Author's Note: Recovering from a very bad case of writers block. Yet another chapter that did not go as planned. Thankfully, the next chapter is planned out, so there shouldn't be so much trouble. Thank you to my readers and reviewers! I hope you'll enjoy this update and leave me more wonderful reviews to help me combat writer's block. Super thank you to my beta, almostinsane, who is wonderful for getting this back to me in a matter of hours. Enjoy!

-Scarlet

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 2: False Hope

The soft sunlight was of no comfort as they exited the chantry. Ishafel did not care for the situation in more ways than one. The evil had the villagers trapped on all sides. She understood why the last stand was to be made in the chantry, as it was the only building strong enough to withstand a horde but the position of the building at the very base of the hill put them at a disadvantage.

Hopefully, this evil did not employ archers or mages.

The subtle creaking of heavy plate and a grumbled sigh emanated from her left side. Sten was facing pointedly away from the group, head angled so he was looking up the ridge, back from where they came. Meanwhile, Dylan and Michael were discussing the situation rather loudly with the village mayor, a position that must have been something like a Keeper, for he seemed to hold the unenviable tasks of saving them all from this mess.

Ishafel shifted towards Sten.

"We are wasting time." The complaint was not stated as an opinion, rather, it sounded very much like he was stating a fact.

She did not wholly disagree, better to take the survivors up the road and into the forest. Although, she looked up at the sun, it may have been too late in the day to make it somewhere safe by nightfall.

"You wish to leave?" she asked.

He gave her a measured look of disgust.

"Do you not? Tell me, how does this end the Blight? The humans here are farmers, not warriors. The witch was right, to have them fight is pointless, a slaughter, nothing more."

"We are here. We must do what can given the circumstances."

"No, you are Grey Wardens. It is your place to fight the darkspawn. What happens here shouldn't matter."

"We need the Arl to fight the darkspawn."

"Do you?"

Ishafel went silent for a moment, jaw working in frustration. She did not know what to say to this man to make him understand.

"A few weeks ago, I did not not know anything of the shem but how best to kill them should they attack my clan. I learned otherwise because it was my duty. We need the shemlen armies to defeat the darkspawn and we need to help these shem to get them. Means to an end. If you don't like it, find your redemption elsewhere", She snapped, "And let us do what needs to be done."

Sten made no reply so she left him there, totally unaware that she had risen in his esteem.

Dylan did not understand why anyone would want to make their home at the base of a cliff. It meant a steep climb or boating across Lake Calenhad to get out. Why would anyone want to go through all that trouble when they could have just as well built the village on the top of the cliff? There was no time for village planning now he supposed, as he and Morrigan, who had been trailing him since his harsh words the at chantry, huffed their way up the slope. A migraine flirted with the edge of his vision as he willed himself to sense the sunder in the veil in the same way one might probe an irritated tooth with their tongue.

"Is it your intention to harm yourself with pointless overexertion?" Morrigan's voice floated up behind him. "Or do you have some obscure motive I am merely unaware of?"

He ceased his labors with a frown and they climbed the hill together in near silence until Morrigan commented offhandedly, "'Tis strange for you then, not to be able to sense it?"

Dylan sighed internally. Of course she knew, it wasn't as though he had tried at all to be subtle about it.

"It is. I have never... been unprepared for something like that before. Not an experience I wish to repeat."

"Nor would I recommend it, I may not be there to save you next time."

Dylan bristled, but to his surprise her next comment was contrite.

"It is not my intention to offend." her voice almost sounded exasperated. "I have had such things happen to me before. 'tis most uncomfortable."

Dylan couldn't help but crack a smile. "You? Mistress of the Arcane?"

He didn't have to see her face to know she scowled. He slowed so they were walking side by side.

"Tell me, do the demons see you for what you are when you shapechange?" He asked.

She turned her pyrite eyes on him and he half expected a dirty look but instead he found her thinking.

"I do not know, I do not see any reason why they wouldn't." She gave him a quizzical look. "Why?"

