Red October, In Hushed Whispers, the Dalish Elf Encampment, Fenris' Theme, I'm So Sorry.

So, I murdered Sigrun and Velanna at the end of Awakenings. Like, not actually stabbed and killed for experience points, but in the ending title cards I killed both of them. I didn't know you could make certain decisions to not kill them until last week and by then it was too late for them in this story. I think I'm gonna keep one of their endings and retcon the other later, but the fact that I'd killed off the only female NPC-Wardens in all of DAO is why what happens in this chapter happens.

I'm just really really sad that I killed Sigrun.


Apprentice Guerrin

Wake Up the Muffin

"Back to the fire, recruit. Wake Zevran, quietly. If you see any magic then raise hell to get the others up. Go."

Wake Zevran and raise hell, wake Zevran and raise hell, raise Zevran and wake hell.

One rider coming down the road was not, in and of itself, usually a sign of danger. The problem was that the horse Connor and Warden Surana heard was coming towards them at night. Not dusk, not a full moon, not a company of horses with lanterns and singing to announce themselves. It was one horse in the pitch black of night. Travellers only took to the road alone if they were one of two things: avoiding followers, or doing the following. Travellers on important business would safeguard their person by travelling by day. Country folk almost as a rule would look better on a wanderer on their doorstep in the fading hours than the cold silence of a dark night.

Suddenly the nights of sleeping in ditches, of throwing himself off the road out of sight, of taking himself around the outskirts of a town rather than risk his tattered robes sending a snitch to find the Templars, all came back to him. Connor had only lived a few weeks from Kinloch Hold to Redcliffe as an apostate, but it had bred a unique kind of fear into him just the same. A lone traveller who saw mage fire in the distance and kept going? The Inquisition had put a stop to so much chaos, but not all of it.

Had the Hero of Ferelden had to face down wild Templars too? Had they been that berserk with their purge?

The wood fire in the middle of their camp had burned down low. Surana always took first watch at night and woke someone else from among the Wardens to take the next shift so the Commander could rest too. Connor hadn't actually been coherent enough at any point to notice if there was any kind of order to where the Wardens slept at night, if there was a pattern or way of guessing which sleeping lump on the ground was Nathaniel, or Oghren, or- well Oghren was probably the shortest one, but-

Oh forget it. Connor looked to the fire, lifted his hand slowly, and brought the embers up from a soft glow to a noticeably brighter blaze.

Blonde elf. Find the blonde elf. He should have been right-

"Zevran-" Connor whispered. He hobbled over to the only blonde head around him. He knelt down and put a hand down on the Assassin's shoulder. "Zevran-!" It seemed safer than shaking or poking or doing anything else. He was also lucky he knelt on the side Zevran was actually facing- because that was a knife and the elf was not happy to see him.

Nothing about his breathing had changed. But one moment Zevran was sleeping and the next he was awake, and somehow it felt like the knife had always been there, tip tucked behind Connor's knee and threatening to hamstring him if he didn't prove himself not a threat immediately.

"He wanted you awake." Connor might have whispered or he might have just mouthed the words without actually putting any voice to them. Whatever the truth was, the knife left his leg, and Zevran still hadn't moved. The elf watched him, didn't blink, the firelight reflecting off his pale eyes in such an eerie, glowing way that unsettled Connor a little bit.

Then he gestured, and managed not to rustle the blanket at all as he did it. Fingers to his lip and nose, then his hand open asking Connor for something.

Connor touched his own face and felt the congealed blood. Oh- he probably didn't look very trustworthy right now. He shook his hands quickly, frantic, and gestured behind him.

"Go- go! A rider, Surana's there-"

Zevran hushed him by touching his own lips, then nodded. Connor took a look behind him in the dark, hoping not to see any magic at work. He couldn't hear anything but when he looked back at Zevran the assassin was gone. His blankets hadn't even fluttered with his escape, he was simply not there anymore.

What a terrifying trick.

Surana hadn't given him any orders beyond the ones he'd just fulfilled. He was left there on his knees for a few seconds wondering if he should just lay down on the cold ground and pretend to be asleep, but he couldn't sleep. And if things went badly he didn't want to die with old blood dribbling out of his nose. Connor picked his way quietly across the camp to where the horses had been tethered, close to the shallow pond of water that made the campsite worth resting in. He knelt down on the soft earth and worked at the blood gently with handfuls of cold water, listening behind him, and repeatedly checking back in case he saw any magic at work. What if it was just subtle magic like another mage fire lamp? What if it was a glyph on the ground? Did 'any magic' include the more benign forms too?

He washed his face and winced every time he brushed his nose too roughly. He really should just take the time to heal it- Surana had offered to do that for him already, hadn't he? Maybe healing wasn't out of the question for new recruits?

It was a tempting thought but he held off. Non-mage recruits didn't get to sooth their blisters or training bumps with lyrium. If he woke up spry and pretty tomorrow morning then Nathaniel would probably just run Connor even harder than he did already.

He crept back to the camp. The others were still sleeping and the fire had burned itself down again. He added the last split log to the embers to make sure it kept going all night, then rolled out his bed and blanket for the night from Issan's saddlebags. He pulled on his robe again, regretting having left it aside while Surana smacked him around with his staff, and finally sat down, stretching his legs. He kept looking back towards the road.

Finally, he heard voices. It sounded like Surana's voice and it was pitched like a question. Then he said something else. Connor almost heard the voice that answered him, and then came the hoof-beats.

The horse was walking and the log Connor had given the fire was bringing up brighter flames again. The horse's body was visible first as a great blur in the night, then came Surana's gold staff picking up the light and catching some of it in its ruby head. The silverite edges on his boots formed next, then the rest of his armour as he walked slowly back to camp. Beside him, leading the horse, was the person who had put the fear of the Maker in Connor by appearing in the dark of night like this.

First he knew it was a knight by the armour- a Grey Warden breastplate and wide pauldrons. The blue fall of a woven warden tunic. He was surprised how quickly he recognized the figure as a woman, and human, but that was thanks to her not wearing her helmet. Why had a Grey Warden come riding through the middle of the night all alone? There was a shield on her back and a sword at her hip. Her dark face was blurry in the firelight but he could tell she had twisted, knotty hair parted over her head and down one side.

Surana saw him watching and nodded to him, showing his palm briefly as a sign for Connor to remain sitting and maybe bring his blood pressure down a little. He looked back at the Warden beside him and quietly walked her past the fire, then off into the dark where the other horses were resting from their long day. As they passed through the light, Connor frowned when he noticed the way the horse's flanks were shaking. The animal had been ridden hard to get here, and its steps seemed uneven as it faded into the blackness at the edge of the fire.

Connor laid down on his bedroll. Curiosity couldn't keep him going, not even something as curious as this. The last thing he saw was Zevran drift slowly back into sight and take a seat by the fire, alert and watching the night.

He felt safer than he should have knowing the assassin was right there, and slept.

Nathaniel didn't kick him awake, or pour water on him, or just take Connor by the scruff and drag him towards the road. He woke up because there were fingers of sunlight poking him in both eyes and quiet voices around him. He woke up all on his own, unaccosted, and when he realized that he wasn't being ordered to do anything Connor, of course, bolted upright.

"I'm late-" He choked, horrified to hear birds chirping, to smell wood burning. This was peaceful and nice, this wasn't what travelling with Grey Wardens was like! "I overslept-"

"Good morning to you too, recruit." Zevran's voice greeted him, and Connor rolled over and tried to kick his stiff legs to get the blanket off of him. He didn't even wipe the crust off his eyes, or address the immediate wailing from his broken nose, he just scrambled off his bed roll and try to set the fabric and lambswool right so he could roll and bind it together. "Um…"

"No no, let him go at it." Hawke's voice drifted over as Connor's sore fingers struggled with the toggles on his bedroll. He couldn't make it go through, he couldn't get the stupid thing to- "I wanna see if he gets up and starts running next. How far do you think he'll go before he figures it out?" Connor stopped fighting with the bed roll.

He blinked, looked around him, and saw too many open bedrolls and cast off blankets. The fire wasn't just burning, it was newly fed and the ashes had been brushed aside to keep the space neat. There was a clothes line hung with saddle blankets strung over it. He'd overslept but not been left behind, in fact…

"Y'see, that's what I've been saying." Now it was Nathaniel's turn, and Connor just let himself be dragged down this confusing dream road as the Warden who was the bane of all good mornings materialized next to him, dropped down to sit on the saddlebags by the fire, and plunked a bowl of something hot and pleasant-smelling into Connor's open hands. He looked down and it looked like wheat gruel, but with nuts and several luscious looking berries floating in it, not to mention the distinct golden glory of a small chunk of fresh honeycomb. "In way over his head, but determined to keep swimming. Nice welt by the way, Guerrin."

"I'm so confused…" he whispered, because he was. He was so confused… "Is this the fade? Which one of you is the demon? This is really mean."

"It's called a rest day." Zevran supplied, finally. "A novel discovery propagated by every travelling band, mercenary group, merchant caravan, and military order in Thedas. Wild, isn't it?"

"I know what a rest day is." Connor told him, which was bold of him because he was still so very, very confused. "But we've only been travelling for four days and the first was a half-day."

"Is that ingratitude I hear?" Hawke asked, sarcasm lending his words a veneer of scandal. "Can't say I'd mind a five-mile run myself, something to get the blood flowing." Connor's raw limbs started screaming.

"No-" He whimpered. And then to make himself even more pathetic and small, he slumped himself down over his bed roll, head on the ground, one hand still awkwardly keeping his breakfast from spilling onto the pebbles beneath him. "No, I take it back. No ingratitude. Andraste herself gave the Commander this blessed inspiration. Please no."

The Wardens laughed and it sounded a bit less mean than he'd expected. Nathaniel grabbed him by his belt and hauled Connor up until he was sitting again, his body tight and aching badly enough that he winced as he sat there on the stones. Now that he'd moved around this much, he closed his eyes with a pounding headache courtesy of his beaten face.

"Maker's Breath, he gave you a wallop last night, didn't he?" Howe said with a low whistle.

"You should see my shins." Connor sulked, blowing on a spoonful of his breakfast to make sure it wasn't too hot before gently taking a bite. He closed his eyes in relief. It was warm and thick and sweet and-

He felt someone touch his face and automatically pulled away, confused. His neck then seized and a defeated grunt left him. He looked out at the fire and the whole world was a little bit crooked.

"Ow…" He grumbled, and then stuck the end of his spoon back in his mouth, sucking the rest of the honey off.

"Are you stuck like that?" Nathaniel asked.

"Forever and ever." Words muddled by the spoon, he warmed the palm of his hand on the bottom of the bowl and then placed it over the tense, pulling muscle in his neck. He could feel it in a stressful, solid lump that bellowed in sharp pain beneath the skin. Rubbing helped, being patient was effective, and after a few second and several careful breaths Connor was able to straighten his head again. What he wouldn't have given for a hot bath to soak in…

He got through a few more bites of his breakfast before he realized the confused silence around him, and looked at Nathaniel curiously. The older man was looking at him, eyes slightly narrow like he was thinking hard.

"Aren't you a healer?" Howe asked.

"Mm," was his first response, but then he finished enjoying the mouthful of sweet berries resting on his tongue. "Apprentices aren't supposed to use their magic unsupervised. I know more theory than practice."

"Aren't supposed to," Hawke repeated, "In a war?"

"I was in Redcliffe and Skyhold for most of it." Connor answered, and he felt his stomach slowly tighten up at the memories between Kinloch Hold and Redcliffe. His gaze drifted past Hawke to nothing specific across the camp. "I healed when I was able to, but it was safer to rely on herbs and poultices when I could get away with it. A splint takes longer to get someone back on their feet than laying your hands to them and using magic, but it's less likely to go terribly wrong all at once. Magic is all about temperance and knowing when to use it."

"You'd know more about this than I do," Nathaniel said, throwing the comment at Hawke and making the other man frown. "Talk the lingo at him." Hawke looked disgusted.

"What?" Connor asked.

"He's weirdly trying to ask what sort of magic you can do." Hawke explained. "Primal, Creation…" He trailed off, closing one eye and looking skyward, trying to think. "Uuuh, Spirit, and… dead… creepy shit."

"Entropic Manipulation." Connor supplied.

"Yeah, that. Do you do that?"

"Maker no."

"Good, because I knew a mage in Kirkwall who did and let me tell you…" Connor laughed despite himself, regretting it with an arm gently set across his stomach. Lifting and swinging his staff around had done a number on every inch of his body not previously set upon by Nathaniel's running regime.

"We saw you use primal magic on Hawke at Skyhold." Nathaniel finally said, but his voice came with a hesitation at the start and a warry eye still focused on Connor as he straightened up, breathing slowly through his mouth and trying to eat without his nose hurting too badly. "And you were drawing glyphs in the library, so you at least know the theory behind those."

"You saw that?" Connor marvelled.

"No, I was too deeply engrossed in my Orlesian Poetry." He said, straight-faced, and then frowned. "Yes I saw that."

"I didn't mean to offend."

"You didn't. I'm just confused is all."

"If I can help, I will." He probably couldn't, but he'd try.

"Did you serve in the Inquisition's army?"

"No." Oh no, they were digging to find out how good a battlemage he was. "I helped the wounded when they returned to the keep, the- um…" The dying. That was most of the 'healing' Connor had done. "I… didn't really do that much healing."

"That's not what the Medics said." Hawke strung the weirdest set of words together to make a sentence and Connor had to stare at him for a few seconds to be sure he understood it.

"You spoke to the Medics?" He asked.

"What," Hawke bit back. "Did you think we'd just abscond from Skyhold with some mageling we knew nothing about? Of course we asked around first. And that's how we know you had the hardest job in the damned camp."

"I didn't do very well with it then," Connor rebuked, stung by the odd words. "No one I ever treated got better."

"They weren't people who could get better, you ninny."

"Hawke." Nathaniel's voice had a clear warning in it. Next to him, the Warden stood up, stretching his arms up over his head with a long sigh and a grunt. He wasn't wearing all of his armour this morning, he'd removed the sturdy leather chest-piece meant to protect him from arrows and stray blades, and his bow arm was free of its usual pauldron.

"Let the boy eat, I'll be back in a minute."

Hawke kicked his feet out where he was sitting on his saddlebag and made a loud huff. Connor stirred his breakfast and tried not to let the growing noise in his head overwhelm him. If today was a rest day, then maybe he'd sacrifice a few leaves of that prepared elfroot in his pack and make himself something to sooth his headache and maybe bring the swelling down across his face. If he used Nathaniel's stretches, he might feel a little less fragile in a few hours…

He ate his gruel and examined the camp again. Zevran was seated by the laundry line diligently stitching what looked like a set of leather reins, he was engrossed in his work. Of Oghren and the Commander he could see no sign however, but watched Nathaniel round a bend between the light trees and bushes of their camp until he was nearly out of sight.

"We didn't stop because of you, by the way." Connor was almost finished his food by the time Hawke spoke up again. "You're right, four days with us going as slow as we have is too early to need a rest, especially when we've got places to be. The problem is that if we make that shield woman's horse go another mile then the poor thing might drop dead."

He took the last bite just so it would still be warm when it went in his mouth. Scraping the very last of the honey off the edge, Connor finally answered. "Shield woman?"

"Booklier." Hawke sort of said. "Ball-clear. Bou- whatever her name. Remember that Orlesian Warden the Commander had to put in her place at Skyhold?"

"Vividly." Connor allowed. "I thought her name was Bouclier?"

"Yeah- that." The Warden slumped off the saddlebag so he was on the ground and leaning on it. He'd removed the metal greaves that usually kept his legs protected, and kicked his boots one over the other at the edge of the fire. "However you said it."

"That's who caught up with us last night?"

"Oh yeah, you would've been awake for that, weren't you?" Yes he had been, if barely. "No idea what she's here for but she's been under the Commander's feet like a mabari since they both got up this morning. Between you and I, I think he's a bit- oh."

Hawke sat up and then got to his feet. Connor didn't get there half as quickly or as gracefully, in fact he just didn't get there. His foot found the ground but his knee said "no." and his hip laughed at him. He sat back down, bowl tipped over on the pebbles below, and tried to figure out a better plan of attack for his problem.

He saw Zevran's head come up and the Assassin's handiwork vanished, he was standing too.

Hawke had tried to say that the Commander was a bit something. Connor was too timid to fill in the missing word. He followed the camp's attention and saw Warden Oghren swinging his arms and stomping towards the fire, and beside him was the human Warden from four days ago at Skyhold- black twisted hair, harsh face, stubborn disposition. But she was behind the shoulder of Commander Surana, who looked a bit, um… A bit something.

"Perhaps this could have waited," Nathaniel was on Surana's side opposite Oghren. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know." Surana said, pale eyes held wide open, lips thin and tense. "But you did."

"Sir-"

"I know."

Connor demanded his limbs work immediately and found his feet properly this time. Captain Bouclier said something and Surana's modest stride lengthened considerably. He got far enough ahead of the other three that he could stop and spin on the ball of his foot in one swift, smooth action.

His scarred hand was open in front of her.

"I," and then he closed that hand, for emphasis. "-understand. Captain."

He turned away from her. Connor heard the, "But Commander-" and saw the effect it had on Surana from twenty paces. He was wearing neither his armour or his mage robes, just the black shirt that usually went under his breastplate and arms, and then the blue tunic that fell to his knees. He didn't even have his sword or staff with him. The Commander was just so harried and so fed up with whatever Bouclier had to say that Connor actually saw the flicker of static arc over the mage's chest and the glimmer of mania in his large eyes before the elf exhaled his words with sudden calm.

"Yes." He pronounced the word loud and clearly enough for the entire camp to hear. "You have my permission to stay, Captain Bouclier. You will fall in-rank with the rest of my men and perform the duties expected of you as an Officer of the Grey. Your apology is accepted, your gesture is appreciated, and this conversation. Is. Over."

Bouclier needed a moment. She'd reeled a little with his announcement, but once she understood it she smiled.

Oghren shouted like he'd just been kicked.

"Thank you, Warden Commander." She said, Orlesian accent draped over the relieved words.

"Soren!" The dwarf barked, and oh, the look he got was enough to curl his beard and make Oghren choke on his own ire.

"Finished." Surana repeated. "Another word and I take you back to Felsi in a jar. You remain second in command, Oghren, but this discussion is over."

"Hhng, yes sir." The Dwarf grumbled blackly.

"Pardon me?"

"Yes, Sir!" He shouted properly. Surana nodded and then turned away.

Maker help him, he was headed right for Connor with Nathaniel in his shadow.

"Connor." No, no, no, the Commander was frightening enough as it was, Connor couldn't handle him when he was already angry. Hawke had cleverly vanished and was now a safe distance away from whatever was about to happen. The Commander's irritated face told him to be on guard, but there was a frankness about him that kept Connor's anxiety from seizing his heart and squeezing too badly. "I have an important question for you."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Have you been healing your injuries or using magic to sooth your body at the end of every day?" This felt like a trap. Surana was always still awake to take the first watch at the end of the night, and Connor was usually the first one asleep unless the Commander was giving him instruction with his staff.

"No, Commander." He answered, suddenly sheepish. Surana closed his eyes like a disappointed parent and Connor wanted to cry out something in his defense- but he had none.

The Commander let out a breath, and it was slow and raw with frustration. Eyes closed he walked around the fire without coming close to it and stood right in front of him.

"I don't do this very often, Guerrin." He explained, opening his eyes and looking up at Connor again. "Don't make me form a habit." Oh right, he'd forgotten how short-

Smack.

The Commander cuffed him. He got him right over the ear with his wrist and Connor was lucky it was just a cuffing and not a proper punch or a wallop with the staff like last night. The bad part was that it made his face explode with pain when he jerked so suddenly away from the light hit. The settled bones in his nose shifted and his headache radiated across his scalp like tiny burning needles. He closed his eyes and clutched his face with a weak groan, embarrassment flaring from having such a bad reaction to such a light blow.

Through the dizzying pain, he heard the Commander's voice lecturing him:

"You're not a foot soldier, you're a mage." He said. "You're not a hunter, you're a mage. You're not even a battlemage, not yet. You weren't recruited for your physical strength or endurance, Connor, you were recruited for your magic. Use it." Oh Maker his whole body ached

"Yes, Commander…" He moaned.

"Take the day," Surana continued, and it sounded like he sighed again. "Start with your head and work down, consider it a basic test of your skills as a front-line healer. And no elfroot either: I didn't recruit an apothecary."

"Yes, Commander…"

"Sit." Connor sat. Connor hurt, but Connor sat. "And if I find out who put the idea in his head that mages can't use their magic in camp, I'll take a page from Duncan and tie that person's hands to my saddle to make sure they keep up with me. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander!" Aaaaah…

The first step to obediently following his new orders was to wait for part of his headache to subside. This was not an easy thing to do, because after the Commander's footsteps trailed away to deal with some other frustrating part of his day, Hawke's footsteps crowded back into Connor's little bubble of painful space.

"…I'd still say that beats getting thrown in a horse trough."

Connor laughed. It came out through his nose, and he cried out miserably with his face in his hands before slowly tipping over onto his bedroll.

"No- don't make me laugh..!" He groaned, hands still in place and no magic to be found yet. "I'm not made to handle happiness…" He could smile though, but Andraste please, don't force him to laugh.

"You're in the right line of work then." Hawke's hand clapped him twice on the shoulder and Connor groaned again for effect. "Get to it, don't want him coming back to find you kicking around in the dirt."

"What are you going to do?" He asked, prone on the ground and unwilling to move.

He heard Hawke give a big, fake yawn.

"I am going to take a nap on that nice bit of grass over there."

Connor laughed again, and oh how his body hurt.


Even Warden Commanders have their limits and Soren's is all these people pestering him and Nathaniel consistently being the bearer of bad news. Leave a comment in the box below and I'll see you soon!