Wakefulness comes upon her slowly, flickering at the edge of her consciousness before Talvinder understands what's happening. The hurt is the first thing that comes back to her, before even awareness. Everything aches, from the inside of her lungs to the back of her head to the center of her joints. The sensation spreads throughout every muscle, grips every bone in her body. The second sensation that comes to her is hunger, overwhelming and sharper even than the pain as her empty stomach stabs into the bottom of her ribcage.
With a groan, Talvinder brings an all too heavy hand to her head, rubbing at the tension in her brow before she blearily opens her eyes. A few slow blinks reveal the world to her once again, but the whole world seems bound up in the troop tent in which she lays now. When Tali turns her head to the side, trying to ignore the pounding sensation behind her eyes, she is met with the sight of several bedrolls tied and folded, stacked amongst armor and saddlebags and a few sparse personal possessions. Still trying to gather the full picture of her surroundings—and aware now that this tent is not, in fact, the whole world, Tali turns her head to the other side, clenching her jaw against the soreness in her neck.
She sees another bedroll, making the total three (without counting the one she suddenly realizes she's lying on, too). Atop it, Savreen sits, cross legged and still, her hands on her knees and her dark eyes on Tali. In a rush, too much of a rush, Tali scrambles into a sitting position. Her head rewards her with a sharp pang at the movement, and she feels as though her brain is sloshing about within her skull.
"About time you woke up," Sav says as Tali focuses on willing the pain away. She stares up at a fixed point in the tent's canvas ceiling, wondering how long until the sensation will vanish, but also how, exactly, she and Sav ended up here. Talvinder recalls nothing after the Joining, let alone making her way to this smallish tent. "It's midday," continues Savreen, speaking slowly. It's as if she knows exactly how the inside of Tali's head feels, which, upon reflection, Tali realizes she probably does. "I've been up for hours already." Only as Sav finishes speaking does Tali hear the strange tension in her cousin's voice, and she focuses on Sav now, narrowing her eyes as she looks into her face. It's as though Savreen is trying to tease Talvinder, to make light of the situation, but there is too much relief in her smile, too much trepidation in the taut line of her shoulders.
It makes the previous night flash in front of Talvinder's eyes. Daveth, Jory, the taste of the Darkspawn blood on her lips, the smell of bile and rot. Panic overtakes her, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she recalls Sav's trembling body in front of her.
"Tali, look at me." Sav's voice is gentle, as is her hand when she reaches out to touch Tali's. Slowly, Tali complies, but her dream—her nightmare—of Duncan and Alistair, turning to Darkspawn before her, haunts her. She wonders if Sav will be one, too, when her eyes open once more.
What little light that illumines the inside of the tent, however, promptly disabuses Tali of this notion, to her immense relief. Savreen's face is unmarred, her brown skin shadowed in the dim light but still her own. She has changed, out of the clothes she has been wearing since they fled Highever Keep, and now she wears a set of salwar and a plain linen shirt. As Talvinder's heart calms, the gentle scent of soap drowns out her memories of the night before, washing the blood and bile and rot from her mind. She gives Sav a slightly quizzical look, uncertain of the smell's origin, but then she notices the faint shine of dampness on Sav's oiled curls. Her cousin has bathed, that much is clear. And Tali is in need of bathing herself, the point hammered home as as she brings a hand to scratch her head and finds blood still dried and crusted into her braid. It leaves flakes on her fingers as she draws them away, and Jory's eyes flash in her mind once more.
As if to break the tension of the moment and distract Talvinder from the blood on her hands, Savreen twists to the side, grabbing something and then throwing it into Tali's lap before speaking with a voice of manufactured cheer.
"I got you some new clothes. I know we need everything we've got right now but…that nightshirt is done for, I think." Tali nods, but still she is sad to part with the nightshirt, so sad to part with anything—even ripped and bloodstained—that she has brought with her from Highever. She brings a hand up to feel the healing cut to her shoulder, the crusty fabric of the shirt making it only too plain that Savreen is right. Of course she is. "And another thing." Savreen reaches to her other side and grabs another pile of something, grunting slightly at its weight as she shunts it off onto Tali's bedroll.
