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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
- 7
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In the few steps it took to get from Solona's tent back to the fire, the mage's mood had shifted once again, and she reverted to her haughty guise. She settled herself onto a fallen log someone had pulled next to the firepit and stared into the flames. As Alistair rifled through his pack for something to eat, Duncan approached the young mage with a small bundle wrapped in cloth and tied with heavy string.

"These are your provisions," he told her. "I take it I don't need to remind you to use them sparingly. We don't tend to stop in many villages in our travels, and that will need to last you at least a week."

"Of course," she replied with a bow of her head.

"There is a village south of here between Kinloch and Lothering called Wenborne where we will replenish our supplies. While there, we can purchase more suitable attire for you if you wish."

Solona frowned. "In other words, less conspicuous attire."

The Warden commander chuckled. "Irving said you were bright. Yes, I think that would be best. Grey Wardens aren't exactly welcome most places. We tend to make people uneasy. An obvious mage in their presence may only add to that disquiet."

"I will do whatever is required of me," she conceded. "Besides, these robes are a requirement of the Circle. Now that I am no longer bound by that life, I think I should prefer to wear more suitable attire."

Alistair couldn't help but wonder what the mage had in mind. Although he had seen women in armor before, he just couldn't imagine Solona sporting scale mail or chain. Perhaps leather? It could work, but he didn't think it would ever suit her. If she survived her Joining, she would be given a set of Grey Warden armor designed specifically for mages. That he could see her in.

She placed her bundle of rations on the ground in front of her and carefully began to untie the twine with delicate fingers. Once unbound, she unfolded the cloth and inspected its contents. After a heavy sigh, she turned to Duncan.

"Commander, may I speak to you?" She scanned the faces of the other men sitting around the fire. "Privately."

"Of course," he replied with a nod.

Solona stood and Duncan led her into the tree line, leaving Alistair to wonder if their conversation was to be about him. Perhaps she was going to ask the commander that she not be stuck with the younger Warden again. He felt a twinge of sadness at that.

You're reading too much into this, Alistair. It's not about you. She probably hasn't even given you a second thought.

Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better. It actually made things worse. Why in the Maker's name did he care so much anyway? A slight smile curled the left corner of his lips as he remembered Solona's laughter, and he immediately knew why. Making her laugh, that was probably the best thing he had ever done in the whole of his miserable existence. His entire world brightened with that sound coupled with the jovial expression on her face. Was it love? He seriously doubted it. After all, they had nothing in common, and she obviously had zero respect for him. It was more to do with the fact that it gave him a sense of accomplishment. He managed to do something he suspected no one else had done in a very long time.

"So, what do you think?" Jory questioned, interrupting Alistair's rumination.

"About what?" the young Warden asked.

"Our newest arrival," the knight explained.

"I think she's a complete and utter bitch," Daveth put in. "Did you see the way she looked at me when Duncan introduced us? Like I was something nasty she had to scrape off the bottom of her boot?"

"She does seem a bit…snobbish," Jory agreed.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't know. She's not that bad."

The thief chuckled. "I think there's a story there. What were the two of you doing out in those woods for so long?" He stood and began making a rude gesture with his hips. "Did you bend her over a stump and give it to her in the ass?"

The former initiate waggled his head, mortified by the insinuation. "No. Of course not."

Daveth retook his seat. "But you want to, don't you?" He jabbed Alistair's side with a bony elbow. "Come on. Admit it. You want to fuck that until you make her squeal like a nug."

"Have some respect, Daveth," Jory chided. "She's a lady and a fellow recruit. You shouldn't talk about her in such a manner."

"Why should I respect her?" the thief questioned. "She didn't show anybody else any. There's only one way to deal with bitches like that. Shove a cock in their asses."

Alistair glared at the taller man. His right hand formed a fist as he prepared to shove it in the thief's face. Solona certainly was a bitch, but Daveth was nothing but a piece of shit thug who needed to be taught some manners. Alistair knew the man would never have the guts to say such things in Solona's presence, and since she wasn't there to defend her honor, Alistair intended to do it for her. Before he got the chance, however, Solona and Duncan had returned.

Solona immediately gathered her things into a bundle and marched toward her tent. As she passed, she glanced in Alistair's direction and he recognized glistening in her lapis eyes. Something in her exchange with the commander had upset her tremendously. He wanted to follow her, find out what was going on, but his cowardice won out in the end.

"See," Daveth said as he chucked a twig into the fire. "I could straighten that out in five minutes."

"Grow up," Alistair hissed as he gave the man a small shove to the shoulder and got up to head to his own tent.

"If you think all it takes is five minutes," he heard Jory proclaim as he walked away. "I feel sorry for any woman who ends up in your bed."

As agitated as the young Warden was, he couldn't help but give a chuckle upon hearing the knight's jab. When Alistair became overly upset, he found it much more difficult to formulate a good comeback. He was just glad someone was able to put the thief in his place. Maybe Jory wasn't so bad after all.

Alistair planned to go straight to his own tent, but couldn't resist stopping outside Solona's shelter. He reached out his hand to tap the canvas to inform her of his presence, but withdrew it at the last second, recalling the expression she wore as she breezed past him earlier. He barely knew the mage, but he had spent enough time with her to realize she wasn't the type of person who wanted anyone to see her in such a vulnerable state. So, instead, he chose to stand there and simply listen.

He knew it was wrong, a complete invasion of her privacy, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Unsure if it was curiosity or compassion that drove his actions, he strained his ears to discern what was happening inside. He could have sworn he detected the sound of muffled sobbing, but it was so hard to tell over the heated argument that had broken out between Jory and Daveth nearby. Could it be? Was the hardnosed ice princess actually weeping?

