When you left Orzammar and went into the Deep Roads, there were a few safe places. No place was ever entirely safe as the roads themselves were not entirely safe, but you could find an alcove or a nook in one of the caves that made for a secluded and defendable spot to rest. A chance to let the stone fold itself over you and protect you. That was one thing Lyria disliked about the surface. Since it was almost nothing but vast spaces she always felt exposed.

The lack of the familiar stone walls also reminded Lyria of one of the many lessons of the stone. The tight caves taught you how to be a group because you had no choice but to remain close to your comrades. You learned to watch one another when resting, and keep one another alive in battle. Out here everyone seemed to scatter like pebbles. Morrigan had erected her tent as far from the main cluster as she possibly could. And now Sten had quietly opted to stay on the outer edge away from the warmth of the campfire. Leliana had settled herself near the two wardens and chatted away during dinner, but now she had quietly retired as well, leaving the camp feeling desolate and empty despite the people within it.

That's when Lyria realized Alistair had slipped away. Leliana had learned that he had spent time in the Chantry as a boy and had tried to reminisce with him about his life there and his templar training. He'd begun to spin a tale about how he ended up with the wardens, a rather interesting story about a tournament held in Duncan's honor, and how Duncan had insisted that Alistair, who had been barred because of insubordination, have a chance to participate. Alistair had lost handily to the three champions, but Duncan had recruited him anyway, stating that he hadn't asked for a tournament and had never promised to recruit the winner.

After that he had gotten quiet again. Lyria had seen it several times before.

It was time to talk to him.

She found him at the edge of a pond a small ways from the camp. The sight reminded her of their time in the Korcari wilds, complete with Alistair flinging those little stones on the surface of the water and making them skip weightlessly. She marveled for a moment at the sight as the moonlight reflected against the ripples brought up by the little rocks. The forest was full of sound, another oddity for Lyria. Stone was silent. The only time you ever heard noise in the stone was when you weren't alone. But on the surface there was a constant silent cacophony of noises. Small insects and birds trilling, leaves and trees and grass scraping and whistling in the soft winds, it was like a bizarre song that never ended.

Lyria moved to sit alongside the warden, hugging her arms around her knees to conserve a little bit of warmth in the cool night air. "I still am amazed when I watch you do that. You make the stones dance on the water." She rested her chin on her knees. "When I first saw you do it I thought to myself how the surface was so different, even the stone doesn't act like proper stone does up here."

"I'm sorry. I know I'm acting like a sulky little... sulky thing. Morrigan reminds me of it every moment she can get. You don't have to worry about me." Alistair brushed his thumb against one of the stones in his hand.

She watched the shimmering ripples on the water slowly quiet and still until the surface of the pond was like glass. "I'm not worried about you, Alistair. That makes it sound like I think you're going to break down or do something stupid, and I know that you won't." She puffed a few strands of hair from her face. "But we're in this warden thing together, and you're my brother in arms. For dwarves that's a bond almost as deep as family. I just want to help you."

He twirled the stone deftly between his fingers. Lyria wondered to herself if there was a lake where Alistair was raised, a place where he spent hours skipping stones. "I don't know what you can do. I think I just need some time. Maybe if we can stop the blight I'll feel better."

Lyria's feet shifted, digging into the soft ground and crunching the dead leaves of the forest floor. "Do you want me to leave you be? I never liked it when people hovered and fussed over me. I don't want you to think that's what I'm doing."

Alistair shook his head. "No. I... I just don't have much to say."

She grinned. "One of father's mistresses was hovering and fussy. She had this obsession with combing and braiding my hair and practically chased me until I relented and let her do it. The work was pretty and all, but it would take forever and she would chatter away at me the whole time. Only time in my life I was ever tempted to cut off my hair." Lyria curled her hand into a fist and thrust her arm out. "You know, 'Here, aunt Mirri! You want to braid my hair so badly, you can have it and play with it all you want!'"

"One of your father's... um... mistresses?" The warden's eyes widened. "Most people aren't so blatant about that."

