Ayale was silent as soon as she felt Tamlen go limp in her arms. She looked down at him fearfully and felt her breath catch in her throat. She gently eased him off her lap and onto his side on the ground, where she shifted away from him so she could look at him better.

His whole body was relaxed, that much was obvious. With his armour so loose on his wasted frame, she couldn't see if he was breathing. She hesitantly pressed her fingers into his neck, and searched for a pulse. There had to be one... there had to be!

She finally found it, weak but there. She could feel the skin on the palm of her outstretched hand warm slightly from Tamlen's faint breaths. He had survived the Joining. He was alive... barely.

Beneath her fingers, Ayale could feel the heat in his skin. She moved her hand to rest the back of her fingers against his cheek and then his forehead. He was burning up. Fever!

When she had been sick with fever, the taint had almost drained the life from her. Tamlen's hold in the world was already so weak! Was he to survive the Joining, only to die at the hands of a fever? Had she just saved him for nothing?

Panicking, Ayale looked over her shoulder to the three shemlen that had been watching the spectacle. Leliana looked apprehensive and sympathetic, obviously thinking Tamlen was dead. Wynne also had a sorrowful expression. But Alistair... he looked like he had just watched an abomination take form, his expression was a mixture of shock, horror and queasiness.

"Hahren!" Ayale cried, her tone begging. "Hahren ay'irde! Help me please!"

Wynne joined her side instantly. She knelt down beside Tamlen and checked him over herself. She didn't speak to Ayale, her attention fully on the ghoul. When her examination was finished, Wynne stood up and cast a spell.

A gentle light enveloped Tamlen before disappearing. To Ayale, it looked like the light had fused into her clanmate and was lying under his skin. As if he didn't have enough things messing around with him at the moment.

"The lifeward will preserve his life, for now," Wynne noted. "I would prefer to tend to him in camp, where all my potions are, and where there's a decent light."

Ayale nodded understandingly as she looked down at Tamlen's face. It then struck her that, while Tamlen hadn't eaten much in the last three months and would have lost a lot of weight because of that, he was still going to be too heavy for her to carry back to camp. She wasn't even sure how far she'd manage to drag him, and through a forest, that would probably cause him more injuries.

She looked over to Alistair. After everything that had happened, it seemed very unfair of her to ask him to help. However, she knew she had little choice.

"Alistair... will you help, please?" she asked, praying that she didn't sound like she was putting him on the spotlight.

Alistair looked at her nervously. She couldn't say that she blamed him, though. She had just asked him to help her carry someone he'd just watched try to strangle her. In his position, she'd have been hesitant.

"He's out cold, Alistair," Wynne observed, obviously thinking along the same lines. "And even if he wasn't, I doubt he'd have the strength to hurt anyone now."

Alistair glanced dubiously at the mage. The look on his face screamed that he had a thousand problems with the plan that had somehow been formed without his knowing. He was about to open his mouth to say something, when he looked back at Ayale. Obviously the look on her face was that desolate, as he reluctantly nodded his head and sheathed his sword.

He stepped towards the trio, putting his shield away in the process. When he reached them, he knelt down beside Tamlen. With a little help from Ayale, he slung the young man over his shoulder. And after Wynne checked that everything was okay, he stood up.

Ayale wondered if that was the sight that her clan had seen when Duncan had walked into their camp with her thrown over his shoulder. Her clan... she missed them so much. Keeper Marethari would know what to do in the situation before her...

But Keeper Marethari wasn't with her! She had to stop wishing for her clan to appear out of nowhere and come to her rescue. She had to rely on the people around her, and she would have to pray to the hahra that Wynne's magic would be enough.

"Ayale?" Leliana asked concernedly.

She looked up and realised that everyone was leaving the glade, only she and Leliana hadn't moved. Wynne and Alistair had paused to look at her, before Alistair had urged the mage on back to the camp, leaving the bard and elf alone.

"Are you okay?" Leliana queried.

"Yeah, I..." Ayale trailed off, thinking of an explanation. "I just need a minute, to catch my breath."

"Okay," the bard nodded, unconvinced. "Do you know the way back?"

Ayale nodded, smiling slightly, though it felt fake to her. Regardless, she saw the woman turn away to leave her alone in the glade. She could hear her whisper an order to Torgan, something about ensuring that Ayale got back to camp.

And then, Ayale was alone.

She was silent, breathing in and out through her mouth. She could feel the slow rhythm slowly picking up speed, and the air seemed to catch in her throat. A juttering sound echoed in the silence as she inhaled, and she sighed, rather than exhaled.

The tears she refused to acknowledge beforehand started pricking at her eyes, and she allowed them to fall. Their heat seared her cheeks, as if they demanded retribution for being ignored for so long. She wondered if they would wash away the taint marks on her face, but as she wiped her eyes, she could still feel the taint that lied just under her skin.

