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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A catlike grin curled across Solona's lips as she nestled her body closer into the man at her back. Instinctively, she gently rocked her hips, causing her buttocks to slide up and down the erection pressed against them. Funny, it was larger than she remembered.

The arm encircling her waist tightened. The feel of him was heavenly, but something seemed off about the entire scenario. She inhaled through her nose. The scent was all wrong. She shifted her right leg to find she was able to move it freely. Anders always wrapped his long, slender leg over hers while they slept. Always.

Solona's eyes popped open. Who in the Maker's name was she sleeping with? She jerked her head to the right to find Alistair cuddled up to her, slumbering.

"Get off me, you idiot!" she demanded as she wrested away from his grasp.

The warrior bolted upright and scrambled away until his back was against the side of her tent. His respirations came in quick, pants as he flashed a sheepish grin. He seemed more like a child whose mother caught him with a hand in the cookie jar than a grown man.

"G…good morning?" he stammered nervously.

Solona glowered at him. She had taken many men to her bed over the past six years, but every one of them had been her choice. She remembered the feel of his manhood pressed against her, and it fueled her ire even further. If she had known it was Alistair, she would have never behaved the way she did.

The last man who attempted to take advantage of her payed for it by feeling the sting of lightning to his balls. The mage's eyes trailed down to the warrior's still bulging crotch while her fingers begin to tingle from the shock spell she called forth. Without warning, she released the spell at her target, but it dissipated before finding its mark.

"How dare you?" she seethed.

"Calm down, Solona," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I just wanted to…"

The mage's chest heaved with every labored breath, her face red with scorn. "I know exactly what you wanted," she fumed. "What in the Maker fuck ever gave you the idea that I would want to bed you? That I would even give you the time of day? What? Just because you're a templar and I'm a mage you think it gives you some kind of right to fuck me whenever you get the urge?"

"B…but…" he stuttered.

"Shut up!" she commanded. "Did I take too long to breathe and give you the impression that it was your turn to speak?" She glared at him through narrowed lids. "There is only one thing you need to know, Alistair, and you would do well to burn this into that non-existent brain of yours. If you ever so much as think of touching me in that manner again, I swear to the fucking Maker I will cut your balls off while you sleep and stuff them down your Maker fucking throat!"

The warrior's face was pleading. He looked as if he might cry. In her fury, Solona didn't care one wit for any regret he might be feeling. He had violated her trust, and just when she was beginning to warm up to him. He was just like the others, only caring for his own pleasure. Just like Anders. Making her believe he cared for her only to use her in the end. If he had wanted to bed her, all he really had to do was ask. With everything they had been through, it could have been a welcome distraction. After what he attempted, however, she would rather be tied to a spit and roasted over an open flame than let him ever touch her.

"Solona," he beseeched.

"Get out," she demanded, her tone low and threatening.

"But,"

"Out!" she bellowed and pointed at the flap of her tent.

Alistair's shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh before making his way to the entrance. Once he was gone, Solona flopped back onto the hard pillow Duncan had assigned her. The impact smarted, causing her to blanch slightly. Her eyes began to sting from the salty drops forming within, but her tears were not born of pain. They were tears of betrayal. How could he do that? She thought they were friends.

She realized he was sleeping when she woke. Was he waiting for her to come to, find him there, and then make his move? If so, it was a ridiculously stupid attempt to get into her smalls. Why did men feel it necessary to play such games?

She closed her lids, recalling the events of the past few days. He saved her life, several times over, in fact. He wouldn't have done that just to bed her. No man was that desperate. Perhaps, like Cullen, he thought he was in love with her. She shook her head. No…she hadn't seen any sign of that sort of emotion in his hazel-green orbs. The only thing she ever recognized in his eyes was a sense of gentle kindness and genuine concern.

A long, perturbed sigh echoed throughout the canvas shelter. Perhaps she was a bit hasty in her assumptions. Maybe it was just a simple misunderstanding after all. She never gave him a chance to explain, she just assumed…

Damn! I probably owe him an apology.

Solona sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. She wondered if Alistair was angry with her. She certainly couldn't blame him. He was only trying to protect her, and she berated him for it. Worse still, she threatened him and treated him as if her were some kind of drooling lecher. He never deserved that, and she knew it. She also knew she had to make things right with him, somehow.

The mage slipped her feet into her boots before making her way out of her tent. By the position of the sun hanging low in the west, she perceived it was around dusk. She had been out of commission for nearly an entire day. Her eyes perused the camp, but she saw no sign of Alistair or Duncan, only Sithig tending the fire. When she approached the Avvar, he peered up at her with a warm smile.

