Disclaimer: The characters and plot are property of Bioware and EA.

Author's Note: I've been doing some reading of fanfic lately and it has made me want to revisit the earlier chapters of this work. I especially thought I rushed into romance-y things without doing enough development, and honestly, who buys into a relationship without understanding how it formed? This was an idea I toyed with but never developed. Until now. I really think it does add to the story and does exactly what I wanted, so I'm satisfied. Now I have to re-order chapters...

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It had taken a few weeks, but the four members of the Inquisition had carved a path to the far southern reaches of the Hinterlands, aiding all those they encountered and bolstering their numbers through recruits eager to help after witnessing their deeds. "The Inquisition is actually doing something to help," so many had told her. "We want to be a part of that." Despite what some would probably expect of a calculating Carta thug, she never went out helping just to earn prestige and power for the organization; she just did what came naturally to her. She had suffered, she had seen a lot of people suffer, and if she could do something about it, she would.

And the people weren't the only ones approving of her actions; she could see the pleased expressions on her comrades' faces when she delivered aid to the refugees at every turn. That was also a strange thing. No one had ever looked at her that way in the past. If she did the job assigned, she was rewarded with cold acknowledgment. If she didn't, it was cold fury. All this warmth then…she didn't know what to make of that. It was almost as if they were connecting with her, building some sort of friendship out of respect and admiration for her deeds. On her end, it was becoming harder and harder to remain aloof around them. She found herself more receptive to Solas's fantastic tales of the Fade, a world she could only imagine being a dwarf. She started egging Varric on for more tales of his exploits, even poking fun at the fellow dwarf to get a laugh. And Blackwall? Well, the silence was becoming much more comfortable, but there was also less of it. He still didn't say much about himself, but situational conversation was becoming much more prevalent. Outwardly, it might look like he was the one she connected to the least, but it was quite the opposite. He had become a sort of calm, grounding force.

Soon, this formation would come to an end. The Inquisition had received notices from at least three parties offering their assistance to the organization, two from far-off Val Royeaux and one from way north on the Storm Coast. Who knew how that would affect the make-up of the team? For now, though, they had one final mission in the Hinterlands, and it loomed over them both literally and figuratively: the Summer Palace of Arl Jacen. A huge complex built into the cliffs next to a towering waterfall, the place was now a stronghold for the mysterious highwaymen that did more scaring than robbing, but still killed far too many innocents to be ignored. A note found on one of the bandit's bodies had pointed them here, and now they were formulating a plan of attack to rout them once and for all, ending the last major threat to the people of the area. Then and only then would they leave for a new region. At least, that was what Malika had thought. Then, the messenger arrived at their camp and changed everything.

He came mid-afternoon while the team was huddling around a crude map of the complex, determining strategy. Fortunately for him, the group had assisted Horsemaster Dennet, and he was able to arrive on horseback rather than run the distance from the Crossroads. "Herald!" he announced urgently, dismounting with ease. He held out a sealed letter bearing the sign of the Inquisition. "Important message for you from Haven. Please read this immediately!"

Curiously, she rose from her spot and snatched the letter from his hand, ripping it open and beginning to read. As her eyes scanned the document, her expression turned stormy. Finally, she crumpled the letter in her fist and cast a piercing look at her teammates. "Forget the bandits. We need to leave for the Fallow Mire. Now. Start packing." Before anyone could question what was happening, she whipped around and marched angrily to her tent where she proceeded to tear it down, each action reflecting aggression.

"Hey, Cadash, what's…" Varric began, stepping in her direction, but Rainier stopped him by placing a large hand on his shoulder.

"Not now, Varric," he advised in a low voice. "Let's go get our things."

"Yeah, but don't you want to know what's going on?" the dwarf insisted under his breath.

"Of course I do, but look at her. She's not ready to talk about it now. Give it time and do as she says." His eyes found her, her back turned to them and stuffing items in her bags haphazardly. A frown crossed his face. "Until then, all we can do is wonder."

"I agree with Blackwall. It will do no good at this point. Once we're on the road perhaps she will have cooled down some. Let's go," Solas nodded, breaking away from the group towards his tent.

In minutes, everyone was packed up and ready, all work done in anxious silence. A group of horsemen had arrived not far behind the messenger, handing over the horses to the team so as to enable a speedy travel to the south. She ignored the helping hand of the horseman, instead climbing on top of her bags to get the boost necessary to get her foot in the stirrup. From there, she hauled herself on top of the beast with her surprising arm strength. No one dared argue with her about needing help, not with that look in her eye. "My bags." Quickly, the man scrambled to grab them from the ground and offered them up to her. Noting that everyone was similarly mounted and loaded up, she goaded her horse forward. "Let's ride. Push them hard. We need to get there as soon as possible." With that, she took off.

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If the others had hoped to hear the story as they traveled, they were out of luck. She was serious when she said to push the beasts hard, altering between brisk gallops across easy stretches of terrain and slower trots to preserve the horses' stamina. It was on the edge of nightfall when she finally stopped so the horses could get some water and a breather. She never bothered getting down; it would be too much work getting back up. The others, however, took the opportunity to stretch. Inevitably, they found their way to her side as her horse bent down to drink. Varric and Solas looked expectantly at their warden companion, and he cleared his throat.

"If I may, my lady, what should we expect when we arrive to the Fallow Mire? I was thinking as we rode, and I remember hearing stories from some of the refugees about a plague hitting a fishing village in the northern region of the marshes. But that wasn't even the strangest thing. They said some undead from a long-ago battle were rising from the bogs, and people were forced to flee. Are we heading there to do something about it?" Ugh, he hoped not, though he would never let on. He'd rather face a dragon any day than a hoard of undead. They reminded him too much of things he'd rather forget…

She shook her head, her frown intensifying. "No, though I'm sure we'll inevitably end up helping with that along the way. The problem is of a more…living nature." She inhaled through gritted teeth. "It's some tribe called the Avvar."

Varric whistled. "Moved in when the neighbors moved out?"

"I don't' know, but what matters is that they captured a group of Inquisition scouts who were looking for a decent pathway through the region. Scout Harding sent the report to Haven, and they forwarded it to me so we could go try to get them back."

"How do we know the scouts are alive?" Solas pressed. He seemed to suspect there was more she wasn't saying.

Malika heaved an exasperated sigh. "They are hostages, meant to draw out the Herald of Andraste. We at least have a chance if we are fast. Speaking of which, have the horses rested long enough? We should be moving. We're half way there…" Abruptly, she tugged the reins and directed her horse back to the main path. The conversation was over, and despite knowing more, her companions were still left puzzled.

"This is unlike her. She's not usually this restless," Solas muttered quietly as they began to mount their steeds once more.

"I'd be pretty upset too given the situation," Varric commented dryly. "And she's more of the group's leader than you or I. I'm sure she feels more of the responsibility."

"But a leader keeps a calm head. Do you suppose there is more to it than what she said?"

Rainier just shook his head, urging his horse forward. "No, she's given us everything we need to know in her own way." It took some reading between the lines to be sure, but he was confident he understood now, even if the others didn't. "Let's make sure we keep her impulsive actions to a minimum and get those men back."

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They'd been at it for hours, combatting the cold rain, the muck, and as Rainier feared, the undead. Cadash had insisted on pressing forward as quickly as possible once they reached the main scouting camp at Fisher's End, but heeding the older warrior's wisdom, the others held back and took precautions, much to her frustration. Solas was able to decipher runes on several tall stone columns, and used what he learned to ignite a beacon which called out the undead from the surrounding area to fight on dry land as opposed to an ambush in the swamp. This resulted in a safe path from the north end further south. No sooner had the beacon been established than she was pushing ahead once again.

Finally, the group came to a sheltered spot beneath a rocky overhang where the scouts had initially set up camp before being captured. "Good, we're getting closer," she muttered, eyes darting around as if checking for signs of a struggle in the faint light of dawn. She was about to set off again when she was stopped by Varric grabbing her arm.

"Cadash, I know we need to find those Inquisition scouts, but we can't keep running on adrenaline alone, especially not if we are going to confront a bunch of Avvar warriors at the end of this maze of chilly, soggy hell! We've been up for 24 hours and we won't be on top of our game in a fight. Let's stop and just get a few hours of rest before we keep going, huh?"

She looked vexed. "I know you are right, Varric, but I can't afford to wait. They can't afford to wait. If you are going to stay, I'm going ahead!"

"Perhaps I need to cast a paralysis spell on you?" Solas threatened, clutching his staff. "You are being more foolhardy than usual and it does not suit you…"

Suddenly, Rainier stepped in between the elf and the dwarfs. "Hold on. You two just worry about setting up camp and catching some sleep. The Herald and I…" he reached over and clasped a hand on her shoulder, "will keep watch and scout the area for clues as to the direction of the scouts." He spoke with such an assured authority that two of the three simply nodded in agreement. Malika was naturally not so inclined. "That will take us what, two minutes? We don't need to set up camp if…"

"Just follow me!" he growled, casting an aggravated look in her direction. She paused her protestations. He was usually so good-natured, she had never seen him look so dangerous before. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she remembered getting that same look in the past; it usually ended with a beating for her. Despite herself, she meekly followed, no longer the Herald of Andraste but back to being lowly Malika Cadash. She could feel the eyes of her other companions look on in surprise at the change in demeanor as she and Blackwall moved to the other side of the rocky outcropping.

