A/N: This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in September 2017. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?

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Chapter 2: Tainted

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Alistair had often heard of women swooning at men's feet, even imagined what it would be like if it happened to him. This, however, was not like his imaginings.

He caught the Dalish before she could hit the ground; he now stood, helpless and alone, in the most secluded part of Ostagar, with the woman who had called him an idiot half-propped in his arms.

This day kept on giving its all to ensure he had the worst possible time.

"Um..." He looked down at her and noticed how heated her face looked. Underneath the grime and blood, her cheeks had adapted an unnatural redness that indicated fever. Come to think of it, it was a downright miracle that she'd survived as long as she had. And with no visible changes caused by the taint whatsoever. What a... mysterious woman. Alistair shook his head, letting out a self-depreciating snort at the new mess he found himself in. However, before he could wallow in the misery his day had continued to be, he needed to find help for her: a healer, perhaps. It was his job to take care of the Warden recruits, after all, though this was not at all what he'd imagined falling under the terminology of 'taking care'.

Trying not to think too much about it, he lifted her up into his arms and secured her there. Slowly, he walked down the ramp, one gauntleted hand under her knees and the other cradling and stabilizing her head and neck. He was surprised by how... light she was. Regardless, walking with another person in his arms was all but easy. Especially since, once he had returned to the livelier part of Ostagar again, he nearly ran into Benson, of all people.

His fellow Warden stared at him, then at the elven woman in his arms, and back at him. He flashed him a toothy grin. "Oh my, look at you... quite the womanizer after all. No wonder you didn't want to spend the night in the Pearl, then."

"Benson, quit the crap," Alistair snapped at the burly man. "Instead, make yourself useful and go to the mage encampment. Find help. There is an elder mage named Wynne..." He trailed off as his fellow Warden stepped closer to look at the woman in his arms.

"Who is she?"

"This is the Dalish, the third recruit. She is-"

Benson's ginger mustache twitched as he pursed his lips. "... tainted." So he felt it too. Of course he did. At least this caused him to cease his stupid comments and spurred him into action. "Wynne, you said, Junior?" Alistair only nodded numbly and watched him leave, keenly aware of standing in Ostagar's main area with an unconscious woman in his arms.

It didn't take long until someone patted him on the shoulder. Alistair slowly turned around. It was the quartermaster who provided the king's troops with supplies. "What is wrong with her? Did you overwork her? Servants need rest too, you know."

"Excuse me?" Alistair felt himself getting worked up on her behalf. How could someone mistake her for a servant, clad in armor and bloodied as she was? Just because of her pointed ears? He glared at the man for his audacity. "She is a Warden recruit who just came back with Duncan. She must have strained herself too much during the journey, or otherwise she wouldn't have fainted."

"Oh." At least the bald, stocky man had the grace to look ashamed. "My mistake, then."

"Yes," Alistair hissed out between gritted teeth. "Your mistake, indeed."

"Look, I don't want trouble, especially not with your order," the man said, wringing his hands. "So why don't you come with me? You can put her down on my cot, since she... must get heavy?"

Alistair was torn between considering the offer genuine or dubious. Besides, he was much more afraid of tripping and dropping her than of his arms getting tired. Huh, who would have thought that carrying around a gigantic silverite kite shield just about everywhere for years had such useful side-effects? But he was getting side-tracked with trivialities – it was far more important that he got her out the line of all these curious stares until aid arrived. Hopefully soon.

And so he followed the man who more slinked than walked back to his close by merchant stall. The place was still open, but to the side of the main area and therefore offering a bit more privacy. The quartermaster hurried to shuffle a disorderly pile of flasks and documents to the side and waved him toward the cot. "Put her down... here."

Cautiously, Alistair lay the Dalish down on the thin, rough cot next to the wooden cart. From the twist of disgust in his expression, he could see the man already was regretted his generosity. "Wait? Is this... blood?"

Alistair only shrugged."Probably? The Commander and her must have run into darkspawn on their way back, I guess."

His eyes went wide, and he shuddered. "The elf... fought darkspawn, and lived?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Well, she is a Warden recruit, after all."

"Right," the quartermaster breathed out. "Sorry about that, by the way. I'm just a bit on edge, with the impending battle and all. And I have sent a worker on an errand hours ago, and the damn elf still hasn't returned."

"Maybe you should have treated your worker better, then," Alistair scoffed under his breath and took off his gauntlets one by one. With a mental note to retrieve them before the man could claim and sell his gear as his own, he put them down next to the cot. Leaning over, he reached out to touch the elf's forehand, but yanked his hand back in the last moment. Alistair inhaled shakily, trying to calm himself by reminding himself that he had done nothing wrong. It was just to check her temperature, after all. Trying anew, he found her skin burning to his touch, causing him to frown. Damn, he could only hope that Benson would return soon with the mage. What was taking them so long, anyway?

Alistair turned to the man, who helplessly hovered at his back. "Do you have any herbs?"

"Herbs?" He blinked. "Yes, all sorts, actually. A group of soldiers brought me back a fresh batch from the Wilds. What do you need?"

"Well..." Alistair trailed off, unsure. He knew of elfroot and its healing properties, of course, but beyond that he'd never paid much attention to botany lessons in the Chantry. It hadn't been the most thrilling topic for his teenage mind, to put it mildly. Now, he regretted his inattention to the topic, since he didn't want ending up poisoning her. "Um, if you have a clean..." he stressed this word."... cloth and some cold water, that should be enough."

