Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility

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Title: Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility - Chapter 10 A Start
Author: MerlindaDragon
Rating: PG-13
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Characters: Myranda Cousland, Alistair, Baby, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all characters from it belong to Bioware.  Except for Myranda.  She's mine.
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Chapter 10: A Start
"Humor is mankind's greatest blessing."
~Mark Twain

The massive canyon held a river of lighted torches.  There were thousands upon thousands of them.  Then, suddenly, the horrific dragon appeared, standing on a bridge and roaring deafeningly.  It reared onto its hind legs, swinging its head from side to side as it roared before crashing back down and bellowing a great stream of blue-green fire over the heads of the darkspawn milling below.  The sight and the sound were dreadful and terrifying.

Myranda tossed and turned violently before she started suddenly awake, panting heavily as she looked up into the deep black sky.  She winced as she sat up, bringing one hand up to cradle her aching head.  Andraste's flaming sword, could she not get one night of sleep where she wasn't plagued by nightmares?  First her family, now this horrid dragon.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

Myranda looked up to see Alistair sitting near the fire at the center of their campsite, staring at her.  Maker's breath, had he been watching her sleep?  How embarrassing!  "Must have been something I ate," she muttered, returning her gaze to the ground.

"Drank, more like.  As in the tainted blood?  Remember?"  Her green eyes lifted to him and he looked at the fire before explaining.  "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn."  He looked back at her then.  "That's what your dream was: hearing them."

Myranda lowered her hand slowly back to her lap, staring at him as this newest shock was revealed.

"The archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do.  That's why we know this is really a Blight."

"The archdemon..." she said softly, "is that the dragon?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one.  But yes, that's the archdemon."

"Are these dreams going to happen a lot?"  That could prove to be frightfully annoying.

"It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out.  Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."  He watched her lower her eyes again.  "Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you: it was scary at first for me, too."

Myranda looked up sharply, startled by the admission.  She stared at him for several moments, searching for any sign of deceit or mockery, and found none: there was only pure honesty in his face.  The corners of her mouth lifted in a genuine smile—her first in nearly two months—and it felt strange on her lips.  "Thank you, Alistair," she said softly.  "I appreciate it."

"That's what I'm here for," he said with exaggerated cheerfulness.  "To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners."  He smiled at her.  "Anyhow, try to get some more sleep.  I'll wake you at dawn."

[Kingsway 2 – Evening]

"Why are we stopping?" Sten asked Myranda as she passed by on her way back to the fire in the middle of the camp.

"It's getting dark," Myranda said.  "You don't expect us to march through the night do you?"

"There are darkspawn to be fought.  Is this delay needful?"

"We all need to rest," she said with exaggerated patience.  She shot the qunari a look.  "Including you.  You were in that cage for weeks."

"You are concerned?" Sten asked.  Myranda couldn't decide whether he was surprised or annoyed by this.  "No need.  I am fit enough to fight."

She paused, considering him for a few moments.  "Will you tell me about your people?" she asked.

"No."

Myranda blinked at this flat reply.  "And why not?"

"People are not simple," Sten said.  "They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of: 'The elves are a lithe, pointy-eared people who excel at poverty.'"

She stared at him for a moment before deciding to concede the point.  "You said you were in the army," she said, trying a different conversation thread.

"I am," he said simply.

"What made you decide to become a soldier?"

The qunari gave her a strange look then, as if she was suddenly growing another head.  "Decide?" he repeated.  "I am a Sten of the Beresaad.  I did not choose to be who I am any more than you did."

"Have you ever fought in a war?"

"I have always fought in war, human."

"And what does that mean?" Myranda asked.

"My people have been at war since the moment we set foot in the northern islands."

This confused the blonde woman.  "So the qunari don't come from the islands?"

"We do now."

"Where did you come from before?"

"Somewhere else."

Myranda closed her eyes, fighting back her impending headache.  "Never mind," she muttered, giving up and continuing on her way toward the fire.  "Just... get some rest."

She had just reached the circle of light from the small bonfire when a trilling laugh reached her ears.  Her head snapped up and she looked in the direction of the sound only to see Alistair and Leliana engaged in a deep conversation.  And, for a reason she couldn't begin to fathom, it caused an intense heat to course through her veins, flooding her brain with an undeniable resentment and anger.

She sat heavily by the fire, snatching up a long stick and poking at the burning logs, trying not to sulk.  Well, they were certainly getting along splendidly.  They had been chatting and laughing to themselves since dinner... and for the past two days.  She pursed her lips.  He hadn't said a word to her since she'd woken up two nights ago from her nightmare.

