~ Alistair ~

"Scrounge up some coin for the floor, did you?"

Alistair dragged hands over his tired face, peeking through his fingers at Cousland. The prick towered over him, hands on his hips, smirking.

"Something like that," Alistair mumbled, then pushed the blanket back and rolled himself into a kneel, stretching as he went. Used to sleeping on the ground he might be, but a field was different than planking, and now he was stiff as the boards he'd slept on. He'd ended up passing out beside Marian, but had woken in a panic after only a few hours. Relieved to discover it wasn't yet morning, he'd managed to get her home and himself back to the inn without too much fuss. Minus the setting off of two of Barlin's traps, but his boots had been through worse.

"We should get going," Cousland continued, ignoring some of the dirty looks the other patrons were giving him. "No reason to stay, right?"

"Can we talk about this after breakfast?" Alistair queried, fingernails scratching through his short hair. A dull headache pounded between his ears, and his mouth felt woolen and sticky. He wondered how Marian was feeling this morning.

"Fine. But we're gone by afternoon at the latest. Sooner if possible," Cousland warned, and tramped away. Alistair stuck his tongue out at the man, and rolled up his blanket.

A quick wash and a plate of eggs and he felt prepared to face the day. Cousland suggested they take the opportunity to resupply, and put Alistair in charge of the shopping. After some argument, he coaxed a handful of sovereigns from the man, pointing out that he had almost no money of his own.

"I want what's left," Cousland warned him, then sauntered off to do... whatever it was he planned on doing. Alistair resisted the urge to mimic the gesture Marian had thrown at his back the previous day, and went off in search of supplies.

The merchant was charging exorbitant prices, but he managed to talk him down and loaded up on jerky and dried fruit, along with a smallish bag of flour. Carver had mentioned something about "camp-bread", so he was hoping the lad could vary their meals a bit. With hunting, it should do until they found the next town. Winter wasn't a bountiful time, though... he shivered, thinking of how much Grey Wardens had to eat. Maybe Cousland would offer to find a hibernating bear in its den. Better yet, maybe the bear would kill him, and leave only two Wardens who needed feeding.

"You're up early," a male voice said from behind him. Alistair turned; Carver Hawke stood behind him.

"It's not that early, is it?" Alistair peered at the sun, which was halfway to the noon mark. "Hey, thanks again for dinner. I had a really nice time."

Carver shrugged. "Marian's idea. You should thank her."

"I will," Alistair said, then accepted the wrapped bundle the merchant handed him, holding it up for Carver's inspection. "Supplies."

"Ahh."

A distinctly chilly vibe was emanating from his fellow Warden, and Alistair shifted, Carver's stiff body language making him uneasy. He stepped away from the wagon to make way for the next customer, hoping the merchant wouldn't gouge them too badly.

"Where did you and Marian go last night?"

Oh.

Carver didn't look mad, not exactly, but it wasn't open friendliness he exuded. His arms folded over his chest, his young face closed off and tense. "She ran off after you left, and then came stumbling in the door before dawn. It was you with her, wasn't it? You're not the stealthiest person ever, Alistair. Mother has no idea she was even gone, I think, but Bethany and I heard everything."

Alistair was at a loss. He'd never considered the fact that her family would wonder where she'd run to... comes of never having a family, or someone who cared where I was, I guess. "Uh - nothing happened, I promise. I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk, and when I saw her she was sitting outside Sten's cage-"

"Sten?"

"The prisoner. The one just outside town. She was talking to him - telling him all kinds of things. So then she dragged me off to this barn, saying she wanted to talk, and... and that's all that happened, I swear." Alistair slowed, wondering if the truth was really his best option. Tell Carver that he'd fallen asleep next to Marian, after helping her drink most of three bottles of wine?

"Barlin's barn?" Carver asked, his voice sharp.

"Um, she did say something about Barlin."

Carver shook his head, looking a touch amused now. "That was always the place she and I ran to when we had to get away from Mother. Did she delve into our stash?"

"Three bottles," Alistair muttered.

Carver snorted. "No wonder she isn't up yet. You let her drink that much?"

"She was pretty upset," Alistair said quickly. "And - it isn't as if I was really in control of the situation-"

Carver sighed. "No, Marian wouldn't have put up with someone trying to stop her. Three bottles, though... wow. How are you even walking?"

"Grey Warden thing," Alistair shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I do have a headache, if that's any consolation. I don't think I've gotten that drunk since Griegor from the Anderfels challenged us all to a drinking contest."

"Hmm." Carver appraised him, eyes flicking up and down his frame. "You like her, don't you."