She had never been sure how to describe the feeling that the taint left on her skin. It was... like the bark of a sapling tree, still supple with youth and smooth from a distance, but rough under the fingers. It was hard, like the mud that would sometimes cake her and then dry out on her skin whilst they trekked.

It was strange what odd thoughts would come into a mind that had nothing better to think of. Or perhaps, it was a mind that thought of such things because it did not want to think of something else.

She hadn't hesitated when she fired that arrow at Alistair's feet. Granted, it had been aimed at the ground... but she would have readily shot as his breastplate. Even if the arrow had bounced off harmlessly, the fact that she had shot at him would remain.

Everything they had done, everything they had worked so hard for in the last two months, had all been undone in nothing more than a few minutes. All it had taken was a choice that she had been unprepared to make.

"It wasn't fair," she whispered desolately.

There was no answer, nor did she expect one. But the silence only made her feel more alone. There was no one there to tell her that she was right, that the choice hadn't been fair, that she shouldn't have been forced to choose. There was no one to comfort her, no one to help her see the path that seemed so obscure to her.

More tears fell as she thought about how events had turned out. It was obvious how upset Alistair was. She knew that she had lost a lot of the respect she had earned from him, and Leliana and Wynne would probably be doubting her now. All of camp would probably be questioning her loyalties, herself included.

She had been forced to choose between Alistair, a shemlen that she had only known for a couple of months, and Tamlen, her friend for longer than she dared admit. The result would either be losing the new clan that had built up around her since Ostagar, or losing the most important person in her life.

She continued to wipe away the tears that fell down her face. She felt the slight scarring on her cheeks where Marethari had cut her skin to grant her the vallaslin to honour Ghilan'nain. She paused, wondering why the hahra had given her such a choice.

"Ghilan'nain," she whined heartbrokenly. "It wasn't fair. Why? Why did you make me choose?"

She looked up to the heavens, the tears obscuring her sight slightly. But, she could still see that it was a clear night, and that the stars were shining down on her. She blinked to clear her eyes, and she quickly and easily picked out the constellation of stars that formed the halla goddess' shape.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she confided to the goddess. "The path twists and turns, and is covered in blood. I don't know my way, anymore. Please, Ghilan'nain... please... ay'irde."

A low sad whine startled her, and Ayale spun her head round to find herself staring at Torgan. He padded slowly up to her, either understanding or merely mimicking her desolation. He whined as she raised a hand and fondled his ears. He settled by her side and the two of them remained like that for a moment, the dog giving her the comfort that she otherwise wouldn't find.

"Ma serannas, Torgan," Ayale whispered after a few seconds.

She sniffed, cleared her eyes and breathed in deeply to calm herself. She then made to stand, before hissing in pain and crumpling back down into her kneeling position. The burns on her leg were throbbing angrily, worse than she remembered them doing, and her muscles were cramping.

She shifted slightly so she sat on the floor. She slowly stretched her legs out, rubbing her muscles gently, trying to coax them into functioning. She left her burns alone, knowing that there was little she could do to ease the pain.

She rose to her feet and limped slowly towards the exit. She heard Torgan pad quietly after her, remaining just a couple of feet behind her.

She looked down at her quiver and bow, knowing that she would have to pick them up. The burns on her right leg ached and she knew that she wouldn't be able to bend her leg without upsetting them. In the hopes of a compromise, Ayale stuck her right leg out at an angle, bending her left knee so she crouch low enough to pick up her belongings.

She held her thigh to maintain her balance and reached down to pick up her quiver, hooking the belt with her fingers. She slung it over to rest on her back. She looked down unenthusiastically at her bow. The slim Dalish design meant that she would have to bend down lower to pick it up. Reluctantly, she bent over.

The bow suddenly lifted up to her hand. She stared at in surprise before turning her head to see Torgan holding the bow gently in his massive jaws. Ayale smiled gratefully and took the bow from him. Once she stood up and had brought her hurting leg back to take her weight, she moved the bow to her right hand and stroked the huge Mabari.

"Ma serranas, Torgan," she thanked him for a second time that night. "Would you mind if I leaned on you as we walk back?"

Torgan stuck his tongue out to pant before closing his mouth. Ayale took that as him granting her permission. She wrapped her left arm over his hulking form, holding on gently to his studded collar. It amazed her how huge the dog really was, his head reaching up to her shoulders and the rest of his body was up to her bust.

She used her bow as added help, moving it forwards whenever she stepped forward with her right foot. She fervently clung to her two supports, her bow and Torgan, knowing that she wouldn't have a hope to possibly make her way to camp without either.