The stocky man nodded and briefly vanished to retrieve the desired items. Alistair looked down at the blond Dalish once again and frowned. Even more so than of her fever, he was worried about the fact that she was still unconscious, unmoving. To calm himself, he reached out to feel her pulse point, finding it thrumming a quick but steady rhythm underneath his fingertips.

"Here..." Startled at the sudden voice, Alistair yanked his hand back, as though being caught doing something naughty. Trying to curb the blush spreading across his face, he took the cloth and wooden bucket from the man.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Thank you." Dunking the cloth into the water, he began to tentatively wash the dark blood from her face. Maybe he shouldn't do this. It seemed far too invasive being so close to her unconscious form... yet he couldn't do nothing until help arrived. It just never sat well with him, seeing others in pain or need. Alistair also hoped the stark contrast between her heated skin and the cool water would cause her to stir eventually. But the Dalish remained still and sleeping, even as the water in the bucket turned black and her face was clean again – or cleaner, at least. Putting the bucket down, he breathed out, his gaze resting on her forehead a moment longer than necessary. With the blood no longer covering the skin there, he could see her whole tattoo. To him, its swirling, intertwined and dark lines looked a bit like... horns? Huh, curious. He wondered what the meaning of-

"There you are!" Hearing Benson's voice, Alistair started, feeling once more like a guilty child.

Of course, his fellow Warden noticed and bestowed upon him a knowing grin. "Already growing fond of the girl, 'eh? The Commander won't like that, Junior."

"I'm not..." Alistair protested, but the elder mage – Wynne- pushing past him interrupted any further words.

"Take your childish quarrel elsewhere, you both," she snapped, before leaning over the elven woman.

"A-aye, ma'am," Benson said, casting his blue eyes downward. Then he leaned in to Alistair and quietly added, "she is a healer, so your girl should be fine."

Alistair's blush seared through his cheeks, and for a minute he thought his face was on fire. "She is not..." he stopped with a sigh and added in a lower, sharper voice, "you are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Benson only gave him a casual shrug. "Hey, I wouldn't mind calling her my fellow Warden. There aren't exactly many women around in our order right now, in case you haven't noticed."

He rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, I bet you would like that."

"Eh, the elven gal seems a bit too young for me though. She is..." His fellow Warden grinned at him. "... much more your age."

"Ugh, you are the worst."

Benson's grin widened. "Yeah, love ya too, Junior."

"Quiet!" Wynne groused, causing Alistair and Benson to whip around to face her. "I need to concentrate."

Suddenly, the air prickled on his skin, making his fine hair stand on end. It was the telltale sign of magic being used. Well, this and the pale blue light which bloomed around the mage's hands, of course.

"M-magic, you are using magic?" The quartermaster asked, fear in his voice.

Benson scratched his head, ruffling up a few ginger strands of his long, tied-back hair. "Maybe we better take her to our camp instead?"

"I need to lower her fever first," Wynne told him, pointedly ignoring the other man. "You were right for seeking me out. She is... very ill."

Unbidden, Alistair felt his stomach twisting into way too many knots. "I know. I... felt it. The taint, I mean."

"Yes, I've heard of you Wardens being able to do that." Tilting her head, Wynne hummed quietly, while her magic flared up again. For a long moment, she remained silent as she concentrated on her task. Then, breathing out, she shook her head. "So young, still. I take it that she is Duncan's newest recruit?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes."

"I see. Now I understand his reason for rushing as much as he did to reach Ostagar. Considering how sick she is, it is a miracle she's survived the journey at all. Still..." she clucked her tongue in a disapproving manner. "I might need to have a word with your Commander, since her fever wasn't caused by her sickness alone. It was simply careless to push her so far so quickly in this condition, despite his good intentions." Another wave of healing magic disappeared into the Dalish's body through her hands.

"Will she be okay?" Benson surprised Alistair by speaking what he had been thinking."I mean, at least for now?"

Wynne wiped her brow with the sleeve of her red robe and sighed. "Yes. I managed to lower her fever, but I fear it won't last."

The Wardens shared a look, both well aware how there was now just one thing which could save or ultimately kill her – the Joining. "There is a way," Alistair said, aware of not being able to speak freely, "to, um, cure her of this sickness. You know what I mean, I think." At least he hoped she would, seeing as she had spoken of the Joining before and knew of it, in a general sense.

"Ah, yes." Recognition dawned in her pale, mellow face. "Then it had better happen sooner rather than later. Let's get her into my tent for the moment, so I can keep an eye on her condition." Standing up and stretching her back, Wynne noticed their hesitance to move. "Well, she can hardly stay here, can she? Unless there is a tent already prepared for her in your camp, and you know which it is, of course?"

His fellow Warden smirked at him. "Maybe give her yours then, Alistair?"

He ignored his comment. "Duncan would know, but I have no idea where he is right now. So, err, your tent, then?"

"Good." The mage agreed, and her lips twitched with amusement when Alistair failed to move toward her right after. "What are you waiting for then, young man? You don't expect me to carry her there, do you?"

He blinked, staring blankly at the sleeping woman on the cot, then back at Wynne. "Err, no?"

"Want me to carry her, Junior?"

