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Shifting Paradigms - Chapter 13: Part Two

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Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility



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Title: Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility - Chapter 13 Falling
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 13: Falling
"It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



[Kingsway 14-15]


Myranda was spreading out her bedroll by the fire when she looked up suddenly, holding out her hand.  "It's starting to rain," she noted.  "We may need a tent after all."

"Is it?"  Alistair looked up only to have a raindrop fall into his eye.  "Yeah," he said, lowering his head and blinking away the rain, "I guess so."

The other Grey Warden laughed as she pulled her tent from her pack, her laughter turning into a shriek of surprise as the rain suddenly began to pour down.  Alistair managed to duck under the canvas before he got completely soaked, holding up the right side.  They looked at each other and laughed as Baby ran under the tent with them, barking and shaking the water from his fur.

"Baby!" Myranda cried around her laughter.

"Well," Alistair said, "it's like they say: 'Into each life a little rain must fall.'"  He paused, watching the rain.  "I don't think this is what they meant, though."

"I should say not."  They managed to sit together on the bedroll without too much trouble.  Myranda sighed a little then, holding up her side of the canvas and listening to the rain sizzle in the fire.  "Well, this rather puts a damper on things, doesn't it?"

"Who knew we'd end up sharing a tent tonight?"

"Or that you'd be so eager to do so."

"Well I wasn't about to stay out in the rain," he retorted, looking over at her.  Only then did he see the mischievous grin on her lips and realized the unintentional double meaning behind his original remark.  "Oh, I... I didn't mean..." he trailed off in embarrassment when she started to laugh.

"Oh, relax," she said.  "I'm just teasing."

They sat together for a while in comfortable silence, listening to and watching the rain.  Alistair could feel someone watching him, though, and he looked over to find Myranda staring at him, her head tilted slightly to one side and her finger on her lips as if she was studying him.  "Yes?" he asked with a grin, casually lingering on the word.

She smiled then.  "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

"Not unless they were asking me for a favor...." he said, slightly wary.  He thought for a moment, then continued.  "Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were..." he looked at her and blinked before looking away suddenly "...not like you."

Myranda wrinkled her nose in a silent laugh.  He really was cute when he blushed.

"Why?" he asked, grinning as he looked back at her.  "Is this your way of telling me you think I'm handsome?"

"You know you're handsome, Alistair," she coyly replied, nudging him gently in the ribs.

"Maybe," he said slowly, picking up on her teasing.  "It doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say that, though.  Beats being run through with a sword any day!"

"Well I would certainly hope so," was her imperious reply.

"So... is this the part where I get to say the same?"

She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.  "That would be nice...."

"Oh!  Well, I'll think about it then," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "Sometime soon, I'm sure."

Myranda looked at him, pretending to be affronted.  "Oh, you!"  Her act broke down then into good-natured laughter.  "You're terrible!"

He grinned, reveling in the sound of her laughing.  He was somewhat surprised at himself that his brain hadn't shut down completely when she had looked at him and batted her eyelashes—though remembering it made his head swim slightly.

"I suppose that's payback for teasing you about sharing a tent with me."

"Payback?" he said with sarcastic surprise, sending her into another fit of giggles.  "Would I do that?"

"Yes, I do believe you would."  She grinned.  "Although," she began slowly, "if I said I was enjoying sharing a tent with you," she went on before looking over at him, her eyes sparkling, "would you hold it against me?"

He grinned back at her.  "Not at all, my lady."  He looked around as she laughed softly.  "Although, when I think of sharing a tent, this isn't... quite the first thing I picture."

"Me neither.  Different from the... strange... dreams I've been having recently."

"Are you having strange dreams?" he asked, looking at her concernedly.

She smirked at him.  "Only ones where we're making mad love in my tent," she teased.

Alistair felt the blush creeping up his face and looked at the tent—her tent—that they held over them.  "Oh."  He couldn't tell if she was teasing or telling the truth... and, strangely, found a corner of his mind hoping it was the latter.

Myranda giggled.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't embarrass you when you can't escape."  She lowered her arm briefly to ease the fatiguing muscles before straightening it again.  "I think we should do something about the tent, though.  I don't think the rain's going to let up any time soon."

"I think we can fix it.  Hold this for a minute."

She took his corner of the tent and watched as he dug through the packs under Baby, coming up with two of the center poles.  He took his corner back, fixing it to one of the poles before handing her the other to fix.  It took next to no time, though she winced as a slight spasm shot through her right arm.  She glanced at Alistair out of the corner of her eye, hoping he hadn't noticed.

He had.  "How's your arm?"

"Oh, it's fine.  I mean, it still hurts, but it's only been two days.  I'm sure it'll stop hurting in another day or two."  She looked at him to find him looking at her in quiet disapproval, and sighed heavily.  "Oh, fine."

She rolled up her sleeve and unwrapped the old bandage as he dug in her pack for the elfroot poultice.  She gingerly pulled off the old dressing, gritting her teeth as some of the newly-forming skin pulled away with it, causing the wound to bleed anew.  She wrapped the old bandage around her hand and held it out under the rain for a minute, soaking it through before she squeezed the water out slowly over the gashes to rinse away the blood.  "How does it look?" she asked as Alistair tenderly took her arm, dutifully ignoring the shocks running through her system.  "I can't see well enough."

"Better than yesterday," he said as he changed the dressing, handing her the short end of the bandage before wrapping her arm back up.  He tied the bandage neatly before relinquishing her arm back to her.

"Thanks."

"No problem."  He looked at her.  "Hungry?"

"You have to ask?"

He grinned and dug back through his pack, pulling out a large package that was wrapped in parchment.  "This should help," he said, unwrapping it to reveal a small, thin wheel of white cheese that was riddled with blue veins.

Myranda looked at it and grinned.  "Do you always keep cheese squirreled away in your pack?" she asked him.

"This isn't just cheese," he said.  "This is Redcliffe Bleu!  This is the best blue cheese you can get outside of Orlais!"