It's a new gambeson, of the same blue quilted and studded kind worn by Duncan and Alistair. A Warden gambeson, and a shirt of mail. And with it, Tali sees her char-aina, but—
"It's still your old chest plate. Duncan had the Warden sigil engraved on it and the armorer replaced the leather strapping, cleaned the thing up a bit. Apparently, they would usually make us new armor, but…" Outside, someone shouts. A cart hurries past on creaking wheels. The clank of boots hurries past. "Well. An induction on the eve of battle is not the usual, or so I am told." Sitting there, Tali can't help but run her fingers, soft and slow, against the metal, feeling every new curve and divot, tracing the lines of the twin griffons now emblazoned on her armor. The Grey Warden sigil. She is a Grey Warden. A real, live, Grey Warden. She shifts, uncomfortable, and catches a whiff of the dried blood still clinging to her, wrinkles her nose. A Grey Warden in desperate need of a bath. And she would die for a crumb of food. Again, she looks around the tent, trying to believe it all, unsure of what to say or do. After the silence drags on, a minute, two minutes, Sav clears her throat.
"About everything, Tali I—" It is at that moment that someone pulls aside the canvas flaps of the tent, startling Tali and Sav, blinding them both with sudden unadulterated sun. Tali blinks, her eyes watering, and throws up a hand, trying to block out at least some of the light that now burns into her eyes.
"You are both awake now. Good." There is genuine relief in Duncan's voice, and it is a bit of a surprise to Tali, given everything that happened the night before. The commander—her commander—ties the tent flap open, much to Tali's chagrin as she blinks away searing light, and comes to sit cross legged in front of her and Sav. Behind him, Alistair follows, stooped and bent, though his hair brushes the canvas ceiling of the tent nonetheless. He sits as well, folding his legs up awkwardly. His eyes dart across Tali and Sav's forms as he slouches in front of them, arms around his knees. "How do you feel?" Duncan's eyes are appraising, as though he's looking for any sign that the Joining didn't take, trying to figure out exactly what's wrong, if anything is. Tali opens her mouth, but it is Sav who speaks first.
"I am sorry you had to kill ser Jory like that. He was a volunteer." Her lips are pursed, and there is distaste in her eyes, but it is coupled with understanding. Duncan sighs, rubs his jaw, and looks at the ground for a brief moment as he decides how to respond.
"Jory was warned, as were you all, that there was no turning back. But when he went for his blade, he left me no choice. It is the way of our order to keep the Joining a secret: to come before the chalice is a binding agreement to fulfill the ceremony or to die in the process. It has always been so, since the days of the First Blight." Weariness seeps into his voice, and though he speaks with conviction, clearly believing the truth of his words, he does not meet Tali or Sav's eyes. Rather, he looks just above, just to the side, just below. "The Blight…"
Here he pauses, looking down at his hands. Tali finds her gaze drawn to his hip, where she sees with confusion that one of his daggers is different, a completely new sheath, new hilt, polished and alien and reflecting sunlight up into Tali's face. She cannot see the dagger with which he slit Jory's throat. When he looks back up, Duncan looks straight into each of their eyes, face grim, mouth set in a firm line. "The Blight demands sacrifices from us all. You stand here as proof that they are not all made in vain." He lets the words seep in before continuing, and though his actions weigh heavily on all present, so does his regret. It is enough for Savreen, who nods. Duncan continues.
"Even so. I know that death is never easy to accept, especially when it arrives in such a brutal fashion. Honor your comrades if you wish, however you wish, but know that we must press forward. Always, we must press forward." Duncan stands, having said his piece, and claps a hand on Alistair's back. He begins moving toward the exit to the tent, where he pauses, turning back one last time. "Take some time, take some rest. Your hounds have been fed and rested at the kennels, and you may retrieve them at your leisure. But in the evening, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king. He has asked for your presence."
"What kind of meeting? Why?" Sav's brow is furrowed as she asks, a touch of suspicion in her voice, and Tali's stomach gurgles and grumbles uncomfortably loud at the same moment. The sound is mostly covered by Sav's voice, but even so, Tali feels her face redden, wraps her arms around her midriff, and avoids Alistair's gaze when he glances her way.
