56 réponses à ce sujet

[SheilaD67]

I've been posting this story over at FanFic: http://www.fanfictio...he_Halla_Reborn

But now I'm inspired to start posting it over here.  I'll try posting a chapter or two a day until I get it up to date with the FF site.  Feel free to leave a review/comment here or go onto the FF site and leave one there.  Love to hear from you!


Summary: Different take on the City Elf origin: A young elven craftswoman, friend of the queen, respected member of the Elven community. A nobleman’s obsession with her causes her carefully planned future to take a different path. M for adult themes, language, violence, and sexual content

I own nothing save for Adela (well, and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 1 - Two years before origins event

A quick, precise movement of the pen knife, and the offending sliver flaked off the ivory form. Long, dexterous fingers lovingly smoothed the intricately carved surface before placing the small figure of a halla into the box with several other similar figures. ‘Ah, the Queen will like these,’ the young elven woman thought, a pleased smile forming upon her lips. Brushing back a stray blonde lock and neatly tucking it behind one delicate, pointed ear, she turned to another halla figurine. This one was far more intricately carved in a more stylized design, representing a form similar to ancient elven works of art. The horns were longer and more curved than the other figures, it‘s tale swooping upwards and over its back. Other curling carvings embellished the surface of the figure itself. Picking it up, impossibly blue eyes scrutinized its shape, alert for any imperfections. Satisfied, she placed the figure in the box with its less intricate brethren, placed a cover over the top, and picked it up under one arm.

An older elven man looked up from his work bench, holding in his hands the wooden beginnings of a toy soldier. Smiling at the girl, offering a slight nod, Cyrion Tabris went back to his work. There were many other orders for the pair of skilled artists to fulfill, but Cyrion knew well that his daughter was anxious to get the figurines to the palace.

“I am certain the Queen, and most importantly Lord Alaric’s daughter, will be most pleased with your works, my daughter,” he replied as his gaze shifted back to the partially formed toy in his hands.

Adela smiled softly at her father, turning slightly to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “I am certain Anora will like them well enough.” Despite her confident words, a finger tapped anxiously on the box.

“Ah, now child,” Cyrion’s hands continued to work the wood even as his eyes left it to seek out his daughter’s face, “your apprenticeship ended and now you are worried your first complete order will be less than acceptable?”

Adela grinned. “At least my first order is for Anora,” she turned toward the door, one slender hand on the handle, “she always likes my work.”

Cyrion laughed. “Of course she does. She has good taste.”

With a nod, Adela turned the handle and left the tiny workshop, stepping out into the Denerim Alienage that had been her home for her entire life.

Dirty, squalid, poverty ridden…the Alienage was thus to those who did not understand that there was so much more to it than what was seen by the eyes of those fortunate - or less fortunate - not to live in one. Yes, these conditions did, indeed, exist for the elves that lived there. As in all of Fereldan’s cities, the elves were segregated away from human citizens, called upon mostly as laborers or servants, and thought of as less than, well, human. But for many who lived within the Alienage, they knew that there was also closeness, family, a shared history that, although the human populations throughout Thedas had tried to wipe completely clean, still existed. Nothing - not slavery, war, famine, pestilence, not even an Exalted March itself - could take away the pride elves felt for their history. Gone though it may be, never to be recovered, mostly forgotten, it still had existed, had been. And, for those like the craftsman Cyrion and his equally talented daughter, that was enough.

And so, always feeling pride in her Alienage, Adela stepped out into the rubbish strewn walkway and made her way to the high gate that cordoned off the Alienage from the rest of Denerim. And, with a slight nod of her blonde head to the guard at the gate, the young elven woman walked through the market place and toward the section of the city where the nobles - including the Arl of Denerim - lived.

Adela always disliked going through this part of the city. She always felt she was being closely scrutinized, either by those looking for an elf to be the “cause” of some trouble or some lecherous noble looking for some “company”. While Adela herself had never been accosted, she still was fully aware that such could happen. And so, she always made certain to leave her knives back at the workshop or home as elves were not allowed weapons of any kind and to be caught with a weapon meant imprisonment or worse. She always kept her eyes straight ahead, on course, and did not make eye contact with any of the denizens of this particular quarter.

She was thusly fully unaware of the pair of cold emerald green eyes that followed her every move as she passed the Arl’s estate. Fully unaware that these same eyes always sought her out and watched her either in the marketplace or as she passed by the mansion on her way to the palace.

DA:O

Thurlow scowled out from his post in front of the Royal Palace. He hated guard duty. Not only did his feet ache, but it was Maker awful boring. Brown eyes scoured the area beyond the gates. Wait, what was this? A familiar feminine figure was walking up to the gates. Was it…? Yes, it was. A smile forming on his rugged features, Thurlow stood straight, offering a slight bow to the slender elven woman who walked purposefully toward him. Thurlow watched as the thoughtful, carefully guarded expression upon her lovely face fell and her expression lit up upon sight of him. Thurlow, like others who guarded the front gates, were always polite and friendly to the young elven lass. To do otherwise (as some of Thurlow’s fellow guards had the misfortune to learn) would be to invite, at best censure, at worse expulsion. Everyone knew that the elven craftswoman was considered a friend to the queen and though many could not understand the peculiarity of the friendship, none had been foolish enough to test it since the first few times she visited the palace. Adela graced the guard with a wider smile, a slight bow of her head, and a wink as she passed by and into the courtyard.

The butler met Adela at the door, bowing before her as he sent a maid off to alert the queen to the elven woman’s arrival. Adela took the opportunity to glance around the huge foyer, its walls lined with comfortable chairs, a huge staircase curving upwards along the furthest wall. Adela smirked slightly at the opulence of the room, imagining how luxurious the other rooms of the palace must be if such expense went into the entryway of the castle. She did not notice as a handsome human man, golden hair swept back from his face with two braids, dressed in expensive doublet and hose, made his way down the stairs, a happy grin spreading across his face upon sight of the girl.

“Adela!” the man cried as he hurried to her side.

Quickly and with the grace inbred to her race, Adela dropped into a low, floor sweeping curtsey. The man laughed at her as he pulled her up. “No, no, none of that! You are practically family!” he laughed again. “Can you picture Loghain bowing to me?”

Adela allowed a slightly scandalized expression to cross her face. “I certainly hope you are not comparing my irregular visits to the palace on par with Loghain’s near residence here?”

“Ha! Of course not! Although,” and he bent down slightly, a conspirator tone gracing his elegant voice, “I believe Anora would agree that your company is far more pleasant.”

His grin and good humor was infectious. Adela knew how loved Cailan was by the subjects of Fereldan, and with his easy manners and quick wit, it was easy to see why. Unlike many other girls, however, Adela was nearly - but not completely - immune to his good looks. Not that she didn’t find him attractive. She just never allowed her thoughts to venture beyond the thought that he was attractive. He was married and, regardless of what rumors may say, she was fairly certain he was devoted to his wife.

“Adela,” a smooth, cultured feminine voice called from one of the alcoves, “I had not been aware of your arrival.” Anora, queen of Fereldan, glided across the porcelain tiles of the foyer, her father, Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane, followed, a slight scowl (Adela believed it was always there) on his stern features. Again, Adela dropped into a graceful curtsy, ignoring Cailan’s sniggers behind her as well as the slightly disapproving look that shone in Anora’s clear blue eyes.

“Adela, I’m certain my husband has already said that this is not necessary,” Anora scolded as she stopped before the smaller elven woman, a smile forming on her perfect lips. “You are a friend and a guest…”

Shaking her head, Adela replied, “And you are the queen of Fereldan and need to expect that, even a friend and guest must show proper respect for one’s betters.” Grinning at the small lines forming between Anora’s brows, Adela held up the box. “And, I bear gifts.”

With a happy gasp, Anora took the box from Adela’s hands, and led Adela to the small room off the foyer where she and her father had been moments before, Loghain and Cailan following closely behind.

While Anora and Cailan inspected the figurines, Adela looked around the room, taking in the books - Books! - that lined the walls as well as the comfortable furnishings. She presumed this was a study, perhaps a waiting room for visitors awaiting announcement into the palace. She had never had to wait long before being called into either Anora or Cailan‘s presence whenever she arrived at the palace - whether she was bearing crafts ordered by the palace or just for a visit. Shrugging, she turned her gaze from the books and noticed Loghain watching her. Raising her right eyebrow, she met his openly frank expression with one of her own. A slight quirk of the corners of his mouth was the only response to her scrutiny, and then he, too, went over to inspect her work. Sighing with relief, she turned her gaze once again to the books, trying to hide her nervousness as the nobles examined her work.

Anora had pulled out the six matching hallas, leaving the odd one - Adela’s pride and joy - still in the box. Turning with the figurines in hand, Anora caught Adela’s attention. “These are exquisite, Adela,” there was an almost breathless quality to Anora’s soft voice. “I am simply in awe of the quality of the work. Your father is extremely talented.”

A blush forming pink on her cheeks, the young elven woman responded, “Those are my work, Anora. I carved them.”

Three pair of eyes turned to her. The blush deepened. “It looks like there is talent in the Tabris line,” Cailan chuckled, openly admiring the young girl. Loghain’s expression was more thoughtful, and then his eyes turned to the lone halla left in the box. He picked it up, examining it, noting the difference between it and the other six.

Anora turned, placing the six back in the box. “I will call for the seneschal and arrange for payment of these,” she smiled as she passed by Adela, placing a cool hand on her arm as Adela opened her mouth to protest. “They are lovely, and you will be paid for these.” and with a look to her husband, left the room. Cailan offered a slight grin and followed his wife.

Adela fidgeted slightly. She had never been left in a room alone with Loghain. She admitted, the man made her nervous. He was always watching, scrutinizing, taking everything in with very little word. Yes, she could meet his gaze, when she felt fortified by knowing friends - particularly Anora - was present. But now? She was just nervous. And, to try and cover up her nervousness, she moved closer to the books and pretended to examine them with care.

She nearly jumped when she heard his voice. “This one is done in a different style,” he observed in a dry voice.

Turning her attention to the Teryn, she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice, “Ahm, yes. Well, I had found a book depicting ancient elven artworks. I copied it and decided to include it with the others. I knew Anora wouldn’t want to give an odd set, but I thought she may like it nonetheless.” She smiled as her eyes went to the small figure held in his large hands. Her work of art. She was quite pleased by it, and had wanted Anora to have it.

Anora returned, followed closely by the seneschal, a smallish man, balding and with a perpetual scowl on his face (far more severe than even Loghain’s, Adela thought). As Adela turned her attention back to the queen and seneschal, Loghain’s eyes went back to the ivory figure in his hands. Glancing at the elven woman’s back, he pocketed the figure, and, with a bow to his daughter, left the room.

Modifié par Eva Galana, 20 février 2011 - 08:18 .

