I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.
I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.
As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, phoenixandashes, harmakhis, voltagelisa. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!
DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 12
Bright sunshine greeted the trio as they made their way through, beyond the Wilds, Morrigan leading them unerringly, and safely through. The witch said nothing during their travel through the dark Wilds, and neither Alistair nor Adela was in any great need to speak with her. They figured that she was embarrassed by the treatment her mother gave her and they had no desire to bring that up.
They were accosted by a small group of bandits, posing as toll collectors just outside the village of Lothering. The first words Morrigan had spoken since leaving her mother's home had been that they just go ahead and kill the fools. And while Adela had been sorely tempted to (how many poor refugees had they preyed upon?) she sought instead to talk the men into leaving. Therefore, after talking the leader into giving her all the money they had collected (it amounted to over one hundred silvers), Adela suggested that they leave the area for good if they wished to live. Apparently, they did as the six men ran off with all haste.
Adela rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the headache that loomed there, trying to focus on what they needed to do and ignore what she wanted to do. A strong desire to just run to Denerim and make certain that Loghain was there overwhelmed her. She needed to know why he quit the field, leaving Cailan, Duncan and the others to die. A thought that something had happened to him had bloomed in her mind and the young elf frowned, feeling more than a little guilty at her earlier quick condemnation of Loghain. She did not know the circumstances, and wanted all of the details before making any other rash judgments.
She brought her hand to her lips, remembering the kiss - harsh, frantic, needing - she had shared with Loghain prior to battle. She should have remembered the way he had spoken then, that he had planned on there being an after following the battle. She bit her lip, forcing the guilty feeling down, knowing it would do nothing to help now. They needed more information. She lifted her blond head. She hoped they would be able to find it in the tiny village of Lothering, upon whose outskirts they now stood.
Regardless of what had happened, the simple fact was that Cailan and Duncan were dead, as were all of the other Wardens and most of the armies gathered against the darkspawn incursion. She picked up the pouch that held the treaties, rubbing her thumb along the rough leather, holding it tightly in her hand. Could they really bring these folk together to fight against the darkspawn?
She knew some about the Dalish: her mother had given her instruction in the language, belief system and traditions. She knew precious little about mages and next to nothing about the dwarves. She glanced over at Alistair, sighing. Yet here they were, two junior wardens seeking to bring these three factions together against the Blight.
The trio entered the village of Lothering, and were astonished by what they saw there.
Refugees. Everywhere. It seemed as though every free space of land around the village and encroaching to the town's center was filled with tents, crates, livestock, and people. Children ran between tents and bedrolls, adults sat, dejectedly, amongst what few possessions they managed to gather in flight. The two Wardens exchanged concerned glances, and walked further into town.
As they passed the gate, a Templar in full armor uniform (how could he stand standing in this sunshine with that heavy helm on his head?) called for their attention, warning them that there was little room available in the town, and they would be better off seeking shelter elsewhere. Morrigan scowled at him, but Adela thanked him and walked further into the town.
"We should go to the Chantry," Alistair offered, his gaze going to the large, stone building smack in the town's center. Morrigan began to object.
"Morrigan," Adela turned to the witch, "how about you go and purchase some supplies while Alistair and I go into the Chantry and see if there is any news?" She handed the witch a small pouch containing some coin. "And, see if there's a merchant willing to purchase some equipment."
With a nod, the witch left in search of a merchant as the pair of Wardens turned toward the Chantry.
DA:O
Alistair cleared his throat. "You really need armor that covers…" he swept his hand up and down to encompass her form, "you." he finished weakly, flushing to his ears.
"Alistair," Adela began, but the other Warden cut her off. "You were nearly killed!" he whispered, trying to keep his voice calm. "That armor doesn't protect you…"
"Alistair," this time she placed a hand on his arm, looking in his eyes. "This armor is best suited for an archer." she grinned while pointing to her bow. "I'm an archer. I promise…" she squeezed his arm. "I will not go berserk into a hoard of darkspawn again."
