A/N: Make way, DA2 stories and Hawke, here comes Lenya, lol. I needed extraordinary much time to write this chapter, but in the end I think it was worth all the struggle I had with it. Probably the most intense and emotional chapter I have ever written so far, as well the most important one in terms of character development. But as we all know without pain...no gain. So I hope you enjoy the ride.

Thanks like always to Mack for the beta-read and all the peeps out there staying faithful to teh good old DA:O -stories like this one here. You rock ^^

"The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head

I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead

I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts

I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing

With a broken heart that's still beating

In the pain, there is healing

In your name I find meaning

So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on

I'm barely holdin' on to you."

– Lifehouse – Broken

Chapter 41: Awakening

.

The first thing Lenya noticed was the overbearing smell of herbs surrounding her, and then the sound of chirping birds from afar, and that her hand felt wet.

Gingerly, she opened one eye. Noticing the burn of daylight within, she waited to open her other eye, eventually blinking the pain away. Turning, she was greeted with the lapping tongue of Arai, who whined, overjoyed, at her awakening.

And this was how it felt like to her—an awakening, after a long absence.

Turning again to get away from her Mabari, she recognized the fabric of a tent surrounding her like a shell from the world outside. Her own body was also wrapped up in blankets and fur, so Lenya surmised she was right with that notion.

Slowly, the Dalish sat up and noticed how her whole body ached with something she couldn't quite place. It was similar to the burn of the taint she had felt prior to her Joining and yet... different. She felt sour, still thoroughly exhausted although she apparently had slept a long time already. And then she remembered how her side had burned, even if it had been a only minor scratch after the fight with those assassins who tried to kill her and... Alistair.

Alistair...

That name resounded in her mind, unbidden. She had been so angry at him for barging drunk iton her room and... that afterward. Though, oddly enough, Lenya felt no grudge toward the human anymore. It seemed so minor now, so distant, after she had survived what had tried to burn her being. And with that she became aware as to why she had broken down and lost her consciousness after the fight.

Poison.

She had been poisoned by the bulky human's blade, the one she had fought prior to that elf. Bizarrely, this thought made her smirk, more about the fact that it didn't work and she was still alive, but also about the futility to actually try to poison her. The Crows apparently didn't know that she was already poisoned and that the taint was a jealous bitch who didn't allow another toxin in the blood beside her.

Momentarily, Lenya laughed at the irony of it, that being a Grey Warden saved her life... once again.

She blinked.

Wait. Once again?

She had no time to dwell on this thought, however, as she heard approaching steps that led to the canvas of her tent. The flaps opened and it was the elf who slipped through the cracks and into her tent. The next thing he saw as he turned was a dagger pointed at his throat.

"You tried to poison me!"

Unimpressed, he smirked, and even brazenly admired the curves that showed beneath the thin, long tunic she wore. "Oh, you are awake, I see. And to answer your question: no, I have not done such a thing... and you know it, no? You have slit the culprit's throat yourself, quite formidably, if I might add."

Lenya wavered, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "You say such things about your friends?"

"My friend?" He laughed. "No. He was a fellow Crow at best and I never liked him. Calo was a bastard who liked to torture his marks with slow, effective poisons. So the end for him was quite fitting, although a bit quick."

She still did not move or lower her weapon, even though he obviously was unperturbed by it. "Can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you, flat-ear?"

"As said before, my dear Warden, my name is Zevran. And in the aspect of loyalty... well I'm very loyal, as long one doesn't expect me to die when I fail."

"Better get used to that." Her eyes narrowed, although she did lower the weapon. "We are fighting darkspawn, so you are going to die when you fail."

His eyebrow shot up. "That is the nature of killing, no? To kill or to be killed. I get the impression you know the concept of that well enough yourself."

Huffing, Lenya turned around, returned to her bedroll, and enveloped herself in a blanket to protect herself from the biting cold and his... stare. "You are a sick person."

Zevran chuckled. "But a sick person who saved your life afterward, my dear Warden. That has to count for something, no?"

Lenya was baffled. "You have... what? Why?"

"Well, I swore an oath to protect you, after all, and to be honest... it would have been a waste to lose such a beautiful woman to Calo's amateurish poison."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Forget I asked."

"Oh, not prone to flattery, I see. Interesting." Zevran laughed, and then suddenly became serious. "Well, my dear Warden, then allow me to ask you: why did you spare me?"

Lenya blinked, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"I'm of a curious mind, perhaps. I tried to kill you, after all. There was no reason to trust me."

"And there is still none." Her gaze on him was hard, almost a glare. "But you know about the Crows and their patterns of action. Also, you are capable at fighting and I need capable people. There are a lot of darkspawn to kill, after all. If there is a chance of one or two blades between them and myself, I don't say no to it."

He laughed, somewhat impressed. "A most practicable way of thinking. Witty, too. So you are not afraid I will fulfill the contract later?" The elf pointed at his still-bruised face. "Your fellow Warden very much is, as my poor, abused, handsome face shows."

She twirled the dagger in her hand. "Afraid?" Lenya scoffed. "If you wanted to kill me you would have had much opportunity while I was out cold due to the poison." She shrugged. "I see you have chosen not to."

