~ Alistair ~

Alistair laved frigid water over the back of his neck, having already rinsed the harsh camp soap from his face and hair. He was shirtless, kneeling before the edge of the small lake... pond might be a better word, really. Lake Calenhad - now that was a lake, with proper fishing and boats and a dangerous undertow to go along with it. Though some of the things that grew in that water - Alistair shuddered, remembering stories told to him by the other templars. Too much exposure to magic, and the lake's creatures were... dangerous.

Reaching blindly for his cloak, he dried off with it, glad to be as clean as he could get without paying for another bath. What coin he had left was going toward breakfast with Marian, and maybe a birthday gift, depending on what the marketplace had available. His shirt slipped over his head a moment later, the meager warmth it provided easing the goosebumps on his skin. A shiver quaked through him as he tied the cloak in place, only slightly dampened from his vigorous toweling.

Alistair hurried toward the small open-air market; with three vendors, it was hardly a bazaar. But even if one might consider the leather wristlets the armorer was selling to be jewelry, pickings were slim. He was tempted by a decorative glass bottle, but the gypsy woman wanted more than he was able to pay, and refused to come down on the price. He shuffled away from the stalls, discouraged. How could it be her birthday without a gift?

"Laddie," the vendor called, gesturing him back. "Yer not buyin' fripperies o' this sort fer yerself, now are ye? There's a girl in yer mind, am I right?" The old woman smiled, snaggle-teeth doing little to improve her age-spotted face, but it was a friendly gesture nonetheless.

Alistair colored, feeling the heat all the way to the roots of his hair. "It's her birthday," he admitted.

"Bah, none 'o these, then. Flowers, that's the thing," the woman nodded. "In the garden o' the chantry, there's flowers a-plenty. The sister's'll let ye pick some, I'd wager, if ye leave 'em a donation."

Alistair thanked the woman, suffering a kiss on the cheek and a tight hand-clasp. Old women had always been fond of him, for some reason. Usually they commented on his hair, or how much he reminded them of their sons. He rather suspected it was his willingness to listen to them prattle more than what he looked like.

At the chantry, it took less than a moment to tell the sisters what he was after, and a young brunette bowed him into the sprawling garden that bordered the back of the building.

Looking around, Alistair wondered if the old woman had remembered it was the dead of winter. For that matter - why hadn't he remembered? With the cold season, the garden was mostly bare; the dirt furrowed into neat rows ready for the spring planting. A few orange flowers here, white and pink there - the varieties of snowdrops and other winter flowers that were all the sisters could cultivate in this cold. Pretty, but not what he'd had in mind. Alistair looked around, his mouth twisting as he searched for anything that might be worthy of Marian's birthday. Scant choices, indeed. Flowers, in Wintermarch? There simply wasn't-

A flash of red from the corner of his eye, and his head whipped sideways to discover a brilliant red rose nestled within a gnarled, colorless briar bush. It stood out, the one splash of color in an otherwise gray and dormant garden. Alistair hesitated... but the sister had told him he was welcome to any flowers he chose...

His knife severed the rose's stem without too much difficulty, though he did manage to cut his thumb on one substantial thorn. Frowning, he snapped it from the stem, hoping to keep Marian from similarly injuring herself. The fact that the most beautiful flower in Thedas had wicked barbs was something he mulled over as he hastened to the tavern, hoping he'd beat Marian there.

He was in luck - she had yet to show, and he snagged a table near the wall. The rose he wrapped in a clean handkerchief, setting it before the empty chair across from him. No, unwrap it - just lay it on the table. Or, maybe ask the bar for a cup of water to rest it in? How did one present a rose to a woman?

He continued to fret, worrying over what he was about to do. Finally he picked up the rose and just held it, bringing it to his nose for a long breath of fragrance. Gorgeous... softer than satin, the petals caressed his nose and lips. Would kissing Marian feel the same way? An involuntary shiver, the mental image of her so close heating him from within.

"Red really isn't your color," Cousland's voice cut through the moment of fantasy. Alistair opened his eyes, scowling at the git who'd slid into the chair opposite him.

"What'll you have?" the tavern girl said, hands wiping a rag tucked into her belt as she paused at the table.

