Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 6: Consequences

As soon as they were absolutely certain the demon was vanquished, Teagan sent out runners out for aid. The remaining villagers began the hard work to return Redcliffe to normalcy. Eventually, help arrived, but at the kind of pace a snail would call slow. It was extremely fortunate that Bodahn and Sandal had decided to come with them; their supplies made things much easier for everyone. Although Bodahn was happy enough to offer his services for free, an exclamation that caused both Bann Teagan and Ser Perth to ask jokingly if he was really a dwarven merchant, he was promised he would be well compensated.

As the dead were collected and sent on their way to the Fade, Dylan took on the arduous task of caring for the living. The unease after hearing Ishafel in his own mind was pushed aside as he focused on the wounded. He found it more than a little ironic that he was constantly depending on a magical skill set that had been practically forced on him by Wynne and Irving.

He was grateful for it.

The majority of Ser Perth's men only had small scrapes and bruises, easily taken care of. The small minority that suffered more were beyond his help. He made their passing painless; it was the least he could do for men who had given their lives to save his own. An arrow had pierced Michael Cousland's lung. That had been significantly harder to heal than the others and thankfully, the deceased castle healer had dealt with such things before in Teagan's sight. It was the hardest injury he ever healed. Dylan was completely drained afterwords, but Michael lived and was in good humor; until they told him that Ishafel had not yet woken.

And she wasn't the only one.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dylan found himself by Jowan's bedside. The man had, however indirectly, saved his life. Teagan's runner had brought help from the healer outpost in Georges on the evening of the third day, but despite constant attention his skin was gray and his breathing labored. Lisle, the healer in charge, was of the opinion that the destruction of the spell disrupted his mana flow, halting any kind of natural regeneration. It was unclear if it was permanent and because blood magic relied on life force rather than mana...

It was possible that Jowan would be stuck in this state for the rest of his natural life.

"Dylan? " Connor was half hidden by the door frame.

Word had been sent to the tower, of course, but they had yet to reply. In the meantime, Isolde and the grizzled Templar in charge of the healers, Ser Hector, looked after the boy.

"Is... he any better?" Connor asked, hesitantly coming to stand by his former tutor's bedside.

"No, unfortunately not."

"Lisle sent me to fetch you. Ser Cousland is refusing to come down for his bandage changing again, and is a 'right git' to anyone who tries enter..."

He chuckled, ruffling the boy's ginger hair absently. Lisle's vocabulary was rubbing off on Connor. He chuckled, ruffling the boy's ginger hair absently. He was quite biddable, probably an excellent student before the demon.

Irving would like him.

"I'll deal with Michael."

Halfway to Ishafel's room he slowed and stopped, unconsciously clutching his chest as a second heartbeat settled over his own. He breathed, adjusting himself as it was followed by the rise and fall of a different set of lungs. He had become used to it over the past few days, but the transition was always a shock. It only happened when he was in close proximity to Ishafel. A side effect of the shattered spell perhaps? He was sure it wouldn't be the only one.

He had no idea what would happen when she woke.

The room Isolde had given Ishafel was normally reserved for visiting family. The Arlessa herself would drift in after sitting with the Arl. Though released from the hold of the demon, the Arl was still not awake. While the healers had assured them that his condition was stable, the real problem was while he wasn't getting any worse, he wasn't improving either.

Alistair stumbled over his words and occasionally added his own thoughts to the book of elven history he was reading to an unconscious Ishafel. Finding nothing better for the well intentioned man to do, Lisle had set him to the task of keeping her mind occupied. A tome of medical history had suggested that people in her state could still hear and constant mental stimulation might heal them faster. Alistair had been reading almost non-stop since she suggested it, although he could of picked a better book.

Didn't anyone have a copy of 'The Rose of Oralis' around here?

"Michael, are you mouthing off to the healers again?" Dylan asked the man sulking in the window seat.

There was suddenly a small surge of something his brain he was certain was not his. It slid fluidly over his own thoughts and was gone before he could grasp it.

"You healed me, Dylan. I'm fine.I don't see why the old hag keeps calling me down for 'balm treatments'" he chuckled, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was just trying to get my shirt off."

Dylan walked swiftly to the other side of the room and viciously dug his fingers into the other man's formally wounded shoulder.

He hissed in pain, glaring at Dylan. "That hurt!"

Dylan looked back at him, annoyed. "That's the point. Yes, your wounds are healed, superficially. There may no longer be visible holes punched in you, but they are still there to some degree. You need to take care of them! Get downstairs. Now."

