Thanks to everyone for their wonderful reviews: Nithu, tgail73, Arsinoe de Blassenville, mutive, Eriana10

As always, this is not canon. And, as of yet, BioWare has not seen reason and signed over this universe and all properties over to me. Harrumph! How rude!

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 33

She was comfortable, more comfortable than she could remember. Snuggling deeper into the warm, soft mattress, she tried hard to ignore the sounds that flowed softly yet persistently along her peripheral senses. There it was again! Resisting the urge to cover her head with her pillow, the elven woman slowly opened her eyes.

It was still quite dark in the room, and looking around, she saw that no one else was awake. The fire in the fireplace was starting to die down, and she frowned, thinking she would need to rise and place some more wood on the fire, but knowing full well everyone would likely be upset that she took it upon herself to do so. With a shrug, she weakly rose, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Clad in a long nightshirt, the chill air sent shivers up her bare legs.

There was that noise again! She lifted her eyes from her feet, scanning her room. Wait? Was that…Alistair? Yes, sure enough, the young warden was what could only barely be described as seated in the room's sole cushioned chair, his red-gold head tilted back against the back of the chair. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, his arms resting upon the armrests, his legs and feet splayed out upon the floor. And that Maker's awful noise was him snoring!

Giggling, she sat there, simply taking in the view of the handsome man by the dim light of the fire. Over the months, his close cropped hair had grown out slightly, and now tickled along the tips of his ears and down his neck. She was actually quite glad it had grown out from the cow lick at the front (that he had so painfully maintained during their early days together) to sweep lightly to the side, curling around his face just slightly. She felt a slight quiver in her belly as she watched Alistair's eyelids flutter slightly, and then he shifted, his arms crossing over his chest as he tried to find another comfortable position to sleep in, twisting down, his shoulder resting firmly against the chair's backing.

Shaking her head, the elf pushed herself from the bed, rising unsteadily to her feet. She was grateful that Morrigan and Niall had foreseen the need to keep her muscles and joints from atrophying and had insisted upon exercising her limbs even while she was unconscious. These past few days had been spent mostly in bed, but with either Morrigan or Niall as they slowly worked to rehabilitate her limbs. Although she lacked strength, at least she wasn't also fighting stiff muscles and joints, or complete immobility.

Scowling briefly down at her feet, she willed them to move forward. Hesitantly, with small steps, she made her way over to the chair. Sighing, she placed her hands on the now vacant armrest of the chair, and gently lowered herself to the floor.

"Alistair," she whispered, placing a small hand upon his thick forearm, giving a gentle shake. He snorted in reply, twisting slightly under her hand. She smiled, brushing a hand up and over his face, thumbing gently at the small scar at the corner of his mouth.

Again she called out his name, raising her voice, still very weak from non-use, giving him another shake. Slowly, those wonderful eyes opened, hazy with confusion and sleep. He twisted his head around, his gaze finally resting upon the kneeling elf.

"Adela?" he whispered, rising in his seat, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Smiling at him, she shrugged. "You were snoring," she responded with a giggle, poking him in the chest with one slender finger. "And you did not look very comfortable sleeping there."

He blinked, then turned his attention to the fire. "Oh, the fire needs some wood," he said as he pushed himself upright, pulling Adela to her feet and planting her onto the now vacant chair as he moved to the fire.

"Alistair," Adela called as he settled logs upon the coals. "Have you been sleeping here every night?"

He shrugged, paying close attention to what he was doing at the fireplace. Adela shook her head. "Don't you have your own room?"

Turning, he offered her a wide grin, then bent to lift her gently into his arms. There was that flutter again, only more intense as she felt his strong arms wrap around her. "I do," he admitted as he deposited her just as gently onto her bed. "But, it's not really quite set up." He rubbed a hand to the back of his neck, obviously embarrassed by that admission.

Smiling up at him, she shifted over onto the bed. It was huge, much bigger than a cot, bigger than the bed she had at home in Denerim. "Why is your room not 'quite set up' yet?" She asked, smoothing the blankets over her. "We've been here for weeks." The bed shifted slightly as Alistair's weight settled upon it.

He shrugged again, his eyes shifting to her hands. He then placed one of his hands atop hers, and began to gently rub the back of her hand with a finger. "Been too busy during the day," She recalled him and the others telling her about how they had settled in the village. "And at night…well…I just wanted to make sure that you'd be alright. So, I just…kind of…settled in here."

"You should have had a bed set up in here, then," she pointed out, her free hand waving to indicate the size of the room. "This room is big enough for three or four beds."

"Ha," he chuckled slightly, "never really thought of that." His eyes fixed upon hers. "I suppose you'd rather I go somewhere else, then?" he asked, a hint of something in his voice Adela could not quite identify.

Her blue eyes blinked, and she felt her ears heat up slightly. Glad it was fairly dark in the room, save for the weak light put out by the fireplace, she was fairly certain she was blushing. Shaking her head, she patted the empty space by her. "You could…always settle in here," not only were her ears heating up, but she felt a pressure in her head and her chest constricted slightly.

Alistair paused, staring at her. "You sure about that?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, silly," she responded, trying to sound light and carefree. "It's not like we've never slept next to each other before."

"Heh, you're right," he said. Then his eyes searched her face a bit longer and then he nodded. Turning, he toed his boots from his feet, and then slid under the blankets next to the elf. He turned to face her, making certain that she was covered. Then, as though an after thought, he pulled her against him, pulling one of her arms across his chest as he brought his hand up to cradle the back of her head.

Her heart was now fully pounding, and she was certain Alistair could feel it. Letting out a deep, long sigh, she relaxed against his strong chest, reveling in the feel of his hand stroking the back of her head, feeling his warm breath fluttering the wispy hairs along her forehead. The gentle motion of his hand relaxed her, and she fell back into a restful, nightmare free slumber.

DA:O

The next day dawned bright, the snow fall having stopped to offer the inhabitants of the diminished village a respite in the wintry weather. Adela was now seated in the chair Alistair had vacated the night prior, a woolen blanket draped over her knees, a bowl of porridge held in one hand as she slowly spooned the cereal to her mouth.

She had been impressed and amazed at the progress that had been done. She had teased Alistair lightly about how he was a natural leader and that she should take vacations more often. Alistair protested, strongly and loudly, demanding that she never put him in such a position again, that those kinds of vacations sent him in a near tizzy. Promising to do her best, she allowed him to settle her comfortably in the chair while he and the others bustled around with their usual morning chores.

Later that day found her tucked back into bed, numerous pillows piled behind her to help her retain a comfortable seated position. Alistair, forgoing his chair, sat cross legged upon the bed, telling her about the surviving villagers, sending Roland and the others off with the Ashes, and their plans for the winter.

Plans which mostly consisted of keeping the villagers safe and getting Adela back to full strength. She had only awakened a few days prior, and while healthier than either Niall or Morrigan had expected, there was a great weakness throughout her body, and she found herself tiring very quickly.

Now, fully ensconced in her bed, listening to Alistair, she found herself shaking her head, a long sigh escaping her lips.

Grinning sheepishly, she turned toward Alistair. "I feel a little embarrassed," she answered his questioning gaze. "To have to be tended to for everything while I was unconscious…being so weak and useless now…" she shrugged her shoulders, letting Alistair shift the pillow behind her as she pushed herself further into a seated position. "I haven't felt this helpless since I was a small child."

Chuckling, Alistair brushed her cheek with one large hand. "We're all helpless as children, Adela." he said warmly.

"Yes, I know. But, I was a particularly sickly child and found myself more often than not confined to a bed," she murmured.

Alistair frowned slightly at that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

There was a slight shrug of her shoulders, and her eyes drifted around her room, taking in the archways that separated the various sections of the room that had once been used by one of the cult's leaders.

"I was very sickly as a baby," she said, turning to settle her eyes upon Alistair's concerned, open face. "I was born too early, and had nearly died at birth." she chuckled slightly. "I remember Mamae and Papa telling me how precious I was, that I was their little miracle, and then they'd bundle me up against the cold. I never even touched snow until I had seen six winters." Her eyes shifted away from him, hiding. "I've been told that's why I'm as small as I am; most elven women stand taller than I. Mamae was very tall, taller than many men, almost as tall as a human man. And a warrior, so as soon as I was of an age, she began to train me with weapons. I never really had the strength for swords, so she gave me her old daggers." She smiled I memory. "Mamae never seemed ashamed of me, merely kept training me at my own pace, encouraging me…" her voice trailed off sadly, the memory of her mother still strong after all these years.

The young human was astonished. To think that he may never have met Adela…that she may never had survived childhood? "Did you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked instead, turning her thoughts away from her confined childhood.

"I did," she said, then clarified. "Well, I would have. Papa had been married before he met Mamae. During the occupation. He had a lovely wife and two sons." A sad expression crossed her face. "When Meghren learned that elves had joined Maric's rebellion, he had ordered a purge of the Alienages - all of them throughout Fereldan. Papa's wife and youngest son perished. A few years later, his eldest son broke into the palace, seeking revenge." She sighed. "He was killed before he made it passed the kitchens."

She could remember the sadness that crossed her father's face when he had told her of his first wife and her brothers. Brothers! At that time, she had so dearly wanted a brother or a sister. Soris was great; he was like a big brother, but, he had his own mother and father, and then Shianni came along and he was her big brother. Then, after her mother died, Adela suddenly found herself in the position of being the guardian of the children of the Alienage.

"Mamae had trouble carrying a child in pregnancy," she continued in a small voice. "She had lost several babies before I was born, and then afterwards…she couldn't have any at all." She smiled up at Alistair, an expression that did not reach her eyes. "I almost feel sorry for my father. With my being a Grey Warden, chances are likely he won't even be able to have grandchildren."

A tightness gripped Alistair's gut. "Well," he said, smiling a bit sadly. "Two Wardens together almost never have children. But, chances are a bit better if one of the parents is a non-Warden. So, if you were to be with someone who wasn't a Warden, you may be able to have children."

A strange expression crossed Adela's face, one Alistair could not recognize. A combination of confusion, sadness and something else. But, she remained silent, picking listlessly at the fuzz from her blanket. Then, with a sigh, she settled back upon her pillows, offering her fellow warden as bright a smile as she could.

"So, fearless leader," she teased, enjoying the color that flooded Alistair's face. "What are the plans for today."

Before he could respond, especially to the abrupt change in topic, Morrigan sauntered into the room, a steaming bowl of something held easily in her long, elegant hands. "The plans for you, Adela," the witch replied as Alistair rose to allow room for her to settled next to Adela. "Are to eat, rest and recover." The elf frowned heavily at the bowl in the witch's hands.

"What is that?" the elf asked with trepidation. While Morrigan tried to make her concoctions taste somewhat palatable, they still retained a rather mediciny flavor and feel to them. Sometimes, regardless of how they tasted, the texture alone was enough to touch on the girl's gag reflex.

And this concoction did not even smell pleasant.

"This," the witch smirked at the elf, "is a soup that will help to build your muscles back up." She handed it over and Adela took it, albeit hesitantly.

Both women ignored the grinning smirk on Alistair's face as he resumed his place in what had become known as Alistair's Chair.

Tentatively, Adela brought the spoon to her lips, her face pursing up as she swallowed the first spoonful. "That is awful, Morrigan!" she hissed out between her teeth, glaring at the witch, who merely watched, that damnably smug expression upon her face.

"Hmmm? Oh, 'tis true the taste leaves much to be desired," she acknowledged, rising. "However, if you are to regain your strength, and quickly, you will need to continue following my instruction, as well as Niall's. Eventually, you will be able to rise from the bed for longer periods of time. I am certain that, eventually, you shall regain your strength enough to resume sparring." She stood there a moment, one elegant brow quirked up, that haughty smirk the elf had become very familiar with gracing her lovely face. Their eyes met, a duel of will. However, Adela was tired, whereas Morrigan excelled in these kind of confrontations. With a graceful wave, she pointed a hand toward the bowl, that brow remaining up, the smirk not leaving.

With a sigh, knowing well that she wasn't going to win any battles today, the elf began to spoon the awful concoction into her mouth.

DA:O

The Sten took point, his massive frame an easy landmark against the blinding snow. Rather than picking up his feet, he swept them forward, clearing a narrow path for the two humans to trudge along. The war beast needed no such assistance as he bounded along beside the great giant, happily barking as snow swept up into his face.

