A/N: Wow, consider my mind blown for the awesome feedback lately. You all are fantastic and I'm really grateful for your constant support and feedback for this never-ending story of mine. Hey, but at least we make some progress today. Sort of. Maybe. Perhaps. [Sandal] Rose? Rose! [/Sandal] Enjoy :D

An easy calculation? Story + beta'd by Mackillian = BETTER story.


~*But I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
Here in this lonely place
Tangled up in our embrace
There's nothing I'd like
Better than to fall ~*

~ Sarah McLachlan – Fear


Chapter 56: Misunderstanding

.

The sun had started to go down as Alistair had finished his training.

Shivering due to the cold breeze, he walked over to the cracking fire in the center of camp and sat down in front of it. He left his weapon and shield resting beside him. Taking a deep breath, he scooped a bit of the clean snow up and ran over the heated skin of his face with it. Alistair gasped at the freezing sensation the snow caused, but it was a welcomed refreshing feeling after the hours of exertion. The training had helped him to subsequently focus and set his mind at ease. In fact, he felt good now, relaxed. His eyes flickered over the wide camp, which had grown a lot more quiet since the dwarves left and most of his companions had retreated to their new, better tents as well. Alas, in them was also Lenya, but he guessed she was understandably tired after her trip to Orzammar and the Deep Roads.

Sitting there in silence for a little while, he heard approaching steps crunching within the snow. Unbidden, his stomach made a funny, little flip, hoping Lenya had decided to keep him company at the fire, after all. He heaved his head up with a smile, but it quickly vanished again, as he noticed that it wasn't the assumed person.

"Oh, it's you." He felt the urge to hit himself at the inability to hide his disappointment in gesture and words.

Leliana laughed. "Oh, you would have preferred for me to be someone else, right?"

"I... no," Alistair hurried to say. "I'm just surprised to see you."

The bard sat down across him, warming her hands at the fire. She shook amused her head. "I like you, Alistair, but you are a terrible liar."

"Thanks?" He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I have simply hoped to—nevermind. I probably should retreat to my shiny new tent until my watch, as well."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you if you would change yours with mine. I have the second one tonight."

Alistair looked up to her. "Why?"

"With Zevran," she said, her tone and expression giving away how much she disliked the idea.

"Oh..." He blinked against his own will. "I see. I'm not keen on spending time with the assassin, but I would have thought you would lik—"

"No, I would not!" she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "How you know about that, anyway?"

"L-Lenya?" Alistair said, wincing at her fierce demeanor. The sweet and caring Leliana was suddenly non-existent, buried under all the anger. She seemed more like the Orlesian bard whom he'd heard some… interesting stories about. At the same time, it made her a lot scarier.

Leliana crossed her arms, still vexed. "News travel fast, it seems."

"It wasn't like that. I asked what happened in Orzammar and she answered. Simple thing. Not that I liked getting so much more information than needed, but Zevran? I mean Zevran? Really?"

She drummed her fingers on her crossed arms, glaring. "Alistair..."

"I... better be quiet now."

"Good." Leliana breathed out, and with it, all the tension left. Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. "It was a mistake, and one I'd rather not talk about."

He nodded. "Understood. But I'm still wondering... what exactly does a woman see in a man like Zevran? I mean, doesn't he seem to be a bit too much? The hair, the clothing, the behavior... it is all so... over the top."

Leliana looked as if she would revert to glaring any moment, but then her expression changed surprisingly to a teasing grin. "Worried? I think Lenya is less than impressed by him."

"I—no!" He felt himself flushing and hoped the red light of dusk would cover it. "I mean, he is an assassin. Who tried to kill us. Who killed people. For money. Women couldn't possibly like that, or?"

"Where I come from they do. Oh, yes." As soon she had said those words, Leliana flinched, her face contorting with an irked frown.

"I could also punch him for you, you know? I would have no problem with that."

"No." Her face brightened again and she stifled a giggle. "Thanks, but no. I can do that on my own. And probably should."

"Right. Independent woman." Alistair sighed, over-dramatically. "Chivalry is so dead, it seems."

"But you like that kind of woman, no?"

Alistair couldn't help but to grin. "Oh, yes, far more interesting. Eamon happened to have visits often from the nobles of the other bannorns, when I was young. I remember coming across a young noble girl one day, no older than twelve or thirteen. She was all dressed up, hair and make up… and incredibly stiff. I was covered in mud and hay, having worked in the stable. She looked at me as if I were some disgusting insect and turned away with an indignant sneer. Being my nine-year-old self, I wasn't really excited about girls in the first place, but that pretty much sealed the deal of 'girls are yucky and weird.'"