Michael left complaining under his breath about fussy mages. Dylan stayed in the doorway, not at all pleased with the pallor of Ishafel's face.

"How is she?"

"No change," Alistair answered miserably. "She didn't eventwitch when Michael went on his rant about Dalish and how they must all be prone to foolishness to gain attention."

Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes, a smile fighting to dominate his lips. "Perhaps that's for best, we wouldn't want her to hurt herself trying to kill him the minute she wakes."

The rest of the day was largely uneventful, but there was a great deal of everyday things to be done at Redcliffe. Apparently, babies did not stop being born because of Blights or demon infestations. Dylan was just coming back from his third birth in five days; it had taken four hours and this one was thankfully not a breech, when it happened. His chest suddenly swelled of it's own accord and there was a hammering that was at odd with the beat of his own heart.

"Dylan!" Leliana called, waving as she came down the castle colonnade, arm and arm with Lisle. He ignored them, running straight up the stairs behind them and vanished into the castle proper.

"Now what was that about?" she wondered. The healer laughed, a giant belly laugh that made Leliana smile. "He's always been like that. About six times worse when Wynne used to bring him 'round to us as a child. It's probably nothing."

"Ishi, you are entirely too dramatic. If you wanted attention, you could have gotten it without being comatose for a week."

"Don't... call... me that!" She croaked. Her chest was in a strange amount of pain for her total lack of physical injuries. There was a consistent punching feeling over her heart that felt out of place. She let out a groan. She felt like she'd been running, or climbing, but that was impossible, although her stomach certainly didn't feel that way.

Michael was not helping.

"Don't groan like that! You've brought this on yourself. Blood magic never ends well."

She had a sudden, horrid feeling. "Dylan?"

Michael let out an exasperated sigh "He's fine, been running around like a spring chicken; and a headless one at that. But you very nearly..." His face darkened and the indignant facade disappeared in a blink. Those almost unnatural eyes of his gave her a look that was very, very stern and not at all like the Michael she knew.

"Jowan still hasn't recovered. The healers are beginning to think that he may never wake. They were beginning to wonder the same about you. What were you thinking? Do you believe you are immune to the dark powers because you are a Grey Warden? What would have happened if you and Dylan both died? You really think Alistair has the stones to unite a country? Man can barely decide which sock to put on what foot. Maker help us if he ever ends up in a position of power." Michael grumbled the last part more to himself, but she managed to hear it anyway. "There are consequences to your actions, Ishafel. You of all people can't afford to be rash now, not with the stakes so damnably high!"

Swallowing hard, she felt as chastised as if it were the Hahren or Keeper were doing the scolding. She also realized that it was the first time in a very long while that he had called her by her full name. Oddly enough it reminded her of Tamlen, he too had only used her full name when he was upset.

"Abalas, Michael. I am sorry."

He sighed deeply and turned away, "Ishafel, I-"

Dylan burst through the door, nearly removing wood from hinges.

"Ishafel!"

He swayed on his feet at the exact moment she let out a bark of surprise, back arching into the bed.

"Ishi? Michael's face took on a hard concern. "Dylan? What's wrong?" He ran to catch the man before the fell over, bracing him. He stuck his head out the doorframe.

"Healer! We need a healer here!" The maid in the hall took off at run.

Whatever overwhelmed her was powerful and strange and reminded Ishafel a little too much of The Joining. All the muscles in her body seized as they felt the shadow of a larger, less toned set slide over them. Words and images deluged into her mind, disorienting and for a moment, completely overwhelming her own conscious. Everything Dylan had ever thought or felt was laid bare to her. It was all there in her own head, but fuzzy; diluted by her own confusion and being. She even had an awareness of his arms and legs against the chair as he himself seized.

Dylan could feel the quality of the sheets Ishafel lay in, the pain as she drew breath and her wonder at being able to feel his thoughts. Her own voice, lashing out in pain from the invasion of his own mind echoed in his head so loudly that it was hard to hear his own screams over hers. Flashes of imagery interrupted his line of sight. Forest, a halla, A blonde man laughing. A man and woman standing on a ridge saying a silent farewell, sorrow, an acerbic itch just under the skin he knew well. The smell of rich, warm earth. Her distaste at the spoiled smell of human squalor. The sights and sounds and experience fogged over his own. It was suffocating and Dylan felt himself in danger of forgetting who he was completely.

Attempting to focus, he tried to take control of the situation.

