Chapter 10: The Qunari and the Bard

Author note:

Don't worry – this is the last Lothering chapter. Thank the Maker, Right?

Disclaimer – I do not own Dragon Age or and of its characters

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"Well that sucked," Adeline groaned as they limped wearily back towards Lothering, massaging her right shoulder, still sore from taking a shield-bash from the bandit leader. She had considered bringing back his head as proof of their completed mission, but decided – much to everyone's relief – to take the shield bearing the bandit group's insignia instead.

"Perhaps if you did not charge into battle like that, this would not have happened," Morrigan observed coolly, and Adeline rolled her eyes.

"I tripped, alright?" she grumbled, cringing as her shoulder throbbed with pain. "I'd rather trip and take a shield-bash in the arm than get my head chopped off," she added.

"What about a shield-bash to the face? He could have broken your neck," Leliana countered, glancing over as Alistair let out a laugh before he could help himself.

"She's already done that – taking a buckler to the face, I mean," he explained with a grin, and Adeline snorted humorously, lifting some hair from her forehead and showing Leliana the small, jagged scar over her left temple.

"I got lucky – I Alistair hadn't been there, I'd be dead," the Elf admitted, looking at Alistair gratefully. Leliana glanced between the two, their shared look piquing her curiosity. She wondered if they were trying to hide their relationship; it was obvious – to her at least – that they were together. Perhaps the Grey Wardens do not allow such things? the bard wondered, her eyes moving slowly over her new traveling companions as they made their way to an abandoned barn for the night, thinking about her reason for joining them.

Leliana had woken about a week ago from a terrifying nightmare – a horrible, ungodly sound had echoed around her, and she had fallen into an impenetrable darkness that had blotted out everything. When she had gotten out of bed to go to the Chantry's back garden, trying to calm herself, she had found that the old, gnarled rosebush in the back corner had flowered. Unbelievable, she had thought – the bush had been dead for years, since long before she had come to Lothering – but on that day, a perfect, red rose sat among a cage of thorns, as if the Maker himself had reached out and said, 'have faith'.

Adeline set up traps by the barn door after they had thoroughly checked the interior, securing it for the evening. The Elf took first watch, ignoring Alistair's protests that she was exhausted. "We're all tired, Alistair," she countered, "and I've been asleep for three days; I've had more than my fair-share of rest," she added.

"That doesn't…sleeping time doesn't 'add up' like that," Alistair retorted, laughing at her bizarre reasoning. She ignored his protests, however, threatening to make him sleep outside on the roof of the barn for insubordination if he didn't quit bothering her. Alistair grumbled something at the stubborn Elf before pulling a blanket over him, his mail shirt making a muffled clinking as he moved – he had taken off his boots, cuirass and gauntlets, but he didn't want to be completely unarmored, in case of an ambush.

oooo

Alistair was standing in the rain. He wasn't quite sure how he had gotten there, or how long he had been standing; all he knew was that he was miserably cold and wet. He began walking, looking for a tree or a shed or any sort of shelter to get out of the rain. As he walked, his feet felt like lead, and his shoulders ached and throbbed. He was wounded, somehow, and now a battle raged around him, men and darkspawn shouting and screeching through a thick, green fog.

He reached for his shield, but he drew an ornate, two-handed sword from his back instead. He glanced down as a genlock fell before him, splattering blood across his gold-plated massive armor, and something in the back of his head was whispering that this wasn't quite right. Before he could react, Alistair was standing down the battlefield, staring at Cailan in horror as the king was grabbed by an ogre, the beast snarling and letting out a bellow in the king's face.

"No!" Alistair cried, running forward as the sickening crack told him that Cailan's back had been broken, and the ogre threw him across the field. Suddenly, it was Duncan writhing on the ground in pain, not Cailan, and Alistair snarled in fury as he saw the Warden-Commander struggling to breathe. The younger Grey Warden let out a bellow and charged at the ogre head on, the creature suddenly as tall as a mountain, and stabbed its heart over and over again.

Alistair's stomach dropped and his blood chilled in his veins – he was kneeling on top of Adeline, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the longsword protruding from her chest. "Oh…Maker…" Alistair stammered out, his hands shaking.

"Alistair…why?" Adeline coughed, blood pouring from her mouth, "I…thought we were…going to do this…together…"

"Alistair…"

ALISTAIR!

oooo

Alistair woke with a violent jolt, staring with wide eyes as Adeline held his shoulders. He was taking quick, panicked breaths, and the Elf looked at him worriedly as he trembled like a leaf. He stared up at her, as if he couldn't believe she was really there, and suddenly pulled her down into a tight embrace. "I…Alistair, are you alright?" Adeline asked, startled by the sudden hug. He was silent, his eyes shut tight as his breathing began to even out, his face buried in her hair. Adeline could feel his heart pounding in fright, and remained still as she rested her arms on the ground on either side of his head, waiting for him to calm down.

"N-nightmare…" he whispered in a soft, strained voice as he let go of her, sitting up slowly and running a hand over his forehead and through his hair. He looked at Adeline up and down, and the Elf watched as he grew calm.

"I thought so…" she sighed. "You were moving around, so I thought I'd wake you," she added gently. "Do you…want to talk about it?" Adeline asked, and Alistair let out a long sigh.

"All…alright. But can we sit by the door? I need a bit of air," Alistair replied, getting shakily to his feet, still feeling a bit stiff from waking up so abruptly. Adeline nodded, sliding a hand around his back and wordlessly leading him to the door of the barn, setting him down before going back to get his blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and sitting next to him.

"Feeling a little better?" Adeline asked softly, and Alistair nodded, taking a few breaths to steady himself. "You don't have to talk, if you don't want to," she added, and he shook his head.

"No…it'll help," he replied. Alistair told her about the dream, how he had been lost in the rain, and had suddenly been swept onto the battlefield, how he had fought the ogre and had been horrified to find that he was killing her instead. He expected her to be disturbed that he had dreamt of killing her of all people…but he saw only gentle understanding in her eyes.

