CHAPTER 10

..x..

The inn's room was small, cold, and lit by the flickering flame of a few candles. A single window let the chilling breeze flow in as the scent of dirt and manure wafted from the farmlands outside. Chatter from the tavern below could still be heard, barely muffled by the floorboards. A jar of dirty water and a loaf of stale bread were the only compliments of the house, sitting over the rickety table by the door and next to one of the candles. The bedroom was also furnished with a single wooden chair, a nightstand, and two single beds, topped with a mattress stuffed with straw and covered in wolf furs. Not exactly comfortable when compared to what she was used to, but it was far better than sleeping on the ground.

"I can't believe we're having to pay more coin just because Morrigan wanted a room for herself," Alistair grumbled from behind the flimsy wooden panel currently separating his side of the room from hers. He was unclasping one of his pauldrons after having removed his gauntlets and leather pack. All the armor suddenly felt heavier thanks to how tired and worn out he was, his recovering body having been protesting against all the layers and the weight for a while now.

"I don't blame her. She appears used to being alone and doesn't trust easily." Everil sat at the edge of her bed, leaning over to undo the buckles on her boots after having taken off her breastplate and hauberk. Bjorn curled up by her feet, lying over the small piece of worn fur they had for a carpet.

"I think she's just a hateful shrew... I don't trust her." He curiously peeked over the divider at her. "Do you?"

"She and her mother saved us. I think she deserves the benefit of the doubt."

"Yeah, maybe..." he sighed.

There was a brief silence as she slid off one boot, placing it near the bed before proceeding to work on the other.

"What about me? Do you trust me?"

Everil's surprised gaze went towards the makeshift wall, finding his question slightly unexpected. She thought back on what they endured thus far. He witnessed her losses just as she had his. Each time they picked each other up, pushing one another to keep moving forward. To continue on with their duty despite the grief and the sorrow. They traveled together. Fought together. Even very nearly died together. And as the only two Grey Wardens left, they were now trying to save a nation against all odds, together.

Never had she held such a strong sense of camaraderie with anyone before. At least with no one outside of Ser Gilmore and her family. A smile spread over her lips at the realization. "Of course I trust you… I dare say we're even friends now."

There was a pause, followed by a light-hearted chuckle. "I suppose we are, huh?"

The sound of more clanking metal filled the room as he removed the last of the steel plates. Then he emerged from behind the divider, clad in only a linen undershirt, trousers, and boots. "Good thing too! Imagine sharing a room like this otherwise."

And when she went to gaze at him, with a smart comment on her tongue, the words never made it out of her mouth. In the time they traveled since Highever, he never once removed that Grey Warden armor in her presence. And he just made her aware of the fact that she had never been alone in a bedchamber with a man. Not even Gilmore.

Virgin eyes instantly wandered over the rippling muscles beneath that thin, white fabric, taking in solid pecs and strong, broad shoulders. They traveled down to his muscular arms, the curves and bumps like hills asking to be explored. And she went further south to powerful legs, his thighs and calves clearly capable of carrying all that heavy gear for hours at a time.

Everil could not tell if all the tragedy they experienced thus far had a play in it, but all of a sudden she wanted nothing more than to be held by those strong arms. To be pressed tightly against that hard body and kissed tenderly by those full lips. All the while feeling the gentle slip of his fingers through her hair and hearing him whisper reassuring words in her ear as he made love to her.

Oh, how she yearned to just forget about everything and feel good again. If only for a moment. But she knew these impure thoughts were only due to the whirlwind of emotions that raged within her. By the lingering grief and pain. By the desolation she felt knowing that she had no one left in her life. No one but this man. Someone she barely knew and whose friendship was still new.

"Everil...?" he called with concern, completely oblivious. "Want me to go outside?"

She gave her head a shake, snapping out of her reverie before looking back at him. Her gaze focused on his face and she felt herself blush. She chuckled innocently and turned away, trying hard not to show her embarrassment. "No… You're fine. Like I said, I trust you. So I know you won't try anything."

"Ah… Good." He smiled a little. There was no way for him to tell what was going through her head, but he figured she was just tired. They had yet to sleep the entire night thanks to the dangers around them back at the edge of the Wilds.