"No!" He straightened, wiping his hands on the sides of his armor to quell his nerves. "But could you take, um, my gauntlets back to camp, lest the quartermaster sells them for profit. I really don't need any darkspawn gnawing on my unprotected hands. Or worse, have Gable yell at me for not taking care of my equipment."

"Pfft, as if I would do that, Warden," the man retorted in a tone that revealed how he totally would.

"Sure thing, Junior." Benson did as he was told, though of course not without letting a remark follow. "Just remember that you owe me one for all the favors I have done for you today."

"Right... as long it isn't dancing the Remigold..." Alistair muttered, more to himself than the other man. Stepping toward the cot where the Dalish lay, he bent to pick her up. Securing her in his arms, he tried to concentrate on the way ahead instead of the warmth of her underneath his bare hands.

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Nervously pacing up and down for what felt hours, Lenya finally saw the door of Marethari's Aravel opening, and her keeper and the Warden shemlen stepped outside. Finally. After too long, their talk in private had ended. She rushed to their side, anxious to know what they were going to say.

"Your Keeper and I have spoken, and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you," the Warden shem – Duncan – announced with a stern nod. "My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When I leave here, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."

"What?" Dread washed over her like an icy downpour, numbing her limbs as her throat tightened. Tamlen… he… - and now she would be sent away too? No. She would not accept this. She gritted her teeth as she glared up at this shemlen who dared such audacity. "No!" Lenya snapped, and the gloved hands at her sides balled into fists. "I refuse to be sent away with this shem! My place is with the clan!"

"I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her." Tears began to form in Marethari's eyes, and she tried to embrace Lenya, but she ducked away. She couldn't stand the contact.

"Do not coddle me as if I am three years old." Glowering, Lenya blinked angry tears away. "This is serious!"

"Yes, da'len, it is." The Keeper nodded calmly at her outburst, which only made her angrier. "Since your life is in danger if you stay, but so are all our lives. A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south, and a new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm," she told her in the same infuriating calm tone, "if being a Grey Warden is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."

"No, I would rather die than to leave!" Lenya was faintly aware of clinging to her keeper's arm and the plaintive tone in her voice that sounded far too much like whining. But the panic about losing the one and only home she'd ever known rising inside her made her forget all of her usual pride. "My clan is all I know! Keeper, don't send me away, I beg you!" She couldn't lose them, too. Not after all that had happened.

Marethari looked at her with tears in her eyes and seemed to hesitate in her insistence. But only a moment later, her expression hardened again as she turned to the shem, nodding. "Do what you must, Duncan."

The shem let out a sorrowful sigh, which was nearly lost to the pounding of her heart in her ears. "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."

"And I, as the Keeper of this clan, acknowledge this Right."

"Nooo! Ar din'him sa dorf'len! Ar din'isala ven shem'alas!" Her knees buckled under her weight, and she crashed to the leafed, muddied forest ground. No longer caring to uphold any kind of pretense, Lenya let her head fall into her hands and sobbed.

Crying out, Lenya lurched awake, jostled and disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a warm, mellow hand touching her forehead. "Shht, it is alright, child," a soft voice said next to her, a hand brushing through her hair.

"A-ashalle?" she croaked, her voice rough. Blinking her surroundings into sight, Lenya found herself staring at the dark and thin canvas ceiling of a tent. Memories of what happened and where she was came into her focus next, as much as she wished they wouldn't. Her desperate attempts to escape this Warden shem and run back to her clan had led her here after all. Ostagar. Fighting a shemlen war.

Finding herself lying on some kind of bedding, she sat up and threw the blanket away from herself. The motion of it was too quick, making her head spin. Groaning, she touched her forehead to the ground and give herself some semblance of stability. It didn't help much, other than making her aware of the wetness around her eyes.

"Easy there, young lady." There was this voice again, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

Hastily, Lenya wiped at the tears and glared at to the person sitting next to her. No, this person wasn't Ashalle. Of course not. She was gone, like the rest of her clan. They left her behind to flee what the Keeper called the Blight and sent her on her way with this damn shem promising a cure for her sickness. Her stomach lurched at the thought, twisting into too many knots..She was caught here now, with no way to escape. Feeling new tears pricking hotly at the corner of her eyes, Lenya glanced away from the strange elderly woman watching her in silence. As she buried her face in her hands, she felt the woman's hand brushing over her tousled, long hair again.

Lenya flinched away from her touch. " I don't need your pity, shem!"

"Good," she replied, a smile in her voice. "For I have none to give."

That made her look up to her again, the reply most unexpected. She noticed that the gray-haired shem woman was dressed in a red, form-fitting robe. A mage, perhaps? It would explain the thrum of magic, of the Beyond's pull she faintly felt. Lenya's gaze hardened upon her. "What are you doing here in my tent?"

"Well, but you are in my tent, my dear." Turning to stand up, the mage left the tent, and returned with a cup in her hands just moments later. "Here, drink this. You must be parched, and this will help you to get on your feet again." Lenya eyed the proffered cup with distrust and did not take it from her.

"Maker, child. I didn't heal you only to poison you again with a brew." The shem clucked her tongue. "Do you really think I would stoop so low?"

"Yes. I do not know you, in fact." Shems are not to be trusted, her mind added, almost immediately.

"Well, my name is Wynne, and I looked after you for the past hours. I am glad to see you waking up and in good spirits again, given your... condition." She frowned, which wrinkled her pale forehead even further."You were very sick and burning up when your fellow Warden brought you here. I was able to lower your temperature with my magic, but it won't last for long."

