I'm bach!

Sorry this took so long, for anyone who's following it. Ch. 2 is HERE. :D

(I promised not to do very elaborate Author's Notes this time, and it's kind of relaxing. When I want to rant, though, you'll know)

Disclaimer: pickles.

x.X.x

She barely woke up in time. Her eyes opened blearily, not registering the heel of a foot disappearing out of the doorway, and a moment later she jumped up.

"Ara!" she called in a muted voice, stepping over the snoozing Alistair-who had fallen asleep in front of the shack's dilapidated doorway-and padding after her. The girl spun.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Why are you leaving?"

"You're being too nice to me. I can take care of myself."

"Do you want to come with us?" The words were out of Nesiria's mouth before they went through the filter in her mind, but they couldn't be taken back now. She probably wouldn't have anyway, given the chance, though the reactions of her party members was painfully predictable. Ara hesitated.

"Huh?"

"Like...leave Denerim and journey with us."

"So like a straggler that you pick up?"

"In essence. I assume you can fight, or you can be taught...?"

"I have a knife or two. Clearly, I can't use them well." She gestured vaguely to her palm and fingers where Nesiria had closed the gash the night before. Then her guard was back up. "But why would I go with you?"

"I don't know. We always need all the direct help we can get, and that generally means more people available to fight, talk, etcetera. Any other skills are useful, too-Leliana can pick locks, Zevran can drop out of trees and from behind bushes to start the fight off with a backstab, Wynne's specialty is healing, Morrigan can shapeshift, and the others have a knack for something as well." Ara glanced away.

"I can tell you that I only have one talent, and that wouldn't be very useful to you chivalrous adventurers."

"Shall we say that you're good with men?" Nesiria thought for a moment. "You're probably the most charismatic where they're concerned out of us all, and at the very least you can distract some guards or something. That's one thing."

"Keep thinking."

"Well, I'll think on the way. Are you coming or not?" Nesiria asked, shifting her weight. Ara sighed quietly.

"I don't think they would be too pleased," she said, gesturing vaguely to the group.

"Oh, quit making problems for yourself. If we can convince Morrigan, we can convince anyone-and I have the perfect method."

"What's that?" Despite herself, the confidence in Nesiria's voice strayed into hers.

"Well, you're the kind of person she likes. You hit rock bottom, I assume, and then you did what you had to in order to survive-even though you loathed the prospect. You've got a good deal of power over at least a few men, and she likes that. You're someone she could grow to respect, if you kept face. She also tends to give up when she doesn't care much anyway but felt like putting up a fight, and everyone else will think the same as me: if Morrigan's convinced, there's no criticism they can address now that she hasn't already. See what I mean?"

"I don't have power over any men, wherever you got that notion."

Nesiria raised her eyebrows, part skepticism and part surprise. "Then...I don't know, act like you do. But you see my point?"

"Sure."

"So do you want to come with me to convince Morrigan?"

"No. I'll stay here."

The elf shrugged. "Okay. We'll be back." By now, people had begun to stir, and Nesiria nodded at Ara before she padded over to Alistair and pulled his ear. His eyes flew open, and she kissed his lips as he inhaled sharply. "Morning." The Templar smiled.

"Mm-hmm." He glanced around and saw Ara, giving her a questioning glance as he stood. Nesiria explained, and he shrugged and nodded. "All right, sounds good to me."

"Too flexible," she chided, smiling. "If only everyone else were as easy."

"Thinking of Morrigan?"

"Precisely. Tell them where I went, will you? Before she decides we're taking too long and comes looking for us."

"Of course." He pulled her into a quick embrace, and when he released the elf she turned and shot an encouraging smile towards Ara before whipping out of sight, back toward the tavern.

Eventually, everyone followed. Alistair was the first, saying that he worried Morrigan had eaten their leader. Leliana rolled her eyes and accompanied him to "keep him from getting into trouble," and after a few minutes Wynne sighed and stood without a word to follow all three of them. That left Ara, knees up to her chest in the doorway of the shack, and Sten. Minutes passed.

