I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). 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.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, celtic-twinkle, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost! And a special thanks to Windchime68 - I had been having the devil of a time with this chapter, but talking back and forth helped me fix it. I hope this chapter reads well…

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn

Chapter 17

He gasped, breaths coming in deep gusts as he pushed himself up. His heart beat too quickly and blood pounded in his ears. Blue eyes opened looked around; back in familiar chambers at the palace, his chambers he realized, bringing a hand to his aching head. The last visit to the Fade had been wearing on him. He could not shake the feeling that the Adela he had encountered therein was, somehow and impossibly the real Adela.

Black hair fell in his face as he bowed his head, strands catching in long eyelashes. How could that be? He recalled vividly Cauthrien and Howe speaking when they had thought him unconscious. The Wardens - Duncan, Adela, that huge barbarian, the bastard - had all died at Ostagar. As had Cailan. An anguished groan escaped his lips as he thought of his son-in-law, Maric's eldest son. The boy could be reckless, at times foolish, but he had been a good king, a good husband to Anora, and a better man than his father had been. And now he lay dead amongst the filth of the darkspawn. Usually pragmatic and realistic, the man avoided any thought of her laying dead on the field. The man growled deep in his throat, wanting nothing more than to throttle the life from Howe's body. And Cauthrien! How could she betray Fereldan, her king…him?

What plans did they have for him today, he wondered as his eyes skimmed around the room, taking in the neat appearance, everything as it should be. Save for his armor and weapons; these were no where to be seen. His captors had taken precautions for these few periods of lucidity they allowed him. A scowl formed across his face, eyes narrowing in anger. They were using him as some kind of puppet, but to what end? He had no recollection of those times that occurred between his few waking periods and the sojourns into the Fade. He was aware that his visits to the Fade were occurring with more frequency, and that disturbed him greatly. There were no remembrances of interacting with his daughter, of even seeing her since his return from that ill fated battle. He recalled only a handful of times actually speaking with Howe and Cauthrien, and those conversations had been less than revealing. Other memories were foggy, disjointed, as though merely memories of something spoken of and not experienced. He had no idea how the war against the darkspawn was progressing.

Snarling, throwing aside the bedcovers, the Teryn rose unsteadily to his feet, a lightheadedness overtaking him. He stumbled, catching hold of one of the bed posts, glancing down at himself, noticing he was wearing only light trousers and a linen shirt. A hand went to his stomach and he realized he was very hungry. He obviously was not eating as frequently as he should. Crossing to the mirror that hung on the wall, he carefully examined his features. Cold, tired blue eyes stared back, ringed heavily with dark circles. There were more lines on his face than he recalled, the frown furrow between his brows more defined, his cheeks almost hallow, the hint of overnight stubble on his face. Never one for vanity, Loghain could not help but notice how much older he looked. With a start, he realized he had no sense of time, no idea how long ago Ostagar had been.

He turned. There were footsteps at his door, and he heard a key sliding into the lock. Moving quickly, the warrior stepped to the side of the doorway, prepared to grapple whoever entered his chambers. As the door swung open, Loghain moved with it, keeping behind it but moving toward the figure that entered. Rounding the corner, he reached out to grab hold of the intruder…

And was instantly frozen in place. Ice, colder than the middle of winter, crept into his bones, chilling his very core. Incensed, the Teryn looked up, into eyes the color of blood set in a face startling in its familiarity. Snarling out his rage, he tried again to lunge, to will his hands to move around that throat, but as the words spilled from the intruder's mouth, he found only oblivion.

DA:O

Water splashed lazily in tiny whirlpools as the washcloth dipped back down. A happy sigh escaped the elf's full lips as she brought it up to wash her face. Ah…a real bath! In a real tub! Full of real hot water! It had been the first thing she did upon entering the inn and renting the inn's full compliment of rooms…order a hot bath be brought to her room. While the others ate a hearty meal downstairs, Adela indulged in a good, old fashioned soak.

She decided that of all of the things she missed from the Alienage (other than the people) - from home - a real bath was at the very top of her list.

She tried not to think of what had happened during their visit to the Circle. She tried very hard to ignore the events surrounding their visit into the Fade. Hard as she could, she tried not to believe that the last incarnation of Loghain had been real.

All she wanted to think of was the heat of the water soaking into her pores, drenching down into her very soul. Clean skin; clean hair…the water was dirty but she still did not really care. The water was still hot and she was loathe to leave it.

A final dunk, a final rinse of her hair, and she decided that now the water was, indeed, too dirty to remain. Maybe she'd indulge in another bath tomorrow before they left….

With a contended sigh, she rose, picking up the drying towel, and stepped out onto the rug. Wrapping herself in the towel, she moved slowly to the bed - a real, double bed! She picked up the clothing she had set out before stepping into the tub. Drying off, wrapping her long hair in the towel, she quickly dressed in soft trousers and a light shirt. She tilted her head back, feeling her damp hair swing down her back. The muscles in her neck felt loose thanks to the bath. Picking up the towel, she sat at the end of the bed and began to towel dry her long hair.

There was a rap at her door, and then a second. She called out for whoever was at the door to enter, and in walked Alistair, carrying a tray laden with food. He grinned over at her and she returned the grin, pointing to the table by the door.

"Nice room," he commented as he placed the food down. He, too, had obviously partaken of a bath; his hair was damp and his face had a certain clean rosiness to it. "I bring my lady shepherd's pie,' he gestured grandly to the food.

"Oh!" she sighed, tossing the towel to the floor and going over to the table, the smell of lamb, potatoes and gravy assailing her nostrils. "This is my favorite!" she exclaimed as she picked up a dish and started spooning the food onto it. Grinning, Alistair helped himself to some food and then sat down next to the elf.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, Adela happily engaged in eating the wonderful meal while Alistair kept casting small sidelong glances in her direction. Finally, she put her spoon down and looked at him.

"Okay, Alistair," she said calmly, placing a hand on his arm. "I know you want to talk to me. Am I to guess its dinner theatre?" She waggled her brows at him, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Oh, good one," he poked her in the side. "I see my own marvelous sense of humor is rubbing off on you."

Quirking a slight smirk at him, the elf drawled, "Oh, yes. Next you know I'll be talking endlessly about my hair…" she said this with a toss of her head, her hand running along the length of her damp tresses.

The young man chuckled, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Really, Alistair," Adela continued, "if you wish to talk, I am more than willing to listen."

It was with a heavy sigh that Alistair put down his fork and sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. Adela remained quiet, letting him gather his thoughts. "I really haven't told you much about myself, have I?" he asked her quietly, his amber eyes searching her face. She shook her head. The only thing he had told her was that he had been training as a Templar and Duncan recruited him prior to taking his vows. "Well, let's see…I'm a bastard," his eyes went to her grin, "no funny remarks about that one, missy," he scolded. "I was taken in and raised by Arl Eamon," Adela's eyes widened at that. "He took me in and raised me. He didn't have to, but he did." His face fell slightly. "He was good to me. Better than my own father." His sidelong glance to Adela told him he had her attention.

"Maric," the elf offered. Alistair nodded. The grin returned to her face. "Sooo…you're not just a bastard by a royal bastard." She'd been saving that one since the Fade.

Alistair's eyes widened and his face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, ha ha!" he quipped, then, with a thoughtful expression, said, "You know, that's not half bad." He laughed. "I'll have to remember that one!"

Adela laughed along with him, glad to hear the sound from him. "Okay, so Maric was your father, and Arl Eamon raised you," she prompted, "how in the world did you end up at the Chantry ready to take your vows as a Templar?"

"Eamon married a young woman from Orlais," Adela's face darkened at that. "She heard the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's and she wasn't happy about that. So, when she became pregnant with their son, she insisted that there was no room for me, and so off to the Chantry I was packed." His voice broke there, and Adela moved over to him, putting her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. The young man greatly appreciated it and, with a pat to her arm, continued. "I was so angry when he told me. I remember I had an amulet of Andraste, the only thing I had of my mother's. I was so angry that I tore it off and threw it at a wall. It shattered," he sighed, head drooping. "It was such a stupid thing to do." He looked up. "My mother was a servant at Redcliffe. She died giving birth to me. It had been the only thing I had of hers."

