Arcane Warrior

Chapter 12

Lothering


Lothering.

It was where he was born, and there seemed to be some form of dark humor in that by the time he finally got to see it again, it was dead.

Or at the very least its death was not far off. That grim sentiment was on the lips of every man and woman in the village, from the Templar standing watch over the southern gate, to the crowds of refugees that huddled behind the meagre walls, to the local citizens, trying to hold on in the face of the inevitable. It was a death delayed, forestalled, but approaching, remorseless as the passage of day to night. The fire had gone out of these people with the death of the King, and no one had any illusions that the village would last long against a determined attack.

In the meantime, it was all they could do to keep from destroying themselves. Tensions between the locals and the refugees had begun to boil over, both sides resentful of each other and lashing out in their fear, and the local Templars were hard-pressed to keep order.

Alim Surana stared silently at his childhood home through listless eyes. Lothering was a small provincial town at the center of Ferelden, and because of the location it had become a popular trading hub after the Orlesian occupation, even despite its small size.

On one side of the highway was a wide ramp that led down in a gentle slope onto the fields, which in ancient times would have allowed a gentle passage for the imperial army's horses, but now simply allowed for easy passage for merchant caravans. There were a few acres of farmland to the sides of the road into town before the first sign of buildings could be seen.

The buildings in question ranged from small wooden shacks, poorly constructed and without even proper floors owned by the peasantry to tall two-or-three-story stone mansions belonging to knights of the realm or wealthy merchants. On one side of town there was a line of shops. A tall and very well-maintained building with a bright paint job belonged to a tailor sat at one end, and at the other lie a small drab cottage with smoke emerging from the smokestack belonging to the town smithy.

And on the other end of thoroughfare was the town chantry. One look at that building and it was clear where all the town wealth went. From its large stone gates to its well-kept hardwood walls, to its gold and silver ornamentations and stained-glass windows.

Even now, though the village was all but deserted and with the people who hadn't run away in fear of the encroaching horde, he could envision the daily goings on.

Past the cobblestone thoroughfare and past the road where the line of buildings ended, the town of Lothering opened up into yet more farmland. There was a fenced off area belonging to particularly crotchety human who had stabbed Alim in the leg with a pitchfork when he and his cousin were playing in his field once.

Beyond that was a large house, once belonging to the Bann of Lothering.

"You there!" Alim winced when he heard the muffled voice of the templar flagging them down. "If you're looking for shelter, I'll warn you; there's none to be found."

Alim blinked in surprise when he noted that the templar was not talking to him, but at Alistair. He looked down, that should have been obvious. An elf, a man and a woman were travelling together, all three dressed in rags. Anyone would assume that Alistair was the one in charge, not he.

He wondered how they must have looked to the man, all three with aristocratic looks and weighed down by fatigue and filth. One with a fine sword, one with an empty blade hilt and one with a horned staff decorated with feathers. The templar probably assumed that Alistair and Morrigan were nobles, likely a newly married couple on the run from some political machination or from the troubles down south, and that he was their elven servant.

Or a bodyguard... or both even.

With times being as they were, he would not be surprised if the human nobility permitted their elven servants to take up arms if it were for their own protection, uncaring if the elves in question had the knowledge or skill to use these arms without accidentally killing themselves.

An idea forming in his mind, Alim nudged Alistair. Looking at the elf, Alim gestured with his head (a gesture that was thankfully lost on the templar, or at least falsely interpreted), and Alistair stepped forward while Alim hunched his shoulders slightly, acting the part of a cowed servant.

Morrigan saw all of this and scoffed, uncaring about any plan the two of them might have concocted. Where she to have her way, the three of them would simply kill all in their path toward Loghain and the Archdemon, all else be damned.

"Move on if you can. Lothering's lost."

"What do you mean?" Alistair asked after being prodded once more.

"We've had refugees streaming from the south for the last two days. The chantry and tavern are full to bursting. There simply isn't enough food to go around and we templars can barely keep order. You'd be better off elsewhere, my friend."

"Thanks for the warning," Alistair replied with a small, nervous bow. His heart was pounding, and his face felt numb, he really wasn't cut out for leadership. But unfortunately, he would have to play the part in public, at least he would if he was right about his friend's unspoken plan.

The templar shrugged under his heavy steel armor. "Best of luck wherever you might go."


As they entered the tavern, Alim noticed several soldiers drinking. He briefly entertained the notion that the soldiers were friendly, until one of the soldiers looked over and the man's eyes narrowed in recognition.

"Well, look what we have here, men," the soldier said, rising to his feet and walking forward, with the slightest of wobbles, to stand before the three of them. "I think we've just been blessed."

"Oh, wonderful, Loghain's men," Alistair hissed, gripping the hilt of his blade. "This can't be good."

At Alim's side, Hohaku growled in warning at the approaching spearmen and the elf cursed.

You just had to get a drink, didn't you? he cursed inwardly, sizing up their situation. The elf and company were outnumbered and still worn down from their journey northwards, while the soldiers were well-rested and better equipped. Even worse, the tavern was simply so packed that it would be difficult to avoid hitting innocent civilians, though judging by the way Loghain's troops swaggered towards them, they were far less concerned with such matters. "Didn't we spend all morning asking about an elf and a man by this very description," one of the soldiers asked, "and everyone insisted they hadn't seen him?"

"It seems we were lied to," the officer growled, "or maybe we could've just got here ourselves," Alistair remarked flippantly but was ignored. The officer fixing the tavern's crowd with a hateful stare. "What made you think treason would be tolerated?" he demanded, refugees shrinking away at his fury. "These are Wardens, murderers of your King and enemies of Ferelden!"

The tavern's sullen silence was his only response, and Alim could sense the burning hostility that lurked in the hearts of the refugees, a resentment against the boastful soldiers and their demands. Loghain's men had apparently long since worn out their welcome, but for these untrained farmers and herdsmen to take up arms against the teryn's own soldiers was a horse of a far different colour. Staring up into the officer's sneering visage, the elf knew that reason would hold no sway here; they would not disobey their liege lord for the sake of mere facts. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Alim insisted, right hand inching towards the knife hidden in his belt. 'Let him get close, you'll only have one shot at this…'

Without warning, soft fingers suddenly closed around his wrist, and Alim found himself staring into a woman's vibrant blue eyes, his grip on the knife slackening. How could she have snuck up on him like that? It was a fair question, for the newcomer was lovely enough to turn any man's blood to flame, and it seemed impossible that he might miss such a radiant woman amidst Lothering's fearful misery.

