When the sun dawns, it does so both far too fast and far too slow. Small beams of light shine through the gaps of the shutters and fall across Talvinder's face in heated stripes, yanking her too early and still not early enough from a sleep full of nightmares. As she opens her eyes and the dim dawn-lit hut comes into focus, the weight of it all settles, hot and heavy, around her shoulders. Reality—death and loss, the monumental task laid out before them—is no relief from her dreams. How she would love to return to sleep, if only she could guarantee there would be no more such dreams. But next to her, Savreen is standing, already dressing, her movements purposeful and quick. Tali knows she must stand, too.

By the time the both of them are packed, dressed, wearing their armor, and standing outside in the light of the dawn, the dregs of tiredness are gone, replaced with apprehension and the bite of hunger. Abarie and Sher tussle and playfight together, their tail stubs wagging, but all Tali can think of is food. Thankfully, blessedly, Morrigan tosses her a hunk of bread as she approaches—thick and brown, made from what wheat, Tali doesn't know, but nor does she care, not as the slightly malted flavor of it hits her tongue. Finally, she has something settling in her stomach again, after last night's stew. It's with a bit of embarrassment she realizes she's inhaled the whole large chunk of bread already, as Flemeth clears her throat and Tali looks up to see Sav still chewing slowly, hiding a smile. Alistair, on the other hand, is hiding nothing, and he's chuckling as he stands there, his scale and plate clinking together.

In response, Tali feels heat flush to her cheeks. She wipes her hands together, as though to brush off any crumbs, and straightens her back, trying to look composed and regal—effortless, like Sav. All that does is make Morrigan scoff, and Alistair, as he senses Tali's discomfort, tries to stop laughing—oh, he tries so hard—but all he can do is cover it up with a fit of coughing. Abarie barks, and even that sounds like a chuckle. The scene is interrupted by Flemeth throwing up her hands, rolling her eyes toward the sky.

"It appears that I was right to call you boys and girls, for you act as children do. Hush your giggling." That does it, and soon Alistair is—well. Not stone-faced, but certainly pretending to be, with a twinkle in his eye that says he's been scolded for laughing many a time before and will be again many a time after. Flemeth shakes her head, tutting, and Morrigan looks on, arms crossed, hip cocked and a smug, delighted grin on her face. "May fate and the Creators preserve us, if you are our only hope," Flemeth mutters. Savreen, now finished with her bread, steps forward.

"We thank you for your help, Lady Flemeth," she says, and almost instantly, Flemeth's posture softens.

"I knew to expect gratitude from you, young woman. I am glad you do not disappoint." Savreen smiles tightly, a guarded expression on her face, and for a brief moment, Talvinder is reminded that this is the Flemeth. It would do them all well to be as polite to her as Sav is—or at least, it couldn't hurt, not when she'd nearly forgotten who the woman was, standing grey and slightly stooped before her.

"We are to leave for Redcliffe soon, but—well, I have one more thing to ask, if you don't mind." Sav is careful as she speaks, not hesitant, but also not demanding as she lays out her request. Would that Tali could harness the same complexity of tone at will. But Sav's always been better at that than her. Flemeth nods, and Sav continues. "You have helped us so much already, but…is there anything more you can do? You are the Flemeth—"

"Me? I'm just an old woman who lives in the Wilds, now." Flemeth shakes her head as she interrupts Sav, though her tone isn't harsh. But the way she says it, the way she says that 'she is just an old woman now', catches at something in Tali's mind, furrowing her brow. "I know nothing more of Blights and Darkspawn, nor do I have any great allies at my disposal." Savreen nods, apologetic and thankful at the same time. Sher sits patiently at her side, panting ever so slightly, head just near her waist, and she strokes his nose lightly with two fingers, but her eyes are miles away.

"Surely everyone will see the threat the Blight poses," Alistair offers, trying to be helpful, to ease the sudden tension that has descended upon the realization that the three of them will be alone. And then he pauses, wrinkles his nose, and turns to Tali. "They will, won't they?" She shrugs, mouth tilting into a wry smile as she answers the first thing that comes to mind.

"We could wait for the archdemon to show its face. I imagine that might be convincing." Again, Alistair fights back a chuckle. The nightmares of last night are fading slowly in the sunlight, hope easier to hold despite it all, and Tali smiles ever so slightly. A few jokes can't hurt, can they? Flemeth rolls her eyes yet again, this time along with Morrigan, but Sav ignores Tali's words, choosing instead to answer Alistair's question.

"It's been centuries since the last Blight. From what we know, neither Loghain nor Cailan were prepared to believe another true one to be approaching. We'll have our work cut out for us." Alistair's chuckles slow, quiet, and then stop altogether before he nods, noticeably more glum than before. Tali's smile, too, sours ever so slightly. There is a hint of hesitation in Alistair's next words, but when he looks at the others around him, his brown eyes have something steely inside them.

"What else can we do? It's this or…nothing." It's as though he's asking Savreen and Talvinder one last time if they're going to back out, to leave him. Tali nods, answering that unvocalized question hanging in the air, agreeing with Alistair's assessment.

"Enough of this yapping," Flemeth waves her hands when she speaks, as though batting away a cloud of gnats. "Are you set? Ready to be Grey Wardens? Yes or no, foolish children?" Something indignant ripples through Tali, and she stands straighter, fighting the urge to puff out her chest or flex beneath her armor.

"Of course, lady Flemeth," Sav says. Tali notices that she's stood a little taller, too, her already perfect posture exaggerated, despite her efforts to hide how Flemeth's wheedling has rankled her. Finding Sav's answer agreeable, Flemeth nods, her ever enigmatic smile lighting her face.

"At last. I was worried that t'would be me doing everything myself. But no matter. I have already given the young man supplies, and food enough for you to reach the village to the north, but there is one more thing you must take." Behind her, Morrigan rolls her eyes and snorts.

"Mother, do you mean them to take our very hut as well? Shall I disassemble it, piece by piece?" Flemeth shrugs in response.

"Not nearly a gift so heavy, daughter, but perhaps one as valuable. When the Grey Wardens leave here, you shall leave with them." Confused, Tali looks at Flemeth more closely, as though she can somehow see the words she's just spoken, repeated, or make sense of them by staring at Flemeth's face. Morrigan appears just as shocked.

"I will be—have I no say in this?" There's a snap in her voice, frustration, and it echoes in her shoulders, which jut forward and up when Flemeth simply shrugs lazily again, that same smile still on her face.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance." That conversation ended, Flemeth turns to Sav, Tali, and Alistair, her expression suddenly stern. "As for you, Wardens: consider this repayment for your lives."

"Not to—" Alistair begins speaking, then clears his throat awkwardly as Morrigan and Flemeth direct their gazes at him. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." In response, Morrigan opens her mouth and raises a finger, as though to give Alistair a tongue-lashing, but Flemeth in turn raises a hand to silence her, a bemused expression on her face.

"If you do not wish help from us 'illegal mages', boy, perhaps I should have left you on that tower." Sufficiently cowed, Alistair purses his lips and drops his head before speaking.

"Point…taken."

"At any rate," Flemeth continues, looking up and at her daughter, who stands there with an unreadable expression on her face. "I had the impression that you required assistance, whatever the form. You could use some magic." As she speaks, Flemeth reaches out and brushes a thick black lock of hair off Morrigan's forehead, behind her ear, her fingers lingering on her daughter's cheek in a moment that suddenly feels private. "My Morrigan is as cunning as a root lizard and as quick as a wood lark. You will find no better companion, nor one as familiar with these Wilds." Morrigan stands, stock still beneath Flemeth's touch, and Talvinder, feeling jealousy rise again, unbidden and venomous, turns away.

It doesn't stop her from hearing Morrigan's hissed words, the anger in them.

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this—I am not even ready—" Tali catches Alistair's eye, both of them avoiding looking at Morrigan, and she sees—to her shock—a mirror of her own jealousy in his eyes, just before they dart away again, down to his foot as he kicks at the grass and dirt. She's reminded, ever so briefly, of the way he looked at her after pulling her away from Duncan, that same knowingly misplaced jealousy, and it distracts her so that she barely hears Flemeth's words to Morrigan.