"My... what?" Lenya faintly remembered the odd, talkative shemlen she had set out to find here in Ostagar – if only to finally get away from the man who took her from her clan against her will.

The mage flicked her hand, and Lenya felt the tinge of magic prickling on her skin as the content in the cup started to steam. "Here, drink. You need it."

"Fine,"she gave in with a sigh and took it. As she held it close in her hands without drinking, the bittersweet scent of elfroot wafted into her nose. "Ugh."

"It is a medicinal herb tea I brewed after you got here," Wynne explained, unbidden. "I have only warmed it up for you again, since it is more digestible for your nervous stomach this way."

"I know,"Lenya mumbled in reply, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. Ashalle used to make it for me when I was – she stopped the thought, forced herself to. With a heavy heart, she slowly drank, taking small sips. She both hated and yearned for the familiarity of this beverage; caught between wanting to savor it and flinging the cup and its contents against the canvas wall. For a moment, the warmth of it gave her a sense of calm, however fleeting it was.

"I spoke with Duncan, your commander-"

"This shem is not my anything!" Lenya harshly cut into her words, putting the now emptied wooden cup down.

"I see," the human hummed, seemed to deliberate on her next words. She sat down next to the Dalish on the ground and folded her hands in her lap. "I heard you aren't here out of your free will, and that your sickness is the reason. Even then, you tried to escape him and run back to your clan several times." The thin lines of her mouth curved upwards and amusement weaved into her words. "Impressive how you made the Warden Commander work to bring you here." She only stared at the mage, unable to discern what she wanted to achieve with her words. "However, the extra strain put on your ill body wasn't beneficial for your health and also a factor in you passing out not long ago. You remember that, don't you?"

Ah. "Why do you even care, shem?"

"Because I was the one healing you, young lady." She let out a sigh. "I understand you are a long way from home, from your people but even so, you have to take better care of yourself. If not for me or the Wardens, do it for the people you care about."

"They are all gone now..." Lenya said under her breath, her voice barely more than a whisper. Swallowing thickly, she blinked the tears away and felt her anger rising. No, she wouldn't cry anymore, not in front of them, ever. She was Dalish and proud to be. If not that, what was left for her? Never again shall we submit. She couldn't show them even an inkling of weakness. "Stop meddling and prodding, human. It is none of your business."

"Maybe I am meddling," the mage shemlen admitted with a nonchalant shrug and chuckled. "Isn't that what old people such as myself do?"

Lenya only made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. What was the deal with this human?

"To be honest," she continued, "I'd rather be in the tower now than participating in the war, but sometimes we don't have a choice and do what we must do. Maybe joining the Wardens is a new chance for you, even if it is an unwanted one." She tilted her head and looked at her intently. "And this will certainly be the one that saves your life. So it is worth a try at least, is it not?"

Ah yes, the supposed cure for her sickness that warden shem promised and dragged her here for to Ostagar against her will. For a good amount of the distance traveled he did so in quite the literal sense, even. Especially after her various escape attempts, after which he had her bound and thrown over his horse like luggage. Her expression shifted to a scowl. "It wasn't my choice, I want nothing of it."

"And yet you are here," the mage simply stated. "What does this make you then?"

The question threw her for a loop. Instead of replying, Lenya rushed to her feet, her patience spent. "Can I go now?" Why was she even asking for permission? "I'm going now," she quickly corrected herself.

Wynne bestowed her with a knowing look, frustratingly so. "Oh, certainly, my dear."

"Ugh." Before she had a chance to storm out, Lenya noticed the lack of her weapon belt around her hips and whirled around, furious. "Where are my belongings? My weapons? You took them away!"

"I did nothing of this sort, young lady. Your fellow Warden took them for safekeeping, as he went back to the Warden encampment. You will most likely find him and your belongings there, in the southern part of Ostagar."

That thieving shem'alas, how dare he touch them, take them away from her? Lenya balled her hands to fists at her side. Not answering, she rushed out of the tent and headed, with quick, angry steps, toward the encampment of the Wardens.

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Sitting in front of his own tent, Alistair eyed the two slightly curved blades sheathed in the belt lying on his lap. The dark brown leather sheaths of the blades were sturdy and ornamented with fine, intertwined lines of leaves and vines. Fitting for the weapons of a Dalish, he supposed. What really really caught his eye was a smaller dagger in a plain leather sheath, however. Taking it out of the sheath to still his curiosity, he noted a similar curved blade and the intricate, foreign carvings on its hilt. The dagger itself was old and worn, the blade blunt and scratched. To him, it made no sense that someone would want to carry it around in this state, since it couldn't be used for anything.

"Oy, went under the rogues after all, did ya?"

The sudden voice made his head snap back up, bringing Daveth into the focus of his vision. Feeling caught, Alistair hid the blade within his lap. "I can assure you, the only way I will ever be a roguish sneaky type and do what you guys do will be running headlong into every trap possible. And thus disarming them for everybody else."

"Hmm, sounds painful."He laughed."So ya better not, mate."

"I don't plan to, believe me. I like using my shield to bash darkspawn in the head. Or hiding behind it."

"So whadda ya doing with these weapons then?" Daveth nodded toward the weapon belt in his lap. Damn this man and his curiosity. "Have you stolen it somewhere? And, if so, can I have these?"