It was a sister of the chantry, clad in the vestments of her faith. Save for the necklace and silver belt buckle her outfit was missing the garish and ostentatious gold decorations of higher raking priestesses, denoting fer rather low status within the chantry. The fit of her vestments did little to conceal either her dancer's physique or her more feminine dimensions. She was fairly young, no more than a few winters over twenty by his reckoning, pale, slender and roughly his height, blessed with a youthful vitality. Her crimson red bangs fell from her headdress to her cheeks, framing a kind, warm face with generous lips and a faint blush to her cheeks.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge," she spoke, her voice betrayed the dulcet, sensual accent of Orlais. "The Maker would ask us to give freely to those in need, no matter their origin."

"More poor souls?" the officer scoffed. "They're more than that! Now, stay out of our way, Sister. If you protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them!"

As if to punctuate his statement, the man drew a longsword from his belt, holding it in front of him threateningly.

In response, he and Alistair drew their own swords. Alistair held his in both hands close to his body in a defensive stance, unused to not having his shield, and Alim held his with the tip close to the ground, ready for a fight but unlikely to harm anyone on accident.

There was less of a reaction to his brightly glowing magical blade than he would've expected. Apparently enchanted swords like this were rare outside the tower but not so uncommon as to get an overt reaction.

Sensing the mood, Hokaku stepped forward slightly, dug his paws into the floor and growled, eager to protect his new master.

"Please sister, there's no need to get involved," said Alim, eager to keep any civilians from getting caught between their blades. To attack a priestess of the chantry was to invite damnation but Loghain had done far worse to steal the throne. "We don't want you getting hurt."

"The Maker is my shield and my comfort, ser elf," the red-haired woman reassured him, turning those wondrous blue eyes towards him once more. "I am not afraid." Steadfast, she held her ground before Loghain's troops, seemingly oblivious to the general confusion of Alim and company. "These good folk are under my protection, Lieutenant. The Maker smiles upon their quest, and I will not see them harmed."

"And who are you to defy the wishes of Teryn Loghain, Sister?" the lieutenant demanded, leveling his blade at the woman, much to the horror of the onlookers. "He is the Regent and rightful master of Ferelden! Why should I heed anything some Orlesian strumpet has to say?"

"Because I hear the voice of the Maker, Lieutenant, and He will not allow you to hinder their mission. Please, stand down. There is no need for violence."

'The maker… speaks to her?' Alim questioned, closing his mouth with an audible click. It was a central point of chantry doctrine that Andraste was the only mortal the maker had ever directly spoken to; indeed, would ever directly speak to, at least until such time as he returned to the world once the Chant had spread to every corner of the earth. To suggest that you were the recipient of his words as Andraste had was heretical, insane or so supremely arrogant you might as well be mad. Beside him, Alistair grimaced at the notion.

Or could it be that she simply spoke metaphorically? She heard the chant of light as Maker's own words.

Despite that, he had to admire the young woman's courage in standing against a half-dozen armed men without so much as a kitchen knife to protect herself, however misguided she might be. "Perhaps you should stand clear, sister. We don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

"He is with me, ser elf. I am where I am needed."

"Enough of this!" the officer roared, patience fraying. "You have your orders, men. Kill the sister and anyone else who gets in the way!"

"You'd murder an innocent woman, a harmless priestess?" Alim demanded, horror giving way to anger. "All to cover up Loghain's lies?"

"Shut up, knife-ear! Simmons, make it happen!"

"Right, move aside!" one of the halberdiers demanded, jabbing his weapon towards the red-haired woman. "Move aside, or I'll-"

And so, the seemingly harmless chantry sister attacked, exploding with finely honed movement. Like a steel trap, her left hand seized the ash spear shaft just behind the blade, giving a firm tug and wrenching it away. Simultaneously, her right hand shot forward, slipping through the gap between the man's chin and collarbone, punching hard into the hollows of his throat. Choking, the spearman staggered back, and she gave one final tug to his poleaxe, ripping the halberd clean from his faltering grip and arcing the blunt end towards his head like a quarterstaff, the wood giving a savage crack as it connected. In the space of mere seconds, one of the soldiers was down for the count, and the girl had her pilfered weapon leveled towards the officer's throat. "You will not harm them. Please, stand down before more of you are injured."

"Kill them!" wailed the lieutenant, lunging for the priestess. "Kill them all!"

Effortlessly, the girl deflected the blow with her spear shaft, leaving the soldier open to a swift left hook from Alim, pitching him into the nearest table. "Watch where you strike!" the elf commanded. "Keep the civilians out of harm's way!

"And no magic!" This last part was whispered harshly at Morrigan, who scoffed and rolled her eyes at the order, but adjusted her hold on her staff regardless. She understood necessity.

It was the sort of sound tactical advice that Alistair and Morrigan had come to expect from Alim, but Loghain's troops were in no mood to hold back. Refugees cried out in panic as the two parties clashed, jostling against each other in their haste to flee.

Behind him, Morrigan ran to the left to engage a halberdier in combat. Unable to use magic, she was at a clear disadvantage in close combat. Fortunately for her, the man was clearly drunk out of his mind. With that in mind, she hung back and allowed him to rush at her only for her to dodge out of the way.

At Alim's side, Hohaku rushed the nearest spearman and pinned the man to the floor. The soldier may have been enraged and drunk, but he was Fereldan and as such hesitant about killing a mabari. Because of that the spear thrust was all too easy for Hokaku to dodge, even as haggard as he was.

Sensing his master's intentions, he merely growled in the human's face rather than go for the fatal bite.

When Morrigan's opponent looked back at her in anger, she moved her hand to her hip, moving her shoulders back in such a way that her the front of her shirt shifted and revealed a little more of her chest to him, causing him to shift his focus to less violent things.

When he lunged at her with mixed rage and lust in his eyes, she hooked her staff with his halberd and used his strong grip on it to drag him to the floor. With him there, Morrigan raised her leg high and then slammed the heel of her boot down on his temple, her stomp hard enough to immediately take him out of the fight and give him a concussion.

Alistair charged in, using the momentum of his charge as he used the flat of his sword to parry the man's halberd off to the side and hammer his shoulder into his gut. The soldier recovered quickly however and took advantage of Alistair's low position by slamming his knee into his chest, making him back away.

