Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or Alistair. Which is sad, because there are so many things I could do with him if I did...

Author's Note: Back to Saturday uploads! Woo! This is probably my favorite chapter so far, mostly because I didn't have to look up any cutscenes and could just write. Did I mention before that this was going to be a DA:O/DA2 compilation story? No? Whoops! Up ahead - incredibly sweet Alistair and an unexpected guest character! /grin

Special thanks to Teakwood, my wonderful and patient beta, who doesn't hesitate to tell me when my writing is getting too insane. My slumps end much faster because of him.

Arcanum: Fatum

Chapter Five: Chance Meeting

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Despite Morrigan's knowledge of the Wilds and surrounding areas, the trek to Lothering proved to be longer and more hazardous than Yllia had prepared herself for. The Wilds were so heavily inundated with darkspawn now that the horde had breached Ostagar that avoiding confrontations was like attempting to smuggle a fresh catch of fish past a hungry cat. Yllia was still too new to being a Grey Warden to reliably be able to sense their presence, and while Alistair could usually get the warning out it appeared to work both ways – if Alistair could sense them, they could sense Alistair, and from the way the small ambushes came down upon them it seemed that Grey Warden was high on the menu these days.

Yllia was only a little envious that the darkspawn could make meals of Grey Wardens, but Wardens couldn't do the opposite.

Which went to show just how much Yllia's appetite had actually increased.

"When we get to Lothering," she said, walking alongside Alistair, "I am going to go to the first tavern I see, drop half of our coin, and eat anything they have on the menu. How can you not be starving?"

Alistair chuckled. "I've had six months to get used to my appetite," he replied. "You should have seen me when I first Joined, though. No one warned me about it – I'm sure they thought it would be great fun to see how I'd react."

Yllia sensed a story there. "What happened?" she asked with curiosity.

He looked sheepish. "I got caught with gravy all over my face and crumbs down the front of my shirt, tucked in the corner of the larder with a guilty look so wide-eyed I've been told I looked as if my eyes were about to fall out of my head."

"Oh my." Yllia quickly brought her hand to her mouth to hide the smile that she was failing to keep back. "That must have been quite a…sight."

"Yes, and now that I've got my appetite under control, it's not one you're going to be seeing any time soon," Alistair said firmly. "Instead it's my turn to watch you make a fool of yourself as you try to satisfy the beast in your belly."

"If I don't get something that isn't a rodent or a bird in the 'beast' soon, I might try to satisfy it with you," she said dryly, rubbing her stomach through her robes. It gave her an answering growl, and scowled a little. She was past being embarrassed by it – between Alistair's teasing and Morrigan's remarks, she'd learned the taper down her blushes. That didn't mean she didn't find her growing appetite inconvenient, however, and she wanted it to know that.

"Might want to check in with our guide on that one, then," Alistair said dryly. "We left the Wilds about an hour ago, but I don't see signs of a town or village anywhere. And the farms…" His voice trailed off, and Yllia pressed her lips together. They'd come across three abandoned farms now, no trace of life remaining at any of them – not even livestock. It had been impossible to know if their owners had simply relocated…of if the darkspawn were already reaching beyond the Wilds.

"Morrigan!" Yllia called up ahead, signaling the other woman, who was walking several steps ahead and at a pace faster than either Warden. Yllia quickened her pace to catch up with her, wishing not for the first the time that she had an extra foot of height so that she didn't have to work so hard to match Morrigan and Alistair's strides.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked when Yllia had caught up to her, not bothering to glance in her direction as Alistair caught up with them, trailing the two women.

"How much further do you think it is to Lothering?" Yllia asked. "Our food supplies are starting to run low."

"Yes, well, given the present company one should not be too surprised by that," Morrigan replied, her disdain clear in her tone. "To answer your question, we are still another day or two out from the village. I would suggest a hunt tonight if you are concerned about our rations. Or, if hunting is not to your taste, perhaps a stew of herbs and roots."

