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[Sandtigress]

The Joining - Part II


“Your keeper and I have come to an arrangement.  My order is in need of help.  You are in need of a cure.  When I leave, I hope you will join me.  You would make an excellent Grey Warden.”

Kara shook her head.  “No.  I can’t just leave my clan.”  Leave the clan?  Sooner leave her heart behind.  She turned to Keeper Marethari in desperation.  Surely she would not let this happen?

“And we would not just send you away.”  The Keeper’s eyes were pained.

The Grey Warden continued.  “The darkspawn taint courses through your veins.  That you have recovered at all is remarkable.  But eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse.  The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us.”

“Will I be able to return?”

Sorrow clouded Keeper Marethari’s face.  “We do not know.  But we could not watch you suffer.”  Did she not understand?  The clan was all she had ever known – leaving would be the ultimate torment.

“This is not simply charity on my part.  You will likely never return here.”  Though Duncan’s voice was firm, his eyes held a certain empathy to them.  “We go to fight the darkspawn, a battle that will take us far from your clan.  But we need you, and others like you.”

“Is the clan sending me away?”  Her voice was a whisper now.  Tears threatened, but she refused to cry, not in front of the human stranger.

The Keeper laid gentle hands upon Kara’s shoulders.  “A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south.  A new Blight threatens the land.  We cannot outrun this storm.  Long ago, the Dalish promised to help the Grey Wardens should darkspawn ever threaten the land.”  One hand cupped her chin tenderly.  “It breaks my heart to send you away.  As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness.  This is your duty, and your salvation.”

The course was clear.  She turned to the Grey Warden and met his eyes.  “If this is my duty, then I will go.”

Duncan nodded.  “I welcome you to the order then.  It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served us with distinction.”

She turned to follow him from the camp.  But that was wrong.  They had stayed for Tamlen’s funeral.  In many ways, it had been her funeral as well.

 Kara turned to look back at her clan.  The forest was shrouded in smoke, the aravels aflame.  And in their midst was a great dragon, jaws open wide and ready to destroy all that she held dear.

She moved to run back, to help save what she could, but Duncan held her wrist in a vice-like-grip.  She turned to look at him incredulously, only the Grey Warden was gone.  In his place stood a darkspawn and her arm burned where it touched her.  Kara reached for her blade, only to find it missing.  She kicked out instead, breaking the creature’s grip and rolled backwards.  As she regained her feet she felt for the knives in her boots, relief flooding when her hands found them there.

She launched herself at the monster that had been Duncan, burying her knives in its chest.  It grasped at her as it fell, and suddenly it wasn’t darkspawn, or Duncan, but Tamlen.  And it was Tamlen’s blood staining her hands as she looked on in horror.

“Tamlen…I’m sorry, so sorry,” she whispered, trying to stem the bleeding as she knelt beside his fallen form.

He took her hands in his to stop the futile act.  “Save them, lethallan,” he said, his voice fading.  “Slay the beast.  Save yourself.”  The hands holding hers fell limp, and he was gone.  Her vision blurred with tears as she stumbled to her feet, backing away from his body in denial.

Behind her, the dragon roared in triumph.  Defeat the beast, Tamlen had said, his dying request.  Her knives were in her hands again, her feet moving towards the dragon before the thought was completed.

Bodies littered the ground, elves and halla alike.  All that she had ever known, all that she held dear.  She vented her grief on the dragon, though her knives made little impact on the scaly hide.  Suddenly the breath was crushed from her lungs and she found herself in the air, trapped in the monster’s jaws.  It would be a fatal blow, she knew, but not without cost.  Her dagger found home in the dragon’s eye, and it roared in agony.  It drowned out her own cries of fury as she thrust the dagger in again and again.

She heard its dying screams as the bright light surrounded her.  For you, Tamlen, she thought, as the light blinded her.

                                                                                                       ****

Her eyes flew open and she sat up with a cry, startling the man seated nearby.  Kara put a hand to her aching head and shut her eyes, trying to make sense of the memories and sort reality from dream.

“Easy,” a voice murmured at her side.  Male, familiar.  She opened her eyes to see red-gold hair, hazel eyes, brows drawn in concern.

“Alistair?”  It was hard to even form the name.

“In the flesh,” he said with a smile.  “How do you…”  Her eyes widened in alarm before he even finished the sentence, something the Grey Warden must have anticipated.  She was guided to the side, head over a vessel before she retched, emptying her stomach in a most undignified fashion.

Strong, gentle hands supported her, then helped her sit back up.  Water in a tin cup was lifted to her lips, and she drank gratefully, washing away the foul taste in her mouth.

“Be glad you’re in Duncan’s tent.  He’s fortunate to have luxuries like clean chamberpots,” Alistair said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Duncan’s tent?” she asked, fighting back another wave of nausea.

“Oh yes, where likely no woman has gone before.  It seems you really impressed him.”  She scowled at him, earning a laugh.  “You must be feeling better, to give me a look like that.”

He grew solemn again.  “In all seriousness though, he’ll be glad to see you up.  We weren’t sure that you would make it.  I think it would have been hard on him, to lose all his new recruits.”  The other recruits…she remembered now, losing Daveth and Ser Jory during the Joining ritual.  She started to ask him about it, when the tent flap opened again.

“Alistair.”  Duncan’s voice, as he entered the space.  “It took some time, but we’re rearranged so that…Ah!  It is good to see you awake.  And well, I hope.”

“Well enough,” she replied, not trusting her traitorous stomach still.

“We’ve rearranged so that your tent is between mine and Alistair’s,” the Warden Commander told her.  “If you’d like, we can move you into your own quarters now.  The king has decided a celebration is in order tonight, but you have time still to rest.”

She nodded and attempted to rise from the cot, only to find her legs would not support her.  Alistair moved to help her, but she waved him away.  “I don’t need help…”

“I simply thought I’d offer a helping hand.  I was taught to be a gentleman.  Surely that’s no crime?” he responded mildly.  She looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before finally agreeing with a nod.  He helped her rise to her feet, then stood while she held on to his arm, finding her balance.

It was humiliating, having to make the short distance to her new quarters clinging to his arm lest she fall, but her legs were weak as a newborn halla still.  Better to walk on her own two feet than have to be carried, at the very least.  She expected to see contempt in his eyes when they finally arrived, or worse, pity.  Instead, she found concern and what she might have called brotherly affection.  This human was not at all what she anticipated.

Her tent was small but serviceable, containing little other than a chest, presumably for her possessions, and her own cot, which Alistair helped her to.

“Well, here we are.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  His voice was warm, his expression amused.  “I’ll let you rest for now, but Duncan or I will be nearby, so you can yell if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said.

“Well then, rest for now, and I’ll see you at Cailan’s party tonight.”  He gave her a parting smile and left the tent, leaving her to ponder how different humans were than she had expected.

Modifié par Sandtigress, 26 avril 2010 - 06:50 .

[Sisimka]

I'm really enjoying your story, Sandi, but I have to say -- Duncan's tent? All my PCs are whispering to me and they're saying, 'Duncan's tent? How come I didn't wake up in Duncan's tent?' o.O

[Sandtigress]

Hahaha, I know, she's a lucky girl, right? Even if Duncan wasn't in the tent with her. But being in Duncan's tent, alone with Alistair? Maybe it doesn't get any better than that!



Oh, and I was totally thinking "TAINT TAINT TAINT" when I wrote that...

[Sandtigress]

The Joining - Part III

Cailan’s little party had turned into quite the event.  All the Ferelden Grey Wardens were in attendance, and the food and ale flowed freely.  Alistair sat with Fenric, enjoying some outrageous story of Gregor’s, a huge Warden from Anders.  The large man laughed uproariously at his own tale and threw back another tankard of ale – it must have been his seventh or eighth.  Maker, the man could drink.

Alistair was studiously ignoring Cailan’s presence, and suspected his half-brother was doing the same.  They’d met eyes once in the celebration, early on, and it had been an uncomfortable experience for both of them.  Cailan had chosen to sit with Duncan, so Alistair was left to find other company that night.  He’d chosen to sit with Fen, but now he wondered where the “guest of honor” was.  He’d only seen her briefly at the start of the evening when Duncan had officially introduced her, much to her discomfiture, to the rest of the Wardens.  Alistair assumed that she was still with Duncan, but a quick glance – a very, very quick glance – showed that she was not.

After a bit of searching, he finally found her off to one side seated at the edge of a group of Wardens, ostensibly listening to one of the younger men, though if she heard a word the man was saying, he’d eat his boot.  She looked like she needing rescuing, and since the only other person she knew in the camp was currently occupied baby-sitting the king, he supposed it was up to him.

“I’m going to go talk to our new sister,” he said to Fen, rising.  “She looks like she could use the company.”

“She’s all yours,” Fen replied.  “I have no desire to get stabbed.”

“Stabbed?”  Alistair repeated, puzzled.

“Yes, stabbed.  I’d sooner cross a darkspawn, naked.”

“She’s not that scary…”

“Oh yes she is.  Did you see the way she glared at me earlier?  No thanks.”  Fen shook his head.

Alistair grinned. “She only glared at you because you made the comment about…”

“Yes, and sooner or later you’ll say something very….Alistair, and get yourself stabbed,” Fen replied with his own knowing smile.

“I don’t say….’Alistair’ things…do I?” he asked, his voice pained.

“I don’t call them that for nothing,” Fen laughed.  “Anyways, I’d never have pictured you as the sort who had a thing for elves.  I suppose she’s pretty enough, in a wild way.”

“A thing for….I do not have a ‘thing’ for elves!” Alistair protested.

Fenric nodded tolerantly.  “Of course not.  Well, I won’t expect you in tonight, so have fun.  It’s about time, I say.”  His grin grew broader as his fellow Warden blushed furiously.

“I’m not going to…we’re not…you think…Maker, I’m just trying to be nice!” Alistair stammered.  He stalked off into the darkness, Fen’s laughter behind him, and hoped the blushing would stop before he reached the other side of the camp.  Or at least not be noticeable in the dark.

Karaleyna looked up as he approached, recognition lighting in her eyes.  The other Wardens welcomed him to the group congenially as he took a seat next to the Dalish Warden.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked her, as the conversation resumed amongst the group.  She made a noncommittal gesture in reply.  “I was thinking, if you’d like, that you and I could go somewhere without all this noise.”

She tensed suddenly and her eyes narrowed.  “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, a walk around the camp maybe.  I just thought you might like to get away from all these people.” Alistair frowned a little, not sure what he could have implied to cause the sudden hostility. “It’s a little overwhelming, all at once.  We could talk, or something, somewhere a little more comfortable.  I’m sure you still have lots of questions about the Grey Wardens.”

“And talking is all you had in mind, is it?”  Her voice had grown quiet and that steely glint was back in her eyes.

“Or a walk, maybe.  It’s a nice night tonight and I thought…”  Fen’s last comment came to mind, and Alistair realized suddenly what she must be thinking he was implying.  “Maker’s breath, no, nothing like that!  I barely know you!”  Was that all anyone ever thought about around here?  He could feel the warmth creeping back up into his face. 

His suspicions were confirmed when she almost instantly relaxed, moving a hand away from the belt knife he hasn’t seen her reach for.  Maybe Fen hadn’t been too far off after all.  “If you don’t want to, I understand, it’s your party after all, and…"

After a long glance at him, she sighed.  “No, let’s go.  Perhaps all these people are making me jumpy.”  He stood first and offered her a hand to help her up, which she took after only a few moments’ hesitation.  Alistair tried to ignore the knowing smirks from their fellow Wardens as they walked away together.  He rather hoped she hadn’t seen them at all.

“I don’t suppose you’ve eaten much?” he asked her.  She shook her head in reply, so he steered them towards the back of the Grey Warden encampment.  Cailan had managed to pull together a goodly amount of food for such short notice – apparently there were benefits to being king.  Well, Cailan could have it.

He plucked a pair of battered metal plates from the stack on the table and began liberally sampling from the assorted offerings Cailan had gathered together.  He passed her two tankards of ale while he added to the plates.  “Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said, adding some apples and more meat to one of the plates he was holding.  Alistair followed her out curiously past the boundaries of the Grey Warden camp, back up to the fortress proper, where they had been earlier in the day for the Joining ritual.  He realized where they were headed when he heard the barking.

She approached the pen he had found her in the previous day, where she was greeted enthusiastically by the mabari hound and its stag-like companion.  “I thought we might share our dinner with my friends, if you didn’t mind,” she told him as she extended her own greetings, setting the tankards on a nearby crate.

“And they could help if I turned all lecherous on you, right?”  He laughed as she had the grace to blush.  “No, it’s alright, I understand.  You haven’t known any of us for very long.”

