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The calling had been explained to her once. Alistair had been fairly forthcoming about the dark side of being a warden, but he hadn't been a warden long. There was no way he could have known what the calling could have meant for her.
Standing at the edge of the river, Evaline watched as a leaf drifted lazily over its surface. Stained with patches of orange and red, it served as a reminder of the changing of the season. It was spring when she left Kinloch hold, and as the world shifted in its ever-continuing metamorphosis, she couldn't help but feel changed as well.
It wasn't just the taint of darkspawn blood running through her veins that made her feel that way either.
With a sharp inhale, she stepped into the river and did her best to ignore the way it bit at her bare skin. As much as the frigid water stung, she was happy to let it wash over her and carry away the soot and grime from the Deep roads. If she never saw that place again, it would be too soon.
Never again.
It was an impossible promise.
Hot tears cut tracks down her dingy cheeks as she clumsily scrubbed at her hands with her fingertips. Days of traversing forgotten thaigs and corridors, and battling darkspawn had settled under her nails like so many uncomfortable truths had settled beneath her skin. Except the dirt could be washed away. What she learned couldn't.
Someday she'd be drawn back to the Deep Roads. The blight in her blood would eventually overtake her, and she would succumb to its call. That was the first inescapable truth she had learned.
It was something she had already begun to wrestle with since the night Alistair told her. From the moment she awoke from The Joining, she was living on borrowed time. Even in freedom from the Circle, she was bound by another set of chains.
Her body began to tremble as she stood against the current. Each pass of her hands over her body helped the grime to lift and wash downstream, but she didn't feel any cleaner. She wondered if she ever would after learning of the broodmothers.
Stomach churning at the memory, she couldn't ignore the sensation of bile clawing at her throat. The Deep Roads had shown her monsters beyond imagining, but none so terrible as what the darkspawn made of women. That knowledge had rooted itself in her, festering like the taint itself.
Death she could endure. Pain she could endure. But the thought of being hollowed out, reshaped and used like that…
As the river tugged at her legs and the icy current scoured her raw skin, she had to pull herself back from the precipice. Breaking down here and now wouldn't serve anyone. Regardless of what her future may or may not look like, they were still in the middle of a blight.
For all she knew, she could die tomorrow.
She could die tomorrow.
A trembling sigh parted her lips as her tears subsided. That thought shouldn't have been the comfort that it was. Nevertheless, it reminded her that her fate wasn't sealed. Not yet.
With another deep exhale, she ran her fingers through her damp, chilly tresses. A sharp shiver rippled through her, but she refused to move. Standing neck-deep in the current, she was determined to stay there until her body protested loud enough. Given the ache in her bones, it wouldn't be much longer.
"How long are you planning to stay in there?" Alistair's voice met her ears over the gentle roar of the river. "You'll catch your death if you stand there any longer."
She startled, twisting toward the sound of his voice. He stood at the riverbank, his brow gently crinkled with worry. He hadn’t moved closer, as though afraid to crowd her, but his gaze lingered on her wide, reddened eyes.
“If you don’t catch your death, you’ll still probably catch a cold,” he stated, quieter this time. “The water doesn’t care how stubborn you are.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. The ache in her chest was too sharp, her throat too raw.
He shifted, clearing his throat as he averted his eyes, then held out a threadbare blanket as though the simple gesture might bridge the distance between them. Simple as the gesture was, it was sweet. It was sweet and it meant so much more to her than she could properly express.
Rising from the icy cold water, she scurried up the riverbank and hurriedly cocooned herself in the proffered blanket. The gentle mountain breezes nipped at her more viciously than the river had and she was grateful to have something somewhat warm to retreat to. Warmer still were Alistair's arms as he pulled her close to hold her shivering frame to his chest.
She pressed her face into the coarse fabric of his tunic, breathing in the faint scent of leather and steel beneath the blanket’s musty wool. The warmth of him bled slowly into her bones, driving back the icy bite that lingered in her skin. As her breath fell in time with his, everything around them seemed to blur at the edges.
The world was softer when he was around.
"Let's run away," she murmured, her voice so small that even she could hardly hear it.
"Run away?" he echoed, not certain whether to be amused or startled by the request. "Where are we running away to?"
"Anywhere," she said, her voice a little louder this time. "Orlais, The Free Marches, Nevarra…"
"Nevarra?" he nearly exclaimed with a chuckle. "What's in Nevarra that you'd want to see?"
“The Grand Necropolis,” she answered flatly, then softened when his brows shot up. “Somehow it sounds more pleasant than even another second in the Deep Roads.”
Alistair huffed a laugh, though it was quieter this time, threaded through with something heavier. “Fair point. Still… Orlais has nicer food. And better beds. Maybe fewer corpses?”