Finally, the camp firelight shone on her eyes and she realised that they were back at camp. She hadn't really paid attention to the journey, letting Torgan guide her back. Taking more focus on not screaming in pain, she hadn't even noticed how long the walk had been.

She looked around to see Alistair emerge from a nearby tent. It was obviously the one that was holding her clanmate, not that she was going to ask. By the look on the templar's face, she knew that the young man was seething, and wanted to have words with her.

She patted Torgan's side gently, sending him back to his little spot by the fire. She walked slowly towards Alistair, and stopped when she saw that he was approaching her at a much more rapid speed.

There was no two ways to describe him: he was angry. This conversation... was not going to be pleasant.

"What. Was. That?" he demanded when he had closed the distance significantly.

"I helped a friend," Ayale replied calmly.

She knew that it was a smart answer but she didn't know what else to say, lest she enraged the shemlen further. She had a feeling that anything she said would only darken his usually-upbeat mood. And, she wasn't proven wrong.

"Helping a friend?" he echoed incredulously. "You spared a ghoul! He's not the person you knew, Ayale! He's been changed by the taint! There was nothing you could have done to help him!"

"Then explain to me why he's still alive," she challenged.

"Because Wynne couldn't take that desolate face of yours!" Alistair retorted. "She helped because-"

"That's not what I was talking about, and you know it!" she hissed angrily.

Alistair was silent for a moment, his face uncharacteristically dark. He glared at her, and with the height advantage of being a shemlen, he towered over her too. However, if he was expecting her to back down, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"What is it exactly that you have a problem with?" she demanded.

"You mean, besides the fact that he's a ghoul and therefore closely connected to the darkspawn, almost to the point where they could track him down if so ordered to?" Alistair chided. "How about breaking the Warden's Oath for a pointless task?"

"You didn't have a problem with me breaking it a few days ago," she stated hotly, her voice rising in volume.

"You did that by accident, this was on purpose," Alistair noted.

"My Warden's Oath is mine to break!" she yelled.

Alistair looked at her severely for a few seconds. He was breathing heavily, rapidly, as if he thought that would cool his rising temper. When he had calmed down slightly, he opened his mouth.

"He asked you to end it," Alistair observed. "I heard him. He asked you to stop him, to end his pain. And what you did do?"

"He didn't know there was another option!" Ayale snapped. "And, if you'll recall, as soon as I offered him the vial, he took it without hesitation."

"It may all be for nothing," Alistair warned. "You broke the necklace to save a ghoul, a creature that can't be saved. If that liquid really could be used for the Joining, don't you think it's somewhat of a waste to use it like you did?"

Ayale's face darkened as she read the meaning below Alistair's words. She glared furiously at the templar, and he shrank slightly under her intensity.

"Don't you mean it's a waste that I used the liquid on an elf?" she spat venomously.

"No no no!" Alistair protested immediately, waving his hands around. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then are you saying that a necklace is more valuable than a person's life, in general?" she demanded.

"That's not what I meant!" Alistair insisted. "That's not what I meant at all!"

His anger seemed to have dissipated into nothing. Worry and shock had replaced the emotion as he had obviously realised how carelessly he had chosen his words.

"Then what did you mean?" Ayale challenged.

Alistair opened and closed his mouth numerous times, trying to find a way to explain himself. Not a sound left him, however. He looked at her helplessly, a face that he often gave her when his brain had frozen on him. It happened often when he was under pressure, so she knew the expression well.

But she was not going to be sparing him at that moment. She was angrier than she had ever been at the implications he had made, and she had no desire to pull Alistair out of the fire that he'd thrown himself into.

She shifted her weight slightly, waiting for him to come up with an answer, a reason, an explanation. As she moved, she inadvertently stretched her right leg, and the burns flared up painfully. She looked down and hissed. Tears rose to her eyelids, and she fought then back down.

A strangled cry from the nearby tent made Ayale and Alistair turn their attention away from each other. Ayale pushed all of her pent up anger to a side and she frowned worriedly. She was certain that cry had come from Tamlen, and she knew that he was in the tent.

She heard Alistair sigh in resignation and she glanced at him.

"You might as well go and see him," Alistair noted, shrugging his shoulders. "May you can do something to calm him, something that Wynne can't do."

With that, he sauntered away from her and towards the main camp fire. She watched him walk away for a while before turning her attention back to the tent that held her clanmate and Wynne.

Slowly, she limped over.

End note: Is no one even going to try and guess where the song is from? It couldn't be that hard, surely. I'll wait another chapter, and then I'll tell everyone where it's from.

Elven translations (my words and phrases in italics):

Ay'irde –Help me

Hahra –Gods

Hahren –Elder

Hahren ay'irde –Elder help me.

Ma serannas –Thank you

Shemlen –Human

Vallaslin –Blood writing