"S-stolen?" Alistair sputtered. He couldn't believe it. "N-no, of course not. I'm only keeping them safe until -"

"You!" The sudden, very livid arrival of a particular elven woman stopped Alistair in his tracks. Heedless of all the other Wardens around her, she stormed directly toward him, her whole 5'2" of height shaking with rage. With someone else her size and trim, lean stature, it would have looked comical, but with her it was downright terrifying, making him wince. Especially as her gaze fell on the belt he still held onto. "Shem'alas, you stole my weapons!" A few foreign curses in her native language followed her glare before she snatched her belt from him and whirled around. Noticing almost instantly how something was amiss with it, or rather missing still, she turned around again. Oh crap. Everyone around him had fallen deadly silent and were staring at the scene unfolding before their eyes. His heart racing, Alistair wished he could dissolve into thin air or at least fling the dagger in another direction and blame it on wild animals. "How dare you touching my belongings?" Gloved hands balled into fists, she looked all too ready to use them on his face. He liked his face the way it was, so he quickly and meekly returned the blade to her.

"I-uh, just kept it safe until your return, really."

But the Dalish wasn't interested in hearing an explanation or staying. Having reclaimed what was rightfully hers, she rushed into the other direction without looking back. So much for making a good first impression. Or a second, in his case.

"Oh suuure you haaaave," Daveth drawled in her stead, sounding far too amused for his taste. Alistair also noticed his appraising stare on her rapidly retreating backside – which would have annoyed him, if he weren't too busy shrinking into himself. "She is a wild one, innit? I like that."

"Pfft, you like everything on two legs with tits," Junan cut in, snorting. "Besides, this woman would cut your dick off quicker than you can say 'Dalish', I'm sure." He turned to Alistair with a shit-eating grin. "So that is the recruit who managed to exhaust the Commander so much that he needed to rest for a few hours after his arrival? I can see now why. Also heard she tried to escape a couple of times and run back to her clan. Duncan had to chase after her each time and rein her in to bring her here."

"She did what?" His face still flushed, Alistair's eyes went wide. "Even with the Blight sickness eating her alive?"

"Aye." His fellow Warden nodded, still grinning. "The darkspawn won't know what hit them." Having met her two times so far and on both occasions furious and glaring, Alistair was more than inclined to agree.

While he still digested the information given to him, Duncan emerged from his tent in the center of their encampment. His mentor walked across the camp to reach them, halting in front of Junan and the Warden recruit. "Ah good, Daveth, you are here. Find Jory and then meet me, armed and armored, at the large bonfire in the center."

"Aye, boss, will do." Daveth mock-saluted, though he turned to leave right after.

As he greeted Alistair with an acknowledging nod, he noticed just how exhausted Duncan looked, despite his rest. His deep russet complexion had taken on a dull ashen tone, and his eyes were somewhat bleary and reddened. "Alistair, where is the new recruit who arrived with me?"

"Um, well, she was here, but you just missed her, actually." He cleared his throat as he stood up. "She left only moments ago." Better not to mention this whole gaffe with her weapons, since he seemed troubled enough already.

"Left?" A panicked edge mixed into his mentor's voice, which he wouldn't have understood were it not for Junan's tendency to always gossip like a fishwife.

"The camp, I mean. Not Ostagar," he hurried to add. "... I hope."

Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand. "Maker's breath."

"That bad, huh?" Alistair suppressed the grin that wanted to tug at his lips. For Duncan's sake.

Junan next to him was far less subtle, however. "Heard you had some hard days with her, Commander."

Duncan sighed, letting it fade into a quiet groan. "To put it mildly. Her determination to put distance between herself and myself has been... challenging, but we are here at last." His eyes slid sideways to Junan: a quiet warning to not push the issue further. "And that is all that counts."

"Of course," was the noncommittal agreement, "as long you are sure that Dalish is indeed worth the all trouble, especially so close to the battle."

"I would not have conscripted her if I did not think she had promise."

"Conscripted?" A bark of laughter escaped Alistair. "You had to conscript her? Maker, she really doesn't want to be here, huh?" Given how sick she was, her unwillingness was even more odd.

"She will have time to adapt to her new life, after the battle," Duncan said in the tone that didn't leave room for discussion. "For now, it is important we concentrate on the preparations for the Joining."

"I thought Galen already did that?" Junan asked, frowning.

"Yes, thankfully. But, as always, the recruits have to do their parts too, of course." He turned sideways to Alistair. "I need you to find her and then meet me at our day post by the bonfire. It is time for you to lead your charges through the Wilds."

"Find her?" Alistair nearly sputtered, shaking his head. "Duncan, she isn't exactly what you would call cooperative."

"Oh, I am sure you will find a way, Junior." Junan nudged him with his elbow, which made Alistair roll his eyes at his fellow Warden, but didn't stop him from doubling down. "Use your charm to rein in the lady."

"If you want her to abandon Ostagar and run back to her clan after all, I just might," he shot back, his tone biting.

"Are you done bickering now?" Duncan simply asked, his gaze stern. "Or are there any more mages you need to sass, Alistair?"