The soldier grabbed his halberd in both hands and swung it at Alistair's unprotected head. Alistair grabbed the shaft with his offhand stopping the polearm in midair and used it to pull the soldier to him, and with a twist of his body he drove the pommel of his sword into the man's temple, knocking him unconscious.

While all of this was going down, Alim stared town the Lieutenant, spirit blade held in front of him ready to parry any incoming attacks. "Show me what you're got, knife-ear!" the officer spat at his opponent. Eagerly, Alim accepted his challenge, the past few weeks weighing on his mind and only serving to fuel his aggression.

Ducking a wild drunken slash, the elf used the opening to get in close and slam his open palm and the heel of his sword hand hard against the man's ears, the sudden pressure battering his eardrums and producing a dazed cry of pain. Alim went to break his foe's sword wrist with the pommel of his sword, but even discombobulated and drunk as he was, the man's training kicked in and he countered fast, his left-hand punching into the elf's gut and throwing him back against the bar, spilling tankards. Cursing the elf, the tavern's patrons scattered from the thrust of the officer's longsword. Alim dodged, but only just, the cutting cleanly through the fabric of his jacket and tunic, the blade narrowly missing his skin.

After all I've been through, I'm not dying in a bar brawl!

As the Gwaren lieutenant lifted his sword for a fatal overhead strike, the elf darted forward, kicking him in the groin. Slender fingers knotted through the officer's short hair, and before he could recover from the blow, Alim slammed his head face first against the bar, spilling blood, beer and broken teeth everywhere. A kick to the inside of the man's right knee dislocated the joint with a savage crack, and one last collision between his head and the polished oak left him stunned and bleeding on the vomit-strewn floor.

"Alright, you've won! We surrender!" the Lieutenant pleaded suddenly from his position on the floor, his hand covering his mouth and trying to stem the bleeding from his cut lips and his eyes darting fearfully to where Alistair and Morrigan were rounding up his beaten troops.

"Good," the priestess chirped, throwing her pilfered halberd to the floor and throwing. "They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now."

"That depends on what this bastard has to say for himself," Alim growled, and as his rage left him his mind cleared and to his relief, he discovered that neither the priestess nor any of his companions were badly injured. Unarmored and badly armed as they were, that they could have been hurt for the sake of Loghain's ambitions enraged the elf, and he turned on the officer with a vengeful glare. "Care to retract your slander against the Wardens, you cur, or are you actually stupid enough to believe in Loghain's poison?"

"I was there!" the officer proclaimed. "The Teryn pulled us out of a trap, one set by the Grey Wardens to lead the King to his death!"

"That's a lie!" Alistair barked before Alim could retaliate. The tavern was far less crowded now, with most of the civilian population having fled out the back door during the brawl, but the remaining patrons and refugees hanging on their words. "You will withdraw that insult! The Grey Wardens would never side with the darkspawn!"

"I withdraw nothing, traitor! I am a loyal servant of Teryn Loghain, Regent of Ferelden, and I will not bow before treasonous scum and Orlesian whores! I-" The prick of Alim and Alistair's swords upon his left cheek and neck reminded the lieutenant that he had lost this fight, and Alim could see how the man's pride warred with his caution in that moment.

Before the wardens could permanently still the man's lying tongue, the sister once again intervened. "Show mercy, Warden. He and his men are beaten; there is nothing to be gained by killing him."

"It'll put an end to his slander," Alim retorted, the truth of her words obscured by the shame of their defeat at Ostagar and their blacklisting. "Most of my Order died fighting for Ferelden, sister; they deserve better than to have their memories tarnished and their deeds belittled by scum like this!"

"If they died with honor, then the Maker knows their names," the red-haired woman responded firmly. "Whatever might be said about them will not change what they accomplished in life. Not even the lies of other men." A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, and her soulful blue eyes ensnared him. "The Grey Wardens are heroes one and all, are they not?"

And heroes don't kill defeated, unarmed men, Alim reminded himself, breathing deep to force the anger away, his blood finally cooling. The savage beast inside soothed by her comforting words. "Barkeep! Have these men harmed anyone in Lothering since their arrival? Have they stolen? Murdered? Raped?"

Peering fearfully from behind the bar, the tavern's owner finally worked up the courage to speak. "Not that I know of Warden. Threatened a few people and harassed some of the staff, but nothing more than that."

His sword came down and the officer breathed a sigh of relief.

Alim nodded to Alistair, who eased off the man's neck. The soldier breathed deeply, only to freeze up as Alim's eyes snapped opened and pin him with a glare, his violet eyes burning with anger and seeming to glow in the dimly lit tavern. "Take a message to Loghain," he growled.

"W-what do you want me to tell him?" The soldier squeaked.

"The Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar. He'll pay for what he's done. We're coming for him. And if he wants us dead, he'll have to do better than this."

'That's right, bait Loghain why don't you?' A voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Jowan, told him sarcastically. 'That won't make him send more men after you at all'.

"I'll tell him," The frightened man babbled through broken teeth. "Right away. Now. Thank you!" He all but sprinted out of the tavern as fast as his wounds would permit, his fellows gathering up their unconscious allies.

"'Twould have been wiser to slay them," Morrigan insisted, glaring distastefully at the elf and the sister who talked him into showing such foolish mercy to their enemies.

Just when he was starting to show promise.

"Doubtless we'll have to fight those men again in the future, and yet more, once word reaches this Loghain."

"Not on this day, Morrigan," answered Alim with a heavy sigh. He just wanted some proper food, a strong drink and a bed to rest away the aches and pains in his joints. "Besides, it might unsettle Loghain a bit;" he suggested hopefully, though he doubted it. "Push him to making a mistake we can exploit."

"So you say" she dismissed his halfhearted argument with a derisive niff.

"It could have been a lot worse," Alistair stated, giving the tavern keeper an apologetic nod and some spare silvers for the damages. "Lot of civilians, no room to use our swords? We're damned lucky."

"Well, we did have some help," said the elf, giving the red-haired woman a small bow of respect. "Are you all right, sister?"

"I am well, thank you. I apologize for interfering, but I couldn't just sit by and not help."

"You did have me worried there for a moment," Alim admitted. "In truth, I had no idea priests were so capable in a fight."

"I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know," the young woman explained. "Many of us had more… colourful lives before we came into the Maker's grace. Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering, or at least I was."

