn in the hope that he wouldn't find a buyer for it right away and she would be able to buy it back. He'd given her a fair price, and with what they'd earned doing a few odd jobs here and there around town, they were able to replace worn out weapons and armor and buy enough provisions to last a while. Despite this practicality, though, Elaine still felt a pang of regret; that sword and shield were the last bit of her family she'd had left and she felt their loss keenly.
The only member of the party who seemed unfazed by the chaos around them was Dinadan, who was currently wandering the marketplace snatching scraps of food from around the produce stalls and generally getting a good sniff of things. Lucky dog, Elaine thought. If only it were so easy to please people.
Her thoughts returned to Alistair. He'd had a hard time of it, she realized. He'd never really belonged in any of the places he'd been: as Maric's illegitimate son in Arl Eamon's household, Alistair was neither a noble nor a servant, and as a Templar, he excelled at the training but lacked the religious fervor that would have made him a true part of the Chantry. The Grey Wardens had been the first people who had taken him in and accepted him as he was, and they were all dead. And his last hope of finding any kind of real family had just accused him of killing his mother and demanded a handout.
Sympathy filled her. She had told him, however thoughtlessly at the time, that you choose your family. She hadn't meant it. She had a family; she didn't need to choose anyone else. Even now, she was with Alistair more by circumstance than by choice: they were the only Grey Wardens left; they had to work together. Come to think of it, they had all been forced on one another – Morrigan's mother had ordered her daughter to come, Sten and Zevran had traded their service for their lives, and Leliana was compelled by the Maker. Elaine, desperate for allies, was not in a position to refuse anyone's help. None of them had really chosen each other. No one except the Grey Wardens had ever chosen Alistair. And it hit her like a lightning bolt that what he needed more than anything in the world was to be chosen by someone, chosen by anyone.
It seemed like everything had started to fall apart since they'd arrived in Denerim, and it was up to her to find a way to pull it all back together. She figured choosing Alistair was a good place to start.