Life was hard.

I had learned this lesson early, but it seems that if a lesson was worth learning once, you could learn it again. But worse. So much worse.

Duncan. My Brothers. My half-brother. Two of the recruits.

It was only me and the green-eyed woman who was so damnably quiet that I wanted to scream as I had when I was a young boy new to the monastery.

Aliara was tougher than I was; I had seen that for myself up in the tower. There was no room for fear in her expression as she rushed the Ogre at the very top, our last obstacle, as though it were just any old darkspawn. Even when it grabbed her and began to shake her like a child's well-loved and oft-abused toy, she never faltered, commanding me to attempt some tricky shield maneuvers and for the mage to heal her as she couldn't reach her potions. Her plan of having me stun the beast to cause its grip to slacken worked, but I had no idea that she – that anyone – could land like that; tossed in the air, but landing as though it had been her idea in the first place.

My mind thought, as she yelled and pushed me behind her when the ambush came, that while Duncan was my male Hero, maybe she was my female Hero. The next thought had been horror as she used her shield to protect me, leaving her open to all of the arrows flying at us. My terrified yell was lost beneath a roar so loud it shook my bones and loosened the mortar, which knocked me very rudely straight to unconsciousness.

I awoke, yelling her name again, but only saw too much disturbingly pale, voluptuous curves instead of green eyes and steely determination. My next yell was because that harpy was touching me – eurgh – a cruel smirk making the shadows of her pointed face seem gaunt as she rubbed herself indecently against me, watching my discomfort with unholy glee. Until Flemeth dryly suggested that Morrigan check on their more severely wounded patient.

I felt relief until I made the terrible choice of looking at Flemeth's leathery face, eyes too bright as she watched me, looking at me as though I were some worthless bug. She suggested that I get dressed and go outside, that my lady was to awaken soon. I made no smart-arsed comment to her, realizing that my "lady" had avoided angering her earlier for good reason. I was trained to feel maleficar and Flemeth felt like the worst there ever was. I was glad that my fellow Warden had taken charge in the forest before, not letting me get us all killed.

Like Duncan. Oh, Duncan.

Flemeth told me what had happened as I got dressed, making the act of putting my armor on a pain that would never heal. I remembered every piece that I had upgraded with Duncan's approval and pride, his family arms on some of those pieces. His presence carved on my very existence.

Maker, if this was what losing family felt like – family for only six months – I wondered how she could stay so quiet, how she wasn't howling her rage and need for vengeance to the moon. I wished I could find Duncan's body, bury it in a place he loved, a place worthy of his remains. Anywhere other than the cruel battlefield that took him from me.

My thoughts were dark as I felt her walk up behind me. I stood staring, unseeing, at the swamp's edge and turned at her question, "Are you alright?" not surprised to find her looking fierce and determined even with a bulky bandage wrapped around her shoulder, as though it were the only thing holding her arm on.

I admired the strength that emanated from within her; I wanted it for my own. We talked of what had happened and as a sob clawed at my throat, I saw Aliara's strength falter – only a moment – and I realized that dying in the Joining might have been more merciful than losing the people who had welcomed her into their midst after losing all she had ever known and loved. The naked agony in her eyes and the creases around her lovely mouth caused me to lose what dignity I had left; tears flowed as the closeness I had with Duncan tumbled as ungainly words out of my mouth.

Horrified, I realized – again – how much more she had lost than I and I began to apologize, all fumbling words and mad hand motions, when her composed presence registered in my mind, her face close, agony still lurking there but with strength renewed, her hands gripping my upper arms as she told me verbally and with those eyes: I understand. I'm here. "It isn't great, but we are Wardens and we can make things right."

That strength in her – was it the need for revenge? I knew that was all that kept me from curling up in a ball, crying out for my lost father. But I watched her deal with Morrigan, deal with me, and I knew that vengeance wasn't keeping her upright, though it sometimes made her grim, stony, as if blood was the only currency she would accept. When I saw that look in her eyes – those beautiful expressive eyes – a thrill ran up my spine. She had compassion in spades, but those who hurt others would never see her mercy and my soul crowed exultantly as she decimated the bandits who threatened the already-beleaguered Lothering. I saw that Morrigan eyed Aliara with open admiration for her firm convictions, even if she was against them.

I didn't like that Morrigan could summon a smirk to Aliara's face as often as I could. I hated the pointedly smug glances that Morrigan would give me behind my Hero's back, the "I won, nyah nyah," making me feel like we were siblings squabbling for our parent's love and approval.

I only felt worse when she took Leliana and then Sten in, however.

Leliana was more traditionally gorgeous than the other two women; my Hero probably too tough and steely for most men to feel comfortable, while Morrigan was all exotic exhibitionist. Leliana saw the strength of character in my fellow Warden as soon as we entered that run-down tavern, though, and I hated it. How the bard's eyes brightened as she strode forward to welcome us, interrupted by those louts who dared to threaten us!

I made some quip about crazies as Aliara invited the thieving wench along. They were fast friends which would have made me feel terrible except that Morrigan looked just as put out by it as I.

Actually, sharing any kind of emotional connection with Morrigan? That's enough to make me feel ill. Eurgh.

Sten was when I started to sweat. Aliara wanted a Qunari to join us? Fierce warriors and this one a murderer? Great. She wouldn't want me around. I was to see action only from the campfire. I was the failed Templar and the only Warden – official Warden and not newbie – to be turned away from the battlefield. Why would she bother taking me with her when she could have that beast of a man?

But she politely asked him to begin setting up a campsite for us all while we finished up what we could at that doomed town. I knew I was looking at her with some dumbfounded, incredulous face, but all she did was smile, the sadness banished from her eyes for a moment, and grip my shoulder. We're in this together, it meant. "I won't cast you aside," Aliara promised. "We're in this thing together."

Morrigan made some asinine comment comparing my abilities to Sten's, but I no longer worried. I had her promise and smile. They were what I needed most in those dark times. I found a rose in that place, the warmth from her hand dissipating slowly from my shoulder as I bent down to gently pluck it from the bush.

I would only realize how hard and how quickly I'd fallen when we met Zevran. Grrrrrrr.