She laughed.  "You weren't kidding about that unholy love of fine cheeses, were you?"  She took the piece he offered her and popped it into her mouth, her eyes widening as it melted in her mouth and sent her salivary glands into a near-painful overload.  She winced, massaging her jaw to ease the slight ache as she swallowed.  "Oh, Maker," she said.

"Hm."  Alistair sounded disappointed.  "It's not as good as it usually is.  I guess the chaos has affected production."

Myranda stared at him in amazement.  "That was the best blue cheese I've ever had," she said, "and you're telling me it's an off wheel?"

"Well... usually it's a little better."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head as a smile crept up her lips.

They munched on the small wheel, and Myranda found herself unable to stop smiling.  She just felt so... content... and happy.  The sound of the rain pelting on the canvas over their heads and the relaxing atmosphere from their easy camaraderie just made the world a little less dark.

"You're smiling," Alistair noted with a grin.  "Should I be worried you're up to something?"

She looked at him.  "I always smile when I'm with you."  She looked away and laughed a little in embarrassment.  "Oh, that sounds so corny."

"Or cheesy?" he teased, offering her another piece of the excellent blue.

"You're making fun of me again," she accused gently, accepting the cheese.

"Perish the thought, dear lady!"

They ate nearly half the wheel before Myranda couldn't eat any more.  She watched as Alistair rewrapped what was left and tucked it away again, debating the question on her mind.  "A little taste of home for you, that cheese," she noted.

He smiled a little.  "In a way, I suppose.  I can't say I had very much of it as a child."

"Still."  She paused, then went on hesitantly.  "Did you ever meet Maric?"

"I... met him once.  He and Cailan had come to Redcliffe to visit the arl."  He shrugged.  "I was very young then.  And it was... rather forgettable, really."

"I don't suppose you and Cailan ever spoke, either."

"No," he said flatly, "we never spoke.  Well... maybe once.  When he and Maric came to Redcliffe, we were introduced.  I believe I said, 'Greetings, your Highness.'  He said, 'Ooh!  Swords!' and ran off to the armory."  He shook his head as Myranda shot him a painful smile.  "I don't think he cared much about my existence.  I didn't mean anything to him."  He sighed.  "I don't think I meant much to Maric, either."

"I don't know," Myranda said slowly.  "Of course it's hard to say one way or another, but he didn't strike me as the type to not care about a child."

"Did you meet him?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded.  "There was some talk when I was a child about betrothing me to Cailan."

Alistair felt a sharp pang of alarm, and that same strange annoyance he'd felt when she was talking to Teagan shot through him again.  To think she could have been Queen of Ferelden... his half-brother's wife!  But for some reason it was the latter of the two suppositions that bothered him more.

"I liked the idea at first," Myranda went on, "but when they finally arrived, I was so scared that I hid every chance I had—I was only six, after all.  Fergus helped... he would distract Cailan with mock-battles and swords.  I'm not sure he even remembered me most of the time he was there.  I never cared much for Cailan, even from the few interactions I had."  She looked up toward the dark sky.  "Maric, though..." she continued slowly.  "Maric was another matter."  She looked back at him.  "But you probably don't care to hear about him."

"I don't mind," he said, intrigued by the softness of her voice when she'd mentioned his father.  "I... I think I'd like to know your impression of him."

She smiled a little and looked at the ground in front of her.  "From what I remember of him," she began softly, "he was a good man.  Kind and gentle at his heart, with the grace and poise of a warrior.  He had a wonderful sense of humor and the willingness to use it."  She looked over at him.  "Now that I think of it, there are times when you remind me very much of him."

Alistair shot her a wary look.  "Is that a good thing?"

"A very good thing.  I was fond of Maric, in the way of a young child... although I was terrified of him when we first met."

"Why?"

"The whole week before he and Cailan arrived, my parents would constantly remind me that when his Majesty arrived, I would have to stand up very straight, not fidget, not to speak unless spoken to lest I offend, curtsy often, say 'Yes, your Highness' and 'No, your Majesty' if asked a question..." she let her voice trail off as she shook her head.  "It's no wonder I was so frightened... I had an image of a severe old man who would take my head if I so much as swallowed incorrectly."  She smiled a little.  "I refused to go when I was summoned to the Hall, but of course I was forced.  I was surprised that Maric wasn't the grizzled, evil old man I had pictured, but even so, I was still frightened.  I held on to my nanny's skirts so hard I'm surprised she could walk properly.  She had to pry my fingers loose to push me in front of her as my father introduced me.  Maric bowed so low and greeted me as if I was a visiting princess while I barely managed a curtsy."  She laughed a little in embarrassment.  "I was so nervous... I called him 'your Magi-ness' instead of 'your Majesty.'"

"'Your Magi-ness'?"

She blushed darkly.  "I'm afraid so."  She ducked her head a little as he chuckled softly.  "I was so horrified when my father corrected me that I almost started to cry, but Maric just laughed about it and told me that I could call him whatever I wanted.  I remember he laughed a lot while he was visiting with us... at least, when I was around."  She paused for a moment.  "Come to think of it, I think he was one of the biggest proponents for the match.  I overheard him telling my father that he'd really like it if I married his son... though he wanted it to be up to me.

"It came up again when I was... eight or nine.  He took me aside one afternoon and asked me if he could talk to me for a few moments.  'You can tell me the truth,' he told me.  'I'd prefer it if you were honest with me.'  That's when he asked me what I thought of Cailan... to which I said that I thought he was, and I quote, 'a decent enough person.'  Then he asked, 'What would you think about marrying him someday?'"  She smiled and shook her head.  "I... must have made a face or something, because he laughed quietly.  'I was afraid of that,' he said.  'Still, I didn't think it would hurt to ask.'"  She shook her head again.  "I apologized and told him if he wanted me to marry his son that I would do so out of duty to the nation.  'No,' he told me.  'While I respect the Cousland sense of duty... even to do things that are personally distasteful... I won't let you follow me down that road.  I admire your spirit, Lady Myranda, and think you will do great things because of it.'"