"True. While your companions are wary of me and refuse to even talk with me, they aren't wary enough. I've been here in your tent for some time now and still no one has even bothered to check on me... or you, for that matter."

Lenya smirked as she shrugged, unfazed by his implication. "Not needed. You are not armed, as I can see, and well, you see the hound there sleeping at my side, I take it?" Arai heaved his head, yawning. "One wave of my hand and he'll tear your throat out, while I whistle a happy song."

At that, the Mabari darted up, fixed Zevran with a stare, and growled.

Zevran grinned. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, you know that? I think the prospect of traveling with you will be far more interesting than being with the Crows."

The Dalish waved Arai back, ruffling him behind the ear. "Why did you want to get away from your clan at all?"

"Oh, my dear Warden, I think there are things to clarify. The Crows are not a clan as you surely know it as a Dalish. They are a professional organization, a business. They are well-known and feared in Antiva."

Lenya shrugged, not impressed. "Not for being good assassins, apparently."

"Ouch. Such wounds to my pride." Zevran clawed at his chest and staggered, purely for dramatic effect. "I will never recover." He paused, smirking. "Or I will and continue to explain, yes?"

Lenya only shrugged again.

"Tsk, tsk, your enthusiasm for my person knows no boundaries, it seems. Ah well, where was I?" The elf halted, showing an exaggerated thinking motion. "Yes, the Crows, gruesome organization but at least they keep you supplied: wine, women, men, whatever you fancy. The thing is, I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?"

"So you were simply.... bored?"

Zevran burst into a rumbling laughter, shaking his head. "I don't know if I would put it that way, exactly. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end."

Lenya couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Purchased? You were... bought?"

"Ah, such compassion. Always there to find where one would expect it last. Does this bother you much?"

"Bother?" She spat the word out in a snarling tone. "I don't even know where to begin!"

Zevran brushed it aside. "Ah well, then I better not tell you what happened to the other orphans who weren't lucky enough to catch the Crows' attention, no? Such are not stories for a sheltered, but beautiful Dalish woman, it seems."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "It has nothing to do with compassion, idiot. I couldn't care less how you have lived your life so far. It is just the thought of being bought like cattle that is... ugh. I never could—" She stopped and grimaced, thoroughly disgusted. "...I would rather die."

"Oh." His eyebrow rose, surprised. "I see. It was not that bad, though. They trained me, and made me to what I am now. And being a Crow isn't that bad of a fate in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at."

"And yet you are here... makes me wonder why, really." Lenya rolled her eyes. "But I'm paralyzed with not caring much."

Zevran chuckled. "Fate is a funny thing, my dear Warden. Some lives end when they fall backward out of a carriage, some others begin with a muddied boot pressed in the face. So far I'm pleased with the outcome."

"Uh-huh," she said, not really caring.

"Anyway," Zevran said," I probably should leave again, so that you can get cleaned up and dressed. Or…" he briefly stopped and his tone became all suggestive, "I could stay and help you with that."

Lenya glared at him.

"No? Such pity. Ah, well, then I will take my leave, no? Not that your—our—lovely companions will start to think that I'm trying to kill you. Being alone in your tent and all that." He chuckled under his breath. "Oh, the opportunity."

Instantly, Arai positioned himself protectively in front of his mistress and growled at the elf.

"...which I am definitely not. Perish the thought."

With that, Zevran slipped out of her tent, as silent as only a trained assassin could be. Lenya looked after him and suppressed the urge to slap her forehead, and let out a long sigh.

The Mabari slanted his head as he looked up to her and whined, confused.

"Yes. My thoughts, exactly, Arai."

.

.

.

First day, they come and catch everyone.

Hespith's voice resounded in her mind, loud and conspicuous, the image of the tainted dwarf with the back turned to her clear before her eyes.

Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.

Now the dwarf turned, but instead of seeing Hespith's blotched and swollen face, Lenya saw her own... and it smiled back at her...

"Welcome home, sister."

Horrified, Lenya jolted up, the scream dying in her throat as she muffled her mouth with her sweaty palm. Again, she had dreamt the same, the third night in a row and yet it never failed to leave her shaking and breathless. As much as the female Warden hated the archdemon's babbling in her head, she would yet much prefer it to the perpetual returning pictures of the Deep Roads. But, most of all it was Hespith—the memory of that dwarf seemed to follow her everywhere she went, even when she was awake.

Lenya was finally away from the Deep Roads, but the Deep Roads weren't away from her.

She buried her head into her hands, trying to calm down her frantic breathing as the pictures of the nightmare still played in her mind. Looking upward to the darkened fabric of her tent that separated her from the night sky, a sigh escaped her. Would it now always be like this? Would she always be reminded of what could have been, as soon she closed her eyes? Of what she could have become, if she hadn't become a Grey Warden?

A Grey Warden.

Blinking, she took these two words in, let them replay in her mind, and suddenly saw them in a new perspective and light.

Maybe...

A harsh gust of wind interrupted her chain of thoughts, making her shiver. Lenya wrapped the woolen blanket around herself and stood up, her bare feet cold admist the evening dew of the grass. Hastily, she slipped into the boots that lay scattered before her bedroll, like the rest of her armor.