Not that she was jealous, of course.  Of course not!  Why should she be jealous?  It was important that they all try to get along if they were going to be traveling and fighting together.  Granted, Morrigan and Alistair fought like cats and dogs... which was an apt comparison, as Morrigan rather reminded her of a sleek and aloof black cat while Alistair had the loyalty and resoluteness of a good hound, complete with deep and soulful puppy-dog eyes.  She heard Alistair laughing and shot him and the redhead another sour look before looking back at the fire.

So what that he and Leliana were talking and laughing and just having a terrific time in each other's company?  Just because Leliana was bright and bubbly with a beautiful Orlesian accent and a trilling laugh that sounded like the tinkling of bells didn't necessarily mean that Alistair would be attracted to her.  Why would he be attracted to her?  She was skinny... willowy and graceful and calm and cultured and beautiful in a way.  And she could laugh... something she herself had lost.

But what difference did it make that she wouldn't—couldn't laugh anymore?  They were trying to stop a Blight... it was no time for frivolity!  She scowled at the fire and poked it harder, the flame-weakened stick in her hands snapping in half from the force.

"Does the fire upset you that much?"

She looked up at Alistair before returning her gaze to the flames.  "I don't think it was a good idea to let Leliana come with us after all," she said, hurling the other half of the stick into the bonfire.

"Why not?" he asked, sitting next to her.  "She's a skilled fighter.  And she can cook!"

"And she's pretty," Myranda grumbled.

He blinked, confused.  "Do you think so?"  He didn't think Myranda was the type to notice other women... not like that, anyway.

"Don't you?"

"I... guess so," he said before shrugging.  "I don't know.  I hadn't really noticed."

"You... you hadn't?"  Myranda felt she had been struck dumb from pure astonishment.  "Oh, I..."  She looked down at her hands, which she folded in her lap.  "Oh."  She cleared her throat.  "Well I... suppose we can let her tag along for a while longer."

"Good!  I didn't think you'd want to go back to me doing most of the cooking.  We'd starve for sure."

"It wasn't that bad," she said.  She looked over at him only to find him giving her a completely incredulous look.  "All right, it was pretty bad," she admitted.  "But I wasn't doing much better."

"You'll hit me if I say your cooking wasn't that bad, won't you?

"Only if it's a lie."

"Then I better not say anything."  He looked up over her shoulder then, a puzzled look crossing his face.  "Say, isn't that the dwarf we saved back in Lothering?"

Myranda turned to look for herself to see a familiar wagon parked just outside the perimeter of their camp.  "It is!" she said.  "What's he doing here, I wonder?"

"Should we investigate?" he asked, standing.

"It might be a good idea."  She allowed him to pull her to her feet before leading the way over to the wagon.

The dwarf looked up as they approached and smiled.  "Ah!  It's good to see you, my timely rescuers!  Bodahn Feddic at your service once again."

"Good evening," Myranda said.  "What brings you here?"

"I saw your camp and thought to myself, 'What safer place to rest for the evening than in the camp of a Grey Warden?'"

Myranda smirked.  The dwarf had a point.

"I'm perfectly willing to offer you a fine discount for the inconvenience of our presence," the merchant told her.  "How does that sound?  Good?  Yes?"

"And what are you selling, exactly?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Anything, everything.  But all of the finest quality: no cheap trinkets here.  And my boy Sandal happens to be a bit of a hand with enchantments."

"Really?"

"Oh yes.  Sadly, it also makes us a target for bandits and the like.  If there were spare hands to hire as guards, I would have done so long ago."

She looked at Alistair.  "What do you think?"

"Our own personal merchant?  Seems like a good deal to me!"

She nodded.  "I agree."  She looked back at Bodahn.  "You're free to stay," she told him.  "Just mind yourselves."

"Wonderful!"  He looked over at his son.  "Thank the kind lady, won't you, boy?"

"Thank you, kind lady," Sandal said.

Myranda felt the smile returning to her lips at the boy's obedience to his father.

"We won't be a bother to you and your companions, I assure you," Bodahn was saying.  "If you should need enchantments, simply talk to my boy.  Otherwise, come speak with me.  The boy's a bit simple, but he is rather good with enchantments.  One of those Tranquil fellows actually called him a..." his voice trailed off as he searched for the word.  "What was it, now?  A savant!"  He shrugged.  "I had no idea such a thing existed."

"Tranquil?" Myranda asked, turning to Alistair.

"Mages who are considered too weak to resist demonic possession are made Tranquil," he explained.  "They're cut off from the Fade and their emotions are... taken away."

Her brow furrowed at how disturbed he looked and she turned back to the two dwarves.  "What enchantments does he do?" she asked Bodahn.

"He can fold lyrium into almost any weapon or piece of armor," Bodahn said proudly.

"Well, that could be useful!"

"Naturally some of the more extravagant materials will take more lyrium than others.  It's a process that some of the master smiths back in Orzammar will perform, but my boy here is just as adept at it," he said, puffing with pride.  He turned to Sandal then.  "Isn't that right, boy?"

