I take from the games and books, and twist them around so that they only vaguely resemble the words and ideas of BioWare and David Gaider. It's rather fun, actually. Of course, owning this universe would be even more so…

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The Halla Tainted

Chapter Three

Duncan glanced nervously over at the elven man. Cyrion had been a polite and respectful host, especially in light of his wife simply offering the warden a glare of stormy eyes and then stomped out of the house without a word. The artisan had given out a heavy, knowing sigh and a soft shake of his head before offering the young man some refreshment and a seat. Duncan, trying to be as polite a guest as possible, accepted the offer of tea, and sat down in a chair near the cradle. The cooling tea was quite good and of a quality he was surprised to find in the Alienage. His eyes skimmed over the modest furnishings of the home he sat within. Good quality, but simple. Cyrion obviously provided well for his growing family.

The elven boy, Soris, had finished his meal and was now staring at the young human in their midst. Duncan offered a small smile, which Soris returned easily. The baby in the cradle cooed gently, and the young boy immediately went to her side, cooing back at his young cousin. Leaning over in his seat, the young warden watched as the red-haired boy waggled a long finger in the tiny babe's angelic face. Recalling another baby, Duncan leaned over, gently touching the blond curls that encircled the child's beautiful face. Soris grinned up at the human, obviously proud of the baby as though he was the father instead of cousin.

As he watched, the young babe opened her eyes, staring at him with impossibly blue orbs. Enchanted, he moved closer, letting the child take hold of his forefinger. Cyrion had re-entered the room, watching the young man coo and awe over the elven baby.

"She's beautiful," Duncan whispered, his eyes still upon her little face.

Beaming with pride, Cyrion stepped closer, gazing that the small bundle. "Indeed she is," he said quietly, smiling as the child's eyes fixed upon his familiar face. "She's our little miracle."

Duncan looked up, a brow raised in question. Cyrion smiled. "The winter was difficult for the Alienage," the craftsman said as he knelt by the cradle, brushing his hands over the soft curls of his daughter. "The pregnancy difficult as well. And, when she was born…" his voice caught here, the same fear of voicing what could have been coming alive once again in his breast. He pushed that foolishness aside. "She was so small, the birth itself so difficult. And she was very early." He frowned slightly, thinking of how difficult it had been for Adaia to become pregnant, thinking of the other children that had never even had a chance at their first breath upon birth. Dark eyes twinkling, he rose, smiling down at his little miracle. "But, she has grown strong and though she will never be of a size, she will live and flourish." He looked over at the human. "And for that we have the Maker and Creators to thank."

"Your wife is Dalish," it was a statement of fact, not a question. And Cyrion picked up on that and nodded his head. "How, then, did you and she meet?" Duncan was curious.

A knowing grin crossed the elven man's face. "Ah," he hummed, "that is a story that is Adaia's own, and I shan't be the one telling it."

"Oh?" Duncan quipped as he rose to his feet and relinquished his spot to Soris.

"Indeed, young one," Cyrion teased as he stepped to the dining table and took a seat, indicating one for the warden. Adaia apparently would be a while longer in returning. "You only have to deal with her for as long as either she will allow or until what mission it is you need her assistance with is concluded. I, on the other hand, must live with the woman."

"She has a temper, I take it?" Duncan pressed, chuckling at the look the older man gave him.

"Fiery is not nearly strong enough a word, I fear," Cyrion chuckled. "My wife's temper can make fires cold."

"You haven't asked about this mission we need her assistance with?"

Cyrion shook his head. "And I won't, until Adaia tells me what it is." He cocked his head to the side. "Adaia is not one for keeping secrets, especially from her family and people."

"Her people are very important to her, eh?" Duncan asked as he picked up his tea cup, the tea now cold but still palatable. .

"None more so other than her family," Cyrion advised, putting his cup down to stare at the young man. "She would let all of Fereldan burn if need be, so long as her people escaped unscathed."

Suddenly serious, the young Grey Warden said, "I heard rumors that Adaia served in the rebellion."

Cyrion paused, studying the young man before him. A knowing smirk crossed his well formed face. "At one time, Fereldan was important to Adaia, that much is true. But, times have changed, and with that so, too, has her opinion. She remained to help out the elves of Fereldan, and because of her duty and devotion she is well loved here in the Alienage. Outside these walls…" the elf shrugged, taking a sip from his cup. "I don't think she truly even cares."

