I sort of lied; they don't find the ashes in this chapter. Too much dialogue. I spent a lot of time trying to stuff the temple into this chapter, but eventually gave up because I'm tired.

So here we go. Another chapter. Leave me a review, and I'll love you forever.

Shale

Shale finds them very odd, the Grey Wardens' group.

Obviously, they aren't very wise to embark on the Grey Wardens' quest with them. Shale joined because stone does not die, cannot die. Shale does not risk death, but they do.

Not only that, but they seem very gullible. Most of them appear to believe in this thing called 'the Maker'. And they want to use the burnt remains of His bride's corpse to heal their ally.

Shale doesn't understand, but will follow nevertheless.

By the time they reach camp, Shale has given most of them nicknames. The gray haired one with red robes who often heals the group is the elder mage. The dark-haired one with yellow eyes is the swamp witch. The dark-skinned tattooed elf with the strange accent is the painted elf, and if what Shale hears is true it tried to kill the Wardens. Hmm. It really must be asked about that.

"So," Shale states. "Here is a question for the painted elf."

The painted elf looks around, as if wondering to whom Shale is speaking. "Painted elf... oh, that's me! I do like that."

Not that Shale was seeking it's approval. "The painted elf attacked the Grey Warden, and yet it still lives," Shale reminds it. "Had the decision been mine, it's skull would be pulp right now."

The painted elf grins, shrugging it's small shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Could you destroy something as pretty as I am, hmm?

"Easily," Shale deadpans. "I fail to see how any measure of attractiveness would make one difficult to crush."

"Perhaps you do not know how to look, then," the painted elf suggests. "Look at the witch. Dark eyes, heaving chest, quivering lips. How could one kill such a creature without bedding it, first?"

The swamp witch glares at them. "How relieved I am."

"Here, take that Templar fellow," the painted elf continues. "Rugged good looks, quick wit, manly shoulders. Just getting him to hop borders is a challenge worthy of the great heroes."

The 'Templar fellow' looks over at them incredulously. Perhaps that is what Shale will call it. "A challenge? I'd happily hop borders, given the chance. I've never even been close to leaving Ferelden."

Shale might be ignorant to the ways of these fleshy things, but Shale assumes the painted elf did not mean literally.

"Take the innocent sister, for example. Certainly even you can see the naughty woman waiting to escape from that Chantry frock!"

The sister lifts it's head as if hearing it's name. "Mm? That's odd... I could've sworn I heard an insignificant man talking about my undergarments."

Perhaps Shale and the sister will get along well enough.

"Take a peek at that Circle mage. Must we speak of the allure of an older woman? She has lessons to teach us all, my friend."

The elder mage crosses it's arms, giving the painted elf a stern look. "You have no idea, little elf. Keep your imaginary hands to yourself."

The painted elf ignores the elder mage. "Take a long look at those two Grey Wardens, my good friend. Right there we have objects worthy of worship, no? One would have to be blind not to realise how very pretty we all are and how important that is to preserve."

"Hmph." Shale huffs. "Perhaps there are definitions of "blind" I have yet to understand."

Avina

Avina doesn't like the looks Daylen's been sending her since the Circle tower.

Not that he's obnoxious about it. At first, she barely noticed it. But now, as time goes on, it's becoming more and more distracting.

It doesn't get better when they reach camp. In fact, he insists to take her to see Bodahn's wares. Alone. She doesn't know whether to be pleased or scared.

But as soon as they're out of earshot from the group, Daylen turns to her, forcing her to a stop. He crosses his arms.

"So..." He starts, giving her a look that she knows means trouble. "Your nightmare. In the Fade. Would you mind explaining that to me?"

Shit.

"I... I-" she stammers. "I thought I was in Jowan's place, at Redcliffe."

"Yes," Daylen agrees. "But why would you fear being captured and branded a Maleficar?"

Avina's mouth snaps shut. She's not prepared; she has no way of answering without giving away her secret.