Lyria shrugged. "Most people aren't fighting to keep the birth rate of their people above the death rate. Usually it was only something the higher classes did. But father had two different mistresses along with his wife. He refused to tell any of us which one was a mother and which one was an 'aunt' though." She opened her fingers and stared into her palm. "We were Aeducans. Queen Aeducan was our mother, he would tell us."

Alistair crossed his ankles as he settled back. "What did the queen think of it?"

"She died when I was two, so I really couldn't say." Lyria held up a hand to Alistair. "And don't fret yourself for asking. She died like a warrior when she helped retake one of our silverite digsites back from the darkspawn. They say sometimes that if a dwarf dies of old age then he wasn't trying hard enough."

"Don't you... miss her? Or at least wish you could have gotten to know her?" He avoided her eyes, staring instead at the dark mirror of water in front of them with its reflected moon.

Lyria smiled. "Of course. She... she had red hair too. So I think she really was my mother." She left out the fact that, unlike her brothers, had she been born to a mistress of a lesser caste, she probably would have been quietly abandoned in the deep roads until a son was born instead. "But there was more than that. Father left me her weapons and armor, and I learned how to fight using her tools. He hired scholars to read copies from the Shapers about her life. Even Gorim, he was the son of her second. So it seemed like she was always there in a way, and I was living through her legacy."

Alistair went quiet again. "I wish I had something to remember Duncan by," he murmured.

"Do humans have anything like a Shaperate? Where you can have the memories and records of someone written down?"

"Not really." He rubbed his nose which had turned a shade of pink in the chilly air. "There's probably some records in Weisshupt, but nothing that really says anything about him. Just when and where he was recruited and all that. When this is over maybe I'll see about having a memorial made in his name. He deserves one."

Lyria blew into her hands to warm them up. "I don't normally take a liking to humans on first meeting, especially back in my father's court. But I liked Duncan. He was gracious and polite, but his compliments also felt like they meant something." She closed her eyes. "It's a rare person who grasps both the concept of duty, and understands how precious life is. He understood that people would die around him, but in some ways that made him kinder. I knew if I ever crossed him he could probably fillet me with his daggers before I could get a swing in, but I also knew that as long as I was with him, he'd do the best he could for me."

Alistair covered his face with his hands. Lyria kept her gaze fixed on the water. "And in the middle of all that, he was damn clever and a wily. The wardens with him kept prodding me to find out what happened to get me exiled, or they would treat me like a helpless little girl." She laughed. "The third night we camped he tossed three rabbits at me and told me to skin and gut them for dinner. So I did. I'd watched him do it the night before and got a general feel for it. It was kind of fun to see if I could copy him. The others must have thought I'd get sick or not know what to do. And after that they stopped treating me like a little girl."

She stopped for a bit after that, letting that song that the night sang whisper around her. She could hear Alistair's breathing. He wasn't sobbing, but his breaths were long and shaky.

"I'm sorry. I... I kind of ramble. I get it from my father." She laughed humorlessly. "And I learned that if I rambled, I could annoy my brother Trian and keep him from having his chance to ramble. I don't know how he put up with me sometimes."

Alistair pulled his hands from his face and scrubbed at his eyes. "No... no. It's..." He smiled. It was a small weak little thing, but there was a glimmer of warmth there. "Thank you. To hear someone speak of him like that. It helps."

Lyria tugged at her ponytail, fidgeting with the end of it. "I'm here to help, Alistair. You'd do the same for me."

There was another moment of silence. Then she could feel Alistair's eyes on her. "Wait... Trian. Your bother was named Trian? Is this the brother that got you exiled?"

"No. That was Bhelen. Trian was murdered by him." She couldn't help but laugh to herself as she imagined Alistair's incredulous expression. She knew where this was going.

Alistair pulled himself up and offered Lyria a hand. "Look, if I happen to die horribly, please don't name any sort of animal after me. Particularly one that urinates on trees."

Lyria grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "What about a plant? Can I have a plant named Alistair?" Once she was standing she swatted his back and nudged him back towards camp.

"Oh! Something that gets urinated on instead, more appropriate... but no." He laughed. "Come on then, maybe the stew hasn't gone tepid yet. I think I've my appetite back."