She was still fretting about the leathery vest that she only could do makeshift repairs on, as all the buckles were severed and cut through and wouldn't hold long together in a fight. Fortunately, on their slow journey forward to the Mage tower, they hadn't encountered anything that would make an armor needed, though the Dalish surmised it wouldn't stay this way.

Sighing, Lenya tore her eyes away from the armor and halted to listen before she slipped her head out of the crack of the tent's flap.

The area outside was silent and seemed to be lost to the oblivion of the night.

The campfire crackled, and the dried twigs hissed away in the blaze. There were the heavy steps of the golem who patrolled around the camp, and the faint voice of Leliana humming audibly to herself to stay awake. Also, there was his voice, ever babbling and unstoppable as it was, even failing to make the other human listen to him. Which didn't hinder him in talking on, or stopped the female shem's humming.

Lenya arched a brow at the odd myriad sounds, slowed her pace to reach the main camp, and shook her head.

Humans are, among other things, incapable of silence.

This remembered fact made the Dalish roll her eyes and smirk almost simultaneously.

Especially that human.

"It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?"

Leliana looked up to him, a bit bewildered. "I... no, I never did anything like that. I enjoyed the quiet."

"Well, suit yours—" He stopped mid-sentence, his head snapping up to the slowly approaching Dalish. "Lenya..."

Leliana noticed the emotion he put behind calling the elf's name, and so as subtly as she could, she stood up from the log she was sitting on. The bard faked a yawn. "I guess it is time for me to go to sleep, it's been a long watch, after all." Then, turning to the Dalish, she asked. "Are you staying here now, Lenya?"

"I'm here, or am I not?" She more or less scoffed in response, making Leliana sigh.

Alistair's eyes darted back and forth between the two women, and then rested on Leliana with an anxious glance. "W-wait, where are you going?"

She smiled and it was a bit too amused for Alistair's taste. "Sleeping, as said before. You still have company now even with me gone, no? Good night." With a wink, she turned and descended into the night.

"Riiight." His sigh was long and resigned and he didn't like the feeling of sudden nervousness that crept up inside of him at the prospect of being alone with her. He had avoided talking to Lenya the past three days, except for objecting to her plans to march on, which, of course, she had ignored. It bothered him that although she obviously hadn't fully recovered yet, she still was heedlessly pressing on toward the tower. He shook his head at this thought.

Such a reckless woman, she was.

And then there was still the matter of her embracing him, mistaking him for a beloved person during a fever dream, which was still so overly present in his mind. The warmth of her sk—a loud rustling sound stopped his thoughts, making him look up.

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm hungry."

Ignoring him, Lenya rummaged further in their rather sparse storage bag, piling up whatever food she could find. Finally somewhat content with her pickings, she returned to the fireplace, greeted by Alistair's chuckling.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I have never seen a woman with such a healthy appetite, that's all."

She shrugged, her mouth full of bread as she answered, "Thashht's tshee thhaint's fhhhault."

He couldn't help to find her way of answering actually... endearing. "Right. But if you keep shoveling our rations down like that, the entire party is going to starve soon." His laugh died on his lips as he watched her a bit longer, noticing her exhausted posture, the shadows under her eyes.

"Why are you up, anyway? You are not on watch duty tonight, as you are still busy recovering. Or should be, more like."

She didn't even look up. "As said, I'm hungry." As if to emphasize her words, she snatched a piece of dried meat and took a mouthful, wolfing it down.

"Not to mention that you lack..." He glanced at her, and his eyes caught at her frame. Noticing what he did, he harrumphed. "...proper armor. Nor are you armed. So what are you planning if darkspawn suddenly attack now? Glare them to death? Strangle them with your bare hands?"

Lenya swallowed the food down, and then her lips twisted to an amused smirk. "Oh, I think I could manage that."

Alistair grinned. "Of that I have no doubt. Still, you are pushing yourself too much, really."

"I'm fine!" The Dalish scowled. "There is a Blight to defeat after all."

Alistair groaned, the frustration of the past few days now worming its way to his consciousness.

"Channeling Sten now, are we? Look, Lenya, I know as well as you that this is really a Blight. The archdemon was not only in my head, obviously apparent... but also—" He halted his words and sighed. "The thing is to press on, heedless of your own health, is not going to help in the end."

Lenya only rolled her eyes at that. "Smartass again, are we?"

"I have my moments." His smile was wry. "It doesn't, however, explain why you are so keen on reaching the Mage tower so fast. One day more or less—" His voice failed him at the sudden appearing figure at the fire, ducking behind him. It was Zevran, only half and hastily dressed, the blond strands of his hair still drenched, trails of water dripping down his bare chest.

Alistair turned round to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. "Do I even want to know?"

Zevran instantly straightened his posture, coming forth to the both of them, smiling. "Ah, my dear Wardens, it is so nice to see you keeping watch together. May I sit with you at the fire and warm myself? Ferelden is such a cold place."

Lenya scowled. "No."

"Tsk. Tsk. Such cruelty, my dear lady." His lips twisted into a wicked smirk. "I would be also contend to take cover within that blanket of yours and warm myself at your bosom."