"I had a feeling you were hiding something," Daylen laughs, snapping his fingers at her. Avina blinks in surprise. What...?

"What?"

"Jowan taught you, didn't he?" Daylen guesses, narrowing his eyes. At her shocked expression, he nods as if expecting this. "I thought so. Being as close as you two were, I should have guessed so sooner."

Avina's mouth opens and closes as she tries to find a way to deny it, to make him quiet, something. "I-"

"The only thing that baffles me," he continues as if he can't hear her. "Why haven't you used it? To fight? You're a Grey Warden now. The Templars have no authority over you."

"I can't," she finally blurts. "I have no idea what happens when you use it for the first time. It might be dangerous; what if I was possessed? I can't."

"But that's not the only reason."

Damnit. When did he become so good at reading her?

Avina sighs, burying her face in her hands. "No, it's not."

She jumps when a weight falls on her shoulder, but it's only his hand. "I know," he says quietly. "He was a Templar, after all. You think he wouldn't accept you, if he knew."

"Yes." There's no point in denying it.

Daylen retracts his hand, and Avina looks up at him as he shrugs. "I suspect it will come up sooner or later. Anyway, that's all I really wanted to ask. I think we need more elfroot," he trails off, wandering over towards Bodahn.

Avina pauses, then follows.

He is definitely odd, she thinks. But he's honest, and most of the time he's right.

But she still thinks he was a jerk while they lived in the Circle.

Daylen

It's become a habit of Daylen's to make his way to Morrigan's secluded tent every night to speak to her. Now, he does it without thinking.

It looks as if Morrigan is waiting for him as he approaches. She stands outside her tent, throwing him a devious smile when he comes to stand before her.

She lifts her eyebrows and pouts. "'Tis cold in my tent, all alone."

Were Daylen another man, he might not understand her meaning. Her tent is before her own campfire. She's well supplied with firewood and she has her own furs. They live in Ferelden for the Maker's sake, and she was raised in the Korcari Wilds. She's prepared for the cold.

But Daylen is not another man.

A feral grin spreads across his face. "Oh?" he responds. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

Morrigan shifts, placing a hand at her hip, making her posture more... open. She smirks back at him. "Why, it just so happens that I find you... quite warm," she says suggestively.

He chuckles. "Let's see this tent of yours, then."

"So you shall come to my tent?" She asks innocently. "But whatever shall we do in that tiny little space together while we wait for it to warm?"

He leans closer. "I'm sure I'll think of something," he murmurs, letting his breath float over her lips.

"Good," she replies, "then let us waste no more time with foolish talk."

Alistair

A few of the others in camp have been giving Alistair strange looks. He doesn't know whether to be irritated by it, or terrified.

Honestly, he's kind of both.

Wynne looks at him like that cat that swallowed the pigeon. She looks as if she knows something that he doesn't. It's unnerving.

Leliana keeps giving him these smiles, looking from him to Avina and back like she thinks they're adorable.

Originally, Zevran was admiring the two leaders with great interest, until he noticed Alistair's scowl. Since then, he's been looking at Alistair with a knowing smirk.

Shale is... rather disquieting. The golem says what it thinks, when it thinks so, uncaring of the feelings of others.

"The former Templar has become very close with the other Grey Warden," Shale says to him as they pack up to head to Denerim.

"Uh..." he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. He can only assume Shale means Avina. "yes, I suppose I have at that."

"I find this difficult to comprehend," Shale states, looking at him coldly. "It is whiny and weak and constantly laughing."

Alistair crosses his arms. "Then I guess a romance between you and I is completely out of the question?"

Shale ignores this comment. "And the attempts at humor. I cannot understand how it is endured."

"Well," Alistair snaps, "maybe you should ask her why she likes me so much instead of bothering me with it."

"It has a loud mouth," Shale complains. "Why it's head has not been crushed already is hard to imagine."