"I'm not surprised that you had such a vivid nightmare – you went through a huge shock. Nightmares…often tell us things that we don't want to hear. Fears, worries…regrets…" Adeline murmured, and Alistair watched her as she fingered the edge of the partially-shuttered lantern nearby, sensing that she was speaking from experience. "I suppose the fact that it was me in your dream means that you're…afraid of being left alone?" she asked softly.

Alistair took a quiet breath, glancing away. "I won't judge you, Alistair – I have no right to. And I…know how it feels to be alone. It's scary," Adeline admitted sympathetically. "I…don't know if it gets any easier, but if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen," she promised, and Alistair managed a weak smile, gladdened by her presence. They remained in companionable silence for a while, the quiet broken by a loud rumble from Adeline's stomach. "Oh…Maker's breath," she mumbled in embarrassment, covering her face with her hands as Alistair glanced over.

"Adeline, have you eaten yet?" he asked, and she glanced back at him, her cheeks flushed. "Well?" he prodded, not liking that she wasn't meeting his eyes. "You've been skipping meals," he observed, and she jumped.

"I…" she glanced away – she was surprised that he had noticed; she had been trying to hide it as they traveled. "I'm sorry. I just…haven't been able to keep much down these past few days," she admitted, and Alistair sighed. He suddenly realized that while he had had time back at Flemeth's to work through his grief, they had started traveling almost as soon as Adeline had woken up. He assumed that she was still trying to come to terms with everything; she hadn't known the other Grey Wardens for as long, but Alistair had seen the way they treated her – she was like a little girl with a dozen doting brothers and uncles.

"You need to eat. You're underweight as it is – it's dangerous for you not to eat with all the traveling we're going to do," Alistair argued. Before she could say anything, he stood and went to his pack, rummaging around in it and bringing back an apple and a bit of bread. "Eating will help you deal with it," he added softly, and she nodded slightly, understanding his meaning.

"…thank you," Adeline murmured gratefully, taking the food. She took a few bites, and Alistair noted that she immediately looked ill. She took a few deep breaths through her nose, closing her eyes and concentrating until the nausea passed before continuing. Alistair watched her finish everything, and she glanced back at him as he smiled slightly.

"Better now?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, much better," she replied. Adeline looked up at the night sky, watching the stars for a few moments before looking back towards the horizon, remembering that she was supposed to be on watch. "What was it like to be a Grey Warden, with all the others?" she asked after a while, and Alistair glanced over, seeing her curious look.

"I didn't know them for very long, but I guess it was longer than you. You never met them all, did you?" he recalled, and she said that she hadn't. "They were quite a group. Actually, they felt like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former lives," Alistair admitted, and Adeline smiled slightly – that was exactly how she would have described them. "We also laughed more than you'd think. There was this one time…" he trailed off, his face falling as he looked at the ground. "Well, you probably don't want to hear stories about men you didn't know."

"No, I'd like to hear about them," Adeline encouraged, and Alistair nodded, continuing.

"There was one Grey Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels. What was his name? Gregor? Grigor?" Alistair recalled, cocking his head as he tried to remember the name. "He was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen. And the man could drink. He drank all the time, but he never got drunk," he added, and Adeline chuckled, trying to imagine the Grey Warden. "Finally we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table," Alistair said, and Adeline smiled.

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun," she remarked, and Alistair shrugged, a distant look in his eyes as he remembered the other Wardens fondly.

"Sometimes. We were kin, of a sort. All of us had gone through the Joining, so we knew… Anyhow, it doesn't have to be deadly serious all the time," he replied. "Anyhow, we never did find out. He said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint that the rest of us drank," Alistair continued with a chuckle. "He was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out. I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking. Duncan laughed until he nearly…until…" Alistair trailed off, a pained look on his face, and Adeline reached out and gently looped her arm in his, taking his hand and twining their fingers together.

"I'm sorry. This must be hard for you," she murmured apologetically.

"Yes, I…I suppose so," Alistair managed to keep the waver from his voice, although it still sounded strained. "I thought I was done with this, but… It just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. There's no body, not even a token of his that I could…take with me. That must…sound really stupid to you," Alistair murmured, and Adeline shook her head quickly, gripping his hand tightly in hers.

"That's not stupid at all," she replied firmly, and Alistair glanced down at their hands, letting out a small sigh. She thought for a moment, glancing to the side and lifting her blade, placing it across Alistair's lap. "This was Duncan's," she recalled, and Alistair looked at her with wide eyes. "Maybe you should have it," she added.

"I…" Alistair was speechless. He stared between Adeline and the blade, sighing and smiling helplessly at the Elf girl. "No, I can't take that from you," he said. "I don't use sabers, and you'd put it to far better use than I could," he added, before she could argue. "But I appreciate that you would just…give it to me like that." Alistair smiled gently as Adeline glanced away, a faint blush on her cheeks as she gave a small shrug.

"Well I…don't like to see you so sad. Smiles and jokes suit you better," she murmured, so soft that he could barely hear her.

"I suppose there's no use in moaning about it, is there? He's gone," Alistair mumbled, glancing over as Adeline shifted slightly. She faced him, reaching out and placing a hand over his heart.

"He's still here," Adeline said firmly, "in your mind, and in your heart. As long as you remember and honor him, his memory will live on." Alistair placed his hand over hers, smiling slightly at her. Daveth was right, he thought, she's such a sweetheart.

"Thank you, Adeline," Alistair replied gratefully. He took her hand in his, moving his fingers gently across the back of her knuckles, her skin like velvet. He glanced back at her, thinking of something. "Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, and she raised an eyebrow as he blurted out the question. "I mean, you've been very tense, ever since we got to Lothering," he elaborated, and she looked even more surprised by this.

"You…noticed?" she asked, looking down at her hands, and Alistair nodded. "Um…well…" she trailed off awkwardly, suddenly nervous. "I…uh…don't do well with people since…well, not with shems…" she remarked, and then turned bright red as she realized what she had said. "Humans! I meant humans!" she exclaimed, her voice rising an octave in panic, and Alistair looked at her oddly.

"…why are you getting so worked up?" he asked, almost amused, and she pulled her knees up to her chin, letting go of Alistair's hand as she wrapped her arms around her legs.