Alim nodded, suspicious at how quickly she was trying to change the subject. "I am Alim. A pleasure."

"Those men said you're a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do? I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

"You want to come with us... to combat a blight. Why?" Alim questioned skeptically with an arched eyebrow.

"Because the Maker wants me to join you."

"Right…" Alistair said dryly. "I believe this is where we back away slowly."

"I know that sounds absolutely insane, but it's true!" The redhead stammered; clearly aware she wasn't helping her case. That they were discussing this after a bar brawl, in a tavern full of already-terrified refugees watching them only made things worse. "I had a dream, a vision!"

Alistair shook his head. "More crazy? I thought we were all full up!"

"Look at the people here," Leliana urged. "They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work. Please, let me help!"

Out of respect for this sister, and out of self-preservation lest the occupants of this tavern form a mob, he held his tongue. Even though he wanted to yell to the world about how if the maker hadn't wanted this, then he wouldn't have created the blight, loosed it on the world and then abandoned them to their fate. How if the maker doesn't want this, he should have stepped in at Ostagar. How the maker should have stopped those brigands from-!

"I'm sorry sister. I need more than prayers, I'm afraid."

"I can fight," she pleaded. "I can do more than fight. As you have guessed, I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but now…if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again, gladly. Please, let me help you."

The others in the bar were still giving the group the eye, and Alim realized he wasn't going to win this argument. "Very well," Alim sighed. "I will not turn away help when it is offered."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought, the girl is clearly one archdemon short of a blight" Morrigan mused.

"Yes, but she seems more 'Ooh, pretty colors' than 'Muahaha! I am Princess Stibitty! Stab, kill kill."

"Thank you!" Leliana gushed, so focused on his acceptance of her request and hadn't even herd Alistair's mockery. "I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down!"


After leaving the tavern behind Leliana took her leave of them saying she'd return shortly, and upon returning to them she had donned different attire, something more suited to life on the road than chantry vestments.

She now wore dark grey studded leather armor accented with steel scale mail in places, thick leather strips sheathed one arm while the other was protected by a vambrace. Pouches of varying size adorning a stylish leather belt with a silver buckle hung off her hips and completed the outfit.

Back in the tavern she wore no more makeup than a small amount of blush to accentuate her cheekbones, now there was a glossy shine to her lips and kohl around her eyes. Her scarlet hair framing her face in a simple bob, Leliana was truly a very beautiful woman.

Her eyebrow raised in confusion when, upon realizing he was caught staring, he immediately shook his head and turned away. Despite her apparent beauty, Leliana stood out as a chantry priestess to him, and upon seeing her once she returned to them, he had been left in shock by the drastic transformation.

With all of the excitement behind them, time seemed to slow down again, and the next couple hours passed slowly, far too slowly for Alim's tastes. All he wanted was to fill his stomach with some nice venison, get blackout drunk and sleep for the next three days. Instead, he had to be the kind and honorable sort, spending his day helping out around the village for spare coin and earning the goodwill of the people.

Alistair used his rudimentary knowledge of traps to help out a rather skittish woman who wanted to defend her property.

Alistair seemed a prim and proper knight, and the last person anyone would expect to know about traps. It seemed, though, that one of the older wardens, a scout by the name of Robert, had been teaching him how to hunt for food in the days before Ostagar.

Every warden had to carry their own weight, that sort of thing.

Morrigan's knowledge of woodland poisons, which drew a particularly sarcastic and scathing comment from Alistair, came in handy after they fought a pack of giant spiders and used their toxin glands to provide poisons for a farmer named Barlin.

"Shall we next begin rescuing kittens from trees?" Morrigan asked acerbically as they picked up another handful of odd jobs.

"Well, that depends," Alistair replied. "Is there coin in it? We have to pay for supplies somehow you know."

Alim managed to talk down an Avaar doomsayer by the name of Gurd who had escaped the destruction of his tribe. A dozen bandits were holed up on the fringes of the town proper, and they killed them for the bounty of a few sovereigns and an ornate longsword.

Useless to them, but at least they could trade them in for some supplies or gold with which to buy supplies.

"Oi, Alistair," Alim said, dragging a greatsword out from under a particularly large man bandit. "Can you use this?"

"I can," Alistair replied hesitantly. "But I'm not very good. Sorry.

"Fair enough," Alim mumbled with a sigh. "Suppose it'll be worth a few silvers. Looks to be in good enough condition."

Alim paused, dropping his gaze to the ground as he realized where in the village he now was. "Alim? Are you alright" Alistair asked in concern when his elven friend didn't say anything for a few seconds, just somberly looking at the ground.

Without saying anything Alim turned his body northward and started walking, his feet dragging on the ground as if he was fighting against himself.

Alisiair looked at Morrigan over his shoulder to see if she had any insight about their leader's sudden behavior. Morrigan simply shrugged and followed him. Leliana, confused at the strange behavior and not knowing whether or not this sort of brooding was out of character for the elf, simply shrugged and followed.

She looked down when she heard a whine coming from Hohaku, who was looking in concern at his master with his ears back against his skull. Leliana smiled and scratched the mabari's neck, reassuring him that everything would be fine.


Whatever Alim's destination was, the small party didn't reach it. Not before they passed a large cage dubbed the Felon's Cage by the villagers, where criminals who committed especially heinous crimes were to be publicly humiliated before their execution.

What drew Alim's attention was the strange foreign prayer spoken by the inhabitant of the cage, a man nearing seven feet in height. Closer inspection revealed that this was no mere man, but a qunari, even if he was missing the horns that marked his people as being immediately identifiable. But nonetheless, for a scholar like him it was readily apparent what he was, from the inhuman grey coloring of his thick leathery skin to his clawed fingers.

The Qunari were a strange and hostile race of giants that dwelt in the north, their powerful and technologically advanced civilization driven to spread their bizarre faith, if faith was indeed what it could be called, over all of Thedas. They had arrived in Thedas from some unknown region far to the north during the Steel Age, almost instantly sparking a desperate conflict for control over the entire continent, and it took several Exalted Marches before they were finally driven back to the comparatively tiny island nation of Par Vollen.

It had been nearly one hundred and fifty years since the Qunari and southern Thedas had last gone to war, but there were many in the Chantry who kept cautious eyes ever northwards, fearful that this hard-won peace would not last.

The man in the cage immediately noticed his approach and sent him a withering glare. His eyes were purple like his own but were several shades darker. When Alim was not immediately sent running, the qunari only glared more scathingly at the tiny creature who did not know to leave an obviously superior being alone.

The large dog with the elf however, he gave an imperceptible nod. He could tell that the animal staring up at him in curiosity was very intelligent and deserving of respect.

"I have nothing to say that would amuse you Elf, leave me in peace."

Alim blinked in surprise that the reprimand was in the king's tongue, and almost perfectly at that. From his studies, not many Qunari bothered to learn foreign languages, as they cared nothing for nations other than their own save what it would take to conquer them.

"You're a prisoner? Who put you here." He couldn't see very many of these frightened villagers managing to cage a qunari. Kill him, sure, but not restrain him long enough to lock him in a cage.

"I am in a cage, am I not? I have been placed here by the chantry." The qunari spoke very matter of factly, his tone suggesting that the elf must be touched in the head for asking so obvious a question.

"The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children." It was so easy to forget her presence, her steps were so quiet he forgot she was following them until she spoke.

But her words caught him off guard, he looked at the imprisoned qunari with some trepidation. Such a heinous crime was obviously worthy of the felon's cage, of public humiliation. To be poked or prodded by any who passed or to have things thrown at him by children.

If it was true of course. Had he truly committed such a crime, or had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and found guilty of the crime of being different?

"It is as she says."

Or perhaps not, perhaps he truly was a bloodthirsty murderer. But then, if he truly did it, why was he still here, and so tranquil besides? Even qunari were not strong enough to break steel bars, but surely, he could have found some way to escape if he wished it.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad-the vanguard-of the qunari peoples."

Sten, a soldier then? He tried to remember what he read about soldiers of the qunari, which wasn't much. The qunari didn't share much knowledge with outsiders, and what was found out about them was usually destroyed lest those not of the qun found some weakness to exploit.

Alim stared at the Sten, his mind formulating ideas as to this being's worth to his cause. But would it be worth the trouble, having a confessed killer following him around just to have one more sword against the darkspawn?

"I am Alim, a pleasure to meet you."

He bowed his head and the creature's eyes tellingly brightened a bit before darkening again.

"You mock me. Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands. Though it matters little now, I will die soon enough."

The creature's eyes were alight with curiosity. So, he was obviously intelligent, maybe even wise. But then why would he murder an entire family? Though perhaps the more important question would be if he regretted it.

Enough to make amends perhaps?

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn." Surprisingly it was Morrigan who spoke in his defense, though perhaps not so surprising now that he thought about it. Morrigan did seem the type who would favor the strong and the powerful, and he couldn't imagine her sympathizing with the murdered family.

"If you cannot find a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you." Alistair chimed in, echoing his own thoughts.

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage." And there it was.

"Yes, that's what I would've expected." The former templar gave a satisfied smile, seemingly pleased to have gotten a rise out of the witch.

Obviously having little patience to the crowd of people disturbing his quiet, the qunari shook his head and scowled. "I suggest you leave me to my fate."

"I find myself in need of skilled help" Alim stepped forward once more, not content to leave it at that.

"No doubt. What help do you seek" the qunari quirked a brow at him. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that he needed help, the inferior races of the south always needed something. But that he'd ask for it from a confessed killer?

"I am sworn to defend the land against the Blight."

"The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden then?"

"I am"

He crossed his arms, staring down at the elf who made this bold claim, but seeing no lie in his eyes he closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill. Though I suppose not every legend is true."

The test was obvious, no true warrior would ever be taken in by such an insult. The elf, to his credit, did not seem to be bothered. The tall human similarly didn't seem concerned. The wild looking woman just leered at him with amber eyes.

"Would the revered mother let you free?"

He snorted, he knew nothing of the people of these lands or how they thought. Releasing him to fight against the Blight was the sensible thing to do, but why would these priestesses do anything sensible?

"Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance" he replied sarcastically, though he expected nothing from these people. "It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

The elf rubbed his chin with his thin fingers for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons of talking to the revered mother on this killer's behalf, they did need allies, but would it really help to release this qunari into his charge?

Making up his mind, he nodded to the qunari and backed away a step, "I'll leave you for now."

"Farewell then."

The qunari closed his eyes and started praying to himself once more, clearly not expecting the elf to make good on his word or to ever see him again.

"To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn..." Leliana thought aloud as they made their way towards the chantry, shivering as she contemplated it. "No one deserves that, not even a murderer."

Alim quietly agreed, after having seen the darkspawn for himself he would not wish that fate even on Loghain.


The small party met with a templar on the chantry's steps. He welcomed sister Leliana, but upon seeing the rest he seemed like he might arrest them. Word of that bar brawl had gotten out, and if not for the lay sister stepping up in their defence, they might've had a bit of trouble.

As it was, he shrugged and urged them to keep their weapons sheathed, a request they were more than happy to agree to. The people here were already frightened, they didn't need strangers making trouble.

No sooner had they entered the large doors had they started to hear the overbearing song that was the chant of light. He had heard the words every day from his uncle, every week when his family attended mass, and then every day for the last fourteen years.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, and he hated even more that he followed along with the song in his head out of sheer habit. He envied Morrigan who had almost never heard the song in her life and who could just block it out. Even Alistair, who had been forced to memorize the chant in its entirety as part of his training, didn't seem as affected by the song.

Doing his best to power through it, he made his way through the richly decorated building before, yet another sound cut into his reverie.

"There's been word of darkspawn stragglers, but no sign of the main horde."

There was no mistaking that voice, and for a brief moment he thought he might just continue walking. But it was a fleeting thought, and before he realized it his feet were taking him the direction of Ser Bryant.

"We are the only hope of protection this village has now, and I will not abandon them."

The dark-haired man had always seemed larger than life to Alim as a child, the very picture of a knight. Seeing him now, it seemed he had changed very little aside from growing older, the stresses of a long, weary life evident by the lines on his face and the streaks of grey lining his temples.

Ser Bryant was the type to stand defiant in the face of all odds, faithful to his order to the end but would gladly disobey any order if it meant saving a live. The sort of man who would see an elven mother on the side of the road and who would take her in where his brothers would kick or spit upon her, and then fall for her and be married with a child on the way in a matter of months.

"That is all, may the Maker have mercy on us." He saluted the small crowd of templars surrounding him who saluted back before dispersing, walking past him and out of the chantry doors.

Inhaling deeply to calm his nerves, Alim approached the templar who quickly noticed him and turned around.

"Yes, who might you be?" He didn't seem to recognize him, that was... good. He thought about how to answer him but decided to come out with it.

"I am the grey warden Alim. Hello again... Uncle"

There was no telling how the man would react, considering the warrant for his arrest or if Ser Bryant would remember him.

He saw a glimmer of recognition in the older man's eyes at his name, but he didn't make the immediate connection. He supposed he couldn't blame him, the Alim he knew was a small child taken to the Denerim chantry before being moved to Kinloch hold, why assume that an elf with the same name was the same person?

But at the familiar title, there could be no mistaking. This was Alim, his very own nephew.

"Alim Surana? Is it truly you" Ser Bryant had lowered his voice, whatever he had expected of this day, meeting his long-lost nephew was not one of them. He lost all pretense of commanding authority and pulled the elf into a tight embrace.

Alistair and Morrigan glanced at each other in surprise, clearly taken aback by this turn of events. Leliana too was surprised, but just smiled. She knew Knight-Commander Bryant had an elven daughter, but she never suspected that he had any other elven family members.

Alim returned the embrace, allowing himself a brief moment of comfort in the older man's presence before he pulled back. He looked into the human's eyes and cleared his throat. As much as he wanted to indulge himself with this reunion, he still had business to take care of.

Ser Bryant, seeing Alim's body language and guessing what he intended, coughed and took a second to regain his composure before he continued their discussion, taking a moment to remember where they left off.

"Teyrn Loghain declared all Grey Wardens traitors, responsible for the King's death. You know this, I hope?"

He nodded, aware that he should not go about freely professing warden status to anyone who asked. Loghain may not be popular with the nobility, but to the commoners of Ferelden he was a legend, and they'd be more than willing to take up arms against him, either out of loyalty or for the bounty.

Or both.

"The Grey Wardens did no such thing, Loghain abandoned the King to his death!" Alistair shoved his way to the front to make himself known, loudly rebuking the notion that the wardens were traitors.

Ser Bryant, to his credit, was not surprised by this in the least. "I don't believe the Grey Wardens would be as careless or as malicious as the teyrn claims, but either way, there it is.

It is best you do not linger though, just in case."

Ser Bryant looked to the side, clearly struggling with himself for a moment before Alim changed the subject.

"About those bandits outside the village..."

The templar's arms fell to his sides with a weary sigh. "Maker's breath! How many times must we drive them off!?"

So, the templars were trying to do something about them, but it seemed like they were having trouble. Anytime they got close, they could just run away.

"They won't bother you again" Alim quickly cut in, wanting to put the man's mind at ease. "We killed them."

"All of them?" Yet again Bryant was caught off his guard. Those highwaymen had been a nuisance to Lothering for weeks now, harassing every civilian fleeing the troubles down south. "By yourself?"

Alim nodded and was about to speak more on the matter before another voice cut in as another templar walked up to them. "It's true, I saw it from my post. It was over so fast we didn't even have time to get over there."

Was that true? Had the templars stationed nearby even wanted to interfere, or had the abandoned the highwaymen to be murdered by the three of them, given that they had killed on of their own?

"Well, sad that it needed to come to that, but then they asked for it." Ser Bryant looked genuinely remorseful over the loss of life but acknowledged the necessity of it even still. Left to their own devices, who knew how many other lives they would take before the darkspawn came for them all. "Will you accept a small reward for your service?"

Perking up at the mention of a reward, Morrigan straightened her back and started paying attention to the conversation again. She had no interest in altruistic action, but the promise of a reward or of somebody owing her a favor, something she could hold over them...

"Certainly, thank you." Alim nodded and accepted a small satchel of gold from the templar.

"Things seem very dire in the village" Alim said, prodding the knight-commander for information. They needed to know what was going on, and they couldn't reply on the bandit's gossip or some barkeeper's rumors. But he also wanted to know what was going on with Lothering, it was his home once upon a time after all.

"They are" Ser Bryant crossed his arms with a sigh. "With the bann having taken his men north, the village is left to its fate. We will evacuate as many as we can before the horde reaches us, but me and my men will stay as long as we are needed.

"Ahlam keeps insisting on staying with me rather than fleeing with the villagers, try as I might to convince her otherwise."

At the mention of his cousin's name, Alim felt a weight upon his shoulders lifting. He had always thought she died that day, and to have confirmation of her survival took all the air out of his body.

"Ahlam, she's still..."

Ser Bryant's eyes softened, "so then, you didn't know. Yes, she survived. We got some healers to tend to her in time, but I'm afraid there's nothing we could do for Afya. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I know you would've wanted to save her more than I did."

"Umm, not to be rude, but do you mind cluing the rest of us in? We are here on business you know." Alistair rested his hand on the elf's shoulder, his confused face glancing from him to the knight-commander in silence as he spoke with as much tact as he could manage in that situation.

"No, no. You're right, we need to take care of an errand before we can catch up."

Alim wiped away the tears he hadn't realized had gathered on his eyes before he looked up at Ser Bryant and moved ahead to the reason for his visit to the chantry.

"What can you tell us about the imprisoned qunari?"

Ser Bryant sighed and looked downcast, looking like an unpleasant memory came over him. "I was there at the farm hold. The beast stood there, wet with the blood of the children. He didn't even deny slaughtering them.

The revered mother ordered him caged; she has more mercy than I do. But perhaps she is right, and the Maker has love for all his creations. Even the qunari."

So that was the situation, it was clear the man despised the qunari. He spoke of it with barely contained emotion, the inhabitants of the farm hold must've been known to him.

Quickly moving on, asked if he had heard any other news.

"Other than the darkspawn horde bearing down on us? None of it is good, Teyrn Loghain is set to declare himself king I hear. Disaster piled on disaster."

"King Cailan had no heir?" That was surprising, given what little he knew of the man, he seemed like he would be rather... emphatic when it came to relations with his wife.

"None that we knew of, there have been many rumors going around that the queen is barren. They have been married for over five years after all. Teyrn Loghain has no legitimate claim on the throne, he may be a hero and his daughter may be the queen, but he is a commoner and the king's corpse is barely cold."

He shrugged with a heavy sigh, unable to believe that the rulers of his country, or would be rulers, could be so incredibly foolish. Someone needed to knock some sense into them before they did any irreparable damage, but that was far above his pay grade.

"If Arl Eamon was able to intervene, perhaps it would not have gone this far." Alistair perked up at the mention of the man's name, he didn't know what kind of relationship those two had but the ex-templar obviously looked up to him a great deal. "I do not care who takes the throne, only fools fight over who owns a cottage while it burns down around them."

"If Arl Eamon was able to intervene? Is something wrong with him, what happened?" Alistair almost bowled the elf over to get to Ser Bryant, the man backed away a step and gestured for the young man to keep calm.

"Arl Eamon has fallen ill and his knights are on a quest for the sacred urn filled with Andraste's ashes, said to cure any malady." He rolled his eyes, uf such a thing did still exist it would've been found by now. "He must be very ill if they chase miracles as the only cure. One of the arl's knights, Ser Donall, is here searching fantasies while... Never mind, ask him if you care about this foolishness."

At the mere mention of the name, everything clicked in Alistair's mind. He quickly asked the knight-commander where the Redcliffe knight would be found, and upon telling him that he was combing through the chantry's library he rushed off to speak to the man with the fallen knight's pendant, leaving the elf, the sister, the dog and the witch alone with Ser Bryant.

Morrigan shook her head at Alistair's antics before deciding she had enough of this damned song, turning on her heel she walked away and left the chantry. Perhaps that was for the best though, if they were to negotiate the Sten's release from the felon's cage it might be best if the hedge-witch wasn't with them.

Alim spoke with his uncle for a bit longer before going to speak with the revered mother.

On the way they ran into a man by the name of Patter Gritch, who they gave a letter of conscription they had received from a mercenary representative back in the tavern.

Time and again, he was surprised by how every human he met treated him well. He had always read about how outside the tower elves were met with constant sideways looks and insults. Perhaps the people of this village were a more tolerant sort, or perhaps it was because he had a mabari following him around. The dogs were a status symbol in Ferelden after all, anyone who could bond with one must have been a person worthy of respect.

Or at least that's what Alistair told him; he had never had an interest in the books about the war dogs back at the tower. He tended to favor the tower's mouse catcher, or 'Mr. Wiggums' as Anders used to call him.

The revered mother was an elderly woman in ornate red and white robes with a large headdress richly decorated with gold. Alim suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, and people said that templars were ostentatious with their fine steel and silverite armor and their ornate blue and red vestments. How anyone could ignore the chantry's own higher ranked priestesses literally wearing the contents of a treasure vault, he would never know.

The woman gave a serene nod at their approach and stood from her armchair.

"Good day, Sister Leliana. I'm surprised to see you're still in Lothering."

Alim blinked in surprise as Leliana's breath hitched in her throat. The woman was clearly more intuitive than he would've given her credit for, as she immediately noticed the redhead's travelling attire.

Leliana must have been subconsciously displaying some sense of wanderlust, for the mother showed no surprise that the sister had abandoned her vestments or that she wished to leave.

Breathing in deeply at being caught off guard, she bowed respectfully to the revered mother. "It is good to see you as well, your Reverence."

Smiling kindly at the girl, she turned to him. To his dog, she gave a friendly smile, but when her eyes met his...

There was that unfriendly look he had always heard about.

"Greetings, will you be making a donation to the Chantry? Our need has never been greater."

Alim shut his eyes and breathed through his nose. He could tell from when their eyes met, her eyes had narrowed derisively. Of it had not been for Leliana and his mabari, he would not have been worthy of acknowledgment. However, since she had to acknowledge him, she would ask for a donation to.

It did not escape his attention that he had not changed his clothes or bathed since he had left Flemeth's hut, and though he did have a pouch full of sovereigns on his belt, there could be no denying the insult intended from the richest woman in the village demanding tithes from an elf dressed in rags.

Out of respect for Leliana, and because he would reprimand himself later for this loss of composure, he met the revered mother's eyes and simply shook his head.

"I am sorry, but I have nothing to offer."

she nodded, clearly not believing him or at least seeming pleased that he had understood her insult. "I understand, not all are wealthy enough to spare even a few coins for the Maker's favor."

He let this second insult slide past him, not letting it bother him. Loghain and his ilk would surely offer far worse.

"What can I do for you then?"

Pointedly, the woman looked towards Leliana, as if she were the one in command and not the follower.

"I want to talk about Sten, the qunari you imprisoned."

The mother's eyes moved back to him, and as the dynamic of the small group became clear to her, she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why does he interest you?"

"Is there any way I can convince you to release him?"

The woman's reaction was expected, he could see ponderings of a potential non-human conspiracy playing out behind her eyes before it was dismissed.

"Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers."

All of this while she kept up her calm and kindly demeanor and tone. If he had not grown up surrounded by the machinations of the fraternities, it would all be rather jarring.

"Perhaps you could release him into my custody."

He thought he should have at least told her why he wanted him released or why he was worthy of having 'custody' over others, but he figured a revered mother of the chantry would be the first to survive when the villagers fled north, and the fewer people who knew the truth about him, the better.

There was the possibility of Ser Bryant telling her was always there, but he trusted him to do what was best, and he did know her better than the elf did.

"And what do you have to say on this, Leliana? You know your 'friend' better than I?"

Whatever intention she had by bringing Leliana into this, he didn't know, but it obviously didn't work out. "These are... unusual times your Reverence. With us, the qunari might do some good.

I am sure of it in fact."

The revered mother sighed; this clearly wasn't going her way. She was disappointed that Leliana wasn't siding with her against this uppity elf. She was human; surely, she should've known better, but then she was half-Orlesian.

"Were things not so desperate... very well, I trust you."

Taking a large, iron key out of a fold in her robes, she handed it to him. He took it with a grateful nod, and she gave him a pleasant smile and murder in her eyes.

"Take the key to his cage, and may the Maker watch over you."

May the Maker watch over you as all you non-humans killed each other.

"Thank you, your Reverence, your trust is not misplaced."


Leaving the chantry behind after promising Ser Bryant to meet him at his home later, the small group were quickly rejoined by Alistair and Morrigan.

They wasted no time in going to the felon's cage and freeing Sten.

"I have the key to your cage Sten, the revered mother agreed to release you into my custody."

The qunari looked down at the elf curiously, perhaps he was more worthy than he had initially thought. Despite his initial misgivings, he had not only kept his word but successfully negotiated his release from a woman who spat on him and wished him nothing but a slow, painful death.

