Note--For once, the dialogue is mostly my own.

Thanks to all who have added me to favorites or alerts, and thanks to those few kind souls who have reviewed. Feedback is always welcome, and often helps keep the writing process in motion.

I think there is at least one more chapter I'm likely to add after this one, and there may be two.

Title Reference: All our work, our whole life is a matter of semantics, because words are the tools with which we work, the material out of which laws are made, out of which the Constitution was written. Everything depends on our understanding of them.
Felix Frankfurter

Elan whispered something in the barmaid's ear, and pointed at a plate of food she'd set aside. The barmaid nodded. Elan added a silver to the little pile of coins she'd handed her, then took the chunk of bread off the plate and broke it in half. She put half back and broke the half in her hand in half again, tucking half the meat and cheese from the plate between the two pieces, and began to wrap the whole construction in napkin.

"Food for the road, huh?" Alistair asked indulgently. "I'm flattered you're trying to emulate me and all, but it's really better to take things that travel well, you know...like dried meat and fruit...though cheese is always nice."

"Excellent advice," Elan said. "But I don't intend to be carrying this long. I'm merely taking it on the off-chance that lay sister...or whatever she was...happens to catch up to us. After all we promised—well, actually, we didn't promise, but we implied—we'd save her something to eat," she explained, stowing the bundle in her pack.

Alistair stared at her with an expression of confused disbelief, making the heat rise in her cheeks.

"Okay, to be fair, you didn't even imply anything," she continued as if trying to be soothing. "That was all me. I'm just trying to be a woman of my word...even if the word wasn't exactly spoken."

"Oh, in that case...wait." Alistair blinked. "We're leaving without her? What about the words you actually spoke, then? Shouldn't you be keeping them?"

Elan gifted him with a look so pure, so innocent, it looked about as real as a gilt-wood copper. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know full well you said she could join us," Alistair said, trying to be severe—and almost succeeding. It was damned hard to manage when that look of hers—not to mention the mischievous spark smoldering in the sooty depths of her eyes—made him want to snicker...or...kiss he—snicker.

Elan shrugged. "I told her she could come with us. I never told her we'd wait here for her indefinitely."

"That's rather a nasty trick of semantics," Alistair protested. Though he couldn't help but be a little impressed by her cleverness. A very little. Hardly at all, really.

"I'm merely being considerate," Elan insisted. "In case you hadn't noticed, this place is getting more crowded by the second. I'm sure the barkeep would appreciate it if we'd make way for paying customers...or people that might be paying customers, anyway," she added, her natural honesty getting the better of her argument. "It's time to move on. If the sister returns she'll find food waiting for her. If she catches up to us, well...then I'll keep my word. But—with luck—she's changed her mind...or at least been distracted by something shiny. She's certainly been gone long enough."

It was a shame she hadn't been thinking of giving the sister the slip when she'd handed over that key...she certainly hated to sacrifice whatever Ser Bryant had tried to donate to their cause, but everything had a price...and if that was the price she had to pay to avoid thinking about the Maker and his blessings, so be it.

If what she did—was doing—was the Maker's work...then everything leading up to it had to be his work as well...her blood pounded in her ears at the very idea, threatening to override her vision with a dark, black-red haze of rage. Her stomach roiled. "Let's just get a move on before the owner decides he never liked his grandfather that much anyway and asks us to pay damages," she snarled.

Alistair blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood, then shrugged. "After you, my lady," he said a bit satirically.

Even as they'd eaten, the press of people in the tavern had gotten tighter. It was actually a bit difficult to push their way to the door.

Of course, the sister had to be coming out of the chantry just as they were walking past.

Another blessing, no doubt, Elan thought, letting loose a half-hysterical bark of laughter that had Alistair, Woofus, Morrigan, and the sister all looking at her as if she were the one having visions.

"There you are!" Alistair exclaimed wildly. "The tavern was getting pretty crowded without those ill-tempered soldiers about, so we thought we'd collect you on our way out of town." He coughed anxiously, shooting Elan and Morrigan a warning look. Elan flushed. Morrigan smirked. "Elan brought your dinner—just like she promised—see?" He thrust an uninvited hand into Elan's pack. "We even saved you some of the cheese! It's nothing to write home about, but, still—cheese is cheese, am I right?"

"Um...thank you," the sister said uncertainly, jostling the rather over-stuffed pack, a beautifully-shaped-and-oiled bow, a quiver of arrows, and a bedroll she carried in order to take the bundle too—gingerly, as if she feared it might bite.

"This is all very enlightening, to be sure," Morrigan said snidely. "Little as it does toward finding a place to lay our heads."

"Looks like we'll just have to head to the outskirts of town and camp like everyone else," Elan said ruefully. "Which wouldn't be so bad...if we'd purchased supplies before the merchants closed up for the night. That'll teach me not to think with my stomach."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Alistair advised, but he was grinning.

Elan cuffed him on the shoulder. "I didn't hear you protesting at the time," she informed him tartly. "And you ate more than I did."

"You also didn't hear me say I'd learn to stop thinking with my stomach," Alistair retorted, his grin broadening.

"A good thing," Morrigan commented, "As 'tis the only part of him with which he thinks at all."

"Oh, ha, ha, very funny," Alistair said.

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. "A compliment to be sure, seeing as how I am not the one who strives to be witty. I am however, capable of putting a thing to use when I see an opportunity...so I will remind you we left a camp ready and waiting for us to occupy it...assuming it hasn't already been overrun like this wretched town. Which possibility only grows more likely the longer we stand here gaping, no?"

"You have a camp already, then?" the sister asked. "And you left it unattended?"

Apparently even her belief in mercy and goodness didn't quite extend to believing that some poor refugee wouldn't move right into a waiting camp the moment the chance arrived. Not that Morrigan, Elan, or even Alistair was likely to blame anyone for acting on that particular impulse...which meant, of course, that the sister certainly wouldn't.

"We didn't have much choice once that templar got ahold of us," Elan explained wryly. "Especially since the camp isn't—wasn't—ours, exactly...but I reckon Morrigan's right—killing the former occupants should give us first dibs."

"I...see," the sister said slowly.

Elan grinned in spite of herself, recognizing the inflection. It seemed she and the sister did have at least one thing in common. Subtext.

"They were bandits," Alistair elaborated nervously. "They attacked us, first. Honest."

"Quite considerate of them, really," Elan said flippantly. "Seeing as how their deaths seem to be the gift that keep on giving—I wonder what that says about mercy?"

"Oh do tell me you're not about to begin moralizing," Morrigan groaned impatiently. "I thought you had more sense! Clearly, I was mistaken, however, as it seems I must remind you—the longer we dally, the less likely we are to find the camp unoccupied."

"Why waste time trying to claim something that could aid some poor soul in need?" the sister interjected quietly, her face thoughtful.

"Haven't you been listening?" Elan asked crisply. "We are in need."

"Ah, but what if I said I knew someone who could help us?"

"The Revered Mother, no doubt," Elan said wryly. "You'll pardon me if I don't hold my breath."

"What? No...not her, but—"

"She seemed to think having Grey Wardens about might cause trouble," Alistair elaborated with an almost breezy air of innocence maligned. "Though I can't imagine where she could have gotten that idea."

The sister smiled slightly.

Elan made a noise that might have been a stifled chuckle. Or a snort of disgust. Or a bark of irritation. Or some strange hybrid of the three.

"Yes...well, I was actually refering to Elder Miriam," the sister informed them. "She's been organizing the refuges, and she's quite a wonder. She'll know of some place we can rest for the night."

"Wouldn't that be taking aid from others more in need even more surely than appropriating that bandit camp would be?" Elan asked skeptically.

"Ah, but as you point out...we, too, are in need," the sister replied with a winning smile. "I simply suggest we fulfil our needs where we are and allow some other poor soul to do likewise. That is not so bad, surely?"