"Is there any reason your eyes aren't moving from my back?" The Qunari rarely spoke first, but he was uncomfortably aware of Ara's stare between his shoulder blades. She didn't reply for so long that he almost turned around to make sure she hadn't somehow disappeared.

"Qunari?" she asked finally. Still facing away, his expression tightened. Strange question to ask.

"Yes."

"I heard Nesiria call you Sten, I think."

"That is what most call me."

"But that's a title, not a name."

"They are the same thing."

Ara hesitated. It was true, but sten was, from what she had read, a war title. She struggled to phrase her question in a way that he wouldn't answer literally.

"Then...what did your parents call you? When you were young?"

"It is not in my memory. They did not identify by names."

"Don't you have a name? A...an asala name? Not just a title?" This she said tentatively, not knowing if she even had the translation right. Sten, however, glanced sharply back over his shoulder.

"Soul name?" he repeated. "As Ara, or Nesiria?" His accent thickened over the delicate Elfin syllables of the Warden's name. Ara nodded. "Sten has become my name. I don't have another one."

She said nothing more, though his voice seemed to sharpen as he asked quickly, "Where did you hear of asala?"

"I..." Ara trailed off for a moment. She thought. "I met a Qunari once. Scared the shit out of me. Hurt like hell, too. All he ever spoke in was his own language, and it killed me not to have any idea what he was saying. Never wanted to have a...customer-for lack of a better word-like that again. So I visited the Chantry and read up a little, which didn't happen often, and became...fascinated. Kept reading, didn't know that I accidentally memorized some of the language, and...yeah. That's it." She changed position, sitting on her knees now. "Never came in handy, 'cept maybe now." Ara paused for a few moments, and finally said derisively, "Well, aren't you talkative." Sten looked up with an expression akin to disapproval, turned away, and waited.

Back at the Gnawed Noble, Morrigan sighed.

"If you say so." She had already presented her arguments, vented her frustration at this charity do-gooder attitude, and now she'd been worn out. Whatever Nesiria wanted was what went, generally. Anyone with any objections at first had been assured that Morrigan had covered them, and now that she complied there was virtually no resistance. There was no denying they needed more fighters, anyway, though there was still the question of who would teach Ara to fight. Zevran volunteered immediately-but he was Zevran, and he had not volunteered out of the kindness of his assassin's heart. They headed back to the alley, finding both Qunari and prostitute in the exact same positions as before. But now they were talking.

"Kensha ebas e imekari," Sten told her, back still turned.

"I speak like a child?" Ara parroted, scoffing. "Well, it's not like I've studied in the Qun, now have I? Kensha ebas e imekari un Fereldan, kabethari."

" Nonsense. Pashaara."

Nesiria turned to exchange a single glance with Alistair, standing at her side. Her eyebrows had shot up. He nodded, and scuffled his feet a little to warn the two of their presence. Everyone else but Alistair, Bear, and Zevran had stayed behind at the tavern, and Ara turned.

"Well?" she asked quickly, face showing every sign of being caught in some kind of act.

"Morrigan broke down eventually, which-for her-is throwing her hands up and sighing in resignation. So everyone else sort of followed, which means you're good. The only thing that might come up is fighting: we've had time to practice and you haven't. Zevran offered to give you a few lessons."

"Okay."

And that was it. Ara kept a facade of no emotion, returning to the Gnawed Noble, and kept her distance until they returned to camp that night.

"Right, then," Nesiria called, wrapping her crumbs up and tossing the pieces of bread, apple core, and bones into the fire. She tucked her sheet of leather, her tablecloth of sorts, into her tunic pocket and then addressed the group again. "Because someone might just throttle me in my sleep if we don't get out of Denerim,"-at this she smiled pointedly at Morrigan-"we'll leave tomorrow, headed for Redcliffe. We're probably long overdue on talking to the Arl, and I've heard that the village is a good place to stay for awhile, seeing as how I think this particular journey might get a bit...drawn-out."

"Surely not as much as Denerim, of course," Morrigan said dryly, and Nesiria gave a quick laugh.

"Perhaps. But there's much more to entertain a mage like yourself in Redcliffe. Zombies and ruins and whatnot."

"No idiot merchants selling their idiot wares at idiot prices?"

"One would hope not, unless those idiot prices are idiotically low."