"Or maybe you just happen to figure she likes me a lot more than she likes you," Alistair sneers back.

"Don't be foolish," Shale grumbles, but looks away.

Alistair laughs. "Yes, I thought so. Just watch your step or I'm totally telling."

Shale huffs in anger, marching away. "I'm going to stand over here now."

Alistair is feeling rather proud of himself right about then, when Avina walks by. Her hair is unbound, and this sight is so strange to him that he can't help but stare. He's never seen it down before; he notices now that it's so long that it reaches her waist in waves from the braids.

She glances over her shoulder at him. "Good morning, Alistair," she says cheerfully, giving him a sweet smile. He barely manages to nod back before she walks over to Leliana.

Have her hips always swayed like that?

Somewhere behind him, he hears Wynne chuckle. He whirls around, only to see her giving him the same face she'd been giving him before.

"Why are you smiling like that?" He asks her suspiciously. "You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon."

"Canary," she corrects.

"What?"

"I look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

Alistair frowns. Somehow this reminds him of the cat he had at Redcliffe, once. "I once had a very large cat, but that's not my point. My point is why are you smirking?"

She chuckles. "You were watching her," she informs him. "With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were... enraptured."

"She's our leader. I look to her for guidance," he defends.

"Oh, I see. So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?" she replies, amused

Alistair flushes scarlet. "No no no, I wasn't looking at... you know, her... hind-quarters!" Was he? No, he wasn't! Okay, maybe a little...

"Certainly," Wynne says. She's still accusing him, though. He can tell.

"I gazed... - glanced! - in that direction, maybe, but I wasn't staring. Or really seeing anything, even."

"Of course," she agrees. That look has not left her face, however.

Alistair scowls. "I hate you. You're a bad person."

Wynne just laughs.

And for one horrifying moment, he thinks he sees Avina looking his way as if listening. But when he looks up, she's not.

Is it his imagination, or has she turned her back more towards him with her hip popped out?

Bah! He shakes his head, stomping off to collect his things.

Daylen

Ah.

In the morning, Daylen exits Morrigan's tent with an arrogant smile the size of an archdemon. Not two feet behind him, Morrigan follows, a similar expression on her lips.

"I see the stories they tell of Grey Warden endurance are not exaggerated," she notes as he turns to face her.

He arches a brow. "Oh? There are stories?"

She chuckles. "Indeed there are. The unanswered question, of course, is whether the endurance exists because of the taint within you or because the Grey Wardens are by nature so very... healthy. I enjoy the thought that 'tis a little of both. Natural prowess, driven by a darker side."

Daylen laughs quietly, nodding in agreement. "So, what now?" He doesn't want to ask this question, really, but he doesn't want to assume anything. He likes her. He doesn't want to leave this here, as they say. Not that he wants more, necessarily, because he doesn't really. It must be asked.

She crosses her arms. "That is entirely up to you. Simply know that I have no designs over your independence. I wish only to do what I desire, and if that coincides with what you desire... then so be it."

Daylen's arms fold behind his back.

Morrigan's lips press together. "And should you decide not to continue our... misadventure, then so be it. Very simple, is it not?"

Hm. He gets the feeling that is not what she wants.

"I can live with that," he tells her. And he can.

She smiles brightly. "Then we shall get along marvelously. Come, then, let us be off before the others begin to stare."

Alistair

They've been on the road for over an hour, and Alistair has effectively kept his eyes away from her. He's rather proud of himself, actually. He's been looking straight ahead for the entire journey so far.

However, this also means that the group is almost completely silent. The two of them are usually the ones who keep conversation going, and since he can't look her in the eye it's so quiet he thinks it's grating on everyone's nerves.

At times like this, he misses Duncan so much it hurts.

Even Daylen, who'd been grinning from ear to ear earlier this morning (from his time in Morrigan's tent, no doubt), isn't immune to the souring of the atmosphere.