A pang of guilt began to gnaw at Alistair's gut. If she realized he was there, she would have been furious. He needed to let her have her cry in peace, away from his prying ears, just the way he knew she would want it. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but she would never tolerate his sympathy. Although it went against his nature, he would leave her be, for now.

His brow furrowed with a forlorn expression as he stepped away from her tent and moved on to his own. After tying the flap shut and getting undressed, Alistair settled down into his bedroll. He placed his hands behind his head and studied the top of the canvas as it rippled against the frigid wind.

Once again, he recalled Solona's laughter, the smile on her face. She had been happy, at least for one single, solitary moment in time. Daveth had been correct in calling her a bitch. She most certainly was, but Alistair got the feeling her terrible attitude was her way of keeping everyone at a distance, to prevent them from seeing who she really was. He understood her. He was guilty of the same thing, but instead of aloofness and malice, he disguised his identity with general goofiness, irresponsibility and humor.

The former initiate closed his eyes, praying that sleep would overtake him soon, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his mind off Solona. She had treated him terribly, but, at the same time, he had never connected with anyone the way he had her. He would try again tomorrow, and every day afterward to return that smile to her face. Until either the Joining took her or the Calling. But it wasn't love. That much he knew for certain.

Solona could have sworn someone had been standing outside her tent. After thoroughly drying her eyes, she peeked out between the tie flaps but saw nothing other than Alistair disappearing into his own shelter. It surely hadn't been him.

It was just your imagination, Solona.

On the other hand, he had to have noticed that she was on the verge of tears when she passed him on her way to her tent. Maybe he thought to come ask her what was wrong. It's exactly what Jowan would have done.

He's not Jowan, stupid.

Solona missed her best friend. She wondered where he was at that moment. She only hoped his spell and her argument with Greagoir had bought him enough time to get away. The biggest part of her was still angry with him for what he did, for not telling her the truth from the beginning, but the part that loved him…that part of her understood. He was bound for a fate worse than death. If he had told her, she might have shared the punishment the Knight Commander had in store for him. Instead, she was to become a Grey Warden, free of the Circle and all its inane rules. Free of the ever-present guards and limitations. Free of the heartache that lurked around every corner. Free of…

Anders.

Just when Solona thought her eyes completely dry of every tear that could be shed for the night, they began anew. The man she loved more than her own life, yet simultaneously despised, was trapped. She tried. Maker knows she tried to convince Duncan to go back and rescue the man she loved. She explained what a great asset he would be, how the Wardens could benefit from both his knowledge and magical talent, but the commander denied her request. He said he wouldn't chance overusing the Right of Conscription, that it could lead to the Wardens being banished from Ferelden again. Even when she pleaded with him, he refused.

I'm sorry, but the answer is no.

He gave her no chance for rebuttal, no opportunity to try to convince him further. He simply walked away from her. She had pinned all her hopes of rescuing Anders on Duncan, and her faith had been squandered. She returned to her bedroll, lay down, and turned over onto her right side.

You should have known better. Haven't you learned yet that you can't trust anyone?

The mage allowed her tears to flow freely onto the small pillow which felt little better than a rock beneath her head. The pillow. She had left the tower and forgot that damned pillow. After Cullen's visit to her room, it slipped her mind completely.

Cullen. With his soulful brown eyes and his warm smile greeting her every morning. She closed her lids only to see his face, his eyes staring into hers. Her mind recalled the last words he said as she thumbed the tiny sword and flames etched into the amulet nestled between her breasts.

I love you, Solona.

They were words she had wanted to hear for so long, but not from him. She wanted Anders to say those words to her, to mean them. She exhaled a long, uneven breath. Now he never would. There was no chance. No hope. He was gone…forever.

The mage rotated onto her back and gazed up at the line made by the ridge pole. No, she wouldn't accept it. She made a promise, and she intended to keep it or go to the void trying. She would survive this Blight, and when it was over, she would go back to that damned tower and conscript him herself if she had to. Even if she managed to somehow get over him, even if she ever got to the point where she no longer felt love for him, she would rescue Anders.

Solona heard shuffling outside her tent. The others must have finally decided to go to bed.

At least they've stopped arguing.

She had no idea what they had been fighting about earlier. She really didn't care. She only knew they were being overly loud about the whole thing. That must have been why Alistair retired to his tent early. A smile crept across her face. She couldn't help it. She didn't know why, but somehow, in those few hours, the man was beginning to grow on her.

At first, she thought him a complete fool, but there was just something about him. She couldn't quite explain it, but something in those hazel eyes told her there was more to him than he allowed those around him to see. Something deeper, more meaningful.

In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Jowan, goofy and self-deprecating, but less nervous. He showed her kindness, even after she had been so horrid to him. Unlike Cullen, there were no puppy eyes filled with what he perceived as love, no fire of lust the she had seen in the eyes of so many others, just simple unadulterated thoughtfulness and decency.

Solona was unsure what it was she was feeling in regards to the former templar initiate. Perhaps, in time, they could actually become friends. She wouldn't make it easy for him, however. He would have to prove his worthiness with loyalty. She wouldn't settle for less. But it wasn't love. That was something it could never be.

That damned pillow again. Years later, after Corypheus was defeated, Doc went to Kinloch and found that pillow. He gave it to Solona as a present for her thirty-second birthday. I don't think I've ever seen her love a gift more. That man always was a charmer.

As far as Alistair and Solona were concerned, I spent far too many years trying to keep those two together as a couple, and it never lasted for long. They loved each other, of course, but it was a love born of friendship more than romance. I just wish it wouldn't have taken me so long to figure that out. I would always say they just needed to pull their heads out of their asses. In truth, I should have heeded my own advice.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight