I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). 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.

This chapter is more for fluff as they travel along the Highway to Highever. It can't be all deadly serious all of the time, right? Hmmm…well….And, strange as it may seem, this chapter has given me a lot of grief. Please let me know what you think.

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

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn

Chapter 13

The small party had traveled fully a week outside of Lothering, heading northward toward Highever. They had encountered small roving bands of darkspawn that had somehow become separated from the hoard to the south. During one such encounter, they were assisted with the teeth and muscle of a mabari war hound.

After the last darkspawn fell, the dog approached, it's brindle coat covered with blood, dirt and small wounds, some healing over indicating they were older, others new from the recent battle. Adela spotted the beast, watching it carefully.

"I'd be careful," Alistair whispered, taking her arm to prevent her from approaching the hound. "He could be rabid or infected."

Patting Alistair's hand and carefully removing her arm from his grasp, she stepped forward a bit, her eyes firmly on the hound, who in its turn watched her carefully. Maintaining eye contact, the elf hunkered down, crouching several feet from the beast, while still maintaining eye contact. The great beast, easily as large as the small elf, most likely outweighing her by several stone, gave out a great sigh, and then dropped to the ground, rolling over and showing her his belly. With a smile, still moving carefully, Adela rose to her feet, walked over to the hound and rubbed his belly. His tongue lolling happily, the hound accepted the attention gratefully.

Alistair stepped over to the pair, amazement in his eyes. "How did you know to do that?" he asked, watching the elf pat the dog, which had now rolled over onto his stomach to accept scratches at his ears.

The elf bit her lip, a small frown on her face. Well, he did ask…"Loghain had a war hound when I was a child," she glanced up quickly. Seeing Alistair's face darken slightly, she looked back to the hound. "He made certain that I knew how to handle myself around the hounds."

The human Warden didn't say another word at that moment. Leliana cooed at the "big puppy" while the Sten acknowledged the war hound a fine addition to their party.

A derisive laugh from Morrigan, who asked, "Now we have another mangy beast following us around?" at Adela's questioning stare, the witch gestured toward Alistair, "At least the beast smells better than the Templar."

Alistair sputtered at the witch, and Adela remarked, "Leave him alone, Morrigan." The elf rose, and the war hound leaned against her, almost knocking her from her feet. She gave a gentle nudge back with her knee. "So," Alistair moved to her side, staring down at the huge war dog, "what are you going to name him?"

Her bottom lip was being mauled by her teeth. "Can't I just call him 'Dog'?"

Alistair was horrified. "No, no, no…you can't!" he knelt down to the dog's level. "He needs a name!" the senior junior Warden declared.

"Oh!" Leliana jumped into the conversation, "I know a name….'Aveline'."

"It's a boy dog, Leliana," Adela advised, grinning down at the beast.

"How about 'Rover'?" Alistair offered, and then seeing the look upon Adela's face, quickly amended, "Okay, how about not!"

Tapping a finger against her chin, Adela shook her head, "Naming a mabari is very important." She grinned up at the two waiting humans. "I'll need to think about it."

Leliana grinned, Alistair's mouth dropped open. "He's going to be nameless until you come up with a name?"

Adela nodded. "Yes. I'll not have names like 'Rover' or 'Rex' or 'Dan' being tossed about just so that we can call him something other than 'Come Here'." She reached over and petted the dog's ears fondly. "He needs a name that suits his personality, and we've only just met." She looked up, smiling into Alistair's face. It was the first real smile she'd given him with since the night outside of Lothering, and Alistair felt grateful she had forgiven him his outburst. So, he returned her smile and agreed that they'd get to know the pooch before naming the pooch.

The Sten merely grunted, seeming to think that the whole conversation pointless. Judging by Morrigan's sneer, she agreed.

DA:O

That night they camped out along the side of the highway. Leliana particularly was nagging about naming the war hound.

"How about Shartan?" she offered. Adela shook her head. "I don't know; naming a dog after one of our greatest heroes?" She shrugged, leaning back over a piece of wood she was examining.

"Garahel," Alistair offered. Adela gave him a questioning look, and Alistair replied, "He's the Grey Warden who stopped the last Blight." He stirred the pot of gray stew he was cooking. "He was elven."

