Daveth woke with a start, sweat dripping down his face. Between the nightmares and Jory's snoring, he was surprised he had been able to fall sleep at all. He glanced over at the knight, and shook his head. He had managed to convince Bann Teagan to release Jory into their custody, somehow. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure why he did it. Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence and Daveth's eyes shot open once more.
"You let Lady Isolde die! With blood magic. How could you?"
Daveth blinked, and rubbed his eyes, unsure if he had really heard anything at all. But then, another voice rose above the silence and he pushed himself up.
"What's going on?" Jory mumbled sleepily, his sad eyes peering out from under the heavy wool blanket Daveth had given him.
"That's what I'm going to find out," Daveth said as he pulled on his boots and slipped out of the tent.
Alistair and Natia stood glaring at each other on the other side of the camp, red-faced. Alistair gestured forcefully as he spoke. Natia crossed her arms tightly across her chest, jaw clenched.
"We could have gone to the mages for help," Alistair scowled, staring her down. "We could have tried harder. We could have done it without resorting to blood magic, that's for damn sure."
Natia's expression held firm. "We did the best we could, Alistair."
"Don't you dare tell me that was the best we could do," Alistair yelled, bending down toward her so his face inches from hers. "You weren't the one that had to help tell a little boy that his mother was dead.
"I think we all need to calm d-" Daveth said, attempting to step between them.
"Stay out of it, Daveth," Natia snapped, pushing him away. Daveth stepped backward clumsily and looked around. Leliana stood outside of her tent, looking unsure of what to do. Morrigan slipped next to her and crossed her arms, frowning slightly. Sten stood silent in the shadows, and looked ready to step in at a moment's notice. Even Jory had ventured out of the tent, watching cautiously from a distance.
"What, so we were supposed to kill the kid instead?" Natia asked Alistair after a moment, nostrils flaring. "Or, just leave and hope he didn't kill everyone in the village before we got back?"
"No!" Alistair's ear reddened and he faltered. "I don't know. I just don't know how we're going to explain this to the Arl."
"Maybe he'll see that there was more at stake here," Natia frowned, trying to gain composure.
The pair stared each other down in silence, breathing, thinking. Alistair's expression softened, and he slumped down to the ground, cradling his head in his hands.
"Maker's breath, I'm an arse," he groaned wearily. "I haven't exactly been the model Warden here, and I've let you all make the decisions. I just... I don't know what to say."
"Forget it," Natia said quietly, holding a hand out to him. "We're good." Alistair took her hand and nodded.
Daveth felt himself relax. "Well, that was fun!" He flashed a grin, mostly for his own benefit.
"Sod off," Natia muttered, shooting a glance at him, and then stalked off into the forest. Daveth gawked at her and threw his hands up in the air and began pacing.
The normal chatter of camp slowly resumed and Daveth paced, looking in the direction that she had gone. Whispers and nervous laughter floated into his ears and he ran his hand through his hair.
Jory walked up to him slowly. "What just happened? Wait! Where are you going?" Daveth had begun walking toward the treeline.
"To find out what the hell that was about," Daveth said through his teeth.
She was quick. He lost track of her almost as soon as he passed through the treeline. He stumbled over a branch and cursed, unsure of why he was even doing this, and strained to see any sign of her. Pausing for a moment, he wiped the sweat off of his brow. He heard the crackle of leaves somewhere nearby, to his left. He followed the direction of the sound and found her, pacing.
"You mind telling me what that was all about?" Daveth asked, stalking toward her. She stopped and turned to face him.
"Sod off," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.
"'Sod off,'" he echoed, deadpan, shaking his head. "You sure have a funny way of answering questions."
"I didn't need your help," she snapped. "I can take care of things myself. I don't need people protecting me."
"I wasn't trying to protect you," he smiled ruefully, taking a step toward her. "I was worried for Alistair's safety. He's a puppy dog, you know."
She regarded him for a moment, her face still as stone. Suddenly, she growled and lunged at him, arms outstretched. She caught him in the chest and he fell backward, landing squarely on his ass. He stared up at her, his arms splayed out awkwardly behind him struggling to keep himself upright. She stared back and him, and then she was on him, pressing her mouth against his, forcing his lips apart. He felt her arms around his neck, her hands grabbing at his hair, and he groaned against her. He shifted and pulled an arm around her waist, bringing her closer, and pulled his other hand to her face, tracing the line of the brand on her cheek.
Natia tensed and pulled away suddenly. "I'm sorry." She met his eyes briefly and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Natia…" he said softly, moving to pull her toward him. She shrugged out of his touch and hopped to her feet. She glanced at him again and stumbled back toward the camp. He watched after her, and whistled softly to himself.
"How much farther to Denerim?" Jory asked as he sucked the last of his water from his leather flagon.
"Two days, give or take," Daveth said with a yawn. It was getting late, and they'd be setting up camp soon.
Jory nodded slowly and thought for a moment. "Do you think we'll really find the ashes?"
Daveth snorted. "Do you? We may as well be looking for griffons."
Alistair fell into step with them. "Did someone say griffons? I want a griffon. That would be awesome."
Daveth laughed, and looked further up the road at Natia. It had been days since she'd said more than a few words to him. She'd look at him, as if she expected him to say something to her, but he'd just smile, and Natia would turn red. It was a game of sorts, and Daveth considered himself an expert. He'd certainly played it enough, he thought with a smirk. The baker's daughter, that washerwoman, and that cute handmaiden at the Pearl…
"Daveth?" Alistair snapped his fingers in front of the rogue's face. "Hel-lo?"