"Breathe, Ishafel. You need to breathe. Calm down. I can explain...I think." Dylan's voice slid over her own thoughts, loud, but not painful.

"It hurts," she shouted in his mind, sharp."I can't..."

A wordless feeling of reassurance spread through her. Even writhing, she managed to lock eyes with him across the room and fixated on their tawny color. Forcing herself into the calm, even breathing pattern that all hunters learned at a young age, she began to focus on herself; her heartbeat not Dylan's, her own thoughts, her own body.

Very briefly, she saw three da'len in an abandoned stone room. A girl reading aloud from a book; young Jowan looking up at her, mesmerized. The full glory of the stars from the top of the tower. A young Cullen's arm wrapped around the girl as she rested her head on his shoulder.

The fog in Dylan's mind folded in on itself. He knew what she was doing without having to ask and copied her, relying on the meditation he completed every morning to focus his own power.

"That's it" his voice was lower now as she ebbed away and he felt the rising tide of himself pull back in.

And then it was gone. She was herself again but for the beating of Dylan's heart and the sighing of his lungs in her chest. He returned her gaze steadily, his eyes held the only color in the whole of his face.

"Ishafel?"

He had not spoken. Testing, she thought back:

"Dylan? What's going on?"

Michael looked from Ishafel to Dylan and back, concern still riddling his features. "Andraste's tits! What just happened?"

"I...I don't know..." Ishafel breathed out. Lisle, Leliana, and Alistair scrambled into the room, immediately crowding her. In the hall, there was the sound of paws skidding on stone and a great crash of armor at the end of the hall. Seconds later, Sirius bounded in. The Mabari managed to work his way around everyone to the bedside of his mistress and give her a sloppy doggie hello, which involved his tongue, before settling by the fire.

"Let me to the bed, Let me to the bed." Lisle shoved Leliana out of the way.

"I said move!" she glared ferociously at Alistair.

"Yes, ma'am." he jumped out of the way as though she were a genlock.

Dylan raised one eyebrow. Did everyone forget that he seized as well?

"I did not forget," Ishafel thought back. "Would you like me to remind them?"

She could hear him even when he wasn't trying? He winced. Would this be an issue?

"Probably just as well they forget," he thought back, "who knows what the healers, or more importantly, their templar might think of such a connection."

Lisle pressed the back of her hand on to Ishafel's forehead.

Michael gave her a caustic look. "I could have done that."

"Shut it, Laddybuck." A blue white mist covered Ishafel, flowing through her. "Bet'cha can't do that, can ya?

Dylan lit up like a Santanilla tree. So much for discretion.

"Well now," she said looking over at him in surprise, "What's this then?"

He was glowing with the same magical aura as she, he could even feel the effects, evident in the deep sigh that escaped as the tightening in his chest was soothed.

Lisle looked bemused. "Where am I probing, boy?"

"Left arm, below the elbow." He answered without having to think about it.

The light wavered, dimmed and disappeared. Ishafel slid back into the covers. She was beginning to have second thoughts about human dwellings; more specifically, beds. They were quite wonderful.

"Whatever Jowan did to you two..." She said, her voice low, the gears still turning in her head, "I've never seen it before. This beyond my expertise."

She probed a little further. "You'll have to talk to Irving about this at some point, but it feels solid, stable. My gut is telling me you'll be okay, for a time at least. That is not an invitation to ignore it, Dylan. You," She turned to Alistair, fire and brimstone in her eyes, "Make sure he gets to the tower at some point to have it looked at."

"Yes, ma'am." He squeaked. Dylan fought down a rather girlish giggle. Was this how Alistair dealt with all older women? That Grand Cleric must have left an impression!

"Good, now all of you, out! Let the girl get her rest. Spirit wounds are nasty, and she's only just woken."

"But Mistress Lisle..." Michael started crooning. She rounded on him "And you! Get yourself down to the infirmary and let Garth take a look at that shoulder. It's will only heal fully with constant attention!"

All but Sirius and Dylan were forced out by the small, iron haired mage.

"Dylan, no more than ten minutes. She does need to rest, you know."

He had so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to talk about. He had not realized how much he had relied on her judgment until she was unreachable, but when he went to her bedside he found her struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Sleep," he requested, a spell following his hand as it traced the line of her cheek.

And she did.