"Mm." Morrigan nodded and incinerated her own food with a quick blast of magic, guiding the ashes to the fire and letting them fall with a pop.

"Anyone else disagree?" Nesiria asked, casting her gaze around the group. No one volunteered a hand or a word, and Alistair patted his stomach and got up.

"Ah, a stomach nice and full with an apple and half a pig ear," he sighed, a complaining note in his voice. "And no one to tuck me in. How sad." The other Warden rolled her eyes.

"Shoo."

"Yes, yes, I'm going." He gave her a look as if he very much wanted to kiss her, but nearly blushed at the thought-too many watching eyes. The Templar threw the remainder of his food-which was, of course, the only parts that were utterly inedible, not including the core of the apple and an attempt on the bone marrow of the leg he had devoured-into the fire and rolled up his makeshift napkin. Then he shook his sore knee out, jarred by a solid pommel-strike the day before, and imperceptibly limped to his tent.

Nesiria made to follow him, but stopped and turned back to Zevran, pivoting on one foot.

"Think it would be a good idea to...assess Ara's skills tonight, or starting tomorrow?" the elf asked, and the Antivan Crow looked up with a blooming smirk on his face.

"Assess her skills in what, exactly?" he asked with an attempt at being casual, flicking a bread crumb off his knee. Nesiria scoffed.

"Oh, Zevran, don't even go there. In fighting. Fighting only."

"Ah, a shame." He got to his feet, tightening the belt that supported one of his knives. "I suppose it would be a good idea, yes."

Ara had watched this exchange with a guarded expression, and stood carefully when Zevran gave her a slow smile and beckoned her to follow. "We will go deeper into the woods, then, where I may be able to scare her and she may not be conscious of your blunt staring," he called, to which Nesiria answered, "If one ring of chainmail is out of place on either of you when you return, I will know and you will be sorry."

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting that you are my mother."

The answer to this wasn't heard, as by now the undergrowth and branches had snapped closed behind them and they were swallowed into the darkness. After a few moments of bushwhacking, Ara inquired in a low, impatient voice, "Do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course I do. An Antivan always knows where he's going. It is hard to get lost in a flat desert, you know."

"Yes, but Ferelden isn't a flat desert like Antiva. We have trees, and wild animals that kill people at night."

"That, love, is what knives are for." His accent changed on the word love, not at all what Ara expected. He almost rolled it, as if he were suddenly from Orlais. She fell silent, wondering and worrying that she would say too much anyway and have them think of her as airheaded, or not as pensive as she perhaps seemed when she was silent. She didn't have a particularly pensive disposition, though, so the matter was probably lost anyway.

"Ah, here we are." Zevran stopped in a clearing that had opened as quickly as the forest had closed behind them when they entered. He stepped into the waxing moonlight, flipping a gleaming knife that flashed white as he unsheathed it. He glanced at her for a moment. "Your knives?"

"What?" Ara asked, surprised.

"You did not bring them?" Zevran sounded incredulous, putting her on the defensive immediately.

"Well, I didn't particularly think they'd do much good." She found herself lying immediately. "They were dull, and old."

"Dull can be sharpened, and old can be traded for money. You did not even bring them with you from Denerim?"

"I left them in the bar."

"Then we will sneak back and get them." Zevran's voice rose in pitch, as if he was suggesting something that should have come to her ages ago.

"We can't. They've been stolen and sold by now."

Zevran raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. "All right. The next Hurlocks we fight, you take their gold and buy yourself some new knives, if you say yours were so old." He glanced regretfully at the dagger in his hand. "Ah, for now, you may use mine." He flipped it at her, and she did not catch it and instead concentrated on getting out of its way, halfheartedly fumbling the pommel in her fingers as she tried to sidestep. The handle spiraled down and sunk into the dirt, and Zevran frowned. "That was a fine throw, and a wasted one. Hold your hand out and she will land in your palm."

"Right. Sure."

The Antivan Crow shook his head and gestured to his knife. "At least respect her when you use her, yes?"

