A/N: Just a short chapter to set things up, so please bear with me. Anyway, it might seem that Alistair is in love with a certain Dalish for ages now, due to chapter released in the meanwhile, but in my story there have only 2-3 weeks (at most) passed. So 'tis a sensible amount of time to sort his feelings out, methinks. Thanks for reading and feedback. I'm humbled that there are still people starting to read this monster-sized story.

Thanks once more to Mackillian, the best grammar fairy ever.


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Interlude II: Thorns

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Silken sheet. Warm. Covered. Comfortable.

Her consciousness returned in layers, called out from a deep slumber, back to reality.

That was when she noticed a nasty, pulsating headache. The taste inside of her mouth wasn't any better.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking at the incessant glowing light in this room.

That was when she noticed that something was amiss.

The first thing was the scent—a distinct, sticky sweet mixture of ale and fresh sweat. The second was warmth, which radiated from right beside her and originated from neither the hearth nor the sheets, but from another body.

Hurting head or not, at this point, Leliana forgot all caution and sat up with a gasp. Feeling dizzy at the sudden motion, her head whirled and her pulse pounded in her ears as she dared to look beside her.

She regretted it instantly.

He was lying flat on his stomach, the sheets only covering half his lean, muscular shape and the tanned skin was enveloped in the soft, glowing lava light. The blond strands of his hair were mussed, so that one pointed ear lay bare. He still slept, which probably was the only good thing to do with this complete and utter picture of a mess before her eyes.

Turning her head, she saw the tangle of clothes and armor littering the stone floor, which showed an all too clear picture of the events last night. Leliana's mind raced and she tried desperately to remember how that could ever happen.

How? Why?

Those two simple questions lingered in her head beneath the alcohol-induced pain. After all, she was not that kind of woman, not anymore after having left this live long behind her. She shook herself, wincing lightly at the motion. She had drunk much, too much.

Fragments of pictures from last night after Lenya left resurfaced in her mind: ale, laughter and lightly teasing, flirting perhaps. Still... how could the harmless evening end up in this? Yes, Zevran was attractive in his own right, and certainly charming. On the other hand, she barely knew him and was mostly annoyed by his endless innuendos. So, why?

Leliana had no time to dwell on these thoughts as she felt Zevran stirring. He was waking up. Panicking, she blindly grabbed a pile of clothes from the ground and stormed out of the door, naked as she was.

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~V~

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Lenya was pleased.

She had surprisingly found an elven-sized leather armor set in the Warden's storage that even fitted as if it was made for her. Two new blades, a longsword and a dagger, rounded out her new appearance. The griffon on her chest easily gave away to everyone that she was a Grey Warden, but it didn't bother her. In fact, she quite liked it.

What she didn't like was the prospect of the Deep Roads ahead, and the dreams in the night mixed from memories and new dark pictures from this place had dwindled that urge even more. Her utter dislike notwithstanding, everything for the venture to the Cadesh Thaig was prepared. All that was missing were Zevran and Leliana and she had no idea where they were, nor the desire to search for them.

As Lenya turned around the corner to her room, she found at least the human and subsequently wished she hadn't. Upon seeing the Dalish, Leliana stumbled into a stop, staring wide-eyed at her like a sick, incurable halla waiting for the death sentence.

Naked.

"L-lenya?" she said, her face blossoming in all shades of pink. Oddly enough, she held a random pile of clothes and armor in her arms, without any visible pattern to what she needed to dress herself. "I was about to—"

"I don't want to know," Lenya said. She was about to leave her behind and file her behavior under general human craziness, when Zevran appeared out of the sameroom as Leliana had come from and smiled at an obviously embarrassed Leliana.

"Ah, this is normally not the reaction I experience the next morning. You are full of surprises, my dear."

And why, by all the Creators above, why was he naked doing so?

"Ugh. Ugh. Ugh." Lenya was positively sure that she never ever had used this word so much in her life before now. Utterly bewildered and disgusted by the sight, she whirled around to face the much more interesting wall, and managed to say, "Get dressed!"

Now, she really didn't want to know.

"Ah, my dear Warden, you are scandalized by the very sight of me? How unexpected, I thought the Dalish would be more open to the natural look of a body." He tsked. "We are all born naked, after all."

She huffed. "And yet you don't see running around naked like a freak."

"Alas, no." Zevran laughed and sighed wistfully. "But I do respect your wishes, Warden. If Leliana gives me my smallclothes back, that's it." She heard the muttering of the human, followed by the sound of a slap and the bang of a door.

"Deep Roads. In ten minutes," Lenya shouted after them and stormed off to her room to get the needed supplies.

In comparison to the events just now, the thought of venturing there had lost its horror.

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Waking up in her tent was strange, even more so within her bedroll.

The smell of herbs given to Alistair were overbearing within the tent, yet underneath there was always a faint lingering scent that was so distinguishably her. With all of her belongings and that scent surrounding him, he couldn't help but to feel like an intruder in an area where he did not belong. So he got up and sat amidst their half-destroyed camp, staring at the very rose that had even withstood an ambush of a full darkspawn raiding party.

It had fallen out of his backpack when he'd vainly searched for something edible within. Maker knew, he was hungry, and his mended bones still hurt badly, but watching the flower somehow had a soothing, distracting effect on his mind.

Its deep-red petals were slightly pressed flat from being in his pack for so long, but aside from that, it was as beautiful as ever—as if there hadn't been various darkspawn trampling down his tent, nor a massive fight last night. The rose seemed to ignore all obstacles, all difficulties, where normal flowers would have withered long ago and was still blooming proudly, almost defiant.

Sturdy little thing.

Alistair smiled.

In more way than one, this flower reminded him of Lenya. She was with certainty no gentle flower, but a proud, stubborn creature of nature covering herself with thorns, defying all circumstances.

Just like a rose.

Trying to reach out to it might hurt; one could get stung or even bleed at those thorns the rose was protecting herself with. But it was only possible to appreciate its beauty and grace if one wouldn't give up after the first sting of the thorns.

It took him a long time, but now he was able to see exactly this beauty of her in all perfect clarity. And he wouldn't want to have it any other way, didn't want to go back to the time where his hands were covered with wounds from desperately trying to reach out to her. From getting stung over and over again with her thorns, because she hadn't trusted him enough to let him see her real beauty that lay beneath her protection. Others could continue to get stung for all he cared, but he did not want the same fate for himself, not where he had managed to see there was more, so much more.

Through her previously pale facade was now a rich depth of color shining through, one that she had let him see. He had discovered similarities he had thought impossible before and there was care where he would have surmised contempt.

She was a rare and wonderful thing amidst all this darkness.

Just like this rose.

With passing each day, the part of him who wanted her to know all that, to make her see how beautiful she was, was becoming bigger and louder, unwilling to back down again like before. Especially now, after the sudden attack that nearly cost him his life, if it hadn't been for Lenya herself, his inner voice had never been louder and more clear. He didn't want to perish without the barest attempt of letting her know. Maybe not everything, and at the same time, something.

It was a horrifying and outright scary epiphany, and yet a very liberating one. He smiled anew while still observing the rose, watching how the light of descending dusk glimmered with its rich myriad of colors in its petals.

"That is a beautiful rose."

Alistair jolted up at the sudden voice behind him and cringed in pain at the motion.

"Oh, did I startle you?" Wynne laughed, all too gleeful. "I would normally apologize for that, but you shouldn't be up at all. So I guess it is the fitting punishment for the utter disregard of your health."

"Sorry," Alistair muttered under his breath, looking at her in the most innocent way possible. "I... couldn't sleep anymore?"

The mage was barely able to suppress her sigh. "Nonetheless, this doesn't mean you have to get up. I can only do so much, but you also must give your body the chance to regenerate itself, or my effort was all wasted." She shook her head, disapproving. "Typical youth, always so impatient. Very well, young man, off with the tunic."

His eyelids fluttered. "W-what?"

"Since you are up now, we might as well change the bandages on your shoulder." Another disapproving motion of her head, this time accompanied by a sigh." Maker's breath, just the how many injuries is that now?"

Alistair first attempted to count, but quickly gave up. "Err... I don't know?" He heaved one shoulder at her frown. "We are not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury here. Darkspawn, bandits, assassins, abominations, and about a dozen other creatures all have a problem with me being alive, but I have a problem with dying, so I make sure they die first. And since we are all using these funny stabby sticks, things are bound to get... ugly."

Wynne didn't answer verbally, but he could swear he could hear the wagging of a scolding finger behind him.

He carefully placed the rose beside him on the log and got rid of the warm tunic with deliberately slow motions. Despite his caution, it still hurt. Wynne was right; he was all but fit, and yet he couldn't stay in her tent. It felt odd and unusual to be left behind, to be separated from his fellow Warden. He not only missed Lenya, but also the resonating, calming hum of taint when she was close.

His eyes darted to the other side of camp, the bushes surrounding the supposed entrance were trampled down by the darkspawn and withered by their taint. He sighed, shoving the thought aside what would have happened if Wynne weren't there to mend broken bones. Or if he hadn't the support of his companions in battle.

Thinking it over more closely, it seemed almost disrespectful to the task, that he was sitting here and contemplating over something so trivial like giving a rose to the woman he liked—loved—instead. And still, Alistair wanted to believe that there was something more than just fighting, death, and tragedy in this world. There had to be.

The rose, as small and insignificant it however was, was proof to this.

"She will be okay."

Once more, he startled at Wynne's voice, and hadn't even noticed her leaving. He felt the slight chill of the evening breeze on his bare skin. There was the heat of the campfire, but it wasn't enough to sustain the warmth.

"I know. I'm just... worried." Alistair fell silent after that, caught in thoughts of Lenya being in the Deep Roads without him, knowing well how much she despised this place. Wynne's quiet humming and Oghren's snoring across the bonfire were the only sounds for a while before he raised his voice again.

"Wynne?"

The humming stopped, but not the wrapping of bandages, done with the practiced routine of many years as a healer. "Yes, Alistair?"

"You are a woman, right?"

She chuckled. "Last time I checked I was, yes. Is this going somewhere, or why do you ask?"

He bit his lip, feeling so very stupid for asking. "Soooo, what would you do if someone told you that they loved you?"

Alistair practically heard her smirk. Evil mage. "I'm flattered, young man, but I fear you are a bit too young for me."

"Ahhh, no. That's... not what I meant. Just... pretend you're another woman. And someone told you that they loved you. How would you react?"

Her hands briefly stopped the wrapping, only to pick it up again after a moment. "So that is what this staring at the rose is about? It is a beautiful thought, Alistair. You need to wait for the right moment to get her alone in camp, I suppose."

He felt the heat rising in his cheeks. Supposedly, he hadn't been as subtle as thought and slowly asked himself if he ever were. "I... uhh. No, I didn't..." He stopped with a sigh, feeling that objecting to the obvious would only make it even more apparent.

"Certainly." There was this amused chuckle again, the one that made him want to recoil in horror and hide until it was over. "There," she patted him lightly on the back, "I'm done. I applied some of my salve on the cuts, as well, so that there won't be any scars left. You already have enough of them as it is, hmm?"

"T-thanks." Alistair paused to pull the tunic over his head again, the woolen fabric rough against scraped skin. "I don't know... if she will like it."

Wynne smiled in earnest. "Ah, young love. Warms the heart."

"Right. I really don't know if... " He sighed, feeling the blush intensifying. "I mean do Dalish even like flowers as a gift? Maybe I'll end up insulting her with it and she will stab me in the face. She can be quite scary, you know?"

"I'm sure if the gesture is heartfelt then she will understand, Dalish or not. While bold, she is an intelligent, young lady. Though, you know her better than me, Alistair."

"Oh, yes. That helps. Really. "

Wynne smoothed the creases out of her robe and turned around to go. "Well. You can also spend a lifetime wondering, if you like that better."

Alistair's gaze fell on the rose beside him and he picked it up to look at it again.

No, he didn't want that. Not anymore.

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"I can't believe it. I once was a dwarf..."

Lenya heard Shale's muttering behind her as they made their first steps out of the entrance of the Deep Roads to leave them behind a second time. The elf hoped it was the last time she'd ever see this dreaded place, but she was also aware that it wasn't that simple for a Grey Warden.

"Elger'nan..." she breathed, blinking in the light of Orzammar's lava vent; it was blinding in comparison to the all-encompassing darkness before. She had no idea how long their journey had taken, or how deep down Shale had led them. Time had quickly lost all relevance in between the monotonous rhythm of marching and fighting within the dark tunnels and corrupted hallways.

Lenya wiped her face with the back of her gauntlet, her skin sticky and itching with their black, stinking ichor. She hated how her head was still throbbing at the taint's constant pull in her blood, which was only slowly abating with every step she took away from this place.

At least they had found what they had been searching for, and surprisingly quickly, as well. The Cadash thaig had been relatively close to Orzammar's entrance, its ruins only about a day's march away, possibly two. Amidst the fallen debris, they had found a grand dwarven figure, serving as some sort of a shrine. There, inscribed on a plate of stone, were all the names of the durgen'len who had voluntary become golems to fight against the hordes of darkspawn.

Shale's name was one of them, thousands of years ago.

She now had proof of her past, knew who she had been before. Not that Lenya wasn't happy for the golem, but she wanted nothing more than to get out of her bloodied, smelly armor and take a bath. So she accelerated her pace, passed the Captain of the Guard without giving him as much as a glance, and quickly geared toward the gates to the Diamond Quarter.

"Ah, well, I see you didn't understate the dreadfulness of this place, my dear Warden. Even with two such wonderful ladies at my side, the Deep Roads were no fun," Zevran said with the faintest hint of a pout, blowing a strand of disheveled, ichor-smeared hair out of his face. And yet, he looked not as filthy as the others and more pristine, almost as if he dodged all the blood and gore flying his way quick enough. He turned to Shale with a grin. "Ah, excuse my impoliteness. I meant three wonderful ladies, of course."