She lowered her eyes, a soft smile on her lips.  "I was pleased beyond words, and may have in that moment developed a deep fondness for him.  I won't say I was in love with him—I was only eight—but it was something akin to that.  He was such a handsome man, too, so that helped."  She looked over at Alistair.  "You've inherited much of his good looks," she said with a smile.  "Both of his sons did, but you take after him more."

"At least I didn't inherit his indiscretion."

"And thus have left many a broken-hearted maid in your wake."  She smiled gently at him.  "I'm sure there's been more than one girl who has looked at you with starry eyes.  How could they not?"

He looked at her and found a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  He wasn't sure he completely believed her... she was probably just saying that to make him feel good.  But the thought that maybe she could possibly in some tiny way look at him like that was pleasant enough.

Myranda lowered her eyes briefly before looking back up at him.  Would he think that she was one of those starry-eyed girls?  What if he did?  Should she disabuse him of that idea?  Or... was she?  Should she wait to see if something more developed?  Was that fair... or right?

A soft snore interrupted them then.  They looked behind them to find Baby had curled up on their packs and was sleeping soundly.

"Oh, Baby," Myranda murmured with a soft laugh.

Alistair watched her as she petted the mabari a few times before she leaned back to kiss the hound on his furry head.  It was a surprisingly domestic scene, and out of nowhere he found a strange question come to mind.  "If things had been different..." he began, "if there wasn't a Blight and you weren't a Warden... what do you think you'd be doing right now?"

"Other than sleeping in a real bed, you mean?" she asked, grinning at him.

He laughed a little.  "I didn't mean this precise minute."

Myranda thought for a few moments.  "I'd probably still be vainly and half-heartedly trying to convince myself that I wasn't in love with Rory," she said finally.  "It would also be my turn to fulfill the duty of Fereldan women."  She sighed, rather unhappily.  "My father and I would probably be in the middle of marriage arrangements."

"You don't want to get married?" he asked.

"Oh, it isn't that," she said.  "If I found the right man, I'd happily marry myself to him.  I've seen the delight of married couples.  I was so... envious of my brother at times."

"Couldn't you have married...?" he let his voice trail off when she shook her head.

"No," she said simply.  "I couldn't marry Rory.  I'm a Cousland—my father would never have stood for such a match.  I'm a candidate fit for royalty... marriage to a lowly knight would not have been tolerated."  She sighed a little.  "When our relationship was discovered, he told us both we would desist immediately... and my father's word was not one you questioned."

"I'm sorry," he said, though he was only sorry for the pain the conversation caused.

"Oh, it's all right.  Things with Rory and I were often... complicated."  She paused.  "Come to think of it, Father may have been working on a contract with Cailan, as Anora's obviously not been the most fertile queen in Thedas."

There it was again: that bitter, vicious irritation at the very thought of her marrying his half-brother.  Where was it coming from?  And why was he feeling that way?

"I don't know that he would have divorced her—and it wouldn't have endeared us to the Teyrn of Gwaren—but it would probably be offered."  She shrugged.  "But marriage was never one of those things I ever thought about overmuch.  I just wanted to be free—I've always been thirsty for adventure.  Oriana used to tell such stories about her home in Antiva, and I would hang on every word.  I'd love to go there... to see the things she mentioned.  And Father's stories about Orlais... it must be a wonderful country."  She looked over at him.  "What about you?"

"I've always wanted..." his voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing.  It's stupid."

"Please?" she asked quietly.

He sighed.  "A home... a real home.  And a family."

"There's nothing stupid about that," Myranda said, smiling gently.

"Well... I know most people have grand hopes and dreams... most people don't wish for a family.  But that's what I wanted."

"You mean like your sister?"

"No... my own family: a wife and children."  He paused.  "I always wanted to have children," he said wistfully.  "Lots of them... a whole litter running around the house."  

Myranda laughed softly.  "'Litter' may be the appropriate term considering you were raised by wild dogs in the Anderfels."

He laughed a little.  "It's true!"

"And you're off to a slow start."

"Oh, I know."  He sighed.  "It... never would have happened, but I always thought it would be nice."

"Why never?"

"Well, if I hadn't been Conscripted into the Wardens, I would have had to take the vows to become a templar... and the Order has rules about that sort of thing."

"And that would have been a crime."  She looked at him and smiled a little.  "I mean, it would have robbed some poor Fereldan girl of a wonderful husband."

He smiled, feeling a blush creeping into his cheeks at the compliment.

"So... boys?  Girls?"

"Both.  I know everyone emphasizes sons, but I wanted a daughter, too... at least one.  I think households are happier with a cute little girl running around."

Myranda giggled gently.  "Oh, she'd have you wrapped around her little finger."

He laughed a little.  "That'd be all right.  Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have sons, too.  But boys can be... rambunctious."

"I think 'wild' is the word you were looking for."

He laughed.  "It's true.  But daughters don't give you the problems that sons do."

"No, daughters cause their own problems.  When they get old enough to fall in love... or some semblance of love... they're a parent's worst headache.  Even if we're reasonable and sensible young ladies at all other times, that's the one thing that makes idiots of us all."  She laughed a little suddenly.  "Although love makes men act like fools, too.  When Fergus was courting Oriana, he used to say and do the most ridiculous things.  I always knew when he'd received a letter from her: he smiled more, and he used to walk around the castle with a bounce in his step... almost dancing down the corridors.  Rory and I always laughed at him and how silly he was being.  It wasn't nearly so funny when we started doing the same things."

"It's never as funny when it happens to you."

"But, ah... to be so happy about acting like a fool."  She laughed to herself for a moment and shook her head.  "So I have to ask," she said.  "Have you ever had a girl that you liked?"

"Romantically?" he asked, trying not to get nervous.

"Not necessarily," she said.  "Did you ever think any of the village girls were cute?"

"None of the Redcliffe girls, no."  He stopped, thinking.  "There was really only one girl I ever remember thinking was cute."

