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The Halla Reborn

Chapter 47

After dismantling their campsite, the group of stalwart adventurers continued on their path towards Ostagar. They continued to encounter small groups of darkspawn, but they were not as numerous as they had otherwise been prepared for.

Two days after their battle with Flemeth the party found themselves at the barricaded gates of Ostagar. Adela glanced around, recalling that this was the way she and Duncan had entered the ruins, knowing that the Tower of Ishal stood nearby. The Sten marched over to the barricade, Roland and Alistair in tow, and the trio of men studied the sturdy structure. After discussing the situation briefly, the three returned to the rest of the group.

"They have fortified the barricade with rubble and stone," the Sten remarked with a nod of approval. "I would suggest we seek out another avenue to enter the ruins."

Adela and Alistair frowned at each other as they turned their gaze about the ruins. Alistair advised that if they turned their course westerly, they should be able to enter the ruins by way of where the Grey Wardens had set up their main camp.

"We wanted to find any records Duncan may have left therein anyway," Adela replied, worrying slightly as the Warden camp had been closest to the battlefield.

"Then it's settled," Roland put in, hefting his pack to his shoulder as he bent to retrieve Adela's pack. He missed the slight glare Alistair shot his way as he straightened and handed it to the small elven woman. Adela accepted it with a smile, and then turned to pull her husband along. Startled, Alistair glanced down at her, offering her a small smile as he shifted his own pack and followed the group to the west.

An hour later found the group staring at another barricade, yet one not as heavily fortified as that by the Tower. Between the Sten, Alistair and Roland, an opening was created to allow for the group to pass through.

As they past beneath a ruined archway, the group spread out, alert and wary for any darkspawn that may have noticed their entry. Adela started to venture forward when Alistair stopped her with a well placed hand upon her arm. She raised a questioning brow to him as she paused.

"Don't you feel that?" he whispered, frowning at the ruined camp they were in.

A frown of her own upon her face, the elf turned about, staring at the area they found themselves in. There was a quick intake of breath as she recognized the site of the Grey Warden camp. So very close to the battlefield…but…

"I don't feel anything," she whispered back, confusion marring her features as she turned her face back to the human Warden.

Nodding, Alistair released her. "That's just it," he replied, straightening and leading the way toward the center of the campsite. "There should be something…but, I only sense a tingle of darkspawn." He stopped, staring around at the now alien landscape of what had once been so familiar to him. "There are darkspawn in Ostagar," he clarified as the others returned to their side. "Just not in the abundance we had expected."

Adela let out a sigh, pushing out with her senses, trying to sense what Alistair did. Her sense of the darkspawn had never been as acute as Alistair's, but now she could sense only the slightest of a tingling in the back of her mind. "So what does that mean?" she asked.

The shrug her husband gave her was answer enough. Six months longer as a Grey Warden had not given the young man any more insight to darkspawn behavior than her.

"Well," Adela remarked as she glanced at her companions, "let's see if we can find Duncan's tent. Perhaps he left behind something to help us with our mission."

"He had a chest in his tent," Alistair said as he led the way through the confusing mess of the ruined camp. "Let's hope that the darkspawn didn't find it…"

Less than thirty minutes later and they had found the remains of Duncan's tent. It had been centermost to the Grey Warden campsite. The canvas of the once sturdy construct lay in tatters, and the wooden framing of the near pavilion like structure was broken and twisted. Yet, within the interior of the tent still stood the cot the former Commander of the Grey as well as a trunk. Pawing through the debris, Alistair gave out a triumphant shout as he pulled a heavy chest made of red steel from the debris.

The chest was tightly locked with an intricate locking mechanism that none of the rogues had ever encountered. Zevran, admitting that he had far less talent with such things, stepped back as Leliana and Adela carefully examined the mechanism. Alistair and Roland stood beside the elf, keeping watch over the women as the other companions scoured the campsite for any supplies, equipment or saleable goods.

The two women conferred, with Adela peering into the lock, her sharp elven eyes searching out any clues as to how the thing worked. Bending near, she whispered her thoughts to the bard, who took a turn at the lock. With a nod, Leliana moved back, allowing Adela room and light with which to work. The Orlesian stood, advising the three men at their backs that it may take a while, but that Adela felt she had figured out the system.