Shale only glowered at the elf and stomped off, with Leliana doing the same. Lenya looked after the odd duo, raising an eyebrow at their strange behavior happening in synch.

The bard hadn't talked much at all since the incident in the Warden quarter, aside from a few occasional glares in Zevran's direction. Down in the Deep Roads, she had even avoided getting too close to Zevran or the Dalish and had preferred the silent company of Sten and Shale.

Lenya's gaze fell, questioning, on Zevran. Even if she didn't want to know in detail what caused the human's shift in behavior all the sudden, it was still obvious to her that he was the one to blame. The other elf noticed her stare and intention. He sighed. "So you want me to talk to our lovely bard, I take it?"

"Apparently, you are the one to blame."

"Ah, such harsh words for a night of consented pleasure, my dear Warden." He bowed lightly down to her, a gesture more mocking than polite." But if you wish, then I might do this, oh fearless leader." He chuckled and quickened his pace to reach Leliana.

Sten frowned as his eyes followed the elf to the heavy iron doors leading outside of Orzammar. "Why are we still here?" Lenya wasn't sure if the Qunari actually meant standing amidst the commons, or Orzammar as a whole.

"I need a bath and the rest of the supplies. Then we return to camp, Sten."

Which was a thought Lenya was dreading and looking forward at the same time. She was exhausted from the long march and fighting in the bleak environment, but fought against the need to lie down to rest. It was a luxury she couldn't afford, not while the rest of her companions in camp were freezing and starving without sufficient supplies and gear.

She frowned. Since when had she gotten so worried about the well-being of her group? It never occurred to her before to neglect her own needs to benefit the others, not since she had left her clan and old life behind.

And there was also Alistair, whom she had declared her friend just before leaving. Now she didn't know how to face or to react to him.

This uncertainty was new, as well.

Before it, there had been always comfortable layers of hostility to hide behind for her, being the human that he was. To face him with an open mind, as a friend, would be... odd, now were the fellowship was slanted, mixed anew. Complicated, even. A part of her was afraid to lay more of herself bare, whereas the other part was longing for a person she could trust without hesitation and second thoughts. This probably was what she missed most of her clan, of Tamlen—

With a sigh, Lenya shoved the confusing thoughts aside, focused solely on getting some rest and a bath to be able to move on later. Everything else could wait. For now.

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Zevran found Leliana outside, sitting amidst new fallen, soft snow on the ground of Orzammar's stairs. The light was colored by the complex tapestry of dusk, and a red hue enveloped her human frame.

"Sulking outside with fresh air is more nice, I take it?" He laughed, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Nice to travel with the Grey Wardens, no? The guards are more generous when it comes to opening the gates. Ah, marvelous."

Leliana didn't react at first, so he moved closer, sighing. The red of her hair was nearly completely covered with the sticky black ichor, but she didn't seem to care. She picked up a bit of the snow from the ground and pressed it together with a crunching sound.

"I'm not that kind of woman. Not anymore."

"Ah, so this is your problem? I suspected it, because all the glaring gave it away, my dear." Zevran hunkered down next to her, and all mocking faded from his tone. "Then let me assure you that nothing happened that you did not agree to. I would never force someone into anything, for this is against my own personal rules and honor. Ah, you might argue now that I don't have such a thing as an assassin, but this is not true. We are not so different, my dear, and especially that night, we weren't."

She whirled around with a glare as if wanting to yell at him, but remained silent. She watched him for a long moment and frowned. "I barely know you, " Leliana finally said, voice tiny. "I normally don't do that, not with someone I don't love." And then, even more quietly, she added, "Not anymore."

"So we are married now?" He tsked, shaking his head in amusement. "Leliana, we had a pleasurable night, unfortunately due to too much alcohol. I would have preferred it another way, but don't let us make more out of it than it was."

She tensed at those words, and for more than one moment, it looked as if she wanted to object.

Zevran sighed at her reaction and felt the need to elaborate. "I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

Leliana huffed and sprang back to her feet. She faced him, eyes narrowed. "Good. Then we will never speak of this again. This was a mistake, caused by an alcohol-addled mind."

He shrugged. "As you wish, my dear."

Leliana passed him by, but stopped once more, without turning around. "We are not the same, Zevran. We never will be." With that, she hastened through the still-open gates of Orzammar, leaving him no chance to answer.

The elf did not do more than to smirk at her retreating back and followed her at a safer distance. "So you say, my dear. So you say."

He wasn't fully convinced.

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A/N: Btw, if you should wonder how Lenya looks like, I have posted a link on my profile page to a bunch of pics of her.