Alistair was not swayed. She was under protected. He knew it. She needed armor that at least covered all of her. Had she been wearing something that offered protection she would not have been so gravely injured before. He was certain of it. However, he knew he was not going to win any arguments with her here, not now. His eyes rested on the hand she had on his arm, noting just how tiny her hand was - no larger than a human child's hand - how delicate the bone structure. With a sigh, he picked up her hand and held it tightly.
"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I'll not argue with you about it," he smiled at her, "for now."
Nodding, she returned his smile, and the pair of them walked into the Chantry.
DA:O
The Chant of Light echoed through the great vast outer chamber of the Chantry. Bookshelves lined the walls, and candelabras hung from the high ceiling. There were many folk in the building, some sitting talking quietly, some shaking with silent sobs, others kneeling in prayer. They walked passed children and old folk, and Adela felt a certain sad anger rise up.
"Why are they just sitting here?" she whispered to Alistair.
"Where else can they go?" he whispered back.
She frowned, deeply. "Anywhere is better than here, waiting for the darkspawn to take them." She looked up at the taller human. "They could flee to Denerim. Further north to Highever or Amaranthine. Anywhere but…" she swept her hand out, "just waiting here to die."
The human Warden gazed around them, and then nodded. "You're right," he acknowledged aloud.
The elf stared about her. This was crazy, she thought. Were they really going to just wait? Her blue eyes spied several Templar standing in the chamber's center. Making a decision, the elf strode forward, determination marking each step. Alistair hurried to keep up.
Adela stood quietly as the elder Templar gave instruction to the others. Noticing the elf standing there, he turned a small smile her way, and greeted her with a bow. "Greetings my lady," he said in a pleasant yet commanding voice. "I am Ser Bryant, head of the Templars stationed here in Lothering. How might I be of assistance?"
Adela returned the gesture, "My name is Adela and I am a Grey Warden," she narrowed her eyes at the Templar and watched as his eyes lit with attention, and then got right to the point. "Why is everyone just sitting around here?"
The Templar blinked. Once. Twice. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, finally finding his voice.
Adela stepped forward. "There are refugees clogging this place, sitting, just waiting to die," she accused. "Why are they remaining here instead of fleeing?"
The Templar sighed. "Flee to where, exactly?" he asked in a tone that suggested he thought this elf had overstepped her boundaries.
However, Adela knew that tone well enough, and chose to ignore it. "They could flee north to Denerim. Or continue on to Highever. Anywhere," she stepped forward pointing a finger into his breastplate. The Templar backed up a bit. "is better than standing around here waiting for the death that will be coming."
"Do you have any idea how much of an effort it would be to get people to just leave?" he demanded, apparently not liking Adela's tone of voice. However, she just shook her head, and scoffed at him. She was quickly loosing patience.
"Look," she peered up into his face, not backing down, not intimated in the least by his advantage in size. "The darkspawn have just decimated the forces at Ostagar. They are heading this way, out of the Wilds. These people will die if they do not leave. You need to organize the evacuation and get them to leave now."
The Templar stiffened at the commanding tone in her voice. "I have a duty to the Chantry and Revered Mother…"
"Who in turn has a duty to the Maker's children," Adela finished. "And that duty needs to include ensuring that they get the opportunity to live."
Ser Bryant frowned. "What you say is true," he conceded, "however, until the Revered Mother orders otherwise, we are merely here to secure the area and keep peace to the best of our ability."
The Templar then frowned. "You say you are a Grey Warden?" both of them nodded in reply. "You are aware that the Grey Wardens have been declared traitors to Fereldan and a bounty placed upon the heads of any found?"
Blue and amber eyes widened in disbelief. "Who…" Adela cleared her suddenly dry throat. "Who issued that declaration?" Fear gripped her.
"Ser Cauthrien, the Commander of Maric's Shield issued the order on behalf of Teryn Loghain," came the reply.
Ah, yes, she thought, I know Cauthrien. Adela felt as though she as going to faint, or vomit or both as a lightheaded feeling washed over her, making her joints feel suddenly so very weak and unstable. Ser Bryant's words resounded in her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath. He had said Ser Cauthrien had issued the orders on Loghain's behalf.
She took a steadying breath, fully aware of both men's eyes upon her. "You will not speak of our arrival here," she said in a small, but steady voice.
Ser Bryant nodded, saying, "I do not believe that the Wardens betrayed our king and country," his voice was assured, "and so I shall say nothing." He frowned, gazing about the chambers. "You are correct, however. I shall speak with the Revered Mother about evacuating these people. Remaining in the hoard's path is not a wise decision." With that, he bowed, crossing his arms before his chest, and left to seek out the Revered Mother in the vestry.
The vast building seemed suddenly closed in, and there was a roaring in her ears as her vision tunneled in on itself. Alistair moved closer, putting an arm across her shoulders, pulling her against his steady body. She heard him whisper something assuring, but she could not quite make it out. She lifted her face to his and saw that lopsided grin of his. Swallowing, she smiled back, resting her head against his chest, she fought against the tears that threatened.
And allowed Alistair to guide her out of the chantry.
They found Morrigan arguing with a merchant who had set up his cart not far from the Chantry's entryway. A Chantry sister had joined in the argument. Rolling her eyes, certain Morrigan was somehow to blame, the elven Warden moved from Alistair's side and walked over.
Apparently, the merchant was using the good timing of the darkspawn hoard to increase his monetary gain. The Chantry sister had been trying to get him to lower his prices so that the villagers could afford the goods they needed. Morrigan was just trying to purchase some flasks and reagents. Adela, having no patience for the unscrupulous behavior of the merchant, suggested that he lower the prices or she would help the Templars confiscate his wares. That earned an appreciative smile from the Sister, a scowl but acquiescence from the merchant, a bemused grin from Alistair, and a surprised look from Morrigan, who happily finished making her purchases.
There were a few jobs offered up on the Chantry board and, although Adela was convinced that the jobs would be moot if Ser Bryant actually did carry through with plans to evacuate the village, Alistair insisted they do them. To earn coin, he had said; to make the evacuation easier and safer, he alleged. He just kept at it so, eventually Adela told him that they would.
The jobs were far easier done than she had expected: remove a bandit threat, locate the body of a missing woman, and clear out some rabid bears. Easy. Therefore, they went back to the Chanter who gave them sovereigns for their trouble and a very nice sword.
Alistair tested the balance of Oathkeeper, balancing it in a loose grip in his hand, then tightening his grip and moving through several feinting motions with it. He could feel the slight humming of magical energy that emanated from the rune covered blade. He tried to offer it to Adela, who grinned at him and pointed out that the sword was far too large and heavy for her to just carry, let alone wield. Sheepishly, the human sheathed the fine blade.
By this time, the villagers who had been sitting about despondently were now hustling, gathering their belongings, forming organized groups. Several Templars were shouting orders and moving among the refugees. Alistair nudged Adela's shoulder. "Guess they just needed a pesky little elf to push them in the right direction, eh?"
She looked up into his grinning face and could not help but smile back. She shrugged, turning to leave, when she spied a small family of elves standing out of the way, their meager belongings behind them. Curious, Adela stepped away from her human companions and approached the small family.
The father introduced himself as Gaylen, his wife Amery and their daughter Siobhan. They had been members of a nearby farm hold that escaped from the darkspawn and made their way to Lothering. While en route the elven family had been divested of their belongings by the same bandit's the trio originally encountered. When advised that they had chased off the bandits, Gaylen smiled and nodded his appreciation.
"So, are you going to evacuate with the rest of the village?" Adela asked. Gaylen nodded his head. "I had wanted to leave sooner, however, being low on funds, we were unable to purchase the supplies necessary, and this delayed us indefinitely."