"Alistair," Adela breathed, now completely understanding his dream in the Fade. Her forehead rested on his. "I am so sorry, my friend," she kissed him softly on the cheek. "I had no idea…"

"No one knew," Alistair said, turning his face towards hers, their faces just inches apart. "Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew, and even he treated me differently. He kept me out of the battle."

Adela shook her head, moving away from him a bit. "No, Alistair. That was Cailan," Alistair's eyebrow rose. "It's true. He had insisted that you accompany me. It was Loghain's idea that I go to the tower, and Cailan added the condition that you go as well." She was biting her lip. "He knew, didn't he?"

Shrugging Alistair replied, "I guess. I don't know. It's not like Cailan and I ever spoke, you know."

But the elf was getting angry, angry and disappointed at her friend, Cailan. Of course he knew! Why else would he insist Alistair be kept out of the battle? She reached a hand up and brushed it through Alistair's hair. "Alistair?" she peered into his face, and he looked at her. "I know it's not the same, not really, but we're a family, you and I." She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling at him. "We're the only Grey Wardens left in Fereldan."

He nodded, accepting and appreciating her words. With a sigh, he replied, "Well, it's not like it does any good, my being Maric's son and all," he smiled at the confused expression upon Adela's face. "I'm a commoner; it's been made very clear to me since I was a child that I'm nobody and have no claim to the throne or the Therein name…"

"That's not true, Alistair," Adela spoke, trying hard to keep the irritation she felt toward Maric and Cailan, and everyone else who had kept Alistair under heel, from her voice. "Just because your mother was a commoner does not mean you are." she poked a finger at him. "You have noble - no, royal blood in your veins. That Maric and Cailan, for whatever reason, decided not to acknowledge you is moot. You have as much right to the Therein name as they did." She was frowning deeply as she spoke.

"I don't want the throne," the young man protested, amazed that Adela was so upset and that that anger was directed at someone he knew had been a friend.

"So?" she quipped, "don't take the throne. Anora's a good ruler anyway. However," she looked him in the eyes, "don't ever let anyone tell you that you are less than you are. I don't know why they kept you hidden, told you that you were nothing, but they were wrong to do so." She chucked her hand under his chin, causing him to smile. "Don't ever forget that!"

Grateful for this friend, the young man nodded, pulling her in for a hug.

"You still should have told me, you know," she scolded as she pulled herself from the hold.

"I know, I know," he conceded. "It's just that when people do find out they start treating me differently. I just didn't want you to do that," he looked imploringly in her eyes. "I was hoping that you would like me for who I was, well, before you found out who I was." Adela laughed and Alistair groaned at how awful that sounded. "Argh! You know what I mean!"

Laughing, she put her arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug. "Yes, yes, I know, I know." Then she pushed him back, looking sternly into his eyes. "But, I'm warning you now, the next time you call me Commander, be prepared to be called My Prince!"

And while Alistair thought he liked how that sounded coming from Adela's lips, he acquiesced with a grin.

DA:O

A short time later, the two Wardens walked downstairs and found that their companions were still in the common room. The Sten sat quietly, contentedly munching on a plateful of cookies. Every now and again the stoic warrior would toss one to a patiently waiting Hafter. Roland sat at the bar with a tankard in hand talking with the inn keeper. Wynne sat in a corner darning what appeared to be Alistair's socks (the elderly mage lifted her hand and nodded in greeting), while Leliana sat next to Morrigan, chatting about hair and fashion, make up and shoes. Morrigan looked vaguely uncomfortable, but remained seated, adding few words to the conversation. The Orlesian would touch the witch's arm every now and again, a happy smile on her face.

"What," Alistair turned Adela's attention to the two women, "is going on there?" His face crinkled with confusion. "I would have thought Morrigan would, you know, " he wiggled his fingers at her, "get all witchy on her."

Grinning, she pulled her friend over to the bar. "Our lovely Orlesian has a thing for our beautiful witch," she whispered in Alistair's ear as the inn keep approached. Alistair suppressed a giggle that arose in his throat as the elf's words sent hot breath to swirl on his ear and neck.

"Really?" he glanced back at the two women. Apparently Leliana had said something that had gotten the witch's attention as Morrigan had bent her head forward, gesturing with her hands. "Huh," he turned back to Adela. "Interesting."

