A/N: Ahhh, okay. So, here's attempt two at some DA Fanfiction. A little nervous about writing Zevran, which is why he doesn't really talk until chapter two. I didn't intend to post any of this, but I contracted walking pneumonia and got some time to finish it. I've been working on it slowly for a couple of weeks now. Since I got a favorable reaction to Night Terrors, I kind of figured "eh, what the hell, why not?". Thank you so much two my commenters! You made my day! There might eventually be some art for NT and for this, but it'll be a while in coming. I hope you all like Thel, and the little taste of her backstory this gives!

-AA

Morrigan had started the bet.
Alonathel had just complied.
At least, that's what she would say if this all went pear-shaped.
Thel was standing awkwardly in the middle of camp, trying to ignore Zevran's blatant appraisal of her form, and Alistair's equally humiliating red-faced silence. She knew she would win. Her dignity was at stake. But she couldn't keep from running through the events that had gotten her into this, in a 'why me?' Kind of way.

Thel was sitting beside the road. Again. Sweat was running in itchy rivulets down her back, her legs, her face. The full force of a Ferelden summer was glaring down at the group from above them, a great golden ball of fire that seemed to burn hotter than a blast of Alistair's holy energy. And that was like being roasted alive to the elven mage.
She hiked her long, thick robes up a little higher, beyond any consideration of propriety, revealing pale legs with bronzed feet. It looked ridiculous. Alonathel slumped against a rock, strands of dirty blonde hair escaping her increasingly loose bun to stick, dark with persperation, to her cheeks and slender neck. "Maker," she moaned at no one in particular, "Alistair's kingdom for a bath."
"Hey, I think I should get a say in that!" The ex-templar grinned at her half-heartedly. 'He must be boiling in all that metal,' she looked up at him, gauging his discomfort, before replying,
"You're holding up much better than I am."
"Practice."
"Ahh, but it was always so damn shady in the Tower!" Thel whined, looking at him pitifully. Suddenly, she heard snickering. The mage shot a quick glare in the general direction of Leliana and Zevran, but they looked as innocent as school children. "Yeah, posessed school children..." she muttered, pouting.

Suddenly, a shape blotted out the sun. Thel looked up quickly, reaching reflexively for her gnarled oak staff, which lay nearby, but when her eyes were able to pick out the creature's details, she relaxed. Only Morrgian.
"I think," the witch said in oh-so-high-and-mighty tones, "that you are exaggerating. Or, possibly more likely..." here a nod, a raised eyebrow, a smirk, "just weak. Circle training, no doubt." Feral, golden eyes twinkled merrily down at the elf.

'Adraste's bedslippers, why not?'

"Like you could do any better!" Thel growled, feigning an aggravation she did not feel. "I'd like to see you try walking miles and miles in this thrice-blasted contraption under that monster!" She shot one arm up into the air, pointing sternly at the sun.

"Is that a challenge?"
"It is."
"And what, pray tell, should your challenge be?"
"Your call."
At that, Morrigan smiled visciously. "You, my dear, sweet Warden, are so very modest."
"And you, Morri," Thel's grin was just as catlike "are not." Alistair was staring at them now, confusion written accross his face. Leliana was watching with the air of someone keeping score. Zevran, silky hair flowing in a sudden breeze ('How in the name of all that is holy does he keep his hair looking so Maker forbidden amazing?'), was pretending not to pay attention, but Thel could tell he was listening. As Morrigan dramatically contemplated her counterstrike, there was relative quiet, except for the muffled snores of the dwarves in their cart and the quiet chatter between Shale and Sten, who had recently had some kind of bonding moment over a shared hatred of pigeons.
"A switch!" The witch proclaimed triumphantly.
"Pardon?"
"I wear your robes..." she raised that eyebrow again suggestively, "and you wear mine."
"Oh." Thel knew she was turning red, but the sunburn was probably concealing it nicely. She stared dumbly at Morrigan's idea of 'robes'. The witch hadn't changed since she'd left the wilds. Then again, she hadn't seemed particularly bothered by the weather, either. This could be interesting
"I accept your terms." She said solemnly, concealing another smile. "Tomorrow, we move out in each others' robes. Agreed?"
"Agreed"

