The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty-One

"Athras?"

The elf straightened from his work, blinking in disbelief as he turned. "D-Danyla?"

The woman pulled Leliana into a hasty embrace before dashing cross the camp. There was a tired smile there as she watched her go, lips twisting as the scars pulled tight.

"What was that about?"

She shied away to find Alistair watching her, flushed for his smile. "He is her husband. She never thought that she would see him again."

"You did a good thing."

"When I found her, she begged me to kill her." She raised her eyes to his. "The pain was more than she could bear."

"The pain?"

"It was like a fire in the blood, a searing beneath the skin. Constant. Consuming. I-I have never felt anything like it."

"You..." Alistair stepped closer, slipping an arm round her shoulders. "I didn't know."

"And I do not think I will ever forget." Her laugh was bitter, almost manic. "At least now we understand why they were so angry."

"Yeah. That's not funny." Pulling her into a hug, he shook his head.

"Does anyone else feel the urge to vomit? No? 'Tis just me?" Morrigan paused beside them with a sneer, eyes straying to the embracing elven couple.

Another elf pushed past, arms laden with bandages, her shoulder bumping hard against Morrigan as she turned. Young though she was, the girl met the witch glare for glare, continuing on her way with a sniff.

"This is what passes for gratitude, is it? Fine allies you have chosen."

The girl knelt beside one of the cots, bending to change the dressings on the leg of a familiar boy.

"Gheyna, please. You don't have to..."

She lay a hand on his chest, forcing him back. "I still don't understand what you were thinking, going out there alone. You could have been killed!"

The boy's eyes flickered to Morrigan before turning back to watch the girl fuss with the bandages around his head. As she leaned low, he smiled.

Alistair, too, was grinning as he watched Morrigan's expression. "There're some bushes over there if you need a moment."

With a final glower, she stalked away.

But Sten and Wynne had spotted them now, making their way through the crowd. The camp did seem to be celebrating, their success obvious well before their arrival. No longer did the sick lay crying, though many still seemed to move about in a disbelieving daze.

As they approached, Sten flexed his arm, the skin healed and unmarked.

"Oh, good." Alistair smirked. "Wait, you're not going to hit me or anything, are you?"

"Perhaps."

But Wynne's gaze had moved to Leliana, stepping now from behind him. "Oh, child." She pulled her into a quick embrace, leaning back to run her fingers over the scars, tugging the tunic away from her shoulder to examine the deeper wound. They were lighter now, Alistair realized, not blackened as they had been before her transformation. Old they looked, the skin puckered and overly smooth, as if they had tried to heal long ago.

After a long moment, Wynne shook her head. "I do not understand why—"

"—Zathrian said that it was something to do with the healing. It actually made it worse." A young elven woman stepped round, moving to peer over Wynne's shoulder. "She's lucky to be alive at all."

The old mage flinched as Leliana turned away but the elf seemed to take no notice, meeting Alistair's glare with a heavy sigh.

"Zathrian followed you and yet he does not return."

"No, he... he broke the curse. And it cost him his life." Alistair stilled his features. "He was a hero."

The woman's eyes narrowed, the doubt there clear. "That is kind of you to say, but I always suspected that Zathrian knew more of the curse than he let on. But you have honored your part of the agreement and we will honor ours. I will send word to the other clans. When you face the Blight, we will be at your back."

He nodded. Then had done what they came to do. But his eyes strayed cross the camp, watched Wynne sink heavy onto a cot, Leliana stare blankly out into the trees. Even Zevran seemed strangely quiet, sitting beside one of the fires and watching the elves as he turned his gloves over in his hands. Only Morrigan met his gaze.

Alistair turned away. Right. Mission accomplished.

* * *

They made camp just beyond the West Road, the night cool and clear, the stars just visible above the thinning trees. She watched them, laying on her back beside her tent, lips moving silently as she recounted the song beneath her breath. It had been something about lovers, hadn't it? Lovers immortalized in the night sky. Alistair wished he could remember, wished he had the nerve to ask her to tell the tale again.

As he watched, Leliana seemed to shake herself, sitting to pull her lute into her lap. It was the first time he had seen her touch the instrument in days. Alistair smiled.

But he wasn't the only one watching. Wynne had pitched her own tent some way beyond the others, sitting curled before the flap with a book to hand. If he wasn't mistaken, it had been a long while since she had actually turned the page. Rising slow, Alistair moved to stand beside her.

"Good book?"

She started, eyes narrowing as she looked up at him. Troubled or no, that glare made his intrusion clear.

He crouched, bending to get a look at the cover. "Nevarran Nights, huh? What's it about?"

Wynne arched a brow. "Nothing you would be interested in, I'm sure."

"Oh, I don't know. I quite like reading, actually. It's one of the things I miss most about the Chantry. Maybe the only thing."