"He's not staying-"

"Coffee," Cousland said easily, a condescending smile widening his face. "Eggs, bacon, bread. New cheese, if you have it. Nothing aged past a month."

"Coffee?" the girl said, hesitating. "I - sorry, but -"

A noisy groan filled the air as Cousland's head tipped back, eyes petulant. "Coffee? You know, made from beans, grows in mountainous areas, served at the best tables in Orlais and Antiva?"

The girl only shook her head, eyes wide. Alistair cocked a brow. He'd heard of coffee, but Ferelden didn't harvest any such thing. Orlesian, mostly - if Cousland was used to having it, Alistair imagined that his family must have done a fair bit of trading. Welcome to roughing it, he thought.

"Forget it," Cousland grumped. "Tea. Strong - none of this barely brewed shit. And honey."

The girl nodded, mouth twisting. From the look on her face, Alistair figured she probably knew just how much coin Cousland was worth, for she said nothing of his rude manner. Her eyes skipped to Alistair. "You?"

"A pot of tea, if you please... separate from his. And I'll be ordering more, but I'm waiting for a friend." Alistair offered the girl a cordial smile. She brightened a bit, nodding, then scurried off.

"A friend, is it?" Cousland chuckled. "Who could it be, I wonder, with you making love to that rose. Someone who you must wish was a bit more than just... a friend..." He leaned his cheek into one hand, casting mooney eyes at Alistair. "Is the little Warden in love?"

"What do you want, Aedan?" Alistair set the rose on the table, his eyes darting to the door. The last thing he needed was for Cousland to join them for Marian's birthday breakfast.

"Nothing. Just spending a little time with my good friend Alistair."

"Ha. Funny. What do you really want?"

Cousland's brow lowered, confusion touching his handsome face. "Just that. Why would you doubt me?"

Alistair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He did have to work with this jerk, so it behooved him to be nice. He supposed.

"So, really. Who's the rose for?" Cousland barely glanced at the serving girl as she set Alistair's pot of tea and two cups, along with his own mug, complete with honey-dish and spoon, on the table before them. Alistair slipped a coin into her palm before she hurried off again. Only a copper, but she'd likely get several more such tips from him before breakfast was over with.

"None of your business," Alistair groused, peeking into the teapot to see if it needed more steeping. It did.

"Come on..." Cousland wheedled, then smirked. "I know. Carver's sister - what's her name."

"Marian," Alistair growled, the correction coming automatically to his lips. The second he said it, his eyes fell shut, annoyed at how easily he'd fallen into Cousland's trap. His fellow Warden grinned like a feral cat, honey running off his spoon into his teacup.

"That bitch?" Cousland sniggered, then shrugged. "Sorry. She's a cute thing, no doubt about it. She like roses?"

"She's going to be here any minute. Seriously, go away," Alistair hissed, his nerves growing.

"No."

"Aedan, please, give me a break!" Nervous now, Alistair shot another look at the door. Spoon clinking, Cousland dragged it along the rim of his mug, dunking it back in the honey dish after sweeping it into his mouth, cleaning it of lingering drops.

"Tell me what you're going to say." Cousland picked up the mug and sipped. "Something tells me you haven't done this very much."

"I'm not-"

"Come on," Cousland coaxed. "I'm trying to help. Pretend I'm Marian. What are you going to say, when you present me with the rose that will win my heart?" Lashes fluttering, he simpered, one hand pressing to his heart, voice rising to a falsetto. "Alistair, what a sweet gift! I adore roses. You're just so manly, and any moment I'm going to rip my clothes off and have you right atop the table, if only you have sweetened words to go along with your wonderfully romantic gesture-"

"Aedan, please," Alistair begged, one hand raking backward through his hair. Maybe a distraction would help. "Where's your redhead this morning?"

Cousland slanted back, a dark look shadowing his face. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Really." Now it was Alistair's turn to grin as Cousland sipped his tea. "She didn't go for it, did she?"

"Can it," Cousland grated. "She wasn't worth it anyway."

Mirth tugged at Alistair's lips. He twirled the rose, entertained by Cousland's about-face, wondering where the smooth warrior had gone wrong. Maybe it would be good to test his lines on someone... at the very least, he'd get a practice run before he tripped and stumbled all over himself.

