Chantal began watching birds after Morrigan promised to teach her the old Chasind magic. That, Morrigan informed her pointedly, was the first step. She needed to know the creature, the way it moved, the noises it made, how it hunted and how it slept.

Chantal wanted to fly, so she watched birds. Blight scared off most of them, all except the large pitch black ones with iridescent feathers that reflected like dark pearls. She liked them, though, particularly their lively and intelligent dark eyes. "What are they called, do you know?" She asked Wynne one day as she trailed beside the older mage.

Wynne sighed wearily, wiping her brow with her sleeve and shooting her a scolding gaze. "Chantal, this is not amusing."

"What isn't?" She asked, perplexed. Wynne's face softened almost immediately.

"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry child. I thought you were playing a game." Wynne admitted apologetically. "They are… Ferelden crows."

Chantal couldn't help the broad grin that spread across her face. "No! Really?"

"Yes." Wynne slipped into teaching almost immediately, despite the slight wrinkle in her brow that showed her displeasure with the continued nighttime activities occurring between her and Zevran. "They're quite clever. They hunt for insects, small fish, mice, but they're also known to scavenge just about anything. Crops, food left out by peasants, grain for livestock… I even heard a story about one who fashioned a twig into a hook to poke a hole into a sack of beans."

"I like them." Chantal stated decisively.

"Of course you do." Wynne shook her head in disapproval. "Please reassure me you're being careful."

"You won't believe me anyway." Chantal chirped, watching one of the sleek black birds slip into the sky with a few beats of its wings.

"Quite right." Wynne admitted. "But, I suppose the young exist to take risks the elderly disapprove of."

"I know a rhyme about crows!" Leliana exclaimed when Chantal pointed out their beady eyes watching them from a branch above the camp.

"Is it a naughty rhyme?" Zevran asked immediately. "In Antiva, every rhyme about crows is a naughty rhyme."

Leliana didn't dignify Zevran with a response, picking up another lock of Chantal's hair and continuing to braid it into the elaborate hairstyle she claimed to remember from Orlais.

"You have to tell us now." Chantal pleaded, shifting impatiently. Leliana placed a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her still with a tutting sound.

"I will, of course I will! How did it go…" Leliana trailed off thoughtfully. "One crow, sorrow. Two for joy. Three for a girl, four for a boy. Five for silver, six means gold. Seven crows bring a secret not to be told. Eight for heaven, nine for hell. Ten to summon demons from beyond the veil."

"This is why you shouldn't go around counting birds." Alistair mumbled from in between bites of his stew. "Next thing you know you're summoning demons."

"I doubt we need worry much." Morrigan's lazy smirk was a dead giveaway as she reclined back against a boulder. "Since counting up to ten is beyond you."

"I prefer the naughty rhymes." Zevran sighed. "Alas, shall I teach you one?"

Several chorused no's answered him immediately and one belched yes from Oghren. Zevran looked up from his whetstone and blade, caught her eye and winked.

One for sorrow, two for joy, Chantal thought. She beamed back brightly.

The sun rose above the horizon, casting the countryside in golden hues. Chantal stood, taking deep breaths, pulling her mana as Morrigan directed. Morrigan's voice, calm and low, instructed her to picture the crow, the way wings unfurled in the sky, the sound of their cry, and Chantal could. She could feel the wind in her fingers like they were wings, like she could launch from the ground and…

Fear caused her to open her eyes and Morrigan bit out an oath. "Fool!" She declared impatiently. "You were so close, Warden!"

"What if I fall?" She asked, panicked. "What if I can't fly? What if I fall?"

Morrigan shook her head impatiently and stalked away, muttering curses under her breath.

Feeling miserable, Chantal slunk back into camp after her. She avoided Alistair's grin, Wynne's cheerful good morning, Shale's grumbled complaining.

She couldn't avoid Zevran's eyes on her, like hot coals burning into her skin. She met his gaze, shot him a self-deprecating smile and shrugged.

"You will do it next time, then." Zevran grinned confidently. "Si?"

Chantal was much less sure of that.

When Alistair got up to take third watch, she sent him back to his bedroll with a command and a steely glare. Alistair folded without much of a fight and within seconds she heard his snoring coming from his tent.

"You want to send me to bed too, Warden, I'll go. Gladly." Oghren huffed, head jerking up.