Yllia grimaced, recalling the meal that they'd had to swallow down that morning. After a disastrous attempt at letting Alistair cook their catch the night before, Yllia had gently but firmly taken over the cooking – but even she couldn't make elfroot and half-grown tubers into something palatable. "Hunting it is, then," she grumbled, wondering how they were going to manage this time. None of them were skilled in traps or snares.

A crash in the distance pulled her up short, tensing as she listened for anything further.

It came in the form of metal on metal, snarls and the baying of what was unmistakably an angry Mabari hound. Suddenly Alistair was moving past them, drawing his sword and raising his shield as he sprinted ahead. "Darkspawn!" he shouted over his shoulder, spurring Yllia and – surprisingly – Morrigan into pursuit.

Yllia saw them a moment later, as they rounded a bend. A band of seven or eight Hurlocks had two figures surrounded, flanking them on both sides and preventing a retreat. One of them was the Mabari that they had heard, his snarls and howls as he dug his teeth into the creatures sounding as his battle cries. Blood stained his dark fur, but it didn't appear to be his own – he moved unhindered, all lightning fast reflexes and sinewy muscle.

The other was human, a man no older than Yllia herself, his dark hair matted to the top of his head, his skin lined with cuts and bruises. A large gash ran from shoulder to elbow on one arm, but either he was ignoring the pain or he wasn't feeling it as he swung his massive greatsword with both hands, slicing one Hurlock in half and blocking another with the flat of his blade. He was good, but even from a distance Yllia could see that he was tiring.

She drew her staff and fired a bolt of energy at the back of the closest Hurlock, sending the creature off balance and into the ground and allowing the warrior the opportunity to drive his sword into its back for the killing shot. Alistair charged head first into the fray, holding the attention of their opponents while Yllia and Morrigan picked them off from a distance, the other warrior and the Mabari finishing off those closest to them.

Alistair knelt down and wiped his blade on the grass, ridding it of most of the blood and gore from the fight before sheathing it again. The younger warrior attempted to do the same, but the gash in his arm caused him to wince, limiting his mobility.

"Here," Yllia said, reaching into her pack and removing a poultice. She moved to him and affixed it into place on his arm, giving it a critical eye as she did so. "It's not as deep as it looks – is this an older wound? It looks half-healed."

He gave her a tired, crooked grin. "It is," he said. "I was injured while trying to get out of the Wilds. I took care of it as best as I could, but when you're running for your life it's hard to stop and pick up supplies on the way."

"You came from the Wilds?" Alistair asked, and then got a good look at the armor that he was wearing. "You're from the King's army!"

He nodded, a shadow falling across his face. "Yes," he said quietly. "One of the few who managed to get out when we realized reinforcements weren't going to be coming." He pressed his lips together. "Maybe it was cowardly to run, but…"

"Better to run and live, than to stay and die," Alistair cut in, his tone flat. Yllia looked at him in concern, but his eyes gave away nothing, no hint of what he was feeling or thinking. She suspected, however, that he was thinking about Duncan and the other Wardens, and his own guilt for having not been there to fight at their sides.

The two warriors looked at each other for a moment, and then the younger one's eyes widened slightly. "Wait… I know you! I saw you at the camp – you're a Grey Warden, aren't you?" Then he frowned. "But I don't remember seeing you in the battle…"

"We were on another mission," Yllia hurried to interject, sparing Alistair the task of answering. "When we realized that the battle was lost, we decided to try and get out of the Wilds instead. We're heading to Lothering now."

He seemed to accept her answer well enough, and his weary expression even perked a bit. "Lothering?" he repeated. "That's where I'm from – I'm trying to make my way back there, in fact. My family's there, and with the darkspawn so close I want to make sure they're all right."

Yllia looked at Alistair, and the appropriate response seemed obvious – enough so that they didn't even have to say anything before Morrigan let out a groan of exasperation. "Please do not tell me we are going to pick up every stray that we stumble across on the road?" she complained.

"What's one or two more?" Alistair asked cheerfully – Morrigan's disapproval virtually guaranteed his own agreement.

Yllia smiled, and then turned back to their new companion. "It'll be safer if we travel together then, since we're heading in the same direction. We don't have much in the way of spare supplies, but you and your hound are welcome to travel with us."

"My…" He blinked, and then looked down at the dog that was standing a little ways to the side. He pushed his hand through his hair. "Oh, he's not mine. I'm not sure who he belongs to. We just sort of ended up…heading in the same direction. I think he's been…hey!"

The dog suddenly gave a leap, nearly bowling him over as he lunged straight for Yllia. She only had enough time for her eyes to widen and her hands to come up in defense before she found herself flat on her back, eighty pounds of fur and muscle standing on top of her and…

Licking her?

"Hey!" Yllia laughed, reaching up to try and push back the dog. "Stop that! What are you doing? Down!"

The dog let out a bark and obediently moved back, tail wagging and ears pricked as he watched Yllia pick herself up off the ground.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked, moving to give her a hand, which she gratefully accepted.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "He just caught me off guard."

"I've never seen a Mabari act like that," Alistair said, shaking his head as he looked at the war dog. "They're usually more…reserved. Except around their masters."

Yllia looked the dog, and the dog looked at her – and suddenly her eyes lit up in recognition. "Wait – I know him," she said, kneeling down again and reaching out to pet his ears. "This is the Mabari that the Kennel Master was taking care of at Ostagar, the one I picked those flowers for. I thought for sure he would have died at the battle. The Kennel Master didn't hold out much hope for his recovery – he said that his master died in an earlier skirmish."

"Mabari usually only imprint on one person," the warrior said, watching them, "but they've been known to adopt a second master under unusual circumstances. If you helped save his life that would probably do it – he must have gotten free of the kennel and gone looking for you."

"Smart dog," Alistair said with a grin as the dog leaned into Yllia's ear-scratching.

"Must I repeat what I just said about strays?" Morrigan muttered.

"Oh, hush," Yllia admonished Morrigan with a smile, rising to her feet. "If he has imprinted on me, he'll just follow us anyway. I want him along." The Mabari let out a sharp bark and pranced on the toes of his paws, acting more like a puppy than a full-grown war dog.

She turned back to the warrior and extended her hand to him. "Since we'll be traveling together for a bit, we should introduce ourselves. I'm Yllia Surana, and my companions are Alistair and Morrigan."

He reached out the grasp her hand. "Carver Hawke," he replied, not bothering to hide the relief that he wasn't going to simply be abandoned. "And thank you – the company will be well appreciated, and I mean that in both the survival and the friendly sense."

"Are we quite done, then?" Morrigan cut in impatiently. "Because while talking about reaching Lothering is all well and good, unless we start moving our feet we shall never complete the journey."

Carver looked startled, and then looked at Alistair and Yllia as if to ask, 'Is she always like this?'

All Yllia could do with shrug, nod, and smile.

The sky was making the transition from pink to purple when they stopped to set up camp for the night, taking refuge in a clearing that had likely been pasture for a farm at one point, but was as abandoned as the rest that they had stumbled across. Morrigan wasn't thrilled about being so open and exposed, but they had long since passed out of the Wilds, and there was nothing but flat land as far as they could see.

By this point camp had become routine – they'd set up their tents and bedrolls first, and then either Yllia or Morrigan would tend to the fire, leaving the other to prepare a meal out of whatever they managed to scrape together. Luck proved to be on their side; with the help of the dog to chase them out of their burrow, Alistair and Carver managed to snare two decent-sized rabbits that could be split between the five of them. It was enough to take the edge off of Yllia's appetite.

Morrigan, of course, didn't share the meal with them – from the start she had kept herself apart, bedding down away from Yllia and Alistair, and with the two new additions to their ragtag group she appeared even less inclined to be social. The rest of them settled around the fire, keeping up casual conversation as they made short work of their improvised stews.

More than once Yllia noticed Carver casting a sidelong glance in the direction of her staff, which she had lying on the ground beside her, and she could read the questions in his eyes. But he never voiced them, and she opted not to approach the matter first – he'd seen her use magic against the darkspawn and it had effectively saved his life, so she would leave it up to him to determine if trouble should be made over it.

