Chapter 4: In Good Company

A few more days pass, and thankfully, I begin to adapt more and more. I no longer have to ride behind Cailan, something I am both grateful for and sad about. I try not to think about how I miss the extra warmth of being so close to him, or the way he always smells of pine. It's strange how much a simple thing like that sticks with you, especially when I know he and most of his men haven't bathed once in the past week.

I couldn't do it. A day or so into the trek, I had found a freezing cold brook and managed to "wash" myself down a bit more. No soap, nothing fancy, but the water at least helped me feel less grimy. And, bless the soldiers, they didn't comment on my smell. I'm choosing to believe that means I don't have one—or I might have lost my mind even more than I already have.

Over the past few days, I've begun connecting with some of the soldiers under Cailan's command. The long hours on horseback, with nothing but the sound of hooves against the dirt and the wind in your face, leave plenty of time for talking. Of course, most of them just keep to themselves, but there are a few who seem to have taken a cue from Cailan's casual treatment of me.

Gareth Fenwick, the youngest of the group, is always quick to make small talk when we ride alongside each other. He's a junior officer, the son of a lower-ranking noble, though he never goes into detail about his family. From what I gather, his family had fallen from grace in a scandal, and that's why he ended up in royal service. He's a bit of an idealist, always talking about what it means to serve the king, the country, the people. There's an earnestness to him that makes me think of Alistair's character in Dragon Age—and I can't help but find it sweet. He looks at Cailan like a hero, which, in a way, I suppose he is.

Then there's Tavi Aegis. He's not quite as forthcoming as Gareth, preferring the quiet of the woods to the chatter of the camp. The man is tall, almost unnervingly so, and built like a willow. I didn't think he'd be much of a fighter at first—too lanky, too quiet—but his skill with a bow is unmatched. He can hit a moving target on horseback with his eyes closed, and I know because I dared him to prove it yesterday. He has this eerie stillness about him, and even when he's not saying anything, there's a sharpness to him, like he's always listening for something beyond the sounds of the forest.

Tavi's a bit of a mystery, though. Growing up on the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds, he's one of those superstitious types who can read the forest as if it's a book. Sometimes, when we ride through the trees, I catch him glancing up at the birds, his gaze hard, his fingers twitching on the bowstring as if he feels something, or someone, watching. I know the feeling. It's like the air holds a secret, but neither of us knows what it is yet.

Erik Ryden is the oldest of the group, and when he speaks, people listen. He's in his mid-forties, been through more battles than the rest of us combined, and he's seen enough of the world to be unimpressed by pretty much everything. The soldiers don't come to him for pep talks or advice—they come for stories. He's great by the fire, regaling us with tales of old skirmishes and hard-fought victories. Most of the stories are so far removed from the reality I know that they sound like myths to me.

But there's a kind of gravitas to Erik that's hard to ignore. He's gruff and sarcastic, but when he talks about the old days, you can hear the weight of experience in his voice. It's not the tone of someone who's seen the horrors of war and come out unscathed—it's someone who's seen it and is tired. In a strange way, I feel safer with him around, even if he's mostly about getting the job done and moving on.

The hardest part of being on the road this long, aside from the smell of unwashed bodies (which, by the way, is its own kind of weapon in a close-knit camp), is the silence. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that settles in after days of travel, where no one has the energy for small talk. The rhythm of hooves on dirt, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the occasional snap of a twig—that's the kind of silence I mean.

But today, something's different. Maybe it's the early morning light—soft orange and pink—and the way it paints everything in a warm glow. Or maybe it's because we're nearing the end of the Korcari Wilds and the Brecilian Forest is just ahead. A deep breath in, and I can feel it. The tension. The anticipation. It's as if everyone is bracing for something they don't fully understand, but know is coming.

I glance up at Cailan, ahead of me as usual. He's a picture of poise, his back straight, his blue cloak billowing behind him like a flag of authority. Even the soldiers around him seem to draw strength from his presence. It's not just the kingly aura about him, though—there's something about the way he carries himself. The way every decision seems to weigh on him, as though the fate of the world rests on his shoulders.

I try not to think about it too much, but it's hard to ignore the way they all look at him, like he's more than just a man. The way he moves and speaks, it's as if he knows things they don't. I can't help but feel the pull of it.

I'm trying not to get attached. I'm trying not to let myself think that maybe there's more to this journey than the road ahead. But I know how it ends, and I'm not interested in sticking around long enough to experience the Blight.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Gareth says, pulling up alongside me, his horse slowing to match mine. I didn't even notice him approaching—he's quieter than a mouse.

He's been one of the easier soldiers to get along with. Young, but not too brash. He smiles easily and doesn't mind when I don't know how to do things, like start a fire, or use a sword, or, apparently, tie a decent knot. He's always patient with me, even when I mess things up, which makes me feel like an idiot.

"Just trying to figure out how to survive the Wilds without getting eaten by something, or worse, cursed by a witch," I say dryly, raising an eyebrow as I look toward the thick trees that seem to be watching us.

Gareth glances over his shoulder, eyes darting toward the shadowy forest, and his expression flickers, though I can't tell if it's amusement or just plain unease. "Worried about the Witch of the Wilds, are you?"

I snort. "You bet. I'm not in any hurry to find out if she likes her visitors as a main course."

Gareth laughs, his grin infectious. "If you do see her, just make sure you don't call her 'ugly.' That's apparently a good way to get cursed into a frog."

I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. "I'll keep that in mind. So, if I do see her, I should compliment her on her... how do you say it? Her 'elegant' fashion choices? Or is that just the curse-breaking technique?"

Gareth shrugs with mock seriousness. "It's all in the tone. You can't sound like you're mocking her, or you might wake up as a frog, or worse—a tree."

I shudder involuntarily at the thought, but there's a part of me that's grateful for the distraction. It's easy to get lost in the constant tension of the road, in the uncertainty of everything, and in the strange, growing pull I feel toward Cailan. But with Gareth, I don't have to think about any of it. We're just two people sharing a moment of absurdity, and that's something I desperately need right now.

The laughter fades from my lips as the quiet stretches between us. I glance around at the others, still unsure if I belong in this world, this place, with these people.

"How do you all do it?" I ask, without thinking. "How do you stay so calm? All of you, like nothing's out of the ordinary. But it's not... it's not normal, right? None of this is normal." I gesture around at the dense trees, the strange air of the wilds, the group of soldiers traveling through it like it's just another day on the job.

Gareth looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he's weighing something. Then he smiles that easy grin of his, the one that makes him look younger than he probably is. "We're just used to it," he says, his tone thoughtful but light. "Most people in Ferelden are. We don't have the luxury of ignoring the darkspawn threat. It's part of the deal, you know? Life's rough here, but we get by. And the king—" He pauses, his smile softening when he looks ahead at Cailan. "He's good at making sure we don't forget why we're doing this. Even if he's... different. He makes it easier."

I look over at Cailan too. His face is mostly unreadable, as usual. But there's a weight to his eyes today, something heavier than usual. Maybe it's because we're nearing Denerim, or maybe it's the strain of the journey. He's been a little quieter than normal, even with Gareth and the rest of the soldiers.

I can't help but notice how he always seems to be aware of where I am. If I stop to adjust my saddle or check on my pack, he's watching me, his gaze lingering just long enough that I feel like I'm the only one he's paying attention to. I hate how much that makes my heart race.

"You know," Gareth continues, his voice pulling me back to the present, "I think you'll be fine at court. You've got the spirit for it. Just need to learn a few of Ferelden's... finer points." He lowers his voice and leans in slightly, like he's about to share a great secret. "Like, how to talk to nobles without calling them 'sir' like you're some peasant, or—"

I cut him off with a raised hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What do you mean? You can't be serious. You expect me to keep track of all that? You know I'm from… uh, not here. I don't know any of these rules."

He grins, all mischief and ease. "Just the basics. You can't show up in Denerim talking like you just crawled out of a hole in the ground, or you'll have half the court laughing at you."

I try not to groan. The thought of court already makes my stomach churn. Surviving on a road full of darkspawn and soldiers? Fine. Navigating the royal court's social intricacies when I can barely tell which knife is the salad fork? Less fine.

At that, Tavi and Erik ride up beside us, overhearing the conversation.