"Well, most humans don't take kindly to being called 'shems'," she remarked quietly, and Alistair cocked his head.

"I'm not offended," he said simply, and she glanced up at him with surprise.

"You're…not?" she asked.

"Not in particular," he replied. He smiled slightly, poking her cheek gently, "and how could anyone stay mad at you?" he added with a wink, and she chuckled quietly.

"Oh, quite easily, actually," she joked, catching his hand before he could ruffle her hair. Alistair set his hand gently on her head, instead, and ran his fingers through the auburn strands, smiling as Adeline closed her eyes, the subtle tension in her shoulders fading slightly at his touch. She…trusts me, Alistair realized, hoping he wasn't smiling like an idiot at the thought. "Do you think you've settled down enough to sleep?" Adeline asked after a while, and Alistair nodded, standing and bidding her goodnight, and reminding her to wake him for the next watch.

oOo

My shoulder felt a little better the next morning, not quite so sore, and after a light breakfast – Alistair made sure that I didn't skip the meal this time – we gathered up our belongings and went to report to the chanter's board. We passed over the bridge, and I paused as a small boy with reddish hair nearly ran into me. He looked at me with big, brown eyes, staring at my weapon for a few moments before speaking.

"Have you seen my mother?" he asked, and I knelt in front of him.

"Ugh, begone, small child," Morrigan said with distaste, but I ignored her.

"That depends, what does your mother look like?" I asked the boy, and I held his hand up, indicating something big.

"She's really tall…and she has red hair. We live on a big farmhold, all of us," he described. It was a fairly vague description, but I supposed that I hadn't actually seen many women with red hair among the refugees.

"What's your name?" I questioned.

"My name's Henry," the boy replied.

"Did you get separated from your mother, Henry?" I asked gently, and the boy looked distraught.

"Some mean men with swords came, and mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did! She said she would be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!" he explained, and I bit my lip. Poor thing…she's probably dead, I thought, looking around; no one seemed to be paying the boy any heed, what with the number of refugees about, and I wondered if his father was anywhere nearby.

"Do you know where your father is?" I asked, and the boy shook his head.

"He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday, but he didn't come back," he replied, and I stood, sighing and looking at him sadly.

"Come with me. I'll help you look for your mother," I offered; even if we only found a body, at least he wouldn't be wandering on his own.

"Mother said I wasn't to go with anyone. I'm supposed to wait for her here in the village," Henry replied firmly, crossing his arms.

"Will you go to the Chantry? Maybe someone can look after you," I suggested, and the boy nodded.

"I will. But only if I don't find Mother, first," he replied.

"…alright, then," I sighed, seeing that he wasn't going to give up. "Here, buy something to eat," I added, giving him some money.

"A whole silver? Wow! Thank you!" he grinned, pocketing the coin. "Umm…so are you really an Elf?" he asked suddenly, and my eyes widened in surprise.

"Did the ears give me away?" I joked, and he smiled a bit.

"Father says that Elves aren't really nice, but you're nicer than everyone else here," the boy said, trotting off to buy food. I hoped that someone from the Chantry would look after him before he tried searching for his mother in the woods.

We headed back towards the Chantry and reported that we had finished our request; the chanter handed us two sovereigns for the job, and I divided it to fifty silver for each of us, handing everyone their money. "You're not going to hold onto it all?" Leliana asked curiously, and I shrugged.

"I'm not going to hoard everything for myself," I replied with a laugh. "And besides, it's nice to have a little bit of spending money for yourselves, right? You leave buying supplies, weapons and armor and such to me," I added, glancing towards the Chanter's board to see if there was anything else. A request to hunt a trio of tainted bears had been posted, as well as a search for a… "Oh dear," I murmured, looking at the note.

"What's wrong?" Leliana asked, reading it over my shoulder. "Oh. That poor boy," she sighed, reading the missive; we were to find a trinket that belonged to Sarha Berne, and return it to the Chanter's board so that it could be given to her son, Henry Berne.

"We can at least bring him a keepsake of his mother's," I said, tucking the missives into my pocket and nodding for us to continue towards the Chantry. People were milling about in agitation nearby, and as we approached the Chantry's courtyard, we spotted the reason; a dark-haired Chasind man was walking around, screaming his head off about doom and destruction. Children hid behind their parents, and desperate farmers and refugees shuffled anxiously about, wringing their hands nervously and staring at the Wilder. "Why doesn't anyone do something about this; he's making everyone panic," I remarked, and I glanced over to the side, where a Templar was leaning against the wall, shrugging at my words.

"Feel free to intervene – I won't stop you," he replied nonchalantly, and I tried not to scowl. Isn't this your job? You're supposed to keep the peace, not let someone incite a riot like this! I thought grumpily, looking back towards the Chasind man.

"The legions of evil are on your doorstep! They will feast upon our hearts!" the Chasind man wailed, staring around at the gathered refugees with crazed eyes, foaming at the mouth. "There is nowhere to run! This evil will cover the world, like a plague of locusts!" Oh dear. This is bad.

"Please! You're scaring the children!" a refugee man cried, covering his son's ears as the child started crying, frightened by the crazed man.

"Better to slit their throats now than let them suffer at darkspawn hands!" the Wilder replied, whirling around at our group's approach. "There! One of their minions is already amongst us! This woman bears their evil stench! Can you not see the vile blackness that fills her?" he screamed, pointing at me accusingly, and I started. What the…? Wait, is he talking about the taint? Or is he just trying to scare these people?

"Can you please keep it down? These people are frightened as is without you making them panic," I asked, trying to reason with him. He shook his head, ignoring me as he continued with his crazed rant, his eyes staring about at the gathered refugees.

"I watched the black horde descend on my people! I will not be silent!" he yelled, glaring at me with mad, red-rimmed eyes.

"P-please! Stop! Somebody shut his mouth!" another refugee cried out, frightened.

"But isn't he right? The Bann left us! We're going to die!" a man replied, and I bit my lip – people were beginning to succumb to the hive-mind that their fear had created.

"This minion is but the first of those who will destroy us!" the Chasind doomsayer wailed, pointing at me again.