Again the elf shook her head. "Nope." she reached over and petted 'The Dog'. "Still seems a little…unflattering to name a dog after the few elven heroes we have." She brought the wood up, checking over the grain and texture. Then grinned over at them mischievously, "How about 'Maric'?"

"Argh!" Was Leliana's response; Alistair just assumed a serious look, shaking his head. She laughed at them.

"Don't worry," she calmly said, returning to her inspection. "The right name will come to me."

DA:O

Two nights later, they found a suitable campsite beside a deep pond. The women in particular were very pleased with the opportunity to bathe. The men…not quite as thrilled with the prospect, the dog even less so.

After a cold bath, her hair drying about her shoulders and down her back, curling and forming a halo about her beautiful face, Adela sat on the ground, her back against a log, her legs curled under her as she worked her carving tool along the length of a piece of wood.

"Ooooo…what is that?" came the Orlesian accented question. Adela looked up from the piece of wood she was carving into the likeness of the Vhenadahl tree, with its thick, ancient trunk, and out stretched limbs, heavy with a thick, broad leaf.

Adela smiled at Leliana, "This is the Vhenadahl, The Tree of the People. Every Alienage has one. It is the center of the Alienage and stands witness to important events." She handed the unfinished work to the human, her smile widening at the awe and appreciation that shone so clearly on the expressive face. "Weddings, births, deaths - these are all celebrated before the Vhenadahl. And, in so doing," she took the piece back and resumed carving away those pieces that did not belong, "those who lived in the Alienage are always remembered. They become the roots and help to strengthen the community."

"Oh," Leliana breathed, watching Adela's dexterous fingers working the rough wood, shaping it into the beautiful tree. "What a lovely tradition."

Dropping the wood he had gathered for the fire, and tossing a few logs onto the existing flames, Alistair quipped, "What's a lovely tradition?"

Leliana grinned at the man, gesturing grandly toward the elf sitting before the fire. "The Vhenadahl. Oh! It's so romantic! Perhaps I should write a poem - oh! No! A song. About the tradition of the elven people to perform important ceremonies before the gnarled and ancient roots of the Vhenadahl, to ensure that every life passed within the Alienage lives on long after they pass!" Clapping her hands merrily, the red head rushed off to her tent, seeking writing supplies.

"Well, that got her in a tizzy, now, didn't it?" the young man joked as he sat beside the elven Warden. Adela glanced up briefly to bestow a bright smile upon him, and then turned her concentration back to her work. She had decided she was going to make time during quiet moments to devote to her art. Alistair sat and watched her quietly for many moments, neither noticing that the Sten had moved over from his post at watch to take note of the artwork the elf was creating. Morrigan was no where to be found.

"Sooo…." Alistair began, "you have a hobby carving stuff."

Adela arched one blond brow in a quick quirky movement, "Hardly a hobby," she told him, turning her eyes back to the wood. "My father is a renowned artist in Denerim. The nobles and other notables commission works from him all of the time. We've even received orders from as far away as Val Royeaux. I was his apprentice until about two years ago, and then I graduated to artisan myself." She lifted her eyes to smile at Alistair. "I'm not a warrior, Alistair. I'm an artist. I work in different mediums: porous," she grinned at his frown, "that's ivory, wood, some stones," she turned back to the wood, "I even work clay and I paint, usually in oils, but I have used watercolors before. Although sculpting is where most of my talent lies."

The Sten, watching and listening, nodded his head, "And so why are you no longer plying your craft as you should?" the huge Qunari asked, never taking his eyes from the woods surrounding them. "Why are you playing at being a warrior?"

Adela put the carving down, her thumb flicking at the blade of her carving tool. She noticed Alistair starting at her intently, and while she felt somewhat comfortable in discussing some of the circumstances with Alistair, she had not reached a comfort level with the giant, on any level, to share any part of her tale. So, she replied, "An abrupt change in circumstances occurred, Sten." She looked up at the huge warrior, meeting and holding his eyes. "And, I am still an artist. And this is hardly 'playing'. I have just taken a…side journey."

The Sten turned his eyes to stare at the elf briefly. Then, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he gave her one quick nod, and then stepped away to resume his patrol of the perimeter.