"Ah, court," Gareth says, his grin widening. "It's not that bad. If you don't mind standing in the background, looking pretty, and keeping quiet. You just need to know when to bow and when to shut up. You'll be fine."

Erik grunts, his voice low and rough. "Court's a bloodbath. The real trick is staying out of everyone's games. There's always someone trying to climb over you."

I glance at both of them, taking in the contrast between Gareth's sly grin and Erik's more serious demeanor. Both have been with Cailan for years, but in very different ways. Gareth's the type who can find fun in just about everything—except battle, where he's all business. Erik, on the other hand, looks like the kind of man who'd rather avoid people altogether. Despite their differences, though, I've noticed they make a good team.

"Great," I mutter, mostly to myself, "Now I have to avoid court games on top of everything else." But both of them chuckle in response.

"You'll be fine," Gareth reassures me, slapping me on the back with more force than I expected. "Just remember: Smile. Nod. And for the love of the Maker, don't insult anyone important. They might not kill you, but they'll make your life miserable."

"Or they might just kill you," Tavi adds flatly.

"Great advice," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Thanks for that, Tavi."

Erik raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and mild disapproval. "Don't listen to Gareth. His idea of court etiquette is just not being too drunk when it's time to bow. You might want to learn something more useful." He shoots Gareth a pointed look. "Like how to not make a fool of yourself in front of the nobles."

Gareth just shrugs, grinning. "I don't make a fool of myself. I'm a charming fool."

I snort at that and roll my eyes, but a smile creeps across my lips despite myself. "I'll just make sure not to insult the wrong person and see how far my charm takes me. Thanks for the advice, guys."

Gareth shoots me a wink. "See? You've already got it."

I glance at Cailan again, still ahead of us, lost in his thoughts. There's a weight on him now—something I can't quite place. But I know that when we reach Denerim, everything's going to change.

I just hope I can handle it when the time comes.

Many hours later after the group comes to a stop we set up camp quickly. Again, I do my best to help. We set up the tents and I help Tavi gather dry wood for our fires. He, Tavi and Erik have been the most welcoming of the group though I didn't hold it against the other soldiers. After all, I was a strange girl who fell out of the sky. I was just grateful no one was trying to burn me as a witch or hand me over to Templars. Then again... the story was just beginning. There was plenty of time for that later...

Nope! Not going there. For right now, I would focus on immediate concerns of which there were still plenty.

We get dinner prepared quickly, and after it's eaten, the group divvies up the watch. They reassure me again that I'm not needed for that duty. Apparently, they think I don't have enough experience to take on the responsibility of the watch—fair enough.

The fire crackles quietly in the distance as I lie on my bedroll, doing my damned best to fall asleep. The wind's chill is creeping under the blanket, but I don't move. I just lie there, staring up at the dark canopy of trees above me, counting the stars I can see between the branches. One, two, three… It's pointless. I can't sleep. Not really. Not tonight.

And the dreams come again. I don't even need to close my eyes to feel them; I can hear my own voice calling out to friends long gone, but they never answer. Only shadows in the corners of my mind. I'm back at home, in the middle of the street I grew up on, but it's wrong. The street's unfamiliar, the faces are unfamiliar. I try to reach out, to grab something solid, but it's always just out of reach. Every time I think I've found it, the dream twists. And then I'm alone again. Alone, and no one remembers me.

I toss, unable to shake the feeling. I should be used to this by now. I've been waking up like this for days, haunted by dreams of a world that doesn't exist anymore. But each time, it feels like it cuts a little deeper. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away from the fire, as though it might stop the darkness from creeping in.

But it doesn't. It never does.

I sit up sharply, breathless, my heart pounding. The night is quiet—too quiet. I can't shake the taste of the dream from my mouth, or the aching emptiness that lingers. The camp is still. The soldiers are asleep, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm the only one awake in the world.

Forcing myself to my feet, I try to shake off the last remnants of the nightmare. The night's not helping either. The shadows feel like they're just waiting to swallow me whole. Maybe I need something to distract me—something to stop my brain from thinking about things I can't fix.

I glance over at Cailan, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. He's standing alone at the edge of camp, watching. His posture is the same as always—perfectly poised—but somehow... distant.

