Well, it's been awhile since my last update. I have been writing this chapter for most of it. I was trying to avoid giving Lothering it's own Part, but 25 pages into the supposed last chapter of part 1 I realized it was not to be. So I give you chapter 1 of Part 2: Fear and Lothering. Enjoy! Props to my beta reader, almostinsane, for getting this done before the holidays. He's a treasure.

Reviews are loved and wanted, same goes for constructive criticism.

Part 2: Fear and Lothering

Chapter 1: Roadside Stories

The Wilds was wetter than the Brecillan, and the going was slower. In addition, Morrigan set a pace that was brutal to those who were not use to the terrain. The trees in the part of the Wilds Morrigan had seen fit to take them through grew with an uncomfortable closeness that even Ishafel seemed to find disconcerting. It was almost as if they were leaning in on each other, whispering behind their backs. On top of that, the company was quiet. There were the usual forest sounds, but nobody said a word for the entire first leg of the journey.

It was positively deafening. By noon of the second day, Dylan finally had enough.

"Tell me about this village to the north. "

Morrigan arched a thin eyebrow, appraising him.

"'Tis a small place of little consequence called Lothering."

She swung herself up over a ridge, putting distance between them.

"No more than a stop along your Imperial highway where travelers purchase goods from local farms and smiths." She called over her shoulder while he scrambled after her, the vaulted tree roots making the climb even more unpleasant.

Beside him Ishafel, climbed the ledge gracefully. Anchoring herself on a root, she reached down to him and extended her hand. He was about to take it, when he saw Morrigan smirk at him over her shoulder. He refused; he would get up the bank on his own. Shaking her head, Ishafel swung away and instead helped a struggling Alistair who, despite being a shemlen, was at least grateful.

After five minutes, Dylan was finally on the ledge beside Morrigan and she continued to speak as though there had never been a break in the conversation.

"I would go more often were it not for the town's Chantry. It makes the village particularly intolerant and unpleasant for a stranger such as me."

Dylan snorted in the middle of catching his breath and almost choked.

"A Chantry? And they never, in all this time thought that maybe you were a witch?"

Morrigan laughed. Dylan was briefly reminded of the iron wind chimes Wynne kept in her office window.

"Of course they have. They even called out their Templars once. They found nothing."

Ishafel, who had taken the lead, suddenly became very still. They all stopped moving.

"Ishafel..." he began.

She cut him off with a chop of her hand and motioned to some tree roots. It was a tight fit, but all four of them managed to crouch inside. Ishafel pulled out her bow, holding it snug against her ribs.

A few minutes later, what looked like the remains of a badly hit genlock raiding party stumbled into the clearing. There were only three of them. Ishafel nocked her arrow. A genlock died without ever knowing what hit it. Enraged, its brothers wheeled toward the tree roots, only to be frozen solid. Morrigan moved her hands quickly and then slung a ball of magic that solidified into a hefty rock through the creatures, shattering them on impact.

Brushing the dirt from her skin, she asked rather nonchalantly, "Shall we be underway?"

She continued to walk on without waiting for an answer.

"What are you skills exactly?" Ishafel asked, falling into step beside Morrigan

"I know a few spells, though I am nowhere near as powerful as mother. I have also studied history. And your Grey Warden treaties."

"Can you cook?" Dylan asked out of the blue.

Both women looked at him puzzled.

"I... can cook"

Whatever witty comment Dylan was about to make was cut off by Ishafel.

"Then you can substitute for Dylan, thank the creators."

Morrigan laughed and Ishafel shook her head, smiling slightly. The two of them continued forward.

"Right, my cooking will kill us all, that's what I meant."

But they were ignoring him now, chatting about poisons.

Was that normal girl talk?

The Wilds gave up their ground abruptly, changing suddenly from a scraggly marsh into a row of pine trees.

"This is a mark of a human settlement, we must be close."

"The road is but a ways from here," Morrigan confirmed.

About ten minutes later, the highland they were on was cleaved in two by a road. A city wall was a silhouette on the horizon. They jumped from the ledge on to the packed earth.

"Thank the Maker, no more tree roots." Dylan praised

"You ought build up you strength if mere tree roots were giving you problems" Ishafel admonished.

Dylan fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her. It wasn't as if he had spent his whole life in the woods. He was about to say that much when a sharp noise erupted from the treeline. There was a mottled shadow darting in out of the pines and a second later a large furry blob landed in front of them on the roadway.

"What in Andraste's name..?"