"The king wishes to discuss strategy and tactics for the upcoming battle. I am not entirely sure why he has requested your presence, but it is not mine to question why. In any case, it will be to the west, down the stairs and into the central citadel of Ostagar. Be there at sunset. Until then, it is customary to celebrate a successful Joining, as I believe Alistair will tell you, and your fellow Wardens, when you meet them. There is much for you to know, and I suspect—" Tali's stomach groans once again, and she cannot help but interrupt.
"Can we find food, soon?" Duncan chuckles, unfazed by the interjection.
"The others went hunting to prepare for your celebration, and to preserve my sanity, but they should return soon. In the meantime, you'll have to make do. Until then, I leave you with Alistair." His business with them apparently concluded, Duncan leaves them with Alistair. Tali and Sav look to him, their new fellow Warden, as he sits there silent, eyebrows raised, lips shoved together and out. They look like a duck's bill, pressed as they are into an over-exaggerated pout. He looks back and forth between Talvinder and Savreen, and they look at him, and each of them waits expectantly for another to say something. When it finally becomes clear that neither Tali nor Sav will speak first, Alistair sighs and looks away, rubbing his hand across his chin and jaw. He speaks in a tone that suggests his lack of preparedness: clearly, he had expected the two of them to ask questions.
"Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died but it was—" a shudder runs through his shoulders— "it was horrible. I'm glad the two of you made it through. It's…it can be hard." Once more silence falls. There's a faint expression of panic in Alistair's eyes now as he casts about for his next words. Something about the quiet is uneasy—none of them are quite comfortable enough yet to tolerate the endless silence, but neither can they break the stillness. After a few moments, though, Alistair claps a hand to his forehead as though he's just remembered something.
"I knew I would forget. There's one last thing, one last part to your Joining." He rummages in a pocket tied to his belt, and, careful not to tangle them, pulls out two sturdy chain necklaces, strung with vials that resemble the one Duncan wore last night, though less ornate. "We take some of the Darkspawn blood, collected for the Joining, and put it in a pendant. It's just…just a tradition. Something to remind us of those who—who didn't make it this far." As Alistair holds out his hand, chains looped around his palm, the pendants swing in lazy circles. Tali thinks, for a moment, that she can hear—no, feel?—something like whispering, singing, coming from the blood inside, but she shakes her head slightly as she takes one of the chains and affixes it around her neck, and the sound retreats to the back of her mind. Sav does the same, and then the two of them look back to Alistair, who asks:
"Well, what do you want to know?" The cousins look at each other, confused.
"What should we know? Where do we even begin?" Savreen is strangely hesitant when she speaks, hesitant and unsure.
"Ah. Well. I'll…I'll start with basics, then? If you aren't already hungry—" Tali's stomach grumbles again as he speaks, as though responding for her.
"We are," Sav says pointedly. Alistair smiles a little crookedly, apologetically.
"Well, if you weren't hungry when you'd woken, you soon would have been. The Joining does that. What's happened is—it's like the taint rips through you, puts your body through all the fever and sickness at once, exhausts you and wears you out. I'm sure you've heard stories of people getting blighted by small pockets of Darkspawn that come out of the Deep Roads every now and then." He chews his lip a little, fidgeting with his fingers as he continues. "The way they explained it to me was that, when you survive, it's because your body and mind were stronger than the taint, stronger than the Blight. There's something about a deeper connection to the Fade, whether or not you're a mage—magic, or the potential for magic, gives someone a better chance of mastering the taint and controlling it. But when you don't survive it…it's…well…it's not, uh—it's not pretty." A massive understatement, one that makes Tali struggle not to snort and roll her eyes. She doesn't think that would be in good taste, not as she remembers Daveth's face. His innards.
"We saw," Savreen answers, diplomatically. Alistair presses his lips together, lowers his eyes, looks down at the ground.
"About Daveth, I—" Words seem to come slowly to him, as he works through what to say. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It never gets easier, and it's never easy to forget." Tali can't imagine it ever getting easier; in some ways, she's glad it doesn't, glad that being a Warden doesn't numb one to the horror and loss and bloodshed, even though Alistair still seems apologetic, as though the two of them have been duped into this horrific reality where they will see such death again and again. She shakes her head a bit.