Her scowl only deepened.

"No? Pity."

"Elf!" Morrigan's snarl resounded over the place, even before she was visible. "I'll kill you!"

Alistair turned to his fellow Warden, grinning. "Wow. He pissed Morrigan off now? Makes me almost like him."

Lenya only shrugged, too engrossed by digesting the food, and she ignored the commotion around herself.

Now the witch ascended within sight, her raven hair was open and still wet, so that it clung to her head, framing the single, furious glare of her expression.

"How dare you!"

Zevran heaved his shoulders into a shrug, grinning up at her. "I was merely taking a night bath in the stream close by, my magical temptress. Who had ever thought that you would have the same enthusiasm for it like I do? Marvelous."

"Wait... you snuck a peak at Morrigan? Right, creepy, that."

He turned to the Warden, and the grin in his face only broadened. " can assure you, my friend, that this was pure coincidence, if not a most fortunate one."

At that, Morrigan made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a growl, barely able to contain her rage. "Why have I not set you on fire yet, elf, and ended your meaningless existence? 'Twould be a service to the world, I'm sure."

"You are captivated by my sultry charm and wits?" Zevran offered.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed into slits, and her voice became one single growl. "I would sooner stab myself in the face than let that happen. As for setting you on fire..." Her lips pursed into a dark smirk as she conjured a flame in her hand. "That can be easily rectified."

Alistair's eyes grew wide. "Whoa. Could you kill each other elsewhere?" He pointed into the blackness of the night. "Like over there? That would be nice."

Morrigan sneered and closed her palm, the fire dying within. "He is not even worth my magic. 'Twould be a waste." Whirling around, she stormed off and toward her secluded tent, muttering under her breath.

The elf chuckled. "Now that was riveting, no?"

Alistair merely bestowed him with a blank face while Lenya was still in full ignore-mode. The meal was far more interesting than the elf to her.

"Ah, Fereldans, so finicky." He shivered at the freezing breeze. "Must be the cold here, no?" Standing up, he mock-bowed to Alistair. "Good night, dear Wardens. I will take my leave then, no? Although my heart cries at being so thoroughly refused at being part of your glorious company."

Now Lenya looked up, her mouth still full of food as she answered, "Whatever."

"Ah, well." Zevran chuckled. "I will survive. Another time then, no?" With that, he turned and vanished in between the tents.

Alistair watched him disappear, and then blinked up to Lenya. "Why did you spare him again?"

After taking a huge gulp from her water-flask, she cast the sparse leftover of her meal aside, which landed nearly all mid-air in Arai's muzzle.

"Actually, I have no idea. I must have been delirious from the fever already," the Dalish said and rolled her eyes.

"Right...that." Alistair chuckled, but it was short-lived, fading into a heavy sigh. The pictures were all apparent in his mind again, how she lifelessly had lain on the ground, like she was dead, but also the other pictures. These hit him unexpectedly more, even overshadowing the sadder impressions experienced within the last past days. The remembrance of her hot skin so close to his own, of her arms slung around his neck, so close and yet...

"Oh... you are quiet. Must be a first."

He blinked at her voice, feeling the heat flaring in his cheeks. His head was suddenly filled with questions again that had been there since that night, only pushed into momentary oblivion. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Who is Tamlen?"

At this name, Lenya's face instantly fell, almost as if had someone had punched her hard and with full force. Alistair helplessly observed how she struggled for control, the interplay of pain and the disbelief of 'how could you know this name?' too blatantly obvious and that intense in her expression that his heart seared at the sight.

The air was tense and all the sudden not cool anymore, as he heard her swallow hard, her eyes blinking rapidly as if in the need to get rid of something, and then settling on him with an incredulous gaze. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, her expression framed by such a severe, pained frown that made him wish he had never said those words, that name.

Before he could apologize to somewhat undo the damage already done, she raised her voice first, tearing the heavy silence apart.

"H-how?" It was all she said, all she was capable of saying, her voice tiny and wavering. And for a slight fraction of a second, the word hung fragile in the air, the flickering of the fire the only apparent sound.

"I... I," Alistair started to say, but his voice failed him then, the weight of her question too much. "You said that name, while..." He paused, pushing the pictures in his mind aside., and then said, "While I changed the cloth on your forehead."

"Oh." Her fingers dug deep into the woolen fabric of her blanket and as that wasn't enough to relieve the tension inside, she started to claw hard at her bare arms, the pain of that welcoming and distracting from the real one inside.

"Look, Lenya... I had no right to ask you that, so—"

"It doesn't matter anymore." Her voice was hard all the sudden, as if brushing him off. Though the hardness was in her voice, her expression quickly faltered again, something in her eyes stirring sudden guilt. "He is dead now."

And it is my fault...

Those words were left unsaid and still they stung deep in her heart, too close to the surface of her consciousness now to not hear them resounding in her mind. Lenya wrapped the blanket around herself, tighter and tighter, as if it would help her shield herself from the agony that washed over her, unbidden.

