Author's Note: Gentle readers, I am not using this space to do my usual thanks to reviewers. Instead, this is both a message and an apology to ALL of my readers, be they reviewers, subscribers, or lurkers. As those who have been on-board this fic train for a while well know, I generally update at LEAST once a month, if not sooner when possible. The fact that it has been nearly two months makes me feel terrible, but it was not due to laziness or to distraction by shiny objects (as sometimes is the case for all of us, myself included).

I lost a dearly beloved member of my family early last month. While her death was not unexpected, it still threw me completely off-balance and into a ditch of sadness and self-pity. I have since dragged myself back out and have re-dedicated myself to my hobby and craft. She was the one who first taught me to express myself through art (for her, it was painting... I dabbled a little in that, but found my true passion and calling in literature). It was she who always encouraged me: "Make a joyful noise. Doesn't matter if it's with your voice, your pen, or your paintbrush - just make a joyful noise. Make it a little longer and a little louder everyday, and make the world realize what you have to offer." It is with that lesson that I push forward once more and continue the story I've begun.

I thank you for your patience and patronage. I apologize, once more, for the long delay and hope this new update was worth the wait. And for those of you who were so kind as to review, I will be replying within the next week or so - that is a little tradition I do not intend to let fall by the wayside.

"You like him, don't you?" Leliana teased.

For a moment, the comment didn't even register. Kallian was concentrating on painting the inside of what would be Loghain's new tent. The night sky and constellations on the ceiling were already completed. Now, with tongue slightly sticking out between her lips, she focused on the very fine details of creating a golden expanse of wheat fields on the interior canvas walls. She and Leliana had been casually conversing about their collaborative plans post-Blight of putting a book out together - a grand tale of their exploits, penned by the bard and illustrated by the sketch artist. The Orlesian's sudden change of subject matter took a moment for the elf to catch. Once she did, Kallian spun her head to gape at Leliana, paintbrush suspended in mid-stroke, utterly flabbergasted and fighting a rising blush.

"Your sudden silence speaks volumes," Leliana needled further.

"Wait, what?" the Warden stammered. Quickly regaining herself, she added defensively, "Nope, no it doesn't. It just means I'm completely shocked by such accusations."

"Mmm-hmmm," hummed the red-head, unconvinced. "So, you meticulously and lovingly paint someone's tent with a picturesque scene because you don't like them?"

The elf narrowed her eyes at the bard. "If doing nice things for my companions meant I wanted to get into their pants, I'd have bedded everyone here several times over by now." Leliana's sudden blush gave Kallian a satisfied smirk.

"You make a true point," the human conceded, "but this..." She gestured around at the elaborate scene adorning the tent's walls. "... this is a little more involved, wouldn't you say? Especially combined with the ring you plan on giving him tomorrow night-"

"-That," Kallian barked with a clipped tone and a pointed finger, regretting having shared that little tidbit of information with the bard, "is not what it seems to you." With her free hand, she reached underneath the collar of her tunic and pulled out a round pendant hanging upon a silver chain. "Every Grey Warden is given something to remind them of their duty shortly after the Joining. His Joining was... not under ideal conditions, so that got ignored. I'm simply remedying it now." She tucked the pendant back under her shirt.

"With a ring, Kal? Really?"

"Can you honestly see Loghain wearing a necklace?"

Leliana sighed. "It's just... surely you realize the connotations that brings to mind?"

"No, really, I don't," the Warden snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. "Unless someone insists upon seeing something that isn't there. A nice, well-crafted signet ring is more appropriate for a man than a necklace. That's all."

"The design is rather detailed and complicated," she pushed. "A lot of thought went into it."

Irritated, Kallian replied, "If you hadn't noticed, I put a lot of detail into everything. And I also seem quite good at complicating things as well."

"Very good at denying them, too."

The elf looked about ready to burst. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. "Fine. If it will get you off my back, I admit to liking him as a friend. Okay?"

Leliana appeared utterly unconvinced.

"Look," an increasingly exasperated Kallian continued, "we've been getting along rather well lately, yes. I'm actually surprised to consider him a friend. But once you push out of mind everything he's done to make himself completely deserving of derision, he's actually a likeable fellow. Surly, yes. Grumpy, yes. Moody, definitely. But he's got some interesting layers to him." At Leliana's raised eyebrow and crossed arms, Kallian sighed heavily and covered her eyes with one hand. "And, yes, I'll admit he's not hard on the eyes. For a shem," she quickly added.

"Ah-HA!"the bard cried triumphantly, looking far too smug and gleeful for Kallian's tastes. "I knew it!"

"You knew nothing," the elf chided. "Know nothing. Nothing!"

"But you admitted it!"

"No, I admitted nothing of the sort," she defended. "I admitted he's a friend. I admitted he's not bad-looking. That's all I've admitted. That does not a budding romance make." Narrowing her eyes again, she added, "So quickly you forget what he did to my home, my family and neighbors?"

That sobered Leliana a moment. "Of course not! But that seems to be something you've managed to either put aside or work past, is it not? Otherwise, you'd still be at his throat." When Kallian remained silent, she continued, "If anyone could be forgiving and trusting after such actions, Kal, it's you. You've been that way since I first met you, as worrisome as that sometimes makes it for the rest of us. I'd wager you've always been that way."

Kallian was quiet for a long time after that. Then, she said, "Be that as it may, it doesn't necessarily mean he's totally forgiven or that I've forgotten about it. I'm not exactly planning on bringing him to the Alienage and going, "Hey, Papa, guess who's coming to dinner?'"

"Well, that's good," joked Leliana. "At least we don't have to worry about such things yet."

"Hardly," the elf snorted. "But don't you and Zevran have enough to worry about, waiting for the moment he stabs me in the back?"

Leliana shrugged nonchalantly. "Zevran still has his reservations, but I think Loghain becomes more trustworthy with each passing day. Oghren thought he'd have turned on us before reaching the Dalish."

"What?" Kallian asked, slightly startled. "Why was he so put-out by Loghain? Wasn't like he was at Ostagar or anything."

The bard shook her head. "It was nothing personal, I don't think. Just a running bet, but most of us figured if anything suspicious were to happen, he'd have done so by now."

"Is the Blight really so boring that we've been reduced to inter-party relationship rumors now?"

"No," Leliana answered, "although I find the latter far more interesting. But I promise not to breathe a word of your secret crush to anyone."

"It's not a crush," Kallian sighed, then turned serious, glaring at the red-head and pointing the tip of the paintbrush at her. "Spread any such gossip around and there will be wrath. Too much elven wrath for you to handle." The Orlesian stared back at the elf, looking just as serious for several breaths, before finally starting to giggle. The Warden joined her.

The two girls were still laughing together when Keeper Lanaya poked her head into the tent. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Not at all," replied Kallian.

The Dalish nodded. "Then may I see you out here for a moment?"