"Junan isn't a ma...- oh that." With all that had happened, the unwilling weasel-like mage had already slipped his mind. He shrugged. "What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me here in camp. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

Duncan shook his head. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair felt his gut knot up. Duncan also utilized guilt as a weapon now, which wasn't wholly fair. Even if there was truth in his words. The picture of Teyrn Loghain and his sharp, judging words about the Wardens came back before his eyes, unbidden. "You're right, Duncan. I apologize," he gave in. Letting out a frustrated hiss, Alistair dragged a bare hand through his hair. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Just give me a moment to get ready and -" he trailed off in favor of reclaiming his missing armor pieces and weapons from his tent, glad to feel their familiar weight in his hands. At least he would now be armed when meeting her, so he could hide behind his shield when she would inevitably resort to glaring at him again. "But if I don't come back -"

"Maker, you treat her as if she is an ogre, when she is just a homesick, young gal, Junior." Normally, the older Warden had the patience of a saint, especially with his brand of humor. So this made his sudden outburst even more unexpected. "I know we were all jesting about her furious appearance here, but maybe, simply try treating her like a person instead?"

"I-" Shoulders slumping, Alistair glanced away. His chest tightened as guilt settled in once more. Perhaps he had been carried away by it all, by the amusing anecdotes of her gruff behavior and escape attempts. She seemed to him more like a mystical creature than a person who was sick with the Blight and cut off from the life and all the people she'd ever known. Not everyone chose to be a Warden like he had, and Junan's words were an unwanted but important reminder of that. Maker, come to think of it, he didn't even know her name, least of all anything else. Alistair didn't expect her to share anything with him, considering how their two meetings had gone down so far. Yet it wouldn't hurt to at least ask her. Her being a Warden recruit made her his responsibility as well, and he had to take care that they, and she in particular, were prepared before meeting darkspawn in the Wilds. Not that he looked forward to this part himself, but as a full-fledged Warden his lead was needed.

"You are right. I really should try this," he said eventually, determined to see it through. Duncan was counting on him, after all. And he, sort of, owed it to the Dalish to give her a chance. At least finding her in the giant ruins had been made easier due to being able to sense the taint in her. Not thinking longer about what that meant, Alistair set out for his task.

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The tumbled walls of the ancient ruins stretched upward to loom overhead like the ribs of some massive beast. Overgrown patches of tall grass hugged the stones' ends here and there, while small plants shot up in the cracks between the cobblestone path. They swayed gently in the late-summer breeze and basked in the sun's glow. Despite its peaceful picture, it felt devoid by life to her, as covered in stone as everything here was. Neither the wilderness slowly consuming the aged architecture, nor the moss gripping every wall could shift this impression. To her, it was more an imitation of nature, a last defiant flare of it, not like home. Never like home.

Lenya dragged her hand along the walls as she walked, with far less urgency than before. The stone was hot to her touch; the heat even permeated the thick leather of her gloves. Her fingers splayed along each crack within, its white surface made smooth by centuries of rain and wind. It was as much a mindless, idle activity to her as getting to know the perimeters of this dreaded place that felt so much like a prison. A very wide, overcrowded, stinking and loud prison at that. Creators, not a single moment passed without someone yelling or crying. It Felt like a place where bleating cattle were kept until they were led to the slaughter.

Considering how close the impending battle appeared to be, it seemed to be a fitting notion somehow. Meeting their foolish keep-...king earlier hadn't exactly filled her with hope regarding their overall chance of survival. Alas, this also included her, as caught as she was in this place now.

Behind her, something loud and metallic clattered upon stone. She snapped a suspicious glance over her shoulder toward the source and saw how a flat-eared servant grovelled to his feet to gather the batch of weapons he'd dropped.

Pathetic.

Her face twisted into a scowl, and she accelerated her steps to get away from this undignified imitation of an elf. Was this her life now? Being around only shemlen and flat ears who served them without question? If so, dying of this strange sickness seemed the far better, quicker and less painful option. Then again, their idiotic keep-... king, who thought of strategy as boring, might do the same trick. If she even lived long enough to see them fail spectacularly, of course.

Sighing at the thought, Lenya looked upward to determine the current time. With her hand, she shielded her eyes to hinder the glare of the sun from blinding her. It still stood high, framed within a clear blue sky, indicating it was early midday at best. Having long since fulfilled the urge to get away from the annoying, thieving shem, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself now. Stopping again, she breathed in deeply, only to immediately wrinkle her nose at the stench coming from the place with animals constantly… barking? Underneath the tang of hay and musk, it smelled similar to freshly skinned bear fur that hadn't aired out enough yet.

She coughed to keep the sudden bout of nausea at bay, but, being too curious, she still found herself walking in the direction of the animals. Lenya had heard stories of fearsome war-beasts from Ashalle and the older hunters that traded in shemlen cities, but had never seen a hound up close. Such animals were revered by the shemlen only, and they rarely ventured so deep into the Brecilian Forest as to meet one of the clans. Except for these damn three shemlen with whom everything beg-

"Are you the new Grey Warden?"

Being so caught up in thoughts and regrets, Lenya hadn't even noticed that the way she treads had come to an end and left her standing here, in front of the animals' kennel. Only a flimsy wooden fence separated her from the massive war hounds, but she didn't feel threatened. Most of them simply sat in their pen and peered at her with mild disinterest, if they reacted at all to her presence.

"I could use some help," the voice tried anew, reminding her of being addressed earlier.

Her head snapped up to find yet another, older human looking at her expectantly. He was clad in rough leather armor, his skin a golden brown. His dark, shoulder-long strands and beard were peppered with gray. He kind of reminded her of that damn Warden shem, but then again humans looked all the same to her. She crossed her arms and glared up at him. "Why should I help you?"

