"You've fallen barefoot past the tree line
beaten, boned-eyed, butchered, swayed
a thousand whitefish floating belly up
in the spirit that I crave."

- Black Water, Timber Timbre

On their way out into the wilds, Elissa had collected her newly altered armour and slipped into it, at ease with its comfort and flexibility.

Soon after she found these benefited her little as she clashed with what seemed like endless darkspawn; these things, they were like creatures from her most delirious nightmares brought to life. Already over-active of the mind, Elissa could only feel utter horror at the walking, tangible beings that seem to have crawled out of the darkest pockets of her own mind. They reeked and they howled and they laughed gutturally at her pathetic attempts at defence as she repeatedly lifted her sword to shield herself from the unrelenting ferocity they attacked her with.

Fury burned through her for the fact that Daveth, the other recruit – Ser Jory, and Alistair were capable of holding their own and keeping abreast of the situation; all three were big men, clad in splint or decent mail and all three had clearly seen battle before.

Elissa had done needlework till the age of twelve:

Elissa play-fought with her brother using dull wooden swords:

Elissa shot arrows into piles of straw that were shaped like men and never moved:

Elissa floundered behind them now, trying to keep up.

For the love of the Maker, Daveth is piss drunk… she remarked inwardly, kicking a dead Hurlock off of her blade.

The air was driven from her lungs and she was knocked off her feet, her mind flashing immediately to her last night in Highever when the exact same thing had happened. The Hurlock that had thrown her aside with its shield lurched closer to her, preparing to stick its rotted looking blade into her soft abdomen but Alistair placed himself between them, turning the foul creature's own strategy back on it, shoving it back a few feet with a well placed thrust with his shield.

"Get up." He implored over his shoulder, fending off the enraged darkspawn.

Elissa cast around, her fingers closing around her sword. "I may have twisted my ankle." She implored. "…I need a moment."

"We don't have a moment!" Alistair impressed, driving his elbow against the skull of a Genlock that was now attacking as well.

She lay in the middle of an open field with someone else standing over her once again, protecting her because she could not protect herself. She rolled to her side and planted her forearms on the ground, prepared to stand up at last, but shrunk back in surprise, pressing herself against the backs of Alistair's legs: All she could see was a great filthy Hurlock barrelling at them. Alistair still had his back to her and made no sign of being available at a moment's notice so she did the only logical thing that presented itself at the time: Punctuated by her anger directed at her own ineptitude, she ripped the hunting knife that she had casually observed earlier out of the top of Alistair's boot, ignoring his shout of surprise at the intrusion, and shot straight up to her feet, the momentum of the blade driving upwards with her movement gutting the darkspawn that challenged her. She stumbled back as its stinking insides tumbled out in a wet slop at her feet.

Alistair finished struggling with the Genlock and looked at her while she wiped strings of viscera off of her front and Daveth and Jory felled their respective foes nearby. "I don't suppose you see much fighting, being the Lady of Highever, do you?" He laughed privately to himself and shook his head when Elissa held out the bloody knife to him. "I get the feeling you're more suited to stabbing things than swinging a sword. Keep it if it means you'll do the same to every other darkspawn we come across." He nodded at the disembowelled Hurlock and sheathed his sword. He fumbled in the pocket of his belt and thrust a tiny glass vial into Elissa's gloved hand.

"At least you've made it clear that you don't mind blood."

She blinked at him, hesitating slightly before tugging the vial from his fingers, her countenance markedly different.

"On the contrary, Alistair – I hate blood." Mine specifically. His brow creased ever so slightly at her words and for the first time since she had met him, Elissa made note that this man was not so simple-minded as she presumed; she had given him good reason to take pause and he took it – the subtlest hint that she was of bad blood and was not only the Lady of Highever, but a madwoman as well.

There were times when Elissa relished her condition, with a morbid and perverse sort of pride, she enjoyed the freedom that came along with the accusation of insanity, the places it allowed her mind to travel unbridled and the weapon it could surely be used as to strike fear bewitch those who believed ignorantly that she was a dull-witted being to be pitied. Her delirium made her reckless and daring and alert, and her sadness bore her a deep and rich appreciation for the beautiful and hideous things in the world. She still couldn't help but marvel at Duncan's decision to make someone like her a warden.

Alistair knelt beside her and aided her in filling the vial with thick, inky blood. She took the opportunity for closeness to lean near to him and lower her voice.

"Three new wardens, three vials of darkspawn blood." She said quietly, keeping her hands busy. "For what purpose, I wonder?" She stared at him with an intensity that forced the young warden to meet her gaze.

His face was youthful and handsome, like Cailan's, it had seen much sun and bore few lines. There was an innocence about his appearance and she knew not if it was his shortly kept hair and expressive face, or the fact that he could not hold her eyes for long before turning his own away and back to the task at hand.

"We had best get back." He said, straightening and going to assist the other two.