Soft footsteps padded around the edges of the chamber and nearby rooms as the Chantry slowly buzzed to life. The boy turned into my thigh to hide his face, mumbling something indiscernible. Instinctively I tried to reach out my hand to pet his hair but found myself weighed down by a familiarly roughened linen.

Blinking against the grey morning light streaming in through one of the dusty, upper windows of the chapel, I recognized my cloak had been laid about my shoulder andlap in a way to cover my front without impeding where the child had his head laid upon my lap. I sighed, remembering distinctly that I had left it back in the barracks. Meaning someone had come looking.

Shit. It's past dawn. I tried to right myself from the awkward slump against the wall, but the smallest movements pulled painfully along my neck andhips, causing the child to move himself away from my tense movements. I whispered an apology as the da'len sat himself up still cocooned in the dingy blanket, hair mussed, and rubbing at his nose.

"What's your name?" I asked softly.

"Milo." Finally opening his eyes, he openly and blankly stared at me for a moment before continuing, "Are you really an elf?"

A laugh rose from my belly unexpectedly. My first true positive emotion in nearly a month and it warmed my insides so that I felt oddly giddy with felt silly but a breath in the right direction mentally. I brushed my hair from my forehead and behind an ear, "Was it the… my markings or the ears?"

He twisted the edge of the blanket between his dirty fingers. "You're nice," he said simply. He didn't have to explain but I knew he had been taught something vile about elves at such a young age.

"I try to be." And suddenly the memories from the last couple days seem a little further away. "Do you have any family in Lothering? Aunts, uncles?" He shook his mop of hair. "Then stay here. With the priests, okay? They might ask you for help with chores but they'll keep you fed and warm."

"Can't I come with you?" he whined, freckled brow furrowing.

"I'm afraid not." I reach to pull my necklaces atop the cloak still draped across my front. Untangling them, I showed off the corded vial from my Joining. "I'm a Grey Warden. That means I have to go fight and it's not safe where I'm going."

A look of wonder brightened his eyes, bringing back some of the youth that had been absent from his round face. "I can help you beat the monsters."

"No, love," I smiled warmly at him. "Not yet. You have to get a little taller first. Stay here and grow, train if you that's what you want." Alistair came to mind. "And once you've become as tall and strong as a mountain, then I could use your help to fight the monsters." If the Chantry could produce one like Alistair, then surely this one would be safe here.

"But I'm half as tall as you!" he pouted.

"But I'm an elf remember," I chuckled. "We're not as large as you humans." I unclasped my mother's beads and studied the polished wood with shallow spirals carved delicately onto each cylindrical bead representing a different beast or bird. She'd been a caretaker I'd been told. Watching over the halla and any other animals that wandered amongst us. "But I do think you could help me out now if you'd like."

He nodded eagerly, his little chin lifting in the air.

"This was my mother's necklace. I'd hate for it to get broken in a fight. I need someone strong and fast and good to look after it for me." I explained reaching it forward for him to ogle the designs. I'd genuinely worried over the fragile cord and beads since waking up in the Wilds but more so I felt like this child needed it more than I did. Some symbol or anchor to hold onto.

He gasped sharply, "That's a wolf!"

I hummed in agreement, watching him twist the individual beads to decipher each bead and let my hand fall to leave the necklace in his timid grasp.

"Why not give it back to your mother?" he asked, still trying to figure out the halla.

"Because monsters took mine from me, too." Even I wasn't sure whether the humans and flat-ears or her own nightmares were the monsters I mentioned. Or perhaps it was the Creators for setting our paths as they did.

When Ashalle first told me, I judged her and resented her choices. But had I not almost surrendered the same way? She held on long enough to give me life. Was that truly a failure?

First, my promise to the Keeper moved me to join, then Alistair's plea for my help at Flemeth's hut had tethered me but… how long before I give in as she did? I'll continue forward to end this Blight. That's for certain.

Milo slipped the necklace around his scrawny neck. "I'll keep it safe. And when you come back for it, I'll be bigger and you can take me with you?"

I smiled again, "Yeah. But only when you're bigger."

He grinned, revealing a singular dimple on his right cheek, and began to fiddle with the beads. Just till the Blight's dealt with. I can do Sebrae, Tamlin, Alistair, and Milo.

Banal'ras gave a sharp, throaty huff and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I internally cursed against the sudden headache as a helmed Templar approached us.

"Grey Warden." He greeted stiffly before falling silent, seemingly expecting me to say or do something.

I'm not getting off this floor for a damn handshake. "Templar."

"The Revered Mother is requesting your immediate presence," he explained with just a faint tone of uncertainty.

Oh, damn it all. I forgot about Sten.

I turned back to Milo who watched our interaction with obvious amazement. "This is where I leave you. Remember the promise you made me."

He nodded. Just as I got my feet under me to rise, Milo threw his arms around my neck. I barely had time to steady myself before he withdrew to his place on the floor. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Milo."

I joined the Templar stiffly, cloak hung about my arm, and he led me back to the priestess' study. He stopped just before the door, obviously expecting me to continue without him.

Taking the opportunity I turned to the Templar. He had just started to step away when he noticed my sudden attention. "What's your name?"

He was silent for a moment behind the helm, I almost wondered if he had heard me at all, "Names Edmund."

"Dahlia," I responded. "Edmund, that boy was orphaned yesterday. Could you make use of him here? Or make sure he's on a wagon north?"

He only cocked his head to the side.

"His name's Milo. Take it as favor for yesterday or I could give you some silver to-"

The Templar waved at me, "I'll see to him. We could use more hands pulling the last of the crops."

I breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you." With a final nod I turned again and proceeded to push through the heavy study doors, Banal'ras ever at my side.

The smell of incense wafted heavily through the air when I entered the narrow space lined with bookshelves of tomes, scrolls, and odd metal figures. Unlike yesterday, the morning sun was feeding through the stained glass releasing a myriad of brilliant colors to dance across the faded rug.

I hadn't felt so much like a fish out of water than I did just standing between these stone walls dedicated to the human god, barefoot, unarmed, and covered in mud.

"After you bravely defended this place yesterday, I had assumed you were a woman with a noble heart." The elderly priestess said with clear disappointment as she stepped from a closet to seat herself behind her desk. A speckled hand brushed at some invisible dust on her robes before she finally looked at me, her lip fighting to curl as she observed my dress.

"It doesn't take a human's sense of nobility to defend the innocent," I countered already aggravated with her. "Blood oath to an ancient order or no."

"Then I can take comfort in your aims against the Blight, at least?" she said superciliously. "Your oath is unshakeable, but your word in an agreement is as fickle as the winds of the Waking Sea?"

I raised my chin, bristling, "We were delayed because of ourinjuriesin protecting your village. If that has inconvenienced you-"

"You know as well as I, I'm referring to the prisoner you released," she snapped. "Given you're here that means that monster is moving freely at great risk to our people."

"I did not release him!" I yelled back, effectively stunning her. "I take my promises as seriously as my oath to the Blight. I did not release him but who did is irrelevant. He is under careful supervision outside the village."

Her face soured, "So you play tricks within your promises?"

A growl escaped me surprisingly loud in the small space. To her credit she did not react. "Is it your Maker's mercy that would leave a man to be torn apart by the darkspawn while he's trapped in place by a cage?"

"It would be His justice given what that qunari did the farmers and their children." The Revered Mother stood abruptly and set a bag of coins on the desk between us. "Some of the people donated to your Order after your battle near the south road. Take it and leave."

My frustrations were effectively blown out at the sight of the meager bag.

"Take it and the qunari far from this village." She reiterated a touch louder, her worn features setting into a disapproving scowl.

I shook my head and her eyes narrowed in response. "We can survive. Use it to feed them."

"From what merchants?" Her voice gentled. "We are already feeding them from the grain stores with the only replenishment being what we have left to reap in the fields."

She grabbed the bag and rounded the desk to deposit it directly into the crook of my arm holding my cloak. Without another word she returned to her seat and set to writing a letter.

I took the clue and walked back toward the door but as I just brushed the dull handle, the Revered Mother spoke once again, "Lothering will welcome your order to visit again, but the qunari is best left elsewhere."

Having had enough I left without a response.

Banal'ras padded along beside me happily, tongue lolling out one side as he surveyed the commotion of the awakening refugees and busied priests. Near the dias, an elderly priestess was leading a prayer. As I passed, multiple sets of eyes followed me just as they had the day before. Except this time my discomfort wasn't from the stares or presumed threats of confrontation. This time it the added burden of their expectations. I could feel their demands as they stared. 'Save us'.

