Makes a large reference to chapter 10, "Ignorance".
Exit Strategy
Alistair
He doesn't miss the resentful mutters that follow them from the Dalish camp, and still half-expects an arrow in the back as he begins to roll up his tent.
He heard Morgana last night, when the nightmares struck; fatigue had outwitted them, finally winning, and the minute sleep claimed them, the Archdemon did too. He'd retired to his bedroll tense, waiting for dreams of his own: sweat-soaked, yelling, utterly undignified terror. Surely enough, they'd come.
He hadn't expected to be woken by a faceful of canvas, spluttering and struggling to untangle himself. Crawling out half-dressed and half-asleep, muttering under his breath, it took him a moment to register Morgana standing next to the re-stoked campfire. Probably ran there after she ruined his tent.
Dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, smiling sadly, she held out an apple. He stood up and took it with a low, "Thank you," walking back to the fire, and looked back as he caught something out of the corner of his eye.
Her raised eyebrow was swiftly lowered, but her teeth were still worrying at her lip, her gaze on his back. He took in his current bedraggled state, then her expression, and tried not to let his ears redden. "I... ah... sorry."
She shook her head suddenly, then joined him, giving him a half-smile and shrugging. "Comrades-in-arms, remember?" Then she looked at the fire, and they sat in silence, the warmth of the fire equalled only by the embarrassed burn of his ears and neck. She darted him a few nervous glances when she thought he didn't notice, hands twisting in her lap (the nightmares must have been bad). Was... was she blushing? He honestly couldn't be sure.
When he eventually returned to his tent - after setting it up again - he was too tired to dream.
He yawns, looking up at the sky and preparing to lift the ridiculously heavy pack. He still has one ear on the camp, muscles contracted, ready for a fight; he tries to tell himself that the elves are recruited, that there won't be any fights, but the rest of him's saying otherwise.
He stands, stretching, and his eyes instantly search for Morgana. There she is, passing Wynne a couple of potions. As if she can feel his eyes on her - why does that thought make him cringe all over again? - she looks up, giving him a smile that's bright even through tiredness.
Well, maybe the Dalish won't kill them all in their sleep after all.
He heaves the pack onto his back with a sigh, sees her do the same. A swift, "Everyone ready?" A murmur of assent, then they're walking again, finally leaving the forest.
He looks beside him, but she isn't there; he turns to see her trailing back near Leliana, a frown furrowing her brow, her gaze quickly dropping from him.
To Orzammar, then. He ignores the sudden ache at the severe lack of splintmailed mage next to him, swallowing and walking onwards, his head bowed.