Thank you to those that have read the first chapter, I greatly appreciate it. I also appreciate constructive critisism, by the way =) Sorry for my crappy line breaks; the site and I are not getting along aparently.

-

Their first week of travel had gone by slowly for Echo; not entirely empty threats of freezing, quips and arguments were traded freely amongst Alistair and their new companion, Morrigan. Alistair never missed an opportunity to point out that she was an apostate, and likewise Morrigan took every chance to call his intelligence into question. This was usually punctuated by a blow of cold air that would partially freeze one of Alistair's ears. Alistair was further displeased when it was announced that Morrigan would be leading the way to Lothering. His jaw had clenched as he stared down at the dwarf, and she calmly explained that he didn't know the way any better than she did, but Morrigan did which clearly made her, if nothing else, useful.

Each day they traveled, Echo discovered something unequivocally brilliant and astounding-some good, some bad. The first day of their travel was her favorite, wading through fields of flowers with bright colored blooms that smelled sweet and refreshing. She had seen some plants in Ostagar, but they had just been green and leafy.

She had picked a few flowers idly, plucking their delicate petals and savoring their softness and the scent that seemed to follow them effortlessly. Morrigan had rolled her eyes at the Dwarf's inquisitiveness, while Alistair smiled softly, naming a few of them. Her favorite had been one of the varieties of lily she had spotted, but it was short lived when her deep inhale was met with pollen, almost causing her to choke. She flew into a fit of sneezes, causing her eyes to go wide.

"What was that?" she panicked, holding her nose in both hands.

Her fellow Warden rolled on the ground in hysterics, holding his sides as his sweet laughter filled the open field. "You've never sneezed? Maker's breath! You can cut the head from a darkspawn without hesitation, but a simple sneeze and you are rendered helpless!"

Round, dwarven eyes narrowed. "When we go to Orzammar, I will let you burn yourself on Thedas' molten core, I swear it."

Her list of things she disliked about the surface, however, was much longer. Bugs were at the top of the list, not seeing reason for a creature with more than four legs, especially if they spun sticky webs or sucked your blood.

"Will that mosquito be infected with the taint?" she questioned Alistair, her eyes watching, full of wonder, as the insect drew blood from her arm.

Alistair shook his head, another smile playing across his lips as he flicked the bug away. "I don't think it affects them the way it does us. Of course, now that I've said that, we'll be battling tiny, darkspawn mosquitoes for months to come. Unless you kill them right away."

It only took ten minutes for the bump to form and the itching to start. Echo quickly added the mosquito to her worst enemies list, just above the sun and below Behrat. The fiery, golden orb in the sky had warmed her skin magnificently at first, reminding her of her childhood in the Dwarven city. Then her skin, usually an almost ashy white turned pink, then to red, burning like the lava that flowed in the heart of Orzammar. Both of her companions had laughed at her discomfort, much to her dismay.

"Take this, young Dwarf," Morrigan's voice had no tune of sympathy as she handed her a salve. "It does not smell altogether pleasing, however it will take the sting out of your burns."

Echo covered every exposed, burning piece of skin in the salve, the creamy texture soothing her fevered skin. She had sighed in relief as she lie in her tent, sprawled out on her bedroll.

After a few more days of walking and sulking, most of her skin had cooled and her skin glowed of a golden color, though her cheeks still maintained a pink hue. She poked the skin of her arm experimentally, testing to see if she felt any twinges of stinging pain. A relieved sigh escaped her lips and her shoulders relaxed when none came. Looking up, she was met with one of the other few pleasant things she had found on the surface: a smile from Alistair.

"All better, then?" he asked jovially. "Just remember to use that cream often. It'll keep you from getting too bronze."

Echo tried hard not to flinch. Seeing Alistair's confused glace, she smiled, deflecting his worry away. "The idea of getting any more burns is unpleasant." He didn't look completely convinced. With a breath, she relented. "And…'bronze', for future reference, is not a good word to use around Dwarves."