"Please, calm down," I said gently, taking a cautious step towards him, as if approaching a wild animal. "Will you tell me what has upset you?" I asked, and the man looked at me with deep sadness in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, pacing back and forth and hugging himself, his shoulders tensing up as he spoke to me, his voice quiet and pained.

"My family, my clan…those creatures butchered them all," he murmured, staring at the ground and shutting his eyes.

"That must have been horrible…" I whispered. "How did you escape?" I asked, taking another slow, careful step towards him.

"I…ran, hearing my wife's screams as they dragged her off. She…had hair the same color as yours," he said quietly, looking down at me as I neared.

"I understand," I said gently, and the man saw the earnest look in my eyes. "Frightening these people, who have also suffered, and lost loved ones, will not bring her back, though," I added, and he sniffed, seeming to calm down.

"You…you are right. I will go," the man sighed, looking around sadly at the refugees before leaving, heading out of the courtyard.

"He was right, wasn't he? There's no hope for us…" a refugee said, staring blankly at the ground ahead.

"Muster your courage," Leliana piped up, stepping forward. "There is always hope, even when all seems lost," she urged, and some of the refugees seemed heartened by her words.

"But…we're farmers, not soldiers; we can't fight! What are we supposed to do?" a refugee man asked, and another one glanced up, crossing his arms.

"We can't lie down and die, either. We must go north, to Denerim!" he said firmly, his eyes full of determination.

I watched them disperse, leaving the courtyard in small groups, their faces brightening a bit after Leliana's encouragement. "Very nice," I complimented the orange-haired woman, and she smiled charmingly.

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied with a wink. Morrigan remained outside in the courtyard with Olan, not wanting to draw undue attention to us; the Chantry was probably not the safest place for an apostate, what with all the Templars hanging about.

The Chantry building was a large, lovely place, even when filled with refugees taking shelter – the walls were high and arched, and alcoves lined the walls, filled with candles that had been lit in prayer. A row of bookshelves had been pushed aside to the left, and the pews had been removed to make room for the blankets and bedrolls of the refugees. Standing on either side of the altar were two large statues, each one holding a bowl of flames, lighting the room.

Nearby, I spotted a few Templars; a man with long-ish, brown hair was giving out orders, and the other Templars nodded, heading out to the courtyard. The man glanced up at our group's approach, nodding to me in greeting. "Yes, my lady? Who might you be?" he asked politely, and I shrugged slightly, not wanting to give out my name.

"Nobody of importance," I replied, and he nodded, respecting the slightly guarded look in my eyes, and not questioning my secrecy.

"I am Ser Bryant, commander of Lothering's remaining Templars. You don't seem like the other refugees. Are you one of Arl Eamon's knights?" Ser Bryant asked, directing the question towards Alistair as the Grey Warden stood by my side.

"Do many of his knights come here?" Alistair replied, curious.

"Some have, in recent days. Arl Eamon has fallen ill, and his knights are on a quest for the sacred urn filled with Andraste's ashes, said to cure any malady," Bryant explained, and I raised an eyebrow. So that Templar I found, back by the south path…he was one of Eamon's knights?

"Arl Eamon is sick? Is it serious?" Alistair asked, suddenly worried.

"I'm told it's no natural illness. They have found no cure, and thus must chase after miracles," Ser Bryant replied. "One of the Arl's knights, Ser Donall, is here searching for fantasies while… Never mind. Ask him if you care about this foolishness," he sighed, shaking his head. Evidently, he disapproved of this quest, while a Blight was descending upon the land.

"We need some information, Ser Bryant," I said, and the man nodded, crossing his arms.

"If the matter is important, certainly," he replied.

"What can you tell me about that imprisoned Qunari?" I asked – Sten hadn't really told me all that much, and the rumors around the village weren't reliable. Ser Bryant's face went dark as I mentioned the Qunari, and he sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"I was there at the farmhold. The beast stood there, wet with the blood of the children – he didn't even deny slaughtering them. The Revered Mother ordered him caged – she has more mercy than I do," he rumbled, shaking his head with disapproval. "But perhaps she is right…and the Maker has love for all his creations. Even the Qunari," he added.

"Hmm… Well, have you heard any recent news?" I prodded, and the Templar shrugged.

"Other than the darkspawn horde bearing down on us? None of it is good. Teyrn Loghain is set to declare himself king, I hear. Disaster piled on disaster," he muttered darkly.

"What, king? I can't imagine the nobility will be pleased. Do you think there will be civil war?" I asked, my tone slightly worried; the last thing we needed right now was Ferelden falling to bits over a succession crisis while the darkspawn were building their numbers in the south.

"Teyrn Loghain has no legitimate claim on the throne. He may be a hero, and his daughter may be queen, but he is a commoner and the king's corpse is barely cold," Ser Bryant replied, seeing the anxiety on my face, and perhaps wondering who I was, to be so concerned with such news. "If Arl Eamon was able to intervene, perhaps it would not have gone this far. I do not care who takes the throne. Only fools fight over who owns a cottage while it burns down around them," the Templar added, and I nodded, biting my lip and thinking of something.

"And King Cailan had no heir?" I asked – there hadn't been any word in Denerim of children in the Royal Family since Cailan and Anora were married; there were rumors that Anora was barren, and I had even heard once that some thought Cailan was the one unable to produce an heir.

"None that we know of," Ser Bryant answered.

"This is…worse than I thought…" I muttered, biting my knuckle and looking at the ground, my brow furrowed slightly. "We should go. Thank you for the information, Ser Bryant," I thanked the Templar, and he nodded, bidding me farewell.

"Travel safely, and may the Maker watch over you," he replied, waving us off.

"Well…this makes things a bit trickier," I remarked, leaning against a wall. We stood in a small alcove, near a rack of candles, and I looked at them absently, the small flames crackling quietly and giving off a faint smell.

"So Loghain's vying for the throne? I suppose that makes sense. I can't imagine that all the nobles will bend their knees to him, though," Alistair said, crossing his arms.