Alistair nodded, glancing slightly to the smaller men at his side. Zevran's eyes were carefully scanning the area surrounding them, occasionally seeking out Niall's frumpy form amongst the debris. Roland, too, scanned the area, but his eyes always fell back to Adela's bent frame. The young warden knew that Roland would need a little time to get over the disappointment of Adela having married him, and Alistair knew that the former knight would never do anything to compromise his and Adela's relationship. However, there was that tiny niggle of…anger?…jealousy?…he found he could not quite identify how he felt toward the other man. A man who was perhaps his closest friend other than Adela herself. He shook himself from those thoughts as Roland's hand slapped down on his shoulder, and he informed the Grey Warden that he would scout around a bit. With a nod, he gave the recruit permission to leave, and then turned his attention back to surveying the surrounding area and watching as his wife worked Duncan's complex lock.

Pick in hand, another set carefully in the lock, Adela sat back on her haunches, glaring at the offending latch. As she bent back to her work, the others began to filter back to the spot, having managed to recover some supplies from the decimated camp.

Finally, Adela gave a slight crow of triumph as the mechanism clicked, releasing its hold upon the chest. Grinning at her, Alistair slipped down to his knees beside her, carefully pushing the lid upwards with a creak.

There, in the chest, were several items of personal value…a suit of black leather armor that Alistair had never seen Duncan wear…a strange, black bladed dagger…several books…Adela kept pawing through the items, handing them off to Alistair. Finally, she exposed the metal and wooden bottom to the chest. Grinning up at her other warden, she lightly rapped on the bottom, revealing a secret compartment skillfully hidden within the chest.

Carefully, her sensitive fingers brushed along the bottom, finally pausing as she felt the slightest of indentation that revealed a trapdoor. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out a flat piece of metal, then carefully began to pry at the indent she had found. Soon, the trapdoor became obvious to Alistair's eyes, and the girl pulled the metal and wood free, exposing bundles of papers, vellum and parchment there under.

"There we are," Adela whispered as she pulled the papers free of the confines of the chest, carefully tucking them into a waterproofed pouch. "We'll examine these later," she advised as she rose, securing fastening the pouch to her belt. "As much as I'd love to sit down now and look them over, we still have a few things to do here."

"Like find Duncan's body," Alistair agreed as he turned to walk from the tent.

"And Cailan's," Adela added as she followed the large human. "I'd also like to find his tent and locate his chest." Alistair turned, his brow raised. "There are…letters therein that I'd like to take. Plus, I recall his having Maric's blade with him."

"Maric's blade," Alistair whispered as he and Adela led their group from the Grey Warden campsite and towards where the Royal enclave had been set.

Adela glanced up at her husband…a son of Maric….and nodded. "The blade he found when he went into the Deep Roads with Rowan, Loghain and my mother." She sighed as she paused, gazing up at the walkway that led into the heart of the Ostagar. "I remember Maric showing it to me and telling me the story behind how he had found it as they sought a way to Gwaren."

Smiling down at his wife, Alistair found that the usual pang of regret and envy that normally assaulted him whenever Adela spoke of his father was not there. He now found it soothing whenever she gave him bits of information regarding his father. Although he would never know the man as anything other than a legend, having someone who had known him so close, to share bits and pieces of his history with him, had somewhat soothed any ill feelings he had toward the man.

With a smile to her husband, Adela turned the group towards where the battle had been lost.

DA:O

She kept her eyes ahead, studiously avoiding looking at the bodies of the deceased they passed by. Not that there were many. Just…body parts, scattered across the ground, in various states of decay. Beneath the snow that remained upon the ground, Adela could clearly see that the earth was blackened, both with Blight disease and old blood.

She made herself stop, rubbing a hand across her eyes, over her forehead and down her face. A glance up told her that Alistair was having much the same reaction as she. She could hear Wynne's whispered prayers behind them.

The nearer to the center of the battlefield, the more bodies they encountered. Most were little more than skeletons, few having been frozen in various positions of death. Thankfully, none could see their faces, as they were either rotted away or, blessedly, lying face down in the snow and dirt.

It was with an audible gasp that both Adela and Alistair stopped cold, eyes ahead, fixed upon the fully preserved body of an ogre.

The ogre both were certain had crushed the life from Cailan's body as he fought valiantly alongside Duncan against the darkspawn.

A heavy weight rested upon her shoulder, and she looked over to see Alistair's hand firmly placed there, squeezing her flesh beneath the tough leathern armor she wore. Her eyes roamed upwards, fixing up his pale face. She followed the trajectory of his eyes, wondering what he saw. They were fixed upon the ogre's body, to the weapons that jutted from its chest. A sword and dagger.

Alistair started forward at a lope, quickly increasing to a run. Cursing slightly, the elf shot off after him, remembering how often he would scold her for such a rash action.

The others followed at a ragged jog, eyes ever watchful, as they followed the pair of wardens.

He had stopped, staring bleakly at the weapons. When she pulled up beside him, she knew why he had taken off as he had.

The sword and dagger were well known to her. She had seen those weapons both at rest and in action.

Duncan's sword; Duncan's dagger.

A single, ragged sob escaped Alistair's lips, and she moved closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. An arm wrapped about her shoulders, pulling her close as he fought against the onslaught of sobs that threatened to escape.

Her eyes looked over the desolate, forbidding field, searching for the two men they had both hoped to find. As she pulled herself from his embrace, as the others neared them, she could feel an energy course through the air. As she opened her mouth to bring Alistair to the alert, the dead surrounding them let out a unified dry, anguished moan as they struggled to their feet.

Weapons out, Alistair fully alert as he searched the area for the spellcaster. His eyes settled upon the squat form of a genlock emissary, standing, grinning, beneath the battlements of the ruins. With a shout, the ex-templar sprinted off after the darkspawn mage as Adela and the others turned to deal with the undead that clawed from the ground, rusted, battered weapons in hand as they surged forward.

Alistair released his mana draining abilities upon the emissary, startled slightly that the creature, while drained of a great deal of its mana, managed to toss lightening at the former templar initiate before succumbing fully to the cleanse. With a roar, the young warden shook the spell off, his sword and shield raised as he stormed after the darkspawn mage.

She was in too close of quarters, and could not draw her bow. Pulling her daggers free, the elf ducked down, bending at the knees, spinning slightly with blades outstretched, slicing across the throats and chests of the undead the surrounded her. She heard Roland's war cry resound and took note of one of the skeletal undead fly past her. Still crouching, she side stepped, moving away from the blade of one corpse, slashing out with one dagger as she continued past. The thing's head flew off of it's bony neck, and the body crumbled down in a rattling pile of bone.

Spells crackled through the air as the four mages cast about them, entropy, primal and spirit spells felling their foes and rallying their allies. Morrigan transformed into the form of a great bear, the massive bear crushing several skeletons under her great mass.

The Sten's blade cut through those skeletons that surged upon him, trying to weigh the great giant down by their numbers. Roland smashed his foes down with shield and sword, and Adela spun about, searching out her husband, watching as the emissary tried, vainly, to avoid the punishment of the Templar turned Warden's blade and shield.

Leliana stood back from the group, just in front of the mages, her bow twanging out arrows, a foe felling to each missile. Zevran melted into and out of the surrounding shadows, slipping beneath the sweeping claws of the undead, cutting them down at the knees, beheading them easily.

The skeletons themselves offered no true skill from the companions. But they did threaten them with their numbers.

Numbers that would cease to grow once Alistair managed to incapacitate his opponent.

Adela's blade felled another skeleton, her breath coming to her in gasps as she straightened from her crouch. Her heart all but faltered as a groan escaped from the body of the ogre not far from where she had just felled the undead that had rose against her. As she turned, she watched, in dawning horror, as the thing stumbled to its feet, a great roar erupting from its wide mouth.

DA:O

Gathering his will, Alistair let loose with a smite, knocking the genlock mage off its feet and to its back upon the Blight-muddied ground. As his blade swept down to severe its grotesque head from its neck, the young Warden was knocked forward, a powerful electrical shock coursing through his body. Gasping, staggering slightly almost to one knee, he pushed himself up, and turned, to face another darkspawn mage.

This one appeared to be a genlock, but was larger, wielding a staff of dragon bone and silverite. A wide smile crossed its death mask of a face, and the former templar could feel the influx of magic as the strange darkspawn mage pulled into itself magical energies.

His will drained from the smite he had so recently cast, the warden pushed himself up, brandishing his sword and shield as he loped toward the mage, hoping to catch it with his sword before it could loose its spell. As his pace increased, he could feel the spell as it swept past him and beyond. He scowled, hoping whatever ill spell it had cast ran awry as he raised his blade.

DA:O

Smashing down the skeleton, the red haired warrior spun around, blade held ready, shield gripped tightly, as he surveyed the battlefield.