I kept my eyes glued to my path before me as I shuffled my way toward the barracks.

Before I could turn into the back hall, Banal'ras hooked a sharp left and trotted off excitedly. I nearly left him to his exploration, but he rounded back to me, gave a small foot stop and trotted off again.

I blew in frustration but allowed myself to be led, nonetheless.

He stopped just before a wall of bookshelves thrice my height. I cocked my head at him where he stood with an enthusiastic tail wag. I shook my head, "You're going to have to spell this one out for me."

He stopped panting and flicked an ear just as I heard a set of voices from beyond the shelves. Oh, so we're eavesdropping. I padded near to an opening between the shelves. Banal'ras wasted no time and slipped past them. I swiped forward trying to retrieve him until an unmistakable baritone drifted past the shelves. Alistair?

I slid quietly forward trying to get close enough to make out the words exchanged.

The other voice drifted past the towers of dusty tomes, "-hope he can ease some minds upon his arrival."

"I can't imagine-" Alistair stopped at the same time I heard Banal'ras' nails tapping on the stone floor toward his voice.

I stepped around the final shelf into a small reading space and caught the attention of both men who appeared taken off guard by my sudden appearance. Alistair was still dressed in his tunic and breeches. The unfamiliar knight with him stood at attention, tight dark curls atop his head and an extensively polished set of red steel armor. I chose to ignore that the knight's hand had a cautionary grip on his sword.

Banal'ras plopped himself at Alistair's side, smiling back at me expectantly, stubby tail swiping upon the stone floor. Alistair studied my appearance quickly before he waved me over with a tight-lipped smile, "This is Ser Donall." He motioned to the other knight. "Donall, this is my Grey Warden companion I mentioned. Dahlia."

Donall smiled politely and slipped his hand from his sword. "I wish it were under better circumstances but a pleasure nonetheless."

I nodded back. Too aggravated and drained from talking to the Revered Mother to pick apart the knight's somber greeting, I looked to Alistair with a questioning look.

"Donall is a knight of Redcliffe, under Arl Eamon's command," he explained.

"What's wrong?" I asked, hoping I was reading the air wrong.

Unfortunately, Alistair squared his shoulders before looking to Ser Donall whosedemeanor shifted serious again, "The Arl has fallen terribly sick. As I know it, he has not woken in nearly a fortnight."

I felt my heart nearly drop from my chest and for a moment I wanted to scream. "What do you mean a fortnight? What kind of illness?"

"We do not know. First, he thirsted, then he grew weaker before he would no longer wake. The Arlessa has employed many healers but to no avail." Donall's voice softened, glancing to Alistair, "We fear the Arl is on his deathbed."

I'm getting so tired of this. "When was the last you heard from Redcliffe?"

"A letter arrived two nights ago. She has the knights spread thin, trying to…" he trailed, eyes quickly scanned the passage of bookshelves behind me nervously, "to find any information to the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

I blinked. "…The what now?"

Alistair spoke up, looking equally uncomfortable about the subject, "The Urn of Sacred Ashes. Supposed to be the remains of the prophetess, Andraste… It's said to have divine healing abilities."

"A legend." It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. The weight of this new information threatened to crush what little resolve and control I had so carefully raised. Already my throat was constricting in frustration. Whether it was a scream or cry I could not say.

I rubbed harshly at my face. Why did we survive if not to win this war? How are we to win when every plan and advantage we find are being swept from under us.

"That Isolde is desperate enough to search for it…" Alistair trailed off, carding his fingers through his hair as he was increasingly prone to.

Donall offered over a piece of parchment with a broken wax seal, "The Arlessa is a pious woman, but she is continuing her own efforts at the castle. She may yet prevail in our stead."

I unfolded the crinkled parchment and studied the flowing script. The Arl remained asleep in bed, no other knights have reported success though a couple have yet to send in their updates, and there are orders to make haste with any clues.

"And so, she's scattered her knights when darkspawn are marching to her doorstep?" I asked acerbically, feeling the pressure of the ever-encroaching horde like an approaching storm blowing a chilled air at our backs and it wouldn't be long before it swallowed us.

"The Arlessa has taken note and aims to see the Arl restored before they reach Redcliffe," Donall spoke as if it wasn't the first time he'd had to say those words, his twitching eyebrow belying his tone of voice.