"That's some small comfort, in a way." Alistair looks up, at her, really looks at her, and Tali finds herself wanting to squirm, to shrink away from the gaze of his warm, brown eyes. She looks quickly to the side when she can bear it no longer, heat flaring up her neck. "You—uh—you mentioned that the Joining would make us hungry, tired. Does it do anything else?" In response, Alistair rubs the back of his neck and the top of his shoulder a little ruefully as he tries to figure out what to say once more. It is now that Tali really notices he's once again out of his armor, wearing a simple rough-spun shirt that is tied shut low on his neck in a messy bow, tucked haphazardly into his pants. It suits him, she thinks, though quickly she stops herself, smacks the thoughts back. It's inappropriate now, in so many ways, when she barely knows him and her family is gone and she still hasn't apologized to Sav. Why is she thinking about a boy who looks nice? This is ridiculous.
"Well," he begins to answer, forcing Tali to move on from her distraction, anchoring her back in their conversation. "It will make you tired now, but soon you'll need less sleep, be able to run faster, fight harder. Grey Warden stamina is, ah, legendary, though in some…less polite ways." His ears are reddening, and Tali doesn't quite catch what he means until she sees Sav rolling her eyes. Oh. Oh. Tali reddens a bit, but thankfully Alistair doesn't linger. "You feel pain a little less, but you also feel most other things less, too. The hunger—" Tali's stomach grumbles, and Sav's echoes, punctuating Alistair's words with comical timing. "The hunger you feel now, that doesn't fully go away, not like the tiredness. You just start to feel it less, too, and you get used to it. It's right annoying at times, though, especially when you're on the road." He pauses here, looking as though he's unsure how to break the next bit of news. Eventually, though, after chewing on his lip for a little while, he figures it out.
"You know that we can sense Darkspawn. It's sort of like—well it's as if you can both feel and hear, when they're near. You'll feel it soon, if you can't already, though it's hard to test now when there aren't any around. And you can feel them when you're awake as well as when you're asleep." Nightmares. He means nightmares, he must mean nightmares. Talvinder nods, trying not to think of the teeth and the flesh and the rot she's already seen, not just in Alistair and Duncan's flesh, but deep, deep underground. But nightmares are a small price to pay, in the end, when she's still alive. Besides, she has other nightmares—and what can be worse, really, than what she's already seen, than her memories of Howe's men at Highever keep?
"I know that's already a lot to handle, but it's all you need to know for now. We'll deal with anything else as it comes." Alistair pauses for a heartbeat, waiting to see if either of the cousins has another question, but they both remain silent, and so he continues. "Anyway, moving on: you already both know how to fight, and there's not much different about fighting or killing Darkspawn, so there's no real point in putting you through any training. Most of the Wardens here haven't—" He's interrupted by a series of shouts and laughs outside the tent, closer than any previous noise as well as far louder and more raucous. Armor, chain and plate, clanks against itself as someone argues in the background, several paces farther away. Someone else—the armor wearer, most likely—laughs, and a third voice teases, but the cacophony makes any words indistinguishable from each other.
The sounds rapidly grow louder, closer, and almost before it should be possible, they're right outside the tent. A huge figure blocks out the entrance, continuing their booming laughter, and it takes a moment for Tali to see them, backlit as they are by the sunlight. Before she's fully focused in on the figure, they've let out a cry, reaching forward to grab Alistair.
"Alistair! There's the petit rascal!" Her voice is heavy, dripping with its Orlesian accent, the tone of it honeyed by the way her smile stretches her mouth, and the large woman—even taller and broader than Alistair and Talvinder—part walks, part crouches, part crawls to enfold Alistair in a tight hug, fluffing his hair with a wide, gauntleted hand. Her tight grip seems to make Alistair's eyes bulge, and he ineffectually pats at her arm, twisting his forearm up awkwardly under her grip.
"Huguette, how delightful." His voice squeezes out of him in a wheeze, and Tali can't help but think about Fergus. It feels a silly thing, but it flares and sticks in her throat nevertheless. "Would you please stop trying to juice me now?" Now given a name, Huguette tips her head back and laughs uproariously once more, in brassy, pealing notes. Her movement highlights the strength of her frame, lengthening and stretching the corded muscle of her neck, showing just how broad her shoulders are. The bright red mass of her hair shifts against her light, peachy skin, moving as she does, cascading over her shoulder and revealing pointed ears. Before she lets Alistair go, though, she pulls him tighter, arm shifting up around his shoulders, and ruffles his hair even more vigorously.