Staring down into the cup in his hand, his eyes unfocused, Duncan had to wonder why anyone would think that the Dalish woman would assist in something that would more than likely only affect the non-elven population of Fereldan. Sighing, he brought the cup to his lips, feeling as though he would fail before his mission had fully begun.

oOo

She stalked through the streets of the shemlen city she had bonded herself to. Bonded through her own weakness of having fallen in love with a flat ear, she scowled to herself, feeling none of the venom that the words would have elicited had they been spoken aloud. She did not, truly, regret remaining behind after the last of her hunting party had returned to their clan. She had never regretted falling in love with the kind, gentle soul that was Cyrion Tabris. Her only true regret had been in remaining in Denerim rather than trying to convince her beloved to leave the Creators' awful taint that was the city filled with human refuse and elves who had forgotten who they were.

Had they done this, she would have been none the wiser of Maric's continual betrayal. Had she left, Loghain would never have been put into the position of further betraying her. She paused in her steps, glancing back toward the noble district, back toward the palace and the offices of her friend. She sighed heavily, turning fully back, and began pacing back toward the district she had just (thankfully) left.

She knew she had had no right - no true call - to speak to Loghain as she had. He had always been a true friend. He and Rowan. Rowan was the female friend she had needed; Loghain a human soul so much like her own. During the rebellion, the pair of them would drive the normally jovial and optimistic (foolishly so) Maric to distraction, while Rowan would merely shake her head, making certain that healing poultices were on hand should the pair ever get into a heated 'discussion'. She shook her head. Had Loghain been born elf, then he would have been the perfect living soul. His very humanity had blinded his being, made it difficult for him to see beyond his country to anything that truly was important.

Adaia paused, her eyes trained forward, back the way she came. She fully intended to apologize to Loghain. But not now. Her words, as harsh as they had been, were still honest, still needed to be said. After all these years, someone within that damnable fortress needed to know that the promise had been broken, and she was no longer willing to overlook that fact.

She turned around yet again, resuming her walk back to her home, back to where the young Warden awaited her. Upon her return, she determined, she would apologize to Loghain. Perhaps that bow he had always been eyeing would be sufficient apology.

oOo

Duncan had stepped outside, standing before the doorway that led into the Tabris household. Soris had gone to take a nap while Cyrion watched over his small baby. The young warden glanced back at the door, feeling something he had never felt before: envy.

He recalled his own miserable childhood, and had thought that he would never miss the closeness of family as he had not know it for most of his life. However, speaking with Cyrion, watching as his nephew hovered over the babe, listening to the love that was clear in Cyrion's voice when he spoke of his wife, his child, when he spoke to his nephew, make the man realize he did, indeed, miss such things.

And he was planning on trying to convince a woman to leave behind her loved ones, for no obvious benefit to herself or her own. He shook his dark head, admitting defeat in a way he had never done before.

Not since before he met Genevieve and been forcefully inducted into the wardens.

There was a light greeting ahead, and he lifted his head, watching as the tall, determined figure of the Dalish woman walked into view. Her steps seemed less angry than they had been when she had left, but no less determined, and the young warden took that as a good sign.

He watched as she paused, tilting her sunny blond head to scrutinize the young human who stood mere yards away. Duncan noticed the slight tilt of her lips, recognizing the grin she had given him more than a year before when he had first spied her in the market district. With the anger erased from her features, she was a truly striking woman, and he was reminded, yet again, just how beautiful she was.

Adaia shook her head, and resumed her determined pace to her home. She stopped before him, gazing at him square in the eyes, as she stood as tall as he. Duncan reminded himself not to appear nervous, for the Dalish warrior was obviously assessing him, taking his measure. His feet, however, wanted to shuffle nervously, but he managed to keep them as under control as he did his steady seeming gaze.

The grin widened slightly, and Adaia nodded her head. "I thought I recognized you," she murmured quietly, taking the young man by surprise. He met her smile with a smirk of his own.

"You were obviously purchasing the cloth for the babe," he remarked, still grinning at the woman.

A blond brow quirked upwards. Then she snorted indelicately. "I understand that you have the need for a Dalish hunter who knows both the Forests and Wilds."

He nodded, watching her excessively expressive features work themselves into a calm mask. Her gaze remained steady and searching. Then, with a nod, she pushed past him, placing her hand to the knob of the door.

"We leave at first light," she instructed, turning the knob to take her leave. "Meet me here." With those final instructions, she entered her home, closing the door softly behind her.

Relief washed over the Warden as he stared at the closed door for a moment or two before walking toward the gate exiting the Alienage. Aldrich would be very pleased.

Duncan paused, glancing back at the door, a sudden worry crossing his mind.

Or be very, very confused why it was so easy to convince the taciturn elf to assist them.

He resumed his walk, shrugging his shoulders. At least she agreed.