"Oh?"  She grinned at him.  "What was her name?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know.  I... never actually talked to her."  He paused, gazing unseeing at the fire, then continued.  "Before I was sent off to the Chantry, there was a little girl—about my age, I guess—who came to visit the castle.  Not just her, of course... her parents were there, too.  I guess to congratulate the arl after his marriage.  I don't know who they were, but I remember there was a lot of commotion... nearly as much as there had been when Maric and Cailan came to visit."

"Do you remember the heraldry?"

"I think... I seem to remember a light green teardrop with two crossed dark green staves or spears or something."

Myranda looked over at him.

"I don't know.  But I know it had a light green teardrop.  Anyway, I saw her in the courtyard one afternoon.  I don't think she saw me—I hid in the shadows of the doorway to the stable—but I remember wondering about her."  He stared off into the distance, a soft smile crossing his lips.  "It's strange... I can remember like it was yesterday.  She was wearing a light pink dress with a white sash and little white shoes, and looked decidedly unhappy about it.  She kept finding rocks to kick in the courtyard and would kick them as hard as she could.  It became a game after a while, I suppose... she started getting upset when the rocks didn't bounce as far as the ones previous.  She had these blonde curls that bounced against her shoulders and just sparkled in the sun... just like a halo.  I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen."

"You still do, by the sound of it," Myranda said quietly, a small smile on her lips.  His voice had grown soft with the remembrance.

He chuckled softly.  "If you can trust the opinion of a seven-year-old boy who has no frame of reference.  I wanted to talk to her, but knew she'd probably think I was a servant or something."  His smile was suddenly tinged with regret.  "I never saw her again after that."

"So you were shy even then."

"I guess so.  But then, I was just a dirty little boy who slept in the stable.  Who was I to think about talking to some noble's daughter, no matter how cute she was?"  He sighed heavily.  "She probably has a few children of her own by now."

"Actually, she doesn't.  She's not even married."

Alistair looked at her, startled.  "You know her?  You know who she was... is?"

"I do."  She grinned mischievously at him.  "And so do you."

He stared at her for a long time before she pointed to herself and his bewilderment turned to shock.  "That was you?"  Oh, Maker, how stupid had he sounded?!

She nodded.  "That heraldry you saw is the crest for the Teyrnir of Highever... though we usually use our family crest.  And my hair wasn't always so long, you know."  She smiled, looking at the ground.  "I'd almost forgotten, but we did go to Redcliffe that summer.  I hated that dress," she said.  "I hate pink, and I despised the fact that I was being forced to wear it.  And that did become a game... with the rocks.  I wanted to see how far I could kick them.  Nan was so angry when she found out how scuffed and dirty my shoes were.  She scolded me all the way up to our rooms."

"Nan?"

"My nanny."

"Oh.  I thought that cranky old lady was her—your—mother."  He shook his head.  "I can't believe it.  It's so strange to think that we nearly met all those years ago."

"Ferelden seems such a big place, and then you find out just how small it is."  Myranda let a grin cross her lips.  "So you thought I was pretty, did you?"

He laughed nervously.  "Well... you know.  What does a seven-year-old know about any of that?  Not to say that you weren't pretty... that is... I... er..." his voice trailed off in embarrassment as she started to laugh.

"You're so cute when you're flustered," she said around a giggle.

"So... should I ask about the boys that you've liked?"

"Curious about those lampposts I've licked?" she teased.

He blushed darkly.  "I... don't think I want that much detail."

"No kiss and tell stories?  Oh, very well."  She tapped a finger against her lips.  "Let's see... boys that I liked..." she mused.  "Well, I wish I had seen that cute little boy in Redcliffe when I was nine," she teased.  "And there was Rory, of course... but that was reciprocated, so I suppose it doesn't truly count."  She thought for a minute.  "As much as I hate to admit this, I always thought Arl Howe's oldest son Nathaniel was quite... something."

Alistair smirked.  "You sound like you're not sure what that 'something' was."

"Oh, I'm not," she said.  "I hated him as a child: he was always better than me at archery.  It used to make me so mad, I'd practice for months before they came to visit and he was always better than me.  He didn't even have to try and he'd best me every time."  She let herself smile.  "I thought about him a lot... which for any normal girl would be a sign of genuine affection."  She laughed a little then.  "Too bad I'm not a normal girl."

"You said it," he teased.  "Not me."

She grinned at him and poked him before continuing.  "The last time Nate came with his father to visit, I was twelve and he was fifteen—right at that age where boys really become obnoxious towards girls.  He tried to kiss me twice during that visit."

"He did?"

She nodded.  "On the mouth, too!" she added with false horror.

"Shameful," Alistair said, shaking his head in mock reproach.

"Oh, don't worry, I threatened to knock him out if he tried a third time."

He laughed.  "I can see you doing it, too!" he said.

"I did.  Needless to say he didn't try again."

"I'd say not!"  There was a long pause.  "So... just the two?" he asked.

She looked at him, a mischievous and mysterious twinkle in her eyes.  "Did I say that?"

He looked at her and was about to ask what she meant when the first beams of sunlight shot across the lake and into their makeshift tent.

Myranda held out her hand against the sudden bright light, blinking the spots from her eyes.  "Well... so much for either one of us getting any sleep."

Alistair's voice had deserted him as the morning light shone in on her, the red-tinted beams turning her hair from yellow to the same shade as a piece of jewelry he'd once seen in Denerim.  The merchant trying to sell it to a disinterested noblewoman had identified it as a rare pink gold from Rivain.  He'd thought then that it was a ploy—some trick with paint or magic.  Seeing the same color reflected in her hair, he was beginning to change his mind.  "I can't think of any better reason to stay up all night," he said when he'd finally regained his senses.

Myranda lowered her hand a little, her eyes sparkling in the morning light.  "I think it was one of the best nights of my life."  She smiled.  "Thank you."

He returned her smile warmly.  "My pleasure."



[Kingsway 16 – Evening]


Leliana picked up a flattish stone, weighing it in her hand before tossing it toward the lake with a flick of her wrist.  The stone skipped across the water three times before sinking.

"How did you do that?"

Leliana looked back to see Myranda staring at her, wide-eyed.  "Have you never skipped stones before?"