Few moments passed like hours and the silence became unbearable for him, as Alistair searched for words in his mind to describe the feelings her words caused him. As expected, he found none. So he stayed quiet, watching helplessly at how Lenya was getting smaller and smaller, nearly sinking entirely within the blanket. He would rather have her scream or glare at him for intruding and awakening such painful memories that he'd have better left untouched. It was a known behavior of hers and one he could deal with, but not with the whole nothingness that had followed after her words.

"You know..."

Her voice startled him once more, though deep down he was thankful for her speaking again. Alistair waited for her to continue, to gather emotions that had been scattered by his stupid, unthinking words.

Much to his dismay, she didn't continue and instead had fallen completely silent again, her eyes staring still into the fire, expression contorted with what looked like an internal struggle. Seeing her like this somehow cost him every ounce of self-control to not jump up and run over to her to make it go away... or at least better.

"Maybe I just need to be away from... there. Maybe that is the reason why I press on so much."

Alistair's brows knitted. "There?"

"Orzammar. The Deep Roads..."

Lenya felt stupid to admit that, especially to him, a human... and yet was he the only one who was in the slightest capable of understanding since he was the only other Warden. Or so she hoped. Why, she didn't even know for sure. Perhaps she just needed to get rid of it, to say it out loud where coping alone with those haunting pictures in her mind had become too much.

But since when was speaking with him threaded with such implicitness? When had she stopped guarding her emotions from displaying within her expression like before? Lenya had no answer on that, even more was she puzzled by the fact that she didn't react angrily at him for asking about Tamlen, for daring to, like she would have done not long before.

Her heart did a little squeeze at the name in her mind, an aftershock of the immense emotional distress that had rippled through her. Though this time she took heed not to show him that.

"Oh... I see," Alistair finally said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Bad dreams, I take it?"

Lips pressed thin as she nodded. "This place... it seems to follow and mock me, no matter where..." She stopped, sighing.

"I know what you mean."

The Dalish blinked up to him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, I... um, well, have spoken with Leliana about... that, but I don't think she can truly comprehend the horrors that happened in the Deep Road. Not like…" He hesitated to use the word. "...we can."

Impulsively, she scowled at the name. "Leliana."

"Yes, since you left her behind, she naturally wanted to know why we were away for so many weeks. And I think I owed her that, at least. Anyway." He let out a long sigh. "Why do you get all grumpy whenever her name is mentioned?"

Inwardly glad to switch to a lighter topic, Lenya tilted her chin to look up at him. "I don't like her."

Alistair shook his head. "So much is obvious, really. And yet, you would be surprised about how much she was worried about you while you were... poisoned. She was the one changing the bandages of your wound, the one who had stitched it, you know? She is not as bad as you think."

Absentmindedly, she drove with her fingers over the side of her injury, the threads of the stitch itching within her skin.

"Why?"

"As said, she was worried." He held her eyes, his gaze within sincere. "We all were, Lenya."

Unable to keep her eyes even with his intense look, she glanced away. "I... see."

"You are not alone."

Alistair didn't know why he insisted on telling her that. Maybe because she has looked so lost, so hurt, that he felt the urge to make her comprehend that even though she was their leader, she didn't have to bear all the weight alone. If she'd believe him, however, was another story, an uncertainty that nagged at him, because he wanted her to believe it.

Her answer was an extended sigh... and silence, observing how the fire threw flickering shadows on the muddy ground. After a while, she raised her head again and brushed a fallen strand of hair from her eyes. "Tell me... why are you so keen on being... a Warden? It is so..." Lenya left the sentence hanging, her fingers curled into a fist, her whole posture tensed as she scowled.

Painful... her mind added, automatically and unwanted.

Blinking, surprised at her question, he needed a moment to form an actual answer.

"Right, you never really met the others, huh? We were quite the group. Actually, they felt like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former live..." His breath hitched as he became aware of his words, feeling a sudden surge of grief that tried to pull him down, stopping his words.

Inclining her head, she studied him and his pained expression. Lenya had never thought about the things he had lost, had always shrugged it off as needless whining that had been merely bothersome to her. Though this time was the first time she had really listened and noticed that he had experienced the bitter taste of loss as well.

"Emma ir abelas."

It was whispered quietly, hanging frail in the air for a moment before fading away. Shaking her head ever so slightly, Lenya reminded herself that she was speaking to a human, someone not capable of her complex language, so she added, more loudly, "I'm sorry."

And she meant it.

Alistair blinked, totally taken aback by those two little words that came out so unexpectedly, at the fact of her showing compassion for him, and yet he was grateful for it. "I… thank you." He drew a breath in that was still slightly shaky, trying to calm his nerves.

"As you might know, I was packed off to the Chantry at age ten for many years and was already resigned to my fate at becoming a templar when..." He paused briefly, willing himself to go on "...Duncan came, searching for new recruits. I was praying fervently to the Maker that he would pick me." A ghost of a smile hushed over his face. "And I'm normally not very religious, you know?"

Tilting her head to look up at him, Lenya smirked. "So, you wouldn't have been a good templar for your shemlen Chantry, I take it?"