"But, just so you know…" She grinned teasingly, tilting her head while trailing lithe fingers along the mattress. "I wouldn't exactly turn you away if you tried..."

"Uhm… Huh?" His eyes turned to saucers at the confession, a light tint of red rushing to his cheeks. All right, now he knew what she'd been thinking.

"I'm sorry!" She couldn't help but let out a stream of laughter at his reaction. "It's but a joke. I couldn't help myself."

"Maker…" Alistair croaked and cleared his throat before placing a hand to his chest. With all the insanity they went through, he had almost forgotten her bold sense of humor. "Could you… not do that? I have a weak heart."

"Oh, I'm sure your heart is fine." Everil rolled her eyes and slid off her gloves, placing them on the nearby nightstand. Reaching for her bag, she pulled it up next to her and sat cross-legged. She rummaged through it and produced a map, unrolling it across her lap. It was time to stop torturing herself and get back to the task at hand. The last thing she wanted was to make things awkward between them.

"All right… We should probably use this opportunity to plan our next stop." Everil motioned for him to come over, so he pulled a chair from the corner and set it next to her bed. He sat with the back to his chest, resting both arms over it while gazing at the map.

"I looked at the treaties, and as we said before, we can get help from the dwarves, Dalish elves, and mages." She pulled out a piece of charcoal and began to circle locations. "If I remember my scholar's teachings… The dwarves are here. Mages are here. And last I heard, the Dalish elves were in the Brecilian Forest… Here. Is this correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"You said the arl of Redcliffe could aid us..." She pensively tapped her chin before gazing curiously at him. "How can you be sure that he will help us after the rumors being spread about us?"

"I know because he raised me. He won't just listen to Loghain without looking into things himself."

She blinked. "Wait… He raised you? Are you family to the arl?"

Alistair seemed to pale upon realizing what he'd blurted out. He opened his mouth and closed it before averting his eyes. "What? No. I… Uh… I was actually raised by a pack of wild dogs."

"Wild dogs, huh?" She grinned sarcastically and leaned back against the headboard with arms crossed. "That must have been quite difficult for them..."

He chuckled nervously. There was no way out of it now, but he had to think of something to at least lighten the mood. "Wild, flying dogs, actually. Strict parents and devout Andrastians to boot! That's why I ended up in the Chantry."

"So flying, religious, wild dogs..." She pouted playfully, fluttering her lashes as if he were a lost puppy. "You poor thing…"

He put on a sheepish half-smile. "Or did I dream all that? Funny the dreams you have when sleeping on the cold, hard ground."

"Yes… I can imagine," she chortled, amused by his wild tales. Clearly he was stalling for some reason, possibly unwilling to reveal too much of his past. But if they were to seek out the arl, knowing of his connection with him would help. "May I have the real story, now?"

He drew in a deep breath, mustering a bit of courage. "All right… I'll tell you."

"I'm all ears." She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her folded legs.

"I'm a bastard—"

Everil snickered and opened her mouth.

"—and before you make any smart remarks, I mean the fatherless kind."

Her playfulness quickly faded into a sympathetic look. Bastard children were regarded as inferior to others. Unwanted and rejected by their fathers, while their mothers were seen as spoiled goods by the men. Such things often gave way to a difficult, lonely childhood and she could now see why he tried to avoid the subject.

A sad smile tugged at his lips. "My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle for many years. Whoever my father was left her with child and she died shortly after giving birth to me. I had no one to take care of me, so the arl found it in his heart to take me in and raise me as if I were his own."

A confused crease formed over her brow. "But why did he send you off to the Chantry? If you were like a son to him..."

"Arl Eamon married a young Orlesian woman. Which by the way caused all sorts of problems with King Maric, since it was so soon after the war." His dejected stare fell, voice completely devoid of the frivolity it usually carried. "The new arlessa was already on the defensive by the time she came to live in the castle. And when she heard others whisper I was the arl's son through an affair with a commoner, she felt threatened."

"Why didn't the arl do something to stop those rumors?"