The creature uncoiled itself into a Mabari shape. He stood in their path and eyed them, then turned to the road ahead and let out a snarl.

"Wha-"

Darkspawn clamored over the ridge. With a booming bark, the dog threw itself snarling into the knot of enemies. There was really nothing they could do but follow. The raiding party was small, probably another group of stragglers from Ostagar, and they were felled with relative ease. When the killing was over and done, the dog left the corpses and trotted up to Ishafel, wagging his tail.

"Is that... the Mabari you went and got all muddy for?" Dylan questioned incredulously .

The dog barked happily.

"It stands to reason," Alistair concurred, "Once Mabari attach themselves to an owner, they'll follow them to the end of the world."

Ishafel bent down so that she was eye level with the creature, and stroked his head thoughtfully.

"Dalish do not keep dogs." she said hesitatingly, "I wouldn't know how to take care of you."

The dog gave a playful yip and swiped it's huge, rough tongue over the flat of her face.

"MMPH!" She toppled over backward in surprise. Dylan and Alistair both laughed,

"Well, then," Alistair said fondly, "It seems the fellow doesn't mind."

"He's not going to go away," Dylan added, chuckling still, "You remember what the kennel master said, yours for life."

Ishafel glared at the dog, who looked back adoringly enough that she softened. Climbing to her feet, she started walking, running a hand down his back as she passed by.

"Come on, Dog!"

He woofed in pleasure and bounded after her.

"Wait, wait," Alistair called after her, "You can't just call him Dog!"

"Why not?" She asked looking back at him, her nose wrinkling. "It's what he is."

"Well, it's not much of a name is it. How would you like it if we walked around calling you Elf all the time." Dylan pointed out.

Ishafel's eyes narrowed to slits, "You will not address me as Elf."

He put up his hands as if warding off demons, "I didn't say I was going to!"

Alistair chuckled.

"He is right. Well, he's got the principal right. Mabari are a breed apart from the regular dogs. He deserves a name like everybody else."

She stopped to consider the creature, her right index finger resting at the side of her mouth in thought.

The dog looked up at her expectantly, his tail pounding the dirt.

"What does one call a Mabari?"

"Wolf?" Alistair suggested.

Ishafel frowned, "He's not a wolf. How is Wolf better than Dog?"

"Rufus?" He tried again.

The dog snarled.

"He doesn't like it."

"How about Mangy Mutt?" Morrigan suggested sarcastically.

The dog whined.

"I don't think so."

Dylan cringed. One day soon they were going to have that talk about sarcasm.

"Abeforth?" Alistair suggested.

"No."

"Sirius" Dylan said, reaching down scratching the mabari behind the ears, "You should call him Sirius."

"Oh!" Alistair said in recognition, "That's perfect!"

"Sirius? How is that any better than Abeforth?"

"You know, because of the story!" Alistair looked surprised. "You never heard the story?"

She gave him a caustic look. "I doubt Dalish lore and Shem lore are the same."

"It was a favorite in the tower when I was young," Dylan remembered wistfully.

He motioned them onward and they started at a leisurely pace toward the town as he started the tale.

"There once were two friends, a boy and a girl, Sirius and Leda. At a young age, they trained together for the local militia. But in the winter of their 18th year, Sirius was struck by a horrible disease that turned him blind and crippled. He had no family, so Leda looked after her friend and protected him from naysayers and those who meant to do him harm. She kept training and in time she became a fierce warrior. Soon a time of war came upon the country and every able body, both men and women, were asked to join in the fight. Leda's reputation was so great, the prince himself came to seek her aid. When she told Sirius she was going to war, he had a horrible premonition that she would die. He pleaded with her not to go, but she laughed at him. In desperation, he went in search of a witch who lived in the woods outside the village. He told her of Leda and begged for the power to protect her. The witch agreed to help him but warned him that the price he would have to pay was she would no longer know him, and that she would never love him the way he loved her."

Morrigan snorted, "What kind of a man would agree to a deal like that."

Dylan shrugged, "Yes, well, he agreed. Sirius disappeared. The whole village turned out to look for him to no avail. A few days later a stray Mabari wandered into the village and adopted Leda. She thought it was strange, for the war dogs usually had masters, but death was common in those days. She named him after her missing friend, Sirius. Unbeknown to Leda, the dog really was Sirius. The witch turned him into a Mabari, and his sight and limbs were restored. He was able to follow her to war and when death reared it's head, he was able to turn it aside."

The dog barked approval.