"You must be ready, child. Alone, those three shall need to unite Ferelden against the Darkspawn." A few steps away, Sav clears her throat and fiddles with the buckles on her gloves, tightening them against the sleeve of her gambeson, re-positioning her war bracelets. She, too, is trying to look anywhere else. Flemeth hears the sound—she must do—but she continues speaking with Morrigan anyway. It's as though none of the others are even there. "They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I." There is a pause. Tali thinks that, maybe, she should begin whistling, just to move this along. Maybe it would stop her from resenting another person for saying goodbye. Finally, Morrigan speaks.

"I understand."

"Very good. And you, Wardens?" Flemeth's address forces the three of them—Alistair, Tali, and Sav—to turn back to look at her, all drawn back from their various pretenses of distraction. "Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed." They look at each other, unsure who should answer. Talvinder feels a sort of weight behind Flemeth's question, a promise that is not to be taken lightly, and a promise that she does not entirely understand. Flemeth clears her throat again, and Savreen steps forward, hand raised to her chest in an echo of the sincerity in her eyes. At her heels, Sher seems to mimic her serious posture.

"She won't come to harm with us, lady Flemeth." Pleased enough at this, Flemeth nods. Morrigan chews the inside of her cheek, turned ever so slightly away, her eyes unfocused.

"Allow me a moment to get my things, if't pleases you," she says finally, and there's something acrid in her tone. Sav, slightly uncertain, nods, and Morrigan turns and disappears back into the house, leaving the three of them alone with Flemeth. Abarie whines, scratching her ear and fidgeting. She, too, is apparently eager to be moving, but it is not yet time. Once more, Flemeth speaks.

"You would do well to remember my words to you when last we spoke." Her voice betrays nothing, not a hint of emotion, and Tali is suddenly glad that Morrigan is inside as a small ripple of anger and pain rushes through her.

"As if one could forget them," she mutters.

"Tali," Sav's voice is a warning, but Tali looks at her with a small shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders, her eyebrows raised. Am I wrong? she asks without words. Flemeth laughs, the sound dry and brittle, like fall leaves scraping across stone.

"There is hope yet, should you face the Archdemon with such annoyance. The great Urthemiel will surely see the error of his ways in inconveniencing you." Tali looks at Flemeth once more, and finds the witch's eyes boring into her own. Just once she would like the woman to look at Sav, or Alistair. It sends a prickle down Tali's back, the way those brown eyes flash molten when hit by sunlight, or as though lit from within. Her gaze seems inescapable, drawing Tali in, pulling her towards whispers of fate and death and choices to be made whose nature she cannot even guess, and it is a relief to hear the door of the hut creak open, wood scraping against dirt and stone.

"Well then. I am at your disposal, oh mighty Grey Wardens. May I humbly suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination? 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." In the midst of speaking, Morrigan makes an exaggerated, curtsey-like movement, twirling her hand out into a mock bow. "Or, if you great warriors prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours." She straightens, and there is a challenge in her eye. Tali notices she has exchanged the leather of her skirt for leggings, pairing them with sturdy boots on her feet. The pack on her back is not small, but nor is it over-large. Of course, the relative size and appropriateness of the pack would change, Tali supposes, if Morrigan means not to return after they are done. If they ever are done. Once again, it is Savreen who speaks for them all.

"N—no, Morrigan, I would—that is, we would prefer you to speak your mind. There's no need for…airs." There's a faint reddish tinge to the apples of Sav's cheeks, but Flemeth's laugh draws Tali's gaze away from her cousin.

"Oh, oho—you shall regret saying that," Flemeth chuckles absently even as Morrigan throws a withering, torn glance at her.

"My dear, sweet mother. You are so kind to cast me out like this, into the arms of these wonderful strangers. How fondly I shall remember this moment." As unreadable as always, Flemeth shrugs, the smile still plastered on her face.

"Come now. Do not be dramatic, Morrigan." With a huff, Morrigan walks toward Sav, Tali, and Alistair. Though as she passes her mother, Flemeth's hand flashes out, grabbing her daughter's wrist. She says nothing, only looks at Morrigan, long and hard, her smile slipping from her face. Eventually, Morrigan speaks, and her voice is soft, like a wounded war-dog's cries.

