Just a BioWare Fan

I stayed at Vigil’s Keep long enough to put things together again. Anders wandered off one day with no explanation. He’d been increasingly strange since we’d returned to the stronghold and spent most of his time alone. I was sad he had left without even a farewell but hoped he could find happiness somewhere. He’d seemed to take the loss of Justice especially hard so perhaps a place that reminded him less of the spirit that had become our friend would do him some good.

A messenger sent with a report to Denerim returned to say that the king had not yet returned from whatever trouble he’d gone to the Bannorn to address. I knew that Alistair fought with Bann Teagan at his side and that the pair of them would be just fine. With nothing more to hold me on the surface at long last I turned my feet to my underground kingdom.

True to form, Anders’s response took a teasing tone. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he joked. But he shifted tactics almost immediately, clearly aware that things had not been quite as he had thought. “Didn’t you want me to…join you?” He spoke hesitantly. “You didn’t say anything when I first came in but you responded so quickly…” He paused, thinking. “When you stopped I...did you change your mind, have sudden doubts?”

Apparently he’d had no idea that I hadn’t realized it was him with me from the beginning. He continued uncertainly. “I just thought…well, we don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I thought you were willing to give in, just this once.” He trailed off, sounding disconcerted.

My anger at his presumption melted as I realized that he had done only what he’d thought I’d wanted. Obviously I’d misjudged his interest and his restraint in waiting for some clear signal from me. He hadn’t sought to trick me, to seduce me when I was at my most vulnerable. He’d intended only to give and receive some comfort in the face of what could well be the end of our time together, one way or another.

My Dearest Alistair,

I know that you don’t want to talk to me just now. You’re angry and hurt at what you probably see as my betrayal. I’m sorry that things happened the way they did. It must have looked like I was leading you on while I was building my relationship with Zevran. But you did not give me a chance to explain anything and I believe that it is important that I do. Even if we never talk about this please do read what I have written.

You probably think I’m an unfeeling bitch at this point, someone who toyed with your emotions for sport. But that’s not true. I love you, Alistair, I do. One thing holds me back from flinging myself at you entirely.

How do I put this delicately? Look at the size of you, dear.

What awaited me at the keep was nothing less than an urgent plea to turn around and make all haste back to Amaranthine. It seemed a horde had been spotted making its way overland toward the city and our Darkspawn-killing talents were required. There would be no restful evening around the fire tonight.

Regardless of my personal feelings I knew that we would need both the healing and the rather explosive magic that Anders provided so I tapped him, Ohgren, and Sigrun to accompany me back the way we had just come. I visited Wade first and, while we distributed the rest of the things we had brought back to the others and hunted down what clean underclothes we could find, he completed the wonderful pieces he’d been making for the Wardens between bouts of sword crafting and armor making.

These, too, went to those who could use them best and the four of us turned back to the city with all haste. Anders joked that he felt like a giant in the company of three dwarves but a sharp kick from Sigrun shut him up pretty quickly on that subject. He maintained a running patter, however, mocking companions and enemies alike. We camped for a scant nap on the way, not bothering to do more than roll ourselves up in our blankets with our heads on our packs. Luckily it was mild out and, aside from the lack of a hot meal, we did not miss having a fire.

I don’t know how she found out we were coming, but the first thing we found inside the gates of Vigil’s Keep was Kristoff’s wife, Aura. Ohgren swears he didn’t tell her so I can only assume she tracked her husband to the inn in Amaranthine, discovered we had been there first, and gone after him. We’d been gone only a few days and Ohgren’s return the previous evening would have perhaps given her reason to expect us. Had I been prepared I would have spoken to her before she saw her husband’s body, looking decidedly the worse for wear but walking and talking still.

As it was Anders barely managed to catch her as she fell fainting. He looked absurdly proud of himself, standing there holding an unconscious—but admittedly attractive—woman in his arms and I squelched a ridiculous stab of jealousy. Was I really so badly spoiled that my affections leapt to the nearest available man who happened to remind me of Alistair?

When Aura stirred Anders set her delicately on her feet once more. She thanked him absent-mindedly, her eyes devouring the somewhat dessicated face of Kristoff’s body. The moment she understood the situation she stormed off, seeming to believe, despite the stricken look on all of our faces at the accusation, that we had purposely inflicted Justice on the conveniently-deceased body like some sort of twisted necromancers.

Blackmarsh proved to hold werewolves, Darkspawn, and a haunted air, indeed. Though the village had fallen to ruins the manor house remained, brooding and mist-hidden. We found Kristoff’s abandoned camp and then, unsurprisingly, his body.

It would have done my heart good to find one member of the Order who had Joined before the Blight. Every time a more-senior member of the order comes to Ferelden something horrific happens to him or her. All of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden died in the betrayal at Ostagar, Riordin fell to (or, more literally, from) the Archdemon, and the dozen who came from Orlais after the Blight ended were lost to The Architect’s machinations. I never had a chance to know any of them, outside of a few days’ travel with Duncan and three conversations with Riordin.

That Alistair and I persist in being the longest-term members of the Grey Wardens in the whole country strikes me as a cruel joke of the ancestors at this point. It had been so long since anyone had heard from Kristoff that I held little hope of finding him alive if he still remained in the bogs. Yet I had still clung to that wish that one time fate would have paused in conspiring against the Wardens here long enough to bring me this small bit of solace. I should have known better.

It wasn’t so very long ago that I found myself exiled from the royal house of Orzammar to fight for my life in the Deep Roads, having been framed for the murder of my beloved brother by my remaining brother. Moments later, it seemed, a Grey Warden named Duncan recruited me into his order and suddenly I was in Ostagar planning to face a massive army of ghoulish Darkspawn with the king of all Ferelden, who was promptly killed. A whirlwind of slaughter, betrayal, happenstance, and problem solving led me into the arms of the new king and to the bewildering moment of slicing the length of a dragon’s throat to save the country from destruction.

In the months since I had lounged about court indulging myself with King Alistair, had my exile rescinded, been named a paragon of my people, and elevated to dwarven queen when my brother’s loyal idiots finally drove King Harrowmont, whom I had placed on the throne in his stead, to an early death. My life had spun around me, seemingly something I could watch but barely direct. Yet the crew we had assembled in our travels had ended a civil war and brought to heel the fourth Blight. We had pulled together elves, dwarves, and humans alike and changed the course of Ferelden’s history by restoring a son of storied King Maric to its throne.

And now I find myself embarking again on a seemingly impossible mission and leading a hastily-assembled crew of misfits. This new mission as Commander of the Grey at Vigil’s Keep has been a sort of sweet torture for me. Much about both my companions and our activities reminds me of my earlier travels. Instead of Zevran, the erstwhile Crow assassin, I have Nathaniel, a rogue that no one expected to prove useful but who has shown himself more loyal and stronger than any would have thought. My insistence on recruiting the son of traitorous Rendon Howe shocked everyone nearly as much as my prior decision to bring the elf who had just tried to kill me. Yet the results have been similar.