Tali's heart aches. The memories feel swollen in her throat, ready to teeter into tears at any moment. Fergus, pulling her into a headlock when he beat her on the training field. Fergus, mussing her carefully pinned hair when she stuck her tongue out at him while still mistakenly in arm's reach. Fergus, her brother, her family, her home. They steal the breath from her lungs, leaving her unsteady, lightheaded, not completely here. That sudden bereft feeling does not vanish as Talvinder would like when Alistair pries himself free from Huguette's grip at last. It does not vanish when the other Warden laughs at his spiked and disheveled hair. It does not vanish as Alistair hurriedly tries to smooth that hair back into place, looking distinctly displeased—oh, such a familiar feeling. If anything, it feels stronger.
Finally, Talvinder's mind is distracted when Huguette claps Alistair heavily on the back and begins to speak.
"We were wondering why you did not choose to go on the hunt with us, little Alistair!" Alistair tries to hide the embarrassment on his face at being called 'little,' but the way his eyes tellingly flick back and forth between Tali and Sav—as though hoping they aren't still there—gives him away. "You were gone when we all awoke this morning. You did not even tell us how the Joining went! Pour la honte!" Only as Huguette finishes speaking does she notice the direction of Alistair's gaze, following it to Tali and Sav. Still trying to right the direction of his hair, Alistair answers her by gesturing pointedly at the two new recruits—the two new Wardens.
Huguette does not wait for Alistair to speak, not as she takes in the new Warden gambesons and armor in Tali and Sav's possession. She glances around, as though looking for Daveth and Jory to be hiding in a dark corner of the tent, behind a pole, anywhere. "Only deux? Out of quatre?" She shakes her head, mouth pressed tight in displeasure. "It is always hard to lose recruits in the Joining. Je suis désolé mes amis." But then the displeasure is gone, and she smiles again, reaching out to clap a large palm on Alistair's shoulders once more. He dodges.
"But we do not always mope, not in the Grey Wardens! Non, today we celebrate those who made it through." Huguette reaches forward then, moving to her knees to land her heavy hands on one each of Tali's and Sav's shoulders at the same time. "It is wonderful to meet you, mes amis. But I should get going now. These Fereldan fools don't know how to season their venison! I cannot let them start cooking without me. Or whatever they do that they think is cooking. Jusqu'à plus tard, as we say in Orlais!" She leaves in a whirlwind, much as she entered, and it is only after she has gone that Tali realizes that she and Sav never even managed to get a word in, let alone their names.
"Welp," Alistair is still fidgeting and fiddling with his hair as he speaks, faint patches of red on the tips of his ears, nose, cheeks. "You've just met the illustrious Huguette Bonnay. Wish I could say all the others are as nice as she is, but, alas. That would be a lie and would in no way prepare you for Roderick. Let's just hope for all our sakes he isn't too cranky by the time the meat is cooked." At last he seems to be relatively happy with his hair again, or at least he's given up for now. "Is there, uh, anything else you need? Want? To know, that is. I'd love to be able to conjure whatever you want and-or need, but. No mage fingers here." As if to illustrate his point, Alistair wiggles his fingers. They are distinctly void of magic.
Tali clears her throat, once more painfully aware of the crusty feeling of blood in her hair, of the way it's plastered and dried to her skin and the back of her neck.
"Do we have time—that is, I need to bathe."
"Oh, yes. The river that runs through camp is guarded, but it's cold as the Maker's balls. I mean—that is—" Alistair speaks almost faster than his mind can catch up with his mouth, and Tali can see him panicking as he realizes he's been crass in front of two women. Two high-born women, whom he hardly knows. "Um, I mean, it's—"
"Do you have our bags, then? The bags we brought from Highever?" Tali finds her own face heating despite herself, embarrassed by Alistair's embarrassment as she interrupts, trying to divert the conversation, to save Alistair from himself.
"Oh, Alistair gave them to me this morning, Tali. I have yours he—" As Sav reaches to the side, twisting to grab Tali's bag, Alistair lurches to his feet.
"Right so I'll just. I'll be off, then." Before he can go, though, Sav turns and calls out one last question.
"Could you tell us…would you mind telling us, that is, where—where Daveth and Jory are? We would like…that is, we would like to pray." Alistair pauses, a little startled by the question, but he shakes away the surprise and answers.