[SheilaD67]

Okay, okay, here’s the bladdy, blah, blah: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

This is a flashback story. I am taking great liberties and going off canon - both from the game and the books. I’m certain David Gaider would forgive me (well, I hope so)…

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 2 - One Week Before Origins Event

　
Night was falling, and Adela found herself just leaving the palace to return home after a visit with Anora. The queen had heard of Adela’s betrothal and had insisted upon having the younger woman over for a celebratory tea, which was actually a nice reprieve when compared to what she knew her cousin and friends had planned for her (she almost shudders at the thought). While Adela appreciated Anora’s generosity, she had been more than a little uncomfortable with having been waited upon by the palace’s elven servants, some of whom she knew from the Alienage. Shifting with her discomfort, she had been glad when she and Anora had been left alone, to gossip (as young women will), tell childhood tales (they did not share much in common, but it was interesting to swap tales nonetheless), or express (on Adela’s part) trepidation regarding wedding night obligations. This conversation had the elven woman blushing profusely, while Anora tried to give her best regal advice. At one point, they were both laughing so hard one of the servants poked her head in, as it was rare that the queen would be caught so unguarded.

Now, her arms laden with small gifts, Adela wished she had taken Anora’s offer of having one of the guards escort her back to the Alienage (she had seen Thurlow waiting at the door, willing to take the trek across the city to do so), but Adela had waved away the offer, saying she didn’t want to take someone from their scheduled duties, and had left the palace without another word on the subject.

The journey through the noble section was relatively uneventful. She had noticed several noblemen entering the Arl’s estate, one or two stopping to watch the lovely elven woman pass by. A sharp word from inside the doorway and the noblemen continued inward without a second glance back. Adela exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and continued on.

She continued her walk, her unease growing. There was nothing threatening, no one about that should or would cause her disquiet. No, at this time, it was memories that assailed her, memories she had believed to be so far into her past as to not be able to affect her now. She continued her walk homeward, the events of nine years before clouding her mind, yet her eyes kept sharp for any threat that may come. This time she returns home safely, the guard at the Alienage gave offering her a small smile as she passes through. She smiled back, glancing upwards toward her home, knowing that in just a few days’ time, she will be meeting with the stranger who will be her husband and the house she grew up in will no longer be her home.

The two elves walked quietly through the main gates of the city. The elder, a beautiful woman with sunny blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and an intricate tattoo surrounding one eye, pulled her young daughter closer to her side as they continued through. Whispering words of encouragement in an ancient elven tongue, she encouraged her child as they continued on, through back streets, towards the marketplace. They had been out of the city longer than anticipated, Adaia determined to continue teaching her child the use of bow and blade, regardless of the shemlen’s foolish rules that no elf bear weapons. She scoffed at their rules. Had she not been proficient with her own bow during the shemlens’ own rebellion against the Orlesians, many would have died - including their king. She shook her head at the old memories and promises forgotten. Glancing down at her daughter, she did not regret not returning to her clan, instead remaining when she had met and fell in love with a skillful craftsman from Denerim Alienage. Still, she trusted no blade but her own, and wished fervently that things had indeed improved for the elves as had been promised. But, even promises from a king as good and kind hearted as Maric could not always be met, and so Adaia continued to teach her daughter in secret, and protect those of the Alienage as best as she could. She knew, as did many of the city guard and the elves themselves that she was all that stood between the elves being safe or being victims to the local shems’ whims.

Adaia Mahariel Tabris pulled her daughter to a stop. Tilting her head, her sharp ears easily picked up the sound of feet scuffling upon stone ground, kicking small pebbles. Not much of an attempt at silence, she mused. Foolish shems. She turned, seeking the source, and realized that the sounds came from several places surrounding her and her daughter. Perhaps not so foolish, she amended. She reached under her cloak to the daggers she had sheathed there. True, she was well aware of the law against elves having weapons. But, it was a foolish law; one the proud Dalish hunter had little desire of obeying. She pushed her daughter forward, increasing their pace. She’d rather avoid a fight, especially with Adela so young, so inexperienced.

It was obvious that Adaia’s desire to avoid a fight was not shared by those who stalked them. As she neared the center of the street, four men stepped from the shadows. Frowning, Adaia pulled Adela to a halt, cocking her head again, certain there were more about. Perhaps just watchers, she thought. And none would come to the aid of a couple of knife-ears, she realized bitterly.

“Well, well, well,” one of the men stepped boldly forward, a lecherous grin on his face. “What do we have here? Coupla knife-ears.” The other men, emboldened by their leader’s initial confrontation, chuckled lewdly. The leader stepped closer, his grey eyes scanning Adaia’s face and form with appreciation. “Come now, girly. How’s about a roll?”

Adaia’s face remained passive, yet fury roared within. How dare they? She pulled her daughter closer and to the side of her, allowing her hands to be free should she need to unsheathe her weapons. The rowdies’ leader, unaware that a skilled Dalish warrior stood before him, stepped even closer. “Ah, yer brat can join the fun, too.” He moved a hand toward Adaia’s face, and she slapped it away, glaring menacingly at the much larger human male who stood before her. Still, only four men stood blocking her path. The others she sensed in the shadows were either bystanders or others waiting to block her path back. Either way, she’d get no help from them.

Anger crossed the harsh face before her. “Stupid knife-ear ****,” he grunted at her, his hand going back and delivering a sharp backhanded blow to her face. “Learn your place!” The blow connected, staggering her slightly. Had she not assumed a battle stance, she would have been knocked from her feet by the strength behind the blow. The others advanced, and in one swift motion, she pulled her twin daggers taking a defensive stance over her daughter, who had remained quiet and calm, following her mother’s previous instructions to the letter: If we encounter trouble, remain beside me; when an opportunity presents itself, run and do not look back. Adela remained at her mother’s side, her eyes scanning for an exit. She felt her mother shove her away as Adaia moved forward to meet the oncoming men, they, too, armed with knifes and swords. Adela saw her chance, sprang away, and melted into the shadows. None of her mother’s adversaries noticed.

Adela watched the battle from the shadows, unable to leave as the others who hid in the shadows surged forth, shouting their anger at the elf that dared draw a weapon against the humans. She watched as her mother spun and dipped, adroitly missing one clumsy swipe of a sword, spinning behind her attacker and quickly stabbing forth, into his back. He straightened in shock, and then slipped from her blade, blood surging forth from the wound as he slumped to the ground. A cry of outrage could be heard, and Adaia was swarmed from all sides by angered humans, intent upon murder of the mother defending her child.

Adela cried out as a child of barely ten summers would. Her own training forgotten, she stepped from the shadows, almost rushed to the scene, when her arm was caught and held tightly. She looked upon into the stern face of a raven haired human man. His noble countenance held barely retained fury as he pulled the girl aside. Then, with a commanding voice, he ordered the guardsmen with him forward. She watched as the armed guards hacked down those who had attacked her mother. Then, as the crowd fell away, Adela could see the bloody form of her mother - her proud, beautiful mother - lying motionless on the ground, the bodies of her four initial assailants lying not far from her. A sob escaped her lips, and she ran forward, not noticing that the man who had ordered the guards forward had followed closely behind. The child did not recognize her mother beneath the blood, and her sobs became wretched as she screamed out to the Maker and the Dalish gods, the Creators, to bring her mamae back. The man knelt beside her, gently pulling her away. Then, with tenderness and care he lifted Adaia’s body from the cold, bloody ground, looked down at the child, startling blue eyes meeting paler blues, and walked away.

Adela followed, unsure where they were heading, but she knew it was away from the Alienage. Was he going to put her in prison? She had wondered fearfully. Then she saw it - the palace. Why here? Oh no…she was certain she’d be thrown into the dungeons. Panic erupted throughout her small body, but, she couldn’t force herself to run away, to leave her mother with this unknown man.

The guards at the front gate gasped when they saw the tall man enter with the bloody figure of the elven woman in his arms. The front doors were immediately opened to allow him, his burden and the child following after him egress. The scowl deepened upon his face and he trudged through the palace, passed startled servants and appalled nobles as he pushed his way into the main chamber where an important meeting - the Landsmeet - was being held. A heated discussion was silenced as he stepped in. The king, heavy crown on his head, an almost bored expression upon his face, looked over and then stood up, boredom giving way to disbelief, then to anger and sorrow as the newcomer continued toward the throne, his burden feeling so very heavy in his strong arms. Maric slowly walked down the dais to stand before the man. He glanced down to see the small girl standing in the taller man’s shadow, and a look of recognition and pain crossed the king’s handsome face.

“Loghain, what has happened?” Maric asked, feeling foolish in the question.

Loghain, never taking his eyes from the face of the woman in his arms, shook his head before replying, “We should never have let her remain in Denerim,” he replied, looking up into Maric’s face. He then continued. “Not if we had no intention of honoring our promise to her.” With that, Loghain turned around, and, with his guardsmen still behind him, one of whom had taken Adela’s small hand in his, made the long walk to the Alienage, where the elves’ heroine could be laid to rest.

[SheilaD67]

Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

As stated before, I’m not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. This chapter is far too long, I know. But, I just had to type it.

And, thanks for the first reviews I’ve received! Zeeji, Biff McLaughlin, sandradee27, zevgirl, lisakodysam. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting.

　
DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 3

Raising a smooth, long fingered hand to brush away an errant lock, Adela pulled her knees up, resting her chin upon them. Shianni had planned and pulled off a gathering of all of their female friends as a celebration to Adela’s last day as a child. The young elf blushed as she tried not to think of the advice her most experienced friends offered for the wedding night. They were far more livid and detailed than the discussion she and Anora had shared a few nights prior.

Adela allowed a small frown to cross her lovely features. Why did Shianni invite Elva? She hated Adela. Oh, sure…she knew she and Shianni were drinking friends, but to invite her to Adela’s celebration. The older elven woman, bitter from her own sorry union, sneered and insulted the bride-to-be at any opportunity. She took great pleasure in reminding all in attendance that the quality of Shianni’s party could not compare to the gathering she must have had at the palace. Adela snorted indelicately. She was well aware that some in the Alienage - though hardly all, or even a majority - resented her friendship with the royals. They were like Elva - bitter, unhappy people who looked to others to blame for their miserable existence. Adela, and most others from the Alienage, knew well that her friendship with Cailan and Anora stemmed from a shared history - her mother had known the king, had fought by his side, as well as Queen Rowan and General Loghain’s, during the rebellion. Upon Adaia’s death, King Maric had taken to commissioning artwork from her father, prompting regular visits to the palace. Moreover, although Cailan was several years older than the Tabris girl was, he had taken to her quickly, chasing her in games of tag in the gardens or touring the palace. It was through Cailan she had met Anora, who had been quiet and, at first, disapproving of the friendship between the elven child and her betrothed. However, Adela’s easygoing nature and direct honesty won the young woman over, and Anora found herself captivated by the child. Cailan and Anora had continued to commission much of their artwork from the Tabris family, and it was their patronage of the elven artist that had led to other nobles and notables to commissioning works of their own. Cyrion’s renown as a skillful sculpture had grown, and their pockets were lined with enough money to keep a house of their own, one large enough to accommodate Cyrion, Adela and her two cousins, as well as afford a separate workshop and store front, with entrances into both the Alienage and Market Place. Hard work had earned their place. Years of understanding and an open honesty that neither of the current majesties could experience from their peers had created the friendship. Yet, there would always be those few who felt they were entitled, regardless of the effort they put into their lives.