The young elf pulled the small pouch of coin she had appropriated from the bandit leader. "Here," she said, thrusting it into his hands, "take this pouch. It has at least a hundred silver." she waved off the expression of confused gratitude. "Go to the Alienage in Denerim and seek out Cyrion Tabris. He's my father. Tell him that Adela sent you and he will make certain that you and your family is taken care of." She smiled at the man who, along with his wife, was trying hard to voice their appreciation. She clasped Gaylen's arm. "Just survive and tell my father…" she paused. "Just, just tell him I'm fine and I love him."
Gaylen and Amery nodded, and then pulled their daughter along behind them to go and purchase the supplies they would need for the journey north to Denerim.
When the small family left, Alistair pulled Adela to the side. "Was that wise?" he asked, glancing at the family. "Loghain may hear you live…that there are Wardens that survived."
"And what, Alistair?" Adela snapped. "By the time any word got to him, we'll be long gone from this place. This place," she swept out an arm to encompass the village entirely, "will be long gone." She shook her head. "It's just…" she looked up, an almost defeated look in her eyes. "I need my family to know I'm alright. I want to make sure they know that whatever rumors are going around about the Wardens that they are not true."
Caught up in her eyes, Alistair found his own argument weak. Nodding, he took her arm, and the three left the village center.
They bypassed the inn, knowing that there would be no room for them there. They decided to leave the village and travel northward along the highway until dark. However, they did not make their way through the edges of the town without incident. On their way out, the sounds of chanting rang from a cage hanging nearby, in which stood a bronze-skinned giant of the Qunari who called himself the Sten. Alistair mentioned that the Qunari were warriors without equal. Adela asked the giant his crime. Murder. She frowned; then asked if the giant sought atonement for his crimes. The giant gave the elf a long, leveling stare, and then pronounced that he would assist the Grey Wardens against the Blight. Adela returned the giant's steady gaze and then picked the brittle lock of the cage. The giant stepped out, looming over the small elf, as he gave his oath of loyalty.
As they neared the highway, a red haired Chantry sister with a strong Orlesian accent hailed them. Adela's history with Loghain and her own mother made her eyes narrow with suspicion of anything or anyone Orlesian, but Alistair yet again declared that she might well be a welcome addition.
"But, Alistair," Adela pulled her fellow Warden aside at the pronouncement from the sister that the Maker sent her to them, that she had a vision and just knew they would be there, "she's one Archdemon shy of a Blight!"
To which Alistair chuckled, "Yes, but she seems more…'Ooh, pretty colors!' than 'Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!'"
The elven Warden gave her friend a long, searching stare. Alistair met it, his eyes warm with humor. Throwing her arms up in defeat, she declared the Sister, Leliana, welcome to travel with them.
It was when the Chantry Sister gave a high-pitched shriek of joy that Adela seriously had to wonder if she had made the right call. Alistair seemed happy, as he engaged the chatty human woman in a lively discussion about screaming bloody murder in the monastery to see if anyone was paying attention. Staring at the backs of the two humans, Adela shook her head. She glanced back at Morrigan, who merely rolled her eyes at the elf as she passed by her. Adela mimicked the expression and followed, the Sten following behind her.
DA:O
Loghain paced his chambers, forcing down the very real concern and fear that threatened to spill out in a shout of anger and despair. How did he get back to Denerim? He wondered, a frown deepening the lines and furrows that mapped his face. His last clear and lucid memory had been kissing Adela at Ostagar and telling her that they were talk after the battle. Only, there had not been an after the battle! To the Teryn's knowledge, that had not been a battle at all. Only hushed voices, muted sounds, dark shapes and then nothingness. Nothingness until he awoke that morning in his Denerim chambers, sans King, Wardens, a victory, and Adela.
Heavy lids closed over pale blue eyes. He remembered how it felt to hold Adela and kiss her. He had frightened the girl, and himself, too. For years, he had watched her grow form a shy, quiet child into a thoughtful and talented young woman. And now she was a Grey Warden. That thought chilled him.
His scowl deepened further. Just moments before, Cauthrien and Rendon Howe were telling him that he was about to be declared Anora's regent? How could that be possible?
