Disclaimer: Dragon Age world doesn't belong to me.

AN: A bit of a short chapter here, not much action, only to flesh up the characters a little. Thank you all who follow this story, and I hope you'll enjoy.

Chapter 2 – Lamb

They had chased after bandits all afternoon.

Leliana was staring pensively in the crackling fire. It was evening now, the third day in a row that they were working to clear Lothering from thugs, and every bit of her body hurt from the exertion – neck, shoulders, ribs, thighs – even her toes hurt, not to mention the seething punctured blisters in her smooth palms; she knew they would turn into protective calluses eventually, as before, but it wasn't yet the case. Not that she minded, really; she welcomed all of it, as well as the wholesome sensation that she was more alive than ever, and free, and… of course it all had an undergoing darker taste, but she wasn't ready to go there just yet.

She stretched her legs towards the embers, to gather more warmth. It had been a good day; not exactly from the start. They had met their first group of outlaws just a stone's throw from where she'd waited for the Wardens to appear – amazing, really, she'd never thought they'd been that close to Lothering all that time. The Wardens' small party had been seriously outnumbered; three to one had never been optimistic odds for anyone, as far as Leliana knew, and when the mabari dogs had burst and charged, well…

She had little experience against war-dogs and it had seemed to her that Kallian and Alistair (that was the other Warden's name) had been in need of help; she renounced the bow in favor of her enchanted dagger quickly and jumped into the melee, leaving only the witch behind. In no time, she found herself on the flat of her back, overwhelmed by a drooling mabari, staring up close into its razor-sharp teeth. Kallian had kicked at its muzzle only a glimpse before its biting an undoubtedly huge hole in her face; Alistair had bashed it with his shield; in the end, it had been Con, Kallian's war-dog, that got the beast off her, allowing her to get up and recollect. By then, Kallian was way ahead, striving to engage the three still standing archers all at once, in a fraught attempt to keep them from raining arrows on the rest of them. Of course she'd lasted one small minute only, before collapsing with a gaping wound in her side, but that minute had gained them the occasion to finish the dogs and move forth towards the archers, which they had.

Alistair had helped Kallian to her feet. She'd suggested going back to town, for Kallian to patch her wound. The elf had jerked her chin up and stated tersely that the sun was still up, obviously not content to cut their work-day short. The witch had pulled two arrows from her back and wrought some healing magic that she hadn't seemed much adept at. Kallian had measured Leliana from head to toe. "I don't have eyes in the back, you know." She'd seemed quite cross. "I must know where you are on the field. Stick to that bow."

Pfft. She'd been quite right, of course, and well within the right to say it, as she had taken most of the brush and bruise of Leliana's mistake, but that hadn't made the reprimand less annoying. While climbing the windmill mound afterwards, trying to spy the whereabouts of other bandits, Leliana had been simmering inside.

"I'll wager you a mug of ale they're in that corn field," Kallian had announced, and she'd huffed her disaproval. The elf had noticed, surprisingly, and had turned an eye towards her "I didn't mean to offend, Sister. In the Chantry you don't wager, no?" Leliana's temper had demeaned on spot. "Only beads and beans, generally" she'd offered, and it had gained her a sideways smile form the elf.

"Alright then, let's weed them out!" Kallian had said, and gotten out a neat shortbow that she'd nocked at once. Leliana had followed suit, and soon enough, indeed, a couple of annoyed bandits had emerged from the corn field. Leliana afforded to watch the Warden shoot for once. "You're lame with that, you know?" she'd said, not entirely forgiving for the moment before. The Warden merely grinned. "Well, it's good that you're not, then. Keep shooting." She'd then discarded the shortbow and had drawn her sword and dagger, falling behind the outlaws that her mabari had engaged fully. Then everything started to work for them, as the well-oiled wheels of a complex device. Con engaged them, grinding at their thighs and hands; Kallian danced behind them, stabbing at the weak spots of their armor; Alistair acted the defender, mashing and shoving the ones trying to flank back in the crowd between the Warden and the dog. The witch, Morrigan, danced in small steps to the side, seemingly always finding the best angles to cast her spells, and Leliana kept shooting. "I think we work well together" Alistair had shouted at some point, and that had nailed it; it was obvious that they each had found their pace and place within the whole. Afterwards, they had all given in to the bloodlust and merriment of the chase.

