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Much to his chagrin, Deylan was finding Zevran to be useful. While he talked to a dark haired man claiming to be Weylon in Brother Genitivi's home, Zevran had quietly snuck around and opened a door at the back of the house. Within, he found the body of the real Weylon, long dead, preserved by magic. The fake Weylon was quickly disposed of and the house searched. Within some of Brother Genitivi's papers, they discovered the location of a small village high in the Frostback Mountains. Deylan was dismayed at the thought of traveling there during the winter. It was entirely possible the road there would be blocked by snow and they would have to waste time and energy to magically clear their way. Inwardly grumbling at the task ahead of them, he led the group back to their lodging.

They arrived at the Silver Vixen after dusk. Deylan was surprised to find Ilaria sitting on a table in the lounge with Alistair on the bench nearby. They were both laughing loudly. It only took a few moments of observation for him to realize that they were both drunk. If the number of empty tankards was any indication, they were very drunk.

"Looks like I missed the fun group," Zevran grumbled with mock solemnity.

Ilaria started up on the verse of a bawdy song that she'd apparently been trying to teach to Alistair. She paused periodically to correct him. They'd sing a few lines, off-key, before breaking down into uncontrolled laughter.

"Ilaria," Deylan called out sternly after watching them for a minute in bewilderment.

Hazy eyes flashed in his direction. After a moment, they lit up and she jumped off the table she'd been sitting on. She stumbled a few steps before finding her balance and ran into Deylan, nearly knocking him off his feet as she wrapped his waist in a tight hug.

"Deylan! I was wonderin' when you'd get back! Alistair and I were going to wait for all of you but you're sooooo slow!" Her attention snapped around. "Zevran," she exclaimed running over to the assassin and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Come have a drink! They have this really yummy wine that has these funny bubbles... I think it's magic..." She began to giggle.

Deylan looked up to find Alistair pouting as he watched Ilaria prattling to Zevran. It seemed his melancholy was short lived, however, because Ilaria's enthusiasm quickly found a new target.

"Leli!" she squealed as if seeing the bard for the first time in ages. "You have to learn this new song," she said between giggles. Her voice then dropped into a somber whisper. "It's dirty..."

"Okay, I think you've had enough for tonight," Deylan began. "Let's get you to bed..."

At that moment, Alistair rose from the bench he'd been sitting on only to lose his balance and come crashing down to the floor. His muscular frame landed with a resounding thud. There was a muffled "ow" as Alistair tried to roll over. With an exasperated sigh, Wynne passed Deylan and headed toward the prone figure on the floor. Ilaria moved to follow and only managed a few steps before stumbling. Zevran effortlessly caught her, sweeping her up into his arms.

"I'll take her up to bed," the elf said. As Deylan opened his mouth to speak, Zevran continued, "I promise to be on my best behavior, Warden. You'll never meet a more perfect gentleman."

Glancing over again at Wynne helping Alistair, he nodded at Zevran who headed toward the stairs. Morrigan had disappeared and Sten was still camped about a mile away with Shale and Dax leaving him Leliana and Wynne to get Alistair up the stairs on their own. Deylan pushed aside his irritation and got to work.

Despite the enthusiasm she had showed when her companions first entered the tavern, Ilaria had noiselessly curled into Zevran as he stopped her fall. While he carried her up the stairs, she pressed her forehead into his neck and rested. He thought she'd fallen asleep until he stepped into her room.

"I want to take off my boots," she mumbled as he stepped into the dark room.

He set her down gently on a chair near the small window. Soft moonlight filtered through the dingy glass, painting her in its pale colors. He looked up at her and her eyes glowed a soft blue as she flicked her hand toward the fireplace. The cold moonlight was soon replaced by the warm flicker of firelight. Though his experience with mages was limited, he'd seen few mages capable of lighting a blaze with so little concentrated effort.

"You are simply amazing, mia bella," he crooned as he helped unlace her leather boots.

"I wasn't always. I shouldn't be..." He looked up at her to find her staring into the fire, a distant look in her eyes. "I could only cast simple spells as a child. I wouldn't have been much of a mage at all if my father..." She trailed off into silence, a pained look clouding her features.

He removed both of her boots and set them aside. When he rose, he gripped her hands and pulled her up with him. "Come, dolce. You must sleep, for tomorrow we head off to wonders unknown."

She nodded and didn't fight him as he led her to her bed. She lay down and quickly drifted off to sleep. Zevran watched her for a moment and wondered what secrets were hiding in her beautiful head. He stepped out of her room just as Deylan lumbered by supporting the weight of his fellow Warden. Zevran smiled to himself thinking he'd managed to escape with a much more pleasant chore for the evening. He quickly disappeared into his room to avoid being asked to help.

They left for Haven early the next morning. The weeks spent on the road drew everyone closer together. They protected one another and shared the same space day after day. Before long, they were and odd sort of family. Not everyone got along or liked each other, but everyone watched out for the others. Ilaria spent her days talking to her new family and her evenings sparing with Zevran or Leliana. She knew how to handle daggers from her time in the Faire but had never learned to fight with them. Eventually she convinced Alistair and Sten to spar with her. She'd wield her mage's staff from the Circle to parry blows from their swords. Though she'd used spells to bolster the strength of her staff, one night the inevitable happened. As she blocked a particularly forceful blow from Sten's two-handed sword, the staff gave way and snapped in two.

