When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Why Can't This Be Love?

It was their first night in camp. The old campaigners were used to the routines—tents, water, firewood, campfire cooking—and Xandros spent enough time in the forests that he was comfortable with camping. Sometimes Thora thought he would have been happier joining the Dalish than in the Grey Wardens.

Sigrun sat by the fireside, shivering. Despite all her years on the surface, she had never gotten used to being outdoors. Thora felt badly as she saw her fellow dwarf's misery. If she hadn't needed a second rogue, she'd have left Sigrun back at the Vigil. All right, she supposed she could have brought Nathaniel Howe, the sourpuss, but the trip was going to be uncomfortable enough without his constant sulking. He was far better left to bother Varel about the running of his family's ancestral home. At least there he was marginally useful.

She put a hand on Sigrun's shoulder. "Are you all right, my friend?"

Sigrun nodded, but she was still shivering. Then, from the other side of her, a mug appeared. "Drink this, girl. Ya might still be cold, but you won't sodding care." Oghren's laugh boomed across the campsite. Sigrun took the mug. She looked at it skeptically for a moment—they all knew about Oghren's ales—then tilted it up and downed the contents. She coughed for a moment, but seemed less miserable.

Oghren took a swig himself. "Ah, that's good for what ails ya. Ha! Ya hear me? Good for what 'ale''s ya?" Sigrun giggled and Thora shook her head. Puns already? They'd barely set up camp. It was going to be a long night. "Hey!" Oghren called suddenly across the camp. "Yeah, you! Ya big barrel o' stout!" Jens looked puzzled, although Oghren was clearly talking to him. "Ha!" said Oghren again. "Barrel o' stout!" Sigrun giggled again, more loudly, and Thora groaned. The puns were going downhill fast. Jens came across the camp and Oghren shoved a mug into the giant man's hand. "Might as well start drinkin' now, boy. It's gonna be a long campaign." That Jens got. He tipped the mug back, draining it, then belched loudly enough to make even Oghren happy and held out the mug for more. "That's the ticket, boy! Drink up!" Oghren poured another round.

Thora just hoped they wouldn't run out of ale on the first night.

She left the three of them drinking by the fire. Jens seemed sturdy enough to handle the dwarven ale, Thora thought, but of course tomorrow's hangover would tell the real tale.

Morrigan was at her usual separate fire, and Thora thought she saw Xandros's shadow over there, as well. The elf seemed to feel remarkably comfortable with the witch, more than he often seemed to feel with the rest of the Wardens. She just hoped he knew what he was doing ... and that time and motherhood had softened Morrigan somewhat. Thora made a mental note to check in with both of them at some point.

Alistair had been assigned to first watch. She stood for a moment, trying to separate the feeling of him from that of the rest of the Grey Wardens. For whatever reason, he and Anawyn felt different to her. Ah, there she had it—he was in the woods to the north, circling the camp's perimeter. It was Dirnley's night to clean up from the dinner, and he was doing so rather sullenly. Dirnley clearly wasn't a fan of outdoor living, which led Thora to wonder what he was doing there. She knew he was exceedingly devoted to the king and queen, but this seemed above the call of duty. And she didn't like the way he seemed to be watching her. She'd have to ask Sigrun to keep an eye on him.

That just left Anders. The mage had cooked tonight—a surprisingly tasty meal of squirrel and ground vegetables. Anders must have learned a few things about camping during his many escapes from the Circle Tower, she thought. But he'd disappeared after dinner, presumably to his tent.

Thora ducked into her own tent, desperately missing the privacy of her rooms. Camping was too much like Orzammar in that respect—everyone knew everything that was going on. She started to unbuckle her armor, but was startled when a light flared in the tent. And there was her missing mage, sitting comfortably cross-legged on her bedroll, his grin cheeky as always. She must be tired, not to have sensed him there.