Alistair gave a feeble shrug. "He didn't mind them, but she did. She cared a great deal about appearances, especially living in a country where she was seen by many as both an enemy and a foreigner." Another sigh escaped him as he once again regarded her, the grin that spread on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. "So off I went, shipped to the nearest monastery at age ten to train in the fine arts of mage hunting." He let out a humorless chuckle at the bitter memories. "Just as well… By that time the arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me anymore. She despised me and made sure to let me know every chance she got."

"What a terrible thing to do to a child…" A caring expression formed on her face. It was no wonder he often coated serious matters with humor. It seemed he learned to use it to cope with everything that happened to him.

"I suppose… But I don't begrudge her for it. Now that I'm older, I can see why the rumors bothered her so." Alistair sighed miserably, hanging his head as a self-deprecating look befell him. "I was so angry when the arl told me the news… I remember throwing my mother's amulet against the wall. It had Andraste's holy symbol on it—the only thing I ever had of my mother's. It shattered to pieces…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "What a stupid, stupid thing to do."

She offered him a gentle look. "You were only a child, Alistair."

"Heh... And raised by dogs. Or might as well have been, the way I acted. But I suppose all bastards behave that way… I don't know..." He released a wry laugh before turning to her with a pained frown. "Arl Eamon tried many times to visit me at the monastery. He would often come see how I was doing… To talk to me. The few conversations we had ended in me yelling at him for abandoning me. The rest of the time I refused to see him. But he kept trying… Until he just stopped coming." He let out a worried huff. "I hope he'll forgive me."

Everil reached out, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him. "I'm sure he will… It sounds like he cared about you, in spite of everything."

"Thank you." He breathed in through the nose and then exhaled as if dispelling the uncomfortable feeling the conversation left behind. Then he cleared his throat and grinned lightly at her. "Anyway… Where were we?"

She withdrew her arm and reverted to their map. "Well… Since you're confident that Arl Eamon will help us, perhaps we should go to him first. Loghain is sure to find out we are alive soon and I don't believe he will sit idly by for long." She circled Redcliffe's location, eyes briefly pensive. "Hmm… The arl may be able to get him off our backs, and even provide additional aid as we pick up the support mentioned in the treaties. What do you think?"

Alistair hesitated. He knew they would eventually go to Redcliffe, but hadn't expected it could be so soon. Even after making the suggestion himself, he had hoped for at least more time to prepare. To be somewhat ready to face what awaited him there.

"Alistair?" Everil frowned at the lack of response. "If you don't want—"

"No... I just... It's fine." He pushed himself off the chair and brought it back where he found it. "You're right. We should go to Redcliffe first."

"Are you sure you will be all right seeing him again?" Her troubled stare followed him as he stepped about the room, blowing out their dying candles. All except for the one on the nightstand next to her.

Alistair waved off her question, smiling at her. "Hey, you lead, I follow. So long as you don't take us on some suicidal quest, I'm happy."

"I thought we already were on a suicidal quest," she laughed dryly.

"Oh, riiight…" He chuckled while heading to his side of the room and she heard his back hit the bed. "See? There are worse things to worry about than my silly childhood traumas."

With another shake of her head, Everil rolled up the map, stashing it back into her bag before setting it on the floor. After blowing out the last candle, she lay down with a soft sigh, using one of the furs to cover her legs. A moment of quiet stretched over them as she stared at the ceiling, exhaustion slowly settling in. Her heavy eyelids slid shut, but before she drifted away, his voice reached her once more.

"Hey, Everil…"

"Hm…?"

"I'm sorry you had to give up that amulet... It must have been very difficult for you."

She opened her eyes to again stare at the wooden boards hovering above them, a small smile on her lips. It was kind of him to think of her, especially after having poured his own heart out just moments ago. He seemed to be the type to put others before himself, which she found was rather rare. "It's fine… I don't need a trinket to remember my family. And we had to have the coin."

"I just… I should have been able to help you. Instead, all I've done since before we left the Wilds is wallow in my own grief and feel sorry for myself…" he murmured, his words riddled with guilt.

"You're mourning those you lost... I understand."

