Note: Alistair is definitely my favorite character in DA:O. And no, I actually haven't played Awakening, DA2, or DA:I yet. But I will! Eventually.

Also, I was originally going to use J'Zakir as a companion for Alistair but then decided to do it differently. There will be some importance to J'Zakir later on in the story, and by later I do mean much later. You'd probably have forgotten about him by the time I bring him up again. Ha!

Thanks for the reviews guys.

-xxxAxxx-

Bearing the Cold

Alistair did not stay sitting in the middle of the square for long, the combination of a desire to figure out what the heck was going on and the overwhelming smell of burnt flesh that wafted over him forced him to get a move on - burnt flesh was very close to the bottom on his list of preferred aromas. In fact, he really wouldn't mind at all if he never smelled that again, though he knew that was highly unlikely given that there was an archdemon on the loose.

There was also the very real possibility that the black dragon might come back, and he much preferred not to be present if it did. He was definitely not ready to face another dragon just yet.

Getting to his feet took considerable effort, every single muscle in his body seemingly tired, sore, and weak. He glanced to the severed head of the cat once again, and then his eyes drifted over to the clothed furry body by the chopping block, noting the long tail that it sported. For whatever reason, he had been connected to J'Zakir for his last moments, though why he had been able to see through the cat's eyes he had no idea. Maybe that Akatosh being he encountered had something to do with it, or maybe not. Assuming that the whole encounter with Akatosh had even been real and not simply some strange hallucination or dream on his part.

He had far too many questions and absolutely zero answers at this point.

Whatever the case, he was beginning to feel bad about leaving the cat's body sprawled like that out in the open. He felt like he should bury him, or at least hide the body somewhere safe in case animals or anything else comes along. Yes, he liked that idea better - he did not have the time to spare to properly bury the cat and did not think he had the energy to do so either even if he had the time.

The road where the wagons had passed was blocked off by the rubble of the broken stone tower next to it and the splintered top half of a massive tree that had been felled during the attack now lying horizontally across the road over the rubble. The fallen tree was still burning, the orange-yellow flames dancing brightly as it greedily ate away at the thick bark.

A few blackened corpses were scattered within eyesight and he tried hard not to look too closely at those. He had seen enough dead bodies in his life that most of the time it did not faze him any more, but burnt bodies, especially ones as torched as these, were different. He couldn't really stand the sight of them, or the smell. It made his insides squirm a little.

The other stone tower next to the square was largely intact, the only signs of damage were some visible scorching on the stones and a gaping hole the size of a horse halfway up. He decided to head up there in order to get his bearings and have a better sense of the surrounding area. Maybe, if he was lucky, he might even be able to find some signs of civilization in the distance that he could head towards.

The tower was empty, the blood on the stone floor at ground level and the lack of bodies indicated that there had been some injured people in here at one point during the attack. He wondered if they had managed to escape or were now littering the ground outside with their burnt corpses. How many survivors were there, if at any at all?

There was a black banner with a red dragon symbol in the middle of it that was hanging by a wooden post next to the winding stone staircase. It was probably the symbol of the Imperials, and he found it ironic that their symbol turned out to be a rather vicious enemy for them.

From the top of the tower, he was able to see most of the immediate area, parts of his view obscured by the rising columns of dark smoke. Helgen turned out to be much smaller than he had thought it was, almost disappointingly so. It was less of a settlement and more of an outpost.

Helgen sat at the foothills of some very tall snow-covered mountains that somewhat reminded him of the Frostback Mountains back in Ferelden. The outpost had two sets of walls, and the inner ring encircled a stone structure that he guessed was the keep. There were two arched gateways visible to him leading into the inner courtyard. The one closest to him that connected the courtyard to the square where the beheadings took place was destroyed, a pile of fractured rock and scorched wood where the archway had once stood. The other gateway was on the far side of Helgen and, while intact, required him to work his way around the burning ruins to get to it.

There was a slight breeze blowing cold air down from the stony giants, and he shivered slightly, starting to feel cold. All around Helgen stood dozens if not hundreds of trees that populated the landscape, most of them some type of pine - whatever this land was, it looked very wild and frontier-like. He hoped that there were more settlements out there. He was not to keen on the idea of walking around the wilderness alone looking for civilization that might not be there. And for all he knew it was as dangerous and mysterious as the Korcari Wilds. At least back then he had been traveling with a group, which helped to relieve some of his unease.