I grab my cloak, pull it over my shoulders, and make my way toward him. The cool night air stings my skin, but the breeze feels welcome, like a slap that might bring me back to the present.

When I approach, he doesn't look up right away. It's as if he's so used to being alone on watch that he doesn't notice someone's come up behind him. Finally, he turns his head slightly, but not enough to meet my eyes directly. His gaze seems to drift past me for a moment, like he's still lost in thought.

"You planning to join me, or just watch me watch?" he asks, his voice low.

I cross my arms and lean against a nearby tree. "Well, if I'm going to be stuck out here, might as well make myself useful. You know, keeping an eye out for werewolves."

Cailan's brow furrows, and for a moment, I think he might actually have missed the joke. "Werewolves?" he repeats, sounding a little confused. "You're worried about werewolves out here?"

I can't help but laugh, though it's hollow, like something scraping the bottom of a barrel. "Oh, absolutely. The full moon's out, and we're so close to the Brecilian Forest. The locals have all sorts of stories about them."

He raises an eyebrow at me, then glances up at the moon, as if weighing the possibility of some furry monstrosity leaping out from the trees. "I think you've been listening to too many campfire stories. Werewolves aren't real, Maryse. That's just something to scare children."

I nod along, though a little too quickly. "Oh, of course. Right. Just old stories to keep the kids in line." I force a smile. "I'll leave the stories to you, then."

Cailan chuckles softly, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's still watching the night, his expression unreadable. I wonder what it is he's seeing out there that I can't.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks suddenly, his voice quieter now, laced with something I wasn't expecting—concern. "You look like you didn't get much sleep."

I stiffen, unsure how to answer. The dream—the constant pull back to my old world—suddenly feels like a weight in my chest, threatening to crush me all over again. But I can't tell him that. I can't explain how it feels to wake up every day in a world that doesn't make sense to me, or how lonely it is to be here, no longer sure of my place.

"I'm fine," I say quickly, too quickly. "I just… didn't sleep well."

Cailan doesn't seem convinced, but he doesn't push it either. He studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if searching for something he can't quite grasp.

"I'm just…" He hesitates, clearly weighing his words. "I'm worried about you, Maryse. Denerim, the court—it's not going to be easy for you. There's a lot more at play there than you realize."

I stare out at the darkened horizon, trying to block out the ache in my chest. The last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me. Especially when I still don't belong here.

I glance at him sideways, feigning casualness. "Well, I'm sure I'll manage somehow." But the words don't feel convincing, even to me. I clear my throat. "What about you, though? You seem… off, lately. A little tense. You're worrying about something."

Cailan's gaze flickers to me, then quickly away, but he doesn't hide the frustration in his eyes. "I'm just trying to make sure you're alright," he says, the slight edge to his tone betraying more than he's letting on. "Denerim's not… it's not exactly the safest place for someone like you. And I don't know what I'm walking you into. The court will eat you alive if you don't play the game. You'll need to know how to navigate all of it, and it's not something you can learn in a day."

I don't say anything right away. He's right. I'm already aware of how little I understand about royal politics. How could I not be? But hearing it from him… makes it more real somehow. More intimidating.

But Cailan looks at me again, his expression softening just a little. "Don't change too much, Maryse. I like you the way you are. You don't need to fit into their mold. Just… keep your head up."

I swallow, suddenly feeling the weight of his words more than I want to. I'm trying to tell myself I don't need his approval, that it doesn't matter, that I'm here for one reason only: to survive, to find my way home. But when he looks at me like that, when his voice carries that genuine concern, it's hard not to feel like I'm being pulled into something bigger than I'm ready for.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, my voice quieter now, feeling the sting of my own vulnerability. "Thanks for… looking out for me."

Cailan gives a small nod, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the shadows beyond. "It's the least I can do. Stay close, Maryse. You're not alone out here."

I nod, though part of me is already pulling back, trying to keep my heart in check. Trying not to let myself get too attached to something that's only going to break.

I glance back at the campfire, the soldiers already lost in their dreams. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots. The night is still, and yet, I can't shake the feeling that things are changing—whether I'm ready for it or not.