And here she was, dressed in Morrigan's ridiculously revealing clothing, trying occasionally to pull her skirt down far enough to cover some of the uneven tan she'd aquired over the past few weeks. The black tights hadn't fit. She stood in front of her own tent, waiting with a sour impatience for the witch and the bard to emerge, listening exasperatedly to the occasional cries of,
"Ouch!" Or "It's supposed to go there, hold still!", generally followed by swearing in several languages.
She endured the stares of the males a moment longer before going after Leliana.
It was a sight to be seen.
Morrigan was half in the richly embroidered circle robes, trying futilely to belt the overskirt on. The Orlesian bard was pulling violently on the stays of the bodice, one knee in the middle of the witch's back. Thel began to laugh.
"What, pray tell, is so amusing, hmm?" Morrigan asked, glaring daggers.
"Oh.." Thel bit her tongue and managed to stammer between giggles, "N.. nothing!"
She shooed a frustrated Leliana away and gently tugged the cords into place before doing up the buttons and clasping the collar tightly at the witch's throat. "Here, Morri, just let me." Thel jerked the belt taught around Morrigan's waist and smoothed the soft fabric. She took a step back, admiring her handiwork. Swathed in the Circle robes, the witch had lost some of the primitiveness of her appearance and seemed in stead to be regal and poised. Her yellow, feral eyes gave the image an aura of grace and wild, unspeakable power.
"Wow, you look... like you could be first enchanter..." Leliana said in a hushed tone, mouth a circle of awe.
Morrigan turned a funny shade of blotchy pink, and stammered something sarcastic in return.
Thel quietly moved the tent-flap out of the way and the witch stomped outside, followed by Leliana and then the elf herself. When he saw them, Alistair's eyes looked like they'd bug out of his head.
"Staring, I'm told, is concidered rude." Morrigan shot at him, sneering.
"Well," he replied, leaning back and grinning, "Put a bear in a dress, it's still a bear."
"I'll give you bear, you insufferable whelp!"
"Hey!" Thel shouted, stepping in front of Morrigan. "Break it up, you two." She glared at them both, daring a retort. Neither of them was brainless enough to try. "Now, we're going to march just like usual. Shale, take point. Alistair, Sten guard our rear. Leli, left side, Zevran right. Mages in the middle. Got it?"
There was a chorus of acquiescent noises, and shortly afterwards they broke camp and moved out. Most of the attention seemed to shift from Thel's appearance to Morrigan's as they moved, and she was relieved.
'Used to being looked to for leadership, yes. Used to being stared at like an untended pastry? No.'
And she wasn't being stared at, thankfully. Well, not entirely stared at. Zevran seemed to be looking at her out of the corner of his eye in a way that made Thel uncomfortable. She was pretty sure she'd seen that look on his face right before he'd kissed that bandit woman. At the same time as running her through. She shuddered slightly and glanced at him again, this time catching his eye. He turned his head and grinned mischievously. She snapped her gaze back to Shale's shoulders , nose in the air.

A few hours later, the sun began to beat down on them full force. Though she was still sweating like an apostate at a Templar convention, Thel was able to note a pleasant ability to breath and an increase in stamina. She was also rather happy with the small noises of displeasure eminating from the general direction of Morrigan behind her. As they passed burnt-out farmhouses and blackened fields, a chilling reminder of the horde's passing before them, it became increasingly clear that the witch was feeling anything but a drop in temperature.

"Tired, Darling?" Thel called back in a singsong voice as she trotted to the top of a rocky hill, reveling in her freedom.
"Not... a bit.." came an exasperated reply. The elf laughed delightedly and spun in a tight circle, grinning.
"Isn't it just the best day? I don't know when I've ever felt so free!"
"Don't get carried away, Dear" Wynne warned in a serious tone, offset by twinkling eyes, "It's not like this is forever."
"Oh... yes, Wynne." Thel nodded respectfully, subdued. They walked on in relative quiet for a few more miles, stopping after an hour or so to eat a quick lunch of bread and cheese. Meunster, according to Alistair. The group then picked up and carried on, walking at a steady pace set by Shale.
They could have continued for the remainder of the day, as the sun had begun its slow descent to the horizon and only five hours of daylight remained, but a gutteral growl interrupted the peace of the march with a finality unlike any other.
"Halt." Thel hissed, and everyone tensed. Leliana drew her bow, knocking an arrow that crackled and sparked. Zevran put one hand on a dagger, shifting to a relaxed pose that enabled him to move swiftly in any direction. Alistair and Sten drew their swords, and the mages pulled mana from deep within, causing their staves to glow ominously. The spawn were on them in seconds.

A hurlock fell immediately to Alistair's blade, and the group tightened formation. The mages cast spell after spell, protected by the circle of warriors. But a misplaced arrow allowed Leliana to be swept aside, and they were exposed. A shriek took advantage of the opening, surging into the middle of the fight. Wynne, distracted by healing Sten of a concussion, could not aide Morrigan and Alonathel as they fought.
Thel spun her staff in an arc, lashing out with a cone of freezing ice, but compensation for a heaviness she no longer had caused her to miss by a wide margin. Morrigan, tangled in the thick robes, couldn't seem to move fast enough to evade the beast, and though she was more than holding her own, the witch was having close calls at an alarming frequency.
The elf ground the end of her staff into the thing's eye, causing a spurt of black blood to splash her cheek. It flung out one twisted arm, catching her exposes side on a hooked, jagged claw. She heard a scream, but didn't feel her mouth open, and the ripping noise that came from somewhere close by did not alarm her unduly. The battle seemed to slip away, the chaos still and the clash of swords quieted, the crunch of crushed bone and the slick, sucking noise of daggers entering flesh dulled to a hum. The edges of her vision grew fuzzy, until all was a soft, uniform gray that was strangely comforting.
'Am I done?' She thought passively. Somehow, the question didn't seem to matter much. 'I'd very much like to be done. It's so quiet here, so peaceful. I'm so tired, Mother. May we stop and rest?'