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[Freckles04]

Understanding

I lay in bed in the quarters Prince--no, King--Bhelen had assigned to me in the royal palace, and tried not to think about how many tons of rock lay between me and the star-filled sky.  Maker--our return to the surface couldn't come fast enough.  I hadn't thought it possible, but the Fade had been replaced as the most hated environ I knew.

The Deep Roads trumped it easily.  And Orzammar was next on the list.

I rolled onto my side and clutched the blanket to my chest.  I wished I'd been able to leave the dwarves to their petty squabbling.  No one had seemed to grasp the importance of the news I'd brought; the deshyrs were far too busy vying for the Assembly's attention and jockeying for position amongst themselves.  After learning that I would have to get involved in the cesspool of dwarven politics in order to receive the aid I required against the Blight, I'd wanted to tell them all to sod off.  It had been Alistair who'd reminded me that the dwarven knowledge of the darkspawn was second only to the Grey Wardens'.  They'd been fighting the creatures, non-stop, for centuries.  We needed that expertise.

So I chose sides and we started doing what needed to be done to win.  Including travelling into the gloomy, foreboding tunnels in which the darkspawn nested, and bred, and waited to strike.

I squeezed my eyes shut, as if the tightness of my lids could forces the images away.  But I feared those pictures, forever lodged in my mind, were the gift Orzammar and the dwarves had bestowed upon me.  How thoughtful.

My eyes snapped open at the soft tap on my door, and I pushed myself to a sitting position.  I anchored the blanket in place with my elbows and said, "Come in."  My voice showed no trace of the turmoil bubbling in my chest.

The door opened, and Alistair's head appeared.  "Oh, you're in bed.  I, uh..."  He blushed and turned to leave.

"It's all right," I said.  Not that I wouldn't have preferred to be in my armor and sitting in a chair to talk to him, but if he'd sought me out, something must be on his mind.  Probably the same things that were on my mind.

He hesitated, half-in, half-out of my room.  "You're sure?"

"Alistair," I growled. 

"Fine."  He stepped through the doorway and pressed the door closed behind him.  It latched with a soft click and I pushed down the slight jolt of panic that spurted through me.  Alistair would never hurt me.  But the stupid thing about irrational fears was that they never listened to reason.

"What's on your mind?"  My voice was sharper than I'd intended and I took a breath to calm myself.

"I heard a pair of the guards talking.  Harrowmont was executed about an hour ago."  He crossed his arms over his chest, rumpling the plain linen shirt he wore.  "I'm not questioning your decision, but I just can't understand it.  We'd been working with Harrowmont all along.  Why did you betray him?"

I sighed.  "I didn't betray him."  My breath whooshed out of my lungs.  "Okay, maybe I did, but that wasn't my intention."

"Then why...?"

I looked down at the blanket covering me, wondering if I could put my thoughts into words.  "Branka sacrificed her entire house to reach the Anvil of the Void."

"Yes, because, clearly, she was the sanest person out there."

I glared at him.  "I wasn't done."

His lips pressed into a thin line and he straddled the plain wooden chair stationed across from my bed.  "Sorry. I'm just--"  He shook his head.  "Sorry.  Go on."

"Yes, Branka was insane, but her reasoning for doing what she did is sound, Alistair.  The dwarves are losing the battle against the darkspawn.  They don't have the numbers to continue fighting them.  Eventually, Orzammar will be overrun."  I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension in every muscle.  "Don't tell me you can't feel how the taint is encroaching on the city."

"I feel it," he said softly.

"The dwarves have maintained the status quo here for centuries, and look where it's gotten them.  The Anvil was not the answer--Maker, I couldn't imagine condemning more souls to that awful existence--but something needs to be done.  And I realized, after the Deep Trenches, that Harrowmont was only more of the same.  We can't lose Orzammar to the darkspawn.  Dwarven society needs to change to survive, and I think Bhelen will do that."  I grimaced.  "I hope he will.  Otherwise I just contributed to yet another innocent person's death for no reason."

Alistair was quiet for a long moment.  "I see your point.  It still doesn't sit well," he said, his voice low, "but I understand where you're coming from.  Thank you for explaining it."

"What would you have done?"  The question burst out of me, unbidden.

The templar blinked.  "I...don't know."  He smiled sheepishly.  "But that's why you're in charge, right?"

"That's a ridiculous attitude," I snarled.  "You're going to be the sodding King.  You'll need to think about things like this."

"I'm not going to be the King."

"Alistair--"

"I don't want to talk about it."  He stood up and the chair scraped across the stone floor.

"Running away from it isn't going to make it less likely to happen."

He arched a brow.  "I'll have you know that running away is always a valid option."

"Don't be an idiot."

"Look, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I know you've got to be experiencing this same awful creeping feeling from the taint that I am," he said, his voice gravelly.  "Like your stomach is trying to crawl out of your mouth.  Disgusting.  But I've had just about enough of the insults from you."

I pushed to my feet, my arms tight across my chest.  "Well, stop acting like a child and I'll stop insulting you."

"And they continue."  He sighed dramatically, but I saw the spark of anger in his eyes.  "You know, if I want this kind of treatment, I could just go talk to Morrigan."

