Title: Intersecting Fates

Author: Burning Silence

Rating: T

Disclaimer: *slaps self* I can't believe I forgot to put this in my first chapter! Dragon Age: Origins does not in anyway belong to me. It belongs to the amazingly talented people at BioWare. I'm not making any money from this; I am merely using these characters for my own amusement.

Chapter II: The High Priest

Faustine thrashed around in her tent, her face screwed up in torment as she suffered another one of the many nightmares that had plagued her since Ostagar. Most were of the Archdemon…some weren't however.

Her mind would occasionally go over the moment she and Alistair should have died…she hadn't been prepared at all for that brutality. The Harrowing, Jowan's display of power, even fighting the darkspawn while they were in the Korcari Wilds were one thing; the fall of Ostagar was…something else entirely.

Perhaps it had something to do with facing her own mortality in such a…brutal fashion.

She finally awakened with a gasp and took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She had to stifle several sobs in fear of waking the rest of the group.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she thought to herself. 'You've face many darkspawn since. And you've fought other tainted creatures; you just need to grow up.' She sniffled once more, and rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. It didn't look like she'd be getting back to sleep any time soon.

As she opened the flap to her tent, she noticed her hands were shaking terribly and did her best to control them. To her surprise, she heard the campfire being tended to; she feared she may have woken Alistair. She bit her lip guiltily and crept out of her tent.

Only to be surprised to see Zevran stoking the fire.

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "What are you doing up?"

The assassin gave her a surprisingly soft smile and said, "Forgive me, I do not mean to be…insensitive, but you were making quite a bit of noise thrashing about in your sleep, and I'm a very light sleeper as it is…" He trailed off, assumingly to not antagonize an angry retort out of the young mage.

Her dark eyes lowered and she twisted her hands in her night clothes (for she did bring along an old nightgown that she could sleep in). "I am sorry," she murmured. "It's just…I get these nightmares…"

The elf put up a hand, silencing Faustine. "You do not need to explain it to me. I do understand. And, like I said, I am a very light sleeper."

"I guess that makes sense, what with you being an assassin and all."

Zevran laughed, and Faustine felt comfortable enough to let a small smile through, which was quickly chased away by a yawn. She covered her mouth and sat down in front of the fire, trying to warm herself.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, before Zevran turned to face her. "May I ask a question?"

Faustine raised a delicate eyebrow before nodding her assent.

"What were you dreaming about?"

The mage's eyes narrowed and she replied, "Why do you care?"

The assassin looked surprised but shrugged, "I was merely curious, if you do not wish to tell me, you do not have to."

He heard her sigh before she responded, "I apologize, I don't mean to snap." She frowned, looking down at her hands that had balled up into small fists. She seemed almost…ashamed. It was rather disconcerting to see someone who, over the last couple of days, he'd come to see as rather effervescent appearing so…melancholy.

"It's just…it's embarrassing that I have these nightmares," she mumbled, bringing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. "Alistair says that all Grey Wardens have them…they're supposed to be about the Archdemon, but mine aren't always like that. The First Enchanter would probably say I was suffering through some trauma from Ostagar. That's where I went, you know. When I was recruited," she paused. "Sometimes…sometimes I wish I were still at the Circle, you know? Then…none of this would have happened. Or…I suppose maybe it would have…only I wouldn't have been there for it. But then again…I am truly glad I'm not. That place was like a prison."

The girl shuddered, recalling unpleasant memories. "The templars watched us obsessively; we had little-to-no privacy. They could force mages into taking the Rite of Tranquility or…or put them to death, if they feared the mage was too dangerous. That's what would have happened to one of my friends." She stopped again, unsure if she should go on. She searched Zevran's face for a moment, and then continued. "He fell in love with an initiate…that's forbidden you know," she flashed him a small grin, "and she found out they were going to make him Tranquil. Surely you've seen some of the Tranquil, right? In various Circle shops, I'm certain. Anyway, I digress; he couldn't stand the thought of losing his dreams, his feelings, his love …so he asked me to help him destroy his phylactery."

"Phylactery?" Zevran questioned, looking puzzled.

"It's a vial of our blood…our leash, if you will, that the templars use if any of us go 'rogue' to track us down. He wanted to run away with his initiate…" she trailed of wistfully. Then, she began to look pained, "He lied to me. He told me, right to my face, he didn't practice blood magic. He lied to her…anyway, when all was said and done, she refused him, he ran off, and I was recruited into the Grey Wardens," she sighed. "But, I still stand by my decision to help him." She then blushed, and smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry; you probably don't want to hear about all of this, do you? I have a tendency to ramble when I'm tired, but I simply cannot go back to sleep right now."

"I do not mind; I find your rambling quite endearing," he winked at her.

"Shut up, you're teasing me again."

"It is only teasing if it is not true."

Her only response was to raise an eyebrow at him. They fell silent once more, and Zevran took the time to appraise her features. Her hair was unbound, and fell quite becomingly across her bared shoulders and down her back. Her cheeks and lips were flushed from the cold, and her large, dark eyes had a drowsy appearance to them at the moment. She was of surprisingly small stature for a human; quite a bit shorter than the witch and the bard, and very slim; she hardly had a warriors' build.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the elf gazing at her. "Stop staring at me! It's off-putting," she whispered, harshly. Zevran merely laughed at her discomfiture. "You're irritating," she snapped.

"You are so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of looking at such a striking beauty, my darling."

Faustine fought hard to keep her head up and not give in to her embarrassment, but she gave in after a few moments and buried her face in her arms. She knew her reactions only spurred him on, but she couldn't help it. He continuously caught her off-guard when he said such things, even though she knew he was kidding.

"I wish you'd stop teasing me about my looks," her muffled voice commented.

"You truly think I am making fun of you?"

She raised her head a bit, "It's not like that. I simply think you find it great sport to provoke such reactions out of me."

"My dear Warden, I would never lie to a woman about how ravishing she is," the elf purred.

Faustine fought a grin even as her face heated up again and shook her head. "You only have one thing on your mind, don't you?" Then, she looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know," she began, "you just sat here and listened to me tell you quite a bit about myself, and I still don't know much about you? But I do have a question that I've wanted to ask you. If you don't mind answering, that is."

"By all means, ask away."

"What do you think about the Dalish?"

Zevran looked surprised, "That's…not the question I was expecting you to ask me."

"Oh, well, it's not my only question, just the first one I had in mind since I've met you. Well, at least, after I had finished 'interrogating' you, as you so eloquently put it."

"Hmm, well, I can't say I know much about them, other than that my mother was Dalish. It's one of the few things I knew about her. She fell in love with an elven woodcutter and followed him to Antiva, where of course, he died from some disease and she had to resort to prostitution to survive. Same old story."

"That's terrible, Zevran!" Faustine exclaimed as softly as she could, and reached over to grasp one of his hands out of instinct.

He appeared surprised with her sudden willingness to touch him, but was nevertheless moved by her compassion. "These things happen. My mother died in childbirth…my first victim, as it were," he frowned, then, before moving on. "The only thing I had of hers was a pair of gloves. They were Dalish doeskin, with embroidery and fur-lining. When I was recruited into the Crows, I kept them hidden, but of course, they were discovered after some time. I never saw them again."

"Were you not allowed to have any personal affects?"

"We were not allowed to have anything from our past," he stated simply.

She looked at him with sadness and something akin to pity, and he began to feel uncomfortable, so he stood up and dusted himself off. "Well I think I've depressed you enough for one evening, I think it is time for us both to head back to our tents and try and get some more sleep. Unless, of course, you'd prefer some company tonight?" he grinned, lecherously.

She fixed him with a level stare, "No, thank you, I think I'll be perfectly fine on my own."

"Ah, well, you can't blame a man for trying."

"Of course I can; just watch me," she drawled.

Zevran offered his arm to help her up, which she accepted, and before she disappeared inside her tent, she whispered, "Goodnight, Zevran."

