She hadn’t even asked a single question about him when they met, except a snapped, “So you were a mage-hunter?” and a disdainful, “Do you really have to accompany me?” Once she had found out about his Templar background, a gate closed behind her eyes. Right? Otherwise they would be free to… to… turn people into frogs all the time. Mages belong in the Circle, period end of story. He could maybe ignore the mage bit if she didn’t go on about mage rights constantly.
He didn’t even care that she was an elf, except that she brought it up all the damn time. When he protested to Duncan, she told him to stop whining. If she had just spoken up, convinced Cailan to let him fight with Duncan, maybe Duncan would still be alive now.
She had agreed to the stupid plan of them both going to the Tower. As soon as he could walk again he had wandered out to sit by the little mud-colored pond, and there he sat, lost in mourning and disbelief and guilt. He had barely spoken two words to her since waking up on the floor of the hut with the two of them, the woman and her freaky, freaky daughter, leaning over him and the smell of elfroot and blood in the air. He squeezed his eyes tight, momentarily blocking out the twisted mess of the Wilds and the peripheral view he had of the old woman’s dilapidated hut. That ache told him that despite his attempt at bravado, he wasn’t lying injured on the top of the Tower of Ishal.
If only it would similarly numb that twisting ache in his stomach. The ground was cold, and that cold was slowly seeping through the leather of his trousers to numb him from the waist down. Takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me, Duncan.Īlistair’s head drooped forward and he hugged his knees closer to his chest. Any day now he would open his eyes and grin at Duncan’s worried expression. They would sit around and tell stories and stuff their faces and be a family, because they were his family, the only family that – sans Duncan – didn’t know about the stupid prince thing. He would be up and about and traveling with his comrades any day now, making jokes that made Duncan groan and roll his eyes. Apostates, and, he suspected, a possible blood mage. The ogre had beat him up good and bashed his head into the stone, leaving him to dream up these two days of sitting in this damn cold forest with only mages for company.
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