I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine. Oh! And perhaps the silver halla Loghain had made). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

Also, you'll notice that this story will be being updated on a less than regular basis. The first few chapters were really easy, but, although it's still flowing, the tempo has changed its tune and demands more attention. I'm also working on the next chapter for DragonAge: The Halla that tells of the very first time Adaia meets Maric, Rowan & Loghain and each chapter is their own POV of that meeting.

As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn

Chapter 11

Cailan!

That single thought pushed the elf along, her legs carrying her away from the tower, gaining ground as she frantically made her way to the main camp. Dodging the few stragglers fleeing the battle site, she quickly gained distance from her companions.

Cailan!

She heard her name being shouted from behind her. Who was calling her? She kept running, mindful only that she had seen Cailan fall. Purposefully not thinking of why he fell. Ignoring all else around her save the one thought to get to his side.

Cailan!

She didn't think, couldn't think. To do so would be to know that Anora would wait in Denerim for her husband, only to keep waiting in vain. And why…no, don't think! And so she pushed all thought aside, just moved on instinct. Rushing passed the infirmary, ignoring the pleas from the prisoner locked in his cage; she sprinted through the gates that led to the Warden's camp.

Cailan!

Thought did not guide her hands when a lone genlock rose before her, a leering smile on its death skull face. It lunged at her with its sword, and instinct alone guided the young elf to swing down, ducking under the strike, spinning, her daggers instantly in her hand as she rose, her blades against each side of its neck forming a deadly "V", scissoring the blades, fury lending her strength to cut through the tough skin and sinewy muscle, decapitating the vile thing.

Cailan!

Her feet took her away from the Warden's camp and onto the battlefield, where darkspawn systematically cut down the defenders of Fereldan. A huge hurlock stepped into her path, its axe swinging down toward the elf. She danced aside, around to it's back, the heavy momentum of its own swing catching it off balance as it swung at empty air. She jumped forward, plunging one dagger into its throat as the other drove itself into its eye. Convulsing the thing fell dead to the ground. The elf continued her frantic flight through the battlefield.

Cailan!

And she spotted him, his golden armor coated with his own blood, his blonde head twisted in an unnatural manner. A sob escaped her lips. A small pain erupted at her shoulder, another behind her knee, but she ignored the pain as she fell to her knees, crying. She felt another jolt in her back, and picked up her friend, her king, cradling his body in her arms, burying her face in his neck.

Cailan.

Then pain, fiery and intense, exploded from her back straight through to her stomach, and she gasped, releasing the body she held. Looking down, she watched as the expanse of bloody steel slowly - painfully slow - disappeared from her sight. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the elf found herself falling…

DA:O

What in the name of the Maker was she doing? Alistair fumed, fear gripping him as he watched the elf practically fly away from him and the others. They had been fortunate: they encountered no other darkspawn through their flight from the tower. Once their feet hit the stone outside the tower, Adela had cried out the king's name and sprinted away.

The three men cast one quick look to each other, and took off after the elf.

Don't get killed….don't get killed. Alistair chanted in his head and he quickened his pace. Just. Don't. Get. Killed.

The three men were able to keep the elf in sight, but she was gaining ground away from them. How could anyone run so fast? They watched - horrified - as she met the genlock, twisting and spinning with such furious ease, taking its head from its shoulders so easily.

Albus (Alistair had finally asked the man his name) cast a quick healing spell at the elf as she ran off, ignoring the wound the genlock had managed to score before she killed it.

Tomas cursed the elf's speed; Albus cast a regenerative spell at all three of them (they would need it to catch up with her, Alistair was certain). They ran passed the infirmary, casting a regretful glance at the screaming prisoner, and continued their chase after the elven woman.

The elf almost vanished from sight as a small group of darkspawn spotted the three men and rushed to meet them.

Alistair and Tomas each fought their own foe, shield and sword, taking them down. As the guard swiped the head from the last genlock to confront them, they heard an astonished gasp and gurgle noise behind them. Albus stood for a moment, transfixed, then blood spurted from his mouth and he fell over dead. Alistair and Tomas each gave a harsh war cry and rushed at and slaughtered the hurlock who had gotten behind the mage and ended his life.

Grimly, reluctantly, the pair of warriors left the body of their comrade and resumed their search and chase of the frantic elven woman.

They cut their way through several groups of darkspawn, and finally spied the elf. She was kneeling on the ground, cradling the armored, bloody form of a man - Cailan! They raced, noting with anxiety that several arrows sprouted from the girl's back and shoulder, one in the back of her knee that she knelt upon, seemingly oblivious to the wounds. They increased their pace, shouting her name, as they saw a massive hurlock run behind her, it's longsword raised and plunging down, into her back and out the front of her abdomen. Alistair screamed her name, rushing up to the beast as it retracted its blade, preparing for another strike that would end the elf's life.

Slamming his shield into its side, Alistair knocked the hurlock down and away from Adela. Sweeping his sword down, he cut across the monster's throat, scoring a bloody hit. Shouting its own fury, the beast pushed itself along the ground, bringing its sword in front of it to deflect more blows as its life blood poured from the wound. Alistair bashed away at the creature, overpowering it, and it dropped its sword. The Warden plunged his blade deeply into its chest, dragging it out again for another plunge.

A shout and scream of pain behind him brought Alistair around. Tomas was fighting a large hurlock and had taken some damage. The guard had inflicted many wounds - severe wounds - upon his foe, but he was tiring. Alistair rushed to his side, driving his blade deeply into the creature's side. But, he was too late. With a last, powerful swing, the Warden watched as the dying monster lunged forward and drove its sword deeply into Tomas' body, angling upwards, piercing his heart. With a sob, Alistair backed away, staring at the body of his last companion.

A quiet sob behind him brought him around, and he turned to stare at the bloody form of Adela. She lived! Whispering her name, the Warden pulled her up, frantic as to what to do. A low growl to his right brought his head and sword up.

Standing just a few feet from them stood a black wolf, its yellow predator eyes watching him and Adela with interest. A great cry from above, the sound of 'whooshing' as though from giant wings, and the young man looked up to see a monstrously huge bird swooping down to them. Too tired and miserable to react, the young Warden watched as the bird lighted upon the ground. A great 'boom' sounded and a rush of magic poured from the bird. All of the darkspawn in their vicinity, approaching for an attack, fell senseless to the ground, twitching. The bird's form shimmered and took the shape of the old woman they had met days earlier. The wolf approached, and its shape also shimmered and flowed, taking the form of Morrigan.

Alistair stared at the old woman, who was talking to him. What was she saying? He couldn't focus. With a snarl, the woman pried his hands free of the elf he held, 'tsking' as she quickly examined the girl. Morrigan had approached and quickly wrapped the grievous gut wound tightly. The old woman was speaking to Alistair again. "…get you out of here…" was all he could understand.

Shaking her wild head, the woman lifted her arms, resuming the form of the great bird. She gently picked Adela's body up in one talon, and then scooped Alistair in the other. Beating her massive wings, the woman-in-bird-firm rose from the ground, winging her way back to her clearing.

With a snort of disgust, a quick look at the body of the king that lay once more upon the ground, Morrigan's form shifted again to that of the black wolf, and she loped away, toward the home of her mother, and away from the battlefield.

DA:O

The rain had stopped, for that Alistair thought he could be grateful. The rain had stopped and he was alive and staring at the damned hut! Staring at it for two full days, waiting for word of his fellow Warden. Oh sure, Morrigan and her mother would come out periodically, placing bowls of stew in his hands, handing him blankets and a bedroll, telling him to rest and to wait. He had been bloody well waiting for two days, and they never told him anything! Yet all he could do was sit and stare at the damned hut, feeling impotent, lost, alone…

His lids closed over his amber eyes. He went over the entire scene of Adela kneeling, holding Cailan's body. He could not recall seeing Duncan's body, yet he knew - just knew - that the silver and white figure that had killed the ogre had been him. If his body had lain there, nearby, the young Warden was certain he would have noticed it. A ragged sigh. His only hope was that the commander had survived, and yet the young man thought it highly unlikely. He and Adela only managed to survive thanks to the intervention of Morrigan and her mother. Or perhaps only he survived and that's why they hadn't said anything yet. Cursing, the young Warden resumed his post, staring at the damnable hut!