The loot was good, including a full set of steel chainmail that had Alistair fully equipped; an odd assortment of maces, bows and daggers that could fetch more than a few coppers, and Kallian's eyes had glittered at the stash that they were going to sell the next day, when they would go to collect their pay from the Chantry's board; some amount of coin; and some good leathers that Kallian had insisted on her to take, for which she felt all guilty. None of them knew she had her old battledresss stashed at the bottom of the backpack – a piece of armor that was worth more than all that they had in money and equipment, a piece of armor that she wasn't ready to don just yet; the piece of armor that she had worn only once before, when she'd gotten chasing after her. It brought bad memories, even bad luck, perhaps.

The fire crackled merrily, denying further pretext to melancholy. They'd camped right out of town, and it was a fine night to see the stars, if one felt so inclined. Lothering was filled to the brim, and it was better this way, they had all decided, anyway. They'd copiously dined on staked hare with herbs and some sweet corn they'd snatched from an abandoned barn, a luxury that wasn't at the hand of most law abiding townsfolk. This rogue life, it felt good. Now, Kallian was coming to the fire, fetching a bottle of wine and a few cups. She'd first stopped by the spot where Alistair was meticulously polishing his sword, most likely asking him to join. It seemed that he refused.

"I think I need a favor."

Never refuse and never commit. That was one of the first things that Leliana had learned, even before her time as a bard. Being a bard had only taught her how to do it better.

"By all means, tell me what I can do for you," she said, voluble.

"Huh." Kallian seemed to ponder whether the matter at hand was important enough for her to take a seat by the fire or sufficed a brief introduction. She seemed to finally decide on the latter.

"It's Alistair. He's lost his mentor, and the closest one friend that resembled a father, back at Ostagar. I knew him – Duncan, his name was – only briefly; I said to Alistair so much, and all else that I could think of, but he's still…"

"Hurting?" she provided, solicitously.

"That too. Also, a bit off in regard to his own survival in battle. A bit careless."

"And, you want me to go and speak with him…"

"Well. I was thinking, with you being a Sister and all…"

With her being a Sister and all. The wording annoyed Leliana. With her being a Sister and all she couldn't even soothe her own mind. And she wasn't a Sister, not really, not any more. What did the elf expect, that she'd go on a limb and tell a stranger that the Maker wanted him to do so-and-so? Hurts of the soul needed time to heal. If this girl was looking for spiritual guidance, she would have to seek it elsewhere.

The elf was sizing her up, quite apprehensively. Leliana felt bad for her bitter thoughts.

The Warden was by all means committed to make them all feel at ease, from what little Leliana had gathered so far. She'd been making a purpose of speaking with each of them a bit every evening, even the Qunari, even the barbarian witch. Making them talk about subjects that they held most dear, agreeing with them when possible without lying. She'd even gotten her to tell a story by the fire the other night. Not that Leliana could find a fault in that.

"Come, sit with me a bit," she offered, and the elf obliged with a shrug.

"So, what do you think?" Leliana probed, gesturing towards the other Warden.

"I get him. Only," the elf offered a crooked smile, "I am not at my best myself."

"Oh?" Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Have you come to talk about him, or yourself?"

The look in Kallain's eyes might have meant anything from pure spite to mere irony. Leliana couldn't tell. Those big, strange eyes of elves were only half readable even for her – and this one hid hers quickly.

"No. Nothing of the sort. I just thought that maybe you had some notion about what's to be done." She made a frown and a move to rise from the log they shared. "Thank you anyway."

Honey worded, guarded and with a grudge against humans, maybe? In Val Royeaux there was little difference between elf and human commoner; they would converse, drink stout together, even share a bed sometimes – of course there were jabs and jokes like everywhere, but everyone took them with a grain of salt. In Ferelden, though… Leliana had never been to an Alienage. It would have been bad judgment to let that sort of grudge set root against her.

"Wait." Leliana treaded carefully. "It's not my place to pry. I just thought - he may feel offended simply that I know his grief. But if you want to cheer him up a bit, I can come with. If you want."

"Good." The elf's was a genuine smile this time.

It was not easy to brighten up a man who sat in gloomy silence polishing an already conspicuously sharp sword. They each took a spot at his side and remained quiet for a while, except for the rhythmic wishh-woshh of the whetstone on metal.

Leliana had some tricks up her sleeve, but she didn't dare show off too much. There was one trick, however, which never failed her, no matter the role she had to play or the purpose; it gave her the upper hand in conversation and the advantage of surprise, it forced the other to answer true and pay less attention to detail, while not taking her all too seriously. She called it "say-whatever-nonsense-crosses-your-mind".

"So, Alistair, what was that …soup you made for supper last night?"

Kallian's eyebrows arched high, but Alistair jumped to answer.

"Did you like it?"

Succes. Leliana couldn't hold a wink.