AN: A little different format for this one. Viewpoint shifts, line breaks, all that jazz.


"Must you always do that?" Well, if the rest of their little party hadn't been listening before, they certainly were then.

"Do not shout at me Alistair. I refuse to fight with you about this!" Weeks in the Deep Roads had them all worn thin, and whatever brief joy she'd experienced at finally giving Bhelen exactly what he deserved waned quickly. It was difficult to revel in the defeat of your enemies when said enemies were the last of your kin, when you still had a Blight to worry about, and oh yes, when your dearest love was being a gigantic arse.

"Who's fighting? I'm not fighting! I just asked you a question— must you always throw yourself into the very middle of whatever horrors we run up against?"

"Alistair, stop—"

"No! Andraste's flaming sword, I almost had to watch you get torn apart by giant bloody spiders because you rushed in after that emissary, knowing full well that you had a mage and a templar behind you. Two people perhaps slightly better qualified to deal with magic than some foolhardy dwarf with a dagger and a death wish!"

"I will not be chastised like a child when you—"

"Then stop acting like one!"


On an average day, having been through only their standard amount of harrowing danger, Alistair might have realised they were both overwrought and stopped shouting before then. On an average day, a day not prefaced by weeks and weeks of dankness and death and miles of endless stone without the hope of sunlight, Alistair would have apologised for saying such an unkind thing, she would have apologised for not listening when he made a valid point, and everything would have been fine. This was not an average day.

"Fine." She threw their bundled tent down in the dirt between them and snarled something he didn't understand but that made Oghren spit out a great mouthful of ale. Then she stormed off towards Morrigan's tiny fire and sat there with the witch, back straight and chin up.

"Yeah, fine!" he yelled across what had become an otherwise silent campsite. "You're certainly not acting like a child at all!"

Two could play the sulking game, that was for damn sure. Giving their tent a hard kick where it lay abused, Alistair stalked to the opposite edge of camp and sat on a fallen log. She was being ridiculous, and petty, and why couldn't she ever just listen to him?


"I told you he was an idiot from the very beginning, my friend." Morrigan flicked her finger, and shapes began dancing in the fire. "You can hardly be surprised."

"Yes, but he's my idiot." She sighed, watching the fascinating display Morrigan had created to cheer her up— a purpose she knew the witch would never admit to if pressed. "He's just so angry with me, I know he is, but he can't start treating me like a crystal vase just because we're…you know."

"Rutting?"

She shot the witch a glare. "In love."

Morrigan clicked her tongue and began to examine her fingernails absently. Then, after just enough time that it seemed she would have nothing more to say on the matter, she continued. Her voice was more serious than her preoccupied pose implied.

"Because you are my friend, I must speak plainly. I was not with you in that Thaig, and thus I do not know the truth of the matter for certain. From what I have heard, however, from Wynne, and the drunken dwarf, and yes, even Alistair, you did a very foolish thing."

"I'm meant to battle darkspawn! I am a Grey Warden—" Finally, Morrigan turned to face her directly. Her golden eyes were very hard.

"I do not debate that, nor do I think you are a 'crystal vase.' I have told you before that I believe you to be a woman of remarkable strength and potential. What I do not believe, however, is that you are invincible. And neither should you."

She gritted her teeth. "I don't think I'm invincible. I think I have a duty."

"Yes, and an important one as well. So important in fact, that to so thoughtlessly risk leaving it to Alistair alone would be a grave mistake."


"What do you think they're talking about?" The dog tilted his head and grumbled. Alistair rubbed the great furry neck pressed up against him. "Yeah, I was afraid of that."

The dog had come to join him in his self-imposed exile rather than join its master, but after the poor mutt's last run in with Morrigan that was hardly surprising. In any event, Alistair was glad for the company. He felt like he had a great gaping hole in his chest, but somehow the warm slobbering all over his hand reminded him he wasn't quite dead yet.

"I know I'm right this time." The dog whimpered sadly. "No, I am right. She's incredibly capable, I didn't forget that, but when it's six giant, poisonous spiders and a darkspawn mage against one of her, and I'm being held back by the bloody mass of genlocks she just blew past…"

He felt his stomach churn, remembering the terror of losing sight of her in that tangled mass of legs and fangs, of hearing her scream when that emissary sent a particularly nasty spell crackling around her like a cage, and he was too far away and just couldn't push through stinking, blighted bodies fast enough.

