We hung around Redcliffe for longer than I'd expected, because everyone ganged up on me and refused to leave until I'd gained back some of the weight I'd lost, what with the Tower and then the fever. I winnowed through the more interesting shelves of Eamon's library, hung around with the new kennel master and his pack of suspicious hounds, and, when Alistair wasn't busy experimenting with his Templar manual, we fished with a hand net off the docks.
"They're so pretty!" I cried, looking at our bucket full of rainbows and silver. "Cave fish are all white and see-through."
"They'll look even better on a dinner plate," he grinned, heaving the bucket into his arms to carry up to the castle.
I wouldn't have argued so much about the delay if I'd known that would only take a week, though, instead of the month or more it took to recover from such things in Dust Town. Whether the healing magic was still doing its thing, or whether Gray Wardens bounce back faster than normal people, we rolled out from Redcliffe in light rain, exactly ten days from when we'd arrived.
"How long will it take to get to the Dalish?" I asked Alistair from under my dripping hood.
"That depends on how long it takes to find a clan," he said from somewhere inside his own leather fortress – when he had his hood up like that, I couldn't see him at all unless he bent over. "They migrate with their herds of halla – that's a kind of deer, I think. They live in fancy wagons and travel all over. But usually there's at least a few around the edge of the Brecilian Forest, and that's where we're going."
"So how long will it take to get to the forest?" I thought of the mixed-wood forests I'd traveled through with Duncan. "Is it the same as the one up by the Frostbacks?"
"A week or so, and no, the Frostback forest is young. It's just what grew up in the past half-century or so, after the Orlesians burned it all down. The Brecilian forest is ancient – you'll know what I mean when you see it. Trees as big around as a house, that kind of thing."
"Have you been there before?"
He hesitated. "No... actually I haven't. But I've seen paintings, and heard carters talking about it in the stables. They usually sounded pretty impressed."
Again with the stables and haylofts? "Why do you hang out in the stables? Do you like horses that much?"
"Um..." he glanced down at me from under his hood and I could see him turning pink. "Sure. I like horses. They're... fuzzy."
"And the hay smells nice." I ducked my head as a gust of wind drove rain into my face.
"Yes." He sounded relieved. "Yes, it does." He sidled closer and gathered me under his cloak for extra protection from Ferelden's foul weather, resting one warm hand on my shoulder.
The rain persisted for the better part of a week, and when we turned off the Imperial Highway onto the older South Road, the inferior workmanship meant that muddy puddles often stretched across the entire road, filling our boots and hiding potholes and ruts that caught at Bodahn's wheels.
When we passed a sign announcing the village of Glendale, Bodahn called back to say we would be spending the night there. "I have to rest the mules," he explained, "And the left front wheel needs repairs. If she breaks on the road, we'll have a hell of a time getting her going again, if you'll pardon my Orlesian."
I nodded, thinking longingly about sleeping indoors again. The little village did have an inn, albeit a scruffy one that smelled like wet dogs and made the Spoiled Princess's mattresses look like royal eiderdown, but it was dry and the stew was hot.
The four of us, minus Morrigan who had evaporated as usual, were lounging around in the tavern area waiting for our clothes to dry when I noticed a small movement in the darkest part of the room, in the corner behind the bar. I yawned and stretched and made a great show of not having seen anything, and indeed, I saw nothing more for the next hour even though I was sure a figure had ducked out of sight.
At first I was merely curious, but when the slight distortion in the darkness behind the bar persisted, I realized we were in the presence of a truly competent sneak. Most people couldn't hide from direct scrutiny, and relied on not giving others a reason to look more closely. My idle curiosity turned into dark suspicion as I waited... and waited... and still saw nothing but a shadow that wasn't quite the right shape.
Eventually, Wynne and Leliana excused themselves and headed for bed; Alistair watched them go, then tipped his mug towards him to give the the watered-down piss Glendale called 'ale' a disgusted look before pushing the mug away and leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
"Aren't you tired?" He rubbed gingerly at the back of his neck where his wet armor had chafed.
I smiled at him and said, lips barely moving, "I'm waiting for our friend the sneak to leave the shadows again. Don't look around, you'll spoil my ploy."
His eyes widened and he went rigid with the effort of not looking, and I groaned inwardly. He was not subtle at all.
"Stop that," I hissed. "Act sleepy." And while I was criticizing my comrade's acting ability, my quarry zipped out through the back door.