He laughed quietly, "Goodnight, my dear Warden."

Faustine dreamt no more for the rest of the night

Alistair awoke to the feel of a cold nose and wet tongue on his face.

"Ungh, Orion! Why don't you go wake up Faustine?"

Orion just looked down at the man and whined.

"I know," he sighed. "She was probably up late…and you just don't want her yelling at you for waking her up. You'd rather she yell at me."

Orion merely gave a happy bark of approval before trotting off out of Alistair's tent.

"Yeah, same to you," he grumbled before getting himself up.

From the sounds coming from outside, it seemed as if most of everyone was already awake. And Leliana appeared to be the one to make breakfast this morning. Alistair cringed; it wasn't that the bard was a bad good. Not at all, in fact. Everything she made tasted quite good…he just wished she wouldn't try to decorate it so much.

However, he was awfully hungry, so he decided to dress sit with everyone else to eat.

When he made his way out of his tent, he saw the Faustine had also gotten up, looking a bit worse for wear. She seemed exhausted; the Chasind robes she had found (and he still blushed whenever he saw her in them) were thrown on haphazardly, her hair was more loosely bound than was her norm, and she kept hunching over (although, that may have been because she was obviously uncomfortable in her new 'clothing').

"Rough night?" he greeted her as he sat down beside her.

She covered her mouth as she yawned, "You don't know the half of it." Then she frowned, "Well, maybe you do."

"Nightmares?"

She nodded, and took a bite of the roll she had grabbed to tie her over until Leliana finished cooking. "I wish we had honey," she sighed. At Alistair's questioning look, she replied, "I have a terrible sweet tooth, and I haven't had anything sweet since….well, since I left the Circle."

He laughed and grabbed a roll for himself and asked Leliana when breakfast would be finished.

The red-haired woman huffed playfully and responded, "It should only be a few more minutes, Alistair."

"Don't be impatient," Faustine scolded.

"I can't help it if I'm hungry," he grumbled.

"For someone who is supposed to be a warrior, you whine great deal," Sten interjected.

Both Leliana and Faustine snickered at that.

"Hey!"

Faustine flashed Alistair a smile as he pouted and patted him on the shoulder before looking in a different direction, her face a bit brighter. "Good morning, Zevran!"

Alistair's pout soon became a scowl. So, that lecher had finally decided to grace them with his presence?

"I admit; I am surprised to see you up as early as you are. You did not get to sleep until very late," the assassin remarked.

"Oh?" Alistair questioned. "And how would you know?"

Zevran allowed a small smirk to grace his features, "Well, our fair Grey Warden awoke me in the middle of the night and proceeded to keep me up into the early morning hours…"

The reactions he received were instantaneous: Alistair's face grew bright red as he spluttered in indignation; Leliana coughed and seemed to attempt to ignore the whole conversation; Sten merely looked over at the elf and raised an eyebrow; and Faustine…

Well, it seemed to take Faustine a few moments to register exactly what it was the Zevran had implied when she glared at him (trying to disregard the fact she was blushing) and threw her half-eaten roll and him.

"We were talking! That's all!" she exclaimed. "And don't you dare try to convince them otherwise, you…you pervert!"

The elf laughed at took a bite out of the roll Faustine threw at him, much to the mage's dismay.

"That's disgusting, I ate off of that," she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She then scoffed, "See if I bother keeping you company anymore."

"Oh, but I so enjoyed your delightful company last night…"

"Please, cease this…whatever it is. It is making me want to vomit," Morrigan remarked as she made her way to the main camp.

"Good morning, Morrigan," both Faustine and Leliana greeted.

"I hope you're hungry," Leliana added. "I'm afraid I may have made a bit too much to eat."

"If it is better that what Alistair made for supper two days ago, I will have to qualms eating it," the witch answered.

"Hmm, yes…by the way, Alistair," Leliana began. "What was that…soup you made?"

"Ooh, that? That's a traditional Fereldan lamb and pea stew. Did you like it?