"Dammit," she said as Sten lifted her from where she'd fallen to the ground.

"My apologies, Basra. It was not my intention to break your... stick," Sten said in his usual solemn manner.

"No apology needed Sten. It was expected. I have another in the wagon."

Alistair had been watching them spar and had nearly run over when Ilaria had fallen. He found himself more and more preoccupied with her wellbeing lately. His eyes followed her as she headed toward the supply wagon. She climbed into the back and returned with a long box that had been tucked into the corner of the wagon. He was puzzled when, instead of opening it and removing the staff that must have been within, she set the box down and stood staring at it with an apprehensive look. She remained that way for some time. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him and he strolled to her side.

"Now, I've seen a lot of boxes but that is a particularly nice looking one," he said, overly cheerful as he approached.

She jumped, startled. "Alistair, I wasn't expecting you." She turned back to the box.

He waited and when she didn't speak, "Is it going to attack if you open it?"

She chuckled. "No, I just..." She trailed her fingers over the edge of the box before reaching down to the latch. She lifted the lid slowly. Within lay a simple and elegant staff. The base had a large knob while the top carried an unusual stone.

"It's a family heirloom," Ilaria explained simply.

"Is that why you've been using the one you brought from the Circle instead?" Alistair questioned. "I could understand how you wouldn't want it to get ruined."

"No, not really. It's... well... I grew up hearing stories about this staff. The last mage to use it was my grandmother. It doesn't work well for everyone."

"What do you mean, 'for everyone?'" he queried.

"The staff is made of dragon bone. My father says some of the dragon still remains within it." She smirked. "He said that it took the touch of a particular mage to tame a dragon. He never used it. He gave it to me the summer before he died. Apparently, it backfires on a mages who can't control it."

"Hmm... well, I can see how that might give you reason to pause."

She sighed before raising her hand. Her fingers trailed lightly over the staff.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of the staff? No. It's just a way to channel power and this one is especially good for battle magics." What he said next he wasn't entirely sure he understood because she said it so softly. "I'm afraid of myself."

"What?"

"Nothing," she smiled sweetly. Without any of the hesitation she'd shown earlier, she reached into the box and lifted the staff out. At her touch, the stone at the top came alive with soft light swirling sedately within. She gasped slightly and Alistair felt the air around her become charged with magic.

"Uh... is everything alright?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes alight with the energy she controlled. He felt the magic drain away and the stone and her eyes faded back into the normal shades of night. Her expression grew wistful.

"This is the only thing I was able to take with me when I left Tevinter that belonged to my family... to my father. He used to tell me about my grandmother using this staff to battle Qunari. It's old. I don't know how many generations it's passed through. My father says that every time he picked it up it would shock him. He was more of a healer. He thought the staff had seen so many battles that it refused to be used for anything else." She snorted in amusement. "Guess I've got the right touch."

"What was your father like? You've told me stories of him before but not really about him."

"My father... He was a good man: kind, funny, thoughtful. He was a perfect contrast to what I remember of my mother. She was all fight and fire he used to say."

"How old where you when you lost your mother?"

"Twelve. She was killed while fighting the Qunari. My grandmother was so proud. Do you remember anything about your mother?"

"No, she died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. My childhood wasn't so bad," he gave her a smile that she couldn't help returning. The stayed there talking for some time. Alistair's stomach fluttered every time she laughed. Finally, leaning her staff against the wagon, Ilaria closed the box and pushed it back inside.

"I'd better get to bed. If I don't turn in soon, Dax is going to go snuggle up with Sten again and I won't have my bed warmer."

"Ilaria," he stopped her before she could walk away by grabbing her arm. As she turned he allowed his fingers to slide down her arm. Her gripped her fingers lightly. "I... I wanted to tell you I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together."

She squeezed his fingers and smiled up at him. "Me, too. It's nice to have a friend I can talk to."

"Yeah, friends are good," he said lamely trying to hide the disappointment he felt welling in his chest.

"See you in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Good night, Alistair."

"'Night," he smiled. As she turned away, he let the smile slide from his face. He watched her disappear into the darkness of her tent with Dax before trudging toward his own tent for the night.

The Warden's little group had traveled the pass up to Haven with surprising ease which made the attack by the villagers seem all the more out of place. Ilaria felt the weight of death hanging over her. It made the hike to the doors of the Temple of Andraste all the harder. Every villager that fell on their way to the ashes pressed down on her. By the time they left the Temple and passed through to the Gauntlet, she was exhausted. Seeing the ashes left her with a feeling of reverence, but she didn't feel that it had affected her in the way it had Alistair, Wynne and Leliana. They left the Gauntlet and began back across the plateau toward the Temple entrance. They were half way across when a horn echoed across the mountain top. Leliana's bow snapped up and an arrow was loosed very quickly, felling a cultist near the Temple's entrance, but it wasn't fast enough. With a loud roar, the dragon the cultists had been worshipping descended on the group.

Before long, the group was spread out around the angry beast, each doing their best to cause as much damage as possible. Ilaria watched as a strong bolt of lightning shot toward the dragon from Morrigan. The dragon shook its head, stunned for a moment, before seeking out her attacker. She whipped her large bulk around to face the witch and sent a gust of wind crashing into Morrigan with her wings. Ilaria felt panic rise in her chest as she watched the dragon's head pull back, her jaws opening to blast fire where Morrigan had been pushed down.

Summoning up all the energy she could, Ilaria used a spell to rush herself between Morrigan and the dragon. She was able to pivot around and put a shield over the two of them before the dragon fire came rushing at her. She thought she heard Deylan's voice screaming Morrigan's name, but the rush and the heat quickly blocked out any outside noise.

"Morrigan! Morrigan, get up! You have to get out of here! I don't know how long I can hold this up," she yelled behind her.

Unable to see behind her, Ilaria continued to hold the shield up. The last of her flagging energy was quickly fleeing her under the onslaught of fire. As she tried to force more energy into the shield, she began to feel it splintering above her. As the intense heat reached her hands raised above her, she couldn't help crying out. The pain in her hands was intense and she knew the shield would fail completely in moments. She was preparing herself for the fire to come rushing around her when another bolt of lightning streaked past her. The brightness of the fire disappeared and she collapsed backward, cradling her hands to her chest as she tried to remain seated upright.

The rest of the battle she watched through a haze of pain. She thought she saw Sten darting beneath the dragon's legs just before it fell. The moment the dragon's head hit the ground Alistair was driving his sword though it. She could feel Deylan's magic channeling the last of the energy from the dragon. She sank back, feeling her weight sinking into the cold ground beneath her, relieved it was over.

"Ilaria!" she heard voices calling, though it seemed they were far away.

She'd just begun to sink back into the blackness that had been beckoning her when she felt herself being lifted. She opened her eyes to see, first Morrigan and then other faces above her.

"Are you alright?" Alistair's voice.

"My hands," she choked out.

"Out of the way," she heard Wynne saying. She couldn't help whimpering as Wynne pulled her arms away from her body to examine her hands. "This will take some time to mend. Morrigan, please, put her to sleep. This will be easier if she's still."

The heavy weight of spelled sleep pulled her under, away from the searing pain and cold ground and into the warm, dreamless black of sleep.

Ilaria's eyes opened to the soft light of a cloudy day filtering through the window. It took several moments before she was awake enough to piece together her memory enough to realize that she was tucked beneath heavy quilts in a warm bed. She looked around and was pleasantly surprised to see Alistair asleep in a chair across the room.

"That fool has hardly left the room." Morrigan's voice broke into her thoughts dispelling the last cobwebs of sleep.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Just over a day."

She raised her hands to the light. She hesitantly turned them over to see the damage done to her palms. Instead of the burns she expected, there was nothing but the bright pink of recently healed skin.

"The old woman does her job well," Morrigan said curtly.

"Are you alright?" she asked thinking of the dragon as it had hovered over the witch.

"I am well. It would seem I am in your debt," she said peevishly.

"You don't owe me anything, Morrigan."

"T'would seem I do. You expressed an interest in my knowledge of shape-shifting. I will teach you what I know." She stalked toward the door of the room.

"Morrigan," Ilaria called out softly, stopping the young witch at the threshold. "I meant what I said. You don't owe me anything."

"I always settle my debts," she replied without turning around shutting the door solidly behind her.

Alistair immediately perked up. "Thank the Maker, she's gone!" he said, rising and walking to the bedside. "I've been pretending to sleep for over an hour just so I didn't have to talk to her."

Ilaria smiled indulgently up at him as he sat on the bedside. "Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," he smiled back. "You seem to be feeling better."

"Morrigan was right. Wynne does do her job well. Was anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing serious. Scrapes and bruises mostly."

"How bad were my hands?" she said as she sat up. "I... I couldn't bring myself to look at them."

"Wynne said not to tell you but... well, it's probably better that you didn't look."

While Alistair continued speaking, Ilaria felt her stomach churn a little at the thought of what might have happened if Wynne hadn't been there. A mage can still cast without hands but it becomes a lot more complicated. The memory of the pain was still fresh in her mind and she force herself to focus on what Alistair was saying to push past it.

"...got the ashes. We'll be ready to leave at sunrise tomorrow. Are you okay? you look a little pale."

"I'm fine. Just a little thirsty."

"I'll get you some water," he replied.

He quickly leaned over and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before jumping up and bounding out of the room like a mabari pup. Ilaria put her hand to her cheek. She wanted to let that wave of giddiness building in her stomach to wash over her but, instead, pushed it back down. When Alistair came back into the room a few minutes later she was curled up under the blankets again. She'd taken her cue from him and was pretending to sleep. She didn't respond when he softly called her name. She heard him set a cup down on the table near the bed and return to his chair. After lying still with her eyes closed long enough she did drift back off to sleep and spent the night troubled by dreams of dragons and templars and endless searching.