After she had left eyeshot, she took stock of herself. She was a bit tipsy. But her knife was under her apron, where it mattered, and it was poisoned, as it ought to have been, and she still knew how to use it. She walked, straight as she could, through the fields, through the center of town, past the house where she'd witnessed the third worst thing she'd ever seen in her life, and into the pub, the only building with lights still on. The barroom itself was small, and fairly populated, but the crowd didn't seem to be belligerent, at least not yet. It looked fairly standard, wood paneling, bar on one end, tables on the other. She took a seat at the bar. There were three other elvish patrons there, scattered throughout the room, and nobody was hassling them, which put her a bit at ease. She sat there, her eyes down, but her ears open. A lot of worry, everyone just brimming with stress. The road to Redcliffe. The road to Denerim. A ship to Kirkwall. The pass through the Frostbacks and into Orlais. What became of Grandfather? You think they burned the fields? Slaughtered the herd? Is our house still standing? Do we have a home to go back to?

"What'll it be, Miss?" the bartender asked, as though finally seeing her.

"Ale, stronger the better," she said.

"Ah, a barleywine for the wee elf lass," he said, "Emptying the stores, we're all evacuating before the month's out."

He turned, went to the kegs, and returned with a pint of red-brown ale.

"Haven't seen you around these parts," he said. Ten looked up at him. He was being downright friendly. Perhaps they were more tolerant in the provinces, she thought. He was middle aged, maybe fifty, his hair still black but beard graying. There was kindness in his eyes.

"We're passing through," she said, looking down again, "Our farm got razed by darkspawn not two days back. Only my missus and me, and the master, made it out."

"Dreadful thing," said the bartender, "Sorry to hear that."

She took a sip of her ale. "Oh, that's strong," she said, "Thank you, Ser. How much?"

"Well," said the barkeep, winking, "The lass at the other end of the bar wanted the privilege of buying you a drink."

Ten looked up for the first time. At the other end of the bar, the only other woman in the place, was a very young woman, perhaps nineteen or twenty, wearing the robes of a Chantry sister.

"A nun?" she narrowed her eyes.

"That's a lay sister," said the bartender, "Different robes. And you know what they say about lay sisters…"

"Enlighten me," she said.

"Well, they called them nuns because they can't get none. And they call them lay sisters because they can definitely get…"

"Look, I love a good pun as much as the next lass," said Ten, "But I'm hardly…"

"Just take the drink. Worst case scenario you have a nice conversation."

It was too late, for the lay sister had swaggered up and planted her ass in the stool right next to Ten.

"So what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" she asked. She had red hair, which probably would have fallen around her chin if down, but it was slicked back with… Ten sniffed discretely… beeswax laced with lavender.

"What are any of us doing here?" Ten countered, "Fleeing the land. Giving it all up. Moving to higher ground. All is lost, after all."

"Is it though," the sister said, "What makes you say that?" She had the barest edge of an Orlesian accent.

Interesting. Foreigner in a one-horse town like this. Wonder how that happened.

"Look around," said Ten, "Smell it. The desperation in the air. The very ground beneath our feet will swallow us up and there is nobody to save us."

"Nobody?" The sister leaned towards her, speaking right to her face, "I have it on good authority that at least one Grey Warden made it out of Ostagar alive." Ten froze, the adrenaline kicked in, and she was suddenly sober as a judge. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Good authority, eh?"

"Quite good authority."

Shit. She must have been at the Chantry earlier today. She doesn't seem hostile towards the order, but if she knows, she will tell others. If she hasn't already. She just told me, after all.

"Sure, and one Grey Warden is just going to save us all from the Blight singlehanded," said Ten, "Alas, I fear it's the end of days." She leaned her head forward on one elbow, and fiddled with the one brown curl that always escaped from her kerchief. After all, if men were predictable, women were as well. She looked up at the sister, keeping her eyes half open.

Look drunker than you are. Get her to start kissing you, give it five minutes, then suggest you get out of here and find a haystack, and you can stab her once you get her out behind the pub.

"Oh, but it's not. I've seen it." The sister leaned towards her, their faces now very close. Easier than I thought. Pity, she seems nice.

"Seen it where?" asked Ten.

"In fact, I've seen you."

Me? Not the other one? The cold went up Ten's spine, but she stayed still. All right. No seduction and no stabbing. Don't react. She's just a crazy person.

"And where, exactly, would you have seen me?"

"I had a vision," she replied, "The Maker wants me to help you."

"And who am I, exactly?"

"Why, it's you who will save us all."

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for Orlesians," said Ten, "Otherwise we'd be having words."

"It's not me you have to worry about," said the sister, "It's the five men behind you, at four o'clock. They serve Teyrn Loghain, and they've been looking at a scroll, and then at you, for the last five minutes."

"Ugh," sighed Ten, glancing behind her, "Well thanks for the warning, I suppose, Sister…"

"Lelianna," she said, "And I told you, the Maker wants me to help you."

"Did the Maker tell you exactly how two unarmed women are going to get out of this one?"

She felt Lelianna's hand on her thigh, and with it, the hilt of a dagger.

"Who said anything about unarmed?"

She took it, brushing her leaned forward, put her mouth to the sister's ear. "They're watching me, not you. Get up, make like you're going to the privy, circle back and get behind them. Wait for them to approach me." The sister nodded, slid off the bar stool, and did as she was bade.

Ten turned back to her ale. Maybe she was crazy. She probably was crazy. But those definitely were soldiers bearing the same colors as she had seen at Ostagar. Ugh, after all the shit I gave Alistair, it's me they were looking for. Well, he can have a good laugh at me if I manage to get out of this one.

She felt the presence behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Her hand gripped the dagger under the table, the other fished her knife, still dripping with poison from its sheath at her thigh. She turned and ducked as a hairy hand reached out to grab her shoulder. He wasn't a large man, maybe five seven, one fifty. He was wearing the Teyrn's sigil, but was not armored, and his only weapon was a halberd, which would be incredibly clumsy in these close quarters. The patrons around her had scattered, some leaving altogether, but a few stayed around the edges, wanting to gawk at the action. A glance behind him revealed four other soldiers, also wearing civilian clothes with the Teyrn's colors over them. One battleaxe, also not ideal for the cramped barroom, a long bow, utterly useless at this distance, poor lad would barely have the room to draw it let alone for the arrow to reach any kind of velocity, and two daggers, which were a bit more worrisome.

"Excuse me, Ser," she said, "I was just leaving." She toddled a bit, tried to look drunker than she was.

"No you don't," he said gruffly, blocking her way, his stance wide so she could not slip around him. His breath reeked of whiskey - as she imagined hers did as well - but she could see he was less steady on his feet than she was.

"Hey! Leave that girl alone!" one drunken farmer called out, but was not brave enough to intervene himself. Ten suddenly wished there were a lot more women in the room.

"She's a wanted criminal!" the soldier called to the farmer, "I'm making a lawful arrest.

"Wanted!" she exclaimed, "For what, being ten minutes late to milk the cows this morning?"

"Don't play with me, girl," he said.

"Oh I have no intention of playing with you," she said, edging back towards the bar, hooking her toe under the lower crossbar on the barstool, "After all, you're just… big and strong and terrifying, and I but a humble milkmaid." She shimmied to her side, the wood of the bar against the middle of her back.

"Humble milkmaid? Then why do you look exactly like this description of a Gray Warden on the lam?"

"You probably think all elves look just alike," she said, "How could I be a Gray Warden? Look at me. How would I fare against darkspawn? I bet the woman you're looking for is six feet tall with arms like tree trunks."

"Well, it's not like anyone will miss you," he said, "If we're wrong, that's one less knife-eared bitch on the roads. We've orders to bring your head back to the Teyrn. What happens to the rest of you, I don't particularly care."

