Chapter 3. Eyes Above

Two days. Two days on the road, riding behind Cailan. And I mean, literally, riding behind Cailan. On the same horse. Thank God—Er the Maker?—he doesn't have super hearing, because if he did, he'd hear my heart hammering every time I get too close. My chest pressed against his back, my arms wrapped around him for balance. I'd tried not holding on at first, but it turns out I don't take to riding a horse like a fish takes to water. I had no choice but to cling to him to avoid falling off and, you know, dying.

Because that'd be my luck. Surviving a fall from the heavens only to die by falling a couple of feet from the ground. That'd be a real tragic story.

I try to focus on the scenery—rolling hills, forests, the occasional wild animal trying to kill us—but none of it does anything to distract from my personal crisis. You know, the one where I'm stuck in a world full of darkspawn, ancient mages, and a handsome, doomed prince who really should stop looking at me the way he does. And it's only the second day.

We stopped for the night, and the crew began setting up camp. As always, Cailan gravitated around me, like he was worried I might vanish if he looked away too long. I tried not to get in anyone's way. I had meant what I told him in the beginning: I wanted to earn my keep. So I made sure to help where I could—setting up those big, elaborate tents took a lot of hands, and after enough time watching the soldiers, I'd gotten pretty good at it.

Starting fires? Well, that's a different story.

It surprised the soldiers in Cailan's retinue that I didn't know how to start a fire. Some of them teased me. I think most of them assumed I was a noblewoman from my world, and I couldn't exactly explain that in my world we didn't need fire all that often—what with stoves running on electricity. Yeah, good luck explaining that one.

But Cailan? He just kept smiling, that charming, disarming smile of his, like he had some kind of obligation to be nice. And every time he did, I felt like an idiot. Every. Damn. Time. It's like I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out, and the more I let my guard down, the more he leans in. It's a cruel joke, honestly. I can't be attracted to him. I shouldn't be.

I know how this ends.

I know that, at some point in the near future, Cailan's going to die at Ostagar. He's not going to make it out of that battle. And as much as I try to push it away, as much as I try to remind myself that I'm just some random stranger in his world, it doesn't stop the way my heart does flip-flops when he speaks to me. Or when he looks at me.

Right now, though, he's staring at me like I'm some kind of puzzle. I can't tell if he's intrigued or just wondering if I've gone a little mad. Maybe both.

"You seem lost in thought," he says casually, his voice smooth and warm, cutting through my spiraling thoughts like a knife through butter.

"Yeah, I was just wondering how Ferelden's road system works," I reply, far too snarky for my own good. It's a defense mechanism. Please, don't notice me. Don't notice me. "Two weeks. It'll take two weeks to reach Denerim. How long does it take to travel anywhere around here? It just feels like... well, a lot longer than it looks on a map."

Cailan chuckles, like it's some kind of joke I've missed. "Well, we're just north of the Korcari Wilds now. Won't cross into them, but we're close. Word came to the capital about a darkspawn raid, which is why we've been out here. Normally, it wouldn't take us this long, but we've got soldiers to manage."

I stop mid-breath. "The Korcari Wilds?"

My heart gives an uncomfortable lurch. The Korcari Wilds. The dark, mysterious woods so thick with ancient magic that even the bravest Ferelden soldiers steer clear of them? The same Wilds where—oh, I don't know—Morrigan might live?

And Flemeth. How could I forget Flemeth?

I force myself to breathe, pretending my stomach isn't twisting into a knot. I've been trying to keep my cool about this whole situation, but the longer I'm here, the weirder it gets. And it doesn't help that Cailan's proximity makes my head spin. I've been trying to keep my distance, not giving him any more reason to notice me than he already has, but... well, that's not working out so well.

His brow furrows. "What's wrong, have you heard of them?"

"No, of course not," I mutter, glancing around, like I can distract myself from the uncomfortable weight that's settling over me. The dark birds flying overhead no longer seem like a peaceful scene, but spies, "Just... feels like we're being watched."

Cailan raises an eyebrow, clearly unsure if I'm messing with him or not. "You mean the ravens circling us? Not uncommon in these parts. They're probably just looking for food."

I'm not sure whether I should admit that my suspicion is more than just about some birds. The ravens could just be ravens, of course. But I can't shake the feeling that someone—something—is watching us. Or me, more specifically.

"So, how often do you get these darkspawn raids? Seems like an awful lot of work for a couple of monsters every year," I say, trying to sound casual. What I really want to ask is if he thinks Morrigan or Flemeth might have seen me land in Ferelden in the first place, but that's a whole different can of worms. If I told him I knew Ferelden's fate—his fate—because I saw it all play out in a world where it was make-believe... well, that's a conversation I'd rather avoid.

Cailan shrugs, "Darkspawn raids? They're not exactly common, but they happen. A raid or two every other year or so. We don't have Grey Wardens to deal with it, though, which makes things a lot more difficult."

"Grey Wardens?" I hated having to ask, considering I probably know more about them than he does. But I can't afford to blow my cover. I have to stick to my "know nothing" plan.

"Uh, yeah, the Grey Wardens are the ones who fight the darkspawn, stop the Blight," he explains, glancing over at me like he just remembered I fell out of the sky and didn't actually know any of this. "But Ferelden doesn't have its own. Grey Wardens were banished from Ferelden a long time ago, after one of their leaders tried to overthrow the king of their time."

"Well, you're the king now, why don't you lift the banishment?"

"I would," he says with a sigh, his voice softening just slightly, "but it's not just up to me. Loghain thinks Ferelden should be self-sufficient. He doesn't believe we should need foreigners to handle our problems, even if it's to fight darkspawn."

My stomach tightens at the mention of Loghain. I know the monster he will one day become. The idea that I'm moving closer to him with every passing day is unsettling. But not nearly as unsettling as trying to survive on my own out here. I wouldn't last a minute.

"I take it you don't agree with him?" I ask, glancing over at him.

Cailan looks at me for a moment, as if trying to decide how much of himself to reveal. I try not to meet his gaze too directly, but I can't seem to stop myself.

"No," he says softly, looking away again. "But I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

"You're the king." I state the obvious, flatly.

Cailan looks out over the fire, eyes focused ahead. "Yes, I am the king. But I've only been the king for a little less than a year. Loghain has been a leader of this country since before I was born. He was my father's best friend. He's a big reason why Ferelden is free of Orlesian rule. I owe him the respect of considering his words, respecting his thoughts on this. If he says we can stand on our own, then we can. We'll make it true."

I hear the weight of his words, and I wonder what kind of pressure he's under, what kind of burden he carries as king. The responsibility, the politics, the duty.

"That's... convenient," I mutter, though mostly to myself. I can't help it. My sarcasm is reflex, even when I'm suddenly crushed by the weight of his honesty.

But Cailan just smiles, like he knows exactly what I'm doing. And for some godforsaken reason, that makes me like him even more. "You don't pull any punches, do you?" he says, his voice almost pleased.

"I'm not here to make friends," I reply quickly, hoping he doesn't hear the way my voice softens at the end. "I'm just passing through. Trying not to get killed by darkspawn or bad decisions. I'll let you handle all the political stuff."

He chuckles, and for a moment, it feels like the world slows down, like it's just the two of us, suspended in a fragile moment of understanding. But then he looks away, back toward the fire, and I feel a strange mix of relief and disappointment.

"Alright then," he says, teasing, "not here to make friends. I'll keep that in mind."

For the rest of the night, I focus on anything but him—the dark woods, the fading light, the distant sounds of the soldiers chatting behind us. I tell myself I'm fine. That I'm not letting him get to me. But deep down, I know the truth. I'm already in too deep.