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Samahlen	By : BronxWench Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1569 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I make no money from this story.

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Nightfall

Zathrian had lied. Wraith and his companions had found the ruins the werewolves were using as their lair, and fought their way to the lowest levels. The werewolves had surprised Wraith, calling for a parley, and despite his misgivings he had agreed. He was glad he had, as it turned out.
The werewolves brought Wraith into the presence of a spirit they called the Lady of the Forest. She was beautiful, and yet an undercurrent of savagery ran through her words, and Wraith realized that she was one and the same as the ancient wolf he hunted at Zathrian's behest. When the Lady explained that it had been Zathrian who had bound her to the wolf centuries before, Wraith was not entirely surprised.
What did surprise Wraith was the Lady's desire for the curse, and her life, to end. As she wished, Wraith brought Zathrian before her, but the elven Keeper refused to end the curse, and Wraith was forced to choose. Zathrian's curse originated in bitter vengeance, not justice, and his own clan now paid the price. The choice was simple, but when Zathrian was on his knees before Wraith, all the hunter could taste was ashes.
After reporting Zathrian's death and the ending of the curse to Lanaya, now Keeper of this clan, Wraith had made his own camp on the outskirts of the Dalish encampment. Wraith had no stomach for remaining within the clan's confines, but camp was not much of an improvement. The fire was too bright, Wraith's eyes were too hot and dry, and the wine tasted sour on his tongue. Restless, he prowled the perimeter of the camp, grateful for nightfall and the encroaching cool air. He knew his companions watched as he paced, but they kept their distance, even Zevran choosing not to test Wraith's temper with sly innuendo.
It took a while for Wraith to understand the cause of this bitter grief. He was no longer Dalish. Putting the needs of the clan first, supporting the petty rivalries between Keepers that kept the Dalish from uniting as a single people, none of this mattered any longer. It had taken Zathrian's unquenchable lust for vengeance to sever the last ties Wraith had to his people. He was merely a Warden, set apart by the taint that ran through his blood and the purpose that drove him.
Wraith's steps faltered and finally halted. There was only one person he could expect to understand, and so Wraith looked back toward the camp, his eyes seeking Alistair. The man was sitting alone at the fire, his expression thoughtful as he pushed his food around in his bowl. Wraith felt the increasingly familiar lightening of his heart as he started to cross the camp to join Alistair.
Alistair's face lit up as Wraith sat beside him, gesturing at his bowl. "Is it that bad that you need to torture it first?"
"I'll have you know I did the cooking tonight, so... yes," Alistair laughed. "Even your mabari turned his nose up at it."
Wraith took the bowl from Alistair's hands and took a mouthful. He managed to make himself chew and swallow, but his eyes were watering, and he set the bowl aside carefully. "Maybe some cheese, and an apple?" he suggested, reaching for the wine to take the taste away.
Alistair grinned. "I did warn you, you know." He got up and rummaged among the food supplies, coming back with a wedge of hard yellow cheese and a couple of apples. Alistair cut off slices of cheese for them both, and tossed Wraith an apple.
"Can I ask you something?" Wraith looked at his fellow Warden. "Do you ever feel like you don't belong?"
"All the time," Alistair replied. "I always did, though, so it's nothing new for me. I didn't fit in at Redcliffe Castle, bastard that I am. I didn't fit in at the monastery, or with the Templars. The first time I did feel like I fit in was when Duncan recruited me."
"I used to fit in, or so I thought," Wraith said. "But maybe I didn't." He shrugged, and finished eating, tossing the apple's core into the fire.
"You said yourself that Zathrian's clan was different," Alistair pointed out. "Just because you didn't fit in with them doesn't mean anything."
"I can't go back, not even to my own clan." Wraith shrugged again. It was simply the truth, and he could hold on to that.
"Wraith," Alistair said, and his voice tasted of sorrow and regret.
Wraith reached out and touched Alistair's arm. "No. Don't be sorry. I can't go back to the Dalish, but I can go forward. I'm a Warden now, and I want that to mean something."
Alistair grinned then, his smile more warming than the fire. Wraith leaned into him, and they sat for a while in comfortable silence.
When Wraith had yawned for the third time, Alistair said, "You should sleep. Maker knows, I'm going to lay down myself."
"I'd rather not be alone right now," Wraith replied.
"I could join you in your tent." Alistair's cheeks and ears were rosy. "So you don't have to be alone."
"Of course," Wraith said, amused. "I'd appreciate the protection from sudden molestation as well."
Alistair made a strangled noise, and Wraith laughed as he stood and walked to his tent. He held the flap open and let Alistair enter first.
They shed their armor, and Alistair slipped awkwardly into Wraith's bedroll. Wraith slid in beside him, and merely curled up with his head on Alistair's shoulder after pressing a swift kiss to Alistair's lips. The elf shifted a little, wishing that he dared try for something more, but he was afraid to push Alistair too hard. It was enough for now to feel the warmth of his skin, and to steal a kiss. Wraith drifted into sleep with a smile on his lips, Alistair's arm wrapped around his shoulder.

Prompt word: Nightfall
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