The Sten snorted, allowing a tiny smirk to cross his normally stoic features. The beast had proven a reliable ally; what harm in allowing him a moment of revelry? After all, regardless of how intelligent he was, he was still yet a beast.

The Qunari warrior glanced back at his human companions, a slight nod at their progress before he turned forward. The male had not surprised him overly much with his stamina and perseverance through the snow storms and difficult travel conditions. In fact, the Sten had expected no less of him. The female, however, had pleasantly surprised him. He had expected complaints and delays from the chantry sister, but she had displayed a remarkable ability to adapt to the most adverse of situations, and had not slowed their journey down as expected.

He snorted slightly at the sight of the dwarven merchant's wagon that rattled along behind the warriors.

The Sten was beginning to think that, with the group the Elven Warden had gathered, they may well have a chance to defeat the Blight.

Now, if only they could locate the Archdemon, then this could all be concluded.

DA:O

Pulling her fur cloak tighter against her slender form, Leliana continued to hum the melody she had been working on for, well, for years really. Now that she had an adventure to put words to the music, she had resumed her work on it with fervor.

The Sten made a marvelous plow, she giggled as she lifted her head and watched the huge man plow through the snow drifts. Roland marched directly behind the Qunari warrior, his eyes ever alert, scanning the surrounding area. She was certain that, although he was prancing and pouncing along in the snow, Hafter was as aware of their surroundings as any of his two legged companions.

Then, as one, all four of the companions paused, heads lifted, eyes scanning the area. The rattling of the wagon behind them stopped as Bodahn pulled the matched pair of oxen to a halt.

Leliana pulled her bow from her shoulder, nocking an arrow, and then sighting along her arm as she pivoted about, eyes narrowed slightly as she searched the area. They had all felt it, the unnatural silence. And, there was a smell, one the Orlesian bard had become far too accustomed to.

Blood. Coppery, iron, tainted. It was faint, but certainly was present. She watched as Roland waved off to his right and then Sten, with a nod, plowed off in that direction. Roland glanced back at the bard and, with a nod, turned to his left to scout.

She could hear the dwarves rummaging around behind her, pulling out crossbows and tightening the lever back as they set their bolts. The bard had never even learned how to use one of the dwarven made weapons; although they had more power than a standard short or long bow, they were slower to reload as it took strength to crank the projector back. She also felt that using the weapon put the archer in a more compromising position - with a bow the archer remained standing straight, alert; using the crossbow tended to bend the posture, allowing the eyes to leave the surrounding areas and thus make it possible for a foe to sneak up on you. The bard also far preferred to pepper her enemies with arrows, stinging them as a swarm of bees.

She heard them before she saw them, that chattering chuckle and menacing growls that foretold the arrival of darkspawn. Genlock and hurlock from the sounds. She straightened, knees bent, arrow nocked and bowstring pulled taut. Clear blue eyes scanned the trees. She heard Bodahn and Sandal behind her and knew they were alert and prepared to let their bolts fly.

A grunt resounded, followed closely by the piercing shriek of the dying. Her eyes narrowed as she pivoted about, toward the direction the death scream came from. There again, and then another, the body of a hurlock flying through the air, landing heavily to its back as Roland rushed in to finish it off with a well placed jab of his sword.

She could then hear the Sten's shout of triumph as he, too, apparently dispatched with his opponents.

Roland straightened as the Sten marched into the area. Both men continued to search the grounds, and Leliana did not ease her own stance. A rumbling chuckle alerted her to the advance of several of the monsters, and then the group found themselves surrounding and best upon by the darkspawn. With a growl, Hafter, who had remained by Leliana's side, lunged forward, pushing off the ground with his powerful hind legs, landing upon the nearest genlock, bearing it to the ground. The monster strove to fend the war hound's teeth off, but failed. Hafter's teeth sank into its forearm and, with a viscous shake, tore the skin from it. He then lunged forward, driving his teeth into its face, gripping on, his jaws locking as he began to worry the creature like a rag doll.

Arrows and bolts flew at the darkspawn, felling several of them, injuring many more. Leliana was suitably impressed with how quickly the dwarves managed to reload their crossbows, the bard making a note to rethink her opinion on the heavy weapons.

As they fought, another set of arrows had joined in taking down the darkspawn. Leliana had noticed it first, taking note of foes that fell to the missiles that did not come from her bow, and that she knew had not fell to the crossbows behind her.

Roland noticed next, ever attentive and aware in battle, as any knight should be. Facing off with his opponent, he smashed his shield into its face, causing it to stagger backwards, yet the hurlock - standing as tall as the former knight - retained its footing. An ugly snarl crossed its death skull face, and it jabbed its sword at the man, seeking purchase behind the shield Roland raised in his defense. Roland easily parried the blade, turning it aside as he then quickly reversed his own blade, bringing it sweeping across the unprotected neck of the large darkspawn. Black blood gushed from the wound, but the thing managed to raise its sword, trying to bring down the human. A green and white fletched arrow suddenly sprouted from one eye socket and the beast finally slumped to the ground, dead.

Leliana noticed that another woman - human - had stepped into the clearing, a short bow held in hand, as she quickly fired off more of the green and white fletched arrows. A sense of apprehension fell over the bard, and she frowned. She would certainly not turn aside aid, but the knowledge that the woman had been trailing them since they had left the mountains caused the former Orlesian spy a sense of ill ease. Turning her attention back to the battle, she put all thoughts of the newcomer from her mind, for now.

The two women worked in synch with one another, a steady stream of arrows flying unceasingly into the midst of the darkspawn that attacked them. The dwarves held their own valiantly, with only the occasional cry of "Enchantment!" from the younger. Leliana suppressed a giggle that threatened to escape. How very inappropriate!

Roland was tiring, the bard could see. His shield continued to bash and knock the fiends down as his sword unerringly sliced the life from his opponents. However, his shoulders started to slouch somewhat, and she noticed that he had stumbled once. The strength of his blows did not suffer or ease, but the bard knew that they would need to finish the fiends quickly. Her own shoulders aching, the archer sent her arrows slicing into the body of one menacing hurlock that moved too close to the former knight for her comfort.

The Sten snarled, his greatsword cleaving the darkspawn in two by twos and threes. The giant's blows never slowed, and he was quickly surrounded by the mangled corpses of the darkspawn too foolish to stay clear.

Before exhaustion could take its toll, the darkspawn assault finally ceased. Sighing wearily, the bard lowered her arms, her blue eyes scanning the area as her compatriots did likewise. Her vision settled upon the young woman who had entered the fray.

Dark chocolate brown hair curled around her face, having come loose from the heavy braid down her back. Dark brown eyes, almost black, were half lidded as she wearily shouldered her own weapon. She was almost as tall as Leliana, who was considered tall for a woman, but with round curves where the bard was willowy. She was dressed in simple but well made armor, a heavy fur lined cloak slung across her shoulders, her archery shoulder and arm bare. It was when the woman - who appeared a year or two younger than Leliana - turned, that she knew, if not whom she was, what she was.

The haughty gleam in her eyes and the proud tilt of her chin marked the young woman clearly as a noble of high birth. Those dark eyes skimmed quickly and without interest over Leliana and the dwarves, briefly resting upon the Sten's huge form, before settling upon the young man who was now turning away from the carnage he had created to check on his companions.

Leliana watched as Roland's green eyes, hooded with exhaustion, settled upon the figure of the pretty noblewoman. Those same green eyes widened slightly and he moved forward quickly. Aware he knew the woman, the bard watched closely to the woman's reaction. Where Roland's relief at seeing her was palpable, the noblewoman's reaction was more subdued, almost a look of bored entitlement, and nothing else. No relief at seeing the young man alive and well, no joy at seeing another she knew. Leliana suppressed a snort; such was the way of the nobility, the Orlesian thought bitterly, having been well rid of it all during her time in Fereldan.

Of course, Leliana reminded herself as she continued her scrutiny of the younger woman. This noble had been following them for at least a couple of weeks. Why had she not revealed herself sooner?

Roland stopped just in front of the young woman, and offered a respectful bow.

"Ser Gilmore," the young woman's voice was low and throaty, practiced as any noblewoman who knew the power of not only her beauty but her birth.

Taking a deep breath, Roland straightened, staring the young woman directly in the eyes. "It is a pleasure to see you alive and well, Lady Cousland."