Daveth jarred himself back to reality and cleared his throat. "What?"
"We're stopping for camp," Alistair quirked an eyebrow.
The make-shift stew had just started to boil when Leske jumped to his feet and growled, and set everyone on alert. A woman had spotted them and veered off the main road. She ran toward them, calling out.
"Help!" she cried. "Please! Bandits… the wagon! Oh, Maker, please!"
"Bandits? How many?" Alistair leapt to his feet and picked up his sword and shield.
"I don't know!" The woman panted, eyes wild. "Too many for us, but we're no warriors. Please, help us! My husband was injured and…" she began to sob and fell to her knees.
Natia sheathed her blades. "Morrigan, we need you." The witch rolled her eyes and grabbed her staff. Sparks flew off the end of it at her touch. "Leliana, stay here at camp with Jory. Let's go."
The woman scrambled to her feet and led them down the road. A wagon lay overturned, dead oxen littered the clearing. But there were no bodies, no sign of struggle. It was all too perfect. A blonde elf stepped out from behind the wagon and smirked. He gestured silently and in the blink of an eye, they were surrounded.
The woman turned on her heel and slashed a knife at Alistair, just missing his arm.
"Bloody hell!" Alistair cried out as he knocked her down with his shield. "It's a trap!"
"The Grey Wardens die here!" the elf yelled, his accent betraying him as Antivan. Daveth had met a few in Denerim.
"Son of a nughumper!" Natia cursed, pulling out her blades as she charged forward.
Daveth snorted a laugh and let his arrows fly.
"I don't trust him," Daveth said quietly as they walked along the banks of the Drakon River. They were less than half a day from Denerim. They'd reach the city gates before nightfall if they kept their pace.
Alistair grunted in agreement. "I don't, either. What is she thinking, bringing along an assassin? It's not as if we needed any more 'lurking in the shadows' types… er, no offense."
"We'll just have to watch him is all," Daveth replied evenly.
Alistair nodded and looked at his feet as he walked. "So, er… I was wondering if you might help me do something. In Denerim."
Daveth cocked his head toward the templar and quirked an eyebrow.
"There's a woman in Denerim that I want to see," Alistair said slowly.
"A woman?" Daveth slapped Alistair on the back and laughed. "You dog! I didn't know you had it in you."
"What?" Alistair looked surprised before waving his hands wildly. "No! It's not like that! It's my sister. Well, half-sister, really, on my mother's side. I don't know if she even knows about me, but with the Blight coming, I just wanted to go talk to her, you know?"
Daveth scratched the back of his head and glanced at Alistair. "Why me?"
"Well, we're friends, right?" Alistair shrugged. "And you're pretty much the only one I've got."
Daveth felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Alright, I'll go."
They walked on for awhile, listening to the low murmur of their companions further up the road. Birds called to one another in the distance, and Leske sometimes barked a response. Daveth watched Natia as she walked, her hips swaying dangerously beneath her armor. "Duster armor" she had called it. He felt a heat rising in him as he remembered the feel of her lips, the warmth of her skin against his own.
"Something on your mind?" Alistair asked. "You're a million miles away."
"Hm? Oh, just… thinking," Daveth said after a pause, the ghost of a grin playing on his face.
The sun had just begun to set when they reached the gates of Denerim. The heavy doors stood open, revealing the streets that had been Daveth's home for so many years.
He inhaled deeply and sighed. "Nothing beats the smell of the city!"
"It smells of garbage and wet dog," Sten rumbled in his usual way, taking in the view of the city. "You find this pleasing?"
Daveth chuckled and looked up at the Qunari. "Part of the charm, is all."
"Ah yes," Zevran strode up beside him. "There is nothing more satisfying than the stench of a city. Except for real Antivan leather." He winked at Daveth and stretched his arms above his head. "Shall we?"
"Any place we can stay that might have a bed or two?" Natia asked, brushing her hair away from her face.
"There's a few inns we could try, and the tavern has some rooms," Daveth supplied. "We could try the Pearl, too, but you're paying for a different kind of service there. Probably get a good night's sleep, though."
Zevran laughed, and Alistair chuckled nervously. Always the Chantry boy, Daveth though.
"Let's find some place to stay, and then find this Brother Genitivi," Natia said as she tightened a strap on her boots. "I don't know about you, but I'm soddin' tired of sleeping on the ground."
They walked through the gates and found themselves in the market district. Daveth looked around and smirked. How long had it been since he'd last been here? Months, at least. Months since he was nothing more than a street urchin, fighting to survive day by day. He swallowed back a bitter taste in his mouth and watched as the women headed into the heart of the market, Leliana squealing with delight at the various fabrics and smells that swirled around her.
"We should head to the tavern," Daveth said. "See if we can scrounge up some rooms."
The men walked through the market and headed toward the tavern, each of them eager for at least one night's rest in a proper bed.
Daveth paused and adjusted the strap on his pack. He'd just taken a step forward when he felt the firm grip of a hand on his shoulder.
"Daveth," a stern voice boomed from behind.
"Well, hello, Sergeant Kylon," Daveth smiled ruefully. "Fancy meeting you here."
AN: Big thanks to sagacious_rage for the beta, and a sounding board for the insane ideas I come up with. You'll see what I'm talking about in chapter 8. ;) Thanks for reading! ~neaira