His hand clasped her shoulder lightly, slowing their pace almost to a halt. "I apologize, Echo-"

She waved him off, genuinely knowing he did not mean to insult her. "There is no need to apologize. Most Surfacers know nothing of Dwarven ways and customs. Our politics and insults are so simple, they're almost difficult to understand." She looked to the sky, studying the clouds for just a moment. "The nobles live as close to the surface as they can, without actually being on the surface. Anything too far down or any higher is considered…disgusting. Do humans act similarly?"

Alistair nodded. "Kings and Teryn's, their castles are huge; as close to the sky as possible. There are exceptions, of course. The Circle of Magi live in a very large tower…"

"The point, my friend, is that only the casteless live deep down. And the metal that is most common there is the metal you call bronze," she explained. "I believe humans call each other 'dirt'?"

Alistair remained thoughtful for a few moments, falling when he heard Morrigan's voice.

"Be careful. You mustn't have him think too hard. His head might explode."

Echo bumped into Alistair playfully, giving him a small smile. "Since when do you listen to apostates?"

It was that evening, after camp had been made, that they heard Morrigan shriek.

Echo and Alistair peeked their heads from their tents, eyes locking, before darting to the far end of their camp. Echo held her blades tightly, wishing she had more to protect her body than the loose-fitting linens she wore to bed. Alistair followed close, both hands gripping the pommel of his sword.

Alistair, in his own soft, common clothing, followed Echo, step for step. His eyes strained in the moonlight, the firelight providing barely any aid the farther they traveled from their main camp. He found it easiest to keep his eyes focused on his fellow Warden, taking note of her soft curves that typically were hidden under her armor. Mentally, he shook himself, getting back to the task at hand.

"Get out of there, Mongrel!"

Echo hesitated, looking to see her fellow warden mirroring her confusion. She was quick to recover, making her way to the apostate as fast as her legs would allow her to. "Morrigan!" she yelled, ready to strike. "Morrigan?"

The mage glowered with golden eyes, fingers twitching with red energy as a mabari sniffed his way through her belongings. "I am far from amused, Mutt. He found his way into my small clothes."

Echo heard her fellow Warden mutter something under his breath. She nudged him with the butt of her dagger before whistling to the dog. Whining, the war hound turned to her. He barked happily at the two, bounding over to them.

Echo scratched him behind the ears, instantly recognizing him. "Looks like we weren't the only two to make it out. This is the mabari that required the poultice," she informed Alistair. "Cerberus."

Echo reclined by the fire, her returned mabari acting as a pillow as she picked through her dinner. Lamb and pea stew, Alistair had called it. She had eaten nug that tasted better, but with their supplies and rations running low, she found it hard to complain. After taking her final bite, she moved the bowl for Cerberus to finish, who lapped it up happily.

"At least someone appreciates my cooking," Alistair noted, sitting on his haunches, just a few feet from the dwarf, his own dinner at hand. "Then again, I did see him licking himself less than an hour ago. I'd imagine anything is a step up from there."

She giggled lightly, closing her eyes as a soft breeze blew across the field. "I would hope so. Especially considering I don't think he's bathed in quite some time."

"Yet you snuggle with him," he pointed out, taking a bite.

"Dwarven men don't smell much better," she informed him. "At least, none that I have met." Her eyes reopened slowly and she found herself staring at Alistair for the second time that week. His tunic was an almost sheer white linen, and she couldn't help but to appreciate the way it clung to his defined torso. The flickering light of the fire cast shadows on his arms, making them look all the more muscular. He was built like no Dwarven man, that she was sure of. "Albeit, they aren't exactly known for their hygiene."

He met her gaze, a playful look on his face. "So you often sniff Dwarven men?"

"I try not to make a habit of it. But it is impossible to avoid it anywhere in Dust Town. The men in the Commons are always sweaty as most of them are of the Warrior Caste." She pondered for a moment. "Though, the noblemen from the Diamond Quarter don't smell too horrible; molten rock is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, you know."

Alistair chortled. "To whom? A smithy?"

Echo shook her head, lifting herself to a sitting position. "To the noblewomen, I suppose. I never found it to be *that* pleasing. It is pleasing by comparison only."

"Well, unfortunately for you, you happen to be in the company of a smelly warrior," Alistair joked, sniffing at his tunic. "But I promise to bathe once a month. Laundry every other."