A long, sad, loud sigh escaped her lips. It was that very same wealth that allowed her father to offer a dowry for Adela’s intended husband. A man she had yet to meet. Word had arrived that he was within days of the Alienage, and they were to wed upon his arrival. Nelaros from the Highever Alienage. Apparently, he was from a good family, artisans and craftsmen such as her own. Nelaros was a blacksmith, who not only worked the more practical works of horseshoes, nails, and other such, but also was also known as creating works of art using iron and other metals. At least we will have something in common, she thought, trying to cheer herself up. She admitted to herself, it really wasn’t working. She glanced up at the night’s sky, stars twinkling overhead. The idea of tying herself to someone she had never met, simply so that she would no longer be considered a child. The idea did not sit well with her.

Slowly, she unfolded herself, and climbed down from the rooftop. Despite the fact that her party still went on, the young woman went into her home, shut the door to her room, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

*******

“Cousin? Wake up, sleepy head!” a small, soft hand gently nudged her shoulder. “Time to wake up!”

A soft moan escaped her lips and she opened her eyes. Her room was bathed in gentle sunlight. Twisting her head, she spied her cousin, Shianni, leaning over her, a soft smile on her pretty features. “Shianni?” Adela sat up, brushing her unruly hair from her face. “Oh, it’s morning! I…”

“Overslept?” Shianni chuckled. “Well, yes, you did. But, Uncle figured you deserved it. Even if you did leave your own party early!” With a playful swat to her arm, Shianni set herself down beside her cousin.

Adela looked askance at her cousin. “What’s up?” She asked, knowing full well something was up, and she the feeling in the pit of her stomach assured her she knew exactly what was.

With a great smirk upon her face, Shianni confirmed, “Your betrothed, Nelaros. He’s arrived!”

Silence. Adela knew her intended was within days of the Alienage, but he arrived even sooner than expected. While she knew she could not put it off, she had hoped for a day or two. She shook her head, rising from her bed. “He’s early.” Nothing like stating the obvious.

Shianni thought so, too. “Nothing gets by you,” she laughed, standing up to grab her reluctant cousin by the hands and spinning her about. “Oh, but I caught a glimpse of him, Cousin,” she winked suggestively, “and he’s handsome!”

Feeling a bit defiant, Adela grumbled, “Well, at least Father didn’t buy me an ugly stranger to wed.”

Her cousin only laughed at the blonde elf’s unusual surliness. “Come now! You didn’t drink nearly enough last night to be so…”

“Honest? Understandably upset? Reluctant? Take your pick.”

“Oh, but weddings are so…wonderful,” a sigh escaped Adela’s cousin’s lips. “You are so lucky!”

Adela snorted in a way that would have made Anora cringed. “Then maybe you should marry him!”

Giggling, Shianni let go of her cousin’s hands. “Trust me, Adela. If I thought I could get away with it, I certainly would!” Smirking at Adela’s groan, Shianni stepped closer. “Come now, Cousin. You knew this day was coming. What do you think all the parties were for?”

Still in her rare moment of pique, Adela threw a retort, “An excuse for you to drink?”

“Phwt! Since when do I need an excuse?” Responded quickly and with great humor. The woman knew her weakness, and so was not insulted by her cousin‘s slur. She was a Tabris, and so accepted it. “Soris’ bride arrived last night. He’s sweating like a human! “The girl giggled at her elder brother’s expense. Then, with a sigh, “Now, I have to get my dress from Nola. Your mother’s dress is hanging up in your closet.” Shianni turned from her cousin, and then glanced back over her shoulder. “Adela, it’s supposed to be a happy day. Enjoy it.” And, with those words, she walked out in search of her dress.

Alone, Adela strove to shake off her melancholy. Yes, she knew this day would arrive. Moreover, she knew she could not - would not - fight against tradition. It was too important. To important to her family, to her community, to the way elves sought to hold onto their old ways. Learn a trade or skill, marry to become an adult, give birth to many elven babies, and continue the cycle. Someday, she hoped, the elves would find more of their ways…she shook her head. The thought of wearing her mother’s wedding dress caused thoughts of her mother - not just how she looked, or smelled, but thought - storming to mind. Would her mother be pleased for this day? Or would she rage against it? Stepping to her closet, she pulled the cream-colored dress from its hanger. Holding it against her, she stepped in front of her mirror. With her yellow blonde hair and blue-blue eyes, Adela knew she was near the spitting image of her mother. Smaller in stature, true. She remembered her mother as being taller than many of the men it the Alienage, whereas Adela was smaller than most women were. Her mother’s dress had been altered to accommodate her smaller waist, chest and hips, and shortened - slightly - to just above her ankles. Removing her night shift, she changed her underclothes, and then pulled the lovely dress over her head. Smoothing out non-existent wrinkles, Adela smiled. She truly hoped her mother would be pleased for this day. After quickly brushing her hair, taming the waves and curls into an organized halo about her face, she stepped from the room and into the main area, where her father sat at the table, a thoughtful expression upon his face. He looked up and gasped at the sight of his daughter. Rising slowly, he stepped over to her, gazing down into her blue eyes.

“You look just like your mother did on our wedding day,” he breathed, caught up in his memories of the woman he had loved since the first time he had seen her - fierce in her Dalish armor, a bow strapped across her back, daggers bared as she escorted the returned king into his city, through the marketplace and toward the palace. He shook himself from his revelries and noted that Adela smiled, though it did not quite touch her usually expressive eyes.

“I know you are not happy about this,” he began, “but…”

Adela nodded, taking her father’s hands in her own. “I may not be happy about it, but I understand my duty and place.” She smiled truly then. “I just hope mother would approve.”

Cyrion frowned just slightly. “It was hard to tell with your mother. But, I think mostly she’d want you to be happy.” His expression turned serious. “Nelaros is from a good family, my girl. And I have heard very good things about him as well.” When Adela merely nodded, he sighed. “You should probably go in search of Soris as well. His bride arrived last night, so we’ll be having a double wedding.” With a nod of obedience, and a quick kiss to her father’s cheek, Adela left her home in search of her wayward cousin.

It did not take Adela long to locate her cousin. Soris, his red hair shining in the sunshine, his handsome face thoughtful, leaned against one of the piers holding up a decrepit porch. “Well, hello cousin,” he greeted, his face brightening instantly as his favorite (and only) cousin stepped into the light before him, “Come to share one last moment of freedom before we jump off the pier?”

Giggling, Adela slid her arm through Soris’, giving him a gentle shake. “Come on, Soris. Maybe it’s not too late to run!”

“Ha!” There was no mirth in his tone, “And just where, dear cousin, would we run? To the Dalish?” His tone more than spoke sarcasm.

“Well, why not?” Adela stepped away, looking up into Soris’ brown eyes. “Mamae was Dalish. Perhaps we could find her tribe…”

However, Soris was just shaking his head, immediately dismissing the idea, “Nope. We’ll get lost. Or worst. And, I’ve no desire to find out what that ‘worst’ would be.” He sighs. “Besides, why would you run? From what I’ve seen, your intended is a dream come true. Mine sounds like a dying mouse!”

False sympathy ‘tsking’ from her lips, Adela quipped, “I doubt she’s that bad, Soris.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose we should go and meet our fellow victims, eh?” With that, Soris grabbed Adela’s hand, placing it on his arm, and all but dragged her to where their future spouses, and various wedding party members, waited.

Each step proved more difficult for Adela as they neared the small group standing under the platform where the ceremony would take place. Flowers and garlands decorated the stage as well as the Vhenadahl, the Tree of the People, and various surrounding porches and decks. Adela did smile at the effort her friends had put into making the setting as lovely as possible. She stopped, taking a deep breath. Soris stopped by her side, watching as his cousin composed herself, preparing herself for this next step in her life. Soris would never - ever - tell her this, but he had always looked up to her. She was always capable, always the one everyone turned to help settle a dispute or to simply lend a helping hand. Her community was very important to her. He knew the circumstances surrounding Adaia’s death, and he had always felt that Adela had taken up her mantle, though with words and simple actions rather than bow and blade. In many ways, she was his hero. And he would never let her in on that fact. Therefore, he stood by her side, watching her compose herself. She glanced at him, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, her eyes brightened, her smile widened, and she gripped her cousin’s strong arm, pulling him toward the wedding party. A chuckle escaped Soris’ lips as he stumbled along beside his cousin.

Shianni stood with Nola and several other women from the Alienage. He spotted Nelaros and Velora - his bride - standing slightly apart. Nola touched Shianni’s arm and pointed toward the approaching groom and bride. Smiling broadly, both women raised hands in greeting as Shianni stepped forward toward her family.

Another party joined the group - this one composed of three human men. One man reached out and took hold of Nola’s arm, pulling her forcefully into and against him as a hand reached over and around her waist. Nola screamed out a sharp “No! Let go of me!” as one of the elven men - Toran - stepped forward to pull her from the human’s grasp. “Please, milords! This is a wedding!” the youth cried as he pulled Nola away. The human scowled deeply, striking the young man across the face, felling him easily. “Watch it, knife-ears! Or you’ll feel much the same,” he growled at the fallen man.

“Gentlemen, please, please…” the leader of the pack, a handsome young man with red hair and green eyes, almost purred. “This is a party.” He leered openly at the women of the wedding party. “Grab a **** and have some fun!” His compatriots chuckled, one approaching Shianni, taking hold of her by the shoulders. The feisty redhead struggled, shrugging his hands off “Get off me, you son of a pig…”

“Now, now…’ the redhead growled, “none of that. We’re just here for some fun.”

During this exchange, Adela and Soris had approached. Soris reached over, grabbing hold of Adela’s arm. “Cousin, let’s not get involved,” he murmured, fear creeping into his voice.

Adela shot her cousin a sharp glance. “Don’t get involved?” she breathed, incredulity in her voice. “How can we not be? That’s Shianni and our friends. We cannot allow them to hurt anyone!”

Soris let out a frustrated sigh. He did not like where this was heading. “Fine, fine. But, let’s try and be diplomatic about it,” he responded, immediately wanting to kick himself. Telling Adela to be diplomatic? The girl was nothing if not diplomatic.

Adela was thinking along the same lines, judging from the hard, level look she bestowed upon her quivering cousin. She turned toward the others, and it was then the ringleader of the humans noticed her. His eyes - cold and hard as emeralds - brightened and softened just a bit, and the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth eased just a bit as he stepped toward the lovely elven woman.

“Ah, and what have we here?” he quipped, his voice softer as he spoke to Adela. A brief look of confusion crossed Adela’s face as she took note of the change in demeanor. The redhead reached over and took the young woman’s hand, bringing it up to his lips. “Such a lovely one,” he murmured, kissing her hand. Behind him, his friends laughed.