His head ached - terribly so - and he found himself battling against nausea. He raised a blunt fingered hand to his head, rubbing at the temples, trying to pull his clouded and confused thoughts together. His meal sat untouched upon the table to his right. Scowling, knowing that it would not clear his thoughts but needing the drink regardless, he grabbed the goblet of wine and, in one gulp, drained it.
DA:O
Smooth, white hands pressed down the near non-existent wrinkles along the fine silk of her black gown. Anora glanced up, her hands before her, wringing, trying hard to maintain a calm she did not feel. All she wanted to do was hide in her chambers - the chambers she had shared with Cailan. Hide and cry.
However, she would not be afforded that luxury. The luxury to mourn her beloved husband in private.
She knew something was wrong when her father had returned from Ostagar, his contingent and Maric's Shield in full force, without her husband, without any other survivors. There had been the chance that either her husband or father would not return from battle. She had thought she would be prepared for either outcome. However, her father had returned with stories that the Grey Wardens had betrayed Cailan, who in his bid for glory had allowed himself to be placed right on the front lines, had died from their betrayal and his own foolishness. That Loghain had seen the treachery too late, and had only managed to pull his own troops out of the battle before they, too, could be decimated.
Her hands twitched at the black cloth of her mourning gown.
No. She had grown up with her father telling her tales of how untrustworthy the Grey Wardens were. She had also grown up with tales of how Maric had allowed the order to return to Fereldan's shores.
She had listened as Cailan would go on and on about battles and Blights and how the Grey Wardens were the only ones standing between a Blight and total annihilation. Yes, the awe in his voice was reminiscent of a child's awe of a tale of the knight in silver armor slaying a fearsome dragon. However, mixed in with that awe and hero worship was knowledge. Cailan had read nearly every treatise, volume, tome and scroll available regarding the Grey Wardens.
He had committed to memory every strategic detail of each of the battles that Grey Wardens had been involved.
He knew, without doubt, that whenever a Blight had been defeated it was always by the blade of a Grey Warden.
Cailan just knew, without knowing the details that the secretive order would never let out, that Grey Wardens were essential to stopping Blights.
Therefore, because of her husband's knowledge and insistence, despite having grown up hearing otherwise, Anora knew that never had a Blight been stopped without the Grey Wardens. Nor was it possible that one would ever be stopped without a Grey Warden.
Anora frowned at the door. And now her father tells her that the Grey Wardens of Fereldan had betrayed King and Country…but never the 'why' or 'how'.
Why would the Wardens betray Cailan? They were not an order that involved themselves in political or personal power. Dying alongside Cailan would certainly not grant them either in any case.
How could they betray him? By giving him up to what…the darkspawn? That went entirely against their creed and code, their very goal and only reason for existing - to stop the darkspawn and stand against a Blight.
No. None of it made sense.
And, coupled with Cailan and Anora's ongoing concern with Loghain's behavior of late, this only added to her conviction that something was most definitely not right.
The Queen smoothed her hands once more down the front of her gown. She would stand by her father's side as he addressed the nobles, arls, banns and other political powers as he declared himself her regent. Anora tried to steady her trembling hands. She did not need her father to act as her regent. She and Cailan had been legally married, bound by the Chantry, and they had ruled jointly. She could assume the throne immediately, with just the approval of a majority of the nobles.
However, Anora did not currently feel strong enough to act against her father. She stopped, frowning. When did she feel that she would be acting against her father by assuming the role that was hers by right, law and tradition?
No, indeed. Something was not right.
A door behind her opened, and her father walked in, flanked, as always these days, by Ser Cauthrien and Arl Howe. No, not Arl any longer. She refrained from frowning again. Teryn Howe. The arl's sudden rise to Teryn also caused the woman to be concerned. More news of betrayal, and a quick act, moving without approval from the Throne, and one of the most loyal and ancient noble families in all of Fereldan - a family older than the Theirin line itself - was eliminated. Again, against a backdrop of baseless rumor and innuendo, put forth by Howe himself that they sought to act against Fereldan by allying themselves with Orlais. Finding her disgust for the man difficult to hide, Anora turned her head, bowing it as though in an expression of grief.