She kicked then, sending the sharp corner of the bar stool right between the soldier's legs. He doubled over, his halberd clattering to the floor and she stabbed up with the borrowed dagger, sending it right into his throat and protruding from the back of his neck. She looked up to see that Lelianna had planted her own knife between the shoulderblades of one of the two armed with shortblades.

The battleaxe had his attention on Lelianna, trying to find quarter to get a good swing in, the lad with the longbow was fumbling in his quiver, and the other shortblade had turned his attention to Ten, raising his arm to slash down at her neck. She dove for the floor, piercing her little knife through the leather on his boot. He grunted in pain and adjusted his swing. She scrambled between his legs, dragging her knife with her, and stabbing him twice in the back of the knee as he didn't realize she'd absconded and buried his blade in the solid oak of the bar where her throat had been. As he struggled to get it out, she could see the poison begin to do its work, his leg rapidly swelling. She leapt up on his back, getting her arm around his throat and drove her little blade into his chest again and again until he began to stagger, and she pushed off and landed on her feet before he fell.

"Enough!" the barkeep shouted, looking in consternation at the shortsword now buried inches deep in his bar. He produced a crossbow from below the bar and sending a bolt whizzing into the throat of the one who was bearing down on Lelianna with a hunting knife, having given up on getting a full swing of his axe, "Fucking soldiers, always making a mess."

"Mercy! Mercy!" cried the longbow, going green in the face as he saw his final companion fall. He dropped the bow at his feet and cowered, his hands over his head. Ten strode up to him, placed one boot on his chest and forced him to the ground.

"What's your name, kid?" asked Ten. Poor lad was sixteen if a day, all pale skin and acne. This world eats its young.

"Thom, Missus," he squeaked.

"What's your rank, Thom?"

"I'm just a soldier, Missus."

"You report to the Teyrn?"

"Yes Missus."

"All right. It's your lucky day. You get to be the messenger," said Ten, "And nobody can use a dead messenger. So you run along back to Denerim and you tell your commander that the Vengeful Bride has another noble on her list now, and he'll be lucky if an ax is all he gets."

He blinked rapidly, mouthing the words.

"Good lad. Now run before I change my mind."

She let him up, and he did as he was bade, leaving his bow where it lay and taking off into the night like all the demons of the Fade were on his heels.

"Sorry about the mess, Ser," she said to the barkeep, retrieving the borrowed dagger from the neck of their commander, wiping it on his tunic, and returning it to Lelianna.

"My grandfather served in the Grey Wardens," the barkeep said, "Last time there was a Blight. I don't believe it for a second, that you lot were behind the massacre. If that's indeed who you are. Though, I have to say, the drawing they showed me was a dreadful close likeness."

"Well I thank you for that," she said, "I've graced more than one wanted poster in my fairly short life. Most of them undeserved."

"Not for skipping out on your tab, I hope."

"Never," said Ten, "Wouldn't dream of it. It was only a little murder."

"Not of humble bartenders, I hope."

"Never," she said, "Three banns and the king, apparently. I wasn't responsible for that last one, though."

"I see," said the barkeep, "Well, I always said that a little blood on the floor gives the place character. Don't worry about the corpses. They tend to take care of themselves these days."

"I'm afraid to ask what that means," said Ten, but she relaxed a bit, and turned back to her ale. She felt like she had earned it. You're getting a little too used to this. Murder. Darkspawn are one thing, but those were men. Although, at the end of the day, are they really that different?

"So, I'm coming with you," Lelianna said, coming up and retaking her own seat.

"Coming with me where?" asked Ten.

"Wherever it is you're going, of course," she said.

"You probably should know I like boys," said Ten, heading that one off at the pass, "Unfortunately. It's a character flaw. Gotten me into far more trouble than it's worth."

