Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. This makes me so sad.

Author's Notes: I'm back! The cross-country move has finally been completed, and I am finally settling in enough to be able to sit down and work on getting chapters out again. Hopefully despite my extremely long absence there're still at least a few people looking forward to another chapter of this. (Yes? No? Hmm...) I apologize if this chapter is a little rusty due to the long hiatus. As per the usual, I appreciate any and all feedback.

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Arcanum: Fatum
Chapter Twenty-Three: Much Like a Wild Rose

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Alistair tossed the last of the kindling into the fire, watching the flames crackle as he stoked them back to the proper height and heat needed to cook that morning's breakfast. It had become an unspoken rule among the party that whoever took the final watch of the morning was equally responsible for preparing the morning's meal, and so the task had fallen to Alistair. It wasn't a task he particularly relished; cooking never had been his forte, and he'd discovered long ago that attempting anything other than a stew was the quickest way to disaster and an unappetizing loss of precious ingredients.

Fortunately his companions, despite their diverse backgrounds, were more than willing to accept whatever was put in their bowls so long as it was edible and something that would settle easily during a day's worth of travel. And stew was easy enough to adjust the quantity of when an extra mouth needed to be accounted for.

The first morning chirps of birds were beginning to echo, a welcome sound after too many days traveling through the silence of the Blight-ravaged southlands, where the slightest rustle or sound had you immediately on guard and reaching for your sword. For a moment he simply sat there, listening, enjoying the sense of peace. That there was still such a thing in Ferelden made him all the more determined to find a way to maintain it, to save this country and its people before the Archdemon and its darkspawn could destroy all that was good about it.

The sound of shifting cloth caught his attention, snapping him out of his daydream and drawing his eyes over to Yllia's tent. The girl in question was just emerging, clad only in a thin linen under-robe that cut off just below her knees and was tied shut by a length of linen cord wrapped snugly around her waist. She rubbed at her eyes sleepily, smiling and heading over to him when she caught sight of Alistair.

"Morning," Alsitair said with a nod, trying not to let his eyes linger on the way that the thin material hugged her upper body and hoping that it wasn't light enough yet for her to notice his suddenly burning cheeks. "Did you sleep okay?" She'd still been awake when he'd turned in for the night, having taken the first watch with Jowan.

"Well enough," Yllia replied with a smile, kneeling down next to him. Rhys came over from his usual sleeping spot and plopped himself down at her side, letting his head land in her lap in a none-too-subtle request for an ear scratch, which she gladly obliged with. "I won't be falling asleep on the way to the Brecilian Forest, if that's what you're worried about."

"Thought never crossed my mind," Alistair replied flippantly, and the two of them exchanged another grin. Their eyes met, and suddenly flustered, Alistair turned back to the fire and the stewpot. "I only just started putting breakfast together, so it'll be a bit still before it's ready to eat. Unless you happen to like cold stew, that is."

"No, thank you."

Even without looking at her Alistair could picture the expression on her face just by her tone of voice, and he chuckled. "That's all right," he replied. "I wouldn't want to eat my cooking cold, either." That got another laugh from her, followed by a companionable silence as Alistair filled up the stewpot as much as he dared without risking overflowing.

Once that was done, however, there was nothing else to do but wait for the food to heat up, and the silence became a little more awkward then with neither of them occupied with anything. It occurred to Alistair that this might be their last chance to speak alone for awhile, since they weren't likely to get individual lodging like at Redcliffe to a long time.

"How did it go last night?" Alistair asked, keeping his voice notched down since the tents were by no means soundproofed. "With Jowan, I mean." He nodded towards the tent that Yllia had shared with the other mage – something that he'd been apprehensive about at first, until it had become increasingly clear through the interactions of the two mages that there was nothing even remotely romantic between them. And even if there was, it wasn't any of his business. Any at all. Right.

Yllia bit lightly at her lower lip, drawing one leg up and clasping her arms around her upraised knee. Rhys huffed at the position change of his designated pillow, and she reached down to ruffle at his ears.

"He fell asleep easily enough being as exhausted as he was, but he must have woken up a half dozen times during the night. I'd be surprised if he got even half a night's worth in the end of it, which is why I didn't bother trying to wrestle my robes on before I slipped out – I want to let him sleep as much as possible, now that he finally is."

"Nightmares?" It wasn't his pace to pry, but Alistair couldn't stop himself; the look of worry that Yllia wore tugged at his heart.