When they were all finished eating and the rest of their belongings stashed back into the packs, Carver retreated into one of the tents for the night and left Alistair and Yllia alone by the fire. The dog curled up next to Yllia, resting his head on his paws, and she absently reached out to run her hand along his broad back.

"You're going to need to come up with a name for him," Alistair commented after a moment of watching her.

"I know," Yllia replied, her eyes on the fire. "I want it to be the right name, though, so I'm going to think on it. I don't want to give him a name he won't like."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll like any name that you give him," Alistair said, and his light tone drew her gaze away from the flames and onto him. She met his eyes and he gave her a soft, slightly shy smile that she couldn't help but return. After a moment, though, he glanced away. "You should get some sleep. I'll take the first watch tonight."

Were his cheeks red, or was it just the reflection of the firelight on his skin?

It had to be the fire – it would explain the heat she felt on her own face as well. She quickly looked back to it.

But the reminder of sleep made her uneasy and she shifted, tucking her knees up under her chin and clasping her arms around them. "I'm not ready to turn in yet," she murmured. "I can take first watch if you want."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and when she dared to glance at him again she found his eyes fixed on her again. The intensity behind the gaze made her throat tighten, and she swallowed in an attempt to clear it.

"You're not sleeping well, are you?"

Yllia looked up, startled. Hastily she sought to cover her reaction, to compose herself and laugh off his question. "What gave you that idea?" she asked lightly. "Just because I'm not ready to sleep yet? The moon isn't even at its halfway point – there's still plenty of night left. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

She knew in a heartbeat that she hadn't convinced him – it was written all over his face. In the days since they'd departed for Lothering she had learned one very important fact about Alistair – he had no poker face. All his thoughts, his emotions, were laid bare for the world to see when he felt them, and she could see his concern and worry as clear as if she were actually reading his mind. Which she wasn't.

Again she thought of Jowan, and again she pushed those thoughts from her mind. Dwelling on things of the past would get her nowhere in the uncertain future that stretched out before her. Jowan had made her choices; she, hers.

"Is it the nightmares?" Alistair pressed, his gaze intent upon hers. She swallowed – those eyes of his had a way of disarming her, and she didn't know why. It was unnerving, but what was even more unnerving was that she had not yet figured out whether it bothered her or not. She'd kept most people at a distance her entire life; the number of true friends she'd had could be counted on a single hand, and all of them were now beyond her reach.

In response to Alistair's question she drew her legs to her chest a little more snugly. "…Maybe," she said softly. It was only a half-truth; the nightmares were the reason she didn't want to sleep, but not because they'd been disturbing her rest.

It was that she feared the archdemon's eyes upon her again.

"Alistair? When you have your nightmares – what do you see?"

His brow furrowed slightly. "What do I see?" he repeated. "Just…darkspawn, I suppose. And the archdemon, more recently. But I don't have them as often as I did when I first went through my Joining."

"What about…lights?" She brushed a few loose strands of hair back from her face. "Six white lights in the sky, just…hovering. I don't know what they are, and they don't do anything. They're just there."

"No…" Alistair drew out of the word slowly, contemplating it. He shook his head. "Can't say I've ever seen that in my nightmares. But not every Grey Warden experiences the same thing, and not every Warden has the same amount, either. For most, the nightmares go away after awhile." He looked back into the fire for a moment. "Until it's time for the Calling, at any rate."

"The Calling?" Yllia sat up straighter, tilting her head to one side. This was a term that he hadn't mentioned yet, and judging from his expression she had a feeling she wasn't going to especially like what he had to say.

Alistair sighed. "I wasn't sure how to go about telling you this part," he admitted. "There's a price to gaining the abilities that we get from mastering the taint. In exchange for the ability to sense them, the extra strength and senses, the ravenous appetite and the nightmares, we also get only about thirty years to enjoy them."

"Thirty years?" Yllia clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized how loudly she'd just spoken and glanced quickly at the tent that Carver had retired to. When there was no sound from within, she lowered her hand and hushed her voice. "What do you mean, thirty years?"

