I own nothing save for Adela. 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.

I had a "duh" moment with Chapter 21 - how, if I had left Wynne at Redcliffe, was she tottering around at the fabric stall in Denerim? I've fixed that and am not sure whether to be glad or so very, very sad no one noticed? I'll be glad - it means that you were all so caught up in the rest of the story to notice. Yeah, that's what I'll tell myself!

As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, mutive, CCBug. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit are welcome (well, kinda. Okay, okay…marginally welcome).

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn

Chapter 22

Adela decided to wait until later to see the scholar, as she was unsure as to the length of time they would spend speaking with the brother. If he's even here, she thought to herself. So, her companions continued to shop at the market. Even Alistair and Roland had turned to the dwarven merchant selling weapons and armor from Orzammar. Grinning at the group, especially at the bouncing Hafter begging sweets from the Sten, the elf turned to a nearby fletcher's booth.

As she walked over, she passed by an older knight, dressed in shining armor, his blond hair pulled back with braids, his blue eyes piercing. The elf glanced up, and then away, thinking the man looked familiar but could not quite place him. As she neared the booth, she felt a firm hand on her arm, a whispered command to follow him. She looked up and frowned into the blond knight's face. Who was he, she wondered as she let him draft her to a side street beyond the Gnawed Noble Tavern.

"Adela Tabris," the knight almost hissed out, maintaining his composure. "I had thought you died along with the rest of the treacherous Wardens!"

She blinked, staring at the angered knight. Ser Landry! "Ser Landry," she replied, her voice calm. "I can assure you that the Wardens did not betray Cailan…"

"King Cailan!" he snarled. Then, collecting himself, he backed away, blinking to clear his eyes, but maintaining his grip on her upper arms. They were starting to hurt and she was certain she would have bruises had she not been wearing heavy leather. "I would never have thought that you of all people would betray your friend."

She firmly shook her head, stepping nearer the knight, assuming a strong posture as she stared at him. "I have no idea what truly happened at Ostagar," the elf admitted. "However, the Grey Wardens' sole duty in life is the eradication of darkspawn and ending Blights. Why would they give up the King of Fereldan to darkspawn?" Her head tilted to the side, "What could they have gained dying on the field with the very monsters they are foresworn to destroy?"

Ser Landry's mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head. "Teyrn Loghain…"

But Adela cut him off, "Ser Landry," her voice was quiet, "Cailan, Anora and myself had noticed certain…oddities about Loghain's behavior lately." She watched the knight's face. Ser Landry had always been rather expressive, and she could see the doubt there as well. "You have noticed it as well, I take it?"

Releasing her arms, the knight brushed a gauntleted hand through his hair, mussing up the braids. "Adela, there have been many stressors…"

"Trust me," she placed a small hand on his arm. "I am aware of many of those. And Cailan and I had discounted his behavior as having to do with those. However, we have a dead king, dead Wardens, less than half the force we used to have, and still face a Blight."

Putting his hands back on her arms, Ser Landry stared into her eyes for several moments, trying to collect his thoughts. Both sets of eyes widened when a curved dagger was pressed under the knight's chin.

"I would strongly suggest that you release the lovely Warden, my friend," a heavily accented voice warned. Raising his hands, Ser Landry released Adela, taking a step back.

Adela was surprised to see Zevran of the Antivan Crows threatening the knight. "Ah, that is very good, yes?" the Antivan asked, still keeping his hold on the knight, the blade still at his throat.

"Zevran," the female elf warned, "remove the knife from Ser Landry's throat."

A golden brow rose, "Are you quite sure, my dear?" he didn't sound convinced. "After all, I watched as he pulled you back here, and then threatened you."

"A simple misunderstanding," the Warden explained, her eyes firm upon Zevran's tawny orbs. "Ser Landry is a friend, and a confused one at that," she offered the knight a small smile. "Please, Zevran, stop threatening this man."

Frowning, clearly not liking the idea of releasing the man he had watched threaten the woman who had spared his life, the Antivan Crow pulled back the knife, holding it aloft between thumb and palm, both hands upraised in a non-threatening gesture, as he backed away. "As you wish, my dear Grey Warden."

Certain the assassin would remain where he stood, the elven Warden turned back to the human knight. "Ser Landry," her voice was still quiet, but the man heard her and stepped closer. "Has anyone else commented upon Loghain's behavior?"

A frown crossing his noble face, the knight nodded. "A few of us have had occasion to comment upon it." He looked up. "I believe that Bann Alfstanna and Arl Wulff have been more outspoken about it, although not to the Teyrn himself."

Nodding, she advised, "I would suggest not taking Arl Howe into your confidences."

His face darkening, the knight nearly spat. "Howe! That lickspittle would never be included in any of our conversations regarding the weather." Fury was written across the man's lined face. "That man has somehow ingratiated himself as Loghain's closest advisor." His scowl deepened. Zevran moved closer, his knife ready, as he could not hear the words, but could definitely see that the human was irate.

That little bit of information was tucked away in Adela's mind, to be discussed with her companions at a later date. For now…

"Ser Landry," he turned to her. "Please, just keep an eye on Teyrn Loghain. And the queen, if possible," his eyes dulled at that. Oh, so he hasn't been able to see her, she thought. "Just let us continue trying to stop the Blight."

The knight bowed low, "You have my word, Adela, that I will not interfere." He straightened. "Perhaps later on, we may even be able to assist you."