"I thought I'd start by telling her that she reminded me of this rose," Alistair said. Cousland's eyes snapped up. Alistair swallowed, expecting judgement, but none came. The man nodded, and so emboldened, Alistair continued. "Beautiful, rare... something lovely to find amidst all this darkness. The thorns are like her daggers... sharp, a hidden sting one doesn't expect when handling such a delicate flower. Strong, to bloom in even the harshest of circumstances. And..." Alistair hesitated. "I guess that's about it."

Cousland nodded, his eyes far away as he mulled over all that Alistair had said. "It'll do."

"Yeah?" Alistair grinned, pleased. High praise from one such as Aedan Cousland, who took joy in tormenting everyone around him.

The man looked troubled, the spoon finding its way back to the cup as he stirred slowly. "May I?" He reached for the rose, and with a touch of trepidation, Alistair handed it over. Cousland fingered the stem, then pressed the blossom to his own nose, his eyes drifting shut. "My mother was an archer... she wore rose-water," he mumbled. "Thank you."

"Uh... you're welcome," Alistair said. Cousland held the rose to his face, sadness carving lines into his forehead. Not wishing to disrupt his moment of memory, Alistair said nothing, just kept a nervous eye on the door as the serving girl deposited Aedan's platter of breakfast on the table before him.

"Aedan, how lovely to see you again." A cheerful, lilting voice approached, and Aedan stood, the rose still held tight in his hand.

"Leliana." He captured her hand and pressed his lips to it. "You are as lovely as the morning."

"Charming, as ever, Lord Cousland." Leliana replied, a touch of allure in her soft eyes. "I thought perhaps you might join me for breakfast?"

"I would be honored, lady." Snapping his fingers, he gestured to the serving wench, who scurried over to gather his platter and cup of tea.

Leliana turned at the last moment. "Alistair, would you care to-"

"He's waiting for a friend," Cousland cut her off, his hand resting at the small of her back, an easy laugh tumbling forth. "He's actually been trying to get rid of me for the last few minutes."

"Then I shall remove this cheeky nobleman, and wish you a nice day, Ser Alistair," Leliana smiled brightly, and turned away.

"Aedan," Alistair called urgently. "Um, you've got my-"

Cousland flipped him a coin. "Thanks." The man sauntered after Leliana, and Alistair watched, mouth hanging open as Aedan presented Leliana with the rose he'd planned on giving Marian. She was delighted, and positively cooed over Aedan's suave words.

"Son of a bitch," Alistair whispered, stunned to hear his carefully planned speech leaving Cousland's lips.

"Everything alright?"

Head snapping around, Alistair paled to see Marian standing before the table, concern furrowing her brow.

"Uh - yes," he stammered, slapping a smile on his face, his chair scraping the floor as he stood up quickly. "Morning! Um, sit down?" Rounding the table, he pulled her chair out, scooting it in as she lowered herself to sit. Her eyes widened; she looked surprised that he would do such a thing. Is this wrong? he wondered, then decided no, she probably just wasn't used to men treating her with respect. Such behaviors came naturally to Alistair, who had been raised by a gaggle of demanding women.

A look of amusement twitched the corners of her mouth and eyes as he dragged his own chair out again. "You seem nervous." Marian accepted the cup of tea Alistair poured for her, setting it on the table as he signaled to the serving girl.

"Me? No. I mean, sure, I suppose I'm a little nervous," Alistair babbled, then took a calming breath, forcing himself to relax. So Cousland had stolen his rose and given it to another woman. So he had no gift for Marian. She was here, right? Thing could be worse. She could have stood him up. Bethany might have shown up instead, telling him that Marian never wanted to see him again. Cousland might not have left the table at all. Things could definitely be worse.

"Marian!" From across the room, Sister Leliana waved to them, a delighted smile on her classical face. Marian stood just in time to be enveloped in a tight, laughing hug, her small form nearly swallowed by the taller girl's robes. "When did you get back?"

"Day before yesterday. Carver and I both."

"Have you kept up with your bow?"

"Are you kidding?"

The girls chattered as Cousland sidled over. Alistair ignored him, waiting with all the courtesy he could muster for the ass to take Sister Leliana and leave them alone.

"Have you ordered yet? Don't bother with the bread. It's stale." Cousland inspected his nails, his tongue working a bit of something from between his teeth.