"What'll you do when we get to Denerim?" Chantal asked, curling her knees up to her chest. Oghren petted his beard thoughtfully.

"Got taverns there?" He asked brightly. Chantal sighed, looking up at the stars above them.

"I imagine so. Never been myself." She rested her chin on her knees.

"Ancestor's tits, girl. You need to get out more."

She didn't respond, and within moments Oghren's snores joined Alistair's behind her. That was the nice thing about Oghren, if you didn't keep talking to him at night he'd certainly drop off, giving you as much peace and quiet as you wanted.

"Why do we even keep Alistair around, mi belleza?" Zevran whispered just above her left ear. She nearly squeaked in shock, whipping her head around to stare at him as he crouched behind her. His eyes danced with laughter in the dim light of the stars and the faltering campfire. "Surely, it is not for his looks when clearly you are the most beautiful warden. Has he slept through his watch? Shall I rouse him?"

"Zev." She sighed, trying to still her racing heart. "What are you doing? You don't have a watch tonight."

"Waiting for my enchantress to grace me with her presence." He answered smoothly, falling to the ground beside her gracefully. "Alas, she never appeared. So, I came in search of her and here we are!"

Oghren mumbled something about nugs in his sleep, Chantal and Zevran both ignored him.

"Sorry Zev. I just… I'm thinking about the shapeshifting. How I can't do it." She sighed in aggravation, curling her knees back up to her chest. "Morrigan is frustrated with me because I can't..."

"Morrigan is in a constant state of frustration. I have made several suggestions of how she could manage, but she has taken me up on none of them." Zevran grinned, tilting his head to the side. "Besides, she is wrong. You can do it, and you will."

She imagined what it would be like to live in a world where she had Zevran's easy confidence. She bit her lip and his thumb instantly came up to her mouth, freeing it tenderly. "Now, I have had occasion to see a fair amount of mages, but none like you. You are…"

"Utterly irresistible. Yes, you tell me this all the time." She chimed in, annoyed.

"True." He admitted. "But fierce as well, and dangerous. If you wish to master forbidden magics, I can think of nothing that would stop you."

She flushed pink, staring down at her scuffed boots. Zevran plucked one of her hands from her knees and brought the back of it to his lips, a chaste and simple touch that she managed to feel the whole way in her knees. "But, if you wish to be alone with your thoughts, I will not intrude."

She nodded, unsure, torn between needing her solitude and wanting him as badly as she always did. He stood, his fingertips lingering against hers, hands suspended in the air between them.

"What if I can't fly?" She asked suddenly, unable to hide her fear. "What if I fall?"

"Everyone falls, Chantal." Zevran said seriously, squeezing her hand gently. "But, my dear Warden, what if you fly?"

She didn't have an answer for that beyond the leap of joyful hope in her soul, something too beautiful to put into words.

Nobody stirred yet, but the sun was just coming up over the horizon again. Their camp, nearly two-thirds of the way to Denerim if their internal compass could be trusted, sat on a rocky hill overlooking a ravine. It was good, sound strategy to have it at their back, made it so they only had to worry about attack from one direction.

Chantal walked away from Oghren's snoring form, towards the sunrise. She stood on the edge of the ravine, shifting her staff from one hand to the other, looking down into the inky darkness below.

She could fly. She could fly.

She took a deep breath, pulling her mana the way Morrigan had told her. It felt odd at first, the magic under her skin rebelling as she forced it into new forms, new shapes. She heard the caw of a crow, saw them spinning through the air in her mind, the sunrise lighting their wings on fire.

She could feel the wind in her hair, her outstretched fingers of her left hand.

One crow for sorrow. Two for joy.

Their bright, inquisitive eyes staring down at them from the branches above. And when she felt her fingers turn to feathers, she didn't panic. She opened her eyes, saw the world sharpen. She could see the individual leaves on each tree clinging to the ravine below, even in the darkness.

Chantal took a step towards the edge. Then another. Her third step was into nothing, but she didn't fall.

She spread her wings and she flew, black wings slicing through the air like Zevran's blades and her spells.

From below her, she heard Morrigan's throaty laughter. Different in ears that weren't her own, but were. She careened through the air, circling above the camp in a tight spiral, the mage below her shaking her head in amusement.

"See?" Morrigan drawled. "Twas not that hard, yes?"