"Everything's a joke."  I brushed a hand over my hair automatically, forgetting for a moment that the russet lengths were no more.  "What about the broodmother?  Was that a joke?  Did you think it would be funny, not telling me about that?"

He gave his head a little shake.  "What in the Maker's name are you going on about?"

I waved a hand.  "The broodmother.  Big, nasty, blob of a darkspawn?  Smelled bad?  With eight sodding breasts?"  My fingers dug into my upper arms.  "How could you not warn me about that?"

"Kind of tough for me to warn you when I didn't know."

"And what were you doing, getting so close to the edge of that chasm in the Dead Trenches?" I demanded.  "The ledge could have given way and--"

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"I don't know!"  I hugged my arms to my chest even tighter.

He sighed, then tilted his head to one side and the other, stretching it.  "Come here."

I frowned at the sudden change in his voice, from playfulness masking anger to gentleness.  Suspicion darted through me.  "Why?"

"I'm going to break your no-touching rule."

"Alistair--"

"Maker's mercy, Kiann, just come here."

I stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, and I narrowed my eyes.  But my feet carried me over to him, despite my reservations.  He arranged the chair and gestured at it.  "Sit."

I sat.  "If this is another joke..."

"No, no more joking," he said, his voice tired.  "I just thought--"

Instead of finishing his sentence, his hands rested on my shoulders.  I tensed, expecting the memories to rush in, and they didn't disappoint.  But then his fingers moved, digging into my muscles, forcing the tension away, and the images faded.  Just a bit.  Enough that I could focus on how good the massage felt, and his voice, and try to push the bad thoughts aside.

"Did I ever tell you about the cat that adopted me?"

I snorted.  "A cat.  Adopted you."

"It was a very large cat, and I was a very small boy," he said.  "You know I slept in the stables at Redcliffe, right?  Well, there was this old barn cat that was probably pushing twenty.  She obviously did all right for herself with birds and whatnot, because she was massive.  Just huge.  I kid you not, she was nearly the size of Sam."

I giggled at the thought of a tabby the size of my mabari, then groaned as Alistair's fingers found a particularly stubborn knot.

"Oh, you giggle now, but it wasn't so funny whenever this giant creature hissed at me."

"She hissed at you?  But I bet--"  I bit my lip.

"You bet...?" he prompted.

I blew out a breath.  "You were adorable as a child.  Admit it."

"Oh, I won't deny it.  Being adorable got me extra sweets from Cook."  He chuckled.  "This one summer, the nights were stubbornly cold.  It was almost like true summer never arrived, and we were stuck in spring for the duration.  It was nice enough during the day, but haylofts aren't the best at holding the heat.

"One night, I was laying there shivering, and the cat took pity on me.  She laid on top of me, like a giant, very heavy, fur blanket."

A laugh snorted out of me.  "You're kidding."

"I am not," he insisted.  "Every night she'd do that, though I did finally manage to convince her not to actually drape herself over me.  It was hard to breathe."

His fingers moved to the ridge of my spine, and my eyelids drooped.  "So she kept you warm?"

"And fed me."  I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.  "Or tried to, anyway.  I think she was rather insulted when I screamed at the dead birds she brought me."

"Uh huh."  My chin dropped to my chest as he worked the muscles in my neck.  "So you lied to me again."

His fingers stilled.  "I lied...? What?"

"You said you were raised by dogs."

"Oh."  He chuckled, his hands moving back to my shoulders.  "Well, except for that one summer."

"And what happened to the cat?"

"I don't know.  That was the summer I was sent to the Chantry."  He drew his thumbs along my nightgown-covered skin once last time, then his hands left me.  Suddenly, I felt very alone.  Which was very stupid.   "There.  Feel any better?"

"Yes.  Thank you."  Though the tension wasn't gone completely, he had eased a great deal of it.  I turned in the chair to look at him.  "Do you want me to return the favor?  I don't have any funny stories about cats to share, though."

I thought for a moment that he was going to decline; his mouth opened, and uncertainty flickered across his features.  But then he shrugged and said, "Sure."

We traded places.  I stared down at his tanned neck and realized I was in trouble.  Heat trembled through me, heat that was unwelcome and unneeded.  Heat I shouldn't even be able to feel, not after--

I pressed my fingers to his shoulders, his linen shirt bunching under my ministrations.

"Just a hint," he said.  "You're not trying to insert your fingers through my muscles.  You just want to rub them."

"Right."  I let up a little.  "Sorry."

It took a few minutes, but I fell into the rhythm of the massage, kneading his muscles just right.  I assumed it was just right, anyway, by the sounds emerging from low in his throat.  Little grunts and moans. 

Would he make the same noises while making love?

"All right, massage done!" I announced, pulling away.

He was too quick for me, and caught my hand before I could retreat any further.  "Thank you, Kiann.  I appreciate it."

I stared at his big, strong hand covering my tiny one, and the way his thumb absently drifted over my skin was not the gesture of a friend.  But I didn't withdraw.  The bad memories were kept at bay with the simple thought that this was Alistair.  I trusted him, with my life.

"Surana," I protested weakly.

He rose and brushed his fingers lightly over the tattoo on my cheek.  "Kiann," he said.  "Good night."

He left, a small smile curving his lips, and I took refuge once again in the safety of my borrowed bed.  I stared at the ceiling, awake, sleep eluding me for very different reasons than before.  Reasons that had nothing to do with the darkspawn and dwarves, and everything to do with my fellow Warden.

[Sandtigress]

Love this chapter. And the cat. lol I could see the cat getting all offended when Alistair wouldn't eat the birds.



The massage offer did not disappoint!

[Freckles04]

Thanks, Sandi! I'm glad you liked it.



The cat story was inspired by Alistair and Wynne's in-game banter about "the cat that swallowed the pigeon".

[Sisimka]

Wonderful chapter!

[Freckles04]

Thanks, Sisi!

[Treason1]

As a cat owner, I could very well see the offended look that cat must have given him.



Keep writing, Freckles. I'm interested in seeing how Kiann/Surana deals with what's coming at her, and what Alistair's choice will do to her.

[Freckles04]

Treason1 wrote...

As a cat owner, I could very well see the offended look that cat must have given him.

Keep writing, Freckles. I'm interested in seeing how Kiann/Surana deals with what's coming at her, and what Alistair's choice will do to her.

Thanks, Treason. I'm glad I nailed the cat's reaction, seeing as I'm not a cat owner. LOL.

I'm interested to see what's going to happen here, too! I have thoughts...but Kiann's surprised me before...

[MireliA]

Great chapter and I loved the cat story

[Freckles04]

MireliA wrote...

Great chapter and I loved the cat story

Thanks, MireliA 

[Freckles04]

Reverse

There was little to do on the journey back to the lowlands but talk.  I had somehow managed to acquire a new addition to my motley crew in Orzammar, a robust warrior by the name of Oghren.  His lewd comments and vulgarities made Morrigan roll her eyes and Wynne grimace, but I found myself genuinely liking him.  Oghren was what he was, and he made no apologies for it.  We walked together a lot, him doing most of the talking, and me listening and smiling when a particularly dirty joke made Alistair, who always hovered nearby, blush.  If the dwarf was surprised I didn't laugh, he said nothing; he carried his own darkness in the depths of his eyes, and something told me he understood more than he let on.

I was surprised and yet not when Oghren cornered me after dinner one night on our way back to Redcliffe, hesitantly confirmed our friendship, and confessed that he wanted to rekindle an old flame, now that he was on the surface.  A tiny smile curved my lips as his gravelly voice described this woman, Felsi, that he'd managed to love and lose.  Typical Oghren.

"Sure, why not.  We can look her up."  I leaned against the log at my back, extending my legs.  "Do you know where she might be?"

"Last I heard, she was working in a tavern.  Near Lake Cleanbad, I think it was."

My throat closed.  I stared at the fire for a long moment, as if the flames could melt the ice that had started forming in the pit of me.  "Lake Calenhad, you mean?"

"Ki--Surana."  Alistair's voice was filled with concern.  He'd heard, of course he'd heard; he was always close at hand now, it seemed.

"I'm fine."  I made sure my voice sounded like it, too.

Oghren's eyes darted from the templar and back to me.  "No, not Lake Calenhad.  Cleanbad.  I remember, because I thought, 'right; clean is bad'."

"I know the place."  I pushed to my feet and strode into the darkness edging the camp.

Alistair's familiar footsteps pursued me.  "We don't have to do this.  You don't have to do this," he said as he caught up to me.

"So I'm going to permanently avoid that area of Ferelden, now?  Don't be an ass."

"I can go.  I can take Oghren and whoever else.  You don't need to go back."

"Alistair."  I spun on my heel to face him, ready to lash out verbally, but his expression stopped me.  Bone-deep worry dwelled in every line of his face.  Something in my chest twisted and the words I'd been about to spit at him evaporated.  "Thank you, but..."

"No.  No 'but'."  He crossed his arms over his chest, his plate armor rasping through the quiet night.  "You're not going."

"Oh."  My eyes narrowed as my appreciation faded.  "I'm not?"

"No, you're not."  His hand reached out, and I stepped back, the movement automatic.  His fist clenched and fell back to his side.  "I don't want you anywhere near those--those pigs.  Not ever."

"It's not your choice."

"There is no point in this."

"Kind of like there's really no point in looking up your sister."

His eyes narrowed and I knew I'd struck a blow.  He'd revealed the existence of his half-sister as we'd trekked to Orzammar, how he wanted to meet her before the Blight overtook the country.  I couldn't blame him; I'd seen his desire for a family first-hand when we'd been trapped in the Fade and I'd stumbled into his warm, fuzzy dream.

"That's low," he said quietly.

I shrugged to hide the twinge of guilt that rippled through me.  "Maybe.  But it's true, and you know it."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he grumbled.

"Since when have you ever liked my decisions, anyway?"

"Excellent point.  I suppose I should be used to this by now."  His eyes glittered, and I couldn't halt the chuckle that snuck past my lips.  "Why, Kiann, I do believe you giggled."

"It was a cough."

"Right."  He touched a hand to my arm to stop me as I turned back to the fire, just a quick moment of contact.  "Promise me something."

My breath hitched at the seriousness of his voice.  "What?"