Finding her voice, Adela replied, trying to keep her voice steady and free of fear, “Please, my lord. Perhaps you could take your party elsewhere. We are preparing for celebrations here…”

“You’ve a lot of nerve, knife-ears!” one of the others shouted at Adela. Nevertheless, the redhead merely shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. “Ah…but we, too, are preparing for celebrations,” he bent down, his face mere inches from Adela’s, “and you, my lovely one, are most certainly invited.”

Adela was shaking her head at the tall man, trying to maintain a calm she knew the others needed her to. “But, my lord, we will not be able to accept such an invitation. Perhaps another time?”

The redhead chuckled, shaking his handsome head in the negative. “I do apologize, dear one, but our…my celebrations simply cannot wait for yours to conclude,” he leaned closer, “I have watched you far too long to deny myself the…pleasure of your company any longer.” The look that crossed his face was purely possessive, and it frightened Adela enough that she took a cautious step back.

It was then that a sharp ‘crack’ sound erupted, and the redhead standing over Adela slumped, unconscious, to the ground at her feet. Surprised, she looked up to see Shianni standing there, an amazed look upon her face and the fragments of a heavy wine bottle in her hand. Had the situation not been so dire, Adela would have laughed at the befuddled look upon her cousin’s face.

“What have you done?” one of the humans demanded, he and his lone pal rushing forth. As he stooped to check on his fallen leader, the other said, “Do you know who this is? This is Vaughan Kendalls, the Arl of Denerim’s son!” He moved to help his friend pick up the unconscious form of Vaughan.

Shaking herself, Adela stepped toward the two enraged humans, “Just…take him home. Get him cleaned up and tended to. Things got out of hand here, as I am certain we are all sorry. Just take this as a lesson that perhaps we elves will not always stand still to be victimized.” Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but the humans would have none of it.

“You’ll pay for this, you knife-eared ****!” he sneered in Adela’s face as he and his friend carried Vaughan from the Alienage.

A sudden trembling coursed through Adela, adrenaline and dread rushing throughout her limbs. Shianni slumped forward, her head hanging, fear clearly shining in her brown eyes. “I’ve really done it this time!” she all but wailed, certain she had doomed them all.

Leave it to Soris. “Don’t worry, Sis. I doubt very much Vaughan and his cronies will want it getting out that he was taken down by an elven woman and her faithful bottle of wine!” Soris did not feel the bravado evident in his voice, but knew it was the only means to calm his volatile sister.

And, it worked, to some extent. Glancing down at her dress and hands, she whispered, “I should go….clean up.” She looked up into Adela’s face. “The wedding will be starting soon.” and walked back toward their house.

A sharp hiss from behind her brought Adela’s attention from Shianni’s retreating back to Soris. With a heavy sigh (what else could go wrong?), she turned to face her cousin.

Soris grinned weakly at her, pointing toward the two elves - a man and a woman - that approached. “Don’t look now, but our betrotheds are making their way over.”

‘Oh’ she mouthed as she turned fully to watch their approach. The young woman was plain, with dark brown hair, too large ears, and light brown eyes. However, she had a pleasant expression and looked like someone more used to smiling than frowning. Just what Soris needed, she thought. Her attention was then drawn to the man, and she nearly caught her breath at his beauty. She chuckled to herself. Most men did not want to be called beautiful, but, unfortunately, with as attractive race as the elves were, more often than not, even the men were considered beautiful. And Nelaros was no exception. Short blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears, and piercing blue eyes sought her out and held her gaze. He was tall for an elf, and by his build, it was obvious that he knew the value of hard labor. The way he walked also suggested that he had received some warrior training, and that, more than his good looks, pleased Adela more than anything had. More than likely, this was a man who knew when to fight for those he cared for. She smiled as he approached, and was pleased when her smile was returned tenfold.

With a nervous clearing of his throat, Soris stepped to the new arrivals, taking his place beside the woman. “Cousin, this is Velora, my bride,” both women nodded to each other, smiles plastered on their faces.

“So this,” Adela turned to the man, “must be my husband to be?” She surprised herself at the slightly flirtatious quality her voice had taken on.

Nelaros did not miss the inflection, and grinned approvingly at the lovely woman before him, “I am lucky to be so warmly welcomed,” he replied, a cheerful glint in his eyes. Adela found herself blushing under his scrutiny, and she found she enjoyed the sensation. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

With those words, Soris and Velora stepped to the side, conversing in low tones as they tried to get to know each other just moments before they were to wed. Adela looked up at Nelaros, her breath catching in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.

“Nervous?” Nelaros asked, an obvious nervous catch in his voice.

Nervousness did course through Adela’s small frame. She was pleased with what she had observed of Nelaros so far. He definitely made a good first impression. But the thought of what was to follow the wedding…”Yes, very much so.” she answered honestly, looking up into his gem blue eyes.

They stood staring into each other’s eyes for a moment, then, as one, they exhaled the nervous breaths and laughs they held. Grinning shyly at each other, they moved closed. Nelaros bent his head down, and placed a soft kiss on Adela’s lips. As he moved away, a smile on his face, Adela bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Glad we got that out of the way,” Nelaros whispered as he took her hand, noting that it was trembling. Adela took comfort in the fact that his hand trembled as well.

She nodded, “It wouldn’t do for our first kiss to be the one at the ceremony,” she giggled.

Soris stepped back toward the pair, a concerned look on his face. “Cousin, we should let them get ready for the wedding,” he prodded, nudging her shoulder with his. Taking her off from her betrothed, Adela shot Soris an irritated scowl. Her expression softened when she noticed the concerned look upon his face.

Nodding her agreement, she shot Nelaros another warm smile and he and Velora walked away toward the houses they were temporary housed in to prepare for the wedding.

She turned back to her cousin, noting that his face was taut, eyes fixed on a figure just beyond the Vhenadahl. Oh, wonderful! Another human. Rolling her eyes in frustration, she grasped Soris’ arm, pulling him along with her. “Wha…what are you doing, Adela?” he gasped, trying to keep up with the smaller, quickly moving woman.

“We cannot afford another incident,” she muttered. “We need to face this one off before things continue to spiral out of control.”

Soris shook his head, “I thought you handled Vaughan the others well enough,” he muttered. Nevertheless, Adela shook her head, “Perhaps, but Shianni’s little braining incident can only cause more problems. Let’s see if we can avert a problem peacefully for a change.” Soris had no option but to be pulled along by the surprisingly strong elven woman.

Their target was an older human man, tall with a muscular build. Dark brown hair hung in a short ponytail in the back, and his face - creased with lines that betrayed hardship - sported a short beard. Fine silverite armor encased his form, and a sword and dagger were sheathed upon his back. He appeared calm, almost serene as he surveyed the Alienage. His expression turned quickly to intense interest as he spied the two elves walking with purpose in his direction.

“Hello. And blessings on this joyous day,” he replied in a deep voice, bowing slightly to the pair as they approach.

Adela stopped, her pose immediately shifting from hostile to a calmer, more relaxed stance. “And, we thank you for your blessings,” she replied politely, her eyes taking in the figure before her. He was obviously an accomplished warrior and she, being unarmed and unarmored, did not wish an incident. Still… “However, we need to ask that you lease the Alienage before any unpleasantness should occur.” Her voice offered no quarter, almost a command. A dark brow quirked upwards at her words, and dark eyes skimmed swiftly over the diminutive form before him. He noted the relaxed stance, the frankness of the gaze leveled upon him. No fear showed in her eyes. So like her mother, he thought as he bowed slightly.

“And what unpleasantness do you refer to?” he asked quietly, continuing to scrutinize the young elf standing before him. He did not miss the nervous shift of feet on the male elf’s part, and quickly ignored his presence, bestowing his full attention upon the woman.

Adela quickly stifled the urge to sneer - that would accomplish nothing. Making certain to maintain an impassive, calm demeanor, she replied, “Come now. A lone human making his way through the Alienage, during a time of celebration.” she quirked a blonde brow at him, almost mimicking his prior expression. “There will be those who will see this as an invasion and may well cause some trouble. So, in the interest of avoiding such an issue, I ask, yet again, for you to leave.”

“And if I refuse?” Was that humor she saw reflected in his eyes? She allowed her expression to hard some before responding, “Things may well get beyond my control.” Voice was steady, although she was trembling inside, her stomach fighting a fluttering feeling that almost made her feel ill. Still, she could not back down. He had to leave.

“And I refuse yet again,” damn that calm voice! “What now?”

Adela let out a steadying breath, “Surely we can compromise…”

“Ah, so the rumors of your bravery in the face of aggression are not exaggerated,” the human responded, a pleased tone in his voice. It was then that Velendrian, the Alienage hahren - or elder - stepped forward. The human turned his attention to the old elf and said, “Facing an armed and armored human, and this young one shows no fear. A fine quality, would you not agree, old friend?”

Adela’s eyes widened as the familiarly the human showed the elder. Velendrian replied, a smile on his wizened face, “Ah, yes, the world can certain use more who know when to stay their blades,” and turned a proud smile upon the young woman.

Flushing slightly with embarrassment, Adela, turned to the human. “I apologize,” she bowed respectfully; “I did not know what you were a friend of the hahren.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as the human waved aside her apology. “No, I should be the one to apologize. I was hardly forthcoming.” His smile widened and he bowed deeper to the young woman. “My name is Duncan of the Grey Wardens.”

The eyes of both young elves widened. A Grey Warden! Here? However, before they could voice their questions, Velendrian turned to his friend with his own. “What brings you here, old friend?”

“I’m afraid the worse has happened, my friend,” Duncan’s demeanor turned serious immediately. “A Blight is coming and I am seeking recruits for the Wardens.”

The trepidation was clear in the old elf’s voice as he shot Adela a sad glance. “Ah, I had heard the rumors. And we understand,” he bowed his head toward Adela, “that King Cailan has left for Ostagar to battle some darkness there.” He turned back to Duncan. “However, we have a wedding - two in fact - to attend to this day, and I fear that rumors of Blight and darkspawn truly have no place during our time of celebration.”

A frown briefly crossed Duncan’s features, and he quickly stifled it. Bowing again, he said, “By all means. Attend to your celebrations. My task can wait until later.” As these words left his mouth, he looked briefly at Adela, bowed again to the hahren, and turned to take a place to observe the platform. Confused by the exchange, Adela went moved toward the Grey Warden. Velendrian, however, caught her arm, shaking his head. “Children, you must take your places.” And, with that, the elder walked toward the platform. Frowning at each other, the pair moved toward the stage and up the stairs. Adela glanced back to see Duncan watching her with great interest. Shaking her head, she took her place beside Nelaros. Smiling warmly, Nelaros grasped her slightly clammy hand in his own equally clammy one. Adela looked up, determined that any fears or concerns she had would ease away, and she would be pleased to continue with the traditions of her folk.

