As always, I appreciate all of the alerts, favorites and reviews that this story continued to generate. There have been moments, I tell you… *cheeky grin*

My thanks to those who take the time to read and review: Wyl, cloud1004, Biff McLaughlin, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and lynn-writer (a new reader/reviewer! Yay!)

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 67

Anger simmered just below her skin; a living thing, moving along her bloodstream. Pausing at the door, she frowned, and then reached out with one slender hand and turned the knob, pushing the door open without preamble or even a knock.

The return journey back to Eamon's townhouse had been quiet, despite how much Adela wanted to berate Roland for disobeying her orders; despite how much the elven warden wished to simply turn around and grab hold of Anora and hug her friend after so long. Neither occurred as she staunchly followed Michael Kylon back to the townhouse.

Upon arrival, Kylon had stationed several of his guardsmen alongside those in service to the Arl, and then proceeded to follow the Wardens and the queen into the structure. Once inside, Kylon positioned himself directly in front of the doors, assuming the stance of a statue.

Adela would have laughed had she the mind to. Despite his years in the city guard, Michael Kylon was not one known for his patience or ability to remain still for any length of time, preferring patrols to guard duty.

There were things to attend to, personal matters to be set aside. After dismissing the others – each of whom gave Roland a look significant in sympathy – and promising time to spend with Anora to go over matters, she instructed a nearby maid to see the Queen to one of the chambers near her own, and went off in search Alistair.

Whom she found, patiently awaiting her arrival in the library, seated at one long table with Morrigan and Wynne, nearly overpowered by the presence of tome after tome, piled precariously upon the table before the trio. Adela allowed herself a breath of relief at the absence of Fergus. She wanted to speak with the young Teyrn alone.

Briefly, she went over the events with the others, Alistair wincing once Adela revealed that Fergus' own sister had been behind the massacre at Castle Cousland. When Adela explained Roland's insubordination, Alistair offered to discipline the junior warden in her stead.

An offer she quickly declined.

"I have to do this myself, Alistair," she said, frowning deeply, her voice cool and neutral. "If I don't, who knows when next he'll decide to disobey an order that doesn't appeal to him."

Alistair nodded, completely understanding. "I offer because I'm your Second," he explained, wanting to make absolutely certain she understood he was not trying to run roughshod over her. "That's what a Second does." He tilted his head, frowning now. "I'm not really sure how the Wardens go about sanctioning one of their own for disobeying an order." He gave a shrug here. "Never heard of it happening before," he took note of Adela's wince.

Dipping her head, placing a hand to his arm, the elf nodded. "Thanks, Alistair. I appreciate it. Next time, you get to flog the sod."

Grinning, trying to force a smile from his wife, Alistair replied, "Consider it a privilege, Commander."

His quip earned him neither smile nor grin. "I've had Anora placed in the rooms next to ours," Adela continued after a moment. "I need to speak with her," she sighed heavily before continuing, rubbing her hands harshly along her face. "But, I need to speak with Fergus, the sooner the better."

"Want me to go in with you?" Alistair offered, retaking his seat at the table, pushing side the many books he and the mages had pulled out and were searching through, quickly catching the few from the top that threatened to go over the side.

Her blue eyes scanning over the numerous tomes, Adela nodded. "For that, I think I'll need as much support as possible." She shook her blonde head. "I just…don't know how to tell him."

"Speak only the truth," Morrigan offered, never raising her head from the tome currently opened before her. "Do not mince your words. Teyrn Cousland is a man who values the truth above all else." Now the witch raised her eyes to meet Adela's blue. "It will add to the burden he currently carries upon his shoulders. However, the sooner he learns of this, the sooner he can move on."

"Move on?" Wynne interrupted, white brow furrowed. "The poor man is about to learn…"

"I think what Morrigan means," Adela interrupted before the two mages could get into an argument, an occurrence that seemed to be happening between the two more often these days. "Is that he can piece it all together, understand now fully what happened, and continue with his healing."

Smirking at the elder mage, Morrigan nodded her raven head. "'Tis as Adela says."

Wynne sat, staring at the other mage for a moment, before huffing out a sigh and returning to her own studies. Morrigan gave a little tilt of her head and a twist of her lips before resuming her own studying.

"After I speak with Roland," Adela turned back to Alistair, who could only nod in reply at the resolute toe within the woman's voice. Without another word, Adela turned and left the library to search out the junior warden.

DA:O

Roland was standing in the center of his chambers, eyes staring out of the sole window that overlooked the gardens of the estate. He turned as the door opened and admitted his Commander, and so assumed an inspection stance.

He could feel the anger as it continued to radiate the elven warden, and he flinched slightly as she turned her back to him for a moment. But he remained quiet, standing at attention, to await his Commander's words.

Without turning to face him, Adela asked, "What would have happened had you disobeyed an order while in the service of the Couslands?"

The question was quietly asked, but Roland could hear the steel in her voice as she posed the question. As he contemplated her question, Adela turned around to face him, allowing him to see not only the anger but the disappointment still etched clearly upon her features.

It was that disappointment that hurt him far more than her anger.

Taking a deep breath, he answered, "First, you should understand that Teyrn Cousland – Fergus' father – was a…fairer man than many other nobles," at Adela's nod, he continued, "A Writ of Censure would be given," the former knight supplied.

"Writ of Censure?"

"A formal reprimand, one of which would be given to me, another kept by my superior, and a third copy given to the Teyrn."

A frown formed upon her delicate features. "For disobeying a direct order from your Commander?"

Here, Roland took a deep breath. In all of his years of service to the Couslands, he had only ever received one Writ, and that had been early in his career in their service once his squireship had been completed. An argument between two hotheaded young officers that had turned into an exchange of blows, and finally devolved into a full out brawl. To this day, Roland had been ashamed at his actions.

"The Writ, as well as another punishment fitting the disobedience," the young man offered. "Anything from extra guard duty to pulling patrol to loss of rank..." His voice faltered, "to outright dismissal."

Here he stiffened as he considered the very real possibility that Adela would eject him from the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

Taking a deep sigh, Adela pressed her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose. "Well," she replied in a very tired voice, "I can't very well oust you from the Wardens, now, can I? And I doubt there's any rank lower in the Wardens than 'junior'."

The briefest flicker of relief touched along the young warden's senses at her words, even as Adela turned her back to him once more. "And giving you extra duty is almost a reward." She turned back, that frown still in place. "For now, Warden, I cannot make any changes to your current duties. With so few of us, and in the middle of a Blight no less, it would only hurt our cause, and we cannot afford that."

Still thinking, she took a step away from Roland, rubbing at her temples. Roland knew that Adela had been feeling very stressed – being back in Denerim had not had the calming effect on her as it had on others in the party. He knew that she was worrying over the Alienage, over Anora, the upcoming Landsmeet and now Fergus. With one carelessly impulsive action, he had added to the burden already upon her slender shoulders.

Her back still to him, she continued, "But know that I am greatly disappointed in you, Roland," her voice was as hard as it had been during the first part of their talk, but there was a finer quality to it now, regret, anger and hurt, certainly, but…something else the young Warden could not identify. "I understand very well the need for revenge. As you had faced your time," she tilted her face over her shoulder to look directly into Roland's green eyes, "and failed," she turned away again, noticing the flinch on his face as she did so, "I faced mine."

There was a pause, and Adela's head tilted down, a posture telling the other warden that she was staring at her hands. Taking a deep breath, the elf quietly continued.

"Vaughn Kendalls, the noble we…rescued from the dungeons…" there was a hitch in her voice, but she continued, "I would have given nearly anything to drive a dagger deep into his black heart."

A frown furrowed between Roland's brow and he had to stop himself from moving to Adela's side as he noticed the twitch of her shoulders and a slight sob escape her lips. "That bastard took…a great deal from me…from my family, friends…my very community," she lifted her head but did not turn to look at her companion, her voice continuing on, in a very faraway manner. Roland wondered if she remembered he was even there.

"He ruined my life, was the reason I was conscripted into the Wardens, and yet, I had to let him live. His…voice…may be needed in support at the Landsmeet."

Now she did turn to him, and Roland could see the tears that hung in her eyes, face pale, a determined set of her lips, her jaw tense. What had Vaughn done…and that thought faltered as the former knight recalled rumors about the arrogant young nobleman. He then recalled a time, shortly after a visit to Denerim, when Adela had been beside herself with worry and guilt, proclaiming she was the cause for the trouble in the alienage.

And in that moment he knew…

"Adela…" She gave him a sharp look and he quickly amended. "Commander…"

But she cut him off with an angry swipe of her hand and sharp shake of her head. "I will write up a Writ of Censure to be placed in the Wardens' records. I will need to think of other suitable censure for you as well." Her eyes hardened, vaporizing her tears, releasing from them that tired look they had held since leaving Howe's estates. "If you ever do anything like you did back at Denerim Estates…" she paused, frowning. "I may have to rethink my decision of making you a Grey Warden." Her eyes narrowed. "Am I understood, Warden?"

Nodding sharply once, Roland responded with a quick, "Understood," and remained at attention as Adela's hard blue eyes scrutinized him once more before she turned and left his chambers.

Heart falling to his feet, Roland relaxed his stance only once the door had closed tightly behind the elven Commander of the Grey.

DA:O

"He's strong," Alistair said as he placed a comforting hand upon Adela's shoulder as she carefully pulled the door closed behind them, taking care to offer the nobleman the solace he had requested as he took in the news they had brought to him. Taking a breath and nodding as though trying to convince himself, Alistair repeated, "He's strong. Been through more than most and still managed to keep himself together."

Staring back at the door, unable to ignore the stifled sobs from the other side, Adela frowned, shaking her head as she placed a small, slender hand to the cool wood of the door. "I hated having to tell him…"

"Don't," Alistair warned, catching her upraised hand and pulling her into his arms as he rested his chin to the crown of her head. "We had to tell him. If it came out otherwise, and we didn't…"

"I know," the elf breathed, pulling herself tighter against Alistair's body, breathing in his clean scent. "It still feels…"

"I know," her husband whispered into her hair before placing a small kiss to her crown. "C'mon, love," he pulled her from him, gazing into her eyes. "I think that you've earned some time with Anora, don't you?"

She breathed deeply, her blue eyes closing tightly. "Knowing she's alive and alright…" she shook her head, her eyes opening and fixing upon the door for another moment. "Okay, I should speak with her and then we can decide our next course of action."

DA:O

The reunion with Anora had been short – far too short. As happy as both women had been at their reunion, Anora – ever practical Anora – could not keep silent for much longer regarding her concerns for the Alienage. Grasping Adela's smaller hands within her cool hands, she pulled the elf into her chambers, offering a small smile to the male Grey Warden who had accompanied her.

Stunned, Adela now sat in one of the room's more comfortable chairs, vaguely aware of the tea Erlina had placed within her numb hands, as her mind ran over what Anora was telling her.

Was still telling her.

"…city guards have been allowed entrance," Anora was saying, her clear blue eyes wide with concern as they searched the stunned features of the elf beside her.

Shaking her head, Adela frowned down into her cooling tea, carefully setting it to the table in front of her. Months after Ostagar, Anora had ceased receiving communications from Cyron, from Hahren of the Alienage…Adela had already known that Michael had been unable to get word from inside the elven ghetto. That much she had learned during her first journey back to the city those many months prior. That things within the Alienage had not improved…

"You say that the city guard cannot gain access into the Alienage," Adela remarked, her brow furrowed with thought. Anora nodded a small frown upon her lovely face. The elf glanced up, her deep blue eyes staring into Anora's pale blues. "Did you not even receive reports from the Arl's forces?"

Scoffing, Anora shot out of her seat, her slender hands clasping before her as she paced. Adela frowned as she watched her friend, taking in the stiffness of the Queen's back, the darkness beneath her eyes…worry and frustration marked the young queen, despair and grief had aged Anora far more than her twenty-six years ever could.

Yet, she knew her friend, and allowed Anora time to work through her frustrations, giving Alistair a quick glance to assure that he was still there, as quiet as the man had been.

Her husband gave her a quick smile of encouragement as he continued his stance in front of the sole entry door to the chambers.

Having gathered herself somewhat, Anora turned back to Adela, remaining standing as she spoke. "As Arl of Denerim, Howe would only advise that he was 'handling the situation'." Anora sighed. "Had the Crown any true power when dealing with Arls and those that fell under their rule, I may have been able to have forced the issue. However…"

Adela was nodding, "Yes, I recall you and Cailan telling me about the issues surrounding the Crown directly involving itself in the sovereignty of the Lords."

"Not to mention my father advised me not to interfere."

Alistair shifted at his position before the door, and Adela rose to her feet, glancing once at her husband as she stepped to the queen. "You noticed how unusual your father has been acting."

Anora nodded as Adela continued. "Cailan had talked with me about it while at Ostagar. I had not noticed it…immediately. However, your father had acted…not quite himself on a few occasions. And, I believe we know why."

Anora blinked, frowning at her friend slightly. "What do you believe?"

"That Loghain is being controlled by a blood mage."

Stated matter of factly, Anora could only stare for a moment. Adela knew her friend, knew her well, and could almost hear the inner workings of her mind as the queen took in the information, mentally dissecting it and turning it over to compare with her own observations.

It took a mere minute before Anora was nodding, frowning slightly in her agreement.

"It is the only thing that truly makes sense," Anora said softly, allowing herself to fall ungracefully into a nearby chair. Tilting her head, she stared at her friend. "And I would bet my crown that Arawn is the mage."

Blinking at the uncharacteristic vitriol in Anora's voice, Adela nodded, allowing the slightest of smiles to turn the corners of her mouth upwards. "Looks rather like Maric?" There was a thoughtful pause, and then Anora nodded as the realization struck her. How could she have missed the resemblance before?

"It is not something that can be addressed at this time," Anora advised the young elf, her blue eyes skimming upwards to take in Alistair's stare. "There is no possible way to get Father from the palace. However," her eyes gleamed slightly. "He will be present at the Landsmeet. It would be a requirement."

"Then we have to figure out a way to get him away from the influence of the mage then," Alistair offered in a strong, confident voice. Both women turned to stare at the young man, who gave them both a lopsided grin. "How hard could it be?"

Anora merely stared, dumbfounded, at the young warden, as Adela rolled her eyes.

Held bowing down, Adela slowly rose to her feet. "We need to get into the Alienage," she said, her head rising. "There is something going on there…"

"I agree," Anora replied. "Removing Howe from the mix increases our own chances of getting a hold of Father. However, you will need the support of the other nobles, in the off chance we fail to liberate my father." The queen stepped before Adela, placing both cool hands upon the elf's slender shoulders. "I know that you have been having your companions speak with the nobles in the public arenas," she smiled, "such as the taverns and others….establishments. But if you can find out what is happening with the Alienage…"

"It may answer a lot of questions that are floating around as to why the nobles suddenly do not have access to their servants," Adela's voice was low, harsher than Anora had ever heard it, and she looked over at Alistair, a questioning look in her eyes. Alistair merely shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze returning to his wife.

"The elves are citizens of Ferelden," Anora reminded Adela, her hands gripping the elf's shoulders tightly. "They will need a voice at the Landsmeet as well."

Sighing, Adela nodded, giving her friend an apologetic smile as she pulled herself from her friend's embrace and headed for the door.

DA:O

"You are not leaving me behind again!" Alistair hissed as he pulled his sword and shield free from their stands, turning to glare at his wife, his commander.

A blonde brow rose, a hip tilted as Adela glared back at her Second. "Don't start…" She warned, her voice hard and uncompromising and Alistair flinched at the sound.

It did not, however, deter him. Shaking his head, the tall human stepped forward, placing his strong hands upon Adela's slender shoulders. "You keep leaving me behind. Your reasons have been sound," he backpedalled a bit, "but, since Roland is officially being sanctioned, he can be the warden the others turn to for orders."

"Roland?" Adela could barely contain the anger from her voice and Alistair frowned at that, concerned and confused as to why she remained angry. "He failed to follow orders; I am not going to trust him to follow through with providing orders or information to the others. Not now. Not with the Landsmeet so close!"

"Adela, be reasonable," Alistair tried his soothing voice, but was rewarded with a blue eyed glare for his efforts. "Warden Roland is not going to risk your fury again. He'll toe the line. I just…"

"What?" Adela turned, adjusting her daggers as she faced Alistair.

Sighing, running a heavy hand over his newly shorn head, he gave a shrug. "I don't like you walking into Maker knows what without me guarding your back." He stepped forward, gazing down into his wife's eyes. She was his commander, but at this moment, the protectiveness he felt was not the one of a Second for his Commander. "Things could have gone very wrong back at the estates. We only know something isn't right in the Alienage…"

"Look, Alistair," Adela placed a hand to his strong forearm. "I really don't think that bringing a human with me would be a good idea."

"You're bringing Anders," Alistair pointed out, frowning.

Sighing, she nodded. "Okay, another human. I need Anders; he has healing skills that rival even Wynne's. Plus, he has an easier, lighter manner than our resident grandmother does. I need that to face whatever it is that's going on in the Alienage. Zevran and Oghren will be right with me."

"A dwarf…"

"Had I more elves in our group, I would try and make the group comprised solely of elves. However, we don't. Zev and I are the only elves." A memory of a smiling Artemis hit Adela and she shifted uncomfortably, forcing the smiling elf's image away. "Anders will be accepted, to a point, because he is a healer and all he has to do is smile that charming smile of his and they'll melt. Oghren is the better choice to accompany us simply because he's not human…"

"And you don't think that by bringing another sympathetic and more charming human – me – along may help to change their minds?"

"I'm not trying to change their minds, Alistair," Adela's voice was weary. "I'm just trying to find out what's going on with as little resistance as possible." That frown deepened. "Besides, you would only represent what they fear most in humans."

"What's that?"

Waving a hand to encompass his entire body, armor and sheaths, she remarked, "You are a warrior. Your strength is obvious in your form, stance, the way you walk, and armament. Add to that the fact you look like Cailan," she waved a hand as he opened his mouth, "many of the elves worked in the palace. And despite Cailan being a popular king, he still represented the nobility that continued to keep us downtrodden and used for their own…amusement…for so long."

"I'd intimidate them," came Alistair's quiet response.

"No, you would anger them."

"Will they ever accept me?" he had to ask, concern that he would never be accepted by his wife's family crashing down upon him in a wave.

Adela lifted her head, blue eyes fixed upon her husband's face. "Once this is over; once you have had a chance to speak with my father and get to know my people – and they you – in a less stressful time, they will love you." She forced the assurance into her voice. Alistair, no fool, recognized it, and fell silent.

The man stood still, staring down into Adela's face. It seemed to the elf that he was holding his breath, and with it, any temper that may be threatening to rear up. Finally, he released his frustration in a sputter of a sigh, shaking his head as he stepped around the elf to place his sword and shield back to their stands.

Turning, he frowned, something dark in his eyes. "I still don't like it," he said as he took the few steps to stand before the young woman. "I don't like you going off without me. I'm your shield; Oghren tends to swing blind."

Chuckling, a slender hand rose to cup Alistair's stubble covered cheek. "I know, Love. But, I'd rather have to duck a few of Oghren's swings than risk upsetting the Alienage more than it already is."

Her face crinkled slightly as she remembered her visit to the cells. Still keeping silent on finding Vaughn tucked away and still very much alive, she reached into a pocket, pulling forth the ring handed her by the imprisoned Templar. Lifting her hand, she held the ring out to her husband. Frowning, Alistair took the ring, taking note of the rearing elk, identifying immediately that it was a signet ring. A frown formed on his face and he raised a questioning brow.

"We found a Templar, in Howe's dungeons," Adela's voice was low and soft, her eyes fixed upon the signet ring held tightly between the fingers of her husband. "He said he was the brother of Bann Alfstanna." Now she raised her eyes, a stiff smile upon her face. "I promised him we would return it to her. I need you to deliver it to her."

The frown still upon his face, Alistair nodded, knowing he could not argue any further with the woman. This task was make work, to keep him busy; one any one of their companions could perform this fetch and carry task.

However, there was a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, and Alistair realized, at that moment, that this task, as simple as it seemed, was important to Adela. It was more than playing politics at this point. She needed someone who understood loss, who could speak to another and convey hope and sympathy. Someone who could show the strength and humanity of the Grey Wardens.