"How could you do that to me?" Alistair whispered, barely contained fury crimsoning the edges of his ears. "That was - that was my rose. It was for Marian! And you - stole my speech! You think I'm just gonna nod and laugh and pretend everything's okay?"

Cousland shrugged. "If you think I care, you're sadly mistaken."

Alistair ground his teeth. "You know what? Fine. But next time you cross me, I won't be so... so..."

"Namby-pamby?" Cousland drawled, totally straight-faced, then pulled out a chair for Leliana.

"You don't mind, do you Marian? We don't have to-"

"No, please, join us Sister." Marian sat down again as Leliana and Cousland settled around the table, and so Alistair forced a nauseous smile and flopped into his chair. No rose. No birthday present at all. No private breakfast. No moment with Marian. What else could go wrong?

"What'll you have?" the serving girl asked, disrupting Marian and Leliana's continued talk.

"Ale," Alistair said, uncaring of the odd looks his companions threw him. If he was going to get through this breakfast, he deserved a drink to go with it.

.oOo.

"It was a sign. A sign from the Maker!" Leliana was all seriousness, blue eyes wide, hands twisting a kerchief between urgent fingers. Marian rested her chin in her palm, studying the lay-sister as she analyzed her words. Cousland darted a glance at Alistair, as if trying to gauge his fellow Warden's reaction to Leliana's crazy story. Alistair ignored him, paying great attention instead to the butter he was slathering on his bread, which did in fact have the misfortune of being day-old. Nothing more cheese wouldn't fix, though, and he laid another slice over the top.

"It seems so... unlikely," Marian mused. "The chantry teaches us that the Maker has turned his back on the world. To get a sign from him... But I suppose you might have dreamt of the blight."

"It was then I knew," Leliana continued, her voice taking on a haunting quality. "There was something I needed to do. It's why I came to meet you here this morning, Aedan," she turned to the Wardens, catching Alistair with his mouth full. Aedan folded his arms, skepticism tilting his head. "I want to go with you, to combat the blight. I think you'll need me," the redhead finished.

A smirk crossed Cousland's swarthy face. "Sister, I hardly think the road is the place for a woman of faith-"

"What can you do for us?" Alistair cut him off, remembering Carver's comment about how Leliana was "really good" with her bow.

"I can fight," she said, eyes sparkling as she focused on Alistair. "I'm an archer, and I wield blades as well-"

"Look... Leliana." Cousland leaned forward, crossed arms coming to rest on the table before his empty breakfast platter. "Whatever small skill you might possess, it can't possibly be enough to keep you out of danger. Not with us, not where we're going. You're a nice girl. An archdemon short of a blight, perhaps, but nice. And pretty. Stay here in Lothering, and let the men take care of things."

A chill passed over Leliana's face, her mouth puckering as those warm blue eyes turned to hoarfrost. Whatever she might have said was lost to the sands of time, for a rough voice raised from across the room.

"Oy! Them's the Wardens!"

Six thugs, brutish in dress and musculature, stood, making their slow way across the room. The rest of the tavern went quiet, sensing some impending drama.

"'At's them, right Teb?"

"Sure is. Lessee..." Teb pulled a missive from his pocket, scanning it with deeply lowered brows. "One Alistair No-Surname, one Aedan Cousland." He looked up, tongue delving into the pocket of his cheek, nodding as he shoved the vellum against his companion's chest. "'S them, alright. All that's missing is Carver Hawke."

"So we'll hafta find'eem," the third grinned. "Loghain wants 'em all, dead or alive. The price for the king's murderers is generous."

"Dead's easier," the fourth grunted, clearing a bit of ick from his nose with a not-so-clean finger.

Alistair and Aedan rose slowly, eyes trained on the six who stalked forward. There was a mad rush as the rest of the patrons cleared the room, unwilling to be part of the conflict. In seconds, the room was empty but for the bartender and the serving girl, who ducked behind the bar. The clinking of glass and a slight thump, and then all was quiet.

Alistair's eyes swept the line of men who wanted them dead, strategy falling into place as he planned his first move. "Marian, Leliana, get out of here," Alistair said in a low voice. "Tell Carver to-"

"Tell him yourself." Marian's hand darted to the table, where Alistair's eating-knife lay atop his mostly empty plate. Her motion was fluid; her hand barely moved, yet the knife sliced through the air, burying itself in the socket of nose-picker's eye. He dropped without a sound, spiraling to the floor to land in a greasy heap. All eyes were on the thin trickle of blood that dripped, pooling on the grimed wood beneath his cheek.

