Lothering brought them two more followers to their cause, and Missa did not turn down the help. One was a giant of a man whose willingness for redemption she recognized all too well. The other was a human who -although mostly crazy- was as quick with daggers as she was. Missa just wished she didn't insist on singing at the weirdest of moments.

It wasn't hard to find the Dalish, even after half a week's travelling through unfamiliar forest. The hardest part, however, was getting them to agree on the details of the treaty.

Perhaps their reticence had something to do with the foul weather, or the fact half their tribe were dying. Whatever the reason Missa had held her tongue, bid to help them politely. It wasn't going to be as easy she had hoped, but when was it ever? She had to scratch their backs before they scratched hers. Life on the surface was not as dissimilar as she initially thought, and she fell into her role as leader of their little ragtag band with the familiar ease of leading a bunch of dusters into petty crime.

"It's pissing it down," she said, corpses of wolves by her feet half sinking into the mud around them. She flicked her blades once and the rain watered the blood on the steel of her daggers. The Dalish enclosure was half a day behind them. She was irritated enough to leave them to drown in their misery.

"Yes it is fairly persistent," Alistair replied, causing her to roll her eyes as she wiped the rain from her face. Morrigan had tried to enchant their gear to be at least partially waterproof. The new leathers she acquired from the Dalish camp, though exposing some of her skin, were magicked by the witch to trap some warmth within the folds, and Missa crookedly smiled as she remembered Morrigan's awkward acceptance of her thanks.

She cursed again and pulled her cloak tighter as she felt droplets escape down her back. "Come on," she said. "Let's find some werewolves to slaughter."


The quiet and eeriness of the forest escaped Missa's notice; how would she know what a proper forest was? The discomfort of her companions felt in the rather spooky surroundings, however, she noticed readily.

The spirits of the group were at an all time low. There was little to do for morale, and it was still raining. Everyone was miserable, damp, and only able to dream of the possibility of being dry and warm. The weather and habitat did not treat them kindly, and the natives resented their presence.

They had stumbled into a quiet clearing and Missa knew something was up, despite her senses feeling blinded by the forest. Roots whipped at her face and she threw herself into chopping down seemingly alive trees intent on choking her to death, shocked that her small blades did damage.

Once everything was dead and still, a deep, strange voice rang out.

"'Tis a talking tree," Morrigan said, pointing out the obvious as another living sylvan waved his branches over their heads.

Missa looked up at the oak and blinked. "Urgh," being all she managed, running a hand through her soggy hair. "You're a tree. That talks." She growled in frustration when she realised she was parroting Morrigan's child-like words, and looked at her companions in disbelief.

"There are many wonders in this world the Maker has created, no?" surmised the bard. At that Missa and the witch exchanged a look and politely ignored Leliana.

She resisted the temptation to sit down and instead shoved her hands under her arms, her face a picture of polite puzzlement as the tree talked to her. Acorn this. Acorn that. "Right. Your acorn. I get your acorn back, got you," she interrupted, bowing politely to the Grand Oak. The rest followed her out as she half tumbled out of the grove, still bemused by the situation.

They all walked in silence, and then Alistair spoke up. "That did happen, right? We're on a quest to get an acorn. For a talking tree."

Morrigan shrugged and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her. "Probably a trapped mage, who knows. 'Twas old magic I felt there."

"That was once human, Morrigan?" Leliana asked, blue eyes wide and curious.

The witch made a sound in annoyance. "Or elven, considering. No, for an inanimate object such a tree, there has to be a spark of life, or a soul if you will."

"Mage or not, we got to find his acorn. Which could be a euphemism for something I don't know about yet, or…" Missa started, as she wiped the rain from her face with a tired hand.

Leliana politely hid a smile behind her hand. "Well, acorns are seeds."

Missa looked slyly at Alistair, the only man in their party. "You ever lost your acorn, Alistair?"

The warrior sighed good naturedly before grinning at her. "Oh no. You're not getting me involved in this particular line of conversation. You'll twist my words and before I know it I've said something wrong and you're all furious at me. And if it's one thing I've learnt from the sisters at the Chantry, it's not to make women furious. Doesn't end well for anyone, trust me on the matter." Missa returned his smile with a wicked one of her own, and then pursed her lips. Sometimes he made it much too easy.

"The way you breathe is enough to make anyone furious," Morrigan spat back, only causing him to return a glare.

"Sorry, I'll just stop breathing quietly over here, shall I?"