The priest, one of the few who would enter the Alienage, called Velendrian toward center stage. The elder expounded upon the elven community, how it stood together, and represented their freedom from the bonds of slavery. He was interrupted by shouts from off stage, which grew louder. Frowning deeply, the elder turned to view half dozen guardsmen - the Arl’s guardsmen - flanked by Lord Vaughan and his two cronies from earlier. The priest stepped forward with a protest, “My lord!” She scolded, “This is a wedding!” To which the arrogant lord responded, “Oh come now, Mother. You can dress your pets up for any party, but don’t presume to call this a proper wedding!” Vaughan’s cold green eyes searched the stage, and a predatory smile creased his features as they fell upon the form of Adela. “We’re having a party,” he said with a laugh as he moved toward the blonde elf, “And, ah, we find ourselves short female guests.” His friends laughed lewdly, leering openly at the women who stood with both bridal couples. Vaughan started pointing out the ‘female guests’ and then exclaimed, “And where’s the **** that bottled me?” Turning around at the sound of guffawing, he spied her. “Here she is, Vaughan!” one of his friends cried, grabbing hold of Shianni. Ever a spitfire, the elven woman struggled out of his grasp, only to be met with stronger hands than expected. “Oh…” Vaughan purred, “We’ll have some fun taming her. But, let’s see.” he turned his attention back to Adela, the possessive look - one the spoke purely of ownership - back in his eyes as he approached her.

Nelaros put his hands on Adela’s shoulders, trying to pull her behind him, “I won’t let him touch you!” he fervently promised his bride, courage replacing his earlier nervousness, his eyes rising to boldly meet Vaughan’s cold gaze. No fear, Adela realized. He would protect those he loves. A warmth - pride - welled in her chest. Her father had indeed chosen well for her. “We can’t let them take the others,” she whispered back. Nelaros nodded, placing himself in front of her to block Vaughan’s advancement.

“See the pretty bride,” Vaughan murmured, all but ignoring Nelaros’ presence. “You villain!” Nelaros exclaimed, moving to stand directly in front of the human lord. “You will not touch her!” Seeming to see him for the first time, Vaughan’s eyes narrowed, utter hatred clear. “You truly think you can stop me, runt?” he all but roared, raising his hand and striking Nelaros to the ground. Nelaros scrambled back to his feet, but not as quickly as he would have liked. Vaughan had his hands on Adela and was pulling her towards him.

“Let the others go, my lord,” Adela was saying in soft, soothing tones, quelling her own fears.

Looking deeply into her eyes, Vaughan sighed, “Then we wouldn’t have our party, now, would we, my lovely one?” Nelaros surged forward, but one of the lord’s guardsmen tackled the young elf, pressing him to the ground beneath his armored weight, striking him soundly in the face, briefly stunning him. Struggling against the stronger man, Nelaros could only watch as Adela tried, in vain, to reason with the human who held her too tightly. He saw something flash in Vaughan’s eyes - and dread filled the young elf’s heart. The lordling had come specifically for her, his bride. He knew that Adela did not know this man; when they had entered the Alienage earlier there was no doubt none of them knew who this man was. However, the lord obviously knew her - or knew of her. Nelaros realized, immediately, if he did not free her, he would never see her again. His struggles became more desperate, and he let out an anguished cry as one of Vaughan’s men, tired of Adela’s struggles and words, struck her sharply across the face, felling her, unconscious, to the stage floor. Vaughan rounded angrily upon his fellow, punching him square in the face, staggering him, and warned him if he ever placed his hands on her again, he would never live to regret it. The guard holding Nelaros down chuckled darkly as they watched Vaughan gently pick Adela up from the stage, and carry her away, the other women unwillingly towed along behind.

As the guard rose, he kicked Nelaros in the head, and he, too, fell into unconsciousness.

[SheilaD67]

Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

As stated before, I’m not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. Be warned - This chapter contains sexual violence and general violence.

And, thanks for the reviews! zevgirl, lisakodysam, mutive, patbaking. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting.

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 4

Urgent hands shook his shoulder, an unfamiliar - no, vaguely familiar - voice calling his name. Then pain…Ah! His head! A sharp grimace crossed his handsome features as he rose, his hands encompassing his head. What? The hands on his shoulders retreated, and he more felt than saw the figure of another man crouch beside him.

“Nelaros!” that vaguely familiar voice - the man beside him - called. “Come on, get up!” he continued to encourage, hands once again reaching out to shake the man lucid.

Groaning, Nelaros brushed Soris’ hands away, lifting his aching head from his hands. There was a crowd just beyond the platform - the marriage stage - where he now sat. Wait! He stood anxiously, glancing about. “Where is Adela?” he demanded, rounding on Soris, who now stood beside him, his own face twisted with anxiety and fear. Just a look at the other man, who only shook his head at him, told him everything the groom needed to know. That damnable human took her!

Without another word, with hardly a glance to his fellow groom, Nelaros all but stalked toward the angry crowd, more a mob than crowd. Soris rushed to his side, following tentatively as Nelaros pushed his way through to stand before Velendrian.

The elder was holding up his hands in a placating gesture, the human man (Nelaros had heard that a Grey Warden was in the Alienage and he could only presume this was he) standing calmly by his side. The human’s dark eyes lit up with interest as Nelaros came to stand before the elder.

“Calmly, people,” Velendrian was saying, his voice calm, but his eyes betraying concern.

“Calm!” a woman shouted from the crowds. “They took my sister!”

Other shouts mingled with hers, and the elder waited, letting them shout out their anger a bit before raising his voice slightly, “Shouting will not help anything. We must…”

“We must do nothing!” a woman’s bitter voice hissed through the din, capturing everyone’s attention. It was Elva, her face twisted with scorn. “Let them have the girls! If we were to do anything we would all pay the price.” She turned to cast a glare at Nelaros before adding, “What’s the cost of a few women’s virtue when compared to the good of the community?”

The elven man could barely believe his ears. Was this woman actually suggesting they allow those fiends to use their women in such a fashion? If they were in Highever, something like this would never have been allowed to happen! Before a coherent retort came to mind, Cyrion stepped forward, placing a hand upon the younger man’s shoulder, and spoke, “Easy enough for you to say, Elva,” the craftsman looked directly into the woman’s eyes, “but were it you in their place, I am certain you would want someone to care enough for your wellbeing to come for you.” Yes, Nelaros would be most proud to be part of the Tabris family. He looked over at Elva, who only sneered back at the older man.

“Well, perhaps if you were to call to the royal palace, your precious daughter could be found,” she sneered, stepping forward, “Although we are all fairly certain that she has little virtue left…” she never finished that sentence, as Nelaros took a threatening step toward her, causing the woman to take an anxious step back. No one stood to defend the hateful woman, and Nelaros all but loomed over her.

“Watch your words, harpy!” he hissed, noting with satisfaction the color all but bleed from her face as she stepped further away and disappeared into the crowd.

Velendrian, who had been speaking quietly with Duncan, turned back, “I have heard of Vaughan’s….appetites, and the interest he took specifically in Adela is more than enough for cause for concern. We cannot leave them there,” There was determination, but almost resignation, in his voice. The elder truly did not believe anyone in the Alienage would volunteer to rescue the women.

He was pleasantly surprised when Nelaros stepped back, looking at the elder. “Show me the way to the Arl’s estate, and I will get my bride and the other women back home.” Safely. There was such steady determination in his voice, such courage and concern in his eyes - Duncan continued his scrutiny of the young man. If he succeeds, I may well leave the Alienage with two recruits.

Nelaros, noting Duncan’s interest, spoke to the Grey Warden. “I understand, Ser, that you are a Grey Warden?” Duncan nodded. “Perhaps you could assist us?” He frowned as Duncan shook his head.

“I fear that my presence in such an undertaking would disavow our neutrality,” he said, obvious regret in his voice. He said no more on that subject, but knew that not only could he not, as a Grey Warden, interfere, but, as a Grey Warden, he needed to know the potential of those he sought to recruit. If he assisted, how could he properly evaluate this young man and his bride as recruits into the order? A cold reality, yes, but a necessary one.

A scowl crossed the elven man’s features, and Duncan held up his hand, “I can, however, offer you a sword,” this he handed to Nelaros, “and my crossbow,” this to Soris, who numbly accepted it. When had I agreed to help? Soris wondered. Nelaros glanced at the sword, adjusting his grip on the weapon. His martial training would come in handy.

Now, to get inside the palace…

A soft, male voice called out, “Sers. I may have a way into the palace…”

　
DA:O

Adela awoke on a cold, stone floor, her hands tied tightly behind her. Her face stung from the slap the nobleman gave her, and her head ached. With a groan, she pushed herself up awkwardly, her bound hands hindering movement.

The room she found herself in was bare, save for a rug in the center of the floor and a bench pushed against one wall. There were no windows and only one door, locked, she would presume. And, she was alone. Where were the others? She wondered, concern tightening in her chest.

The events of the day rushed at her like a heavy wave, her last memory that of Nelaros being beaten to the ground. Was he all right? She worried, shaking her head. She had to get out of here, had to find the others…but…how? With her hands bound behind her, she couldn’t even attempt picking the lock.

The sounds of the tumblers clicking in the lock drew her attention back to the door. Her breath came in tighter gasps as she watched Vaughan Kendalls, dressed in laced up breeches and an open necked linen shirt, a dagger sheathed at his hip, enter the room.

The nobleman carefully closed the door, locking it behind him. The key he placed in the pocket of his shirt. The smile that crossed his face - part predatory, part appreciation - almost tightened Adela’s throat closed with fear. The look in his eyes said all there was to - She was his; he was not going to let her leave.

“Ah, my lovely one has awakened from her slumber,” he murmured as he knelt before her, one hand reaching out to cup the injured side of her face. An angry scowl creased his face, “The fool has been punished for marring your lovely skin, my dear,” he purred out this last, moving himself closer to the bound elf. Fear gripped Adela fully, but she swallowed it down, knowing that it would only hinder her escape, hinder her survival, and do nothing to aid her still missing friends.

“My lord,” she whispered, her face tilted slightly away from his so that he could not see the paling of her face, “please, let us go.” She then raised her intense blue eyes to his emerald pair, allowing a plea to show honestly there, hoping he would listen to reason. She stopped, clearly seeing that there would be no reasoning with this man. He had decided that she was his, and, as a noble, he was used to getting what he wanted. His next words only confirmed this.

“Ah, but my dearest one,” both hands now cupped Adela’s face and he brought his lips to brush against hers. She closed her eyes, uncertain what to do. “All this planning for us to be together would be for naught if I were to simply let you go.” His voice had an almost playful scolding tone to it, and it caused her to shiver even more.

Still, she had to try; she had to try to get him to at least release the others. She was certain her own fate was sealed, but the others…”Then, then let the others go,” she boldly met his eyes, feigning a confidence she did not feel. “If this was all for us to be together, surely the others have no place in your plans?”

Vaughan smirked, brushing his lips against hers again before answering, “What, then, amusement shall my guests enjoy if I were to do that?” He pulled away, the hold on her face tightening almost painfully. “I most certainly will not share you with them, or anyone else!” One hand moved to the back of her head, roughly grasping her, yanking her forward and against him. “Not even the king!” he growled this last in her ear as he stood, pulling her with him.