Setting her paintbrush down, the Warden took her leave of the bard and followed the Keeper's retreating head. Once outside, Lanaya gestured for her fellow elf to walk beside her for a ways. Once they were a good distance from the tent, Kallian looked over at her expectantly. Nothing was said until the Dalish stopped in front of a tent kept segregated to the outskirts of the encampment. Two elven warriors stood at either side of the entrance. Whether they were to guard from danger posed by the contents of the tent or posed to the contents of the tent remained to be seen.

"There is something I wish you to see," Lanaya said. "Or, rather, someone. He claims to be a survivor from Ostagar, but it's difficult to make much sense of his mad ramblings."

Kallian's eyes widened. "A survivor from Ostagar?"

"That's his story," she confirmed, shrugging, "but like I said, he does not speak much sense."

The Warden shook her head. "Loghain and Wynne need to see this, too, if what he says is true." She turned to go retrieve her companions.

Lanaya stopped her with a light hand to the shoulder. She shook her head, then summoned one of the guards forward. "Jeraard will go for you. This has been put off for too long as it is."

Kallian looked at Jeraard and nodded. "Go find Wynne and Loghain and bring them back here quickly." Realizing most everyone in the Dalish camp would not be nearly as familiar with her companions as she was, the Warden described, "Wynne has white hair up in a bun and red robes. Loghain has shoulder-length black hair and a perpetual scowl. And re-e-eally shiny armor." The guard bowed once and took off towards the main encampment.

The Keeper peeled back the tent fold and motioned inside. The Warden entered and immediately came to an abrupt halt, dumbstruck. Crouching before her was a shell of a man: dirtied, tattered clothes so filthy that their original color was utterly indiscernible; sweaty, matted hair falling in tangles; gaunt, tight face that twitched every few moments; cavernous, haunted, nearly hollow eyes that darted about inside his skull. Kallian was suddenly reminded of Ruck, the mentally damaged dwarf down in the Deep Roads that had survived by eating darkspawn flesh, to the extreme detriment of both body and mind. This was a creature well on its way to becoming a ghoul.

The man paid no attention to his guests. When Lanaya said he was an Ostagar survivor, the Warden had wondered if he might recognize her. It had been a silly, almost narcissistic thought in hindsight - who had she been at Ostagar but a lowly recruit in pieced-together, mis-matched armor? Not to mention she had not had the facial tattoos the Dalish later gifted her with at the time. No, she thought, I suppose I look just like any of the other Dalish he's seen in camp.

"Shemlen," Lanaya addressed him gently, kneeling down beside the man while keeping a short, cautious distance. He looked suddenly uneasy. The Keeper turned to Kallian and explained, "He wandered close to one of our recent hunting trails a few days ago. Our hunters almost put him out of his misery until he started repeating the words 'Grey Warden' and 'Ostagar'. They brought him back here, thinking I might be able to discern his meaning, that he might have information important for battling the Blight. He has not let me approach him any closer nor answered any questions. I've done my best to heal his wounds, but..."

Kallian shook her head. "Surely he'll not survive much longer in this state?"

"I'm afraid not," confirmed the Keeper. "He does not show much interest in food. At the most, he will pick at it."

"That's probably because he's gotten used to... other tastes," the Warden commented cryptically, shuddering.

Lanaya looked at her fellow elf curiously. When Kallian did not elaborate, she turned back to the crouching man and attempted to attract his awareness again. "Shemlen, I have brought a Grey Warden."

That got his attention. The man immediately turned his head this way and that, looking about as if searching. Finally, his twitchy eyes settled on Kallian and widened, blinking owlishly. He cocked his head to the side like a dog and sniffed loudly. Moving surprisingly fast for his condition, he instantly crossed the distance and snatched the collar of Kallian's leather armor, pulling her down to his level and staring at her, inches away from her face. The elf awkwardly crouched down and tried not to breathe - the man's fetid breath in her face was repugnant and nearly overwhelming. It smelled of sickness, madness, and impending death. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Lanaya quickly rising to her feet and brandishing her mage's staff. The Warden held up a hand to stop her for the time being.

"Grey Warden," the man repeated, over and over again as if in disbelief. "Grey Warden. Grey Warden. The key is at Ostagar. The key..."

"What key?" Loghain's stern, baritone voice entered the tent.

Kallian looked back over her shoulder and saw both Loghain and Wynne stop short, just as she had. Granted, Loghain appeared far less affected by the sight than Wynne... but then again, Kallian reasoned, that was his nature. The afflicted man, however, had a very strong reaction to Loghain. Immediately, he released the Warden's collar and prostrated himself across the floor in front of the former general.

"Teyrn Loghain!" he cried, voice shaking in what almost sounded like reverence. "Teyrn Loghain. You bringin' your flankin' troops? They're here now?"

Complete silence fell over the tent. Lanaya quietly excused herself so all the Ostagar veterans could have some privacy. After several drawn-out moments, Loghain carefully said, "Yes, my army is here now. What have you to report, soldier?"

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the broken man sobbed. "All looked lost until you arrived! Good King Cailan... he has fallen, ser! I was to bring either you or a Grey Warden this message should the worst transpire."

"Stand up," Loghain ordered, "and tell me who brings this important message?" The survivor returned to his crouching position and looked up balefully at the former general. Loghain had a long memory for faces and, despite the man's wear and tear, quickly recognized him. "Long? Frederick Long, is that you?"

The survivor looked lost for a moment, then shook his head vigorously. "I'm sorry, ser, but I can't quite remember some things these days."

Kallian turned and fixed her eyes on Loghain. "Who is he?"

"This was one of Cailan's personal honor guard," he explained.

The Warden nodded, shifting her eyes back over to the broken man. She vaguely recalled talking to a fellow outside King Cailan's tent back at Ostagar, but that had been so brief and so long ago that she couldn't quite place him. Something about that made her feel a bit guilty. She didn't remember him and was certain Alistair probably wouldn't have either, but they'd both condemned Loghain - Alistair much more vehemently than her - for abandoning men to die. Yet, there stood Loghain with nothing but a human husk huddled before him, and he remembered the man's name and position in the army. Kallian suddenly had the nagging suspicion that Loghain could probably name every soldier - and their rank - that he'd left behind.

"Beggin' your pardon, ser," Long interrupted. His face twitched sharply, but otherwise he sounded more coherent for the time-being. "But who I am really isn't of import. The key is."

"The poor thing," Wynne sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Such loyalty... only to be rewarded with suffering." She turned a glaring eye towards Loghain, giving him the especially nasty look she spared only for him.

"Unfortunately, mage, loyalty and suffering often go hand-in-hand," he growled before addressing Frederick once more. "What is this message about a key?"

The man's eyes went out of focus. "The key," he whispered, causing the others to lean closer in order to properly hear, "is at Ostagar."

"The key to what?"

A few confused blinks. "The key to King Cailan's chest."

Loghain tossed his hands up in frustration and turned his back on the former guard.

Kallian looked intrigued. "What's in the chest?"

Frederick appeared to look past them, but continued whispering, "Things important to Ferelden. Things that... must not fall... into darkspawn hands."

"What kind of things?"

"I..." he sighed, "I don't remember. But there is something that should go to Arl Eamon. And something that should go to the Grey Warden."

Loghain spun back around, fire in his eyes. "What's meant for Eamon?"

The confused man ducked his head, as if waiting to be struck. "I don't know, m'lord!"

Wynne took a tentative step forward. "You said something was to go to the Grey Warden," she ventured. "Which Grey Warden is that? There were several at Ostagar."

Frederick looked all about him, seeing many things that were not present but failing to see his audience any longer. However, he still struggled valiantly to try and answer their questions. "I... I don't rightly know. King Cailan just said... just said that the Grey Warden should use the sword. Use the sword for Ferelden. And when I was wanderin' about the Wilds, the witch said somethin' about the Grey Warden, too."

"Woah, woah, what?" Kallian gaped.

"What witch?" Loghain suddenly demanded.

"The W-Witch of the W-Wilds," the man stammered.

The former teyrn appeared unusually uneasy at the name. "And what did she say about the Warden?"

"I can't recall," he lamented. "It all runs together in m'head."

Loghain looked as if he were about to start shouting, but was cut short by the man's ragged coughing. The heaving became so violent that he fell backwards and struggled on the floor. Wynne rushed forward to try and aid him, but Frederick screamed and flailed his limbs as if she were an attacker. Keeper Lanaya and the two elven guards rushed in, alarmed, and the tent suddenly became much more crowded. Between the survivor's obscure references to Flemeth and swords and Ostagar, and the sheer volume of bodies stuffing the tent, Kallian suddenly found it rather difficult to catch her breath.

"The key..." rasped the dying man, sounding relatively lucid once more. "The good king made me hide it... before the battle. Just in case." He coughed again. A thin trickle of blood crawled down from the corner of his mouth. "There is a statue with some loose stones behind it. I... I hid the key underneath the stones. Look for the statue in the courtyard." After a brief pause, he smiled and gazed up at everything and nothing all at once. "It is done, my king."

With one last, shuddering breath, Frederick Long finally died.

"Ashes we were and ashes we become," Wynne intoned solemnly. "Maker, give this man a place at Your side. Let us find comfort in the peace he will find in eternity."

Kallian raised her bowed head and looked upon the funeral pyre they had made for the Ostagar survivor. It was in a clearing not too far from the outskirts of the Dalish encampment, well away from the surrounding trees and brush. Just the three of them had carried it out, feeling it was only right given their shared history with the soldier.

Now that it was done, however, it gave the Warden idle hands - which always, inevitably, led to not-so-idle thoughts. Long's strange, cryptic message both puzzled and frightened her. What had Flemeth said about her... and when? The elf had slain the witch at Morrigan's behest, but that left plenty of time in between the Battle of Ostagar and her death for her to have encountered Frederick. And what was in the chest that was of such importance to Ferelden? There had been mention of a sword, but why would Cailan have left some random sword locked up and, more perplexing, why would he have wanted a Grey Warden to have it in case he died?

The elf took a deep breath and prepared to break their strained silence in order to voice some of her questions and concerns, but Wynne beat her to it. With a face that suddenly looked much older, the healer quietly spoke, "He held on long enough to deliver his message. All this long time of pain and suffering, just to fulfill one last duty to his king. We should all be so loyal and steadfast."

"You can stop scowling at me, madam," Loghain sneered.

"Did I need your permission?" she shot back, looking as if she had something distasteful stuck under her nose. "This poor man was just one of the many that you left to die. I was at Ostagar. I saw the slaughter of the army. I witnessed Cailan's murder."

"Such loyalty."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she rounded on him.

"Did you try to save him, then?" Loghain sarcastically quipped. "My apologies."

"Please, you two," Kallian interrupted. "Let's not do this, shall we?"

"I was fortunate to escape with my life!" Wynne defensively yelled.

"So, you didn't rush to your king's rescue? I see." He narrowed his eyes at the healer. "Then both of us left the boy to die."

"None of this is going to help solve anything," the Warden stated, trying to be the calm voice of reason and stop the impending powderkeg from erupting. "What's done is done. Time to move on."

"I was no general at the head of an army!" the healer spat, entire body suddenly taut with animosity. "I could never have reached him!"

Coolly, Loghain rebutted, "And I had no magic that could break those darkspawn ranks. But perhaps you think I ought to have tried, regardless. No doubt, the lives of mere soldiers are cheap in the eyes of the Circle."

The elf buried her face in her hands and groaned irritably. "Guys..."

"And what of all the soldiers who died with their king?" blasted Wynne. "Their lives were worth nothing to you."

Kallian watched warily as Loghain swelled with a sudden, incensed fury. He glared icy, blue daggers at Wynne, who had enough good sense to realize she'd taken the argument a step too far and shrank back from the wrath that palpably emanated from the warrior. "You think so, do you?" he snarled, teeth bared. "I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families!"

Wynne suddenly looked away, though whether it was from some amount of shame and regret or simply to escape the former general's wicked glower, the Warden couldn't tell. At any rate, the gesture appeared to placate Loghain to some degree. He turned his back on the healer and stared at the burning pyre that Frederick Long's tainted body laid upon. "I do not know how you mages determine the value of things," he continued, voice both powerful and heart-breaking, "but they were my men. I know exactly how much I lost that day."

After a brief silence, the elf felt something needed to be said. What that something should be, she wasn't sure, so she just went with what felt right. "I'm sorry, Loghain." Mentally, she added, Sorry for Wynne's constant needling. Sorry that you had to make the choices you did. Sorry that you have to live with them now. Sorry I couldn't light the beacon in time...

Loghain turned around slowly and looked at the Warden. He caught her eyes with his usual steely gaze, but something within them surprisingly softened. For a moment, Kallian wasn't sure if she were imaging things or not. Then, with a gentle tone completely devoid of his previous rage, the former teyrn said softly, "None of us came out of Ostagar looking good. You've no need to apologize to me, Warden."

Something in the way he spoke and looked at her just then touched a spark buried deep within the elf. Several conflicting desires struck her all at once: she wanted to suddenly look away from him, or to run away and be alone, or to say 'sod it all' and go running into his arms. Instead, she stood as if frozen, staring at someone that completely baffled her. Someone who had parts she admired, parts she hated, parts she liked, and parts she failed to understand at all and highly doubted she ever would.

Loghain simply stood there like she did, a striking figure that well-suited the wall of flames behind him. The funeral pyre's blaze lit him up and formed a fascinating dichotomy. It added to his fierce, intimidating aura and made him look not unlike the savage wyvern that was his teyrnir's symbol. Yet, at the same time, the fiery tendrils danced all around his silhouette, creating an image as if they might bodily consume him just as his passions had nearly consumed all of his morality. The sight captivated the Warden and she found herself feeling rather flustered, much to her chagrin and no small amount of alarm.