There was one colossal mountain that stood apart from the others. Alistair could not even see its peak, the mountain shooting up through the dense gray clouds that blanketed the sky. He had never seen a mountain that high before, not even in the Frostback mountains, and he could not help but feel a little awed. Shaking his head, he scanned the farthest areas that he could see and was delighted to spot what looked to be an extensive stone structure somewhat towards the lone mountain. It looked to be man-made, and he figured it was his best bet to head in that direction.

Before he set out though, he would first need to find a weapon and, if possible, a shield. Alistair was adept at using most close-combat conventional weapons thanks to his intensive training under the Templars, as well as his own experience during the war against the blight, but he preferred to wield a sword and a shield. He was quite frankly terrible with a bow or any ranged weapon for that matter, and he much preferred to get up close and personal with an enemy anyway. It seemed a more heroic style of fighting in his mind, not that he had anything against archers or ranged warriors. Especially if they were on his side.

The Helgen keep appeared to be mostly intact, though there was a section on the far side of it that Alistair could see had crumbled. There had to be a barracks in there, as well as an armory, so finding at least a weapon wasn't going to be a problem. He would also be able to get some supplies and a knapsack or any kind of bag to carry all that stuff with.

Alistair looked down towards the chopping block in the square and decided to move the cat's body first into the bottom level of the tower, out of the elements and hopefully away from any possible creatures that might venture into the now-deserted outpost. There was nowhere else close enough to hide the body in, so the tower would have to do.

With some semblance of a plan in mind, he made his way back down to the street.

It was rather gruesome work, and in his mind he looked extremely suspicious to any onlookers while he carefully dragged the body - the head placed carefully on top of the cat's chest and facing down so he didn't have to see the cat's face - across the street and into the first floor of the tower. Thankfully, there was no one around to see what he was doing, and even if there was he at least had a good and logical enough reason for what he was doing.

When he was done, he looked solemnly down at the furry corpse.

"Sorry I can't bury you, Juh-Za-Keer. . . errr . . . however you say your name. This is the best I can do for you," he said, scratching the back of his head and wondering why in the void he was talking to a corpse. He hoped that the Maker had welcomed the cat to the great beyond.

The black banner near him fluttered in his peripheral vision as a gust of chilly wind blew in from the open door. A thought dawned on him then and he grabbed the banner. With a grunt, he ripped it off from the post and then carefully covered the body of the cat. Satisfied that he had done what he could, he started to walk out but then noticed a piece of paper on the ground that had not been there before. It must have fallen out of the cat's pockets when Alistair dragged him inside.

His initial thought was to ignore it, but his curiosity about the cat got the better of him and he knelt down to retrieve it, hesitating for only a moment before the paper was soon in his hands. It was worn, stained, and folded up several times over, like it had been with him for a long time. Carefully, he unfolded it and his curious gaze was first met with a large symbol in the middle of the paper.

The symbol was a black handprint. Underneath it were five scribbled words.

J'Zakir, they are coming. Run!

He looked to the covered body and frowned, his curiosity even greater now than it had been a few seconds ago. "What were you running from?" he said aloud, as if the cat could answer.

Folding up the paper again, he decided to keep it for now in case anyone he came across might happen to know what the symbol stood for. And it was not as if the cat needed the paper any longer. Stuffing it into one of the spaces in his armor where it would not fall so easily, he left the tower.

Alistair did not want to go around the long way around to the intact gate and instead he very carefully worked his way over the rubble of the gateway that was right by the square. He nearly lost his footing a few times, but managed to make it into the inner courtyard safely.

There were a few burnt corpses here as well, smoke still rising from their bodies. He did not look at them directly as he walked to the closest entrance, a lone wooden door. He stopped short of opening it, however, a thought occurring to him that maybe there was still some survivors inside who were likely on edge and scared for their lives. If he simply waltzed inside without so much as a warning, they might run him through with a sword before he could even say anything. And he was in no mood to die again today.

Making certain that it was loud enough, he knocked on the door and called out through it, "Hey! Is anyone in there?"

Nothing.

"I'm coming in. Please don't try and kill me!" he announced as he gripped the handle of the door.