"You live," he observed.

"I do," she replied. "Where are the others?"

The large man indicated to the other side of the glade with a sharp nod. "Over there. They are readying the flame for the departed."

Solona considered going to help the two men, but quickly decided against it. She had no idea how to set up a pyre. She had never even attended one before. As far as she knew, the mages and apprentices who died in the Circle were taken outside the tower and their bodies disposed of without any funeral rite. None that she was aware of, anyway. She knew of no mage who had been in attendance of another mage's pyre. Anders would say that the templars simply took the departed gifted out with the rubbish from kitchens and incinerated everything at once. That statement was in jest, of course, but Solona couldn't help but wonder if there was something to that sentiment.

The young mage sat on the ground next to the towering man and began moving dirt with the toe of her boot. She could feel the Avvar watching her out of the corner of his eye, but the two new Wardens maintained their reticence. The sun was nearly completely gone when Sithig finally interrupted the silence.

"Solona, is it?" he inquired. When she answered with a nod, he continued. "I couldn't help but overhear. There was a good deal of hollering before. Did our fellow Warden attempt to sully your honor?"

The mage cringed as she continued to watch her own feet. "I may have overreacted a bit," she confessed.

"Your words seemed to trouble him a great deal," he told her. "His face bore guilt. I thought to challenge him on your behalf, but I decided I should gain your favor to do so first."

The hint of a smile played at the corners of Solona's lips. She imagined the expression on Alistair's face if the Avvar had actually challenged him. He probably would have pissed himself before stammering his way through the explanation she didn't allow him the chance to give. As humorous as that scenario might have been, the mage couldn't allow Sithig to threaten their companion.

"As I said," she explained. "I overreacted. Besides, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I have my own way of dealing with such matters."

The large man chuckled. "I heard the threat you made. Reminded me of my Kattrin. That woman had the fire of a dwarven forge in her blood."

Solona finally turned her head to look at the oversized warrior. His smile had been replaced by melancholy, his blue eyes haunted by a distant memory. Whoever the woman was, he had obviously loved her very much.

The mage's eyes trailed to the Avvar's wrist. Wrapped around it, over the fur vambraces was a long piece of heavy rope, frayed and stained by hard-fought battles and time. Solona recognized it as the symbol of marriage among Sithig's people. When Avvars married, instead of exchanging rings, the couple would tie ropes around each other's wrists at the completion of the ceremony. The female's held a series of knots throughout its length, while the man's was unencumbered by any kinks. It was all part of the rites of matrimony among the Avvarian peoples.

Just before the ceremony commenced, the bride would sing a hymn to her chosen god while the groom attempted to undo a series of knots in a long rope. However many knots the groom untied represented the number of years the marriage would last. By the length of cord around Sithig's wrist, Solona could tell he and his wife were meant to be mates for a good long while.

"Kattrin?" the mage asked. "That was your wife?"

"Aye," he answered as he gazed into the fire.

"What happened to her?" she prodded.

The space between his eyebrows disappeared and the edges of his lips wilted into a woeful frown. "I would rather not speak of this."

Solona bobbed her head, conceding to his request. Although her curiosity was piqued, she had no intention of pushing the issue. She, better than perhaps anyone, understood the want for such silence and secrets when it came to matters of the heart. After all, talking of such things would do nothing to further their endeavors, and may make things worse by conveying weaknesses neither wished to admit to.

An awkward hush permeated the air between them as they both became lost in their own thoughts. Solona's musings turned to Anders, as they always did in the quiet moments. She hated the quiet, just as she hated him, but loved him as much at the same time. An eternity passed until Sithig mercifully interrupted the uneasy calm by rising to his feet. He brushed the dirt from the seat of his pants and indicated to the two men who were making their way across the encampment.

"It seems our friends have returned," he observed before walking away to greet them.

Alistair groaned when he noticed Solona sitting next to the fire. He had hoped she would still be in her tent when he and Duncan returned to camp. How was he ever going to face her after what happened earlier? He was embarrassed, but at the same time, he was angry. After everything he had done for her, how could she believe him capable of such a thing?

He was aware that there were templars in the Order who took advantage of mages in that manner, but he had never given any indication he was one of them. For that matter, he wasn't even a templar, and she knew it. He told her that the night she joined them.

Yes, he had an erection when she woke him, but that had little to nothing to do with her. He awoke in that condition nearly every morning since the age of thirteen. He was still a virgin, for the Maker's sake. He wasn't going to tell her that, of course. He got ridiculed about it from the other Wardens enough back in Denerim. Solona would more than likely annihilate his ego if she ever discovered the truth.

