A/N: Hmmm... Updating this only once a week is frustrating. I've already written up to chapter twelve, so I'm considering switching to updates twice a week.

Opinions?

And as always, criticism/suggestions are loved and welcomed!

Fiah hadn't ever liked tents much. She supposed she should be thankful that the trio had an extra for her to sleep in, but she awoke feeling claustrophobic beneath the canopy of cloth.

Upon awaking, the elf slipped out of her tent and climbed a nearby tree, perching on a wide branch. She breathed in the steamy air of the forest, glaring angrily at the dense leaves over her head. She longed to see the sky properly, and not just bits and glimpses whenever they found a gap in the trees. Settling against the rough trunk of the tree, Fiah propped her feet up and closed her eyes, allowing the sounds of the forest to soothe her.

The rogue is content. She wishes she could spend her life like this, quietly surviving in the wild forests. No excitement, just survival.

A rustle of fabric caught her attention. Silently, she swung her legs around and let them hang off the branch, peering through the leaves at the noise. Tanya left her tent and sat at the edge of last night's fire pit, looking rather solemn.

Fiah watched her for a moment, perplexed. This wasn't the laughing, light-hearted woman she had seen leading the group; this was a worried, lonely girl who looked like she was aching with homesickness. Feeling a pang of unprecedented sympathy for Tanya, Fiah slowly dropped from the branch and joined her at the fire pit.

"You're up already?" Tanya asked quietly.

"Unfortunately," Fiah smiled. "Between this blasted heat and Alistair's snoring, I'm amazed I got any sleep at all."

Tanya laughed lightly, turning her eyes to her bare hands. She remained silent for a moment, then sighed.

Catching her sad look, Fiah asked, "So, tell me about your life in Highever. I know you don't seem to want to talk about it," she defended quickly, raising her hands as if in surrender, "but what's said at the fire pit can stay at the fire pit. Promise."

She sighed, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. "It's… complicated."

"What happened there?"

"I… I ran," Tanya admitted, her voice heavy. "My family was killed in an attack. I should've stayed—" Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to regain her composure. "I should've stayed to help. I could've saved them, but I ran. I saved my own life, when I could've saved theirs."

"I understand," Fiah muttered darkly. Her own guilt seeped back into her mind, reminding her of the lives she could have saved. Shianni, Soris, and Kielle were probably dead, and it was her fault. The rogue realizes she's terrible at pushing her conscience aside. What is left for her to do? She can no longer save them, so how can she right such a terrible wrong? "You do this for them, don't you?" she realized suddenly.

"Fighting the Blight? I do it for all of us," Tanya said grimly. "But, yes. In my heart, I know I do it for them. I couldn't save my family, but I can save others, and that is my task now." The dedication and ferocity that Fiah had seen before were back, giving life to the defeated woman.

Standing, Fiah stretched and yawned. "Well, we'd better get moving. I don't want to be subject to Morrigan's chastisement later."

Tanya narrowed her eyes, inspecting the elf closely. "What about you? There's something you didn't tell us about being in the Alienage, isn't there?"

"There is." Without giving any further answer, Fiah turned and went to wake Morrigan.

"The camp should be right up here." Alistair pointed to the forest in front of them, his nose buried in the map.

"And you expect the Dalish to allow us to simply walk into their camp?" Morrigan quipped. "Do you not think they would have scouts?"

Alistair tensed visibly, refusing to admit that Morrigan's point was a good one.

"I could scout ahead," Fiah offered. "I know my way through the trees. Finding their camp would be easy enough, and I'd remain unseen. If they do see me…" She shrugged. "I'm an elf. Perhaps they'll listen to me easier than a group of foreign humans." She looked to Alistair for approval, who looked to Tanya.

She nodded, peering over the templar's shoulder to look at the map. "Don't take too long." Tanya looked around nervously, her eyes sweeping the forest around them. "Maybe I'm paranoid, but I have a feeling that we're being followed."

"I'll be quick," Fiah promised. Shedding her pack, she tucked her bow over her shoulder and grabbed a low tree branch, pulling herself up and snaking through the forest. She focused on silence, tiptoeing from branch to branch with steady, practiced feet.

Voices rose up from the forest floor. Crouching, Fiah searched through the leaves, her eyes finally landing on a pair of Dalish archers.

"You'd think the Keeper would send larger patrols," one of them complained to his partner. "With the foreigner, and—what was his name? The one the other clan warned us of?"

"Mahariel," the other Dalish replied. "The one with the sickness?"

"Yes, him. Did Zathrian ever decide what the sickness was?"

The other Dalish shrugged. "Different than the curse, I know that. It's strange – I overheard him talking about the curse with that city elf."

"Pol?"

"No, you dolt. The new one."

City elf? Fiah leaned closer, straining to hear as the archers continued through the forest.

"Oh," the first archer groaned. "That mean woman. Why was Zathrian talking to her? Does he really think she can do anything about the curse?"

"Yes," the other archer stated grimly. "He said he wants her to kill Witherfang."

"He thinks she can?"

The elf snickered. "He said it just like this—" he raised his voice an octave, adopting a nasally yet menacing tone, "'Kielle, I want you to kill Witherfang,' and she looked excited. Excited. After everything the Keeper told her about the beast, she was excited."