"I know that you do... but you needed me." A frustrated breath left him and then his voice was filled with conviction. "I promise it won't happen again."

"It's all right... You were there for me before." Everil craned her head to the divider. "And that you're still here now is good enough for me."

A single, breathy chuckle soon followed. "Aw... Now you just made me blush…"

She laughed a little, rolling her eyes. "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night…"

.x.x.x.x.

Frigid darkness swallowed up the light as unintelligible voices echoed in her mind, reaching into her brain like a thousand clawing fingers. With a feeble whine, Everil covered her ears and fell on her knees, folding over into a ball as she tried to block out the relentless noise. Images of severed limbs, disemboweled bodies, and crushed heads flashed before her eyes, the vacant stares of the dead staring hauntingly into her very soul. The scent of rot and decay overwhelmed her nostrils, threatening to make her spill out the contents of her gut as she gagged and shook. Then the scenery changed and darkspawn surrounded her, clashing their weapons together over their heads and chanting in a foreign tongue.

A loud roar erupted from above and Everil looked up to witness the rise of a mighty dragon, a being she had only seen in history books. It leaned back upon powerful hind legs, spreading its massive wings as it drew in a deep breath. It roared and spit purple fire toward the chamber's high roof, lighting up the chasm as the darkspawn marched past her and along the underground canyon. The creature turned its gaze upon her and snarled viciously as if knowing she was watching. Its jaws opened wide, showing a row of sharp, jagged teeth before it snapped forth, ready to devour her.

She sat up with a start, and on the other side of their room, she heard Alistair do the same. She panted breathlessly, a hand to her forehead in an attempt to ease the pounding headache.

"Did… Did you see that?" he called hoarsely.

She swallowed, her heart pounding in her ears. "The dragon?"

"That was the Archdemon…"

Rustling was heard from behind the wooden pane as he slid off his bed, the sound soon followed by shuffling footsteps. He stumbled over to one of the candles and scrambled to light it, allowing the flickering flame to illuminate their surroundings.

"But it was… a nightmare. What does it all mean?" She regarded him with a disturbed expression, watching as he ran a hand down his face.

"Nightmares are but visions brought forth by the connection we share with the darkspawn and the taint. We can sometimes see what they see..." His tired eyes went to her, a troubled crease upon his brow. "And that we saw the Archdemon… It just confirms that this is really a Blight."

Andraste's mercy… Her hand clasped her chest, covering her beating heart as she wore her lip.

"That thing…" He swallowed uncomfortably and shook his head. "It talks to the horde. And we can hear it, just as they do. Other Wardens… Some have said they could even understand it."

She frowned. "H-How…?"

"I don't know…" he breathed shakily. "I sure can't tell what it's saying. All I know is that… it's terrifying."

The hound's ears perked up and he pushed himself up with a growl. Then a series of screams erupted from outside the inn, echoing through the stillness of the night. Both Wardens froze when the dark whispers returned tenfold, taking over their thoughts as they looked at each other through wide eyes.

Alistair's features paled. "By the Maker… They're here..."

"Shit!" She threw off her covers and jumped off the bed, reaching for her hauberk and quickly throwing it on. Her pulse raced as she worked the straps and buckles with clenched teeth. Alistair did the same, cursing under his breath as more screams filled the village. Everil buckled her boots and then her gloves. "I thought they wouldn't get to Lothering for a few more days!"

He quickly clasped his greaves in place. "They must have sent a detachment to take the village!"

They swiftly picked up their things and stormed out of the room, bumping into Morrigan on their way down the hall.

"Is it darkspawn?" she asked with urgency as they ran past her and she followed.

As if on cue, a genlock emerged from the stairs. It growled at them, its body covered in human blood and gore as drool dripped down its chin. It raised up its jagged blade and charged towards them, releasing an inhuman screech.

"Does that answer your question?" Everil pulled her bow, drew an arrow and fired. It hit between the eyes, causing it to fall with a quiet wail. They rushed down the stairs and through the tavern, over the mangled corpses of the owner and the maids. They threw open the front door, and outside, the village was in chaos. The sound of clashing blades, terrified screams, and dying wails drowned the quiet, all coming from the direction of the refugee camp. Everil took a step, seeing the fires burning as the darkspawn set houses aflame, the light of the blazes igniting the dark skies.

"We cannot defeat them all!" Morrigan said from behind her, her voice barely audible over the screams. "This village is theirs now! We must flee!

A woman and her child were running a distance away, a hurlock in toe with its axe raised. She tripped, and her son fell with her. The creature then cackled loudly and was about to bring death upon them when an arrow pierced the side of its head. It turned to look at the attacker, just to be hit in the face by another arrow. It crumbled to the ground and Everil lowered her bow, craning her head towards the witch. "You may be right, but we still should try to save as many as we can on our way out. Alistair and I will try to help people evacuate the village. In the meantime, I want you to stand back and use your magic on any bastard that gets too close to flanking us."

Morrigan nodded stiffly, obviously disliking the idea.

With that, Everil ran, Alistair and Bjorn rushing after her as they crossed the town square towards the chaos across the bridge. She put away her bow and drew her sword and dagger as her feet pounded the ground, her narrowed stare set upon a group of people being chased by hurlocks. They let the innocents run past them as the two Wardens raised their blades, releasing joined battle cries before their weapons clashed with those of their enemies.

Her sword knocked a hurlock's axe away and she swung back around to cut open its throat. Then she ducked as the one behind it attacked with a mace, avoiding its sidewards strike. As she came up, Everil drove her dagger into its jaw and yanked it out as she pivoted on one foot, promptly dodging another axe. She thrust, piercing the hurlock's chest while kicking another as she recovered her sword.

Meanwhile, Alistair fought a few steps beside her, blocking a downward hit with his shield before slamming it on the head with it. He slashed sideways, cutting across its chest, sparks flying along with blood as he cut through its weak armor. Then he plunged the blade into its gut and quickly whirled about, pulling the sword along with him as he struck at the axe of another enemy. With a roar, he slashed at its head, hitting its warped helmet and cutting across its hideous face.

When they reached the area near the Chantry they saw the bulk of the darkspawn numbers were focused on the Templars and on the refugees still trying to flee their ire. The bodies of men, women, and children bled onto the streets as the creatures tore apart tents, wagons, and people. Each Warden headed towards the closest innocents, splitting up to widen their reach.

An elven family of three cowered against their wagon as five darkspawn closed in on them, ready to tear them to pieces. Everil cried out while slashing at a hurlock from behind, drawing the attention of the rest. She leaned sideways, avoiding a diagonal hit with a sword. Her dagger found its throat before she pushed through the monster to run at the other four. Blood flew as she slashed one, then the next. One by one they fell until the path was cleared.

"Go! Go!" She yelled at the elves and they scrambled, running in a panic towards the back of the town.

Gritting his teeth, Alistair cut down a genlock, then brought his shield up to block a hit from a hurlock. His sword pierced through it and he kicked it off him to quickly step over to the three that rushed at him. His hardened eyes promptly traced their movements and he let them come. One slashed sideways. He crouched and thrust, impaling it. His shield went up, striking at an axe. The Warden's blade cut across its exposed side as he brought his shield arm around, using the edge to hit the third across the face and stagger it. His sword came after it and the hurlock wailed as its chest was pierced through.

Alistair stepped over the corpses towards a woman and four children, who were huddled on the ground, frozen in fear. Her fearful eyes went up to him, promptly seeing the shining griffon on his armor. "A... G-Grey Warden?"

He helped them up before pushing them towards the bridge. "Run towards the northern fields! Hurry!"

Eyes focused, Everil bit her lip, quickly shooting arrows at a small group of darkspawn surrounding a man and his family. Some dropped dead, others were distracted long enough for the refugees to run away. The darkspawn that survived rushed her, but as they approached their bodies erupted into flames, turning into a pile of charred corpses. She turned to see Morrigan standing by the bridge and nodded her way. The Templars didn't seem to notice the witch, too preoccupied fighting for their lives.

Screams nearby drew her attention as more monsters tried to kill another group of people. Everil drew her blades again, running towards the creatures. She kicked down at one's feet, taking it out before stabbing her dagger into its chest. As she stood, another fell behind her, a stab wound upon its back.

A familiar sister stood before her, clothes covered in blood. She seemed to have changed her outfit to leather slacks and a leather coat that looked similar to the Chantry robes.

"Leliana!" Everil called to her, both surprised and relieved to see her.

The nun's eyes widened. "You're here!"

"Everil! There's more of them coming!" Alistair shouted, jogging up to the two women. "There's nothing else we can do on our own! We have to get out of here!"

The grip on her blades tightened, eyes shifting to a large number of darkspawn stampeding through the village gates while cutting down the Templars trying to stop them. She clenched her teeth. If they had been able to stomp the darkspawn threat in Ostagar…

"All right, let's go!" She turned to Leliana. "Do you still wish to join us?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes! Now more than ever!"

"Good! Welcome aboard!" Everil tipped her head and hurriedly ushered them towards the bridge. She sheathed her blades as they ran, taking her bow and shooting several arrows at the enemies following after them. And then they were running across the fields along with the terrified refugees desperately trying to escape. A young girl fell behind with an agonizing cry, one foot crushed by a bear trap placed by the owner of the land. Clicking her tongue, Everil whirled around and hastily went to her, quickly falling on a knee to open the device.

"Help me!" The woman begged, tears flowing down her face.

"I'm trying! You have to—"

A hurlock raised its blade just as the Warden gazed up at her. And it swung, lopping the woman's head clean off from behind. Everil watched, stupefied as the body slowly fell, the head dropping onto the grass next to it. She was about to draw her weapons when something suddenly grabbed it from behind. A large hand was picking it up by the head as if it were weightless. And she witnessed another hand grab the neck before its head was twisted with a sickening snap.

Slowly, her shocked stare moved up to a cage as the darkspawn's body crumbled to the ground, an intimidating creature standing within it. He resembled a man, only several heads taller than her and with a massive, muscular body covered only by dirty linen. His piercing stare was upon her while he scowled, regarding her as if she were nothing but an insect.

He was a qunari. A race of warriors that hailed from the far north past Ferelden's borders.

"Thank you," she uttered breathlessly.

He mutely turned his head as more darkspawn made their way towards them. And she knew then that he would not survive here.

Everil swiftly stood, pulled out two pieces of metal from her pack and picked the lock. She wasn't about to leave anyone she could save behind.

But the man gave her an irritated look instead. "What are you doing, woman? I am a prisoner. Leave me to my fate."

She glared at him with a firm stare, bright blue eyes shining through the darkness. "A life for a life! Now run!"

Upon releasing him, they hurried the rest of the way towards the northern woods, the giant man single-handedly taking out any darkspawn that dared follow.

As soon as they reached the edge of the forest outside the village, Everil stopped and turned to look back from where she stood. More refugees and villagers were fleeing through the fields, running past her as she stared. The screams of terror could still be heard in the distance as the fires spread throughout the small, wooden huts. Windmill blades also burned as they continued their spin, crumbling over the dead and dying. Even the Chantry glowed red as the darkspawn overtook the Templar knights and set their place of worship ablaze.

"Damn it…" Her hands closed into fists and she gritted her teeth before tearing her eyes away. And she kept running, heading deeper into the brush and away from the falling little town.

.x.x.x.x.

"He's… huge."

"Yes. He's a qunari."

"So huge…"

"Alistair…? Are you paying attention?"

He regarded her skeptically, pointing a finger at the creature silently towering over the two of them. "You want him to join us?" He edged closer, whispering to her. "Recruiting the evil witch and the crazy nun wasn't enough?"

Everil shot him a mildly irritated look. "His name is Sten. And yes, as you just saw in Lothering, we need more able bodies to help us in the fight."

Also annoyed, Alistair folded his arms, meeting her gaze. "I was just pointing out that we're starting to look like a traveling freak show. The Grey Wardens are supposed to be respectable, after all."

"So I may be making the Grey Wardens look bad. Is that what you're saying?" Her eyes narrowed, a look she hadn't directed towards him until now.