The door to the hut opened, and Alistair's bleary eyes focused upon the slender figure of Morrigan. Maker, won't she put some clothes on? The ex-templar thought, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on her barely-covered chest. The witch, noticing his discomfort, smirked at him. That smirk widened, reminding him of a predator stalking its prey, she spoke.

"Mother advises that you are welcome to enter," she stepped away from the door, gesturing to the door. "Your friend has passed through the danger, and now rests peacefully."

His relieved sigh broke out of him as a sob, and he lurched to his feet and stumbled through the door. Morrigan shook her head in disgust, shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud.

Never had Adela seemed as small as she did now, lying upon the room's sole bed, covered with a thick quilt to her naked shoulders. Morrigan's mother had been spooning broth into the young elf's mouth, tilting her head up to allow the liquid to flow down her throat. She was now picking up the empty bowl.

"She lives, boy," the woman was saying, turning her back to the Warden, placing the bowl and cloth upon a nearby table. "She has been starting awake; I expect her to awaken fully soon." she turned back to face Alistair, her strange eyes fixing upon his face. "I think it would be best if you remained in here with her," she moved to stand by his side, her eyes flicking back to the prone elf. "Talk with her, or just sit," she instructed with a shrug as she headed to the door. "Whatever suits you." and with those parting words, she exited the hut.

As the door shut behind the old witch, Alistair pulled a chair near the bed and sat down. Reaching over he brushed a lock of her blonde hair off her forehead, watching as her face twitched from the contact.

"Adela?" he called quietly, moving forward, hovering over her. There was no sign she heard him. Sighing, he sat back, watching the elf.

"You know," he started again, his voice sounding a little strained to his own ears, "you really shouldn't have run off like that, you mad woman you," he chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. He placed a hand on one slender shoulder. "Although, if you could fight like that all of the time, the darkspawn won't stand a chance."

His hand tightened around her shoulder, and he found himself giving her a little shake. "Please, Adela," he learned forward again, his lips to her ear, whispering, "please don't leave me," he almost choked at the pleading sound of his own voice. "You're all I have left."

Bending his head down, his forehead resting on hers, the young man prayed and hoped, wished and cajoled at the Maker. Surely he hadn't done something so awful in his life that everyone who ever meant anything to him would be taken away? He frowned at his own self-pity, but found it far easier to wallow there for a while than to think of anything else at the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, pulling the pouch that held the treaties up. With a glance to the elf, he pulled the rolled parchments free. As he did so, another piece of parchment, this one folded, with Adela's name written on it in Duncan's hand, fell free. Alistair bent and picked it up, staring at the paper for several moments. Glancing guiltily at the girl, he carefully placed the parchment back into the pouch. It wasn't any of his business what Duncan wrote to Adela, he scolded himself, feeling momentarily ashamed at the thought to read it.

There were three scrolls and these were obviously very old, judging from the quality of the parchment pieces themselves. Each had been sealed in wax and Alistair's templar training allowed him to feel the low buzz of preservation magic that protected each piece. He unrolled each: these scrolls obligated the Dalish, Circle of Magi and the Dwarves to assist the Grey Wardens during a time of Blight. The fourth parchment was a map of Fereldan, depicting clearly the King's Highway, the Coastlands, Bannorn, The Hinterlands and Denerim. Skimming over the textured surface, he was able to locate the Brecilian Forest to the east, Orzammar further west. With a heavy sigh, he carefully replaced them in the pouch.

He was exhausted, he realized. He hadn't slept much these past couple of days. Adela still seemed to be sleeping. Feeling a little self-conscious, yet not wanting to leave her side, Alistair pulled the chair up against the bed and lowered his head to the pillow beside Adela. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and fell into a light sleep.