"If it will stop your incessant noise," the witch replied. Missa subtly walked in between the pair before they started anything. Leliana continued to bear that ever present warming smile of hers, eyes twinkling at Missa's actions.

"Oh really, Alistair? So you've never planted your seed in fertile ground…" Missa asked, turning on her heel and walking backwards so she could face him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"I… uh… That's disgusting," he stated half-heartedly, colouring his cheeks.

Morrigan made a sound of loathing and strode ahead. "I do not want to think of the fool planting anything anywhere, thank you."

Missa chuckled, and went back to walking forward. "Suit yourself." At that, she shot a look at Alistair over her shoulder. He was still looking at her, and she saw something in his hazel eyes that warmed her. Missa was convinced his gaze were was lingering still when she turned away from him. The attention left her feeling gratified.

However, a stab of guilt reminded her of her duty and the tough road ahead. She made the mistake once of sleeping with Carta members when she first started out, and it had not ended well. Gossip had a tendency to undermine and influence, and Missa knew very well the names women were called if they had the audacity to enjoy sex. She picked her tumbles carefully; mostly it was with people she knew would keep their mouths shut after or with pretty young things who were outside her authority and didn't care who knew.

Another sigh encroached but was bitten back between a tightly closed mouth. She picked up the pace a little, legs slipping slightly in the mud. "Onwards to camp. Acorns can wait 'til tomorrow." With that she caught up with Morrigan, keeping the exasperated witch company for the rest of the journey.


Sten and Dog guarded their makeshift camp. She was annoyed to see it was as damp as the rest of the forest, and as she edged closer to their site the latter raced in front to greet them. Dog chased a circle around her when he reached her feet, and she rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes. I've missed you too. I do hope you did you job and kept the beasties from our camp." The dog barked once in what she hoped was a reply. Sten walked up to her, interrupting her reunion with her mabari.

The Qunari gestured across the camp, seemingly unfazed by the rain. "There was a lone wolf. It was thin with hunger, and I consider the death a mercy. I wonder if the allies you seek here are strong enough, dwarf. This curse the elves speak of festers the land and all who live here." The warrior crossed his arms, back straight.

"Oh," was all Missa said. She was not sure what to reply and blinked a few times before speaking. "Well, good work with the wolf."

Sten pointed to the mabari by Missa's heels trying to garner her attention by dropping a stick by her feet. "It is he that did most of it. He is a true warrior and knows what it is to fight. We are alike, he and I." Sten replied.

Missa smirked at the opportunity he just gave her. "Yeah? He also licks his own balls, Sten. Can you?" Missa asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

The Qunari glared down at her and uncrossed his arms suddenly, violet eyes framed in anger. Dog barked once, oblivious to the situation. She chuckled and ruffled the mabari's ears and he wagged his stumpy tail furiously in happiness. "Want me to scratch your belly too?" She grabbed the chain mail around Sten's side and patted it – like dog, like Sten…

"Pashara." Sten stalked off in angry strides, muttering under his breath. The dog's head butted her in the leg as she snorted in amusement then nodded her head at the departing Qunari. She threw the stick in his direction and the dog just watched it go, looking back at her expectantly.

"Go follow him, he'll only sulk otherwise." With a bark Dog happily chased after Sten, who did not once break his step to let the animal catch up. The mabari picked up his stick on route and continued to dance around his heels, and she smiled as she saw Sten take the stick and throw it again.

She went to stand next to Alistair under a tree, who had watched their interactions with amusement. He was trying to protect himself from the elements, hunched under dripping branches and looking as cold as she was. Missa huddled into him as far as she could politely, using him as a windbreak. "You know, perhaps it's me… But provoking a very large man convicted of murder and patting his belly doesn't exactly seem the most sensible of things to do," he said, looking down at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Since when are you sensible?" She retorted back and he laughed once. A drip from the branches above landed in the gap of her cloak and she muttered her disgust.

Alistair held his shield over her then. "My lady," he said in a bow.

Missa grinned and nodded her thanks at the makeshift shelter. "I'm no lady, salroka. But thanks all the same."

"Slanderous lies!" he exclaimed.

She snorted, knowing he was only teasing, and took her cap off her head, wincing at the damp that somehow manage to reach through the leather.

"Has anyone told you that mouth of yours will get you in trouble?" Fingers raked through her hair and she muttered as they got caught in tangles.

Alistair looked down at her and grinned crookedly. "Plenty."