Her 'why' was the first time she had spoke without an edge in her voice. It surprised him to hear how soft her voice was.

"And you sense them in the same way?"

She nodded, still looking at him, a question in her face.

"It could be useful. That's all."

She rolled her eyes, "You are a funny little man."

By this time they had managed to trundle their way back to the top of that extremely annoying cliff. They headed straight to the man who was giving orders.

"Ser Perth, I presume?"

Aravels were universally better dwellings than human houses, Ishafel decided. Not that a Dalish would barricade themselves in their Aravel at a time like this, but if one of her kinsman had perhaps lost control of his mind, a dar'misan to the back of the leather covering would end the standoff in minutes. Shem dwellings, by comparison, were made of wood or stone and so when shems decided they didn't want anyone coming in, it was considerably harder to do so.

She knocked on the wooden door.

"Hello?" a slurred voice creeped through the woodgrain.

"I am a Grey Warden, I need to speak with you!" she shouted.

"Oh, go away. Leave me in peace. I told Murdock I'm not opening up unless..." the voice trailed off.

She turned her eyes skyward. Creators!

She could see Alistair laughing beside her through corner of her eye.

"And just when he was getting to the good part, right?" He chuckled. He pounded on the door with his own fist.

"Ser, please. It is important that we speak with you."

"Curse you. You've already taken everything in my stores. There is nothing left!"

"Why don't we take a different approach?" Leliana suggested serenely. She sidled up to the door. "Keep him talking."

Ishafel raised an eyebrow but knocked again, "Owen! Owen the blacksmith! Open this door! It is vital that we speak with you."

Leliana fiddled with the lock and then there was a depressing iron clink coupled with an "Oh drat."

"Hey now, what are you trying to pull?" Owen's voice was indignant. "I'll have you know, all the locks I smith are un-pickable!"

Behind them, Michael chuckled. "How many Wardens does it take to open a door?"

Ishafel glared at him."Oh, and I suppose you could do any better." She snapped.

"Maybe I could. Depends. What do I get for it?" He asked, a smirk on his face.

"How about the nice blacksmith repairs the militia's equipment and we all survive the night? That sounds like a proper reward" Alistair grumbled.

"Oh, but I'd get that anyway, that's no fun."

"How about I agree not to scoop your shem eyeballs out with my daggers?" Ishafel snapped again.

"And miss out on the fun of watching you try? No!" His mouth rounded in mock horror. It occurred to Ishafel that whenever she called someone an annoying shem for now on, she would be comparing them to Michael's flawless example.

"We haven't any time for games, Michael! What is it that you want?"

"A favor."

"A favor?"

"That's right. One that I can redeem at any time."

"Oh, that's all." Leliana laughed, her voice carefully neutral. "You want us to say yes to what your asking before you've even asked it."

Michael looked at Leliana, smiling, though there was a strange glint in his eye. "Yes, that's it."

"Fine." Ishafel said through gritted teeth. "You'll have your favor. Just open the damned door."

He gave her a look that was both victorious and disdainful at the same time. He flicked his hand, motioning for them to get out of the way. Michael's shoulders squared.

"Owen. Owen the blacksmith?" He asked.

"Oy, I told you..." Owen's voice floated through the door.

"Open this door right now. The Maker could give a damn what kind of lock you have on it! It will matter very little when I break it down!"

Michael's voice was so cold that Ishafel could swear by Anduril the temperature had dropped by several degrees.

There wasn't even a disparaging peep from the other side, just the click of the lock as it slid open.

Michael gave Ishafel a slow 'I told you so' smile, which she tried hard to ignore, looking straight ahead as they climbed into the smithy.

Leliana's nose wrinkled as the forge air hit her face. "Ugh! What is that smell? Smells like someone lit a brewery on fire!"

Owen slouched against a pillar, fingers loose around the neck of a liquor bottle.

"Somebody's been drin-king" Alistiar said in a singsong voice that almost caused Ishafel to smile.

She could understand why a man would want to be drunk right now. Understood it, but could not condone it.

"Alright. I let you in. Mind telling me who you are."

