When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

In the Still of the Night

The camp quieted early that night. Thora's injury had everyone off-balance. But in a camp that contained six Grey Wardens, quiet nights were relative, nightmares always taking their toll. Most nights at least one Warden was to be found moodily staring into the flames of the campfire, trying to recover from the aftereffects of a horrific dream.

Tonight Xandros had barely closed his eyes when the images began. The Alienage in flames, his family running and screaming, falling to the blades and teeth of the darkspawn. He sat bolt upright in his bedroll, then left the tent, wandering restlessly through the camp and across the space to the other little fire. The witch looked up at him, her golden eyes sympathetic. "The nightmares do not leave you alone, do they?" she asked.

"No."

"Perhaps 'tis time to try something new to ward them off." She stood up.

"By now I thought I'd tried everything," he said, the images still vivid and his mind only half on what she had said. But the nightmares could not stand against the picture she made there in the firelight as she dropped the scrap of cloth that covered her torso and then stepped out of her skirt. Morrigan walked to her tent, opening the flap, and she looked back at him, an expression of challenge masking what seemed to be nervousness, or possibly fear.

"Are you coming or not, elf?" she asked, and he followed her into the tent.

Thora felt as though she were swimming through cotton, trying to wake up. The dream had been terrifying, a mixed-up jumble of the Archdemon, Anawyn with flames all around her, the feeling of that tentacle tightening around her chest, and of course darkspawn. Always lots of darkspawn. She bit back a groan as she sat up, the ribs painful but not excruciatingly so. Anders slept next to her bedroll, for once peacefully. Thora tiptoed from the tent as quietly as she could, anxious not to wake him. Sleep was long past for her tonight, but there was no reason to ruin his rest.

Remembering the flames from her dream, Thora avoided the campfire, and she followed the tingling of her skin toward the lakeshore. Alistair was sitting on a rock, staring out over the water, one arm draped over his upraised knee.

He looked around as she came up to him. "Should you be out of bed?" he asked. She could hear the concern in his voice.

Thora shrugged, wincing slightly and hoping the darkness covered it. "Couldn't sleep. Nightmares."

"Me, too."

The words tumbled forth unbidden. "Alistair, what if— What if we don't find her? If we get there too late? What if ...?" She couldn't finish the sentence, and she didn't have to. One arm reached out, closing gently around her and drawing her close to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling his warmth seeping into her.

"We'll find her in time. I've never known you to fail at anything," he said.

"I failed her!" she wailed. And the dam she'd held together so long burst, the tears flooding out of her, soaking into his shirt. Alistair held her close, as she had held him so long ago, after their return to the battlefield at Ostagar. It was what she needed most, especially now—someone strong enough that she could let go of the control she kept over herself, if only for a few minutes. As her sobs eased, she put her hands up between them, pushing feebly at him.

"Please," he whispered, "stay." She made a noise of protest. "I promise," he pleaded, "I won't do anything that ... Wynne wouldn't approve of."

Thora gave a watery chuckle. "What does that leave out? You might as well have said Oghren." She heard the rumble of his laughter against her ear, and had to admit that she had absolutely no desire to go anywhere else right now.

"Please," he said again. "It's been so long since I held you, and who knows when I'll ever get the chance again."

For answer, she climbed up the rock and curled up in his lap, her head resting against his chest.

Alistair nuzzled her tousled hair, breathing her in—the molten lava scent of Orzammar that still clung to her mingled with the fragrance of the flowers she loved. His arms tightened, careful of her ribs, around her. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered brokenly. "If Anders hadn't been there today—"

Thora shivered. "But he was there." She pushed the thought away. Her own mortality was too much to deal with. She'd be afraid some other time. Now, with the warmth and feel of Alistair all around her, was not that time.

"Thora."

"Mmm?" She cuddled back against his chest, so comfortable.

"If— Would you— I mean—"

"Out with it, Alistair."

"If you think you could be happy. With Anders, I mean. Well, it would be hard. You know. But I think I could—I think I could learn to accept it."

She twisted, hissing in pain as her ribs protested, and looked at him in the moonlight. "You could not."

"I could try."

"It doesn't matter," Thora said softly. "Although I appreciate the sentiment. Anders deserves someone who can give him her whole heart, and I never could. You know that."

"Do I?" She could hear the bitterness and hurt in his voice. "It's been a long time since I could be sure of that."

"Wait, are you blaming me for all the distance there's been between us?"

"No. Not really. But ... I explained why I had to take off the amulet. Maker's breath, it was the only reason we were apart in the first place—I had to create an heir. And I felt for the woman. How would you like to have tried to get pregnant with the reminder that someone else got there first dangling in your face?"

"I understood that," Thora protested.

"You said you did, but then you froze me out. You had less and less to say every time I went to Amaranthine, and I ... felt so guilty."

"You should've." He jerked as though she'd hit him, and she said, "Well, maybe not. I don't know, Alistair. It was so hard knowing that you were going back to her, that you were with her all the time. I was afraid to keep getting hurt every time you left."

"Do you think that was easy for me? I never wanted to leave in the first place."

In a small voice, she said, "I didn't want to face the fact that the situation was what I—we—had made of it. It was easier to be angry with you."

"Same here. Easier to miss you than try to have only part of you."

They were quiet for a few moments. Thora leaned back against his shoulder with a sigh. Then she said, "Tell me about your little Duncan. What's he like?"

Alistair chuckled. "Headstrong. He thinks the whole castle is at his beck and call."

"Sounds like his sister."

"In a lot of ways, yes. He's a smart little guy, asks lots of questions." Alistair paused, then said, "Someday I'd like you to meet him."

"Me, too."

There was another brief silence, then he spoke again, his voice husky. "I asked you a question, in your tent that night. And don't think I didn't notice that you didn't answer."

"What question was that?" she asked. She knew, of course she did, and her heart pounded.

He could barely breathe, much less speak, but he had to hear her say the words. "Do you still love me?"

She shifted, turning again to face him, ignoring the pain in her ribs, and took his face in her hands. "I will always love you."

"And I you," he said. Alistair could see Thora's beautiful face turned up to him in the moonlight, and he felt warmth spread through him. He drew her back against his chest, resting his cheek on her soft hair, and they sat there for a long time, looking out over the lake and drawing strength from each other.