"I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it. But so be it, set me free and I will follow you against the Blight."

Alim nodded to the creature and hesitantly opened the door, swinging it wide open to allow the giant through. Ducking low to avoid banging his head, the qunari stepped forward. He didn't realize till now just how weak his imprisonment had left him; he could barely even straighten up when he took his first steps but did not make his suffering known.

"Thank you, Sten, I'm glad to have you with us."

More mockery? Or was the politeness genuine, he regarded the strange elf with an analytical gaze. He was obviously more than what he had initially assumed. In the Qun, elves were not frontline soldiers, they lacked the constitution for it. They disguised themselves as servants and acted as their spies.

But he had witnessed from afar as this elf dealt with larger and stronger human bandits with an enchanted blade. Perhaps it gifted him with enhanced strength, giving him the courage to risk close combat despite being of an inferior race.

Alim stared into Sten's eyes for a long moment, aware he was being tested, and did not break eye contact until the qunari looked away, seemingly satisfied with whatever he found.

"May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere."

Nodding, he informed the group that they had one final stop to make before leaving Lothering, and considering how far ahead of the darkspawn they were, they would be leaving Lothering for good.


"Uncle."

Alim could barely get the word out before girl squeezed past the templar and squeezed her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Maker's breath, you're here! I couldn't believe it when father said you came back, but you're really here!"

"Ahlam!"

He found himself unable to breath as his cousin squeezed him against her body. His expression shifted to concern as he felt her start to tremble against him and he heard her start to cry. Looking down, he wrapped his arms around the woman and embraced her tightly as it finally sank in exactly who this was.

Morrigan stood nearby with a bored expression and Alistair gave them an odd, longing smile. Leliana smiled happily for their reunion and Hohaku wagged his tail happily, sensing his master's joy as he sat down next to them. Standing awkwardly at a distance, Sten looked uncomfortable as he would rather, they have left the village immediately.

Chuckling, Ser Bryant retreated into the house to fetch a tray of tea. He was miffed by the qunari's presence but figured that if the Grey Wardens wanted him to accompany them, then so be it. If redemption for his heinous acts were to be found anywhere, it would be found in fighting the Blight.

If it was the Maker's will that he died for his sins, then he would meet his death at the hands of the darkspawn.

Ahlam backed away from her cousin and wiped her eyes before looking up at the man the boy she considered a brother grew into. He was a good deal taller than her now, and though his pale skin was covered in filth, and he was dressed in rags, she could tell how strong and proud he was.

Alim was similarly surprised. His cousin was shorter than he'd have expected, the top of her head reaching to just under his chin and her white hair reaching her shoulders. Her large green eyes stared happily up at him, and he noticed a large scar on the left half of her face.

The daughter of Ser Bryant and Afya Surana, Ahlam was a human woman with elven eyes.

The woman wore a full suit of custom armor with twin swords sheathed in a scarlet leather scabbard on either side of her waist. Gleaming silverite plate protected her chest, shoulders, forearms and shins while a suit of chain worn under a brown leather tunic and trousers protected the rest of her body.

"I... I don't even know what to say. I must have pictured this in my head a thousand times, but now that you're here I don't know what to say."

"'Hello' would make a good start" he smiled jokingly, drawing a laugh out of her.

"Yes, I suppose" she chuckled before her expression became solemn. "So, father tells me you're a Grey Warden now. I don't suppose you would consider staying with us, not throwing your life away to stop the Blight?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "No, my duty compels me to fight the darkspawn, and protect as many people from the Blight as I can."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." She leaned against the house, "I couldn't leave people to die either. Father wants to stay here with his templars while the villagers flee to the north, he wants me to go with them, but I won't leave him to fight the darkspawn on his own. Well, he'll have his knights but, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

"And I've given up trying to convince you otherwise."

Ser Bryant left the house with a tray of tea on top of a large box. "I know you lot can't stay long, and while I wish you could stay and rest up for your journey I realize the most I could do is pack some provisions for you."

"You don't have to do that," Alim took the box from him. It was a lot heavier than it looked, but nothing he couldn't handle. "Don't worry about us, as knight-commander I have a few privileges. These are chantry supplies I was holding onto before a caravan would've taken them to Denerim, but the darkspawn will destroy this place in a few days."

"In that case, I guess I can't say no." Alim shrugged as he held the box under one arm and sipped some tea.

"That's the spirit" Ser Bryant laughed and sat back onto an armchair as Ahlam smirked at him.


"Are you sure we shouldn't have stayed just a little bit longer? You didn't even get to say goodbye."

The group of six left Lothering behind, heading towards the next entrance to the Imperial Highway. "Yes, it's better this way. If I stayed much longer, I don't think I could have brought myself to leave."

Alistair exhaled slowly at the morose droop in his friend's shoulders. "Yeah, I think I understand."

The group at last reached the Highway but didn't get far before they heard cries for help. They were all exhausted and haven't rested in weeks, but they could handle a few darkspawn.

It was the two dwarves they had saved that interested him. The older had the look of a merchant and the other, younger one almost reminded him of a tranquil were it not for the smile on his face and the bright, curious look in his eyes.

"Mighty timely arrival there friend, I'm much obliged."

Alim approached the dwarf, his features speaking of relief to be safe.

"I'm Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

"Hello" the younger dwarf spoke, his voice sounding very much like that of a tranquil mage.

Bodahn smiled at his son and approached his elven savior, rubbing his hands together.

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days, mind if I ask what brings you out here? Might be we're going the same way."

He coughed and looked back at his companions, thinking about how safe these dwarven merchants could be on the road together with them he turned back to Bodahn. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think you want to travel together with grey wardens."

"Grey Wardens, is it? My that does rather explain a lot. No offense, but I suspect there's more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though."

Alim smiled and bent down to shake his hand, Sandal smiling and speaking up from the side "goodbye."

He and Bodahn smiled, and he ruffled Sandal's hair affectionately before backing away towards his group and waving at Bodahn.

"Now then. Let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?"


If the brief description of Ahlam didn't make it obvious, I based her appearance on Ciri from The Witcher. I didn't mention the farmers ambushing the party on their way out of Lothering because it wasn't really that noteworthy except to show how desperate the people are.

I had to rewrite half of this chapter, as my brother kind of jumped the shark in the original version.

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