"I am Mahariel, a Grey Warden helping Bann Teagan."

The drunken man ambled forward. "Funny. You didn't sound like an elf through the door. A Warden, eh? I guess it takes all kinds."

Glassy eyes swept the group. "Name's Owen, though you probably know that. Come to join me in getting besotted? Or is there something in particular you wanted?

"Why have you locked yourself inside the smithy?" It was everything Ishafel could do to keep the word 'coward' from the sentence.

"It's my girl, Valena."

"Your daughter wished you to lock yourselves in?" she asked, head tilted in confusion. There appeared to be nobody else present in the room. Perhaps he was one of those drunks that saw ghosts. There had been a few of those in the Dalish camps, although they were usually mage-kind.

"No!" The man shook his whole head vigorously. "She's the Arlessa's maid. Trapped up in the castle, with the rest of them! And the mayor won't send anyone for her. She's been my whole life since her mother passed on two years ago. Now she's dead or soon will be. I don't care what happens to me or the village or anyone!"

The man recoiled at the anger in Ishafel's face. "Your daughter is in danger and you intend to drink yourself to death?"

"Why not? It's not like we're going to live past the night anyhow. Or are you going to save us?"

"Yes. I am."

"Is that so? Maybe it's the drink talking, but you sound like you actually believe that. It'd do me a world of good to think maybe someone like you could go in and find her."

"And what if she's dead?"

"It...would be better than going to my grave wondering."

Wonderful. More favors. She sighed deeply. It wasn't like she could hold it against the shem. She would have liked that sort of closure herself. To know truly that Tamlen was dead and there was nothing more she could have done.

"I'll do my best."

"Not good enough! Murdock said the same damn thing and I didn't believe him either. I want a promise. Promise me that you'll look for her, that you'll bring back to me if you can."

"What's to stop us from lying to you?" Michael stirred from his perch at the doorframe.

Owen glared at him, or at least tried to. It appeared that the smallest of movements was threatening to send him sprawling to the ground. How could a man so thoroughly sozzled forge anything?

"Nothing besides your conscience. You got one of those?"

"That is an insulting thing to ask." Michael shot back, all ruffled feathers and indignation. Ishafel fought the urge to snort. He hadn't actually answered the question.

"Then I'll take what I can get and leave the rest to the Maker's grace."

Ishafel sighed even longer this time, before looking into the depths of Owen's drink addled eyes.

"I promise you: I'll find her."

He nodded and shot a nasty look at Michael over Ishafel's head.

"I'll accept that. It's something to hope for, at least. And I suppose there's no point in me sitting around, is there. Time to re-light the forge and get the smithy going, hey? Murdock will be pleased."

They left Owen to bumble in the forge.

"Should you have promised that? There is no way to know if you'll be able to find hide or hair of the girl." Michael asked. It was possibly the first time that he had addressed Ishafel without meaning to insult.

"If we can't find her, then he has his answer. He's right. It's better than not knowing."

"Is it? You have a man in there laboring under false hope."

"How exactly do you know it's false?"

"You practically told him you could save his daughter. You have no idea what you are walking into, Ishi."

"And you practically told him I was a liar. I intend to do all I can."

"Ah, but that is not what you said you would do."

"What do you want me to do, Michael? Not look for her? Not give that poor Shem coward a chance at seeing his daughter again, alive or dead? Even you could not be so cruel."

His lack of response and subsequent glower made it clear that her comment had hit it's mark. She turned away.

"The girl is obviously dead." Michael said to her back, "And instead of letting that man grieve, you spur him on with false hope. I am not the one who is cruel, Ishafel."

She whirled around to face him. The unabashed fury on her face making the lines of her vallaslin leap out.

"Should we roll over then? Should we let whatever unspeakable horror that is going to come through that gate kill us without lifting a finger because you have decided that we are not worth saving? Do you really think that survival is such a thankless task? I, for one, do not intend to die here!"

"Enough!"

Ishafel and Michael both jumped out of their skins. Neither had heard Dylan approach.