Tense, he readied himself to defend against any surprise attack - though he was likely not going to do very well if that happened - and opened the heavy door, a cold wind rushing in through the doorway. His eyes immediately scanned the room beyond it. There was nobody inside.

Alistair found himself in a long room with another door at the far end that was wide open. Along the left-hand wall was a row of beds pressed up against the stone, each one with a wooden chest at the end of it. On the right hand-side of the room were two big alcoves, the first one closest to him had a few round tables with chairs around them and three cabinets. The second alcove, from what little he could see of it, had a desk and a small bookshelf. The room was well-lit, several metallic stands holding up burning candles spaced across the room.

It looked like the barracks, or at least part of the barracks. Perfect.

Closing the door behind him, he eagerly moved towards the closest chest and attempted to open it, but the lid would not budge.

"Of course it's locked," he said with a disgruntled sigh.

If only he had bothered to ask Leliana or even Zevran to teach him how to pick a lock. He never really considered it an important skill to learn mostly because the party already had those two to do all the lock picking. The training he received from the Templars also did not teach him this skill, because Templars were not exactly the lock picking type. They were more of the, 'oh, it's locked? Break down the door!' type of people. Besides, picking locks was said to be a shady skill more often used for crime and shadowy dealings, and both the Templars and the Chantry frowned on that.

Still, it would have been really handy skill to know right now. The chest looked sturdy enough to withstand a significant beating as well, so trying to break it open by force was likely a waste of effort, particularly when he wasn't even sure if there was anything he would find useful inside. Unable to do anything else, he moved on to the next chest and tried to open that one.

It was also locked. Apparently the Imperials took security of their possessions very seriously.

He continued down the line, each one as locked as the last, and he grew increasingly frustrated. He could just imagine the fates laughing at his expense as each chest refused to open for him. It was not until he reached the very last one that his luck finally came through and it opened. Though he had a sinking feeling that it was open for a reason, and sure enough the chest was full of mostly clothes and a few other personal items that he found completely useless. Then he noticed in his peripheral vision a dark object resting on that last bed.

It was a knapsack! It was worn and faded, but it looked well-made and still usable. That was at least a start. When he opened it up with the intention of emptying it out, he was surprised to find that it was already packed with some supplies: some small loaves of bread; a few fruits; two rolls of what looked like cloth bandages; a brown waterskin full of water; and a small pouch that he discovered was full of gold coins. Fifty pieces, to be exact.

Maybe he was not so unlucky after all.

-xxxAxxx-

Alistair stopped and glanced back at the open gates of Helgen, dozens of smoke trails still rising into the air, joining the ominously gray clouds that loomed overhead. It had gotten colder in the time between him entering and exiting the keep, and he wished he had some kind of coat to throw over his armor. The golden protective suit did little to keep the cold air from chilling his skin, and it didn't help that he wore only a thin cotton shirt, equally thin trousers, and his undergarments. Not exactly fitting attire for cold climates.

He had half a mind to head back to Helgen and cozy up to one of the fireplaces he had found, or even to simply stay close to one of the burning buildings, but he thought better of it. He had stayed too long enough as it was, and he thanked the Maker that the dragon had not come back. Yet. There was still the chance that it might, and he was not about to risk it for the sake of warmth and comfort.

Adjusting his pack, his hand went to the short sword now strapped to his belt. It was a decent quality steel sword with the Imperial dragon carved into the guard. Though the blade was far shorter than he was comfortable with, it would have to do for the time being. The sword was still longer than a dagger at least, for which he was grateful for and of which he had one now strapped to the back of his belt in case of emergencies. At some point in the near future he would need to find a proper length sword, since he was most comfortable with it.

He had taken the weapon off of a dead Imperial soldier, his wounds indicating that he had been slain by some kind of blunt instrument - perhaps a hammer or even a shield, if used properly. Whatever the case, it was clear that some of the prisoners had escaped and even with a dragon rampaging around them those Imperials and Stormcloaks still had it out for each other. If there was ever a time to unit against a common enemy, Alistair would have thought that to be it. Apparently, they did not.

The unfortunate sight he came across also served to explain why the pack had been left there. Undoubtedly one of the soldiers who had readied the knapsack had been killed near the main entrance hall where he found a few bodies of both Stormcloaks and Imperials, their blood still freshly staining the gray stones.

