Chapter 23

The rough bark of Zoya's log perch caught at the lacings on her breeches as she tucked her legs under her, shifting so she could peer into the gurgling pot hanging over the small campfire between her and Alistair. She could almost hear the substance straining as the bubbles forced their way to the surface, each lazy pop like a sigh of relief. Ha! Maybe that's how to get back at the quartermaster – drop a bucket of whatever this is on him!

Her nose crinkled as she lifted a dented bowl toward her face, cautiously sniffing. "It's… umm… grey?" She pulled the spoon free, the lumpy paste clinging even as she tried to shake it off. "What did you say this was again?"

Pausing with his spoon raised halfway to his mouth, Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "Of course it's grey – it's stew. You have that in the Alienage, right?"

"Of course I've had stew - I guess I've just never seen it… well… quite like this." But how terrible could it be? Certainly not as bad as some of Shianni's infamous creations… Denerim rabbits, my ass! Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard before offering a lopsided smile. "You know what stew means in Elvish? It means 'you really don't want to know what's in this, so I cooked it until the ingredients were no longer recognizable.'"

"Funny… it means the same thing in Fereldan." Alistair chuckled as he leaned back on his log, stretching his long legs toward the fire, "It's not as bad as you're making it out to be, trust me." Grinning, he made a show of enjoying his next bite. "See! There's nothing wrong with it. You know, Daveth and Jory have never complained about my cooking."

"Really? And you don't find it strange that neither is here eating? A smirk pulled at her lips as she poked at one of the lumps with her spoon.

She shouldn't be dallying in camp, pestering the Warden. Duncan had given her two tasks before setting her loose on Ostagar, but she hadn't yet completed them. The first, to find Alistair, well… it had gone better than she could have imagined. She snuck a glance at the handsome human, only to find him already smiling at her. The odd flutter that started when their eyes met was interrupted by her grumbling stomach. Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head. When she'd been dragging her feet that morning, she'd never imagined the intriguing soldier would be the dreaded Templar she'd been tasked with finding. If there was a Maker or some other deity that directed how things happened in life, this was just further proof they had a strange sense of humor.

But then there was the second task - to help Alistair round up the other recruits and any supplies they needed to head into the Wilds. That wasn't going as well. Not only had they been unable to find Daveth after he disappeared from the Tower of Ishal, but a genuflecting Ser Jory had shooed them like pesky children. And the surly quartermaster, who didn't have the supplies she needed, had threatened to have her arrested.

Alistair had been unruffled by their setbacks, and it was hard to be grumpy when he hit her with that dimpled smile and a cheery quip. Everything will fall into place if we take a break to get a hot meal in our bellies, he'd insisted, just as hers had started audibly protesting its emptiness.

By the Void! Why does he have to be so damned agreeable? He was making it impossible to dislike him.

Her mouth twisted into a wry grin, "This is a prank you play on new recruits, right? I'm going to eat this, and everyone will point and laugh-"

"Damn! You've discovered my nefarious plan!" He offered a mock scowl that only lasted for an instant before shifting into something more thoughtful as he rubbed his fingers along his jaw, "I learned how to cook in the monastery, you know. Ha! But then, kitchen duty was supposed to be a punishment."

"Was the punishment meant for you or the priests?" What had he done to get into trouble? Her imagination went wild - mouthing off to priests, doodling on the sacred scrolls, brawling, streaking through the Chantry... Chuckling nervously, she dropped her eyes back to the bowl as she prodded its contents, her cheeks reddening as the possibilities chased through her head. "So… did Duncan warn you that I'm a brat? Because he probably should have." She peered at the Warden. "I'm being ungrateful-"

"Oh, you mean like devoting an entire letter to what a terror you are? If only he had…" He offered a reassuring smile when her eyebrows shot up. "Don't worry about it. As the junior-most Warden, my duty is to look after you – and Daveth and Jory - until you go through the Joining. And that includes feeding you, even if you hurt my manly feelings by turning your nose up at it."

"I bet Duncan didn't tell you before you Joined that playing nanny would be among your duties." Her heart sank into her gut, leaden as the stew. So he's only being kind out of duty? Swallowing hard, she scowled down into her bowl. "I can take care of myself, you know."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, "Of course he told me! It was one of the top reasons to Join – right up there with facing monsters on a daily basis-"

"Are you referring to darkspawn or the recruits?" Her lip curled.

"Ha! Maybe both?" Dimples cut into his cheeks as his grin widened. "But seriously, I don't doubt you can take care of yourself. I just meant that if you have any needs, I'm here to help out."

