Haven
Alistair
Their welcome to Haven isn't exactly warm, and he says as much.
It's still ever-so-slightly warmer than the mountain temperature, however, and raised-in-thick-walls Morgana shivers and pulls his (borrowed. Again. He really needs to get her to buy one) cloak closer to her.
The witch has dispensed of her usual flimsy (and, er, sometimes unfortunately distracting) robes, wearing something that looks like it's made out of animal skins and feathers - he tries not to think too hard about which animals - while moaning constantly about "such unpleasant climes". He grinds his teeth, instead concentrating on their fearless leader.
Morgana tries not to let her frustration show with the gruff guard at the village entrance; she succeeds, but he knows her too well, and the quiet politeness of her tone gives her away.
He raises an eyebrow as they walk on. "Nice one with the guard, by the way."
He receives another raised eyebrow back, and a corner of her mouth twitches, but she says nothing.
The silence of the village is eerie, and he can't help looking back over his shoulder - for a place with such a pretty name, it's a little... intimidating. Where is everybody?
Morgana tries talking to a small child playing in the snowy grass, Leliana joining in and cooing over the boy (why does this not surprise him?), but gets nowhere. Even he tries, remembering the way he saw adults when he was a child, but there is no success. Morgana gives the boy a smile and walks on.
He frowns at the sound of chanting coming from further up the slope, ignoring Morrigan's dismissive comment and trying to make out the words.
Morgana looks to him. "Know your scripture?"
Of course not - it's only been drilled into him since he was ten years old. In various nastily interesting ways he really doesn't want to think about right now. He shrugs. "A little." He listens. "And that's definitely not the Chant."
She gives a brisk nod, and, as she puts her hand to her sword, he notices her hand shaking, the small swallow - no matter what she says, she's still unused to using it, though she is more comfortable with it now. He leans in and says quietly, for her ears only, "It may not come to that. And you've trained for this." He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and she looks up at him, seeming surprised by the contact. "It'll be fine."
Of course, it does come to that.