A bit of a lighter chapter, save for the beginning...

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The darkspawn. They were everywhere, marching in thick, massive clumps, growling obscene words, gnawing on the bones of her companions….Thick walls were closing in, approaching at an alarming rate. Esme could see freedom, but bloody layers of human flesh blocked the light shining in the distance. The Grey Warden gagged at the stench that clouded her nose, at the flies that buzzed incessantly, nibbling on the mounds of humans surrounding her. And the darkspawn…They watched. They ate. They drank.

Bright, quick flashes of light made tears come to her eyes, and she rubbed them fiercely, watching darkness begin to edge her vision. A blast hit her suddenly, knocking her onto the bones she recognized as Alistair's. Esme screamed, trying to leap to her feet, but her legs were suddenly paralyzed. Suddenly, the bones were gone, the flesh was gone, and the blood was gone – all she could see was a cave, and thousands of darkspawn marching past her, ignoring her stricken form.

And then pain hit her, pain like nothing she had ever felt. A dragon had landed on the bridge that crossed over the gulley containing the millions of darkspawn – but it wasn't a dragon like the sketches she had seen in history books. It was twisted and tainted, warped beyond reality and turned into the monstrous being that was before her. It hadn't seen her yet – it was ….talking? to the darkspawn below it. Yes, it was talking in only a language they could understand. Fear gripped her like n ogre's grasp, and her only instinct was to flee. But she couldn't, her legs wouldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. So she watched it talk to the horde, praying to the Maker it wouldn't notice her. Did the Maker exist in such a place like this?

The dragon suddenly took flight in a blast that knocked her to the ground once more, even though she didn't remember standing up. Esme watched in horror as a darkspawn began to approach her, but confusion fogged her mind. The darkspawn looked familiar, and suddenly she felt awfully tired. Was that Alistair? The not-darkspawn closed the distance between them and knelt by her. Yes, that was Alistair, she thought, exhaustion making her eyelids heavy. Alistair with a darkspawn's body….

"Esme, wake up."

Alistair? Or the darkspawn? Was it talking, or was that Alistair's accent she recognized? No, it was too confusing, and she just wanted to sleep.

"Esme."

The darkspawn reached out a hand and gently touched her shoulder. Suddenly she was on a different type of ground and it was warm, with a cot was underneath her shaking form. A hand was on her shoulder, but it was a soft and certainly not the one of a darkspawn. Esme opened her eyes almost fearfully to see Alistair's face over hers, his face calm but his eyes only betraying his concern. Behind him, instead of a cavernous ceiling, the moon hung in the pitch black sky.

She had only been dreaming. But Maker, it had seemed so real. The relief that coursed through her veins at awakening was nothing compared to the relief she felt at seeing Alistair alive.

"Bad dreams, huh?" Alistair asked casually, but his voice shook a little.

"How bad did it seem?"

"You screamed," Alistair shuddered. "And it was awful. I've never heard anything like it."

Briefly, she remembered falling on his corpse.

"That dream…" she swallowed. "It seemed so real."

"That's because it was," Alistair leaned back on his haunches as she sat up on her elbows. A cursory once-over of the camp showed Zevran and Leliana watching her with concern on their faces. "Sort of, anyway. The archdemon…It talks to the horde, and we can sense it. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand what it's saying, but Maker knows I can't. It's all part of the lovely package that being a Grey Warden offers."

"So that's how we know this is really a Blight?" she asked, and he nodded. "Why didn't Duncan just tell everyone that?"

"Yes, because he's going to go around telling people that we should prepare to fight an evil demon dragon because he dreamed it. Knowing Cailan, he would've just assumed Duncan had eaten some bad sausage or something," Alistair pointed out to Esme's soft laughter.

She shook her head.

"Thank the Maker the first part of my dream wasn't real," Esme murmured.

"What was it?" Alistair asked quickly, and then paused. "Sorry. I understand if you don't want to tell me."

"I want to tell you," she said, and her eyes were earnest. Alistair noted how large her eyes could get when she was emotional. He liked that she could open up to him – to everyone else, she was guarded, independent Esme, with her eyes built like blockades.

He wrapped his arms around his knees like a child preparing for story-time, and she smiled.

"I was in some kind of cave, but I was the only one alive. Everyone else was dead, and stacked up around me. And they had all been dead for a while, and I could tell…And the darkspawn were moving in on the corpses," she explained softly, and he shuddered. "Leliana was dead. Zevran was dead. Sten, Morrigan, my family."

"Was I there?"

"I didn't find you until the end," she gulped. "The archdemon landed, and I fell…on you."

"My corpse."

She nodded, her eyes not meeting his. Alistair raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat though inside he was a little shocked.

"And then?"

"And then the Grey Warden part of the dream kicked in. The archdemon talked to the horde, I watched. The end."

"When do you think you screamed?" Alistair questioned.

"Probably when I fell on you," she looked at her feet uncomfortably. "I've never been so scared in my entire life, honestly."

Alistair touched her hand gently as she hastily continued.

"But I'm used to being told of my sleeping horror stories. I can't tell you how many times I've awoken to people standing over me worried because I fell off my bed, or screamed, or shouted obscenities-" he laughed. "I'm the worst sleeper."

"Did you always have nightmares?"

"It's not always nightmares," she smiled in remembrance. "One time, Ser Gilmore woke me up because I had been shouting about what I had had for dinner."

"I can't picture you yelling about soup," he was chuckling "Sorry."

"You just haven't seen my weird side," she pushed him, and he fell over laughing, still trying to picture the calm and serious warrior he had come to know having a weird side.

"You are absolutely incapable of having any kind of weird side," Alistair declared, still lying on the ground where had landed. She kicked him gently, grinning.

"I am too."

"Nope. Esme Cousland and weird don't belong in the same sentence."

"I can prove you wrong," she decided.

"Alright," he sat up. "Go."

"What?"

"Be weird."

"I can't just do it on command," she protested, and he busted up. "I'll sneak it up on you. Just you wait, Alistair."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath," he chortled, then began to get to his feet. "For now, let's get you something to eat."

"Alistair," Esme began, and he turned, watching that typical half-smile curve her lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. It was scary for me at first, too," he smiled lightly. "It'll get better, I promise."

"You're a good friend. I'm glad you're….alive," the words tumbled out before she could check herself.

"As am I," he grinned. "But that's what I'm here for. Delivering witty one-liners and surviving being stuck with a perfectly normal noblewoman, an apostate and an assassin."

"At least you're succeeding at one," Esme crowed.

"Cruel!" he grasped his heart and pretended to faint until she laughed. Then, the ex-templar turned to find his friend some food, before realizing with a devious smile that if he could find soup, he might get to hear her shout about it tonight. That was something to look forward to, Alistair thought.