"Farewell, mother." Flemeth releases her wrist slowly, nodding. "Do not forget to tend the fire properly. I should hate to return to a burned-down hut." The smile returns, and Flemeth bats a hand at the air.

"Bah. 'Tis far more likely you shall return to see this entire area," she gestures widely across the Wilds, toward the horizon, "along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."

"I—" Morrigan stutters, and again, Tali feels strangely angry. "I…all I meant was…" She trails off, before reaching out her hand to her mother once more. This time, Flemeth takes it softly, only for a moment, before letting go and beginning to turn away.

"Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear." With that, it appears Flemeth has dismissed them all, and without another word, she opens the door to her hut and disappears.

"Shall we go?" Morrigan's voice is stringent as she asks. "Why have we dallied thus?"

"I—um—well, that is—" Tali isn't sure why she tries to answer Morrigan's imperious question, but when the witch turns her eyes to Tali, her voice goes silent.

"Have you some manner of problem with my presence now?" Morrigan asks, and her nostrils flare ever so slightly.

"We have no problems with your presence, Morrigan," Sav interjects quickly. "That is—if Alistair doesn't?" She turns to look at Alistair with a pointed expression, but when he shakes his head noncommittally, Tali can see the frustration in Sav's eyes.

"From the way he glares, I imagine that answer is clear." Ice is in Morrigan's voice, and it's Sav's turn to glare at Alistair. He raises his hands, unfolding them from his chest, and pleads his case.

"I just…do we really want to take her along just because her mother says so?"

"We need all the help we can get," Tali offers, trying her best to be as diplomatic as Sav—who, to her great joy, relaxes in approval at Tali's words. Alistair crosses his arms again, sighs, and then shakes his head slightly.

"I guess you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies wherever we could find them." With barely concealed contempt, Morrigan sneers at Alistair. The hand gripping her staff tightens its grip, knuckles shining taut above her fingerless gloves. Sher and Abarie raise their hackles, ears alert and pointed, not yet threatening, but ready.

"I am so pleased to have your approval." Hurriedly, sensing a fight brewing in the air, Savreen claps her gloved hands together and speaks with forced volume and cheeriness.

"I think we should get underway!"

"Yes, Sav, I quite agree! Morrigan, would you mind pointing the way?" The witch rolls her eyes at Tali's words, but her hand unclenches, even if her glare refuses to fade.

"This way, then. And keep close. I should hate to lose you in the marsh." As she turns, belt-ends swinging on her hips, Alistair grumbles softly.

"Oh, I'm sure you would."

Talvinder thinks this is going to be a long trip.

Despite Tali's reservations, the small group continues their trek without breaking into a fight, through the day and long into the night. They continue on until the moons are high in the sky and shadows fall heavy and dark about them, mostly in silence. Abarie pads along, an arm's reach from Tali's side, occasionally sprinting off into the brush to bring back a stick of interest, until a few hours after sundown, when she slows and simply sticks to Talvinder's side. Tali knows she should be tired, but all she is is hungry, and that's quickly remedied by pulling a small piece of dried meat or fish from her pack, courtesy Flemeth's generosity. She tries not to wonder if there's a price for it all—the rescue, the supplies, Morrigan's companionship, Flemeth's strange and indecipherable aid—and soon enough she's able to put it to the edge of her mind, at least for now.

There are so many other things to worry and wonder about, after all, like the way she's leaving behind the Wilds, leaving behind any hope she has to know if Fergus or Sikander are alive. She wonders guiltily how she'd forgotten about it, even for a moment. They hadn't been on her mind when she'd awoken, or last night, or this morning, and it sets her on edge. The thoughts draw her closer and closer to a precipice: if she can't even think about her brother, her cousin, can't focus on them, can't feel for them, what can she do right? What can she hope to do, what kind of person can she ever hope to be?

The void that looks back at her when she comes to that question is one too utterly overwhelming to comprehend, and so instead, she shifts the weight of her pack on her shoulders and widens her stride. Sav is just ahead, with Sher right beside her, and it doesn't take much to match her pace.