"If it's too much--if seeing the tavern and, Maker forbid, the sons-of-****s who did that--"  His lips thinned.  "Promise me you'll walk away and let me handle it.  I don't want you to be hurt.  Not physically, and not...otherwise, either."

A sour taste rose in my throat, an unholy desire to visit pain on another living creature.  I didn't welcome it, but nor did I shy away from it, either.  "I can't promise that."

The templar sighed, then nodded.  "Somehow, I didn't really think you would."

###

Seeing the tavern in the daylight diminished some of its affect on me.  It wasn't the hulking, monstrous structure of my memories, darkened by the night and mist from the lake.  It was just a building, with strips of paint peeling away here and there, a worn sign creaking as the breeze played with it, and familiar pub smells of roasting food and spilled ale emanating from it.

I felt Alistair's eyes on me as heavy as a hand on my shoulder.  And, in some ways, as comforting.  I wasn't alone.  Whatever was to happen, I would have him and my other companions at my back. 

All of them, it seemed, since no one had wanted to remain at camp for this.  My entire company of friends stood arranged behind me, and I regarded them with an exasperated look.  "We can't all go inside.  We'll terrify everyone."

"I fail to see how 'twould be a bad thing, that," Morrigan sneered.  "All evidence shows that these men could stand to learn some manners.  I would be more than pleased to teach them."  Magic crackled around her fingertips.

"Right.  Morrigan, you're staying outside.  Wynne, you too."  I held up a hand to stall the elder mage's protest.  "It's far too obvious that you two are mages, and I don't want to chance either of you getting hurt."

"And yourself, my dear?" Wynne asked, gently.

A crooked smile jerked my lips upward as I surveyed my black plate armor.  "I don't think anyone will think I'm a mage.  Nor will they recognize me, not now."

"Ah, but my dear Surana, that handsome outfit certainly identifies you as a Grey Warden, which will be nearly as bad here, no?"  Zevran arched a brow, the lines tattooed on his face shifting subtle with the motion.

The assassin had a point, but I wasn't about to change out of my armor, and I would not remain behind.  I glanced at The Spoiled Princess.  I needed to do this.  Helping Oghren reconnect with this woman…it was only an excuse.  I needed to prove to myself that this place--these people--had no power over me.  They'd killed Kiann, and I wasn't her.

"Oghren, Zevran, Alistair, you're with me.  The rest of you…"  I sighed, eying the well-armored sentinels stationed near the dock to the Tower.  They were always there, ready to prevent the escape of any mages daring enough to brave the deep, frigid waters of the lake.  "Try not to give the templars any reason to arrest you, all right?"

Sam whined at my side and I dropped a gauntleted hand to scratch his head.  "No, boy," I said softly.  "You stay out here."

The four of us walked into the tavern, and I was inappropriately reminded of a joke that Oghren had tried to tell me a few nights before.  He'd been drunk--when wasn't he?--and had keeled over, passed out, before he'd said more than, "An elf walks into this bar, see…"

Even though it was barely past noon, the tavern had a healthy number of customers.  One table in the back had three figures seated around it, and two more men sat hunched over the stools at the bar.  A couple more were occupied with lone drinkers.  Without the laughter and dancing and music, the atmosphere was not pleasant.  These men had come to drink and forget, and we were interrupting that.

"There she is," Oghren said, his rough voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of hope.  "Warden, you have to back me up."

"Back you up?"  I snorted.  "Oghren, she's not a genlock."

"Just follow my lead, will you?"

I rolled my eyes and followed the dwarf as he approached the woman, currently on her hands and knees and scrubbing a particularly nasty stain on the floor.  I didn't want to know what it was.

Oghren approached her with what I could only describe as a leer stretched across his rotund face.  "Are you sure you're not a baker? 'Cause you've got a sodding nice set of buns."

"Dear Maker," I groaned.

Felsi rose to her feet, her gaze puzzled.  "Oghren?  Is that you?"

"In the flesh, baby."

It went downhill from there.  Or, at least, I thought it did.  I said what I hoped were the appropriate things to help his cause, but the two dwarves traded insults and not-so-friendly banter.  When Oghren finally let Felsi return to her work, he had a smile on his face.

"I still got it," he said as we moved toward the door.

"Wait."  I frowned.  "That was a success?"

"Weren't you listening, Warden?  I practically had to pry her off me."

"Warden?"

I froze at the voice.  That awful voice.

"Kiann," Alistair breathed.  He shook his head.  "Let's go."

My eyes narrowed.  My teeth clenched.  "I am not Kiann."

"Aye, it is you."  I turned, and watched the man approach, none too steady on his feet.  My dance partner from that night.  Maker, I didn't even know his name.  "Cut your hair, did you.  And painted your face, I see, like the good little **** you are."

Alistair stepped in front of me, his entire body vibrating with rage.  "You will show some respect, ser."

"Respect?"  The man laughed.  "For that?  Maker's breath.  You must be joking."  He swayed, just a little, as he looked over his shoulder to his friends, who had also risen from the table.  "This is the **** who set fire to the tavern, lads.  Remember her?"

"Oh, aye," one of them slurred.  His long hair hung in greasy strips framing a gaunt, stubbled face.  Bile rose in my throat as memories rushed into me.  He grunts as he thrusts and laughs at my tears and the whimpers emanating from my throat.  "I remember.  She looks like she's gained a bit of fight to her now, though."  He chuckled darkly.  "All the better."