"Holy!" Alistair gasped, breaking the silence, then dove aside as the other five rushed forward with a maddened yell. Cousland flipped the table, ducking behind its scant cover as dishes and cups smashed to the floor. Broken crockery skittered, tripping up one of the bandits, who went down in a howling sprawl, one cheek slicing open on a fragment of pottery.

Alistair crawled back toward the table to snatch up the leather sheath that held his blade, having unstrapped it from his back for breakfast and leaned it against his chair. Scrabbling back to his feet, he struggled with the sword, cursing as it caught in the leather. Too late - one of the bandits knocked it from his grasp, backing him against the bar with an unsightly grin.

"Can't we talk about this?" Alistair gasped, edging along the bar. A nearly empty bottle met the edge of his fingertips, and he snatched it, ducking his attacker's sword and clobbering him with the business end of the wine jug. The bandit staggered, a piteous moan echoing from within his horned helmet. Alistair got a fresh grip on his new weapon of choice and dealt the man another skull-numbing strike, bringing him this time to his knees. "Guess you're the strong silent type, am I right?"

Sparing an upward glance, he scanned the room, seeking Marian out, wanting to assure her safety. He blinked... she seemed to have disappeared completely. Had she run?

No time to think of it - his mark had staggered back to his feet. "Have a drink. On me," Alistair grunted, swinging the bottle with all of his might. The heaviest, glassiest edge caromed against his attacker's cheek, and the man spun, collapsing in a graceless pile a moment later. Alistair flipped the bottle, impressed with himself, then threw it, pinning one of the highwaymen in the spine. The bandit crumpled, howling with pain and rage.

Cousland had another one engaged, as did... Leliana? Alistair froze, watching in astonishment as the chantry redhead engaged her opponent with dual daggers, her movements quick as lightning and twice as flashy. She spun and whirled, a hurricane in robes, blue eyes flashing with righteous wrath. Almost too fast to see, her weapons caught the firelight, shining gold that left trailing ribbons of light across his dazzled vision. Hiking her skirts above her knee, she crouched and spun, sweeping one shapely leg across her match's ankles, downing him in under a second. A wild, ululating cry, and her crossed daggers slashed a bloody smile into his throat, blood flying, scarlet droplets speckling her face and hands as she rose to her feet once more. Battle maiden and protector, she snarled, fierce as a mabari, terrible and beautiful in her fury.

"Alistair," a voice called him out of his reverie, and he spun just in time to see Marian melt out of a shadow and leap onto the back of the final brigand, who'd had the indecency to try sneaking up on him while he was distracted. Her dagger opened his throat, a gout of blood fountaining over her hands, and she leapt lightly away as he toppled, gurgling.

Cousland's sword entered the gut of his opponent, sliding out milliseconds later, reddened and dripping. "That's it?" he taunted as the last man fell, one fist jammed into the bleeding hole that was his stomach. "Is that all you've got?"

A single white-fletched arrow thunked into the wall inches from Cousland's ear, and the four of them hit the floor, Alistair pulling Marian down behind the overturned table. The arrow had come from upstairs - hidden archers?

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Marian murmured, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed. Alistair gave a short, surprised laugh - she liked this sort of thing!

"Well, you know. It is your birthday," he offered with a saucy grin.

"We haven't even had cake," she giggled. "I don't know how you could possibly top this..."

Eyes locking with hers, he raised one hand to graze her cheek, adrenaline tingling through his veins. Maker, but she was so impossibly beautiful... Now, Alistair thought, his breath ragged as he leaned in.

An arrow exploded through the splintered wood, the metal head centered square between their prone bodies, startling them both backward. Damn it! Alistair swore inwardly, then fed Marian a quirked half-smile. "To be continued," he promised, then peeked over the table's edge.

"I left my bow at home," Marian muttered, rising up a touch to peek with him.

They needn't have worried. Sister Leliana had slunk her way up the stairs, using the shadows as effectively as Marian herself had done. A heartbeat after their eyes lifted over the lip of the table, Leliana's lilting accent floated down from the balcony. "We're clear."