“I should apologize,” she said quietly.  “Human men often have….expectations of elven women.  You’ve given me no reason to think…I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Well, no harm done,” he answered lightly.  Despite his levity though, she remained subdued.  Alistair set the plates down next to the tankards and turned the elf towards him, concerned.  “There hasn’t been any trouble with the soldiers, has there?“  He’d seen her fight, he knew she could take care of herself.  But for some reason, it didn’t matter.  He wanted to protect her anyways.

She favored him with another of those long considering looks before shaking her head.  She looked away from him then, silent for several long moments before speaking again.  “I’m sorry.  It is…difficult, being away from my clan.  Everything is so strange.”

“Well, you’re a Grey Warden now.  We’re a clan, of sorts.  We’re all brothers and sisters, anyways.”  Alistair hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice – the Grey Wardens were the first family he had ever known.  “And as one of your brothers, I reserve the right to hold down any one my sister deems necessary while she administers whatever punishment she sees fit.” 

That last sally earned him a smile, and he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction.  He sat himself upon the crate and indicated she take a place on the other side of their meal.  She looked at him side-long as she seated herself.  “You would truly do that?”

Alistair shrugged.  “Isn’t that what brothers are for?  Not that I’ve ever lived with any sisters myself, but still.”

“It sounds like something my clan would do.”  She paused in the act of cutting a piece of apple.  “Actually, it sounds exactly like something Tamlen would do.” She laid a hand on a necklace he hadn’t noticed before.  In the dim light he could make out carved wooden beads and small curving claws

Curiosity got the better of him.  “Tamlen?”

“A clan-mate, my best friend, I guess you could have called him a brother of sorts, though not really.  Everyone in the clan knew we’d be bonded eventually.  How do you say it in your tongue….wed?”

Oh.  “And what did he think about you leaving to become a Grey Warden?”

“He’s gone.” The look on her face made Alistair wish he’d never opened his big mouth.  He was about to stammer an apology when she spoke again.  “He was with me, the day that I was tainted.  We looked….but we never found him.  Duncan said we never would.”

“I…I’m sorry.”  It was all he could think to say, without making things worse than he already had.  They ate in silence for a time, the Dalish Warden occasionally passing a tidbit through the fence to her friends.  He wracked his brain for something else to say as the silence grew more awkward, when the glimmer of the claws about her neck in the torchlight reminded of something he had meant to do earlier.  He took a long, healthy draught from his mug of ale, hoping it would untangle his tongue before trying to speak.  “Karaleyna…”

She grimaced.  “Kara, please.  If we’re going to be clan, it’s just Kara.  The only time people called me ‘Karaleyna’ was when I got in trouble.”

He chuckled at the look on her face.  “Kara, then.  Here, before I forget again.”  He pulled a pendant and the chain from which it depended from his belt pouch.  “There is one last part to your Joining.”  She looked curiously at the pendant as he held it out.  “We take some of that darkspawn blood from your Joining, and put it in a pendant.  I didn’t have a chance to give it to you after the ritual itself.”

Kara examined the pendant in the flickering torchlight, the front bearing the rampant griffon of the Grey Wardens on one side over the black glimmer of darkspawn blood.  She turned the pendant over and traced the script there with a finger.  “What does it say?”

“It’s the motto of the Grey Wardens,” he told her.  Rather than look back at the pendant, however, she kept her gaze on him expectantly.  “What’s wro….oh, you can’t read, can you?”  He shouldn’t have been surprised, most of the population of Ferelden probably couldn’t read.  Certainly most of them didn’t have the benefit of being a royal bastard shoved into a Chantry education.

“Our history is oral, for the most part, passed down by the hahrens, our elders,” she confirmed.  “Only a few of the Dalish learn to read and write.  My father could, but I never got the chance to learn.”

“Well, if you’d like….maybe I could teach you, some time, after the Blight is over,” he ventured.  Maybe it was a little presumptuous, but it seemed like the thing to do.

To his relief, she smiled and nodded.  “Yes, I would like that.”  Kara flipped the pendant over and slipped the chain over her head.  They returned to their meal, but the silence was companionable now.  She took a small sip from her tankard and made a face.  “What is this?”

“It’s ale,” he said with a laugh.  “You’ve never had ale before?”  She shook her head.  “Well, neither had I, until after Duncan recruited me.  They tell me it’s an acquired taste.”

Setting the tankard down, she stood and vaulted nimbly over the fence.  “I think it is perhaps a taste I’d rather not acquire.”  Kara made her way over to the corner of the pen where her equipment remained, and after some rummaging pulled up a waterskin.  Her drink was interrupted by an insistent nudge from the…deer?  Laughing, she slung the waterskin over a shoulder to free her hands for a vigorous head scratching, the mabari hound bounding up for his fair share.  It looked oddly peaceful in the middle of an army encampment.  

She looked up at him after a few moments. “Maera’s been here all day, she wants to run.  Would that be a problem?”

“I don’t know, I can’t imagine there’s enough space in the camp for that, and the scouts say there more darkspawn in the Wilds now than before. I’m guessing you want to go too, and I’m just not sure it’s safe beyond the walls for you to be out there alone.   You haven’t been a Warden long enough to sense darkspawn coming.”  He left out the part about her still looking rather pale from the Joining and her subsequent illness on purpose.

“Maybe you could come too,” she said.  From the way she flushed slightly and paid sudden attention to stroking the animal’s neck, the words had surprised her as much they had him.
“Me?  Ride a…” He still didn’t know what to call it.

“A halla.”  She was still engrossed in smoothing out the animal, the halla’s, already-sleek pelt.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have….we can go out alone, we’ll be fine.”

Alistair shook his head.  “No, you’re not going out there by yourself.  I’ve just never ridden much before.  Is it hard?”

“Duncan and I travelled with Maera the whole way from the Brecilian forest.  She does most of the work.”

“Alright, just…don’t laugh at me if I fall off, okay?”

Kara looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled.  “I’ll try.”  She moved back over to the corner, emerging with saddle and bridle in hand.  With a few practiced movements, she had both on the halla.  At her side, the hound whined and pawed at her leg.  “Not tonight, Anari.  You are not yet well enough to keep up,” she said, tousling the mabari’s head as he sat on his haunches with a huff.  “Soon though.”  Reaching up, she grabbed one of the intricately curved horns and pulled herself easily into the saddle.

“Um, do I have to get on like that?”  Alistair was pretty sure that it would be disastrous to even try.  She shook her head and moved the halla towards the gate, which the elf then kicked open.  They came around the other side, next to where he still sat on the crate.  From there it was easy to use the fence and crate to seat himself behind the Dalish Warden.

Kara waited until he had settled before she nudged the halla into motion again.  As they moved towards the gate, Alistair tried very, very hard to not think about how close she was.  The solidity of her hunting knife against his midriff helped that.  And where exactly was he supposed to put his hands?  He waffled over the problem as the halla approached the gate.  The dilemma was solved when Maera picked up her pace as they left the fortress, and his hands went around the elf’s waist by pure instinct in a bid to keep his balance.  When she didn’t object, he figured it was okay to leave them there.

It was a good thing too, because the halla had picked up speed.  A lot of speed.  In fact, they were moving remarkably fast now.  It was rather exhilarating, once he realized that the halla wasn’t going to let him fall off.  It was a kind of freedom he’d never known.  No walls, no limitations from his half-royal bastard heritage, no darkspawn taint. 

That reminded him of why he was there in the first place.  He extended his mind, feeling with that sixth sense that had begun to emerge after his own Joining, but no taint met his search except for the woman before him, and so he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the ride.  It was rather like flying, or what he imagined flying might be like, anyways.  It was magic, a good kind of magic, different what he’d been trained to combat in the Chantry.  Magic, the way they moved together – the halla, the elf, and him.  He wanted it to go on forever.

Too soon, he felt the faintest trace of taint on the edges of his senses, and he indicated to his fellow Warden that there was danger ahead.  Kara gave the reins a little tug and when the halla flicked an ear back in their direction, she said something in Dalish.  In response, the halla veered back towards the fortress.

In a short enough amount of time the gates of Ostagar were before them again.  Rather than slow as he expected as they approached the wooden gate, the halla increased her speed as Kara laughed and shouted something in Dalish.  He felt the muscles gather beneath him, and suddenly they really were flying – suspended in the air for a moment as Maera cleared the fence in one great bound and hit the ground running on the other side, startling the guards stationed there.

Maera slowed as they approached the kennels again and Alistair slid from her back, reaching up to help his companion down.  This time, Kara accepted without hesitation and slipped out of the saddle, landing lightly in the circle of his arms.  He looked down at her, flushed with excitement and still breathless with laughter, and was suddenly hit with the overwhelming, absolutely ridiculous desire to kiss her.  Maker’s breath, what was wrong with him?  It had to be the ale, far too much ale.  He was never touching ale again.  Never.

He pulled his arms away and took a few stumbling steps back.  “Right, well, it’s late, and we have a battle to fight tomorrow, so we should probably go to bed, I mean, say good night,” he managed to stammer.  She gave him a bit of a curious look before turning to slip back into the pen, followed by Maera, where she proceeded to quickly and efficiently remove the halla’s gear and give her a brisk rub down.

Part of him wanted to make a tactical retreat now, before the ale made him do something irredeemably stupid, but it wasn’t really in his nature to leave a lady on her own in the middle of the night, even if she could slay a darkspawn at a hundred paces without batting an eye.  He looked around for something to do to occupy himself and settled for picking up the remains of their dinner, pouring the rest of the ale out.  Never again, at least not when a woman was in attendance.

Soon enough she was done, and bidding her animal companions farewell for the evening before slipping out of the pen again.  He accompanied her back to the Wardens’ camp, where the celebration appeared to have largely died down as the men retired for the evening in preparation for the coming battle.  Cailan and Duncan, at least, were nowhere in sight.

Alistair dropped the plates amongst the stack of like plates and the remains of dinner and walked with her to their row of tents.  “Well, I guess this is good night then.  Sleep well, sister.”

“Good night, Alistair,” Kara said with a smile, and slipped into her tent.  Alistair made his way to his own tent, with a bemused expression.  Having a woman in the Wardens was going to be an interesting experience, it seemed.

Modifié par Sandtigress, 15 mai 2010 - 06:55 .

[Sandtigress]

Right, that took long enough, and that section got surprisingly long. Next one shouldn't take nearly as long - it's mostly done already!

Thanks for reading, and being patient with the slow updates! We're in the finishing stages of my graduate work/master's thesis and revving up for my defense, so alas, fanfic takes a backseat to research....Two more months though, and I'll be done done done!

[MireliA]

Halla riding! And how very Alistair-ish his response was too . Loving the story so far.

[Sandtigress]

Thanks Mireli. ^-^ I find the idea of a moon-lit halla ride very romantic! Next section incoming!

[Sandtigress]

The Joining - Parv IV


Despite the late previous night, Kara rose early, as was her habit.  She slipped out of her tent to find the camp just beginning to stir.  A flat-ear woman stood before her tent, arms full of maps and scrolls.

“Excuse me, ser, pardon me.  Is there something you need?” she stammered, apparently unnerved by the other elf’s sudden appearance from the tent.

A number of comments came to the Dalish woman’s mind regarding elves living in servitude to humans, but she pushed them away.  Now was not the right time for such things.  “A place to bathe would be appreciated,” she said instead. 

The flat-eared woman bobbed her head.  “You might try the regular army camp, ser.  You’re the only woman in the Grey Warden camp, but there are some women amongst the king’s soldiers.  It’s just over that way,” she said, indicating the direction with a nod of her head.

Kara took note of the direction and thanked the other woman.  It would be a very welcome change to get out of her dirty leathers and into something fresher.  All of her things were still in the kennels as well – she had forgotten to move any of her possessions the previous night.  Time to remedy that now, before the day truly became busy. 

She visited the kennels first, greeting Anari and Maera and gathering a fresh set of clothing and some of the soap the clan had packed for her, packing it all into one of the smaller satchels that she could sling over a shoulder.  The rest could wait until she was clean. 

A ringing voice attracted her attention as she passed through the fortress.  “In the name of Andraste, I bless you today.  May you find favor in the Maker’s eyes.  So may it be.”  The speaker was a young woman, dressed in robes emblazoned with a golden sun.  She held her hands outstretched over a pair of soldiers – a priest of the human Chantry, most likely.

The priest looked in Kara’s direction as the soldiers departed.  “Greetings, child,” she said.  “Will you accept the Maker’s blessing this day, before the army marches out?”

“I know nothing of your Maker, priest,” Kara replied.  “Why would he bless me?”

“You do not know of the Maker?”  The woman looked shocked, scandalized even.  “Surely you have heard of His bride, Andraste?”