He had also managed to find a round shield made of thick wood and reinforced with what he thought was iron. If only he had not lost his own shield, he would have felt even better about it. But again, he had limited options at this point and he would have to make do. It was not like he had not had experience with that before, journeying forth from Flemeth's Hut in the Korcari Wilds after the disaster at Ostagar.

Maker, that feels like a lifetime ago, he thought, even though he knew that it had barely even been half a year.

Trudging along down the road that headed in the general direction of the stone structure he spotted on a cliff side in the distance, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. He shivered as a cool blast of air hit him.

You're just being paranoid, Alistair, he thought to himself. He was certain that any person who had been near Helgen when the dragon attacked had fled to safer locales.

Still, he glanced around warily, but the dim light thanks to the thick clouds made it difficult to see things clearly between the trees and foliage on either side of the road. The wind rustling every branch and plant, and also blowing around his ears, made it nearly impossible to hear any suspicious or unnatural sounds as well.

He did not know how far he had walked, the increasingly colder air making it difficult to focus. His toes were already feeling numb and his hands were starting to lose sensation as well. When the storm finally hit and the snow began to fall heavily, he realized that he needed to find shelter as soon as possible and try and get a fire going.

For the love of Andraste! He was not going to die from freezing to death, he thought adamantly. He had faced countless dangers, enemies of great skill and beasts of frightening power, and he was not going to go down because of a cold.

There was a rock formation not too far off from the road, and it looked like there was a shallow cave that he could settle in until the snow storm blew over. He did his best to scan his surroundings as he walked off the road, but the snow and the dim light made it impossible to really see much of anything beyond the largest of shapes.

He was shivering in his armor, his teeth beginning to chatter, when he finally made it to the shallow cave in the massive spur of rock. Gasping in short, rapid breaths, he was grateful to be out of the elements. It was only barely warmer here, but at least it was out of the wind and the snow, which was coming down rather strongly at that point. Alistair was starting to wonder if he had left Ferelden at all, having spent many a harsh winter at Redcliffe. Still, he did not remember the wind being so penetratingly biting.

He set his pack down against the cave wall and steeled himself for the next task: gathering materials for the fire. He quickly ventured back out, snapping twigs and grabbing whatever loose or fallen branches that he could find. He could barely feel his face, his ears tingling by the time he returned to the cave and set down the wood into a messy pile. He had torn up as much foliage and leaves as he could to add to the pile to help it burn.

Reaching into the pack, he took out the tinderbox that he had thankfully found in the kitchens of the keep and set to work on the fire, taking off his gauntlets for better handling. Not that his numb fingers were really that much more of an improvement. He struggled for what seemed like an eternity before the fire took hold and began to burn, and it took another seeming eternity after that to begin to feel even the slightest of the warmth from his efforts. At least it was working, albeit slower than he would have liked. He was starting to imagine that his lips were as blue as they felt.

Sitting by the fire in the far corner of the cave, he watched the snowstorm continue to swirl beyond the protection of the overhanging rock. Some feeling was thankfully returning to his extremities and he reached into the pack to take out one of a few bottles of alcohol he had found in the keep. He was not a heavy drinker, definitely not like Oghren, but in times like these - no, especially in times like these - he liked to have a drink to help himself relax.

He opened the bottle up and stared at it for a moment, debating whether or not it might be better to save it for later. Ah, screw it, he thought as he brought it up to his lips and took a swig. The cool liquid burned his throat as it went down and he nearly choked it up, sputtering but careful enough to not spill the bottle.

"Maker, that's strong!" he said out loud as he eyed the green bottle in his hand. 'Cyrodilic Brandy' read the label.

Within seconds, he felt a warmth spreading outwardly from his gut, and attributed it to the brandy. Like Oghren, Alistair was more of a mead and ale drinker, but on occasion he could drink wine. Harder drinks were a little beyond his comfort zone, though he had a few that he did not mind. This, while stronger than he would've liked, felt nice because of the warming effect it brought him, strangely enough considering the liquid was cool. In fact, he felt rather invigorated because of it, and he took another swig.