"No.  How do you do it?  Can you teach me?"

Leliana laughed a little.  "Certainly!  It's quite simple, actually."

The simple trick, however, eluded Myranda for half an hour, all of her stones plunking straight into the water.

"You have to lean over more... release the stone just above the water," Leliana said as Myranda lobbed another stone into the lake.  "Flick your wrist, similar to the way you throw a knife, only let your fingers follow through."  She demonstrated the movement a couple times before handing the Grey Warden another rock.  "Try again."

Myranda sighed, frustrated, before leaning over and flicking the rock toward the lake.  It skipped once, and she felt like jumping with girlish glee.  "I did it!"

Before either woman could say another word, however, another rock bounced across the waves, skipping five times before sinking on its sixth hit.  Myranda turned to see Alistair standing behind her, grinning at her.  "Show off," she muttered, pouting.

"I grew up by a lake," he said.  "You can't expect me not to be able to skip a stone."

"That's no reason to show off."

The three each picked up another stone and tossed them toward the water.  Alistair's skipped five times, Leliana's four times, and Myranda's skipped twice, which pleased her immensely.

A fourth rock suddenly skipped across the water, flying halfway across the lake and almost disappearing from view before it sank.  The three humans turned and saw Sten regarding them stoically.  "You lack discipline," was all he said before turning and walking back toward the camp.



[Kingsway 17]


Myranda vanished directly after dinner.  It wasn't surprising.  She tried not to show it, but Alistair could see her anxiety about Connor and what was happening at Redcliffe.  He couldn't blame her... he was worried too.  But as the days passed, he found himself worrying more about her than anything else.  There was no need to worry about her, he told himself over and over again.  He remembered as if it were yesterday how she had threatened him at dagger-point to forget any feelings he had about protecting her.  But some part of him refused to listen.  Whatever it was, it originated in the same part of his brain that had started to make him dizzy when she laughed and made his heart trip and stumble over itself when she smiled at him.

But the point remained that he was worried about her, and he wanted to make sure she was all right.  He followed where he had last seen her headed and found her near the shore of the lake.  She had leaned her shoulder against a tree and was staring out at the water, though whether she was actually seeing any of it he didn't know.  He took a step toward her and stopped.  Maybe she wanted to be alone.  Yes... why else would she have disappeared without saying anything?  He was about to turn and go back to camp when the sudden sound of her voice startled him.

"What is it, Alistair?"

He blinked.  "How did you know it was me?"

"I recognized your footsteps."

"Oh."  He watched her for a few moments.  "Are you all right?"

She laughed softly and gently.  "Oh, yes.  I'm fine.  I'm just enjoying the tranquility while it lasts."  She looked back at him.  "I was just thinking about going for a walk by the lake, actually."

"I'll walk with you if you want.  If you wouldn't mind some company, that is."

She smiled a little at him.  "I never mind your company," she said.  "Thank you."

He smiled and waved for her to lead the way.

They walked together slowly along the shore, listening to the water as it lapped gently at the small pebbly beach.  The large full moon floated over the water in the deep velvet sky, its light sparkling on the waves and giving the lake a bright vein of silver luminescence.  A slight breeze blew up, sighing softly in the treetops.  Myranda fought the urge to find the scene romantic, keeping her hands clasped firmly behind her.  The last thing she needed was to do something silly like trying to hold his hand like a lovesick girl.  "It's a nice night, isn't it?" she said, desperate to fill the air with something to distract from the setting.

"It is that," he agreed.  He racked his brain for something to say.  "It's... a nice night for an evening."

He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  He had wanted to say something witty and charming... that had been neither.

Myranda shot him a look before she laughed uncertainly.

"So I'm wondering something," he said, quickly changing the subject.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to know your thoughts about some of our... traveling companions."  He looked over at her.  "Do you mind if I ask?"

"Ah."  She smiled.  "Time for the juicy gossip, I take it?" she teased.

Alistair grinned at her, settling into the more comfortable territory of shared humor.  "I've got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said.  That way they'll mutiny and I shall become the group leader!"  He laughed then, a theatrical version of an evil laugh.

She laughed at this act.  "If you want to lead, all you have to do is ask," she said.

"What?" he said in mock astonishment.  "Lead?  Me?"  He smiled as she continued to giggle before shaking his head.  "No, no, no," he said when she'd finally calmed down.  "No leading.  Bad things happen when I lead.  We get lost.  People die.  And the next thing you know I'm stranded somewhere without any pants."

Myranda looked over at him, one eyebrow quirked upward.  She opened her mouth to ask, then decided not to pursue it and shut it again, shaking her head and laughing softly to herself.

"Seriously though, I'm only curious.  I've had enough time to form my own opinions and I just want to see if yours are any different."

She shrugged.  "Sure.  Sounds like fun.  Ask away!"

"Ah, good."  Alistair rubbed his hands together thoughtfully.  "Where to start...?"  He paused, considering for a moment before deciding.  "What about Sten?  The way he looks at me with those eyes..." he shook his head.  "Creepy.  And he's so quiet for someone so big."

"I respect him," Myranda said.

"The more I talk to him, the more reasonable he does seem," he agreed.  "His philosophy is so strange, but it doesn't sound at all as vile as the Chantry describes it."

"Strange, yes."  She looked at him.  "You know, he actually questioned the fact that I was a woman because I'm a Grey Warden."

"What?"

She nodded.  "He told me that women do not fight... and by fighting that means I want to be a man."

Alistair stared at her before looking back at the ground, puzzling over this.  "That makes no sense," he said finally.

"That's what I told him."  She shook her head.  "But... I can't help feeling a strange sort of respect for him."

"And yet he killed all those people.  He doesn't even deny it.  Doesn't that bother you?"

Myranda frowned.  "He seems to regret what he did."

Alistair considered this for a moment.  "I'm not so sure that his regret means the same as it would for us.  The qunari sense of honor is... a bit hard to grasp."  He smiled a little at her.  "For me, anyway."

"The qunari sense of everything is a bit hard for me to grasp," Myranda said.  "But I'm still trying."