"I think I already told you that the Joining doesn't make us immune to the taint, it just takes longer to act?" Yllia nodded. "Well, on average it takes thirty years. Once a Grey Warden reaches that point, they start having the nightmares again…and they start to hear the same call that the darkspawn hear. The call of the archdemon. Eventually, it drives them mad, and then eventually kills them."

Yllia's throat tightened, and she stared at him. "Mad?" she whispered.

Alistair nodded. "Most Grey Wardens, though, don't wait for the insanity to set in," he said. "Instead they travel to the Deep Roads to embark on a tradition known as The Calling. They descend underground to live out their last days, seeking death at the hands of the darkspawn, and taking down as many of them as they can. A warrior's death on the battlefield, such as it is." He picked up a piece of tinder and chucked it into the fire, sending sparks dancing up into the air. "Duncan…was starting to have the nightmares again. He told me so, before the battle at Ostagar. I think he was hoping to hold them off until after the Blight, but…" His voice trailed off, the grief and sadness that he had been fighting back since they had left Flemeth's hut coming to the surface once again.

"He died a warrior's death against the darkspawn," Yllia said softly. Although she hadn't been there, she knew that Duncan would have gone down fighting. She'd known him just long enough to know that to do otherwise would go against his very nature. "I'm sure that's what he would have wanted."

"I suppose." Alistair took a deep breath, and then slowly released it. "You know…if it weren't for Duncan, I'd probably be a Templar right now, trapped by the confines of the Chantry and addicted to lyrium. I didn't want it, but I had no other option…nowhere else to go. The Revered Mother didn't want to give me up, either – Duncan had to use the Rite of Conscription.

"Becoming a Grey Warden was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. It gave me purpose in a life where I thought I had none. Even the disadvantages don't outweigh the good of the cause – and if you ask me, the duty of the Grey Wardens is far nobler than that of the Order. If I had to make the choice all over again, I wouldn't hesitate. And I'm not going to…to let losing Duncan and the other Wardens hold me back. I'm going to keep fighting. For them, and for me."

He paused suddenly, and looked to his left. Yllia had moved while he'd spoken, coming around to his side of the fire and settling down next to him. Alistair couldn't hide his surprise when she placed her hand on his arm.

"I think Duncan would be proud to hear you say that," Yllia said, giving him a gentle smile. "He'd want us to continue the fight – and that's what we're going to do. We'll find the Arl of Redcliffe, we'll use the treaties, and we'll do whatever we have to do in order to stop the Blight."

"Or die trying? "Alistair asked in a failing attempt at humor.

"We're not going to die." The two of them fell silent, simply looking at each other for several moments. Alistair was distinctly aware of their closeness, of her hand on his arm – he swore he could feel the heat of her touch through the metal of his gauntlet. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly going dry.

Then she pulled back her hand. "I think I'm going to try and sleep now," she said. "You're still all right taking first watch?"

Whatever the moment had been passed, and Alistair took a deep breath and nodded. "Not a problem," he said.

"Okay." And then, before he could say anything, she shifted and stretched out on the ground, her head resting on his leg like it was a pillow. He froze, staring down at her.

"Ah…Ylllia…?"

She closed her eyes, her body visibly relaxing. "Please?" she murmured. "I don't...want to try to sleep alone right now." She couldn't hide the tremor in her voice.

And Alistair didn't have the heart to object. Looking down at her, she suddenly seemed smaller and more fragile than she did when she was fully awake and alert. "It's fine," he replied. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to switch shifts."

She didn't reply, the even sound of her breathing signaling that she had already drifted off.

Alistair took another deep breath to try and still his quickening heart, and tilted his head back to stare up at the night sky. 'Maker help me,' he thought, 'this is going to be a long night.'

Alistair said nothing to Yllia in the morning about her impromptu use of his leg as a pillow. Yllia said nothing to Alistair about his failing to wake her up for the second watch, despite waking up in one of the two tents when the first rays of sun peered in through the thin cloth.

When she emerged, blinking and rubbing her eyes, Carver was in the process of dousing the fire, and Morrigan was moving about her small campsite as well. The dog had taken up a position outside of her tent – she nearly tripped over him in the attempt to get out. Alistair was nowhere in sight; the flap of the second tent was still shut.

