CHAPTER TWO

Two Years Later

The Frostback Mountains

Ferelden

Ice clung to her eyelashes. The trek down the mountain had been difficult but rewarding. Her bartering had earned her a hefty chunk of dear, enough to last a few weeks if she portioned it carefully. She heaved the carcass behind her, the cart making the heavy lifting easier. Even though she had only had Briella for a few months, she missed the mare dearly. The Frostback Mountains were no place for a horse, though. She had ensured that her horse, though stolen, went to a safe house where her nature and strength would be appreciated, and thanks to clever bartering, Rokara still had much of the coin she earned from the trade.

She reached the cave and quickly sliced the deer meat into smaller pieces, hanging it for smoking. The trader had delivered on their end, supplying her with the pre-salted meat as she had requested, allowing her to travel whenever she needed without relying on a fresh kill.

She had moved around frequently during her time in the mountains, and she had only occupied this cave for a few days. She would move again soon. Traders she had talked to mentioned that Templars were on the move nearby, searching for any apostate mages in the area. In the coming weeks, they would march over the border to Orlais.

For now, she focused on preparing. Her supply of kindling was low, and if she were to have a fire by the end of the week, she would need to bring some inside to thaw and dry.

She set out, bundling the sticks with woven cord as she went. She was almost ready to head back to the cave when she heard the unmistakable crack of wood and frozen leaves nearby.

Probably an animal, she reasoned. Despite the frigid conditions, many beasts roamed nearby. With the sudden hard edge to the cold, a blizzard was brewing. Any animal would be seeking shelter.

Another crack sounded.

She noted her surroundings, dropping low to cover her kindling. She crouched as she moved, zigzagging back to the cave. Still, she heard the occasional sound of broken sticks, her heartbeat spiking with each noise.

Something is following me.

There were predators in the mountains. She could protect herself with her staff, but it was safer to be in the cave. The entrance was a bottleneck, and from a shelf high above the ground in the entrance to the cave, she could easily defend herself, safe from harm's way.

She climbed into the cave, then clambered onto the rocky shelf within and lay low with her staff, concealed by height and the darkness. Her ears strained, listening for the sound of padded steps. Instead, she heard the scrape of heavy plate, the clomp of weighted footsteps: the sound of a Templar.

After the events at the Circle Tower, mages that showed any signs of rebellion would have been marked as dangerous. Any who had escaped, as she had, would be deemed apostate. When the fighting had stopped, she knew that Knight-Commander Greagoir would have catalogued the phylacteries, and noted those that were missing. Her name was on that list. A few Templars had come close to finding her, but none had so far succeeded or lived to tell about her location.

She slowed her breathing, watching. A tall figure appeared, his shining armour covered in a dusting of snow. She could hear his steady breaths, warm puffs of misted air obscured his face as he braced his hands on his knees. He caught his breath for a moment, dumped the pack he carried, then hefted his shield from his back to lean it against the rock wall.

He walked further in, looking around. Her belongings were hidden further inside the cave, this room acting as a defendable entrance. From her vantage point, she could not see his face beneath the winged helmet. He didn't wear Templar armour, but he carried himself just the same as all the Templars she had seen at the Tower.

'Bloody blizzards,' he cursed, kicking a nearby rock, his back to her, 'I hate these mountains.'

In his distraction, Rokara slid down from the ledge. From the darkened corner, she watched him. If she were to stand beside him, he would tower over her; she would not be as tall as his shoulders without standing on her toes. Even though his armour accentuated his frame, without it, he would still be broad. His steps were aggravated, impatient. He pulled his helmet off his head, revealing neatly trimmed brown hair that with soft streaks of blonde scattered through it, the front spiked up with sweat from his trek.

She saw her chance. She held the staff out, placing it gently against the back of his neck. He stiffened at the contact.

'Pick up your shield and bag. Walk away.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't realise anyone was here. I got caught in–'

'Last. Chance,' she said, 'Leave.'


Alistair's neck bristled where the staff touched his skin. Shivers crept down his spine, but he remained still. He could reach for his sword, but only if he needed to.