Wynne pulled them both out of their shared, otherworldly moment by loudly clearing her throat. "Now that we have taken care of the poor boy, don't you think we should try and puzzle out just what he meant? It was obviously something he felt important enough to suffer long and hard to tell us."

Quickly recovering, Kallian agreed. "Yes, we really ought to. Do either of you know anything about this supposed sword he mentioned? A Grey Warden is supposed to 'use it for Ferelden' or some such? Cailan had his sword with him during the battle, obviously. So, what could he have been talking about?"

"It doesn't make any sense to me," Loghain grumbled, wearily rubbing his eyes. "I would assume Cailan kept his father's sword locked up in that chest. The blade seemed to have an adverse effect on the darkspawn - even appeared to sense their presence - but it was not particularly special beyond that, far as I could tell."

"Maric had this sword made?" the Warden asked.

"No." Loghain shook his head, eyebrows furrowing as he sifted through his memories. "No, he... I think he found it in the Deep Roads."

Kallian's eyes widened. "Do you suppose it's something meant to cut down the Archdemon?" she asked excitedly, hoping they might have stumbled upon a clue for killing the tainted dragon. "That maybe a Grey Warden is meant to wield it? That might explain why it was in the Deep Roads... why he'd have wanted a Grey Warden to use it!"

"If a Grey Warden was meant to end a Blight with it, why was it left in the Deep Roads to begin with? Why would no parties be sent to retrieve something so important?" the tactician reasoned. "And why wouldn't Cailan have simply given it to Duncan or one of the other Senior Wardens? He had ample opportunity to bring this up during the strategy meetings." Loghain made a derisive grunt. "Actually, it would have been rather out-of-character for him not to bring up something as fanciful as a magical Grey Warden relic, particularly one in his possession."

"Maybe he was saving it for the right moment?" Kallian reasoned, trying to hold onto some hope that they finally had an answer to ending the Blight. "Didn't your scouts say no dragon had been seen in the woods? Maybe Cailan was waiting for some sign of the Archdemon before risking the sword in battle?"

"It is possible," Wynne reasoned, also sounding hopeful.

"But highly doubtful," Loghain argued. "More likely it was Cailan's own vanity in wanting a Grey Warden to use his family sword."

"It may be worth a return to Ostagar," the elf mentioned. "Might not be a bad idea to have it on hand, anyhow, just in case."

"Absolutely not!" the former teyrn shouted.

"What's the matter, Loghain Mac Tir?" asked the healer. "Afraid to face the ghosts you so callously left behind?"

Narrowing his eyes, Loghain huffed. "I'm more concerned with the darkspawn that overwhelmed the fortress. Why risk taking a small party into a sure deathtrap just to chase the chance of an enchanted weapon? There's no assurance the chest hasn't been compromised during all this time."

"And what of the package that was to go to Arl Eamon?" Wynne asked.

"I couldn't care less what Cailan wanted delivered to that pompous, useless windbag," he spat. "If it contained information vital to Ferelden, he'd have wanted it to go to his queen, would he not?"

"Oh, I don't know!" she sighed, tossing her hands up in frustration. "But if it wasn't important, why would that poor lad have traversed half the countryside trying to deliver his message to the right people? It seems such a waste of his life not to act on it."

"We have no idea if it was actually important or not. Importance can be a rather subjective matter; what's important to one is not always important to another," Loghain countered. "And you are conveniently forgetting that Long was not in his right mind. How can we be so sure he didn't just hallucinate the whole thing? Are we really willing to risk more lives and valuable time returning to that cursed place?"

The mage turned her eye to the Warden, who was gazing deeply into the fire and appeared lost in thought. Clearing her throat again, she said, "Well, Warden, you've become awfully quiet. What are your thoughts?" At that, Loghain also looked over and awaited her response.

Kallian blinked a few times and turned her head from one to the other. After several moments' hesitation, she announced, "I think it's something I need to ponder on for a bit longer. Let's not make any decisions today." Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes, she added, "It's been a long enough one already."

By day's end, Loghain was more than ready to be rid of his armor and that Redcliffe soldier's damned tiny clothing. Hoping that at least one set of clothes would have finished drying by now, he made his way over to Bodahn's wagon. As the cart came into view, however, the warrior stopped short and crinkled his brows in puzzlement. The strung-up clothesline - not to mention all his garments and bedroll that were previously hanging on it - were gone. Sighing, he walked around to the back to peer inside and nearly stumbled into Bodahn.

"Ah, there you are!" the dwarf called. "I was just getting ready to come looking for you, Master Loghain."

"Really, just Loghain is fine."

Bodahn shrugged. "As you wish. At any rate, Miss Kallian told me that if you came 'round, I was to give you these." Reaching into the back of his covered cart, the dwarf pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothing and handed it over. "I do apologize, but the boots are proving a bit harder to dry out."

"That's fine. Wouldn't be the first time I went barefoot," chuckled Loghain. "Although, I am curious as to where everything else went."

"I believe those are packed back up in your new tent, ser."

"Excellent. Now, if you'll just point me in the right direction..."

"I'm sorry," Bodahn countered quickly, "but I'm under strict orders not to." At Loghain's arched eyebrow, the merchant explained, "I think Miss Kallian has some sort of surprise planned. She was quite insistent that she be the one to show you to your tent later."

"All right," Loghain said tentatively. Maker only knows what that girl is up to now, he inwardly sighed. Clearing his throat, he added, "That being the case, should I just strip out here in front of the Maker and everybody else?"

"Oh, right!" Bodahn exclaimed, looking rather embarrassed. "My apologies. Feel free to use the back of my wagon. I ought to head over to the main campfire anyway, make sure my boy isn't getting into any trouble with the natives, if you know what I mean?" With that, the dwarf quickly made his way out of sight.

Shaking his head in subtle amusement, Loghain took advantage of the merchant's offer. After he finished carefully storing his River Dane armor, he stepped back out of the wagon comfortably dressed in loose pantaloons and a tunic actually his size. He took a moment to simply stand there and stretch, sighing in contentment - not terribly unlike Daveth's doggy stretches. Then, the warrior followed Bodahn's path over towards the Dalish encampment's large, main fire.

A large portion of the Dalish, as well as most of the Warden's party, were already gathered there. Sten stood a little apart from everyone else, holding a wooden bowl in his hand and appearing to greatly enjoy the stew that Elora the Halla Keeper was dolling out to the gathering. Wynne sat on a log and gently held the elven Gwaren refugee they'd rescued; the little girl apparently tuckered out from an exciting day of running around and playing with the other elven children. Zevran and Oghren sat side-by-side on the ground across from a pair of young Dalish. A set of carved, wooden pieces lay on a piece of painted cloth between them. Whatever game they were playing, it was obvious from the looks on the Dalish elves' faces that the visitors were winning. Leliana sat near the elven storyteller, currently absorbed in his re-telling of some Dalish legend about elven gods. Morrigan, characteristically, was nowhere in sight.