"This is a mabari. Smart breed, and strong." He gestured to the pen beside him. "His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first."

Lenya's defiant stance softened. "He's... sick?" Like me.

The shem nodded, the lines of his face furrowing further as he frowned. "I will have to put him down if he doesn't get his treatment. To help him, I need to muzzle him first, but I fear being bitten and contracting the darkspawn taint. You, however..." He pointed at her. ":.. are a Grey Warden, or soon will be. All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about is some tooth marks."

Without answering, Lenya stepped closer to the pen and stretched to peer over the high wooden fence. Behind it, the hound sat huddled against the stone wall in the furthest corner. Ears flattened, the animal trembled and saliva trailed in strings and foamy gobs from his mouth. Sensing her gaze, he heaved his muscular head to look at her with a quiet whine, before falling back into his routine of sickness-induced apathy.

Her throat tightened and she had to blink fast to keep the tears at bay. Seeing the animal struck with the same sickness burning inside of her was too close for comfort. "I'll do it," she announced quickly. "I want to help him."

"Thank the Maker!" The human let out a sigh of relief and approached her to hand her a weird dark leather construct. "I would be loathe to lose such a fine mabari."

Lenya eyed the foreign... thing before taking it. "How...?"

"This is the muzzle, of course. Put it over his head and jaw," the shemlen explained. "But before you do that, let him smell you. Show him you are no threat."

She didn't reply, already too focused on taking measured steps forward, as he opened the gate to the pen. Her breath quickened as she advanced on the animal and briefly caught in her throat when she saw its massive size up close. The beast was easily three feet high at the shoulder and covered in coarse, tawny fur with black dots. Growling quietly, he pressed his heavily-muscled body further into the wall behind him. Curling his lips back in warning, he revealed teeth that looked as sharp and large as those of grown forest bears.

Instinctively, Lenya halted all her movements. Backed away in the corner as the animal already was, every further step would have been one too much and cause it to attack. So instead of coming too close, she started to slowly and very deliberately kneel down to be on level with the mabari. It was a dangerous gamble, for one wrong or too hasty movement could signal the hound to jump and kill her with his massive jaw and fangs. Letting the heavy leather muzzle fall down beside her into the hay, she looked at him and found remarkable intelligence in those honey-colored eyes.

"Harel'din, da'fen. I'm not here to hurt you," Lenya said, keeping her voice soft and low.

Relinquishing his aggressive stance almost immediately after she had spoken these words, the hound cocked his head and observed her with open interest. "You can feel it burning too, right? The sickness, the corruption. It churns within your veins and beneath your skin like a festering wound." He gave her a small woof, as if agreeing, and she had an inkling that he understood every of her words. "I'm sick too, you know?" His short, pointy ears now upright, he whined and pawed at the soft, hay-covered soil. He looked as if he wanted to come closer to her, but seemed unsure of it.

Lenya breathed in, small choppy intakes of air that tasted too much like sadness upon her tongue. It was too late to back down now anyway, even if a not insignificant part of her felt incredibly stupid for baring her soul to a dog. Then again, she had spoken to her clan's halla before and this creature seemed to possess similar intelligence and awareness of its surroundings. "My Keeper's magic kept the sickness at bay for weeks, but I can feel its effect dwindling and the corruption starting to eat at me again. It hurts and -" Trailing off to swallow thickly, Lenya's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't survived this and died like –" The hound let out a long, loud whine and nudged her with his head. The sudden force of it nearly threw her off-balance, and she needed a moment to stabilize herself – in more ways than one. Huffing softly, he lay his large head upon her shoulder, practically forcing her to embrace his thick, muscular neck. As she did so, she regretted that she was still wearing her gloves. Her fingers itched to feel the coarse, short fur her hands were curled into. The hound still smelt too much like wet forest bear and wolf combined for her taste, though the quiet solace, this sudden understanding between them, was too invaluable to her to really care about it now.

"You have lost someone too, haven't you?" He nudged her shoulder and whined plaintively next her ear. Then, the mabari begun to pant more and more all of a sudden. The tremor rocking through his canine body vibrated underneath her fingertips, reminding her why she had come here in the first place. Like her, the animal was in pain. "Let me help you, da'fen. Hold still." Backing away, she reached for the muzzle beside her. Lenya noticed how he fought against the trembles and held still for her, even though she needed several attempts to fit the muzzle over his head in the right way. "There, done." She patted his head. "Good boy. You'll see, it will be alright. Everything will be alright," she repeated, not believing her own words. How could she, so far away from everyone she'd ever cared for?

Behind her, someone cleared his throat and fell into a fit of coughing in doing so. "I... um, wow, here you are," the person then managed, and she recognized his voice. It was this damn thieving shem again. How long had he been standing there? Her ears twitched slightly as the heat rose to their tips. Once. Twice. She was going to kill him. Swallowing through a too tight throat, the incalescence of embarrassment settled in the pit of her stomach as a blazing fire, burning in tune with the corruption inside. As she jumped to her feet and whirling round to him, her shoulders stiffened. "You! Again!"

"That was remarkable, Warden," the hound master interrupted her with a smile, completely oblivious to her rage. "I have rarely seen something like this, if at all. I thought he was a lost case, but now I can treat the dog properly – poor fellow."