The act was not so difficult, as it was truth. Her heart ached, and she wished desperately for her husband.
She felt her father's presence by her side; saw how the other two flanked him. She raised her brilliant violet eyes to stare into Loghain's pale blue orbs. There was a veil of shared grief there, but something else. Something that Anora was unable to identify. She shivered at the alien…presence behind that gaze.
"Come, Anora," her father bade, gently taking her elbow in one hand, guiding her through the door that had remained closed. "We must advise the nobles awaiting us of their obligations to the Throne."
Nodding, unable to find her voice to speak, Anora allowed herself to be led out of the chamber, to the balcony that would overlook the chamber where the Landsmeet normally would be held. She shivered as Teryn Howe moved closer to her, a hand almost errantly brushing against her arm. She glanced up into his face, and knew fear. The look the man gave her was purely predatory. Moreover, Anora knew that none of those currently with her were her allies.
It was like a door shutting on her heart as she heard the heavy doors close behind her.
DA:O
She was helpless, bound hand and foot, naked, and unable to move. The sky above was blackened, with roiling thunderclouds and streaks of lightening. Small dragons swooped above, roaring out their fires, the sounds of battle complete with the shrieking screams of the dying, surrounded her. And then he's standing above her, taking in every curve and plane of her. She tries to curl in on herself, but he merely laughs, roughly yanking her around onto her back. Then he lowers himself down and onto her, as the dragons continue to ravage the field, his green eyes boring into hers…
Adela sat up suddenly, a scream upon her lips, covered in cold sweat and shivering. She felt someone's strong arms wrap around her, a familiar soothing voice seeking to calm her. She struggled against the hold upon her, screaming out his name, seeing only his eyes, a hand reaching down to pull one of her daggers. That voice is telling her to relax, and another voice accompanies his - a sweet, female voice with a thick accent - and gentle hands brush the hair from her face, telling her to open her eyes. Her hand closed upon the hilt of her dagger, but she felt one of those gentle hands encircle her wrist, keeping her from unsheathing the weapon.
Open your eyes! That voice pleads.
With a gasp, her eyes snap open. Breathing hard, she turned her head. Alistair had his arms locked tightly about her, his eyes filled with concern and just a bit of fear. The woman's voice - Leliana - was talking in soothing tones, not saying anything just shushing her as one would an infant. Adela forced her body to relax, taking deep shuddering breaths. Leliana released her hold on Adela's wrist and sat back, concern shining in her bright blue eyes.
"I'm alright," the elf whispered, trying hard to stem the trembles coursing through her body. "Alistair, you can let me go," she met his eyes, tried to convey with a look that she is all right despite the tremors racing through her body. Her fellow Warden did not look as though he believed her and, although he maintained a hold on her, his grip relaxed.
Leliana asked Adela if she would like a cup of tea. The elf nodded, and the Orlesian woman stood and walked to the fire pit, hanging a kettle of water over the fire.
"Bad dream?" Alistair asked in a quiet voice, his amber eyes watching the elf closely. Adela nods. "Nightmare is more like it," she whispers back.
Alistair nods sagely. "Do you get nightmares often?" he asked.
Adela shook her head, "No, actually. Although given what has happened over the past few weeks," she shrugs her shoulders, "they happen more often than ever."
"You will find your nightmares occurring on a more…regular basis," Alistair said glumly, watching as Leliana poured hot water from the kettle into a cup.
"A Warden thing?" Adela asked as the Orlesian handed the cup to her. With a smile, the human woman walked away from the pair, seeking her own bedroll.
Alistair raised his head, noticing that Adela's tremors were subsiding. "It's our…connection to the darkspawn," he whispered, "and the Archdemon. We can," he shrugs, "hear them. And it affects our sleep."
Frowning into her cup, Adela asked, "Are there any other secrets that I should know about?"