"I may not know much about battle, but I do know that the two of you are scaring the men. Morale is Maker-damned important. Murdock says that there is a mercenary, Dwyn, who lives on the river that won't come out. Michael, you and Leliana go and get him to change his mind. Alistair says you have a knack for getting people to open locked doors.

Leliana tugged at his arm, and Michael turned away from Ishafel, with one last disgusted "Hmpph."

"I've sent Sirius and Sten to the river to gather more poultice ingredients for Morrigan and myself. Which leaves the three of us to convince Mother Hannah to confer the Maker's protection on the knights."

"The what?" She asked

Dylan shrugged. "Ser Perth seems to think that the Revered Mother has some way of calling down holy protection and would like us to get it for the knights."

Ishafel pursed her lips. "Does she?"

Dylan shrugged again.

Ishafel shook her head when the Revered mother confirmed her suspicions.

"What Ser Perth desires is not in my power to give."

"Can't you just tell them the Marker will watch over them? Morale is a powerful thing, you know."

"But it would be a lie and a handicap if the men were to rely on it. We do not need false hope."

Ishafel replied. The Mother nodded, deferring to her.

There, Ishafel thought proudly. Let Michael call me cruel now!

"It would not really be a handicap. A confident man attacks more swiftly and surely than a frightened one. " Dylan reasoned.

"It's not unlike what you yourself did at the smithy," Alistair pointed out. "Do you really think at this point there is a chance that young woman is alive?"

"What happened at the smithy?" Dylan inquired curiously

"What do you mean? I told that man I would find his daughter. Alive or dead."

"You promised him you would tear the castle apart to bring his daughter back to him in order to get him to work. Don't you think he believes she will come back alive?"

"This... this is different. He would not have forged the weapons we all need to survive! These men are already willing to fight, we should not do that will a disservice by telling they are safe when they are not!"

Both men looked at Ishafel with doubt and reservation. It was perhaps ironic, given her last visit to a chantry, that it was Mother Hannah who stood up for her.

"The girl is right. Faith, for better or worse putting oneself in the hands of the Maker, that is never misplaced. But saying something when you know it isn't so, that is lying, dear boys."

"If you will forgive my bluntness, Revered Mother. Lying to a man to get him to swing a sword so that others may live seems a worthy cause."

"Ah, but he will swing the sword anyway. Why not tell a better lie? Why not tell them you know the Arl is alive? Or that you have heard word." The Mother's voice brooked no argument and to her own surprise, Ishafel found a healthy measure of respect for the old woman.

Dylan huffed and puffed, but in the end acquiesced.

"Very well," he grumbled. "I will inform Ser Perth. I only hope the men's morale can take such a blow."

To Ishafel's surprise, the Mother turned to her. "You are of elven blood and stranger, yet you defend a home that is not your own. We are grateful."

Ishafel awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. It felt strange to be thanked by a shemlen and one of the shem religion besides. It had always been the religious that were most zealous in the removal of her people from campgrounds across the Brecilian.

"I cannot stand by while monsters attack the helpless." She offered by way of explanation.

Mother Hannah shook her head. "Not many would honestly say the same. You are a woman of worth and the Maker will smile upon you."

"I- I do not believe in your Maker." she said, unsure of herself.

"That does not stop him from smiling on you." She said, and smiled herself, Ishafel simply nodded and made for the chantry exit, with the odd feeling that she had just received some sort of blessing.

She didn't get to the door before the air was permeated by wailing and followed by an extremely irate Morrigan's opinions on girls who didn't hold their tongues.

She wondered briefly of the wisdom of putting Morrigan in such close quarters with normal humans. Maybe it was Dylan's idea of a joke.

Morrigan's worktable was heaped with plants, some recognizable, some not. She worked mechanically, managing to both whip a sobbing woman into a frenzy and slam a healing poultice down with the others she had completed at the same time.

There was still much to be done.

The sun was dusting the edge of the horizon when Ishafel finally stumbled into the tavern, followed by Sirius and a sopping wet Michael at her heels.