When she awoke several hours later, Dylan was gone but Sirius still sat by the fire. In the chair by her beside, Alistair was snoring softly. Despite the small space, the Mabari managed to lope to the bed. He buried his face in one of Ishafel's hands with a chuff. Alistair returned to the waking world as Sirius jarred his leg. The pup was unrepentant, instead jumping up on to the bed with his forepaws and sniffing at her with his big wet nose. He sneezed once, barked happily (and loudly!) in her face and gave one giant lick from clavicle to forehead. Satisfied, he romped back to the fire and resumed his lolling there. Alistair watched the whole event with a sleepy smile that caused the corners of her own mouth to respond.

"Aneth ara, Alistair."

"Lisle has given me strict instructions to send for food the moment you wake up. Can you- do you feel like eating?"

She smiled as she sank into the sheets. It was brave of him to be willing to defy that healer. Thankfully, her stomach roared in response.

"I would love some food."

As he spoke to the maid, she noticed a pile of large books lying around the chair.

"What are these?" She asked with suspicion.

"Oh! Uh, well, Lilse said that reading to people in the state you were in, it helps them recover faster, so I, uh..."

She smiled at him. A truly brilliant smile. "You tried to help. Maserannas,Alistair.Thank you."

She picked up the heaviest book, turning the pages with their strange markings. "I do not remember. What was it about?"

"Elven history. I thought you would be, ah, less interested in human...things..."

Her eyes narrowed. Never a good sign. "Humans have records on the Elvenhan? Are there more?"

"Yes, Eamon has an extensive library..."

"I must read them all, and bring the knowledge back to my clan." It was a blunt statement that brought with it a problem.

"But you can't... Can't you not...?"

Her face grew less determined, more sheepish. "Will you teach me?"

Ishafel never asked for anything. Go on watch, rescue the Qunari, kill the unspeakable horrors. All orders. Dylan was the same way.

It felt nice to be asked for once.

"Well, I've never done it before..." Her face fell before he continued "but I will certainly try."

He looked at the giant tome in her lap "Let's...start with something easier."

The next few days alternated between flashes of consciousness and sleep for Ishafel as her spirit healed itself, helped along by the cranky Lisle and her apprentice, a shy boy named Garth. In between waking and sleeping, Alistair attempted to make good on his promise and while sometimes Ishafel didn't quite understand him, she was making progress.

"C-A-T...kkkk- at. Cat!" She shouted at the word on the page as she forced herself to continue after Alistair had gone down for supper.

"No, Ishi, that's a book. B-OOOOO-K. Cats go meow." Michael leaned in the door frame, observing her. "That is also not a cup."

Ishafel scowled at him. He smiled.

"There now, you must be getting better." he said as he walked over to the chair by her bedside. "Your pleasant facial expressions are back."

Ishafel's scowl morphed into a glare, and she slammed her new book shut a little harder than she intended. "What do you want, Michael?"

He smiled at her whimsically. "What most people want I suppose: wealth, power, revenge...Oh, you mean right now, I suppose?" He held up a hefty jar in triumph. "To get away from our charming, curly haired healer and her shy attache. The old biddy can't heal me if she doesn't have this." he chuckled manically before her noticed the Ishafel's reaction. Michael was puzzled as he watched a myriad of expressions and interesting colors pass over Ishafel's face. He was more than a little surprised when Ishafel looked up at him with intent to kill and held out her hand.

"Give me that! Shame on you! Healers should be treated with the respect!" It was a lesson the smallest dal'en was taught before they could talk. It was amazing that a man at least 25 winters could not understand something so basic.

"If you want it..." He dangled the jar over her head. "by all means, take it."

As she reached out to swipe and he pulled back, he let out a bloodcurdling scream. The jar fell neatly into Ishafel's lap as he moved away, grabbing his shoulder and making new strides in the field of profanity. She opened the balm, and could smell the soothing healing magic within.

"Michael, come here. Let me help you..."

"No!" he spat through grit teeth, angrily snapping at her over his shoulder. A shudder racked his frame. He turned away, boring imaginary holes in the stone until he felt a light touch on his other shoulder. Ishafel was standing beside him, swaying was more apt. she was not ready to be back on her feet, but she had clamored out of bed to help him anyway. His well hidden concern for her health let him allow her to guide him back to the chair by her bedside.

"Remove your shirt," she ordered.

"Why, Ishi! I never realized..." he joked through the pain. That one had been to good to pass up.

"Now."

He slipped the thin cotton off his shoulders, exposing the problem area.

"How much?"

"Usually two handfuls."

He hissed at the combined coolness of fingers and ointment hit the hot pain. After a minute or so, he began to relax as her light fingers massaged the minty balm into the skin underneath his shoulder. She watched as he attempted to keep his muscles rigid, as though he were trying to hold the pain within.

Ishafel suddenly remembered a pertinent fact from her time with the Dalish.

"I knew a hunter; good man, an excellent shot. His partner and bondmate died while hunting on her own when he had decided to visit a friend. He never forgave himself. "If only I'd been there," he would say. After we sang her to the Creators, he started to get into accidents. Charged by a restless halla, cut his wrist while woodworking, things like that. He would refuse healing."

Michael eyed her warily under a hank of black hair that had fallen across his eyes.

"He felt responsible for her death. He didn't feel he deserved to live after he had failed her. The Keeper and the Hahren tried to make him understand otherwise, but right after the spring thaw, when the rivers were at there most violent, he disappeared. We sent out search parties but... we never found him."

Michael's tension eased as her hands kneaded a sore spot up toward his neck. Unconciously, he shifted towards her. "Poor bastard."

"Love, devotion and loyalty should not be used to justify hurting yourself." she replied. "Get better, grow stronger and exercise the Creators' given right to vendetta."

He said nothing for awhile, just breathed. When he started speaking, he couldn't stop.

"I wasn't supposed to be at Ostagar, you know. One of the reasons Fergus sent me to find out what the delay was in the first place. I was supposed stay with mother and Sylphie, look after things while Father and Fergus were gone. I'm the youngest child. I don't know if that means anything to the Dalish. Fergus is- was- the heir and Sylphie was always the apple of father's eye. I was just the third child, the spare who had embarrassed the family at court and now had to be cooped up until the scandal blew over, all the while receiving lectures from mother and Sylphie about proper behavior and being pressured to marry so it wouldn't happen again. I just... wanted a chance to prove myself. And Fergus of course, wasn't too happy to see me. Asked me if I thought war was a game. The last time I spoke to my brother...he called me weak minded..."

He bent low, his head in his hands. "And now they are all dead. I am the last Cousland. Left because Loghain and Howe considered me too insignificant to kill. That is the greatest insult..." He laughed weakly.

"If I had been at home when Howe attacked... Sylphie was no slouch. You should have seen her with a broadsword. The Iron Maiden, that's what the men use to call her. She would have stood to the last man. If I had been there, would she have died? Would Mother have died? Maker, why can't I shut up." He turned away, clapping his hand over his mouth.

"It's not alright."

"I- what?" he coughed, "I don't think that's what your supposed to say to someone in my position."

"What happened to them, it's terrible. Do you know if they would be alive right now if you were there? You don't, and you never will. Carry that with you for the rest of your life, and do better by the others you love in the future, but remember the pain of knowing things could have been different if you had acted differently..." She hesitated, and then added "That is what I do."

He looked up at her and for a moment they held each other's gaze. The coldness had ebbed from his eyes, leaving them a clear emerald and showing something of that intelligent, world weary man she had seen so fleeting at the inn. He moved towards her and...

"Michael! What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Dylan looked extremely annoyed. This feeling was completely understandable given that while at dinner he had become extremely angry, to the point of snapping at the Arlessa. That same anger had flared up so suddenly that he spilled a glass of wine down his front. An accident Sirius was all too willing to take advantage of, jumping up from under the table to attempt to climb up Dylan to get at the wine. The dog apparently preferred a good vintage. It had all created a spectacle so amusing that he was quite sure Leliana had stopped breathing at some point for laughing so hard and Morrigan may have smiled. Dylan would have been content to laugh it off, if the feeling had not been followed by sadness so strong that he felt as though someone had hit him. It was then that he noticed the Cosuland was missing. By now, everybody knew where Michael went when he disappeared.

The nobleman's veneer snapped back into place, and Michael gave a lazy half smile as he rose to leave. "Nothing terrible, Dylan. Put away that face. We just got into a particularly heated debate about the weather."

"Ishafel?" He looked at Michael warily.

"I think it will rain tomorrow." She said sharply, the look on her face was ferocious. Dylan was absolutely sure they were both lying out of their asses.

"And I think the sun will shine. You see our problem, Dylan?" Michael smirked. "I will leave you to your rest, Ishi. "

"Don't call me that!" she hissed as he exited. Sighing, she fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

"No." She did not open her eyes.

Dylan sat on the edge of the bed. "You were so distraught I thought I was going to drown in the emotion. Can you at least tell me why?"

"He …reminded me of someone, Dylan, that's all." The bleariness of her eyes could have been caused by tiredness, not tears, but somehow Dylan didn't think so.