He chuckled at the memory. "I guess I always liked women who are more down-to-earth. I'm a simple man and I don't want to waste hours of my life discussing which tunic matches what breeches. It's tunic, breeches, padding, armor, shield, stabbing thing, ready. Simple. I like it when women are the same." Not that Lenya was ever simple. Which was another thing he liked about her, even if it was downright frustrating at times.

Leliana knitted her brows, confused. "Eamon? Who is that?"

Right, he had forgotten that he only talked with Lenya about it. "The Arl of Redcliffe. He took me in when my mother—a serving girl to the arl—died. He put a roof over my head when he didn't need to, but I wasn't raised as the arl's son. I slept and worked in the stable when I was a boy." He shrugged. "Hence my bewilderment with nobles and their pompous ways of talking and dressing, I guess. I never got used to it."

"I see. You probably never should travel to Orlais, then. The women there are very fashionable. Almost ridiculously so. Ah, but the shoes." Leliana smiled, clasping her hands together with delight. "Living with those ridiculous trends was worth it for the shoes."

Alistair raised one eyebrow, totally at a loss with the sudden change of topic. "Shoes?"

"Yes." She giggled, completely taken in by the reverie. "Shoes with delicate, tapered heels and embellishments in the front—a ribbon perhaps, or embroidery."

"I like my boots without ribbons, thank you very much. Unless you want the darkspawn to roll around on the ground laughing," he answered in bewilderment, but Leliana wasn't even listening. Instead, she seemed to be whispering of what appeared to be a shopping list for shoes. Great.

His eyes flickered beseechingly over toward Lenya's tent, as if he could make her appear by sheer will. As much he liked the bard, sometimes they had very different opinions of what an enjoyable conversation should contain. He was sure that his fellow Warden wouldn't make such a fuss about shoes, and with each ribbon color Leliana mentioned, he appreciated that particular trait of hers more and more.

At the color orange, Leliana finally noticed that Alistair did all but listen, due to his distraction by a very specific tent.

"Lenya hasn't come out of her tent since she went in earlier. She even threatened to stab me in the face, if I should disturb her."

He laughed, glad to be on a far more enjoyable topic again. "Sounds like her."

The girly humor from Leliana's voice faded, and a frown creased the lines of her brows. "You were right with the Deep Roads. Nothing you have told me comes close to what I have seen there with my own eyes. It is a terrible, forsaken place. I can't blame Lenya for hating it or wanting to never return there. But, it is harder for Grey Wardens to be there, no?"

Or not.

"It is... different." Alistair grimaced at the memory. He would prefer listing ribbon colors over a talk about the Deep Roads any day. Probably. "It's pretty much 'taint taint taint' all the time and not very pleasant for us to be there. Aside from the obvious reasons." He hoped the explanation would suffice, because he neither wanted to elaborate, nor could he. At least not without giving secrets away.

"I see." Leliana fell silent for a moment, as if mulling over his said words. The smile returned to her face. "So how are you going to approach her?"

"Huh?" Alistair was still in gloomy Deep Roads mood and thinking on Nithius' death and the disgusting broodmother, and this new change of topic threatened to break his brain. He had never thought that talking with Leliana would make his head hurt, but her jumping from topic to topic almost every minute was starting to achieve that effect.

She must have noticed his dumbstruck expression, for she added a helpful, "Lenya."

Yes, that she didn't mean the broodmother was obvious to him. Still, was talking with women always so confusing?

"Approaching?" He blinked, letting her words sink in. "Oh... that." His thoughts instantly flipped back to the rose in his tent. He opened his mouth to answer, but then he remembered Leliana's Maker story and decided not to. Maker knew, she would strangle him with her bare hands or stab him in the face if that rose from Lothering was really the rose. Which was probably a ridiculous and crazy thought in of itself, but since Leliana had her very own brand of crazy, it was better not to stir things up.

So, Alistair settled for saying a dismissive, "I don't know and I prefer not to talk about it." For now. It was good to know that he had a woman to talk to for advice, when needed, but right now he wasn't sure if his brain would survive another change of direction or topic.

Leliana fell into a thoughtful posture. "Mmhm, maybe you could give her a gift. What does she like?"

He sighed. Exactly that was what he was trying to do, but alas, she was already aslee—"Lenya!" Alistair literally jumped up at her sudden appearance at the firepit, his heart racing. Maker, he would never get used to how silently she was able to move. Even the snow under her feet hadn't made its usual crunching noise, which was puzzling and should be physically impossible. Then again, Lenya had been trained as a hunter all her life, right?

