The days became grey and cold, heavy clouds hanging on the horizon and shrouding the landscape in gauzy sunlight. The West Road had become passage only for those who were desperate – the darkspawn hoard moved across Ferelden's southern territories like a plague and left a swath of destruction behind them. Rhiann and her party moved on in grim silence, eyes hardening at the sight of burned farms and smoldering ruins. Refugees making a try for Denerim could be found on the road, pitiful bands of travelers who had narrowly escaped death with little more than the clothes they wore.

Morrigan and Alistair were at each other's throats again after only a few encounters with these groups, after Morrigan's cold insistence that there was nothing to be done for them. They had no supplies to spare and no sanctuary to offer, walking as they were into the eye of the storm. Rhiann was quick to intervene when their exchanged words grew more heated, not only because Morrigan was right, but because Alistair knew she was right. Her harsh lack of compassion had nothing to do with the logic of her argument, and more than anything else their utter helplessness was what truly angered him.

As they neared the village that had once been Lothering, the trickle of refugees seemed to stop all together, and they knew without saying that any who had been left behind this far into the conquered lands could not have survived. The night brought greater danger than before. Roaming bands of darkspawn seemed drawn to the taint in the Wardens like moths to a flame. They began stricter watch, making sure at least two were always patrolling the camp and together. Sleep was disturbed each night with yells of warning, but thankfully no one was seriously injured in all those times. Though Rhiann doubted anyone realized it but her, Morrigan had taken to maintaining magical shields around them at night, centered on Alistair and her.

Finally they had made their way past Redcliffe, and as they drew nearer to the mountains, the call of the taint that had begun to feel like a permanent pull faded from Rhiann's chest and the nightly attacks dwindled away. In the shadow of the mountains the temperature dropped even further, and one dark and windy afternoon the first flakes of snow began to dance around them, heralding the beginning of a whole new set of obstacles to come.

-oOo-

Rhiann had seen the challenge coming for some time now. Sten's generally impassive countenance had given away to glowering more often then not as the days passed. He was unhappy with the decision to continue on through the lands the darkspawn had overtaken and journey into the mountains to hunt for an obscure artifact of questionable existence. Rhiann was less than thrilled with the plan as well, but she had promised she would at least try, and until their clues dried up or the journey proved to be an elaborate back and forth trek across Ferelden she intended to continue the search.

When Sten stopped a day's journey outside of the obscure town of Haven and demanded to know why they were bothering with this foolishness, she knew she had no choice but to prove herself. It was with impressive calm, therefore, that she accepted his challenge.

She slid her pack off of her back and handed it to Alistair, along with her traveling cloak.

"I don't like this," he argued earnestly, keeping his voice low so Sten wouldn't hear him. "Just let him go. We'll make do without him."

"We need him. You know as well as I do that I have to do this." She gave him a crooked grin. "But by all means, feel free to intervene if he kills me."

"Not funny."

Drawing her blades, she turned towards the bronze giant, hoping that she was successful in hiding her trepidation as she eyed his enormous, muscular frame. She had witnessed his prowess in battle enough to know that speed would be her greatest ally in this fight, a tactic that was only reinforced in her mind when the first two-hand blow fell with amazing strength behind it. She managed to get away just in time, but the flat of the sword caught her shoulder as it arced up, and she felt it jar through her to the marrow in her bones. Sten apparently had no hesitation in cutting her down, and she stepped in with equal fervor, dodging and striking often as she knew she would not long be able to parry those massive swings.

Finally he was weary enough that his guard dropped only slightly, and Rhiann side stepped a downward swing and captured his blade in a cross-down of her own swords. Before he could recover she lifted a foot and kicked out over the lowered weapons. Her attack caught him in the face and sent him reeling. For a moment she knew real fear – he was getting back up and she was exhausted, but to her relief and amazement he only raised himself to his knees before embedding his sword in the muddy ground, his hands grasping the handle and his head lowered.

"I yield, kadan."

She was careful to keep her relief in check, calmly sheathing her weapons. "You'll follow under my orders?"

He looked up, questioning. "You would allow me to remain in your company?"

"I would say that's up to you."

He lowered his head again, this time in deference. "I will follow."