He picked up a book from the floor. "Practice your reading. Focusing on something else will help you feel better."

He settled into Michael's abandoned chair as she read B-A-T aloud and cracked his own book. Hand of Winter wasn't going to learn itself, after all, and he preferred that nothing else make Ishafel feel so awful.

"You have waited long enough! You must do something! Weeks have been lost; you must save my husband!"

Dylan was grateful that they had been able to stave off this conversation until Ishafel was at least well enough to travel. Her injury had been an impediment in more ways than one. According to Teagan, his runners to both the Tower and Denerim had not returned, and it was well past the time for check in.

"We need healers better than any Georges can provide for Eamon, and we need them soon. I do not wish to see my brother leave us like Jowan...I'm sorry for your loss, Dyl.

Jowan had died two days ago, taking an unexpected turn for the worse. Eerily, his death coincided with a sudden upturn in Ishafel's recovery. Even Lisle found it strange, and suggested they get themselves to the Tower that much faster. Dylan, who had previously believed he would never recover from his friend's betrayal, was now grappling with the much more menacing specter of being the cause of his friend's demise. His friend, and Dylan realized that Jowan had been his friend to the last, now rested under the roots of a sapling. Ishafel's idea. Far from the palace gates. That one had been Isolde's.

"What was your runner doing in Denerim, Teagan?"

"He was there to find a scholar my brother has been funding, a Brother Gentitvi."

"I hardly think scholarly pursuits are of any import at a time like this."

Tegan scratched the back of his head as he chose his next words, unfortunately Isolde beat him to it.

"Because Andraste's Ashes are the only thing that can save my Eamon!"

"Andraste's Ashes?" Ishafel asked.

"Ashes of the Prophet Andraste." Leliana explained. "After she was burned in Minrathous, her followers are said to have gathered them up and built a shrine to her somewhere in Ferelden. Supposedly, anyone who touches them is cured of all illness and injury. People have been searching for them for ages with no luck. "

Dylan gave her a skeptical look, "That's a myth, Isolde. I 'd like to think that things are not so desperate we need to resort to chasing after fairy tales. After all, he's not declining. Irving is the best healer in Ferelden and has dealt with illness brought on both by poisons and demonic possessions before. The Tower is our best choice."

She looked even more frustrated with them, if that were possible.

"More healers? I have had every healer in the county here with no results! Those ashes are Eamon's only hope! Find them!"

"Isolde, do I need to remind you that our guests are not merely travelers but Grey Wardens racing against a Blight?" Teagan replied, his tone warning

"They have stay'd 'ere and taken advantage of our 'ospitality. Iz time the repay the favor!" she shouted, on the verge of being shrill. Her accent became thicker the angrier she became. A great warning surge of anger built in Ishafel's chest, anger that was not her own. Her eyes slid over to Dylan. Isolde was not the only one angry.

"What favor?" He lashed out, his voice low and even and unmistakeably dangerous. "The favor of losing a good man in order to save your son? Nearly having myself and Ishafel killed because you failed to warn us properly? I think we've done more than enough to repay your hospitality!"

"Enough, Enough! Pointless bickering will get us nowhere!" Strangely enough, it was Michael who stepped in to play peacemaker. "Isn't that one of your favorite lines, Dylan? There is an easy solution to this. Teagan and I have already discussed reestablishing my contacts in the Palace and Denerim city proper. I will find your rogue scholar, Isolde. In the meantime Dylan and Ishi dearest-"

"Don't call me that!"

"-can consult Irving and continue their Wardening. What do you all say?"

"It is the most efficient way," Leliana commented. "Two birds with one stone. Oh, I always did hate that expression."

"We have wasted enough time here." Sten agreed audibility, before relapsing back into his usual grumbling. Beside him, Sirius yipped encouragingly.

"Then we will set out while we still have light." Dylan agreed, "I will tell Bodahn. The clever man managed to restock, Maker knows how, and wishes to continue on with us.

It did not take long to prepare, Leliana and Sten had packed their bags days ago. By noontide, they stood in the courtyard, ready to say their goodbyes. Michael and Leliana spoke the longest, he with his usual mocking expression and wicked grins and she with her serene smile and chirping laughter. Watching them both out of the corner of her eye, Ishafel thought the conversation seemed strangely terse. When Michael took Leliana's hand in both of his, she looked almost as though she wanted to pull away, instead of laughing at him.

She didn't have much time to think on it, as Michael approached her next.