And so he awoke, bent over uncomfortably in his chair, his forehead resting against her head. He felt more than heard a sigh escape the elf's lips and he picked his head up just as her eyes opened.

Smiling, he whispered, "Hi there," watching as her eyes focused on him. He noted the confused look that passed over her face, replaced by recognition as she focused on his face.

"Alistair?" her voice croaked out.

The young man nodded, replying, "You know, next time you decide to take on the whole darkspawn hoard, how about you ask for a little bit of help, hmm?"

A frown furrowed her brows and she tried to push herself up. It was then that both of them noticed her less-than clothed condition, and a flush rose on both faces. Grasping the blanket, she pulled it to her shoulders, holding it there as she pushed herself to a seated position, leaning on the headboard.

"Why would I want to take on a whole hoard alone?" she asked. She glanced down at herself. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Alistair asked, more than a little concern in his voice and on his face. She looked up, shaking her head. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, then looked at her. "Do you remember our leaving the tower?" Again she shook her head. "What do you remember?"

She frowned deeper, "I remember watching Cailan being grabbed and tossed by the ogre, and what looked like Duncan attacking the beast. And," she went silent, tears rising in her eyes, "and our realizing that Loghain had left the field without engaging the enemy." Tears now dripping unchecked from her eyes, she looked into Alistair's face. "He left Cailan and everyone there to die." She closed her eyes. "Why would he do that?" Her voice was tiny, weak and carrying more than a hint of despair.

That sick feeling returned to Alistair's gut, and he shook his head. "I don't know, Adela, it makes no sense at all." He looked directly in her eyes. "You really don't remember racing away from us and killing several darkspawn on your own as you searched for Cailan's body?"

He watched as a myriad of emotions and thoughts showed so clearly across that expressive face. Then she took a deep breath and nodded. "I…I remember running, trying not to think. All I knew was that I had to find Cailan, that perhaps he yet lived…" the look of utter despair that was on her face now almost broke Alistair's heart. "But, he is dead, isn't he?"

Alistair nodded. "What about Duncan?" her voice was softer, almost as though she feared the answer. Alistair merely shrugged.

"I didn't see his body, but honestly, I didn't think to look," he admitted, bowing his head. He felt her small hand rest on the top of his head. He looked up.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," she whispered. He nodded his thanks, and pushed himself up.

"You really gave me a fright," he gently scolded her, "don't you know that you're our archer and I'm supposed to be the big, tough fighter the darkspawn all fear?"

She smiled at his gentle teasing, and ducked her head down. "I'm sorry running off like that," she frowned, turning her head a bit so that Alistair could not look directly into her eyes, "I've never felt anything that intense before…the anger and rage that rose up was very sudden…" she broke off, shaking her head, turning back to her fellow Warden. "I honestly didn't know I had that kind of…darkness in me."

The flickering fire in the fireplace snapped and crackled, moisture from one of the logs hissing. Alistair searched Adela's face and nodded. "We all have some darkness in us," he said, moving from his chair to take a sit on the bed, putting an arm across the small elf's shoulders. "Your darkness showed itself at the death of …" he stumbled here. Who was Cailan to you? "…of someone you knew, our king, at the betrayal of someone who was sworn to the throne, who was supposed to be a hero." he gazed into her eyes. "At least your darkness saw that and only wanted to cut down darkspawn and try and rescue another."

Her eyes met his, she nodded. "Not some maniacal lunatic slaughtering innocents while running through the town center in my small clothes, eh?" she joked, and Alistair noted that she winced, her shoulder twitching somewhat.

Chuckling at her, he replied, "Something like that."

They sat, staring into each other's eyes for several moments. It was Adela who broke the silence. "And, so now what do we do?" The question had to be asked, Alistair knew that. But, yes, exactly what do they do?

He rose, standing, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. "I don't know, Adela." He pulled at the pouch at his hip. "Duncan gave me the treaties - I was supposed to give them to you earlier," he frowned an apology, and she merely nodded. "I…I suppose we could try and meet with these people, gain their support for an army to fight to Blight?"

Adela was frowning, deeply. "But, what if Loghain has these people under his control?" she looked up. "How do we even find these people?" She scowled then, and Alistair realized he did not like that expression on her face. "Who are the treaties for?"

"Elves, mages and dwarves," was Alistair's reply.

"Elves, mages and dwarves," she sighed. "Well, we know where the mages are kept. What about the elves and dwarves? I'm guessing the elves in the treaties are not those found in the Alienages?"

"Dalish," Alistair watched as Adela's gaze sharpened. "They're most likely in the Brecilian Forest."

Nodding, Adela responded, "Yes, yes…perhaps even Mamae's clan could be found." Alistair raised an eyebrow at that.

"Your mother is Dalish?" the young Warden asked, intrigued.

"Was," Adela corrected, "she was Dalish." She shrugged, clearly not wishing to discuss the 'was' any further at this time. "According to Loghain, from an important family within the Dalish." But he noticed she frowned. "Mamae met Papa when she was in Denerim helping to secure it for King Maric." she shrugged. "She chose to stay. I have no idea how her clan had reacted to that decision, if they ever knew." She frowned again. "Where would we find the dwarves?"

"The dwarves will be in Orzammar," Alistair advised his companion, "in the Frostback Mountains. So, we know where to find them." He looked thoughtful, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "The Arl of Redcliffe would be another wise choice, someone to approach for aid as well."

"Arl Eamon?" the elf asked. Surprised she knew of the Arl, Alistair looked over at her and nodded. "I met the Arl once or twice at the Palace." Adela was tapping a long finger on her lips, thinking. "How do you know him?"

The young man shrugged. "He raised me," then he quickly amended at the raised eyebrow of his elven friend, "well, from when I was a baby until around ten. Then off to the monastery for me!" he tried to chuckle, inject some humor, but he failed miserably and he noticed that Adela wasn't buying any of it anyway. He was actually rather pleased to see the distaste on her face at the mention of Eamon sending him away.

Another thought struck the young man. "Highever forces," he mumbled, frowning. "You know, Fergus Cousland arrived with the main bulk of Highever forces, but the Teryn never arrived with the balance. And, Arl Howe of Amaranthine never showed with his." He felt Adela's watchful eyes on him. "Perhaps…perhaps we should go to Highever, try and figure out why the Teryn and Arl did not arrive," he turned fully, facing the elf. "Perhaps they were delayed…maybe they are still on their way to Ostagar and will arrive only to find it in shambles." Recalling the map in the pouch Duncan had handed him, Alistair quickly pulled it free of the leather pouch. Adela sat straighter in the bed as the young man spread the sheet of parchment over the rumpled quilt.

Pointing one blunt finger at Highever, way to the north, Alistair traced a line down to the Wilds, many weeks travel, to the South. "The King's Highway makes the most sense for them to travel with such a contingent," the Warden was saying, tapping a finger at Highever, and then to where Ostagar lay. "If we travel along the highway, continue north, we will either meet them on their way here or…" he broke off, frowning. "Or we continue to Highever and find out why, exactly, they failed to appear." A thought struck him, one that would never had entered his mind had not he just witnessed Loghain's treachery. What if Highever was in league with Gwaren?

A glance to his friend told him that she had the same thought.

Well, there was nothing for it, he decided. They needed allies. And for more than just against the Blight. A tight feeling came to his stomach. He wasn't ready for this, he knew it. Yet, now he found himself as the senior Grey Warden in Fereldan, needing to take charge, and he just couldn't do it. Lead? He shook his head, taking a look at his fellow Warden.

Adela sat there, a thoughtful look on her face. She always seemed to be thinking. Then she was nodding. "It makes sense, Alistair," she said, turning her blue eyes upon him, capturing and holding his gaze. "Perhaps going to Highever first would make the most sense." he raised a brow at that. "Well, think on it. If they are heading here, they would be following the King's Highway. If we started visiting these other places - off the Highway - we may well miss the Highever troops altogether. Then where would they head? Most likely Denerim. And, if they are not in league with Loghain," he noted a catch in her voice at his name, "then they are either walking into a trap or may well fall for whatever lie he may tell. That," she pointed a finger at him to emphasize her words, "would make it very bad for us." She took a breath. "And, we need other troops, other aid. Not just in force of arms, but politics as well." She frowned. "Let's face it, if Loghain betrayed us all here, who knows what he's doing in Denerim?"