She nodded. "About what, I don't know… and I wasn't going to push. If he wants to talk about his nightmares to me then I'll listen, but there's no sense in dredging it up if he doesn't want to talk about it. If I had to guess, though, it was probably either about what happened after he escaped from the Tower or while he was held in the Redcliffe dungeon.

"We talked a lot last night but it was mostly about Ostagar, the Grey Wardens, the Blight, our plans – any time we got too close to something he didn't want to talk about we skirted right around the issue." She laughed suddenly, a soft, husky sound that went right through Alistair. "Jowan was never good at lying or trying to hide something, but he's really good at avoiding issues. Usually I can get him to open up when he starts doing it, but…"

"You'd rather he talks to you about it first?"

"Pretty much." Yllia scratched one of Rhys' ears, earning a soft whuff of contentment from the mabari. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Wynne's silent tent, then over to him. "We did talk about how he learned blood magic, though."

Alistair tensed. Decision to trust her judgment or not, years of ingrained templar training could not simply be dropped overnight. She must have picked up on his tension, because no sooner had he done so than he could see her start to close off, hesitation and uncertainty taking root. Inwardly he cursed; hadn't he just promised himself that he would keep an open mind? He wasn't a templar, blast it; he was a Grey Warden, and he knew there were blood mages among the Wardens in other parts of Thedas. He willed himself to relax, offering her what he hoped was an apologetic smile. "Habit," he said softly. "I'm working on it. Go on."

His words seemed to put her at ease, but only slightly; she still glanced towards Wynne's tent. "I don't want to get into the details here," she said murmured, "not with a long search for the Dalish still ahead of us, but I promise I'll tell you more later – actually, it would probably be better for you to hear the details from Jowan himself. But I want you to know this, Alistair; Jowan didn't learn his blood magic from a demon. He didn't make a pact with one, and he's never used any blood but his own." Her large blue eyes looked at him imploringly.

All Alistair could do was stare at her in return, disbelief and skepticism flooding his gaze. "He…what? But that's…that isn't possible." His Templar training had made it very clear; blood mages learned their magic from demons. They were possessed by demons, demons who were just waiting beneath the surface of the Fade to slip their way into the mage's mind and take control, turning their newfound vessel into an Abomination. It was impossible for a maleficar to learn blood magic without consorting with a demon to do so – surely Yllia had learned this in the Circle.

Yllia held up her hands. "I know, I know," she said in hushed tones. "That was my first reaction also, but he was insistent, emphatically so. And Alistair, if you knew Jowan, knew him the way I know him, you'd know he's never emphatic about anything. If he puts his foot down about something and stands his ground, it's because he really, truly believes it."

Alistair had started to open his mouth; now he closed it, giving her an intent look. "Do you believe it, Yllia?" he finally asked.

Yllia fingered a loose lock of hair, twisting it around her finger. "I do," she replied. "I remember what it was like being around Connor. I could feel the demon in him. I mean, granted, that one wasn't exactly trying to hide what she was, but still… I don't feel anything like that from Jowan. At all." She spread her hands out imploringly in front of her. "I trust my instincts. Can you?"

Alistair sighed softly; when she looked at him with those pleading, blue eyes, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to do anything but agree. He gave her a boyish, lopsided smile. "I've followed you so far, haven't I?" he asked. "I said I'd give Jowan a chance, and I won't go back on that. I promise."

"Alistair…" Abruptly Yllia leaned forward and threw her arms around his broad shoulders, giving him a tight hug of relief. And just as quickly she pulled back, ducking her head and busying herself with ruffling Rhys' ears once more, though not before he caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks. Flushed cheeks that he was certain matched his own.

"Oh!" Suddenly Yllia took her hands away from Rhys' ears, which earned her a plaintive whine of protest from the mabari, and scrambled to her feet, hurrying back to her tent. She stuck her upper body inside for a moment, then emerged and came back, a small cloth-wrapped object held in her hand now. She held it out to him. "Here."

Alistair blinked and held out his hand, looking at it curiously when she dropped it into his palm. "What is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Open it and find out," she said wryly. "That's what you're supposed to do with a present, isn't it?"

His eyebrows went up, and then he grinned. "Oo, is that what it is?" he teased. The cloth wasn't heavy or difficult to unfold, though maybe folded a little too much given the apparent difference between the size of it and what lay within. His surprise showed plainly at the sight of the delicate white stone within, and he carefully caught it up between forefinger and thumb look at it more closely. "You're giving this to… me?" It wasn't just a stone, he could clearly see the rune carved into it with gold-inlay, but he was surprised at the gift; after all, something like it would have been more suitable for another mage, wouldn't it?

