Sometimes, it was maddening.
Sometimes, it made her want to run straight back to the Alienage in Deneein and never come back out.
Sometimes, she thought she should just murder her companions for the sake of a little peace and quiet.
It was just too much noise. Particularly for a group of people who were being hunted by such a wide variety of soldiers, assassins, random thugs, bounty hunters, and nightmarish monsters. Did no one realize how much they were increasing their chances of getting their throats slit in the middle of the night? Or had they just gone collectively deaf from being exposed to this night after night?
It started out easily enough, when it was just her, Alistair, and Morrigan. Alistair had a habit of humming while he went about his various tasks around camp. That wasn't too bad, by itself, but between that and the constant buzz of sound coming from Morrigan's cook pot- a bizarre cacophony of hissing and bubbling and what the warden swears is shrill screaming- that easily reaches her ears despite the distance Morrigan insists on putting between their camps.
Of course, that was only mildly annoying. Things got worse after Lothering. A lot worse. Leliana, explaining that she must not allow her skills as a minstrel to go to waste, waste was constantly plucking at one instrument or another. The broken notes rang out intermittently throughout camp and were made worse by the few seconds of silence between each absurdly loud wail that Leliana claimed was "music". She'd lost all hope for silence when Sten, who barely said two words in conversation, became one of the biggest contributors to the systematic murder of silence in the camp. His sparring matches with Alistair were a particularly singing mix of steel on steel, battle cries, and a low undercurrent of swearing that is often punctuated by a TWANG of Leliana's lute.
She'd thought they had reached the apex of noise in those days. Now, she cursed how naive she'd been back then. When they picked up Wynne at the Tower, Morrigan decided to annoy the Circle mage by flaunting her apostate status, spending a solid hour each night calling down lightning to smite the trees and bushes of the Fereldan countryside. Once the minor stampedes of small woodland creatures subsided, she had to deal with the sarcasm-laden arguments between the two mages about the appropriateness of using magic out in the open while she joined them in putting out whatever fires had cropped up and collecting dinner in the form of whatever animal was unlucky enough to be taken out by one of the lightning-felled trees. After that, Zevran came along and Wynne had to stop the arguments with Morrigan to deal with Zevran's many, many comments on the wonders of her bosom.
And just when she had achieved bliss in the form of a pair of earplugs, in came Oghren. Dear, drunk Oghren. Belting out pub songs in a voice bigger than his small frame should allow. His voice came together with Leliana's, who would not stop singing since they left the Dalish camp, in a horrifying composition that the warden was seriously considering trying to weaponize.
Oh well, what does it matter now? They were fighting the Archdemon soon. And maybe, if she was really lucky, either she or the traveling circus crew she traveled with would end up dead. Maybe then she'd finally get some peace and quiet.