"Keep safe," she placed a hand on his arm. "For now, we need to ensure that any allies we have are just kept safe."

With a final bow, the knight turned and walked away.

The female elf watched as Ser Landry turned the corner, thankful it was him who approached her and not someone more toadying to either Loghain or Howe. She knew the knight somewhat from her visits to the palace. He was a close friend to Loghain, someone who shared the same views regarding politics, nobles, and Orlais. He had always been respectful and kind to the elven artisan, stating once that he had long admired her mother, and she had no cause now to believe he would betray her and reveal her presence in the city.

Of course, she told herself as she turned her eyes to the male elf who was watching her with keen interest. I had thought the same of Loghain.

"Zevran of the Antivan Crows," she spoke, he smiled. "What in the name of the Maker are you doing here?"

"Ah, my dear," he said as smoothly as he walked to her side, gazing down at her. "I had thought much about the beautiful Grey Warden who so kindly spared my life. And I thought 'Zevran, how best could we repay the lovely one for her kindness?'" His eyes sparkled somewhat. "And, since it is doubtful you would accept one of my famous massages at so early an acquaintance, I decided to tail you," he grinned suggestively at that. The woman merely rolled her eyes. "and offer my blades to your service."

Adela blinked. Astonished. "You truly want me to allow you into our group?"

"Si," was his simple reply.

"You tried to kill me," she pointed out, poking a long, slender finger into his armored chest.

"And I failed," he quipped back, catching hold of her hand, holding it lightly, "spectacularly, I might add." He chuckled here, releasing her hand at her gentle tug. "As I told you, my life is forfeit. I have decided if that be the case, I would much rather spend it fighting against the Blight at the side of a most lovely creature than take my chances that a Crow blade never finds my back."

Standing there, her arms crossed against her chest, the elven Warden watched the elven assassin standing before her. He had a somewhat lascivious smile upon his lips, but it did not quite reach his eyes. There, she saw something else. Almost a desperation that he was trying hard to conceal. But it was there. He was desperate for her to accept him, to allow him to travel with them. That he feared for his life was unmistakable. That she could trust him was another issue.

"How am I to be able to trust you, Zevran of the Antivan Crows?" she asked, using the full title to remind him that she was not about to forget how he had come to cross her path.

Zevran bowed his head slightly. "All I can do is pledge an oath to serve you," he replied, his voice having lost the arrogant quality and was now just quiet. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I have followed you from the ambush site to the tower, back to Redcliffe and then to here. There had been opportunities to ambush you, but instead I watched over you." He smiled here. "You have a nasty habit of going into the woods alone, my dear." He was rewarded by a widening of her eyes. "Of course, the two men you travel with never seem to want to leave you alone for too long."

His gaze was scrutinizing; he watched every reaction from the elven woman, a slight shift of posture, eyes widening, lips tightening. No, she did not like to hear that he had been trailing after her and her group. But, perhaps she would recognize how many opportunities he had to harm her?

She was biting her lower lip. The assassin found that rather charming. His eyes skimmed over her form, appreciating the very elven-ness of her figure: all slight curves and gentle slopes. All of her features were those of the elder elves - sharp, delicate, beautiful, long slender ears, delicately boned. The Antivan was rather surprised as in his experience many of those elves from Alienages had begun to look more human: smaller ears, broader features, as though close proximity to humans were bleeding away any elven features from their very bodies. Her very appearance reminded him of stories of the ancient elves, long before their enslavement to humans.

Adela, in turn, was watching Zevran, fully aware of his scrutiny, bold in her own. She took in his features as she had before: he was beautiful, as elven men tended to be. Not as beautiful as Nelaros, however. He was far shorter than her betrothed had been but still taller than herself, with tanned skin, darkened from time under the sun. His eyes were tawny and calculating, always measuring, searching for weaknesses. His mouth was wide and seemingly easy to smile, but that, too, the elven Warden supposed was part of the package - all charm, suave, deadly. His face, however, held a slight weariness to it, something that at first glance one would miss. Especially if one focused solely upon the beauty of the man before them. Which, she presumed, many did, to their detriment.

This was one who has never known trust, and never given it, either. However, here he was, before her, asking that he be trusted, to earn that trust. She tilted her head, continuing to worry her lower lip. She had no doubt that should she take him in, the others would keep a wary eye on him. Most especially Roland and Alistair. Morrigan's untrusting nature would make her a superb watcher over the assassin, and Leliana's own history as a bard would make her ideal for noting any change of attitude the elf may arrive at. The Sten trusted no one and was always ready to decapitate any foes.

"Yes," she said simply, watching as the elven assassin's posture relaxed slightly, his eyes became less wary, and the general tiredness she had read across his features eased. "You will understand, however, that I will want your weapons handed over for a time," she held out a hand. She watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, then glanced down at her hand. Frowning, the assassin did as instructed, handing over the two curved daggers he wore strapped to his hips. He pulled his bow free. She raised a brow at him. He returned the gesture with a grin, and then promptly started divesting himself of hidden knives and daggers concealed upon his body. A respectable pile formed on the ground before them.

Adela actually laughed, turning a smile upon the startled assassin. "Pick them up," she waved at the pile, still laughing. "If you had that many knives hidden on your person," she chuckled, watching as he bent to retrieve his weaponry, "you most likely have even more." She watched as he tucked the weapons into their hidden places, taking note of each spot, fully aware that the assassin most likely would change their positions later when unobserved. Once he was situated, she handed him back his bow and daggers. "You wouldn't be much good without your weapons," she remarked, shaking her head. "A wonder you don't accidentally cut yourself on all that blade!"

This time Zevran shared in the laugh, certain now that it was not truly at his expense. "Ah, my dear Warden," he purred, sidling to her side, "it is a matter of how well they are positioned," his smile took on a more suggestive meaning. "Every dagger can find a sheath."

Blushing at the blatant innuendo, the elven woman shook her head. "Fine, fine. Now you get to meet the rest of the party." Her grin broadened. "Some of them will be very interested in making your acquaintance, I am certain."

"Ah, yes," he quipped, stepping in beside her, his strides matching her own, fully aware of the glances the beautiful 'couple' was receiving from those they passed by. "I get to meet the family, as it were. I have watched them long enough, yes?" He grinned down at the smaller elf, who merely shook her head. "I promise not to embarrass you."

DA:O

To say that Zevran's inclusion into the company was well received would have been a blatant lie. As predicted, both Roland and Alistair strongly and vehemently opposed the idea of having someone who had actively tried to kill Adela tag along. The Sten grumbled at the idea, but otherwise remained silent. Morrigan made a biting comment about being aware of poisoned food, to which Zevran responded that it was always a good suggestion wherever they may be. Niall remained relatively quiet, although his dark eyes remained fixed upon Zevran's face for many moments. She could only guess at what Wynne would say once they reunited with her at Redcliffe. Leliana alone seemed to think that having an Antivan Crow in the group was a good idea. When the elf quipped out a compliment to the bard about traveling in the company of such fine looking women, she frowned at him heavily, amending her earlier acceptance.

Alistair, quite concerned, pulled Adela aside. "Are you certain about this?" he asked.

"Alistair," she took his hands in hers. "We need all the help we can get. He is very skilled, and I have you and Roland and the others watching him," she missed the scowl Alistair gave at the mention of the red haired knight. "If he gets out of line, he dies. The Sten will see to that."

The human Warden bent his head down, his forehead touching hers. "He's already tried to kill you once," he reminded her.

"And failed, with only myself, Roland and Hafter," she reminded him. "What could he possibly do with everyone about?" She nudged him playfully in the shoulder. "With you watching out for me?"

The other Warden watched her carefully, appreciating her confidence in him to watch over her, but feeling it greatly unfair of her to do so. She may not return his feelings, and he had never known her to use her 'feminine wiles' on him before, but there was a first time for everything. He looked into her smiling face; no, he realized, she wasn't playing with him. She truly trusted in his ability to look after her. He was relieved. He didn't want to think that Adela had picked up any habits on how to control a man from either Leliana or Morrigan, both women who had no end of male attentions wherever they went.

Of course he could not resist that she had such faith in him. So, "Fine, fine," he acquiesced, raising his hands in defeat. "But if ever there was an indication we're desperate," he waved his hands toward the elven assassin, who was watching the pair with interest, "I think it just came knocking."

"Thank you, Alistair," Adela smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," she giggled at the look he gave her.

Roland had wanted to argue further about Zevran's inclusion, but with Alistair agreeing he had no chance of success. And, since Adela was technically the leader of their motley band, Alistair her second, the decision had been made and the others - the knight included - would just have to accept that.

But, he meant to keep a close watch over the slippery elf.

DA:O

The Sten, Leliana and Morrigan offered to take Zevran back to camp and watch over him. The rest decided to do some more shopping before seeking out Brother Genetivi's home.

As they rounded a corner, the Wonders of Thedas, a popular and fairly famous magic shop, came into sight.

"Oh!" Alistair exclaimed, smiling. "I remember Arl Eamon bought me a golem doll from here when I was a child."

"A golem doll?" Adela asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Ahm, well…not so much a doll," the young man quickly amended, "more of a statuette, an action figure. One that didn't move." He finished lamely.

"Ah ha," the elf said, filing that bit of information away for later.

Flushing, Alistair opened the door to the shop, letting the others pass within before following.

Niall was, obviously, completely at home, browsing the wares, speaking with the quiet tranquil proprietor. Adela was browsing through the selection of mage robes when she found something unique. Pulling it free of its hanger, the elf examined the material.

A fairly clingy material, similar to that used for the mage robes found in the shop, it was cut in a low 'V' neckline, bare arms (perfect for an archer) and a short skirt. Despite the neckline, it was not nearly as revealing as her Dalish armor. The tranquil walked over to her, explaining that these were Robes of the Rogue, an outfit some mages wore when they wished for more dexterity and protection as opposed to the usual garb that granted benefits to spell casting. After advising that the Robes would offer her as much - if not more - protection than the heavier studded leather she currently wore, the elf handed him the sovereigns he asked for, determined to give the Robes a try in battle.

The others made their own purchases, and together they left the shop.

Instead of turning to the right to head back into the main body of the market, Adela turned the group to the left, toward an abandoned warehouse. Finding the door locked, the elf deftly picked the lock and opened the door. The warehouse was dark and uninviting, but she led them inside anyway.

Niall whispered a word of magic, and a small glowing orb formed floating above his open palm, casting the interior of the abandoned warehouse in a soft light.

Crates and chests, shelves and mannequins filled the main chamber of the storage facility. None carried the insignia of the Grey Wardens.

