Nathaniel swayed on his feet, and the stars spun in the sky for an instant as his vision blurred. Reaching out blindly to his left, he laughed in breathless relief when he skinned his knuckles against rough bark. He leaned toward the tree. Perhaps "lean" was too gentle a word. "Collapse" was a bit more appropriate. His shoulder took the brunt of his weight, but he barely noticed the impact. All he noticed was the blissful support of something.

Jacob whined near his hip, and he reached down to stroke the wardog's head. It appeared that the dog was in better shape than he was, but maybe that wasn't surprising. He was, after all, a mabari. Built of sterner stuff than a mere nobleman's son. Grey Warden or not.

"Just a minute, boy," he whispered. "I just need a moment."

Jacob huffed loudly, but sat on his haunches. His ears pricked forward though, and his muscles were tense. Ready to be off as soon as Nathaniel was ready.

Ready was an extremely relative term at the moment. He had been on the road for months, how many he wasn't quite sure anymore. Life had narrowed to three simple imperatives: eat enough to live, sleep enough to remain sane, don't lose the trail. That trio ruled his world. Being a Grey Warden, living at Vigil's Keep...that seemed like someone else's life. The only reminder that he wasn't going mad, hadn't imagined the past, was Jacob.

He stared fixedly at the all-important trail, blazed into the ground by the weight of horses and men. Where on this Maker-forsaken continent were they going? Didn't they have a plan, or at the very least, a place to run to? He'd never imagined to be desperately scrambling after the Commander this far into her kidnapping. At this point, he'd figured they would've been infiltrating an enemy camp, at the very least.

Nathaniel smiled ruefully. In reality, if someone had asked him where he thought they'd be this far down the line, it would be at Vigil's Keep with the Commander safely rescued. Not still traipsing across the countryside, lagging after the traitorous scum like the most pathetic stray dog in the world.

His eyes absently traced the hoof prints in the dirt, following one shape as it bled into the one beside it. It was a complete mess, really. The prints were not clear, just a mush of churned earth and indentations. They were flat-out galloping most of the time. Running willy-nilly for...where?

His gaze meandered to the right, still following the prints. It took a few seconds before he realized the trail didn't go right...but there were hoof prints there just the same. Gathering his strength, he took his weight off the tree and cross to the offending tracks. He bent low, tracing the other prints with his fingertips.

They were older, but still had the same disorganized, rushing quality as the trail he was following. Jacob came over to sniff by Nathaniel's hand. His throat vibrated with a menacing growl, but he offered no cause for alarm, no acknowledgment of a new threat.

The reality crashed over Nathaniel with all the subtly of oxen loose in the armory.

This was the same trail, just from before. He'd already walked this portion, seen this prints. The bastards were crossing over their own trail. Perhaps this wasn't even the first time.

They were going in circles...and he was following their aimless wanderings.

A thousand questions, and their political implications, piled up in his head so fast he could barely keep them straight. Attempting to puzzle them out would keep his brain occupied while his body mechanically kept tracking later. But right now, this very second, he had no desire to figure them out. He did the only thing he wanted to do at the moment.

A scream of frustration burst from him, rebounding against the heavy boughs. Jacob winced and lowered his head. Pushing his hair out of his face with furious, shaking hands, Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Come on, boy."

Alistair opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling momentarily. Bedroom? It would seem so, with the pillows and the sheets and whatnot. He hadn't been here for quite some time. The bed felt empty in the worst way, like even the furniture knew something very important was missing. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hoping to block out the world. Perhaps he could fall asleep again, though Maker only knew how he'd done it in the first place.

"Glad you decided to join me."

Oh, right. That was how he'd managed it. He stared fixedly at the ceiling. "I'm not speaking to you, just so you know."

"Oh? So that's not your vibrant, colorful voice I'm hearing right now?"

"Nope."

"Well, fancy that. Perhaps I've gone mad then."

"I would imagine so," he answered matter-of-factly.

He heard her sigh theatrically. "What a shame. Madness certainly isn't going to help get Lorelai back. I wonder what being mad would be helpful with..."

Alistair gritted his teeth at the obvious rebuke, and didn't need to look at her to know she was tapping her chin in mock-thoughtfulness. Spend a year in someone's company, all day and all night, and you get to know things about them. Five years ago or not.

