Thank you to WellspringCD for beta reading duty and to everyone who continues to read and comment.

Alistair struggled out of a very deep sleep. He felt the familiar early-morning ache in his groin and shifted slightly, trying to ease it. His mind in that pleasant place between sleep and waking. Something firm pressed against his groin and he moaned softly. Oh, Andraste's flaming sword! That feels gooooood. Unconsciously, his hips began to move.

When Fearghal woke, the first thing he was aware of was a dozen hammers beating a tattoo on the inside of his skull. The second thing was that someone seemed to have inflated his tongue and filled his mouth with fur. The third thing was that he was pinioned by a heavily muscled, arm, a large hand resting against his chest; he was encased by a warm, solid body; soft, steady breaths tickled the back of his neck; a large, very hard erection was pressed against his backside.

"Oh, Maker!" he groaned, his voice thick and rusty. "Tell me I didn't! Not with the Chantry boy."

Carefully, Fearghal lifted the blanket that was draped over him and looked down. He was relieved to see that he was wearing his small clothes. He fervently hoped that Alistair was too. The body folded around Fearghal's back stirred slightly; the erection twitched and began to rub slightly against his arse; a soft moan whispered behind his ear.

"Alistair!" a voice hissed.

Alistair tried to ignore the voice. It sounded cross with him. Maybe if he pretended he hadn't heard it, it would go away.

"Alistair!" the voice hissed again, a little more loudly.

It wasn't going to go away. "Wha'?" he mumbled.

"Get your cock away from my arse!" snarled Fearghal.

Alistair felt like somebody had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He had probably never woken up so completely, in such a short space time, in his life. As his brain processed the words, it also made him aware of the fact that his body was wrapped around Fearghal like a blanket. He ignored the part of his brain that was telling him it felt very, very good. He scrambled backwards, desperate to put some space between himself and the other man. As he did so, Fearghal rolled onto his back, then clutched his head, groaning softly.

Fearghal glanced up at Alistair, who appeared to have been frozen to the side of the tent. The look on his face was a mixture of horror and terror; he was blushing so hard, he was almost puce. His eyes were glazed and his mouth was opening and closing like a hooked fish.

"I-I... oh, Maker... was asleep... I wasn't... I didn't mean...I-I..."

"Alistair!" snapped Fearghal.

Alistair's eyes snapped back into focus. "What?"

"Shut up and piss off," said Fearghal, trying not to wince at the sound of his own voice.

Alistair fumbled around and found a pair of breeches. Not caring if they were his or Fearghal's, he wriggled into them and scrambled out of the tent.

~o~O~o~

"Thanks." Alistair gratefully accepted the mug of tea that Bennet passed him. The sky had been only just beginning to lighten in the east when Fearghal had evicted him from the tent. He'd paid a visit to the latrine and then washed up as best he could in the stream. He'd hung around awkwardly, shivering in the cool air of the dawn clad in only his breeches, before he'd heard movement in Bennet's tent.

When Bennet had crawled out of his tent, yawning, he'd given Alistair an odd look. "Aren't you cold, lad?"

Alistair had shrugged miserably. "I think he's gone back to sleep," he said, jerking his head towards the tent he'd shared with Fearghal. "I-I... er... needed to use the latrine."

Bennet accepted this explanation without comment and disappeared off to the latrine himself.

When he returned, Bennet produced a kettle and busied himself making tea. He took the opportunity to show Alistair how to get a camp fire going and set the kettle over it. Alistair huddled gratefully by the fire.

Bennet looked at him curiously. "Why's his nibs call you 'Chantry boy'?"

"I was training to be a templar... before I became a Warden," explained Alistair.

"Ah," said Bennet. "You shouldn't let him give you a hard time, you know."

Alistair frowned. He got the impression that Fearghal might just kill him, if the mood took him. "He's a little... volatile."

Bennet sighed. "It might be hard for you to see right now, but he's actually a good lad." He chuckled softly. "He was always a bit...I dunno... wild is too strong a word." His face crumpled, creased with concern. "I've never seen him like this though. Like I said, grief takes folk different ways."

"He mentioned his father died recently," said Alistair, thinking back to the Joining. "He hasn't said much else and I couldn't ask, of course." Seeing Bennet's look, he explained, "It's a Warden thing. When you become a Warden you leave your old life behind. It's not done to ask a brother about his past."

"I see," said Bennet, passing Alistair a mug of tea.

"Thanks."

Bennet poured a mug for himself and a third, which he set to one side. He crawled over to the tent where Fearghal was still sleeping and stuck his head inside. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to rise and shine," he announced cheerfully.

"Get lost, Bennet, and just let me die in peace," came the mumbled reply.

Bennet laughed. "You come out here and make me, you big jessie. If you can't handle the hangover, you shouldn't be supping in the first place."

Bennet back away from the tent, calling, "I've brewed, lad. Come and get your tea 'cos I'm not bringing it in to you."

Bennet picked up a steaming mug of tea and sipped it carefully, smacking his lips in satisfaction. When there were no signs of movement inside the tent he winked at Alistair and called out, "Shift yourself, Fearghal. If I have to come in there and get you, you'll regret it."

He was answered by a string of muttered curses, but Fearghal could be heard stirring in the tent. Moments later he emerged, wincing at the sunlight, looking distinctly green. Bennet took one look at him and flung out his arm, pointing. "Latrine's that way."

Fearghal staggered off.

While he was gone, Bennet set some porridge going.

Alistair watched him admiringly. "You certainly seem to know what you're doing."

Bennet nodded, smiling. "Oh aye. Been out on patrol often enough, over the years. It's always easier to camp out than waste time looking for an Inn you might not find before dark. And there was the rebellion, of course."