"Aren't you thoughtful?"

It was on the eighth day of travel that they finally reached their destination, and the bandits that "guarded" the limits. Her words, she had thought, were reasonable and easy enough to understand, and very polite given their leader referred to her as "Turnip".

"How about you pay me, and we will spare your lives." She hadn't even been entirely serious. She would have accepted an apology and promise that they would leave, but she was realizing that most surfacers did not have a very good sense of humor.

Echo tossed Alistair the pouch that contained the bandits' loot before leading the way into town. She surveyed the village closely, surprised by the large number of refugees. The children, who were very close to Echo's height themselves, were mostly crying or whimpering into a parent's trousers. The adults whispered of many things, mostly trivial nonsense. The words that did catch her ears were "warden" and "bounty", which together did not leave her pleased.

"Maybe we should head to the tavern?" Alistair suggested, keeping his head low. "We may be able to gather some supplies. Perhaps even make an attempt at blending in. These people keep staring…"

Echo could practically hear Morrigan's eyes rolling in her head. "Have you thought this could have something to do with our stout companion, Templar?"

"Surfacers," Echo grumbled to her mabari, heading to the tavern. Her steps were made faster as more eyes laid upon her. "I do not like being the center of attention," she stated to no one in particular.

She found herself groaning almost immediately after the door closed behind her companions. A small team of Loghain's men snarled, and blades were drawn on both sides.

"Let it be known that Loghain is the traitor of Ferelden, not the Wardens." Alistair's voice dripped with venom. "It is because of his actions that King Cailan is dead."

The commander replied with the swing of his blade, which was easily dodged. Steel clashed and voices yelled, the floor erupting in violent madness. Some onlookers cheered, hypnotized be the scene in front of them, tankards in the air when a good hit was made or a soldier would fall. A few even joined in, a blur of robes and daggers. When only the commander remained, pinned on his back and covered in blood, Echo dug her boot into his chest painfully.

"I wish you to take a message to your Teryn," she informed him coolly, eyes dark and narrow. We writhed beneath her, trying to make his way to his feet. She extended her blade to his throat, letting the tip touch his chin, stilling him. "I wish for you to tell him that the Grey Warden's of Ferelden know of his treachery. And they will see to it that justice is brought." No sooner was the blade sheathed and the man was out the door.

"I am impressed," a sweet, accented voice came. The dwarf looked up, her eyes meeting bright blue orbs that belonged to the voice's owner. "My name is Leliana. The Maker told me you would be coming."

"Are you sure about this?" Alistair questioned quietly. "She did help us, I know, but don't you think she's-"

"Crazy? No more so than you or I, embarking on this journey of ours," Echo replied.

"I was actually going to say she's an Archdemon short of a Blight, but I guess yours was a bit more to the point." She snorted. "The difference here is this is our duty."

"I've never been a fan of that word. Duty. It takes all the fun out of everything. I suppose that is the point though?" She shook her head, following the Sister to the Chantry.

"Come to think of it, which is crazier: believing the Maker told you to help end the Blight or helping to rescue a murderer to bring him along? Assuming the Reverend Mother doesn't laugh us out."

Echo sat on the ground, shoulders slumped as she and Sten worked triggers into traps. Allison was a nervous girl and maybe her intentions weren't the most pure, but the group couldn't stay in Lothering much longer and she wouldn't leave them entirely unprotected. So the dwarf and the qunari set up a sort of production line, using whatever spare parts they had to craft the poor girl's only defense.

Alistair leant against a wall, several feet away, silently fuming. He had trouble believing that the dwarf he had become friends with would threaten an elderly woman, the Reverend Mother no less! He wouldn't have found it remotely possible had he not been there and witnessed it himself. Morrigan, of course had taken a great deal of pleasure in the meeting. Leliana, luckily, had been a voice of reason and at least had the decency to steal the key when Alistair apologized to the Mother profusely, distracting her effectively.

Despite his anger, he watched Echo. Her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration, biting on it when the sharp edges would slice into her finger. She didn't stop her work, though, only paused to wipe the blood on the skirt of her armor. A few times, her gaze traveled up to look at him questioningly. It would only take a second of his eyes boring into her for her to look away, ashamed.