Which left the Warden. She sat in the very center of a log, completely occupying the space for herself. Daveth laid by her feet, occasionally twitching and snoring in his slumber. As soon as Kallian spotted him, she smiled warmly, slid over to one side of the log, and made sure he saw her patting the now open seat right next to her. Loghain chuckled, shot one eyebrow up, and gave the Warden a half-smirk before acquiescing to her unspoken command.

As he settled in, she gave him a quick glance up and down. "You look much more comfy now."

"Indeed," he admitted. With no preamble, he turned to her and asked, "What's this about some big surprise or secret at my tent?"

"Sh-h-h-h..." was all she said, giving him a brief, coy look before turning her attention back to Sarel's story about the Dread Wolf.

After a few moments, Elora came by and handed Loghain a bowl of the Dalish stew. He quietly thanked her and ate contentedly, not particularly interested in the old elven lore being spun, but happy with the simple comforts, nonetheless. However, when the storyteller had finished, Leliana spoke up and began to recall her own, personal tales of the Warden's exploits. A few of the Dalish in the outskirts of the gathering shot the human nasty looks and grumbled amongst themselves before someone finally shooshed them.

The former teyrn set down his bowl and focused his full attention on the bard, both amused and captivated to hear some of Kallian's many trials and tribulations while he'd been in Denerim. He'd heard snatches and snippets of them around the campfire before, but much of it passed as unspoken, inside knowledge from all the party members that had been there to share in her adventures. To hear them told in vivid detail for an uninformed audience was, honestly, a real treat. At one point, Zevran even abandoned his game to join in weaving the story of the Warden's battle with the Witch of the Wilds. Every now and then, Loghain glanced over at Kallian with a rather bemused expression or cocked eyebrow. She'd shoot back an appropriate response, ranging from a blush, a smarmy grin, or a dramatic roll of the eyes.

Eventually - or, rather, predictably, in Loghain's opinion - some of the younger Dalish began asking where the Warden had originally come from and how she'd become a Grey Warden. He was impressed with the way Kallian managed to twist and dodge around directly answering those questions. She spoke briefly about being raised in the capital and simply stated that a Grey Warden had thought she posed some potential and, thus, recruited her to accompany him to Ostagar. All things that Loghain knew to be technically true, but that he also suspected avoided the real meat and potatoes of her personal story.

One of the children, in her innocence, asked if there was a Dalish clan in Denerim from which the Warden had come. Because she hasn't any idea elves other than the Dalish exist, Loghain realized, shaking his head. Kallian didn't immediately answer. One of the older elves snorted and spat at the ground. Another one apparently summed up the general Dalish consensus with the charming epithet of "Piss on the Alienages!" Many nodded or grunted their approval.

Loghain was a bit surprised, knowing the Warden's temper first-hand, but to Kallian's credit, she kept a level head. She said not a word in response. Didn't even frown or furrow her brow. Instead, she kept a calm demeanor and blank face. Then, she stood up slowly, turned around, and left the main campground, heading in the direction of the pond beside the halla keep. He watched her go and mentally debated if he should go after her or leave her to stew in private.

One of the old, female elves elbowed her husband roughly and chastised, "You oughtn't be rude to the Grey Warden! She can't help her parentage."

"Hmph!" the old man scoffed. "What does it matter? She could go on to slay the Archdemon herself, but she was still raised to be a submissive, cowering dog to the shemlen." He scowled meaningfully at Leliana, Wynne, and Loghain. "I wish it could be one of our own! A Dalish Grey Warden would show all of them that we haven't forgotten we're wolves - true hunters, proud, bending to no one!"

That made up his mind. Loghain narrowed his eyes and glared at the old Dalish curmudgeon. Then, as the Warden's friends shouted angry protests in her defense, he quickly stood up and followed Kallian's trail. He'd heard more than enough for one night.

Kallian hadn't gone off too far. Loghain found her sitting against a Dalish lamppost in front of the halla pond, awash in the light cast down by the blue-flamed lantern. Legs drawn up to her chest and left arm wrapped around them, she rested her chin on her knees. She held her right hand up in front of her and appeared to be twiddling her fingers. As Loghain drew closer, he saw that, rather than twiddling, the elf actually had her purple high dragon scale out. She flexed and moved her dexterous, juggler's fingers in such a way as to make the scale travel and dance back and forth across her knuckles. He stopped and watched, unsure if he should intrude. After several moments of hesitation, he turned to leave.

"What? Afraid some of my Alienage disease might rub off on you, too?"

Loghain was a bit surprised at how much the sharp edge to her tone cut him. "My apologies," he said tersely. "I shouldn't disturb you."

He'd only made it a few more steps when her voice, suddenly less bitter and more melancholy, stopped him. "Please, don't go," she asked. "I'm sorry. You're not the enemy here."

I once was, he thought sourly, for a very long time. "If that's what you wish," he answered. "I don't want to be a bother."

"You're never a bother! I enjoy your company, Loghain."

Something in his chest briefly fluttered at the depth of sincerity in her voice. It was not often someone claimed to actually enjoy being around him, after all. The former teyrn turned around and gave the Warden a questioning look. Her large, brown eyes answered him, pleading for his presence. Sighing quietly to himself and feeling rather unnerved at the sway she was beginning to have with him, Loghain walked back towards the elf. However, much like a stray cat wishing to be fed yet wanting to retain some modicum of independence and aloofness, he chose to meet her request halfway. Once in range, instead of sitting down beside her, he stood by her side and casually leaned against the lamppost.

Kallian looked up at Loghain and gave him a small, sad smile. Then, she deeply sighed and returned to staring at the scale, which she now held still in the palm of her hand. "What was it you said to me that first night in camp?" she asked. "Something about fate having a sense of humor?"

"Fate has a twisted sense of humor," he supplied.

"It certainly does, doesn't it?" the Warden quietly chuckled, but it was a sullen sound. "I spent my whole life trying to get out of the Alienage. And you know what? Now that I have, it's hard not to constantly think about going back." The elf barked out a rueful laugh. "But you can't go home again. I learned that when I returned to Denerim for the Landsmeet. The Alienage had... changed... somehow. Everyone inside was different from how I remembered them. It felt... off. Strange. Different. Growing up there, you learn nothing ever changes in the Alienage. Not really, anyway. So, it was... rather unsettling and not quite the homecoming I imagined. Guess the purge after I left changed a lot of things.

"Or maybe it's just me that's changed," she continued in a wistful tone. "I'm not the same person I was before I got dragged away. At least before, I belonged in the Alienage. I resented it, but I belonged. Now, I don't belong anywhere. Not in the Alienage. Not with the Dalish. Human settlements will probably never truly accept elves as equal citizens. I suppose being a Grey Warden is really all I have left to me. A cold comfort, that."

"Had I not seen the sudden outburst earlier tonight," he commented, "I would've thought you'd join the Dalish if we survive all this."