The corners of her mouth twitched upward, words tumbling from her lips. "Still… I'm sorry for teasing you. Maker knows I can't cook, unless you like things shoved on a stick and charred beyond recognition, that is. And I have to say, only a fool would use cooking as a punishment or piss off the person making their meal. That's a recipe for disaster. Ha! Get it?" She snorted in amusement as Alistair groaned and shook his head. What was it about this human that left her babbling nonsensically? "So tell me… any good stories of revenge ingredients?"

Alistair ducked his head, running hasty fingers through his hair as he chuckled, "No… no stories."

"Or no stories you want to share?" Her eyes searched his face, hoping he'd tell, but he dropped his gaze to his bowl, his cheeks flushed. "Oh fine – don't tell me then. You're a terrible liar, by the way. Maybe it's better I don't know. And maybe I better do my own cooking from now on." Maker's ass – Maybe I better shove the spoon in my mouth before I say another idiotic word! "Well, here goes nothing-"

Zoya took a bite as Alistair leaned forward, watching her expectantly. It didn't taste bad, exactly - it was still better than anything she could have made. But the mysterious lumps actually seemed to grow in her mouth as she chewed. She swallowed hard, offering a small smile. "Umm… interesting flavor. What's in it?" As the thick substance settled like a rock in her stomach, she wondered if she wanted to know. Please don't say rabbit…

"See… I told you it was good." He grinned triumphantly as he took another bite, "The quartermaster told me it was mutton. I even found a few potatoes and carrots to throw in there."

"I think what you said was it wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be - I suppose I can agree with that at least." Zoya offered a crooked smile before shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could. Life in the Alienage had taught her food could be pretty loosely defined, and you should never let it go to waste. "Wait! Found? And mutton? Really? Are you sure he wasn't having you on? Maybe he doesn't like Wardens either."

Alistair set his empty bowl next to him on the log, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I knew the man was coarse, but I guess I never realized just how badly he treated the elves in camp."

"There's no need for you to apologize, Alistair. Besides, I'm used to my pointy ears not winning friends. Or maybe it's my mouth. The Elder always used to say it would get me in trouble - I really can't argue with him on that." She chuckled, "But imagine how the quartermaster would have reacted if he knew I was also a mage-"

"You do have an uncanny knack for finding trouble and pissing people off, cousin." A feminine voice mocked.

"Nessa?" A wide grin split Zoya's face as she spun on her perch, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms around the woman. With so many elves in Ostagar, she shouldn't have been surprised to run into someone from home.

Nessa wrapped slender arms around Zoya, "What are you doing here? And where did you steal that broody outfit from? I didn't know they made armor that small. Wait, did I hear you say something about magic?"

Zoya took an involuntary step back, surprised by her reluctance to answer Nessa's questions. But the elf kept a grip on her hands, dark eyes pinning her in place. Now that she thought about it, Nessa hadn't been among the crowd that final day in the Alienage. The last time she'd seen her, they'd been getting drunk as they gambled at the tenement. That was the night she'd dragged Anders from the harbor - it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Her tongue twisted in her mouth as she decided how much of the tale to share, especially in front of the human. "Now that's a story… The short version is that I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens. If you want the longer version, you'll have to ply me with lots of booze." She could feel Alistair's curious eyes on them, and she turned to him with a sheepish grin. "Nessa, this is Alistair, one of the Wardens."

The elf smiled coyly at Alistair, "Oh, I've seen him around camp."

"Good to meet you, Nessa." He offered a pleasant smile and small bow as his eyes shifted between the two elves. "So you two are family?"

Zoya shrugged, "Most of us in the Alienage have ties, either through blood or marriage." But then, her blood ties to the Alienage were far less than what she once thought - she shoved the thought away.

As Nessa's appraising eyes traveled over the human, Zoya bristled. She knew that particular look too well. The pretty elf excelled at getting others to do what she wanted, especially men. All she needed to do was flutter her long lashes and play the damsel in distress, and she'd have them doing whatever she asked.

Clearing her throat, Zoya offered Alistair an apologetic smile, "Please excuse us." She tugged the woman further from the Warden's camp. "What are you doing here?"

