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"Gods... bless you." Danyla forces out, falling to the ground in a pool of her own blood.
Vendette gasps like all the air in her lungs had been knocked out. She falls to her knees beside Danyla. Her boots are stained now, and the armor on her knees swim in bright red. It makes her stomach twist in on itself.
She drops her sword and shield. They both fall with a muffled thud. She sets her face into her hands, and she cries.
For the first time since she lost Tamlen, since she left her clan, since the massacre at the battle of Ostagar, she weeps.
Not the few tears she had shed every night alone in her tent. If she was of any clearer thought, she would have been embarrassed to fall apart so openly in front of her companions. Thankfully, they gift her the kindness of silence, and all but one step quietly back from her and Danyla.
Alistair, instead, steps forward an inch, and after a moment, he gently places a hand upon her shaking shoulder.
Vendette flinches before taking her hands from her eyes and meeting Alistair's glassy ones. He's holding back tears, she thinks. At that sight of her crying? Her chest aches at the thought.
"Come on. Let's go back to camp for now." He speaks softly, and Vendette's pounding head takes solace in its comforting whisper.
She nods, and he puts his big hands around her arms and helps pull her up from the muddy ground. She stifles a cry as she avoids looking over at Danyla. Vendette pushes her face into his chest, and screws her eyes shut.
She feels a weight lift off her shoulders, realizing the trust she holds in Alistair's hands to get them safely back to camp. She doesn't need to be strong, right now. It can be so exhausting.
When back at camp, Alistair sets up her sleeping bag inside her tent. It's only when she's laying down in her bedding, Alistair gone for a moment to get her a drink, that she contemplates his change in demeanor.
He's so serious right now. A leader, even when it's not his favorite thing to be. She's suddenly of the mind to bury her face into her knees and hide the blush spreading over her face. Memories of earlier flood through her mind. Her head pressed at his chest, his strong hands around her, his grounding weight against hers.
There it is. That aching feeling in her chest, again. She's never felt anything quite like it. It makes her sad, in a way. She kicks out her legs and lays back down against the hard ground.
She stares up at the tent's ceiling, and she wills away the wetness in her eyes.
This adventure has barely begun, and it already seems like too much to handle. Blood, and death, flirting, then pain, and more blood, again. Would falling for Alistair just be another mistake out of the thousands she's already made? And what if it was? Would it be the same kind of dire mistake that cost her her greatest friend's life, but gave her the chance to save the world as a warden?
She twists and turns in her blankets, trying to find a comfortable spot when Alistair's shadow appears on the tent's wall.
"Knock, knock," he calls out, opening the tent. One hand holds a cup of a water, the other holds up a fist, knocking at the air.
His smile makes Vendette's grumpy face break out into its own smile. She thinks she notices him smile even wider at that.
"You care for some water?" He asks, handing her a cup that is much too full.
She carefully sits up and grabs it with two hands, slowly moving it to her mouth and drinking from the top likes it's a straw.
He chuckles, and when she throws a glare his way, he pretends to cough, but it just makes him laugh even more.
"Are you feeling a bit better?" He finally says, and it's in that quiet way he talks when he's serious.
She smiles, small and sad, and gives him a quick nod. Vendette sets the cup down and pats at the floor.
Alistair glances at that spot then back at Vendette before sitting down. She places a hand on her cheek to feel how hot her skin is as he gets situated. All that heavy, clunky armor on, it takes him a second. She forces herself not to laugh.
A moment of silence passes, and Vendette runs through her mind trying to think of something to talk about, but it seems Alistair came prepared with topics. She's not sure if she should be relieved by that, or not.
"The others are asking about you." He states.
Vendette waits for him to go on, but he leaves it open-ended. Vendette lets out a shaky breath, "it seems I've worried them."
"We're all worried, Vendette. It's not because we think you can't handle the stress, but the stress, it does exist. The nightmares, the blight, everything we've seen so far-"
"It gets to us all."
He nods, but he doesn't make eye contact with her, just stares at the floor beside her.
"Don't you have a witty one-liner to cheer me up?" She smiles, glancing away.
"Oh, I have to come prepared with jokes now, do I? Well, sorry, I've to up my game, it seems."
Vendette chuckles, "yes, it seems you do."
Alistair exhales from his nose, then looks back up at Vendette, smiling.
They meet one another's eyes, and they stare for a moment longer than they should've. But Alistair's mind begins to drift, and he finds himself enamored with how blue her eyes are. Like a cloudless sky.
And Vendette imagines a grand lake's shore, pebbled and rocky, the kind of brown Alistair's eyes allude to.
Vendette looks way a moment later and Alistair stutters an excuse, clearing his throat.
"Are you feeling better now?" He quickly changes topic.
Vendette breathes a sigh of relief, "I am. We should be getting back out there soon, as it is. I still have to tell Anthras the horrible news." Her voice almost gives out halfway through. She tries to swallow down that lump in throat.
She looks away from Alistair's face. So full of pity. Or is it concern? She hates its sadness, either way.
"He'll surely understand if you took a night before delivering the news."
She shakes her head, getting up from her spot with shaky legs. They're almost numb and they tingle like thousands of pins and needles pushing into her skin. She tries to push past it.
Pushing past it and into Alistair's embrace, it seems. As she trips upon her blankets and is caught by Alistair's outstretched arms.
She pushes away from him immediately, her face hot with embarrassment. "I, I'm sorry. The blankets," she tries to say. "I'll go tell the others to get ready to leave," she mutters out as fast as possible and rushes out of the tent.
Alistair sighs, arms falling to his sides. That familiar ache in his chest. He doesn't dare to imagine so far into the future where he's happy. Where maybe Vendette felt the same, and they lived out the rest of their warden lives together. Where they could finally breathe after saving the world, where they finally had more than a minute of peace to work past all the trauma this adventure will surely cost them.
He pushes his fingers into tight fists. But he knows the truth of how this ends. A warden and finishing blow. An archdemon falling, but it won't be the only thing fallen. He clenches his jaw. He hopes it's him. He could care less about the prospect of being a hero or a legend. And even though he's known this brilliant woman for a short few weeks, he can't imagine living after her greatest sacrifice. He'd rather picture a future where they walk into Orzammar for the last time. Together.
He hears Vendette call out for him. They're ready to get back out there. No peace for the wicked, he supposes.
Time to live out the present, first. Then, he'll think about what the future holds.