"We get points for trying, right?"

"I hope so."  She laughed a little.  "Oh, and did I mention he apparently has a sweet tooth?"

"No!"

She nodded.  "He asked me about cookies.  The qunari apparently don't have anything like them and he asked—in that detached, disinterested qunari way—where he could get some."

Alistair laughed.  "That's fascinating.  I wonder if all qunari are like that?"

"We could conquer Seheron with baked goods.  The greatest military victory in the history of Thedas!"  She giggled.  "So who's next?" she asked after a while.

Alistair thought for a moment.  "What about Leliana?" he asked.  "Is she crazy?  Or do you really believe in her vision?"

Myranda hesitated, searching for a diplomatic way to state her opinion.  "I believe that she believes in her vision," she said finally.

"That's... one way to put it."  He shook his head.  "I don't know what to make of her," he admitted.  "If you look at her when she doesn't see you, she just looks so... so sad.  I almost feel guilty for taking her away from her life."

"It was her choice," she reminded him gently.

"Yes, I know.  Still, I feel badly for her."

"From what I can gather," she said softly, "she had a hard life in Orlais as a bard.  Something happened to make her come to Ferelden and Lothering, though what that was I can't imagine."  She paused.  "But she wanted to come with us, and I've been glad for her skills and her company."  She grinned suddenly.  "And need I remind you that you were the one who insisted we bring Princess Stabbity with us?"

Alistair laughed a little.  "I told you I didn't think she was that crazy."

"No.  And I suppose she isn't."

The good humor suddenly left his face and Myranda was certain the temperature of the air around them dropped several degrees as well.

"Morrigan," he said icily.  "Do you trust her?  Think about it... maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason than she said."

Myranda laughed softly to herself.  "You really don't like each other, do you?"

"Well aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter bitch..." his voice trailed off and he made a face.  "No.  I don't like her at all."  He looked at her then.  "Why?  Do you?"

"I like her just fine."

"Great," he said, his voice dripping with vicious sarcasm.  "I am thrilled beyond words.  No, really."

Myranda smiled disarmingly.  "I will admit that Morrigan's a bit... abrasive.  But the more I talk to her, the more I find myself liking her."

"Just remember that she's dangerous," he said.  "And evil.  And mean."

She laughed softly at that.  "I have a healthy respect for Morrigan—the same type of respect I have for a wild animal that could turn and kill me if I gave it any reason to be aggressive.  But I like her.  She's..." her voice trailed off and her smile faded.  "She's a lot like the woman I nearly became," she finished softly.

"You couldn't be like her if you tried."

A frown settled on Myranda's lips.  He really didn't know.  But then, how could he?  He couldn't know how close she had been to becoming cold, callous, and heartless in a way Morrigan could never dream of being.  She shook herself from the gloomy thoughts and asked, "So who are you going to ask me about next?"

He looked over at her, confused.  "Who else is there?  The dog?"

"He's a fine specimen.  A real, full-blooded mabari war hound: an excellent fighter and faithful to the very end."  Myranda looked over at him with a grin.  "But I was talking about those Grey Wardens."

Alistair grinned back at her.  "Oh, right," he said.  "Them."

"So what do you think of the templar?"

"Aside from his excellent sword skills and fantastic hair, you mean?"

Myranda laughed a little.  "Yes, he is a great warrior."  She smiled.  "And he's sweet, if a bit bashful."

"And he's witty!"

"And charming."

"And loyal."

"And good-looking."

Alistair blinked.  "Do you really think so?" he asked.

"Yes, I do.  And I've told him so... though perhaps not in so many words."  She looked over at him and grinned slightly.  "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Jealous?  Me?"

Myranda laughed again.

"So you really like him, then?"

"I do.  He has a wit and a humor that I appreciate.  I've been glad for his company.  He's been a dear friend to me, and I'm not sure I could make it through any of this without his help."

Alistair grinned, nearly giddy with delight.  "I'm sure he'd be glad to know you thought that way."

She smiled at him.  "Well, you can tell him if you want... though I don't think it would help your mutiny plans."

He mused over this for a moment.  "You're right," he said finally.  "I better keep it to myself, then."

The blonde woman giggled a little.

"I suppose that just leaves our fearless leader, then, doesn't it?"

Myranda stopped, the smile melting from her lips.  "Oh yes," she said, looking out over the moonlit lake.  "Her."

"You say that like you don't like her."

"I...."  She sighed, sinking down to sit on the grass, watching the waves climb up the rocky shore towards her boots.  "I don't know," she said finally.  "She's quite a different person from the woman who went through the Joining."

"But different in a good way, right?" Alistair asked, sitting next to her.  This sudden change in her worried him.

"I suppose," Myranda conceded, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them.  "At least she's able to smile.  There was a long time when I didn't think she could."  She looked over at him and smiled a little.  "And you were the one who helped her smile, you know.  She owes you a great deal for that alone."  She watched him smile slightly at her before looking back out over the water and sighing again softly.  "She'll never be the woman she was before she was recruited into the Grey Wardens... how could she be?  She's much more careful now... guarded.  She's colder, crueler in a way.  And she doesn't trust as easily as she once did.  She's become something... almost terrible... with greater potential for hate than for love."  She lowered her eyes to her boots.  "But... perhaps that too will change with time," she murmured, though she sounded as if she didn't quite believe it.

Alistair frowned at this dark description.  There was so much good about her... so much warmth and light.  The Maker Himself must have personally placed some of the sun's brilliance into her golden hair, and the most beautiful emeralds in Thedas couldn't begin to compare to her sparkling eyes.  Her smile lit up the night in a way the moon never could, her laughter had a way of making all his worries and cares disappear.  And she did care.  Why else would she have chosen the dangerous but more agreeable road of seeking out the mages to save a boy she didn't even know rather than just killing him?  It was also why, she had told him, she had chosen to begin their journey at Redcliffe.  The Brecilian Forest had been closer, but she had wanted to follow up on the rumors—not because Arl Eamon was important to Ferelden, but because he was important to him personally.  She was wonderful and beautiful... why didn't she see that?  Why couldn't she see that her very presence made the world a better place?  

