A/N: I had a very interesting review concerning the social impact of someone being fey (homosexual). For clarification, this story will be AUish so some aspects of Thedas are going to differ from the game, as indicated by our mysterious spirit Wolves. However, for this story, only Ferelden is depicted as a nation that is very suppressed in anything involving sexual matters (this includes both hetero and homo; but the latter, the treatment is much worse) and is in the slow process of accepting any blatant displays of affection. Think of the Victorian age in England. This is why Zevran says in one of his banters with Alistair that 'You Fereldens are so finicky.' All other countries, most prominently Orlais and Antiva, have no problems with it and are in fact very open about it.

Other than that, here are the review responses:

Nevyn: As mentioned in the A/N, this story is a little bit AU, in which Ferelden is the only country that has problems with talking and seeing PDA, especially from same sex relationships. By the time I looked into Dragon Age wikia, the story was pretty much all set up with all eight chapters posted. Also, this social issue plays a very important role in my story.

Exwaiz and Alasse Telrunya: Awesome! As indicated by my interjection of our favourite line from Dr. River Song in Doctor Who, I am a big fan of the British TV show. It's so friggin' awesome! Have you watched the latest episodes of season 6? It's pretty intense isn't it? Can't wait for the next episode! Woot!*

A bashful kid: No problem! :D I like hearing suggestions from other readers and want to give them credit for it whenever I include them in the chapters. And yes, that does sound like a very good idea! Oh man, I'm getting such a big nosebleed from envisioning Hadrian being in 'heat' and getting claimed by an Alpha Alistair. Besides, the High Lord of the Wolves has big plans for the both of them. Happy reading!

YoshisSupport: I have always wondered how and why Flemeth rescued them. When I was getting to the Landsmeet part, it came to me as a 'duh, how could I miss that?' Flemeth is not the main villain in this story, but she is an uber boss for our lovely DA crew to fight against. Question is how and when.

Thanks for new readers: Nevyn, exwaiz, praswit, and Tundra17

Huge, Alistair-sized hugs to my faithful followers!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

CHAPTER 17: SEEING YOU WITH EYES CLOSED

-o0o-

True to Morrigan's words, Alistair was awake and pacing the room the next day. Already, the Warden was driving her crazy; his heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and Morrigan wondered how Hadrian could still sleep through all that. There were moments throughout the day that she wished she was in Hadrian's spot. At least, in the Fade, Alistair would just go away, along with his annoying pacing.

She tolerated it in the first hours of the morne until finally, around lunch time, she couldn't take it anymore. The last pacing was so heavy that it knocked over her bowl of soup, the hot liquid landing in her lap. She let out a shriek, not of pain but of great annoyance, and threatened Alistair that he could pace the room quietly, either as a man or as a toad.

The word 'toad' got his attention and he ruefully nodded his head in agreement. He took one last look at the sleeping occupant in bed and then promptly left the room, leaving Morrigan to her thoughts.

When he got outside, Alistair noticed that despite what had happened, not much had changed in the area surrounding Flemeth's hut. Perhaps Flemeth had used her magic to shield the area from the harmful effects of the Taint and its carriers, the Darkspawn. Trees of various species still stood tall and unbroken. Since it was the fall season, the forest was quite colourful. Hues of orange, brown, and red, dazzled his eyes and the Templar had to blink and refocus his eyes before gazing at the autumnal display. The sky was rather blue and quite clear. The only clouds he could see were off in the distance, much closer to the horizon than they should be for midday.

The hut was set at the bottom of a small hill that sloped gently upwards on a gradual embankment. Considering how deep in the Wilds they were in, it was very astonishing to not see any signs of wildlife. The unearthly silence disturbed the Templar and he suddenly realized that what he was seeing outside was an illusion of some sorts.

As a templar in training, he was taught by the Revered Mother and her sisters that mages were exceptionally dangerous due to their ease of manipulating the four senses of being: taste, touch, sight and hearing. If a spell could control any one of them or is a combination thereof, then the victim can be controlled as well. The illusion was a gentler alternative to blood magic, a forbidden field favoured by the Tevinter Magisters and by apostates.

Seeing the wildlife as a blank canvas but hearing the trees move in a wind that really was not there made him think that perhaps Flemeth wanted to control the two Wardens, not just the Darkspawn. However, he didn't really want to think that the old witch would snoop so low as to kill them just when she went to all that trouble in rescuing them in the first place.

Speaking of which, where had that old woman gone? He only saw Morrigan in the hut as from the moment of his waking to this current one, he hadn't seen not even a wink of that silver head. Then again, as of now, he didn't really want to see anyone. If Flemeth was so powerful, then why hadn't she appeared to help them out at the Battle of Ostagar? She certainly had known about the scrolls of the Warden Treatise, which means she should have knowledge of the Blight .

Should, should, should. All this thinking of the what-ifs was driving him crazy and he was getting a major headache.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

He knew one thing for sure and that it was up to him and his fellow Warden to tackle the Blight, before it reaches the King's Seat and other nations.

Grief overwhelmed him then and the forest started to waver in front of him, blurred by watery tears. A few hours after he woke up, Morrigan had flat out told him what happened and she left out no details in her neutral account of Ostagar.

"Your friends, the Wardens, were all killed by the time Mother got there, before she plucked you in her talons."

"And the King? What of King Cailan?"

"That handsome man? He's dead too."

She said it so nonchalantly, uncaring of the fact that it could have been his brother or any other relative who died there. He hated the way those golden eyes stared at him, as if trying to figure out why humans would cry over what couldn't change. Of course, she didn't know that Cailan was his half-brother but still, did the woman have no heart?