The icy blue in her stare chilled him to the bone, making him gulp and take a step back. "N-No! I—"

"You know, I think ending the Blight will be enough to fix any damage I may have caused to the order's precious reputation." She turned her back to him and stalked away. Alistair released an exasperated breath, watching as she made for the campfire they scrambled to put together upon finally stopping to catch their breath. They had hardly any sleep, were bloodied, and exhausted. Slumber was no longer an option at this point either, with just moments before dawn. Needless to say, neither of them was in a good mood.

The qunari cast steely eyes upon the tiny man before him. "I believe the woman is upset."

Sighing softly, Alistair found himself staring at her back as she sat by the fire. And then slowly, guilt crawled up his chest upon realizing what he had just done. He dumped all the responsibility upon her shoulders, and here he was, questioning her decisions after what they just witnessed.

Watching an entire village massacred by the very enemy they were supposed to defeat served as a cruel reminder of what they were fighting for. He could still hear the screams in his head and see the bodies littering the streets. It was worse than Ostagar on many levels. At least the soldiers who perished were armed and able to fight back. This… This had been nothing short of slaughter. And they both lived it.

"Ooh, I'm an idiot…" he groaned pitifully.

"Is she your leader?"

He folded his arms, his troubled gaze glancing at the giant. "Yes… sort of."

Sten's scowl deepened. "A female Grey Warden leading a group of warriors… I do not understand this."

"Right… I can imagine." Alistair gave him an odd look, quirking his eyebrow. Qunari was more of a religion than a species. The qun had specific roles for each member of their society, which were decided by birth or the moment an outsider came under their fold. Women were always given non-combatant roles, while the men were raised for battle to defend their people or conquer others. They did not have the best reputation in Ferelden due to the Chantry's depiction of their society, but their violent history did nothing to help their case. This one seemed to be a warrior, which would no doubt help them in their quest.

"Anyway… Welcome to the party," he told the towering man, giving him a lopsided grin.

Sten nodded mutely, face still devoid of emotions.

Giving his head a shake, Alistair once again looked towards his fellow Warden and crossed the distance to her. He approached from behind and took a seat next to her. "Look…" he began, sighing tiredly for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "I'm sorry. You're right. We need all the help we can get, and being picky isn't a luxury we can afford." He put on the most apologetic look he could muster while gazing at her profile. "Can we be friends again, please? You can punch me if it'll make you feel any better."

But despite his attempt at humor, Everil did not laugh.

"I just… I wish I could have helped those people." Her voice was nearly a whisper as she remorsefully stared at the flames. The only other time in which she saw such cruelty was at Howe's hands in Highever. And again, she had to flee.

His brow creased at her crestfallen expression, understanding how she felt. "We did what we could… It may not have felt like it was enough, but the people we saved would think otherwise."

She blew her bloodstained bangs out of her face. "I suppose dying back there would not have helped either."

"No… It wouldn't have." He smiled a little, attempting to cheer her up when even he felt weighed down. "At least if we keep going we can try to save more."

"Right…"

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each of them staring at the fire as their weariness settled over their bodies. It would be nice just to just sleep the rest of the day away. To stop for a few hours and collect themselves. But they had to keep moving. They had to use the light of day and continue on their way.

With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and offered him a hand. "Come on, we need to start walking. If we leave now, we should reach Redcliffe in a few days."

"Yeah…" He clasped her forearm and let her help him up before once again smiling apologetically at her. "So you're not angry at me…?"

A light smirk made its way onto her dirt-stained features and she punched him in the arm, drawing a grunt out of him.

"Hey!" His hand went up to rub the now sore spot as he pursed his lips into a pout. "What was that for!"

She let out a weak chuckle. "There. I feel much better now."

"Well, that wasn't very nice…" he grumbled with a mock hurt look.

Another soft laugh escaped her. "You offered."

He watched her turn away and head over to their companions, gesturing for them to gather in order to discuss their plan. All humor faded from his eyes as Alistair gazed at his feet, his mouth forming a tense line before he meekly kicked dirt into the fire. There were things in Redcliffe he was happy to avoid, but now he may have to face much more than just the arl and his past. And as he returned his troubled stare to her, he found himself wishing for more time. More time to be with her as they were now.