"Do you know the time?" Tali asks, and she grimaces—her voice is so light, so casual. Sav shakes her head. She doesn't seem to notice the expression on Tali's face as she glances up toward the moons, and then back around at the faint shadows around them. Ahead, Morrigan moves as sure-footed as ever, the head of her staff wreathed in a soft purple light.

"The moons're past their peak. It should be past midnight, but when exactly? I don't know." A touch of tiredness—or maybe a long-clenched jaw—slurs Savreen's answer ever so slightly.

"Have we really been walking that long?"

"Warden stamina," Alistair calls out, and Tali looks behind, over her shoulder at him. "Not just for—you know what, never mind." Tali wants to laugh at that, but the thought of Fergus in the Wilds, Darkspawn prey, stops her short. How dare she laugh at anything? Sav rolls her eyes but says nothing, leastways not to Alistair.

"Morrigan," she offers. The witch lets out a barely audible hmm? and doesn't turn to look back. "Are you growing tired yet?"

"Of course she's not," Alistair mutters, "she needs to get to that village so she can eat babies, or something." Hoping against hope that Morrigan's ears aren't that perceptive, Tali coughs into her hand over the last of Alistair's sentence. Luckily, Morrigan doesn't respond to him.

"I should like to put considerable distance between ourselves and the bulk of the horde while still we can." Her explanation is matter of fact, her tone bordering on sanctimonious, but her words silence the others. The creep of anxiety is back, and it is only with its return that Tali notices it had vanished as Alistair wheedled Morrigan.

After a bit more walking—the true time of it is hard to know when it is already dark, when their way is lit only by moonlight and by magic—finally, Talvinder yawns. She tries her best to stifle it, but behind her, Alistair notices.

"We should stop," he suggests. Thankfully, though, he says nothing of why. When Sav turns to look at him, Tali can see the tiredness in her shoulders. Even Morrigan, though she clearly doesn't want to agree with Alistair, is fighting to keep her pace steady and her eyelids held up. Sher and Abarie are less quiet about their need for rest, yawning and whining as they walk.

"We've walked long—long enough—" Savreen stutters on a yawn of her own, and Morrigan sighs, but soon she's yawning, too.

"Who should—" Tali begins, but before she can finish speaking, Alistair puts a hand on her arm and answers.

"I'll take first watch. Get some rest." She doesn't argue. Instead, she clumsily pulls a canvas tent—its origin unknown, but its existence welcome— from her pack, unfurls her bedroll—the one she's had since fleeing Highever—and collapses, sleeping nearly the instant her head hits fabric. She's conscious of Abarie curling up in a lump near her side, and at some point the orange light of a fire sparks in the corner of her gaze, but it's indistinct and muddled by sleep so deep as to be blessedly dreamless.

That sleep ends too soon, when Sav wakes her just before dawn. Abarie huffs, whines, and pushes a paw over her eyes.

"One last watch," she says, voice gentle, hand resting on Tali's. But the tiredness, Tali's guilt, everything between them—all of it suddenly and uncontrollably bubbles over, from Tali's chest to her throat to her eyes, filling them with hot tears. She sits, trying to breathe, to slow the flood. Her cousin notices, smiles gently, and grasps her hand, and that does it. The tears flow freely down Tali's cheeks, lacking reason, lacking sense, simply falling.

"Oh Tali, oh Tali," Sav says, and she lets go of Tali's hand, reaches up to her face, cradles her cheeks with both hands. "We are all right, Tali." As she speaks, she wipes Tali's tears away, knuckles grazing first across one cheek, then the other, finally bringing her thumbs back to caress, to comfort. Next to Tali, Abarie sits now, occasionally nuzzling her side.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Tali hiccups, mortified. Everything is disorienting, but the one thing that's clearest is the feeling of shame. She's been awful to Sav, and now here she is, taking up more of her time, her care—the thought only makes her cry harder. In response, Sav just holds her, tucks Tali's head to her shoulder, and hums a soft song while she waits for the crying to stop. Finally, it does. Tali leans back, and Abarie whimpers lightly and rests her head on Tali's thigh. Sniffling, Tali speaks.

"Sav, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Tali."

"But I'm sorry."

"I know. I know, you've said already." Tali shakes her head, frustrated. Sav is just doing what she thinks is best, what she knows best, but Tali is furiously conscious of the weight she continues to pile on her cousin's shoulders.

"No—Sav I didn't apologize near well enough before, a-and now you're comforting me again, and I know you must need comfort as well, and our brothers…" She lapses into silence at the look on Sav's face.

"You don't need to apologize to me. You don't need—" she emphasizes the word, punctuates it by grabbing Tali's hand again— "to keep anything from me."

"It was wrong of me to be jealous. It was wrong of me to blame you—"

"To blame me for helping Duncan save your life?" Humiliation and shame. Tali nods, and Sav sighs, shifting from her knees so that she sits cross-legged, ever so slightly slouched. "It may have been wrong. But you are allowed, Tali, despite what you may think, to feel whatever it is you feel."

"But—"

"Do you think I was not mad at you, too?" That stops Tali, and she stares at Sav.

"I let it go, let it pass. There was no use in it. But of course I was angry that our goodbye was…that the last words I spoke to your parents, to our family, were on a backdrop of your screams." Tali looks down at her hands, feeling heat again under her eyelids. She doesn't want to cry more. "But I was mad, too. Being mad, feeling anger—it isn't wrong. Not when you're—when we are grieving. It is how grief works." Sav pauses, breathes deeply, pinches the bridge of her nose ever so slightly with her free hand, and then speaks again with a voice slightly tremulous, wobbling on the edge of her own tears. "But acting on that anger, Tali—when I was grieving too—you don't have to be sorry. It's enough to know you regret it, as you said at Ostagar. But I am not the enemy, Tali. I never have been. I need you to remember that. I can't—I cannot—" Here, a tear does slip down her cheek. Instead of brushing it away, Sav tightens her grip on Tali's hand. "I told you before that you had left me alone. Taken away the only person with whom I could share my grief."

Tali nods. The lump in her throat is back.

"Please. Do not leave me alone again." A hiccup escapes Tali's chest, and then she is reaching out and enfolding Sav in a hug of her own. Together, they sniffle back the tears.

"Thank you, Sav," Tali whispers at last.

"Just—please. Don't apologize again."

"I won't." But already, Tali wants to. Sav sighs, and Tali can hear the exhaustion in that one exhale. "I should go out and keep watch." Absently, Sav nods.

"When it's fully light, that's when Morrigan wants to move again." Already, she moves to leave Tali's tent, and Tali follows, yawning still despite her best efforts to swallow her sleepiness. Abarie stays behind, curled up impossibly small for such a large dog. Tali sees a small fire, mostly embers, and a fallen log that shows signs of the other members of the party having sat on or near it. Tali thinks she can see the faint remnants of stick figures drawn in a patch of dirt, but she's not sure. Savreen makes a beeline for her tent, stifling her own yawns. As she pulls aside the canvas flap, she calls softly over her shoulder: "Just don't fall asleep, Tali."

"I won't. Go to sleep before you wake everyone up." Sav bats a dismissive hand back at the words, but the gesture is half-hearted. Soon she disappears into the tent, and despite Tali knowing that Sav and Alistair and Morrigan are all there, it's hard not to feel alone in the silence. She doesn't want to dwell, doesn't really want to think, and so she tries her best not to. There's still a stick in arm's reach of where she sits, hunched on the log, and she grabs it, begins making doodles in the dirt as she hums. The time passes, and slowly, the sun rises. Larks begin to sing, the landscape coming alive with the morning, and soon Tali knows she must wake the others.

Quickly, the group wakes, packs, and covers the site of their small camp. Abarie and Sher sprint off to hunt, nipping at each other's heels before vanishing with near silence into the brush. Morrigan is eager to be gone, perhaps even more so than Alistair, who maintains that the whisper of the Darkspawn song is muted and far-off despite the way he hurriedly readies himself, wrapping his feet and ankles for the long walk. After a quick and sparing breakfast of travel rations, and once the mabari return licking their chops, the four of them set off again. The sun is high, now, illuminating everything about them. Despite all that has come before now, Tali finds herself feeling different about this moment, the moment Alistair kicks the ashes of their small fire to dust, the moment Sav shoulders her pack, the moment Morrigan glances to the sky to gauge the direction of their travel.

It feels like the beginning of something.