"My goodness, was Nan ever cross with me!" Edgar's throaty laugh interrupted the monotony of travel yet again. Ferelden was a large expanse of blue sky peppered with the scent of fresh sweat and Andraste's grace. "And there was this other time--"
"Will you silence yourself, please?" Morrigan hissed. "I for one would prefer that we not announce ourselves to any nearby bandits or darkspawn."
"Oh, come off it," Alistair clucked as he slung an arm around Edgar's shoulder. "Edgar was just getting to the good part, weren't you Edgar?"
Edgar shrugged. "Well, I just thought it was funny. Something to lighten the mood." He glanced over at Morrigan. "You're a lot like my Nan, in a way."
Alistair snickered, "Old and wrinkly."
"Strict," Edgar said. "Very demanding. She liked things in a very specific way. She helped raise me and she didn't make it out of Highever when... I miss her, is all."
Morrigan sighed. "Why is my engaging you in conversation always akin to repeatedly kicking a puppy?" She glared at the two men. "Stop it. I do not like it."
Up until that point, Faeron had kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead of them. Focused on his stiff and precise march, he worked to tune out those less trained in war than he. Had he been back in Orzammar and had this been a tunnel in the deep roads as opposed to a scenic countryside trail, he would have said let them be loud. Seasoned dwarven warriors knew that the best lesson was experience. Let the braying fools be torn apart by giant spiders or deep stalkers or genlocks, those left alive in the aftermath would carry on quieter and wiser.
"I never would have thought that one of my obligations as Grey Warden was babysitter," he muttered under his breath.
"End it," Nema whispered back. "Or I will."
Faeron snorted at her, but strode over to Alistair and Edgar. There was something about Nema Surana that made him angry. Irrationally so. She was smart and strong-willed and viciously powerful in her own right. But it was that matter-of-fact way she viewed the world in blacks and whites that set Faeron off. The tone of voice she used when she explained something, the certain way that she held her nose just marginally higher than anyone else's. It didn't matter if whatever course of action she wanted to take was logically the best route or that in any other universe he would have agreed with her, just the way she said it made Faeron want to do exactly the opposite, stab her eyes out with heated needles and urinate on her ancestors all in one go.
He crossed his arms. "Morrigan's right."
That comment alone made both men jerk to a startling halt. Alistair looked the more rational of the two with a single eyebrow raised, while Edgar was in the throes of grieving for his Nan, his mouth twisted into a frown and his blue-green eyes staring piteously at Faeron. The dwarf sighed.
"We are a stone's throw away from Loethering," Faeron said. "Once we are there, we'll get a room at the inn and there we can talk and laugh and relax. For now, let's hold our tongues and not do anything that might invite a fight. Okay?"
Edgar and Alistair exchanged a look before they looked back to Faeron and nodded their heads like naughty children. The day had dragged on much too long, already.
While the sun bore down upon the backs of their necks, the group trudged onward. They all itched after the slaughter at Ostagar in a way that couldn't be explained away with words. The Cousland woman prattled away aimlessly at the casteless Brosca wench so incessantly that Faeron's mind began to go numb. He looked away. He wasn't sure how he felt about being saved, not only by a group of Grey Wardens, but by a casteless girl with a bow in the deep roads. She hadn't sneered about it, hadn't rubbed it in his face, just offered him a quick nod when she was certain they had all escaped harm. Duncan had seen something important in the girl, he had to respect that even if it made his stomach turn.
He had to wonder, though, if her eyes stung as much as his under the harsh sunlight. If she felt as vulnerable and naked as he without the walls, the ceilings, nothing but sky and light and an air that the humans and elves described as "clean" and "crisp." It was nothing he would be willing to discuss; he needed to lead by example, not by childish curiosities.
"Chester!"
Faeron hadn't known that Edgar's voice could entertain such a high pitch. As he fumbled for his sword he noticed that Rastaban already had his daggers out and trained on the enormous beast galloping headlong toward the party. Edgar was dashing forward to meet the mabari warhound with an intensity that most men reserved for their lovers.