"I am warning you, gentlemen," Alistair growled.  "Come no closer.  We don't want to start any trouble--"

"But we'll be happy to finish it," Zevran interjected.  He shrugged as Alistair shot him a furious glare.

My dance partner drew closer.  Alistair's hands flexed at his side, but he didn't reach for his sword.  I didn't, either.  Unlatching our weapons would signal the start of something, and, Maker, now that I was here and faced with this, I realized I didn't want it.  I didn't want to kill anyone, I didn't want to hurt anyone.  All I wanted was to run away, far away, where they could never, ever find me again.

I was Kiann.  As much as I wanted to deny it, as much as I wanted it to be different, I was still the same scared little elven girl who'd been brutalized and left for dead, and I would never be anything but her. 

"Just because you have fancy armor and weaponry doesn't mean you know how to use it."  My dance partner sneered as he reached the templar.  "She couldn't even throw up a decent spell to defend herself, and you're in her company, so…what are the chances you're anything but a pretender?  Like her?  A Grey Warden, my arse."

"Alistair."  His name whimpered out of me.  A tear rolled down my cheek.  Too much.  He told me to walk away if it was too much, he made me promise him that, but I couldn't make my feet obey me.  Andraste's mercy…I needed his help in this.  I wasn't strong enough, I wasn't good enough…

His eyes flashed to mine, his mouth opened to speak--

A grunt of surprise emerged instead.  A trickle of blood.

"Hmph," my dance partner scoffed.  He released the knife jabbed into the templar's stomach and wiped his hand on his already stained shirt.  "Pretender.  As I'd thought."

I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't move.  Alistair stumbled to the side, his hands fastened around the hilt protruding from his belly.  The bastard had aimed it just right, snuck it through the plates of the templar's armor to reach the soft skin beneath.  Blood, so dark in the dim light it looked black, gushed over the gleaming silver armor to pool on the floor.  It lapped at the toes of my ebony boot, but still I didn't move.  The templar crashed to the floor, upending a table.  The sound should have jolted me, but it didn't.  I was stone.

It was Oghren who rushed to Alistair's aid.  "Easy, lad," he said, his rumbling voice more gentle than I'd ever heard it.  "Bet that hurts like a ****, don't it?  No, leave it in, just until we get Wynne in here."

"Damn it," Alistair gasped.  Blood stained his teeth. 

"What are you standing there for, you sodding elf?" Oghren roared, his eyes on Zevran.  "Go get Wynne!"

"Warden?"  Zevran's sword and dagger were in his hands.  Death danced in his eyes.

I stared at him, my brain slow and stupid.  What was he asking me?

"I don't know what the sod is wrong with her, but she's useless.  Go!"

A whisper of air, and the assassin was gone, melted into the shadows.  My dance partner snorted and stepped up to me, his posture radiating confidence.  I was powerless.  He knew it.  His fingers trailed along my cheek, a simple gesture that promised so much pain and hurt.

A hitched breath from beside me.  "Get your--get your hands off her."  Even injured, the templar still wanted to defend me.  But it was too late.  It had always been too late, hadn't it?

I was a pretender.  I pretended to know what I was doing.  I pretended I was strong.  I pretended I was powerful.  My entire sodding life was a lie, wasn't it? 

I'd even pretended that--that I didn't care for the templar.  Alistair.  And now he was laying there, bleeding, and I…

My dance partner gripped my chin, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.  "So, does the boy in the pretty armor fancy you, then?"  His eyes narrowed to slits.  "Even without your maidenhead intact?  You did tell him about that, I hope.  How you didn't fight us, how you just lay there and let it happen."

"You son of a--"  Alistair choked.  Coughed.  My eyes darted to him, even as my face was held immobile.  He sagged back, struggling for breath.  More blood rushed out of his mouth.

Oghren swore.  "Bloody nug-licker.  Stay still, or you'll--"  He broke off.  Shook the templar.  "Alistair.  Alistair!"

My fellow Warden didn't move.

I broke.

I acted, and yet I didn't.  It was me, and yet not, controlling my movements.  I grabbed my dance partner's hand and shoved him away.  He cried out as he stumbled back, my magically-enhanced strength taking him by surprise.  I felt like I'd been split into two:  one half watching in stunned shock, unable to do anything but that; and the other operating on instinct to protect myself.

And do as much damage to my enemies as possible.

Words tumbled out of my mouth as I channeled a spell.  In moments, I flung it into the air, and the temperature dropped as snow swirled around us.  I'd barely taken a breath before my lips began forming the words to the next spell.  Unarmored, nothing more than simple common folk without any combat training, these men could barely resist the effects of my summoned blizzard; paired with another spell, they would fall.  Everyone within the tavern would.  But I would be safe, and they would have paid, and--

"Kiann, no."

My mind truly was broken, because that was Alistair's voice, and he was dead.  Pain lanced through my heart.  I was going to be alone because of these bastards, on my own to defeat this darkness spreading across Ferelden.  And I would defeat it.  I'd crush it beneath my armored foot, because that's what Alistair would have wanted me to do.  And as much as I wanted to curl up in a hole and just let the Blight take everything, I would not dishonor him like that.  But first--first they would pay.