"Most of the workable magic's already gone out of it, so it's not too useful in that regard," Yllia explained as if she'd read his mind. "But even when the magic's gone out of a runestone something of its purpose still lingers, and this one was a rune of protection and strength." She smiled at him, almost shyly. "I…thought it might come in handy for you. Since, you know, you're usually the first one running into a battle and you actually want the darkspawn to be attacking you. Have I mentioned before that that's a little insane?"

Alistair laughed, eyes bright. He took the runestone back into his palm, running his thumb lightly over the gold etching, and then wrapped it back up in its cloth and tucked it away into the purse tied at his waist. "Thank you," he said with warm sincerity. "I'll make sure not to lose it."

She blushed with pleasure at his thanks, and it suddenly struck him that he had yet to give her the gift he had been saving for her, and with the two of them as alone as they were likely to ever get for awhile he couldn't think of a better chance for him to give it to her. He cleared his throat, earning a quizzical look from her.

"I, ah, have something for you as well," he stammered, a touch nervous. He turned to where his pack and reached inside, extracting a slender case that he'd obtained at Redcliffe, originally intended to hold an Orlesian ceremonial dagger, though the weapon in question had long since vanished. Now the case was serving to house a very different item.

"Here, look at this," he said, holding out the case to her. "Do you know what this is?" He could see the curiosity in her eyes as she took it, and then the inquisitive tilt of her head once she'd opened it to see its contents.

"Your…new weapon of choice?" Yllia asked with no little amusement, the corners of her mouth curling upwards as she lifted the rose carefully out of the case to look at it more closely. The early morning light drifted over its petals.

Alistair grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Yes, that's right," he said with a laugh, feeling his nervousness dissipate at the sight of her smile. "Watch as I thrash our enemies with the power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn!" He pantomimed picking a flower and stabbing something with it. "I will overpower you with my rosy scent!" He breathed in deeply, then released it and reached up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. "Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know, I know – that's pretty dull in comparison."

Yllia's shoulders were shaking in an too-late attempt to contain her laughter. "I don't know," she said teasingly. "Sentiment can be a pretty powerful weapon." She ran the tip of her finger lightly along one silken petal.

"Is it that easy to see right through me?" Alistair could feel his cheeks heating up as he watched the careful way she was holding the rose. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

"I picked it in Lothering," he added when she lifted her gaze from the flower to meet his eyes again, the question clearly on the tip of her tongue. "I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but…" He shrugged one shoulder. 'I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since. Although the case is new. I found it in Redcliffe. With everything I've been shoving in my pack lately, I didn't want it to get crushed."

"So you've…been carrying this around in your pack since Lothering?" Yllia looked back down at the rose. "And you said this was…for me? I mean, I'm assuming you meant the rose, not the case it's in." For a moment she looked wary, as if she thought he might actually take the flower out of her hands.

"I meant the rose," he assured her, his eyes soft as he looked at her. "When I saw the rose, and thought all of that, I realized that in a lot of ways…I think the same about you."

The blush that spread across her cheeks at that moment was without a doubt not made by the firelight, and Yllia held the rose a little closer to her chest. "Alistair...thank you." An uncharacteristic shyness came over her then, as her eyes met his.

Alistair felt his heartbeat quicken at the look he saw there, and his mouth and throat suddenly felt dry. "I-I'm glad you like it," he stammered, trying to hide his reaction. For a moment they sat there, looking at each other, both with words on their tongues that neither of them knew how to or if they should say, for fear that to do so would be to damage the tenuous balance being re-forged between them after their argument.

A rustle of fabric cut through the silence then, the flap to Leliana's tent flying open as the tall redhead emerged from within, looking far too alert and put together for someone who had just woken up in a tent in the middle of a forest. She gave them both a beaming smile. "Good morning," she said brightly. "Is that breakfast ready, there?"

Yllia and Alistair immediately broke their gaze, a blush springing up onto Alistair's cheeks as he hurried to dish out some of the stew for Leliana, and Yllia cast a suspicious look in the direction of the bright-eyed rogue. Her emergence and overall awake appearance seemed entirely too coincidental for Yllia to not suspect that their conversation had had a pair of extra ears turned towards it. Her eyes met Leliana's, and the redhead gave a picture perfect look of innocence – with just enough impishness for Yllia to know she'd heard every word, at least in regards to the rose. Great, Yllia thought with a mental groan. I give her one day before the teasing begins.

