"She's gone, isn't she?" Alistair flopped to the ground as he eyed the only other creature by the fire. His plan on sitting had begun as a crouch, but ended much less gracefully than originally imagined.

In response the prone Mabari merely lifted an eye above the level of his paws and whined inquisitively.

"Now, don't you look at me in that tone of voice. I know she's not really gone now... right?" The warden shook his head as his vision filled with the intricacies of the dirt at his feet. "I don't know. Something just feels wrong here."

"Brrk!"

"Right. More wrong than usual."

Briefly, Alistair contemplated poking his head into Wynne's tent for a piece of consolatory advice. If nothing else, her quick chastisement of his worry would help - wouldn't it? For want of something more useful and less irritating to do to dissipate his worry, the warden plucked a bluish colored rock from the ground by his thigh and tossed it into the fire. The resulting explosion shocked his hair into a new state of disarray while skidding him a fingertip's length backward. "Huh. That wasn't a normal rock-like thing to do," he muttered as frost-laced visions danced through his head.

Somewhere through the icy smoke, tufts of intentionally mismanaged dark hair poked into at fringes of the grey warden's tunnel of vision as a sleepy-eyed Morrigan scowled at him. "Well, look at the bright ray of vigilance we have here. Would it shock you to discover that it is deep midnight and your betters are sleeping?"

Alistair stared up at her, the dim box of his stunned eyesight widening at last to include the rest of the camp in clarity. "How can you sleep when-"

"-when the second most competent person here is out standing guard? Quite easily, in fact. As I do believe that is the purpose of these inconvenient watch rotations." Morrigan seemed to conclude that this was the end of the conversation as she turned toward her tent.

"No, she is not." An anxious Leliana trudged up from the wood's edge, big blue eyes skittering from side to side before they fell into the mist of a sorrowful puddle. "We were out watching. Well, she was watching and I was talking, but I... Oh no, I fell asleep and when I awoke - she was not there."

"Argh," Morrigan growled. "She is probably out collecting berries or whatever it is elves do."

"Ah yes, berries. I have heard that the Dalish in particular are partial to wild hodgeberries that only grow at midnight under the threat of danger." The heavy-lidded eyes of the newly-arrived Zevran pinned the witch of the wilds down with a calmness that belied their indignant anger.

"Well, I don't know. Couldn't you just warden-sense her location? Gut-wrenchingly touching moments after dreams can not be all that is good for." Morrigan's amber gaze began to travel in the direction of her tent less frequently as, under a deep mask of contempt, she appeared to pinned some sliver of hope upon the remaining grey warden.

"That was directed at me, I take it." Alistair sighed as his hands fell impotently to his sides. He had really begun to hope that his companion and leader had decided, in the dark of night, to suddenly improve upon his lamb stew recipe with some new ingredients. "It doesn't really work like that." He lifted his hands outward. "Besides, the only place I wouldn't expect to find a trace of her in this camp is in the stew."

"The only place?" The Antivan elf to the warden's right could not seem to help himself.

All too easily, Alistair rose to the bait though his threat lacked the power it might have had if he had been standing at the time of delivery. "If I find her in... your tent. Or that she ever was in your tent... with you. I will..."

"Flog me to within an inch of my life? Oh, please do." The laughter, easily apparent within Zevran's words, did not quite reach his eyes this time. Thin tentacles of worry had crept in like a subtle veil of dew over dense foliage.

Finally standing, the sole remaining warden shook his head. He found that this method failed miserably at clearing the unwanted image that had just been pushed into his brain, but it did allow him to proceed with some form of clarity nonetheless. "This isn't really any reason to panic, right? There's no reason that she would want to run away from us, is there? I mean, with all of the constant battling and running for our lives - the whole blight looming over head... perhaps she just needed to take a walk and... clear things out a bit.

He received an identical look from each of the three companions standing around him and possibly one also from the dog, but it was hard to tell from his current position.

"You don't belong to perhaps an auxiliary branch of the grey wardens, do you? One that perhaps handles the fundraising for your cause?" The witch of the wild lifted a brow, staring down her target with one amber eye.

"He does have a fine face. I believe I would buy cookies from him."

"Zevran, you are not helping this situation at all. We should focus on finding Sarel even if she is just..." Leliana paused to glare at Morrigan. "...picking berries." The Orlesian bard half-turned to begin her search, but her progress was halted by a wall of clanking plate. "Sten! I am sorry. I did not see you."

The large qunari seemed unmoved by the hasty apology. "Let that be the only thing you do not see tonight."

Behind Sten, a tent ruffled, revealing the white hair of an unsettlingly peaceful Wynne.

"Oh look. It's a party - which is exactly what we will need to find our missing elf." Alistair smiled. The addition of manpower made this crisis seem more conquerable by the moment.