"Yes, but he's also a hero known throughout Ferelden – there are many who are in his debt," I sighed, cocking my head slightly. "I suppose that unless some secret bastard son of King Maric himself waltzes into the Landsmeet to claim the throne, the next logical choice would be someone of the Guerrin line," I added. I had said it as a joke, but Alistair was suddenly staring at me, and his face turned an interesting shade of green. "…you okay?" I asked with concern.

"I…uh…yes," he replied a little too quickly, clearing his throat.

"Oh no, that jerky I bought off those Chasind travelers wasn't made from human fle–"

"No," Alistair assured me. "No. I'm fine, really," he sighed, seeing that I was still worried. "So how do you know so much about all this?" he added, trying to change the subject. I pursed my lips, letting him know that I had noticed his diversion, but didn't press him for answers if he wasn't willing to share.

"Oh I…spent a bit of time in the Palace District of Denerim now and again, if you catch my meaning," I said airily, waving a hand absently. Alistair cocked his head at me, thinking for a moment before a slow smile spread across his lips.

"You really don't go after the small fish, do you?" he teased, and I laughed.

"Not when there're beautiful whale steaks to be had," I replied glibly. "But walking among the upper-crust does occasionally bear fruit of a different nature. Psht, all these food metaphors," I chuckled, shaking my head – it seemed that Slim's habit was rubbing off on me. "The point is, I know all sorts of nasty gossip about the noble lords and their scandalous affairs," I added with a wink.

"Such as…?" Alistair prodded, and I smirked.

"Really, we're in a Chantry, Alistair," I said with mock offense, and he crossed his arms.

"Alright, alright," he relented, and I smiled, motioning for him to lean in.

"I'll tell you some other time; I can recite some of the stories in great detail, if you're of a mind," I whispered teasingly, and his ears went bright red. "As to the current situation…" I continued, smiling slightly as he cleared his throat, trying to calm down, "perhaps we should hear a bit more news. Do you think Ser Donall would still be around here? He might know more about this mysterious illness that Arl Eamon has," I proposed, and Alistair nodded, his eyes worried again at the mention of the Arl.

"Right. Wait a minute…is that a Redcliffe shield?" Alistair murmured, glancing behind me. I looked over my shoulder, spotting a man in silver and green armor, scanning intently through a book as he stood in a nearby alcove, furrowing his brow in frustration and running a hand through his hair, muttering faintly. On his back, I spotted a shield painted with the crest of Redcliffe; a white tower standing on top of a red hill.

"Who…? I beg your pardon. I did not see you approach," the man apologized, glancing up as the three of us walked over to him – Leliana had been chatting with some of the other Sisters while Alistair and I discussed our plans, and had now rejoined us.

"Ser Donall…? Is that you?" Alistair asked, and the man's eyes widened in recognition.

"Alistair? By the Maker, how are you? I…I was certain you were dead!" Ser Donall exclaimed, clasping Alistair's arm warmly, his eyes relieved to see that he was alright.

"Very nearly, Ser Donall. May I introduce my fellow Grey Warden? We are the last two in Ferelden, as far as I know," Alistair replied, placing a hand on the small of my back as I stepped forward, greeting the man.

"Terrible news, indeed. Pleased to meet you, my lady. Might I know your name?" Ser Donall asked, taking my hand lightly.

"Adeline. A pleasure," I replied, nodding in greeting.

"I trust you are staying discreet? With the bounty placed on your heads?" the man added quietly, and Alistair and I nodded.

"We only learned that there was such a thing today, in fact. We've heard Loghain's accusations, but he's the one who betrayed the king! He's using us as his scapegoat," Alistair replied, and Ser Donall crossed his arms, nodding gravely.

"If Arl Eamon were well, he'd set Loghain straight soon enough," he sighed, glancing absently down at the book he had been reading.

"So you're here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then?" Alistair asked, and the man nodded.

"I am, indeed. Andraste's ashes are said to cure any illness. But I fear we are chasing a fable; with each day, my hope dims," Ser Donall replied, shaking his head. "I plan on returning to Redcliffe once Ser Henric arrives."

"Um…Ser Donall," I began in a soft voice, and he glanced over at me, seeing the anxious look in my eyes, "your friend, Ser Henric, is dead. I have something of his." I rummaged through the pouch strapped to my belt, taking out the folded note and the locket I had found yesterday.

"What? And you have his locket? And a note? Maker's mercy…" Ser Donall murmured, looking at the items I handed to him. "Thank you for giving me these. I would never have known otherwise," he added, and I nodded gently.

"We drove off the bandits that killed him," I assured him, and Ser Donall clasped my hand in thanks, nodding gratefully.

"Thank you. I wonder how many of us have met similar fates on this mad quest," he breathed, folding away the items and looking sadly back at the alcove, where the candles burned brightly in the dimly-lit building.

"So your quest for the Ashes brought you here?" I asked, a bit curious about this.

"I expected to take advantage of the Chantry's library, in fact, but my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales," Ser Donall replied, indicating the book he had been reading.

"We were…hoping to meet Arl Eamon, in fact," I admitted, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Why is that, if I may ask?" Ser Donall prodded, and I glanced around, making sure none of the refugees overheard us.

"We need his help against Teyrn Loghain," I whispered, and Ser Donall nodded knowingly.

"I see. The Arl is a popular man, it's true," he remarked. "Teyrn Loghain, however, is a hero throughout Ferelden. Whatever the Teyrn has done or not done, the Arl remains ill, or worse. That is my primary concern," he added.

"Do you think Loghain is involved with the Arl's illness?" I wondered, and the knight seemed slightly surprised by my question.

"The Arl fell ill before the king died…but what if Loghain planned that, too? Ah, such thoughts do not sit well with me," the knight replied, seeming troubled.

"We should see what's happening in Redcliffe ourselves. I believe that now more than ever," Alistair said, and I nodded.

"Right. Once we're finished in Lothering, we'll head out immediately," I promised, glancing up at Alistair reassuringly.

"If nothing else, I am certain you would be welcomed at Castle Redcliffe. The Arlessa is there, and she could tell you more than I could," Ser Donall explained. At the mention of the Arlessa, Alistair's jaw tightened slightly, and I glanced at him, wondering why he had tensed up.