“My people tell tales of Andraste, who with the hero Shartan lead the Elvhenan to freedom, away from those who held us in captivity for so long.  For that, she is revered, as few humans are.”  Kara paused a moment before continuing.  “It was also her Chantry, though, that declared the march that destroyed our homeland.”

“Ah, you are a Dalish wanderer then, I presume?  Unusual, to find one of your ilk amongst civilized lands,” the priest said thoughtfully.  “Well, the Maker will not refuse to bless you, if you are willing to receive Him.”

The Dalish Warden shook her head.  “I follow the old gods, as my people have long before the days of Andraste and her Maker.  You may offer your blessings, priest, but they mean little to me.”

“Then I do bless you, elf, in the name of Andraste and the Maker above,” the human woman intoned gravely.  “May the Chant of Light carry your name to the ears of our Lord.”

“And may the Creators guide your path, priest,” Kara replied, equally grave, offering a respectful bow before turning to leave.  She walked away without bothering to look back to see the priest’s response.

Soon enough, she made her way through the neat rows of tents that made up the main army encampment.  Interspersed were what appeared to be common areas – places for eating, equipment repair, and the like, arranged around ancient crumbling walls that still formed passageways and dead-end alleys.

“Well, well, what have we here?  Someone likes their knife-ears painted, eh?”  She turned to find a group of men, human men, approaching from one end of the corridor of tents.  The speaker was a stocky man, still in splint mail armor, his companions similarly outfitted.  Likely a group of soldiers just coming off watch then.  “Wonder how far the paint goes down?” the soldier said with a leering grin.  “Shall we find out?”  He moved towards her, his companions fanning out.

Kara stiffened – she had never recovered her sword and dagger after the Joining ritual.  She still had her hunting knife, and her mother’s daggers in her boots, but even so, she didn’t want to actually kill these men.  She remembered well Duncan’s admonition to Alistair before they had ventured into the Wilds, that the Grey Wardens could not afford to antagonize anyone else in the army.  If it could be helped, she would bring no extra trouble to her new clan. 

Still, the weight of her blades would have been comforting, and would have served, perhaps, to deter such unwanted attentions.  There was no one else in sight in the line of tents, so she stepped back, hoping to find an alternate path behind her.  Her way was barred, however, by stone partitions and tent walls.

“Come on, knife ears.  No place left to go.”  The man’s companions had blocked off the one exit, and he stepped towards her again.

She decided to try a different tactic.  “I am no slave for your use, shem.  I am a Grey Warden.”

“A Grey Warden!” the man scoffed.  “The Wardens would never take elven scum like you.  Least not for fighting darkspawn. ” He leered at her again.

Kara pulled free the pendant that Alistair had given her the night before, marked with the gryphon sigil.  “I am a Grey Warden.”

The soldier stepped close to her suddenly, close enough to smell the reek of his unwashed body, and snatched the pendant from her hand.  The chain pulled taut around the back of her neck.  “What’s this?  This is the Warden mark,” the band leader growled.   “A **** and a thief, is it?”  He stepped closer, so that she could smell his foul breath.  “What we do to you is going to pale to what the Wardens will do, once we turn you over. You should have picked someone else to work your thieving ways on.”

He seized her roughly and shoved her around into the arms of one of his men, who pinned her arms behind her back.  It was an amateur maneuver – she could break his grip and reach her hunting knife easily enough, she knew.  Still, there had to be a way to end this without fighting her way through the entire group.  If it came to that, even if she was careful, at least one of these men was likely to die.

Kara met the stocky soldier’s gaze coolly as he tried to stare her down.  The fact that he couldn’t unnerve her seemed to infuriate the man.  He glared at her a moment longer, then struck her across the face, hard enough to make her stagger except for the man that held her in place.

No, she realized, there might not be another solution.  Duncan was just going to have to understand, she hadn’t picked this fight.  She tensed, planning her next few actions before the man could strike her again.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”  The voice was familiar, and wholly unexpected.  The men parted, and Alistair stepped into view.  He looked levelly from the man still holding her to the group’s leader.

The stocky man grinned.  “Well well, you’re in trouble now, wench.  That there is a real Grey Warden.”  He looked up at Alistair.  “What we have here, ser, is a knife-eared thief.  Tried to claim she was a Warden.”  The soldier pulled the pendant from her neck, snapping the chain, and tossed it to Alistair, who caught it deftly. 

At a motion from his companion, the man holding her shoved her in Alistair’s direction.  Her brother Warden steadied her with a hand on her arm, and though his hand remained there, his grip was gentle.  “Are you alright?” he murmured, though his eyes never the soldier’s face.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

“You can give that to its proper owner, and tell him this is the **** who stole it,” the soldier said with a grin.  “I expect he’ll enjoy punishing her.  And might be he’ll be grateful enough to us for catching her that he’ll let us help, yes?”

“Well, the first won’t be a problem,” Alistair said mildly.  “Since its owner is right here.”  He held the pendant out and dropped it into Kara’s open hand.  She rather enjoyed the soldier’s splutter.  From the smile tugging at Alistair’s lips, it amused him too.  “And as to the matter of the thief’s punishment, I rather think she’d be more than happy to let you…participate.”

He looked down at her, and though his face remained solemn, she could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  “Well, what do you think?”

“He was so eager to lay his hands upon me, it seems fitting he be given his chance,” Kara said evenly.  “Single combat?”

“Right now?” the soldier asked, looking at her suspiciously.

“If you like,” she said with a casual shrug.  She knew what he saw – a seemingly unarmed elf, or barely armed, if he had noticed her hunting knife, and with the barest of armors.  In comparison, he was well-armored and bore a sword at his back, in addition to having superior weight and height.  He still thought her an easy target.  She intended to teach him differently.

“No interference?”  He turned his apprehensive gaze towards Alistair.

“None whatsoever,” Alistair confirmed.  “So long as your companions agree to the same.”

“And what’s the winner get?”

“The victor may name the terms of defeat,” she said lightly.  She saw it in his eyes – he thought still to bed her.  Disgusting, these human men.  Thank the Creators those amongst the Wardens seemed different thus far.  Kara looked to her new Warden brother as the group made their way to an open square amidst the tents.  Alistair kept his face calm, though she saw concern in his eyes.  Still, he made no attempt to dissuade her, a fact that she appreciated greatly.

They reached the square, and she situated herself before her opponent, their companions lining the square.  The commotion was attracting the attention of the waking soldiers, and the square was lining with them.  It was just as well – the more people who saw this little lesson the better.

The stocky soldier unsheathed his blade with an ugly smile.  “Well, come on then, knife ears.  I’ll introduce you to my sword.  And then maybe you’ll get to meet my other weapon.”  His companions cheered and joined in his laughter.

He launched himself at her with a shout.  Kara waited until his weight was committed to the action, and sidestepped, sweeping his legs from under him and sending the man sprawling on his back with one swift movement.  She drew her daggers as she came up, and was atop him before the stunned man could recover his feet.  She plunged her blades towards the shem’s head, leaving thin trails of blood along his cheeks as they slammed into the ground on either side.  Before the terrified man could draw a breath, her hunting knife was pressed against his neck.

“Do you yield?” she hissed.  The soldier started to nod, but froze again when he felt the knife edge against his throat.  Around them, the crowd had gone quiet.  “Tell me, shem.  Do you have children?”

The man swallowed hard.  “Two,” he whispered.  “A son, and a daughter.  Have mercy, Maker, please have mercy,” he pleaded. 

“Then these are my terms,” she said quietly.  “Teach your son and your daughter not to judge a person’s worth by the shape of their ears.”  Kara pulled the blade from his neck and resheathed it.  “And for their sakes, it is a lesson you had best learn well yourself.  Your next mistake might not prove as merciful.”  She retrieved her knives, wiping them free of dust along her leggings, and sheathed them again in her boots as she rose.

Kara walked through the line of soldiers, which parted before her.   Alistair fell in step as she passed by him.  “Impressive,” he said.  “You could have gotten free at any time.  Why didn’t you?”

“Duncan asked us not to antagonize the others here,” she told him.  “I didn’t think killing soldiers would be appreciated.”

“I’m fairly certain he didn’t mean at your own expense though.” Alistair frowned, inspecting the already-darkening bruise along her cheek.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise.  And I wasn’t going to give him a second opportunity.  But then you came along.”  She looked at him sidelong.  “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.  Duncan sent me to look for you – he wants you to accompany him to a meeting with the king.  I asked around, a servant said you might have come this way, then I felt you.  The taint in your blood,” he elaborated when she looked at him curiously.  “Just like we can sense darkspawn, we Grey Wardens can feel each other too.  Useful when you’re trying to find one person in an army.  You’ll start to feel it too, with time.”

“The meeting was set to start shortly after I left the Grey Warden camp.  Do you think you’re up to attending?” Alistair asked her.

She sighed – apparently bathing would have to wait a little longer.  “Yes, though I would prefer time to at least change into something cleaner.  This is not entirely suitable for a meeting with a king.”

 “You women, always worried about what you’re wearing.”  He laughed and winked at her when she scowled at him.  “But yes, I think we have time at least for that.”

His mood seemed to sober as they walked back to the Grey Warden encampment, brows creasing as though he were deep in thought.  “Alistair?” she finally ventured.  “Is everything all right?”

“Hmm?  Yes, just thinking.  Something Duncan said to me earlier.  It’s nothing.”  He tried to smile, but Kara could see how it fell flat.  She wondered, but as it seemed he had no desire to elaborate, she decided not to pursue the matter.

They made their way back to her tent, Alistair waiting patiently outside while she quickly changed into a fresher pair of soft Dalish leathers.  When she was ready, he led her to the meeting spot, stopping short of entering himself. 

“Go on then,” he said, motioning towards the ruined hall.  “If the King wants to see you, you shouldn’t keep him waiting.  He might get mad, start to cry, you’ll feel bad, and well, it won’t be pretty.”  He flashed her another smile, more genuine this time, before taking his leave.

Kara made her way through the hall to find Duncan, the King, and an imposing third man already in a heated discussion over the coming battle.

King Cailan’s voice was the first to become clear as she approached.  “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

“They are, your Majesty.” The Warden Commander confirmed.  Heads turns as she drew nearer, acknowledging her arrival.  Duncan arched an eyebrow when he saw her, most likely noticing the bruising along her cheekbone, but before he could comment, Cailan spoke out.

“Ah, and here is our newest Grey Warden.  Let me again extend my congratulations.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Kara replied with a small bow.

“Every Grey Warden is needed, now more than ever.”  The human king smiled broadly, much to the dismay of the third man.

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan,” he growled.  “We must attend to reality.”

“Fine, Loghain.  Speak your strategy,” the king said, annoyance clear in his voice.  So this was Teyrn Loghain, said to be a great strategist and hero to the Fereldens.  She studied him with interest, until a new voice broke into the meeting.  A human soldier made his way through the hall, anger clear in his bearing.

“Duncan!” the man growled.  “We need to have a word.”

“Of course, Captain,” Duncan replied.  “But as you can see, I am currently in a meeting with the king and Teyrn Loghain.  Surely this can wait…”

“No, now.”  The captain pointed an accusing finger in Kara’s direction.  “This so-called new recruit of yours nearly killed one of my men.  She attacked him and used some kind of elven witchery on him – he refused to even accuse her.  She’s an apostate, I tell you, and she should be dragged to the templars and put down like the rabid animal she is before she uses her witchery on you or Maker forbid the king or…”

Duncan interrupted the man’s tirade.  “Kara,” he said calmly. “Are any of these accusations true?”

“No, Commander,” she answered warily.  Would he believe her word over that of a man who held authority in the king’s army?  “Alistair was there, he can vouch for what…”

“No, there is no need,” Duncan reassured her.  “You heard her, Captain.  She is one of my Grey Wardens and a woman of character.  As such, I vouch for her behavior, and I will take her word over yours, in any matter.”

“This is an outrage!” the captain fumed.  He turned to the king.  “Your Majesty!  I demand justice or…”

“Captain, Duncan has spoken,” King Cailan said, finality in his voice.  “If he sees no need for further action, then I trust that none is necessary.  I believe the matter is settled.”  The captain gaped for a moment, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the ruined hall.  Duncan and King Cailan returned their attention immediately to the maps spread out over the long table, but Kara noted the teyrn’s glower linger on her a moment before he joined the other two men.

It occurred to her then that Alistair had been right.  Duncan had believed in her without question, and would do the same for any of his Wardens.  It was what Keeper Marethari would have done.  And she had brother Wardens willing to stand by her side.  It was like having a clan again.  No, she did have a clan again.

Suddenly, despite the impending battle and the darkspawn threat, the world felt right and whole once more.