"Perhaps being mad would help run the country," she mused. "I suppose monarchs have gotten away with it before, though never for long. Or maybe it is an advantage when being a Grey Warden. It's true that thinking like one's enemy can assist in uncovering their motives. But madness seems to be taking that to the extreme a bit."

Oh, Andraste. Why, exactly, was it that he'd called for their friends? "Enough," he growled, grabbing a nearby pillow and tossing it in the direction her voice was coming from. "I yield, Leliana."

"I'm not mad? What a fabulous discovery! I shall write in my diary later."

"You don't have a diary," he snorted.

She sniffed loudly, and pulled around herself a cloak of feigned haughtiness that flowed across the room. "And how would you know, ser? Did you snoop through my tent all those years ago?"

"Maybe."

That surprised a shout of laughter from her. "Oh, I think not! You have as much stealth as a rutting bull!"

"Hey!" He sat up, finally looking at the scarlet-haired bard. Snatching another pillow, he hurled it at her with force.

Leliana caught it easily, laughing again. "You grace me with your eyes, Your Majesty." She bowed low, shoulders shaking with the last giggles.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A little over a day."

"What did you give me?" he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly.

"Nothing that can't be given to you again...and again...and again." Her grin was innocent, and her eyes blinked entirely too often.

"I don't like the sound of that," Alistair said cautiously.

"Really, darling, you have let this go on far too long."

"Wasn't exactly my choice," he pointed out, fist clenching against the sheets. He knew she was right, at least a little bit. The frayed bits of his mind seemed to rub against the inside of his skull painfully. Only a day of sleep had led him down the road of recuperation just enough to know the state his head was in. That was it. It would take many more restful nights to get the pieces of his brain to act like a cohesive whole again.

But he couldn't sleep. Every time he nodded off he dreamed of Lorelai. He heard her screaming for him, calling for help. He couldn't see her, and he was left trying to follow the sound of her voice through a fog. No matter how fast he ran, she never seemed any closer. That was always how he woke: panting, heart hammering in his chest with panic and desperation.

Forgive him if he hadn't wanted to sleep.

"I know," Leliana said, "but it's something that has to be remedied." She threw her hands in the air. "Andraste only knows what punishment Lorelai would devise for me if she came home to find you a driveling lunatic."

"I don't need to be taken care of. I'm not a child," he said sternly.

"Really? Though I suppose you're right, since I've known children capable of feeding themselves."

His frustration snapped, flowing down his arm in a rush that ended with his fist striking the ornate wooden headboard with enough force that the frame creaked in protest. "Damn it, Leliana! If there's a book of rules for how to act when your wife is abducted, I'll read it cover to cover. Until you find said book, I'd like a touch less sarcasm!"

She stared at him, her pretty countenance filled with steel. "We will find her, Alistair. Those who have her will regret the day their fathers bedded their mothers and began their miserable lives."

His muscles locked up, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty when I condemned your sarcasm. All of a sudden I find myself yearning for it."

"But we need you," Leliana continued, brushing aside his attempt at levity. "Lorelai needs you. And not half-starved and insane. She needs you at your templar-trained, Grey Warden, King of Ferelden best. We will fail without you."

For a few moments, he just stared at her. He'd probably heard the bard say ten serious things since he'd known her. Now here she was, making rousing speeches. "You're pretty good at being uplifting, you know that?"

"One of my many talents," she beamed, beatific and flirtatious once more.

"Of course." He thought for a moment, rolling his thoughts around his mind slowly. Getting back into the habit of thinking, instead of functioning in an automatic walking-corpse sort of way, was going to take a little bit. "So, can your sneaky tricks get me to sleep through the nights like you normal, non-frantic-husband folk?"

"Absolutely, but after you get into a routine, you shouldn't need it anymore."

"Oh, I'm going to need it. At least until we're on the move. I didn't dream last night, and it needs to stay that way."

Leliana nodded, as if she knew exactly what he meant by that. "Two more vultures arrived. Wynne and Shale say to leave without them. Wynne has sent Shale on ahead," she informed him. "How long it takes Zev to find Nathaniel Howe and send their location back will determine if we actually do leave without them, of course."

He blew out a sigh. Shale. He couldn't believe the golem had agreed to come. The vermin who'd taken Lorelai would be in for a rude surprise. "Guess we won't have to worry about any fortifications they may have."

"Not likely," she agreed, the feral grin on her face mirroring his ruthless feelings perfectly.