The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty-Five

"'...tell Oghren... No, what I have to say should be for his ears alone. This is my farewell.'"

"Heh. Guess Branka was thinkin' about me after all, the old softie."

Alistair stood, looking down at the abandoned journal. It seemed to have been left waiting, open to the last page on a low stone table, as if in the hopes that someone would follow. Someone who didn't mind walking endless miles in the dark and battling darkspawn, that is. Most recently it had been spiders. Maker, but he hated spiders.

"It sounds like she went into these... Dead Trenches?"

Oghren nodded. "Never had any fear, that woman. 'Cept maybe of my feet. Heh. Guess I do miss her." He sighed, punctuating it with a rumbling belch.

"Touching." Morrigan sneered.

The dwarf turned to look up at her. "You ever been married?"

"I can assure you, I have not."

"Well, it ain't all about kisses and poetry and all that other stuff you women like so much. A little bit of hate. Now, that's what keeps a relationship interesting." His gaze shifted to Alistair with a knowing wink. "'Specially when it comes to ruttin'."

"You truly are a disgusting creature."

His eyes roamed over her, leering openly now. "Just sayin', boy. Wouldn't waste the opportunity if I were you."

Morrigan stiffened, folding her arms as she glared. "And what opportunity might that be?"

"So. Right. The Dead Trenches." Suddenly they didn't sound so bad. Alistair forced a chuckle as he peered into the darkened tunnel ahead.

"We ain't gonna stop for the night?"

Glancing back at Oghren, he quirked a brow. Alistair had lost track of the days long ago, but the dwarf had always seemed to know when to call a halt. "For the... night? How do you even know what time it is anyway?"

"Stone sense." He tapped the side of his head with a grin. "Where's the fun in relying on that big... glowing...."

Morrigan's smirk turned wicked. "...Searing, burning, always overhead. 'Tis almost as though it were watching you, so high up in that big, open—"

"—Stone, woman! You can keep your sky, and your sun too. But if we're not gonna sleep let's just get this over with."

Alistair shook his head. "It has to be safer than something called the Dead Trenches, right?" He glanced round. The spiders still lay scattered, the roof and walls draped with their cocoons and faintly-glowing webbing. "At least Morrigan will be comfortable."

She shot him a glare as she stalked off to a shadowed corner.

Nodding to Oghren, he watched her go. "See? Told you she was mean."

"Heh. Ain't nothin' like it, you mark my words." He elbowed him in the ribs before wandering off to find a spot of his own.

* * *

Resting elbows on his knees, Alistair counted backwards from the highest number he could think of. This usually worked; he could count pretty high. But maybe he didn't want to fall asleep, not here, not now. Sitting beneath the strange glow of the webs, he hugged his knees to his chest.

It was almost as though being beneath the ground, this close to the darkspawn strength made the pull even stronger. That was what the taint was, a sort of eavesdropping on the archdemon's call to the horde. But it could use it to find him too, he was certain of that now. Maybe there was nothing benevolent watching him tonight. Maybe Wynne had been wrong.

Maker, he wished Duncan were here. He wished he weren't the last. Barely six months he had been a Warden before Ostagar, but it was the closest thing to... it was the only family he had ever known. And when Duncan had spoken of the dreams, had spoken of going into the Deep Roads, Alistair had known that he would follow. Duncan would not have allowed it, of course, but he had not been ready to lose him even then.

But he had never gotten the chance. Alistair was here alone.

He heard the scuffle in the shadows, reaching slowly for his sword. Maybe this, at last, would be the end. Maybe they would make it quick.

It was only Morrigan.

Her gaze hardened, lips pressing together as she watched him sag, but if she noticed his disappointment she made no comment. After a moment's hesitation, she moved to sit beside him him, resting her staff across her lap.

Alistair looked at her sideways. "What are you doing?"

"Be silent."

They remained that way for some time, staring ahead into the faintly flickering glow. Of all the people to be stuck here with... Alistair sighed.

"Brooding does little for your cause."

"Does it? And here I thought it was all part of my mystique."

She snorted. "I do not see why you fear it so. Your Grey Wardens have traveled here before."

"Yes, but I haven't." He paused. "It's... an arrangement. The dwarves respect us for it."

"'Tis a new experience for you, is it?"

"What?"

"Respect. Especially when it has yet to be earned."

"Ooh, very funny." Alistair sat back, watching her from the corner of his eye. Still she seemed to be staring into the shadows, even the bite behind her words hushed, distracted. So silent it was, the deep cool stirring the webs to cast strange patterns on the walls. He might have imagined it but even Morrigan looked... unsettled.

After a time she seemed to shake herself, as if having reached the end of some unspoken debate. The light played strange across her features as she turned to face him.

But Alistair spoke first. "We only come here when we're dying, when we know that it's the end. The taint... it's a death sentence. You know, if we don't get flattened by an ogre or something first. Either way, Grey Wardens don't exactly have to worry about dying of old age."

Morrigan sat back, watching him through narrowed eyes.

"And so we come here to fight the darkspawn. When we have nowhere else to go."

"A noble enough effort, if a futile one."

Alistair looked to his hands. Maker, why was he talking? Why was he talking to her? "Duncan... he-he was leaving soon, coming here. He said his time was coming, but he never... never got the chance to..."

"Perhaps he merely got what he deserved."

Alistair's head snapped up. "What?"

Morrigan held up a warding hand. "He chose a better death. From what little you have spoken of him, I would guess it was the death he wanted. It was not meaningless, not hopeless, not found wandering in the endless dark. He stood beside his king and faced his enemy. He died for a reason."

Alistair felt his jaw go slack. Slowly, he shook his head. "...Thank you."

She sniffed, turning her face away.

"You didn't have to... But I think... I think you might be right." He slid closer. "Thank you."

"You mistake reason for sentiment."

"Oh, right. Couldn't have that. Couldn't say something nice about somebody."

"The man is dead." Spinning to face him, she sneered. "Speaking good or ill of him does not change the fact. Nor does crying in the dark."

Right. So much for that. "You're not human."

Her scowl hardened.

"No, I mean it. You-you're just... cold and hard and evil. And just look at you. Oghren's right, you've got all the right parts in the right places, but you're just... stiff and I'm pretty sure you can't smile and even-even your hair is just tight and severe and stupid – oh and did I mention you're evil?"

Something flickered behind her eyes, but they lit on his cheek, on the wound there. She sighed. Grabbing him roughly by the chin, she turned his head away, tracing a finger over the cut beneath his temple. "Stay still."

"No." He tried to scoot away. "Don't—"

"—Despite your apparent fascination, scars are not considered beautiful."

"I hate you. So much." He stiffened as the itch flamed behind his skin, spreading as the cut began to knit itself.

"There." Morrigan watched as it faded, hand still cupping his chin. It was her breath that he was feeling, he realized, hot against his cheek.

Alistair moved quick, hand snaking behind her to tug the twisted pin from her hair. She gasped as it tumbled free round her shoulders, pulling quickly away.

Tossing the pin into her lap, he sat back to admire the effect. It was actually... sort of... pretty. The way the dark waves framed her face, caught the light... but this was Morrigan. Morrigan. He smirked. "What do you know. You almost look like a person."

Her eyes narrowed. Coming quickly to her feet, she smacked the end of her staff hard against his knee as she stalked off into the dark.