Lenya only spared him a single sharp look before approaching the Warden again. He hands on her hips, she peered up at his impossible height. Why are all the shemlen so tall, ugh.

"Why are you following me around, shem?"

He made several unintelligible sounds, his mouth popping open and shut, letting them end in a whimper. Pink slowly turned to crimson and settled within the cheeks of his brown skin. Hazel-colored eyes darted about in panic as he struggled for anything resembling words. Her own eyes narrowed on him with a scoff.

Creators, even the dog just now had better communication skills.

"I, um, was searching for you, in fact," he said, just when she'd given up on ever hearing a coherent word out of his mouth. "And I found you, wow." His held breath came out as a weak, nervous laugh.

"Yes, you have," she stated, coolly, and stepped out of the dog pen. "Now go away."

"I would leave you talking to... hounds all day, if I could..." Her look shifted to a full blown glare at that, causing him to add in a rush, "... but as the Junior member of the order, and you being a Warden recruit, it is my task to take care of you and -"

"Like stealing my weapons?"

His eyes pinched briefly shut. When he reopened them, his expression on her hardened. "I did not steal them, nor did I intend on eavesdropping on your quality time with the dog." Huffing a resigned sigh, he looked upwards and grimaced. "Look," the shem said, his gaze open, beseeching her. "I'm aware we started off on the wrong foot. Or… several, in fact. But since we are going to spend the next hours together, can we please start over? My name is Alistair and -"

Lenya's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, before furrowing into a frown. "The next few hours? Why?"

"Hmm, caught that part at least, huh?" His lips twitched with wry amusement. Which was a surprising change after all of his stammering and overall idiocy. "I see you already have your weapons that you are so fond of. Good. Since you and I, err, and the two other recruits are going to head to the Wilds very soon."

Everything in her bristled at the mere thought of spending any more minutes with that human, least of all hours. "No."

"Aww, don't be like that, dear lady." Pursing his lips into a mock pout, he clasped his gauntleted hands over his heart. "You wound my pride."

"I will wound much more if you don't leave me alone," Lenya warned and began to head in the opposite direction of this living and breathing nuisance. Though the kennel master's voice quickly halted her steps.

"Excuse me, Wardens. I couldn't help to overhear your conversation. You are heading into the Korcari Wilds soon?"

"Yes."

"No." She continued to walk away.

"There's a particular herb I could use to improve the dog's chances to survive." At that, Lenya froze on the spot, turning around to face the older man from some distance. The shemlen took it as sign to go on with his request. "It's a flower that grows in the Wilds here, often on top of rotting wood. If you happen across it, I could use the plant to treat the dog. It looks very distinctive: all white with a blood-red center."

Lenya squinted at him, then at the dog's pen, and back at the man. She pointedly ignored the Warden shem standing in the middle. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I would, but the Wilds are off-limits to non-soldiers," he explained, heaving his shoulders in a shrug. "And I have many other hounds under my care."

"Will the mabari be alright without the flower?"

"For a time, perhaps," the man said, shaking his head. "But eventually I would have to put him down."

Ugh. Lenya gritted her teeth together. She hated this lack of choices, which seemed to cling to her like halla droppings did to boots. Agreeing to this task meant agreeing to follow the other, very annoying shemlen, but if she didn't do this, the hound would most certainly die. And of all the people in this creators-damned place, she liked the dog most... by far. "Fine," she pressed out. "I'll go there, for the flower."

"Aaaand collecting darkspawn blood." Lenya grimaced at his reappearance, which he mistook as disgust about the topic. "Sorry, it is part of your task for the Joining, but don't worry, I will be with you, err, all of you, all the way." Smiling a lopsided grin, the shem headed toward the center of the main area.

"Great," she groused, and followed him at some distance.

"Yes, isn't it?" he agreed, his voice laced with a sarcastic cheer. "Like a party, indeed. We can all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn there pause, I'm sure." Slowing down his walk, he waited for her to catch up to him, thwarting her plan of keeping her distance. He turned to her as soon she arrived in line with him. "Come to think of it, I still don't know your name."

"Because I have not given it to you, shem."

"Right. So, um, what do I call you, then?"

"Not interested."

"Hello 'not interested', I'm Alistair." Oh no, he did not just- Lenya's step faltered from the effort it took to not throw herself down and curl into a ball of cringe. Oblivious to her inner pain, he flashed her a grin and seemed quite proud of himself. "Huh, that is a strange name for a woman. Is it Dalish, perhaps?"

Ugh, she thought. "Ugh," she also said, accentuating the word with another grimace, and accelerating her steps as Duncan came into view in front of a large bonfire. For all the many times she tried to get away from this damn human, she could currently not be any more glad to see him again.

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Change notes:

I scrapped the entire old chapter and version, since I now really dislike the tone, pacing and characterization in it. Lenya's characterization is also different, though in its essence still stays true to her overall character. I just wanted to dig deeper than the cringy "har har look a crazy elf who glares a lot" my old version had going on for some reason. And this is the (hopefully better) result of it. I did cut a lot of the unimportant side-quest stuff I have described in great detail in the old version. Helping the dog is the only one that is plot-relevant, after all. Also new is the emphasis on her blight sickness, which I had forgone before, but found important to bring in greater detail. After all, Mahariel is the only origin where you are already tainted and need the Joining to live.

Reviews are much appreciated.