Now, he and Zevran walk beside Alistair while Morrigan, Wynne, and Sten take front guard, with Leliana, Shale, and Avina guarding the rear.

But... wait. Zevran seems like the type of man who has... experience. With women. So, he knows how women work? Or, how... wooing works?

He doesn't want to think about the time he asked Leliana for advice; that could have gone better.

"So," Alistair says casually.

Zevran gives him a long look. "So?"

"Do you mind if... if I ask you a personal question?"

Zevran shrugs. "You may ask, but I may choose not to answer."

"Fair enough," Alistair accepts. "Have you... had very many women in your time? I mean... you seem like the sort of man who would..."

"I have indulged from time to time, perhaps, when my interest is not elsewhere."

"Right." Alistair scratches the back of his neck. "Well, how do you... woo them? Is there a... technique? Or..."

""Woo them?"" Zevran asks, incredulous. "Are you quite serious?"

"Er... yes? I don't know what else to call it."

"So let me get this straight," Zevran says. "You have... never wooed? Not once? You are woo-less, as it were?"

Alistair sighs in defeat. "All right. Bad idea. Never mind."

And it's quiet once more.

When they finally stop for a break, Daylen approaches him.

"I'm just going to stop you right there, Alistair," Daylen interrupts, "and tell you to just kiss her."

"What?!"

Daylen looks back at him innocently. "What? It's obvious that this is where it's going. Just go over there, say something sappy, and kiss her. You two are driving everyone mad with your ridiculous pining."

Alistair's mouth opens and shuts so much he suspects he looks like a fish; but he can't not say something, and he doesn't know what to say to that.

Daylen sighs, grabbing him by the front of his chainmail. "Get over there, you coward," he commands, shoving him towards Avina.

Avina

"You have such beautiful hair," Leliana croons as she runs her fingers through it. "My hair never looks good this long."

"I'm sure that's not true," Avina disagrees. "You're always so lovely."

"Why does it have so much hair?" Shale asks. "It has no uses fighting. Perhaps it can be used as rope?"

Leliana laughs. "No, Shale. We grow our hair because it's pretty. Like your crystals."

At this, Shale looks down at the enchanted light blue of her augmentation crystals in pride.

They really do look good on her; if she were actually a statue, she'd be a great work of art.

Then Alistair is stumbling towards them, the most adorable pinkness in his cheeks, and Leliana spouts out an excuse to leave and hurries off. Shale takes one look at Alistair, lifts her stone nose, and stomps away.

"Hi, Alistair," she greets.

"I'd like to ask you something," he tells her. "So all this time we've spent together, you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... will you miss it, once it's over?"

Avina shrugs her shoulders. "I'm sure there will always be more battles to fight somewhere."

"But... that doesn't mean we would necessarily be fighting them together," he says, somewhat sadly. "I know it... might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to... care for you. A great deal. I think maybe it's because we've been through so much together, I don't know. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He looks at her hopefully. "Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way about me?"

She can't breathe. "I already do," she tells him quietly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His face warms with his smile. "So I fooled you, did I? Good to know."

And suddenly he's cupping her cheek in his palm, and the world slows to a standstill as he brings his lips to hers.

Alistair

Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair to pull her body to his. He almost can't think through the fact that he's kissing her, and that she's letting him, and she fits against him perfectly with her strange height and slim body.

She shivers and sighs against him, and he swears he could die a happy man.

He doesn't ever want this to end, to let her go, but he must if he wants to keep breathing.

They pull away from each other until they're inches apart, panting for breath.

"That," he whispers. "That wasn't too soon, was it?"

She grins. "I don't know," she says teasingly. "I need more testing to be sure."

Maker's breath.

He grins back at her. "I'll have to arrange that, then, won't I?"

She laughs, her silvery blue eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he breathes. "I am a lucky man. Now..." he clears his throat. "Let's get back to... what we were up to before. Lest I forget why we're here."

Tel'abelas.

Next chapter: Haven