"I…suppose we should go. Thank you, Ser Donall," I said, bidding the man farewell.

"With Henric gone, I need to return to Redcliffe. Perhaps later I will seek out the scholar his note mentions. But I must go. Thank you again, my lady. You have been most helpful," Ser Donall replied, heading off.

We walked down the main hall of the Chantry, passing by the tangled knots of miserable refugees as we made our way to a small side room. An older woman in Chantry robes was sitting at a desk, writing a letter with a distressed look on her face. Her hair was silver, and tied in a pair of braided buns that rested at the base of her skull, her face worn and weary. When she glanced over to us, however, the weariness disappeared as she saw Leliana.

"Good day, Sister Leliana. I'm surprised to see you're still in Lothering," the old woman greeted, and Leliana smiled at her, bowing respectfully.

"It is good to see you as well, your Reverence," Leliana replied.

"I do not recognize your companion. Greetings. Will you be making a donation to the Chantry? Our need has never been greater," the old woman asked, glancing over towards Alistair and me.

"What tithe is acceptable?" I asked, looking back at the miserable people, my heart tightening a fraction at their pain; this suffering was all too familiar, and I hoped that I could help somehow, if even just a little bit.

"Might I suggest thirty silver?" the old woman said, and I opened my coin purse, looking in. I counted the coins; I still had thirty sovereigns from Vaughan's stash, besides the money we had gotten from the Chanter's board, and what Morrigan had put in my pack.

"I can offer three sovereigns," I replied, handing the woman the coins. Leliana seemed surprised by the amount of money I was carrying, and Alistair raised an eyebrow at me.

"These poor souls will weep at your generosity. Thank you! What can I do for you, then?" the Revered Mother asked as I handed her the coins, and she placed them in the donation box.

"I…want to talk about Sten, the Qunari you imprisoned," I began slowly. The old woman frowned at me, standing and looking sadly at the people behind me.

"It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why does he interest you?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"What did he do?" I countered.

"He butchered an entire farmhold – only one of the youngest hid long enough to survive," the Revered Mother explained, folding her hands into her sleeves, her expression downcast. "The child said his father had found the Qunari gravely wounded and took him in," she sighed. "That kindness was repaid with murder. The Bann's men found the Qunari just…standing amidst the carnage. He did not resist them," she finished, and I looked at her with confusion.

"What would make him do such a thing?" I asked; surely, he couldn't have felt threatened by a few farmers.

"He would not say, though he acknowledged his guilt. Even the seasoned knights who apprehended him were disturbed by the carnage. However docile he appears, do not be fooled; that Qunari is a danger," the Revered Mother warned.

"What if this causes an incident with his people?" I asked – I wasn't sure if it would, but perhaps I could convince her to let him go by arguing this point.

"The Maker demands justice, regardless of his race," the Revered Mother replied firmly. Justice? Why didn't you just kill him, then? By the Maker, having him starve to death is hardly merciful.

"Is there any way I can convince you to release him?" I tried, and the woman seemed surprised that I would even consider such a thing.

"Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers," she replied sternly, her tone angry.

"I was thinking you might…release him into my custody. To fight the darkspawn," I argued, and the woman looked at me carefully, doubt in her eyes at my waifish form.

"To defend against the Blight? Perhaps that is a form of atonement. But are you certain you can control him?" she asked, and I shrugged, crossing my arms.

"If you prefer, I could invoke the Right of Conscription," I remarked. Alright, I don't know if I can do that…but it's worth a shot, I thought, keeping my gaze steady.

"I'm not sure that would help, considering your group's current…standing," the Revered Mother said, realizing that we were Grey Wardens, "but you have convinced me. Here, then. Take the key to the Qunari's cage and take him away. I pray this is the right path, for all our sakes." The old woman handed me the key, and I nodded, thanking her. Once we were outside, I motioned for Morrigan and Olan to join us.

"Here, I can handle the Qunari – can you check if any merchants have food left? I'd like to stock up as much as we can before heading out," I asked, passing out some money, and the others nodded, splitting up. Olan remained by my side, looking up at me with big eyes. "Come along, then," I said, patting his shoulder, and he barked, trotting happily next to me as we headed back to the cage.

oOo

Alistair checked for supplies with the merchant who had parked his wagon near the Chantry walls, and Leliana headed back to the tavern. Morrigan, not particularly enjoying the company of either of the two, leaned idly against the wall of an abandoned house, watching the ragged villagers and refugees milling about. Like lambs before the slaughter, she mused, knowing that not everyone would make it away from the village before the darkspawn arrived. While she didn't wish suffering upon these people, their pathetic attempts at an organized evacuation made her scoff; some of them would rather slit each other's throats or make a profit off of other's suffering than work together, it seemed.

The dark-haired woman had to admit, she was surprised at the actions of the Grey Wardens; she assumed that as soon as she had guided Adeline and Alistair out of the Wilds, they would have chased her away. While Alistair didn't approve of her, he rarely initiated their arguments – intentionally, at least. Adeline was more pleasant company…or at least more agreeable than the Templar. Morrigan, of course, would remain with them for as long as they could stand her presence, as Flemeth had ordered her to; she knew her task, and she would see it through to the end, however grudgingly. And perhaps…seeing the world will not be such an unpleasant experience, she thought as she looked towards the sky, completely disregarding the appreciative whistles from a group of mercenaries passing by as they spotted the scantily clad witch.

Alistair bought traveling rations, and had used the bit of leftover coin to buy a thin, steel knife for Adeline – he remembered that she preferred to dual-wield, but had lost her knife fighting the ogre at Ostagar. It was actually a rather nice weapon – red-steel, with intricate leaf patterns decorating the flat of the blade. He had wanted to buy armor for her as well, but, like the day before, the merchant didn't sell any. Alistair had the fleeting recollection that he didn't know her size either, hurriedly chasing away any wandering thoughts as he returned his focus to the merchant. The man had said that a traveling Dwarf merchant had passed by earlier that morning, selling a variety of weapons and armor, and that maybe they could catch up to him on the road.