Nessa peered over Zoya's shoulder at Alistair, speaking loud enough that even the human's ears could hear. "You're so lucky… he's gorgeous. I'd happily be conscripted if it meant spending time with him." Her laughter chimed as the heat rose in Zoya's cheeks. "But then I'm guessing you already know how lucky you are-"

"Nessa!" Zoya yelped, glad her back was to Alistair. But Nessa seemed to delight in her discomfort, her grin widening. Zoya rolled her eyes, "Yup… so lucky! I'm here to fight darkspawn, right? Not to…well… you know…" Her cheeks burned as the elf's eyebrows raised, and her voice dropped low, "Not to… fraternize." She shook her head and sighed as Nessa's attention stayed focused on Alistair, "So back to my question…"

The elf directed her smile toward the Warden as she ran dainty fingers through her golden hair, "I'm sure there's nothing to stop you from fraternizing as long as you kill every darkspawn you see - think of it as your reward. You'd be an idiot if you didn't." She giggled, "That's so cute! He's blushing as much as you are. I didn't know shem did that."

"Don't be daft – of course they do." Zoya's jaw clenched as she fought the urge to turn and see for herself. She dragged a hand over her face, loosing an exasperated breath. "Nessa, please drop it."

A frown furrowed Nessa's brow as she shifted her focus back to her cousin, her hands gripping Zoya's shoulders to give her a bit of a shake. "You're the worst kind of family, you know! If you'd been around, you'd know what I was doing here, what I've been through! Didn't Soris tell you what happened? Maybe he wasn't as upset about my leaving as he said." Her plump lower lip jutted out in an impressive pout.

Zoya shook her head, guilt settling heavily in her chest. She'd been so wrapped up in her own troubles, and the deceitful mage, that she hadn't really kept up with happenings in the Alienage. "No… no one told me anything."

"Our shem landlord booted us. Papa could have found us another place to live or asked Cyrion for help. Soris even offered to let us move into the room at the tenement. But papa didn't want to sink so low – he's too proud to ask for help, let alone accept it from a child – so he decided the only option was for all of us to come work at Ostagar. We've been here for nearly a month, at the shems' beck and call. There's actually a lot of us here from the Alienage. You should come by the elf camp later tonight, if you're not too busy, that is." She offered Alistair another smile before fixing her gaze on Zoya, "Your turn, cousin. What's this about magic?"

Zoya tried to seem nonchalant despite the creeping anxiety. After keeping the secret for most of her life, it was still hard to say the words out loud. "Umm… Not much more to say about it. Surprise, I'm a mage!" Would she ever not imagine Templars swooping down to smite her as soon as those words left her mouth? She snuck a look over her shoulder at Alistair, but he only continued to watch them with relaxed interest. The corners of her mouth tugged downward as she steeled herself for Nessa's reaction.

"It's not really much of a surprise – your mother had magic after all. And you've always been a bit, well, odd." Nessa rolled her eyes as Zoya's jaw dropped, "Oh don't give me that look. Auntie Adaia healed mama's wasting sickness – there was this warm, golden light and then mama got better. But they told me I couldn't ever say a word about it or the shem would come and haul her off. I just can't believe you'd keep such a thing from me. Did Shianni and Soris know?" She let out an exasperated sigh when Zoya nodded. "So you'd tell Shianni, but not me? That girl has the biggest mouth of anyone I know-"

"There's my favorite elf!" Zoya spun to find a scraggy human swaggering toward them. His dark eyes traveled appreciatively over Nessa as a lecherous grin pulled at his mouth. "I missed a lot of things sitting in that damned tower, but I missed you most, girlie. And I see you brought a friend. The Warden isn't boring you too much, is he?"

"Oh! I've been looking for you everywhere for days." Nessa smiled sweetly at the human, hurrying toward him on light feet. As she stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek, he wrapped a possessive arm around her, cupping her bottom as he pulled her tighter to him.

"Daveth, where have you been?" Surprise was evident in Alistair's voice.

Zoya snapped her mouth shut, her eyes narrowing as she regarded her cousin and the newcomer. So this was Daveth, the lecher? And Nessa seemed to be enjoying his attention. What was she playing at? The elf rarely latched onto anyone without purpose.

The man tugged Nessa back toward Zoya. "King Cailan and the Warden Commander sent for me. My skills are needed." He watched the women as he spoke, perhaps to see how they'd react to his name dropping, before turning a randy grin toward Zoya, "You're new - come to join in the fun, eh? Any last wishes I can help you with before the big battle?" He seemed to take her silence as an invitation, "You know, come this time tomorrow, that pretty head might be decorating some darkspawn spear. I could help keep your mind off things until then."

Zoya loosed an inelegant snort, "And how has that line worked for you so far?"