Passing through a narrow doorway, Adela spotted the bookshelf outlined in Duncan's letter. Taking Alistair by the arm, asking the others to wait in the first chamber, Adela moved toward the bookshelf, searching for the mechanism she knew would be there.

Ah, there you are, she thought as she stepped to the side of the bookshelf, pushing gently on the board that made up the shelf's side. It clicked, and then with gentle fingers she pushed it upwards. Beneath the board was revealed a series of small wooden squares, set into the framework of the shelf. Adela placed a gentle finger on one and found that they moved about the frame. Upon each square were symbols, unknown to the elven warden. She reached into her pouch and pulled out Duncan's note. After studying the combination he had written there, the elf began moving the squares around, pushing one to the side, another up, another down…continuing on until the patterns upon the squares formed the likeness of a claw. Alistair sucked in his breath behind her. "A griffon's claw," he murmured as a clicking sound came from the shelf. Looking at her fellow warden, Adela gave the shelf a shove to the side, and it slid over, revealing a smaller room.

As they stepped beneath the threshold, the room lit up, the sconces on the walls glowing with magical light. Alistair let out a low whistle as they surveyed the crates, chests, weapon racks and armor stands.

Much of what they found therein was on par with equipment they already had, yet some were of a far better quality. One set of silverite plate mail seemed a perfect fit for Alistair. The young warden complained about carrying all that metal, explaining it reminded him far too much of Templar armor. Adela reminded him that he was the one who often found himself in the very center of battle and she, for one, would feel better if he wore something sturdier than the splint he current wore. The warden agreed, determining that if he had to wear plate, Roland would as well and began a search for armor that would fit the smaller man.

There was no way that the group could carry all of the equipment found therein, and Adela felt strange about contemplating taking it to sell. So, they took what they needed - two sets of plate (Alistair planned to wait until they returned to camp to spring his little 'gift' upon Roland), a set of leather that looked as though it would fit Zevran (Adela thought the armor he currently wore was rather substandard), back packs, dried and canned rations, bandages and other sundries, a few bladed weapons - and relocked the room.

DA:O

Their packs laden with the equipment they acquired from the safe house, the group resumed their search for Brother Genetivi's home. Adela did not know of the Brother nor where his home was located, other than that it was in the Market District. As she led her companions around, trying to get a bearing (she had thought perhaps he would live near the Chantry, but that guess was a bust), she found herself staring at the closed gate to the Alienage. An unknown guard stood vigil at the gate, and as she neared, she noticed that the gate was bound with chains and locked. Panic gripped her and she did not notice the concerned calls of her companions as she dropped her pack to the ground and sprinted toward the gate.

A heavily armored man with dark brown hair and a kind face spotted her and rushed to intercept her. Roland and Alistair both dropped their own packs and hurried over, hands on their swords, ready to defend the elf. The unknown man arrived at her first, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her away from the gate before the guard there noticed her approach. The two knights noticed the elf's startled expression as her eyes fixed upon her assailant's face and saw her struggle against his firm hand, shaking her head and pointing toward the gate. The man only brought his other hand around and grasped both of Adela's arms in his, continuing to pull her aside, saying something to her, a determined look upon his face. He was speaking lowly to her, and she seemed to calm somewhat, although there was an almost wild look in her eyes. Alistair and Roland made it to her side, hands on their weapons, looking as threatening as they could at the unknown man.

Sensing both men's unease and battle ready, Adela held a hand to the side, her arm still held by the third man. "Easy," she whispered, trying to get herself to relax. Her eyes fell back to the man who had intercepted her, his eyes alert and wary against the two men who came to the elf's rescue. He looked over her shoulder to spy the mage, a great warhound at his feet, who had moved closer and was watching with great interest.

She turned her eyes back to the older man, who now turned his own eyes fully upon the elf he held. "Michael?" she whispered, frowning deeply, "What is going on?"

'Michael' breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the elf. "I was concerned that you would get to the gates," he said, his voice hoarse and low, "Things are bad in the Alienage and if someone recognized you…""

Adela paled; Alistair moved closer, putting his arm around her shoulder, tucking her under his arm. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes. "How bad is it?" she asked, trembling.

"I'll not lie to you, Adela," Michael said, stepping slightly forward, his head bent, in an effort to keep their conversation between himself, the elf and her companions. "Once word got out about the…'incident' at the Arl's estates, people were rioting near the Alienage." He frowned. "The Captain had tried to maintain order, and so locked the Alienage down to protect the residents. But," he stopped there, his voice seeming to give out.

"What?" she barely squeaked, certain she knew the answer.

Michael took a deep breath before continuing. "The new Arl, this Rendon Howe," Roland stiffened at his name, "ordered a purge of the Alienage."

"No," she whispered, her knees very nearly giving out. Alistair tightened his hold on her. Roland glanced back at the mage and motioned Niall nearer, fearing that Adela would have need of his aid. He then stepped closer, putting a hand upon her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Michael put a hand on her other shoulder. "I am very sorry, Adela," he nearly choked. "The Captain truly meant to keep his word to you and the Grey Warden. There were to be no repercussions to the Alienage for what happened. But, Arl Howe…"

"Is a snake and murderer!" Roland hissed, his face reddening in anger.

Michael agreed with a nod, "I agree with you there, Ser Knight," He frowned, extending a hand first to Roland and then Alistair. "I apologize. I am Sergeant Michael Kylon, what passes for the law in this part of Denerim." He gave Niall a slight bow of his head.

