The ram Lea had brought back to camp had scarce quenched the hunger, but the animal had meant much more than food. It could not have been alone in the forest. The clan thought it a sign that their elven gods were watching over them and would provide them with the tools they needed to survive. Whether true or not, Lea was merely thankful for the diminishing hostility toward him. His comrades were easier to speak to even though their bonds would most likely never stretch beyond shallow pleasantries. The Keeper had taken to keep a closer look on Lea. Lea's small gain of influence had rocked the Keeper's frail confidence.

Lea walked from tent to tent in search for Isa. His elven friend had a tendency to disappear for long hours at a time without consulting with anyone. Lea attributed it as an elven custom, but missed him none the less.

"Sorry." Lea peeked into the armory tent and found the blacksmith and a guard in idle conversation. "Have you seen Isa around? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Seeking your 'Ma'sal'shiral, are you?" snorted the guard.

"Yes, my friend Isa. He is a bit shorter than me, long blue hair with small braids at the front. He's one of your best hunters."

"You will suffocate him, shemlen."

"With my friendship?" Lea asked in hopes they would find him amusing., but thus far, Isa was the only one who had laughed at Lea's silly attempts at jokes.

"With whatever ideas you are filling his head with. Our customs differ. Humans have an ungodly gift to have others forget it," said the blacksmith.

A few slices of meat had not been nearly enough to befriend these two.

"As you were then, gentle elves," Lea said with a half-hearted salute, still hopeful that his wit would win them over. The stern glares were proof it hadn't.

Isa turned much later. Sunlight was fading quickly. The campfires had long been set and the soldiers were stirring their pots of edible vegetables they had found along the way. Isa held a bunch of flowers in a gentle grasp. He studied them, removed small imperfections while he strolled into camp.

"I've been looking for you," Lea said as soon as Isa had sat down beside him. "Where were you?"

"I was out picking flowers."

"All by yourself? There are darkspawns roaming around, Isa. Maker forbid anything should happen to you."

"You are fussing," Isa said calmly. "I am the best hunter here. You shouldn't worry." Isa looked up from the flowers to meet Lea's gaze. "How did you entertain yourself in my absence?"

"I bumped into the Qunari. He speaks very little. And what little he did say was about the Qun. He must have sensed my disinterest. He walked away mid-sentence."

"The Qunari are renowned for their direct ways. They do not waste their time."

"Are you saying I'm a waste of time?" Lea pouted.

"To the Qunari, maybe, but certainly not to me."

Lea's cheeks flushed a faint red. Isa's ways were also direct. Had he been a mage, his honesty would have gotten him in severe trouble. Lea had learned scheming and lying to avoid punishment and he had wasted many years by doing so. Roxas had insisted on escaping the past five years. It had taken a disastrous rebellion for Lea to make his way past layers of denial and come to a decision, which in the end, was not one he had made.

"I have something for you," Isa said and held up a flower crown he had made with the flowers he had picked. Lea could identify Embrium, Prophet's Laurel and Elfroot in the colorful crown. The scent of it was sweet and relaxing and Lea had to close his eyes for a brief moment when Isa put it on him.

Roxas had grown up in a farm south of Denerim. He had lived near acres of lavender fields and each summer, late at night, he would run across them with his friends. The lavender belonged to the King of Ferelden. It was the closest a mage would ever get to the castle, Roxas had said in grim moments. Most memories of his time on the farm he remembered fondly. His friends had been protective of him and even tried to attack the templars that had been sent there to take him away.

The scent of the flower crown reminded Lea of Roxas' stories, about the jokes he made about his work as a farmer. At times of study, Roxas would either slip him notes or whisper the jokes to him as they stood by the grand book shelves.

"Why do cowboys always die with their boots on?"

"Why?"

"So they won't stub their toes when they kick the bucket."

Lea chuckled fondly at the memory.

"Do you like it?" Isa asked and smiled softly.

"Yes, I love it," Lea said with a smile. "Thank you."