She glanced down at the delicate rose in her hands, then to the blush that still stained Alistair's cheeks as he bantered with Leliana about his less-than-perfect cooking skills, and smiled. She could handle some teasing.

As if Leliana's emergence from her tent had been some kind of signal the rest of the camp began to stir, with Sten and Wynne both coming out of their respective tents to claim a portion of the morning's meal, and Jowan emerging a few moments later, albeit far more tentatively and keeping his distance from everyone but Yllia. Morrigan took care of her own meal in her separate camp, as had become habit, and there was no more time for teasing or embarrassment through the slight chaos of making sure that five people and a dog all got their necessary portions.

It was only once the meal was over that Morrigan – at Yllia's insistence – finally deigned to join them. They were still two days out from reaching the edge of the Brecilien Forest, with little likelihood that they'd come across anything larger than a small village on the way – and if they were lucky, it wouldn't be abandoned yet. The Brecilien Forest was closer to the darkspawn's path than either Yllia or Alistair were comfortable with, the sense of the horde playing just on the edges of their consciousness; its southern reaches, in fact, were far enough south that the chances of the darkspawn already infiltrating it were very real indeed. Sten, in his taciturn way, questioned whether the Dalish would still be in the forest at all and whether or not it was worth the extra time to search for them, to which Morrigan caustically replied that it would take far more than a Blight to tear the Dalish from their forests.

It was Alistair who put an end to the argument by pointing out that with the way the horde was spreading north this might be their only chance at finding the Dalish, let alone recruiting them as allies, and reminding them that with their total number of certain allies currently consisting of only the handful of mages and templars who hadn't died during the uprising at the Tower, they couldn't afford to be picky. His sudden assertiveness openly impressed both Wynne and Leliana, and even seemed to placate Sten, but Yllia could tell it hadn't been easy for him. After all, the longer it took them to get to Denerim, the less time they had to find a way to cure Arl Eamon.

Then it was finally time to pack up the camp, and a half hour later found them back on the road in what was becoming their usual formation – Sten and Morrigan at the rear, then Leliana and Wynne, and finally Alistair and Yllia at the lead, with Jowan taking up a fixed position slightly behind and to Yllia's left while Rhys alternated between running off ahead to scout and falling back to trot proudly between the two Grey Wardens. They traveled together in silence at first; then, after the second time Rhys had squeezed himself into place, forcing Alistair to step to the side to avoid tripping on the mabari, Leliana gave an impish comment of how Rhys appeared to think that Yllia needed some kind of bodyguard, to which Alistair promptly retorted, and a companionable banter rose up between the group, primarily between Leliana, Alistair and Yllia, with a few add-ins from Wynne and Morrigan and even Jowan when Yllia managed to draw him into the conversation, though he rarely joined of his own initiative. Even Sten participated, in the manner of long-suffering looks that made it clear he did not understand half of what was being said, or the purpose of it, yet also saw no reason to object to the mindless chatter.

As an unexpected tease from Wynne left Alistair blushing and stammering in defense, Yllia stole a sideways glance at him, and a soft smile touched her lips. Their eyes met and he returned her smile with one of his own. No doubt they'd be facing their next challenge soon enough, but no one could begrudge them moments like this, could they? After all, this was what they were fighting for, wasn't it?

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Hours later, Alistair struggled to conceal his distaste as he removed his sword from the corpse of a Hurlock. Once free, he held up the weapon and observed the congealing black blood that now adorning the upper portion of the blade. "Ugh," he said in disgust, immediately leaning down to wipe his blade clean on a blood-less patch of grass before sheathing it, not wanting any of the darkspawn's innards to remain clinging to his weapon. The Green Blade was too good a weapon to let be damaged by lack of proper care.

"Everyone all right?" he asked, looking around at the group, noting that physically everyone at least seemed to be intact. They were all standing in a semi-circle of freshly charred corpses, compliments of Yllia, though Jowan had managed to get in a couple of well-aimed – if weaker – fireballs as well. Leliana had managed to find enough of a rise to be able to pick off a few of the stragglers, before they'd joined the main melee, shielding Wynne in the process while the Enchanter cast her cures while the rest of them had all opted for a more visceral approach to the fight.