"Are these knights not your best defenders?" I asked, voice biting. Good. Anger is better than grief. "Forgive me, I'm not familiar with human politics but I would assume a darkspawn horde would take precedent."

"There are still soldiers back in Redcliffe that are capable of defending against-" Donall began before I cut him off.

"The army we lost at Ostagar was capable as well," I interrupted a little more loudly than intended. With a deep breath I handed the letter back, just noticing my fingers were shaking just slightly. "Please. Remind your Arlessa there's a Blight on the move and her people are in the path."

Donall's voice became increasingly strained, jaw flexing, "As a sworn knight it is not my place to advise Lords and Ladies but to honor my vow of service."

I took a deep breath, the gauze around my midsection itching my wound at the excessive movement.

Alistair, who had taken to staring out the window with a pinched expression spoke up, voice low and tight, "Every arm must be ready if Ferelden is going to survive this. Isolde must know Eamon would prioritize Redcliffe's safety first."

"Our good Arlessa has remained steadfast to her family above all else," Donall said with a ghost of a sneer.

"As any wife and mother should," Alistair mumbled as they shared a look. Something they wouldn't say aloud.

I went to rub my brow where my headache was in full effect only to hiss and jerk my hand back from the tender skin. Damn Loghain. "Ser Donall," I spoke up, his eyes snapped back to me. "Thank you for sharing your information with us. If there is anything we might do to help, please let us know."

He nodded stiffly, "Your offer is appreciated." Ser Donall reach for a satchel on a nearby endtable and turned his next question to Alistair, "Am I to understand you were travelling to Redcliffe soon, yourselves?"

"Today," I replied pettily to his dismissal of me but also because Alistair was already deep in thought.

Donall looked between us tersely but ultimately removed a small leather journal from his satchel. He studied it before offering it over. "You'll likely make it back before I will, then. If I might request a small favor, would you deliver this journal to the Arlessa?"

I nodded and took the journal, inspecting the splotchy tanning. Despite a small, pressed H in the corner it didn't appear particularly old or unique.

"It belonged to my companion. It details what we've been able to find thus far," Donall's steely eyes lingered solemnly on the journal before continuing. "It might be more dead ends, but maybe it'll be enough for the Arlessa to recall us home."

As Donall secured the bag over his shoulder, I got a vision of this knight returning to a home, a family. Perhaps a child. Unlike us, this human likely has someone waiting on him back in Redcliffe. Of course he would. And the longer he stays away, the less likely it'll be he'll see them alive again. His distance from Redcliffe must be terrifying for him and that realization left a bitter taste in my mouth at my previous frustrations. I tucked the journal gently into the crook of my arm with the bag and cloak, "I'll hand it to her directly."

"Thank you," Donall forced a smile and nodded. "For now, I have one last appointment to keep before I make my return."

Alistair turned from his spot at the window and shook the knight's hand, "Stay safe, Ser Donall."
"You as well, Alistair," Donall replied and turned to me once more, offering his hand to me. "And you, m'lady."

"Dareth shiral," I offered.

Donall gave us a slight bow before slipping out through the bookcases.

Alistair crossed his arms again and leaned heavily back against the windowsill, letting out a long hazy light filtering in washing out his tanned skin and the reds in his hair. His bruised jaw darkened by the shadows of the morning. He probably takes some pretty hard hits despite all that armor. I could imagine more were hidden under his shirt remembering the way he held his arm in the tavern. Sten will be a great help in that regard.

Banal'ras cocked his head with an airy whine until Alistair rubbed an ear.

He didn't have to take care of me, but he did.

"Are you alright?" I asked. Alistair looked up questioningly. "I mean about- I didn't mean that theyshouldn'tbe looking to help Eamon just…"

He waved his hand dismissively, "No, you're right," he said quietly. "The Blight is top priority, and the last thing Eamon would want to see is Redcliffe overrun by the horde."

But I'd wager seeing the Arl's death ranked pretty high for him as well.

We lapsed into a pregnant silence, while he studied the floor, and I picked at a loose thread on my cloak while mulling over the mass of events that just dropped in the hour I'd woke. Eamon was supposed to be our security net. Our noble in our pocket against Loghain and he may be dead as we speak.

Once again, my mind drifted to where the clan might be now. How far have they traveled. Have they met any darkspawn or has their trek been quiet. I couldn't imagine hearing anything other than good news. Perhaps ignorance was my advantage. If I had gotten word Ashalle was so ill, I'd leave the Blight behind in the next second.