Marian rolled to her feet, the intimate moment they'd almost had lost as she knelt to clean her blades on one of the low-life's tunics.

"Who were they?" Alistair wondered, but was cut off when the tavern door burst open.

"Marian!" Carver bellowed, the doors rocking on their hinges as her younger brother careened through the entry. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Marian unfolded herself, accepting Carver's shaken embrace.

"It's spreading like wildfire - talk of what happened. They're saying there were twelve at least-"

"Six," Marian said as she stepped over to nose-picker's still form. With a quick wrench, Alistair's eating-knife left the socket, and she offered it to Alistair, a twinkle in her eye.

"Uh... keep it," Alistair said, disturbed by the jellied crud clinging to the silvered metal. "I don't think I want it back after knowing where it's been."

"It washes," Marian scoffed, but she cleaned the knife and dropped it into her pouch with a grin. "So it isn't that clean. So what?"

"It isn't that sharp, either," Alistair chuckled.

"Hey! Just like you!"

"What?!" Alistair cried, feigning deep injury. ""I'm cleaner than that knife. I'll have you know, I bathed this morning."

"Where, in the lake?" Marian giggled.

Alistair sniffed. "Maybe."

"Ladies, I hate to interrupt what seems like a... riveting conversation." Cousland wagged a roll of vellum back and forth. "But we're wanted men."

"What do you mean?" Alistair skirted the dead bodies, making his way to Cousland's side as the vellum was unrolled.

"By order of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the Grey Wardens Alistair No-Surname... huh, I thought they were joking about that," Cousland muttered, throwing him an odd glance. Alistair shifted, then shrugged, unwilling to comment on his lineage. Let them think him a chantry orphan who could claim no family. It was what he'd always been prepared to do, and far better than taking the name Theirin... especially with Cailan dead. "...Aedan Cousland and Carver Hawke are deemed to be outlaws, criminals of the highest degree for the murder of our good king, Cailan Theirin, at the battle of Ostagar. Any who bring these men to justice, dead or alive, are to be awarded the sum of one-hundred sovereigns."

"For each of us, or all together?" Carver asked, interested.

Cousland scanned the missive, mumbling to himself as he searched for the answer to Carver's question. "Each."

"Wow," Carver said with an upturned mouth. "Marian, did you ever think I'd be worth so much?"

"You prat," she snapped. "How can you joke about this?"

Carver shrugged, having the grace to look uncomfortable. "What else do you suggest we do?"

"We run," Leliana said, her hand trailing the banister as she glided down the stairs. "I shall go with you, to help stop the blight. It's what you were planning on doing anyway, isn't it? We'll just have to stay out of the way of the law. I can help."

"Sister Leliana," Cousland began, looking pained, but Alistair cut him off with a whoop of joy, recalling the sister's awesome display.

"Yes! Leliana, we'd love to have you come along, that is, if you're willing to leave the chantry?"

"More than willing," Leliana assured him with a wink. "The Maker himself has demanded it. You couldn't keep me away if you tried."

"Fantastic," Alistair exulted. Who could tell whether or not Leliana was insane for believing the Maker was sending her on their mission, what mattered was that they get the help. Cousland looked rather less than thrilled, but Alistair was over the moon - another friendly face, and one who could fight? Yes please! With Leliana along, perhaps traveling with Cousland and Morrigan would be less odious.

"We should go as soon as possible," Leliana said briskly. "More could be on their way, and we've no idea if our friends here had others waiting for them to report back. I'll go back to the chantry and get a few of my things, and I'll meet you at the stairs to the Imperial Highway in a quarter of an hour."

"Uh... yes," Alistair said. Cousland only nodded, seeming to have grudgingly accepted that Sister Leliana would be coming with them. He jogged up the stairs, presumably to his room to gather his equipment, as Leliana exited the tavern. Carver said something about saying goodbye to his mother and sisters, and pulled Marian along after him. It was in Alistair's mind to follow, but then he paused, wondering how welcome he would really be for that final farewell. None of them might ever see each other again... surely Carver deserved those moments alone with his family. Dejected, the loneliness that had always dogged him rising up to smack him in the face, he trudged to the supply room, where the innkeeper had allowed him to lay his pack for safekeeping.