The Dalish chuckled, amused at his reaction, and now he felt his heart racing for a completely different reason. He gaped at her—and, Maker, he wished he could stop doing that every time she was near—for the way she was dressed. The exquisite armor had been traded in for simple woolen tunic and breeches, almost as white as the snow underfoot. Her hair was loose, and the long blonde strands a tangled mess around her tattooed face, covering her pointed ears completely. It was as if Lenya never worried about her appearance or was fazed about it, which was a nice change from the other women in his group. Simple.

Alistair liked simple.

He managed a smile. "Hey, you're up. Did the archdemon wake you?"

"No, the hunger did. Again." She started to stretch herself in a slow, lazy motion to shake off the remnants of sleep. The arching caused her chest to thrust forward, which gave Alistair an all too good, exclusive view from his seated position. The reluctant little part of his brain not busy with staring berated himself for doing so, which didn't hinder his treacherous eyes from continuing in the exact same activity.

Leliana's amused giggle put him out of his reverie, and to his horror, made him aware that the bard caught where his gaze had lingered. "Well," she said, drawling the word with a grin as Alistair suppressed the urge to cringe, "I think I'll leave for my tent until it is time for my shift, yes?"

"Yes, that would be breast—best—best, actually!" Alistair let out an unmanly whimper at Leliana's laughing and briefly contemplated if it would be less humiliating to jump into the flames of the campfire.

Lenya, finally satisfied with stretching her tired limbs, gave him a withering look. "Well, aren't you an oddball today?" She shook her head before seating herself on a log near the fire. "Humans."

Leliana opened her mouth to retort, but Alistair's glare in her direction must have been so intense that the words died on her tongue. "Good night," she said instead. Then she added with another giggle, "Have fun."

Alistair didn't answer, his mind was too busy with the urge to stick his head into the nearest pile of snow and never come out again.

Lenya waited until the bard vanished into her tent. "So, is your offer still valid?"

"My offer?"

"Cheese. Bread. Fire. Roasting. Hungry." She emphasized each word as if speaking with an idiot, which was exactly how Alistair felt at the moment.

"Right. I, uh, better get it then, huh?" He got up to move over to his tent, more stumbling than actually walking. Of course, under his feet, the snow made a loud creaking noise, even without armor.

Upon his return, he was greeted by the growling of Arai, who had laid himself next to his mistress and watched how she was slicing the bread retrieved from her tent.

"So," Lenya looked up to him, but didn't stop cutting the bread, "did you know that the last Grey Warden to stop a Blight was elven? Dalish, even? I found it quite interesting."

Alistair sat down and Arai growled anew. "Your dog hates me all the sudden. Yesterday, we were best friends, sharing the last slices of hardtack, and today it is 'don't come near me or I'll tear your throat out.' He is a bit moody, huh?" He tried to ignore the Mabari's angry stare and started to slice the cheese. "And, yes, I heard about that, of course."

"Why didn't you ever tell?"

The question caught him off guard. "You never asked?" Sighing at her glare, he added, "You haven't been very interested in Grey Warden history until now, to be honest. So I didn't want to bother you with a history lesson."

"Maybe I am now." As Lenya finished, she put the sliced bread on a plate right next to her and gave Arai a warning look to not come near it. Apparently, this was successful, because the Mabari didn't move a bit from where he lay. Holding up the same book Alistair had seen her carrying around earlier, she searched for a certain page and started to read:

"The wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song across the sands. Heed our words, hear our cry, the grey are sworn, in peace we lie. Heed our words, hear our cry, our names recalled, we cannot die. When darkness comes and swallows light, heed our words and we shall rise."

Alistair hummed with a nod. "'The Ballad of Ayesleigh.' Quite catchy, isn't it? Although, the not dying part, well, it is a bit far-fetched, I think." He had learned about it, back in the Grey Warden compound in Denerim, but never did it sound more exciting to him than when recited by his fellow Warden.

Her lip curved up to a smile, ever so slightly. "True, it is a bit dramatic, but I like it."

Alistair watched how she impaled the chunks of bread and cheese on a long stick to hold it over the fire. Her interest in the Grey Wardens was surprising and made him feel proud, knowing that she had come a long way with it. "By the way, that book there, where is it from?"

"From the Shaper's library. I planned to read it there, but I hadn't enough time, so I, well, took it with me."