The king? “What?” the word was out of her mouth before she knew it. What did Cailan have to do with anything?

Vaughan merely chuckled at his captive’s confusion. “Come now, my love,” his hands roamed along her back, capturing her bound hands and pulling them tightly against her back, pulling her more fully into the curve of his body. “Word has it that your visits to the royal palace are far more than merely delivering trinkets.” His head dipped, his lips nuzzling against her neck. Her body stiffened at the contact, and she struggled against his hold. With a growl, he pushed her against the wall, holding her tight as his lips moved along her neck and throat, down to the small expanse of exposed shoulder and across her collarbone. “I promise you, you will find me a far more enjoyable lover…” he murmured against her skin.

Instinct took over. She had no idea what Vaughan was talking about with regards to the king, but she knew she would not get clarification from him. She struggled almost frantically, managing to free her legs from where Vaughan had pressed his hips against her, his leg between hers. He staggered slightly, allowing more space between them. A sharp cry escaped his lips as her knee connected with his groin, and he let her go. Stumbling away, cursing the skirt of her dress, Adela managed to pull her arms down and her legs through the loop of her arms. Though still bound, her hands now were in front of her.

Vaughan, however, had quickly recovered, and with a guttural growl, grabbed the young woman, flinging her hard against the wall. Almost snarling, he pressed his body against hers, imprisoning her hands between their bodies. “Now, now, my love,” he growled, his hips pressing against her firmly, his body entrapping her effectively, “none of that.” His mouth came down, hard, upon her lips, his tongue forcing entrance into her mouth. Knowing she had nothing to lose, she bit down on the offending organ. Hissing, pulling away, the nobleman brought up a hand and slapped her - hard - her head twisting away, the shock from the pain coursing down her face and neck, flowing out along her shoulders. “I had wanted to do this in a more…pleasant surrounding, in a room with a large bed,” he explained as he pulled the skirts of her dress over her hips, maintaining the hold against her body. She could not move. “But, if you wish for our first coupling to be…aggressive, I shall accommodate your desires, my love.” With that, he quickly unlaced his breeches, pushing her small clothes aside. Adela tried to push him away, but her hands were trapped in such a way between their bodies she could not get good leverage. Not against someone so much stronger than herself. A sob escaped her lips as she felt Vaughan’s naked erection against her. With another growl - one full of lust and impatience - Vaughan lifted the small woman up, and with one push, entered her completely. An anguished cry escaped from her body as she felt her maidenhead break, and blood rushed down her thighs. Vaughan took note, and chuckled as he continued to thrust into his unwilling partner. “Well, well, well,” he breathed into her ear, kissing the delicate organ, and then running his tongue along her lobe, “it would seem as though the rumors that you were the king’s **** are untrue.” He continued to thrust, his breathing becoming ragged, his kisses along her neck and ear more urgent. “I am your first, and only, it would seem.” A ragged cry and his body jerked. He slowed his thrusts, bending his head into her neck, taking deep breaths, relaxing before continuing. He had watched her…wanted her for so long. And now that he had her, he did not want their first coupling to end too soon.

Adela stifled her sobs, biting her bottom lip as Vaughan continued to assault her. Think past the pain, she told herself. Think. With Vaughan’s movements, her hands now had more freedom, and she flexed the stiff fingers, willing circulation and warmth to their tips. With a deep breath, she moved her hands downward, carefully taking hold of Vaughan’s manhood. A chuckle rumbled against her ear, “Ah, so, my little one,” he kissed her ear almost tenderly, “you do wish to enjoy our time together.” If you only knew, you bastard, she thought vehemently. Moving her hands, she positioned her thumbs, cringing inwardly at the touch as he continued to move in and out of her. The fingernails on each thumb were longer and sharper than the others as she used these as tools in her artwork. Now, they would be put to another use. Bracing herself, she jabbed each thumbnail into the hard - and extremely sensitive - organ that moved in her - breaking the skin, sinking deeply into the flesh, blood oozing from each wound. Vaughan shouted in pain, dropping her to clutch at himself. Landing on her feet, she brought her bound hands up, swinging back and then, with all the strength she could muster, smashed her clenched, bound fists into Vaughan’s face, splaying his regal nose across his face. Blood oozed from the broken appendage as he roared with pain and anger, grasping at the newest injury. Desperately, Adela swung her fists again, connecting with Vaughan’s temple, felling him to the stone floor. Without thought, still moving on pure instinct, she lunged down, pulling the noble’s dagger from its sheath, plunging it down into the man’s chest. Yanking it free, she ignored the rush of blood that flowed from the wound, simply grasping the blade to her chest. Stumbling back, gasping for air, ignoring the blood on her hands and thighs, trying to ignore the pain from between her legs, the young elven woman, knelt down, searching Vaughan’s pocket for the key to the door. Rising on shaky legs, she went to the door. Placing an ear against it, she listened, certain that the noise of their struggle would have been heard. Hearing nothing, she placed the key in the lock and exited the room.

Rushing through the estate with her hands bound would not have been her first choice, but instinct told her to get out of the room where Vaughan lay and to seek out the others. She pressed herself against the stone of the walls, blending into the shadows there as she held the bloody dagger close to her chest. Yes, she did hear something - soft footsteps, as though someone was trying to keep silent. Moving along the wall, she peeked around the corner. Relief flowed through her body as she spotted Soris, cautiously making his way down the hallway, a crossbow held tightly in his hands. She watched him turn and gesture back up the hall. Her initial relief was replaced with shear joy at seeing Nelaros, a bloody sword in hand, rush forward to join her cousin. With a sharp cry, the young woman left the shadows and ran toward the men.

Nelaros heard and saw her first, apprehension giving way to concerned relief at seeing his bride rushing to him. That relief changed quickly to anger as he noted her condition - her bloody and bound hands, the blood on her wedding dress - her torn wedding dress - the blood…Repressing the growl of anger that threatened to escape his lips, he pulled the sobbing woman into his arms, kissing the top of her head and whispering assurances to her as he rocked her gently.

“Where is he?” he asked, Soris continuing to peer up and down the hallway, alert for any intruder.

Taking a deep breath, brushing aside her tears, Adela motioned down the hall, saying, “He’s either dead or near to. It doesn’t matter - I don’t care. We need to find the others!” Her voice, ragged from fear, was still strong with determination. Whatever happened can be dealt with later, she thought, all that’s important is getting to the others.

Pushing her away a little, Nelaros tilted Adela’s head upwards, gazing into her eyes. He saw strong determination there, an honest concern for her friends. Leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips, Nelaros nodded his head. Gentle hands reached down and carefully untied her hands, rubbing them softly before releasing them. Free, Adela rubbed the circulation back into her hands, clutching the dagger tightly. Soris managed a weak smile to his cousin, and the trio sped off in search of Shianni, Velora and the other women. They just hoped they were not too late…

DA:O

Their progress through the Arl’s estate was bloody and painful. They had managed to locate Shianni (brutalized by one of Vaughan’s cronies) and the others (poor Nola had been killed when she tried to fight against one of the guards to whom she had been given as a reward). The trio of armed elves killed Vaughan’s friends and many of the guards. The five unarmed women fearfully followed Adela and Nelaros, with Soris behind, his crossbow ready for discharge. As they approached the back entrance, several guardsmen, including the captain of the guard, moved to block their path.

“’Ey now, what have we here?” the captain snarled, his eyes narrowing at the elves. His eyes turned to Adela, a smirk crossing his lips, “Aren’t you Lord Vaughan’s ****?”

With a cry of outrage, Nelaros lunged forward, his sword leading. The captain snarled back, rushing forward to meet the enraged elf. Adela pushed the women back, motioning to Soris to start firing, and she, too, jumped into the fray. Spinning and ducking, dipping down, and lunging out, the elven woman called upon her years of training at the side of her mother, as well as her own continued practice after her mother’s death. Adaia had taught her well, and many of the guards fell, their throats sliced or backs pierced by the sharp blade. Soris’ bolts found the backs and chests of others and they, too, fell before the onslaught of enraged elves.

Nelaros fought hard and with skill against the heavily armed and armored human. He managed to parry and duck many of the captain’s strikes with his great sword, the elf‘s long sword darting in to sting and then retreat back, seeking other openings. The human was tiring far quicker than the agile elf, who dodged, and ducked, thrust out and nipped at the man. With a final twist and turn, Nelaros spun about, bringing his sword up, nearly cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. As the captain’s body fell heavily to the ground, the sound of a “click” and “twang” from a crossbow could be heard. Nelaros stiffened suddenly, a crossbow bolt driving deeply into his chest. With an anguished cry, Adela spun about, locating the enemy, and without a second thought threw her dagger at the man. The blade found its mark, driving deeply into his throat. With a gurgle, the man dropped his weapon and clutched at his throat, blood pouring from the wound as he slumped to the ground. It took many minutes for him to die.

Crying out his name, Adela fell to the ground beside her betrothed, tears running down her cheeks. No, no, no…she thought. Not when I could see a future here. A blood stained hand raised up to lightly brush the tears from her cheek. “Adela, don’t cry,” Nelaros pleaded weakly. Her very blue eyes met his, and he reached into a pocket, pulled out the ring he was to give her at their wedding: a gold band, etched with leaves and grapes - an ancient elven blessing for a fruitful, happy union. Nelaros smiled at her, one hand on her cheek moving to encourage her to bend her head to his, raising up slightly to kiss her. “I am sorry, love,” he coughed weakly, slipping the ring on her finger. “I had hoped to make myself worthy of you and your love.” Adela shook her head, bending down to kiss him again, whispering, “You already did, Nelaros, my husband. You already did.” And, smiling at her words, the gem blue eyes of Nelaros closed, his body relaxing as his final breath left him. A sob slipped past her lips, Adela brushed back his blonde hair. Her head still bent, she took in a deep breath. They had to leave. With a final kiss to his lips, Adela rose. Without a word, she went over to the dead crossbowman and viciously yanked the dagger from his throat. Stepping back to her fallen fiancé, she bent and picked up the sword Duncan had lent him for the rescue. Whispering a faint goodbye, she looked up and motioned for the others to follow. Quietly, with no other obstacles, the sad group of elves left the estate and, keeping well to the shadows, avoiding all guards and other citizens, made their quiet way back to the Alienage.

DA:O

They entered the Alienage to find Velendrian, Duncan and Cyrion waiting anxiously nearby. Duncan, being the first to spy the ragged band’s entrance, placed a calming hand on Cyrion’s shoulder, gesturing. The trio watched the approach of the group. Adela told Velora and the other women to take Shianni back to the house, and she and Soris stepped toward the three older men.

“What happened?” Cyrion asked, his voice heavy with concern as he pulled his daughter into his arms. Soris could not find his voice and merely shook his head, hanging it in sorrow. Adela took a deep breath.