The two warriors shook his hand in turn, Niall returning the bow. Michael continued, turning his attention back to Adela. "I have had no news of your father or cousins," he said, flinching as the tears rolled down the young elf's face. "Maker, if we could have prevented the purge, Adela, we would have."

Swallowing thickly, unable to find her voice, Adela's head fell forward, tears dripping from her eyes, plopping to the ground. Niall stood directly behind her, his hand resting lightly on her back. The mage knew not what had been said, but seeing Adela so distressed unsettled him. Alistair and Roland both shook their heads, Alistair mouthing 'later' to the confused mage.

Something about Michael's posture told the elf that there was something more he was not telling her. Taking a breath, her head still bowed, she whispered, "What else, Michael?"

Closing his brown eyes, the sergeant continued, "After the purge, many of the bodies were just…left. The elves were not allowed to leave to bury their dead; no one would send anyone in to take care of the situation. A plague seems to be ravaging the Alienage, yet still the Arl will not allow healers to go in and help out." He shook his head angrily. "I never thought I would say this aloud, but someone needs to put a very sharp pointy end into that man's heart!"

Adela was startled by the man's vehemence. She had known Michael since she was a child; he had always been a rather gentle man, just and honest to a fault. Which was probably one reason why he was still only a rank of sergeant and banished to guard the market district. He had always proven a friend to the elves in the Alienage. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. Oh, she had forgotten that he had been courting Naomi. And would have no word on his beloved's state.

She felt ill, and found she could no longer stand under her own power. She would have fallen had Alistair's grip not been so tight upon her. Her family…her home…they were in peril because of her! If she had just accepted her fate…just not fought Vaughan…perhaps then the others would have been able to return home - all of them - and the Alienage would remain safe. A groan escaped her lips and she bowed, her knees giving out completely as she twisted out of Alistair's grasp and to the ground, kneeling and purging her stomach of its contents. Michael's eyes closed in sympathy while Alistair bent to hold onto the elf as she continued to be sick upon the dirt ground.

Roland, his face stricken, turned back to the sergeant. "Is there anyway we can get in?"

Michael shook his head, turning to face the knight. "I am afraid not. Not even the city guard is allowed in. I'm not allowed in, and it's my beat!" His frustration rolled off him in waves, and he threw his hands in the air in further emphasis of his dismay at the situation.

Adela seemed to have recovered herself, although her ears felt hot and had a terrible ringing, and she seemed to have tunnel vision, saw sparkles before her eyes, the edges of her vision dark. With a heavy sigh, she allowed Alistair to pull her up. Niall placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, allowing the tiniest tendril of healing magic to flow through the contact. It helped some with her vision, but the ringing in her ears was relentless.

Wiping her eyes, trying to firm herself, she straightened somewhat, still very grateful for Alistair's continued hold on her. "Michael," her throat burned, her voice was hoarse. The sergeant flinched at the sound. "Thank you for watching over the situation," she raised her eyes, now red, to him. "I know how important the people here are to you, and I appreciate that you continue to do your duty, regardless of those who wield the power in this city."

Michael frowned. "I wish I could do more, Elfling," he smirked, using the nickname he had given her so very long ago. He was rewarded by the small smile Adela gave him.

"It would not do for you to get into trouble, Michael," she continued. "Just keep watch. And keep yourself safe."

He smiled. "I will." He promised, and then, with a bow, turned and left the group.

The small group stood in a huddle, waiting at their center - the elf - was able to get a grip on her emotions and body once again. Her head was still bowed, and Alistair kept his arm around her, concerned to release her. Her voice trembling, her bottom lip wavering, Adela indicated that they should continue their search for Brother Genetivi so that they could leave the city and get back to camp. Where I can just hide away, she thought as they turned.

Niall asked a nearby shopkeep where the Brother's home was, and they were pleased that it was not far from their current position. With a sharp nod, the elf quietly turned to the home, followed equally quietly by her companions.

DA:O

As expected, Brother Genetivi was not present at his home. His assistant, Weylon, seemed ignorant of his whereabouts save that the last he had heard was that the good Brother had gone to Lake Calenhad, to the inn there. Wearily, Adela thanked the young man, and the group left the home and Denerim and returned to camp.

DA:O

The camp had been set up by the Sten and Zevran upon their return. Leliana had volunteered to hunt, and surprisingly Morrigan, in wolf's form, went with her. Alistair felt it prudent to divest the elven assassin of his weapons while in camp and Adela, too tired and heart worn to argue, nodded a halfhearted agreement. Believing herself unobserved, the elf turned and walked a ways into the woods, away from the others, seeking out a refuge to vent her sorrow in.

The camp site was near a small pond, its pine nettle strewn banking offering comfort. Choking back a sob, the elf lowered herself down, bringing her knees under her chin. She wrapped her arms around her knees, bent down her head, and sobbed uncontrollably into the hollow of her arms, her tears hot as they fell, burning coldly upon the flesh of her arms.

She did not hear Roland's approach, and only barely registered as he knelt beside her, wrapping his strong arms about her. Gulping air, she raised her head, barely noticing that he had removed his armor and knelt beside her clad in trousers and a linen shirt, a heavy cloak about his shoulders. The knight pulled her against him, wrapping the cloak about her slight body, and she clutched at the fabric of his tunic, crying out her sorrow. His arms tightened about her and he bowed his head, his lips resting upon the crown of her blond head as she sobbed out her strength.