                                                                                                ****

“And thus it was that Karaleyna of the Dalish knew herself to be something more, Karaleyna of the Grey Wardens, as well,” Merrill intoned.  The children, who had been listening with rapt attention, cheered for their heroine.

“Do many of the Dalish become Grey Wardens, Keeper?” one of the young boys asked shyly.

“In the days before Karaleyna, no,” she told him.  “There had not been a Dalish Warden since the defeat of the Fourth Blight, many centuries before.  Today though, there are a number of our people who have followed in her footsteps.”

“Do you think I could join the Wardens, maybe, one day?” he asked her.

“Perhaps, da’len, perhaps.  But it is nearly time for you all to head to bed.”

“No!” the protest rose from the gathered children almost immediately.  “One more story, Keeper, please!”

Merrill shook her head with a smile.  It was always one more story.  “Very well then, one more…”

[Maximus741000]

Thanks for continuing Kara's story, Sandi : ). Reading it feels like when I first started Dragon Age.

You really made me feel angry at those lecherous bastards of soldiers who mocked her for whom she was. It's times like this when I wish bioware had elected another race to be subject to racism that wasn't the elves, I felt a sense of freshness reading through the Ostagar experience from a different perspective.

[Sandtigress]

Awwwww, wow, thanks Maximus.  I'm blushing and all giddy inside. 

[Kulkodar]

Oh damn, another tale I MUST follow! Well written Sandi! The way you incorporate the story but change it just a little and add to it, is nicely done. I will look forward to future chapters.

[Sandtigress]

Aww, thanks. ^-^ You'll probably get a break before needing to read another chapter - boss is demanding chapters of my thesis ASAP! Eek!! Many thanks for reading though!

[Lintanis]

Hope we get Moar!!!!

[Sandtigress]

You will, you will! Been working on the next section when I take short breaks from the thesis - it's a shorter chapter, but hopefully people will enjoy it. Maybe by the end of this week/the weekend?



Thanks for reading!

[Sandtigress]

To Kill an Ogre


“Well, da’len, you may choose one final story for the night,” Merrill told the gathered children.  “Choose wisely.”

Those children from the clans present for the Arlathvhen looked amongst themselves, but the children from her own clan immediately began clamoring for their favorites.

“The one with the ogre, Keeper, please!  The one with the ogre!” one child cried out, and soon it became a chant, as even the visiting children joined in.

“The one with the ogre, is it?  Very well then, but that’s the last one for tonight.”  Merrill opened the book and the children settled in to listen again.

                                                                                              ****

“I hope this is the last floor.”  Alistair sounded as exasperated as she felt – it seemed they had been fighting their way through the tower for hours.  It was supposed to have been a simple task – get to the top, light the beacon when the signal came.  There certainly weren’t supposed to be darkspawn here, ahead of the army.  Kara didn’t want to think what the implications of that might be for the rest of the Grey Wardens and the king’s men, fighting below.

“Come on, let’s go,” Alistair said, motioning to the door before them. “We’ve surely missed the signal by now.”  She followed him up the stairs, through the door, the tower guard and the Circle mage who had joined them close on their heels.  Thank the Creators for the king’s insistence that Grey Wardens light the beacon fire – all might have been lost had it been left to just the few men originally stationed here, who had fled in a panic when the darkspawn had appeared.

Alistair moved warily up the stairs to the next floor – likely he felt the presence of more darkspawn ahead.  Kara drew another arrow as they topped the stairs, readying herself for the next opponent as the top floor of the tower opened before them, at long last.  In the middle of the room, however, was an enormous creature, like none she had seen before.  It turned its massive horned head towards them as it heard them approach, looking up from the corpse it had been feeding on.

“Maker’s breath, an ogre,” Alistair whispered in horror beside her.  Their companions faltered to a halt beside the two Grey Wardens, frozen in terror.  Any indecision on their parts was removed when the beast dropped its meal and charged them with a roar, spraying blood and spittle.

They scrambled, the two Wardens moving in opposite directions to dodge away from the ogre.  It moved surprisingly fast for such a large creature.  Kara pulled the mage along with her, glancing to the side long enough to see that that the tower guard had followed Alistair out of the darkspawn’s range.

The four of them regrouped quickly, Alistair and the guard moving in to engage the ogre while Kara and the mage targeted it from afar.  Her arrows did little past the ogre’s thick hide, however, and the beast moved too quickly for her to effectively target more vulnerable areas like its eyes.  Finally she set aside her bow and quiver in frustration, intending to draw her blades and join the melee.

A shouted warning was all the notice they had – Kara turned and tackled the mage to the ground just as the boulder flew over, narrowly missing the man’s head.  Before they had regained their footing, the ogre had crossed the distance, moving faster than any of them had believed possible.  Like in her dream after the Joining, Kara found the breath crushed from her lungs, aloft in the ogre’s grasp.  This time, however, her arms were pinned to her sides – there was no way to reach a weapon, no way to free herself, no way to breathe.  It could not end like this – she would not allow it, not without at least taking the beast with her.  But the ogre’s grip tightened, and it seemed she could hear bones crack as her vision grew dark.

The iron grip vanished suddenly, and she fell unceremoniously to the ground.  Her vision cleared to reveal a figure in splintmail before her, sword and shield upraised, as the ogre roared in pain.  The mage knelt by her side as Alistair and the guard pushed the creature further back.  Kara struggled to rise, but every breath was fiery agony and her legs shook beneath her.

The battle raged on as she fought to breathe, and though the ogre bled from many wounds, it showed no signs of slowing.  Too much time had already passed – Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were relying on them to light the beacon.  Something had to be done to end this soon, before it was too late.

“Alistair!” she tried to yell, but pain made her catch her breath, not nearly loud enough to be heard over the ogre’s roars and the ringing song of swords.  Kara turned to the mage at her side instead.  “Tell him,” she gasped, trying to breathe shallowly, “to turn it around.  Need its back to me.”  The mage looked at her dubiously, but conveyed her instructions to her brother Warden, who raised his sword to indicate that he’d heard.  Together, he and the guard maneuvered the ogre around until its back was to her. 

She stumbled over to retrieve her bow and arrows.  “Help them distract it,” Kara hissed to the mage as she fitted an arrow, sighting the ogre.  The man nodded and moved off to the side, lifting his hands to cast a spell.

She drew the bowstring back, but the sudden stab of pain from her surely broken ribs caused the arrow to fly wide of its mark, ricocheting off Alistair’s shield instead.  “Hey, watch it!” he yelled.  She waved her free arm in a brief gesture of apology, grimacing against the pain.  Kara took a steadying breath, willing the pain away, just for now.  She shoved it aside, locked it away.  There would be time after the battle for such things, but now, she could not afford to falter.

The Dalish elf raised her bow again, sharpening her focus to a single arrow at a time.  One by one they flew, and it didn’t matter that the ogre’s movement cause their placement to be less than precise.  They were close enough.  To her right, the mage’s arms had lowered, the man looking exhausted and incapable of casting many more spells.  Alistair and the guard, too, were obviously tiring as they dodged the ogre’s wild, powerful swings, landing their own blows when they could.  It was time to end this.

Her father’s notes on the ancient Dalish sword forms explained that they had been drawn from observations of the wild things – the sweep of a hawk’s wings, the powerful blow of a bear’s paws, the swift strike of the hunting cat’s claws.  It was the cat that had always enthralled her – graceful, beautiful, quick and deadly.  She had spent so many hours in the wilds with Tamlen, stalking the cats as they followed their own prey, watching their movements so she could better emulate them, how they fought and killed.  Often they slew with one deadly strike to the throat, choking the life from their prey, but there was no way to utilize that against the far larger ogre.  But there was another way…

Kara dropped her bow to the ground, wanting no hindrance to her movements.  She sent a swift prayer to the Creators, to Andruil of the hunt that she might be swift and sure, to Elgar’nan of vengeance to guide her blades, to Mythal the mother to protect her Warden clan until this battle could be won.   Steeling herself again, she raced for the ogre. 

The darkspawn was easily twice her height, but that was what the arrows had been for.  She scaled up the ogre’s back, using her arrows as hand- and footholds.  The task was made infinitely more difficult by the wild thrashing of the ogre – every jerk sent waves of agony through the bruises and broken bones, but she gritted her teeth and kept climbing.
 
One arrow broke in her hand, nearly causing her to fall from her precarious position.  Kara dropped the useless shaft and pulled her hunting knife instead, plunging it to the hilt into the creature’s back.  The ogre reacted with an angry roar, apparently noticing her presence for the first time.  It reached behind, trying to pluck her from its back, and she flattened herself against it, doing her best not to gag from the awful smell.  Before it could reach her, however, the beast returned its attention to the humans in front of it who had apparently taken advantage of their opponent’s distraction to renew their assault.

Kara returned to her task, finally pulling herself up within reach of her goal.  One swift, precise blow to the base of the neck, her blade separating the bones to pierce the spine itself, like a hunting cat’s teeth. This battle would be over, the beacon could be lit.  It was becoming increasingly hard to breathe, more than likely broken ribs had become something worse.  But it didn’t matter, as long as she could slay the ogre before she fell.  As long as Alistair could light the beacon, alert the teyrn’s men, then her duty to the Wardens could be satisfied.

She steadied herself, drawing her sword, preparing to strike.  The ogre twisted suddenly, and the blade fell from her hand as she made a desperate bid to keep her balance, latching a hand onto one of the beast’s horns.  Kara pulled herself back up, positioning herself to try again.  From her vantage, she caught a glimpse of her brother Warden – the incredulous look on his face would have been highly amusing under different circumstances.  She drew her knife, keeping one hand tight around the ogre’s horns until she was ready, and plunged the blade into the base of the darkspawn’s neck with a wild Dalish war cry, twisting the blade with both hands as it went in.  The ogre’s knees buckled beneath it, and the beast tumbled with a mighty crash, throwing her free as it fell. 

                                                                                                  ****

“Holy Maker,” the guard beside him breathed.  Alistair had to agree, he’d never seen anything quite like the way his fellow Warden had taken down the ogre.  He looked in concern to where she lay, unmoving, in a crumpled heap where she had been flung when the beast fell.  His immediate instinct was to see to her, but he knew his first duty was to light the beacon – Duncan was relying on him.  The mage by her side could do more for her anyways.
 
Alistair forced himself instead to focus on his task – lighting the beacon.  He pulled his tinderbox out of his pack and used flint and steel to start the blaze.  Soon the beacon fire was roaring – Teyrn Loghain’s men would charge, the darkspawn defeated, and maybe the Blight stopped here, before any real damage was done.  With the beacon lit, he moved to where the mage still crouched at his Dalish companion’s side.   The tower guard had returned to the floor’s entrance, to stand nervous watch there.

“How is she?” Alistair asked, crouching by the mage. 

“It looks bad, ser,” the mage answered.  A quick glance was enough for him to agree with the mage’s assessment – his fellow Warden’s breaths came shallowly and she looked decidedly pale, an unhealthy grey tone to her skin.

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked the mage, who shook his head in reply.

“No ser.  I’m only fresh out of the Tower myself, this was supposed to be an easy assignment.”  The mage still shook slightly, though whether from exhaustion or more directly from the dead ogre, Alistair couldn’t tell.  “Senior Enchanter Wynne always despaired over my ability to learn healing spells.”

They needed a healer, and quick.  “Guard!” he called to the man standing by the floor entrance.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Alistair apologized as the man came closer.

“It’s Walter, ser,” the guard said, with a polite bow of his head.

Alistair nodded.  “Walter, then.  We need a healer up here, now.  Do you think you can get back to camp, see if anyone is free?  We should have cleared the tower of darkspawn on the way up.”

The guard saluted.  “Right, ser, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  With that, he pelted down the staircase.  There was nothing left to do but wait then.

Alistair occupied himself with locating his fallen Dalish companion’s weaponry.  He slung the bow and quiver over his own shoulder and located her blades, pulling the two knives from where they were embedded in the ogre’s corpse.  He grunted a little as he freed the killing blade from the monster’s spine, where it was well and truly embedded.  How she had managed to wedge it in so well as badly injured as she must have been mystified him.  Duncan had chosen his newest recruit well, it seemed.  She’d do the Wardens proud if she survived this battle.  If she survived.  The thought of having to tell Duncan that she hadn’t made him sick to his stomach.

No, he realized suddenly.  That sinking feeling was due to something else entirely.  Darkspawn, a vast number of darkspawn, below them in the tower.   Maker’s breath, the amount of taint!  He threw Kara’s weapons into her quiver and freed his sword and shield as he raced back to where he had left his two companions.  He was nearly half-way back and had started to shout a warning when the door burst open and the dark tide roared into the room.

He barely felt the first two arrows that hit him.  He did feel the blade that ran him through, and the floor as his knees hit hard.  The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was the mage going down under a wash of darkspawn and his fellow Warden being swallowed under tainted mass.

