Thank the Maker for injury kits.

Alistair was looking awfully pale as he watched Avery unpack the ointment, which she quickly lathered across his side. He hissed in pain, throwing his head back against their makeshift cover; an upturned tree, which barely shielded them from the darkspawn ambush on the other side.

"Stop moving!" Avery rebuked, and to their right, Leliana narrowly avoided a flying arrow.

"Well, maybe you should be more gentle!"

"We are in the middle of a fucking ambush."

There was a cold wind biting through this small valley, which was praised as a quick route direct through the Frostback Mountains towards Orzammar.

They weren't wrong.

Except, currently, it was overrun from darkspawn from the Deep Roads- a detail which had been either unknown, or neglected (for whatever hidden motives a cloth merchant might have against the two surviving Grey Wardens).

Both Avery and Alistair had sensed them nearby, but precision with a borrowed sense was difficult, and so it was impossible to judge their exact location.

In the valley, apparently.

A dagger in Alistair's side later, their party fought off the remaining Genlocks and Hurlocks while Avery couldn't open the compress with her shaking fingers.

Maker, why was she shaking?

"I'll just make a note to avoid darkspawn assassins next time," Alistair ground out from between clenched teeth.

"Good idea," Avery approved, and used her teeth instead. She pushed the compress into Alistair's side, and then quickly covered it with gauze, and tried to ignore the single tear which ran down his cheek. "It'll save you all this trouble," she added.

Alistair laughed. "It's touching, how much you worry about me." He looked back at her, his eyes slightly glazed over. "I think I'll sleep it off."

The wound had been deep, but definitely not life-threatening.

"Hopefully not now," Avery replied.

"Don't get your hopes up. It does hurt." Alistair pressed his hand to his side, and then shifted, trying to get to his feet.

Avery put a hand on his armored shoulder. "Just a few more minutes," she told him. "The ointment will start working soon. Then we can get walking. Then you can sleep it off."

He collapsed back against the trunk, looking like she'd asked him to do the dishes after one of Zevran's Antivan curries.

Then, Morrigan's voice rung across the valley, "That's the last of them!"

"Wouldn't that be nice," Alistair muttered. "Archdemon and all. Without me bleeding all over the place, if possible, please."

A smile crossed Avery's face. "I can try my best." Maybe not with her hands shaking like this, though.

Fear was not a new emotion, but looking at Alistair propped up awkwardly, his hand pressed to his side, she felt something coil in her stomach, which she had to swallow as Wynne came over.

Of course, Alistair told the old woman it was nothing serious, but the paleness of his face and the worry in his eyes told Avery a different story- the man was scared of death, almost as scared as Avery was when she thought of losing him to it.