Alistair watched him with some amusement. "Glad he's on our side," he paused a thoughtful look crossing his handsome face, "I think." He turned back to Adela, who had resumed her carving. He watched her fingers work in unison with the carving tool, feeling along the surface, quickly nicking any piece that didn't belong, cutting into the wood with a thumbnail to create texture. He was almost mesmerized by the flowing and supple movements of her fingers.

"Do you want to talk about how you became a warden?" the young man asked when Adela lifted her eyes to his in question.

"I thought Wardens didn't have a past?" she quipped, smirking at her friend.

"Yeah, well," Alistair grimaced, reaching over and tugging at an errant lock of blonde hair before tucking it behind a delicate ear. "I've never quite bought into the whole 'Grey Wardens don't have a past' deal." He shrugged. "Pasts - the good, bad and ugly - help make a person who he or she is." He smiled. "But, if you don't want to tell me…"

The elf looked down at the half-finished tree in her hands. "It's not a matter of not wanting to tell you, Alistair," she looked up, staring at the sky. The stars were coming out, "It's just…difficult." She sighed. "I haven't spoken to anyone about it." She flicked the blade of her tool again. "Duncan didn't even really know what happened, although I've always thought he suspected."

They sat there quietly, the crackle of the fire blending in with the sounds of crickets chirping their last before autumn came in full. "Adela," Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know this past month has been rough on you," he smiled gently, watching as she bit her lower lip. "Just know that I am your friend. You are my sister Warden, and if you ever feel able to talk about it, I'm here." He released her, and she nodded her thanks.

Adela went back to work on her carving, and Alistair rose to gather more fire wood.

DA:O

Adela finished her carving the following evening. She stood up, stretching, moving and shrugging her shoulders to loosen them. She knew she should not have sat there the entire time, but once she got the picture of the tree in her head, and the wood working in her hands, she found she could not put it down. She smiled at the sight of Leliana sitting across the fire, her eyes switching from the paper she was writing on and the Vhenadahl, the tip of the quill between her teeth as she got lost in thought and prose. Reaching down, the elf picked up her carving and walked over to the Orlesian, holding the piece of wood out to her. Leliana's eyes widened in appreciation as she took the gift, gazing at it with loving eyes.

"This is absolutely beautiful," she breathed, turning it reverently in her hands. "Truly you are a master craftswoman," she praised the elf, unaware that the younger woman had been praised by royalty and national heroes for her talent. "It is a magnificent gift," the red head smiled, tucking it close to her chest.

"An artist always appreciates those who appreciate her work," Adela said, bowing slightly. Leliana grinned up at her, chattering away about the song she was working on.

A short while later, the Sten bade a good evening to the ladies, and went over to Alistair's tent, calling out for the Warden to take up second watch. The giant turned away as a string of cheerful grumpiness streamed from the tent. A few moments later, and Alistair, his hair not quite as tidy as normal, dressed in a tunic and britches, tumbled out of the enclosure, seeking 'relief' just beyond the trees.

Adela tapped Leliana on the shoulder, suggesting that the woman get some rest. With an appreciative smile, thanking the elf once more for the carving, the Orlesian crept to her tent and retired for the evening. As she watched the woman enter her tent, Adela had to admit to herself that perhaps not all Orlesians were the evil incarnate both her mother and Loghain said they were. Leliana was definitely as nice (no, nicer) than many Fereldans the elf had met.

Although it was not her watch, Adela found she was not tired. She knew very well the fruitlessness of even trying to sleep if her body wasn't up to it. So, she pulled up the pouch that contained the treaties, pulling the parchments free of their confines. The folded piece with her name written on it fell out.

Frowning, for the elf did not recall seeing this before, she picked it up, immediately recognizing Duncan's handwriting. Why is there a letter for me and not Alistair? She wondered briefly, breaking the seal and pulling the parchment open. Another square, this one with Alistair's name on it, fell out. Nodding with a smile (of course), she picked that off the ground, holding it in her palm until her fellow Warden reappeared.

She began to read the letter written in Duncan's neat, flowing hand:

My Dear Adela

Well, little lady, I first must congratulate you on passing the joining. As you no doubt are now aware, the joining must remain secret. If the conditions of the ritual were ever to leak out, few, if any, would choose to become Grey Wardens. I tell you this as a means of apology for keeping so many secrets from you during our journey together. You are very much like your mother, honest almost to a fault, and I had learned quite early on that you valued honesty above all else. And, for that, I must apologize for integrating you into an order that survives upon secrecy.