"Oh. Oh, yes. They are—um—they're by the temple, the one from last night. There's—that's where—the Darkspawn got a few other scouts, so that's where—yeah. Is that it?" Sav nods, and before Tali has the chance to ask anything else, Alistair is gone, out into the sunlight.
"I think he's scared of us," Sav says, her voice nearly deadpan. At that, Tali finally does snort, half a smile tugging at her lips. "Anyway. The quartermaster gave me a round of soap this morning, which you're welcome to share. Alistair was right, though, the river is freezing. Colder even than the other day." Tali shrugs. Freezing or no, she needs to be clean. Whether it's real or imagined, the blood is starting to make her scalp itch, and she roots through her bag until she finds her kangha, then pulls out a pair of kachera while she's at it. "Would you like me to come with you?" Sav asks the question quietly, as though she's almost unsure whether she should, and Tali looks up at her, lips parted in surprise, brow furrowed. Sav's hand is raised, holding out a small round of Orlesian soap as she looks away from Tali.
"I—yes. I would like that. I don't…I do not wish to bathe alone." It's an excuse to have Savreen's company, but it's a reasonable one. Before her cousin can question it, Tali reaches out and takes the soap from her hand—it smells faintly of rosemary and mint and oatmeal—then bundles her new clothes into her arms, sets aside the gambeson and her bag and her char-aina, and begins to stand. There is less tension now, less tension since she asked Sav to come with her, but there are still things to say, and she cannot quite figure out how to say them, not as she stands, not as she leaves the tent, Sav behind her, not as they walk silently through the camp and down to the river.
Sav and Alistair were right. The river is colder than Andraste's bloody tits, but that doesn't stop Tali from sinking down into the water with a groan of relief. She rubs the grime from her body, amazed at how much has accumulated in the span of about a day and a half, since last she washed. Then again, that was before Sav and she had found soap, and to boot they'd had to put their old, dirty clothes back on, still smelling of horse and sweat and travel. Now, she has the time to luxuriate in the water, in the feeling of cleanliness, even if it is icy, even if it does set her toes and fingers to tingling by the time she's unbraided her hair and begun to comb and wash it clean in the soft eddies of the sheltered swimming hole, painstakingly working through the strands until she's satisfied that it's impossible any blood is left. It's not as thorough as she would like—there's none of the usual bottles of herbed oils, the creams that smell like soft warm spices, the scrubs that Tali would gladly die for—but it is enough. On the bank, Sav sits, fidgeting with her hair, taking it down and winding it back up, indecisive but silent.
By the time Tali is done washing, by the time she really finally feels clean, the round of soap is almost gone and her fingers are slightly numb, the skin gone wrinkled and pruny. She swims back to the bank, and as she leaves the water, her teeth start to chatter in the faint breeze. Having bathed with Sav many a time before allows her to stand there, shivering slightly as she drips dry, combing out her hair, without embarrassment. But Tali does find herself getting colder, and she hurries through the combing, winding her hair into a quick braid at the end. Her clothes, though, are mercifully warmed by the sun, and she pulls them on gladly, tossing the last bit of soap into the pile of her dirty old clothes. Finally cleaned and dressed, without blood in her hair and lacking most of the aches in her muscles (but not the painful emptiness in her stomach), Tali sits down on the grass, throws her arms wide and lays back, eyes closed.
Sav laughs slightly as Tali rips up blades of grass, feeling the sun heat her skin, bringing it back to warmth.
"Do you intend to stay there, then?" Her cousin asks, and Tali nods, grunting out an affirmative mm—hmm. She forgets, for a moment, swimming in that sunlit rest, half between waking and sleep. She forgets Highever and Howe and Fergus in the Wilds and the Wardens and her fight with Sav. When Sav stands up next to her, though, crunches a twig beneath her feet and sighs, Tali's eyes open again, and she remembers.