"Well enough," Leliana replied, drawing an arrow out of a Hurlock's corpse and examining it to see if it was still viable. They typically weren't – the taint of the darkspawn blood was corrosive on weapons, as well as ran the risk of carrying contamination with it, yet she checked nonetheless. No self-respecting archer left behind an arrow if it still had a place within their quiver. She made a sound of distaste and looked to Yllia. "I am beginning to run low on arrows, Yllia. I think I had best rely on daggers for now, unless the range is needed."

Yllia looked at her and nodded, though her brows knit slightly – Leliana was good with daggers, but better with the bow, and her range came in handy for picking off stragglers before they could reach the main force in an ambush. "We'll see if we can restock your arrows when we find the Dalish," Yllia replied. "They'll have some for certain."

"True, but whether they will be willing to part with them or not, that is the question," Morrigan pointed out.

"We'll worry about that when we have to," Yllia replied, though she bit her lip after she spoke. For a moment Alistair thought he detected a trace of sadness in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him questioning whether he'd seen it or not. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, the dark strands having escaped from their ties during the fight, and squared her shoulders. "And speaking of, let's get going. I don't sense any more darkspawn in the vicinity, so this is as good a time to gain some ground as ever."

Alistair nodded slightly in agreement, sliding his sword back into its sheath and stepping up to take the point again. He'd noticed an odd urgency falling over Yllia as they had started on their way that morning, and he wasn't surprised to find her focus returning so swiftly after verifying that their companions were okay. He didn't know what the cause of it was, whether it was just her desire to cover as much distance as possible that day or if she was simply keeping her eye on the goal of recruiting more allies for the inevitable battle, but the early morning camaraderie had given away to intense silence. She'd conversed quietly with Jowan a time or two, but for the most part had remained withdrawn into her own thoughts. Enough so that when the darkspawn had made themselves known, Yllia had reacted to it a hair later than Alistair; nothing anyone else would have noticed, but as a fellow Grey Warden Alistair couldn't have missed it.

The interlude with the darkspawn hadn't changed that, and if anything Yllia seemed even more focused. So focused that she didn't even seem to notice when the shadows made by the trees shifted sides, or when the sky peeking through the leaves began to shift from shades of blue to violet. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, her strides sure and steady as his were, but a discreet glance around and behind him showed that the others weren't faring as well. Sten and Rhys both seemed find, but Leliana and Wynne were both starting to flag a bit; Morrigan's expression was unreadable. What was most telling was their newest addition – Jowan had been sticking close to the front of the group, trying to match Yllia's pace, and as Alistair's gaze went to him he abruptly stumbled, losing his footing on the leaf-hewn but otherwise obstacle free path.

Alistair's arm went out automatically, catching the mage by the bicep to keep him on his feet. "Easy," he said, keeping a firm hold on Jowan until the other man was able to stand without swaying. "Are you all right?"

Jowan flushed a touch, the deep red color creeping up his neck, easily visible against his otherwise pale skin. "I'm fine," he said, managing a strained smile. "Just a little, um, tired. I'll be fine."

Alistair cast a critical eye at him. He didn't need to look at Wynne to verify that Jowan was near exhaustion; he was the least prepared and least accustomed to this sort of traveling out of all of them, and they'd been pushing a rather strong pace since the morning.

"Yllia." Alistair turned towards Yllia, only to find that she hadn't even broken stride – although the others had stopped when Jowan had stumbled, she had continued ahead as if unaware of what had happened behind her. Evidence enough of her focus, and even more worrisome to Alistair given how hyperaware of Jowan she'd been since they'd left Redcliffe. "Yllia."

She paused, then turned, frowning when she saw that they were all quite a ways back. "What is it?" she asked, backtracking quickly. "Not darkspawn. I don't sense anything."

"How about camp?" Alistair tilted his had back, drawing attention to the darkening sky above. "We've been traveling all day, plus the fight, and there aren't darkspawn in the area. If we're going to make camp, this is a good place to do it."

Yllia cast a look around, a slight frown on her face. "I wanted to get closer before we stopped," she said. "We lost some time with the battle…it's still light out, we have another hour or two before night sets in."

"I think Alistair has the right idea, Yllia," Wynne interjected. "Not all of us are used to pushing so far at such a pace." She met Yllia's light blue gaze; for a moment it seemed as if the younger mage might argue, a flicker of irritation in her eyes; things had been icy at best between her and Wynne since Jowan's conscription, and there didn't seem to be signs of thawing. Alistair, at least, had agreed to give Jowan the benefit of the doubt despite the blood magic. Wynne had been less inclined to do so, and if not for the fact that they needed her healing talents he suspected Yllia would have refused to let her leave with them from Redcliffe.