He was reminded of that one time, after they had liberated Redcliffe from the desire demon, they were caught in a blizzard in the Frostback Mountains while en route to Orzammar. The party had been forced into a cave, much bigger than the one he was currently in, and they had to wait a full day before the blizzard finally abated. It had been right before their fateful encounter with Zevran, who, after the blizzard, ambushed them about thirty more miles down the road from where they took shelter in the cave.

-xxxAxxx-

"Over here!" yelled Leliana, who, being the fastest runner of the group, had gone ahead of them along with Pooch, the mabari hound. The Orlesian was barely visible in the fast-falling snow as she beckoned to them from beside what appeared to be a vertical fissure in the rock face of a thirty-foot cliff.

The party had strayed off the main road in an effort to find shelter from the fierce blizzard that had seemingly come out of nowhere, though it was common enough in the Frostback Mountains. Here in what the dwarves endearingly called the 'Frozen Teeth,' - because it chewed up and spat out many who dared to venture through them - there was an eternal winter. While it was not always snowing, it was always cold, and when it actually was snowing it was usually thanks to a harsh blizzard like the one they were currently struggling through.

"Quick, get inside!" urged Leliana as they finally neared her, her voice a near shout because of the gusting wind.

"Oh, I was only walking so slow because I much prefer it out here!" Alistair said sarcastically in response, and as he passed her he asked, "You just gave me a death glare, didn't you? Because I'm pretty sure that chill down my spine was not from the deathly cold wind."

Before Leliana could say anything, however, a voice yelled, "IN!" from behind him, followed by a shove to his back.

"Whoa! Alright! Alright!" he said apologetically as he stumbled into the cave, nearly losing his footing but recovering well enough.

Pooch was sitting in the middle of the wide space that the mouth of the cave opened up into and he barked in greeting upon seeing Alistair, the first of the party to enter. Close behind him was the party leader, with her flaming red hair that matched Leliana's, and the only other Grey Warden of the group. Apparently it had been she who had pushed him in. Then Morrigan, Sten, Wynne, and Leliana followed after.

Pooch barked at him again, accusingly.

"You know what? You're low to the ground, which means you have an easier time moving around in this forsaken wind," Alistair said defensively, and the mabari let out a whine.

"And you seem to always have too much of this forsaken wind in your lungs," commented the now familiar disdainful voice of Morrigan, who had not ventured much farther in than a few feet from the mouth of the cave.

He spun towards her and pointed at her with his right index finger, his eyes narrowing. "Oh yeah? Well you have too much. . . uh. . . too much exposed skin for this cold weather," he faltered, not actually having any comeback.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him, the smirk on her face annoying him even further. "I apologize. I didn't quite catch that. What do I have too much of, hmm?"

He could feel the heat rising on his cheeks. "Never mind!" he said, stalking off.

"Careful about thinking too hard, Alistair. You might start bleeding from your ears! Or maybe even your nose!" she called after him.

"Stupid witch," he grumbled.

"Where's Bodahn and Sandal?" asked the female Grey Warden, directing the question to Leliana who had come in last without the two dwarves.

"They're securing and covering their cart as we speak," she said in her Orlesian accent, which Alistair had to admit had some allure to it, "I offered to help them, but they refused."

"I cannot believe they dragged their cart all the way off the road with them in this weather. It seems. . . inefficient," remarked Sten, who had taken a seat on the floor, his large frame resting against an equally large stone. His massive greatsword was lying on the stone floor next to him.

"So you are saying they should have left their cart by the road?" asked Leliana, who had moved to take a seat atop a smaller rock close to where the giant sat.

"No. But they did not have to bring the cart all the way up to this cave," replied the Qunari. "They are staying out in the cold unnecessarily longer than they should. They could have left it halfway, far enough from the road but not all the way here."

"Well, maybe they didn't want all their goods stolen while they were gone. The roads are full of thieves these days, as you should know by now," Alistair joined in, alluding to the few times already that the group had been set upon by bandits and thieves. All of them found that they had picked the wrong group to prey upon.

"Nobody is out there right now in this weather," Sten said firmly.

"Exactly! That's what people expect! This would be the perfect time to go around looking for unattended carts left by their merchant owners who had to go find shelter from the storm," said Alistair confidently.

"Maybe for you," the Qunari grunted, his eyes looking at him in what could only be described as pity.

"Hey, what is that supposed to mean exactly?" reacted Alistair. He looked to the Orlesian. "Leliana's a thief, you can back me up right? Doesn't it make sense that times like these would be a perfect opportunity to go out looking for things to rob?"

