His short fur felt like nothing she'd ever touched before. The best she could relate it to was the horse that had pulled the small cart from Orzammar to Ostagar, but the dog's had a more silky texture to it. She marveled at it absentmindedly as she stroked his nose and watched the flames dance.

"We never did figure out a name for you, did we boy."

She whispered to the mabari, who whined in response. He dropped his head to his paws with a snuff, his weight still pressed against her leg comfortingly.

"I'll think of one, I just want it to be a good fit. Honest."

His stump wagged lazily a few times before he sighed, and she patted his shoulder. Turning her head, she could see that Morrigan had finally settled in for sleep, after doing who knew what with that small fire. She was quite some distance away, either because the new additions to the party were threatening or she just enjoyed the solitude, Rachna wasn't sure. The two dwarves from earlier had also settled near their small camp, and after talking with them she'd agreed to let them stay. It was comforting in a way, to have more of her people around. And as luck would have it, they had an extra tent that she had traded for so that Sten could have his own. She couldn't imagine Alistair and the giant Que… quen… oh what was it? Whatever he was. She couldn't imagine them sharing a tent, in any case. Rachna had offered the stone-crazy religious girl her tent for the night, she preferred the company of the fire anyway. The smell and colors reminded her of the lava pits of home, and it helped with the small ache. Plus, no one ever told her the surface was always cold, especially when the sun went down. Parts of Ferelden truly were miserable, and for not the first time she wondered what the hell she was doing here.

What if she just left? Just snuck away in the middle of the night? Her fingers searched out the fastener of her neck band, undoing it with practiced ease. She held it in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the worn leather and ridges of metal, thinking. There wasn't anywhere she could go. No home to return to, no safe direction to face. She had left the Carta to join the Wardens, and it all felt similar; a bloodied promise to do bad things for the good of someone else. True, the Carta only benefited Beraht in the long run, but it had also put bread on the table, but with the news that the Wardens were now on Loghain's short list it seemed even more unlikely that this would do anything more than get her killed. Why did she think putting on Everd's armor had been a good idea? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Pretend to be Everd, win the Proving, slip away and never get caught. Beraht would get his money, Everd would keep living, and Leske… would see her as a hero. She bowed her head forward, sighing as she gripped the collar in both hands. That Duster was always so fascinated with Rica, and who could blame him? Beraht had picked her up out of the dirt and turned her into every noble's dream. Dressed her in silks, taught her to read and write, to sing and play a string harp, how to seduce. He had invested quite a lot of gold into her, all so she could lure the men of the diamond district into a bed in hopes of baring a son. It had been a horrible trade, but Rica was also the strength in silence type. She'd gone through it all without a complaint, always a smile, proud that she could give her family a chance at something better. All Rachna had to offer was her anger. Becoming a thug was her only real option, and so she became a good one. She learned how to be quick with a dagger, and clever with her tongue; when to talk, and when to fight; how to show no fear, even when it was overwhelming her. But these skills offered little to a man, so she never said anything. In private Rica had taught her how to read a little, and even tried to teach her to write. Beraht was furious that she would waste time and efforts teaching a heavy any of those things, but Rica always made it a habit to defy him in the small ways. Rachna was never that subtle.

By the stone, she missed them. What were they doing now? Without Beraht, was life better for either of them? Or had it made things harder? Where would Rica get her make-up and silks now? And who would give Leske coin for jobs only a blade could do? What other choice had there been though; let Beraht kill them all? Who knew winning the Proving could cause so much pain? Maybe she really was cursed by the Stone, turned away from the Ancestors. Suddenly the war hound raised his head, the movement causing her to look up, curious as to what bothered him.

"Hey, are you alright?"

His voice was soft and unsure and by the firelight she could see there was obvious concern in his face. Ugh, the last thing she needed was pity. She straightened, propping her arms on her knees, still clutching her neckband.

"Yea, I'm fine."

She cleared her throat after speaking; her voice had sounded a little rough from not being used for the past several hours. By his expression it was obvious he thought otherwise. Well, wasn't this awkward.

"Huh… You sure? And, what are you doing?"

He pointed towards her hands, which were fiddling with the leather strap. She sighed in her annoyance, curling up the object and palming it.

"Mourning."

Her voice held no emotion, just a flat fact. Surely he would let it go, surely? And what was he doing up anyway? Her expression was hard as she watched him cross his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet as he did so.

"So, you're ok."

"Yes."

"And, you're mourning?"

"Yea."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously, shifting his weight again. Something told her he wasn't going to go away.

"Do… you want to talk about it?"

Somehow, this sounded very familiar, and she groaned slightly. Didn't humans understand the concept of privacy and boundaries? He sat quickly, his face suddenly somehow even more serious.