"They fought together for many years in that bloody war. One day, the prince came to a camp on the eve of a terrible battle. Leda overheard him say to the general that if the enemy commander could be taken out, the war would be over. She had fallen in love with the prince when he had first come to ask her to join the war. That very night she decided she would be the one to kill the enemy commander, as to prove herself to the prince."

"Idiot." Morrigan muttered.

"The next day when the battle started, she headed straight for the enemy commander, but was cut off from the rest of her troops. The prince, who was secretly in love with Leda himself, tried in vain to reach her. Only Sirius was able to break through the line. Just as the enemy commander was about to strike her down, he jumped between her and the sword, giving Leda the opening to cut off his head. But the sword pierced through his heart, and Sirius died instantly."

"What angle exactly, did he jump at?" Ishafel asked curious, "It seems unlikely that he could be stabbed through the heart while attacking."

"Leda never knew that the dog that had fought so hard to protect her was actually the young man who loved her. But the witch in the woods had actually been a spirit in disguise."

"Demons, not spirits, take human form. As a mage you should be aware of that." Morrigan pointed out.

"Let the man finish for the Maker's sake." Alistair replied archly.

"So impressed was she by his devotion that she placed his body among the stars, where it remains today as Cainus Major, the constellation 'The Dog'. The brightest star in the constellation is said to be his heart, constant and loyal to the bitter end."

"That..." Morrigan actually took a moment to think before continuing, "That was the most ridiculous story I have ever heard in my entire life."

Ishafel seemed to be considering the same, in actuality she was remembering blonde hair and tawny eyes. A man for who she might have done the very same thing Sirius had.

"Sirius?" She asked the dog.

He gave a great chuff of approval.

"Sirius it is then."

Morrigan shook her head. "So now we have a dog. And Alistair is still the dumbest member of the party."

Thankfully, the matter was settled just as they reached the stone arches of Lothering. A small town of little consequence was a nice way of putting it, Dylan decided.

The place was a hellhole.

He supposed that was a little unfair. It was obviously a nice little hamlet once, but it had been completely overrun by people fleeing the darkspawn. They were greeted by bandits, who Ishafel and the newly christened Sirius promptly made wish they were never born. After casing several wrecked carts, the group at last took a rest at the ramp entering the delightful little mud wallow.

"Here it is," Alistair sighed, "Lothering, as pretty as a picture."

"Ah" Morrigan sneered "At last you rejoin us. Was falling on your sword in grief too much trouble?

"Do you have any compassion at all? What you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right, very creepy."

"Enough, Morrigan, leave him be." Ishafel snapped.

"So what should we do now?" Alistair asked Dylan and Ishafel, they stood slightly off from himself and Morrigan. Ishafel leaned on the low wall, apparently thinking, while Dylan stared out over the crowd scratching behind Sirius' ear absentmindedly.

"Why are you asking us?" Ishafel replied, "You are the senior Grey Warden. Shouldn't we follow your lead?"

"I don't know! I mean..I've never done this before."

"Neither have I." Ishafel responded

"Well, that is a suggestive conversation when taken out of context," Dylan said, stalling the argument by confusing them both.

"None of us have ever done this before, so evaluating our options would probably be best. The treaties, have you read them?

Both Alistair and Morrigan nodded.

"Ishafel?"

"I... have not."

He handed her the scroll from his backpack. Her eyes roamed over the parchment, seeking.

After a minute, she looked up.

"You could not have possibly read all that it so a short time." Morrigan snapped.

"I could have." Ishafel shot back.

"Oh really? Then what, pray tell, does it say about dwarven troop allotment?"

"It says..." her voice trailed off and she looked down at her feet for a moment, when her eyes returned to the party they were haughty.

"Why would I know how to interpret Shemlen markings! I've spent the whole of my life protecting my people from them, not studying their culture!"

Alistair had a small look of astonishment akin to wonder on his face. He'd never doubted that she had finished the manuscript, even if it was a bit quick. She had a tendency to absolutely demolish whatever got in her way.

"You can't read? But don't the Dalish have scholars among them?"

"Of course, but they are selected for it at an early age. The rest of us do not learn."

"And they wonder why they are stuck wandering? Maybe they it's just because they cannot read the road signs." Morrigan snorted. Apparently she wasn't as understanding as Ishafel had once thought. She bristled, and opened her mouth to retort.

"Come now," Dylan cut off whatever acerbic reply she had been about to give. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

He had no intention of standing around all day arguing.

