~ Alistair ~

"Move her."

"No!"

"She has bled on my blanket and I wish to clean it before we travel again. Move her!"

"Maker's sake, she's injured! How can you be so... cruel?" Alistair backed protectively over Marian's body, resisting the urge to slide his sword from the sheath over his back. If he drew steel, who knew what the witch would do.

Morrigan's lips thinned, yellow eyes flashing. "Move her or I shall kill her where she sleeps. Do not test me on this, templar."

Alistair gaped at the witch, positive he'd never met a more poisonous person in his life. Andraste's sword, but she makes Cousland seem warm and fuzzy. Deciding it'd be better not to take chances, Alistair knelt and scooped the sleeping woman into his arms, lobbing Morrigan a nasty look as he stood. Marian lolled against his shoulder, so helpless, so dependent on him... She's just asleep, he reminded himself, moving a few feet away to a soft patch of moss and bracken. Without even the winter sun to cut the chill, the night was growing colder by the moment, and he was worried for the slight woman. She'd borne Cousland's impromptu surgery with such grace. Alistair had never needed it done himself, but he had been stabbed - likely, it amounted to much the same thing. Either way, a knife wound was serious business.

Morrigan snatched her blanket with a dark glare and stalked off into the darkness toward the river. Carver had gone in that direction not long ago, cleaning up after their evening meal. He'd done a fair job with cooking, though Cousland hadn't been impressed with the boy's simple preparation of the rabbits he'd returned with. What does he want? Alistair thought. We're lucky Carver can cook at all. There's no way I'd trust Morrigan with our food.

That spot didn't look too bad - no sharp stones or exposed dirt, at least. Alistair knelt, doing his best not to jostle the fragile girl in his arms, and laid her in the plush undergrowth. He sat back, lips pursed, then retrieved his own blanket from the pile Marian had been laying in. Sure enough - Morrigan had torn a strip from one end to make Marian's bandage, leaving the fabric ragged. He shivered - how cold was it going to get? He was no healer, but it seemed logical that someone with a bleeding wound shouldn't spend the night outside on the freezing ground during the coldest month of the year. Vague worries of the taint chased through his mind, but he dismissed them almost as quickly as they surfaced. If she'd been tainted, she almost certainly would be showing signs by now. Thank the Maker she's an archer, he thought.

Setting the blanket on the ground, he considered. Her cloak was nearby - he would start with that. Retrieving the garment, he covered her as best as he could, surprised at how well it seemed to be working. It was voluminous, a swath of serviceable forest-green, sturdy and waterproofed - better than his own blanket, truth be told. So large for one so small... he tucked the fabric gently around her shoulders, doing his best not to disturb the bandages. She murmured in her sleep, those rosy lips holding him mesmerized for a moment. His heart picked up, palms sweating as he reached out to brush calloused fingers over her petal-soft cheek.

Carver and Morrigan strolled back into camp then, the neatly folded blanket hung over the lad's arms. Alistair stood up in a hurry, moving away from Carver's sister before he could be suspected. Of anything. Not that there was anything worth suspecting. He'd been covering her - that was all. Right.

Carver ignored him, completely unaware, engrossed in Morrigan and whatever she spoke of. Feeling foolish, Alistair gathered Marian's things and laid them nearby for her to find - her jerkin, her bow, the quiver of arrows. Taking up his blanket, he went to make his bed across the clearing from where Marian slept. And if he placed himself so that he could watch her... well, who could blame him, really?

He was a touch surprised when Morrigan approached Marian a short time later and moved her cloak aside. The witch peeled the bandage away, smearing some sort of salve in the wound before laying a poultice atop the torn flesh. Marian's raven head turned, murmuring in her sleep, but she didn't wake. Alistair watched, untrusting of Morrigan's intent, the muscle below his jaw twitching with tension. One hint of magic and I'll cut her down. Apostates...

"Will that heal her?" Carver knelt beside the witch, naked hope in his eyes. Morrigan turned her flaxen glance his way, lips curving upward. She seemed amused by the young man's concern. She's like a black widow, Alistair observed, the spider who devours her mate.

"She shall be well enough by morning," Morrigan drawled, tugging the cloak back over Marian's comatose form. "She is lucky to have one such as you to care for her."

"She was always the one caring for us," Carver muttered. "Ever since father died. You'd think I'd have been the man of the family, right?" A bitter chuckle spilled from his lips.

"There are other ways to prove oneself a man," Morrigan offered, her voice soft. "Joining an order whose aim is saving the country from certain destruction... I find this far more manly than remaining at home to care for those who are already perfectly self-reliant." Her lambent eyes lifted, netting Carver in. Alistair raised a brow. Carver couldn't possibly be buying into this.

"Well, I... I mean, it wasn't any big deal..." Carver demurred, rocking back on his heels. "Just something a man should do for his country, I think."

Alistair gagged to himself. This was not happening. How could anyone possibly be attracted to - to -

"I think you are a rare individual, Carver Hawke," Morrigan mused, one elegant finger trailing along his arm. "A woman likes to know there is someone she can rely on, someone who can... keep her safe."

The two of them gazed at each other, the moment stretching out and growing embarrassing. Alistair rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat loudly.

Carver startled, then scrambled to his feet, stammering something about going to find Cousland, who was out scouting. He practically ran into the woods, drawing a chuckle from Alistair.

Morrigan was not as amused. "I'll thank you to stay out of my affairs," she all but hissed at him.

"Carver's just a kid. What are you, on your third century?"

Morrigan bared her teeth, a feral snarl ripping from her throat.

"Oooh, I'm afraid!" Alistair wriggled his fingers at her, his voice all a-tremble. "Please, big scary witch, don't cast a spell on me!" He let his hands drop, then shook his head, disgusted. "He shouldn't be distracted by someone like you, anyway. The blight is too important."

"Such a hypocrite, to speak of distractions," Morrigan snipped. "Your infatuation with that girl is no better."

"I'm not-"

"Oh do shut up. 'Tis as obvious as the sun. I can smell it on you; you're like a dog in heat." Morrigan stood, hips lazing back and forth in a sinuous pattern. She turned back, ochre eyes frigid, her whisper subtly threatening. "Interfere in my business, and I'll make sure you regret it."

A chilling fear washed through him as the witch sauntered away, presumably after the boy she probably planned on eating. He recovered a moment later, giving himself a slight shake to dispel the irrational feeling, shouting after her "He'll only give you indigestion!" But the words seemed hollow, even to his own ears.

He'd drawn the middle guard shift, so settling down, he attempted to sleep. His eyes locked on Marian's quiet form, trying not to think of what Morrigan had said about him being obvious.

The night passed without issue, and Alistair woke early, even after his midnight guard shift. Carver and Morrigan headed out in search of breakfast, and Cousland was still on his patrol.

Alistair went immediately to check on Marian - she seemed fine. Morrigan had cast a sort of warming spell over the area the night before, so his fears of freezing were never realized. But even so, he decided to build the fire up a bit - it would be needed to cook whatever Carver and Morrigan brought back, anyway.

He gathered deadfall, then broke a few of the larger sticks over his knee before feeding them into the fire. Marian jumped at the largest crack, and Alistair winced, feeling guilty. The fire crackled, merry and bright, and so he sat across from her, watching for those blue eyes to open, holding his breath at the thought of seeing them again.

Marian's raven head rolled from side to side, slightly at first then with more energy. One small hand poked out from beneath the cloak, her fingers curling into the moss that made her bed. When her eyes flew open a moment later, she sat up, her brother's name gasping from her lips. She swayed, recovering quickly as both hands pressed to her face.

Not wanting to be caught staring, Alistair spoke. "Oh good, you're awake," he managed. Good. Casual enough. Marian turned at the sound of his voice, her vividly blue eyes taking on a look of confused almost-recognition.

"Alistair," he reminded her, thinking of the brief moment they'd met before the battle when Peter had introduced them. She nodded, remembrance lighting her eyes, then buried her face in her hands once more.

The memory of his brother-in-arms saddened him, and he swallowed, thoughts of Peter leading to thoughts of Duncan. He drew an unsteady breath, fighting to control the rush of emotion. Now wasn't the time.

"Where's Carver?" she asked, her hands dropping into her lap.

"Out hunting with Morrigan. And Aedan is scouting for more darkspawn before we continue on our way."

"Aedan..." she mused, her sapphire eyes narrowing.

"Cousland."

She nodded once, her lips pursing. Wincing, she looked down, her fingers slipping beneath her overtunic to rub the flesh of her shoulder. She hissed as she pulled the fabric aside, revealing an angry red welt instead of the gaping hole Cousland's blade had left. Whatever Morrigan had used on her had done the trick - she was practically healed. Alistair almost felt grateful. Who'd have thunk - the two people I hate most right now, saving her life. Makes a man feel bad for hating them.

"Um, thanks for helping me," she murmured, rubbing her shoulder.