She felt a trickle of blood at her lip and wiped it away with the back of her hand, waving off Wynne's intervention even though her muscles screamed in protest. It wouldn't do to let him see how effectively he had weakened her. "Let's go then, we've wasted enough time."

As she trudged down the road trying to ignore each complaint of her body, she had to admit that her stubbornness amazed even her at times.

Much later, in the privacy of her tent with only Alistair in attendance as the snow whirled and deepened outside, she felt much more comfortable voicing her discomfort.

"OW!"

"Maker's breath, woman, it's only a sprain. Stop being such a baby," he laughed at her, searching around in his pack for something to bind her wrist. "You really should just let Wynne tend to this."

"Later. After Sten goes on watch. Hitting him was like trying to beat down a rock."

"I could have told you that just by looking at him. Which are you trying to hide, the fact that he managed to hurt you or the fact that you're being a complete baby about it?"

She briefly wondered if it would be too childish to stick her tongue out at him.

"You know, I thought he'd be more sulky about you kicking his ass," he commented brightly as he wrapped a length of linen around her wrist. He had such careful hands. "He actually seems quite pleased about it."

"So do you."

Alistair grinned at her. "I can't say it's not a pleasure to be able to stand back and watch you fight - once the nail-biting and terror subside, that is. There's something intensely satisfying about knowing your girl can handle herself."

She laughed at that. "Is that what I am now?"

"You know what I meant," he murmured with a smile, and slipped a hand around the back of her neck to pull her forward. His kiss was slow and intoxicating, making her mind go pleasantly blank as she allowed herself to forget everything else and just feel. Unfortunately she leaned forward in her desire to get closer, bracing herself on the arm that had gotten clipped during her fight and a hot ache went through her back. She pulled away with a wince, her hand automatically going to her shoulder.

"Did we miss one?" he asked quietly, leaning in to glance over her shoulder and gently running his fingers along the neck of her shirt. It made her slightly dizzy.

"It's just a bruise," she answered shortly, irritated at the interruption.

"It's not a bruise, you're bleeding," he informed her, and his voice was business-like again.

Damned wretched, stupid qunari...

With a sigh she sat back and grasped the bottom of her shirt, but her arm wouldn't cooperate when she tried to lift it. "Help me get this off – oh for Maker's sake, Alistair, I'm wearing a chemise under it."

"Well, you can't expect me to know that," he argued defensively, his face still brilliantly red, and moved to sit behind her.

She bit her tongue and refrained from telling him that her seduction methods hopefully didn't include injury and an unwilling partner.

Exceedingly careful not to disrupt the thin blouse underneath, he slid her shirt up over her back. Despite her previous thoughts she felt a shiver go up her spine at the touch that had nothing to do with the cold outside, and was thankful he didn't seem to notice.

"Someone as large as Sten should really find a more reasonable way to vent their frustration," he muttered, then saw the ugly purple patch marring her skin. A red tear snaked through the center where the skin had split under the force of the blow. "Or," he continued, struggling to keep his voice light, "I could just kill him."

"That would kind of defeat the purpose of the fight, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe, but it would make me feel better." He drew in a breath and Rhiann got the impression he was forcing himself to calm down. "You're going to have to go to Wynne with this."

"I don't want to go to Wynne. Leave me a little bit of pride."

"And what do you think the others think is going on, with me closed up in here and you whimpering?" Rhiann began to giggle just as he caught the innuendo, and laughed harder at him when he dropped his head against her uninjured shoulder with a groan. "I really just said that, didn't I?"

"I must be distracting you."

"You do have that tendency," he whispered, and lightly pressed his lips against the back of her neck. Her breath caught, she felt him smile against her skin before he kissed her again, open mouthed, one hand sliding around her waist. Rhiann was sure he felt the shiver that time, and the smug smile he gave her as he got up confirmed it. "I'm going to fetch Wynne. Nope, don't want to hear it," he said more loudly when she tried to argue. "I have my reputation to think of, you know."

-oOo-

Six months ago, if someone had told Alistair that he would one day be forced to raise his sword against unarmed peasants he would have cheerfully informed them they were crazy. Of course, he also would have said it was crazy to ever believe that Teryn Loghain was a traitor, that Alistair would be one of only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, and that he would one day be venturing into a village of zealots with an assassin and an apostate as companions to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Perhaps it was time to reassess his definition of the word.