Dylan sat rather comfortably, considering the circumstances, on a bench in a well lit corner of the tavern reading his book. Alistair and Leliana were having some sort of conversation, a highly amusing one if the her giggles and his indignant stammering were anything go by, about Templars.

"Michael? What in the Maker's name happened?" Leliana exclaimed, pulling him out of his reading.

"He lost his footing by the lake, clumsy shemlen." Ishafel answered for him.

Dylan lowered his book and examined them both critically from the edge. Ishafel wore a smug expression that bespoke of behavior far worse than she would admit. Michael on the other hand seemed properly chastised, for once. While he shot daggers at her with his eyes, he kept his mouth shut.

Conclusion: Michael may have had help losing his footing.

"You ought to be more careful." Alistair mock chided, "Wouldn't want to end up muddy, someone might mistake you for a Warden.

Ishafel and Alistair traded smirks. Michael looked as though he would have been quite content to leave them both bound and gagged in the direct path of the unspeakable evil.

Satisfied, Dylan went back to his book as Michael stomped over to the bar, and had Bella fussing over him in minutes.

"So what really happened?" Alistair whispered.

Ishafel continued to smile a little too wide to be innocent and reclined on the bench. "Exactly what I said happened."

There were grumblings from the bar.

Dylan turned the page. Well, it was nice to see Ishafel enjoying herself at least.

Battlemagic was incredibly complicated, but he was beginning to think he had the first spell understood. Now he just needed to field test it, if he ever got the time...

The grumbling rose to shouts and finally to the barman, of all people, running out of the bar.

Another quick glance over the edge of his book revealed Michael, still damp, was being enthusiastically thanked by Bella, his bruised ego well on the way to being soothed.

Pride restored, despite the fact he was still sopping wet, he rejoined the group in their corner and plopped down next to Ishafel, recounting smarmily that he had gotten the barman, Lloyd, to help the militia leaving the lovely (his words) Bella in charge. He had also managed to wrangle them a steep discount. Perhaps if she focused her efforts on getting wet, instead of muddy, she could do something similar, he suggested. Dylan was disturbed at the level of anticipation on Michael's face as he attempted to rile her. Still, he didn't think she would attempt to stab anyone in here, lest the militia take it the wrong way.

As luck would have it, Ishafel completely ignored himl she was focusing. Slightly put out, he followed her gaze. The temperature in the room in the room suddenly dropped several degrees.

"See something you like?" he remarked offhandedly, his voice tinged with something that made Dylan's eyebrows hit his hairline. He lowered his book to look at Michael.

Ishafel, brows furrowed in contemplation was staring rather single-mindedly at a city elf sitting by his lonesome in a corner. Michael's entire body had gone tense and was looking at Ishafel with a gaze that bordered on possessiveness.

Dylan fought the urge to smack his book into his forehead. Maker help them, Michael was jealous! He was beginning to seriously regret allowing the Cousland join up with them. Clearly, the man had not spent enough time around Ishafel if he thought that piercing gaze heralded amorous intentions. Then again, the man had spent two days insulting a woman who he was apparently interested in. Maybe he was just insane.

Rather than answering, Ishafel rose and strode toward the elf with that Maker given purpose that had started the bar brawl in Lothering. Dylan let out a long suffering sigh and closed his book. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"What do you know of that elf over there?" He asked Bella as she freshened his mug of ale.

"Not much. He's very quiet. Says his name's Berwick, and he's here to meet his brother, but I think he's lying. He's a bit... creepy"

Ishafel stopped by the bench and crossed her arms, never once wavering from her objective.

"Not looking for company." The other elf pointedly avoided her eyes.

"Strange finding another elf here," Ishafel commented.

"We have nothing in common; you're Dalish." He replied, chancing a glance at her, before continuing to stare at the nearby wall.

"We're still both elves aren't we? The only two in Redcliffe." Something was off here and she was determined to know what.

"I'm not here to talk. Just leave me to drink alright? I just want to be left alone."