She looked over at him as silence stretched between them.  "You haven't said much," she noted.  "What do you think of her?"

Alistair looked out over the water.  "I think she's incredibly brave and strong," he said.  "She can be really scary when she puts her mind to it.  There's something about her eyes that's..." he searched for the word, seeing the expectant lift of her eyebrow without looking at her.  "Incredibly intense," he said finally.  "But she's got a wonderful smile and a really nice laugh.  And she seems to actually listen to me, which is a bit new for me."  He grinned at her as she laughed softly.  "She's kind and smart and witty and..." he paused, taking a breath and daring himself to continue.  "And I think she's the most beautiful woman in Ferelden."

Myranda looked away, ducking her head in embarrassment.  "Don't let her hear you say that," she said, stretching her legs back out in front of her.  "She might actually start to fall in love with you."

"Would that be so terrible?"

She looked over at him then, staring at him in slight surprise.  Would that really be all right, for her to fall in love with him?  It seemed like he was assuring her it was, but... could she really do that?

It would be easy to love him, she knew that much.  Their camaraderie had developed quickly into a true and deep friendship.  She enjoyed his playful banter, his ready smile, his easy laughter.  Yes.  It would be very easy to love him.  If she could allow herself to do it, the fall would be fast and steep.  There would be no turning back from it.  If she let herself fall, it would be into a deep and overpowering love that would consume her heart and soul.

She smiled a little and reached over to pat his hand.  "You're a good man, Alistair."  Her smile took on more of a teasing quality then.  "Even if you are an idle flatterer."

He smiled back at her, though there was a hint of disappointment in it.  "Well, somebody needs to."

Myranda blushed and looked down at her hand, which still rested on top of his, before pulling it reluctantly away.  "Well... um... we should be heading back."

"That... might be a good idea."

She lifted her eyes back to his.  

"It's probably not... safe... for us to be alone.  Out here, I mean."

"Probably not," she murmured.  "Who knows what could happen?"

They stared at each other for several long moments, the only sounds the whispering of the wind and the constant gentle lapping of the water on the pebbly beach.  The romance of the setting snuck up on Myranda, and she felt herself being carried away with it.  She realized suddenly how very alone they were, how peaceful the night felt.  How easy would it be to lean over and...

When she realized where her thought process was taking her, she jerked back to attention, clearing her throat as she looked away.  "Well... we should head back then."

"Right."  Thank Andraste she had said something.  He'd been seconds away from leaning over and kissing her... an advance she probably wouldn't appreciate.  His imagination had other ideas, however, and he stood up in an attempt to dislodge the image of them laying together on the beach.  He reached down to help her to her feet, ignoring the tingling of his skin when she put her hand in his.  He held on to her hand for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary before releasing it again.  They stood very close together, staring at each other, before Myranda stepped away and turned back toward the camp.

They walked back together in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.  When they reached the outskirts of their small campsite, Alistair looked over at Myranda.  "You should get to bed," he said.  "At least one of us should get a good night's sleep."

"I'm sharing the watch with Leliana tonight, remember?"

"Oh."  Damn.

She gave him a puzzled look.  "Will you not get any sleep?"

"Maybe.  I don't know.  I haven't really been sleeping well... nightmares, you know."  Never had he been more glad for the excuse.

"Oh."  She smiled a little at him then.  "Thank you... for walking with me."

"Glad to."  He returned her smile before clearing his throat uncomfortably as he felt the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.  "Well... good night."

"Good night," she murmured.  She watched him walk away until he ducked into his tent before a heavy sigh escaped her.  She was starting to wonder if she'd rather feel nothing at all than this terrible confusion that caused her stomach to churn and her chest to ache.  She sighed again, sitting by the fire and staring sullenly into it.  It was going to be a long night.



[Kingsway 18 – Mid-afternoon]


"So what can a templar do, exactly?" Myranda asked.

"Essentially they're trained to fight," Alistair said simply.  "The Chantry would tell you that the templars exist simply to defend, but don't let them fool you.  They're an army."

"Hmm."  The templars were an army unto themselves.  That was convenient.

"The other main purpose for a templar is, of course, to hunt mages.  To that end, we train in talents that drain mana and disrupt spells."

She looked up at him curiously.  "So templars use magic themselves?"

Alistair blinked.  "You... could call it that, sure.  The Chantry doesn't look on it the same way, however, since really our talents only work on mages.  Against a regular person, I'm... just a guy in a metal suit," he finished with a shrug.

"Have you hunted many mages?" she asked quietly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"No.  I never actually became a full templar.  Duncan recruited me before I took my vows."  He paused for a moment.  "I was only present during one Harrowing, the ritual that they test the mages with.  It's not unlike our Joining, really, and... just as deadly."

She looked up at him.

"The girl they tested... she had a demon put inside her, to see if she could resist.  And she couldn't."  He looked decidedly uncomfortable.  "We had to... end it quickly."

Myranda's eyes widened in horror and her hand went almost involuntarily to her throat before she looked back at the road.

"I have to say I didn't have much interest in becoming a templar after that."

"No," she breathed.  "No, I wouldn't think so."  She cleared her throat.  "So couldn't others learn these talents?"

"Perhaps, but there usually isn't much of an opportunity.  The Chantry keeps a close reign on its templars.  We are given lyrium to help develop our magical talents, you see... which means we become addicted."

Myranda's eyes snapped back up to his face.

"And since the Chantry controls the lyrium trade with the dwarves..." his voice trailed off as he looked at her.  "Well, I'm sure you can put two and two together."

"That's horrible!" the blonde woman cried.  "I can't believe they would do that!"

"Well, they do it," Alistair said, a hint of acid creeping into his voice.  "And they feel perfectly justified."

She bit her lip then.  "Were you addicted to this lyrium?" she asked nervously.

"Thankfully no.  You only start receiving lyrium once you've taken your vows."