He continued stroking her hair, making soft shushing sounds and gently rocking her. She choked slightly, whispering how it was all her fault, how she should have just submitted and not fought against him. The knight frowned; he was not aware of what had happened to Adela prior to her becoming a grey warden, but he did not like the sound of what she was saying. When he tried to get her to talk about it, she vehemently shook her head, refusing to answer. He nodded.

"Its okay, Adela," he whispered, kissing the top of her head, a hand running gently over her jaw and up to brush tears aside. "It is not your fault." She shook her head again, lifting her tear stained face.

"Yes it is, Roland," she whispered, her voice hoarse, broken, tears rushing down her cheeks in rivulets. "All I had to do was remember that I was an elf in a human city, and everything would be fine now. But, I didn't," she balled a tiny fist, punching down on her thigh. "I let my friendships and status overrule the one fact that regardless of who I know, what I can do, and who I actually am, I will always be an elf!" she spat that last as though a curse.

Placing his hands firmly on her shoulders, Roland gave her a gentle shake. "Never am I to hear you say such things again, Adela," he scolded, firmly yet with gentle undertones. "You are more than just an elf," he pulled her to him, resting his head on her head. His hands now brushed down her back. "No one is just what their race is. And you have proven to be more than most nobles prove to be."

She scoffed at that, whimpering slightly, but her sobs had subsided. "And yet my people still suffer and there is nothing I can do about it!"

Sighing, he pulled her back, gazing intently into her eyes. "Perhaps not at this time," he agreed sadly, "but we will find the chance to make things right." He bent down, kissing her lightly on her trembling lips. Pulling back just slightly, his green eyes full of the affection he felt for her, he said, "This I swear to you, Adela Tabris. We will find a way to make it right."

Blinking rapidly, clearing the tears from her eyes, Adela bit her lower lip. Unable to find her voice again, she merely nodded. Roland smiled at her and bent down again to kiss her gently. He felt her tremble somewhat in his arms, and he moved to pull away, but stopped as he felt her lips respond to his own. Smiling, he tightened his embrace, pulling her closer, kissing her with more passion than his first. He felt her tiny hands on his chest push against him, and, with a nod, pulled back.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he said, "I apologize for being so forward, Adela."

She nodded against his forehead, still whispering. "It's alright, Roland," she lifted her eyes. "I…I just am not…"

"It's okay," he said, placing a finger to her lips. He had been too forward in kissing her, and he did not feel it right for her to have to explain why she broke it off. "I want you to know, however, that I care very much for you," her eyes widened slightly at that, blinking rapidly. "And that I would never do anything to hurt you. I will only go as far as you wish me to." He smiled. "And it is my hope that perhaps you will allow me to court you properly."

Befuddled, she stammered, her face, once so pale with her concern, now flushed pink. "I…I am unsure what to say here, Roland," she frowned.

Smiling, he rose, extending his hand to her, and helping her from the ground. "Then say nothing, Adela." He prompted, brushing a tender hand along her smooth cheek. "We are just getting to know one another. I just wanted to make my feelings known to you."

Still biting her lip, she nodded. "Thank you, Roland," she raised her eyes, smiling up at him. "I am flattered."

Chuckling, Roland extended his arm to her, smiling as she placed a small hand in the crook of his arm. "That's more than I had expected." He paused, staring down into her face. "And I mean it. We will find the means to help your people."

Blushing deeply, Adela bowed her head with a nod. "We have a Blight to stop first," she replied, her voice stronger, more resolute than before. Roland smiled at that.

Together, the pair returned to the camp, where Adela retired for the evening.

DA:O

Alistair was concerned about Adela. She had disappeared almost as soon as they had returned to camp. He did not like her habit of going off into the surrounding area. He knew that normally she looked for wood or rock or items so that she could continue her work, yet it still bothered him that as thoughtful as she was in almost everything else, she had this one habit he considered rather thoughtless.

So, he left the camp, heading toward the pond, hoping to find her there.

What he found was not what he had hoped to.

He first spotted Roland, kneeling upon the ground, holding something in his arms. As he neared, he noticed that it was Adela he embraced. No, not just embraced, but was holding tenderly in his arms, kissing her. He watched as a small hand snaked up to rest upon Roland's shoulder, and it seemed to the young Warden that the elf was returning the knight's kiss. His teeth clenched and he shut his eyes against the sight. Turning abruptly, the young man hurriedly returned to camp, seeking out the solace of his tent.

DA:O

He was there, hiding in the darkness, only his eyes gleaming from the shadows. She swept by him, a small dagger in her hand, her dress covered in blood, blood in her hair, blood running down her thighs…

She gasped at a sound. Spinning, she froze, scared as a tiny woodland creature caught by the eyes of a great predator. And she was. He stepped from the shadows, blood pouring form the wound in his chest, blood encrusted along the front of his open trousers.

"So, my dearest," he purred, reaching for her, his green eyes gleaming, "we shall be together always."

She screamed, jabbing out with her small blade, which shrunk in size as it neared the man. A pin, it stuck into his arm. His eyes upon the tiny needle, a slow, sly smirk crossed his handsome features. "Ah, a bee with a stinger," he crooned, his hands closing over her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "No, my dearest. You need to start acting like the elven wench you are," his arms were iron as they embraced her, pulling her body against his. "Not some pointy eared human woman."

She felt a jab to her shoulder, warm blood flowing from the wound. His lips covered hers, and she screamed against him, pushing her hands against his body. His body jerked, his eyes widened. She was pulled away from behind as the tip of a long sword stuck out from his chest. A voice…no, two voices, sought to calm her, telling her it was alright.

One voice became stronger, more insistent. Telling her to wake up! With a started gasp, her scream dying in her throat, she jolted upwards, fully awake…

To find Alistair holding her, his eyes opened and wide with concern.

"Alistair?" she gasped, the pain in her shoulder real. A cold suddenly flashed through her and she screamed again. Alistair pulled her closer, watching as her blue eyes rolled up, revealing only the whites. He cried out for Niall as Adela's jaw clenched with a loud click, her jaw locking itself. Niall and Roland both rushed to the tent, the mage pushing himself in, pulling the elf from the young man's grip. Dumbfounded, they watched as the elf's body convulsed, and the mage began casting. It was then that Alistair noticed the blood on his hands.

"Niall," he barked out, fear giving volume to his voice. "She's been stabbed."

Frowning, the mage pulled her over, examining the deep puncture wound in her shoulder. "She's been poisoned," he rasped out. Roland spun about, shouting for the Antivan assassin.

Sleepy, his hair mussed, Zevran emerged from the tent that had been acquired for his use. He could not even ask what was wrong when a large, heavy fist connected with his face, dropping the slender elf to the ground.

Looming over the prone elf, Roland ordered the Sten to tie the elf up. Alistair, whom Niall had exiled from the tent, tossed the Qunari a length of rope, fully in agreement.

Leliana had gone to the tent to offer what assistance she could to the mage. Morrigan was pulling her backpack out, searching out various poultices and potions, hurrying along to assist as well.

Zevran allowed the big warrior to tie him up, flinching slightly as the Sten lifted him to a seated position against a rock. Alistair, having seen Adela's injury, surged toward the helpless male, scowling threateningly at him. Trying to maintain a calm front, Zevran met that glare steadily.

"What did you do to her?" the young Warden demanded, stepping forward. He barely took note of Roland's presence, so intent upon the elf lying on the ground.

"Her?" Zevran asked, his eyes darting toward Adela's tent. "My very large and angry friend, I have done nothing to the fair Warden."

"Really?" Roland stepped forward now, his concern for Adela growing. All he wanted to do right now was hold Adela, but since he could not, a fair second would be to hit the elf before him again.

"I promise this to you all," Zevran replied calmly, slowly, "I would never harm the other Warden," he spoke with sincere seriousness, trying to convey the truth of his words. "She spared my life. What poor repayment would trying to take hers be?"

Morrigan passed by the group, frowning at them. "He speaks the truth, you foolish, overly possessive men!" she spat, continuing on her way. "I had placed a glyph upon his tent. Had he tried to leave it at the time of Adela's attack, the resounding shock wave would have injured him and alerted the rest of the camp." With those words, the witch bent down and entered the tent to assist in Adela's treatment.

Both Alistair and Roland glared at the witch's retreating back. So, if not the elven assassin, who, then tried to kill Adela? They looked at one another, frowning. The smooth accent of Antiva penetrated their minds.

"Ah, and so since the lovely witch has declared me innocent," he stated, shrugging his shoulders, "Could perhaps one of you kindly untie me?" He fluttered his eyelashes slightly. "Well, that is, unless of course either of you has need for a helplessly tied up handsome elf such as myself?"

Glaring down at the elf, Roland turned away, taking a stance outside of Adela's tent. Alistair frowned over at the knight, and then bent down to release the Antivan. "Watch him," the warden ordered of the Sten, and took a seat nearby the elven warden's tent.

DA:O

"I wish Wynne was here," Niall muttered as he poured more healing magic into the small elf. "I have little knowledge of poisons." He admitted this as Morrigan bent over to filter a healing potion through Adela's clenched teeth.

They had been unable to unclench the elf's jaws, and it would soon prove a problem. She had been having dry heaves, but if she were to vomit, there would be no way for her to expel the waste. Her body taking the poison back into itself would only serve to harm her further.

Leliana, while no expert on poisons, had offered that the wound obviously was not meant to be fatal, that it seemed a large needle had been used. Had no one been alerted to the attack, had Adela not screamed out from her nightmare, she could very well have drowned in her own vomit. The mage and witch looked at one another, frowning at the thought.

The bard was correct; the wound was not deadly. The amount of blood was due mainly to the length of time the wound had been allowed to bleed, but in no way could have proven fatal. The mage closed his eyes.

"Wouldn't the assassin have knowledge on poisons?" he asked, glancing at the two women beside him. The bard nodded, and then scampered out of the enclosure to fetch the other elf.

Niall heard Roland briefly argue with Leliana about allowing Zevran to enter the tent. The bard explained that he may have knowledge of poisons that the rest of them didn't, and that every moment they wasted arguing could further endanger Adela. The knight ceased his arguments, and the elven man and Orlesian bard entered. With a quick look, the bard assessed she was no longer needed, and quickly exited.