“Lord Vaughan and his…friends are…dead,” she looked up into her father’s eyes, tears threatening to spill. “Nola was killed when she fought against a guard. Nelaros was killed during our escape.” Cyrion’s head bowed in grief, pulling his daughter back into his arms, placing a cheek on the top of her head.

Velendrian turned to Soris. “Soris?” The young elven man looked up, but could only shake his head.

“We had no choice,” Adela’s voice was stronger than expected, her eyes clear, as she pulled herself from her father’s embrace to stand straight before the elder. “They harmed us, and we fought in self defense.” Her eyes practically blazed. “We did as we must to survive.”

The elder was taken aback. Normally Adela was one to talk down a potentially violent situation. For her to say, with no regret in her voice, that the killing was necessary…he believed her. He glanced over at Duncan, and saw stark approval in those dark brown eyes. Velendrian frowned, looking back at the girl. Either way, he knew, they were going to lose her. A thought came to mind, and he spoke it. “What about going to the Queen?” he asked the girl. Adela shook her head as the elder continued. “Come now, Adela. You are her friend; she will protect you.”

“Protect me?” Adela questioned. “No. I won’t do it. We defended ourselves. I’ll not run…”

“Where is the Velendrian, elder and administrator to this Alienage?” a strong voice called out from the gates, interrupting what Adela was about to say. Turning, the elves and Grey Warden noted the advancement of the Captain of the City Guard, flanked by half dozen of his men.

With a heavy sigh, Velendrian stepped forward, “I am here, Captain.”

The captain frowned. “The Arl’s palace has a river of blood from one end to the other. None know if the Arl’s son will survive the vicious assault upon him.” He glared at all the elves before him. Soris started to tremble with fear, and Adela had a sick feeling in her stomach, threatening to overcome her. “I want answers, Elder, and I want them…”

“I did it,” Adela stepped forward, her voice strong despite the fear she felt. Soris’ startled eyes sought hers, begging her to step back and be quiet.

The Captain scoffed. “You truly expect me to believe that one woman - one small, elven woman - did all that damage?”

Velendrian glanced briefly at the girl, pride straightening his back, “We are not all as helpless as many believe us to be, Captain.”

The captain merely glared at the elder before turning his attention back to Adela. “While I do not envy your fate, girl, I admire your courage.” He stepped toward her, looking her directly in the eye. “Your coming forward will save your people a lot of trouble.” He turned to his men. “Take her to Fort Drakin, men.” Adela raised her head, her stomach threatening to purge. Fort Drakon? She knew her life was at an end. Looking over at Soris, she realized, so be it. Her people would be safe, that was all that mattered.

As the guards moved to take Adela into custody, Duncan raised a hand to catch the Captain’s attention. “Captain, a moment if I may?”

Irritated, the captain glanced over at the other man, “What is it, Grey Warden? As you can see, we have the matter well in hand…”

Duncan interrupted him, saying, “Be that as it may, I hereby conscript this young woman into the Grey Wardens. You may not take my recruit into custody.”

“Son of a tied down…” the Captain growled. “Fine! I cannot challenge your right, Grey Warden, but I will have to insist that you get this elf out of the city before night fall.”

Duncan bowed his head in consent as the captain turned back to his men. “Alright, change of plans, men! I want all available men to patrol the streets. Once word of this gets out, there will be trouble.” And, without a glance back to the Grey Warden or the elves, the city guardsmen took their leave of the Alienage. The captain sputtering the entire time about Wardens and elves.

The elves watched the guards leave in stunned silence. Duncan turned to the girl and said, “Gather your things. We must leave immediately.” Adela raised her eyes to Duncan’s, and he was yet again stunned by her resemblance to her mother. “I…I thank you for helping me. But,” she gestured to the Alienage as a whole, “what will happen here? I cannot simply leave everyone…”

But Duncan cut her off. “I needed recruits for the Grey Wardens, and I found you. That it happens to save your life is irrelevant.” He stepped closer, looking down at the smaller elf. “You must understand that there is something happening out there that is larger than anything happening here.”

A frown deepened upon Adela’s face, “Be that as it may,” she nearly spat, the tensions of the day wearing on her, “no one else cares about what happens here, so someone has to!”

Indeed, so like Adaia. Duncan shook his head, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Adela, if the Blight is allowed to go unchecked, it will affect those here as well.” His intense dark eyes held her own. “We need people of skill, courage, determination. You did what had to be done in order to survive and rescue your friends.” In a gentler tone he continued. “I am sorry for the death of your betrothed. He was a good and skilled man, passionate, fiery. He, too, would have been worthy of becoming a Warden.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, Adela nodded. “I understand. I…I will gather my belongings and meet you back here.” And, without another word, she left the Grey Warden and elder, Soris taking his usual place by her side as they walked back to their home.

Just as they reached the front door, Soris stopped. “Adela?” Soris tried to get her attention. “I just want to say…heck!” He stopped, grabbing hold of his cousin (he did not notice her slight flinch) and pulled her into his arms. “Thank you, for back there. For taking the full responsibility. For…” he blushed, looking into Adela’s astonished face. “For always being my hero.” He grinned at Adela’s snort, and continued. “You’ve always done the right thing. Always. You never questioned your course, and always seemed to know what to do. Well,” he cleared his throat, releasing his cousin. “I’m going to take a page out of your book. I’m going to settle down with Velora. She…she may not be gorgeous, but she’s good and kind and has a good head on her shoulders. She has plans for the Alienage.” he broke off, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. Here he was talking about marrying Velora when the body of Adela’s betrothed lay cooling in the Arl’s mansion. He nearly jumped when he felt Adela’s hand pat his cheek. “It’s okay, Soris,” she encouraged. “Be happy.” And, with that, she turned, opened the door, and entered her home.

Velora met her at the door, thanking her profusely for helping her. After promising to take care of Soris, she left her alone with Shianni.

The red haired elven woman was in bad shape. Apparently, Vaughan had beaten her prior to his visit to Adela. Her whole face was a mass of swelling bruises and bloody cuts. Adela knew that there were other wounds - unseen wounds - that her younger cousin would need to deal with. “I’m sorry, Shianni,” she whispered when the two women were alone. Shianni looked up at her cousin, confusion evident on her face.

“Why are you apologizing?” she asked, rubbing a hand up and down Adela’s arm. She was certain that Vaughan had assaulted her elder cousin, but had not asked and would not. Adela shook her head, pulling Shianni into a tight embrace. Whispering still, she replied, “Vaughan had been watching me, for how long, who knows? He came here for me. And the rest of you…” a soft sob and Adela buried her face into Shianni’s neck. But, the redhead would not hear of it. “No,” she scolded firmly, shaking Adela. “No! I will not let you take the blame for that pig! He caused the pain, the suffering. You are just as much a victim of that…that shem as we all are.” Shianni placed a hand to Adela’s cheek. “Cousin! I saw you! You charged into the room, your eyes blazing with fire, justice guiding your blade! You saved us!” Shianni kissed her on the cheek. “And I will always be grateful to you for it. You are amazing. We are all proud of you. We always have been.”

Sighing, Adela stood straighter, gazing into her cousin’s brown eyes. “I have to go.” Simple statement. Shianni frowned. “Why?” Simpler question. A harsh laugh, something no one had ever heard from Adela. “I’ve been conscripted into the Grey Wardens.”

Shianni shook her head. “You? A Grey Warden?” She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then her poor, battered face split in a grin. “You know, as crazy as that may sound, it’s really not so crazy an idea.” With a laugh, she pulled Adela into a tight hug, “I love you, Cousin. They’ll be writing books about you, you know?”

“You’re crazy, cousin,” Adela retorted, hugging Shianni back just as tightly.

Shianni helped Adela gather her things. As they did so, Cyrion stepped into the room, a cloth wrapped bundle in his arms. “Adela, here is something…something that belonged to your mother. I know she’d want you to have it.” With these words, he placed the bundle in her hands. Frowning, Adela moved to her bed, placing the bundle down and unwrapped it. There lay several pieces of leather armor. Cyrion spoke again, “This is a quality Dalish armor. Your mother wore it during the Rebellion.” Adela looked up, her eyes wide. “I’ve no doubt it will be too large for you, but find someone who works in leather and they can adjust it to your size.” Then, with a cry, the man pulled his daughter into his arms, wrapping her tightly, knowing she was going off into more danger, away from home. But she couldn’t even be safe here, he reminded himself. Sighing, he disengaged the hug. “Don’t forget to stop by your mother’s cache and retrieve her bow and blades,” he offered to Adela. “I’m certain Duncan would not mind the brief stop.” Adela nodded, rewrapping the armor and placing it in her backpack. With a final sigh, she turned to her father. “I love you, Papa,” she said, gazing into his blue eyes. “And I love you too, dear heart.”

A final hug and Adela left her home.

Then, by Duncan’s side, the pair left the Alienage, and then the city of Denerim. After a brief stop to retrieve her mother’s equipment, the pair headed Southward, toward Ostagar, and the waiting darkspawn hoard.

[SheilaD67]

Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

As stated before, I’m not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. This chapter has a bit of a flashback, answering a bit with regards to the “broken promise”, and a bit of fluff, too.

And, thanks for the reviews! Biff McLauglin, mutive. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting.

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 5

We are making good time, Duncan thought, looking over at his elven recruit. The young woman soldiered on gamely, never offering a complaint, but always open to suggestion and even offering her own. Duncan’s initial surprise by how much like her mother she was had shifted a bit. Yes, she had many of Adaia’s strengths, but she seemed bereft of the many weaknesses the overly proud Dalish warrior had. Perhaps that’s Cyrion’s influence, the Warden considered. He had been most impressed by how quickly she had rebounded from the trauma of just a couple of weeks ago. He did not know all of the details of what exactly had happened in the Arl’s estate, but from the haggard and beleaguered appearance and demeanor of the surviving elves, he was certain it had not been pleasant. Oh, he knew the girl was not completely recovered - there was a sadness and pain that lingered in her eyes, especially when she thought she was unobserved. He hoped she would find someone she could talk to about what had happened. Too often than not, leaving such things unsaid only caused festering wounds on the soul and psyche, and Duncan felt that this girl was far too special to allow that to happen.

He glanced back again, watching as the girl shifted her pack and continued walking. They had opportunity to stop at a farmstead the night prior, and the kindly farmer and his wife had offered up a hot bath for the pair. The couple had been uncertain as to the relationship between their guests, and Duncan recalled the horrified expression that came upon Adela’s face when the wife tentatively asked if they would mind sleeping in separate rooms. He chuckled now as he recalled how Adela had firmly advised the goodwife that separate rooms were, indeed, acceptable.

Adela glanced up from the ground, her right eyebrow rising in query. A most decidedly Adaia expression, Duncan acknowledged, still chuckling.