The banter between them looked as though it was proving ineffectual, but Dylan trusted her instincts; there was something odd about Berwick to say the least and Redcliffe was full up on odd at the moment. He rose to join them.

"I hear you're Berwick." Hearing Dylan say his name gave him a start.

"What? How did you know that? Errr... Well... that's my name. Why?" He was far too nervous to just be a traveler. So what was he?

"You seem awfully nervous. Why is that?"

"I...no reason. I just didn't know how you knew my name that's all."

"You said you were waiting for your brother?"

"My what? Oh yes, he was suppose to meet me here. And then I got stuck here when the monsters from the castle attacked."

"Strange that you didn't try to leave. You want you brother to be drawn into this as well?"

"Uhhh, no...those who have tried are dead..."

"Look you're both very nice and all, but I was told to ...er.. just leave me alone!"

Ah, and there was the slip.

"Those sound like the words of a spy." Leliana said grimly, blocking the only exit for the stammering elf.

"Your powers of deduction appear to be spot on, Miss Leliana." Michael agreed coming to stand at Ishafel's side. "You could learn a thing or two from such an astute lady, Ishi."

Ishafel fought down a nasty retort. Wasn't she the one who had singled him out?

"This will be easier if you just tell us what you're hiding," Michael informed the elf, who had turned the color of freshly laundered bedsheets. That cold, jealous tone was still in his voice. Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes and ask the Maker for mercy.

"If I...? But I never...Oh, all right I'll tell you! Just don't hurt me. This is more than I bargained for. Look, they just paid me to watch the castle and to send word if anything should change. But they never said anything about monsters! I haven't even been able to report anything since this started. I'm stuck, same as you, I swear!"

The poor man was completely undone; he was even wringing his hands.

"Who are "they"? Who hired you to do this?" Ishafel probed.

"A tall fellow, I forget his name. He, uhh, said her was working for Howe. Arl Rendon Howe. He's an important man, Teyrn Loghain's right hand! So I didn't do anything wrong!

Michael went still.

"What were you supposed to watch the castle for?" He asked, cutting off Ishafel.

"Just to report any changes,"

Ishafel raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Honest! All I could send word about was the Arl getting sick. After that, monsters started coming from the castle."

"How do we know you are telling the truth?" Michael asked, his voice a hiss.

"Here this is a letter from them. It has instructions and everything...Keep it! Do what ever you want with it! I just thought I was serving the king and making a bit of coin on the side. You have to believe me."

"I think you should help defend Redcliffe tonight," Ishafel informed him icily.

He sprang to his feet "All... All right. I'll do it. Thank you for your mercy, I won't forget it!"

Michael poured over the correspondence. "This is it, this is the proof I need to show the Bannorn that Loghain and Howe are the true traitors. They must have something to do with all this!"

Dylan sighed. "All that paper proves is that Howe was having Eamon watched. Nobles do that quite often, don't they?"

"In Oralis, nobody would bat an eyelash at such goings on." Leliana agreed.

"They have him watched, and then he falls ill? It's a real big coincidence, isn't it? he snarled. "Surely the banns..."

"It doesn't clear your family, Michael. You will need much more than that, I think." Leliana placed an understanding hand on her his shoulder. "The opportunity will present itself, I'm sure."

He shrugged her off.

Sten opened the door. "There is a mist rolling down from the castle. It is green." He said matter of factly. "Battle is upon us."

"Bella, get yourself down to the Chantry now. There's no time for that!" Michael shouted as she reached for the keys, "Run as fast as you are able, now!"

She didn't even pause to shut the door.

Dylan tore out the door, Leliana close behind him. "Is the oil in place?" he bellowed up the hill.

Michael moved to follow, but was stopped by a hand at his elbow.

Turning, he found Ishafel looking him intently with those dark eyes of hers.

"Survive now, seek revenge afterwards. It is not false hope you have, you will restore your family." She moved in front of him joining Dylan in heading towards the knights.

"Do not get distracted!" She shouted back at him.

He shook his head to clear it as he jogged down to join the men at the chantry.

It was good advice.