Then all went black.

                                                                                                   ****

Silence reigned in the circle for a moment, while the children held their breaths.  Finally, one trembling voice spoke out.

“They didn’t…die, did they, Keeper Merrill?” the child asked tremulously.

“Don’t be silly, of course they didn’t,” scoffed Tenerin.  “Karaleyna defeated the Blight!”

“Tenerin,” Merrill scolded, “mind your manners.”  She turned to the first child again.  “No da’len, they did not perish atop the tower.”  The boy continued to look up at her, face full of childish fear and anxiety, eyes big and half-moist with tears.  Merrill sighed.  “I’m going to have to continue the tale, aren’t I?”

Modifié par Sandtigress, 28 mai 2010 - 12:11 .

[Sandtigress]

Right, nice short chapter that I could do while taking a few breaks. That's likely it for the next week or two while I madly finish the thesis! Thanks for reading!

Bonus geek DA points if you recognize the title!

Modifié par Sandtigress, 28 mai 2010 - 12:16 .

[Maximus741000]

Fantastic chapter as always! You're going from strength to strength with your writing abilities, especially for describing a battle scene like that. I'm actually beginning to envy you! : )

And as it turns out, the title comes from the DA Soundtrack, the same one in the Tower of Ishal with the Ogre, hence the story's title!

[Sandtigress]

I kind of figured it might be a risk writing a purely action chapter - I don't think I write action all that well, but then, I grew up on the likes of R. A. Salvatore who is just a master of action writing. Glad you liked it!



And that is indeed where the title is from - it's one of my favorite songs on the soundtrack, and it actually did inspire the whole scene, because I really really wanted to write a chapter with that title. :-P A little backwards, perhaps, but that's how my twisted little brain works sometimes.

[Sandtigress]

The Witch of the Wilds - Part I


Kara woke to an aching chest, and the disconcerting sensation of being completely surrounded by solid walls.  The place was wholly unfamiliar, and she had no memory of how she had arrived here.  She lay still for a moment, taking further stock of her surroundings.  The fetid smell of a swamp filled her nostrils.  Light trickled through some opening, and the little sounds of life could be heard outside.  Kara realized with some surprise that she wore little other than bandages.  A great many bandages.

“Ah, your eyes finally open.  Mother will surely be pleased.”  Kara turned her head as she sat up gingerly to find the speaker – a feral-eyed woman dressed in rags.  “I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten and we are in the Wilds where I have just bandaged your wounds.  You are welcome, by the way.”  Morrigan, the woman who had found them at the ruined Warden outpost in the Wilds.

The human woman continued.  “How does your memory fare?  Do you remember Mother’s rescue?”

Kara thought for a moment, but found only the ogre.  “No, I remember nothing.”

“Mother managed to save you, though it was a close call.  What is important is that you live.”  Morrigan held her eyes in a frank gaze.  “The man who was to have responded to your signal…quit the field.  The darkspawn won your battle.  Those he abandoned were massacred.”

Massacred.  All of them?  The king and his army…Duncan, and the rest of the Grey Wardens?   Overwhelming desolation and the bitter taste of failure clawed at her.  Gone, all of them gone, and herself clanless once more.  But she had not been alone at the tower.

“Alistair, what of him?”  She tried to hide the desperation in her voice – it would not do to let a stranger hear such things.

Morrigan’s lips curled in disdain.  “The suspicious dimwitted one who was with you before?  He is outside, by the fire.  He did not take the news well.  I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish.”

“They were his friends, his family!” Kara exclaimed, shocked that the woman could be so callous.

“And do you think they would encourage his blubbering?  If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note,” Morrigan countered cooly.

Kara stared askance at this strange woman before her, who could not comprehend that clan should be cherished, and mourned when lost.  The look was apparently lost on the human woman, who either did not see or simply did not care. 

“Mother asked to see you when you awoke,” she said, handing Kara her hunting leathers.  Several long slices in the garments had been neatly repaired, injuries she had no memory of taking.  They did, however, correspond to bandages wrapped around midriff and leg.  The Creators had been with her in some fashion then, to survive so many wounds.  And one other.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan,” she said, looking up at the other woman.

“I…you are welcome,” Morrigan replied.  She seemed surprised at the gratitude, though she recovered her aplomb quickly enough.  “Mother did most of the work.  I am no healer.”

“Were my injuries severe?” the elf asked, fingering a neat row of stitches in her tunic before shrugging it over her head, wincing slightly at still sore ribs.

“Yes,” she acknowledged with some hesitation, “but I expect you shall be fine.  The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal.”

“And Alistair?  Is he all right?”  Kara stood to pull on her leggings, fastening the white halla hide belt over the top.  Her hunting knife, she noted, was absent from its sheath.  She was pleased to find her legs remained steady, with no residual weakness.

“He is…as you are.  He excused himself when I began rebandaging your wounds.  An…unusual man.”  She smiled in a most mysterious manner.  “You may see for yourself.  I will call Mother in.”

Morrigan walked to the door, a rickety wooden thing, and pulled it open.  A few moments later, her mother, whom Kara recognized from their earlier foray into the Wilds, entered the room followed by her brother Warden.

“See?” the older woman said with a grin.  “Here is your fellow Grey Warden.  You worry too much, young man.”

Alistair looked in Kara’s direction with surprise, relief evident in his eyes.  “You…you’re alive!  I thought you were dead for sure.” He laughed, a short thing full of disbelief.

“I’m fine,” Kara said reassuringly.

“This doesn’t seem real.”  Alistair shook his head.  “If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad,” Morrigan’s mother said grumpily.

“I didn’t mean…but what do we call you?” Alistair stammered apologetically.  “You never told us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless,” the elder woman said with a wave of disdain.  “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth.  I suppose it will do.”

Alistair stared at her.  “The Flemeth?  From the legends?  Daveth was right.  You’re the Witch of the Wilds.”

“And what does that mean?” Flemeth retorted.  “I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?”  She turned to look at the elven woman.  “And you?  Do your people still tell tales of me?  You are Dalish, are you not?”

“I have heard of the asha’belannar, the woman of many years, yes,” Kara answered with a careful nod.  “A woman of much power.”

Flemeth laughed, a cackling thing.  “Age and power are relative – it depends on who is asking.  Compared to you, yes, on both counts.  But enough of this,” she said abruptly.  “Come Morrigan, let us leave these two to talk.  I imagine they have much to discuss.”  She turned and walked out the door, her daughter following closely on her heels after a long parting glance.

With the departure of the two strange human (were they truly human?) women, so too went the distraction.  The full force of the loss of the Wardens struck like a thunderbolt and it was all she could do not to wail in despair.  But the grief-ravaged face of her brother Warden was before her, and he was all the clan she had left.

She sat cross-legged where she had awakened, and indicated a spot before her for him to sit.  He did so mechanically, like a man still numb from shock, sitting heavily.  “Do you want to talk?  About Duncan?” she asked gently.  More so than any other Warden, Alistair had always spoken of Duncan with a certain reverence.  

“You don’t have to do that. I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.”  He was trying to put on a brave front, but she could hear the desperate anguish in his voice, and the need for release.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t mourn his loss.”  Kara reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.  “I just thought that you might need to talk.”

Alistair remained silent for a moment before speaking again.  “That morning…the morning we went to the tower, when Duncan sent me to find you?  I mentioned that he looked tired, asked him if he had had too much fun the night before.”  He blew out a brief, harsh laugh.  “He admitted to me that he’d started having the nightmares again…”

“I knew it, then, that we’d be losing him soon.  With the nightmares…it was only a matter of time.  I just never expected…I never thought…not so soon, not like that.”  He buried his head in his hands for a moment, unable to continue.  Kara drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.  This talk of nightmares was new to her – she imagined it had something to do with the dream she had had after the Joining.  But to ask now would be a distraction, so she held her tongue and waited.

“He saved me, you know.  Duncan saw I wasn’t happy at the Chantry and he conscripted me.  He was the first person who cared what I wanted.”  And from there, the stories flowed.  He talked, not really to her, about his time spent with the Grey Wardens and Duncan in particular.  Kara asked questions occasionally, but mostly she listened, until finally he stopped, as if he had run out of things to say.

“It probably sounds stupid,” he said at last, “but part of me wishes I was with him.  In the battle.  I feel like I abandoned him.”

Kara thought back to the caves, and to Tamlen, who she had abandoned there to his fate.  “No, I understand completely,” she said quietly.

“Of course, I’d be dead then, wouldn’t I?”  Alistair shook his head.  “It’s not like that would make him happier.”  He turned to look at her then, for the first time since he had started speaking again.  “Thank you.  Really, I mean it.  It was good to talk about it, at least a little.” 

She waved away the gratitude.  “He was a good man, and my friend too.”

He offered a weak smile then, but it looked genuine, like that of a man who, if he had not lost a great burden entirely, had at least shared the load with someone else.  “That’s good to hear.  It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who remembers him well.”  He looked around, as if only now noting how the light in the room had dimmed and become colored by the setting sun.  

“Maker’s breath, I must have been talking for hours.  And you listened, all that time…” he trailed off, then gathered himself again.  “I guess we should see what Morrigan and her mother are up to, shouldn’t we?”  Alistair stood first, then extended a hand to help her rise.  Together, they made their way outside, to where Morrigan and the woman who called herself Flemeth stood around a bubbling pot.

“Ah, and so they emerge again,” Flemeth said in her strange sing-song way.  “Are you ready now to set aside your grief?  ‘In the dark shadows before you take vengeance,’ my mother used to say.  Duty must come now.”

“Duty?  What are you talking about?” Alistair asked, the confusion evident on his face.

“It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight, or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”  The elderly woman fixed the two Grey Wardens with a chillingly direct gaze.

“But we were fighting the darkspawn!” Alistair fumed.  “The king had almost defeated them!  Why would Loghain do this?”

“Now that is a good question.  Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature.”  Flemeth spoke in riddles again, and Kara wondered just how much the woman knew, how much she wasn’t saying.  Her people told stories of this woman, how her knowledge surpassed what any mortal should know, through the power of dark arts.  Kara watched her intently as Flemeth continued to speak.  “Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver.  Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The archdemon,” Alistair gritted around clenched teeth.

“Ah, Old Gods awakened and tainted by darkspawn.  Believe that or not, history says it is a fearsome and immortal thing.  And only fools ignore history.”  Flemeth gave a little cackle with the last.

“It is this archdemon we need to find, yes?” Kara said, looking to Alistair.

“By ourselves?” Alistair turned towards her incredulously.   “No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back.  Not to mention, I don’t know how!”  He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army?” Flemeth asked pointedly.  “It seems to me these are two different questions, hmm?  Have the Wardens no allies these days?”

“I…I don’t know.” Alistair began to pace.  “Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called.  And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely!”

“Arl Eamon?” Kara repeated curiously, forming the sounds of the strange name cautiously.  “Is this someone important who can help us?”

“I suppose….Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar, he still has all his men.  And he was Cailan’s uncle.  I know him.  He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet.”  He stopped pacing suddenly and whirled to look at her.  “Of course!  We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

“When the clan sent me away,” and how proud she was for saying that calmly!  “Keeper Marethari told me that our people made a vow long ago to aid the Grey Wardens in the fight against the darkspawn.  I was sent with Duncan to fulfill that promise, but perhaps my people will offer more help.”

“A vow…” he repeated thoughtfully.  “Of course!  The treaties!”  There was an excited light in his eyes now.  “Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places!  They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!”

“I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me,” Flemeth said dryly.

“So can we do this?” her brother Warden asked her, uncertainty replacing his earlier exuberance.  “Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?”

“We must to end the Blight, yes?” she replied.

“So are you set then?  Ready to be Grey Wardens?”  The two Wardens traded looks with each other.

“What choice do we have?”  Kara asked solemnly.  “We will do our duty.”

“Good.”  Flemeth nodded decisively.  “You will leave here in a few days, when your wounds have fully healed.  And when you do, I have one more thing to offer you.  When you leave, Morrigan will be going with you.”

Morrigan turned sharply toward her mother.  “What?”

“You heard me, girl.  The last time I looked, you had ears!” The elder witch laughed inanely at her own joke.

Kara looked dubiously at her brother Warden and she could see the doubt and reluctance in his eyes.  She, too, had no desire to involve anyone else in what would surely be a dangerous mission.  “Our thanks, but if Morrigan does not wish to join us…”

Flemeth met her eyes with a direct stare.  “Her magic will be useful.  Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

“Have I no say in this?”  Morrigan complained, annoyance clear in her voice.

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years.  Here is your chance.”  The laughter drained from Flemeth’s eyes now, replaced by heavy gravity.  “They need you, Morrigan.  Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn.  Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight.  Even I.”