Whatever qualified as crazy during a Blight, though, Haven seemed to have a firm grasp on it.

What kind of mania that possessed villagers to rush four well-armed travelers with nothing more than their fists and the occasional pitchfork? Yet Alistair had seen the bloodied alter and the corpse of Redcliffe's knight – these people were killers. His guilt was assuaged on that point at least, though he couldn't help but wince as Zevran threw a woman to the ground by her hair and calmly slit her throat.

"Interesting place, this Haven," the elf remarked dryly, his own distaste showing through for a split second as he wiped his dagger clean. "It is not often I am treated to such displays of unrestrained insanity."

Rhiann wiped her forehead with her sleeve, her dagger still in hand, and ignored the comment. "I only saw one mage."

"Indeed." Zevran gestured towards the beaten path that wound up the side of the mountain. Rhiann nodded in a response to some unasked question, and the elf knelt down to study the road.

"How many?" she asked after a few seconds.

"Twenty? Three, perhaps, that are truly worrisome."

Rhiann nodded again, thinking. "Go make sure."

Zevran got to his feet, sheathing his weapons, and crept to the side of the road, disappearing into the limited vegetation as thoroughly as if it were a solid wall concealing his movements.

Alistair glanced at Morrigan, but she seemed perfectly calm. Of course, she would pretend to know what was going on even if she didn't. Thankfully, he didn't have such arrangements with his pride. "Care to translate the thief talk?" he asked Rhiann with a bit more annoyance than he had intended.

Rhiann blinked at him. "The altar in that cottage would indicate the use of blood magic in the village. Since only one mage came to greet us, we have to assume there's a group of villagers elsewhere. It looks like some made their way up the path earlier, but according to Zevran, only three appear to be mages. I wanted to get a decent look at things before we rushed in. If there's blood magic at work here, you and Morrigan especially are going to have to know what you're walking into."

Oh. He had actually known all that. The smile Rhiann was giving him said that she knew it, too. He couldn't help it. He despised the understanding that seemed to spring up between Rhiann and Zevran, the subtle way they could communicate with gestures and minimal words.

"Interesting," Morrigan said in a tone that told him immediately who her next comment was aimed at. "Before meeting you, I would have argued that ignorance was far more unattractive than jealousy."

"And I would have argued that the Chantry embellished the soulless nature of apostates," Alistair snapped. "The world is funny that way."

Rhiann only rolled her eyes and sighed.

Zevran appeared moments later, materializing from behind a tree. "They are indeed at the end of the path," he reported. "There appears to be some sort of religious gathering going on – lead by our missing blood mages."

"Oh good," Alistair said as Morrigan straightened, gripping her staff. "Let's go break it up for them."

-oOo-

The resounding roar shook the ground they stood on, and Rhiann crouched with her party behind an outcropping of rock as the enormous shadow passed overhead.

"Maker's breath, those lunatics were serious," Alistair exclaimed in a whisper.

The dragon settled some distance away, curling its wings around itself as it looked down over the mountain. Inadvertently, Rhiann ducked down further.

Alistair turned to her, eyes wide. "We're going to have to be careful with this one. A high dragon is nothing to take lightly."

Rhiann dared to peek her head out to survey the setting. "There are several empty structures ahead. We can use them as cover."

"You and Zevran could probably make it to them before she notices," he said. "That will give you both clear positions at her back."

Rhiann hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip. "True, but that would mean you luring her down yourself. Are you up for something like that?"

Alistair thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "If Morrigan can throw a couple of defenses on me first, I think I can handle it until you jump in. So long as you're not plotting an elaborate scheme to watch me get eaten."

"In all that armor? She's much more likely to impale you then eat you."

"True enough, I suppose. I don't much fancy the idea of swallowing a tin can myself."

So much for not taking it lightly.

"Might I interject?" Zevran asked, his voice slightly higher than usual as he looked back and forth between the two. "That is a dragon." When the others just looked at him, he glanced at them each in turn. "I am sorry, were you requiring further argument?"

"We may be able to sneak by it," Morrigan said uncertainly. "But High Dragons are well known for their excellent senses."