He laughed, not believing it. "You stole the book from the dwarves? Really?"

"Borrowed, more like. I'm a Grey Warden, am I not?"

"Still, Lenya." He shook his head. "You could have simply asked me instead of stealing a book. That is not right. I would have been happy to answer your questions, as much I could. Really."

"As much you could, huh?" Lenya arched an eyebrow at him. "Hasn't been very much before now." Ouch. "Also, Sten told me to learn about the Grey Wardens' history myself." She shrugged, her eyes directed at the bread near the fire. "Which I did."

His stomach rumbled at the delicious, mouthwatering scent of melted cheese and toasted bread. As soon Lenya laid some of the pieces down on the plate, he reached for it and burned himself.

"It might be news to you, but fire is hot. Stupid." She snorted and made another few chunks ready to roast. "However, how about helping me, you lazy human?"

Alistair blinked, rubbing his burned fingers. There was no malice in her voice with those words, the prior sharpness replaced by a mischievous mocking, which was surprising. "Ah, yes. Of course."

They prepared and ate the food in amicable silence. Alistair couldn't help but to smile at the little content noises she made while she ate. This here was what he wanted. To simply spend time with her and get to know her better, of the little things in between that she otherwise used to hide.

"I was conscripted too, you know," he said after a long while of silence.

"Oh? How so?" Lenya looked up at him while licking the remains of molten cheese from her finger, which was an all too distracting motion for him.

He mentally kicked himself to answer." Err, it wasn't that I didn't want to join the Wardens, but the Grand Cleric didn't want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did. I thought she was going to have us both arrested. I was lucky."

"Why did that chantry-shemlen want to keep you?"

He snorted. "Hah, good question. It isn't that I was a prime example of a templar or very religious. As in, at all. I think she just didn't want to give anything to the Grey Wardens." Alistair took a deep breath, looking up to the clear, now starlit sky. "I suppose they're just a bit touchy about letting their templars get away, due to the learned secrets and talents. I'm a bit of an exception here. As said, lucky me. I was saved from a boring life full of sermons and preaching." He grimaced. "And mage-hunting."

Also chastity, he added as an afterthought.

Lenya tilted her head and looked at him, one her hands kept busy with kneading Arai's ear. "Duncan, huh? One of the dwarves I met knew him and met him before Ostagar," she said, excitement apparent in her voice. "As much I dislike the durgen'len way of living under all the rock and without natural light, I give them credit for their honest respect toward the Grey Wardens. They valued Duncan highly in Orzammar, it seems."

Alistair's face creased to a pained frown as a twinge of grief washed over him, mixed with an irrational feeling of guilt. He hadn't thought of Duncan in some time, his mind too busy with all things Lenya. It made him somewhat angry on himself. He didn't want to forget Duncan, nor what happened to him and his brethren.

Lenya must have noticed his somber expression, because her shoulders slumped in a dejected motion. "Emma ir abelas."

And now he'd made the woman he cared for feel bad for telling him that. Brilliant. Alistair sighed. "You don't have to, really. It is just so surreal that what happened in Ostagar is only a couple of months ago, but it feels like a lifetime already."He balled his fingers to a fist, frustrated. "It is not fair."

"Hmm," she said with a nod. "I know what you mean, lethallin."

"You keep saying that, but what does lethallin mean, exactly?"

Lenya grimaced at his horrible pronunciation. "Ugh, do me a favor and stick to the common tongue. As for the word, the translation is actually cheese-friend. Or was it cheesy friend?" She stuck the tongue out to him. "Can't remember. Your language is so cumbersome, after all."

Friend. Alistair was taken aback by her words, genuine under its joking disguise. It was one thing to think they were that, but a complete other to hear it from her lips. "Friend, huh?" A lopsided grin washed the sullen expression away, his stomach fluttering in a fuzzy way. "I would like that." You have no idea how much.

"Only when you have cheese, though," she said, matter-of-fact. "Hence, cheese friend."

"Aw, bummer." The grin widened. "And that we were getting along so well." Maker, was he flirting with her? "I mean, I was even going to name one of my children after you."

Lenya raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing him for a moment. "Let me guess: the grumpy one?"

Alistair burst into a fit of rumbling laughter. "Why, yes," he said, still snorting." You know me too well by now, I guess."

"No." She shrugged. "Your sort of humor has just become predictable after all the months of enduring it."

"Ouch, wounds to the pride are the worst. But your wit is unmatched, my lady." Yes, he was flirting... and he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Wit? Huh, curious. The elder of my clan always called that 'smartass-ing.'"