"What was that about?" She couldn't keep the curiosity from voice.

"Afraid that I've gone and pledged my heart to another, Ishi? Don't you worry; I only have eyes for you, dear heart."

She frowned at him. "Don't be absurd, and don't avoid the question. Were you speaking about... the issue you discussed with me before the battle?"

He smiled wanly. "Oh Ishi, can't you just trust me?"

"Of course not!"

He brought his arm up deceptively fast and she found her chin captured by his hand, forcing it up to meet his inspection. His green eyes were intense behind his lazy expression. "Have I ever given you cause to doubt me, even once?"

"You abandoned your station."

The grip on her chin tightened considerably, lips flashing from smirk to scowl. "I never thought you so cruel as to use words spoken in a moment of weakness against a man." He searched her face: Amber eyes molten, full of fire mouth set, the looping lines of her vallaslin wrinkled in her displeasure, "Maker but Dylan was a lucky man, and didn't even know it."

"Wha-" She started and then was cut off rather suddenly by Michael's lips upon her own. He held her there, his lips hot and smooth and overwhelming, folding her mouth into his own. It lasted no more than a batting of confused eyelids. He pulled her forward so his mouth was almost on her ear. "'Til we meet again, Ishi dearest." With that he released her, she stumbled forward as he strode towards Dylan, Alistair and Teagan, backs turned and oblivious to the interesting spectacle behind them.

Mythal bless and keep her! What was that about?

"He is a shrewd one, is he not?" Morrigan purred over her shoulder, nearly giving Ishafel a heart attack. "Tell me, did you get the answer to your question?"

Elgar'nan! It was all a trick!

"I'm sure the previsions will- Maker, why is Ishafel cursing like that?"

"A nasty Dalish habit, I'm sure." Michael commented, wearing a large cat got the canary grin that was completely inappropriate for the mundane conversation they were having.

Alistair gave him a hard look.

"Well, Michael, it has been interesting traveling with you. May the Maker guide your steps." Dylan said, shaking his hand.

"Oh, don't be so formal, Dylan." Michael clapped a hand on his shoulder. "This is not the last time we'll see each other, surely. Teagan will relay my communiques and we will see what my contacts can dig up on your Grey Warden fellows. There may be more of you that slipped the net. You are hard to kill after all."

Dylan grinned despite himself. "Yes, well... let's hope that luck continues."

It was terribly quiet without Michael, Dylan realized as night approached several hours later.

Sten and Sirius led the group, a vanguard he was becoming accustomed to. Leliana was singing softly, only slightly ahead of himself, in a language that could have been Orlesian, swinging her bow to and fro at her side. He had no idea where Morrigan was as she had shapeshifted some time ago. Alistair walked beside a quiet Ishafel, talking amicably but not getting a response.

His eyes were fastened on the back of Ishafel's head. She was extremely agitated, but he couldn't grasp why. He had learned, and now had a giant headache for his troubles, that if Ishafel had thoughts she wished to keep to herself, she could. He had been trying to get a read on her mind ever since they left Redcliffe, but while he knew she was upset and knew it had something to do with Michael, he couldn't tell exactly what it was. And something to do with Michael could have been anything really.

He highly doubted she missed his company.

She stopped at a clearing. "We should make camp for the night."

He agreed. "Alistair, Leliana, why don't the two of you help Bodahn with the tents?"

As soon as they were out of earshot, he approached her.

"Well, let's have it then." He said, taking her by the arm, pulling her further out of earshot.

She blinked, surprised by Dylan's forwardness. "Have what? I carry no extra provisions."

Ha, cute. If it were anyone but Ishafel, he would have considered that evasion. The Dalish must be incredibly straightforward to breed such innocence.

"Did you know that when you are upset, in the kind of melancholia you are currently indulging, I feel it too? Do you have any idea how horrible it is to be distraught and confused and not know why?"

A third emotion welled up and consumed the other two. She was furious, and it was very clear who she was furious with. It raised his own ire, he was tired of all these outbursts. She was not a child!

"How dare youdemand my feelings as if you have a right to them!" She shouted, causing heads to turn at the nearby campsite.

"What do you expect me to do when you sulking so obviously!" he snapped back. "I want to help you, that's all.

"You want to feel better. You do not see me complaining about all the machinations going on in your brain. Tell me, Dylan, do you realize how often you think of the fact that book your so focused on is stolen? Are you aware of how feel you about it?"

He recoiled, momentarily stunned.