Nodding his head, Alistair could not help but agree. The journey would add weeks to their travel, but only if they had to travel all the way to Highever. But, as Adela said, they could not risk loosing a potential ally against not only the Blight but against Loghain as well. Alistair had heard tales of the famous Cousland family. They were honorable nobles, utterly devoted to Fereldan. The current Teryn and Teryna had each fought against the Orlesians during the rebellion, and had been faithful to King Maric, and stout allies of Cailan. Alistair even recalled Eamon once begrudgingly admitting that Teryn Bryce Cousland was a man of honor, devoted to the Theirin line, a fact further emphasize by the man's declination of the throne that had been offered to him upon Maric's death and his firm support for the former king's son.

There was no doubt in Alistair's mind that Highever was not allied with Loghain and the betrayal he had wrought. Okay. Determination found a safe place to rest in his heart. Highever would be their first stop. He frowned, looking down at his battered armor. Well, first stop would be a place they could restock.

DA:O

Two more days, and Adela was strong enough to dress (carefully, and with more than a little sadness placing the silver halla charm into the lining of her armor) and leave the hut. Morrigan's Mother (as they had taken to calling her as she had yet to tell them her name, despite being asked numerous times) seemed pleased at Adela's recovery.

The two Wardens shared their thoughts and decisions with the old woman, who, despite seeming to be more than bit on the nutty side, had extremely good insights. While Morrigan would scoff and taunt from the background, the two Wardens and mad old witch would discuss the route to Highever, and map out the routes to finding the other allies to whom the treaties obligated.

"And so now, I must bring an end to my hospitality, children," Morrigan's Mother chortled, grinning at the expressions upon both Wardens' faces. "But, I do have one parting gift to bestow." She rose, brushing off her skirts, and then turned to her daughter, who had stood back, watching. "Morrigan will be accompanying you."

The surprise that crossed Alistair and Adela's faces were nothing in comparison with that upon Morrigan's beautiful face.

"What?" the younger witch exclaimed, her posture instantly shifting from relaxed amusement to tense annoyance. "Mother, this…this is not what I wanted!"

"Oh, come now, girl," her mother scolded, completely ignoring the near fright in her daughter's voice. "You've been itching to leave the Wilds for years for more than a brief foray. Now's your chance," she chuckled, looking directly into her daughter's face. "Get out of the Wilds. See the world. End a Blight."

Casting a malevolent look at both Wardens as though this was their fault, the young witch shook her head defiantly. "No! I won't go."

Morrigan's Mother seemed only amused at her daughter's defiance, then reached out and delivered a sharp slap across her face. Startled, Morrigan raised a delicate hand to the growing red hand mark flowering on her cheek. Alistair and Adela stood in startled silence.

"You will go," her mother ordered, her voice lost the cheerful tone of lunacy and was replaced with firm command. "They need your help against this Blight, girl. They need magic. You know how to avoid the darkspawn in the Wilds, you can lead them to the nearby village." she took a step closer, allowing her daughter to see the menace in her eyes. "You will go."

Her hand still to her face, fighting back stinging tears, Morrigan nodded, and mumbled the need to gather her things. Adela was biting her lip, wanting to say something to ease the tension, but was startled as Morrigan's Mother turned to face them, her face once again resuming the cheerfulness of a loony witch.

Moments later, Morrigan was ready. After a brief discussion with Alistair who truly did not want the taciturn witch to journey with them, "We need allies, Alistair," Adela firmly reminded him, they agreed to take Morrigan along with them. Alistair and Adela thanked Morrigan's Mother for her help, and then followed a silent Morrigan from the clearing, with a heading out of the Wilds.