"I..." Alistair stammered, mind racing. "She's... it's..."

"Andraste's tits, it's okay," Carver chuckled. "Maker knows she could do worse."

"Uh... thanks?" Alistair said, following Carver as he approached another stall in the small market. He purchased a few packets of herbs, then gestured for Alistair to fall in.

"For Marian," he said, holding up the twists of paper. "Hangover cure." They walked in silence for another few moments, drawing close to the Hawke bungalow. Carver halted, turning to look at his fellow. "Look. I want to make sure this isn't some kind of... roll into town, bed a pretty girl and roll back out again. If you were Cousland I'd punch you in the nose without asking, but you seem like a nice guy, Alistair."

"Oh Maker, it was nothing like that. We just talked, I'd never... I mean, I haven't - that is, oh Maker this is embarrassing," Alistair muttered, one hand combing back through his hair. He took a deep breath, attempting to organize his whirling thoughts. "I... yes. I really like your sister. And when things are done, I'd like to come back and see if I can... offer her a life." His eyes flicked to Carver. This didn't meet with disapproval, so Alistair mustered the rest of his courage and continued. "But right now - I... we haven't even talked about this, I have no idea if she even feels the same way about me. But I don't know if I'll be alive a year from now, I can't promise her anything. So... I haven't mentioned it. And Carver, I promise you - nothing happened."

Carver pursed his lips, then nodded. "I guess I don't really care what went on last night," he said, drawing another round of protest from Alistair. He held up a hand, halting the flow of words. "She's my big sister, and she's old enough to make her own choices. But hear this - hurt her, and I will end you."

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Carver would do exactly that.

"Understood," Alistair said. All things considered, he felt he'd gotten off easy, though he was certain his cheeks were crimson.

Carver gave him another searching look, then clapped him on the back with a grin. "She'd probably like it if you came in and sat on the edge of her bed. Wait here a moment, will you?"

"Sure," Alistair said, and Carver disappeared into the cottage, calling him in just a moment later. Bethany and Leandra greeted him, warm as they'd been the evening before, but knowing now how Leandra had torn into Marian about Carver he was a bit more reserved.

Carver gestured, leading him through the parlor to a bedroom, where a small form was huddled under the covers. Beside the bed, Dread's tail thumped against the floorboards. Carver shot Alistair a wry look, then walked to the window and yanked the curtains back, flooding the room with sunshine. Alistair winced at the sudden brightness, wondering if he'd be able to steal a sip of that tea for himself.

"I hate you," Marian's muffled voice whimpered. "I really, really hate you, Carver."

"Don't be such a baby," Carver scoffed. "I got your tea. Mother thinks you've got a stomach bug. And I brought you some company."

A black mop peeked out from the blanket, followed by Marian's rumpled face. Her hair stuck out, and she wore the clothing she'd fallen down in the night before, her cloak thrown across the end of the bed just where Alistair had laid it when he'd tucked her in. She squinted, holding up a hand to block the light, then groaned when she spotted Alistair.

"You would see me like this," she grumbled, but sat up, combing her fingers through her hair. "Carver, don't you know you're not supposed to let strange men into my bedroom?"

"He followed me," Carver grinned. "It was pathetic - he was whining and everything."

"I'm not that strange," Alistair protested. "And I only whined a little."

"I think you're strange," Marian teased, then hissed and pressed her hands over her eyes. "Seriously, Carver-"

"Tea. Right." Carver left, and Alistair lowered himself to sit on the bed, doing his best not to disturb her too much. She shifted over, making room.

"Is it bad?" he asked, feeling guilty for not trying harder to stop her.

"I'm dying," she groaned, keeping her face covered. "Come to my funeral?"

"I'll give the eulogy," he offered. "Here lies Marian Hawke, survived by her strange friend Alistair, who should have done something to stop her mad consumption of three bottles of ice-wine-"

"Three?" Marian peeked at him through her fingers. "I can't believe I'm alive."

"Well, I helped. Some," he said. "I do feel badly, though. Sorry I didn't take the bottle out of your hands."

"I'd probably have socked you," she admitted. "Have you ever just... needed to get drunk?"

"...not in my memory, no."

"Lucky," she muttered. They sat in silence for another moment before Carver brought in two mugs of tea, and any further conversation was halted by Marian's need to cure a massive hangover. Alistair sneaked a few sips out of one of the cups, his head still pounding more than he liked.

"Marian... do you remember last night?" Alistair asked, concerned. It was burned into his brain, every moment in the hayloft. Today her manner was so casual and friendly - there was none of the connection from the evening before. Had he imagined the whole thing?