Thinking of his half-brother made him recall of that particular conversation they had before the battle and he realized that the pouch containing those items was gone. Since the witches had suffered the trouble of having to clean his body, even with his undergarments on, the pouch and the rest of his belongings must have been put aside somewhere. He was dressed in his smallclothes and armour but his weapon and shield were still in the hut, along with that pouch.

Perhaps he could look for it if his friend wakes up. 'No, not if, when he wakes up.'

His last memory of Hadrian was of seeing his pale visage covered in blood. Whose, he didn't know, maybe darkspawn or maybe it was his own. An arrow grazed his head at the beginning of that ambush but the adrenaline prevented him from falling into a stupor, one that would have outright had him killed. Although the time spent together was in battle, Alistair felt as if he'd known him before. He'd seen the man fight at the Summeremere Tournament five years ago but much has changed since that time.

The silver hair was still the same, the face was still the same, but Alistair sensed that something was different with Hadrian this time around

Perhaps Hadrian was hiding a secret of his own, just like him. He had meant to ask why the man was so hell bent on finding Fergus in the Kacori Wilds. Their mission was top priority though and even Hadrian had to abandon his search for this mysterious Fergus. Maybe one day, Hadrian will tell him. Not now. Alistair wasn't expecting his Warden to spill everything he had, especially after this, after that bastard's betrayal.

It hurt to think that Loghain was capable of even thinking of doing it much less actually committing the act. He had always worshipped the famous Hero of River Dane. As a little boy, one of his dreams was to shake hands with the man who supported King Maric, who helped his friend to route the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Now, now, he just wanted to see him hang or even better, kill him himself.

The templar was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear a door opening quietly outwards and a man gingerly walking out, rubbing his sore ribs with his hand.

"A-Alistair?" The voice was a little shaky, as if the man himself wasn't sure if he was still dreaming or not. Alistair hurriedly wiped his tears on his gauntlet, careful to not rub his eyes too hard. Satisfied that he wouldn't look like a blubbering, simpering fool, he composed himself and then turned to face the only survivor of Ostagar, someone other than him.

-o0o-

Hadrian knew that his fellow Warden would be mourning; he too felt grieved over lost comrades but the grief was all too quickly replaced by anger. He should have known that Loghain was up to no good. It was in his dark brown eyes, in his scent in fact. The man's body practically oozed a scent of wickedness and he should have acted on his instincts. However, his anger wouldn't help their situation at all. It would just turn it more unbearable than it already is.

Thus, as he approached Alistair, he opted to go into a relaxed posture, hoping it would help the other man. He called out his name to give the other man a warning and was disgusted with himself when his voice croaked, sounding weak.

The man turned at the sound of his voice and Hadrian felt his heart reach out to him at the sight of those blood shot eyes and the barely visible tear tracks on the man's cheeks. His face looked a little bit thin and worn down but that was to be expected in a recovery.

"You're finally awake," Alistair whispered. His eyes flickered down briefly before coming back to meet his own. "I was…I was getting worried."

"Morrigan told me what happened," Hadrian told his friend in a stronger tone. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Nothing you could have done." Alistair replied. Hadrian thought otherwise but felt it best to keep that matter of opinion to himself.

"There was nothing anybody could have done," an older person said in an assuring voice. Both men jumped a little, taken by surprise at the elderly witch partaking in their conversation.

The older witch walked out of the long shadows of the hut, an amused twinkle in her eyes. She gave a dry laugh and she was greatly amused to see two grown men jump at her voice. In her long years, one of the greatest sources of amusement for her was to see how many ways she could scare men, whether from out of sheer malice or just plain boredom.

"I...were you the one who rescued us?" Alistair asked, recovering more quickly from his shock than his friend.

"Yes. Though I dare say, I was almost too late." Her cold grey eyes stared at them and Hadrian could already see something going on in that head of hers.

"So, it's true, then?" Alistair's voice sounded strained and almost trembled.

Her eyes softened and for a moment, she appeared all the more of a caring old lady rather than a powerful Witch of the Wilds. Lines decorated her face, a sign of a turbulent life, and she gave them a small but sympathetic smile.

"Yes. But will that deter you from stopping the Blight. It should give you all the more reason to stop it."

"But how? We're the only Wardens left in all of Ferelden?" Alistair shook his head angrily. He was only made a Grey Warden seven months ago and had limited experience with fighting the darkspawn much less anything else. How in the Black City is he supposed to stop a Blight?

"Aren't you forgetting something, lad?" The old woman chuckled. "Didn't Duncan have you retrieve those treatise scrolls, the same ones I gave you?"

"Yes," Alistair mumbled, his face scowling at the thought that he left everything back at Ostagar, including those scrolls.

"They weren't lost. In fact, this young man had it with him," she regarded Hadrian with piercing gray orbs and Hadrian nodded in affirmation to her conclusion.

"Duncan asked me to keep it with me at all times," Hadrian replied. "They're with my belongings."

"Even with the treatise, there's no way we can gather an army in time, not with Loghain at our backs!"

"Giving up so easily? I thought the Grey Wardens were made out of stronger stuff than I'm currently seeing. Perhaps I should have left you at that tower."

"No," Hadrian rebutted, and for a moment, his eyes glowered before going back to their normal blue colours. He's an abomination! But how? Flemeth must look into this. She must. If this man truly is an abomination, her Goddess must be informed. If Hadrian was a mage, she would have understood the implications of it; however, never in recorded history has an abomination be a plain male, with no magical abilities at all, not even through his family line. This was truly a curious development.

"We'll stop the Blight and Loghain in the process." Hadrian's voice was firm and his determination seemed to reassure the other Grey Warden that perhaps not all was lost after all. Alistair's back straightened and there was something else etched on the man's face. When Hadrian saw it, he realized that it was hope. He prayed to the Maker that he would never live to see the day that hopeful look fall into something of despair and loss again, much like his own face.

-TBC-

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