Maker help me. Fiah leaned against the tree trunk, her eyes wide. If Kielle's in that camp…

I can't go there. There's no way I can face her and live. I mean, it's nice to know she's alive, but this puts me in a very, very bad position. She sat for a moment, contemplating some way to get out of going to the Dalish. Fiah had already decided that she'd probably stick with the Grey Wardens—they weren't terrible company, and saving the world did make her feel less guilty about leaving Kielle and her friends to die back in the Alienage—but she couldn't follow them to the Dalish if it meant facing Kielle.

Taking care to avoid the patrol, Fiah snaked back through the forest to where her companions were waiting. She dropped down from her branch and gave them a wide smile. "Well, the Dalish are not where we want to be right now."

"We have to," Tanya insisted, looking up from the map. "These treaties are the difference between life and death in Ferelden."

Doing her best not to wince, Fiah shook her head. "Look, their scouts travel in pairs. Nothing you can't handle. But, I think it would be best if we make the most of our time and split up. There's more treaties, right?" Alistair nodded, and she continued, "Let me go and try to fulfill some of the others."

Maker, she berated herself, What did I just ask to do? Why couldn't I just leave? Well, now the rogue will be launching herself head-first into excitement. Dammit.

Morrigan regarded her with a cold glare. "You're rather eager to leave us."

"After seeing the Dalish in person," Fiah retorted coolly, "I just don't think I'd be welcome. I'm just a city elf. To them, I've forsaken my own history." Please accept this bullshit. I really need you to accept this bullshit. Please.

"Here." Tanya offered her a bundle of papers. "A map and the treaty for the Circle. See if you can gather support there, whether from the mages or templars." She looked down, deep in thought. "Go to Redcliffe first," she decided. "Speak to the arl and let him know we'll be coming. We're going to need his support."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Fiah took the papers and nodded. "And if anyone questions why a Grey Warden isn't carrying these?"

Tanya cracked a smile. "Tell them you're an honorary member."

"All the fighting and glory without the taint and nightmares?" Alistair threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Maker, recruits have it so easy these days."

"I promise to share my honorary fighting and glory," Fiah promised. She smiled warmly at her new companions—even Morrigan—and bid them farewell.

"How much for a room?"

"Six sovereigns a night."

Fiah sighed at the absurdly high price, mentally inspecting her ever-dwindling coin purse. "Is there anywhere cheaper?" Any normal night, she would have argued, haggling the price down to something she could afford. But she had been on the road all day and wanted only to sleep.

The barkeep grunted. "The Chantry handles charity cases. Otherwise, six sovereigns."

"Thanks." Fiah took one last swig of ale, finishing off her drink. She grabbed her bow and pack and slung them both over her shoulder, heading for the Chantry.

Redcliffe was bustling, even as the sun sank below the horizon. As Fiah wandered down the path from the tavern to the main part of the town, she overheard an argument that piqued her interest.

"The Maker sent me to help the Grey Wardens," a red-haired woman insisted, her words clipped with her Orlesian accent. "They will come here, and you will see – you are mistaken." She planted her hands on her hips and Fiah looked her over, thinking hard. The woman's armor matched her own, and she had two daggers sheathed on her back. At first glance, her rounded face and delicate pout didn't seem to indicate she was much of a rogue, but Fiah knew better—the light-footed stance and sinewy muscle was a blatant hint.

"The Revered Mother has assured me that your claims are folly," the man nearest to her grumbled. "The Maker doesn't grant visions, and Grey Wardens don't help Redcliffe. If you'd like to help, go to the Chantry and sing a song or bless something. Don't bother me further."

Fiah slid into the conversation, seeing an opportunity to gain a new companion. "The Grey Wardens, you say? I come on behalf of the Wardens," she explained, holding up the treaty bearing their seal. "They're headed this way, looking for support from the arl."

"The arl is locked away in his castle. You'll find no support from him," the man grunted. Waving his hand, he turned and walked off, muttering something about Wardens.

"You really know the Grey Wardens?" the red-haired woman asked, her eyes scrutinizing.

Nodding, Fiah turned her own studying eyes onto the woman. "And you are…?"

"Leliana. I came from the Chantry in Lothering after the Wardens refused my help. Perhaps, if you are truly their friend, you could convince them to change their minds?"

"Well, Leliana, I may have misspoken to that kind gentleman," she admitted with a grin. "The Wardens aren't coming, yet. I'm merely here on an errand for them. If you were to accompany me, I'm sure they would think different about refusing your help."

Leliana's eyes lit up. "Oh, of course!" She clasped her hands together excitedly, then froze, looking away sheepishly. "Please, forgive me. This is the path the Maker intended for me, I'm sure of it. What is this errand you are on?"

Taking a deep breath, Fiah began explaining her quest to gain support from the mages. When she finished, Leliana merely nodded.

"We have lots to do. Let's be off," she suggested. "There is daylight yet, and there is no sense in wasting time."

The rogue does not relish the thought of any more walking today. But, she would rather sleep in the open, as opposed to a stuffy, over-priced room at the inn.

"Right." Fiah set off through the town, glad for the company of another rogue who appreciated the value of a soft step and a quick pace.