"Please.  Don't do this."  The words, his voice, rushed through my head.  "It'll kill everyone."

Probably.  I didn't care.  And why did he?  He was dead and only existed in my broken mind.

"Kiann--"

The final words spilled from my lips.

"No!"

A flash of power slammed into me, through me, tunneling through my magic deep into my spirit.  I flew backwards and slammed into something that didn't give.  The wall?  My head cracked against it, and everything faded.

Modifié par Freckles04, 17 mars 2010 - 04:33 .

[Sisimka]

Phew, this chapter is just so powerful, Freckles. You are amazing.

[Les Polar]

Freckles04,Magnifico.... how do you manage the time to create and play....OOOFFF!!!

[Freckles04]

Thank you, Sisi and Les Polar. I appreciate the comments.



And I wrote this before I started playing Awakening. I hope I'll be able to keep up both. It'll make Awakening last a little longer, anyway.

[Miliat]

holy ****



*twitches*



woman... i....



...

[Freckles04]

LOL. Um...is it good that I put someone into twitching?

[Miri1984]

Oh... I am in awe.



I can feel the knife! I'm going to cry!



Is it wrong of me to hope Awakening crashes on you so you write more of this??

[Jules8445]

Gah!

This is SO good.

As much as I Awakenings, I can't wait for you to get back to us!

[Freckles04]

@ Miri and Jules: Thank you! I'm not abandoning the story. I have to get my Alistair fix somehow...



I'm really happy the stabbing came across well (and that sounds VERY odd). I could picture it very clearly in my head, and sometimes it's difficult to get that same clarity with words.

[Miliat]

Freckles04 wrote...

@ Miri and Jules: Thank you! I'm not abandoning the story. I have to get my Alistair fix somehow...

I'm really happy the stabbing came across well (and that sounds VERY odd). I could picture it very clearly in my head, and sometimes it's difficult to get that same clarity with words.

You better not abandon it, I'll have to harass you if you do.

As far as twitching goes, I think I read it in a weird frame of mind. Combine that with drawing Brenna holding a bleeding Alistair not much prior to that, and I apparently -twitch-.

[Sisimka]

Miliat wrote...

As far as twitching goes, I think I read it in a weird frame of mind. Combine that with drawing Brenna holding a bleeding Alistair not much prior to that, and I apparently -twitch-.

Is it so terrible that I laughed as I read this?  Awww *hugs Miliat*. I can promise no more bleeding Alistairs (I think). But I must admit, I'm going to be a little bit afraid to read Freckles next chapter...

[Miliat]

Sisimka wrote...

Miliat wrote...

As far as twitching goes, I think I read it in a weird frame of mind. Combine that with drawing Brenna holding a bleeding Alistair not much prior to that, and I apparently -twitch-.

Is it so terrible that I laughed as I read this?  Awww *hugs Miliat*. I can promise no more bleeding Alistairs (I think). But I must admit, I'm going to be a little bit afraid to read Freckles next chapter...

Nah, it's not terrible. You two are secretly sadistic and you know it.

And yes, I am ready to read the next chapter. I have to know what happens next.

[bloodtallow]

Fantastic chapter, Freckles! This story has me hooked! I love the transformations Kiann is continually making. I also appreciate that you took the time to write such a conflicted character! So many of our Wardens are less... troubled. It's a very fun change.

[MireliA]

Brilliant chapter - again!.

[Freckles04]

Horizon

Alistair was the first thing I saw when I awoke.

He sat beside my bedroll, one arm draped over a bent knee, his head braced in his hand.  He wore a plain linen shirt and breeches, splattered with blood, and his normally robust golden skin had paled.  His eyes weren't on me, but on the floor of the tent.  Fatigue rolled off of him like a palpable wave.

But he was alive.

My hand flew to my mouth as my breath caught.  His eyes widened and whipped to mine.  He jumped forward, then hissed and grimaced, and pressed one hand against his abdomen.  When he moved again, it was more slowly.  He reached out a hand, then hesitated and drew it back.

"I'm sorry, Kiann," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast they blended together.  "I'm so sorry.  I didn't want to--it's not something I ever wanted to use against you.  Please believe me.  But you weren't listening, and I--"

"You're alive."  The words were barely recognizable as such, but he heard them.

"I'm--wait."  He frowned.  "You thought I was…" 

I nodded, and the tears I'd barely managed to leash spilled forth.

"Oh, Maker."  His face fell and he reached out a tentative hand again, but stopped himself from touching me.

I grabbed it.  Intertwined my fingers with his.  In a moment, he had stretched out beside me, his other arm pulling me close, his body hard and warm and strong and here…Maker, he was here and alive.  I tucked myself against his chest, barely noticing that no bad memories stirred at the contact, and let the emotion overtake me.

I don't know how long I cried.  He held me the entire time, whispering assurances, stroking my hair, pressing a chaste kiss or two to the crown of my head.  After a time, the sobs lessened to hiccups, which in turn diminished to rough, hitching breaths.

I pulled at the sodden linen covering his chest.  "I made your shirt wet," I pointed out needlessly.

"I don't care about my shirt."  He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at me.  "Are you all right?"