"Shit!" I yelled, mad at myself, and leaped in pursuit, but the dark, wet street outside the door was as cold and lifeless as a tomb.
Rocky dashed past and stood in the rain, casting about for a trail to follow, but no scent remained in the ankle-deep mud. He slunk back to my side, ears flattened in apology.
"Aw, sod it all," I complained, shutting the door and tossing a coin at the innkeeper to pay for my dinner before starting towards the stairs. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I should've payed attention."
"Hey, I didn't even know someone was there," he said with a shrug. "I didn't even see him when he ran off. Did you?"
"I didn't see much," I admitted. "He was pretty good. Maybe he - " My breath caught as I had a horrible thought. "Maybe he's a spy for Loghain!"
Alistair frowned and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He needed a shave, I noted absently. And a haircut, he was going to have girly bangs in a few days. "Even if he is, he can't report back for at least a week. Loghain's in the Bannorn, remember? We'll be long gone by then."
"At least we hope he's in the Bannorn," I muttered. "Let's just go to bed already."
We trudged up the battered old stairs and down the damp hallway to our rooms, where there was some momentary confusion about whose was whose and we collided as we both tried to go through the same door. He blushed and I giggled, ready to be distracted from rain and spies and bad ale, and followed him when he tried to get out of my way, taking hold of his hands.
"I guess this is goodnight," I said, smiling up at him and tossing my hair back from my face.
"Uh, yeah, it is," he said, giving my hands a quick squeeze before letting go and opening the door to the other room. "Goodnight."
I stared after him in consternation until he shut the door in my face.
I was still angry about the whole evening when I tucked myself into bed, tossing and turning until I'd shoved the mattress lumps into a sort of nest. Rocky had given up on me in disgust, flopping on the braided rug when he grew tired of my thrashing, and I finally fell asleep listening to his quiet snores.
Halfway through a dream about walking around naked in the middle of the Commons, a familiar bellow shattered the harmless (albeit embarrassing) dream and replaced it with a blood-soaked battlefield.
Ostagar, again, but now I stood in the middle of it, desecrated corpses as far as I could see, rats and crows and darkspawn all feasting together on the rotting meat. I wondered why it didn't smell, and as soon as I wondered, the stench hit me like a punch in the gut and I doubled over, trying to throw up.
A hoarse shriek of laughter echoed across the grisly field, and I tried to look around but the scene swirled in front of me, so that even if I turned my head I was still looking down at the ground. Then I realized I was looking down at Duncan's body, his eyeless face crawling with vermin.
"Oh, so that's what you wanted me to see, eh?" I called to the Archdemon. "Well done, it's very realistic."
There was a moment of surprised silence, and then I found I could look away and straightened, searching the sky for the dragon. He stooped like a hawk and struck the ground with such force, a great flaming chasm opened in the ground beneath him, and the guttural grunts and slurps of feeding darkspawn and the screams and cries of their victims filled the air from the place of torment below.
I lost my balance before the ever-widening hole and fell in, but instead of the usual lurching terror of falling in dreams, I felt nothing, and instead of waking in sweat-soaked dread before hitting the ground, I landed painlessly and looked around.
The demon hadn't expected me to see anything down here and hadn't completed the scene. Patches of the flat, dead whiteness that was how I saw the Fade appeared around me, and with an effort, I focused on them until I stood on a limitless white plain. There, before me, sat the Archdemon.
"Not your best work," I said, and he roared with fury, bathing me in flame that flowed harmlessly over my body.
Fear me! I am your doom!
"Pff, you wish," I scoffed. "You have no hold on me."
And I woke up.
I looked around at the dark room, feeling extremely pleased with myself, and murmured a quick and rather sarcastic prayer of thanks to the helpful sloth demon who'd given me such practice messing around in the Fade.
"And then I said, 'You wish,' and I woke up." I concluded my tale of triumph the following morning over a breakfast of sticky porridge to a round of applause.
"All I got was an army of Glenlocks burning Redcliffe to the ground," Alistair complained, pouring milk on his bowlful of grayish sludge.
"Yes, well, we can't all be as awesome as me," I said, patting his hand. "And humble, too."
"Down-to-earth," he agreed, eyes twinkling.
"That's racist."
"You're right, I'm above that kind of thing."
"Overgrown freak."
"Ankle-biter."
I used my spoon as an improvised catapult and splattered porridge across his breastplate.