A very beautiful smartass, however. The words lay already on his tongue, as Arai growled again in his direction, making him stop. To emphasize his gesture, the Mabari inched closer to Lenya and placed his muzzle into her lap, sighing contentedly as she started to stroke his head. The hound let out a huff into Alistair's direction, accompanied by a gloating look of his deep brown, canine eyes.

You Maker-damned jealous bag of fleas.

"Before I forget, your dog ran off today with the sword you gave me earlier," Alistair said, smirking into Arai's direction. "I suspect he has it buried somewhere near the trees."

"Arai!" Lenya shoved the Mabari away and looked at him sharply. The dog faltered with a whimper, failing to not look guilty under her stare. "This is an old, valuable Warden sword crafted and meant to slay darkspawn. You can't take that and bury it away like a bone. Speaking of which, I also have a gift for you, but now I'm considering burying it somewhere out of your reach. Like you did with the sword." Arai whined apologetically and licked her hand in the attempt to appease her. Lenya was unimpressed by that and continued to glare at her hound. "Go and get it back. Now."

Now it was Alistair who was gloating as the dog wandered reluctantly off into the darkness, his posture all dejected. Lenya's sigh put Alistair's attention back to her. "Abelas." She stood up to warm her hands at the fire. "I'm not used to having a pet."

"I wouldn't call him a pet, exactly."

"Right. I rather meant to own a domesticated animal. This isn't something we Dalish do, and often it feels just so wrong."

"You haven't done anything to own him, nor to domesticate him. Arai had chosen to follow you, Lenya. He is a Mabari, a war dog, and not one of those yipping little lap dogs you carry around for show. Big difference here."

"Humans do that?"

Alistair shrugged. "Some do, I guess. The Orlesians ladies seem to prefer a more practical dog. As in one to carry around."

Lenya made a face. "Ugh. You humans are weird."

He held his hands up in defense. "Don't say that to me. Dogs and I don't get along so well, as you can see with Arai." His mouth quirked up to a teasing smile. "I suppose I'm more the cat type."

"Ugh." Lenya suppressed a shudder. "You are weird."

"Thanks, I guess. You won't tell me why you are afraid of cats, will you?"

Lenya sat down again and frowned in his direction. "No."

"Aw, too bad. The suspense is killing me."

She chose to ignore his mocking tone and comment and went on, smiling. "I would love to have a griffon, though."

"A huge bird to ride on, which is trained to rip hordes of darkspawn apart by swooping down on them with their sharp claws." Alistair paused, feigning a thoughtful pose. "Yep, much better than a Mabari or cat, also would be quite handy to fight the Blight now. Alas, they've been extinct for two hundred years, so no griffons for us."

Lenya sighed, bottom lip protruding. "Life isn't fair."

He chuckled. "You're telling me." The humor faded from his voice and expression, growing soft. "I'm glad that you are back, though." I missed you. He shook himself at her puzzled look. "I mean, being the only Warden sucked."

Her face brightened and she nodded. "Hmm, I think so, too."

Silence fell over them after that, like a blanket of snow it lay itself over the place, the cracking fire the only sound. There was no awkwardness, nor a need to bridge the tranquility with words. Alistair was content with quietly sitting there with her, to just be. It was a perfect moment of peace within the chaos surrounding them. Her gaze lay fixed on the dancing flame, and the light of the fire cast a soft glow around her face, almost ethereal. His eyes dropped to her lower lip that she was gnawing on, a telltale sign that she was sunken deep in thoughts. The motion of her teeth boring into the delicate flesh of her lip was somehow hypnotizing and awoke within him the wish—

"Ouch!" Suddenly, Alistair startled up at the clunking sound, followed by pain blooming in his feet. Arai had dropped the muddy and heavy sword right onto his boots without noticing. Within the haze of pain, Alistair believed to hear the unmistakable sound of canine snickering.

He managed to give the give the Mabari a withering look. You dirty mongrel.

Arai ignored him and danced around Lenya in the hope for praise or a treat for obeying her orders. She blinked, as if awakening from a dream, and saw much to her bewilderment how Alistair was cringing.

"Arai. Dropped. Sword. Feet." It was one of the rare days where Alistair regretted not wearing his armor, particularly the boots.

"Shall I get Wynne? That sword is heavy, after all." She looked at it. "And, ugh, filthy." Lenya let out a long, exasperated sigh in the direction of her Mabari and picked the blade up.