She leaned more heavily against him, her damp hair clinging to his tunic. “I don’t care where. I just… want to be somewhere the Blight isn’t.”
His arms tightened slightly around her. “I know,” he murmured. “Maker, I know. If I could take you away from all this, I would.”
It was a lovely thought, but that's all it would be. Even if there were other wardens to fight off the blight, even if she and Alistair did manage to defeat the archdemon, their time together would be limited. It was hard to imagine what could lay between that moment and the inevitable.
Another violent shudder rippled through her already shivering form and she pressed herself tighter to him. Whether it was from the bitter air, or the bleak frame of mind she had settled into, she couldn't say. Whichever it was, not even the cloak that Alistair moved to drape over her shoulders seemed to help.
His brow furrowed slightly as he studied her, gathering her face in his warm palms. He could almost hear the storm turning behind her eyes, the way her breath caught like she was holding back more than the shivers.
“What is it?” he asked softly. “You’ve got that look. I know when you get stuck in your own head.”
She hesitated, leaning her face heavier into his hand. “It’s nothing.”
He tilted his head, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
For a long moment, she studied the weave of his tunic, as if it would somehow supply a secret answer to her plight. Then the words slipped out, low and trembling.
“It’s the Calling. And… the broodmothers. Maker, Alistair, what if—” She cut herself off with a sharp inhale, shaking her head as if the thought itself burned. “I don’t want to become one of those horrid things.”
Eyes shuttering closed, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Evaline,” he said firmly, his voice almost a fierce whisper. “That will never happen. I swear it.”
She swallowed hard, but she couldn’t find it in herself to argue. How could she? He hadn't said it outright, but she knew that he was determined to put his life on the line for her. Even though the sentiment had brought her comfort before, she couldn't ignore the hollow ache in her chest that overpowered it.
What if he couldn't protect her? What if he was already gone by the time she heard the Calling? There was only one other way she could think of to ensure she didn't meet a fate worse than death, but it sent another vicious chill through her body as it crossed her mind.
"Maker, you're shaking like a leaf," he murmured, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders. "Why don't we get you someplace warm? I'd take you to the sunny coast of Rivain if I could, but I think camp will have to do for now."
The laugh she let out was one of instinct. It was thin, devoid of mirth and her usual warmth.
"Rivain, now that would be a better place to escape to than Nevarra," she said, attempting a smile.
She could see in the way his brow crinkled that he knew she was humoring him. Still, he seemed afraid to push any further. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew she was too fragile for it anyway.
"Although, if you sunburn the way I do, maybe lounging on a beach isn't the best getaway solution for us," he said, his smile returning as he turned to gently guide her back toward camp. "What about Antiva?"
"Antiva," she echoed thoughtfully, trying to pull herself from the darkness her spirit had been steeped in. "Zevran does paint quite a lovely picture of it."
"We could finally see just how fine Antivan leather is," he said, his grin widening just a bit more. "If it lives up to his stories, we could get you a stylish pair of boots."
Her laugh came somewhat easier this time. It was warmer, though it caught in her throat halfway. It hurt to let it out, as though joy itself had become alien to her.
He noticed the falter, she could tell, but he still wouldn’t call attention to it. Instead, he kept walking with her, step by steady step, almost as if the rhythm of their pace could hold her together. Maybe it would. Maybe even just his hand at the small of her back could give her the strength to keep moving forward.
The smell of wood-smoke reached her before the firelight did. The familiar bustle of camp slowly pierced the fragile cocoon they’d woven for themselves by the river. Someone was tending the stew pot— Leliana, judging by the faint sound of her singing— and the quiet murmur of voices reminded Evaline of the others who waited for them. The world had not stopped for her grief, nor would it.
How could she expect it to?
Hesitating at the edge of the clearing they had set up in, she curled her toes into the grass and drew in a deep breath. The blanket clung damp to her skin, and the ache in her bones remained. Still shivering, she pressed closer to Alistair's side with a quiet sigh.
It was time to put on a brave face. Letting Alistair see her vulnerable was one thing. So long as she bore the mantle of leadership, she couldn't let the others see her so rattled.
Alistair leaned down just slightly, his voice pitched for her alone. “You don’t have to be brave for them, Evaline. I’m sure they would understand.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, though the weight behind her eyes lingered. “I know. It’s just one less thing for them to worry about.”
He didn’t argue, only gave the faintest squeeze at her shoulder before letting her step forward on her own. She was grateful for it. It was a small mercy, that he could see through the cracks and still allow her dignity enough to hide them.
By the time she crossed into the fire’s glow, her face was calm, her posture collected. A leader again, as much as the others needed her to be. Yet beneath it all, Evaline clung to the warmth at her side. She clung to that and the silent promise that with whatever time they had left, she would not face it alone.