I Am Yours

Chapter 2

Naia woke with a tense ache knotting her temples. She wondered why she felt so lousy, and then it all came rushing back. Isolde's blood opening the way to the Fade. Steady, gentle Alistair exploding in rage about the noblewoman's death. Naia exploding right back, telling him to either pull his weight and make decisions too or keep his mouth shut. They'd barely shared a word since then that wasn't "look behind you" or "watch out, arrows!"

Oh, and then there was her bizarre decision to take an assassin—one hired to kill her and Alistair—along for the increasingly hellish ride.

I'm so glad everyone looks to me for leadership. Yes. Great decisions I've been making.

Naia put a hand over her eyes and tried to convince herself that she could go back to sleep, but she heard the rustling from the rest of the camp. It was time to get up. With a sigh, she pushed aside her sleeping roll and began to pack up her tent. She had dismantled the structure and was tightening the straps to secure her tent poles when she heard footsteps off to her right—too light to be Sten's, but too heavy to be one of the women or an elf.

"Morning, Alistair," she said quietly. She glanced up at him briefly, but then pretended to busy herself with her packing.

"Morning, yes." Alistair's voice was bright, and a bit anxious. "Good? I'll wait until we see how many Darkspawn try to stab us before noon."

Despite herself, Naia felt her mouth quirk. "That seems wise."

Alistair's feet shifted in the dirt, and Naia looked up at him again. His shoulders were tense and his mouth was twisted; he looked like he'd slept about as much as she had these past few days. Finally, he blurted, "Naia, I'm sorry."

Naia stood, meeting his eyes. Alistair's chest rose and fell with an unsteady breath before he continued. "I shouldn't have screamed at you like that. It wasn't fair. You did what you could in a terrible situation, and you saved Connor."

"I'm sorry, too." Naia found herself blinking back tears. "Sorry about Lady Isolde, and sorry for what I said."

"You weren't entirely wrong." Alistair sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have been standing idle, leaving the hard choices to you. I'll admit it, I've been a bit useless."

"Not entirely useless. If it wasn't for you I'd be crushed in an ogre's claws somewhere in that tower at Ostagar. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Ah, yes. Thanks to me, you survive to be tormented by walking corpses, blood magic, mad regents, and obnoxious assassins. 'You're welcome' seems a bit odd under the circumstances, but nonetheless, you're welcome." Alistair reached for her arm and gave it a friendly squeeze. "So. Ready to break camp?"

"I am. Hey, Zevran. Mind telling Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten that we're headed for the Brecelian Forest?"

The signs hadn't been much—a few moving leaves, a slight prickle at the back of her neck—and the spy's identity was largely a guess, so Naia felt a bit smug when the elven assassin stepped out from the shadow of the trees. "Well spotted, Warden," he said admiringly, with no trace of shame. "I will tell them."

"Thanks. Oh. Could you also stop spying on me?" Naia crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at him. "Next time I might throw a knife in your direction, and it would be really inconvenient to have to bury your body."

The assassin laughed merrily. "I am flattered you would take the time, my Warden." He bowed. "I am, as always, at your service."

Naia fought the impulse to close her eyes—or bang her palm against her forehead. Such an excellent decision. Oh yes.