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He knew he couldn’t delay asking her any longer.
“Mara,” Alistair called for his fellow Grey Warden, and the young noblewoman-turned-savior lifted her head. This was his favorite version of his newfound friend, Alistair thought, with her hair down to her shoulders, her blanket wrapped around her body, and her smile soft but tired. (Well, Alistair would like to state for the record that he hated knowing that she was tired, given the nature of their journey, but she seemed content. At least, he liked to think so.) “Are you alright?”
“Mm,” she mused briefly, looking up as if she was actually thinking about it, and then nodded, “yes, I think so. Why? Do I appear off?”
“Well, I’ve just noticed that quite a few people that we interact with have been saying something similar, and I noticed how last time… it sounded like it bothered you.”
Alistair was not a stupid man, despite his training telling everyone otherwise. He saw how her eyes changed, how saddened they appeared, how frustrated they were. He knew that what he was about to do was like breaking a bone to set it again, but that didn’t stop him from continuing the conversation when Mara replied, “What have they been saying?”
“Well, it’s just that… everyone and their brother likes to remind you that you’re a woman.”
“I am a woman.”
“No, I mean… you know what I mean.”
Mara sighed, closing her book and running her hands through her hair. “What should I say? That I am ashamed of being a woman? That… their comments bother me?”
“Well,” Alistair mused over his stew, “do they?”
“I’m the daughter of a Teryn,” she laughed, but Alistair knew from the look in her eyes that he was right, and that she seemed willing to talk about it, at least. “I’ve heard worse things said about me in the courts. One time, a pair of knights asked if they could see my cunt, to see if they could see that there was treasure in the castle after all.”
“Maker’s breath,” Alistair scoffed, flushed pink with embarrassment. “I presume you said no.”
“Of course I said no.” Mara chuckled, leaning back and looking up at the night sky. “It doesn’t normally bother me, not really. My mother and father, when I was a child, was sure to treat my brother and I the same. I’ve been taught a dozen masculine skills alongside my politics and education. I know how to fight, as you’ve seen; I can command armies if I need to. My mother was no Orlesian wallflower, you know: she was the one to teach me how to swordfight, after I refused to listen to my tutor. You should have seen my father that evening when he saw us out there.”
Mara never talked about her family. Even after listening to Alistair wane poetic about how much he admired Duncan like a father, she never once mentioned much of her own family. Alistair knew brief things: that she was the youngest of two, that she had a mother, father, brother — and as such, a sister-in-law and a nephew. Outside of that, Alistair didn’t know much about the Couslands by way of his own knowledge or by anything Mara had told him.
“So, let them. Ferelden worships a woman like a god yet fails to acknowledge the fact that a Grey Warden, one of the people who are going to save their blasted arses, can be one. I’m honestly fine until…” She swallows. “Well, like what happened today happens.”
“Mm.” Alistair nodded, remembering. A pair of old-timers who surely meant well, but for some reason felt it appropriate to pray for, rather than the woman herself, Mara’s womb upon hearing that the rest of the Couslands had been killed by Arl Howe’s men. Alistair had a hard time knowing where the line in the sand had to be drawn, but it seemed that Mara didn’t mind to be spoken down to, so long as she was spoken down to as Mara rather than a part of a body. Her cunt, breasts, womb— anything of that nature seemed to be where she was actually affected. “Can I ask why it bothers you?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re a man.”
“Perhaps not,” he admitted, chuckling as he watched Zevran run circles around Brutus, the Mabari warhound that Mara brought along — the only remaining piece of family she had left, it seemed. “But you gave me space to talk about Duncan, even if you didn’t understand how much he meant to me. I can do the same for you, can’t I?”
Mara looked at him, her grey eyes soft, and she nodded, scooting closer to him. “My parents were… different, from most nobility. A lot of nobility prides themself in their male heirs and their male counterparts, because it was their names that carried throughout history. Lots of people tried to marry their daughters to my brother, back when he was a bachelor. He was eligible, bright, prospecting: they wanted their daughter to become a Cousland. I was lucky that my parents let him choose his wife, and he married for love, and while my mother was always up my arse about marrying, she never sold me off like some cow. Some of my girlfriends, when I was younger, didn’t have such luck.”
Alistair did not envy her: despite knowing of his own heritage, he didn’t think he wanted to be involved in any sort of political game like that.
“Of course, I didn’t get out of that entire scene without attempts, of course. I wasn’t so blind as to not see that my mother’s friends inviting me to tea while their sons were present weren’t attempts at them trying to marry me off to them. But it was never my combat acumen or my ability to hide or anything of the sort that was the reason they wanted their sons to marry me.”
“Oh?” He frowned, looking her over. “What was it, then? I mean, you’re beautiful, intelligent, strong—”
(Mara tried, and failed, to swallow the blush forming on her cheeks, unable to take a compliment from someone so genuine.)
“My hips.”
“Your hips?”
“My hips,” Mara laughed, gesturing to them under the blanket, “I have childbearing hips.”
“...really?” Alistair blinked several times. “Forgive me, I guess it’s because I rarely see you in anything other than your leather armors, but… that’s truly the reason why they introduced you to their sons? To produce heirs?”
“I’m aware of the fact that I’ll need to have children, especially because technically now I am Teryna Cousland, for like the hells is Howe taking that away from me, but it would have been nice to occasionally meet someone that was interested in me for something more than my ability to fuck.” They both laughed at Mara’s brashness, and she shook her head in response, “That’s part of why I can handle it just fine. Ferelden isn’t ready yet to acknowledge that one of their heroes can be a woman, despite worshiping at the feet of one. It’s just when the rest of me is ignored for a part of me, it makes me feel a bit like… cattle. Like I’ve been made to bear children and produce milk. It’s been like this all of my life, though. I’ll be fine with it eventually. I mean, hells, the first thing that was said to me by one of my recruits was that he would be happy watching me from behind or that he wasn’t expecting a woman.”
“You don’t… have to, though,” Alistair frowned, placing his hands on his lap, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything until now. You seemed alright with it when you were giggling with Morrigan and Flemeth about being a woman—”
“ — to be honest with you, I don’t love it when they do it either.” she chuckled, eventually leaning back far enough to lay down on the bedroll, looking up at the stars. “I’m proud of being a woman. I’m glad I’m a woman. I know plenty of people who are not proud that they are a man or woman and live their lives in shame because of it. But I’d rather be Mara or, hells, even Lady Cousland first. Warden Cousland, even. Anything other than just a woman.”
“Well, you’re more than just a woman to me,” he laughed, leaning back and joining her, shoulder to shoulder. “You’re my friend.”
“I like being your friend, Alistair. I’m glad that out of anyone I’m facing this terrible hellscape with, it’s you.”
“...still undeserving of that,” Alistair smiled, “but thank you. And next time, I’ll be sure that if anyone starts up with some ignorant drivel, I’ll remind them that they’re speaking to a Cousland. To Warden Cousland. ”
Mara let her eyes linger on the three little dots of the constellation her eyes idly traced over. To her, it looked like a man holding a sword and a shield. “...mm, just Mara.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you don’t have a surname, right?” she looked over at him, her hair falling gently in her face. “Given the obvious.”
“Right. It’s Alistair. Just Alistair.”
“Then, you can be Warden Alistair, and I’ll be Warden Mara. And that’s enough for me.”
His eyebrows raise at such a thing — never had he heard of nobility willing to associate something to their given name rather than a chance to bring pride to their family name.
Maybe Mara was even more different than he thought.
“Just Alistair and Mara…” he mused. “I like that.”
Mara’s eyes closed, happy. “Me too.”