"Not really," she sighed. "Ice-wine does that to me. It's been my go-to for forgetting for awhile."

His heart sank, and he focused on the pattern of her quilt.

Perhaps she saw his look of disappointment, for she lowered her head, doing her best to catch his eye. "I remember you were there, though," she smiled. "I remember us talking - not really what it was about, but I do know you were there for me. And I remember you getting me home. Thank you, by the way." She reached for his hand, a warm smile on her face. "You're a good friend. I'm glad we met."

"You said that last night," Alistair said with a lopsided tug of his mouth.

"It's still true," Marian said simply. The touch of her fingers was enough to melt his heart.

Alistair hurried back to the tavern. His visit with Marian had gone a bit longer than he'd intended, and Cousland had mentioned wanting to leave as soon as possible. Carver had promised to meet him there after saying his own goodbyes.

He hadn't been quite sure what to say to Marian, so once again, he hadn't said much. There was plenty more casual talking and joking, and then he'd spoken to Leandra about the family's safety. She'd been quite worried when he told her of the closeness of the horde, and he'd achieved her promise that the family would go to Kirkwall; it seemed Leandra had relatives there. Alistair was just relieved they were getting out of town. Kirkwall would keep them safe enough until he could come and find them. Soon, Maker willing.

You're a coward, Alistair, he thought to himself as he left the house. Marian had come out of her room as he'd finished speaking to Leandra, and said goodbye to him there. It had all felt so awkward... he'd hoped for a private moment with her, but it simply hadn't played out that way. And now you're going. Damn it! Go back, go back and tell her how you feel, turn around, go back, you worthless fraidy-cat...

A few moments later he pushed the door to the tavern open, angry at himself for losing his chance. Now we'll leave, and she'll never know, and it's all my own fault.

"Alistair!"

Cousland sat by the fire, a lovely young woman wearing Chantry robes at his side. Even sitting, he could tell she was tall, but so delicate-seeming that the robes looked entirely out of place on her lithe body. A glass of burgundy wine was held in her graceful fingers, red-hair shining like sunset. Full, lustrous lips were wide and smiling at something Aedan was saying.

"Join us, my friend," Aedan said heartily, and Alistair was tempted to look behind him to see who Cousland might have been talking to. Cousland had never said something nice to him, had certainly never called him 'friend'. "This is Leliana," he continued as Alistair made his way over and sat beside them. "Please, let me buy you a tankard. Ale? Mead?"

"Uh...ale," Alistair said. Aedan was all smiles, nodding and agreeable as he went to the bar to fetch Alistair a drink.

"Your fellow Warden was telling me all about you," the girl - Leliana - said, a twinkle in her eye. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." That accent... Orlesian? Whoever she was, she hadn't been raised in Lothering. She held out her hand, and Alistair shook it - there was wiry strength in her grip, similar to Marian's.

"Are you an archer?" Alistair asked, and Leliana startled.

"Why would you ask me that?" she chuckled, raising her wine glass to her lips. "I'm an initiate of the Chantry."

"Your hands - they feel like... someone else's," Alistair said. "Someone who's an archer."

Leliana peered at him over the rim of her wine glass, her soft blue eyes hardening.

"Here we are, ale for Alistair," Aedan sang, sitting beside Leliana once more. "What are we talking about?"

"Nothing," Leliana dismissed, her voice light and playful. "We were just introducing ourselves."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the beautiful woman seated before them. She was hiding something - he was sure of it. Suddenly, he recalled Bethany's words of the day before, about how they were saying the Wardens had killed Cailan. Who were 'they'? And more importantly, was Leliana one of 'them'?

"Aedan, you said we need to be going, didn't you?" Alistair asked, his fingers wrapping around the mug of ale. "Yes, I remember quite clearly - we're gone by afternoon, those were your words, right?"

"Is that what I said?" Aedan chuckled, his voice silky. "I'm sure you misheard me. Tomorrow afternoon, that's what I said."

"No, it was definitely-"

"Excuse us, Leliana," Aedan said, his handsome face smiling. One hand gripped Alistair's arm as he led his fellow across the room.

"We're leaving tomorrow," Cousland muttered. "I know what I said. Plans change."

"For a woman?" Alistair asked, incredulous. "She belongs to the Chantry! It isn't like she'll sleep with you. I was raised among those woman - trust me on this one."

"Give me a day," Cousland smirked. "I'll have her out of those robes and on her back. Five sovereigns says so."

"You're twisted," Alistair spat.

"You doubt me?" Cousland leaned forward. "Ever seen a redhead... downstairs?"