It is with the assumption that I may not survive that I put ink to parchment to you. The upcoming battle will be difficult, but if all of our planning comes to fruition, it is very possible this note would be moot. Even if that is the case, and I should survive, the words herein contained are still very much true.

Many believe that to be a Grey Warden one must be a warrior without peer. The truth is, the Wardens are made of many different types of folk, all dedicated to the duty of ridding Thedas of the darkspawn, and putting a stop to Blights. To do so, we must be ready to employ any means necessary. While warriors who can wield shield and sword - such as our Alistair - are the front line of our ongoing war, those who possess more subtle talents, such as yourself, are highly sought after for our ranks. Someone who can read people, who can interact well with them; One who can feel compassion and empathy for those who suffer, and can fully and truly understand the consequences of one's actions - these are few and far between, and I count myself fortunate the day I was able to garner you for our ranks.

To be honest, although I was highly impressed with your escape from the Arl's estate, I had every intention of recruiting you when first we met solely based upon observations I had made prior to our very first meeting (and I am thinking of your encounter with Lord Vaughan when he first attempted mischief with you) and based upon our initial conversation, when you had stood up to me, bravely, seeking a way to forestall any violence. And, if it's not too heartless to say, I had intended to recruit your betrothed. Nelaros displayed great heart and courage, and would have made a most excellent Grey Warden.

Glancing down at the wedding ring she still wore, Adela smiled at that, thinking of the elven man who was to have been her husband.

That said, I want you to know that, should I survive the battle, I plan on grooming you as my replacement.

Adela gasped here, then continued reading.

You recall Artan? The overly large, loud fellow who greeted us upon arrival at Ostagar? He is my second, but truthfully has neither desire nor aptitude to lead. He and I both agree that you have the talents needed to do so, although Artan did suggest fattening you up a bit as he believes you are rather scrawny (I apologize, little lady, his words, not mine). Once you take over as Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan, Artan most likely would remain as your second until his Calling.

Calling? She needed to ask Alistair about that.

Then, it would be your duty to choose one who would serve along side you as your second. Alistair most likely would be a good choice. Do not let the boy fool you; his sense of humor and seeming inability to lead is merely a shield he had erected about himself. He is far more capable then he lets on. Truly, a more loyal, capable man you could not find.

I know you must be surprised and perhaps a little overwhelmed by this, Adela. However, I have the utmost faith in you. Do not think that this has anything to do with you being Adaia's daughter. As stated above, this decision is based upon my observations of you at and since leaving the Alienage. You purported yourself well, even though I am certain you suffered at the hands of Lord Vaughan. Do not worry, I will not try to pry from you what happened. I do feel you need to confide in someone though, my dear, as even those of strong will and character, such as yourself, find that they cannot always carry their own burdens alone.

In case I do not survive the battle, you should be aware that the Grey Wardens have a safe house in Denerim. There is a warehouse located in the area of the Wonders of Thedas, a magic shop supported by the Circle. At the end of this letter is the combination for opening the cache room. This is a secret to all but the Warden Commander and his Second. There are not even any records of this safe house in our headquarters at the palace. I realize that putting this information in written form may prove disastrous; however, I felt the risk necessary in order to make certain that you are able to access the vault if in time of need.

You will also find information in our Denerim headquarters that will assist you in your adjustment to the life of a Warden and should answer many of the questions I am certain you have.

If I fall, do not hesitate to seek out Artan, and any of the surviving senior Wardens to assist you. They are aware of my intentions with regards to your training.

Enclosed is a note for Alistair. Please be certain the boy receives it.

And one final thing, little lady. You really should stop biting that bottom lip.

Faithfully yours,

Your friend,

Duncan

Warden Commander of the Grey, Fereldan

Adela stared at the letter in her hand for several moments, blinking against the prickling sensation of tears, and then quickly re-read it to make certain she understood it correctly. Duncan really thought to prepare her to take over command of the Grey Wardens? She shook her head. That can't be right. Surely even Duncan could make a mistake. She frowned. She knew nothing of leading people.

