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Autumn storms had hit the mountains, turning what should have been a routine afternoon of hiking into a long, muddy slog. So after dinner, sitting around the campfire, one of the Wardens broke out his flute and started to play, a tune that Bethany recognized as an Orlesian tune about springtime. Odd, she thought to hear such a light and cheerful song while surrounded by heavy rocks, wolves, and trees almost bare for the winter. Then he shifted into a Ferelden drinking song; it wasn’t really suited to his instrument, but most of the men joined in anyway, raising their mugs and singing or chanting the words. It should have been a cheerful moment, but Bethany turned away anyhow, retreating out of the ring of firelight and into the darkness of the woods.
She had expected to be alone, but she wasn’t. The Warden-Commander, Alistair, was there, too, leaning back against a tree. He watched the antics around the fire with a smile — the tune had grown rowdier, and some of the men were up and dancing now, swinging each other around in circles and laughing. Bethany stood next to Alistair, and he turned his smile on her.
“Not up for joining in?” he asked, gesturing to the group. She shook her head, and he snickered. “Just as well. They’re good fighters, but most of them appear to have two left feet on the dance floor.”
“It’s not that,” Bethany said. “It still seems odd to me, to make such a noise at camp. When I was growing up, being on the road meant being on the run. We’d never put up such a ruckus — the Templars would be on us in an instant.”
“Ah.” Alistair turned to face her more fully, expression thoughtful. “I know that feeling, too. Fortunately, now that we only have to worry about wild animals and darkspawn, I can assure you that things like music and fun are more of a deterrent than an attractor. Although I’ve also known my share of Templars who’d be scared off by the idea of having a good time.” Bethany chuckled, and he grinned. “Ah, a laugh! I knew you had it in you.” His smile softened, and his eyes met hers, with an intensity that kept her from turning away. “I know you didn’t exactly come to become a Warden voluntarily. Stroud told me a bit of the story, and I’m sorry. Losing your family like that couldn’t have been easy.”
It was the first time anyone in the Grey Wardens had apologized to her, or expressed any sympathy at all, and Bethany felt the cold anger she had carried easing, just a little. As if it had caught her mood, the music changed again, into a song of lost love; only one man sang along now, one of the younger ones, with a sweet voice that threatened to break her heart. “Thank you,” she replied, softly, and turned away for a moment, afraid she might cry between the sadness and the relief. When the moment passed, she looked back up at Alistair.
“Better?” he asked. She nodded, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. His fingers were warm, and she found herself leaning into the solid, comforting touch. “Good. Will you walk with me tomorrow? If you’re going to be on my team, I’d like to know you better.”
“Of course,” she replied, and he smiled. But for now, I need some rest. Good night, Warden-Commander.”
“Alistair, please,” he responded, with a bit of a shudder. “Formal titles give me hives.”
She chuckled again and, with a quick salute, made her way to her tent, the soft music washing over her and lulling her to sleep. Maybe the Wardens wouldn’t be so bad after all.