He smirked, "How's it working for you?"

"It's not." She raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

Alistair cleared his throat, wearily shaking his head as he rubbed his brow, "Daveth, this is Zoya, the new Warden recruit I told you about."

"Well then… the Maker's smiling down on me." His grin widened, "But there's a problem – I won't be able to keep my wits about me with this one around."

Rolling her eyes, Zoya muttered, "That's assuming you had wits to lose."

Nessa's glare cut into her for an instant before she turned a simpering smile toward the human, clinging to his arm. "Oh Daveth, you're such a charmer."

Zoya shot a glance at Alistair, her teeth catching at her lip as his jaw tightened. Perhaps she was being too prickly – Daveth seemed friendly at least. She could hear Duncan's deep voice echoing in her head - Do what you must to get along… Taking a deep breath, she unleashed it through pursed lips. "I'll tell you what – why don't we start over? We need to be able to work together, right? To watch each other's backs-"

"Oh, I'll be watching your back all right. Let's just hope I don't get too distracted doing it." He leaned in close, his hand snaking toward her backside.

Zoya's temper flared as she shifted out of reach, knocking his hand away. "Keep your paws to yourself!"

"Daveth! Back off!" Alistair's voice was thick with warning as he strode past the campfire, his brow furrowing as he closed the distance between them. Maybe he wasn't always so imperturbable…

"Nothing to worry about, Warden." He held up a placating hand, before turning back to Zoya with a grin. "I'm just being friendly - it's just my way of saying hello."

She arched an eyebrow at him, her mouth twisting into a frown. "Funny - I don't recall you greeting Alistair that way-"

"Heh, maybe if Alistair's ass was half this nice, I would have, girlie." He winked as he patted her bottom.

Fury erupted as Daveth's hand made contact. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she yanked it back with a twist as she stepped into him, her leg hooking behind his. As he collapsed, she rode him to the ground, pinning his shoulders with her knees. His eyes widened as she leaned close, ale souring his breath. Coarse stubble tickled her cheek and the palm pressed against his throat as she snarled in his ear. "Touch me again, and you'll find yourself missing a hand."

"Damn it!" Alistair blurted. The leather straps of Zoya's harness dug into the fronts of her shoulders as the Warden hoisted her off Daveth, and her muscles clenched as she fought the urge to lash out at him. Dodging her glower, he deposited her out of reach of the human.

Her heart thudded in her ears at the sight of Alistair's furrowed brow and the muscles twitching along his jaw. Andraste's flamey bits! What have I done? Wrapping her arms around herself, she ducked her head and tried to focus on taking deep, calming breaths.

"Zoya!" Nessa scolded, "What's gotten into you? He was just being friendly!"

"I'm fine, Nessa." Daveth grunted as he climbed back to his feet. "She's a temper, eh?"

"Oh, you've no idea. Her own papa used to say the Maker gave her hair to match her personality – wild, unruly, fiery – that he'd never be able to find a match who could put up with her." The elf shook her head as she frowned at Zoya.

Tears rose, and she bit the inside of her cheek to chase them away, humiliation a tight band around her chest. Turning to Alistair, Zoya bowed her head in anticipation of the coming reprimand. Great… now he thinks I'm a lunatic, and who am I to argue? A corner of her mouth tugged downward, "I suppose you'll tell Duncan about this-"

"I doubt I'd have a chance to tell him even if I wanted to – you attracted a bit of an audience." Twitching his head toward the handful of watchful soldiers starting to move away, his frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Zoya - I should have stepped in before things went so far. And I'm sure Daveth's sorry too, right?" He pinned the rogue with a stern glare.

Zoya could only gape at the Warden. Had she heard him right – he was apologizing to her?

Daveth looked up from brushing himself off, "Umm… yeah… won't happen again, mate." He swallowed hard as he was hit with Alistair's scowl, extending a hand toward her. "I'm sorry, girlie."

She freed her breath as her fingers closed around his. "Just do us both a favor and keep your hands to yourself. It'd be awfully messy if I had to make good on my promise."

~oOo~

Alistair had to stop himself from openly cheering for the little elf when she took Daveth to the ground, a sentiment that seemed to be shared by many of the soldiers that had stopped to gape. He'd never seen anyone move like that - Maker, she's fast! Had she chosen to, Daveth would have been ended before he could have intervened. There was a part of him that was excited to head into the Wilds now, to see what she could do against darkspawn.

But her cold fury had disappeared almost as quickly as it had flared, only to be replaced with a hangdog expression, like she expected him to flog her for standing up for herself. He knew that feeling well – he'd experienced it often enough at the monastery. His ear twinged with remembered pain. How many times had one of the sisters dragged him by it to see the Revered Mother? But who'd been tugging Zoya around by hers?

There was so much he wanted to learn about the mysterious elf. With any luck, he'd get the chance. He shook his head roughly, chasing away thoughts of what was coming. One step at a time – first they had a mission in the Wilds to complete, the Joining would come soon enough. But how much had Duncan shared with her about it?

Zoya wolfed down the remains of her stew and slid the bowl into the wash pail. "Thank you for the food, Alistair. I think that'll keep me from wanting to eat for a bit." She offered a lopsided smile, a dimple appearing in one freckled cheek. Shooting a scowl toward Daveth and Nessa's canoodling, she bent to collect Alistair's discarded bowl. "There's a lot to do before Duncan gets back - I'd hate to head into the Wilds without any potions." She paused for a moment, her expression unreadable as she gazed up at him, her teeth capturing her lip as her eyes searched his face. With a sigh, she dropped his bowl into the pail and offered a shallow bow before striding toward the mage's camp.

"You're going to just let her wander off by herself, mate?" Daveth regarded Alistair with a raised eyebrow. "I mean how much trouble can an armed and hot-tempered she-elf get into in a camp full of randy human soldiers, right?" He chuckled as he held up the tent's flap and ushered Nessa inside, playfully slapping her backside as she slipped past him.

Alistair sighed, trying to catch a glimpse of the little elf among the crowd of taller soldiers. "I thought she might want to be off on her own, especially after what you did."

Daveth shook his head, "You're an idiot - I just met the girl, and even I knew she wanted you to go with her."

"You really think so?" He shook his head, raking his fingers roughly through his hair, "You know, I'd have knocked you on your ass for manhandling her like that, but she beat me to it. Next time, I might not pull her off you."

"You can glare all you want, Warden, but it was worth it." As he rubbed at the stubble on his chin, a grin spread across his face. "Those few moments of trying not to piss myself were a small price for getting my hand on that ass." He wagged his eyebrows, "No offense mate, but I've better things to do than talk to you until Duncan gets here." Offering a wink, he ducked into the tent.

"You're a pig, Daveth." Heat rose in Alistair's cheeks at the sound of a feminine giggle coming from the tent. Daveth was probably right about one thing – it would be better if he stayed with Zoya as she moved through camp. He scanned the sea of soldiers once again, loosing a relieved breath once he spotted her on the edge of the mage's encampment.

It didn't take Alistair long to make his way to the elf's side. She stood transfixed by the Tranquil, her posture rigid and her jaw twitching. The color had drained from her face, her eyes glittering as if she were fighting back tears. But if the man was bothered by her reaction, it wasn't obvious. Alistair tried not to stare at the sunburst brand on the man's forehead, to focus on his eyes instead, but the emptiness there was just as disturbing.

The Tranquil stood among several large chests with a piece of parchment in his hand, staring impassively at the elf. "I do not recognize you. You are not of the Circle. What need do you have for lyrium?"

Zoya exhaled through clenched teeth. "I already told you! I'm a mage, but I don't belong to a Circle. I'm with the Grey Wardens."

The Tranquil cocked his head as he regarded Zoya, then shifted his eerie gaze to Alistair. "I was not made aware that the Grey Wardens had a mage among them. Has the Warden Commander provided you with the appropriate form, signed by a senior enchanter?"

Alistair took a deep breath, "The commander just returned to Ostagar, but he's with the king and Teyrn Loghain. I'm sure he'll speak with whoever he needs to as soon as he can. But in the meantime, I am preparing to take this Warden on a mission, and she requires lyrium."

Zoya offered a strained smile, "I'm sure if you find Wynne, she'll agree to give any approval you require. She's a senior enchanter, right?"

"That is not normal protocol." The Tranquil stared at Alistair for an uncomfortably long moment, "You are the ex-Templar. This will complicate your request." He shut and locked the only open chest, silencing the telltale blue glow of the lyrium inside. "I will speak to Senior Enchanter Wynne. Do not touch anything please." The man regarded them evenly before turning and walking away.

Alistair shuddered as he watched the stiff movements of the human. If the Tranquil made him uneasy, he imagined it would be worse for Zoya. What was she seeing in those icy blue eyes? As he turned toward her, he was surprised by the strange intensity of her gaze. He swallowed hard, "Umm… so what makes you think Wynne will sign for you to have lyrium?"