As Alistair sorted through his things, tucking the rations and knife into his pack, he found that he had wandered into the Chantry's back garden. The monastery where he had grown up also had a garden, but it had been entirely devoted to cultivating vegetables. While the center of the yard was a sprawling square of dirt, lined with furrows for planting, the outer edge of the garden, lining the walls, was dedicated to decorative flower bushes, ornamental trees and crawling vines. Summer flowers were just starting to blossom, and Alistair's heart clenched up at the sight – the darkspawn would come and destroy everything. Even these tiny flowers.

He turned to go, not wanting his thoughts to darken the otherwise calming atmosphere of the place, when his eyes caught sight of a flash of red. He glanced back over his shoulder, wondering if he had imagined it, but there it was – resting within a basket of thorns, sitting among branches like gnarled, bony fingers, was a single rose. It was perfect, red with velvet petals, in full bloom, with dew drops still sitting lightly within the flower's soft embrace.

It was so out of place among the black, twisted bush that Alistair almost laughed out loud – it was just too ironic, he thought, when his mind brought up an image of Adeline. A thing of beauty, surrounded by so much darkness, he mused, walking over to the bush. I can't just let it sit here. The darkspawn's taint will destroy it, he thought, kneeling and taking off a gauntlet – he didn't want to crush the flower with his armor. Alistair gingerly reached into the rosebush, gently plucking the rose – it practically fell off the branch on which it was resting – and brought the flower to his nose, breathing in the scent.

Now, he thought, tucking the rose safely away in his pack, making sure it wouldn't get crushed, let's go before the others start wondering where you've been.

oOo

"Shanedan. You cannot seem to get your fill of our conversation," the Qunari said as Olan and I approached.

"Well, I did say I was going to get you out of there," I replied, showing him the key that the Revered Mother had given me.

"I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it," he remarked, looking at the key.

"She agreed to release you into my custody," I explained.

"Out of one cage and into another. And in what endeavor am I to aid you?" he asked, looking at me with a guarded expression.

"Killing darkspawn. But does it really matter? You're in my custody, now," I countered, watching warily as some refugees eyed me suspiciously, muttering something that sounded like 'reward' and 'not worth the risk'.

"You will find it difficult to move me, if I choose not to follow you," Sten replied. Ooh, you're a stubborn one, aren't you?

"If you won't follow me, you'll die in there," I reasoned.

"That was my plan," he replied shortly. I let out a quiet, frustrated groan, walking up to the cage and leaning against it, looking in at him. I waited for a few more refugees to pass out of earshot before I continued.

"I am a Grey Warden," I said softly, and he nodded; I suppose he had guessed as much when I had denied the fact the first time.

"Even in the far north, we have heard the legends of their strength and skill. So far I am not impressed," he remarked. Everyone's a critic, I thought wryly, rolling my eyes.

"I'm not here to impress anyone. I'm here to kill the archdemon," I snorted, unlocking the cage, whether he was going to come with me or not.

"Very well," Sten said. The others came back along the path, watching as Sten stepped out of the cage, glancing back at their approach.

I made a sour expression as Alistair stifled a snicker – I barely stood at the Qunari's ribs, and the giant towered over me, looking quite intimidating next to my petite form. "Oh, you find this funny, eh?" I growled, crossing my arms and throwing the Grey Warden a glare, and he chuckled, biting his lip in amusement at my annoyance. For some reason, whenever I tried to look intimidating around him, it only made Alistair laugh; I had no idea why – despite my height, I could actually make decent threats most times – and it was making me both frustrated and curious.

"I will follow you into battle. In doing so I shall find my atonement," Sten said, and I looked back up at him, offering a hand in welcome.

"Good to have you, Sten," I replied, and he looked at my hand coolly, staring me down. "Right." I said awkwardly, letting my arm drop to my side.

"May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere," he urged, and I nodded, understanding; I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that cage either.

"How far is Redcliffe from here?" I asked the others, looking towards the west path.

"A little more than a week, I think, on foot," Leliana replied, and I nodded, biting my lip.

"Then we should go as soon as we've finished these last two requests – the Arl will only get worse the longer we wait," I prompted, and they nodded. "Sten, are you alright? You were in that cage for weeks," I asked, and the Qunari looked down at me oddly.

"You are concerned? No need. I am fit enough to fight," he replied, and I shrugged.

"Well, at least have something," I insisted, handing him my water-skin and a bit of food that the others had bought. Olan was looking up at the Qunari curiously, cocking his head and giving a soft whine, his tail wagging as Sten glanced at him. Morrigan was watching him with interest in her yellow eyes, as was Leliana, but Alistair seemed a bit wary of him. I looked up at him oddly; the Qunari mercenaries I had seen before all had horns – some of them had been cut off, but you could still see where the base of the horn began. Sten, however, had no trace, and I wondered about his hornlessness.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" Sten asked, catching my look, and I shrugged.

"I was wondering about you. I know very little of your people – I thought the Qunari were supposed to have horns," I remarked, and he looked back at me with steady, violet eyes.

"And I thought Elves were servants in this land. It seems we were both wrong," he replied, and I stared up at him, barely managing to bite back an angry response. He's mocking me! I thought, trying to keep my shoulders relaxed as I fought the urge to scowl.

"Tch, fine then. Tell me about the Qunari, if I'm so mistaken," I retorted, looking up at him in annoyance as we set off to look for Sarha or the tainted bears – I'd trust Alistair to alert me to the bears' presence, since his detection range was farther than mine, so I returned my focus to scanning the hilly fields in search of Sarha…or more likely her corpse.

"No," the Qunari said simply, and my anger fizzled out, replaced by surprise at the blunt response.

"I…alright, I wasn't expecting that," I admitted.

"Get used to disappointment," the Qunari replied. "People are not simple. They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of; 'The Elves are a lithe, pointy-eared people who excel at poverty'," he said.

"Ouch. A little hostile, aren't we?" I grumbled, and Sten looked at me oddly.

"Many humans have said that to me. I do not understand it. If I were indeed hostile, you would be bleeding," he replied.

"Oh, so this is you being calm and helpful?" I retorted as my temper frayed, and I saw the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he riled me up.