"Children, behave," Wynne sighed, reaching out to wipe goop off his chin.
"Since this pitiful excuse for an inn cannot seem to produce anything worth eating this morning, I shall acquire my own breakfast," Morrigan said abruptly, coming to her feet and stalking off. Rocky jumped up from where he'd lain by my feet, bonking his head on the underside of the table in his haste, and loped after her.
"What's wrong with porridge?" Leliana asked, sprinkling brown sugar on hers. "It's nourishing. Of course, in Orlais, we always add berries and other fresh fruits."
"They probably have raisins in the kitchen," Alistair told her. She shuddered.
"Morrigan doesn't eat grains," I explained. "She says they're unnatural."
"She's unnatural," Alistair said.
"Your mom's unnatural."
"Latitia!" Wynne scolded. I squeaked and pretended to hide behind Alistair, cowering from her wrath.
"At any rate," Leliana said, returning to practical conversation, "Bodahn says the mules and the wagon are fit to ride today, so we can leave as soon as we're ready."
"Where is Bodahn, anyway?" I asked, plopping back in my seat and stirring more cream into my porridge. I had decided I liked cream. "Why doesn't he ever eat with us?"
"He stays with Sandal," Leliana explained. "Sandal doesn't like crowds and taverns."
"Poor kid," I said sadly. "He's quite a few buns short of a dozen, isn't he?"
"He's a nice boy, though," Wynne said fondly. She'd spent a great deal of time with him, riding in the wagon as her body got used to all the walking we were doing. She'd been in surprisingly good shape, but nothing in her life at the Tower had compared to this and I did worry about her.
"Should we wait until Morrigan and Rocky come back before we leave?" I fussed, keeping my butt firmly planted in my chair as the others started to stand up and put on their cloaks.
"They know where we're going," Alistair said, handing me my own cloak. "They'll catch up."
"I suppose there is only one road south to Dalish territory," I admitted, finally standing up and following the others outside.
I saw the sharp-eyed figure draped like a cat over a chair in the corner, but because I was leaving, and he didn't say or do anything, and in the light he looked very different from the flicker in the shadows I'd seen last night, I ignored him.
The rain cleared up during the night, and it was with great relief that I folded my heavy rain cloak and stuffed it back in Bodahn's wagon. Alistair brushed past me to do the same, already dressed in his armor, and I wrinkled my nose.
"By all the ancestors, Alistair, you smell absolutely awful," I told him, waving a hand in front of my nose for fresh air.
He hung his head. "It's the rain, the padding gets rusty and sweaty and then it reeks. Sorry."
"I mean, normally I like the smell of a man in armor, but this is really excessive," I continued, buckling my own studded leather in place.
"You're no bed of roses yourself, my friend," Morrigan said dryly from behind me, making me jump.
"Find a way to make the sun stop shining, and I'll stop sweating on my leather all day." I was kidding, but she narrowed her eyes speculatively at me.
"Give me some time to think," she said, pursing her lips before turning to her herb bag.
"You can't really stop the sun, can you?" I asked, astonished.
"Certainly not, fool dwarf," she snapped. "But perhaps I can prevent it burning you, and do us all a favor by keeping you and that odoriferous leather safely separated."
"You wouldn't really walk around without armor here, would you? I mean, this isn't the Imperial Highway, there are bandits," Alistair said, frowning.
"I don't need armor, I have you," I batted my eyes at him. Rocky barked. "And you, too, of course," I added, stroking his sleek head.
The mud dried slowly, and the puddles receded from the ravaged paving as the sun boiled them away. We passed out of farming country and into a range of foothills, the road gradually trending upwards as it switch-backed its way towards a low ridge. Trees provided welcome shade now that the farmers weren't constantly clearing the land.
We rounded a particularly sharp bend in the road and encountered a frantic woman, running towards us, her hair ragged and blood staining her skirt.
"Help! Come quickly! Bandits!" she cried, waving her hands.
"Wow, you were right," I muttered to Alistair as his hand went to his sword. "In the future, I will make an effort to avoid saying things that could turn out to be foreshadowing."
Special thanks to mille libri for help untangling some issues, and also to serenbach, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Eva Galana, CynderJenn, Fluid Consciousness, jane-al and nithu for their lovely reviews, and to every reader just for coming along for the ride. I'm so glad to have you with me :)
New readers might be interested in the Cliff's Notes version of this story located at wellspringcd dot com. I know long stories get awkward and this should help.