"I… look. I'm sorry, about earlier. I didn't, I didn't mean to say that you didn't care about Duncan too. I just… I didn't want you worrying about me."

Irony? Hello. And he thought she was grieving over Duncan? Rachna turned away, focusing on the campfire once more. She felt a little guilty to admit she hadn't thought much on those that had died in Ostagar; she was mostly still grieving over the loss of her old life. There wasn't room to hurt over more right now. Still, saying that aloud didn't seem… appropriate. She could hear him shuffling, apparently her silence was making him nervous. What was she supposed to say?

"He was a good man."

She finally managed, feeling the sentiment fell short. She really didn't want to get into this with him though, couldn't he just go back to bed? Was it such a horrible thing that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts for awhile? Alistair's expression became very solemn before being twisted with pain.

"Yes… he was. A man that didn't deserve his fate."

This sentiment puzzled her, and Rachna turned it over in her head. Did that mean everyone else that died did? The mage that had helped them reach the top of Ishal tower deserved to be crushed by an Ogre? The silent sister she killed in the Proving, what was the name, Lenka? She deserved death? What about all of the people she'd axed for Beraht? Or the villagers they'd left behind in Lothering? Rachna had to disagree, death wasn't something that one deserved, it just… happened; sometimes with honor, and sometimes without. Dying valiantly in battle seemed rather honorable as far as she was concerned.

"He always… I… I'm sorry, here I am, doing this again. I'm sure you don't need this right now."

What a sodding mess this boy was. Most of the time it was rather frustrating, but right then she couldn't find it in her heart to be angry with him. They both had lost something precious, and he just was taking it harder. Or louder. She could see why he loved Duncan so; he'd been kind even under the sternness. Rachna thought on her time traveling with the older man, how she had grieved in silence. The surface was so different, so harsh in comparison to her old home that it had taken several days to break through the sorrow to realize she was free. Or at least, as free as anyone could be that still had responsibilities. A smile crept up on her, remembering the night before they reached Ostagar and she'd made a fool of herself.

"I didn't talk. To Duncan, I mean. While we were traveling from Orzammar to Ostagar, I barely said anything at all, until the day before we reached camp."

She surprised herself, talking about it with him. But he had lifted his head from his hands to look at her, something akin to hope in his eyes. It felt good to be sharing this with him, for whatever reason, so she continued.

"You have to understand, to a Casteless like me, being in Orzammar was still preferable to being free topside. The surface is where those that just don't belong go. The ones with no chance for a future at all, who don't mind losing their Stone-sense; where the weak escape to. The only others that venture topside are warriors who are sent, or merchants that don't plan on really returning to Orzammar. When you leave, you leave everything behind, so even if you come back you don't have you caste anymore."

This was the most she'd spoken since leaving Orzammar. Somehow explaining it to someone that knew nothing, and judging by Alistair's face, barely understood; was therapeutic. It helped her put it all in focus, neatly organizing the events. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and shrugging before looking at her questioningly.

"I thought you said you were exiled from Orzammar? Back in Lothering, when I mentioned the treaties-"

"I was."

She nodded her head, confirming.

"I… do you know what this means?"

Rachna raised her empty hand to indicate the brand upon her face, pointing to her left cheekbone. He shook his head.

"It means I'm casteless; someone without the blessing of the Stone. We branded have no House, our ancestors are supposedly criminals or useless, so we have no favor. We're not allowed to have a job, or do anything, really."

She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Just because her father left…

"They spit on you. You're expected to just give up and die, since anything else is too good for you. I certainly wasn't going to do that. So what else could I do? Become a whore?"

The boy had enough sense to know he shouldn't speak and simply stared at her. Rachna could feel her anger flaring, but she was beyond caring now.

"I became a thug, ok? A petty thug for some cave tick who ran the crime in Orzammar. But you know what? The money put bread and mush on the table. It wasn't enough to keep Rica from walking the streets, but it was the best I could sodding do! So Beraht sends me and my buddy Leske to rig a Proving for him so he wins big. The bloody idiot he'd put a hundred gold on was so stone-drunk he couldn't even get off the floor. If Beraht didn't see his bet turn out, he'd kill Rica. Probably Leske and I too. That Duster talks me into pretending to be Everd and win the Proving. And you know what?"

She stopped to catch her breath, realizing her voice had escalated. Taking a moment to calm herself, she turned to see Alistair shake his head. Rachna grinned back at him.

"I won. I sodding won the Proving. Me. A casteless, worthless, nothing bested the Stone-favored champions. And when they found out what I was, they turned on me. Leske and I escaped, and I bloody killed Beraht so he wouldn't hurt Rica or Leske, and for that I was exiled. If Duncan hadn't conscripted me I probably would've been killed for treason or at least sent to the surface anyway."