No," Alistair gasped, putting on his brave face. "It's already better now. I think."

She observed the muddy blade, frowning. "Abelas. I can clean it for you." She fixed the hound with a stare. "Since Arai lacks the hands to do so." The Mabari whined, well knowing that he'd gone too far. Ears flattened, he ruefully looked up to her, but the Dalish ignored him.

"You don't need—"

"A blade is to be treated well, so yes, I need to." Lenya's tone left no room for objection. "You have some cloth and sword polish?"

"Yes, in my tent." He blinked at the realization of her words. In my tent. Where the rose is. She looked at him in expectation, which made him jerk up, heart beating fast. "I'll get it. I'll get it."

Lenya nodded. "Good, I'll wait here. And have a word with Arai, perhaps."

.

~V~

.

"You know, it will be a little difficult to clean the sword with a flower."

Alistair needed a moment to process her words. Looking down to his hands, he finally noticed what was amiss.

Crap.

In his mental flailing whether to take the rose with him, and what to say if he should decide to do so, he had forgotten one elemental thing. The sword polish. And now he stood in front of her like an idiot, the rose in his hand and nothing else, gaping at her like a reindeer caught in the front of a bow.

Great. It could not get any better.

Noticing, with that thought, that his brain was somewhat functional again, he needed to suppress the urge to let out an unmanly whimper. Since there was no turning back anymore, it would be a good idea to form something that resembled words now.

"N-no. I... forgot that, I guess."

Wow. Brilliant, Alistair. I already see her swooning.

"You forgot that?" Lenya repeated and blinked, bewildered. "Wasn't the polish the reason why you left for your tent in the first place?"

"I'm such a scatterbrain." He laughed wanly, more to cover up how very nervous and lost he felt. All the prepared words, all the things he wanted to say to her had left his brain at once, leaving him bare. In more way than one. Harrumphing, Alistair approached closer to her, despite the overbearing want to turn and run away. At least the damn dog was gone, but that was only a small solace right now.

Breathe. Rare and wonderful thing in the darkness. You. Rose. Can't be too hard, right?

Lenya eyed him suspiciously. "Uh-huh."

Not knowing what to do instead, he made another step forward and lay the rose on her open palm. "H-here."

Argh, who am I kidding? I want to die. Now.

Lenya looked down at it, her lips quirked up to an amused smile. "As said, puppy, I can't polish the sword with a flower."

Alistair felt his face burning. "N-no. I-I wanted you to have this." He noticed that he was still standing in front of her, so he took a few steps back to sit down. Sitting was good. Stable.Solid.

Knitting her brows in confusion, she looked up to him. "You want me to have this? Why?"

Alistair took a deep breath to calm his nerves down. "Because looking at the rose, umm, it reminds me on you in a lot of ways." Please don't laugh.

To his good fortune, Lenya seemed way too confused to do that. "I am a rose? Are you out of your mind?"

"Yes, I guess so." He laughed, driving a shaking hand through his hair. "And, no, I wouldn't put it that way. But like the rose, you are strong, proud." He hesitated a moment. "And beautiful. I-I found it in Lothering. I should have left it there, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would have come and destroyed it."

"Lothering? That shemlen village?" Lenya let out a gasp. "That was months ago."

"I know." Alistair nodded, feeling a bit of the tension fading. "There is so much darkness, death, and ugliness in this world, but some things are worth preserving, like this rose. So I did. I've had it ever since."

Lenya stared at its deep red petals, the lines of her tattooed forehead furrowed in confusion. The silence between them grew to something unbearable. Much to his dismay, it stretched further and it took it a long moment before she spoke again. "And you want to give this flower to me?"

"I already said that, haven't I?" He smiled, unsure. "Consider it a gift."

"A gift. This flower. To me." Lenya looked subsequently to him, then to the rose in her hands, her eyelids fluttering.

Alistair started to get nervous again, shifting in his place. "Yes? It was just a stupid impulse. I don't know. Was it the wrong one?"

Again, agonizing silence. "I-I need to go now," Lenya said after a long moment and bolted up from her seat to storm off to the trees nearby, the rose still in her hands.

For a long time, he just sat there, staring into the darkness where she had vanished, his mind unable to comprehend what just happened.

"Alistair?" A familiar voice somehow pierced through the haze and he turned mechanically around to its source, seeing Wynne standing there. "Are you okay?"

No. "Yes. I... I guess I'm just tired. Yes, tired. Wake me when it is time for my watch, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he darted toward his tent, the need to shut the world out around him overbearing.

.