"Enchantment!" Sandal said excitedly, jumping up and down and clapping his hands.

Bodahn chuckled.  "And there you have it."

[Kingsway 4 – Evening]

"Leliana?"

The redhead looked up from the pot of fresh rabbit stew simmering on the fire.  "Good evening, Myranda," she said politely.  "Something I can help you with?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something."

Leliana spread her arms invitingly.  "Well, here I am."

Myranda took a deep breath as she knelt nearby.  "This... vision of yours..." she began.  She didn't get any further, as the redhead lowered her head and sighed.

"I knew this would come up sooner or later," she murmured.  She breathed another heavy sigh before looking up.  "I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream."

"A dream."

"Yes.  In it there was an impenetrable darkness... it was so dense, so real.  And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise...."

"A roaring?"

Leliana thought for a moment.  "I don't know," she said finally.  "It was horrible... filling the whole sky.  I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything... and when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I..." her voice trailed off and she lowered her eyes.  "I fell," she said softly, "and the darkness drew me in."

"You dreamed of the Blight," Myranda said.  "At least, it sounds that way."

"I suppose I did.  That was what the darkness was, no?"

"I would say so."

"When I woke, I went to the chantry's gardens, as I always do.  But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered."  She looked at the blonde then.  "Everyone knew that bush was dead.  It was grey and twisted and gnarled—the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was—a single, beautiful rose.  It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say: 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty.  Have faith.'"

Myranda couldn't help the skepticism she felt.  "And... this made you want to help me?" she asked.

"In my dream, I fell, or... or maybe I jumped."  She seemed to consider this dark possibility for a moment before lifting her blue eyes back to Myranda's green.  "I'd do anything to stop the Blight," she said determinedly.  "I know that we can do it.  There are so many good things in the Maker's world.  How can I sit by while the Blight devours... everything?"

The blonde woman sighed a little.  "I suppose I couldn't sit by either," she admitted.

Leliana smiled at her.  "That is why you are a Grey Warden."

She looked at the other woman for a few moments before allowing herself to smile a little.  "I suppose so."  She leaned closer to the simmering pot as the delicious smell wafted toward her, placing a hand over her rumbling stomach.  "How much longer before supper?"

The redhead stirred the contents of the pot.  "It's almost ready.  Just a few more minutes, I think."

"Good.  I'm starving... I feel like I haven't eaten in a week."  She heard Baby barking and turned to see Alistair quickly pulling his hand away.  "Oh, Maker..." she started as she rushed over.

"Why you little...!!"

"What?" Myranda asked, as she trotted up to them.  "What?"

Alistair pointed at the dog.  "Your furry friend here took offense at me getting near his food.  He snapped at me!  Look..."   

"Let me see," she said, taking his hand and examining the bite.  "Oh, don't be a baby.  There's hardly any blood drawn," she said, releasing his hand again.  "Still, he shouldn't have."  She looked down at the mabari.  "Bad dog!"

Baby hung his head in shame, whining apologetically.

"Sometimes I forget that he's a war dog," Alistair said.  "That'll teach me."

"A lesson well learned.  Next time you may come back missing a finger."  She looked back at the mabari.  "But you be nice to Alistair," she said, shaking a finger at the animal.  "We all need to get along and cooperate now."

Alistair looked at her, somewhat surprised to hear the phrase again.

"And try not to steal my dog's food again," Myranda said to him.

"I didn't...!"  His retort cut off when she smirked suddenly, and he saw a sparkle in her eyes that he'd never seen there before.  Only then did he realize that she was teasing him.  "Right," he said.  "I'll try to restrain myself."

[Kingsway 5 – Night]

Myranda watched critically as Alistair tentatively held out his hand to the dog, who sniffed it and barked happily.  A small smile crossed her lips, though her confusion grew as Alistair knelt and seemed to start a conversation with the animal, which barked conversationally from time to time.  Her curiosity quickly got the better of her, and she stood and walked over to them.

"I once heard a really old legend," Alistair was saying, "about how the Hound Warriors, in the days of the old tribes, would feed their mabari the flesh of the vanquished."

Baby whined softly, tilting his head curiously.

"Well, that's what I heard anyway.  It would sometimes be human flesh."

The mabari took a few steps back before making gagging noises, heaving like he was about to be sick.  Myranda felt the smile tugging at one corner of her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh, like you can tell the difference," Alistair accused.  "For all you know, maybe you've already been fed something."  He gave a unintentionally-comic version of a wicked smile.  "Or someone."

Baby let out a scared whimper, tucking his stubby tail against his body as he looked up at Myranda.

She smiled a little and shook her head.  "I'd never feed you another human being," she told the dog.

Alistair looked up at her then.  "It's not cannibalism if he's eating it, you know."

Baby let out a low, angry growl, laying his ears back.

Myranda, on the other hand, felt something rising in her throat... something she was powerless to stop.  It turned out to be a giggle, which soon deepened to a full laugh.

Alistair and Baby both looked up at the young woman, surprised at her reaction.  Their expressions were so uncannily similar that it only made her laugh harder.  Every time she tried to stop, the thought of it would send her back into helpless laughter.

"Uh oh," Alistair said with a small laugh of his own.  "I think she's lost it."

Baby barked happily, hopping around in a circle before barking again.

Myranda clutched at a sudden ache in her stomach from her mirth, taking several deep breaths.  "Well, there's something I never thought I'd do again," she said around her soft panting.

"What's that?"

"Laugh."  She smiled.  It was the first pure smile Alistair had seen on her face and it made her positively radiant.  "Thank you for it."

"That's why I'm here," he said lightly, standing and grinning at her.  "Anything to see a pretty girl smile!"

Myranda felt herself starting to blush and looked away in embarrassment, another giggle—this one girlish and silly—rising up from nowhere.  She cleared her throat in an attempt to gain control of herself.  "May I ask you about something?" she asked, looking back up at him and inclining her head toward the fire.

"Of course."

"So you said Arl Eamon raised you?" she asked as they walked back toward the main part of the camp.  He hadn't said so in so many words, but she wanted to see if her deduction was correct.

Alistair stopped.  "Did I say that?" he asked nervously.  "I meant that... dogs raised me!  Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels!  A whole pack of them, in fact!"

Myranda looked over at him, one eyebrow raised.  He was hiding something, though she didn't know what, or why for that matter.  "That would explain the smell," she said teasingly.

"Well, it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean," he said, starting with her back toward the fire.  "Old habits die hard, you know."

"That would explain the breath as well, then."

"And my table manners, too," Alistair added with a grin.  He paused thoughtfully then.  "Though, come to think of it, they weren't all that different from the other templars."

Myranda felt another laugh rise in her throat and fought it back.  She had less luck with the smile that crept across her lips.

"Or did I dream all of that?" he went on.  "Funny the dreams you'll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground, isn't it?"  He looked over at her then.  "Are... you having strange dreams?"

She looked at the fire and shrugged.  "Not really.  Only ones where we're making mad love in my tent."  The words were out of her mouth before she realized she'd said them.  Maker's blood, she hadn't meant to tell him about that... it had only happened once!  She glanced at him to find him staring at her in surprise.

"I... oh," he stammered as a dark blush colored his cheeks.  "I think I... completely lost my chain of thought..."

Myranda found herself giggling softly.  She was starting to find his bashfulness quite adorable.

Alistair cleared his throat before firmly deciding not to pursue this awkward side-track and to return to her original question.  What was it again?  "Oh, there it is," he muttered as he remembered.  "Let's see.  How do I explain this?" he asked rhetorically before looking back at her.  "I'm a bastard.  And before you make any smart comments," he continued when the blonde woman opened her mouth to speak, "I mean the fatherless kind."

Myranda closed her mouth and smirked at him.

"My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died when I was very young," he explained.  "Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head.  He was good to me, and he didn't have to be.  I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

"How long were you there?  In the Chantry, I mean."

"Until about six months ago, but altogether around..." his voice trailed off as he thought about it.  "About ten years."

"Why did he send you off to the Chantry?" she asked gently.

Alistair sighed.  "Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king because it was so soon after the war.  But he loved her."  He sighed again.  "Anyhow, the new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard.  They weren't true, but of course they existed.  The arl didn't care, but she did."  He shrugged slightly.  "So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten.  Just as well," he muttered.  "The arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point.  She despised me."

"What an awful thing to do to a child," Myranda said.

"Maybe.  She felt threatened by my presence... I can see that now.  I can't say I blame her.  She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet."  He paused thoughtfully.  "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it.  The only thing I had of my mother's.  I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered."  He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly.  "Stupid, stupid thing to do."  He opened his eyes to look back at the fire.  "The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn.  I hated it there and blamed him for everything... and eventually he just... stopped coming."

Myranda frowned, troubled by the sadness and regret in his voice.  "You were young," she said sympathetically.

"And raised by dogs!" he added in an attempt at a joke.  "Or I may as well have been, the way I acted.  But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don't know."

Myranda managed a smile, albeit a weak one.

"All I know is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people.  He also was King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did."  He sighed.  "Anyway... that's really all there is to the story."

"Thank you for telling me."

"I don't know if it will make a difference, but it might help to explain why Arlessa Isolde... reacts the way I think she will when we get there."

"It will keep me from instantly disliking her, anyway.  But there's time yet to regain that."  She smiled as Alistair laughed softly.