There was that glare again. "Who said I was a thief? I never said I was a thief." Leliana crossed her arms.

Alistair gulped. "I. . . uh. . ."

"Forsaken wind, Alistair. Forsaken wind," Morrigan chimed.

"Why don't you be a nice apostate and go freeze to death outside, thanks!" he snapped back.

Two short, snow-covered figures practically ran into the cave at that point, interrupting their conversation. Bodahn and Sandal.

"It's a bit nippy out there, isn't it?" mused Bodahn as he brushed off snow from wherever he could see it, the white crystals falling to the stone and melting into drops of water.

"Snow!" Sandal said cheerfully as he shook his body much like a dog, the snow that was on him flying every which way.

Pooch whined when some got onto his face and the mabari sprang to his feet, trotting out of range in case it happened again.

It was then that everyone noticed that the two dwarves had bundles of wood strapped across their backs.

"I noticed none of you went looking for wood to build a fire with," Bodahn explained once he realized everyone was looking at them. "So I figured we'd bring some of the firewood we had in the cart."

"Snow!" exclaimed Sandal.

Alistair looked pointedly at Sten. "See? Having the cart right here is useful after all."

The qunari let out a heavy sigh. "This argument is pointless. I do not wish to discuss it further."

"Is that qunari code for, 'you win, Alistair. I was foolish to argue against you!'"

Sten ignored him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alistair declared triumphantly.

"If you place the wood into a pile, I can start a fire for us," Wynne offered, the old mage finally speaking. She seemed the worst for wear out of all of them, the cold likely not treating her old bones well.

They set up a temporary camp in the cave when it became apparent that the blizzard was not about to let up anytime soon. Bedrolls were laid out, the fire was stoked, and conversations on various topics abounded. Many of them initiated by Alistair himself. There was not much else to do in the cave besides talk, so he figured why not?

At one point, he noticed that Morrigan kept looking out to the entrance of the cave with a strange expression on her face. It almost looked like wonder.

"Morrigan," he began, the curiosity eating at him, and the dark-haired pale woman slowly glanced at him with her yellow eyes. "Why do you keep looking outside?"

"And why do you keep looking at me?" Morrigan quipped, raising her eyebrow like she usually did. Her smirk returned to her face as well, and already he felt irritated.

"You know what? Forget I asked," he huffed. He didn't understand why she always had to needle him like that.

After a moment of silence, Morrigan finally spoke while her graze drifted back towards the cave entrance. "I've never seen snow before, and I've never been in a blizzard before either," she admitted. "It never really snowed out in the wilds."

"Was it because of your mother's magic?" asked Alistair, surprised she had even answered his original question. As far as he knew, it should snow in the Korcari Wilds. It certainly got cold enough. Then again, he had never been there before the battle at Ostagar, and all he heard of the wilds were tales of witches and chasind and great beasts of all sizes. Nothing about the weather.

"Possibly," she said. Without warning, she got to her feet and made her way towards the mouth of the cave.

"Morrigan! Where are you going?" Alistair called out, and everyone turned their attention to the raven-haired mage.

She half-turned to him and winked, "Why, I'm going out to freeze to death, like you said."

"W-What?!" he sputtered. If there was ever a time for her to listen to anything Alistair had said, this was not it.

She ran outside and Alistair and a few of the others sprang after her, but as they stepped outside into the howling wind and the swirling snow, they did not see Morrigan anywhere. Only a giant black bear that let out a great roar before loping across the increasingly thickening snow.

The corner of Alistair's lips turned up, having relived the memory of that time in his head. It was almost as if he could hear Morrigan's roar even now.

ROAAARRRRR!

His eyes instantly widened. That was no echoing roar from the past. It sounded like. . .

"A bear," he whispered, his head turning slowly towards the wide opening.

There was a massive dark blob out in the snow right in front of the entrance to the shallow cave, its snow-covered fur still dark enough to sharply contrast with the surrounding snow.

The bear was looking straight at him, and he highly doubted that this was Morrigan in bear form come to say hello. Partly because, and this was hard to believe, the bear was even larger than Morrigan's fearsome bear form - which was inordinately larger than normal bears to begin with.

"Maker help me."