"No."

The smile withered on the warden's face. "No?"

Sten stood, having yet to blink. "I am not here for a party."

Alistair, on the other hand, found himself unable to stop blinking in amazement. "Well, it's not that sort of party. Sarel has-"

"If our leader has lost her way then it is for the best."

"How can you possibly say that-"

"-Sten, what are you here for then if not to help?" With but a few words that were neither truly kind nor truly stern, Wynne quelled the feud-to-be as she reached the group.

For an odd moment, the qunari warrior shifted, looking almost uncomfortable. "I heard there would be cookies."

The entire party, Alistair excluded, found themselves felled by laughter. Even Oghren, who had yet to emerge from his ale-induced coma, chortled along between spurts of snoring. The once-templar, however, felt too much worry boiling in the pit of his stomach to be amused. Something was indeed wrong... or at least more wrong than usual.

After retreating away from the unhelpful crowd, the warden found himself at Sarel's tent. The elf-ess had kept herself secluded here once the rounds she'd established were finished. Even now, the thought of lifting the flap of material that separated her world from the blight brought about a trepidation within the man that he normally associated with the moment a blood mage lifted his - or her - hand. But onward he went. Links of chain became embedded in the mossy ground as the warden poked his head into his fellow's bedchamber.

There must be some hint here that would save him hours of wilderness-stomping in the dark - and should she simply walk back and everything return to normal, he would also have some idea as to what... what he might do to turn her gaze from Zevran. Alistair did not relish the idea of being caught in this act, but he had been practicing his penitent puppy face for just such an occasion. And it might actually work on her where it had failed on other member's of the party when he had asked about soiled socks and the like.

Rough ridges of leather brushed under his wandering hand and served to snap Alistair's mind back to his present task. There would be no awestruck gift-giving with his elf if she were never to return. But what was this? A journal. The warden lifted the book into his lap, both excited and hesitant as he moved to read its contents. One page, torn from the rest, rested at the beginning and stunned his eyes with his own name spelled out in woodland script.

Alistair -

I was told she walked into the moonlight the night my father was killed. Walked away and was never seen again. I understand now. Do not follow as you do not know the way.

The last warden on duty in Ferelden found himself staring at something rough and tan. Something that kept shaking as he tried to focus on them - his own fingertips along the edge of the parchment. This... this made no sense. She wouldn't leave - she couldn't. She understood duty and honor better than any of them, didn't she? And who was the 'she' in the text? Who disappeared. Alistair searched his mind for any glimpse of a word his fellow warden might have spoken about her past - about the Dalish. It all blurred into images of sparkling eyes, splatters of blood... and something else shiny. Why couldn't he remember her words. Lips spoke with with no words in a vision of times past, taunting him with his own distraction.

Finally his eyes fell with a steady gaze on the journal in his worn hands. He had to read it. She must have known that he would have to read it, right?

He watches me across the fire. It is not his interest he sees, but my own instead. He watches me watching him and I can not stop long enough to earn denial of the act. I wonder how he can see so much yet act so little, but then if my own inaction were to be an example for him then I am all the more to blame. He watches me and I fear he will act. I relish the fear of the memory that is never to come as he sits and refrains himself from dancing as the others do.

It is a clear night and he and I are the only ones still watching. We watch the road in for the dangers that come and the road out for the safety of our hunters. We watch each other when the sound of crickets grows too loud in our ears. It is as home is for Tamlen and I. There is no other way.

Slowly, Alistair stared off into the darkness. Did he really want to read this?

Author's Note: So yes, I've joined the ranks of the Alistair fandom, but as with all things... I like to think I'll do it differently - bring something new to the table. I had originally thought I might try to make this origin-less and name-less for better imagination fuel, but I find that I can not write something as personal as this will be to my elf without identifying her as such. I also realize that the name might be a bit odd for some with good recall. I honestly didn't know the name would be in the game when I picked it.. nevermind that it would be on another gender of elf, but as they say... nothing new under the sun. At least i got my few moments in of feeling inventive. If you're curious - I pronounce it differently Suh-rell rather than Say-rul. Now here's some fair warningness - this will be a fic with chapters long in coming in between - at least until I finish SuS. I just found that this one not being filled out and published was hindering my writing of the other one so here you have it - the story that harassed me until it was told. I'm also going without beta for this one because I feel one story is plenty to make someone work on for free, but if you read this and feel there are consistent errors feel free to point them out in review. I like to think I take criticism well and hey - it'll only make it better in the long run right? Now that this note has become a novel in itself, I shall bid you adieu with a closing thanks to Ricard for the adjustment on Alistair's attitude and Sinvraal for helping my writing come as far as it has. Cheers all. I hope you enjoy this.