"Ah, well, I guess we can't all be perfect," said Lelianna, "Either way, I'm still coming with you."

"Are you now," said Ten, "Well, I suppose you just put your neck on the line for me. I can't exactly say no to that sort of help these days. Although, you're going to have to deal with a witch with a shit attitude and a former templar who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Although when left to her own devices, the witch does tend to keep her tits out, so there's that."

"Splendid!" Lelianna said, clapping her hands, "I'm sold. Barkeep, another round!"

Come closing time, Ten was grateful for the invitation to spend the night on an actual mattress in an empty cell at the Chantry, where most of the convent who usually resided there had fled, and a place to, once again, scrub the blood from her skin and hair, but insisted on leaving before the sun was entirely up to make sure the little camp was intact. Lelianna packed her belongings and came with, though it was clear from the way she squinted in the dawn twilight, she was not feeling her best. They made their way out of the cloister garden, Ten insisting on stopping to gather a few handfuls of herbs that had grown wild in the days since their mistresses had tended them, a little sorry that the garden would soon be trampled underfoot by unspeakable monsters.

"How do you not have a headache?" the good sister groaned, "I feel like my brain is about to escape out of my ears."

Ten chuckled, and rummaged in her things, finding a bottle of a tincture that usually did the trick, and handed it to her. The sister downed it, and Ten watched the relief spread over her face.

"Are you sure you're not a mage?" Lelianna asked.

"It's just plants," said Ten, shrugging, "No doubt certain other good sisters have similar skills and left you with your hangovers for penance."

"That is… actually likely."

They walked the fifteen minutes over the damp grass, seeing the farmers harvesting their wheat prematurely, so they could at least take something with them as they fled. They made it back to camp just as the bottom half of the sun had peeked over the horizon, but not, as Ten had hoped, before her companions had woken. When they arrived, Morrigan was shoveling dirt over their fire, having evidently already packed up the tents. The donkey stood placidly chewing on a new circle of grass, patiently waiting for her bags to be filled with the rest of their equipment. Pigeon rushed up to greet her mistress, nearly bowling her over, and Ten resisted the urge to flinch.

This dog is not the other dogs. This dog is mine. This dog is not going to tear my arm off.

"Calm down, girl," she said, and the dog obeyed, sitting down. Ten rewarded her with a scratch behind the ears. It's rather nice, having someone always happy to see me. Can't remember the last time I had that.

"Ah, I see you've seen fit to grace us with your presence," Morrigan said, looking balefully up from the firepit, "What were you up to all night? Find a handsome farmhand and a haystack?"

"Quite the opposite!" Ten protested, "I found a nun and we spent the night in contemplative prayer in the cloister."

"And brought her back as a souvenir, I see," the witch said, casting a suspicious eye on Lelianna.

"You weren't kidding," murmured Lelianna.

"About the tits or the attitude?"

"Both," the sister responded, and both of them laughed quietly.

"Well you're already thick as thieves, that probably means she's a criminal as well," said Morrigan, "At least she's not male."

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news," said Ten, "But you're quite literally a fugitive from the Circle at this point. So let's be careful of where we cast our aspersions."

"An apostate! How cunning!" Lelianna explained, "I actually have quite a few issues with how the Chantry treats mages, you needn't worry about me."

"I wasn't going to," Morrigan said, turning her pale gaze on the sister, "After all, I could turn you to dust and blow you away with a wink and a wish."

"Careful, she might enjoy that…" Ten said, and received a playful punch in the arm from the sister, "Wait…" she looked around, "We have the witch, the donkey, and the dog. Where's the man?" she asked.

"You mean your other hound?" Morrigan asked, "Oh, he's only woken an hour before dawn, realized you were still gone, barged into my tent to see if you were with me, then decided you'd found the wrong end of a sword and it's somehow all his fault. He's gone to find you."

"I'm guessing you didn't say anything to disabuse him of that notion," said Ten.

