Thanks for the alerts, the favorites (I got another author favorite! *squeal*)! As always, an extra special thanks Arsinoe de Blassenville, who always takes the time to give a shout out to me.

You know, I keep waiting and waiting for BioWare to sign over all of their rights to DA:O and universe to me, but, it never arrives!

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 30

Zevran had raced back to the where the entrance to the temple was, only to meet with impenetrable marble, stone and mountain. Scowling fiercely, the elven assassin slipped to the side, and again, instead of finding the exit he knew they had passed through found only unmarred stone. Dejectedly, he paced back to where Morrigan continued to cast healing spells over Adela's inert body, Alistair and Roland hovering protectively over them as Hafter paced around. As they waited, the snow continued to fall, collecting at their feet, as the wind whistled mournfully around the corners and edges of the mountainside.

It took several more minutes before Morrigan proclaimed Adela stable enough to move. Without hesitation or a word, Alistair gently put his arms under the elf's head and knees, carefully lifting her into his arms. Roland and Zevran took point, Alistair and Adela in the middle, Morrigan and Hafter taking up the rear.

They found the exit back into the cult's center. Roland and Zevran entered first, making certain that no other foes remained. Content it all was clear, they led the others into the vast chamber.

To the side of the chamber was a small room, complete with a bed. Alistair gently laid Adela down and Morrigan resumed her healing spells. The witch was obviously exhausted; healing was not her strong suit and the amount of energy and mana required for the spell casting was immense, especially given the damage Adela had taken from the dragon. Roland and Zevran offered to fetch Niall, and Alistair quickly gave his assent with a nod, telling them to move with all haste. Roland quickly divested himself of his heavy armor, wearing only the wool and cotton trousers and tunic beneath. Carrying only his longsword, the knight followed quickly after the already departed elven assassin.

Morrigan rested her head on the bed next to Adela for several moments, feeling an overwhelming sense of fear wash over her. A slender, elegant hand brushed along Adela's forehead, sending small bursts of healing through. The elf's injuries were extensive, and the witch was truly doubting her ability to keep the young woman alive. Each of her ribs had been broken, and given the ragged breathing she guessed that at least one of her lungs had been damaged, if not punctured. Her left arm and both legs, along with her back, were broken, but were now set and were healed enough to allow for movement. Morrigan was certain her skull was cracked, and she looked forlornly at the lovely woman's smashed face. She moved the hand to the elf's abdomen, sending out seeking energies there. As she feared, there were internal injuries as well. She bit back a sob; how was she going to keep the elf alive long enough for the more proficient healer to arrive?

There was a light tap to her shoulder, and she looked up in to concerned and haggard face of Alistair. She frowned; she and the ex-templar were just beginning to become comfortable in each other's presence, something that had started during their journey through the Brecilian Forest. She was well aware of his feelings for his fellow Warden, and she was concerned that those same feelings would make him irrational at this time. Another look into his face, however, consoled her that he would not make any unwarranted scenes, but would support her efforts as best as he could. With a sigh, she placed her hands upon Adela's abdomen, calling forth upon her healing magic, sending it through the poor girl's broken body.

During this time, Alistair had moved from Morrigan, removing his gauntlets and began pulling supplies from his pack. Anything that could remotely be used for healing he placed within reach of the witch. He then pulled free a woolen blanket and, with a nod from Morrigan, placed it over Adela's shivering form.

"We need to remove her armor," Morrigan said with a frown as she rose and began to undo the leather skirt to her armor. Nodding, Alistair rose to assist in the removal.

Now down to the wool and cotton clothes she wore beneath the armor, Adela's shivering resumed. The witch quickly covered her with the blanket. She knew that the underclothing would need to be removed as well, but she had managed to keep the swelling down from her broken limbs, and decided the need to keep the elf warm was more important than removing the clothing at this time. She then pulled forth healing poultices and potions, and began to apply them to the bleeding and open wounds on her face, head and torso, periodically sending forth more healing magic in an attempt to heal the multitude of broken bones.

The healing was slow, tedious, and thoroughly outside of her comfort zone. Morrigan was concerned, more concerned than she has ever been about anyone. This elf - tiny, unassuming, non-demanding little woman - had become so important to her in such a short period of time. This elf had managed to worm her way through the carefully constructed walls the witch had placed around her heart so long ago that at times it was nearly as overwhelming as the first steps she took out of the Wilds. That she was important to all of Fereldan as one of only two remaining Grey Wardens was irrelevant to the witch. That she is Adela Tabris meant more than anything to the witch.

Alistair shuffled nervously by her side, trying to shrink his huge bulk, to keep out of the apostate's way while still making himself available should she need assistance. Morrigan smirked at that, but was none the less comforted by his nearness. She sent more healing magic into the small body, hoping and praying (to whom she will not admit) that Niall would make his miraculous appearance sooner rather than later. She doubted her own magical prowess with mending. Give her a target to rend, hex, curse or destroy, and the witch was as confident as any with her magical prowess. Healing left her feeling weak and next to useless. But it was those very same abilities now that will keep the elf alive.

And, she will keep the elf alive. She snarled this bit to herself as she placed another poultice upon a weeping head wound. The girl's will was strong; Morrigan's will was strong. She ran her hands down the length of the elf's small body, casting healing magic again into her, feeling the bones of her arm and legs knit together beneath her ministrations. She then reached for a lyrium potion. The witch had never had to rely overly much on these potions, but casting such foreign magic, and over such an extended time, had depleted her own substantial natural mana supply significantly.

She barely noticed that Alistair had risen to his feet, and he moved to the elf's head, his eyes dark with worry and concern as a large hand gently brushed aside an errant lock of blood encrusted hair. Yellow eyes raised momentarily and she nearly gasped at the gentle look that had fixed upon the young man's face as he stared down into the unconscious elf's battered face. And though she was not certain she can identify the exact emotion that look expressed, she did realize that she had seen a similar expression upon another face, an expression that had been directed at her. Shaking her raven head, the witch resumed her tending to the injured woman, putting such thoughts aside.

For now.

DA:O

The pair of men moved quickly through the abandoned temple ruins. Apparently, during their first foray through the cultists' temple they had managed to either outright kill all of the cultists therein or discourage any further attacks from the zealots. Regardless, Roland and Zevran managed to reunite with the splinter group and collect Niall in just an hour.

But, that hour had been purchased through ceaseless running, dodging and full out flight from the greater chamber above. Niall, not as physically fit as either knight or assassin, would require more time to make the journey. What took the pair of seasoned and fit warriors an hour to traverse now took twice that to return.

Roland's nerves were tense, and he fought against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that Morrigan would do everything within her power and knowledge to keep Adela alive, that the witch cared about the young elf greatly. But Niall was their healer, one who was very strong in both his art and medicinal knowledge. Had he been with them immediately after the attack…

He shook his red head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. Niall was valiantly trying to keep pace with the knight and assassin, but Roland can see how red his face had gotten with his exertions. He glanced around; they were in the large chamber where they had encountered dragon lings and cultists - including several mages. Raising his hand, he called for a halt, passing his canteen of water over to the exhausted mage, who stood, hands on his thighs, doubled over as he tried to regain his breath.

Barely breathing hard, Zevran scouted around the room and to the opposite passageway, making certain their route remained clear.

Niall thanked Roland as he passed the canteen back over, standing straight, and then flexing his back to loosen muscles that threatened to lock up on him at any moment. Roland watched the mage carry through his stretching exercises. The relief that passed through him was strong once the mage indicated he was ready to continue their race through the twisting corridors that wend their way through the mountainside.

The relief that Roland felt was profound as they entered the vast chamber that had been the scene of their battle with Kolgrim and his fanatics. Leading the mage to the small chamber to the side, the knight watched as Niall took Morrigan's place by Adela. He could see the relief that passed over the witch's normally impassive features. Morrigan then shooed the three men from the room, explaining that they would only get in the way and make their job more difficult.

Roland and Alistair's eyes met in quiet concern. Zevran, taking Morrigan's words to heart, pushed the two human males from the room, 'Tsking' at them for delaying their exit. With a final glance, Roland left the chambers, closely behind Alistair and Zevran.

Niall barely acknowledged their departure, his attention so fully upon the now still form of Adela. He praised Morrigan for her quick thinking and actions, all of which prevented the small elven woman from dying there upon the battlefield. The witch fairly preened at the male mage's praise and she immediately set to task of following each and every one of his instructions. The mage smiled. Even proud Morrigan knew when another had skills that surpassed her own.