He showed her a wry grin at that. "The worst of all, I'm sure. So I'm grateful that I was able to have a way out of that, really. Always will be." Hesitating briefly, he added, "You were—are—a trained Dalish hunter, if I remember correctly, right?"

Funny, months had already passed and he had never asked her about such simple things before.

"Hmm," she only hummed, avoiding his gaze.

"I thought so. Well... um, I mean the way you hack things into pieces is nothing I have seen before. Ever."

She arched an eyebrow, amused at that. "The way I hack things into pieces? You really have a way with words, huh?"

Strangely feeling at ease with her, he leaned forward, grinning. "What can I say? I do my best." Alistair observed how she was playing with the little belt knife they normally used for cutting meat or cheese, twirling it idly between her fingers.

"I trained all my life. It's like a second nature to me, the moves, whirling my blades... making them dance, so to speak. The first time I held a blade in my hands, I was three."

He found himself entranced by the way she told him that, how a smile accompanied those words, lightening the features of her face. Noticing that he was staring, he quickly averted his eyes, giving in to the urge to talk to cover the embarrassment. "Whoa. Wow. That is quite impressive. Really."

"Yeah, I never heard anyone complaining. Probably because they're dead before they are able to," Lenya said dryly at his astonishment, one corner of her mouth curved up. "And still I got hit by the blade of the shemlen that poisoned me." The elf hesitated, burying one hand in Arai's fur for comfort at which the hound made a sighing sound.

The pause stretched, and then her voice suddenly broke the silence. "Can you train with me?"

Alistair couldn't believe what he was hearing. "W-what?"

She sighed. "Speed and dexterity are my weapons, so naturally I lack force in strength. The few times I was bested was by those big hurlocks... and that bulky shem. I can't allow that to happen." Her fingers nearly curled into a fist within Arai's fur. "I need to get stronger."

"No one is perfect, Lenya," Alistair noted, a chuckle audible behind his next words. "And I doubt that there is much I can teach you, oh Princess of Slice."

She glared at him for that, for the first time tonight, which almost made him feel bizarrely triumphant. Her glowering, however, shifted quickly into a mischievous smirk; the same she'd showed him back in the Frostback Mountains in the rain. He braced himself for the worst.

"Well, I struggle against hurlocks, and you have about the same build and height. So I figure training with you would be fitting for rectifying that."

"Why, thank you. That is too kind." His tone was all sarcastic, though somewhat amused. "I'm really flattered that you compared me with a hurlock. Shall I make some grunting noises during the training to make it more authentic?"

Lenya shrugged. "Not more than usual."

"Ow. Ow." Alistair feigned a stabbing wound at his heart for dramatic purpose. "And did I mention oooow? You are a cruel woman." He shook his head, actually chuckling now. "All right, I'll do it... when you have recovered."

The Dalish rolled her eyes at that. "Smartass." Standing up, she took a log of wood from beside the fire and threw it in the flames, watching as it snapped and hissed in the blazing heat. There was a moment of silence again, one where her eyes stayed on the red-yellow light, her mind racing with pictures that wouldn't let her out of their clutches.

"I dreamed of her again, of Hespith, I mean." Her posture stiffened, visibly struggling to speak on. "Of all the things... seen there... it is her face that haunts me most." Fingers entwined, and nails bit into flesh before she continued, still staring into the fire. "I never wanted to leave my clan, never wanted... this. I have always hated that shemlen for ripping me away from my life, from all that I held dear." Lenya stopped, swallowing hard at the impact of the words.

Alistair blinked, completely thunderstruck by her candidness. "That shemlen... you mean... Duncan?"

Slowly, she nodded, her eyes suddenly fixated on his and he started at her distressed look. "I was tainted before... before... the Joining, you know?"

"Yes, I know." It was barely more than a whisper but the elf caught it, her gaze shifting into a questioning one. "I... uh... Duncan... he told me... about you, I mean. I just don't know what this all has to do with Hesp—" The sudden voice in his mind let the sentence die on his lips. Duncan's words came back to him, spontaneous and unbidden.

"The change starts inwardly; slow and creeping. And you do not want to see what becomes of tainted women unlucky enough not to be able to do the Joining ritual to stop it. She doesn't have much time left… if the ritual can't be held tomorrow night for whatever reason, I fear I will have to kill her."

His eyes grew wide as saucers as his mind suddenly comprehended the correlation, the horrid truth almost too much to grasp. "Oh. Oh." And almost instantly his heart squeezed at the mere imagination of her, of Lenya, becoming... something similar like Hespith, a tainted husk of a person.

No...

Lenya turned away, could no longer face him, the effort of saying that out loud, the bitter conclusion of 'what if' cost all her strength. Her voice was tiny and quavering and she hated herself for that. For all those thoughts and feelings she couldn't conceal any longer, their weight just too burdensome and grave on her being.

"That could have been... me… I could have ended like... if Duncan... if..." Her voice failed her, swallowed by the struggle not to cry. Not here, not in front of a human, she wanted keep this promise, one she had made to herself, at least.

Never let a shemlen see her in tears. Never submit.

"...if you hadn't become a Grey Warden," he said, completing her sentence.

And that made it only harder to hold back what was already forming behind her eyes, because these words showed that he... understood.