"Well no, I found the whole thing rather amusing," she said, "And after waking me up so rudely I figure he deserved to worry a little longer."

"Fantastic, that's really what we all need at this point, thank you Morrigan," Ten sighed. She went and found her things hanging from Jenny's back, trying something new at this point, she took off her frock, strapped her customary layer of leather on, and then put another on over it, tying a larger kerchief she had lifted from a laundry line over her cap. Perhaps her gambit to avoid being known as a Grey Warden had failed, but it was still probably better to not go about being a conspicuously armed elf. It made humans nervous, and nervous humans were dangerous humans. She buckled her sword belt on, but instead of hanging her daggers from it, she took the hatchet that they had used to split wood for campfires, and fastened it on one side, and a meat cleaver used for game on the other, her paring knife and its poisoned case by its side. With their leather covers on them, she looked as though she were just a camp cook with the tools of her trade. By her estimation, concentrating the force of her blow in a smaller area would allow her to hit harder, and a hole in a skull was a hole in a skull, after all. Ideally, there would be time on the road to Redcliffe to adjust to the new blades.

"Well considering you somehow managed to get more blood on that dress, I should be asking if he didn't have a point," said Morrigan, looking with disdain on the garment that Ten had tossed on the ground.

"It's not my blood," said Ten.

"Whose blood is it?"

"I might have been wrong about which of us was going to be recognized as a Grey Warden," she said, "But no harm done."

"How many men did you kill, Teneira?" Morrigan asked sternly.

"Only two," said Ten, "Sister Lelianna got one in the back and then the barkeep shot the fourth. Really not a big deal. Anyway, I thought killing men was something you approved of, not sure why you're scolding me."

"I'm not scolding. I'm trying to figure out how I so obviously misjudged you. Maybe it was all the arrows sticking out of you the last time we met," the witch said. The witch's gaze, though, was not on her. She'd seen something behind her. Ten turned, to find Alistair and a very large stranger at his back approaching the camp.

"Why's he got a Qunari with him?" asked Ten. Qunari missionaries were not strangers to the Alienage, usually sneaking off of ships before the authorities saw them and absconding into the night with whoever they converted. Ten didn't quite trust them, they seemed to know exactly how to play on the peculiar mix of misery and pride that plagued her people to recruit them into all sorts of things. She usually hadn't bothered tangling with them, they were all in all harmless, and though they did like to recruit elves as spies, she was in no position to criticize them for that.

"Probably the same reason you've got a nun with you," said Morrigan, "Strange times, strange bedfellows."

"Maker's breath, how long have you been here?" Alistair demanded, rushing up to Ten. She stepped back before he could close the distance.

"About fifteen minutes, why?" asked Ten.

"I've been looking for you for an hour," he said, "Where were you?"

"I was at the Chantry," she said, "If you must know."

"I know it wasn't for morning prayers, what were you doing there?"

"Most of the nuns have evacuated so there was a free bed in the cloister," she said, "Met a friendly sister at the pub, she put me up."

"Yes I gathered that. More than one man in this town apparently saw an elfin milkmaid and a nun get into a barroom brawl with five of Teyrn Loghain's fighting men. I thought it was a joke at first "oh a milkmaid and a nun walk into a bar" but they all told the same story, that somehow you cut all of them down, and then sat right back down and kept drinking like nothing happened. Then apparently at closing time, you took off into the night, and I quote, 'scream-laughing like a couple of madwomen' and scurried back to the Chantry."

"We didn't cut all of them down. The bartender shot one with a crossbow and I left one alive to tell the Teyrn to go fuck himself," said Ten. She looked at Lelianna, "And were we really scream-laughing?"

"I rather think "cackling loudly" would be a more accurate description," Lelianna observed.

"Oh, but that's not all. It gets better. So then I go to the Chantry, and they wouldn't let me into the cloister - now the Reverend Mother thinks I'm some sort of creep, by the way - and it seems the only person who saw you leave is a damn Qunari who was gibbeted out back, and he wouldn't say a damn thing until I broke the lock on his cage and promised he could travel with us. And lo and behold, he said you had the nun with you and were headed back this way. Oh. And good morning, Sister. I don't blame you for any of that, knowing this one, it was absolutely one hundred percent her fault."

"You weren't kidding about him either," Lelianna mused.

"All in all, it sounds like the moral of the story is that you could have sat here, relaxed, and eaten breakfast and I would have toddled along within the hour," Ten said.

"Ten, I thought something awful had happened," he said, "You can't just go wandering off into blackest night like that."

"I have a father, he's back in Denerim, and I'm not altogether fond of how accurate this impression you're doing of him is," sighed Ten, rolling her eyes, "Anyway, who's the Qunari?"

"I am Sten," the Qunari said. He didn't look like the missionaries she had met, all shirtless, musclebound, albino giants with great curling horns like mountain sheep. He was certainly giant, seven feet tall if he was an inch, and he certainly had the white translucent hair she was familiar with, but he was fully clothed and had nary a horn on his head. Maybe some kind of halfbreed, though she was not entirely sure whether 'Qunari' referred to ethnic group, the religion, both, or neither.

"Yeah you're all called that," sighed Ten, "Just once I'd just like one of you to be called Bob or Pete or something."

"You may call me Bob if you feel better about it," said Sten.

"No, that would be rude. Sten will do. So… can I ask exactly what you were doing in a gibbet?" Ten asked.

"I was accused of a crime I did not commit," the Qunari replied.

"Ah well, I guess you're a better man than I, then," said Ten, and went back to packing, "Apparently I do all the crimes."

"Wait, you think this is funny?" Alistair protested, "No, I'm not done yelling at you. You can't just…"

"Yes, you are done," said Ten, putting one hand up as she used to to signal 'shut the fuck up' at whatever elf was running his mouth when it wasn't desirable, "You're not my commanding officer."

"I'm not trying to command you. I'm trying to keep you from making stupid, drunken decisions that get you in trouble," he said, "You can't just do whatever you want. We have a mission."

"Those soldiers were looking for me, not you," said Ten, "So even if that had gone badly, which it didn't I might add, you're welcome for not involving you."

"You're just committed to the bit right now, aren't you," he sighed, "Can't you ever just listen?"

"And why exactly should I listen to you?" she demanded, "If anyone listened to you at any point in the last week, we'd both be fucking dead. So, do you want to get over it, pack our things, and get on the road, or do you want to keep fighting with me over a disaster that only happened in your mind?"

"To be entirely honest, I rather want to fight right now," he said, crossing his arms.

"Well this just got interesting," said Morrigan, sucking her teeth, "Two sovereigns on the elf."

"Explain yourself," the Qunari said, his white eyebrows drawing down closely above dark red eyes, "He is much stronger than her and has clearly had more training."

"Depends, are they armed and can she pull any dirty tricks?" asked Lelianna, "Out in the open, honest fight, she hasn't a chance. That said, I have seen this woman do things with a barstool that would make grown men weep."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to fight him," protested Ten.

"Well that's too bad," Morrigan said, "Been hoping for that for two days now."

"Never say never," Lelianna quipped.

"Look, Alistair," she said, "I genuinely thought it was for the best"

"It's all right, no harm done," Alistair grumbled, "It's just, I already lost pretty much everyone else. Just, humor me, will you? No more solo nocturnal adventures?"

"That's fair. But there are going to be times when I need you to just trust my judgment," said Ten.

"That's also fair."

They nodded at each other, and turned back to packing up the campsite.

"Isn't it so boring when people talk things out like adults," said Lelianna, poking Morrigan in the ribs.

"Don't touch me," Morrigan warned, "Next time, you'll be known forever after as Sister Ribbit."

"I've been called worse by better," Lelianna countered, and flounced off help Ten pack up her tent.