Alistair watched the mage as she rose from the ground and began heading in his direction. He gave a sigh, bracing himself for the tongue lashing he was inevitably going to receive. She made her distaste for him perfectly clear. Why did she feel the need to humiliate him further? Maybe Daveth was right, maybe she was just a bitch.

At the same time, for reasons he simply couldn't explain, he continued to feel a deep connection to Solona. He found his empathy for her plight quickly draining, but he still cared about her. Not romantically, of course. He could never see himself being with a woman that arrogant and snippy, but there was just something about her that made him want to keep trying.

Sithig was the first to greet the two. "Is everything ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied. "We will commence with the pyre after supper."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the Avvar offered.

"The only thing required of you is your presence," the commander told him.

A moment later, Solona caught up to them and immediately addressed Duncan. "Commander, may I speak to Alistair?" she requested. "Alone?"

Damn. More yelling.

The older Warden presented a slight bow of the head. "Of course," he told her. "Sithig and I will be waiting by the fire when you are finished."

The mage nodded with a tilt of her head and grabbed Alistair by the arm. She pulled him over to the tree line before she released him. The warrior folded his arms over his chest in an effort to appear calm and indifferent, but on the inside he was cringing from the backlash of another berating by her.

She exhibited a warm smile, causing Alistair to blanch with surprise. For the first time since he met her, she actually appeared…friendly. It had to be a trick of some sort. She must have had something devious and nasty planned for him. He concentrated on negating whatever spell she was about to hit him with. There was no hint of magic exuding from her apart from the normal presence of her gift. Still, he wasn't naïve enough to let down his guard.

"Alistair," she began with a hint of flirtation in her tone. "I was thinking…"

The warrior licked his lips before biting down on them to prevent himself from making a snarky comment. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve it, but he wanted to find out what she had to say. Perhaps she intended to apologize.

Yeah, right.

"After we fought that genlock last night," she proceeded. "It occurred to me that, as a mage, I really have no recourse against those creatures. So, I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me to use a sword."

Alistair was shocked by her request. Whatever he expected her to do or say, it certainly wasn't that. He shrugged.

"I suppose I could do that," he replied. "But, there's really no need. I mean…that's what I'm here for."

Her smile converted to a scowl for a moment before forming into a much wider, albeit, forced grin. "I realize that close combat is your forte. However, I don't like feeling completely helpless in such situations. Besides, if something were to happen to you, where would that leave me?"

She was trying, Maker bless her. Alistair wondered if the suggestion and her obvious attempt to hold her tongue was her version of an apology. He flourished a low bow.

"If that is what you wish, milady," he said with a lopsided grin. "I would be happy to honor your request."

The mage waggled her head with a chuckle. "Have I told you there's something very wrong with you?"

"Not in a few days," he retorted as he straightened his back. "To be perfectly honest, I was beginning to miss it. I thought you might have come down with something."

"Yes," she quipped. "The taint, remember?"

He snapped his fingers. "Damn. I completely forgot. How very silly of me. But what do you expect from a non-existent brain?"

He steeled himself from the repercussion of his words. He wanted to forgive her, but his pride was still stinging from the chiding he received earlier. She was obviously not going to apologize, but he needed for her to be aware that what she said would not be so easily forgotten.

Remarkably, she didn't seem angry by his attempted jab. She simply presented him with a sardonic grin. "I know it's a lot to ask of someone of your limited intelligence, but I'll try to be more patient."

Alistair harrumphed in response. Still insulting, but at least she did it with a smile.

Doc and that damned leg of his. It didn't matter where he was or who he was next to, he always ended up with his leg draped over somebody while he slept. Solona never seemed mind, and Serena actually loved having his skinny ass curled around her like a snake on a tree trunk. The rest of us, on the other hand...well, let's just say he was threatened regularly. "Move it or I will," was a phrase he heard more often than not in the morning. If I'm being honest, though, I've actually kind of missed it over the past fifteen years.

As for Solona, I asked her if she was sure about me putting this chapter in, and she said, "Yes, I want everyone to know the Hero of Ferelden as she was, warts and all."

The one thing I can say about this chapter is that it pretty well sums up Solona and Alistair's relationship. At first, I think she was trying to use him as a replacement for Jowan. Then, when she finally realized that Alistair and Jowan weren't that much alike, she tried to make him take on the role of "King Alistair" more than he was prepared to do. Like most, I consider Alistair Theirin to be the greatest ruler Ferelden has ever known, but "King Alistair" wasn't a persona he could maintain all the time, and that is something of which I am infinitely glad.

-G
- 13
- 14
- 15
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight