A/N: I should mention that there might be some possible/slight spoilers from the books The Stolen Throne and The Calling in this story, especially when dealing with the characters of Loghain and Duncan.

The Cousland boy's tracks were harder to follow than Loghain would have expected. Fergus' group was supposed to be out on a scouting mission, so it made sense that they were being careful about leaving tracks, but Loghain hadn't expected him to be quite so good about it. Still, they were able to find the trail and follow it, though the whole thing was much more slow going than he would have hoped. However, the most annoying thing about the whole expedition was the bastard and his idle chatter. Cauthrien and his own men stayed quiet as they moved, as he had only selected those who had worked with him for years and knew he preferred the silence. And Sayre was quiet, as he assumed she probably would be. Alistair, though, never seemed to shut up. He tried to talk to everyone, and Loghain relegated him to the rear of the group, just so he wouldn't have to listen to him prattle.

With each passing day they moved deeper into the Wilds. They encountered a few groups of wolves, but any that dared venture close enough to their group were taken out by Sayre before they managed to get too close. Loghain was actually quite impressed by how quick she was with her bow, as the girl somehow managed to draw it and fire off a few shots before the rest of them even had their swords drawn. And no matter how many arrows she fired, she always somehow managed to remember where she had shot them, and she would go to retrieve them once the threat was dealt with. Every evening he would watch as she went through her arrows, repairing any that needed it. Overall, he was surprised by her level of discipline. Her armor was always clean, her weapons always sharpened, and she was usually the first person up in the mornings, after himself.

Four days into the trip, the managed to find a solid trail and began moving faster. They had no idea where Fergus was, but each day that passed made it a little less likely that they would find him... or at least that they would find him alive. They were finally making such good time that Loghain didn't let anyone stop for lunch, making them eat as they walked. However, Loghain began noticing other tracks, and he called Sayre forward, wanting her eyes to help look out for anything that might try to attack them as he watched the tracks of the men they were following.

Sayre just briefly glanced at the ground before she said, "Wolves. Rabbits, too. It's possible the one was just following the other, and it crossed over here."

Loghain gave her a sideways look. He hadn't noticed the rabbit tracks. "Good with a bow and you can track," he said. "Odd skills, for an elf from the Denerim alienage."

Keeping her eyes on the ground, they continued on a few steps before she looked up at him to see the expectant look he was giving her. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said carefully. "Was there a question there?"

Loghain almost smiled. He couldn't help but notice she gave him a title, where she hadn't done the same for Cailan. "A question, yes," he said. "How does one such as yourself learn such skills? And how do you get enough practice to improve them?"

"One such as myself," she said quietly. Sayre kept her eyes down as she spoke, though he wasn't sure if it was to keep an eye on the tracks or to avoid meeting his stare. "My mother taught me," she said after a moment. "She was the one who taught me how to use a bow, how to use swords and daggers. As for practice..." She seemed to hesitate a moment, and then she straightened, bringing her face up to look at him, and he saw that same resolute expression she'd given Cailan when he questioned her about killing the Bann. "There is plenty of hunting to be had just outside Denerim's gates. It was there that I got plenty of practice with my bow."

"You mean poaching," Loghain stated, but Sayre didn't flinch.

"Some consider it such, yes. It is known that the lands surrounding the city are held for the king's use, but the king does not use them. I find it hard to believe that he often dines on squirrel or rabbit, or even deer, which is caught outside the gates." She lifted her chin, as if to compensate for the fact that the top of her head barely reached the height of his shoulder. "Hunting is forbidden simply because there might come a day when the king wishes to use the land for sport."

"You would steal from the crown, then?" Loghain demanded.

"The land is his, it belongs to the crown, and so we are not allowed to plant. But the animals... they may travel freely into and out of the land," she replied. "Do they belong to the crown simply because they were on the king's land when they died?"

"Most would say yes to that question," Loghain said.

At that, her chin dropped a little, and her voice softened. "Most have not seen the suffering that goes on in the alienages. Most have not had to listen to the children crying because they do not have enough to eat."

"Most would not care, even if they had," Loghain pointed out.

Sayre's head lifted again, her face turned in his direction, but it was like she wasn't quite seeing him. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then her eyes came back into focus, all ice and steel again. "But I care, so I did what I could to help."

Loghain swept his eyes across the ground, making sure they were still following the tracks. "Even if it means breaking the law?" He pressed her.

"There are just laws, and there are unjust laws," Sayre responded.

"It is very convenient," Loghain said. "To call a law unjust when you do not wish to follow it."

"As convenient as it is to say that you follow a law that has no bearing on your life whatsoever," she replied.

"I wonder," Loghain mused, reigning in his anger at being spoken to in such a manner. "Would you speak so... freely, were you not hiding behind the mantle of a Grey Warden."

"I am not hiding, my lord," she said with a shake of her head, though he noticed that her tone had grown more respectful. "Nor do I only confess to what I have done because I believe being a Grey Warden will protect me. Duncan did not conscript me until after I confessed to my... crime, the punishment for which would have been my neck at the end of a rope. Poaching likely would only earn me a few lashes." Her eyes went back to the ground. "Whether I believe a law is unjust or not, I know that, if I break it, I may have to suffer the consequences of doing so."

Loghain frowned at her, trying to decide if she was attempting to be sarcastic, or clever. Oddly enough, she seemed quite serious. "So you don't believe killing the Bann was a crime, then?"

"For what he did, I think his death was justified," she said, though her voice had grown very quiet. "But I'm sure there are many who would disagree. After all, he was a human, and a noble. We were just elves."

Loghain scowled. "It sounds like a pretty excuse to me. That humans will never understand your... plight, and so you are justified in whatever you do." But if he was trying to get a rise out of her, he failed again.

"There are some who think that way," she said vaguely.

He decided to try another tactic. "So if it was your mother who taught you how to poach the king's animals, where is she now? Did she ever suffer the consequences of her actions? Or is she, even now, training someone to replace you, now that you're gone?"

There was a long pause before Sayre answered. "She's dead," she said finally.

"Ah," Loghain said. "How convenient it must be for you, that everyone with whom you have committed your crimes are dead, so that you need implicate no one but yourself." Sayre stiffened, and the tips of her ears seemed to turn pink. He could tell she was angry, but that's what he'd been aiming for, wasn't it? It was a practice he employed with many of his own guard, baiting them to see how much criticism they could take, to see how they would react.

"You must excuse me, my lord," she said, her voice cold. "...if I fail to find the deaths of my mother and my betrothed as... convenient."

An interesting reaction, that. It was not what he'd been expecting, but it pleased him nonetheless. His curiosity sated for the moment, Loghain went back to watching the trail they were following, but they had only gone a little ways before Sayre held up her hand. "Wait," she said softly, and he looked to where she was pointing.

"What is it?" He asked.

"More wolves," she said.

Loghain frowned. "I don't see any..."

Before he had even finished the sentence, Sayre had loosed an arrow from the bow that just seemed to appear in her hands. He heard a yelp, and then the rest of the pack was pushing through the brush to charge at them. They were Blight wolves, and they easily outnumbered his party, by almost three to one. Sayre dropped four more before they were too close for arrows, but by then everyone had their weapons out and were ready to fight. As a wolf charged at Loghain, he thrust out his shield, catching it across the head to fling it backwards. Bringing his sword down quickly, he caught another across the shoulder, only to have a third barrel into him from the side. He almost lost his balance, but he righted himself quickly, bringing the edge of his shield down hard on one of the wolves' head.

The skirmish was over quickly enough, though, and when Loghain raised his head up from the three dead wolves that lay at his feet, he saw that all the others were dead as well. One of his men had a nasty bite on his leg, but the group was otherwise injury-free. Cauthrien went to go see to the bite while Sayre began moving away to collect the arrows she'd used. Alistair, on the other hand, was doing a poor job of trying not to grin like an idiot. It seemed Maric's bastard could stand to see a bit more battle, to be so excited over a minor scuffle. But as Loghain was cleaning off his sword, the boy seemed to freeze in place, staring off in the direction that Sayre had gone.

"Darkspawn," he said. His voice was not loud, but it was enough for them all to hear, and everyone stopped to look at him. Alistair gestured with a hand. "In that direction. Not a large group, I don't think, but... large enough. And they've sensed us. They're coming this way."

"What do you mean, they've sensed us?" Cauthrien demanded, coming over to the two of them.

"Well," Alistair eyed her warily. "We're Grey Wardens. Just as I can sense them, they..."

"Wonderful," she snapped. "You've turned us into walking targets. So very helpful indeed."

"Cauthrien," Loghain said, giving her a look.

She squared her shoulders, then turned to the other men. "Come on, up and alert. Be ready for anything."

Loghain turned to peer out into the woods where the elf had gone. "Sayre," he called out. "Get back here now."

The girl returned at a jog, and she was almost to them when Loghain heard something whistle past the side of his head. He looked down to see an arrow in the ground, and when he looked to the skies, he saw more flying towards them. "Shields!" He called out, bringing his own up in front of him just in time to hear a loud thunk. When he lowered the shield, he saw an arrow protruding from the shield, a nasty, barbed thing. And then the darkspawn burst through the trees.

They were not nearly quite so outnumbered as they had been with the wolves, but the hurlocks and genlocks provided more worthy opponents. Another arrow landed in their midst, and Loghain called out, "Take out the archers!" The darkspawn's weapons were crude, their makeshift armor providing little protection against Loghain and his men. One of the creatures charged at him, but Loghain cut him down with a savage, cross-body slash. He turned to see another behind him, raising its club over its head to bring down on Loghain, but as he brought his shield around to block it, an arrow appeared, sprouting from the creature's throat.

The fight was nearly as short as it had been with the wolves, and the ground was soon littered with the bodies of the darkspawn as well as the animals. There were a few more wounds, though. Loghain looked around to see one of his men with blood running down his face from a cut to his head. Cauthrien had removed a gauntlet to nurse a large welt on her forearm. Sayre was the worst, though. As she stumbled towards the rest of them, he saw the blood under her hand, which was clutched to her side. The shaft of an arrow stuck out between her fingers.

"Maker damn it," Loghain muttered as he went over to her. "Sit down," he commanded, looking around for someone to help him. "Alistair," he called out, beckoning to the boy. He would have preferred Cauthrien's help, but not only did she have her own injury, he knew she was no lover of elves. While he didn't think she would harm Sayre, he couldn't count on her to be as careful as he would have wanted.

Loghain knelt in front of Sayre as Alistair came to stand behind her. "I'm going to have to remove your breastplate," he said, and Sayre's eyes widened in fear. He ground his teeth together. "You have a tunic underneath," he pointed out as he reached for the straps on her armor. Sayre made a move to assist, probably to keep him from touching her any more than he needed to. "Stop," he told her. "Keep pressure on the wound." As he pulled the breastplate over her head, he frowned. "You need new armor," he told her. "This is of horrible quality. No wonder you got hurt."

There was a tightness around her eyes as she replied. "The armorer in camp... doesn't have a lot made to fit... someone my size."

Loghain snorted, inspecting the wound. The head of the arrow was in her waist, below the ribs, though it was on the side of her body so it didn't appear to have hit anything vital. He probed the skin around the shaft, as well as her back, where he could barely feel the tip of it just below the skin. He looked up at Alistair. "Sit behind her," he told him. "Hold her arms."

"No," Sayre moaned and made as if to move away from both of them.

"Stop it," he commanded. "I can't pull the arrow out. The barbs would cause more damage pulling it out."

"So what are you going to do?" Alistair asked, his face going a little pale as he sank down behind her.

"I'm going to have to push it the rest of the way through," he said. "Once it's through, I can break the shaft. Now Sayre. Cross your arms over your chest." She just looked at him, that frightened rabbit look on her face. "Do it!" She complied, and Loghain turned to Alistair. "Grab her wrists and pull her arms tight across her body."

"What? No," Sayre protested, jerking away from Alistair when his fingers just barely touched her wrists. "I can hold still just fine on my own."

"I do not trust that you can," he said in a clipped voice, growing angrier as she continued to argue with him. "You, however, are going to have to trust that this is necessary. No one is trying to hurt you."

She met his eyes, and any fight that was left in her fled at his words. Loghain knew why she was hesitant to be held down, knew why she flinched at being touched by anyone, but he didn't have time to deal with her issues just then. Any wrong moves on her part, and the arrowhead could lodge further into her abdomen, causing serious damage. They couldn't afford to travel with a wounded person, especially when that person was the only archer in his group. Especially when they had no idea what condition the Cousland boy would be in when they found him. If they found him. Sayre finally nodded, holding her hands back, and Loghain gestured for Alistair to take her wrists. Drawing his knife, Loghain cut off one of the leather straps on Sayre's breastplate. It would have to be repaired anyway. He held it up.

"Bite down on this," he told her as he placed it into her mouth.

Sayre squeezed her eyes shut, and when he cut her tunic so that the skin right around the wound was exposed, she whimpered. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow in his right hand, his left on her shoulder. Maric would have had kind words for her, he thought, feeling a touch bitter. Maric would have said something to make her laugh, to distract her from the pain she was about to feel. Loghain could give her nothing but the pain, but at least he could make sure it was over quickly. With a firm hand on the arrow, he angled it so that tip was pointed out. Bracing himself against her shoulder, he thrust the arrow forward.

Sayre screamed.

…

…

…

It was quiet that evening, as everyone gathered around the fire to eat a quick meal. Loghain sat away from everyone except Cauthrien, and the two of them were conversing. From the looks of it, it almost seemed like they were arguing over something, or rather, it looked like Loghain was chastising a sullen-looking Cauthrien. The teyrn's guards were huddled at the far side of the fire, eating the stew that was heating in the large pot. Alistair, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen, but that was just fine with Sayre. She had no desire to talk to him or be around him just then, anymore than she wanted to speak with Loghain. Just remembering the way it had felt to have their hands on her made her shudder.

Logically, Sayre knew that neither of them had been doing anything other than trying to help her. She knew it was ridiculous to let it bother her. How else was the arrow to be removed from her side? She also felt a little ashamed by the way she had acted. Loghain had obviously been angry at her for balking at his orders. Once the arrow was removed, Loghain had told Alistair to help bandage her up, but she had refused his aid. The bandages had to go completely around her middle, and the thought of removing her armored skirt in order to lift her tunic high enough to bare her waist was too much. So she had driven the man off, probably offending him in the process.

Unfortunately, the bandages had been more difficult to manage than she had expected. Moving away from the group to provide herself with as much privacy as possible, she had finally pulled up her tunic to inspect the wound. It was an angry red color and seemed to hurt more when she looked at it. Holding the cloth to the two holes in her skin while she wound another piece around her waist had been tricky, and the bandages seemed to bunch and shift once she had replaced her tunic and breastplate.

At least Loghain hadn't ordered them to march again. The two fights, one right after the other, had caused them to momentarily lose the trail, as there were now hundreds of footprints ranging all over. So instead he told everyone to set up their tents, another task that was proving difficult for Sayre. The others had finished with theirs at least an hour before, but she was still struggling with hers. Pain lanced through her every time she bent over. One of Loghain's men had offered her assistance earlier, but when he had tried to take one of the tent poles from her hand, she had snapped at him, and that had been the end of his help. She regretted her hasty words, but she was also too proud to go over and ask him for any further help.

There was a shuffling sound behind her, and Sayre didn't have to turn around to know who was approaching. "You're being an idiot," Alistair said. "Or do you really think people are impressed by your tough girl routine?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied, and he moved around to stand at her side, though not too close.

"Riiight. The whole look at me, I can take an arrow to the body, yet I feel no pain act is very believable. No really." Alistair scowled. "So I'm curious. Are you too proud to admit you need help, or are you just too stupid to realize that you do?"

"You're angry at me," she said.

Alistair laughed at that. "What reason would I have to be angry with you?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, right. Maybe because you act like I'm so far beneath you that you're insulted if I try to speak to you. Or maybe it's because you treat me like I have some sort of foul disease that you might catch if I get to close. Or is it because you practically tore my head off when I tried to help you earlier? So many good reasons... do I have to choose just one?"

Sayre blinked at him, trying to figure out what to say. "I..."

"Oh, just get out of the way," he said, and his harsh tone surprised her. Sayre took a step back, and Alistair moved in, grabbing at her tent. He had it set up in very little time, and when he finished, he glared at her. "There," he said before turning to walk away.

"Alistair," she called to him, and he paused, turning his head just a bit to look at her over his shoulder. "Thank you," she said. He snorted and took another step away from her. "Alistair, wait," she called to him again, and this time he turned around.

"What?" He asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Did I do it wrong? Perhaps I used the wrong knots, or..."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he paused in his rant to stare at her. "I know I have not been... fair to you, when you've been nothing but kind." She glanced at the tent. "Even when angry, you are still kind." A soft sigh escaped Sayre's lips. "Forgive me. I have little experience with humans, and..."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Alistair demanded. "Look... I respect Loghain and his men, but we're the Grey Wardens here. We're supposed to look out for each other. I know you don't know me very well, but I've given you no cause to stare at me like you do, like you think I'm going to... I don't know, stick a knife through your ribs when you're not looking or something."

"It's not..." She shook her head. "I don't think that. And I'm not trying to... impress anyone, not trying to make anyone think I'm tough. I certainly feel pain," she said, her hand going to her side. "It's just that I..." But her words left her when she looked down, and she lifted her hand up to see the blood on her fingers. "Andraste's ass," she swore.

"You're bleeding again," Alistair said, and he took a step towards her. The bandages had shifted, likely because she hadn't secured them tightly enough. But when Alistair took another few steps, bringing him closer to her than she would have liked, Sayre tensed. He frowned at her. "Yes, that's the look right there." He held up his hands. "Look, no knives. I have no plans of stabbing you. So you can either let me help you, or you can just stand there and bleed. It's up to you."

What choice did she have? "All right," she said before she could think about it too much and refuse the help she obviously needed.

However, then it seemed to be Alistair's turn to look hesitant. "Right. Well... you're going to have to take off the breastplate."

"Just... give me a moment," she mumbled before disappearing around the side of her tent.

"I'm going to go get some more bandages," he called to her, and then she heard his footsteps moving away.

Sayre removed the breastplate of her armor, setting it gently on the ground. Just that small act of bending over a little sent a flash of pain through her, and she clenched her jaw. Next she loosened her skirt so that she could pull her tunic free of it before tightening it back into place. The thought of standing before Alistair, before anyone really, in just her leggings, with her tunic pulled up to bare her stomach seemed wildly inappropriate. The tunic, which fell to her knees, was gathered up, and she wound it around her chest, tucking the end under her arm to hold it in place. It was the best she could do, but Sayre still felt very exposed, and she found herself unable to move from where she was hiding, behind the tent. More footsteps signaled Alistair's return, and Sayre felt her whole body tense when he appeared in front of her. She wrapped her arms over her chest, as if Alistair could somehow see through the thick fabric. He walked over to her, frowning at the blood-soaked bandages that were wrapped loosely around her waist.

"I'm going to have to remove those," he said, going to a knee in front of her. Sayre just nodded, tilting her head back so that she was looking at the sky and not the man in front of her. When she felt the brush of his hand, her whole body jerked back. "Maker's breath," Alistair said in an irritated voice. "Sayre, you're shaking. What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"I just... don't like people touching me," she said in a small voice.

"I see," he said, his tone flat. "Well, I'll be quick about it, then."

The old bandages were quickly stripped away, and Sayre began shaking even more as the cold air hit her bare skin. Stop it, she told herself. Stop being such a coward. She winced as new pads were placed over the open wounds, and then the new bandage was being wrapped around her. As soon as his hands moved away, Sayre let the tunic fall back into place, and she turned to reach for her breastplate. Alistair grabbed it first, though, as he stood up, and he held it out to her. When she showed the smallest bit of hesitation at taking it from him, he scowled.

"Andraste's flaming sword, woman, it's not some sort of trick," he said. "Just take the damn thing."

When she had it back in place, she finally looked at him. "Thank you," she said.

"What was I supposed to do? Let you bleed to death?" Alistair turned to go. "I may be a bastard, but I'm not an ass," he muttered as he walked away.

She felt like she should call to him. Apologize. Maybe even explain things. But the words died on her lips as she tried to form them, and she just let him walk away.