She passed the book to him without a word.

"What's an 'Antivan milk sandwich?'" Alistair read on, eyes going wide. "Oh. Oh." Handing it back to her, he swallowed hard.

Wynne smirked.

Across the clearing, Leliana had begun to play a wandering melody, the notes swelling soft and sad and melancholy. He didn't need to look the see the mage's face fall, the sigh heavy as she slumped.

"Still brooding, are we?"

"I am not brooding."

"Oh really? Book just not holding your attention?" He leaned close. "Nothing interesting about 'Reginald's quivering....' Wow."

She snapped the book shut with a shake of her head. "I have made my share of mistakes, Alistair. But unfortunately acceptance does not forgive us our guilt."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I should have been able to do more. I was so certain. And because of that I acted rashly."

"It was the curse. You couldn't have known." He watched Leliana falter, the final chord twanging sour as she flexed a suddenly shaking hand. "If anyone's to blame, it's Zathrian."

Alistair had made as if to rise but Zevran was there then, sitting beside Leliana to rub a soothing hand across her shoulders.

He sank back. "And speaking of certainty... I wanted to ask you about something. When I... ran off... when I found the Dalish..."

"Ah." Wynne nodded, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"'Ah'? You knew?"

"That something was guiding you?" Her lips twitched. "Or would you have me believe that you had suddenly been blessed with a sense of direction?"

"Hey!"

She turned full to face him now, arching a brow.

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "But I... saw something. It was more than that sense that you described before. I think... I think I'm going mad."

"You are many things, Alistair, but I would not call you mad." She tsked. "What was it you saw?"

"A... man. Well, an elf. He showed me where to go. And it's not the first time."

"You have seen him before."

"In the Tower, the Fade. And there were others." He watched her closely now. "I asked you about them."

The tightening of her jaw was almost imperceptible. "I remember."

"And...? You don't think there might be something important you could tell me?"

She sighed. "You asked me about children."

"That's what I saw."

Wynne shook her head, raising her chin. "I did not know the children, but the way you described them—"

"—An elven girl, very pale, kind of... smirking. The boy was human, dark hair, braided. Somehow looked like he might be trouble, though I don't know—"

She chuckled, the smile sad. "—That he was. Though mischievous might be a better word for it. Not the kind I would have thought to be mixed up in..."

"In?"

It was a long moment before she spoke again. "They were not children, but I know the woman, the man of whom you speak. Neria Surana and Daylen Amell. They were both apprentices."

Alistair mouthed the names, testing them. "And they died, didn't they? When the tower broke."

Wynne shook her head. "Some weeks before. There was... a blood mage. Jowan. He convinced them..."

"Wait. Jowan?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"He's the... the mage that poisoned Arl Eamon."

"And where is he now?"

Alistair shrugged. "Locked back in the dungeons of Redcliff Castle, so far as I know."

"Good."

"So I'm guessing the Tower will want him back, then? Righteous vengeance and all that?"

Wynne only shook her head. "I'm sure he is fine where he is for the moment. I take it there are rats?"

"Big ones."

"Good."

Alistair glanced sideways at her. "You are a very scary lady."

Leliana had passed the lute to Zevran now, leaning over his shoulder to guide his fingers along the strings. Right. Great. Why did this look like a bad idea? Alistair found himself coming to his feet.

"Alistair. Your elf..."

"Theron. I think his name was Theron." He sighed. "It's... something one of the darkspawn said. I was dreaming of him and it said it and... it just seems right."

She nodded.

"But... the others. Were they... important? I thought maybe they were mages, but..."

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful smile. "No more important than you or I, I'd say. But maybe that's not what matters."

"Wow. I actually understood that. You're sure I'm not going mad?"

"No, Alistair. I don't think you're going mad."

He turned with a shake of his head. "Right. Just seeing dead people then. No problem."

Zevran glanced up at his approach, wincing as Leliana forcibly twisted his fingers into an awkward position.

Shaking her head, she studiously avoided Alistair's gaze. "I do not understand how an assassin can have such clumsy hands."

He chuckled. "They have their uses, I assure you."

"You would make a horrible thief."

"That, my dear, would depend on what it is that I am stealing." He fixed Alistair with a knowing smirk. "Are you a fan of poetry, my friend? There is one in particular that comes to mind. Perhaps I can find a tune for it."

"Um... no. No thanks. I just wanted to... We'll reach the main road tomorrow morning. A few more days and we can be in Denerim."

Leliana's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. Extricating herself from the strange embrace, she came to her feet. "You said that we were going to Orzammar."

"I... I changed my mind. I wanted to say I—"

"—You need the dwarves, no? Then that is where we must go."

"But what about—?"

"—It is not important. This, the Blight... that is what matters." She whirled without another word, stalking off into the trees.