"Yes, that wasn't exactly their best side," she agreed. "Trust me, it's not been an easy relationship. They are quite a mixed bunch. To their credit, most were fair to me when I first met them, even though they were wary. Some semblance of elven brotherhood still exists, however small and fleeting. After helping them with their little, furry problem - as I like to call it - they were much more accepting of me. But there is a steadfast group that refuses to look past the whole 'city elf' label. Lanaya is very fortunate."

"How so?"

"Oh, I didn't mention it, did I?" Kallian realized. "Yes, the keeper actually started life like I did. She was a city elf. Her parents were murdered by bandits and she was taken as a... servant... before this clan's former keeper rescued her. Lanaya was very young, though. She may have been born in the city, but she was raised Dalish. In time, the clan accepted her as one of their own.

"She extended an invitation to me, if I desired, but I don't think I'll take her up on it. I'd never really be accepted; I've been in the city too long." She sighed. "Besides, look at me. I don't really belong here. I don't believe in their gods. I don't believe that wandering in the woods will eventually bring back some wondrous, elven city of yore. I may be an elf, but I have more in common with you humans than I do my own kind. We can pass down the legends of the old ways and think of them fondly, but that time is long gone for us. We have to pick up and try to figure out a new path, a new future for our kind. That's simply the cold, hard truth."

"I can see how that wouldn't be a particularly well-received opinion here," he observed. "I had just assumed..." he added, gesturing to his face to indicate her tattoos.

"The vallaslin," she remarked, self-consciously reaching up and touching the griffon wings on her cheeks. "Lanaya graciously gave it to me after I cured the hunters of the werewolf curse. When I'd learned what the vallaslin signified, I requested it... though, it's not quite in the same vein as the Dalish tradition. There are several here who greatly resent me for my decision. I can understand. It would appear as blasphemy to them."

"I'm afraid I don't understand at all," Loghain said, finally sitting down beside her and studying the grey traces of her tattoos. "If you didn't intend to join the Dalish after the Blight, why make yourself look like them?"

"It wasn't to look like them," Kallian explained. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she continued, "The Dalish use the vallaslin to represent a young elf who has reached maturity. The style of the tattoo is based on the elven god they most identify with. For example, a hunter apprentice who has finally made his first kill would receive vallaslin representing Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt."

"And I'm assuming yours is no elven god or goddess?"

"Right, hence the blasphemy comment. Lacking a better idea, I asked for some representation of a griffon, since being a Grey Warden seems to be my new lot in life. Lanaya was familiar enough with Warden lore to do it justice - a wing on each cheek and a beak on the forehead," she described, tracing each feature fondly as she named it. "When I was forced to leave the Alienage, I was not yet considered an adult. This was more for me than anything else. It was my own, personal way of marking a passage in my life - for if everything I've been through since Ostagar has not transitioned me from a girl into a woman, I don't know what would."

Loghain frowned. "I'm afraid I still don't quite understand. You've said before that you've been a Grey Warden for over a year now. You look as if you've been of age for at least a few years."

Kallian shook her head. "In the Alienage, maturity is not viewed in years. It's marked with life changes. An elf becomes an adult when he or she gets married."

"But you said you were almost married once, right?" he asked. "That didn't count?"

"Not quite," the Warden answered. She was quiet for several, long moments. After a while, Loghain wasn't sure if she would continue or not. However, she finally admitted, "It's a rather long and unpleasant story."

"Isn't that usually the case?" he reasoned. "People in our position hardly come from happy, stable backgrounds."

She looked at him askance, then nodded. "I suppose you're right. I assume yours is probably no more delightful than mine."

"I'd wager not."

She sighed heavily, appearing at odds with herself. Locking her eyes on his and looking very serious, she confided, "The only other person, besides those directly involved, who knew all the details was Alistair. Everyone else - just shadows and whispers. I'm sure the Denerim paper probably carried the story shortly after. It was a rather sordid affair and, I'll bet, a scandal in the nobility's world. But what I'm about to tell you is the honest truth of it... and it is not something I'm particularly proud of."

Loghain said nothing, but nodded gently.

Kallian closed her eyes, gripped the dragon scale tightly in her right hand, took a deep and shuddering breath, and began. "It was my wedding day and I had been dreading it for weeks. Nobody could understand why, not even Shianni and she's like a sister to me. 'He's handsome, that Nelaros,' she'd said and was all excited. 'Your father's picked out a good, strong lad for you.' I almost swear she was jealous. And to be honest, I guess it looked like a good match. I didn't have anything against the Highever boy Papa was bringing in... but I didn't want to marry him.

"In a way, maybe I hadn't grown up just yet. I was still clinging to a hope and dream of making it out of the Alienage, being a hero like I'd pretended to be all through childhood. Getting married would mean the end of all that. The Alienage would be permanent, I'd be expected to raise a family... all ideas that frightened me. At least my other cousin, Soris, could relate to the frightened bit. You see, he was getting paired off as well, but he didn't hate it like I did. He just didn't know what to do. Apparently, he didn't take my suggestion to run away and join the Dalish as a serious one. I was dead serious."

She paused and chuckled to herself, looking around. Loghain cracked a small smile and wryly commented, "At least irony doesn't have an exclusive hold on just me."

"No," she sighed, face falling once more. "I suppose not. That morning, we got a taste of what was to come. Bann Vaughan and two of his mindless, noble companions trotted in. They made a show of thinking they could simply waltz right into the Alienage and pick out a few elves to satisfy their needs." She made a disgusted face. "While Valendrian was trying to peacefully get them to leave, Shianni clubbed Vaughan in the back of the head with a water jug."

"Not the best plan," Loghain chuckled, "but good on her for trying."

"At the time, I thought the same thing, though obviously Valendrian didn't." Somberly, she continued, "Vaughan and his goons returned later, during the actual wedding ceremony. As you can imagine, he was not pleased by earlier events and was bent on having his way. They rounded up the women of the wedding party, including Shianni, Soris's bride Valora, and me. I tried to stop them, but they were forced to knock me out."

"I can imagine," Loghain noted with respect in his voice, "given your natural ferocity."

Staring out across the pond, the Warden appeared to brace herself before going on. "When I came around, we were locked in a room in the arl's estate. Some guards came shortly after that to bring us all to Vaughan's private chambers." Kallian's face grew dark. "Evie, one of the bridesmaids, a girl I'd grown up with, had known all my life... she pleaded with them to let us go. They laughed. Then, they killed her. Right there in front of us, they murdered a frightened, unarmed woman. Because she was an elf - and nobody cares what happens to some nameless elf, right?" Her fists balled up tightly. "They dragged the rest out, saving me for last since, apparently, I was already tagged as the 'difficult scrapper.' It was right then that Soris appeared in the doorway, armed. I was as flabbergasted as the guards. He slid a longsword and a dagger to me and we made quick work of those two leering louts."

"How did an elf manage to get into the arl's estate armed?" he inquired.

"Soris told me that Duncan - of all people - had given Nelaros and him the weapons and told them to go do what they must," she answered, shrugging.