"We also happened to be covered in the blood of its hatchlings," Alistair added. "She'll know we're coming. I'd much rather be prepared than have it catch us."

Rhiann silently agreed. She looked at Alistair and saw the same reckless excitement in his eyes that she felt. They exchanged a smile, and Zevran groaned at the sight.

"Come on Zev," Rhiann whispered encouragingly, "We can take this thing."

He sighed as if cursing the forces that had thought it funny to bring him here, but drew his daggers. "I would like to state that if we live through this, Leliana does not get to be 'the crazy one' anymore."

-oOo-

The dragon's tail lashed out. Rhiann ducked just in time, but Zevran was not so fortunate. It slammed into him, hurtling him into the ancient remains of a shed. The unstable structure collapsed down on him. Rhiann took only a second to make sure he was still moving. Seeing that he was, she took a deep breath and grasped her weapons. The dragon was weakening, its movements slowed. She ran along the side and threw herself onto its back, bringing both of her blades down and sinking them into its spine. With a roar the dragon tried to throw her off, then went into its death throes. Alistair dove out of the way and the massive body crashed to the ground.

With a boyish whoop he caught Rhiann as she tumbled off the dragon's back. He didn't put her down right away, just gave her an excited grin. "All in one piece then?"

Rhiann glanced over herself. "It appears so," she said in some amazement and laughed when he kissed her soundly.

"Honestly, you two do have a way of making a soul sorry they kept you alive," Morrigan grumbled as she limped towards them.

Maybe it was the high spirits he was in, but Alistair looked over Morrigan with some care as he set Rhiann down. "You looked drained."

"'Tis not easy, keeping someone healed who seems so intent on dying. You could be more subtle about your approach, rather than charging in like an angry bull."

Alistair only grinned at her. "What fun would come from that?" he asked and tossed the startled witch a lyrium potion.

"By all means, do not concern yourselves with me," Zevran called irritably, still trying to free himself of the debris.

Feeling a bit guilty, Rhiann ran over, tossing aside some of the larger scraps of wood until she found the buried Antivan. He seemed mostly unharmed, though a large knot was forming on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Zevran! Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, fine. My day is not complete until I have been swatted into a pile of rubble."

"I warned you to watch the tail."

He scowled at her. "How silly of me to forget."

Nearly bouncing with excitement, Alistair reached down and hauled the assassin to his feet. "We just killed a dragon," he said. "That's got to be worth a broken rib or two?"

"Or three or four," Zevran groaned, then sighed in relief when Morrigan's magic encompassed him, its soothing lavender glow hovering around him momentarily before disappearing. "My thanks, bella. I am afraid the excitement of downing an overly large lizard was doing very little to help my disposition."

Alistair shook his head in disgust. "You are no fun at all."

-oOo-

Alistair had been feeling rather pleased with himself after the first test of the temple. Rhiann had admitted, somewhat embarrassed, that she hadn't done very well in her Chantry studies and so it was left primarily to him to sort out the riddles posed. It wasn't often he was able to step forward and not end up feeling like a complete fool.

Whatever smugness he entertained disappeared almost immediately upon seeing the lone shade waiting behind the ancient doors. Even if Rhiann's breath hadn't caught in her throat at the sight, he would have recognized the teyrn. He looked at Rhiann worriedly, and she spared him a single glance, a desperate please in her eyes before she stepped forward.

Alistair understood and remained a distance away, shooting a warning look at Zevran and Morrigan to do the same as Rhiann approached the specter of her father. They fell back without argument, both still reserved after the confrontation with the Guardian. This entire place was deeply unsettling, and Alistair had learned more than he wanted to about the group that accompanied them. Seeing Zevran torn between anger and grief at the Guardian's questions, almost like he was a person, had made it distinctly harder to hate him. He didn't need that kind of complication.

He watched Rhiann closely, waiting for any sign that he needed to intervene, but something in her stance told him that giving her privacy during this trial was the right thing to do. The spirit faded away, and Rhiann went still as a statue, her breathing labored. Now he went to her, hesitantly reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, shaken, but seemed in complete control of herself. "Yes."

He looked at her a moment longer, running the back of his fingers down her arm.