"Ser Chester von Woofington III!" Edgar exclaimed over and over. The full-grown dog leapt into the air and into his master's arms. "You're here! You're here! I thought I'd lost you!" Edgar staggered beneath the weight of the dog he was cradling and fell flat on his backside. The dog proceeded to cover his master's face with wet, slobbery kisses while Edgar laughed.
"Does this mean we are going to have this mangy beast follow us around?" Morrigan sniffed. "Wonderful."
Alistair gasped with mock horror. "He's not Mangy!"
"Forever and ever!" Edgar was telling his pet adoringly. "I will never lose you again."
"The third?" Nema said flatly. "You mean to tell me there are two more of these marauding the countryside?"
Silfee Cousland's tinkling laughter sent the elf's eyebrow arching up. Faeron wasn't sure yet if that subtle movement meant surprise or irritation. "Oh, sweet Maker, no," Silfee said. "Edgar simply felt that the dog was too noble a beast to have a name as undignified as 'Chester.' So he invented the longer title."
He decided the eyebrow meant irritation. Nema faced Silfee with a long, hard look, then she turned around without a word and stalked to the front of the party.
Chester proved himself to be a valuable asset. His keen senses helped tip the party off to nearby darkspawn as well as bandits and wild animals. Fiercely loyal to his master, Edgar, Chester also began to take a liking to Adele Tabris. Often, if the dog was not with his master, he would be found curled up by the elf's bedroll. Despite the dog's habit to occasionally run off and bury someone's undergarments, Faeron was pleased to have him at their sides. He was a capable and focused warrior who didn't eat as much as Alistair and most importantly, Chester lacked the ability to talk.
By the time they had left Loethering, they had added the Chantry girl, Leliana and a qunari warrior to their list of stragglers. On the whole, it seemed a successful venture, what with the deal Faeron had brokered with the merchant Bodhan and his son, Sandal. Aside from some bandits and the virtue of a farmer's daughter whom Edgar insisted that he would love forever, there were no serious casualties.
"So I said to him, 'Tell Loghain that the Wardens know what really happened,'" Edgar said, a broad grin across his face. He leaned in forward and let the campfire warm him.
"So I saw," Leliana replied. "But what really happened? What is it that the Wardens know about that Teryn Loghain would like to remain secret?"
"Well... you know."
"I do not." She smiled and rested a hand on his thigh. "I was not at Ostagar like you. I would like to hear what happened."
Nema Surana walked over to the overturned log Faeron was resting on and sat primly, her back stiff. She picked up a stick and poked at the fire. She didn't look at him.
"Where do you think we should travel first?" she asked.
Faeron sighed. "Alistair had been insisting that we speak with Arl Eamon at Redcliffe, first."
"If I wanted to know what Alistair thought, I would have asked Alistair," Nema said. "Where do you think we should travel first?"
He looked over at her and she continued to stare at the fire. "Honestly? I would like to go directly to Orzammar."
"Why?"
"Why?" Faeron paused. "I have... unfinished business there."
Nema turned to look at him, then. Her eyes narrowed. "Then we will go to the Tower of Magi, first."
"Excuse me?" He wrenched the stick from her hand and tossed it into the fire. Little puffs of ash floated up into the air. "Did I hear this right? Did you ask me what I wanted only so you could deny me?"
It was the first time he'd seen Nema smile. A quick flash of white teeth and then nothing. "It would be a shame to lose you so quickly to your unfinished business," she said. "The Tower of Magi is along the way to Orzammar. I don't foresee us encountering any trouble there, but if we do, I want you there. Your race has a natural resistance to magic, correct?"
"Use me as a shield, then," Faeron snorted. "I'm used to being buttered up with pleasantries first before being treated as a pawn."
"Don't be stupid," she replied. "We stop quickly to uphold our alliance with the mages and then you have my word that we will travel directly to Orzammar afterward. Agreed?"
He nodded and held out his hand. "Aye."
"Feel free to help us or run off and get yourself killed over your unfinished business." Nema took his hand in her own and gave it a firm shake. "But don't even think about interfering with the Wardens securing dwarven aid against the Blight. If it comes to that, I swear I will end you myself."
Faeron had already begun to tune her out in favor of the flames licking at the ashen remains of a branch. Dealing with Nema always felt too similar to consorting with demons for his liking. Her hand was cold, but the fire was warm.