The log she sat upon shifted with the added weight of the large human man taking a seat. Without a word, Adela handed Alistair his letter while her blue eyes scanned over hers for a third time. With a quick look to his friend, Alistair broke the seal and read the letter from Duncan. He then refolded it, placing it inside his tunic, his face soft and thoughtful.

And sat there watching Adela as she tried to absorb what Duncan said in his missive.

It was with a profound sigh that Adela finally put the letter down, having absorbed all she could from it. She still could not believe it, but there it was, in black and white, clearly in Duncan's hand (the tone of the letter was the way the man spoke, even the use of his moniker for her). She looked up and saw that Alistair was watching her closely.

"Didn't you have one these?" she asked him, waving her parchment in the air.

Alistair nodded, "Yes," he looked down at his hands "I…I just need more time and perhaps a re-read," he grinned, "or three before it sinks in."

"One of those, huh?" she frowned at her letter. "Mine, too." Then, with barely a second thought, she handed Duncan's letter over to Alistair. He looked at her carefully, his hand outstretched. At her nod, he took the parchment, reading the letter carefully.

The elf watched, a red-gold brow twitched here, a slight quirk of a lip corner there. He doesn't quite frown, but neither did that lip quirk offer up to a smile either. Perhaps he felt that he should have been considered by Duncan instead of her? She felt a moment of distress at that thought. What if he resented her for Duncan's decision?

She is pleasantly surprised when Alistair chuckled and replied, "Well, then, Commander," he grinned widely, "better you than me!"

And she groaned, "No! Don't call me that!" She assumed a whining tone that almost - almost - sounded like Alistair's own. The other Warden, far from being insulted, laughed harder. He handed the letter back, clearly amused by this turn of events.

She looked at him through the corner of her eye as she tucked the letter back into her satchel. "Yes, well, you as my second," she grinned wider as his eyes widen. "Need to be prepared in case you ever have to take command."

Holding his hands up, waving them about, he pleaded, "No, no, no, no! I don't lead! I can't lead," his voice dropped lower, taking on a more pathetic whine. "Bad, bad things happen when I lead. People die! We all get lost! And, I am leading without any pants!"

She bit her lip, trying to stem a peel of laughter, but failed miserably. There they were, the last two Wardens in all of Fereldan, falling over laughing at the very thought of Alistair leading them all through the mired wilderness, sans pants.

DA:O

The next day it rained. Not a dreadful downpour, but a steady drizzle that, at times, was worse than a steady rain. Adela walked up front, Alistair at one side, The Dog on the other. The human Warden glanced over at the mabari, feeling sorry for the beast's still unnamed state. He opened his mouth to bring it to Adela's attention - again - and then shut it. He had been harping on it for over a week now, and the elf would just smile at him and tell him she was still thinking. Thinking? It seemed like that's all she did. And while she thought trying to figure out the perfect name for the beast, the poor guy had to settle for prompts of 'Come Here' or being called 'The Dog'. Really, how humiliating for one of the noble breed?

And so Alistair settled for huffing, and that drew Adela's eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the frown that turned the corners of her lovely mouth down, noticed that her bluest of blue eyes narrowed slightly. She glanced over at the beast dutifully trotting along at her side, his tongue lolling out as he happily matched her pace. Alistair sighed again, and Adela's eyes went back to his face.

"Okay, Alistair," the elf muttered, maintaining the pace. "Out with it."

Feeling a bit cheeky, Alistair asked, "Is that a command, Commander?"

Adela huffed back at him. "You know, I could institute latrine building duty in which you would be the sole contributor."

"What?" his eyes widened. "And have me hog all the fun?" He tsked at her. "No, no. I'm certain Sten or even Morrigan would love to be able to share in the fun." He grinned at her smirk. "Ah, yes, latrine duty. Always fun."

She gave a great sigh, shaking her head, obviously choosing to ignore his comments and plod along.

Grinning openly at her, Alistair skillfully ignored the sneering "Fool" that came from Morrigan and the foreign "Pashara" from the Qunari. His grin widened at Leliana's giggle.

They continued this way for quite some time, until finally Adela just stopped. Alistair stopped as well and turned to look at his fellow Warden (she'd kill him if he thought Commander!). She gave him a 'look' that made him both a little fearful but also weak at the knees. The Sten, Morrigan and Leliana had stopped, watching with interest as the elf turned to the war hound.

"Since big old Alistair won't shut up about it," she was saying to the dog as she gripped his ears, staring into his eyes, "I guess I'm going to have to give you your name now rather than wait until we're at camp tonight." she shot Alistair another one of those looks, and he found himself grinning at her like an idiot. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the dog. "Your name is Hafter." She released the dog, who barked happily at her. Taking that as acceptance, she turned and continued walking along, Hafter prancing by her side. Frowning, Alistair followed, the other three, after sharing a shrug, followed.

"Wait!" Alistair hurried to her side, glancing backward. "That's it? No ceremony? No long story about the significance of the name?" He looked over at the hound. "Hafter?" the human Warden paused, trying to recall a history lesson from his days at the Chantry. "Isn't that the name of some Dane's son?"

Adela shrugged. "I don't know about that," she replied. "However, I remember King Maric telling me about how he had gone to the Deep Roads, accompanied by Warden Commander Genevieve and several of her wardens. One of those wardens was named Kell and he was her second or some such." She smiled. "He had a mabari named Hafter. So, now my mabari's name is Hafter."

Glancing at the mabari, Alistair asked, "How long ago did you pick that name?"

"Ooohhh…a few days ago," was the elf's smug reply.

A few…"And you let the poor doggy go without a name that long?" he whined.

Adela grinned wider. "I'd let him go longer, but I was getting tired of listening to you whine and pout about the 'poor puppy' not having a name."

Aha! "Soooo…." Alistair's voice took on a smooth quality and he sidled up beside the pretty elf. "All I have to do it whine and pout?"

Sputtering, both eyebrows rising up, the elf flushed a deep pink (which Alistair found very fetching). "Don't even think of trying it," the elf growled out that warning, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the road.

"Hmmmm…" the taller Warden hummed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Huffing up at him, the elven Warden increased her pace, ducking her head so that her insufferable fellow Warden would not see the small grin that touched her lips.

DA:O

Alistair is nervous, sweating under his tunic. Adela is leaning over a rock, the map spread out as she traced the route from Ostagar to Highever. Her finger moved back down to the spot where they believe they are. The human warden moved to her side, leaned over, trying to not think about it at the moment.

"I'm thinking we've another full day's march to Highever," the elven Warden stated, glancing up to Alistair to gauge his thoughts. She's obviously pleased as he nodded in agreement.

With a sigh, she rolls up the map. "Well, I'll be glad when we finally get there." She tucked the map into the satchel she used for the treaties. "I just hope our reception will be on the positive side."

Alistair merely nodded, again, not saying anything. A small frown formed between her brows, the elf tossed a few logs on the fire, enjoying the snapping sound the crispy bark made upon ignition.

"We may even be able to restock in Highever," she continues, watching Alistair as he stared into the flames.

"Uh huh," was his response.

"Maybe I'll buy myself another suit of armor," she stated as she stepped to his side,

"Sounds good," he said absentmindedly.

"Maybe get that dress for you so that you can dance the Remigold for the Teryn," she joked, grinning as Alistair merely nodded.

"So, what color? I think green would look splendid on you," she tried not to laugh, especially when Leliana giggled behind them.

"That would be fine," the man responds, then frowns, looking up. "Wait? What?"

Adela and Leliana burst out laughing, while the Sten merely grunted and Morrigan snickered.

"I didn't think you were paying attention," the elf teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he apologized, offering a grin. "Mind's somewhere else, I suppose."

"Ah," Morrigan put in, "of course, one would find it necessary to assume you had a mind to be 'somewhere else' to begin with."

"Morrigan…"

"But, truly, Adela, he makes it so easy," the witch continued.

"Morrigan."

"Oh, have it your way," she huffed, turning back to her work of brewing potions.

Smiling, shaking her head, she turned back to Alistair. "Hey," she touched his arm, "do you want to talk?"

He looked up, and then did a quick survey of the camp. "Ah, actually, I would. But," he looks back at her, "can we talk privately?"

A blond brow twitched. "More Warden secrets?" she asked.