"I'm okay," she whispered in the face of his doubt, forcing a ghost of a smile.

"Of course she is," Zevran interrupted from behind Alistair, and he was looking straight at her. "It rekindles the flame, no? Your journey would become very cold without that familiar warmth."

Rhiann did not answer, but something Alistair didn't recognize flitted across her eyes. Satisfied, Zevran gave her a slow smile. "Mi belleza oscura," he murmured softly, with all the intimacy of a lover.

Rhiann deliberately turned away from Zevran, turned back to Alistair, leaning her head against his shoulder as she took a steadying breath. He wrapped an arm around her, trying to ignore whatever had just passed between her and the elf. She stayed there only for a moment, before backing away with a determined shake of her head. "Let's go. Maker knows what they'll bring out next."

The moment was gone, but Alistair couldn't help but note that Rhiann seemed determined not to look at the assassin. Alistair hated to admit it, but there was some side of Rhiann that eluded him, some dark place that she kept hidden, even from him. Zevran seemed to have a dangerous grasp on understanding that place.

They continued on in silence, and Rhiann reached out and slid her hand into Alistair's, threading her fingers through his for comfort. It was unlike her, and he was startled to find she was shaking. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, suddenly feeling like a shallow and insecure idiot for the jealousy that hummed through his brain every time the Antivan opened his mouth.

She needed him. That was all that mattered.

-oOo-

"They can't be serious," Rhiann muttered after reading the plaque in the light of the wall of flame that guarded the ashes.

"Of course they are," Morrigan snorted. "What better way to protect the ashes against repressed Chantry fanatics?"

Rhiann shook her head and began to unlace her armor. "You can't honestly tell me that anyone who went through all that would be turned aside by a simple thing like nudity."

"Oh?" Morrigan asked with a chuckle. "I would check with your own repressed Chantry fanatic before making that assumption."

Maker, did she have to make certain that everyone was staring at him? Alistair glowered at the witch, but she only smirked at his expression and released the knot that held together what little kept her covered, effectively ending that. His eyes flew to the floor.

"Ah, this is my kind of adventure, no?" Zevran chuckled, tossing his cloak to the floor.

"Come on, Alistair," Rhiann coaxed, and she was laughing. "How can you still be so reserved after the way we've been living for the past few months?"

Great. He was never going to sleep again, wondering what that was supposed to mean. Rhiann's fingers moved to unlace the tight chemise she wore beneath her shirt, and he stepped back a pace.

"No, really, you go on ahead," he stammered, positive that soon the flames weren't going to make much difference, anyway. He was going to burn on the spot. "This whole thing with the ashes is likely highly overrated. You can tell me about it when you get back."

"Right, I'm going to be the only one forced to strip down while you lot stand back and watch," she grinned at him, kicking off her boots. "Get a move on, Alistair - you're holding up the rest of the group."

He closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to let out a very unmanly whimper. He just needed to ignore his surroundings. Discipline. He was good at discipline. Ignore everything but the ashes. Ignore the way Morrigan's eyebrow quirked when he pulled his shirt off. Ignore the fact that the woman he had been dreaming about for weeks was shedding her clothes, perfectly at ease with her body, and he was forced to experience it with an audience.

He definitely needed to ignore the way Zevran was looking at him.

The elf didn't even try to hide it as his gaze ran over Alistair's form with languid care, the corner of his mouth quirking into a sensual smile...

"You're doing that on purpose!" Alistair snarled.

"Zevran, stop molesting Alistair," Rhiann said dryly without even turning around.

Zevran laughed, but at least he looked away. "He should not make such a splendid target."

Rhiann glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling with humor. "That's sound advice, you know."

Alistair grumbled, but continued undressing. This was supposed to be a revered experience, not some smut-filled childhood fantasy. It was holy, this idea of leaving all the weight of the world behind. Holy, to rid yourself of earthly possessions and come forth just as you were. Holy – the way Rhiann's leggings rode low on her hips and revealed the curve of her back...

It was possible this line of thinking was only damaging his psyche further.

He kept his eyes straight ahead as they stepped through the flames. The Guardian appeared, the flames died, and Alistair was the first to yank his pants back on, much to the amusement of the others.