Alistair shrugged, a small smile touching his lips. "Hey, it's not every day you get to let a beautiful woman faint on you," he joked.

Her eyes snapped to his, and he wondered if he'd gone too far. Back off, he warned himself, not wanting to scare her away with compliments. His fear was unfounded, however, as he learned when she spoke next.

"I did not faint," she grumbled, then stooped over and snatched up her jerkin.

"You fainted," he responded, the words tumbling out before he could think of a more appropriate response. She scowled at him, and he could have kicked himself. Idiot! he thought. Say the right thing, just once, please? "It's alright. I think I would faint too if I had a blade digging an arrowhead out of my flesh."

She blinked at him, and Alistair shrugged, hoping she'd see his words as casual, instead of what they were - stupid. "We're heading into Lothering today. Your brother says your family lives there. You're welcome to join us. Safety in numbers and all that."

What was wrong with that? he thought when she groaned, raking her hands through her short hair. He frowned, hating the apprehension that flickered over her face. "Don't you want to return home?"

A bitter chuckle tumbled from her lips, though she didn't deign to answer. Pushing to her feet, she grabbed her bow and quiver, then shimmied up the nearest tree trunk.

Alistair tipped his head back, his eyes falling closed in disappointment. He wasn't really surprised that she was escaping. But it didn't make the hurt any less.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't want to talk to me either."

"We're the only Wardens left."

Marian's eyes widened. "The only ones? In all of Ferelden?"

"Makes us damned important, I know," Cousland continued. "You not being an initiate I'm afraid I can't say too much more, but I suppose I can tell you that the hope of the country rests on us. Wardens have always been the ones to stop the blight. It's a good thing I was recruited - we need a strong leader now."

Alistair rolled his eyes, the self-important speech grating on him. At least Marian didn't seem all that impressed - her look of annoyance lifted his spirits. Aedan had just sort of taken over, and rather than fight about it he was letting the noble prick walk in the front and make some decisions. Maybe he would make a better leader than me, Alistair thought. Maker knows he wants the job - why not just let him do it?

"We are a few hours from Lothering," Morrigan announced. "Perhaps Carver and I should scout ahead, make certain there are no darkspawn groups preparing to pounce on us."

"There aren't any. I can sense-" Alistair began, but cut himself off with a yelp when the grass beneath his feet caught fire. "Hey!" He scowled at the witch.

"Your senses failed us last night," Morrigan snapped. "I prefer my own eyes, thank you. As I said, Carver and I shall scout the path. Follow as you will." She shimmered, becoming a wolf before their eyes, setting Alistair's blood all a-tingle. One graceful paw lifted as she turned beguiling eyes on Carver, who jogged after her, seeming not at all perturbed by her strange habit.

"She's a..." Marian was startled, but surprisingly didn't seem frightened.

"An apostate," Alistair agreed. "I don't like it, either. Hopefully she doesn't attract the attention of the templars while we're in Lothering."

Carver's sister glanced at him, her nose wrinkling a bit, before adjusting the bow strung across her chest. Her feet sped, carrying her a few steps ahead.

"Um, so, you have a sister, Carver said?" Alistair hurried to catch up with her, wanting to take the opportunity to chat if at all possible.

Marian's eyes sharpened, piercing him with her sky-bright stare. "Why do you want to know?"

Maker, what did I say? "Just...trying to be friendly?"

She studied him for a moment, then turned forward again, continuing her trend of silence.

Alistair wondered why he was even bothering. Suddenly, his nerves faded. Why should he stick his neck out for this slip of a girl, no matter how beautiful she was? So far all she'd done was ignore him. What kind of a fool was he? He'd liked her better when she'd been nothing but a dream to carry with him - a picture of a strong, beautiful woman, with eyes like the sea after a storm. Mentally throwing up his hands, he decided a different approach was necessary. "I was raised by dogs, myself."

Marian's eyebrows shot skyward. "Dogs."

"Mm. Flying dogs. From the Anderfels." This was more his sort of territory - diffuse the situation with humor. Find a way to laugh. Enough with the serious - a natural paramour he wasn't. Pure silliness? That he could do.

Her lips twitched. "Flying, mountainous dogs."

"Well, the dogs themselves weren't mountainous. Except for mum - she was enormous. Ate all the time, great big rolls of fat. And oh, the baths - they were quite fastidious, you know. Twice a day, into the lake, all of us pups. Ever bathed in freshly melted snow?"

"In the winter," she said, a small, amused smile peeking at him. "You know, when it snows."

"See, in the Anderfels, it was snowy all the time. The northern climate and all that. We lived at the very top of this mountain, and right in the middle was this huge crater. Once a day, a dragon would fly in - I think he used to be friends with my parents, or something - and melt enough snow for us to wash with..."

Alistair spun his yarn, letting the silly words flow, and found himself delighted with Marian's reaction. She chuckled, she grinned, she socked him in the arm. His heart tugged every time her musical laugh sounded; all he wanted to do was make her laugh so he could listen to it. Beautiful? Certainly she was - but with a happy smile she became radiant. They chatted as they walked, his ridiculous story having quite thoroughly melted the snow - er, broken the ice.

"I can't see you as a templar," she mused. "You're too..." her hand waved in a vague circle. "Nice."

"Nice? I'm nice?" Alistair clapped a hand over his heart. "Shoot me now, why don't you!"

"What's wrong with being nice?" Marian said with a grin. "Would you rather I say you were like Cousland?"

"Andraste's flaming sword, isn't there any kind of middle ground?"

She pursed her lips, looking him over. "You're... big."

"Big? I'm big. Big. Really?"

"Well, the only other things I know so far are that you were raised by flying dogs, that you have a secret passion for colorful footwear, and you like pillow fights."

"What's not to like about pillow fights? And cheese. I love cheese." Rummaging in his pouch, he pulled out a large square of washburn cheddar wrapped in a piece of muslin, saved from his last trip to Denerim before Ostagar. "Want some?"

She burst into giggles, her eyes squinching shut, and Alistair's breath caught. Ebony hair, tousled from running her fingers through it, glimmered in the afternoon sun. Tiny lines gathered around her eyes where the skin crinkled... Alistair found his thoughts wandering to how she might look in twenty years' time, when life had chiseled those laugh-lines into her skin and time had silvered that gorgeous hair. She wasn't just beautiful - she was adorable.

Still snickering, she held out her hand. "Why, yes, Alistair, I would love some cheese."

He considered, forehead furrowing. "What'll you give me for it?"

"What'll I-" she began, indignant, but then peered at the package as if trying to determine value. "What kind is it?"

"What kind is it? It doesn't matter what kind, it's cheese! The greatest thing to happen to toast, chocolate and apples since - oh, I dunno. Teeth."

"I doubt the toast, chocolate and apples like the idea of being eaten," she snickered. "Now you made me want the damned cheese. Give it to me."

"You haven't offered me anything for it yet!" Alistair waved the cloth-wrapped package under his nose. "Mmmm... yum. I think I'll eat some-"

Marian lunged at him, rogue-quick, her eyes sparkling with challenge. She narrowly missed the bundle in Alistair's hand as his arm shot up and out of her reach. Compared to her tiny self, he was big. As if to illustrate that point, she jumped and hooked her hands around his bicep, and Alistair began to laugh at her as she climbed up the length of his body.

"I didn't realize squirrels like cheese!" He switched her prize to his other hand, grunting when she cuffed the back of his head.

"Squirrel?" she shrieked. "When I get that cheese I'm not giving you a single bite!"

"You have to get it first!" he crowed back at her, his arm stretching further out of reach. Laughing and breathless, she swung one leg around his waist, clambering across his mid-section as she made her way to his other arm. "Watch the feet!" he gasped, suddenly very glad he was wearing splintmail.

"I'm gonna get it-"

"No you're not-"

"I am!"

Marian's laughter mingled with his own, their struggles finally gaining attention as Cousland turned back to witness the absurdity going on behind him. He'd gained quite the lead, but now he stalked back, arriving in time to see Marian clamber onto Alistair's shoulders and claw the cheese from his grasp, dropping back down to the ground with a flourish.

"Oh for the love of - what are you, five?" Cousland snapped. His gaze raked Marian - hair disheveled, jerkin askew, azure eyes glittering as she clutched the wrapping of cheese. Alistair was fairly intact, though his bedroll was rapidly undoing itself and his pack had come open at the top. He smoothed his hair - it was sticking up even more than usual.

"Sorry, sir," Alistair said, affecting a salute. "We were attacked. By... hunger." Marian nodded quickly, her eyebrows rising in a show of innocence.

Cousland stared them down for a moment, then stomped off, clearly not giving two cents for their antics.

"What a prig," Marian muttered, then flipped a nasty gesture in Cousland's direction.

Marry me, Alistair thought, his heart doing somersaults. Throwing him a grin, she unwrapped the cheese and broke it in half, her fingers brushing his as she gave over his bit.