A/N: After completing Alixire's struggle in the Circle Tower, it's time to shift to a more light-hearted note for the moment. This idea came to be randomly when I was playing the game as Alain and realized that the rotting flesh boots were in the same building as the rotting flesh body. I also kept the fact that I soloed the villagers with Alain in the chapter (I forgot that I put all my party members on stand-by, so they just sat there for the entire fight). He's such a little badass. Enjoy!

0o0o0o0o0o

Thirty-Eight. Alain: Simple Gifts.

Though Alain has to some degree found every place they've visited thus far on their journey to rally support against the Blight strange and decidedly different from his expectations of the human world, Haven is by far the oddest of the bunch. He is familiar with the concept of isolationism, especially fresh from his experiences in the Ferelden Circle Tower, but even the Templars and mages were receptive of guests as long as they came without the intention of causing trouble to the set operations and hierarchy. First Enchanter Irving had been particularly insistent that Alixire and Wynne return to the Tower as often as possible and bring as many friends as they liked along with them. The Knight-Commander hadn't seemed to share Irving's openness on the subject, but the debt he owed to Alixire kept him silent and gracious, even to the likes of Morrigan and Hannon who he surely would never have allowed free reign of the Tower under different circumstances.

The people of Haven, however, have made it clear from the moment the Wardens first stepped through the city gates that they are not welcome. Though the villagers are such straight forward people, leaving their intentions and opinions open on the surface in a perfectly undisguised fashion, Alain isn't sure what to make of them. He approves of their decision not to be false about their feelings and indulge in mind games with the Wardens when all they really want is for them to leave the town alone, but all the same he has to wonder about their sanity in thinking they will quietly leave the village after witnessing Haven's blatant and almost intentional display of wildly suspicious behavior. They may as well be wearing signs that say 'Investigate me! I am involved in criminal behavior!' for all the subtlety they're lacking.

Taking them up on this challenge, Britomart has led an expedition up to the top of the village to the Chantry. Her suspicion is that since no one seems to be lingering the streets besides guards and a creepy little boy chanting rhymes in a cryptic voice, the townsfolk—if there are any—must be holed up somewhere. Being naturally wary of the Chantry, she had chosen it as their most likely target, which Hannon confirmed by hearing the sounds of singing voices coming from up the hill.

Alain would have been happy to go with them, but one of his swords had been shattered by magic during their fight with Uldred, and he'd forgotten to buy a new one off the quartermaster in the Tower. Upon arriving in Haven, he'd noticed a lone shop set up in the middle of the villagers' hovels, and told his companions that he would join them in their investigation as soon as he could. There was no time for them to delay, given that the guards were already in the process of discussing how best to remove them from the city before whatever secret they are hiding is discovered.

The little shop itself, when Alain enters it, is nothing short of pitiful. The only swords available for purchase are so poorly constructed that Alain wouldn't use them even if he was standing unarmed in front of the archdemon. He could do more damage with his fists than with the blades Haven has to offer. Once again, he wonders if this is a shrewd or unintentional act on the part of the villagers. Either they are wise in keeping unwelcome visitors armed with faulty weapons, or they are just plain horrible at smithing, and have gone on without any knowledge whatsoever about the proper use of a forge.

"You're not from here," the shopkeeper tells Alain as he sorts through the swords, looking for something half way decent to buy. "You're a stranger to this place. And an elf."

"I know."

"What business would an elf have in Haven?"

"Buying a blade."

"In Haven?"

"I was in the area."

"What were you doing in the area?"

"Killing darkspawn."

"What's the point of that? They're in Lothering at the moment. Any mercenary looking to earn a sovreign clearing out darkspawn in parts of Ferelden wouldn't come here."

"I'm not a mercenary. No one is paying me."

Alain halts his search for a moment, turning his head to the side. A putrid smell is tickling his nose from the direction of a chest in the front of the store. He wanders closer to it, inhaling the foul aroma deeply. It reminds him of the stench coming from beggars in the Alienage who go hungry and die on streets, leaving their rotting bodies in the sweltering heat until someone finds them and delivers their corpses to be commended to the Maker. He does not think the shopkeeper would keep rotting body parts locked in a chest at the front of the store, but the smell is so distinctive that he cannot imagine what else it could be.

He remembers Zevran telling him something about Antivan leather smelling like rotting corpses. Perhaps that's what it is. He'd spoken at long length about how much he wanted a pair of fine boots made of Antivan leather, which Alain interpreted to be a form of homesickness. Zevran's life in Antiva had been less than ideal, but still he pined for the familiarity of it, the feeling of being in the place where he there was always an empty space waiting for him to fill. It is just the same as what Alain feels for the Alienage, so as soon as Zevran told him the story of the boots, he wanted to comb Ferelden to find him a pair to make him feel at home among them. If the threat of the Blight wasn't so imminent, he would have jumped on a ship and gone all the way to Antiva to look for them.