Sighing, Alistair glanced around the camp. Leliana was trying to go back to sleep, and the Sten was standing, keeping watch. He noticed Morrigan, away from everyone else, watching the pair with interest. He turned his gaze upwards. There were many stars out that night, and it was still quite late. Adela had not gotten much sleep, and he could tell from the circles under her eyes that she was exhausted. He released his hold and stood, offering a hand to her.
"Come on," he said as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. "We're going to discuss Grey Warden secrets and can't have anyone not part of the club overhearing." He offered up his most charming lopsided grin, and was pleased Adela responded with a weak smile of her own.
Alistair led his fellow Warden away from the others, keeping the campsite in sight, but far enough away that no one would overhear. With a grin, he gallantly brushed away dirt, leaves from a large rock, and invited Adela to take a seat. Once she was seated, he sat down beside her.
"Alright, let's see…first thing you know is about the nightmares," he stared into her eyes, "some Wardens are affected by them their whole lives, others get, I don't know, used to them. I hear that the dreams are worse for those who join during a Blight."
"Oh, wonderful," came the snide reply as Adela rubbed at her eyes.
"Another thing is that you won't have to worry about the dreams for too long," the elf lifted her head. "The taint…it's a death sentence. We've an average of thirty years to live after the joining."
He watched the emotion that skittered across the young elf's face - betrayal, anger - and he felt a moment of pity. After all, Adela was very young. And elves, even those born in the city - tended to live longer natural lives than humans did.
"Any more secrets?" the elf managed to grate between her teeth. Yup, Alistair thought, she's angry.
The young man shrugged his shoulders, pushing down his irritation at the elf. You have your own secrets, he thought bitterly. "Well…you will notice an increase in appetite." he grinned at that. The girl still ate like a bird, in his opinion. "The taint does something to our metabolism and we tend to use up energy quicker than normal. So, we need to refuel often." Adela nodded. "We can sense the darkspawn, although I believe you already knew that." Again, the elf nodded in the affirmative, her eyes turned away from her friend. "And, well," he ran a hand over his hair. "I know there are other secrets, although to tell the truth I don't know them." He held up a hand defensively. "I hadn't been a Warden much longer than you, and Duncan told me that I'd learn all there was to know over a year's time."
A mosquito buzzed by Adela's ear and she swiped it away irritably. "So, there are even more secrets out there." she hung her head, reaching into her tunic and pulling out the silver halla charm. Alistair watched as she turned the charm over in her hands.
"That's," he gestured to the charm, "very pretty." he watched her hands stop moving. "May I?"
She paused, then gently placed it into his hands. Alistair turned it over, marveling at the detail of the creature. It reminded him of a deer, but with long curving horns, and a tail more like a horse than a deer. The face also seemed more intelligent, wiser than a deer. "What is it?" he asked, awed by the fine detail of the item.
Adela smiled, taking it from his hands, running her fingers over it lovingly. "It's a halla." she looked up. "The Dalish and the halla have a…symbiotic relationship. The halla guide the Dalish on their journeys and pull the aravels, and the Dalish take care of them."
"Aravels?"
"Land ships," Adela clarified, her hand closing around the charm, bowing her head. "Something like wagons, but Aravels are the homes of the Dalish."
Alistair nodded, letting the ensuing silence settled in for a few moments.
"Adela?" she raised her head to look at Alistair. "Do you feel like talking?"
She shrugged. "How do you feel?" she asked him, turning it around. He appeared surprised. "I mean," she frowned, her eyes going back to the charm. "About Duncan. I know he was important to you, probably even a father figure…"
"You don't need to," Alistair replied, putting a hand over both of hers. "I know you didn't know him long."
She smiled, shrugging up one shoulder. "I knew him long enough to know he was a good man who had to make tough decisions. One who knew his duty and did what he could to follow it while still maintaining his humanity." She looked into Alistair's eyes, and the young man once again found himself lost in their depths.