Shaking his head, Alistair responded, "No, no. I just want to talk privately. You know," he gestured around. "Without the peanut gallery listening in."

Leliana gasped indignantly at that. Point proven, Alistair thought. Adela smiled, rolling her eyes, and nodded. Taking her arm, Alistair led her away from the campsite.

The forest floor was wet from the rainfall that had been falling the past couple of days, and it was quite dark. The light from the camp fire helped them navigate a far distance from the others, although Alistair wished for some moonlight to help light the area.

They stopped, and Adela found a stump to sit on, ignoring the dampness. Alistair watched her and grinned as her feet hung about a foot off the ground and she swung her legs. He fidgeted, and then pulled out from his side pouch the object he wanted to give her.

"Here, look at this," he handed a delicate red rose to her. "Do you know what it is?"

She quirked a brow up, one corner of her mouth following in a slight grin (her face was so expressive) "Your new weapon of choice?"

He laughed, "Yes, that's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!" and he took a deep breath through his nose, smiling broadly at her.

Adela grinned down at the rose in her hand, raising it to her nose. "You've been thumbing this awhile, haven't you?" she looked up into his warm eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Why nervous now? He berated himself. She has the rose. "Actually, I picked it in Lothering." He stepped in front of her, looking down at the smaller elf. "I saw it there and thought that it was such a beautiful thing, flourishing in these dire times." He reached out and gently touched the side of Adela's face. "It rather reminded me of you."

"Of me?" she asked, glancing down at the flower. "How?"

Leaves crackled as he moved, kneeling down onto the wet ground so that he and she were eye to eye. "Just as I said," he remarked very quietly. "Something so beautiful flourishing in the most dire of times."

He smiled softly as he watched the blush rise up her neck, to her cheeks and to the very tips of her ears. How he longed to touch those ears.

"Alistair…" she began, softly, her eyes lowering to the flower.

"I…I know that you may not feel quite the same way about me as I do you," he acknowledged a bit sadly, "and I don't know everything about you as perhaps I should." she looked up at that. "But, I do know how I feel about the you that I do know. And I hope that…well, someday you may begin to feel it, too, for me." he looked at her with such hope in his eyes. He watched as she swallowed nervously, her body language betraying a certain level of discomfort. He moved back a bit, to allow her room, to let her know that he was not going to do anything that she did not permit.

She was biting her lower lip - again. A clear sign she was nervous or anxious about something. Or thinking very strongly about something. Her eyes darted from the rose, to the side and then to Alistair's face.

"Alistair," she started again. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to gather strength for what she was going to say next. Please don't tell me you're in love with Loghain, please don't, he silently begged her. I think I already know that but couldn't bear to hear it from your lips.

What she did say surprised him. "You had once asked me about the circumstances that surrounded Duncan conscripting me for the Wardens," her voice was so small, scared. He could only nod, fearing what she may say.

She took a shuddering breath, and told him about her wedding day, about Vaughan coming to the Alienage, about his kidnapping her and the other women from her wedding party. Tears fell from her eyes as she told him about Vaughan's attack upon her, leading to her rape and Alistair took her hands and held them tightly, feeling her grip upon his hands tighten. She looked up but not into his eyes, but a bit off and over his shoulder as she recounted finding her cousin, battered and assaulted; of how her betrothed, Nelaros had perished during the rescue attempt. She took another breath, and explained how, upon returning to the Alienage she had taken full responsibility, thinking that it would spare the others in her home trouble for the massacre that occurred in the Arl's palace. And when done, she sat there, shuddering with sobs, grasping the rose in her hands, unable to look at her friend who sat there for just a moment, stunned.

And he knew what he needed to do. Without a word, he put his arms around the elf, and just held her, letting her cry upon his shoulder, or talk when the need came upon her to do so. How long they sat like that, Alistair didn't know. He decided that he could just kneel there, like this, holding her, his knees upon the wet ground, for however long she needed.

And Alistair knew that, even if she never returned his feelings, her telling him of this occurrence that had forever changed the course of her life she trusted him, and valued him, probably more so than just about anyone else in his entire life had ever done.

He had never before felt this way in his entire life. And he thanked the Maker, yet again, for this wonderful woman. Whether she be friend or lover, it didn't matter. So long as she was a part of his life and he hers, he would forever be happy.