Finally, after hours of work, the traps were in place. Allison gave the dwarf a few assorted sovereign in thanks, a collection from the neighbors that would be helped. Echo bowed, arms crossed over her chest, before silently rejoining her group at the tavern.

"Where shall we go first?" she asked. "We have treaties for the Circle of Magi, the Dalish Elves and the dwarves of Orzammar."

Sten's even stare fell on his map. "Our location is closest to the Brecelian Forest-"

"We don't we try Orzammar first?" Alistair interrupted. He gave Echo a pointed look. "We are traveling with one of their own."

Her chest rose with a bated breath. She wanted to choose her words carefully, but the hurt took over. "I am hardly one of them. Had you bother to ask, Human, you would know that I am a Pronssi; an untouchable." Ignoring the look of pity on Leliana's face, and the bored ones of Sten and Morrigan, she met the familiar amber eyes that were oblivious. "A bronzed dwarf that walks along your earth."

The realization hit him hard and he looked away quickly. "I…can we talk?" he sighed, standing up. "Please, this will only take a moment."

She motioned for Alistair to lead the way, and he took her to a table in a quiet corner. He pulled out her chair, a gentlemanly show of good faith. He brought his own chair close to hers and sat, his shoulder brushing against hers softly. They were quiet, her hands fidgeting and wringing together.

"Well?"

He remained quiet, instead reaching into his pocket a pulling out a poultice and a roll of gauze. He uncorked the vial and handed it to the dwarf. She took it hesitantly, wincing at the bitter taste. When she was finished, the minor cuts seemed to disappear, leaving only the deeper, angrier gashes. Alistair took her hand gently, examining them and then wrapping thin bandages around the tips of her fingers.

"For whatever it is worth to you, I'm sorry Echo," his voice was earnest when their eyes finally met.

"Don't," she told him as she shook her head. "I am not angry with you, and I was going to tell you. It is bound to bring trouble when we do go to Orzammar. I'd just like to not go there just yet. There are too many things I am not ready to face. Too many people I'm not ready to see."

"I understand. We should all have a discussion, I think. If there is anything that could potentially put anyone in danger, or might make this task ahead of us more difficult, we should make it known," he suggested, their fingers tangling loosely.

"Okay." She was quiet for a second. "I was never going to hurt her, Alistair. I just ran out of patience and I thought it would get her to give us the key."

"I believe you."

The small band of comrades sat around a table at Dane's Refuge, pints and tankards at hand. It was time for them to be honest with themselves and each other, for the sake of the countless weeks they were sure to travel through, on their seemingly impossible undertaking.

"I was born into a casteless family. Echo Pinta Brosca." She decided it would be best to start herself; how could she ask these people to follow her and share their lives otherwise? "I have an older sister, Rica who is what we call a Noble Hunter. She…presents herself to noblemen, to try to bring a sword to their house. My mother is a useless alcoholic and my father left for the surface when I was very young." She took a deep breath. "I became a Pronssi when I shamed my house for the third time. Most recently, I was working for a thief named Behrat. He wanted my partner, Leske, and I to fix a Proving. His pick was too drunk to fight…so I pretended to be him. When I was found out, I was jailed." She looked to Alistair, her eyes warming. "If it had not been for Duncan, it is highly possible I would have been executed publicly."

Alistair squeezed her shoulder. "It should please everyone to know that I am a bastard." A small wave of laughter overtook the table as Alistair paused to take a sip from his tankard. "My mother was a scullery maid in King Meric's castle. They had a tryst, from which I was conceived."

"A royal bastard you are then," Echo pointed out.

"Indeed," he laughed. His face slowly grew serious. "My mother…she died in labor. I've heard that she had a daughter before me, but I was never allowed to meet her. Since I was kept a secret, Eamon, the Arl of Redcliffe, took me in. Eventually, he married a woman named Isolde. There were rumors, of course, that he was my father and I think part of her believed him. So when I was old enough, I was shipped off to the Chantry. I was a few weeks away from taking my final vows when Duncan used the Rights of Conscription to bring me to the Wardens."

"My mother is a crazy, fire-breathing dragon…"