Morrigan swallowed, and nodded in acquiescence.  “I….understand.”

“As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.  Do you understand?  I give you that which I value above all else in this world.  I do this because you must succeed.”

Kara met her eyes, mirroring the seriousness there.  “We understand.  Thank you, Flemeth.  And thank you, Morrigan,” she said, turning to the younger witch, who acknowledged with a hesitant nod.

“Eat and rest tonight.” Flemeth gestured to the bubbling pot.  “Soon enough you will have time for neither.  Morrigan and I have preparations that must be made.  We will return in the morning.”  After a pointed glance at her daughter, Flemeth disappeared into the trees.  Morrigan followed close behind. 

With the departure of their hosts, the two Grey Wardens traded uneasy glances with each other.  Finally, Alistair shrugged and moved towards the pot, crouching to fill two bowls with what was revealed to be some sort of stew.  They sat about the fire, both silent in their own personal contemplations. 

Listening to the soft pop of fire, Kara was struck by how different it all was.  There were no songs to Sylaise in thanksgiving for the hearth, no soft murmur to Andruil for the good hunt.  Even the smell was different, lacking the sweet smoke that had been ever-present in her former life.  The food tasted wrong.  It had been so since leaving her people, but then, there had been a future amongst the Grey Wardens to ponder.  And fear, were she to be completely honest.  It had not been so noticeable in the rush of a new way of life.  But now, now it all seemed to be slipping away.

The Grey Wardens were gone, all but herself and Alistair.  A clan gained, and lost, all in the span of a few days.  Duncan and the rest of the Wardens that she had barely begun to know.  Maera, who had only been at Ostagar for her sake, and Anari.  And not just her clan – part of her heritage was gone as well.  Her father’s bow, lost at the tower.  And worse, the collected knowledge that had been the Keeper’s final gift to her, to keep her people, and her parents close even as she journeyed far away.  Every fiber of her that was Dalish protested the loss, but what could she do?  Fight her way near-weaponless through a horde of darkspawn to see if anything had been spared?  Or ask her brother Warden to give his life for history that was not his?  No, there was nothing to do but mourn the loss privately.  She hardly thought Alistair would understand, especially not in the face of losing Duncan.

Her hands shook with the effort of not breaking down then and there, but for her brother’s sake, Kara was determined to stay strong.  They had a monumental task ahead of them, a task that by all rights should be impossible.  So close to breaking himself, he needed to believe they could do this, needed to believe she was capable and could make this happen.  And so she would be….at least until he was somewhere else.

They finished the meal in silence as the setting sun lengthened the shadows about them, finally slipping beyond the treeline to leave the two Grey Wardens in darkness but for the low flicker of the dying fire.  The symbolism of the event was not lost on her.

Eventually Alistair set his empty bowl next to the pair of similarly used vessels by the fire.  “I guess we should get some sleep.  We have a lot of work ahead of us,” he said, rising.  He offered a hand to help her up, but she declined with a shake of her head.

“Later.  There are some things I must do first.”  He glanced at her curiously a moment longer before nodding and making his way into Flemeth’s hut, the door creaking shut behind him.  She waited several more long moments until it seemed unlikely he would reemerge before rising herself, moving towards the treeline.

Kara gathered wood to feed the fire, picking her way through the undergrowth by the growing light of the rising moon.  None of the herbs she needed grew here in the swamplands, nor the cedar and oak that the rituals required, and in any case she could not have cut enough staves for all the lives lost. But she could keep vigil, and sing the songs, and call to the Creators, futile as it might be.  Maybe tonight, they would hear and come down, and make everything right again.

She built the fire back up, setting the remainder of the fuel nearby, enough to last the night, singing Sylaise’s thanks softly under her breath as the flames rose up.  Taking a seat with the fire to her back, Kara looked up to the star-strewn night sky that had always seemed a sanctuary to her, though tonight it seemed empty and void of comfort.

Eyes shut, she called to mind the fallen – what she could remember of her fellow Wardens.  Duncan’s memory was the clearest, tall and dark, stern and yet kind.  The king, too, was memorable with his open nature, kind smile, golden armor.  The rest flickered past, mere snippets of memory, but important nonetheless.  Thus armed, she began to sing, soft elven words from the days when death was not sudden and unanticipated, did not swoop in to steal loved ones away between one breath and the next, days when death was no more menacing than a waking sleep.  And then it was her Tamlen there, in her mind’s eye, lovingly recreated from years of misadventure and mischief and sticking together through thick and thin.  Her resolve finally crumbled, and as the the song faded away the tears she had fought throughout the day began to fall, and she wept silently for all the loss.

She was roused from half-slumber by something like a shove from a cold, wet nose.  For a sleep-muddled moment, she wondered wildly if Fen’Harel himself had come, drawn by the scent of death and the souls wandering the Beyond in search of their rest.  But the second nudge was accompanied by a whine, and it seemed unlikely that the Dread Wolf should make such a sound as he claimed his prey.  Nor, she thought, would a trickster god possess the soft, expressive brown eyes that met her own in the light of the fire.

It seemed too much to ask that it be real, but the rough fur under her hands seemed real enough, as did the slobbery licks that the mabari hound soon covered her face in, so she wrapped her arms around Anari’s neck and thanked Mythal for protecting at least one of her friends.  And though she would have asked the Creators for nothing more than what she had now, she could not deny her joy when Anari pulled away and returned to drop a soggy, battered bag into her lap, from which fell the worn volume of her father’s notes.

[Sandtigress]

What that? Yes, stealth Sandi update! Thesis is mostly finished, my boss has it all in her hands now, so I can take a second to get a little bit up! Thanks for being patient - two and a half weeks to my defense!


Many thanks to SurelyForth and SidheKate for letting me steal some game dialogue from them so I wouldn't have to play through scenes and take even longer to update!

Modifié par Sandtigress, 19 juin 2010 - 02:28 .

[Sandtigress]

Right, just to let people know I have not forgotten about the story! My Masters thesis defense was yesterday, and my committee passed me with flying colors, and I got lots of compliments on the thesis itself and the presentation. So that's a huge weight off my mind, and now I can get back to writing!

I will do my best to have something up in a few days or so - thanks so much for being patient, and most especially for reading!

[Sandtigress]

The Witch of the Wilds - Part II

Eyes shut in concentration, she moved through the familiar motions of the dance, her mother's blades a familiar weight in her hands. The steps were meant to be quicker - she had not practiced these forms so slowly almost since she learned them years before, but despite Flemeth's most recent application of her healing magics early this morning muscles were still stiff and protesting use.

She danced as though against an imaginary opponent, blades moving to block unseen blows or strike against her foe. In the past, it might have been Tamlen who faced her. It had always been their pet theory that Keeper Marethari had passed on her predecessor's writings, invaluable as they were, as an attempt to keep them out of trouble by giving them something else to do, a distraction for Tamlen's boundless mischief, knowing that he would follow her lead.

Today, she ended the dance alone, offering a courteous salute to her nonexistent partner before opening her eyes to return the daggers to their place in her boots. Kara turned to where she had left Anari, only to find Alistair crouched there by the mabari, watching her.

"Ah, good morning," he said, starting a little as though guilty he had been caught spying. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to fight like that? Or are all the Dalish taught that?"

She shook her head as she walked towards them. "Not all of us. The sword forms were lost like most of our culture when my people were enslaved. Masters of the art are rare now, but there are bits and pieces of the forms scattered throughout the clans. My father was gathering those pieces together again. I learned from him."

His eyes looked distant as she said the last, something equal parts regret and hardness shading the hazel. "That must have been nice. My father wasn't a part of my life – he never taught me anything."

"Nor was mine," she replied sympathetically. "He died before I was born, my mother shortly after."

"You too?" he said, surprised. "But I thought you said…"

"That my father taught me?" she finished. Kara knelt in front of Anari to remove the leatherbound volume from beneath his paws. She hesitated a brief moment – the elders would not think kindly of sharing Dalish secrets with a shem – but this man was clan of sorts now, and they would be traveling in close proximity for the foreseeable future, if not the rest of their lives. It made no sense to hide such things from him.

"These are his notes," she said, laying them out before him. His eyes took in the careful drawings and diagrams, and the precise script of her father's hand, lines and curves so familiar to her. "The hawk swoops down from above, and its prey never sees the blow. Be like the hawk – strike like lightening, with speed and precision, and your foe will fall before you," she recited, tracing the words with a finger.

Alistair's eyes followed the motion, then looked up at her with confusion. "I thought you said you couldn't read?"

She shook her head. "I spent the last Arlathvhen, when the clans gathered together, trying to find the masters that my father had located. Some of them were kind enough to read his notes out for me."

"And you remember every word?" he said incredulously, staring at the goodly-sized volume before them.

"What I have heard," she said with a little shrug. "Pieces here and there. The entire history of my people is oral, this is but a little more."

"Still, that's remarkable…" He trailed off and the two sat in awkward silence for a time, neither quite knowing what to say. They had gone from potential comrades to the only two remaining members of their order in such a short period of time. It hadn't seemed so hard when friendship had been just a potential outcome, but now that it seemed a foregone conclusion, neither knew how to approach the other. They were so different from each other, where could they even begin?

Finally Alistair cleared his throat and spoke again. "If we're going to face the Blight, maybe we could spend some time sparring? I mean, if you're okay with that. We'll be fighting together and all that."

"That sounds like a good idea," Kara agreed. At least they had that in common. That and the taint polluting their blood.

Alistair stood and made his way back towards Flemeth's ramshackle hut. "I suppose you'll need your weapons back then, hmm? Can't go fighting the darkspawn barehanded and all." Kara watched him curiously. Her weapons? Had he managed to recover something from the tower then? Her eyes grew wide with amazement when he pulled forth her blades, resheathed, and her hunting dagger. Her quiver and her father's bow. Pieces of her heritage, her past life, thought lost to her and returned by her unlikely comrade.

She took the weapons from him with hands trembling slightly with gratitude. "Alistair, thank you. You have no idea how much this means…" And indeed, he looked a little surprised at her reaction, more earnest perhaps than he had expected. "The sword and dagger, 'dar'misu' and 'dar'misaan' we call them, are just weapons but this…this was my father's," she explained, cradling the bow carefully in her hands.

"He was not a hunter for long before he became Keeper of the clan, but he kept his father's bow for the day that he would have a child of his own to pass it to. After he died, Keeper Marethari passed it on to me, when I left for my first hunt." She traced one finger down the fine inlay shaping the ivy that curved its way across the bow.

"Can I ask you a question?" Alistair ventured when she paused, settling himself on the ground again. At her nod, he continued. "Back there, with the ogre. How in the Maker's name did you do that?"

"Do what, kill it?" His head bobbed in assent. "The sword forms were created in the days of Arlathan, when the elves were eternal and could spend millennia at a single task. The masters watched the animals and studied them, so that they could become one with them. Those who knew the old magic were able to trade their forms for that of the animals. Those who did not applied what they learned in other ways." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Tamlen and I, we used to watch the wild cats kill like that, by severing the spine."

"But how did you get up there?" her brother Warden asked.

She smiled, remembering another time, a different kind of hunt. "One of the elder hunters accompanied me on my first hunt, along with Tamlen because he would not let me go alone. That year was lean, the winter had been very harsh. We were on the hunt for many days but caught nothing, and it seemed as though we would go home empty handed. We were returning to camp when Tamlen found something."

"I'm guessing not a deer," Alistair ventured.

Kara shook her head in reply. "A mother bear, hungry and desperate to feed her cubs. It was not right to kill her, but there was nothing about us other than the tall trees. So we used our arrows to form a ladder, and climbed into the trees."

"Clever," he commented. "I assume it worked?"

She smiled ruefully. "For Tamlen and I, but we were young and light. Our teacher was halfway up when the arrows broke under his weight, and he fell back to the ground, and the bear."

Alistair winced in response. "So what happened?"

Kara shrugged. "It was either let Master Kellen die, or kill the bear. So Tamlen and I came down from the tree, and we killed the bear."

"You killed the bear, just like that?" Alistair looked at her dubiously.

She shook her head again. "It was not an easy fight, by any means. Normally, we could have tried to scare her away, but she was starving and desperate. She nearly killed us all before we finally brought her down." She reached up to touch the string of wooden beads and claws about her neck. "Master Kellen gave us the bear claws to remember the day that we became full hunters in our own right, the youngest the clan had seen." And Tamlen had strung the claws onto the necklet she had inherited from her father, and presented it as his promise to wed her, children though they might have been.

"You two must have been quite the heroes then," Alistair commented, though he couldn't have been farther from the truth.