Suddenly, he did not feel quite as put out about being left behind as he had a moment ago.

Head bowed, the pair stood silently for a moment as Adela allowed Alistair to accept the fact that, yet again, she was leaving him behind while she went off to face whatever danger seemed to be lurking for Wardens around each corner and down every alley of the capitol city. Finally, he nodded, raising his head. "I go on record that I don't like this. As your Second, I should be the one watching your back," he pulled her to him, resting his head upon the crown of her blonde head. "As your husband, I should be the one protecting you."

He kissed her head, feeling her tremble with a slight chuckle. Gently disentangling herself from the warm hold, Adela rose to her toes to deliver a chaste kiss to Alistair's lips. "I wonder if we will ever have a normal marriage."

Chuckling, Alistair returned her kiss. "I can't wait to find out."

DA:O

Wind whispered softly through the trees, gently ruffling the leaves that formed the thick canopy overhead. Dark eyes scanned the grounds beyond the forest's borders. A slender, tanned hand rose, calling a halt to those who followed behind.

Another tattooed elf stepped closer to the border, watching the group of humans who emerged from the trees' depths, eyes searching both the grounds and canopy for their prey.

Those dark gray eyes narrowed, a smirk crossing the handsome face as the elven male ducked lower, pulling free his bow from his shoulder, and carefully notching an arrow and sighting down one of the humans, a mage, dressed in elaborate robes of red and green.

"Keep your eyes upon the trees," the mage was saying, his accent revealing his origins as Tevinter. "Those elves are valuable."

"More so once they reach the slave pits of Minrathous," said another slaver, dressed in supple leather, two daggers sheathed upon his hips as his dark eyes scanned the area. "One of them is a mage," he continued, his eyes going to the mage by his side, who nodded an affirmative.

The elf sighted down the mage, his breathing calm, hand steady. He felt another body shift next to his and did not need to look up to know that his leader knelt beside him, ready to loose a spell once the arrow was sent flying. Eyes narrowed and he pulled is arm back, fingers flexing and releasing. As the missile flew toward the mage, the one beside him rose up to his feet, thrusting his arms out and around, in the direction of the slavers.

Confusion erupted as the missile found its mark in the throat of the mage and spiked roots erupted from the ground, ensnaring the slavers, cutting and slicing through toughened leather, deep into the soft flesh beneath. Cries of pain and surprise rose into the air as the trees about them let burst from their protective layers the very elves the group had been hunting.

It took no time at all for the Dalish band to dispatch with the Tevinter group. Smirking as he replaced his bow, the archer moved toward his leader, watching as the man brushed a long fingered hand through his unruly red hair, dark eyes scanning the area to ensure that all of the slavers were dead. Moving to his side, the archer spoke.

"Good catch today, eh Theron?" The archer pulled a hand through his dark blond hair, frowning as it caught on a tangle.

Nodding, Theron turned his dark eyes to his friend. "Not darkspawn," he said in a calm, low voice, "but almost as good."

The archer chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ah, Theron?" a young voice called out. Turning, the mage fixed his attention onto a younger elven male with pale blond hair and clear blue eyes. The younger elf, kneeling beside the body of the Tevinter mage, flinched slightly as the Dalish mage met his gaze steadily.

"Yes, Pol?" came the calm reply as the mage began to walk toward the kneeling elf.

Frowning, Pol held up a packet of papers. "Found these on the mage," he dipped his head down to indicate the corpse. "Thought…well, thought you may be interested in seeing them."

Taking the packet from the younger man's hands, Theron frowned as he studied them. Junar came up beside his friend, glancing at the papers over the taller elf's shoulder. "What are they?" the archer scowled at the parchments.

Theron's frown deepened as he studied the paperwork in his hands. "Do you know what these say, Pol?" he asked of the other archer.

"Th…they look like something official," the young elf stammered, casting his eyes to the ground.

"What are they?" Junar demanded as Theron stepped away, his eyes still fixed upon the papers.

"Directives," the mage replied, looking up to gaze first at Pol and then at Junar. "Granting these Tevinter license to steal and sell Fereldan elves," he snarled as Pol paled and Junar's face darkened with anger. "Any elves found upon Ferelden soil."

"Who…" Junar stopped, catching himself, stopping his rising anger. "Who has the right to do this!"

"Regent Loghain Mac Tir," came the prompt answer as those dark eyes continued to scan over the documents, the parchment rustling as he read each.

"That's not right," Pol whispered, staring at the papers held by his leader as though they were a venomous viper. "Elves aren't slaves…"

"All flat ears are slaves!" Junar hissed, ignoring the warning look Theron flashed him. "Filthy shem think that because elves live in their cities they own them! This," he waved an angry hand at the papers Theron continued to hold, "only proves it!"

"Calm yourself, Junar," Theron warned as he placed a comforting hand upon Pol's shoulder, feeling the younger city-born elf shiver beneath his touch. "Anger will not serve us at this time." He pointed toward the bodies, which remain lying upon the cold ground, a warning to any others who would pass this way. "We stopped this group. And will now be certain to stop any others we happen across."

"That won't stop them all," Junar snarled, teeth grinding.

Shaking his head, the mage replied, "That is correct. However," he met his friend's eyes with a fierce glare of his own. "any we do meet with suffer the same fate as these fools!"

Junar stood, staring at his fierce friend for many moments, feeling his rage cool as he nodded.

After another moment, Theron turned to walk away, his hands still holding the ornate staff. Turning his head toward the archer, who remained still, he said, "Come on, Junar, Pol. We've still a ways to go before we meet up with the Wardens."

Nodding, the archer turned to the other elf, one he had been mentoring for the past year, giving him a soft push forward to follow their leader. "I wonder how much longer we'll be apart from the rest of the clan." The archer sighed as he strolled to his friend's side, seeking to set aside his rage for the moment with thoughts of the clan.

The mage – taller than the archer by several inches but of a more slender build – merely shrugged his shoulders. "It will be however long it needs to be," he reminded the other, a slight smirk crossing his heavily tattooed face. "We have a duty against the Blight, and we shall see it through."

Nodding, Junar could only sigh as he picked up his strides to keep up with the longer strides of the mage. "I just miss…everyone…"

Chuckling, Theron nodded, reaching out to briefly pat the other upon a broader shoulder. "That 'everyone' wouldn't happen to be a certain doe eyed brunette? One who has, let's say, cast a spell or two upon your heart?" Behind them, Pol chuckled softly at the mage's teasing.

Shaking his head, Junar batted away Theron's hand, scowling at his friend. "Everyone knows Merrill has her heart set upon you," the archer practically snarled, not appreciating his friend's humor.

Shrugging, Theron stopped, turning to his friend. "And I have already told you that I have no interest in her." He shook his head, turning to resume his pace away from the battlefield. "Once we meet back up with our clan in the Free Marches, you need to make your intentions known."

"Easy for you to say," Junar muttered as he jogged after his friend. "You could have any female in the clan…"

"But, I don't want any female from the clan," Theron reminded the other. "The woman for me…is…out there," he swept a hand outwards, indicating the world beyond the forest. "Your woman is just waiting for you to get the balls to say something!"

Blinking at the coarse language from the outspoken man, Junar scowled deeper as Theron laughed, Pol adding his soft chuckle. Shaking his head, Theron pushed his friend ahead of him. "Let's go. We need to regroup and meet up with the Chasind and Wolves before the sun rises again."

DA:O

Anora's directive in hand, careful to wear her Warden's amulet on the outside of her armor, Adela frowned up at the guard, daring him with narrowed eyes to deny their access to the Alienage. The guard – a young man Adela did not recognize – frowned thoughtfully at the elven Warden. Finally, he gave a nod, ordering the gates into the slums to be opened to allow them admittance.

As the gates open, protesting loudly with creaking hinges, a heavy lump formed within the elf's throat. Taking a deep breath, she stared out at the muddy pathway leading into her former home. She gave a slight start as a hand settled upon her shoulder and Zevran bent close, a small smile upon his handsome face. Turning a gentle smile back to her friend, the elven warden gave a nod, and led her group into the elven slums.