"Maybe Leliana or Zevran could talk to her, rogue to rogue. Remind her that we have tactics for a reason. Remind her that she has many skills that make her invaluable, but being a battering ram is not one of them." He wilted under the dog's long, silent look.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'm the one who needs to talk to her." Resting his elbows on his knees, Alistair cradled his chin in one hand. "I really shouldn't have shouted at her. That wasn't fair, having this argument in front of everyone."

The dog growled reproachfully, and Alistair couldn't help smiling a little. "You know, you're almost as good a listener as she is. But you're not as pretty."


"So what am I supposed to do then? Just hang back waiting for some great final battle? The Blight is happening now, and I'm fighting it. That's all I was doing."

"I despise that you force me to agree with the buffoon," Morrigan muttered, then continued with more force. "You are acting like a child. You made a serious blunder, likely due to your personal stress during our last mission, and now refuse to admit doing so. I am not sure what you mean to accomplish with such irrational denial."

Silently, taking a deep breath, she counted to ten. She reminded herself that Morrigan was new to this whole 'friend' thing. "Morrigan," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "I'm sorry I didn't explain this at the beginning: I just had a lovers' quarrel. You're meant to be telling me that Alistair's an idiot and doesn't deserve me. That's why I came over here. I know I was stupid in the Thaig."

To her credit, Morrigan didn't attempt to hide her confused expression. "Do I not tell you such nearly every day? And then you bluster about, making excuses about how you love him and all that sickening drivel."

"This is different." She dropped her head into her hands, wondering why she didn't just hunker down with Leliana. Someone who would know exactly how much complaining about Alistair she could take before she started defending him again, then forgiving him, then apologising to him. Leliana would have listened, and braided her hair.

"I do not understand."

Reaching out blindly, she patted the witch's knee. "I know. It's all right."


"I'm really starting to get nervous now. She's been over there with Morrigan for nearly an hour." The dog snuffled, roused from the doze he'd fallen into. Alistair glanced back quickly, trying to be clandestine. "And why hasn't anybody but you come to check on me? I'm wallowing in pain, and none of them cares?"

He shifted, sitting up a little straighter and feeling his neck twinge. The air was chilly and damp on this side of the Frostbacks, and he was sore from a day of hard travel. She'd been desperate to put as much distance as possible between them and Orzammar, despite their victory and Harrowmont's promise to restore her honour.

The others may have had questions about their abrupt departure from the warm dwarven city, but none of them voiced any. Nor were their any complaints about the hard, unforgiving hike out of the mountains. They'd all sensed Orzammar remained a difficult subject for their fearless leader.

"Maybe they decided we each get one shoulder to cry on. Fairness and all." He chuckled softly. "I got the sweet end of that deal, I think. I'd take you over Morrigan any day."

The dog whuffed, and Alistair jumped as Leliana melted out of the darkness.

"Or maybe," the bard said. "They just didn't want to get involved in what should have been a private argument between lovers. Mr. Shouty-britches."

Clutching his chest to keep his heart from escaping, Alistair sucked in a deep breath. "You are an evil, spectral woman. You're trying to scare me to death."

Leliana sat next to him. "Trying to scare some sense into you, perhaps. You need to go talk to her. Alone, and calmly." She sniffed delicately. "And when this has all blown over, and you are blissful once again, I will talk to her about why callous, unpleasant witches should not be one's first choice for emotional support, even if the act of storming off to their lairs makes for a more dramatic exit."


"Is Leliana over there talking with him now?"

Morrigan groaned, not looking up from the tome she'd begun reading. "If you plan to continue hiding away at my fire while scrutinizing his every move, at least do so quietly."

"He's getting up, he's getting up— why is he getting up? What did she say to him?"

"I am not sure I could even attempt to care less."

"I think he's coming over here."

Morrigan slammed the book shut. "Very well; be gone. I will not become involved in some simpering, saccharine reunion."

"But—"

Morrigan's eyes were glowing dangerously. "Go."

She got up and hastily brushed off the seat of her leggings before loping over in the direction of camp. She was very aware that all of their campmates had apparently found fascinating things to occupy their respective attentions.

"I'm going to look for some more wood," she announced loudly, not looking at Alistair. There was a substantial pile of firewood stacked neatly nearby, but if Wynne was really going to read The Rose of Orlais upside down, and Zevran was really going to re-polish his newly shone boots, she could "look for more wood."

"I'll help." The tone of Alistair's voice was almost unreadable. It made her uneasy. "If that's acceptable, lady."

She nodded mutely, setting off out of camp without further discussion. They didn't speak for some time, until the forest that had closed around them opened again into a small glade.

There were still a few shafts of fading sunlight filtering in through the trees. Had the tension not been palatable, she would have made a comment about how romantic the setting would be, excepting her lingering apprehension in deep forests.

He'd walked behind her a step or two the whole way there, and now that they'd stopped she turned back to look at him. Before she could say a word, he was dropping to his knees on the mossy ground, and she was speechless. Suddenly and unexpectedly it had become very, very romantic.


He'd been thinking about this the entire walk. She didn't speak to him all the way from camp, had barely looked at him, and now here they were.

He'd counted on catching her off guard, so when she turned, he immediately knelt. She made a small sound that might have been the beginning of a word, but then was silent.

He looked into her face, now almost perfectly level with his own. He reached out, forcing himself not to hesitate, and touched her cheek. When she didn't even try to move away from him, he leaned a little closer and cupped her jaw with his hand. He cleared his throat softly.

"I was cruel, and I'm sorry. I told you before that you make me crazy, and I suppose it just got away from me this time." He pressed their foreheads together gently, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. "The thought of losing you tears my heart out."

"I was stupid." He felt her words brush across his lips. "I was… hurting."

"About your brother." She nodded, and then her face was buried in his neck. He stroked her hair soothingly. "I am so sorry, my love."

"I killed them all—" She was sobbing. "I can't be the only one left!"

He couldn't tell her everything would be all right. He couldn't tell her she wasn't alone. Her family was gone, and he couldn't change that.

He thought back to how tightly she'd gripped his wrist after they'd left Goldanna's house.

"Everything's going to be all right," he murmured, kissing her temple. "You're not alone. I'm here for you. We're in this together."


AN: I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everybody who's reviewed this. You all are wonderful, and I'm glad you're enjoying. I'm certainly enjoying writing in this universe.

Malkavianqueen: I hope you're enjoying your Dwarf Noble. I think she's got one of the most engaging origins in the game.

kallmered: I'm glad you're enjoying the story, especially Alistair. I've put a list of the chapters ordered chronologically in my profile, if you're interested in seeing how they fit together in a sensible time frame.

Thessali: Teagan is a pimp, in the best possible way. I think we established that when he started blatantly coming on to the Warden in the middle of a chantry while people cowered in fear of the undead. Total pimp. Love it.

Kirwond: I appreciate the comments. The differences in background affecting the story is exactly why I think DA:O is so fantastic. Some of the in-game plot, conversations and reactions, for Dwarf Noble, Mage, etc, are just amazing.

Kangaroo-in-debt: I remember being a little ambivalent towards Leliana at first. Then she and my elf mage had a conversation that honestly shocked the hell out of me. That Leliana didn't realise her own preconceptions and bigotry was stunning, and well written. It changed how I looked at Leliana, and eventually made me like her a lot more. She's a really complex character, and underrated in a lot of ways. Also, at the time of writing Of Faith, I hadn't experienced being just friends with Leliana. I have now (she and my mage are BBFs), and she's just hilarious and awesome. Thank you very much for the review, and I'm glad you're enjoying this!

whirleeq: Your suggestions are fantastic, and I've already sketched out some ideas for those scenes. I'll probably work on them over the holiday, plus the few other scenes that are sitting unfinished in my files. I agree about the Dwarf Noble and the City Elf-- I haven't gone farther than Ostagar with a City Elf character, but the origin was one of the most emotionally affecting things I've ever experienced in a video game. I was furious. As far as Dwarf Noble, you can probably guess I think it's a wonderful origin. Huge amount of depth, draws you in, and the reaction to your return to Orzammar later on is actually painful.

Oh, and open question I've been mulling: wouldn't the dwarven woman actually raised to become a queen (because you can't tell me a FemDwarf Noble, given her popularity and Orzammar's complex politics wasn't prepared for the possibility of being voted Queen), make an incredible Queen of Ferelden, in a perfect world where racism didn't exist and candy grew on trees? Yes, yes she would. Alistair would love it too. Damn you, Bioware, for making royal ascension in a backwater feudal kingdom so bloody realistic and not at all fantasy perfect. You are wonderful, and mean.