Myranda released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You don't need lyrium in order to learn the templar talents.  Lyrium just makes templar talents more effective."  He made a face.  "Or so I was told.  Maybe it doesn't even do that."  He sighed a little.  "The Chantry usually doesn't let their templars get away, either, so they can spread their secrets.  I'm a bit of an exception.  Lucky me."

"You say that like you don't believe it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, smiling suddenly.  "I mean, I get to spend time with someone who actually listens to me and seems to care about what I say."

She grinned.  "Oh?  And who might that be?"

"I'll give you a hint: she's walking next to me and she's pretty."

Myranda laughed softly.  "Not starting to think of me as a woman, are you?" she teased.

"No."

She looked up at his tone to find him staring at her with an affectionate smile on his face.  No, he hadn't started thinking about her as a woman.  He'd been thinking of her that way for a while now.  She smiled back at him and deftly changed the subject.  "So can you teach others to be a templar?"

Alistair hesitated.  "I suppose I could... but I really would rather not.  When the grand cleric let Duncan recruit me, she made me swear never to reveal templar secrets outside of the Chantry.  I'd rather not go back on my word."

Myranda nodded a little, masking her disappointment.  "Very well.  I'll respect your word."

"Ask me later, perhaps.  Maybe I'll change my mind.  This is not something small you're asking, after all."

"Perhaps I will."  She grinned up at him mischievously.  "I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

He laughed.  "Oh, yes.  I'm quite sure of that."

"I was just hoping I could learn some of the tricks."

"No, you couldn't."  He went on quickly when she looked up at him offended.  "What I mean is, templars are trained as warriors first.  Without those skills, it isn't possible for you to learn."

Myranda sighed softly.  "So much for that, then.  I was just thinking about claiming the title of first female templar as well as being the first female Grey Warden in three Ages."

"Actually, there are a few women in the templars.  I think they just made a woman the Knight-Commander in Kirkwall, in fact."

"Well, then I guess it would do no good for you to teach me."

"There might be some other things I could teach you if you asked nicely," he teased.

"There might be a thing or two I could teach you, as well," she said suggestively, smirking up at him.

"I'm sure."  He made a great show of looking confused then.  "Wait, we are talking about swapping recipes now, right?"

She laughed at that.  "Yes, of course," she said.

"Good.  I knew we were on the same page."

Myranda smiled.  "I need to tell you how much I enjoy your company," she said suddenly.

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing," he said, smiling at her.  "Given the circumstances, things could have been so much worse."  He watched as she blushed slightly and looked away.  "I'm so grateful that you're... you.  Instead of... some other Grey Warden."

The blonde woman blinked and shot him a puzzled look only to find him looking away, equally baffled.

"Umm... that sounded better in my head."  Alistair looked over at her to see her covering her smile with one hand, her green eyes dancing with barely suppressed mirth.  "I just mean to say that I can't imagine having done this without you."

The laughter faded from her eyes and she lowered her hand to reveal her smile then.  "Thank you, Alistair."

"Now we just need to be rid of that pesky archdemon and everything would be back to normal, right?" he said with a chuckle.

She laughed a little.  "True.  That would help."  She looked up the road.  "I think I'm going to scout ahead a little," she said.  "To see how close we are to the tower.  I'd like to get there before sunset."

"Shall I come with you?"

"No, stay with the others.  I'll be right back."  She trotted up the road, whistling sharply.  Baby barked in reply and took off after his mistress.

Alistair watched her disappear around a bend in the road, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.  She was simply incredible.  It made him happy just to hear her laugh... to see her smile.  The more time they spent together, the more he realized what an amazing person she truly was.  He'd meant what he said: he wasn't sure if he could do any of this on his own.  She had pulled herself from the ashes of a terrible tragedy and was trying to almost single-handedly raise an entire army to help defeat the Blight.  Did she even know how wonderful she was?  He'd tried to tell her last night, but for some reason he didn't think she'd gotten it.  He frowned a little.  She still thought he was flattering her.  But he wasn't!

But how, then?  How was he supposed to make her see that he meant what he said, that he wasn't simply flattering her?  He had no idea.  But maybe... maybe one of the others knew.  He glanced over his shoulder.  Morrigan was noticeably missing, not that he cared.  She wouldn't know anything about such a thing, even if he were to ask.  Asking Sten was similarly out of the question.  That left Leliana.  She'd been a Chantry sister, but she was from Orlais, and surely was worldly wise.  He nodded a little to himself before slowing his steps to draw even with the bard.

"Where did Myranda go?" she asked, looking over at him.

"Scouting.  She thinks we're close to the tower and wants to see just how close we are."

"I see."

Alistair paused, searching for a way to broach the topic he wanted to discuss.  "So... you're female, Leliana, right?" he began awkwardly.

"I am?" the redhead asked, feigning surprise.  "That's news.  When did that happen?"

"I just... wanted some advice," Alistair said, deciding to ignore her sarcasm.  "What should I do if... if I think a woman is special and..." he trailed off, searching desperately for the words.

"You want to woo her?" Leliana supplied.  "Here's a good tip: you shouldn't question her about her female-ness."

"All right, yes.  Good point."

"Why do you ask?" she persisted.  "Are you afraid things will not proceed naturally?"

"Why would they?" he asked miserably.  "Especially when I do things like ask women if they're female."

Leliana smiled gently.  "It adds to your charm, Alistair.  You are a little... awkward.  It is endearing."

"So... I should be awkward."  He puzzled over this for a moment.  "Didn't you just say not to do things like that?" he asked.

"Just be yourself.  You do know how to do that, don't you?"

Alistair sighed.  "All right, forget I asked."

Chapter Thirteen [Part One]
Chapter Fourteen

The party travels toward the Circle Tower... and things begin to change between Myranda and Alistair.

Preview picture courtesy of the wonderful and fabulously talented :iconvela-s:*Vela-S... viewable in full size here

Dragon Age is copyright BioWare.
Myranda Cousland is copyright me.

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© 2011 - 2024 MerlindaDragon
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Maya-Yungsito's avatar
Haha omg, you lack discipline >XD sten///