The anger had sapped away, leaving behind an odd numbness. It was weird, to share this much, but she had no regrets or shame. If anything, she only wished that she could see Rica and Leske, even mam. Just to make sure they were alright. And maybe the chance to kill Beraht all over again, this time slower. Alistair stretched his back, looking past the fire at something else. Or somewhere else. Suddenly Rachna felt uncomfortable, as if she had exposed too much, but then he turned and smiled at her.

"So Duncan saved you too, huh?"

She laughed softly at that, amused.

"More like he had a bad habit of picking up strays."

He grinned, a real smile that reached his eyes.

"Something you two have in common then."

He waved a hand to encompass their camp, pointedly those in it. It was true; their little group was certainly a strange one. She grinned and shook her head.

"This is more like a setup for a bad joke than the heroes of Ferelden."

"Don't I know it."

He responded, sounding like his old self for the first time since she woke up in Flemeth's hut. They settled into a comfortable silence as they watched the fire, Rachna's hands worrying the leather strap once more. The dog stretched out a leg and yawned before resuming his sleep. The warmth was starting to work on her, and she was feeling drowsy.

"Can I ask you something?"

The sound of his voice grabbed her attention; she looked up to see he was focused on her hands again.

"Maybe? Ask first and I'll let you know."

"Fair enough," he nodded, "What is that you're holding? And… what's with your hair?"

"That's two somethings."

He bobbed his head from side to side, shrugging slightly.

"Yes, it is. Willing to tell me either?"

"Why so interested in me all of a sudden?"

"Just curious… Hey, you can always ask me stuff. I promise I'll answer."

Sighing, she held up her hands with the neck band strung between them.

"I'll hold you to that, but anyway, this was a gift from a dear friend."

She wrapped it around her neck once more, redoing the buckle.

"And your hair?"

"What about it?"

To her amusement he fumbled for the right words.

"Well…er, what's with the braids?"

She fingered one of the braids that framed her face, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. Odd how her hair color looked so different here on the surface than in Orzammar. In the firelight it looked more like how she remembered it, the flickering flames picking out certain strands in the dark locks that turned gold or copper as she shifted the braid.

"Branded women don't really care about their hair; they're more concerned with getting enough coin together to feed themselves or their families. It was a small act of defiance. Rica did them for me, taught me how to grow my hair out for them and how to do the braids."

She shrugged, letting go of the twist she held. It was odd for him to take interest in something like that, especially since the women of Ferelden she'd met had similar.

"Huh. Well. I was more wondering about… loop, in back. It looks-"

"Like a handle?"

His face reddened, and she wondered why on earth that was something worth blushing over.

"I suppose. It reminds me of the reigns to a horse."

This she had to concede to, thinking of the leather straps that had restrained the horse's head.

"There are no horses in Orzammar. But yes, it looks like that on purpose."

If anything this made his face contort further and suddenly something Rica had said about men liking to do certain things with a woman's hair while in bed came to mind.

"No! No. Not like that. For scrappers there's kind of a code about your hair. If someone were to grab it they could yank your head around and it's a weakness to have long hair. So, if a thug is particularly good, or at least thinks they are, they'll wear their hair long. Kind of like a taunt, daring you to try and grab it."

Enlightenment dawned on his face, his eyebrows arching at the new knowledge.

"Ah. So, if I were to try and grab your braid?"

"You'd lose your hand."

"Right. I'll remember not to try that then."

Rachna nodded her approval, glad he was a fast learner at least. Silence again, excluding the crackling of the fire eating branches. Her mind felt fuzzy and she was becoming groggy, she rubbed her face, trying to wake herself up. It was no use, she was losing the battle and her body was complaining even despite the potions and poultices. Alistair coughed politely, causing her to jerk harshly.

"You know, I'm wide awake. I don't mind taking watch for a bit if you're feeling tired."

She rose an eyebrow and glanced at him before looking down at the hound sleeping against her feet.

"That obvious huh?"

"Yes. I mean, well, understandably. Look, it's hard for me to relax enough to sleep with-" he gestured with him thumb over his shoulder towards Sten's tent, "over there. At least one of us should get some sleep."

Logic, in the last place she would've looked. Shrugging, she got up and stretched, collecting her bedroll and bringing it back towards the fire.

"Sure?"

"Am I sure? Absolutely."

The dog whined, finally roused by the lack of leg to lean against. He got up slowly and dragged his paws over to Alistair before promptly collapsing with a humph. Rachna ignored him and unbundled the roll, setting as close to the fire as she dared. It seemed indecent to take off any of her clothes, so she settled for sleeping in the cotton breeches and tunic she wore, snuggling into the roll before turning to see the other Warden; his hand was scratching the dog's head slowly.

"Thanks."

She murmured, eyes already demanding to be shut. If he replied she never heard him, sleep claiming her within moments.