'Please listen. I was travelling when the blizzard came. I am just seeking shelter.'

'Liar.'

He dropped low, scooping up his shield and drawing his sword. He spun to face his attacker but was forced to defend as an arcane bolt shot towards him. It ricocheted off his shield, dancing around the small cave before it dissipated.

He dared the peek above the shield. His assailant's shoulders heaved beneath the massive hooded coat. By its soft grey and white colouring, he guessed that it was wolf fur. The only part of their face he could see were their eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkened cave. In their gloved hand, they carried an enchanter's staff, much like the one he had seen carried by an old companion.

'You'll never take me back,' she said. Although the wrappings around her face muffled her voice, he could hear the distinct feminine ring.

'I'll be dead before I go back!' She cried, raising her staff.

'Stop!' Alistair yelled, defending himself from another bolt, 'I mean you no harm!'

'Templar scum!'

He tried to speak, but she hit him with a barrage of spells. His shield shook on his arm. He dropped it just in time when it froze, shards of ice threatening to spread up his arm. He raised his sword before him, his shield at his feet. He watched as fire circled her staff: she meant to burn him. Without his shield, he had to hope that his armour would be enough.

'I am not a Templar; I'm a Grey Warden!'

At the words she paused. 'A Warden?'

'Yes, a Warden. My name is Alistair. I've travelled from Redcliffe. I promise you; I have been through this way before seeking Orzammar. I was on the Imperial Highway when the blizzard swept over, but I remembered the location of this cave. I only seek shelter.'

She eyed him carefully. Her posture softened, but barely.

'You may stay here until the blizzard passes, but if I believe you have lied to me, I will not hesitate to kill you.'

'Cheery.'

The icy glare he received chilled his blood more than the Frostback Mountains had ever managed.

'Sorry, inappropriate timing.'

She ignored him.

'Follow me.'

Alistair gathered his gear and followed her deeper into the cave.

'What's your name?' he asked, nearly tripping on a rock.

'Rokara,' she said, 'for now, that's all you need to know.'

In the main chamber of the cave, Rokara rekindled the fire, stoking it until the warm glow filled the room. She lit a couple of lanterns, illuminating the moderate space.

'There is room over there for you to lay out a mat,' she said as she leant her staff against the wall.

He dropped his equipment but he dared not remove his armour yet. This mage was too unpredictable. He could feel her anger in the room.

'Why did you think I was a Templar?' he asked as he perched himself on a flat rock, his sword within reach.

'I will give you the benefit of the doubt here, and assume that you are not stupid Warden,' she said as she slid the hood from her head, revealing fiery-red hair, 'I am a mage living in a mountain cave. It is not a leap to imagine that I am an apostate. Templars have hunted me before, and I expect they will again.'

She slid the heavy furred coat from her shoulders, revealing a petite frame. She had slender arms and legs, her ill-fitted shirt hanging from her.

'If you're an apostate, where would I take you back to?' he asked.

She eyed him carefully through the cloth wraps around her face.

'You ask many questions,' she said, removing her gloves.

'I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry.'

He thought he heard her sigh.

'To the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad, Warden. You may not be a Templar, but I know what the Grey Wardens would have done there when demons over-run the mages.'

She saw a flash of anger in his eyes.

'You're talking about the Broken Circle. I would never have accepted the Templar's plan, their desire to… to murder everyone without thought,' he said, his fists clenching on his knees, 'the whole concept of the Right is sickening. My best friend was a mage, and we sided with the mages in the Tower. We saved everyone we could save.'

She stared at him for a moment. 'You were there?'

'Yes. My companions and I fought to the top of the Tower and destroyed the demons and… we were too late to save them all.'

'I saw you before you entered the library. I was sure you were going to clear out the Tower. You were with Wynne and two other mages.'

A small smile pricked his lips. 'Even if I were that way inclined, Wynne would have killed me if I had tried.'

'And the other two mages?

'Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds. I didn't like her much, but she is a fierce woman. Powerful, but surprisingly willing to help. And–'

'Lilara,' Rokara said. Alistair looked up at her, as she continued, 'she came to the Circle the year before me. I knew her before she was a Warden.'

He glanced down to stare at his gloved hands, but she saw moisture glisten in his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to conceal the tears before they could fall.

'Lilara… was my best friend. I know what the Tower was like,' he whispered, 'I don't care if you're an apostate. The mere willingness to allow me to stay here when you're obviously already scared tells me that your past scars you, but that deep down, you're still good.'

Her anger faltered at his words.

'Thank you.'

He looked up. Slender hands unwrapped the fabric that protected her face and ears. Her hair fell around her cheeks, hanging past her shoulders, but it did not hide her fine features. In the light of the fire, he could see that her eyes were golden: they sparkled like molten metal. She had high, sharp cheekbones and a fine nose with a delicate point. Her lips were a rich honey brown tinged with a blush of pink. He found himself mesmerised for a moment as she crouched beside the fire, placing another log on it.

She brushed her hands off, warming them for a moment before she reached up, sweeping her hair behind her pointed ears.

'You're an elf.'

She eyed him sharply, 'and you're a human.'

His cheeks flushed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean– I was just…'

'It's ok,' she said, 'I'm used to it.'

He wrung his hands together. 'I'm sorry, I've not encountered many elven mages. It just made me think of the Circle again. My friend, she was a human, a noble at that. The things she endured there… I imagine you experienced worse.'

She smiled softly. 'Possibly. Everyone experiences the Circle differently. Mine was indeed a poor experience.'

'How so? If you don't mind me asking, that is.'

'When I arrived, they told me I was free now, but that was never true. Although strictly speaking, being a mage in the Circle is not slavery, the reality is that you are no more than a prisoner, placated with better food and lodgings. If you're lucky.'

'I know,' he said, quickly adding, 'vicariously, I mean.'

She stood, smiling again at his embarrassment.

'Tell me, what are you doing out here alone? Wardens normally travel together, don't they?'

'Usually, yes,' he said, 'but after the Blight had ended, I wanted to travel. I spent a long time in Redcliffe rebuilding, but Arl Eamon had everything under control within a year. I thought I could be of more use elsewhere.'

'So to where are you travelling now?'

'Orzammar. I have friends there. They wrote to me while I was in Redcliffe requesting that I return to the city. The dwarves have been making headway in the Deep Roads regaining some of the lost Thaigs.'

'An adventure,' she said. She untied a cloth bag, pulling some bread out of it. Hanging over the fire on a frame were strips of freshly smoked meat. The smell had taunted Alistair when he had arrived, but he thought it impolite to request food from her. She grabbed a generous strip from a hook, breaking it in half. She approached him, offering him half of the smoked deer and half of the loaf.

'You look hungry,' she said, 'I saw you glancing at the food as soon as you walked in.'

He smiled sheepishly. 'Thank you.'


Even sitting down, he was almost as tall as her. Close up; she finally took in his appearance. He had soft lines on his face, laughter lines that formed light creases around his eyes. His features were refined, noble, almost, with a straight nose, defined cheekbones, and a strong jaw dusted with stubble. His full lips looked firm, but when he smiled at her, they softened. His dark eyes stared up at her as he took the bread from her hand.

She broke away first, moving to a crate. She dug out a heavy fur and took it to him. 'You'll need this.'

'Why?'

'Because we're in the Frostback Mountains, in winter. It's freezing, and I can't imagine that you sleep in a full set of heavy armour. The fire will keep us warm for most of the night, but if neither of us wakes to tend to it, it will burn down, and it will be very cold in here come morning.'

'Right, fair point,' he said, accepting the fur, 'is this from a bear?'

'Yes.'

'Did you buy it?'

'No, I killed it, just like I killed the wolves to make this,' she said, directing his eyes to her coat, 'as you'd have noticed, it's cold up here. I certainly wasn't going to freeze to death after I escaped the Tower.'

'I can't imagine it was easy to fight a bear by yourself.'