Adela giggled, turning to ask the inn keep for a cup of water. "Interesting?" the elf shook her head. "I think I may have been too sheltered," she admitted as she sat down, smiling over at Roland as he moved closer to the pair. "But I never realized…" she let it drop off, an embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks.

Chuckling, Roland smiled at the elf. "You would be surprised, Adela," he glanced over at the two women, who were now smiling and laughing. "I have known a few women who prefer women, and more than a few men who preferred the company of men." He grimaced slightly, taking a quick sip of his ale. "Myself? I have never seen the attraction," he glanced at the pretty elf, a small smile on his handsome face. "as I have always appreciated the grace of a pretty lady myself."

The flush on Adela's face deepened a bit, and she averted her eyes, looking into her cup, shaking her head slightly. Alistair just gave the knight a quick look, frowning. If Roland noticed the warning look the Warden gave him, he made no sign of it.

Alistair turned to the tankard of ale the inn keep placed in front of him, frowning deeply into the cup. What he really did not need or want was more competition for the pretty elf's attentions.

DA:O

They left the Spoiled Princess the next morning to bright sunshine and a cool breeze. It was late autumn, but the cold air had not settled in yet, making walking comfortable and pleasant. Adela had tried to gain passage on the ferry, but the inn keep had informed her that the ferryman had recently passed on, and no one had taken up his route yet. The forlorn look on the elf's face as she stared over the water almost - almost - made the young Warden by her side laugh. Had he not known how much the ride would have meant to the small woman, he just may have. Well, okay, there was a tiny chuckle that had escaped, but, really! She looked too cute, standing there, pouting out over the water. It wasn't his fault. Ah, but the glare she sent his way…only made him chuckle more.

And so, Alistair walked beside Adela, every now and again teasing her about the boat. Roland followed closely behind, adding his own clever remark to Alistair's teasing. Hafter walked beside the knight (the hound had taken a liking to the knight; perhaps it was the jerky he'd toss to him every now and again), at times bounding off into the brush after something. The women walked in the center, Leliana trying to convince Morrigan to wear her hair differently; Morrigan tossing snide little comments back at the Orlesian; all while Wynne just rolled her eyes at the younger women. The Sten, as always, took up the rear, his lavender eyes ever alert for danger. The bronze giant didn't seem to think anyone noticed when he'd reach into a pocket and pull out a cookie to munch.

They walked like this for hours. Alistair thoroughly enjoyed it.

Glancing down at his companion, Alistair, again, replayed in his mind their conversation about his heritage. There was a certain relief in telling Adela about his father - of course, after her encountering him in the Fade with his 'family' he rather felt he had to. But her reaction had not been what he had expected. He had expected indignation that he had not told her, a bit of fawning, perhaps, since he was the last Therein (that anyone knew of he reminded himself. After all, if Maric had one dalliance, could he not have had others?). But that she would be angered that no one had parented him, disappointed that Maric had abandoned him and Cailan never acknowledged him? That surprised him. Especially when he thought of her years-long friendship with Cailan: Shouldn't she have defended Cailan in some manner, made up an excuse on his behalf?

And, there was a small part of him wondered if Loghain knew and if Adela would feel the same anger toward him as she did Cailan? That very same maybe not quite so small part of him hoped she would. Just, whittle away a bit at whatever feelings she had for the treacherous Teryn so that she could see the truth and perhaps…well, those kinds of thoughts were best left for another time.

Taking himself out of his mind, he looked around a bit at the scenery, taking in the environment their very strange little group was traversing through.

It had been over a decade since he had left Redcliffe. Not much of the surrounding countryside had changed. Still full of farmlands and fields, trees and, well, not much else. Just peaceful, beautiful and empty. How he had missed it.

Small pebbles skittered by his feet, skipping up and over the armored toes of his boots. He glanced over to see his fellow Warden kicking at the dirt, causing tiny wakes of pebbles to scatter away.

"Still pouting over the boat ride?" he teased, bumping into her with his hip. His brows quirked up, as did the corners of his mouth, when she shot a blue eyed glare his way.

"Can't believe the silly boat man didn't have a back up," she groused, again kicking the stones. Alistair heard Roland chuckle behind them, and he looked over his shoulder and shot the man a wide grin.