"Maker's breath, please stop talking."

"Well worth the effort, my friend. You'll wish you were me come tomorrow." Cousland snatched the tankard of ale away and drained it, wiping his mouth and shoving it back into Alistair's hand a moment later. "Go keep yourself busy. We'll leave tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, if she's good."

With those words, Aedan sauntered back to Leliana. She smiled in welcome, completely charmed by his fine manners.

"He's a snake," Alistair said, flabbergasted at the man's ability to be two completely different people. "A reptile. A wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Who is?" Carver stepped up behind him. "Hey, who's Cousland talking to?"

"Someone who has no idea what's coming to her," Alistair sighed. "Leliana, I think her name was."

"Oh! Sister Leliana. She's sweet. Did you talk to her?"

"Uh... no," Alistair said. "You know her?"

"Sure," Carver said. "I didn't recognize her - her hair's longer. She and Marian used to train together. Archery. She's really good, but she never really liked admitting to it. The Revered Mother doesn't approve. She showed up in Lothering a few years ago, not too much before we left with the army, actually. A year, maybe?"

"She's been here for a few years?" So much for instinct, Alistair thought. But Cousland's still an ass.

"Yup. Just showed up one day and joined the Chantry. Why's she talking to Cousland?"

"I dunno," Alistair said, wanting to be anywhere else. "But he says we're not leaving til tomorrow."

"Who put him in charge, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be our leader?" Carver complained. Good question, Alistair thought. "I need to go meet Morrigan. She thinks we're on our way out of town."

"So the witch is still coming with us," Alistair commented, even more glum now. "Great."

Carver chuckled. "She's not so bad. Come on - after I find Morrigan, we can spar."

With nothing better to do, Alistair followed Carver out of the tavern, trying not to think of the innocent Chantry maiden Cousland was dead-set on deflowering.

On the way out of Lothering to find Morrigan, Carver slowed and pointed. "I'll be damned," he whispered. "There she is."

Marian sat on the ground in front of Sten's cage, words overflowing from her like an overfull cup.

"Told you," Alistair said, pleased to have been proved right.

"Marian," Carver called, and she snapped her head around and pushed to her feet.

"You're going now?" she asked, apprehension written on her face.

"Actually... no," Carver said. "Cousland found something he was interested in, and so we're staying til he's done."

Marian cocked a brow. "He's the one calling the shots?"

Carver shrugged.

Alistair ran a hand over his hair, the wheels in his head spinning. In truth, he could have insisted that they leave - pulled the Senior Warden card and forced Aedan into submission. If it had come to it, he knew himself to be a better swordsman, and though he'd rarely gotten in fistfights he was confident he could hold his own. But the chance to get in more time with Marian had appealed too much. Deep down, he knew it was the real reason he hadn't challenged Cousland. Say something, he thought. For the love of all that's holy, don't screw this up again!

"I think you talked him into it," he blurted, reverting to what he did best. "You must not have wanted me to leave. You know, Marian, if you wanted more time with me, you could have just asked. I might have been persuaded to put off the blight, if you'd only said please. You're so pushy."

Marian guffawed and crossed her arms, eyeing him with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

Carver snickered, then backed away, saying something about an errand in the woods, and he was gone.

"I'm pushy."

"As a bronto," Alistair continued blithely. "Next thing I know, you'll be making me have lunch with you. And then dinner. And possibly take a walk under the stars."

The brow cocked again. "And supposing I had other plans today?"

"You'll cancel them," Alistair said, enjoying the small bit of silliness they were indulging in. "You just can't stand the thought of missing any time with me."

"Is that so," Marian chuckled. "I had planned to have lunch with Bethany. She wanted to gather herbs, and asked me to come along and watch over her."

"Sounds perfect. I'd love to come," Alistair grinned.

Marian's mouth curved, the edge of her white teeth tucking against rose-petal lips. A chuckle vibrated through her as she shook her head. "Fine. Get your sword, Warden. You can watch for darkspawn."

"Fear not, fair lady," Alistair said, sweeping her hand into his own and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You shall be as safe as a bug on a nug in a rug."

Marian snorted. "Whatever, just come on." She was still laughing as they headed back to her home to fetch her sister.

A/N: Lothering just doesn't want to end! *agony* In truth, I'm loving this. LOVING. THIS. Seriously though, one more chapter in Lothering, *then* we get to the blight! You believe me, right? *shifty eyes*

Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta and words of encouragement! I think the two of us are having way more fun than should be allowed... these stories are starting to take on a life of their own.

Don't forget to review! :-)