"He…he was very important to me," he admitted. Okay…"What about you?" Adela tilted her head. "I know you…Cailan was important to you…" he felt the heat of a blush rise on his face. Great, great…
A frown marred her features. "What do you mean?"
"I…well, I mean…" Alistair stammered, not sure what exactly he meant. Were you the king's lover? That was what he really wanted to know, but could not just come right out and ask.
Her face darkened somewhat. "Are you implying that I was…the king's…?" Alistair noticed she stammered, anger heavy in her voice.
"I…I just meant…" and Adela rounded on him.
"What? An elf could only be a human man's whore?" she snarled out, leaping from her perch.
"No!" Alistair reached over and grabbed her hands. "I'm sorry, Adela. It's just…" he frowned. "I know of Cailan's reputation…"
She freed a hand and raised it, delivering a resounding slap across Alistair's face. He stood there, stunned. Angrily, the elf said, "Those are all lies!" she hissed. "You don't…didn't know Cailan and anyone who would spread such vicious lies certainly didn't know him." she was shaking with anger, fear, and grief. Alistair stood there, staring down at the tiny elf.
"Cailan loved Anora, and she loved him!" she declared, jabbing a finger in Alistair's chest. "And I was fortunate to be his friend." he noticed she tightened her grip on the halla charm. "I've known Cailan since I was a child. Just as I've known Loghain…" she stopped, tears running freely down her face, her eyes glued to the charm in her hand. "I've known Loghain since I was a child," she said in shuddering whispered tones, tears falling upon her hands, upon the charm. "Loghain would never…"
Confused, Alistair stepped forward, covering both her hands with one of his, the other on her shoulder. "Adela," he whispered. "I am sorry." she raised her tear-filled eyes to his. "I am sorry about Cailan, about…coming to the wrong conclusion." he smiled weakly. "You're right. I didn't know him. Not as well as I would have liked to, anyway," he flushed a bit, glancing down at his feet. "And I guess knowing you knew him, and having heard the rumors, and seeing how pretty you are…" he shook his head. "I was wrong, and I apologize."
Adela nodded, her eyes going back to the charm.
"But, Adela, Loghain did betray us," he persisted. "He left the field, and let Cailan and Duncan, all the wardens and all those soldiers to die!"
Adela shook her head, her eyes snapping up, no longer filled only with sorrow, but tinged with anger as well. "We don't know that!" she grated out. "Cailan was his son in law, his daughter's husband, I…"
His grip on her tightening, he gave her a shake. "He left the field, Adela!" Why won't she listen? "We lit the beacon in time, the signal was given. His troops should have entered the battle as planned and slaughtered the darkspawn and prevented Cailan and Duncan from dying!"
"Something must have happened!" Adela persisted, yanking herself out of his grip, glaring up at him.
To his own horror, he pushed the smaller elf back, causing her to stumble. "He was a coward or a power hungry fiend," he hissed in her startled face. "Either way, he deserted us all - left you - to die!"
"He wouldn't…" came the weak whisper, the elf's eyes falling back to her hands. Alistair dropped his gaze to her hands as well. The significance of the charm she held became clear to him. Anger, sorrow, jealousy - all fought for dominance of the man's emotions. Maybe it wasn't Cailan who had been her lover after all.
He just stared at the downtrodden woman, watching as she took shuddering breaths. Guilt overtook him. He couldn't blame her for her feelings, he realized. She had known both the king and Loghain far longer than he had Duncan. And being presented with the possibility that someone she cared for had betrayed them all? Alistair stepped forward, and felt a small twinge of pain as his friend took a small step back, away from him.
"I'm sorry, Adela," the young man whispered, taking another step. She did not move away this time, and allowed him to put his arms around her and pull her against him in a hug. Sobbing, still clutching the charm Loghain had given her, the elf buried her face in Alistair's chest.
In the darkness of the woods, with a blanket of stars twinkling above, the young Warden stood with his arms around his elven friend, his cheek upon her bowed head, his own tears leaking from his eyes and sliding down across his nose and cheekbone, as his own sorrow overtook him.