The knight reached over and gently patted the elf's shoulder. "There, there, Adela," he moved closer, teasing her, "I am certain that you will have ample opportunity to ride a boat before this adventure is over."

Alistair was very happy to see that that little remark earned the red haired knight an even deeper glare.

Adela mumbled something under her breath, kicking at the ground again.

"You will wear out the soles of your boots, young lady," came the admonishment from Wynne further back. The young elf merely rolled her eyes, grumbling again.

"What?" Alistair bent down, hand to ear, "What did you just say?"

Her head snapped up, "You," she poked him in the chest, "and you," she turned to include Roland in her current glare, "can both just go and…and soak your heads!"

With that, the perturbed elf marched ahead of them. The two men looked at each other, and then burst into laughter, hastening to follow after their leader.

DA:O

"Ah, and you are certain that they were Grey Wardens, no?" the smooth, heavily accented voice purred as the golden haired elf held a packet of coin just over the man's hand. Nodding anxiously, glancing back toward the back door to the inn, the human man licked his lips.

"The elf and one o' the men with her for certain," he muttered, eyes going back to the pouch with greedy intent.

"Hmm…." the elf tapped a finger to his chin, watching the man closely. "And, the direction in which they are now traveling is…?" he prompted, giving the pouch a gentle shake, sending the coin within jingling.

"Oi, toward Redcliffe, ser," he crooned, wiping a hand through his stringy black hair. "Left at daybreak just yesterday, followin' the road directly." He waved a hand to the south, indicating the road that would take them to Redcliffe.

Keen eyes moved in the direction the man indicated. His companion, a pretty human woman with dark eyes, smirked at him. The elf avoided rolling his eyes at her. So predictable, he thought. Amateurs.

"Ah, then, very well," he said as he dropped the pouch into the man's outstretched hand, making as though to turn away. "I do believe you have well earned these." He suddenly spun, catching the man under the chin, his tawny eyes holding the human's. "However, I should hope not to hear of this on my way to visit with my friends. The surprise, well, it would be ruined, would it not?" The human nodded, eyes filled with fear, knowing well what would happen to him should word of their inquiries reach the ears of their…friends.

The elf released him. He wanted to kill the man, but knew he had worked as a Crow informer and was always reliable. Still, it did not hurt to instill a bit of fear into the wormy little man's heart.

Stepping to the woman's side, he smirked, knowing the human would be listening. "Well, I believe if we hurry, we may well catch up with our friends the day after tomorrow." He placed a hand over his heart as they jogged away from the inn. "I so do love reunions."

DA:O

They managed to cover a lot of ground that first day from the Tower. Darkness had not completely fallen when the Wardens decided to set up camp. Because of their incessant teasing, Adela assigned Alistair and Roland to setting up her tent as well as theirs (they had managed to acquire camping supplies for both Roland and Wynne at the inn). Feigning contrition (and hiding their grins to each other from the elf), both men set about making camp.

While camp was being set up, Adela had ventured into the woods, setting snares with the hope of catching a rabbit or two. She was pleased that the group, on the whole, was getting along well. Oh, for certain, Morrigan continued to throw nasty little comments Alistair's way, but the witch was spending more time with Leliana (Adela thought it was more the talk of fashion than any romantic notion the Orlesian had), so those comments had dropped considerably. She thought she had even seen a small (very small) smile cross the Sten's stern face now and again.

A frown now crossed her face as she busily twisted the rope to the snare, making certain it was set. She had a concern, and needed to speak with someone about it. She glanced back toward camp. There was no way she could speak with Alistair, despite his being her closest friend. Besides, this issue was decidedly female in nature, so there was no way she could possibly speak with any of the men.

Leliana would be a good option, but sometimes the Orlesian girl just seemed too frivolous to bring such matters to. And, she honestly could do without the scorn she was certain Morrigan would throw her way. Oh, she had no doubt the witch would help her, after all, they were becoming friends for all the surliness the human woman displayed. But, the witch still had an incomprehensible lack of compassion for others.

No, Adela decided, she needed to speak with Wynne. Of everyone here, she would be the one to address her concern without becoming overbearingly protective (as Alistair would) or overwhelmingly caustic (as Morrigan).

The last snare set, the elf walked back to the camp.

DA:O

Worry and nervousness churned in her stomach, the desire to vomit was very strong. She could not believe she had not noticed earlier. But, she supposed with the flight from Denerim and then Ostagar and everything else they had been dealing with these past couple of months, it was truly not that difficult to understand how she could have overlooked it. Truly, she should not have been surprised.

But now she was distressed. And she hoped Wynne would be able to help her.

She approached the elderly mage, who was, yet again, darning socks. Most likely Alistair's, the elf thought, setting down beside the mage. Her mother never sewed, but she recalled that her father's sister, Dalia, loved sewing. Adela remember sitting for hours with Shianni tucked under one arm and Soris off causing trouble somewhere, just watching as her aunt would sew clothing or create dolls for the girls. Like so many things about the Alienage, the young woman missed her family.

"Wynne?" she started tentatively, concerned about pulling the woman's attention from her work. A white brow rose, and then her head.

"Yes, dear?" She had a grandmotherly tone, one that Adela had learned quickly could turn almost militarily commanding.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Wynne, I…I need to talk with you." That fear started clenching her throat, and she forced it down. Wynne put her work down, concern showing upon her finely lined face.

"What is it, Adela?"

Shaking her head, she motioned toward the mage's tent. "Not here," she pleaded quietly, trying not to draw anyone's attention to them. "It's rather personal and I just…" her voice trailed off.

The mage nodded her head and put her work into the bag that had been beside her. Wynne motioned Adela to enter first, and then the mage followed, tying the flap closed as she entered.

Sitting, wringing her hands, now the elf did not know how to approach the subject. Now, more than ever, she wished for her family. The feeling of homesickness had never been as strong as it was now. "Wynne," she began, her voice cracking. "I…I think I may be pregnant." She managed to blurt this out, her face heating with rising shame.

Shock came across the mage's face, but was quickly replaced with one of matronly concern. Never would she have thought Adela one to have engaged in such relations outside of the bonds of marriage. She just did not seem that type of girl. The mage then scolded herself for passing such judgment; she did not really know the elf. She knew nothing of the girl's life prior to becoming a Grey Warden. "Come here, child," she motioned the girl closer to her, and then carefully placed a hand on her abdomen. "When was the last time you had…?"

The girl started to shake a bit, recalling Vaughan. "It was about three months ago," she admitted, shame flushing over her anew. Wynne frowned as she sent some of her magic into the girl, searching. "It…well, it was not by choice," bluest eyes rose, tears there. And Wynne understood, and felt a rush of pity for the girl. Of course; this girl was a product of an Alienage; and humans tended to use the girls within…"It was the only time, but I have not had my courses since, and so…" her voice trailed off again as she felt the elderly mage's warm magic pass through her.

Wynne nodded. "So this man raped you and you are concerned?" she asked carefully, still searching. The elf nodded, tears running down her face. Sighing, Wynne pulled back, looking the girl in the eye. "Well, my dear, you do not need to worry. You are not pregnant." She then reached over and wiped the tears off the elf's face.

The relief that passed over Adela was almost as unbearable as the fear had been earlier. "Thank the Maker!" she breathed. Then, "So, why have I not had my courses?"

The mage sighed. "I believe it may have had something to do with the joining itself."

Her face crinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."

Sighing, taking the younger woman's hands in her own, Wynne asked, "How much about the joining, or the Grey Wardens on the whole, were you told?"

"Nothing, really," Adela admitted, frowning. "It was all a big secret. And, then, there really wasn't any time for Duncan to talk with me afterwards as we were preparing for the battle."

"How much has Alistair told you?" the mage prodded.

Head shaking, Adela responded, "Not a whole lot. He doesn't seem to know a lot about it, either." Her face scrunched. "Why?"

"Well, my dear. I think that perhaps the concoction you drank at the time of joining may have something to do with your current lack of courses."

"But, but, if I don't get my courses," her hand went instinctively to her stomach. "doesn't that mean I can't have children?" Now a real fear gripped her heart. Not have children? How is that possible?

Wynne looked thoughtful, then replied, "It is possible." She peered into the girl's face. "I take it that would be a problem for you?"

The girl nodded. "I always knew that I would marry and have children. That's what we did for the community. Live and keep the elven race alive. And, regardless, I want to eventually marry and have children. I had thought it still possible even if I was a Grey Warden." Tears formed in her eyes. "But now…" her voice trailed off. This was not fair! She looked at Wynne, trying to force herself to be steady. "Thank you, Wynne." she moved to the tent's entrance, but stopped when the mage placed a hand on her arm.

"This may be temporary," the mage advised, trying to put some hope in the girl's heart. "It may be your body adjusting to the taint that was placed there. In time…" Adela nodded her thanks, and then left the tent.

Never have children! That was unthinkable! That thought, more than her shortened lifespan, caused her a great deal of sorrow, and then anger. What in the name of the Maker…! How much more are we expected to give up!

Chuckles and soft words drifted to the elf's ears. She looked up from her bout of self pity and managed a grin as she watched Alistair, who was happily engaged in a meal of rabbit and pheasant, absentmindedly toss a bone over to Hafter. Morrigan had set up her own tent and fire and appeared to be brewing potions. The beautiful witch was scowling as she attacked the elf root she had lain out and was chopping. The sound of metal ringing against metal brought Adela's attention to where Roland was sparring with the Sten. His motions were fluid and graceful, but still a bit shaky. The sparring with the giant at this time was to try and build up the ravaged knight's strength. Adela still worried about him, but he always smiled at her concerned inquiries, insisting he was well. Her eyes moved away from the knight's form. Leliana was no where to be seen, and the elf presumed she was in her tent, getting some rest before her watch later in the evening.

Plucking a wing from Alistair's plate, the elf plopped down next to him, chewing thoughtfully. The man assumed a pouty look. "Hey! That was mine!" he whined playfully, batting his eyelashes at the elven woman.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, well, I set the snares, and look!" she gestured toward the empty spits. "This is all I got."

The Warden glanced guiltily at the fire. "Oh…" he mumbled around the food in his mouth. "Sorry." He handed her his plate, which consisted mostly of bones with barely any meat on them. She looked up at him, arching a graceful brow at him. Blushing, he pulled the plate back. "I bet I have some cheese…" he started patting at his clothing, "…somewhere."

"Argh!" Adela shook her head, imaging lint packed cheese. "No, no, that's fine." she smiled over at him as she deposited the wing bones back on his plate. "I'm okay."

Setting his plate down on the ground, Alistair wiped his hands off on a cloth. "You know, for a Grey Warden, you don't eat enough."

Licking the grease from her fingers, she nodded, "So I've been told."

Chuckling, he put his arm around the small woman's shoulders, tugging her closer. She was grateful for the contact as she felt chilled, and Alistair was always warm. She looked over at the profile of his face as he sat there, watching the fire. He really was handsome, with a kind, open face, although she preferred clean shaven to the always present stubble he maintained. And that little patch under his chin? What was that? She grinned, continuing her survey of his face. She decided she liked his eyes the best. They were always warm and full of humor, but she had seen them go hard and filled with concentration when he was in battle.

She was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him, how very safe she felt whether he had his arm about her as now or just merely being in the same vicinity. Knowing how he felt about her always gave her a guilty pang, and she hoped he did not misconstrue her affection for him. As fine a man as he was, she just did not have those romantic feelings toward him that she knew he had for her. She turned her gaze back to the fire.

There were times she thought she should pull back, back away emotionally from the young man so that he would not start to think that his feelings were reciprocated. But, she always stopped herself. Before he had told her of his childhood, he had always come across as someone who needed affection and attention from others. After they had spoken, she realized how accurate that assessment had been. And, truth be told, she would miss his company and companionship if she did pull away. She sighed, leaning her head against his strong shoulder. And they sat in companionable silence for a while. Alistair shifted in his seat a bit, slinking down a bit more to more fully wrap his form closer against the elf's. Adela noticed something about his posture that suggested he was in deep thought, but did not press him. He always came to her once his thoughts were settled, and she had learned to wait until those times.

They sat like that until it was time for Alistair to assume first watch. The young man pushed the elf toward her tent, telling her to get some rest before the dreaded 'second watch'. Laughing at him, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then crawled into her tent to snuggle into her bedroll.