"No, the other elders chided us for our recklessness and said we were not ready for such responsibility." Always overprotective, the clan, fearful to lose the legacy their beloved Keeper had left them. And in the end it had not been bears or illness or shems which had stolen her away from them but the unstoppable, unbeatable force of the Blight. A force that now the two of them were to conquer. A sobering thought.

"In any case," she continued, "it was hardly a victory. After slaying the mother, we had to kill the cubs as well."

"What, why?" Alistair asked, startled.

"Without their mother, they would have starved to death," she explained. "It was either a quick, merciful death at our hands or dying slowly of starvation. Vir Assan, we call it, the Way of the Arrow. 'Let not your prey suffer.'"

"A touching sentiment," a sultry voice commented dryly from behind, startling them both. Morrigan stood in the open doorway of the hut, a worn and patched pack resting across one shoulder. "Shall we continue to chat while the Blight overruns us, or you ready to depart?"

The two Wardens traded glances with each other before rising. Now was as good a time to leave as any. "Do you have any suggestions on where we should go, Morrigan?" Kara turned to better see the human witch. "We will need supplies. Arrows especially, if we are to fight the darkspawn." She glanced down to the nearly empty quiver in her hand.

Morrigan considered her for a long moment, perhaps surprised that she would be consulted especially given the ill-concealed distaste in Alistair's eyes. Finally she appeared to make up her mind. "I suggest a village north of the Wilds. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there."

Kara looked to Alistair, who shrugged though there was more than a little doubt remaining in his eyes. She nodded their acquiescence then to Morrigan who acknowledged with her own curt head motion. As the Dalish woman moved to gather her meager belongings together, Alistair fell into step.

"Are you sure about this? Do you really want to take her along, just because her mother says so?" Alistair muttered as they walked. Kara wondered whether his reservations were due to Morrigan's admittedly disagreeable personality, or if it had more to do with her being what he called an apostate mage. The idea of fearing a person simply for possessing magic was so foreign to her – the Keepers were men and women to look up to, the ones to turn to when all else seemed dark. But this was a reminder, yet again, that this was no longer the world that she knew.

"I think that Flemeth is right. We need her help, Alistair, if we are going to defeat the Blight." It wasn't really the answer that he wanted to hear, but from the way that he sighed, he knew that she was right no matter how much he wanted to disagree.

"I suppose the Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them," he agreed reluctantly. "I just…I'm not sure we can trust her."

"The tales of the asha'belannar are not many amongst my people, but all tell of her cunning and machinations." Kara met her companion's eyes directly. "We may need Morrigan's help, but that does not mean we must trust her entirely."

Alistair brightened considerably at that. "Good, that's good. And very sensible of you. I'm glad that we're agreed on that." He stooped down to pick up his pack, the only one they had left between the two of them. "I guess we'd better get to it then. The sooner we defeat the Blight the sooner she can go."

                                                                                                ****

They spent the day traveling in awkward silence, since anything Alistair said was usually followed with a snipe from Morrigan. Kara contented herself with observing – her human companions as much as the land about them, Anari trotting along at her side. She kept her eyes open especially for signs of darkspawn, though Morrigan had promised that some trick of Flemeth's would keep the darkspawn away. Alistair too said that he felt none of the beasts nearby, but there was no sense in not being cautious. Careless hunters usually became dead hunters.

Morrigan left them only once in the day, to search for a suitable place to spend the night, she had said. She had turned into a hawk, there before their eyes, and flown off, leaving Alistair spluttering. Kara only watched with interest – such magic was known in the old days of Arlathan and still used by some of the Keepers of the clans today, though it was rare. While Alistair likely fretted over the illegal use of magic, Kara wondered how much Morrigan knew of the origins of her abilities, and what she might be able to share with the clans, were Morrigan ever of a mind to do such a thing.

Eventually she returned to them, in human guise this time, and led them to spot, nothing more than a dry patch amidst the surrounding swampland where they set up a meager camp for the night. Kara excused herself to see what she might find them for dinner. She had intended to take Anari with her, but found Morrigan by her side instead.

"Allow me, if you will," the witch said. "I am, after all, accustomed to providing for myself in these lands." Kara nodded her acquiescence, and the two headed deeper into the swamp together. They had not traveled for long when the human woman stopped. "Be you ready, Warden. Your target will make itself known soon." With that, Morrigan disappeared and a rangy wolf appeared in her place. The lupine form loped away, in search of prey.

The Dalish elf fitted one precious arrow to her bow – every shot would have to count until they could purchase more, or better still find the materials to make her own. One could not trust the humans to properly understand the makings of fine arrows, not when defeating the Blight hung in the balance. The chance for further contemplation was lost when a flurry of wings signaled Morrigan's successful flush, and the arrow was in flight a thought later. She did not see where her quarry had fallen, but Morrigan soon found her again, slain fowl in hand.

"A fine shot. It seems the stories of Dalish prowess with the bow were not exaggerated." The witch scrutinized the slighter woman for a few moments. "Are the stories of the wild magic true as well, I wonder?"

"Magic like your own, you mean?" Kara asked carefully as she hooked her bow over her shoulder. The bowstring was becoming ever so slack, another thing she would need to replace soon.

"Indeed. I have heard tale of such things amongst the Dalish,"the other woman replied as they began to walk back to the makeshift camp where they had left Alistair and Anari.

"There are some amongst the Keepers who use similar magic, yes," Kara answered finally, after some hesitation. She was giving away much information on her people today, it seemed, but Morrigan's knowledge might be a connection to their own history. Perhaps it was worth the risk. Morrigan had similar thoughts, it seemed.

"Interesting. I wonder if I was to ask one of your keepers of the origins of their magics if there would be any relation to what Flemeth taught me?" she mused.

"We know little about our origins," Kara replied. "But I am afraid that the Keepers would be unwilling to share even what small amount they know with an outsider."

"Ah, true." Morrigan nodded thoughtfully to herself. "Though I suspect that I have more in common with your people than my own kind, but such is how it must be."

"We are very alike, you and I," Morrigan continued. "More similar to the animals than to what people like Alistair would consider civilized. The wilds call to us both." The witch pronounced her brother Warden's name like it left a foul taste in her mouth, but Kara could not disagree with the general truth of her statement. The wider human world was likely to be just as different to Morrigan as to herself. She and Alistair might have more in common in matters of personality, but in other ways she was much the same as Morrigan.

"What you say has merit," Kara agreed finally.

"I am pleased that you agree. You are more sensible than that silly fool of a man that you travel with. The Dalish are far more practical." Though they were approaching their camp, Morrigan did not lower her voice. She cared little, it seemed, for Alistair's opinion of her. She paused, just before entering circle of firelight about the camp. "You will appreciate this more than he would, I am sure."

The witch removed a satchel from over her shoulder and pressed it into the Dalish woman's hands. Kara opened it to find a bundle of wooden rods, seasoned and dried already, perfect for new arrows. A bundle of shaped arrowheads, barbed, the kind used for war, and sinew for binding and bowstrings. "Where did you get these?" she asked.

"Something I acquired while scouting earlier. Does it matter?" Morrigan replied, challenge in her voice. "We require them more than their previous owner, do we not?"

Her conscience pricked at her, but Morrigan was right. If ending the Blight was up to them and them alone, then the arrows were better in her hands than in their nameless former owner's. It was the cold, practical reality, but that didn't mean she had to like the idea. She accepted the offering wordlessly, flipping the satchel closed and looping the strap over her own head. Morrigan nodded in approval and headed into the camp proper. Kara followed close behind.

After their dinner, an awkward affair with little speech, Kara occupied her time with her arrows, fletching them with the feathers from the goose they had caught. Her hands moved with practiced ease over the task, allowing her mind to wander over the past few days, and the days to come in the company of these humans, so different from each other, and from her, in so many ways. And yet they were so alike in others.

Morrigan's voice interrupted her contemplations. "Shall we split the watch? Or had you planned to staying awake all of tonight as well? Do the Dalish not require sleep?"

"We sleep like any other," Kara replied. "First watch, then. I would finish my task here."

The other woman nodded curtly. "Allow me to be second then. I take my leave of you for now, Wardens." With that, Morrigan slipped into the darkness.

Alistair moved as though to make ready for bed himself, but paused before fully rising. He turned towards his elven companion. "You didn't sleep last night? Is everything okay?"

She waved away his concerns. "It was…" More information on her people. "A Dalish rite, for the dead."

"Oh." He sounded surprised. "Oh I see. For your friend, Tamlen, was his name?"

She was surprised in return, that he would remember Tamlen's name, and that he would sound so interested in the practices of her people. "Yes, but not only for him. For Duncan, and the king, and all the rest as well."

He was silent for a moment, recalling Duncan, most likely. "The Dalish don't practice cremation, do they? How do you honor the dead?"

"When we have the body," she paused, remembering that they did not, not for Tamlen or for Duncan or any of the others. "When there is a body, we bury it and plant a sapling above."

"That…sounds very beautiful. Life springing from death." And he sounded like he really meant it. She had been so ready to be ridiculed, to be considered a barbarian by the humans. Yet this one was respectful and kind and genuinely fascinated by her culture. "And when there is no body to bury?"

"We sing for them anyways, to call down the Creators to lead them home," she replied. "And keep vigil through the night so that the dead might not lose their way, or be led astray by Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf who roams the Beyond."

Alistair was quiet again for a few moments. "I wish I would have known. I would have liked to stay up with you, for Duncan. There's nothing else I can do for him…"

Kara watched him with pity in her eyes. He knew what it was to mourn for a lost clan, a lost family, perhaps as much as she did. Hahren Paivel's words flitted across her memory. "One of the elders told me a poem, after Tamlen…he said it was traditionally said at funerals. 'Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye,'" she recited softly, translating. "'Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder. Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence.'"

Silence reigned in the camp for a time as they remembered the Warden-Commander who had saved them both. Finally, Alistair rose, rather abruptly. "I…I should really get some sleep, before my watch." He backed away, though not before Kara caught the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. "But I…thank you, Kara. For remembering him." And then he had set himself across their little camp, busying himself with sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep.

Kara again kept vigil, hands busy with fletching arrows, but mind once more with all those they had lost.

                                                                                                    ****

She was in a land she recognized, yet it still seemed so unfamiliar. Perhaps it was the fog that covered all, obscuring the lay of the land and bases of the trees. Still she knew this place. And she knew the figure who sat at the water's edge, back turned to her.

"The singing…I cannot stop it."

"Tamlen?" she called softly. Kara knew his voice, though it was broken and ravaged by pain. The figure did not turn.

"Can you not hear it? The song?"

"Tamlen? Lethallin, is it you?" The figure turned, but it was not her Tamlen that faced her. His skin was grey and his eyes feverish, opaque.

The thing moved to a crouch. "You…" it whispered. Kara took a step closer, but it hissed at her. "You! You left me to die!"

"No." Kara denied the accusation in a quiet, pained voice. "No, I never wanted to leave you."

"The master told me. He says that you ran, to save yourself." The not-Tamlen stood and raised a finger accusingly. "The master commands your death." The woods behind him burst into flame, the fog suddenly burned away and silhouetted in the flickering light, Kara saw the dragon, the archdemon. It hissed in her brain, not so much a voice but a knowledge. Hate, darkness, and a focused malevolence that tried to overcome the very core of her being. Twisted, vile amusement that it could take that which was most dear to her and turn it against her.

"You left me there to die, and now I'm going to kill you!" The twisted form of Tamlen launched himself at her, the dragon laughing all the while.

                                                                                                 ****

She woke screaming, shooting out of her makeshift bed and into a pair of arms that she was too shaken and anguished to question. They surrounded her while she trembled, the dream still so real and too near and far too close to home. She had abandoned him to his fate, stopped looking when she should never, never have stopped until she had found him. It was all her fault that he was gone, and her fault that she would never see him again. Nothing she did would ever change that.

Eventually she became aware of the arms about her, the warmth wrapped around her and she pulled back to see Alistair there. Her brother Warden backed away slightly, enough to give her a little room.

"Bad dreams, huh?" he asked sympathetically, though he spoke as if he already knew the answer.

Kara wrapped her arms about herself. "It seemed so real…"

"You dreamed of the archdemon?" he asked. She nodded in reply. "Well, it is real, sort of." He paused, considering his words. "Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was, hearing them. It starts some time after the Joining. It's supposed to be worse who Join during a Blight, I'm sorry to say. I know it took longer for my nightmares to really start." Kara digested that for a moment.

"It takes a bit, but eventually most Wardens learn to block the dreams out," Alistair continued. "Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

"I could…feel it," Kara said slowly. "Not an understanding in words, but all the same…"

Alistair nodded. "Anyways, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary for me at first too."

Kara exhaled slowly, willing the last vestiges of dream (that's all that it was, she reminded herself, a dream and nothing more) to dissipate. "Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it."