"You fought in the rebellion?" Alistair asked.

Bennet chuckled. "I did. I were younger than you, mind. Only sixteen."

Bennet looked up as Morrigan joined them. "Tea, Miss?" he asked.

"I'll make my own," said Morrigan, producing a pouch of crushed, dried leaves. She shook some out into a mug and poured hot water on top of them.

Fearghal returned, looking pale. Bennet passed him a mug of tea. "There you go. Porridge'll be ready shortly."

Fearghal turned slightly green. "I really don't think... "

"It'll settle your stomach. Drink your tea," Bennet told him firmly.

Alistair hid a small smile as Fearghal raised the mug to his lips, slopping the tea slightly, his hand trembling.

~o~O~o~

Breakfast over, they started to break up their small camp.

"Er... good morning."

The red-haired Chantry sister smiled at them. Only she didn't look like a Chantry sister any more. She was clad in leather armour, two daggers at her hips and a longbow and quiver slung across her back.

"I'm sorry; I'm later than I meant to be. I was afraid I'd missed you."

Fearghal, only half in his armour, stared at her frowning. "Uhm... who are you?"

The sister looked uncertain. "I'm Leliana. I came to see you last night? You said I could come with you."

Fearghal looked at her doubtfully. "I did?" He looked across at Bennet, who nodded.

"You did," confirmed Bennet.

Fearghal sighed. "Very well." He looked at the pack Leliana had brought with her. "I don't suppose you've brought your own tent?"

Leliana shook her head apologetically.

"You'll have to share with Morrigan then."

At this news, the witch groaned.

"Look! I'll get some more tents as soon as I can find some," snapped Fearghal irritably. "I'm not that keen on sharing either," he growled, glaring at Alistair, who blushed furiously.

With Leliana helping, it didn't take long to get everything squared away and they were soon heading out of Lothering.

"Maker's breath! Would you look at the size of him!" gasped Bennet.

Trying not to move his aching head too fast, Fearghal looked over at where Bennet pointed. Hunched in a metal cage was the largest man Fearghal had ever seen; even bigger than Bennet. For a more normal-sized man the cage would have been cramped, but Fearghal wasn't sure how they'd even got this prisoner into the cage. He was too tall to stand up straight but the cage wasn't wide enough to let him squat down properly either. Fearghal wasn't sure he... it... was even a man; his colouring was strange. The man's skin was dark, yet his hair was pure white, the contrast startling.

"What is he?" breathed Alistair, almost struck dumb.

"He said he was a Qunari, "Leliana informed them.

Fearghal racked his brains, trying to recall what he know of the Qunari. "From the north, right?"

"That is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn," pronounced Morrigan.

Fearghal remembered the caged prisoner at Ostagar and shuddered.

"If you can't see a use for him," Morrigan continued, "I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

Fearghal stared at the prisoner. The Qunari were supposed to be great warriors; equipping him might prove tricky, due to his size, but it was certainly worth considering.

Leliana cleared her throat. "The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children."

Fearghal stiffened, then strode over to the cage. He glared up at the Qunari, who gazed down at him impassively, his eyes a strange muddy colour, almost violet.

"It is as she says," he said quietly, obviously having heard the whole conversation.

Although repulsed by the prisoner's crime, an image of Oren hovering at the edge of his mind, Fearghal found himself unexpectedly impressed with the man's admission of his guilt. He'd expected the man to deny his crime, or try to justify it. Instead, the man calmly admitted his guilt, offering no excuses.

Alistair watched Fearghal staring up at the giant in the cage. "Please tell me you're not thinking of bringing him with us," he groaned.

"I take it you wouldn't approve, Alistair?" Fearghal's voice was cold and hard.

"Approve? No, it's not the word I would have chosen," said Alistair sarcastically.

"So we leave him here to be torn apart by the darkspawn?" Fearghal grinned wolfishly, warming to his theme, as he took in the distaste on Alistair's face. "I wonder," he mused aloud, "just how many darkspawn he could take down if we gave him a sword and pointed him at the horde, before he was overwhelmed."

"Pointed him at... ?" Alistair's incredulity gave way to disgust. "He's a murderer," he pointed out, an edge of anger creeping into his voice.

"Murderers and thieves... perfect Grey Warden fodder. I'm sure Duncan would have been thrilled with him." He glanced up at the prisoner. "Do you have a preference?" he asked the giant. "Death in a cage, at the hands of the darkspawn, or death fighting darkspawn?"

"You are a Grey Warden, then?" asked the prisoner, his impassive facade giving way to curiosity.

"I am."

"My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill... " he looked Fearghal up and down, "though I suppose not every legend is true."

Fearghal laughed. "What can I say? You just can't get the staff these days, what with the Blight and all."

The prisoner ignored Fearghal's sarcasm and stared at him thoughtfully. "To die fighting darkspawn would be a good death."

Fearghal snorted. "You're not the first person I've heard to say that. I'm unconvinced myself, although I daresay I'll find out soon enough."

He looked at Leliana. "Would the revered mother release him into my custody?"

Leliana shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted."

"Perhaps," said the prisoner, "if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

Fearghal looked round; there was no-one else nearby. "Bennet, if Morrigan freezes the lock, can you bust it open?"

Bennet looked doubtful. "I can try, but do you think... "

Fearghal ignored Bennet's protests and nodded at Morrigan. Morrigan smiled gleefully and gestured at the lock, coating it in ice. Bennet sighed, then picked up one of the rocks that was lying around the cage and struck the lock. It took several hard blows before the lock broke and Bennet was able to pull the door to the cage open. He helped Sten out of the cage.

"Let's move, before anyone notices he's gone," ordered Fearghal, heading up the road.