My eyes met his and I thought about lying.  But me lying to myself, pretending to be something I wasn't, was what got him hurt in the first place.  "No, I--I don't think so.  I'm not--"  I leaned my head against his chest, one fist bunching in his shirt.  "I'm not right, Alistair.  In my mind, I'm not right."

He was quiet for a long time.  His heart beat evenly under my ear, the rhythm and his warmth more soothing than I'd thought possible.  "I wish I knew how to fix it," he said, finally, his voice low.

"Me too."  I closed my eyes as my heart twisted.  "I just--I don't know who I am.  I know who I'm supposed to be--the Grey Warden, savior of Ferelden, mighty killer of darkspawn and, hopefully, an archdemon--but when I think of myself, I see just little Kiann Surana, timid troublemaking mage who's scared of mice."

"We're all trying to figure out where we fit, Kiann.  I mean--Maker, can you see me as King?  Truly?"  He snorted.  "Eamon is clearly insane."

I ran the pad of my thumb over Alistair's, mulling over that idea.  "Actually, I think you'd make a great king."

"Really?"  He pulled back slightly to look down at me.  "Whatever would give you that idea?"

"You'd look great in a crown?"

"Funny."

One corner of my lips quirked, and I looked away from his hazel gaze.  "You're kind, and honest, and strong, and you know what's right.  That sounds like a pretty good king to me."

"But I don't know anything about governing.  Or politics.  Maker, I don't want to know about those things.  You saw what it was like in Orzammar.  I'm not holding out much hope that the circles of nobility in Denerim are much different."  He sighed.  "I want to be a Grey Warden.  I'm good at it--except when getting stabbed by random brutes in a tavern," he amended with a wry chuckle.  "I've never wanted to be King."

I arched a brow and met his eyes again.  "Never?  I find that hard to believe."

Some of the light in his eyes faded.  "No, never King.  A prince, maybe, if it meant I could know my father and my brother.  But not King."  His head drooped.  "Not that what I want has ever mattered.  Eamon's got it in his head that a Theirin needs to be on the throne, and seeing as I'm the last one they've got…well, hurrah for me."

"You really don't want it?"  I laid a hand on his cheek and nudged his chin so he looked at me.  "This isn't some lack of confidence thing where you think you can't do it?"

"Oh, I know I can't do it."   He smiled.  "Unless governing a country requires killing darkspawn on a regular basis, and sadly I suspect eventually that won't be the case.  But…"  His smile disappeared as he groaned.  "I know my duty.  If I have to take the crown as part of what's required to defeat Loghain and the Blight, then I'll do it.  I'll hate every minute of it, but I'll do it."

I regarded him for a moment, unsure of what to say.  He was so much stronger than he knew.  So much stronger than I was.  I felt tears welling again and angrily dashed at my eyes.

"What did I do now?"  Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead.  "If you keep this up, I'm going to need to change my shirt."

I snorted, then hiccupped.  "Maker, I'm such a mess.  You need to take over the lead.  I'm incapable, it seems.  Utterly incapable."

"No."  He laid a hand firmly on my shoulder.  "You're not incapable.  You've gotten us this far, and I'm not going to let you give up.  Just…lean on me, when you need to."

I lifted my eyes to meet his.  By Andraste, he was…close.  And large.  Even laying on his side, he towered over me; but I didn't feel threatened.  Heat poured from him like the sun, warming me when I thought I'd never be truly warm again.  He even smelled like a summer's day; sunshine and warm metal and…man.

"Lean on you?" I breathed.

Memories flashed past my mind's eye, but I shoved them aside.  Alistair.  I knew him.  I trusted him.  I lo--

Cared for him. 

"As often as you need to," he confirmed, his voice barely a breath.  He drifted closer, those strong, firm lips nearly touching my own.  Instead of kissing me, though, he rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes.  "I should go to my own tent.  It's late.  I just needed to be here when you awoke, to apologize."

"Thank you," I said.  "For stopping me.  I--"  My throat turned to dust.  "Thank you."

"I'll--I'll go then."

"Stay."  The half-plea, half-order slipped past my lips.  "I'm…not ready to be alone, just yet."

His gaze softened.  "Of course."

I swallowed, and in the interest of clarity, rushed on.  "Not because I want that.  I don't.  I mean, maybe, but not--"

He smiled and shook his head.  "I know what you mean.  If you promise to share your blanket, I'm yours for the rest of the night."

One of my brows arched.  "That sounds a little raunchy."

Alistair chuckled, a flush rising in his cheeks.  "It does, doesn't it?  Oghren and Zevran would be so proud of me."

"Good night, Alistair."  My eyes drifted shut and a feeling of peace flowed over me.  Strange how alien it felt.

"Good night, Kiann.  I'll be here when you wake up."

And he was.

###

Denerim sprawled over the Drakon River on the coast of the Amaranthine Sea, roads and bridges and buildings all twined together like some strange spider's web.  I'd been a child the last time I'd seen Ferelden's capitol; my final memory of the place was watching the gates fall behind the templars' sure steps as they carried me down the road to my fate at the Circle.  As soon as the odors of the city hit my nose, though, it was almost like I'd never left the Alienage, so familiar was it.  It was an odd mix of the tangible, like garbage, and dog, and the scents of cooking food, and the intangible:  fear, hurt, pain, happiness, laughter, love.  As Eamon mentioned as we arrived at his estate, Denerim was as stubborn as a mabari and as good to have on our side.  I believed every word of that.