"Is that smell what I think it is?" Alain asks the shopkeeper.

"Smell?" The man's face twists into a panicked look, and Alain can see beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. "What smell?"

"The rotting flesh, dead body-like smell," Alain answers, his eyes narrowing. "What have you got in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! There's nothing suspicious in the back room. It's none of your business!"

All right, Alain determines. They're idiots after all. Honest idiots, but still…

"I was talking about the chest," he says. "So I take it you have a dead body in your back room. Shall I investigate?"

"You've gone too far, foreigner. You'll pay for sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong." The shopkeeper darts out from behind the counter, throws open the door, and begins clanging the silver bell he'd had hidden in his hands. Before Alain can even register what's going on, villagers begin pouring in floods down the hill, armed with large axes and screaming an indecipherable battle cry as they run towards him.

"Bad day to be caught without a good sword," Alain mutters, pulling two blades from the rack in order to defend himself. He plants himself in the doorframe to keep himself from being overwhelmed at all sides, taking out his attackers one by one until they pile up into a miniature mountain at his feet. Even so, they persist in coming at him in a relentless stream, forcing him to back into the store to grab more blades after his first two are broken.

Though their forces are strong in number, the villagers lack any sort of battle training that could give Alain's a run for his money. He barely breaks a sweat as he takes them down on his own, exhausting more effort in wondering why the whole town would fight to protect the secret of a single dead body than he does in fighting.

After he clears out the last of the resistance, he tosses aside the remains of the useless blades and digs through the dead shopkeeper's pocket, pulling out a solitary key. He tests it out on the chest, and though the lock is a bit rusted in places, it at last comes open at his urging. A pair of Antivan boots rests inside, brand new and reeking of spoiled meat.

As he lifts the boots from the chest, he hears a bell ringing from the top of the hill. He smiles to himself. Whoever is dealing with his friends will be sorely lacking in reinforcements after the little spree he'd just concluded.

0o0o0o0o0o

Twenty minutes later, the remaining Wardens and their companions arrive back in the heart of the village, accompanying a shaky-legged bald man who Alain assumes is Brother Genitivi. Dulcia, Sten, and Britomart have a few bloodstains on them, but on a whole, the group looks unharmed and relatively safe.

"A-ha," Alistair says, admiring Alain's pile of causalities. "We were wondering why everyone left the church when they heard the sound of a bell coming from here. Dare I ask how you managed this?"

"I found out that guy had a body in his back room," Alain says, jabbing his finger in the direction of the dead shopkeeper. "They attacked me, and I killed them."

"Just like that," Alixire marvels, pursing her lips. "You remind me of Hannon when I first met him. Are all elves this matter-of-fact?"

"We are when we want to be, but everyone likes a man of mystery from time to time, right City Boy?" Hannon answers on Alain's behalf. "Still, you could have saved some for us. All we were left with was a Revered Brother who was as ancient as the hills. Not much of a challenge at all."

Alain shrugs and sticks out his hand to show the boots to Zevran. "For you."

"For me?" Zevran takes them into his arms and sniffs them lovingly. "Not only did you remember what I said about them, but you killed all these rabid men just to get them? Oh, this is much too good, my Grey Warden. I'm half tempted to attack you for this right in front of everyone."

"Attack him? Why would you attack someone for giving you a gift?" Alistair asks, stepping in front of Alain in a protective manner. "Besides, I think he's been attacked enough already today."

Everyone's eyes turns to Alistair in amazement, which quickly shifts to amusement as Leliana begins snickering uncontrollably behind her hands.

"It's a Templar thing, I swear," Alixire mutters, rolling her eyes.

"You have my sympathy, Dulcia," Hannon adds, giving her a hearty pat on the back.

"What?" Alistair asks in confusion, looking from Dulcia to Alain with furrowed brows. "Did I do something funny?"

Guess that book I got him didn't do any good, Alain thought to himself as Dulcia drew Alistair aside and began explaining things to him. Ah, well. It's been a strange day, so what's a little more?

He gazes down at Zevran's feet, which are now enclosed by the leather boots. He feels uncharacteristically proud of himself at the sight of them. In another time, he would have thought his solo defeat of an entire village to be his best accomplishment, but this simple act seems much more valuable to him. I really am changing, he muses. This odd little world I've come into is becoming an entirely different place than what I imagined it would be.

0o0o0o0o0o

Coming Up: The Wardens engage in a philosophical debate when the Guardian of the Ashes attempts to get them to question their motives and regrets behind their biggest mistakes.