Stupid human, you.

Lenya swallowed down the sadness she could, yet couldn't hinder a solitary sniff that became audible, involuntary escaping her throat.

Alistair tensed at the noise, and observed how Arai jerked up and hurried over to her to give comfort, something he wanted to do, and yet not dared to do. So he remained seated on the log, bare hands digging into the wood beneath him as he watched her frame obscured by shadows where the light of the fire didn't reach her.

Lenya bowed down to her Mabari, glad for the distraction and solace he offered, and then she embraced him. Arai whined emphatically and Alistair felt stupid for the wish to switch places with a hound, but in this moment he really did want to.

"I don't want to go there again." Her quiet voice sounded muffled through Arai's fur. "I don't want to return to the Deep Roads. Ever."

"I don't think that is possible for a Grey Warden," he said out before he could stop himself, feeling the need to slap his forehead once again for his overeager tongue.

Lenya straightened at once but did not turn around. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well... uh... I think this is not the right time." And it really wasn't. Telling her about what would happen when the body couldn't—

She whirled around, interrupting his thoughts with her sudden harsh voice. "It never is, so tell me!"

"I really think—"

Faster than he expected, she stood before him, the light of the fire reflecting in her eyes, as she glared down to him. The belt-knife twisted in her hand, as if a mild warning. "It's about the Grey Wardens, right? You are holding back something. And I hate lies, human!"

Alistair scowled at first before a long, resigned sigh escaped him. Not knowing how to put it in words, his tone was unsure, almost stammering. "It's not that... I...uh... we never had time to tell you that... I guess. We... I never expected that... Ostagar." The lines of his scowl deepened, as he snapped for air, momentarily pausing.

Oh, Maker...

"It is... a Grey Warden tradition to return to the Deep Roads, before... before..." He left the sentence hanging, not knowing how to continue.

Her stare was demanding. "Before what?"

Alistair drew in a deep breath, his eyes resting on her, before they closed and willed the words out. "The taint... it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body... won't... be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and... die in battle rather than... waiting."

It was a moment before she remembered how to breathe. Her whole being was paralyzed, only able to stare at him. Lenya's demeanor, her whole silence was unsettling to him and he braced himself for the worst. But moments passed and nothing happened, only her stare continued to bore in him, without her saying anything.

"When...?"

He startled as this tiny word fell all the sudden. Mustering the remaining bits of his courage, he murmured, "Thirty years, give it or take. I'm sorry, Lenya... I should have told you—"

A strange, hysterical laugh interrupted his words. Heaving his head, he saw that it came from Lenya.

"I'm... going to... die." Another laugh bubbled up her throat, it sounded so detached that she didn't recognized her own voice. "Due to the taint. It is somewhat ironic, don't you think?"

"Lenya… I – I..." At a loss for words, Alistair watched her laughing, its sound bitter. He couldn't handle this reaction, and was utterly confounded because he had expected her to yell at him, to be angry, Maker, maybe even hitting him... but nothing like that happened.

She only... laughed.

And then there was silence, as she stopped all the sudden. The cracking of the fire, even the howling of the winter breeze all seemed to become unbearably loud, as the tranquility weighed down on the moment that stretched on like forever.

Lenya did her best to glare, but instead a bitter chuckle escaped her as she turned to him. "Will I become like Hespith? Or... Ruck?" She staggered as she struggled to stand upright, the thought crushing down at her. "Why did that shem save me at all, if the end is same? This was no cure." Slowly, she raised her head, looking directly at him, her voice quiet, almost desperate.

"Is there anything good about being a Grey Warden? Anything? Because I don't see it."

Shaken by her gaze and words, his features shifted into a pained frown. There had always only been death, destruction, and the agonizing taste of loss for her since she had become a Grey Warden. None of the good things, he at least had experienced before... Ostagar.

Before he knew what he was doing, he stood up and walked forward in the attempt to embrace her. "Lenya…I..." Immediately the elf jerked away and hit him across the face with her palm, glaring at him.

For the fraction of a second everything went still, only the ringing of the slap echoed through the night.

"Don't touch me!"

Alistair stared at her in utter shock, his cheek still aching with the impact, as she suddenly whirled around and ran away.

.

.

.

Lenya fled as fast as she could, needed to get away from there, from all pain and thoughts in her head, the dread inside of her overbearing. She ran toward a nearby glade surrounded by high-towering trees and a purling stream that reflected the moonlight above in its water. Distantly, she could hear the human's calling, his voice she hated so much right now, the one of her fellow Warden. Although slower, he followed after her, not stopping to leave her alone, which only made her hate him even more.

Within the clearing, the Dalish was forced to halt, her legs too shaky and trembling too much to move further. Stumbling, she crashed down to the muddy ground, paralyzed with the effort not to cry. She simply remained lying in the dirt, uncaring. And for a moment, the world seemed to stop, but the pain lingered.

"Lenya?"

Alistair halted to listen for an answer, but there was none. He didn't know why he had instinctively followed her, maybe because he simply didn't want her to be alone after such news. He remembered how much he had loathed everything, everyone when Duncan told him that. How forsaken and needless all had become from one moment to the other. Alistair didn't want the same for her, so he tried anew, louder.