If Missa had been honest with herself, she would have had to admit she did not know what to make of Alistair. The pair of them had not gotten completely comfortable with each other yet, but the important things they were at least clear on.

He allowed her to lead and so far respected her judgements, and she had long since stopped asking his opinions on things. However, he always seemed to be on the edge of saying more. He was holding something back, or so she suspected. It was too much of a trauma to push him to speak up and she couldn't be bothered to push matters further. It was far easier to have willing subordinates who did what she said and asked, but occasionally he would say something that would cut through the insecurity and she would be impressed.

Sometimes Missa agreed with Morrigan when Alistair got too loose with his mouth. Nonetheless she much preferred ridiculous Alistair to the catatonic, grieving man he was after Ostagar. He still had a tendency to close up into himself, but he was proving to be a good person to have by her side in battle. They fell into an easy rhythm in moments of combat and she trusted him completely at her back. Missa only had that once with Leske, and it was nice at least to have it on the surface with someone.

Alistair cleared his throat and she felt the warmth of him as he bent in a little closer. She resisted the urge to mirror his movements and put her cap back on irritably, hiding her hair again. Missa thought of the last time she actually felt someone next to her. The memories of Lina came back, and she smiled. As she was lost in thoughts of soft skin and tumbling blonde hair and -sweetest of all- a warm embrace in a bed, the rain came down harder. She sighed. "Blasted weather," she muttered.

"Hah. Welcome to Ferelden, I'm afraid. Typical of our springs."

"Duncan said as much," she offered shortly, then mentally kicked herself for mentioning his name. Carefully she peeked up at the man. He smiled at her, albeit a bit sadly, and adjusted the hold of his shield. Alistair looked to say something else but was interrupted by Morrigan's call from across the camp. She groaned once and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and ran over to the witch. But not before bestowing a final smile upon Alistair.


The werewolves were easy to find, and so apparently were acorns. Another week passed, bringing with it more rain. The ruins offered some respite from the weather, but held more weirdness and oddities that Missa could only cope with by filtering it through humour. Oh look, walking corpses, how hilarious.

Once they reached the centre of the hideout and met the Lady, however, her mood changed. She had looked the supposed leader of the Dalish in the eye and saw the bitterness and desperation eating him whole, and she recognised the despair and frenzied bite of the underdog as she faced the werewolves. For her, the choice was simple; Zathrian had to die.

A wound left by him made her left thigh ache still, and the three day walk back through soggy forest was not going to be pleasant. She already knew she had to lie about Zathrian's death to his people, and that he had to die a hero. She swallowed her disgust at the thought, and carried on walking.

They had sheltered again for a moment under a fractured marble building, a relic from Tevinter times. Sten had pointed out with some disdain their origin, and Leliana passed around their lunch with stories she knew about Tevinter legends, much to the Qunari's disgust.

Experimentally she flexed her sore leg, and winced. As she stretched herself further, the dog whuffed quietly, ears perked. She looked at him curiously, not questioning his instincts. "Trouble?" She asked, and Sten withdrew his sword then. She could sense something tainted, something corrupted… Like darkspawn, but not.

Missa sneezed once, and at her movements the mabari shot forward in a ferocious bark. A very large, very angry bear greeted them, stumbling wildly in pain. Dog aimed straight for the throat and was knocked aside by a large paw, yelping at the blow.

Missa darted forward and leapt, landing squarely on corrupted fur. She pressed her daggers into rotting flank and held on as the bear rose in agony, growling his pain. She was thrown off with a twist, a dagger still lodged in the animal's belly. She rolled quickly as a paw was brought down, but was not quick enough. Sharp claws grazed her back and she cursed at the contact.

"Why do you not wait?" A voice yelled. Alistair charged shield forward, sword arm aiming a thrust into the creature's flank. A kick to the side brought the bear's attention to him and Dog shot forward and gripped his vicelike jaws on a brutish front paw, dragging it down smartly to his level.

Wolves circled, hungry and snappish, tainted as the bear that Alistair was currently fighting. They had emerged from the trees, eyes clouding over in corruption and pain, waiting for the right moment to strike. Arrows and magic flew past her as Leliana and Morrigan dealt with them; Sten swirled his sword, decapitating a lone wolf intent on flanking Morrigan's side, and Missa grinned as she retrieved her dagger, adrenaline pumping the pain away.

The bear was still alive and angry. She leapt on his back again, and using her weight she dragged her remaining dagger down, cutting a path down stinking, infected flesh. She was thrown again further, and she managed to twist slightly as she hit a pillar of the ruins, head snapping back against marble.