My frustrations melted away leaving behind a bone heavy weariness. I shifted, alleviating some static weight off my knee where pins pricked on the sides.

"You should lie back down while you can." Alistair spoke softly, eyes never lifting, "I can't imagine the wall being a comfortable bed."

Warmth flushed my cheeks. Of course it was him to come find me. "Better than that cot, actually," I scoffed lightly, straightening despite the contradicting knots in my back. Though it wasn't really a lie. I did sleep better, just no less painfully.

"I bet," he smirked. "I think I prefer the horse stalls. Though the barracks do smell slightly better."

I smiled at his attempted return to humor. I almost regretted my next question, "Why does the Arlessa feel like another obstacle?"

"Likely." His smile effectively falling away, "It's complicated."

I deadpanned, "What isn't?"

"She's not the easiest person to get along with." I waited patiently not taking my eyes from his until he gave a lopsided grin and shook his head. "Probably the first thing to understand about her, is she's Orlesian."

I racked my head to remember what little the Hahren told of the human war that ravaged Ferelden some decades ago, "But the war was so long ago. What does being Orlesian have to do with being a problem?"

He snorted, that familiar light of amusement brightening his eyes once more. "Some would say they're one and the same. See to us the war is old news, but many of the older generation had fought in that war including Eamon, Loghain, and King Maric." He paused giving me time to catch on before continuing. "And Eamon and Isolde had married not long after the end of the to mention she's the daughter of the Orlesian who occupied Redcliffe last. It was quite the scandal," he said the last with a mock conspiratory whisper.

"But the war was over? And they both entered into marriage willfully?" I asked confused.

"But many believed it was too soon. Many resented her as their Arlessa so the relationship between her and the people have always been strained. It's gotten better, but her priorities have always been to Eamon and their son first. For good or bad."

"But in a ruling position her focus should be on the welfare of her people. Even our Keeper is not immune from this responsibility." He nodded. Which makes sense why she would scatter her defenses in hopes of saving her husband, but the chances she would find such a thing… Do no humans take this Blight seriously until it tramples their homes? "You grew up there. What do you think?"

Alistair blinked in surprise, brows raised, "She…loves her family?"

I smirked, "That sounds like you're hiding some pretty strong opinions."

He laughed nervously, "How about later? When we're not standing somewhere so public."

I bit back a grin and made to look around exaggeratedly, "I'd say we're pretty private right here. Spill."

"You don't actually want to hear me complain, do you?" He asked, scratching at his stubbled cheek.

"I want you humans to stop being so frustrating," I teased, "But I think I'd have better luck asking the Archdemon to turn around."

"I don't think anybody's tried that tactic, before," he deflected, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Might be worth a shot."

"Ha ha. No, if I'm going to navigate this human country, I need some kind of warning of what I'm dealing with," I explained earnestly as he averted his gaze again, lips pressed into a thin line. "Just… a little help? Please?"

His gaze snapped back to me with an unreadable expression before he shook his head, smiled, and signed exaggeratedly, "Well, how can I say no to that?" He motioned me closer and waited till I leaned along the sill next to him, turning just slightly to avoid our voices carrying so I did the same, "You remember how you asked if the Arl was my father?"

I gasped, eyes widening in excitement.

"No," he chuckled, shutting me down. "But you're not the first to make that assumption. The rumors were…quite loud in fact."

"Complicated indeed."

He shot me a playful glare for interrupting, "Of course they weren't true, but they existed. The Arl didn't care, though."

"But his wife did."

Alistair nodded, placing a finger to his nose, "So by the time their son was born, she had convinced Eamon to have me shipped off to the nearest monastery."

"But, sending you away wouldn't change anything. Her son would take his father's position." Trying to decipher this human nonsense was doing nothing for my headache.

"She felt threatened by me, I can see that now," he shrugged halfheartedly, gaze becoming distant. "I can't say that I blame her. I imagine she wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet."

"Threatened. By a child," I scoffed.

"It gave me an education most others would never see," he replied dryly, tired eyes roaming the tomes surrounding us. "Just as well. The Arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."

"But what of your mother?" I asked quietly. "Surely she had family who would've taken you in?"