"Fine." Ara tugged the hilt out of the soil, careful not to brush the edge of the blade, and hefted it in her hand. It was a nice weight, much better than her old ones, but her own thoughts told her that even this wouldn't help her in handling it. As soon as she had a good grip on it, there was another knife brushing her scalp.

She yelped and ducked, landing on her knees and raising her own weapon far too late. Zevran clucked.

"Staying on your feet is a useful skill to learn, especially when getting out of the way. Should you become a Crow, you might also want to work on landing on your feet and not rolling as many do, but we will get to that in time. You are dead, by the way."

"Thanks," Ara muttered.

"Shall we try again?"

"Sure."

Another moment passed, and now her attack was straight forward. She stepped to the side again, but she concentrated too hard on keeping her feet steady that the knife was yanked into a curve and landed an inch away from her temple. She stepped back the other way out of reflex, and gave a cry of pain when her left hand hit a second blade.

"Ah, apologies," Zevran said, not sounding one bit sorry as he took his dagger away. "But your other hand was swinging limp and idle. I might have cut your hand off if you'd come any closer."

"Right, so both my hands are crippled now," Ara muttered viciously. "Ouch, dammit." Zevran shrugged.

"Nesiria knows now that we were actually practicing, does she not? Unless she thinks me such an idiot as to neglect to take my weapons off were we to make lo-"

"Thank you very much, Zevran, for proving a point. Can we go back to camp now?"

"Not if you want to die on the first battle tomorrow. Redcliffe is all the way across Ferelden, you know, and Nesiria probably gave us a long journey to get you settled in before we begin any major and far more dangerous journeying. You cannot do that very well if you are dead, though, no?"

"I'll take my chances."

"Then it shall be no fault of mine when you die, my protégé."

"What are you, secretly from Orlais or something?" Ara turned to begin walking back to camp, warily handing Zevran his dagger and cradling her hand, and he chuckled.

"One picks up languages wherever he goes."

"I see." None of the malice drained from her voice.

They let the bushes whip closed behind them, unsurprised when it was clear that Sten and Morrigan were the only two awake. Zevran gave a low, mocking bow, and then walked leisurely back to his tent to disappear into the flap. Sorely tempted to go to Morrigan and plead her case, Ara decided against it and set her teeth as she sank down on a log next to the sleeping fire, gingerly flexing her fingers. The gash wasn't relatively deep, though it went all the way across the back of her hand. Not nearly as painful as the one Nesiria had healed, but she couldn't help muttering to herself about her hands seeming to be a popular target.

She lost track of how long she sat by the fire until a ribbon of magic wrapped her hand and sewed everything back together with that same hollow, uncomfortable feeling. Ara jumped, looking up at Morrigan, who sighed.

"You're making me bored simply watching you," the apostate mage said, with no effort to lower her voice. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I don't know," Ara answered, feeling rather bold. "Should I?"

"How spirited. I cannot claim to be one to judge."

"How do you know healing magic?"

"It's a skill all mages are required to learn. We are useless without it." She paused for a moment, looking almost thoughtful. "Nesiria and Wynne are, in any case."

"But I thought you weren't part of the Circle."

"I am not. Just because the Circle teaches it does not mean 'tis a bad idea."

Ara had no answer to that, and instead stood and nodded without thanking Morrigan before shaking her hand a little to get the blood flowing normally and throwing out a blanket. The mage looked skeptical.

"You sleep outside?" she inquired with raised eyebrows.

"Don't you?"

"No. I shift, so that no forest creature will bother me, and then I sleep wherever suits my form."

"Sounds comfy."

"'Tis, indeed."

"What about Sten?"

"I cannot say. As far as I know, the Qunari never sleeps."

Ara smiled at this: she had actually read that somewhere. To this day, though, she didn't accept it. Perhaps she would find out someday. She nodded at Morrigan before crawling onto the ground and sliding into the blankets, eventually falling into sleep.

x.X.x

Surprisingly, Sten is the easiest person to keep in-character. Morrigan and Zevran (especially him) are not. If you have any suggestions-please. Feel free to yell at me ;D

So this'll be a pretty heavy T-rating, and then it WILL change to M. Hopefully I won't get into that part too quickly, but it's going to be interesting, as said in the first chapter.

Buckle up.

-Twili