Leliana's face looked stricken for a moment as she replied, "That was…lamb, then? It had a certain texture I don't normally associate with lamb."

"They didn't make lamb and pea stew for you in Lothering?"

"We ate simply there. Whole grains, made into biscuits or bread, and vegetables from the garden, cooked lightly. No heavy stews."

Alistair nodded, looking rather smug as he responded, "Ah, so the last lamb you had was probably cooked Orlesian style. Food shouldn't be frilly and pretentious like that. Now here in Ferelden, we do things right. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when I know it's done."

"It certainly looked that way when you cooked it, then," Faustine remarked, looking a little ill. "Now, I'm glad I went to bed early that night."

"I think after that meal, I would sooner trust the assassin with my food than you, Alistair," Morrigan said.

Faustine grinned, but before long, her face became serious again, "We need to figure out what we're going to do now. We already have the Dalish Elves' support, but we have more allies that we need to find."

Alistair nodded and turned to look at her fully. "I think it might be a good idea to visit Redcliffe next. We'll need the Arl's help, especially if Loghain feels threatened enough to send an assassin after us. No offense meant, Zevran."

"Oh, none taken," the Antivan said.

"Hmm, you have a good point, actually. But what if he's as sick as Ser Donall told us? What do we do then?" Faustine sighed.

"I, uh…I'm not sure. I suppose we deal with it once we get there," the templar stammered.

"'Tis an excellent idea, Alistair," Morrigan interjected. "How ever did you come up with such a brilliant plan?"

"You know what?" Alistair glared at the woman. "I'm getting really tired of you acting like I'm stupid…"

"Oh, I wasn't aware I was merely acting…"

Faustine held up her hands. "Please…can't we get through one meal with out you two arguing? Alistair, you know she only does that because you respond so easily. And Morrigan…you know Arl Eamon means a lot to Alistair. It's understandable he's taken off-guard by this situation," she pled, though it came across as something she did habitually.

Morrigan huffed and settled down for breakfast, while Alistair shot her a smug glance.

Faustine just sighed, and rolled her eyes.

"So, how much farther away is this Redcliffe?" Zevran asked.

"Why, do you have something more pressing to attend to?" Alistair sniped.

"We're almost there," Faustine cut in, not wanting to deal with another argument.

"It should just be a little bit longer. Redcliffe is just over that hill," Leliana added, noting the young mage's discomfort.

"Do you and Sten mind staying behind to set up camp once we get there, Leliana?" Faustine inquired.

"Not at all," the redhead replied as the Qunari stayed silent.

"I'll take your silence as a 'no', then, Sten," Faustine remarked with a grin.

She stopped and crouched down to pet Orion, "And you won't mind, either, will you boy?"

She received a happy bark in reply.

"Somehow, I didn't think you would."

"It's too bad that we can't afford a room at a tavern," Leliana pointed out.

"Oh, why is that? Is the hard forest floor a bit too much for you?" Morrigan replied, caustically.

"It isn't that at all Morrigan," Leliana defended. "I just thought it would be nice to have a nice, warm bed once in awhile."

"And a hot bath," Faustine added.

"And a properly prepared meal," the bard continued.

The two young women sighed wistfully as Morrigan shook her head.

"Just the same," Alistair began, "You probably wouldn't enjoy many Ferelden inns."

"Yes, I've visited a few when I first came here, and they were…different than what I expected," Leliana admitted.

"You mean they weren't stylish enough for you," the templar grinned.

"No," she defended, hurriedly. "That wasn't what I meant, exactly…"

"What are they like? I've never been to one," Faustine piped up, tilting her head to one side.

At everyone's questioning glance, she added, somewhat abashed, "Other than our recent excursions, I've never been outside of the Circle…and I was sent there at a very young age."

"Well, it isn't like they're very exciting," Alistair explained. "They're just very…basic. Nothing extra…unless you're paying through the nose at a tavern or inn that nobles frequent."

"Oh, the Apprentice's dorms were like that at the Circle. The Mage's rooms were much nicer…even though I was only there for about a day," she smiled sheepishly.