The two mages advised the elf of the symptoms. After noticing the pallor of Adela's skin, he frowned. "It sounds rather like a combination of Concentrated Deathroot and the toxin from an ice spider." He placed a hand on the other elf's forehead, noting the clamminess and chill of her skin. "She's freezing," he remarked, pulling the blankets up over the girl's shuddering form. "The Deathroot would be what is paralyzing her, making her jaw clench shut. It is the toxin that is making her ill, stealing the warmth from her. The combination of both would make it difficult to discern cause of death as both would leave the system fairly quickly. The poison itself is not deadly, however, it is the body's reaction to it that is." He was frowning. "All I can suggest is what you have been doing - continue pouring healing magic into her, revitalization as well. I would cease with the potions until she can swallow properly," this last was directed to Morrigan. "She could well drown on the potions as well as her own vomit."

"There's nothing else to be done, then?" Niall asked, staring down at the helpless woman, tucking her blankets tighter about her shivering form.

"No," Zevran frowned. "She will need someone in here with her to keep her warm," he smiled, "I offer my services for such."

Both mages scowled at the assassin. "'Tis not a wise idea," Morrigan purred, gathering her supplies and setting the pack in a corner for future use. "to allow the assassin to remain herein." She moved toward the tent's flap. "I shall fetch Alistair and it shall be he that remains with her. They are the closest of everyone here, and I doubt Adela would be overly embarrassed to have him in here with her." With those words, the witch left.

Niall turned back to his patient, sending more healing magic into her body. Already her skin color was returning, and he noticed that her muscles were relaxing. Zevran told him that perhaps in another hour or so much of the poison should be bled from her system, and then their main concern would be keeping her warm.

DA:O

Morrigan stepped from the tent, noticing that both Roland and Alistair were standing quite near the tent. Men, she thought, rolling her eyes. Adela would be appalled - if she realized the buffoonery these two were perpetrating now. Still…she needed one of these buffoons. "Alistair," she turned her eyes toward the other Warden. "Niall will need your assistance within," she swept a graceful hand toward the tent.

With a nod, the young man went into the tent. Roland frowned. "Why does he need his help?" he asked suspiciously.

A black brow, graceful and slender, arched upwards. Oh what fun, she thought. Jealousy. "'Tis now a matter of keeping her warm," she explained, taking silent delight in the emotions that crossed the man's handsome face: confusion, jealousy, anger…"'Twas decided that since she has known Alistair the longest, she would be less inclined to awkwardness should it be him that spends the eve with her."

With those words, fully aware of their affect upon the knight, the witch swept away to her own camp slightly off from the rest, completely ignoring the glare the knight watched her with.

DA:O

"Wait," Alistair held up a hand, trying very hard to comprehend what both men had just asked of him. "You want me to lay down with Adela to keep her warm?"

They both nodded, Niall rubbing her hands vigorously between his own. Zevran was warming her feet in the same manner. "Hafter should be in here, too," Niall added, recalling how big the dog was. "Both of you lay on each side and that should keep her warm enough. She's unnaturally cold, and if not looked after she could freeze."

Zevran nodded. "I have offered my services," he explained, smiling at the human male, "But, alas, Niall and our lovely Witch both thought that the poor girl too shy to allow such intimate contact with someone she's only just met." He tutted at the unconscious girl. "So, they decided you as the best option."

His brows shot up. "Best option?" he repeated, glancing down at Adela's unconscious form.

Zevran let out a pleasant peel of laughter. "Why, yes, my big handsome man!" His eyes narrowed somewhat. "Do not think to try and fool Zevran! I have seen the looks you give this lovely one," he tucked her feet under the blankets and then reached put a hand upon Adela's forehead. "Surely spending the night by her side, offering your…" he sidled closer to the man, "considerable warmth for the eve would be most pleasant, no?"

Alistair flushed at that.

"You sleep on one side, the great war dog on the other. Between the two of you, well, she should be quite warm and contented." Zevran gave an exaggerated frown. "Such a pity the girl will be unconscious."

Niall frowned at the elf. "Stop teasing him, Zevran," he admonished as he sent another tendril of magic through the girl. He was pleased to see that her jaw had finally relaxed. Bending down, he found he could open her mouth. "Good," he remarked, looking at the other two. "The Deathroot seems to have weakened considerably. Now, Alistair," he turned his attention to the warden. "I know that it seems…strange to ask you to actually lay beside her, but truly, this is the only way we can think of to keep her warm. The chills that have come over her are poison induced, and the only cure is for it to wear off. However, since we are at the end of autumn, the nights are cold as well."

"So merely putting a few more blankets on her won't work?" Alistair asked, quite nervous about what they were proposing.

Niall shook his head. "Not and be able to be secure in the knowledge that they remain. With you and Hafter working as her warmth, you can be certain she does not get too warm or not warm enough."

"You need someone to watch over her as well," he stated, nodding; now understanding.

"Yes."

Nodding his head, the blond warden agreed. He was nervous, and more than a little uncomfortable about it. But, if it would help Adela he would do so. Hafter padded his way into the tent, settling down beside the elven Warden.

Niall and Zevran left the tent, Niall making certain that Alistair was aware of the pack full of healing potions in case Adela needed them.

So, he settled next to the girl, rolling her onto her side and pulling her body flush with his. The massive warhound stretched out longer than the girl was. The warden was dismayed at just how cold her body felt, and pulled the blankets up over the three of them. He wrapped his arms about her slight body, tucking her head under his chin, and pulling her closer. He listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. He closed his eyes. He admitted to himself that he enjoyed the feel of holding her as she slept, although he did not like the circumstances for it. Pushing aside the image of Roland kissing her, Alistair bent his head and kissed the top of her head, and then brought his lips to an ear and kissed her again. With a sigh, he relaxed, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.