DA:O

The morning sprung cold, the sky dark and bleak, promising rain. The knight glanced up, his eyes blinking in the dim light. Although he was recovering from his ordeals at the hands of Howe and his men, the young man was still experiencing many physical side effects from his tortures and confinement. One was a continued sensitivity to light.

A roll of his shoulders settled his armor comfortably, and he looked around at his traveling companions. A strange lot, indeed, but one he was most grateful for. Alistair strode ahead, dressed in silverite armor similar to that the knight current wore, next to his fellow warden. The young elf continued to wear the leather armor she had acquired back at the castle. He knew that she carried a second set - of Dalish make - in her pack, and he was also aware that Alistair did not think much of that set. Roland was curious about that, but then, he found himself growing more curious about anything pertaining to the lovely woman with each passing day. Next to her walked her great war hound, his tongue lolling out, happily enjoying the walk as though a morning stroll. Leliana currently walked next to him, unusually quiet and pensive and, try as he might, he could not engage her in any meaningful conversation. Wynne walked serenely behind them, content to simply walk and enjoy the fresh air. This day, as every other, the huge Qunari warrior walked further back from the group, but this day the witch walked beside him. It was difficult not to notice that the witch was carefully and skillfully avoiding the Orlesian.

He remembered how Adela had been slightly hesitant to take from the Highever vault, but Roland had insisted. It made sense; why leave them for Howe's men? So, she had agreed. And now Alistair wore Cousland silverite and carried a Highever blade. Roland wore similar armor but carried the family heirlooms Cousland Heraldry and the Family Blade. They had found effective plate for the Qunari and a great two handed sword. The knight had insisted on their taking all they could carry. If nothing else, they could sell the surplus and fund their quest against the Blight.

He found his eyes going back to Adela, watching as she bumped up against Alistair, laughing at the man, her smile reaching her eyes. Alistair just grinned back at her sheepishly, watching her as closely as Roland felt himself watching. He shook his head. He missed something; not paying attention to what was going on around him but lost in his musings that consisted mostly of her. It was obvious that the two Wardens were close, and that, on the part of the man at the very least, there was something there. He had to wonder at the slight bit of jealousy he felt toward the other man. There was no call for it; not only because he did not know Adela as well as Alistair, but he had no claim to her attentions. But he was and he couldn't deny that he was. He was heartened only by the fact that all of Adela's affections toward her fellow Warden had always seemed more on par as the affections of a close friend rather than beloved. Despite what he saw in the other man's eyes when he looked at the elf, Roland was certain there was nothing other than friendship and a sort of kinship between the two.

At least, he thought as he watched Alistair bend his head down to whisper into Adela's delicately pointed ear, that was his hope.

DA:O

The group made good timing. Either that or Adela's calculations on how long it would take to get to Redcliffe were off. The elf shrugged at Alistair's teasing. At least they were ahead of schedule rather than behind, she had retorted with a toss of her head.

They were greeted at the footbridge leading across a small gully by a nervous young man who had introduced himself as Thomas. "Are…are you here to help, then?" he asked hesitatingly as his eyes kept glancing over his shoulder.

"Help?" Adela asked as she and the party stopped before the young man. She and Alistair exchanged confused looks. "What's wrong here?"

"Then...then you don't know?" his voice rising in pitch with hysteria. Adela stepped forward and grasped his arm, wanting to calm the youth.

"We are here to see Arl Eamon," the elf explained, worry now on her features.

"The Arl i-is sick or worse!" the boy cried out, pulling his arm from Adela's hold. "And every night we…we're attacked by those monsters!"

"Hold on here," Alistair stepped forward, his amber eyes fixing on the lad. "The Arl is ill?" The boy nodded. "And you say there are monster attacks?"

Thomas nodded his shaggy head, "Ye-Yes, and only B-Bann Teagan has been able to keep the village organized."

"Bann Teagan is here?" Alistair asked. Again Thomas nodded. "Well, take us to him," the Warden insisted, ignoring the rumbles of the Sten behind them and the scoff that came from Morrigan.

Thinking that of course it couldn't be easy, Adela motioned for the group to follow as she matched pace with Thomas.