My Warden (COMPLETED)

Scars Beyond Counting

9:44 Anderfells

Littered across every backroad, forgotten thicket, and dried up riverbed on thedas rested towns of such little note no one bothered to jot them on a map or sometimes even name them. The three of them wandered into such a one hoping to find anywhere to pull back a chair and rest for the night. It proved more difficult than expected, as not only was the barely-a-village home to only a chantry and half tavern - the other half being the chantry itself - but the pair of them did not project the most welcoming of visage. Alistair's cheek swelled until he couldn't see out of his left eye; red dots broke out over the surface of the black bruise giving him the look of a plague carrier. Cullen wasn't in a much better state with his own bruises and constant scowl lengthening his hunched brow. He couldn't sleep after their fight, though the king went down almost instantly - his snoring jagged enough to keep any wild animals far from their uncovered camp.

With Lana's phylactery pressed in his hands, Cullen watched the stars slide through their nightly dance while he tried to recite all of the Chant of Light. He was no chanter himself and had to mumble through a few forgotten passages. By the time the sun rose, he startled from the king's hand on his shoulder, not out of sleep but from an almost hallucinatory state. His frozen fingers ached from how tightly he clung to her bottle willing it to do what the king promised it would, but no red light poured forth, no life returned.

It was Honor, out of all of them, who managed to secure lodging in the home of the Mayor/Guard Captain/Bartender. Diversifying was the only hope most small villages had of surviving. She had every intention to kick the dangerous ingrates out of her little town until she caught sight of the mabari gnawing upon a back leg and the woman melted. While the humans were left at a tight corner table, doing their best to not look at each other, the Mayor dangled all manner of succulent treats in front of Honor's nose. She'd preface each course with "I'm not sure if you'll like this" as if his dog wasn't prone to eating anything put in front of her, including but not limited to rocks, mud, sea urchins, and one pirate's eye patch.

Rolling the full mug around in his hands, the king kept glancing over at Honor lolling about in the floor in pure joy, then returning to his alcohol of some variety that had never before been categorized. He'd been quiet for their entire day's march towards the west, the silence digging a knife into Cullen's gut. Either it was guilt or a fear the king was waiting to retaliate; he couldn't be certain.

"Has it," Alistair began, then dropped his voice down as if the Mayor wasn't distracted singing a song with the mabari, "has it returned?"

Cullen's hand ran down the side of his leg, glancing upon the bulge from the phylactery in his pocket, "No."

The king frowned deeper. He dabbed his sleeve against his watering left eye and risked a full glug of the drink. "It's never taken this long before."

"So you say," Cullen countered with, but there was no victory there. He didn't want to be proven right.

"Maker," the king slopped his head forward on the table, "the suspense is killing me. Lanny better have a...a good reason to be playing around like this." He tried to laugh but it folded into a croak, the man rolling his forehead back and forth across the tabletop while he recited something unintelligible under his breath.

After a night and a day of this, Cullen couldn't stand anymore. Struggling to his feet, he smiled at the Mayor and asked, "Madam, may I head to my room? I could use sleep."

"Uh," she broke from a game of tug with Honor and a dishtowel. "Of course. There's only the one room and..."

"It will be fine," Cullen sighed. After the day, sharing a room with the man seemed the least worst news he could receive.