"Couldn't you tell?" he asked, and I threw my hands in the air in defeat.

"Maker's breath you're worse than the shems!" I muttered. "You know what? Just follow orders and you'll do fine," I added.

"As you wish," the Qunari nodded.

oooo

We found Sarha's body surrounded by skinny, half-starved wolves, which Olan chased away with a snarl as Leliana fired off a volley of arrows. I knelt next to the corpse, sighing and closing the woman's eyes, taking the locket from around her neck and tucking it into my pocket. I asked Morrigan to burn the body, and when she refused, I argued that I wasn't going to leave until we gave her a proper pyre, and that I would be happy to waste time gathering wood if she didn't help.

"Very well," Morrigan almost spat, lighting the corpse on fire and reducing it to ashes in seconds. Leliana murmured a hurried prayer before we moved on – Alistair said that he sensed taint farther up the hill, past a large tree and by the river. As we came closer, I sensed the taint, but it felt different from darkspawn – it was much weaker, and didn't feel quite as…wrong as the darkspawn's taint did.

"They haven't been tainted that long," Alistair explained to me as we watched the bears, who looked normal enough. "We should end it quickly though – creatures infected with the Blight sickness can carry the disease and infect others," he warned, and I nodded. Leliana and Morrigan fired magic bolts and arrows down at the bears, weakening them while Alistair and I charged – they hardly had time to react before we had cut their throats. I had told Sten to stay back until he had a weapon and armor; I didn't doubt that he could fight, but he had been in the cage without food or water for weeks.

We returned to the Chanter's board, gathering our reward before finally departing from Lothering. We walked along the beaten dirt path going north, past the large windmill that sat on a hill nearby, pausing as we heard shouts ahead. Alistair and I ran up a stone ramp as we sensed darkspawn, hands flying to our weapons at the sight before us; two Dwarves near a large wagon were being attacked by a group of darkspawn.

Alistair and I dashed forward, spotting a hurlock Alpha, and we heard Morrigan shouting out an incantation behind us, spikes of ice shooting by and impaling some of the darkspawn. "Olan! Don't swallow the blood!" I ordered, and my mabari barked in assent as he fought by Leliana's side, protecting the lightly armed woman as she fell back and began firing into the crowd of darkspawn. Sten handled himself even without arms and armor – he grabbed a hurlock that was taller than Alistair and cracked its spine over his knee as easily as a dried branch, and I supposed that I had been worrying over the Qunari's health for nothing.

Alistair and I took down the Alpha quickly between the two of us, glancing around for any more darkspawn. "That's the last of them," Alistair breathed, sheathing his sword and buckling his shield onto his back. I looked down at the bodies, muttering darkly. They're quite bold, attacking right near the village like this, I thought, sheathing my saber and searching the bodies; I found some jewelry and a surprising amount of money on them. Why would the darkspawn be carrying money? They don't use currency…do they? I wondered, pocketing the coins. We turned back to look at the Dwarves – Leliana had gone over to see if the two men were alright.

"I'm much obliged, friend," the older of the two Dwarves thanked us, giving Leliana an elegant bow. At my approach, he smiled, shaking my hand warmly as I offered it. "By the Stone, if it isn't Miss Tabris!" he greeted, and I recognized him from when I had first left Denerim.

"Hello Bodahn, Sandal," I grinned at the pair of Dwarves.

"I can't thank you enough for helping me and my boy," Bodahn continued. He had light brown hair, almost copper-toned in the sunlight, with a neat, braided beard hung with small rings and clear, grey-blue eyes. The younger Dwarf, Sandal, had shorter, curly hair, wheat-blonde, with bright blue eyes. The boy waved at me when he saw me, chasing after the horses as they trotted anxiously nearby. "Bodahn Feddic, traveling merchant and entrepreneur at your service, good travelers. This here's my boy, Sandal. Say hello boy," Bodahn introduced himself to the others in our group, and Sandal looked up at them with big eyes.

"Hello," he greeted.

"You know them?" Alistair asked curiously, noticing the familiarity in our tones, and I nodded.

"Yes; I met them when I left Denerim," I explained, and Bodahn nodded.

"Thank you again for saving us, Miss Tabris. You and your friends are formidable folk indeed – perhaps we're going the same way?" Bodahn asked, and I shrugged.

"We're heading up towards Redcliffe," I replied, crossing my arms and looking back at the corpses of the darkspawn, whistling to Olan as he sniffed around. "Do you need help?" I added, glancing at the wagon behind the Dwarves. A pair of large horses pranced about nervously as Sandal walked over, raising his hands and trying to calm them down.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't ask you to do that," Bodahn said. "We just need to clean up this mess and hitch the horses," he explained, and I looked back towards the path ahead.

"Mmm…I might as well clear that path for you – darkspawn blood's still dangerous, even if the beasts are dead," I warned, walking over to the corpses. Alistair and I helped clear a path, dragging the bodies to the sides of the walkway for Morrigan to burn, and the Dwarf thanked us graciously as he loaded boxes into the back of his wagon. Sandal collected the horses; he kept murmuring 'enchantment' to them, and I watched in surprise as his words actually seemed to calm the large animals.

"As payment for helping us, I'd like to offer you and your friends a ride to Redcliffe," Bodahn offered, bowing gratefully, once he had finished hitching the horses.

"Thank you, my friend," I replied, smiling and motioning for the others to join us. Morrigan and Leliana hopped into the cart, and Sten, Alistair, Olan and I walked beside it as we set off.

"Were you really in that cage for twenty days?" Alistair asked Sten as we walked, and the Qunari shrugged.

"It might have been closer to thirty. I stopped counting after a while," he admitted, and Alistair made a face.

"What did you do? I mean…twenty days is a long time to sit in one place and do nothing," the Grey Warden asked, and Sten looked at him seriously.

"On good days, I posed riddles to the passersby, offering them treasures in exchange for correct answers," he replied, and Alistair looked surprised.

"Really?" he asked, looking up at the Qunari.

"No." Sten said flatly.

"Aww. Too bad. That's got serious potential," Alistair remarked, and I smiled, shaking my head at them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo