Hello, this is another one of my stories. I would like constructive criticism for my writing style. I am doing this casually, so the updates will be sporadic. As this is fanfiction, I do not own the Idea for Dragon Age. All respective Ideas go to their original creators.

He awoke to birds chirping above him, a cacophony of calls piercing through the soft haze of sleep. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, staring up at the canopy of leaves, their green richness dappled with early morning sunlight. He laid on his back, staring at the forest around him in confusion. This wasn't his bed, his room, or anything he recognized. He sat up slowly, glancing down at himself, and noticed the rough woolen tunic covering his body.

A sense of wrongness settled over him. This wasn't the t-shirt and jeans he'd worn the night before, nor was he on his living room couch, where he'd dozed off after a long gaming session. Instead, he wore a tunic with a leather belt around his waist, simple pants, and boots. He felt something heavy at his hip and glanced down to see a pouch, which he opened to find a few strange coins—copper, stamped with symbols he didn't recognize. He hadn't worn anything like this, let alone fallen asleep in it.

"What the…?" he muttered, touching his clothes as if they might disappear or transform back into his familiar attire. But no, these were real, and he was here. Wherever here was.

Panic flared as he rose to his feet, glancing around the forest in every direction. He didn't recognize anything about his surroundings. The trees towered above him, massive and ancient, their bark dark and gnarled. Their sheer size made him feel small and vulnerable. He had no idea which way to go. He barely knew if he should move at all.

"Alright, Alaris," he muttered to himself, the name feeling strange on his lips. Alaris. The word had come to mind almost without thinking. His name was Alex… wasn't it? He felt the answer slip through his mind like sand through fingers, and though he knew that wasn't entirely right, Alaris felt oddly comfortable and familiar, as if it had always been his name.

"Think. Think." He took a deep breath, fighting the surge of panic threatening to make his thoughts scatter. "This is probably just a dream," he told himself, patting his face to wake up. "You're still on the couch, asleep. You probably just forgot to turn off the Xbox."

But as he touched his cheek, felt the prickling stubble, the roughness of his tunic, and the cool morning air that smelled of earth and dew, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was real. And if it was real…where exactly was he?

Alaris looked around, squinting at the trees, the shafts of sunlight filtering through leaves, and the chill that made his breath puff out faintly in front of him. Nothing in his surroundings seemed familiar. There were no signs of civilization, no distant sounds of cars or people—just the twittering birds, the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind, and the absolute quiet of an undisturbed forest.

He moved cautiously, taking a few hesitant steps forward. The ground was soft underfoot, with layers of fallen leaves and needles that muted his steps. Alaris soon noticed he wasn't entirely unarmed—tucked into the belt at his waist was a small dagger, simple but sharp-looking. He drew it from its sheath, testing its weight in his hand. It felt solid and comforting. He wasn't a fighter, but the blade was better than nothing.

Alaris exhaled, testing the weight of the dagger in his hand again before sheathing it. The blade's presence offered a bit of reassurance in this strange world where he was entirely out of his depth. Something else caught his attention as he glanced down: a small, worn leather pack leaning against a tree nearby.

Curious, he knelt and examined it. The pack was heavy, filled with supplies he hadn't remembered packing—though that was hardly the strangest thing, considering he hadn't remembered putting on a tunic, belt, or dagger either. Carefully, he unfastened the leather straps and pulled open the flap, inspecting the contents. Inside, he found a water flask, some dried meat, a small bundle of what looked like herbs, and a handful of rough cloth strips, possibly for bandages. At the bottom was a bound leather notebook, the edges worn and the cover faded with use.

He flipped it open and found blank pages. Strange; he half-expected it to contain instructions, a note, or some explanation about where he was and why. But the pages remained empty, and Alaris's frustration grew. His mind raced with questions. Who had left this pack for him? Had he packed it himself? None of this made sense, yet there it was—real and undeniable.

Taking a deep breath, he closed the notebook and tucked it back inside, securing the pack's flap before slipping it over one shoulder. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten here, but he felt a growing sense that he should try to find some direction—anything that could give him a sense of purpose or control. He knew well enough from stories and games that staying in one place for too long wasn't wise, especially when he had no idea what dangers lurked in these woods.

Looking around, he saw a faint animal trail winding through the trees. It was narrow but looked traveled, and the ground around it was worn and packed. With no other clear options, Alaris decided to follow it. Moving slowly, he adjusted the pack's weight on his shoulder and kept one hand near his dagger.

The forest was eerily quiet, his footsteps barely audible against the soft, leaf-strewn earth. The occasional snap of a twig underfoot made him cringe, his heart pounding in his chest. He kept glancing around, half-expecting someone or something to leap out from behind a tree. Each time he looked over his shoulder, he saw nothing but trees and dappled sunlight.

The silence was almost overwhelming until he faintly heard the sound of water trickling somewhere in the distance. Alaris followed the sound, his pace quickening with hope. As he approached, he caught sight of a small stream winding through the forest, its clear water glistening as it reflected the morning sun. Relief flooded through him—at least now he had water. He knelt at the stream's edge, cupping his hands to scoop some up and take a sip. The water was cold and refreshing, easing the dryness in his throat and settling his nerves a little.

As he drank, he took in his surroundings again, hoping for some landmark or familiar sight, something to give him a clue. But nothing looked familiar, nothing connected to the world he knew. Everything here was wild untouched, the forest seemingly endless in every direction.

Standing up, Alaris refilled the flask from his pack and secured it tightly. As he did, he caught sight of his reflection in the water and paused, surprised. His face looked… different. He was still himself, but his features were sharper, his skin clear and unblemished in a way that felt almost unnatural. He ran a hand over his face, feeling his stubble, half-expecting the reflection to change. But it remained calm and clear in the flowing water, almost as if to confirm that, yes, he was really here.

Alaris blinked at his reflection in the stream, unsettled yet strangely comforted by his own face, and his gaze drifted back to the leather pack. After closing his flask and tucking it away, he opened the pack once more, sifting through its contents more carefully. Among the cloth strips and herbs, he found something unexpected—a small, compact metal item with a tiny glass vial attached to it. He lifted it, recognizing it immediately: a basic distillery tool, with the vial perfectly suited for mixing small amounts of liquid.

Seeing it sparked a memory, a fragment of his life, before waking up in this strange place. He'd spent countless nights in his garage, experimenting with herbal extracts, oils, and tinctures, fascinated by the properties of plants and natural compounds. NileBlue was truly an inspiration for aspiring chemists. He had only been a hobbyist, but the joy he'd found in chemistry had always offered him an escape, a way to understand the world through his hands.

Curious, he picked up the notebook again, flipping through the blank pages. The final section was filled with handwriting, and the ink was slightly faded but legible. Scrawled on the last few pages were basic recipes—simple potions, tinctures, and remedies. The familiar instructions for healing potions, stamina boosts, and even a mild poison lined the pages, each recipe accompanied by small sketches of plants he instinctively recognized. He didn't remember writing it, but he knew he could understand it.

"Is this… mine?" Alaris murmured, running a finger over the rough paper. Somehow, this notebook felt connected to him. He couldn't recall ever writing in it, yet the recipes were so familiar as if they'd been waiting for him all along.

He flipped back to the first recipe: a basic healing potion. He didn't have every ingredient listed, but the instructions called for elfroot, a plant he recognized from both his studies and his time playing Dragon Age. It was supposed to be common in these types of forests; perhaps he could find some nearby. The idea of brewing even a small potion filled him with purpose, a concrete goal amid his confusion and unease.

With newfound determination, Alaris examined his surroundings more closely, his gaze settling on patches of undergrowth, searching for any sign of the plant. He didn't have to look far—within minutes, he spotted a cluster of green leaves with jagged edges and faint red stems growing in the shade of a large tree. Kneeling down, he plucked a handful of leaves, their faintly bitter scent confirming they were elfroot.

He set up his little distillery by the stream, filling the vial with water and adding the elfroot leaves. He remembered the basic method: heat the water gently, letting it extract the herb's properties without boiling away its potency. He held the vial over the gentle flame of his distillery tool, watching as the liquid took on a faint reddish hue. It felt strangely satisfying like a piece of himself was slipping back into place.

As he worked, he became more aware of his surroundings, and the quiet forest no longer felt quite as ominous. The repetitive, calming task of creating something from the raw materials around him steadied his mind, giving him a sense of grounding. Soon, the liquid reached the right consistency, and he carefully poured it into a small vial. His first potion—rudimentary, but it was something.

He capped the vial, tucking it safely into his pack with a small feeling of triumph. This notebook, this knowledge—it was all he had to go on, a thread connecting him to a life he barely remembered. He glanced down at the other recipes, some of them more complex, calling for ingredients he didn't yet recognize or possess.

Rising to his feet, he slung the pack over his shoulder, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Even if he didn't know how he had come to be here, he knew he was capable of surviving, at least for now. Each step forward could lead him to new ingredients, new challenges, and perhaps—he hoped—answers about his strange circumstances.

As he moved along the forest trail, following the faint path he had taken from the stream, he found himself paying more attention to the plants and flowers around him, noting which ones matched the illustrations in his notebook. Every sprig of plant life, every faint rustle in the underbrush, became a potential resource, a clue, or a memory. The alchemist in him had always been curious and resourceful, and those instincts were now guiding him, offering him a way to connect to this world.

And so, with his newfound tools and knowledge, Alaris continued his journey, following the faint signs of civilization, piecing together both his skills and his memories. Each step brought him closer to understanding this world and, perhaps, understanding himself.

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows through the forest as Alaris continued to walk, alert to his surroundings. The air was cooling quickly, and a chill settled over the woods, making him shiver. He'd need a place to sleep soon, somewhere safe and sheltered from the elements. Thankfully, the skills he'd picked up from camping trips came flooding back, small comforts in a world that had otherwise turned unfamiliar.

After scouting a bit further, he found a spot near a large, sturdy tree with a hollowed-out base that could offer some cover. Alaris set his pack down and scanned the forest floor, looking for thick branches, sturdy sticks, and fallen leaves. He worked quickly, his hands steady despite the disquiet that lingered in his mind.

He gathered a pile of large sticks, stacking them in a leaning pattern against the tree trunk, creating a slanted roof. He wove smaller branches and leaves between them to cover any gaps, building up layers to block the cold night air and insulate his makeshift shelter. He made sure the entrance was angled away from the wind, a lesson from countless weekends spent outdoors, where he had once felt proud of his survival skills. Now, those skills might be the only thing keeping him safe.

Once satisfied with the structure, he dug out a small clearing near the entrance, arranging stones in a circle to create a fire pit. He gathered dry twigs and leaves for kindling, grateful that his pack contained a small flint. A few attempts later, he struck a spark, the leaves catching flame and beginning to glow as he blew on them gently, encouraging the fire to grow. Soon, a small but comforting flame crackled in front of his shelter, casting a warm, dancing light across his face.

As the fire grew, Alaris settled in, his mind shifting back to the notebook and the mysterious recipes within. He opened it again, the warmth of the fire illuminating the faded pages. Each potion, each formula, seemed to unlock more of himself, more of the part of him that yearned to understand, to create. It was as if these notes weren't simply instructions—they were clues, a kind of alchemical map that would guide him not only through the forest but possibly through this world.

In the flickering firelight, he studied a page on a remedy for fatigue, noting the ingredients. Most were plants he'd never heard of, but one was an herb similar to mint. His mind raced with questions: If these recipes existed, was there a part of him that had always been drawn here? Or had he somehow slipped into his own imagination, his subconscious guiding him?

Yet, the fire's warmth, the solid earth beneath him, the crackling sounds around him—none of it felt like a dream.

With his shelter secure, Alaris took a last look at the recipes before tucking the notebook away. He leaned back, letting the fire's warmth ease his tension. A thousand questions lay ahead of him, but tonight, he would rest. As the forest settled into quiet, he let himself drift to sleep, the alchemist's notebook close to his heart and the smell of earth and ember grounding him in this strange new world.

The first light of dawn cast a soft glow through the trees as Alaris blinked awake. The embers of his fire had dwindled to a faint glow, but his makeshift shelter had held through the night, keeping him shielded from the chill. He stretched, feeling a familiar ache from sleeping on the ground, then quickly packed his belongings. His flask was refilled, and his notebook safely stowed away as he set out once again, the lure of the unknown pulling him forward.

The morning air was alive with birdsong, and the forest around him rustled with signs of life. Alaris kept a careful pace, moving cautiously but with an eagerness, he couldn't fully explain. Each new step through the woods brought a strange sense of purpose, as though he were being led toward something significant, even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

He had been walking for a few hours when he heard the faint sound of voices ahead. Alaris froze, instinctively crouching low as he strained to listen. The voices grew louder, accompanied by the clinking of armor and the sound of boots on packed earth. He glimpsed flashes of movement through the trees: a group of warriors, judging by the armor and weapons, advancing in his direction.

Holding his breath, Alaris watched them approach, realizing that his path was about to intersect with theirs. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped out from the trees, hoping he looked as non-threatening as possible. The group came to an immediate halt, hands going to the hilts of their weapons as they sized him up. At their head stood a tall man with a hard, intense gaze and close-cropped hair—Duncan, though Alaris kept that recognition to himself.

"Who are you?" the man asked, his voice steady and commanding.

Alaris swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm under Duncan's penetrating gaze. "My name is Alaris," he replied, keeping his tone respectful. "I'm just a traveler. I got a bit… turned around in the forest."

Duncan's gaze didn't soften, but there was a flicker of interest in his expression. "These woods are no place for casual wandering," he said. "Especially with darkspawn sightings growing more frequent in the area."

Darkspawn. The mention of them made Alaris's skin prickle. He nodded, looking at the assembled group. "I was hoping to find other travelers or maybe a town nearby. It seems like you're all on the road together."

One of the younger warriors muttered something under his breath, casting a skeptical look at Alaris, but Duncan raised a hand to silence him. "We're heading south," Duncan said, a careful neutrality in his tone. "But it's not a journey for the faint of heart. Are you sure you want to follow?"

Alaris hesitated, measuring his words. He couldn't tell them what he truly knew, yet he felt an instinctive pull to accompany them, to stay near Duncan and his party. "If you're willing to have me, I'd appreciate it. I don't want to be alone out here."

Duncan nodded slowly, though he kept a guarded expression. "Very well, Alaris. But know that we have little room for passengers. If you're traveling with us, we expect you to pull your weight."

Alaris nodded, grateful for the opportunity. "Understood. I know some basic survival skills," he offered. "And a bit of alchemy. It's not much, but it's something."

Duncan's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Alchemy?" he repeated, a trace of interest breaking through his reserved demeanor. "That may indeed be useful."

With that, Alaris fell in step near the edge of the group, sensing the other Wardens' cautious glances but choosing to ignore them. They continued south, the weight of the journey settling over them all as the day wore on. Duncan led the party with a quiet authority, and the others followed without question, clearly accustomed to long, silent marches.

As dusk approached, they set up camp by a cluster of trees, and Alaris used the chance to contribute. He pulled out his notebook and distillery tools, deciding to prepare a basic potion with the elfroot he had collected earlier. Some of the Wardens watched curiously as he worked, his fingers moving with practiced ease, creating a mild healing potion from the herbs. He found comfort in the familiar process, the task grounding him amid the lingering uncertainty.

When he finished, he carefully poured the potion into a small vial and tucked it into his pack. Duncan, who had been watching with mild interest, gave him a slight nod of approval. "Alchemy is a rare skill," he said, breaking the silence. "And one that we will need in the days ahead."

Alaris inclined his head in response, feeling a quiet sense of pride. He was no warrior, and he knew that these people faced battles far beyond his current strength, but he could offer something. For now, it was enough.

As the fire crackled and the Wardens settled into quiet conversations, Alaris glanced around the camp. The camaraderie, the sense of purpose among the Wardens, struck a chord in him. They were bound by more than just duty; they shared a commitment to a cause greater than themselves. It was something he yearned for, though he couldn't place why.

Later that night, as he lay in his small tent, he felt a sense of gratitude for the simple comfort of companionship. This world was strange and dangerous, yet here he was, surrounded by people who might help him find his place. With his notebook closed and his thoughts drifting, he let himself slip into sleep, uncertain of what awaited him but strangely hopeful for the first time since he'd arrived.

The next morning, they packed up and set out early. Alaris found himself feeling more comfortable among the group, observing their habits, their quiet exchanges. Though he kept to himself, he remained alert, silently cataloging everything he could about their path. He knew that he was on the edge of something immense, a story that would unfold before him. With every step south, he grew more determined to find his place in it.

The next morning, the party was already up and moving before the sun had fully risen. The quiet bustle of the camp, the soft clink of armor and weapons, and the rustle of gear being packed seemed to set the tone for the day ahead. Alaris, still feeling the weight of the unfamiliar world around him, adjusted his pack and made sure his notebook was secured once more. His eyes wandered over the group as they readied themselves for the road, noting the various expressions on their faces: some were hardened and quiet, others a bit more relaxed, but all were alert and prepared for what lay ahead.

As they walked, the conversation, if it could be called that, remained minimal. Duncan led them, the rest following in a loose formation, with Alaris trailing a bit behind. He had taken to walking near the edge of the group, his mind still turning over the strange circumstances that had brought him here. Part of him still wondered whether this was all some sort of dream, but with each passing hour, the idea felt less and less likely. The realness of the terrain, the people, and the steady pull of fate seemed to confirm that this was no illusion.

Around midmorning, as they paused for a short break near a stream, Alaris stood by the water, drinking from his flask and absently observing the foliage along the banks. His mind briefly wandered back to his earlier work in alchemy—preparing potions from the herbs in the forest. He had a vague sense of satisfaction in how he was contributing, but there was still a weight in his chest, a lingering sense of not fully fitting in.

One of the Wardens, a woman with long dark hair and a scar running down her cheek, approached him. "You're an alchemist, then?" she asked, her tone blunt but not unkind.

Alaris blinked and turned to face her, a small flicker of surprise crossing his features. He had not expected anyone to inquire about his skills so directly. "Yes," he said, hesitating just a moment. "I'm a traveling alchemist looking for rare plants. I was in the forest searching for ingredients for some potions and remedies."

The woman's gaze sharpened as she assessed him, her arms crossed over her chest. "We've heard of some healers wandering through these parts. You're a healer, then?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, and Alaris felt a pang of uncertainty. The truth was that he had no formal training as a healer—he was an alchemist, but his knowledge of herbal remedies and potions often overlapped with healing. He knew enough to treat minor injuries, fatigue, and illnesses, but it wasn't his primary focus. Still, this was no time to draw attention to that difference.

He nodded and gave her a small, reassuring smile. "In a way, yes. My specialty is alchemy, but I've learned a fair amount about healing as well. I've treated my own wounds before, and I've helped others with remedies for fatigue or minor ailments. The forest is full of useful plants if you know what you're looking for."

The woman seemed to consider his words for a moment before nodding, though her expression remained skeptical. "We could use someone like you, especially with darkspawn sightings becoming more frequent. A healer could save lives."

Alaris glanced at her, catching the flicker of something more behind her words—a hint of hope, perhaps, or a measure of desperation. "I'd be happy to help where I can," he said, offering a smile that he hoped looked genuine. He wasn't entirely sure what the Wardens had in mind when it came to healing, but he could certainly assist with simple potions or treatments for exhaustion and wounds.

The woman gave him a curt nod, seemingly satisfied with his response. "We'll see how things go. Keep your eyes open, traveler. We have a long road ahead."

She turned and walked back to the rest of the group, leaving Alaris to consider what had just transpired. He had played along with the healer's misconception, knowing that it would provide him with a certain level of acceptance among the Wardens. If nothing else, it would keep him from standing out too much. For now, he had a role to play, and it would be best to stick to it.

The rest of the day passed in much the same manner as the previous ones: quiet, with the occasional comment or exchange between the Wardens but little in the way of conversation. Alaris remained at the periphery, observing, learning their rhythms, and making himself useful whenever possible. As dusk fell and the camp was set up once more, he took out his alchemy tools again, preparing a few basic remedies and potions. It wasn't much, but it was a way to prove his worth, to show that he could contribute something of value to the group.

As the fire crackled, Alaris found himself sitting apart from the others, staring into the flames. The Wardens had begun to settle in for the night, their conversations turning to more personal matters, though still laced with an undercurrent of tension. He had heard bits and pieces about their mission—how they were preparing to go to Ostagar—but he kept his knowledge to himself. There was no need to reveal his awareness of their destination. Letting them believe he was just another wandering traveler would only work in his favor for now.

Alaris lay back on his bedroll that night, his mind heavy with thoughts. He had no real plan, only a sense of drifting in this strange world, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring. But for now, he had found some semblance of purpose, even if only by playing the role of a wandering healer. And in a world as dangerous and unpredictable as this, that would have to be enough—for now.

The next morning, Alaris awoke to the soft stirrings of the camp as the Wardens began preparing to move. The quiet, steady rhythm of their routine was something he was beginning to adapt to, and though he still felt out of place in this foreign world, the sense of purpose that seemed to emanate from the group was comforting. He was no longer just an outsider in the wilderness—he was a part of something, even if that role was still uncertain.

As the day wore on, Alaris wrestled with the weight of his foreknowledge. Every step he took, every interaction with the Wardens, every moment he observed felt like a delicate balancing act. The knowledge he carried of the events to come—the darkspawn, the battle at Ostagar, the fall of King Cailan—was both a gift and a curse. He knew what was coming, yet he had no idea what would happen if he intervened or if his presence would shift the outcome of any of the events that had been set in motion.

Would his knowledge help prevent the disaster that was coming, or would it only make things worse? Would he be able to stop the darkspawn threat from overwhelming them, or would his interference ripple through time, creating a far more disastrous future? These thoughts tugged at him constantly, and he found it difficult to reconcile the world he had come from with the one he now inhabited.

Yet, he also knew that he couldn't stand by and do nothing. Even if he didn't want to alter history, he could still help where he could. If there was a chance he could save even one life, or prevent some suffering, it was worth the risk. His hands were already stained with the knowledge of what was to come. There was no going back now.

The day passed quietly, but that evening, the situation took a sudden turn. As dusk fell, the sounds of the forest grew hushed, the air thick with tension. Alaris felt the shift before anyone else—an unsettling quiet that sent a prickle of unease down his spine. Then, without warning, a harsh cry split the air, followed by the thundering of heavy footsteps.

"Darkspawn!" someone shouted.

The Wardens immediately sprang into action, drawing their weapons and taking defensive positions around the camp. Alaris instinctively reached for his pack, his mind racing. He wasn't a warrior, but he wasn't entirely helpless, either. He'd treated his own wounds enough times to know how to handle basic injuries—and that was exactly what he focused on as the Wardens engaged the enemy.

The darkspawn burst from the shadows, their grotesque, twisted forms barely visible in the fading light. The camp erupted into chaos as the Wardens fought to hold their ground. Alaris hesitated for a split second, his heart pounding, but then his focus snapped back into place. There was a wounded Warden to his left—he could see the blood already staining his armor. Without thinking, he moved toward him, his alchemy kit at the ready.

"Stay still," Alaris instructed the wounded man, his voice firm but calm. He quickly assessed the injury: a gash along the Warden's side, deep and ugly. The wound was too severe for just herbs—he needed something stronger.

He didn't have time to make a complex potion, so he opted for a quick and effective remedy: a healing salve that he'd learned to make from a combination of elfroot and several other plants. The wound was already starting to clot, but the salve would help the healing process along and alleviate the pain.

With steady hands, Alaris applied the salve, focusing entirely on the task at hand. He didn't dare look up, not with the battle still raging around them. He could hear the clash of weapons, the growls and roars of the darkspawn, but he ignored it. His mind was solely on the task of helping this man survive.

Once the salve was in place, Alaris pressed a cloth against the wound to staunch the bleeding. He spoke in a low, urgent tone, though his words were meant more for himself than the Warden. "Stay with me. You'll be fine."

The Warden groaned in pain but nodded, his eyes unfocused. "Thank you…"

Alaris glanced up briefly to see Duncan in the thick of the fight, his sword flashing in the firelight. The other Wardens were engaged in a desperate battle, but for now, he focused on the injured man. The battle would rage on, but this—this was where Alaris could make a difference, even if it was only for one person.

As the last of the darkspawn were cut down and the sounds of the battle died away, the camp fell eerily silent. The wounded Warden, though pale and battered, was still alive, thanks to the quick intervention. Alaris let out a quiet sigh of relief, his hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off.

Duncan approached, his eyes scanning the camp before landing on Alaris and the injured man. "You did well," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "He's lucky you were here."

Alaris nodded, though his mind was still whirling. He had helped, but at what cost? The darkspawn had been driven back for now, but the threat was far from over. His thoughts returned to the future he had seen in his mind's eye, to the fate of the Wardens and the battle at Ostagar. He couldn't let his actions disrupt the natural course of events too much, but he also couldn't let these people—these strangers—fall without trying.

That night, as the group tended to their wounds and set up a more secure camp, Alaris once again wrestled with the consequences of his knowledge. There were too many things to consider, too many possibilities for how his presence could affect the outcome. And yet, despite the weight of it all, he couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of pride. He had made a difference today.

For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could make a difference in this world.