"Hmm," Loghain wondered aloud. "Odd that a Grey Warden would involve himself."

"Regardless, I wasn't about to question my fortune at the time," answered Kallian. "I didn't exactly relish the thought of trying to do anymore fighting in my wedding dress, so we took the armor off the two dead guards and used it ourselves. We made our way as best we could, sneaking by guards when possible. The elven servants in the castle helped us whenpossible, giving directions.

"Along the way, we met up with Nelaros just in time to see more guards cut him down." Her voice softened. "It's true that I hadn't wanted to get married, but I didn't wish to see him dead either. Especially not dying trying to rescue me. It still makes me feel guilty for having treated him with such a cold shoulder prior to the ceremony."

The Warden bit her lower lip and pushed forward. "At any rate, after cutting a bloody swath through the castle, we finally found Vaughan's chambers. When we burst in..." Kallian paused, collecting herself. She was silent for so long that Loghain looked over and saw that she was fighting hard not to cry. Hesitantly, he reached over and placed his hand over hers. The Warden took a deep breath and, through gritted teeth, continued, "When we burst in, the pig had just finished raping her. He was buttoning up his fancy little trousers while my cousin lay trembling and sobbing on the floor." Her breath hitched. "And you want to know what's worse?"

When she looked over at Loghain, his expression had darkened and a deep scowl dominated his features. He had lived through a very similar ordeal, after all. The Warden's story was both drawing uncomfortable parallels between them in addition to dredging up memories Loghain would just as soon keep buried deep within his soul.

The elf composed herself and continued, "That lecherous snake tried to plead for his life. He offered us a large sum of money if we'd just walk right back out the door and let him continue raping my cousin before most assuredly moving on to the other girls. When we refused, he threatened to have the Alienage purged."

"And what did you do?" Loghain asked, voice thick and hoarse. He already knew the answer, of course. The Denerim Weekly had run giant headlines about the 'Bann Butcherer', although the story conveniently left out the sins of Vaughan. More of the grim details had surfaced while he'd been trying to dig up dirt on the Warden to smear her at the Landsmeet. The former teyrn, however, wanted to hear the rest of the story from Kallian herself.

"I gutted him like the pig he was," she answered harshly, "and I revelled in it."

Loghain nodded in approval. "Good."

"Duncan was forced to invoke the Grey Wardens' Rite of Conscription after that," the elf continued, "or otherwise I'd have surely swung from the gallows for murdering nobility."

"Soris was not in danger for his part in your rescue?" he questioned.

"I took full responsibility," she answered. "Before we left the estate, we hid our weapons. Made up a cover story that Soris had been kidnapped along with us and the gore he was covered in was all from Vaughan when I killed him. Told them I acted alone. After all, the only ones who had seen him with me in the castle were either dead or servants who know it's always best to plead ignorance."

"And what of Shianni?" he gently asked. "How did she fare after...?"

"Shianni is a strong woman," Kallian said, regaining some strength through remembrance of her steadfast cousin. "She seems to have moved past it as well as one can be expected. When I was last in the Alienage, she was acting as the temporary hahren in Valendrian's absence."

Loghain glanced down at the ground between his feet. He was not entirely sure what to think of that, but he certainly felt an unsettling mix of emotions: contentment that the Warden's family member was doing well, a bit of pride and awe at Kallian's heroic actions and her subsequent willingness to assume all the consequences, and the dull, familiar ache of guilt and regret that someone just as young as the Warden had to take on the mantle of leadership because his actions had stolen much of the age and strength out of the Alienage and shipped it to Tevinter in chains.

Kallian was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she missed seeing any signs of the former teyrn's own uneasiness. The Warden wearily wiped her forehead with the back of an arm and sighed, looking once more at the purple dragon scale. "And that's my story," she announced, her voice full of mockery and a hint of self-loathing. "My wondrous, awe-inspiring story! I became a Grey Warden because my other option was death. I prayed to the Maker to get me out of a marriage I did not desire and behold! I got my wish. I'm out of the Alienage and I'm some big hero out to save the world now. Sure, it came at the price of many, many lives and the torture of one of my cousins. But I sure got what I wanted, didn't I?" The elf gritted her teeth.

"Warden," Loghain said. When she didn't immediately react, he grabbed both her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Warden," he repeated in a firm and commanding tone, "you are not responsible for the actions of others. You did what you had to in order to rescue your loved ones. That's all any of us can do."

The elf shook her head, eyes threatening tears she fought to keep from falling. "I should have done more."

"What more could you have done?" he reasoned, both sympathy and determination etched into his blue eyes. "Trust me, Warden, I know exactly what this feels like. More than you can imagine. All we can do is everything that we physically can, then hope for the best."

"But... but I don't know why I was recruited other than pity," she finally admitted. "Duncan only recruited me because I was going to be hanged. I wasn't brave. Everything I did, I did out of anger and fear."

"The very definition of bravery is acting in spite of your fears," said the former general. At Kallian's confused look, he elaborated, "Only the stupid and the foolhardy charge into battle with no fear. True bravery is recognizing the threat something represents, then charging forward anyway to vanquish it."

The elf was quiet for a moment. Then, she asked something that had been on her mind for a while. "You are brave, Loghain. You're a proven hero. Why would Duncan have passed over the opportunity to recruit you? Why come to the Alienage at all, let alone recruit me? How could I possibly hold more potential than the Hero of River Dane?"

"Had I thought you incapable of ending this Blight, Warden," explained Loghain, "I would not be following you right now. I'd be doing it myself and you would possibly be dead, depending on your reaction to my mutiny. However, I do believe in you. There is something in you - some spark - that I lack. That I've always lacked. You inspire people. Look around you; look at your fellow companions. Any one of us would lay down our lives for you without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation. You bring that out in people. You bring out the best of us. That is not a skill that can be learned. That is a gift... a Maker-given gift that very few are blessed with." Maric had such a gift and so do you, thought Loghain, the realization serving both to make him feel a bit discomfited yet, oddly enough, reassured.

Kallian looked at him as though she were overwhelmed by his words, blinking back the tears that had threatened her earlier. His hands still rested on her shoulders. In response, she lightly grabbed one of his forearms and held onto it. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "You are a remarkable young lady. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise." At her sudden blush, he continued, "I think you'll be fine. You're already a strong leader now. You'll only get better. This... may or may not be a comfort to you, but you remind me of someone I once knew. In several ways, actually, strange as that seems to me at times. Like you, he had raw talent and leadership abilities, but he was still figuring out just how to wield them. He was young, quite young, when life truly started to test him. He was thrown into the fire utterly against his will and didn't handle it with much grace at first, but he survived. And, learning on his feet and on the run, he shaped up into a real hero."

For the first time in a while, Kallian shot him her trademark smirk. "And this is the part where you reveal that I remind you of yourself at my age?"

"No," Loghain answered, a bit ruffled. "This is the part where I tell you he later went on to become King of Ferelden. But I appreciate the sentiment of you thinking I am a real hero."