.oOo.

They'd been on the road half an hour, and Leliana had spent the time quizzing Cousland on everything under the sun as Lothering faded behind them. Alistair was moody, kicking himself for not finding a moment to tell Marian he would miss her, that he'd come back for her, that if she was willing, he would pledge himself to her. He could die, just as easily as Carver - why hadn't he thought of that when he'd almost followed them? Wasn't that worth taking a chance for?

"Why do you ask me these questions?" Cousland snarked, irritated.

"To discover more about your character," Leliana said simply, one hand reaching up to pluck a leaf from a low-hanging branch. She was outfitted in leather armor, well-worn but of expert make, somewhat old but quite expensive from the look of it. The supple suede clung to her curves, silhouetting a figure that most women would kill for. Red hair gleamed in the morning glow, feathered ends artfully mussed, lending her a just-woken-up sort of look. Twin blades strapped to her back, and a fancy bow looped over one arm, along with a quiver of grey-fletched arrows. A wide-belt with pouches a-plenty graced her waist, and a rucksack - likely with her blanket and a bit of food - was slung over one shoulder. Burnished knee-high boots stepped through the mud and undergrowth, scuffed but clean and in excellent condition, and probably finer than any he'd seen on a woman in Ferelden. Orlesian, it must be - all of it, Alistair thought. Why would a chantry sister have any of this?

"And what have you found?" A bit of flirtation entered Cousland's voice, and Leliana laughed, the sound blithe and dismissive.

"Very little," she countered. "You are mostly bluster, lies, and exaggeration. You have an extremely high opinion of yourself, but whether or not you deserve it remains to be seen. You are a cheat, and a scoundrel, and nothing good will come of you, Aedan Cousland."

Alistair's brows shot up. His melancholy mood lifted as he watched the shock filter over Cousland's face. Blessed few people had dared tell him just who he was, Alistair was willing to bet. He bit back a snicker, enjoying Cousland's discomfort more than he probably should have.

"Well, aren't you a cocky bitch," Aedan growled at last. "I suppose you think you're smart."

"Just observant." Leliana flipped him a knowing glance, then dropped back to walk beside Alistair. Cousland's eyes narrowed, but then he turned forward again, a dark flush coloring the back of his neck.

Carver said nothing through all of this, just continued to stare off into the woods, searching for something. The tension suddenly bled from Carver's shoulders, and Alistair caught sight of a dark, slender figure leaned against a stone pillar a hundred yards off. Carver lifted a hand, waving, new spring in his step. So that's what he was waiting for, Alistair thought. The fact that the sultry witch had remained absent hadn't even crossed his mind, though apparently, it had been much on Carver's.

"Who's that?" Leliana murmured, and Alistair filled her in as best he could. She was a touch surprised, but accepted it without fuss. "I can handle the cooking," she offered when Alistair told her of Morrigan's refusal to assist with meals. "Between Carver and me, we should eat well."

"I'm more worried about supply," Alistair admitted. "It's winter-"

Leliana chuckled. "Worry not. I imagine Morrigan can be persuaded to help with plants, and even in winter, the land offers much. You'll see."

He liked this Leliana. She was easy to talk to, friendly, with a sharp sense of humor that complemented his own. They were soon chatting like old friends, bringing up the rear of their small party. They hadn't been talking for all that long when Leliana paused, turning an ear back to the road they'd just covered.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, and Alistair listened.

"No, what-"

"Shhh," she hissed, a look of concentration covering her face. Alistair half expected her to drop to the earth and press her ear to it, but then a sunny smile broke out. "We have company."

"Uh... the good kind?"

"Very," Leliana sparkled. "Walk with me. Slowly." Continuing in the direction they'd been traveling, she meandered, hands clasped behind her back in the most relaxed of positions. Puzzled, Alistair walked with her, nodding and responding to her easy chatter for a few minutes, wondering what in Thedas Leliana was -

"Carver! Alistair!"

Marian?

Spinning back the way they'd come, a ripple of amazement passed through him to see a cloaked figure ghosting down the highway, with the giant Sten in tow. She sprinted, the forest-green fabric billowed around her ankles, larger than life. Beside the qunari she seemed even smaller than she actually was, a live doll, though of the two he was the one that seemed less than real. He ran easily at her side, a giant sword strapped to his bare back, his stern face set in that same perpetual scowl.