Alistair stared after her for a long moment. He should go after her, would go after her, but a strange thought occurred to him. "What was her name?"

"Mmm?" Zevran plucked a string, positioning his fingers as Leliana had shown him. "You are speaking to me?"

"The woman the Guardian spoke of." He turned to find the assassin watching him. "What happened?"

"Perhaps another time, my friend."

Alistair squatted beside him. "You're the one who said I never bothered to ask. So I'm asking."

The look was long, level, dangerous.

"She's dead. And I can only assume that you killed her." He sighed. "All I want to know is... does it get any easier?"

"Ahh." Zevran's eyes strayed to the trees, shaking his head with a whispered chuckle. "If it is absolution you seek, perhaps you should have stayed in your Chantry."

"Fine. Thanks." He pushed himself to his feet.

"Her name was Rinna. She was... a marvel. Dark and smooth and wicked and—"

Alistair paused, blinking down at him. "—You loved her. Then why would you...?"

"I was told that she had betrayed me. So I turned my back on her, spat on her as she denied it, as she begged. She told me that she loved me and I told her that I did not care. But I did not do the deed myself. Even then, I could not bear it, could not even bear to watch. Taliesin told me later that he had made it painful, made it slow. Because I had asked him to."

"And did she? Betray you?"

Zevran snorted. "You have already guessed the answer. But by the time I found out it was too late."

"I... Zevran, I'm sorry."

"To answer your question..." He shook his head, hunching low as he plucked a solemn chord. "No. No, it does not get easier."

Alistair watched him for a moment longer, trying in vain to find something more to say. But Zevran was studiously ignoring him now, the hair falling cross his eyes as he turned away. Starting toward the trees, Alistair sighed.

Morrigan slipped from her tent as he passed. "Alistair..."

"No. Not now. Not ever." He disappeared beneath the shadows without a backward glance.

There had been a pond not far beyond the camp, a small and secluded wayspot for travelers venturing from the road. Leliana crouched beside it, watching her reflection in the darkened waters. She did not seem surprised as he moved to stand behind her, her eyes flickering now between the wavering images.

"I enjoyed being beautiful." She chuckled. "A horrible thing to say, no? But my life in Orlais... it was glamorous, exciting. The clothes, the shoes, the gardens of Val Royeaux... I loved all of it. I loved being a part of it. And now I am a part of this." She turned her face away.

Alistair knelt beside her, hand hesitating before brushing aside her hair.

"I know what you are trying to do. And I am grateful. But the reason I do not want to go to Denerim, the true reason..." She raised her eyes. "I do not want Marjolaine to see me like this. I know it sounds foolish..."

"No. Not at all."

"And if we do not go to Orzammar... if we do not gather your army... if we do not defeat the Blight... then this..." Again, she looked to the waters. "...this is all for nothing."

Alistair curled his legs beneath him, the stones beneath his boots skittering into the pond. The ripples broke wide, their images fading. He turned her face back to his.

"You do not have to do this, not anymore."

"Do what?"

At his grin, her scowl only deepened. "You do not have to look at me."

"I just so happen to like looking at you. And you're not the only one with scars, you know." He slipped his hands beneath his tunic, lifting it over his head.

Leliana quirked a brow.

"Here... see this one?" Alistair twisted his arm, showing her the top of his shoulder. One of those skeletons back in Redcliff got a lucky shot. "And here..." He lifted his other arm, revealing the puckered gash along his side. "...I think this one was Zevran, actually."

She chuckled. "If that was Zevran, I think you would be dead."

"Fair point." Pushing up onto his knees, he unclasped his belt. "There's a huge one on my thigh. The ogre in the Tower of Ishal. Did I ever tell you...?" He trailed off, face flushing as he realized what he was doing.

"It is alright. I suspect I will have to get used to it." Her snort was bitter as she moved to stand.

Alistair caught her wrist. "Oh no, I didn't mean... I just... I've never..." It was his turn to avert his eyes.

"Oh. Oh." Leliana sank beside him, her surprised cough hiding something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. "It is nothing I did not see in the temple, you know. And you have seen me. And recently."

"I wasn't exactly complaining."

She moved in one fluid motion, lifting her leathers up and over her head.

Alistair's grin turned crooked. "See? It's not so bad." Sliding closer, he traced gentle fingers down her neck and cross her shoulder. The wound was almost luminous in the dim, surprisingly smooth and soft.

Leliana winced at the touch, letting her eyes fall closed as she heaved a shaking sigh. She leaned into him then, lips warm against his ear. "I would like to see your scar."

* * *

Alistair stirred against her chest, the dream threatening on the edges of waking. Still they lay beside the pond, the sky lightening beneath the first rays of dawn. His murmurs were fitful, the words only half-formed.

"I'm sorry... I could be... should be... better. At everything."

Leliana lay a kiss against his forehead. "You are doing just fine."