"It's a gamble, but I don't mean to leave here empty handed. I need your help." Her eyes swept the area before turning to see his tentative nod. "Great! I need you to stand right here…" Pulling him to stand between the chests and the camp, her cheeks reddened as she gazed up at him, her hands clenching his. She shook her head roughly as she released him, "Let me know if anyone comes this way."

"Wait! You're not planning on breaking into the chest, are you?" His eyebrows shot upward. He couldn't let her from steal from the Circle, could he? What would Duncan say?

Zoya knelt in front of the chest that the Tranquil had just locked. "Well… no planning or breaking here..." Her brow furrowed in concentration as she chewed her lower lip. "Umm… I really need to you to be on guard for anyone approaching. Besides, knowing you're watching me… well, it's making me nervous."

Peering at the lock on the chest, her fingers hovered over the latch for a moment. Alistair tried not to focus on what she was doing, but the tickle of magic drew his attention.

Light laced around her nimble fingers, sparks arcing between her hand and the latch. She gasped, "Andraste's flamey bits! It's not just a mechanical lock – the damned thing's been spelled. I don't think I can get this open without the key."

"Yeah, that might be for the best - the Tranquil is heading this way." His heart thudded. What would happen if the man caught them? "You never know – Wynne might have signed the form. And if nothing else, you can ask Duncan to go through the proper channels. And do you really need the lyrium?"

The elf rose to her feet, her hands smoothing over her hair as she took up a position by his side, a frown tugging at her lips. "I've used more magic in the last couple months than in the last few years, and my recent reliance on it has been more than I'm used to. But I'm guessing that's nothing compared to what I'll need to do. I'd hate to come up empty in a pinch."

"But isn't magic like any other combat skill – the more you use it, the stronger you get?" Alistair's stomach churned – nothing good came from a reliance on lyrium. It did things to you – a crippling addiction that destroyed even the most disciplined mind.

Her brow furrowed, "I don't think magic works that way – maybe you gain better control, but not raw power…"

The Tranquil settled back in his former spot, lifeless eyes shifting between Alistair, Zoya, and the chests, "Senior Enchanter Wynne was indisposed, and Senior Enchanter Uldred denied your request. He stated that no lyrium will be given until the proper paperwork from your commander, with assurances that the lyrium will not be used by the ex-Templar, is provided to him."

Zoya sighed, "Fine. Thank you for your assistance." She spun on her heel, striding in the direction of the kennels. She shot Alistair a curious look once he'd caught up to her, "You use lyrium?"

Alistair swallowed hard, finding it difficult to meet her gaze. "Me? No, but Templars generally do…" He could feel her peering at him, and when he met her gaze, he flinched at her narrowed eyes. Guilt sat heavily in his gut. Maybe she's right - I'm a terrible liar. But she asked if I "use" lyrium, so I'm not exactly being dishonest, right?

She sighed, "I didn't know - I thought only mages used it." Her hand snuck up to toy with the end of her braid as she craned her neck to see past the milling soldiers. "You don't suppose Duncan is back, do you?"

Alistair straightened, looking over the heads of the other soldiers. There was no sign of movement at the Warden's tent. "I don't see anyone at the camp."

"Oh? What happened to Nessa and Daveth?" Her eyes widened.

Alistair avoided her gaze, "When I left, they were…umm…in the tent."

"I see." Zoya sighed, her eyes focused on her twisting fingers. "I'm not like her, you know."

"What? Like who?" He shook his head in confusion.

"Like Nessa. I'm not a…" She took a deep breath, her cheeks turning pink, "A camp follower."

"Oh! Umm…" Alistair ran fingers through his hair, considering his next words, "I didn't think you were… Or that she was…"

"It doesn't matter." She waved a dismissive hand, a tight smile pulling at her lips. "Look, I have to ask you something. Were you ever involved in making a mage Tranquil?"

His jaw dropped, and his feet stumbled to a halt. As she stared up at him, his mouth went dry, the words sticking in his mouth. Her gaze was steady as she watched him fumble for the words. When they finally came, his voice was hoarse. "There are some things about being a Templar they don't tell you when you're first training, that you don't find out about until they stick you in the Circle. I'd heard about the Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility, but they don't tell you much other than you're helping the mages. But once I understood the truth, I knew I could never be a Templar."