"Lenyaaa!"

"Rot in the Beyond, shem!"

Her voice shook with hatred; her breathing heavy.

His head snapped toward the direction of the sound, but it was nearly pitch black within the glade, the light of the moon and the far away campfire the only sources of light. Alistair also was aware that he couldn't find her if she didn't want to be found.

So he stopped his steps and closed his eyes to listen in. It was only a faint humming that he could distinguish within his blood, a soothing tone in contrast to the raging fire when darkspawn were near. Alistair had quickly learned to tell those two different kinds of taint apart and not only because he had lived among the other Warden's before. Briefly after Ostagar, after Loghain's treachery, this presence, the lingering quiet humming within his blood had been his only solace. It showed him that he wasn't all alone and he wanted her to understand that she wasn't either.

"Is there anything good about being a Grey Warden? Anything? Because I don't see it."

Those words haunted him, reverberated in his mind with its anguish and despair.

Cautiously, Alistair stepped forward, following the increasing volume of buzzing to its source within the dark. To her.

Lenya felt him approaching as well, stirring from the ground, her head turned in the direction she surmised him to be. Only scarcely was the moonlight breaking through the treetops, yet was it enough for her to remotely see something. Trembling, she searched for her belt-knife in the soil, knowing that she had still held it when she fell. "Don't come closer, shem, or else... I'll—"

She hadn't called him shem for the longest of time, he realized, and it bothered him. Alistair didn't want to lose all her trust he had struggled and fought to gain over the past months. Not like this.

"I… I know... it is hard." His voice was soft, soothing, almost as if talking with a child.

Quicker than thought, she appeared in front of him, the small knife pointed at him. "You know nothing!" The unspoken warning in her tone stopped his steps toward the Dalish, but he didn't yield. Unsure of what to do next, he remained in his place, watching her shadowed figure.

The silence stretched on with neither of them moving, her ragged breathing the only sound.

"Why don't you leave me simply alone?" she asked all the sudden, startling him. It sounded like an accusation, yet had her voice lost its prior sharpness, instead replaced by... desperation? He couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but its tone shook him to the core.

"I... should have told you earlier, Lenya... but..."Alistair sighed. "When should I have done this? Maker, there had never been the right time. And it surely wasn't tonight either. I'm sorry."

Lenya only snorted derisively, swallowing down the bile of anger those words caused in her.

"This is why it is kept a secret under Grey Wardens, just like the Joining," he continued saying, not knowing what else to do. "Do you think many people would fight against darkspawn, would join the cause of the Grey Wardens if they knew about this?"

"Remember, I'd no choice in that matter, you bastard!"

Bastard... how ironic that she called him that, even more how much it hit him. He was aware that it hadn't the same meaning, and yet was that another thing that lay unspoken between them, like so much else. Secrets had the tendency to be gruesome and hurtful at times, things that one better left untouched or pushed back in the farthest corner of the mind, because it was easier this way. Like Lenya did with the friend she had lost, he with his parentage... or the fact that they both would have to succumb to the taint in their veins in a few decades.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "I know!"

There was a pause, an audible gasp tinged with a quivering intake of air. "Stop being so damn sympathetic, you idiot!" Her small fist hammered against his chest, but the gambeson he wore eased the impact of the punch. Then there was another. And another. Standing stock-still, Alistair endured it, letting her vent her anger, knowing how he had felt when Duncan told him about the taint.

"I hate you!"

Again she hit him, but only with one fist. The other hand was still clawed around the knife's blade, almost forgotten, until the steel bore into the flesh of her palm. Wincing, she let it slip to the ground and stared at the blood seeping from the cut.

Tainted blood.

It would kill her sooner or later. Or even worse, would make her become what she had seen in Hespith, a deformed husk of a creature, driven mad by the taint. It seemed that Lenya couldn't escape the Deep Roads, would always be intertwined with that place, its horrors... and loss.

Nithius.

The thought of him crashed down on her, the guilt of his death weighting heavily on her conscience, the taste of yet another mistake bitter. She should have never taken him with her, should have never allowed it. He would be still alive, not burned to ashes within... that place. Lenya didn't want to end like him.

I don't want to die. I don't want to become...

Lenya staggered, the impact of her emotions almost too much to bear. Feeling his fingers at her injured hand, she jerked away, trembling. "Don't touch me!"

"I... sorry." Despite his words, Alistair inched closer to her, even feeling the need to.

"I hate this!" Uncaring for the burn of the cut in the one hand, she hit his chest now with both of her fists, repeatedly. "I don't want this!" She couldn't stop the whimpering escaping her throat as anger turned into anguish, pulling her down. She still drummed against his chest, but it had lost its force as the despair within grew bigger.

"I know," Alistair repeated in a whisper, his heart aching with his fellow Warden... no, his mind corrected him... with her. There was an impulse, almost an urge inside of him that let him step toward her—a need to make it better, to take away the pain and, most of all, to be there for her.

And so before her knees gave way, he caught Lenya's fall, holding her upright as she started to cry bitterly in his arms.

You are not alone...

Can I haz reviewz pleaze? ;)