Then Yllia glanced over at Jowan and the irritation faded, as if she had just noticed Jowan's clear fatigue for the first time. He was making a good attempt at trying to hide it, and failing miserably. Her shoulders slumped slightly and she sighed, then offered him an apologetic smile. "All right," she conceded. "We'll set up camp for the night and resume again in the—"

"Help! Help me, please, somebody help!"

The shrill, panicked cry echoed ahead and to the right, drawing the full attention of the party at once. Yllia and Alistair looked at each other for a split second, then took off without preamble.

Morrigan sighed and shook her head. "So much for setting camp," she said, before following with the others.

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It didn't take them long to find the source of the cries – as they came around the bend in the road a blonde woman in a tattered dress was running towards them, panic in her eyes and desperation in her voice. She held the skirt of her dress high enough only to keep from tripping on it, the hem frayed and muddy from being dragged across the ground and caught in brambles. The moment she saw them the last of her strength seemed to go out of her, as if all that had been keeping her moving forward had been her desperation to seek help. She stumbled, falling to her knees before them.

Yllia ran to her, dropping to her knees beside the woman and placing her hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked urgently. "What's happened? Where did you come from?"

The woman lifted her head, dirt streaks on her cheeks and forehead, hair framing her face in limp tangles. She brought up a shaking arm, extending it back behind her. "C-caravan," she stammered. "Our caravan…we were fleeing the south… there were bandits…" She broke off, choking back a sob before continuing."I managed to, to run, to find help… please, you have to help us!" She suddenly grasped Yllia's arm in a tight grip. "My husband, my daughter…!"

Yllia drew in a sharp breath, lifting her head to look at her companions. "Let's go," she said. She rose to her feet and helped the woman to her feet. "Lead us there. If your family can still be saved, then we will do so."

The woman's eyes shimmered with tears. "Oh, thank you!" she managed. "Thank you. Quickly – this way!" Without hesitation she released Yllia's arm and spun on her heel, grabbing up her skirt again as she began to dash back the way she'd come. Yllia spared only a brief glance back at her companions before following quickly after her, trusting the others to follow. She felt a knot in her stomach, the woman's words resonating with her – her family had been fleeing the south, fleeing the darkspawn, only the be set upon by bandits. That knot was quickly displaced by anger; anger that the horde continued to drive people from their homes, that there were those depraved enough to prey on others in a time of desperation, that another family now struggled to find safety and security. She could not fail to protect, to save, another family.

The road turned sharply, the woman quickly following the path, moving with far more alacrity than Yllia would have expected of someone in her condition. She followed, Rhys at her side as they came around the bend.

The sudden crack of splintering wood echoed in the forest, and Yllia spun on her heels in time to see a large tree suddenly fall across the path behind them, thankfully just barely missing Sten and Morrigan as they brought up the rear. Eyes widening, she twisted back around to stare at the woman who had led them here.

The woman in question hadn't stopped at the falling tree; instead she walked up to a small group of men standing near a caravan wagon that showed no indication of having ever suffered an attack. She looked at one of them, who stood furthest back, and nodded once.

The man had been leaning casually against the wagon; now he drew himself to full height and stepped forward. He was an elf, Yllia saw immediately, shorter of stature than the others around him and yet moving with a fluid grade in his stride that immediately sent warning bells ringing in her head – whoever he was, he was no mere bandit. Clad in fitted leather armor, with long honey-blonde hair and sunkissed skin unmarred saved for a dark intricate tattoo curling down the side of his face, he calmly lifted his hand up and flicked his wrist.

From the bushes, trees, and rocks around them, a score of men and women, fully armed with sword and dagger alike, stepped into view. Yllia's blood ran cold at the sight, their presence confirming what she had already begun to realize. She looked back at the elf, the obvious leader of this ambush, and found herself caught by a pair of amber eyes burning with an intensity that held her fast. For a brief second she thought she saw a hint of surprise and shock flicker through them, followed by a deep sadness that made her heart ache.

Just as quickly the emotions were gone, replaced by a hardened, impenetrable mask. He dropped his arm, reaching behind him to unsheathe two long daggers as he spoke a single command to his men.

"The Grey Warden dies here!"