One they were out of earshot and sight, the man turned and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen here…" he began roughly. He would have continued his tirade if he hadn't immediately noticed the way she flinched, seemingly bracing herself against Maker knew what. This wasn't the proud, stubborn woman he had come to know at all, and he had no idea why the change occurred. His eyes widened, and he released his grip on her, to her surprise. She wasn't even going to be shaken like a rag doll for her insolence?

"Listen, my lady," he began again, though softer this time. "I know that you are beside yourself with worry for those men. Your men. The men that follow you. I also know you feel responsible because you are the one those Avvar bastards want. They captured your men to get to you. Furthermore, you are upset because you don't even think you are the Herald, but because people keep putting that name on you this whole thing happened. Have I missed the mark in any way?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head. He had seen through all of that? But she was supposed to be the one digging through people's secrets…

"I understand your worry," he continued. Maker, after what he had done to his men, he understood perfectly clearly the way a commander could regret the loss of their lives. But she was even better than him: she was going to protect them no matter what it meant to her. It humbled him and made him burn with shame at the same time. People could say what they wanted about the snarky, rebellious Herald, but when it came down to it her heart was in all the right places, he was sure of it now more than ever.

"But you have to understand, you are no good to them dead. You push on too impulsively and you will be dead. We are in their territory now, they control the playing field. You are tired, we all are, and our judgement will suffer. And how can we hope to defeat an enemy that likely outnumbers us if we are fatigued? You are the only one who can seal the rift in the sky, and if anything happens to you all our hopes die, whether you like that or not." He paused to grab the wrist of her glowing hand, though more gently than she expected. "In fact, I know it is a truth you don't particularly care for, but this is the reality." Her face turned red at the accusation. It was true. She fought this destiny the entire way, denying it at every turn, but when he phrased it like that, said it in the way she needed to hear it even if it was harsh, her attitude suddenly began to shift.

His final words were the nail in the coffin. "And of course you understand we would never let you go alone. We would follow you, giving our lives to protect you. If you do not allow your followers to be rested and at their best, that can very easily mean that we will die in battle. Instead of having everyone walk away from this, you will have not only dead scouts, but dead companions."

Now her head was hanging, and he felt a pang of guilt. He expected more of a fight when he pulled her aside, not a one-sided tongue-lashing. His mind raced, trying to decide how to build her back up after completely deconstructing her. Finally, he got down on his knees so he was at her level. "I know I sound harsh," he said quietly, now massaging the pulse point of her wrist. "But you have to trust me when I say I have more…experience in this than you. I may be wrong, but I get the feeling you've never been made to lead anyone, much less an organization bent on saving the world. It's okay. I'm here to help you. We all are."

She couldn't look him in the eye. If she did, he might notice the tears threatening to escape, and that would kill her with embarrassment. She wanted so badly to explain why she flew off the handle in this situation, that she had seen plenty of agents in the Carta get left for dead because of their own inadequacy, the leaders feeling no remorse at the loss of their lives. That there had been times where she was left to fend for herself because no one was going to risk themselves to come save her. But if she admitted to that, she'd have to admit to that life she left behind when the Chantry exploded, and for some reason she really didn't want the noble Grey Warden before her to know just how much of a piece of trash she was. So she pressed her lips together and remained silent, her slumping shoulders the only indication of her yielding.

It wasn't all right, he could tell, but he also knew she wouldn't reveal anything more at the moment. She needed rest, and time to sift through things before they took on the Avvar. He got back on his feet. "I don't expect you'll sleep, but at least rest a little. I will keep watch."

"And when do you plan on resting? I'd hate for you to die of poor judgement," she said sarcastically, but both knew it was done to mask concern.

He chuckled. "Grey Warden stamina, my lady. There are perks to this profession." Of course he didn't actually have that ability as far as he could tell, but he'd heard of it. What would actually keep him going was his resolve to keep her safe, and to keep the men following her safe the way he hadn't in his past life.

"Fine." She turned to walk away, but he caught her with parting words that made the breath stick in her lungs.

"And my lady, if I may, I'm NEVER going to harm you, so please don't flinch anymore. It breaks my heart."

A tear was falling now, and she was grateful to be facing the other way. Damn him… She refused to acknowledge the words, but hurried away, leaving him to sigh. That got WAY more personal than he ever intended…

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At the end of the day, the Avvar leader lay slain at her feet along with several of his lackeys. She may have landed the killing blow, but she never could have bested him in one-on-one combat. The tell-tale burns of fire, the bolts of a crossbow, and long gashes from a sword told the full story. She didn't revel in the moment though. Hurriedly, she combed his corpse for the most important item: a key to the run-down castle's dungeon. With this in hand, she fairly flew to the locked room and opened the door, revealing five roughed up but very much alive soldiers, faces painted with relief.

"I knew the Herald would come for us, I just knew it!" one of them beamed to his friend. The comment made her legs feel like jelly, but one glance from Warden Blackwall, shining with pride and utmost confidence in her gave her strength back. She owed him for this moment.