"I'm going to go to the temple now," Sav says by way of explanation, and Tali nods and stands reluctantly, following her cousin without a word and taking her old clothes to dispose of. They make their way slowly through the encampment, which buzzes with early afternoon energy. Mercifully, Tali is able to grab a seed-cake from a provisioner, and while the slightly sweet, nutty flavor is pleasant, it's nowhere near as pleasant as feeling something in her stomach again. As they walk, there is movement everywhere around them, people going to and fro, preparing for the battle at the onset of night, carrying with them a cautious sort of optimism. Smiles are easy, if careful. No one expects to lose the upcoming battle, but neither do they blindly believe they'll take their lunch in the same spot tomorrow.
As Tali and Sav finally approach the ruined temple, Tali is struck by how much smaller it looks in the daylight. By its side, at the base of the broad set of stairs, there are five patches of freshly broken earth, five graves. Someone has laid a symbol of Andraste on each, in place of a headstone. Tali wonders, for a moment, which two are Daveth and Jory, and who the other three are. But it is less important than the prayer. Savreen begins the kirtan sohila, and Tali joins in almost seamlessly. She has said this kirtan too often for the dead, not often enough before sleep in the last week and a half. The words, though, are the same as they've always been, and she knows them by heart, lets them fall gently from her lips, her voice twining with Sav's. Tali wants to be more sad, to feel more for Daveth and Jory, but even as the guilt grows in her stomach, no tears rise to her eyes. Instead, as she and Sav finish the final shabad of the prayer and lapse into silence, Tali thinks about her brother, about Fergus, and her cousin, Sikander, and she feels the stab of hopeless impotence and frustration. There is nothing she can do, and it gnaws at her. But when she turns to Sav, Tali knows there is something else she can do, something she must do.
It is quiet, by the temple, and they are alone, and Tali is not used to apologizing like this, but she starts anyway.
"Sav, I—" Savreen stops her with a raised hand and shakes her head gently, still looking at the graves.
"I know, Tali." Her voice is tired, heavy.
"I should never have—"
"No, you shouldn't have." The shame is back, prickling and hot, and Tali can't look at Sav. Instead, she looks at the cheap pressed symbol on the center grave, at the copper sunburst glinting bright in the sunlight.
"I didn't mean—" Again, Sav shakes her head.
"No. I know you meant what you said, otherwise you would never have said it." Tali's heart sinks, through her stomach and down to her feet as she hears the anger, short and clipped in Sav's voice. "But I understand." Talvinder feels frozen, petrified. She wants to run and hide, but she knows she can't. She cannot hide from herself, from her grief, from the consequences of her selfishness—for that's what this is, what it must be. Sav says nothing as Tali wrestles with the thoughts jumbled in her head, and for a long time, they both stand there.
It is with trepidation that Tali asks her next question, the question whose answer she fears the most.
"Are you…are you angry at me?" Savreen is still. She is thinking, and even her breathing is quiet. When she speaks again, the diplomacy in her voice tells Tali the truth, even if her words don't.
"We both lost our family. And your anger…I lost the only person I could grieve with. I lost the only person I had left. We were together, but I was alone." She's right, of course she is. But Tali wishes she would speak more plainly, say what she wants to say, open up. Be honest. Still, the shame slides down her back like sweat. She wonders when, exactly, she became so accustomed to its prickling heat, when it became normal, familiar, even. "I don't expect you to deal with it all instantly, Talvinder. I never did. I never will. But you can't expect me to do the same." When Sav is finished speaking, the two of them simply stand there for a while. Tali wants to say something more, wants to push Sav to admit the truth, something, anything, so she can be honest. She would prefer Savreen to yell at her, to provoke a fight just so that the guilt might go away. But she doesn't.
"I'm sorry, Sav."
"I know." Sav reaches out a hand, grasps Tali's, and Tali wonders what it would be like if Fergus were here, or Sikander. Neither of them knows, she realizes with a start. They won't know for some time, not until after the battle, just as she doesn't know where they are. In some ways, she feels as though she is simply waiting as time moves around her with agonizing slowness. She waits for the battle to begin, waits for it to end, waits to be able to speak with her brother, waits to tell him and her cousin the news, waits and waits and waits. Tali has never liked waiting, and now she likes it even less. They stand like that, looking at the graves, lost in their own thoughts, until Alistair's voice pulls them from their shared reverie.
"You two are doing a very bad job of being the guests of honor at your own Joining celebration, you know. All the food will be gone if you don't hurry up." With one last glance at the graves, Tali and Sav turn and follow him, back through the camp, back to the Wardens.