"You speak as though you aren't one," she remarked.

"Do you think I am," he asked, "in light of everything I've done?"

Kallian balked and said, "You'll always be a hero to the people of Ferelden."

"That wasn't what I asked," Loghain replied.

"Fine," the Warden answered, narrowing her eyes, "then I'll show you."

With that, she grabbed one of the hands he held on her shoulder and pulled him up with her as she stood. She turned from the pond and led him through a zig-zag of tents. After passing by several, she approached one in particular. To his eyes, it looked indistinguishable from all the other tents nearby. However, the elf seemed certain of their destination and led him towards this one, wholly unremarkable tent.

"Your new tent," she announced rather unnecessarily, giving him an oddly shy-looking smile.

Loghain inclined his head, then pulled back the door flap and entered. He stopped in mid-step once he caught a glimpse at what awaited him. In the middle, his bedroll lay with a blue Dalish lantern sitting beside it, lighting up the whole interior. His clothes and other dried out personal effects were neatly folded and laid about in the corners. The inside walls of the tent were painted like a tapestry, wrapping around all four sides to form a mosaic depicting the wheat fields of his early childhood. Glancing upwards, he noted the ceiling completed the illusion by showing a starry night sky.

Touched by her thoughtfulness, the warrior quickly went back outside to speak with the Warden. However, it seemed she wished to remain mysterious, for she had disappeared from sight. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Loghain re-entered his new home. As he neared the bedroll, his eye caught a detail he'd not noticed the first time. In the far corner of his tent, a small pile of carefully rolled parchment lay. Grabbing the lantern and setting it down next to him, the former teyrn picked up one of the scrolls and carefully unrolled it. His eyes widened in disbelief. This was his old map of Orlais... but, it also wasn't. The paper was too new and crisp, the ink too bright and perfect, the lines and pen strokes on the landmark names a bit off from how he remembered them. Yet, there was the mapmaker's mark in the corner. His eyes narrowed. There - right beside the fancy, scribbled name of the original cartographer - was the letter K, the bottom of the right leg extending out to form a small circle around the entire letter itself.

Hardly believing his eyes or his suspicions, Loghain grabbed another roll and unfurled it. Here was his map of the Free Marches, but it bore the same, slight discrepancies and the same new, mysterious circled K mark. Roll after roll, map after map, he confirmed the same. By the time he reached the bottom of the pile, Loghain noted that all but a few of the maps he'd thought lost to the rain had been replaced. No, he realized, not replaced. Pains-takingly recreated by an artist's nimble hand. Looking at all the parchment spread out around him, he shook his head in wonder. It must have taken the rest of the previous night to do this for him. No wonder they'd found her asleep in Bodahn's wagon!

Swallowing loudly, Loghain was happy no one could see how touched he was by the Warden's thoughtfulness. He carefully rolled up each map and put them back in place just as he'd found them. Then, moving the lantern once more, he approached his bedroll. He pulled the top cover back, prepared for a good, hopefully uninterrupted night's sleep, when he saw a familiar item had been hidden underneath. It was the pouch in which he'd kept his rather fanciful and most treasured map - a personal creation of his that had, he'd thought, been another victim of the storm. Loghain held his breath; dare he hope? Slowly, he reached down and gently opened the dried-out leather satchel. With great care, he pulled out the folded parchment and unfurled it. His eyes studied every inch of the map, looking for any inaccuracies or possible "corrections" to the fantasy borders he'd drawn on his original piece. Yet, just like the others, his personal map had been beautifully recreated in the exact image of the former, all the way down to the meticulously traced title: Borders Yet To Be. The only difference was, again, that sweet and simple little K brand hidden down in a far corner, letting him know who had done this but without intruding on the piece itself.

Loghain blinked several times, fighting back the sudden moisture in his eyes. He was now rather glad the Warden had disappeared after leading him here; the statement her works made were more powerful than anything that could have been said between them. Words would only have served to cheapen the moment or, worse, make it terribly awkward.

The former teyrn gazed about his tent again and soaked everything in. Now that he took in her deeds as a whole picture, he realized that she had replaced all his items in a precise manner - to naturally lead his eye from one thing to the next in the order she'd wanted him to discover them. From the colorful walls, to the masterwork of re-made maps in the corner, all the way down to what she'd obviously recognized as his most precious possession, cleverly hiding it in the last place he'd look before finally settling in to sleep. It was utterly brilliant in his mind, the way she'd orchestrated all this. And she doesn't think she'll ever understand the strategic process, Loghain thought, a smirk spreading across his features. She's just applying it differently and doesn't even realize it.

He refolded his map, returned it to its pouch, and set it aside. Then, after crawling happily into his bedroll, Loghain glanced around one more time at the illusion of wheat fields under a star-filled sky. It was possibly the greatest kindness he had been shown by anyone since... well, since Celia had died. However, the comparison no longer disturbed him quite as it did before.

The warrior lay there for a moment, feeling a bit surprised at himself. Everything about this should have either annoyed him or set him on edge. Kallian's touch was now everywhere in his space - the walls, the ceiling, his most precious personal possessions. It should have felt like a smothering intrusion into his private little world. Yet, it didn't. In all honesty, it created an oddly comforting, reassuring atmosphere. As if, no matter what happened, there was evidence that somebody had cared for him and appreciated him. It was, unfortunately, something that had rarely touched Loghain's life. And as he settled down to sleep, despite the day's troubles and heartbreaking memories, he drifted off into slumber with a smile lighting up his face for the first time in many, many years.

Author's Note: You know the drill. Reviews help me gauge how I'm doing and what you like and don't like. Drop me a line and let me know your love or hate.

The Ostagar Survivor) Written to "One" by Metallica

Loghain Standing in Front of the Funeral Pyre and Being All Awesome-ly Loghain-y) I apologize in advance, but this entire scene really was written out to the "Fenris Theme" track from Dragon Age 2 playing over and over. Which is kind of hilarious because I still haven't actually played a Hawke who's done the Fenris romance yet (although my current female mage playthrough is working up to it). But the theme music is damn awesome. Gotta admit that.

The Pond Scene) Funnily enough, Metallica's "The Unforgiven II" came on while I started this scene. Seemed rather fitting, so I put it on loop. "What I've felt, what I've known, turn the pages, turn the stone, behind the door, should I open it for you? What I've felt, what I've known, sick and tired I stand alone, could you be there 'cuz I'm the one who waits for you? Or are you unforgiven, too?"

Remembering the Alienage) Definitely couldn't get Pearl Jam's "Elderly Woman Behind The Counter Of A Small Town" out of my head.

Kallian's Thoughts on the Alienage, the Dalish & the Future) "Changes" by Tupac Shakur

Kallian's Story) "Rogue Heart" from the Dragon Age 2 soundtrack... actually, this is pretty much Kallian's theme in general, as far as I'm concerned

Loghain's End-of-Day Thoughts) "Quiet Little Voices" by We Were Promised Jetpacks