"Alistair," she breathed when the two of them skidded up a moment later. "I picked the lock on his cage. Take him with you."

"Marian?" Carver took one look at the qunari and gasped. "No. No way! He's not coming with us-"

"He is," she insisted, wilting her brother with a look. "I spent the better part of a day convincing him, so don't you turn him away now. He can help."

"Why not?" Cousland jeered, crossing his arms as he looked Sten over. "We've got a witch, a sister, a templar, and now a giant. Sure. In fact, Marian, why don't you come along as well, and round out this party of crazies?"

Marian ignored him, focusing instead on her brother. "Carver Hawke, if you don't take him with you I'll tell mother about what really happened last Satinalia." Wiry hands fisted on her hips, her chin jutting upward in defiance. "Trust me... that would be bad."

Carver groaned, slumping. "Marian..."

"I'm still your big sister," she reminded him. "You still have to listen to me."

"Yeah, my teeny, little big sister, with the personality of an ogre. No wonder I joined the Wardens," Carver muttered, but his lips were twitching. "You're as pushy as Mother."

"We'll take him, Marian," Alistair said, cutting off her protests. "Sten, don't murder us in our sleep, and we won't kill you while you're awake. Fair enough?"

Sten glowered down at him, lavender eyes hard.

"You sure know how to pick them," Alistair muttered to her, hoping he wasn't making a giant mistake.

"Very well. He can come," Cousland said with a negligent wave of his hand, sounding bored. "What's one more mouth to feed?"

"Bye Carver," Marian whispered, rising on tiptoes to slip her arms around her brother's neck. "Don't get dead." The siblings clung, drawing out their goodbye, and then Marian turned away, tears brightening her already vivid eyes.

"Farewell, good lady," Cousland said melodramatically, sweeping her hand into his own and bringing it to his lips. Loud, wet kissing noises followed, and Marian yanked away, her sadness turning to annoyance. He smirked, amused at the way she wiped her hand over the edge of her cloak. "There's a good chance none of us will live to see you again, you know."

"How sad. Get right on that, would you?" Marian hissed.

"Aww, no goodbye kiss for us heroes?" Cousland teased with a mock pout.

"Only the heroes get kisses," she returned, pinning him with an icy glare. As if making a point, she stepped up to Alistair and laced her arms around his neck. His heart went into overdrive, sweat breaking over his palms to feel her lithe form melded so close to his. Goosebumps broke over his skin, and his arms tightened, eyes drifting shut as her raven head nestled against his.

"Don't forget your promise... take care of Carver. And come back," she whispered, then the softest, sweetest touch he'd ever felt pressed to his cheek... her lips, kissing him goodbye. Rose petals had nothing on this. He swallowed, frozen by the momentous nature of the moment, managing nothing better than a murmured agreement. Marian wanted him to come back... she wanted him to come back. She smelled of birch, of things growing, the scent of the woods - it clung to her, more potent than any perfume. Alistair inhaled, taking in the feel of her, the scent of her, memorizing his Marian before he had to let her go, perhaps forever. He would do everything in his power not to let that happen.

One more squeeze, and she was gone, sliding away from him as easily as the wind. A lump choked in his throat, his arms aching to hold her again, wishing for just one more moment with her. Eyes glued to the fluttering green, he watched as the girl he loved ran back to Lothering, back to responsibility, back to a life he could only pray would one day include himself.

Carver was the one to bring him back to reality, clapping him on the shoulder with an understanding grin. "The sooner we go, the sooner we'll be back," he offered, and Alistair nodded, turning toward the Imperial Highway once more.

It was only the beginning.

A/N: Yay! The end of Lothering! HAHA! :-D Thanks always to Jaden Anderson for the beta, and for just being plain amazing. :-D

Hope you enjoyed, my dears! Next chapter should FINALLY be named something other than "Alistair". :-D And with luck, it won't take me ten days to get it put up! However, in my defense, I've been quite mentally drained from writing the last couple of "Seeds Of The Future" chapters, and I do need to make sure I keep up with that one as well. But I had tons of fun writing this, and I hope you had tons of fun reading it. Do leave me a review, so I can squee and dance and spicy-shimmy. Love, Eve