"Ishafel, do not worry about not knowing how to read, there are a fair amount of people who don't anyways. We will discuss the treaties. In the meantime, it's best if we find supplies, and what's been going on in the world."

Ishafel's jaw relaxed, "Agreed."

"Let's split into two groups. Ishafel, take Alistair to the Chantry, find out what's been happening in the week or so we've gone. Morrigan and I will look for merchants, see if we can't find someone to sell us food and gear for a week's journey or so."

"Look more for gear than food." Ishafel advised, "We can scavenge what we don't buy."

Morrigan crossed her arms, "Why should I go with you?"

To her surprise, Dylan laughed. "Would you rather go to the chantry with Alistair?

Her eyes archly swept the former templar.

"I thought not."

Ishafel strode toward the chantry purposely. She was halfway there before Alistair realized she was gone. "Hey! Wait!"

Sirius looked at Dylan and Morrigan, gave a rough bark, and bounded after elf and templar.

Dylan watched them go. Morrigan tapped her foot impatiently.

"Shall we go? Or are you going to stare after Ishafel's backside for the rest of the day."

It was a poor zinger, he had heard much worse. He colored anyway.

"Must you be so unpleasant?" he asked as they walked down the stairs towards what looked to be a heavily laden merchant's cart. The town couldn't be that poor off, not if they were willing to allow a merchant to leave with so many supplies.

"You told me to speak my mind and I am speaking it." She answered bitingly. "Would you prefer I'd talk about the weather?"

"How did you become a shape-changer?"

She looked at him sidelong.

"I was not born such. 'Tis a skill of Flemeth taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe, that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured." Her lips twisted into not quite a smile. "A most amusing legend."

"But it is just a legend right?

She shrugged.

"So I assume. My mother has walked the Wilds far longer than I. Who am I to say what she has and hasn't done?"

She fixed him with a curious eye.

"Why do you ask about shape-changing? Is there something specific you wish to know?"

"Can anyone become a shape-changer?"

"Any mage with sufficient will."

Dylan pondered on this.

"That's all I wanted to ask."

"Indeed? Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch."

There was screeching coming from the cart.

Dylan sighed inwardly, why couldn't anything be simple?

"Actually," He said, gearing up for a verbal battle with the chantry sister,"I think your abilities sound quite useful."

Morrigan was promptly struck dumb. "Oh," She replied, trying very hard to hide the surprise and pleasure in her voice, "What a funny little man you are."

Dylan shot her a smile before dealing with the annoyance before him.

The walk to the chantry was not long, but Ishafel kept her pace slow anyway. Alistair had once again become silent. A trait she was sure was not normal for him.

In a way, she understood. He was mourning Duncan, in the same way she had mourned Tamlen.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" She asked, her voice was low but he managed to hear her.

"You don't have to do that."

He sounded uncomfortable.

"You didn't know him as long as I did."

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss."

The grief that broke though his facade was palpable.

"I should have handled it better. He warned me, right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us. Not with the Blight and... everything. I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize..."

She stopped, and then started again. "I miss him as well."

"I'd like to have a service, once this is all said and done."

There was slight quiver in his voice. Belatedly, Ishafel wondered if shems believed a crying man cowardly. He was fighting so hard to hold it in.

"What- what do the Dalish do when someone dies?"

A memory flashed in Ishafel's eyes. A forest. A sapling. Mournful song.

"We bury the dead, and plant a tree over their remains."

"That's quiet beautiful, actually."

It was the easy way to explain it. Alistair would not understand the meaning of the rituals, or the words spoken over the grave. But he would understand the tree.

She had not been able to stay for the planting of Tamlen's sapling. Or to sit vigil with his body.

But then, there had been no body to sit vigil with. A deep longing for home, For the sounds of the halla lowing and familiar faces of clan swept over her.

"He said once that he was from Highever. Maybe I'll go there when this is all over. Though, he had no family."

"He had you."

"I suppose he did." Alistair sounded surprised at the finality in her voice. Shems, humans, seem to have a different concept of family than elves. If they hunted with you, slept in your camp, took the meal with you, defend those you loved from harm. They were clan, family, blood or not.

"Ishafel" She was slightly ahead of him now, her face wedged in a frown. The yelling from the chantry was boarding on hysteric. She checked her knife. His hand on her shoulder was unexpected. She looked up into his face to see his eyes were over bright, although there were no races of tears.

"Thank you."

She nodded gravely.

Sirius growled softly at her side and she turned her attention back to the shouting.

Even shemlen had the right to mourn.