When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

The Aftermath

Alistair groaned, shifting. He didn't remember his bedroll being quite this uncomfortable. Next to him, he heard another set of groans, and at the same time he became aware of his face, his hands, and most of the rest of his muscles throbbing painfully. With some difficulty, he managed to roll over onto his back and open his eyes, blinking against the brightness. He sighed in relief when a shadow blocked out the sun, but then, as the memory of last night's fight with Anders returned, he recognized the shadow as that of a very irritated dwarf.

Thora reached out an armored toe and nudged both men in the ribs, not bothering to be gentle. "Up. Now."

There were various groans and protests.

Unmoved, Thora put her hands on her hips. "Last night's display was beneath two men of your intelligence and ... presumed maturity. Get up."

"Wait," said Anders, sitting up. There was an audible crack as he stretched his back. "You were watching?"

"Uh ... no, of course not!"

"She was watching," Alistair said, nodding at the other man. "Couldn't help it, could you?" He tried his best mischievous grin, but judging from the pain in his face, stiff with dried blood, and the narrowing of Thora's brown eyes, the grin wasn't going to get him very far.

"Both of you, off the ground," she barked. "There's a camp waiting to be packed." As Anders wiggled his fingers experimentally, she shook her head. "Oh, no, mage. As your Commander, I order you, no healing spells. I want to make sure this doesn't happen again. Therefore, both of you are charged with packing up camp—by yourselves—with no more healing than you'd get from a poultice."

"Commander, I—" Anders began, at the same time as Alistair said, "But, Thora—"

"You heard me." She turned away from them, not unhappy about the grumbling she heard behind her. Let them grumble. Maybe it would teach them a lesson.

Another groan came from the edge of the campfire, where Tim—Dirnley—was still recovering from his first experience with Oghren's ale. "Commander, he's the King of Ferelden, should he really ..." Tim protested weakly, watching as Alistair got to his feet with difficulty. After a moment's thought, Alistair reached a hand down to help Anders up. Anders looked at the hand suspiciously, then took it.

"Thanks," Anders said gruffly.

"Yep," Alistair clipped off. Without looking at each other, they headed off in different directions to start pulling up tent stakes.

Thora looked back at Tim. "Don't you worry. He's packed up camp many, many times. Once more won't kill him. Just hurt a lot."

That was no understatement, Alistair thought. He bit back a moan as his battered hands closed around a tent stake. He'd already made enough manly noises of agony for one morning. No sense in embarrassing himself further. He hoped there would be food at the end of this long, long task, though. Surely she couldn't be so cruel as to deny two hungry Grey Wardens breakfast!

As she watched Alistair try to pretend he wasn't in pain, Thora said to Tim, "Clearly the hard work is good for him. Stretches those stiff muscles. If you're feeling like you need something to do, though ..." She let her voice trail off.

Tim groaned, looking ill. "No, no, this is good," he said hastily.

After they were all packed up, Thora went over to the neat pile of baggage and the two men who stood over it, watching each other warily. "All right, boys," she said. "Good job. Have you learned your lesson?" Two blond heads nodded. "There will be no more of this foolishness. Fighting each other isn't going to resolve anything, and it may well jeopardize this mission and Anawyn's safety." They both looked shame-faced at that. "I'll talk to both of you about your issues later. Anders, you're free to heal now." With a sigh of relief, Anders closed his eyes, his hands waving in the air. His nose returned to its usual shape and the bruises faded from his face. "Now him," Thora said when he was finished, jerking her head towards Alistair, who grinned smugly.