Alistair smiled as he rose to return to his seat by the fire. "That's what I'm here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners."

When he had settled himself again, Kara laid back and willed herself to shut her eyes. She could ill afford to lose any sleep, not with the darkspawn about. Still she found herself reluctant to sleep again, knowing what dreams might await her on the other side of the Veil. She attempted instead to wrap herself in the happy memories, hoping that they might have the power to chase away the archdemon's darkness, knowing it was the only weapon she had now that Tamlen was gone.

                                                                                               ****

Merrill shut the book in her lap, much to the children's groans of dismay.

"I told you only one story, did I not?" she said, trying to put a stern tone on her words.

"But Keeper!" the outcry came, as the children begged for more.

"No 'but Keeper's," Merrill chided. She turned her head as one of the elven women approached. "Ah, come to gather the children to their beds, lethallan?"

"Yes Keeper," she replied. Turning to the children, she said, "Your parents are searching for you, da'len. You can ask for more stories tomorrow night."

"Can we, Keeper? Have more stories tomorrow?" one small girl asked.

"Of course, da'len," Merrill replied. With that, they shooed the children off to their respective camps for the night.

The woman smiled. "I hope the children weren't too much bother, Keeper," she said.

"Not at all," Merrill replied, returning the smile. "It is always a joy to have them here, and so eager to hear tales of their hero."

"We will bid you good night then, Keeper," she said, gathering her own children to leave.

"Good night, Amethyne dear," Merrill said fondly as she rose to head to bed herself.

[Sandtigress]

Yay, an update at last! How did "a couple of days" become almost three months? Bleh! Hope that the update was worth the wait, I'm back in writing mode so the next one shouldn't take nearly as long!

[Sandtigress]

Roses Never Fade

"M'lady Keeper?"

A shy, diffident voice stopped Merrill before she could leave. She looked down to find the speaker. "Yes, Lenaire?"

Lenaire was different from the other children in the camp, for one obvious reason. She was human, the young daughter of Queen Tamara of Ferelden, here to foster relations with the Dalish people. Not that many in the clans wanted her there, a human in the midst of the Elvhenan, but Merrill had accepted the Queen's request gladly. It was one more step to ensuring the continuation of the Dalish nation. If only she could convince the rest of her people to see. Merrill hoped that Lenaire's presence amongst the clans at the Arlathvhen would help move them in that direction. Though she wasn't naïve – the young princess was within eyesight of several loyal Mahariel hunters at all times.

Tonight, she was in the company of an elven boy about her own age, Merrill's own grandson, Daron. Of course it would be him. It was only natural, since her own family was one that she trusted implicitly to keep Lenaire safe. The children were bound to spend much time with each other and become close. Still, it was different when it was one's own flesh and blood…but that was not the current matter. Nothing might come of it in the end.

Lenaire traded glances with Daron, then held out her hands. Merrill studied the ornate wooden box she held and the object within it with interest. "I had wondered what might have happened to this." The Keeper reached out a hand to brush fingers against vibrant petals, still soft as the day it was picked though that had been decades before.

The girl looked up at her. "Mother gave me this before I left. Will you tell me the story, Keeper? About my grandfather and Karaleyna and this rose? She said I should ask."

Merrill looked over to where her daughter-by-bond still waited. "Go ahead, Amethyne. I'll walk her home myself, when the tale is done."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper." Amethyne looked over to her son, still standing at the human girl's side, and sighed at his pleading facial expression. "Stay and make sure Lenaire arrives home safely, Daron," she said indulgently, and the boy nodded his agreement eagerly.

"Come then, children," Merrill said, retaking her seat by the fire as her daughter-by-bond disappeared into the darkness. She opened the book in her lap as the children settled before her and began to read again.

                                                                                 ****

Alistair was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. The last several days had been filled with nothing but fighting and running and more fighting, and none of it darkspawn even. He almost wished that his fellow Warden had taken Bann Teagan's offer to stay at the castle for the night, but he could hardly blame her for refusing. Not only did it still stink of death, and the walking dead, but there were all those walls about and he didn't miss how uncomfortable his Dalish companion was surrounded by stone. There might even have been some consideration for him there – a thought that he too might be uneasy in the childhood home that had cast him out because of his royal bastard blood. Though that, in particular, had not bothered her at all surprisingly.

And then there were all the humans. In some ways it was ironic that being surrounded by ordinary men and women seemed to intimidate Kara more than darkspawn or walking skeletons or abominations, but then those were straightforward to deal with. No one minded if you killed a few dozen corpses or stuck your blade into a pride demon. He didn't know how she handled the disdain and the snide comments and the deliberate dismissal of her existence at the hands of most of the humans they met. At least people couldn't tell he was a bastard just by looking at him. At least, not everyone could.

They saw "elf" and immediately looked to him, or to Leliana or Morrigan, or at times even to Sten and overlooked her entirely. Or they stared and treated her like she should belong in a menagerie. He'd thrown leadership of the group to the Dalish Warden at first out of real reluctance to lead. Now he promoted it in part because it just wasn't fair that everyone failed to see her humanity…or whatever you'd call it, simply because she wasn't human.

Kara was doing an incredible job at leading their ragtag band, given what a mess the situation was. At her hands they had liberated Redcliffe from a demon and its forces and saved the mages from annihilation. They had preserved Eamon's entire family and earned a chance to save the arl himself. They had gained the first of their allies against the Blight, and it was all thanks to her.  All in the span of just a few days.

Alistair was glad it hadn't been him in charge. Fighting alongside Teagan and the militia had been an easy enough choice, but Connor? Even knowing that the surest resolution was to kill the boy, he'd never have had the strength to climb the stairs, or put the blade to Connor's throat. And then when Isolde had come to beg for her son's life…he'd never have had the strength to take the chance that the Circle mages would help, could help in time. He'd seen steel in Kara's eyes then that had not left in the run to the tower, or in the fight with the blood mages and demons, not until that mage Jowan had come out of the Fade and announced his victory over the demon possessing Connor, much to First Enchanter Irving's surprise.

She had, against all odds, saved everyone. She had saved the family that still, despite everything, felt something like his family. He owed her something for that.

He looked over to where she sat, looking thoroughly drained and entirely uninterested in the rations in her hand. They had walked half the day before finally making camp here, and even then she had not stopped, taking up bow and quiver and going out to hunt, alone except for her mabari. That was usually Morrigan's job, being her hunting partner. Alistair supposed they bonded or something during that time, frightening thought though that was, since Kara got along with the witch much better than he did. Tonight though, Morrigan had her nose buried in some book that Kara had found in the mages' Tower and had not spared a glance for the Dalish hunter when she had left, or when she had returned empty-handed some time later.

They'd all fallen into their own routines in the weeks they had travelled together. On an ordinary night he and his fellow Warden might have spent the evening deciphering her father's book by the light of the fire, but he doubted she had the energy for that tonight. He racked his brain to come up with something appropriate to express his gratitude, because "thank you" simply wasn't enough to say how thankful he really was.

An idea struck him suddenly and Alistair reached for his pack. It was a little sappy, maybe, but he hoped she would appreciate it. And not think it was horrifically inappropriate or anything. But he'd seen the sparkle of appreciation in her eyes when Teagan had complimented her (flirted even, he had to admit wryly) and how it had made her smile to be treated so gallantly, so how could she not?

Alistair cleared his throat a little as he approached, not wanting to startle her by sneaking up on her. She looked up at him wearily. "Alistair? Do you need something?" He felt a twinge of guilt – they were always asking her to do things for them, weren't they?

"I…no. It's just…now that we're back at camp, I wanted to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe." He fought the urge to shuffle his feet – there was no reason to feel embarrassed about doing something nice!

She managed to look even more exhausted at the mere mention of the place. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to thank you," he said reassuringly. "You went out of your way to save the arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to." Easier was an understatement – it had been a monumental task, and one that she had accomplished seemingly by sheer determination alone.

"There's just been so much death and destruction already," he sighed as he dropped down to sit next to her. "It…well, it makes me feel good that we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the arl that much."

She looked as though she wanted to say something about that, about owing the arl, perhaps. Things seemed to have been different for orphans in her clan – the entire clan joining together to care for those who had lost their parents like she had. Despite the fact that they had similar backgrounds, they had grown up in entirely different ways. In the end, though, all she said was "I'm glad too."

"And I, well…" Why was he so nervous all of the sudden? It was just a simple gift, to say thank you. He held out his hand. "Here, do you know what this is?"

His Dalish companion looked at him curiously. "A flower?"

"It's a rose," he affirmed. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'" Lothering had been such a dark place, full of refugees seeking to escape the darkspawn horde. And now all of those refugees were probably gone, and the best hope for defeating the Blight was here, in front of him.

"I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't," he continued. "The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Kara reached out to brush her fingers against the soft velvety petals. "It's lovely," she said. "What will you do with it?"

"I thought that I might…give it to you, actually." Alistair ran his free hand through his hair. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you." He hadn't planned on the admission, but after saying it, he realized that nothing could be truer. She was a bright spot amidst the darkness of the Blight, even though she was tainted herself. This woman was his hope that they could actually win against the archdemon.

She looked surprised as she took the rose from him, as though she didn't know how to react to such an offer. "Ma serannas," she faltered. "Thank you. I don't know what else to say."

"I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" Alistair said with an awkward little laugh. "I just thought…here I am, doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had so little of the good experience of being a Grey Wardens since your Joining." Just the opposite, in fact. Only scorn and disdain for the poor judgment to not be born human, and hatred for having the audacity to join an order that was their only hope against the darkspawn. "It's all been death and fighting and tragedy.

"I just thought maybe I could say something," he finished. "Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the dark. Literally – her elven eyes picking up the glow from the firelight and reflecting it back cat-like. Once, that had made him uncomfortable, had been alien and unfamiliar. Alistair found it no longer bothered him in the least, nor did the tattoos or the hunting leathers or the way she could materialize out of nowhere without a sound and disappear again just as silently. It was all just Kara, his sister Grey Warden who was strong and confident and so very capable.

Concern flashed momentarily across her face. He was getting better at reading her emotions past the tattoos. "We're not…" She paused, searching for a word. "Married now, are we?"

The question startled a bark of laughter out of him before he could control himself. It was a perfectly logical question – maybe it did mean something like that to the Dalish. He winked and turned it into a joke instead. "You won't land me that easily, woman!" he teased. "I know I'm quite the prize, after all, no need to start crying on me or anything." Kara relaxed immediately and smiled in return.

"I guess it was, uh, just a stupid impulse," Alistair said sheepishly. "I don't know, was it the wrong one?"

Kara ran her fingers gently over the petals of her rose and lifted it to her face to smell its perfume, eyes closed in pleasure. "No, it's lovely, thank you."

"Good, I'm glad you liked it," he said warmly. She looked so much happier now, it had been worth any amount of awkwardness for that.

"Look, why don't you go ahead and get some sleep?" he suggested. "I'll take your watch."

Now she looked startled. "There's no need for that…"

"I insist," he said firmly. It was such a little thing he could do for her in thanks.

She studied him for just a moment, then nodded. "Ma serranas again then, Alistair." She stood to rise then, to make her way to her tent for some much needed and much deserved rest. After a few steps, she turned to look at him again. "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Kara," he replied with a warm smile. "Sweet dreams."

                                                                                   ****

"Keeper?"

"Yes, Daron?" Merrill looked over to her grandson, who had a puzzled expression on his face.

"Lenaire says that this is the same rose that the king gave to Karaleyna?" he asked.

"So the stories say," Merrill affirmed.

"But how is that possible, Keeper?" Lenaire said, brow furrowed in confusion. "That was many years ago. Ordinary roses wilt."

"That they do, da'len," Merrill said. "I asked Karaleyna that once, long ago. She told me that she didn't know, but that another of her companions spoke of a rose as well, the bard Leliana. According to her, the god the humans call 'the Maker' spoke to her through a mystical rose that bloomed from a dead bush. It was Karaleyna's thought that they might be one and the same."

"Does that mean that the Maker is real, like the Creators?" Daron asked.

"I do not know, da'len. There are many things in the Beyond that we do not understand. Perhaps he is real. Perhaps is one of the Forgotten Ones, or another of the gods whose name was lost to us," Merrill replied.

Lenaire regarded the box in her lap with no small amount of awe. "What should I do with this, Keeper? Why did my mother give this to me?"

"Keep it, da'len," Merrill told her. "And cherish it. It is a memento of the Hero of Ferelden. Let it remind you of the bond between our peoples."

The human girl nodded at that. "Thank you for the story, Keeper."

Merrill smiled. "You are most welcome, da'len."

[Sandtigress]

And if anyone else knows where the title came from, I will love you forever! ;-)