'To be honest, it was harder to kill it without singing the fur than to kill it at all,' she said with a small smirk as she settled on the mat opposite from him, the fire flickering between them.

He found himself smirking too. 'May I ask one more question?'

'You may, but I won't promise to answer it.'

'If you were trying to escape, why did you stay so close to Lake Calenhad?'

She considered how to answer such a question.

'When I was eight, I was taken to the Tower. Not by choice. Someone I trusted, a new Templar, kidnapped me. I will not leave Ferelden until I take the life of the man who took mine,' she said, 'he is somewhere nearby, close to the border between Ferelden and Orlais, which is why I have remained in the Frostback Mountains.'

'Who was it?'

'That is none of your concern,' she said as she doused the lanterns in the room. She lay down on her mat, spreading the heavy fur coat over herself, 'I suggest you get some rest.'

'Rokara?'

She sat up on her elbow. 'Yes?'

'Why don't you come with me to Orzammar? The Templar you seek, well, if he is in the area, the traders there may have heard something. Templars tend to stick out.'

'As do mages.'

'Not when travelling with me. Best friend was a mage, remember? We helped the dwarves when we were last in the city. They are not perfect, but they are also much more accepting of mages than they used to be. You'll be safe, I promise.'

'That's quite an oath to make.'

A smile lit his lips. 'It's a Grey Warden thing. You can always count on us to keep them.'

She stared at him for a moment, her gaze assessing, but the longer she held his dark eyes with hers, the more her stomach fluttered.

'Okay, Alistair, I'll come with you.'

His smile brightened.

'Get some rest,' she said, tucking herself beneath the fur once more, 'it seems that we've got a long trek ahead of us.'

She rolled to her side, facing away from him. He likely wouldn't appreciate an elf watching him undress, but she found herself listening to him shed his armour. She heard the scrape of metal against metal and the creak of leather straps, and then the rustle of the bear skin as he settled.

She listened to the sounds of the fire. Over the crackling, she could hear his breath deepen. She dared to peek over her shoulder. His back was to her. As she suspected, his shoulders were broad; the fur that he had draped over himself barely reached the ground. When he shifted, she saw his muscles flex beneath the shirt that seemed stretched to breaking over his shoulders.

She turned back over, biting her lip. As she drifted off to sleep, she had no idea that he dared to glance over at her.


He struggled to sleep. After much fidgeting, he rolled to face her, propping himself up on his elbow. It felt strange to watch someone he barely knew, but curiosity tugged at his nerves. He believed that she suspected he would judge her desire for revenge, but instead, he had more questions: who was this man who betrayed her? What was her life like growing up, for her to be taken to the Tower and to fear it? How was she treated at the Tower?

Lilara had told him much about Tower life when he had probed, but he had always suspected that she softened some of her descriptions. It wasn't a stretch for him to imagine that Rokara's elven heritage had only made it more difficult living under the thumb of Templars.

He watched her for a little while longer. The fur coat rose and fell with her steady breaths. The coat covered most of her, but her pointed ear peeked from beneath her hair. A small silverite cuff sat just below the point, glinting in the light of the fire.

He felt his face flush with embarrassment again. He was so enraptured by her delicate face, so caught up in her ethereal beauty, that he hadn't cared what manner of creature she was: she could have been a demon, and he would have accepted his eternal sentence in this cave if only to gaze at her a little longer. He realised in his musings that her eyes should have given it away: when she had first faced him in the smaller cave opening, they had glowed in the darkness, a marker of her heritage. But when he had wanted to compliment her beautiful eyes, his words had got away from him, as they often did. He had blurted out his realisation, his sudden understanding of her hatred for the Circle and the Templars. He had been insensitive, had probably offended her, but still, she offered sanctuary and warmth to him, a stranger.

He settled down further beneath the fur, lying on his back. His head rested on his folded hands, and he stared up at the ceiling of the cave. The fire cast flickering shadows. For a while, he watched them dance above him.

She probably thinks I'm an ass, he thought, she has no idea how beautiful she is.