(Thank you all for the kind words so far. It's very interesting to see which characters people seem to be gravitating towards. After all, just because I'm not picking favorites doesn't me you can't. ;) )

17. Fetch

"So what do you think his story is, eh?"

Finian stumbled over a root and nearly fell into a ravine, but caught himself against a tree. Give him a busy market full of merchant stalls and running kids, and he was nimble as any given acrobat… but stick him in a forest, and he became more prone to falls than Shianni after one too many drinks. "Whose?" he asked distractedly.

"The noble's." Daveth, on the other hand, navigated the woods like he'd been born here. According to him, that wasn't far off the mark.

Finian glanced up at the human between watching his steps on the muddy earth. "You think he's a noble?"

"Don't you?" Daveth glanced back, smirking. "I'd think someone of your talents would be able to smell it on him, same as me. He's just got that… 'I got me a right heavy purse' quality."

Finian snorted. "I don't do much smelling. Learned better than to use my nose, growing up in Denerim." Daveth laughed. "Me, I work with words. A guy says 'hello' to me, and I'll be able to tell his temperament, his motivations, his mother's first name, and his favorite kind of Orlesian pastry. But Percival doesn't talk… so, alas, it seems I will never know whether he prefers croissants or crème puffs."

Daveth chuckled as he skirted them around a rock fall.

The two were out hunting in the woods, trying to catch dinner. Or rather, Daveth was hunting (he had two rabbits already swinging from his belt), while Finian fumbled about with his new shortbow in a way that may have been considered shooting if one were blind, drunk, and had never seen a bow before. Finian's new leather armor kept creaking, too, and he found that disconcerting.

He was used to passing through thick crowds, completely unseen and unheard. A creaky armor-wearing bow-wielding elf was very likely to draw attention. At least he still had his daggers at his wrists, though Duncan had stopped at the last town to have a proper pair of wrist sheaths fashioned for him, complete with a spring mechanism that made them pop out when he needed them.

The sheaths were small and unobtrusive enough to fit under a reasonably loose shirt, too. Duncan would have had to order that special, to make that work, as if he knew Fin would need to be secretly armed while in plainclothes in the future. Duncan played all cool and unassuming, but he was wily when he needed to be.

As they walked, looking for game to stir up, Finian's mind turned toward their fourth companion. Percival did sort of have that noble look to him, Fin supposed. His equipment was certainly nice enough, and that crest on his shield was one Finian had seen before, on the liveries of some servants who worked the various Denerim noble estates.

Thing was, Finian couldn't name which crest that was. The pickpocket had never really bothered to pay attention to the differences between the nobility; he tended to chalk them up as being cut from the same wealthy, arrogant, casually racist stock.

Then again, he knew from personal experience that some nobles could be much, much worse.

"You've gone a bit quiet, friend. You all right?"

Finian shook his head to clear it. "Yeah. Just trying to think, and that's hard enough for me without navigating a forest while doing it."

"Oh, wait, are we 'navigating' now? Honest, I was just walking us around in circles."

Finian laughed and threw a rock at the human. It bounced off his leather pauldron.

"Oh, you got me, you did!" Daveth made to stumble forward, clutching his shoulder with an over-empathetic groan. "I'll never be able to shoot a bow again! Actually, I think I'm dying!" Daveth collapsed on the ground with a cry of "Oh woe!" Finian doubled over laughing. "At least my death was by a mighty foe, slain by a foul rock beastie!"

Daveth fell limp in the dirt, letting his tongue loll out for good measure. Finian managed to collect himself. Grinning, he nudged Daveth in the ribs with his boot.

Daveth cracked an eye open. "What do you think? Too much?"

"I think… you just scared off all the game with your awful acting."

"What? No encore, eh?" He chuckled and sat up, dusting himself off. "Just as well. I'm right sick of rabbit stew for dinner."

"You prefer biscuits and jerky?" Finian helped pull Daveth to his feet. "Then it sounds like the army's the right place for you to be headed."

"Cripes, the army." Daveth shook his head to himself as they started back to their camp. It was getting pretty close to sunset anyway, so they would have had to turn back soon as it was. "Can you believe you and me are going to be in the bloody army? How in Andraste's armpit did that happen?"

"The question is, does it say less about us, or about Duncan for recruiting us?"

Daveth laughed. "Fair bet you don't want to mention that to him, eh?"

"I might, just to see his reaction."

"All I can say is be careful. That old bugger's a fair bit faster than he looks. Bet he knows how to wield those blades on his back, you mark me."

"That's me, tempting fate with tongue wagging." Finian slipped down a sandy slope, but recovered at the bottom without actually having fallen down. A fair bit of fancy footwork on his part, if he did say so himself.

Daveth laughed as he took a slightly rockier path to avoid the sand. "You know what I think the problem is? You're too bloody light. I don't know if it's because you're an elf or what, but your feet just seem to fall lighter. Makes the ground keep trying to fly out from under you."

"Huh. And to think, usually it works to my advantage."

"What, being light-footed or being an elf?"

Finian laughed. "You're obviously not an elf, asking a question like that."

This made his companion grow more somber. "That bad, is it?"

And that sucked all the fun from the atmosphere. Finian tried to keep it light. "It's not so bad, as long as you learn to come and fetch when told. And if you're real good, sometimes you get a cookie." Daveth shifted uncomfortably as they walked, and Finian poked him in the side. "You don't seem to mind, though."

"After what I saw you pull with the sergeant back in Denerim? I'd have been right out of it to mind." Daveth cast him a self-depreciating smile. "I do admit, though… I was a bit surprised when Duncan recruited you. It hadn't really occurred to me at the time that an elf could be a Grey Warden, though it made sense once I'd thought about it… Why not, right?" He glanced at Fin—gauging his reaction—and Fin smiled back to show he wasn't offended. "Besides, you were rather covered in blood at the time, so who was I to argue?"

"But if I hadn't been covered in blood, then you'd have let me have it, hm?"

Daveth seemed to be loosening up a bit. Finian was glad for it—he wasn't going to let a bit of shaky race relations get in the way of a potential friendship. "Oh, you're right I would have," Daveth said. "And Duncan too. 'Can't have a pickpocket better'n me on the team' I would've told him. What would be the point of me cutting purses if you then just pickpocketed the cut purses, eh?"

"Ooh, that does sound like a good system. Remind me to try that next time you cut Duncan's purse. You know, before he mows you down and cuts you into dozens of little Daveth pieces."

Daveth laughed as they crossed through the last foliage into camp. "Isn't that the truth?"

The Warden-Commander himself was getting the evening's fire started in the clearing they'd found off the road. He raised an eyebrow as they joined him, as if wondering whether he dared to ask what they'd been talking about. Duncan seemed to find it more prudent not to get involved in their conversations… preservation of sanity and all that.

Daveth settled down next to Duncan to start preparing the rabbits. Finian, meanwhile, started digging through the saddlebags that had been dumped a little farther away from the firepit. The mule they'd rented for the journey down to Ostagar was grazing lazily near the treeline.

The fourth member of their party sat on an overturned log some distance from the firepit, near the bags. As if Duncan had dumped him there at the same time he'd dropped the bags… which may not have been far from the truth. As usual, the human sat listlessly where he'd been set, staring at nothing and acknowledging no one. He ate when given food and followed directions well enough when setting up and taking down camp. But it was obvious his mind wasn't all there… and judging by the look in his eyes, wherever his mind was, it was a very dark place.

Percival's gigantic dog, Hugo, sat next to him, always the stolid sentinel. In the past couple days since leaving Denerim, Finian had watched the dog, and noticed that it guarded its master like it might an injured littermate. It never left his side, even as it watched its surroundings with the attentive eyes that its master lacked.

Daveth's question came back to Finian, then. What was the man's story?

What Finian had said was true; he had never heard the noble utter a single word. Even the names of both noble and hound had been provided by Duncan, so who was to say they were even correct?

Finian had always had a curious mind, so the idea of such a mystery intrigued him.

The dog was watching him, he realized. Those too-smart eyes studied him just like he was studying them. Finian blinked, startled, and the dog quirked an ear. Almost like it… he… was asking him a question. Just how smart was this dog?

There had been mabari hounds in Vaughan's estate. Fin worried if their deaths should weigh on his conscience too.

Finian pulled their cooking gear out of the saddlebags. When he pulled out a wooden spoon, he saw the dog twitch out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced up, and saw that Hugo was staring at the spoon intently, both his ears perked up. Then, the dog seemed to startle, and he looked back at his listless master. Slowly, his ears lowered again.

Hm, the dog had been sitting loyally by his master's side for at least two days, maybe longer. He had to be restless by now.

"You want to play, boy?"

The dog's head snapped around, and he stood in excitement, but then he seemed to recall himself and sat back down.

Finian waved the spoon around. "I'm sure your master won't mind."

The dog whined and looked at Percival again, and Finian realized that wasn't what he was worried about. "You're worried about him, huh? Well, I'm sure Duncan will protect him for a couple minutes."

"Volunteering my services, are you?" Duncan's voice sighed. "I suppose one of the reasons I recruited you was your boldness."

Finian stood and walked over to the dog. Hugo's tail wagged, and he watched the elf approach raptly. When Fin raised the spoon as if to throw, the dog jumped to his feet and barked happily.

The spoon sailed off into the forest, and the dog went streaking after it. He returned a moment later… but not with the spoon. Instead, he'd grabbed a fallen branch that was at least half as long as Finian was tall.

He laughed and did his best to heft the thing and toss it again. It didn't go far, but Hugo brought it back and he gave it another shot. By four throws in, Finian had perfected a technique that involved him spinning around in a circle and releasing the fallen branch mid-spin, sending it flying in a random direction. Between how often he fell to the ground, and the time he nearly clocked Daveth with it, he had almost as much fun as the dog.

Finally, as the sun was setting, the dog tired. Daveth tossed the dog half a rabbit, which he happily devoured. Duncan ladled out stew for everyone, and Finian took a bowl over to the noble's listless form.

"Thank you."

Finian nearly dropped the bowl. The voice was hoarse with disuse, and thick. The elf looked up and saw the noble's blue eyes looking at him—actually at him. Eye contact and all.

For the first time, Finian was struck by just how arresting those clear blue eyes were, and how, when he wasn't staring off listlessly into space, Percival was quite handsome, in a golden, chiseled-by-the-Maker-Himself way. However, that was, as ever, a thought best kept to himself.

"You're welcome, of course." Finian cracked a smile, trying to be encouraging to this new development, despite how his heart raced. "Can't have you starving before you've put at least one darkspawn away."

"Not… that." His hand reached out and tangled his fingers in the fur behind Hugo's ears. "I've been… unfair to him. Thank you."

Daveth was right: the man certainly had an aristocratic accent, though the cultured tone was marred by its emptiness. His tone was low and dead, handling speaking like one would a fine crystal ball: as if were he to inject any emotion into it, everything would crack and shatter.

Shianni had sounded a little like that, when she'd been fighting back tears.

Finian just held the bowl out to the noble, keeping the warm smile on his face despite the empathetic pain that twisted his gut. "It's no trouble. Guarding you is hard work, I suspect. I figured he could use a break."

The dog barked in agreement, and the darkness in Percival's eyes became perhaps a bit less all-encompassing. Then, the noble took the bowl and looked away, and he was gone again.

Finian watched the noble eat for a minute, just to make sure he did, and then headed back to the fire. He sat down, and Daveth handed him a bowl of his own.

As soon as he'd settled, Duncan sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I suspect that I should thank you as well." The commander smiled down at him softly, then nodded back in the noble's direction. "He will need a shoulder to lean on in the coming days. I would hate to lose one of such skill to his own grief."

"So it's grief, then?" Daveth asked softly. "For who? Who did he lose?"

Duncan shook his head. "I'm afraid it is not my business to say… although I suspect the both of you will find out soon enough." He stood. "Eat up. We've got a long road yet to Ostagar."