"'Tis a most self-righteous stance, you take." Morrigan interrupted the two of them. She was standing where Ishafel was sure a blackbird had been a moment before. "Brave, considering that we both know the reason has nothing to do with Dylan."

Ishafel inclined her head towards Morrigan, a strange look on her face. Her ears turned slightly pink.

"It has nothing to do with what your thinking, I assure you."

"Doesn't it?" Her lips formed a smile that was halfway between mocking and genuine laughter. "It's when your brooding started, is it not? All this frustration, t'was but a simple kiss-"

"Kiss? Who kissed?" Leliana asked, an out of place, mad gleam in her eye. Dylan was reminded strongly of the circle gossips when they had receive a particularly damning piece of information.

"Were you not there?" Morrigan asked, her face impassive.

"Oh, are you talking about Dylan and Ishafel?" she looked cheated. "That hardly counts, does it."

He raised a fiery eyebrow. "Kiss, what kiss?"

Creators. She was going to kill Morrigan and leave her entrails for the dread wolf! A part of her wondered if all shems inspired such murderous intent, or just the group she traveled with?

"Oh, did no one explain the spell to you?" Leliana asked with curiosity. Dylan loved discovering unknown magic. Anyone who spent more than ten minutes with him knew it.

Dylan was ignoring her, staring at Ishafel with a look that bordered on disgust. "You're upset because you kissed me?"

Morrigan smiled and Ishafel wanted to curse. Very clever. She wasn't sure why, but the witch had planned this.

"No, I-"

A sudden cloudburst of rain put an end to the conversation, but it had the effect of making things awkward. Dinner was a silent affair, with only Alistair and Leliana attempting any kind of conversation that was stamped out by the icy quiet between Dylan and Ishafel. They took separate watches; his first, hers last. The rain eased by the end of the evening, enough that Alistair got a fire started. Ishafel could see the flickering shadows of him and Sirius against the fabric of the tent Bodahn had provided.

She was too irritated to join them. Instead, she poured her frustration into something practical: The care and upkeep of her armor. Even as she worked at parts of the dirty and cracked leather, the look on Dylan's face kept pushing it's way to the forefront of her thoughts. The aura that surrounded her was numb, and oddly void like.

Creators, they were preforming blood magic! Not...

The truth was that she hadn't thought much of the method of delivery of Jowan's spell. A means to an end. It had none of the significance of what she had come to expect from joining lips and tongue and teeth among the Dalish, or the soft reassurance of the first and final kiss she and Tamlen had shared, or even the touch of lips on lips that Michael had surprised and so upset her with.

She thought of the panic that coursed through her as the demon struck Dylan. He had moved to protect her. His skin soft and clammy beneath her touch as she lifted him, she thought he was dying. She would have done anything... she had done things humans would consider unforgivable. A man was dead! But they had Linhimuth,blood debt. She was obligated; it was the only possible didn't actually remember kissing, more sticking her tongue on top of his in a pool of blood in his mouth, which was most certainly not a kiss.

Unbidden, the image of Dylan in the prison of the demons arms flashed in her mind, naked and flushed and, if his vocalizations were anything to go by, wanting...

She threw down her cloth, and tried to control herself. This was ridiculous, but the vivid memory persisted, and she found herself wondering if he remembered the feel of the demon's lips on his pulse, her legs around his waist. The cleaning cloth dropped from her hands at the thought of skin on skin. Her lips parted slightly, suddenly dry and she was very aware of her own tongue as it darted out to wet them.

There was movement outside her tent, and it was then that she remembered she was sharing her thoughts, and who she was sharing them with. Her ears turned blood red in embarrassment as a figure came closer, breaching the tent.

"I-"

Weapons and armor scattered everywhere as Sirius clamored inside, sending all he made contact with flying. The dog had grown tired of his mistress' bad mood and had decided to take matters into his own paws. Pouncing on Ishafel, he proceeded to lavish attention on her in a particularly dog-like fashion. She fought for release.

"Stop! Stop!" she laughed.

He woofed instead.

Hours later, when Leliana came to collect her for watch, she found dog and girl asleep. Ishafel's arms were wrapped around Sirius' neck, smile on her face and all thoughts of Dylan and Michael momentarily forgotten.

This chapter marks the end of part 3. A big thank you to ADTR fan92, Shadowwolf101286, Japboix1, RatedRSuperStar87 for their reviews last time, and to those who favorite and story alerted in the last month. A double thanks for almostinsane for both reviewing and beta-ing. Stay tuned for Part 4: Arcane Mastery coming soon!