Hours passed and the rest of their party reunited in the chambers. The Sten had carried Brother Genetivi and had placed the old man upon several bedrolls in the main chamber. Adela had fallen into convulsions and then violent chills. They worked quickly, applying poultices, healing potions and spells upon her quivering form. Finally, her body warmed to normal degrees, and the convulsions subsided. They managed to repair her broken bones, torn ligaments and tattered muscles. The internal bleeding had ceased, and her breathing, while still ragged, resumed a more rhythmic motion, one associated with someone deep in slumber.

Still, the healer was not able to heal all of the injuries perpetrated upon the small form. He fretted mostly over her head injury.

"I believe that there has been swelling of her brain," he tiredly told his fellows. His eyes glanced over at the pale form of the elven warden. "She is in a natural sleep, and for now, I think that is what is best for her. Nature can heal what magic cannot."

He rubbed at his eyes, grainy from over spending his magic, tired from sleepless days of worry while he and the others awaited Adela and her group's return. He had dreaded, and driven his companions crazy. He just knew that something would go amiss.

He had no idea that it would be their intrepid leader - Fearless Leader as they had all taken to calling the tiny elven woman with more heart than muscle.

"How long before she will awaken?" Alistair asked in a voice the mage did not recognize, for it was too small, too young for even the occasionally child-like young man.

Exhausted, he shrugged. "A week, perhaps two. But even when she awakens," he warned as the faces of his fellows fell as one, "she will still need rest. Depending upon how she is when she does awaken." He was not about to say if she awakens; that was too pessimistic even for him.

Yes, as much of a naysayer as he tended to be, he had every hope, every thought that Adela would, indeed, pull through this. She was strong - perhaps not so much in body, but her mind, heart, soul and willpower held a strength that few others ever did. He turned his head to gaze at the prone figure of their leader. He had confidence she would survive.

He just did not know in what condition she would be in when she did, finally, open those magnificent eyes of hers.

DA:O

Alistair listened as Niall gave his diagnosis, taking note that Morrigan would nod her dark head in confirmation. With a sigh, he ran a huge hand over his face, his shoulders slumped. Niall stated he believed she would wake up. So, there was hope. Niall had then stated that it would take some time due to the swelling of her brain. How did one's brain swell? The warden shook his head, clearing out the thoughts. If Niall understood it, that was enough for him.

So, now they had a decision to make. No, he had a decision to make. With Adela out of commission for now, the duty of command fell fully upon his shoulders. He groaned at that, recalling the first time he had been placed in charge. But the second time had been successful, he reminded himself quickly, not allowing his mind to dwell too much upon Connor. He bowed his head, thinking, trying to keep himself from staring at Adela's too still form.

The most important thing was to get the Ashes back to Redcliffe. He knew this; they had no idea how much longer Eamon had, if he even still lived. He forced that thought right out of his head quickly. Wynne was there, along with the little elven mage, Artemis, of whom Wynne had spoken of with great respect. All healers, all extremely skilled.

So, his task fell to getting the Ashes to Redcliffe so that those same extremely skilled healers could put it to use. Now he glanced over at Adela. He had been sorely tempted to use the Ashes upon her. Especially when Zevran reported that the entrances back into the Guardian's lair had been closed off. However, he knew Adela too well. She would be angry and disappointed if they had risked all that they had for what she would consider nothing. And, while her life was worth more to him than Eamon's or anyone else's, he felt he could not bear her disappointment. Then, Niall had assured them that he felt she would survive.

He turned his gaze from Adela to skim over their group. The Sten had brought Brother Genetivi up with them, and the old man sat, listening and watching. Leliana had told Alistair that Niall had changed his diagnosis of the scholar and that he had managed to save his foot, although the Brother would need to rest for a long period of time before he could use it properly again, if ever.

Adela had to remain here. And send the Ashes with some of their party to Redcliffe.

"Everyone," Alistair called out once he had the basic formation of a plan in his head. Everyone, save for Niall, who was back at Adela's bedside, turned their full attention upon the Warden.

Okay…"The first thing we need to do is get Adela and Brother Genetivi," he bent his head to the scholar, who nodded back up at him, "to more comfortable chambers."

"The Chantry," Leliana offered immediately, her clear blue eyes turning toward the passageways. "I noticed that living areas were set for their Father Eirick. It should be comfortable, easy to keep warm, and easily defendable, should any of the remaining villagers seek revenge." The bard turned her gaze back to the human warden.

After a moment's thought, he nodded. "Niall," the mage lifted his head. "Is Adela stable enough to move down to the Chantry?"

The mage's face scrunched in thought as he turned his thoughtful gaze upon the young elf in question. With a nod, he replied, "I believe so. We'll need to set her upon a litter; carrying her would jar her too much."

With a nod, Alistair continued. "Great. Then we'll need a small group to bring the Ashes back to Redcliffe."

"What?" Leliana stepped forward, frowning. "You mean we're to leave some of us behind?" Alistair could tell the bard did not like this idea. "What if the villagers prove less than forgiving?"

"We'll have to fortify the defenses around the Chantry," the warden conceded with a frown. "We can't delay the return any longer. We need Arl Eamon's assistance against the Blight, and this is the only option, short of risking Adela, that I can come up with."

"He's right," Roland offered as support to his friend. "It's the only way."

Alistair smiled without humor. "I'm glad you think so, Roland," the knight turned his red head toward the blond. "Because you are going to lead the group back."

The knight's green eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. "The hell I am," he replied between clenched teeth. Alistair frowned. He had thought the other man would disagree…moving quickly, he pulled Roland to the side.

"Roland," he began, "I am not sending you as a way of getting my rival out of the way," he had immediately seen what angered Roland and wanted to quench that thought immediately. Honestly, the thought had never occurred to Alistair; he just knew Roland was the best man for the job. And he told him so.

Roland stood, glaring at the man. After a few moments of thought, and a deep breath, the knight surprised Alistair by saying, "Recruit me."

Alistair blinked. What? "Excuse me?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the suggestion.

Roland took a step forward, allowing barely a few inches between them. "I said recruit me." He crossed his arms to hic chest, glaring at the other man. "You may be Adela's second, but I am not under anyone's command here. If you want me to obey your orders, then you're going to have to do something that puts you in direct command of me." The proud knight straightened, lifting his handsome head. "So, that means you have to recruit me into the Grey Wardens."

Floored and speechless, Alistair stood there dumbfounded. Finding his voice, he whispered, "Are you sure about this, Roland? Once I recruit you, there is no turning back."

His expression softening, Roland replied. "Look, had Highever Castle not fallen, I would have met up with the Wardens at Ostagar and taken the Joining. Regardless of what I've seen since joining up with Adela, my mind has not been changed to the fact that I wish to become a Grey Warden."

Alistair did not miss that he had said that he had joined Adela, but let is slide. He took a moment to study the other man. He saw the strength of Roland's determination - to either remain at the side of the woman he cared for, or to join with the Grey Wardens. He shook his head, taking a moment to think. Adela had never mentioned allowing Roland within the ranks. The subject had come up once or twice, but she had always pushed it aside. Alistair felt that the young woman did not want to subjugate a friend to the joining. She had not liked it, and, even now, still had trouble with dealing with the personal consequences of the joining.

However, in a sense, Roland was now asking to join with the Wardens, to fulfill a promise he made to Duncan, to join an organization the young knight fully believed in. He was strong, knew how to battle the darkspawn, and was a natural leader and impressive warrior. He could almost hear Duncan's voice in his head. We need men like him.

Letting out a deep sigh, Alistair nodded his head. Raising his eyes to look directly into Roland's, he raised his voice so that everyone could hear, "Very well. Ser Roland Gilmore, formerly Knight of Highever, I hereby induct you into the Order of the Grey Wardens of Fereldan, whereupon at such time as we are able you shall undertake the Joining. Until said time, you shall conduct yourself in a manner fitting the Grey Wardens."

He watched as Roland stood slightly straighter, but let out a breath of relief. He had actually thought Alistair would deny his demand. "So shall I do," the knight replied formally.

With a small grin, the senior warden said, "So, now that that is taken care of. Recruit Roland, you are hereby ordered to take the Ashes back to Redcliffe. The Sten and Leliana shall accompany you." He watched with satisfaction as Roland nodded his agreement and did not argue with Alistair any further.

Turning to the rest of the group, who had been watching with great interest, he replied, "So, first duty is to make a couple of litters and take Adela and Brother Genetivi down to the Chantry."

Nodding their agreement, the group went off in search of materials to put together the litters.