He was hardly aware of the people streaming around them as her emerald eyes searched his face, her teeth nibbling at her lip. The thudding of his heart kept time, telling him it was still creeping by. As her face relaxed and the corners of her lips twitched upward, he released the breath trapped in his chest.

Offering a nod, she reached out to clasp his arm for a heartbeat before turning her feet back toward the king's kennels. "Are you coming?" She offered a soft smile when he nodded.

~oOo~

"He should have died with his master. He's swallowed too much of that filth. If you don't put him out of his misery, I will." The human stood with heavily muscled arms crossed over his breastplate, a scowl twisting his face.

"I won't do it, serrah." The grizzled human raised his voice to be heard over the snarling and barking coming from the kennels behind him. "He's a fine specimen of the breed. Should he survive, he'll make a valuable stud."

The armored man gestured into the kennel, "And what makes you think he'll survive. Look at him – he's more than half dead and mad with pain." As the large mabari at his side whimpered, the man reached down to ruffle his ears. "By the Void, I won't stand by while he suffers!"

"Yet he was strong enough to haul his master's corpse back to camp." The older human shook his head sadly as his fingers smoothed his moustache, "His unwavering loyalty to his master – that alone should be enough to make us fight for him to survive."

"And I say that's another reason we should put him down, as if his injuries weren't enough." His attention was drawn away from the kennel by a sharp bark from his canine companion. The dog was watching Zoya and Alistair's approach, its dark eyes unwavering.

Zoya's stomach churned, that intense gaze tugging at memories she'd hoped to keep buried. The imagined clamor came unbidden to her ears – the clanging of armor, humans yelling orders, the snarling and barking of their mabari, the screams of frightened elves. She clenched her eyes, reaching out in the dark for Shianni and Soris, breathing a relieved sigh when hands closed around hers.

A gentle voice cut through the din in her head, "Zoya, are you alright?"

Shaking her head, her eyes flew open to find the Warden standing in front of her, his fingers clasped in her bloodless grip. She peered past him at the large, brown hound. It regarded her with something that looked like curiosity, his broad head cocked and ears raised; the three human men had remarkably similar expressions. Her voice was hoarse as she pushed it past her lips, "Sorry, I… well, mabari and I…"

Any chance to explain was interrupted by the older human calling out to Alistair. The Warden replied with a friendly wave before turning his gaze back to Zoya, his eyes darkening with concern. "Are you going to be alright?"

Once she nodded, he gave her hands a small squeeze and released her.

"Ah, Warden – you're the answer to my prayers!" A grin spread across the older man's face.

"Ha! I don't hear that very often." Alistair chuckled. "What can I do for you, kennelmaster?"

"I'd be surprised if you'd ever heard that." The armored man rolled his eyes before turning back to his companion, "What do you think this pup will be able to do for you? Jan's a lost cause-"

"Good to see you again, Hawke." Alistair offered a smile, one that didn't reach his eyes as the muscles along his jaw twitched.

"Who's Jan?" Zoya shook her head in confusion.

"Please forgive such poor manners, m'lady. Perhaps introductions are in order." He strode toward her, bowing as he took her hand, "My name is Hawke, and my furry companion here, the canine one, is Fenrir. And this is Peter, the king's kennelmaster."

"M'lady." The moustached man bowed his head, "Are you another Grey Warden by any chance?"

"Not yet. I'm just a recruit. Alistair's the real Warden here." She tried to keep her smile friendly as she slipped her hand free, "My name is Zoya, and I guess you already know Alistair."

Hawke chuckled, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Zoya. Alistair… well, he and I are well acquainted. I'm still waiting on that twenty silver you owe me from that game of Wicked Grace the other night, by the way." He focused his white-toothed smile on Zoya, "And while I hate to correct you, I think it might be a stretch to call your companion a Grey Warden."

Zoya's brow furrowed, and she chanced a glance at Alistair as she heard the leather of his gloves creak. Why wasn't he saying anything to defend himself?

His jaw muscles clenched, as if he was biting back words, before he plastered on an empty grin. "Ha! That's odd... I must have grabbed the wrong clothes this morning. I could have sworn 'Warden Alistair' was stitched on there somewhere." He turned his back toward Hawke, "As I was saying, what can I do to assist you, kennelmaster?"

Hawke ignored Alistair's attempt to redirect the conversation, seemingly determined to rile him. "You see, m'lady, the Grey Wardens are out there day and night, fighting darkspawn alongside the king's soldiers, alongside us Ash Warriors. But your Warden has somehow managed to stay out of the fighting."