"Urgh…" She tried, then collapsed. The last thing she saw as she slipped into concussion was of Alistair looking up at the bear towered over him, shield half raised.


She saw a face framed by red hair, and blurrily she tried to rub her eyes. She was warm and she could smell perfume, and her eyes had yet to focus.

"Rica?" She mumbled, and realised her mistake when she heard an Orlesian accent murmur something instead of her sister. She shook her head to try and stop the ringing, pulling herself up by Leliana's hands. Blood dripped down her side, and the pain in her back throbbed. "Huh. Still alive."

Dog bounded over and licked her leg, happy to see her up. She leant on him and he wriggled at the contact, pleased. Slowly she made her way over to the rest of her party, everyone standing. Everyone but Alistair.

She awkwardly walked over him, holding onto the mabari for support. Missa tried to bend down to reach him, but her wound twinged painfully enough for her to see white dots. "Alistair?" She asked, and tentatively poked him with her boot.

Morrigan laid a glowing hand over him, then sighed in annoyance. With firm fingers she pulled back his eyelids. "Fool," she heard the witch mutter, then looked on incredulously as Morrigan slapped his cheek hard, sharp enough to leave a handprint.

"Interesting bedside manner," Missa remarked once, the noise of the slap loud enough to make everyone look around. She grimaced as she carefully knelt down and started to unbuckle the mess at Alistair's side the bear had made, gratified as he started to stir.

"M-Maker…" Alistair muttered, waking up slowly. Morrigan went over to inspect her back while she knelt over him, but she waved the witch off.

"Glad you're alive, Salroka." He focused on Missa then, blinking furiously to try and right himself. She realised then that his splint mail had done the job, and his side was clean. She removed a glove and felt his head carefully and checked for injuries. "Looks like you and me both will have bruising," she said softly. "But eh, just our heads. Maybe it'll smack some sense into us."

"You never wait," he mumbled again. Armoured hands grabbed hers from their quest and pulled them to him. He held them for longer then he should, and Missa didn't quite know what to do. Carefully she pulled her hands away and rose with a yell, biting her lip as the cuts on her back throbbed in protest as her movements.

"Let's move when we're ready," she said, watching as Sten dragged the corpses of the rotting animals away from them. "I have had enough of forests."


They had walked away from the Dalish heads held high and pockets deeper, onwards to Redcliffe with the realisation that this was real and happening. Missa and Alistair had managed to get some new armour for their troubles, and the new leather dug into the wounds left by the bear irritably, her shoulders and back feeling on fire.

They stopped as they reached the outskirts of the forest, finally seeing open fields and breaks of sky for the first time in weeks. Sweat poured down her face and she sunk to the ground on weak knees, finally giving in. She looked up at the horizon and saw the first of the evening's stars greet them, lights twinkling faintly.

"Look Alistair," she said, eyes focusing briefly as he stood over her, face concerned. "The sky is full of diamonds…" It was the last thing she said as she collapsed, pain pushing her into darkness.


"Turn her so I can see her wounds."

"I've got her," A deeper voice against her said. She felt it rather then heard if first, and she murmured a nonsensical reply. She for once felt the warmth of another body in the first time in months, and pulled herself in further in the embrace. The pain laced her back and realised where she was and what was happening, and she dragged herself out of his arms.

She mumbled an apology, embarrassed by her contact. She found herself being held down then by both Alistair and Leliana, mortified that she was wriggling like a trapped bug. Sweat dripped down her face, and cold hands pushed her down again onto her stomach.

"I said keep still," Morrigan said harshly. Over her shoulder the witch was holding a sharp knife, and she breathed through the pain, her skin on fire.

"What are you doing?" Missa said then, voice low and flinty.

"Saving your life." It took all the control she had to go limp. "I have to cut out the infected parts," and at that she felt the point of the knife touch her skin. "Why did you not let me tend to your wounds earlier? But no, like an idiot you insisted you'd be okay, as foolish as your simpleton friend."

"I trust you," she said quietly. Alistair had backed away at her words, bringing the cold of the night inside as he left them. "Please don't ruin my tattoos. That'll annoy me." The witch muttered under her breath and began to cut away the contaminated flesh of her wounds with a firm hand.

Missa did not scream. She was proud of that. Instead she looked at the stars poking though the gap in the tent, and allowed herself to be blinded by them, a shining distraction from her pain.

Tomorrow was another day, and she was still alive.