"Really? You were recruited right after your Harrowing?" Alistair asked, looking confused. "You never told me that."

"Ah, it isn't really anything interesting," she shrugged, continuing to walk uphill. "Hey! Isn't that Redcliffe Village over there?" She asked, pointing down into the valley.

Alistair ran up behind the mage and nodded, "Yeah, that's it." Then he glanced down with his brow furrowed. "Um, can I…talk to you about something? You know, before we go down there?"

Faustine looked at him questioningly before nodded and going off with the templar.

"So…what do you think they're talking about?" Leliana asked.

"Hmm, I do not know, but Faustine seems quite taken aback," Zevran answered.

"She is probably attempting to figure out how it is that Alistair survived childhood with out the aid of cranial protection," Morrigan remarked.

"Such a barbed tongue you have, Morrigan," Zevran purred. "It drives me mad with desire!"

"Touch me and it shall be the last thing you ever do, elf."

"Oh…but what a pleasant way to go!"

"You two…This might be serious!" the bard cried out.

"Yes, that it may be, but it may also be none of our business. Otherwise, I am sure Alistair wouldn't have taken their conversation elsewhere," Zevran pointed out.

"Speculation is a fool's game," Sten spoke, sounding a little irritated. "It would be better if we were to do something productive that chatter on needlessly."

Morrigan huffed at this while Leliana blushed. Zevran just smiled.

When Alistair and Faustine made their way back, Alistair looked strangely subdued and Faustine had an air of annoyance around her, but she didn't seem particularly angry.

The mage clapped her hands together and questioned, "Well, are we going to head down or what?"

"'Tis not like we were waiting for you two," the witch pointed out.

"Erm, right," Faustine muttered. "Well…let's go."

When they were about fifty feet out from the village's entrance, they stopped for a time to set up camp. As Faustine rummaged through her pack, her hand brushed against something she'd forgotten she'd picked up while in the Brecilian Forest.

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly, eyeing the items. A small smile graced her features as she thought of who these would be perfect for.

After everyone retired for the evening, after agreeing it would be best to head into the village first thing in the morning, Faustine stayed up with Zevran for a bit, fiddling with her pack.

"You've been fidgeting for quite some time, dear Warden. Is there something troubling you?" the assassin asked.

The mage opened her satchel, and pulled something out of it. At Zevran's quizzical stare, she handed the item to him.

"Gloves?" he asked. "You are giving me gloves?" He eyed them closely for further inspection, not noticing the slightly hurt look on Faustine's face.

"If you don't like them, give them back."

He looked up and smiled, "I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate it, truly. I—wait a minute…these are Dalish?" At Faustine's nod, he continued. "My mother had a pair of Dalish gloves…the leather was thinner and there was more embroidery…but these are very close. Thank you."

"I was going through my pack when I came across them, and I remembered what you said about your mother's gloves, so I thought that you might appreciate these," she mumbled before she fell silent once more, staring into the campfire.

"Hmm, you still seem so pensive. May I ask what is wrong?"

"I suppose I just…have a bad feeling about tomorrow, that's all," she remarked.

"How so?"

"I don't know, I can't really explain it. I just feel…uneasy about the whole thing. There was just something about the town felt a little strange to me, if that makes any sense."

Zevran nodded, "Perhaps Morrigan has sensed the same thing. She looked strangely thoughtful earlier as well. If whatever is wrong with the village is mystical in nature, maybe you two would be sensitive to it."

"Maybe. I hope she doesn't mind coming along tomorrow," she frowned briefly, before getting up and stretching out. "Anyway, I'm going to bed now. Goodnight."

Zevran smiled up at her as he put his new gloves on, "Goodnight."

The High Priest: Your Eyes are the depths of forever…

Hidden wisdom, the High Priest has the power of insight. There is a lot happening beneath the surface and the whole picture cannot be revealed at present. Or it can be superficial, lacking depth. The situation holds no secrets. It's time now to let go of outmoded behavioral patterns.