Alistair crossed his arms as he leaned against the pen, "But the heroic Hawke is going to defeat this Blight all on his own, right? It's probably for the best I'm under orders to stay with the recruits - I'd hate to get in the way."

"We all have our parts to play, serrah," Zoya cut in. "I'm sure there's plenty of darkspawn to go around. We'll be sure to give them your regards when we're in the Wilds this afternoon." A ball of fire built in her belly, and she crossed her arms to try to tamp it down. "What in the Maker's name is an Ash Warrior, anyway?"

"I meant no offense, m'lady." Hawke clapped Alistair on his shoulder, "It's just a bit of good-natured ribbing – right, Alistair?"

"Sure. My sides are splitting." Alistair rolled his eyes as he shrugged off Hawke's hand, "Ash Warriors are mercenaries of a sort – I'm surprised you haven't heard of them, Zoya. They fight alongside their mabari-"

"We're no mere mercenaries." Hawke's eyes glittered and he leaned toward Zoya, his voice taking on a tone similar to the priests speaking their Chant. "Our skills have been passed down through the generations, since Luthias the Dwarfson first harnessed the battle-rage of the dwarves – we can't fall in battle until our last foe has been defeated. We trust our hounds with our lives, as our hounds trust us with theirs, and we pair for life." He shook his head, a scowl twisting the deep scar that crossed his cheek and forehead. "This is why it is a kindness to let Jan follow his master to the Maker's side."

"I disagree, serrah. I believe if the mabari had wanted to pass with his master, he wouldn't have come back to the camp." The kennelmaster turned to Alistair with a hopeful smile, "And this is where I could use your help, Warden. If you muzzle the mabari, I can treat his wounds. I would muzzle him myself, but I fear he's been infected with darkspawn corruption."

Zoya approached the kennel rising up on her toes to peer over the fence. Her breath caught as she caught sight of the hound. Much of the enormous mabari's black and silver brindle coat was darkened by blood. He lay on his side, his barrel chest heaving, broken arrow shafts shifting with each labored breath. Even in his weakened state, he still had fight left in him - his mouth was pull back into a snarl, the noises breaking free more like growls than whimpers.

"His name is Jan?" She swallowed hard, fighting back the bile rising from the scent of darkspawn filth and the hound's opened belly. "And how do you intend to treat his wounds? Or the corruption? He's beyond simple healing potions."

A bleak laugh fell from Hawke's lips. "He was named after his master's first wife. Willem used to say she was larger and more vicious than she had any right to be, just like this mabari."

The lines deepened in Peter's face as he regarded the hound, "The mabari were bred by mages, and are tougher and more resistant to the corruption. Given the right potions and a will to survive, I can help him."

Zoya spun toward the kennelmaster, "Wait… you know of a potion to help against darkspawn corruption?"

The human shifted his gaze between Zoya and Alistair, "Yes, it's an old recipe, made from a flower that grows throughout Ferelden, a white blossom with a blood-red center-"

"You mean Andraste's Grace?" Zoya shook her head. She'd seen her mother use those flowers in a potion, but she never knew what it was for. Could it be she knew its uses? "Can you make it? And others, maybe for healing? Would you be willing to provide these potions to the Wardens."

The human stroked his moustache, "I can. How about a trade – you muzzle the mabari, and I'll give you a dozen potions?"

Her stomach churned at the thought of getting in the pen with the growling dog. She took a calming breath - there was more at stake than getting a few teeth marks. "And if I brought back Andraste's Grace and elfroot from the Wilds and healed the hound's injuries? Would you give me the recipe for this darkspawn corruption potion?"

"How would you…" He whistled, his eyes widening, "You're a mage? I would provide you as many potions as I can. And I can give you the recipe, although there's been no proof it works on any but mabari."

Hawke gaped at her for a moment before he recovered his voice. "Are you insane? Jan's not in his right mind. A tiny thing like you - he'd snap you in half."

Alistair gripped her shoulders, "Zoya, I know you think we need those potions, but it's too great of a risk. Duncan would never allow it-"

"Duncan would probably want to stop me." She offered a crooked grin, "But he'd realize that I'm going to do it anyway, so he might as well help. So what'll it be? Are you going to try to stop me, or are you going to help?"

Alistair exhaled, a ragged sound, and peered into the kennel. "What do you want me to do?"

A/N: Love and thanks to my brilliant beta, Eve Hawke, my lovely and talented beta sister, Etaine M., my readers and reviewers, and all those who have favorited and/or followed this story. Thank you! *hugs and smooches*