Carver looked up and gave her a welcoming smile. "Good morning," he said. "I hope you don't mind that I took third watch. I don't think Alistair felt like trying to wake Morrigan. Can't say I blame him."

She returned his smile easily. "It's fine, and appreciated," she assured him. "How's your arm?"

"Sore as hell, but healing up." Carver nodded down to it – he had his armor in place, covering the injury. "Once I get back to Lothering I can have my sister look at it."

"Your sister has medical training?" Yllia asked, taking out the ties in her hair and combing her fingers through it. She didn't usually sleep with them in, and her hair fell around her head in crinkling waves as a result. "That must be useful."

"She has…some skill," Carver replied evasively. "Learned it from our father. I'm used to going to her with my scrapes and bruises – I missed her something fierce at Ostagar." Almost as soon as the word fell from his lips did he stop, his expression growing solemn. It was as though it were inappropriate to mention the place in light conversation. Yllia wondered if there would ever come a day when it would be easy to speak of the events at Ostagar, and suspected that that day would only come when the last of the survivors arrived at the side of the Maker.

She sought another topic. "How long do you think it will take us to reach Lothering from here?" she asked.

He thought for a moment, eyes scanning the landscape around them. "We made good time yesterday – I'd say we ought to reach it by evening today unless something comes up. I'm not sure how long you were planning on staying, but you'll at least have to overnight in Lothering."

"I hadn't thought as far ahead as how long we'll be there," Yllia admitted. "Our plan is to head up towards Redcliffe, but we wanted to stop for supplies before setting out. Most of what we brought with us is gone already." Her stomach growled insistently, as if the emphasize her words. "We have a bit of the stew from last night left, don't we?"

Carver nodded in the direction of the dingy, silver pot that had become their lone cooking implement. "I put it by the fire to get it warm," he said, then trailed off as he watched Yllia practically pounce upon it. She had the presence of mind to leave enough for Alistair and Morrigan to split, but as she devoured what little she claimed, she found herself hoping fervently that her appetite would find some sort of balance within her soon. She couldn't keep going like this, not if they were going to be on the road for the next several weeks. They'd end up spending all their coin on food alone.

"I see your appetite hasn't relented any," Morrigan said as she approached them then, kneeling beside the pot to take some food for herself. Yllia watched her closely – she wouldn't put it past the other mage to purposefully take more than her share just to deny Alistair his, but that morning Morrigan didn't appear to be in a hurry to instigate petty squabbles. The dark-haired woman tucked her legs beneath her as she sat at the fire. "Do we intend to let the fourth member of our little party lay in until he sees fit to rise, or shall we wake him before the sun reaches its apex?"

Maybe Yllia had been too hasty to discount the petty squabble angle.

"I could do it simply enough," Morrigan added. "A well-aimed lightning bolt…"

Carver's eyes widened and the tent flap flew up. "I'm awake," Alistair said irritably, glaring in Morrigan's direction. "No need for fireballs or lightning bolts. I'm perfectly capable for getting myself awake on my own."

"Really now?" Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

Yllia jumped in before Morrigan could get Alistair riled up. "There's some stew left for you," she said hastily. "Carver thinks we'll make it to Lothering by evening, so why don't we start packing up the camp after you eat?"

Alistair nodded. His eyes met hers and she quickly looked away, rising to her feet to put her now empty bowl back into her pack. Looking at him made her flustered after remembering the night before, and she couldn't afford that right now. She had to figure out what they were going to do once they reached Lothering.

The dog got to his feet, tail wagging as she approached, and she couldn't help but smile and kneel to scratch his ears. "Yes, you're coming, too, Rhys," she said. "I won't leave you behind."

"Rhys?" Alistair repeated. "So you thought of a name?"

Yllia nodded. "It means 'enthusiasm'," she said. "And he's certainly enthusiastic, isn't he?"

Rhys ran around in a circle and let out a fervent bark of agreement.

Yllia couldn't help but smile, feeling lighter more at ease than she had in quite awhile. She cherished the feeling, for she knew that there was no way to know how long it would last.