More undead continued to rise, groaning, from the fouled earth. A grimace crossed his handsome face as he smashed one frozen solid by one of Morrigan's spells, grim satisfaction as it shattered. These were once brave men and women of the Fereldan army and Grey Wardens. He grimaced as he recognized the griffon emblazoned upon one rusted breastplate, sweeping its barely attached head from its rotted neck.

He turned at the sound of the great roar, easily spotting Adela as she turned to face the rising corpse of the nearly preserved body of the ogre. With a curse, he sprinted ahead, arms pumping, as he raced to the elf's side.

DA:O

Gripping her daggers, the nimble elf ducked under the clumsy sweep of the ogre's arms. Its massive, horned head bent down, it gave out a great snort before suddenly rushing in a controlled forward bolt. Adela made certain she was not there for the brunt of the ram, stepping and twisting away, her arms tucked to her chest to avoid any contact with the rushing beast.

There was the sound of metal slamming against muscle and flesh, and Adela glanced over to see that Roland had engaged the risen ogre. The warden recruit's shield was raised, deflecting powerful blows from the ogre as his sword slashed and jabbed at the creature. The elven warden ducked in, her blades shooting out, seeking to hamstring the massive darkspawn. Tough skin and tendon deflected her blows, and she staggered back, scowling at the back of the creature's knees. She dodged forward, again, leading with both blades, seeking to slice into the tough flesh of the creature. A large foot kicked backwards, catching the small woman soundly in the shoulder, sending her spinning backward and to the ground, a cry escaping her as she landed upon her arm and shoulder, a loud snapping sound echoing in her ears. Intense pain shot through her arm, shoulder and traveled down her side. Fighting against the nausea that suddenly rose in her gut, she struggled to her side, grateful that Roland was managing to keep the creature at bay and busy with his blade and shield.

DA:O

The magical power of the darkspawn was immense, something Alistair had never experienced before nor heard of in darkspawn. When Duncan had recruited him into the wardens, he had insisted that his templar abilities would be put to good use against the darkspawn mages. And yet, he was finding putting this one down using those same abilities - which he had continued to use and hone despite no longer being a templar in the chantry's service - impossible.

The thing shrugged off a smite, and continued to cast spells through his cleansing aura. As he swept his blade out, the thing raised its staff, easily deflecting and redirecting his blow.

Growling in frustration the young man slammed his shield into its grinning face, smashing it backwards, yet it still managed to retain its footing.

He brought his shield back and slammed forward again, this time managing to knock the creature from its footing, slamming it to its back upon the ground. He raised his blade to sweep downward, but the darkspawn twisted away, rolling to its side and the leaping to its feet. As it raised its staff, arrows flew in, cracking against the magical shielding the darkspawn mage erected around itself.

Digging his feet in, Alistair launched himself forward, blade out, shield braced, to take down the creature. His shield connected with the magical shielding, and at that moment, he released his cleansing aura, catching the mage off balance. The shielding fell, and the emissary staggered back, a snarl upon its grotesque features. It thrust one hand forward, sending lightening arcing into the young man's body. Alistair stumbled back, struggling against the electricity that flowed and coursed over his body. Calling upon his templar training, he fought, and won, against the magic. As he straightened and prepared to again assault the darkspawn, Zevran appeared at his side, dashing forward, his blades dancing and weaving before the creature, nipping and slashing at the beast, keeping its attention fully upon the weaving elf and arrows that continued to speed to it.

Alistair risked a look over his shoulder, fully expecting to see Adela behind him. He was momentarily surprised that it was Leliana, and allowed his vision to travel slightly beyond the human bard. His heart nearly stopped as he watched his wife be kicked back by the massive foot of the risen ogre, Roland rushing forward to slam his shield into the giant creature's chest.

Grinding his teeth, the warden turned his attention back to the magic wielding darkspawn as more undead rose to accost his companions.

DA:O

Greatsword swept in deadly arcs. Skeletons and rotted corpses fell to each tremendous blow. With barely harried breath, the Sten stood amidst the fallen corpses, his lavender eyes scanning the battlefield.

Zevran and Leliana had joined the male warden's side, battling against the magic wielding darkspawn. He twisted his massive head, taking note of how easily the mages were decimating the waves of undead that crept along, sweeping into their midst.

He heard Adela's cry of pain, and turned to watch as the tiny elven woman was thrown to the ground, slamming hard upon her arm and shoulder. Cursing the woman her place, the giant warrior turned, his long legs carrying him quickly to Roland's side, as the human warrior battled against the ogre.

Roland turned his head slightly, giving the giant a slight nod of his head as he turned back to the ogre. The great beast rushed the pair, and the two warriors split, each flanking the beast as it swept past them in a rush. With his battle cry upon his lips, Roland's blade jabbed forward, and then slashed across the bare flesh of the ogre's side, cutting deeply, opening the wound wide. He was aghast to take note that no blood flowed the horrendous wound, a tribute, he was certain, to the creature's current undead state.

The Sten roared out to his homeland, taking his greatsword into both hands, twirling the blade momentarily over his head before sweeping it downward in a viciously powerful decent. The Qunari's height gave him an advantage against the ogre, and his blade bit deeply into the creature's shoulder, cutting down, nearly severing its arm from its shoulder. Snarling, the giant darkspawn turned its attention fully to its larger opponent. The Sten took his position, bracing his feet firmly to the ground, almost rooting himself to the spot. He held his blade vertical in both hands, awaiting the ogre's charge.

He saw this chance, and took it. Gathering his strength, Roland charged, leading with his shield, bashing it solidly in the back, forcing it forward with a greater, uncontrolled momentum. The Sten saw his chance, and charged forward himself, his blade raised as he launched himself from the ground, driving his blade downward, driving it into the creature's neck, down into its chest, and further still. Roland's sword found itself buried deeply into the undead darkspawn's back as the Sten's weight bore the thing back to the earth.

Roland dodged away, twisting to avoid the heavy body of the descending ogre. The Sten pulled his blade viscously to the side, opening the ogre's chest cavity, spewing forth the composed organs of the undead thing.

Gasping for breath, Roland trudged to the Sten's side, patting the giant upon the arm in congratulations. The Qunari warrior merely bowed his head slightly as the human then continued past him to see to Adela.

DA:O

A shudder passed through the emissary, visible to those who battled it, as the ogre fell. Its concentration faltered, and the magical shielding fell. The onslaught of Leliana's arrows pierced through the creature's armor, sticking from its chest. With a raucous grin, the genlock turned its attention to the bard, sending a streak of lightening upon her.

Crying out as the energy hit her, Leliana dropped her bow, falling to her knees as she gasped and struggled against the magic. Alistair sent a cleansing aura over the stricken woman, and she managed a weak smile as she struggled back to her feet.

Zevran slipped behind the emissary, his blades dancing and twirling, striking against the hardened leather of the darkspawn's armor, piercing and cutting through to the diseased flesh beneath. Snarling aloud, it turned to face the elf, oblivious to the descending warden sword that took its head from its scrawny neck.

As the body of the emissary fell to the ground, the undead that assailed the mages shuddered to a stop and then, with a unified groan, fell to the earth in heaps.

DA:O

"How is she?" Alistair asked anxiously, trying very hard to remain out of Wynne's way, but unable to let himself be too far from Adela's side. The elderly mage glanced up, shaking her white head at the young man.

"She's dislocated her shoulder," the mage replied as she sent another flush of magic through the elf's shoulder and arm. 'Niall managed to put it back into its place, and this should help alleviate any residual pain and discomfort."

"Adela?" Alistair asked as his wife sat, calm and quiet, as the elder mage worked her magic. Biting her lip against the pain, the elven woman merely nodded, watching Wynne's hands as they roamed over her shoulder and down her arm.

Very soon, the pain had ebbed and the elf was able to regain her feet. Her eyes turned to the body of the ogre and, without a word, she paced to the body, her eyes fixed upon the sword and dagger that had remained embedded in its chest.

"Those are Duncan's," Alistair breathed as he came up to her side. With a nod, the elf scrambled up the body, and pulled the weapons free. She struggled with the sword, holding the dagger in one hand as she grappled with the sword's hilt with the other. Scrambling back down, she held the blades to Alistair, watching as he hesitantly took the weapons that had belonged to the man who had been the closest thing to a father the young man had.

"You should keep them," Adela said after a few moments silence, her eyes fixed upon the weapons in her husband's hands.

But Alistair shook his head, holding the blades to her. "You are the Commander, Adela," he smiled softly at her. "These should be yours."

Sniggering, she took the dagger, but shook her head at the sword. "I shall proudly use the dagger, but that sword…it's far too large for me to wield." She chuckled. "I could barely carry it. You should use it, Alistair. I know…" her voice broke slightly here, burning tears at the back of her eyes. "I know Duncan would have wanted you to have it."

Eyes reverently fixed to the blade, Alistair reached over his shoulder, pulling free the blade he had used since Ostagar, dropping it to the ground. Carefully, he sheathed Duncan's sword. Taking his hand, Adela turned her attention from her husband and the ogre, her sharp elven eyes searching the debris field surrounding them. There…there was a flash of silver in the sunshine. She tugged Alistair's hand, then released it, as she set off at a jog to where she had seen the flash. Confused, Alistair took off after her, his long legs allowing him to catch up to her easy pace.

They both stopped at the site of the gleaming silver light. A ragged sob escaped Alistair's lips, and Adela reached over, gently placing her hand to his arm as she stared down at the tarnished armor that lay before them.

Not just armor, but the decimated body that the armor still lay clad to. Of the body itself, very little remained. Time, weather, Blight disease, crows and wolves had left little behind. However the dark hair that thinly covered the skull that yet remained, as well as the distinctive silverite armor and robes beneath clearly told who lay upon the Blighted ground before them.

"Duncan," Alistair whispered, going to his knees beside the body, a hand reaching out to lightly touch the dirty and tarnished shoulder guard of the armor. Adela remained, standing, by Alistair's side, a small hand reaching down to settle upon his shoulder. His head bowed, and the young man allowed the sob that raged in his throat a release. Tears running down her face, the elven woman knelt beside the man she loved, and wrapped her arm across his shoulder, allowing him to mourn the man.

The others remained silent and back, allowing the two wardens their grief. Wynne, who had known Duncan longer than any of them, brushed a wizened hand across her eyes, smiling as Niall placed an arm across her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. The Sten bowed his massive head as Leliana whispered a prayer to the dead from the Chant of Light. The others stood, silent, watching and listening.

After many minutes, Alistair raised his head, turning to look at his wife. "We must give him a proper funeral," he insisted. Adela had no intention of denying that to Duncan, and nodded, rising and turning, ordering that wood be brought forward to build a pyre for the former Commander of the Grey. Without a word, the others turned to do so as Adela knelt back beside Alistair.

DA:O

An hour later, and the group had built a pyre, now burning, with the remains of Duncan set upon them. Although his armor was still in good condition, both wardens had insisted that it go to the pyre with the man. Neither could bare the thought of using it or, worse yet, selling it to further fund their quest. What few sovereigns it would garner them was not worth the dishonor they felt would be perpetrated upon the man.

As the flames licked at the decimated body, Adela stood, staring, watching. Alistair stood, stock still, beside her, his tears already spent. When finally the body was nothing but ash, Wynne handed the young Commander of the Grey a vial. Nodding, the elf pushed Duncan's ashes into the vial, carefully and tightly capping it. Bowing her head, she said a silent prayer over the rest of Duncan's ashes, then turned away.

Now they would venture further into the ruins of Ostagar. They still had further business therein.

DA:O

They began to encounter darkspawn, mostly hurlocks, and a few emissaries as they encroached upon the ruin's center. They were made quick work of and they proceeded onwards, past the infirmary, past where the prisoners had been kept…

Adela's head swiveled slightly as she took in the quartermaster's stall. It was twisted, and the portable forge the quartermaster had brought with him had been altered into an obscene altar, decorated heinously with the head of a halla and several bones from humans and animals. Nearby, laying flat on his back, was the merchant whom had accosted the young elf upon her arrival at the ruins. Frowning, she left the group, walking past the frozen corpse, to the chest that stood by the altar. She lifted the lid, and pushed the contents around somewhat, finally finding the objects she sought. Lifting up the pieces of leather, she stared at them for a moment, before pocketing them into her pack. She ignored the stares of the others as she rejoined the group.

Blight wolves and other darkspawn fought them as they continued their trek deeper into Ostagar's heart. One overly large hurlock proved difficult in felling, but between Alistair and Roland it soon joined the other monsters in death. Adela walked over to the men as they stared down at the bloody corpse before them. Glancing down, she gave a gasp, seeing what the two had spied. Gingerly, she knelt down, prying from the creatures hands golden gauntlets. Rising, she stared, holding the pair in her hands. In a tremulous whisper, she said, "These were Cailan's…"

Both Warden and Recruit looked at each other, Alistair placing a hand to Adela's shoulder. Turning, she pushed the gauntlets into Alistair's chest. "Keep these," she instructed, scowling down at the hurlock corpse, giving it a kick. "Maybe we can find the rest…"

Frowning, staring down at the gauntlets he held in numb hands, Alistair nodded, then placed them into his pack. He raised his head, glancing around. Spying where Duncan's bonfire (as he and Adela had taken to calling it during their time at Ostagar) had been, knowing that the Royal Enclave stood not far, Alistair reached over and took Adela's hand, pulling her along. The others, taking note of the direction the wardens headed, followed.

They found Cailan's chest in the open, the king's pavilion having long since been torn and ripped away. It took Adela mere minutes to unlock the secrets contained therein.

Adela's eyes widened slightly as she pulled a carefully wrapped bundle from the dark interior of the sturdy chest. Straightening, she carefully unwrapped the long package, finally revealing a blade of dragon bone, the runes along the blade's length glowing with a faint bluish tinge at the touch of her hand. For several moments she stared at the blade, recalling the times she had spent at Maric's knee as he polished it, telling her the story behind its recovery. It was as much a connection to her past - her mother's history with Maric, Rowan and Loghain - as it was Alistair's. Smiling, she turned, presenting the blade to her husband.

Alistair stared at the magnificent longsword, reaching out slightly to touch it before recoiling back. What right had he to the blade? He wondered. But, Adela was offering it to him, ignoring Zevran's remark about how sexy the blade was, asking for it instead. The others chuckled slightly at the assassin's quip, but Alistair and Adela stood, silent, staring down at the blade.

"Take it," Adela whispered to her husband. But, he backed away, shaking his head, denying the gift.

"I can't," he replied, staring at the blade still. He raised his eyes to his wife's. "It was never meant for me." He gripped the sword - Duncan's sword - he currently held in his hand. "This one feels more like it belongs with me than that one ever would."

Adela blinked, frowning slightly at her stubborn husband. However, she would not argue with him, not now, not when they still had else they wished to do. With a nod, she handed the blade to Roland, asking him to hold it for now. Reverently, the knight took the blade, strapping it carefully to his pack.

Knowing that she and Alistair would need to have a talk later on, the elf turned and delved deeply into the chest. A feeling of triumph came over her as she pulled the bundle of letters Cailan had told her of. Without explanation, she placed these in the pouch with Duncan's papers, straightening as she surveyed the ruins.

The track of her eyes took her to the bridge…the one that led to the Tower of Ishal. She could see the further damage done it during the battle, when fiery pitch and massive boulders had been launched at the structure. Her eyes narrowed as her keen sight settled upon a figure, propped up against the back rail. Without a word, she stepped nearer the bridge's entry, pushing aside her first memories of Ostagar. The figure was human, of that she was certain. Ordering the others to follow, she set off in a sprint, her steps quickening as the figure ahead of her came into focus and recognizable.

With a sharp intake of breath, she stumbled to a halt, staring up at the face that had been so familiar to her as a child, the face of a trusted and beloved friend. As the others rushed to her, a sharp scolding word upon Alistair's lips, a single name escaped her lips.

"Cailan…"

DA:O

More darkspawn rose against them, and these were defeated, retrieving the rest of Cailan's armor. The victories had been numerous, but not without cost. Each of the companions bore wounds from each battle, and were bone weary by the time they managed to battle their way to where the king's corpse was strung up, naked, his flesh pierced by arrows and blades. Powerful magic had been used to preserve his body, and, were it not for the unnatural pallor of his skin, the obvious wounds, and the uncharacteristic expression of fear and loss so permanently etched into his features, Adela may have thought the man alive but unconscious. With a sob, she ordered the Sten and Roland to pull his body from where it was, crucified, upon the makeshift easel the darkspawn had strung him upon.

A pyre had been built, and his body laid to rest. The young elf fought against her memories of her friendship with the young king, tears rushing down her face as Alistair's arm pressed along her shoulders, pulling her against him to share her grief. Her grief…his…theirs. This day saw the rest of two people who had been important to them, in their own way. As with Duncan, Adela gathered some of Cailan's ashes into a vial, promising to present them to Anora when they defeated the Blight.

With a final look to the pyre, Adela led her companions from Ostagar, seeking their way through the Wilds, heading eastward to Orzammar.