A hollow smile touched the corner of his lips, "None to speak of I'm afraid. Or none that would claim me anyway."

And once again, my heart broke for a human. Orphans among the Dalish were not uncommon but the clan embraces them as much as any other child. I worried for the child likely still sleeping near the front of the chantry.

Knowing that he wasn't wearing such a thing now and how meager his possessions were since the battle I knew it had been lost and somehow, I didn't think he'd gifted it away as I did mine, "What happened to it?"

He opened his eyes again, shame evident behind their far-off stare. "I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do."

"No one could blame you for being upset." I had to check myself. If Tamlen or Fenarel had been this upset, I'd have held a hand or something. But this is my Warden companion. A human. Despite all our differences, our pasts held so many similarities. Who would've thought I'd find so much in common with a shemlen. "Anybody would be at being sent away like that."

He straightened, the brightening sunlight flooding our space, "The Arl did come by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming."

Creators. "Surely, he understood you needed space. You were young."

"And raised by dogs," he blurted unexpectedly. "Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. Heh. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don't know."

"Hmm," I smiled, remembering all the grief I'd given Ashalle when I was younger to which Alistair only quirked an eyebrow suspiciously at me. "Maybe. And you haven't been in contact since?"

"Never had the chance. First it was extra studies to catch up with the other children, then… I don't know, just didn't feel right." He fell silent for a moment before forcing a smile back in place. "But now I was supposed to be giving you the dirt on Isolde, wasn't I? Overall, she's got good intentions, I've no doubt. But she will be fierce in guarding what is hers. Even if the Archdemon itself stood outside Redcliffe castle, Eamon and Connor will be her focus"

Meaning unless Eamon recovers, then we lose any chance of garnering Ferelden to our army. "How hard is she going to be to deal with?"

He shrugged, "Don't know. I haven't seen her since I was a child, and even then, I was one of her least favorite people. How she would be with you or any other is hard to say."

"I remember signing up for darkspawn killing, not to play politics with human nobles," I groaned, letting my head fall back to the cool glass. "Maybe I could set Morrigan on her."

He let out a bellied laugh, that familiar spark coming back to his eyes. "Remember we need Eamon's help and it'll be a little difficult if you're sparing with his wife."

I rolled my eyes with fake exasperation, "Fair enough." I pushed off the windowsill eager to get a move on, "One last meal before the road?"

He grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges, "I thought cheap cheese was too rich for your taste."

"Maybe we'll luck out and he'll have some root water again," I shrugged, beginning to turn back toward the barracks.

He matched my stiff stride between the bookshelves, "You're not actually insisting on still leaving today, are you?"

"I did tell the Revered Mother sunrise, so we are running behind." Truthfully, I didn't give two shits what she thought. She needs someone to remove that stick from her rear.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind another day," he said, quickly glancing to my waist.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Besides, she's already requested our immediate departure since Morrigan's released our friend earlier than scheduled."

His eyebrows shot up before furrowing in annoyance, "She did- no. Of course she did. Did she even think about how the Revered Mother would react?"

I shrugged. I had a suspicion he wouldn't be so annoyed if I had given the order. Though it was probably born more of not being warned ahead of time, "You really don't like each other, do you?"

"Well, aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter bitch, no I don't like her at all," he replied, shocking me with the level of heat behind his words before cocking an eyebrow at me, "Why? Do you?"

"She's…"

"Vile?"

I smacked his arm admonishingly, but it did little to dull his smug smile, "A little rough. But, I like her just fine, actually."

"Great," he deadpanned. "I am thrilled beyond words. No really."

"Let's just get out of Lothering in one piece?" I chuckled, beginning to work my fingers at the knots in my hair. "The sooner we get on the road the better."

"Nothing keeps you down, hmm?" he mused, stepping forward to open the door to the barracks for me.

"Not after that ogre." I passed through expecting to get to work packing, but I was met with a disapproving, blue glare.

Leliana stood, hands on her hips and looking nearly as intimidating as the aforementioned ogre despite her being dressed in a grey chemise. "And just where have you- were you walking around outsidebarefoot!" she exclaimed appalled.

I looked down to inspect the grey mud dried on my feet and most of the fabric below my knees, "Just for a-"

I was interrupted as she grasped my wrist and yanked me forward toward my cot. She sat me down with a pinning glare and quite literally pushed Alistair back out of the barracks before closing the door on him.