Vorin was just as temperamental and sour as Fenris had been led to believe.

In the end, Alistair did have to end up ordering the balding man to hand over one of his "liberated" swords. Kel standing nearby casually cracking his knuckles helped.

There wasn't a bastard sword available, and the longsword Vorin reluctantly relinquished was old and surprisingly light, but in fairly good shape. It was the hip scabbard that came with it that bothered Fenris more. Unused to wearing his weapon in such a way, he was constantly forgetting to push it

aside when he sat, or startling when it thumped against his thigh as he walked. Eventually he ended up slinging the belt across his chest like a bandolier so he could pull the sword from over his shoulder as he was accustomed, though there was no way to keep the sword from jutting out to the side a bit from the odd angle.

Bethany was obviously eager for news of her sister and events back in Kirkwall, but just as clearly unwilling to make Fenris revisit bad memories. She finally settled for asking a few vague questions about Meredith and the Templars and let Fenris fill in the blanks with what he was comfortable with.

It was sort of nice, he mused, to be traveling with someone again who was so openly friendly and understanding. Of all Hawke's companions, he'd preferred Bethany's company over the others', with the possible exception of Sebastian. The man could be preachy, but seemed to share some of the same views as Fenris. It had helped that he was quite easy on the eyes; a nice bonus for an ally.

The other Wardens talked mainly amongst themselves, leaving Bethany and Fenris politely to their conversation. They traveled at a slow but steady pace, mindful of Fenris's tender feet and healing condition. Fenris found himself listening in on occasion, frowning to himself. He was not sure

what to think of them.

Hawke and her companions had gotten along all right to some degree or other, but there were always... barbs. Personalities constantly clashed, duties tended to run up against each other. Hawke was the one thing keeping some of them working together. But this group- with the possible exception of Vorin, who mostly ignored everyone -seemed tight-knit. There was teasing, but it reminded him of the familiar banter between Varric and Isabela rather than the blistering debates he'd gotten into with Merrill or Anders. These people knew each other well, and had learned through hardship to work as a cohesive team in a way Hawke's never had. Perhaps it was because they all shared the same burden as Wardens, while Hawke had picked up strays from just about every walk of life. This was a group of people who expected to be killed by darkspawn any day, and knew something worse awaited them later down the road.

He said none of this, but Bethany caught him studying them with guarded curiosity and walked closer to him so she could speak quietly.

"I meant what I said. These are good people. I know you have your reasons for not trusting anyone, but believe me, none of them mean you any harm. If you can't take my word for it when it comes to all of them, at least believe me about Alistair. He can be a bit like a mabari sometimes."

The comparison amused him for some reason, and he barely bit back a small smile in time. "Big dumb and slobbery?"

She laughed.

Thomas, who'd only heard Fenris's reply, called up ahead to the man in front, "I think they're talking about you!"

Bethany laughed harder.

Fenris let the conversation lapse, staring at the back of the commander's head as they marched. The man's ears had turned pink at the teasing.

He trusted Bethany more than most, probably more than he should for a mage. But he was not about to make the mistake of trusting strangers again so easily. What did it matter, anyhow? He would be separating from them once they reached Antiva. Alistair seemed like an honorable man, and he'd clearly been a Templar at some point- an occupation Fenris approved of.

But he was still just a man. And Fenris had learned through hard experience that every man had some darkness in him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Fenris had long ago developed the habit of sleeping with a weapon close at hand. When the sound of steel crashing against steel jolted him out of sleep just after sunrise one day, he reached out and snatched up his new sword, halfway to his feet before he was even fully awake.

He crouched on his bedroll for several moments, heart thudding in his chest as he looked around with quick readiness. A worry that had been gnawing subtly at the back of his mind roared to life. If Varania had gone for help... managed to get someone to track him down...

Feila, who had been restringing her bow a few feet away, jumped at his abrupt awakening. "Maker, you startled me," she complained. "I almost poked my eye out with this thing." She pointed with the longbow at the pair dancing back and forth in the dirt on the other side of camp. "Relax. The boys just like to work out their manly aggression against each other every now and again. They say it's to keep in shape. I say they're just too polite to whip 'em out and see whose is larger with ladies present." She rolled her eyes, waxing her bowstring with quick efficiency.

Fenris blinked, slowly releasing his death grip on his sword. Matwog and Kel were hammering at each other with sword and axe. Despite the fact that Kel was almost two times the other man's size, Matwog was holding his own admirably.

"He's holding back," Bethany said as she came to sit close by. She tossed Fenris an apple. "Kel, I mean. He won't really let go until Matwog starts in with the insults."

As if on cue Matwog started taunting the bigger man mercilessly with a surprisingly versatile vocabulary. He badmouthed everything from Kel's parents to his inability to pleasure a woman until finally a flustered Kel gave an outraged roar and began hacking at Matwog's raised sword like he was trying to chop down a tree.

"Yield, yield, yield!" Matwog yelped as he staggered back, barely keeping his feet. He could hardly be heard over the sound of the other Wardens laughing.

Kel towered over him, puffing a bit from his exertion, ears still red. "Your mouth is going to get you into hot water one day, my friend," he said ominously.

Matwog let his sword slip to the ground and shook his numbed hands ruefully. He offered a cheeky grin. "Don't worry, I'm a very strong swimmer."

"Hmph!" Slipping his axe into the loop in his belt, Kel stalked over to the fire. He shoved a laughing Thomas out of his path, sending the other man sprawling.

Bethany smiled at the look on Fenris's face. "It's all in good fun," she assured him. "How are your feet today?"

"Better."

"My turn, is it?" Alistair was rising, reaching for his sword. "Vorin, up for a dance?"

Vorin made a face.

"All right then. Thomas?"

"Hey, do you want breakfast or not?" The man was already returning to the bread he was carefully toasting over the fire. "Spar with the new kid."

Alistair turned towards Fenris with a playful grin. He spun his sword in a deceptively casual move that betrayed the strength in his wrist. "What do you say? Are you up for it?"

Bethany started to protest, but Fenris set his apple aside and rose with his sword. "Very well."

He went to stand a few feet from the other man, hefting the sword in his hand in an attempt to reacquaint himself with its strange lightness. "I'm not accustomed to sparring," he admitted. "I'm afraid I won't be very good at holding back. Perhaps you should use your shield."

Alistair grinned back at him, waving his sword almost teasingly. "I think I'll be all right. Ready-?" He blocked hastily as Fenris suddenly darted forward, going right for his abdomen. He barely managed to deflect the blow in time, sucking in his stomach defensively.

The others looked on with interest, occasionally calling out words of encouragement or advice that fell on deaf ears. The two swordsmen shifted and lunged across their personal battlefield, swords seeking out any opening with increasing speed and strength behind them as Alistair stopped holding back and Fenris became more comfortable with the short blade.

It was a new experience for Fenris, fighting someone he had no wish to harm. If he had ever done so before receiving his tattoos, he could not recall.

He had fought opponents during his enslavement at the behest of Danarius, who so loved to show him off. But he had been expected to win those fights, and though death was rarely the outcome, he had not had to hold back until it was time to stop himself before the killing blow. He'd felt nothing for most of those he'd been ordered to fight; some he had been glad to fight.

But he didn't want to hurt Alistair.

Still, holding back was hardly an option. Not only was he unsure how to do so without making it insulting, but Alistair was skilled enough to force him to give the fight his full concentration, especially in his still weakened state.

He gave the Warden a run for his money, at least. It was Alistair who finally managed to slam Fenris's blade down out of the way and whisk his own up to within a hairsbreadth of the elf's throat, effectively ending the match. But by then he was as red-faced and out of breath as Fenris himself.

"Maker's breath," he panted, stepping back and sheathing his blade. "I'd hate to fight you at full strength with one of these bastard swords Bethany says you're so fond of."

Fenris resisted the urge to inspect his sword for nicks. Its lightness still bothered him; it barely felt like it should have been able to withstand the powerful blows. "If I ever find a decent sword, we may try again," he promised, trying not to look as worn out as he felt.

"I think I'll use my shield if we do," Alistair laughed, and collapsed dramatically by the fire. "Where's breakfast?"

"You're not a man, you're a bottomless pit," Thomas complained, but handed over a piece of toast with cold jerky on top.

"I've got dibs on the first round if we find you a decent sword," Kel spoke up as Fenris reluctantly joined the other Wardens at the fire to claim his own breakfast.

Fenris eyed the big man and his axe. "Very well."

"No fair, I already called dibs," Alistair complained around a mouthful of food.

"Grow up."

Alistair tried to make a pitiful face, which was ruined by the way his cheeks bulged with all of the toast he'd crammed in his mouth. "You can't talk to your Fearless Leader like that!"

"Ugh, you're going to make me lose my appetite," Bethany said, grimacing at him. "Didn't they teach you any manners at the Chantry? How did the Hero tolerate you at meal times?"

"You've obviously never seen dwarven table manners."

"Ooo I'm telling her you said that."

"Oh please don't. Seriously."

"You've met the Hero of Ferelden?" Fenris asked, curious almost despite himself. The few times he'd heard the woman mentioned it had been with such reverence that he couldn't help but wonder what kind of woman she was. Hawke, for all her faults, had been something of a hero in her own right, and earned the respect of many. She was Going Places, it was clear; especially with her new noble title. But she was just a big fish in a small pond. The Hero of Ferelden had stopped a Blight and saved Thedas, bringing together an army practically single-handedly, if the tales were to be believed. Thinking of his own experiences with Hawke, a woman much-talked of in Kirkwall, he found himself wondering if the Hero was deserving of the awe and respect people gave her, or if her legend had just been inflated in the telling.

"Only once," Bethany admitted, nibbling almost daintily at her toast. "In Amaranthine. It was right before she disappeared. She treated me as if we were equals, even though I'd only recently been through my Joining. I'm afraid I was barely even polite to her. I was a little... upset about where life had taken me. I didn't really want to be a Warden. She did say something that stuck with me, though." She put her toast down, staring into the fire. "When I told her how I'd only gone through the Joining to keep from dying from the Taint, she said... 'We don't choose our destiny; it chooses us. Maybe you were meant for greater things than you give yourself credit for.' It's really helped me come to terms with what I am now and what we do. She's tough, no mistake, but she's compassionate despite all she's said to have been through. I wish I could have gotten to know her better."

And then there was nothing for it but for Alistair to tell how he'd met the Hero. The others egged him on until he caved at last, giving a quick abbreviated explanation of how chance had thrown them together at Ostagar, and how they'd had many adventures with a strange collection of allies: assassins, mages, even a qunari and a golem. It was clear that the man had considered the Warden a friend, and held great respect for her, but he also made her seem more like an ordinary woman than the tales made her out to be. She was no general, no champion of justice born with a sword in her hand. She'd dragged herself out of the slums of Orzammar with pure stubbornness and developed a knack for being in the right place at the right time while on her journey as a Warden.

Fenris was fascinated despite his previous disinterest in the other country's most recent lauded hero, but at the end of the tale he found himself asking, "Just how close were you and the Hero?"

"You mean does Alistair like 'em short and stubby?" Vorin snickered.

Alistair's face darkened with a quick flash of real anger, but Kel reached over and hit Vorin upside the head just hard enough to hurt. "Show some respect, you horrible old grouch."

Alistair forced back his anger with a visible effort and even managed a weak smile for Fenris's benefit. "No, we were just friends. I don't think she ever found the time for romance. She could be very single-minded. She was too focused on curing the Blight, and then her duties as the Warden Commander took over her life."

"And now she's gone?"

"Yep." Alistair poked at the fire with a stick, frowning to himself. "No one knows where she went or what she's up to. She was apparently very vague about it, and I wasn't in Amaranthine when she disappeared. Knowing her, it's important, but I think she went alone, and that worries me. At first I thought she'd gone after Anders to see what the hell his problem was- they were pretty good friends. But then Bethany told me that he's hiding out in Kirkwall, so now I'm not sure what to think."

Fenris gazed at him levelly. "And why are you going to Antiva?"

"Just following up some leads," Alistair said with feigned casualness, seemingly intent on his stick. "Our dear departed Commander had some pretty bizarre adventures in the Deep Roads awhile back, and we're responding to any news that seems related to it. Sorry, Warden business."

"Hm." Fenris shrugged off his curiosity with a flicker of irritation. What did it matter to him? It was none of his business. He changed the subject tactfully. "I understand why Bethany is here. But why would a Templar become a Warden?"

"I was recruited. That's how we get most of our members during a Blight. Usually outside a Blight our ranks are filled mostly by those who volunteer or are recommended, but since so many of us were wiped out in Ostagar, recruitment's become important again."

"But the battle at Ostagar was years ago."

"Yes, well..." Alistair glanced sidelong at Vorin. "The Joining can be... dangerous. We don't get to keep everyone we recruit."

Vorin got up abruptly, sent Alistair a withering look, and retreated to the edge of the camp.

Alistair looked pained. "I've stuck my foot in it again, haven't I?"

Matwog leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, voice low as he explained. "Vorin was pretty sweet on this girl that got recruited right after him. They were real close, even though they didn't know each other long. She didn't survive the Joining."

"And I'm the one who recruited her," Alistair added gloomily.

"But if you hadn't, they'd never have met," Bethany protested.

"He'd rather have never met her and her be alive," Kel said solemnly. "Anyway, it's a big part of why he's such a heel, though he always had an unpleasant streak, even then."

"So!" Alistair said brightly, obviously trying to change the subject once more. "Fenris. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Yeah, they don't teach slaves to fight like that," Matwog said.

Fenris shrugged, concentrating on his food. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on, you can tell me. Did you have a personal trainer? Were you part of some militia or-"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Don't remember?" Matwog snorted. "Trade secrets, huh? Don't tell me there's some secret band of elven warriors who-"

Alistair, noting the way Fenris's face got more and more clouded, reached out and gave Matwog a warning push. Fenris got to his feet, taking his sword with him. "This blade needs sharpening," he said flatly, and returned to his bedroll.

Thomas gave his brother a pitying look. "What is it about you never knowing when to shut up?"

Bethany moved as if to go after him, but Alistair waved her back and rose, following the elf in silence.

Fenris didn't look up at the man's approach, attention firmly on the blade and whetstone in his hands.

"I apologize," Alistair said softly, though they were out of hearing range of the others. "We weren't trying to upset you. If there are things you'd rather we not ask you about..."

Fenris started to snarl something along the lines of "don't ask me anything", but bit the words back at the last second. Hadn't he just been nosily asking for information about the Hero and Alistair's time with her? He swallowed hard and forced himself to remember that these people knew nothing of him. Bethany had obviously decided to leave it up to him how much to tell them. "I don't remember anything before becoming a slave," he said, almost wearily. The scraping of the stone against his blade was soothing. "Until my sister showed up with Danarius, I hadn't even remembered her. In a lot of ways I... am still unaccustomed to interacting with other people."

A small corner of his mind hissed in incredulity. Why was he saying such things to the Warden? Didn't he remember what had happened the last time he'd tentatively attempted to make a connection with someone? Hawke had shown him only too late that trust was something only fools took seriously.

The thought of her betrayal was like acid in his mind. His mood turned dark again, and he closed his mouth firmly, refusing to say another word, angry at himself for speaking at all.

"Fair enough," Alistair said, still quiet. Fenris wouldn't- couldn't –look at him. "We'll leave your past alone, and I'll try not to get too personal with my questions. Though, uh, don't be surprised if Matwog insists on apologizing about ten times. He doesn't always think before he talks. Or acts. Or uh. Ever. But he always feels bad afterwards." He paused. "I'm not going to ask you to trust us, since that obviously hasn't worked out well for you before."

Fenris barely kept from jumping. It was as if the man had read his mind.

"I guess all I can do is promise I mean you no harm. Well. With one exception."

Fenris went still, fingers tensing on the hilt of his sword.

Alistair gazed down at his bowed head, a touch of steel to his voice. "I don't know you any better than you know us, so as much as I'd like to trust you, let's be honest- I barley know you. I don't intend you any harm so long as we all remain amicable. But if you threaten any of those under my command, we're going to have a problem. Understood?"

Fenris stared down at the sword in his lap, his stomach sick with a confusing clash of different emotions that he couldn't even begin to describe. "I have no quarrel with the Wardens," he murmured.

"Well, good." Alistair's voice was bright and cheery again, as if there had never been a shadow of a threat to his demeanor. "Anyway, we'll be moving on in a bit, so you might want to wrap that up."

Fenris glanced up to watch the man walk off, gripping the whetstone almost painfully tight.