And it was brimming with surprises.  A short time following our arrival, Queen Anora, Loghain's daughter, sent her maid to us to seek out our help after her father's most trusted advisor, Arl Rendon Howe, imprisoned her at his Denerim compound.  Even though my instincts screamed that helping Anora was going to get my team and me into trouble, I let Eamon convince me to do so.

Alistair and I ended up in prison for our efforts.  We broke out, of course, thanks to Zevran and Leliana's talents for infiltration and subterfuge.  When we returned to Eamon's estate, it was to discover that Anora had additional information about unrest in the city--the Alienage, specifically--that might help our cause to remove Loghain from the regency.  We ventured there and discovered slave traders had been given permission by the regent to export elves out of Denerim to Tevinter.  I'd nearly lost control again as rage blinded me, but Alistair tempered my reaction with a squeeze of his hand and a soft "Careful," whispered in my ear.

It was upon leaving the Alienage that we stumbled across his sister's house.

"That's--yes, that's her house.  I'm sure of it."  His face betrayed a range of emotions:  hope, fear, worry, even a hint of happiness.  "She might be inside.  Could…we go and see?"

Exhaustion pulled at my muscles.  The inevitability of the Landsmeet prodded me to race back to Eamon and Anora, but suddenly Alistair looked so young and innocent and hopeful.  I remembered the joy I'd witnessed on his face in the Fade, when he'd lived the dream of finding his sister, being accepted, and having a real family.  It stunned me how much I wanted that for him.

"Yes," I said.  "Let's do that."

In moments, I wished I'd insisted we hadn't.  We were both naïve, expecting reality to live up to the dream world we'd seen.  Goldanna, his sister, was more of a nightmare.  She railed against him for killing their mother--as if Alistair had any say in that--and demanded that, being a prince and all, he provide for his nieces and nephews.  My heart broke as his face fell, disappointment and sorrow chasing each other across his features.  Magic sparked at my fingertips and I shoved my hands behind my back to hide the evidence of my ire from both Alistair and his sister before suggesting to the templar that we leave.  He agreed without hesitation.

"Well."  He blew out a breath as we stopped in the road outside of his sister's shack.  "That was…not what I was expecting, to put it lightly.  This is the family I've been wondering about my entire life?  That--that shrew is my sister?  I can't believe it.  I guess I thought she'd accept me without question.  Isn't that what families are supposed to do?"  He closed his eyes briefly, and his chin dipped.  "I feel like a complete idiot."

I laid a hand on his arm, the metal of my gauntlet rasping against his armor.  "I'm sorry, Alistair.  I--I don't know what to say, except…"  My lips twisted as I searched for the words that would make it all right.  But there weren't any, were there?  "You don't need her.  You have other people in your life that care for you."

"Such as?"  He shook his head.  "Duncan was the only person who ever cared for me, and he's gone."

"Are you really that dense?"  I snatched my hand away from him and marched off, not caring if he followed or not.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zev and Oghren share knowing looks, but I ignored them.

"What?  Kiann, wait.  Maker's blood."  He muttered the last under his breath as he jogged to catch up to me.  "What did I say now?"

"Nothing.  You go right on believing that Duncan was the only person in the world who ever cared for you.  Poor Alistair, the little abandoned templar."  I waved him off with one hand and continued walking.

His strides matched mine without much effort.  "You drive me insane, you know that?"

"No more than you me."

He made a frustrated noise and grabbed my hand, halting me.  "Will you stop?"

I stared at him, the hurt still lingering in his eyes, and I did the stupidest thing I'd ever done.  I propped myself onto my tiptoes, reached a hand behind his neck, and pulled his lips down to mine.

It wasn't a gentle kiss.  Too much anger sizzled through me for that.  It was hard, and it was a little rough, and his lips were frozen under mine at first.  Fear trickled through me that I'd just made a complete fool of myself…but then he stepped forward and captured me in his arms, and the kiss wasn't mine to control anymore.  His lips opened, his tongue tentatively tasting mine, and heat flowed through me.  It melted any resistance I had; any memories that might torment me could not stand against it.  This was Alistair, and he was kissing me, and--Maker, I wanted it never to end.

Zevran cleared his throat.  "I have seen this a time or two, my dear Wardens.  But generally one is inclined to get a room for such activities, no?"

I pulled away with a gasp at the Antivan's reminder of where we were. My eyes sought out Alistair's even as I fell back a couple of steps.  I wasn't sure what I'd expected to see in his gaze--embarrassment, perhaps, or maybe nervousness--but the intensity there, the passion, shocked me. Then he blinked, and his hazel eyes softened. 

"We're in this together," I said softly, hoping that he would understand what I couldn't say.

A slight smile curved his lips.  "That we are.  I've got your back.  You know that, right?"

"Yeah," I said.  "I do."

[Sisimka]

Ah, I can't type, this was so good. The kiss, Maker, the kiss... *squeee*



Um, I really enjoyed the conversation in the tent too.