“Are you going to tell me what you are laughing at,” Adela asked as she hurried to Duncan’s side, glancing up into his face, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun, “or shall I simply presume you are laughing at me - still - and leave it at that?” As she said the words, the corners of her mouth lifted in a near smile, but the amusement was plain to see in her eyes. Duncan allowed an open smile. In the past two weeks of traveling together, the pair had gotten to know each other relatively well. Adela, who was normally shy, especially around people she only recently met, had become far more open and candid. And Duncan found himself enjoying the young woman‘s company greatly. He realized he had not smiled so much in the past couple of years as he had during these past few weeks.

That same smile on his rugged face, Duncan bowed his head slightly, admitting, “I was, indeed, still chuckling about the bedroom incident.” He watched as Adela shook her head, and laughed harder as she mouthed “Infant”. To save face, Duncan then said, “I knew your mother,” he waited for the girl’s reaction. Deep interest clouded her eyes, and her face lit with genuine curiosity. “I had even tried to recruit her into the Grey Wardens - several times, in fact.”

“Oh?” the girl asked, “And why did she not join?”

Duncan shrugged, the movement adjusting his own backpack. “She really had no use for us, I’m afraid.” His lips quirked at the memory of the Dalish warrior woman, defiance smeared across her face, her bow slung almost carelessly across her back, hands on hips, as she firmly told Duncan that he and the rest of his group could well find Arlathan itself before she would ever join, even if they so much as thought to use the Right of Conscription. Despite her obvious dislike for the order - and humans on the whole - Adaia had been one of the most honorable and likeable women he had ever met. She told the truth - as she saw it - and allowed you to disagree. But, if you tried to tell her she was wrong…well, those conversations never ended well. And, she was extremely opinionated. The memory of an argument between the elven woman and Loghain came to mind and he shook his head at the remembrance of it. The two could almost go nose to nose, and neither backed down from their conviction. The problem with those two, Duncan thought, was that they thought too much alike, and never realized that, on the whole, they had actually agreed with one another.

Adela watched Duncan’s face as it softened in memory. “Did you know her well?” she asked, pulling the Grey Warden from his revelries. Her question was met with an almost sad smile, “Did anyone really know Adaia Maheriel?” He asked, sighing, with a slight shrug. “Your mother was complicated. She disliked humans immensely, yet fought beside Maric, Rowan and Loghain against the Orlesians. She hated cities, yet ended up marrying an elven man from an Alienage and raised a fine daughter.” He bowed to the girl. “She felt that those too weak or lazy to defend themselves had no place upon the world, and yet she defended the elves of the Alienage with an almost religious fervor, and died because of it.” He looked back at Adela’s face, and knew he had her full attention. “And she hated my order, almost passionately. Yet, she was always friendly to me - when I wasn‘t trying to recruit her.” He smiled again.

“Why would she hate an order such as the Grey Wardens?” Adela simply had to ask.

A long sigh and then Duncan replied, “Mostly, she had secrecy. Always honest and upfront herself, she felt that my order was far too secretive, and in her mind, that meant untrustworthy.” A slight shrug and he looked back at his companions. “I am glad that her prejudices did not get passed down to you, Adela. You have her passion, but also your father’s good sense and compassion. You have the best qualities of both people, and that makes you unique in this world. The true qualities of a leader.”

Intrigued, Adela asked, “How so, Duncan?”

“Ha,” he chuckled, “How about you answer a question for me?” His dark gaze held Adela’s, and she found its intensity unnerving. Clearing her throat (why was she suddenly nervous?) she replied with a simple “Yes”. Duncan paused, not quite certain how to pose his question, or if even the girl knew the answer. “When the discussion of punishment came up back at the Alienage, before the guards arrived, Velendrian suggested you go to the Queen, that she may protect you,” Adela nodded, “Why did you refuse?” He studied her face carefully. “After all, the Queen most certainly could protect you and, from what I had heard, you and she are quite close.”

A frown marred Adela’s lovely face, and she turned her face away from Duncan as she searched for her answer, biting her lower lip. Duncan waited patiently, allowing the girl to fully understand her reason before she had to voice them to another. He suspected he knew the answer, as one of the few who knew of Maric’s broken promise to the girl’s mother. He wanted to reach over the pull the lip she was savaging from between her teeth, but decided that would be a too familiar action, and decided they did not know each other nearly well enough for such. Although I feel as though I have known this girl all her life.

He broke from his thoughts as Adela cleared her throat, clearly ready to answer his question. “Well, you see, Anora and Cailan have both been working hard on changing the laws regarding elves and their status in Fereldan,” she started. Duncan nodded, not saying a word. “They have met with a great deal of resistance from the nobles.”

“They told you this?” Duncan asked quietly.

Tipping her head side to side, biting at the inside of her cheek, Adela shrugged her shoulders, “Cailan mentioned once a great deal of frustration with the nobles on the issue, but neither really came right out and said anything. It was Loghain who made a point of making it a topic after dinner one night.”

“Oh? Loghain?” Duncan’s interest was piqued.

She offered the commander a lopsided grin, remembering the events of that night. “It was shortly after a Landsmeet, and Anora and Cailan, as they normally did, invited me over for dinner once all the nobles had left for their respective estates.”

“They did this often?”

She nodded, “Oh yes. Anora told me that she and Cailan found that my company after having to deal with stubborn nobles who felt they were far more entitled than anyone else to have a calming effect on them. Cailan even joked that it had the same effect on Loghain, although,” she chuckled, “I highly doubt that.” She shifted her pack again as they continued to walk, Duncan’s attention still on her as she told him of that night. “We were just settling down in one of the smaller dining rooms in the palace, food laid out in a buffet style…Anora did that mostly for me. She knew I felt strange having elves wait upon me, and many of the servants at the palace are elves…”

The night had been unusually warm, and both Anora and Cailan were visibly upset by the turn of events at the Landsmeet. Their presentation of a bill to amend the laws regarding elves had met, yet again, with strong residence in the Landsmeet. Cailan had all but stormed from the proceedings, leaving Anora to calm frayed nerves and insulted egos. She understood his frustration - she had shared it as well. But, it did not do well to simply walk out of talks. They needed the nobles consent if the bill was to work, they could not simply mandate it and expect it to be followed. They decided to call an early break and the nobles left for the night. Adela knew of these events because Cailan made a point of sulking about it (yes, sulking. And she teased him about it as well, to which the king merely rolled his eyes at her). Loghain’s scowl was deeper than usual, and Anora could not find it within her to properly entertain her friend.

Frowning, Adela poked the queen with her fork, hoping for some reaction. All she received was a cold glare. Both brows rose at this, and then Anora’s icy countenance broke, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. “I am sorry, Adela,” the queen reached over and squeezed her friend’s arm, “I fear we are all poor hosts this evening.”

The elven girl merely shrugged. “Well, at least I’m not Teryna Cousland, so you really don’t need to worry about being polite.”

Loghain’s head snapped up, “Don’t,” he scolded, raising a finger as though Adela were an impetuous child. “That’s just the thinking those fool nobles encourage, and I’ll not hear it from you, Adela Mahariel Tabris!”

Anora and Cailan gaped openly at Loghain’s outburst. He had never spoken in such a tone to Adela. For her part, Adela merely stared at the Teryn for a moment, her deeper than night blue eyes staring into Loghain’s paler orbs. Then, with a slight nod of her head, she replied, “Understood, Teryn Loghain. I was, however, merely offering a joke…”

A sharp sputter of air - not quite a sigh - escaped Loghain’s lips. “Be that as it may, young Adela, never think yourself below those who would want you to believe so.” His gaze was penetrating, holding the young elven woman in place. “You come from a proud and noble line, regardless of race. Your mother once told me that the Mahariel line was royalty among the Dalish. And, knowing your mother, I believe it.” He bent down to his food, lifting his eyes, offering a slight quirk of his brow as he lifted a forkful to his mouth.

Cailan, feeling the tension ease slightly, turned his attention back to his plate, but Anora sat staring at her father for a few moments longer.

When dinner was over, the diners went to a sitting room, where Anora and Adela discussed their gardens and new orders Adela and her father had received, and Cailan and Loghain merely sat, keeping the women company, injecting advice or other comments into the conversations. As the visit grew to a close, Loghain offered to escort Adela to the front gates. After a brief exchange of confused glances, Anora hugged Adela good bye just before Cailan pulled her into his arms for a hug as well. Anora rolled her eyes at her husband, playfully swatting his arm. Adela had to grin. Anora seldom openly displayed affection for anyone and she felt honored that the queen considered her a good enough friend to trust with these “lapses”.

Loghain took the young woman’s arm and led her from the room, and out to the gates. The guards there bowed respectfully to the Teryn and, at his nod, moved away from the pair. Never releasing his hold on her arm, Loghain turned Adela to face him.

She turned her eyes up to look into the Teryn’s face. His face somehow seemed softer in the darkness, and she felt a little flustered at the attention he was showing her this evening. “Adela,” he started, “How much do you know of your mother’s history with Maric, Rowan and myself?”

She frowned at the unexpected question. She knew her mother had fought beside both men and the former queen during the rebellion. She also knew that her mother had been very angry with King Maric, but had never known the reason. Recalling the night Loghain had found her and brought her mother’s lifeless body to the palace, she realized that there was something more than a comrades in arms relationship between them. Frowning, she returned her gaze back to Loghain, her frown telling him all he needed to know. “We were friends, Adela. She saved Maric on numerous occasions, Rowan a few, and me, well, let’s say that while she did not save my life by strength of arms, she did save it by strength of heart and convictions.” He sighed. “We all owed her a great deal, and her name is never even mentioned in any history books.” He frowned, his gaze shifting to the heavens above them. “Not that she would want it to be,“ he muttered, looking down at Adaia‘s daughter. “With all she had done for us, she only ever asked for one thing, one promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” His eyes, sharp and piercing, turned back to the girl he continued to hold at arms length. “All she ever asked for was that the elves of Fereldan be treated like the people that they were.” He let go of his hold, crossing his arms, and turning his back facing the palace. Adela did not see the array of emotions that crossed his face, but his stance was straight, showing a great deal of discomfort. He looked back over at her, frown back in place. “Cailan and Anora strive to fulfill that promise made by Maric all those years ago. And the nobles still refuse to see that elves have been of great assistance to this nation time and again! Had the laws been changed when Maric promised…” his head bowed, “your mother would yet still draw breath.”

Shaken, unsure how to respond, Adela stood before the gates, the warm breeze ruffling her hair. So, she reached forward and placed a small hand upon Loghain’s arm, squeezing it a bit. The man looked down at the small hand, so graceful, smooth and perfect. Sighing, he placed a larger paw over it, and turned back to the girl.

“That’s why Anora and Cailan strive so hard for the passage of the new bill?” she asked, understanding at last what Loghain was telling her, “To fulfill the promise Maric never did?”

“Partly,” he acknowledged. “Not fulfilling that promise, coupled with Adaia’s violent death, also prompted Maric to take great interest in your life. He felt guilty. I had still maintained contact with your mother over the years, but she never truly trusted us again.” He frowned, looking down at the hand that covered hers. “The more time that passed, the more she figured that we would never uphold our promise, and she would continue to fight for and protect the elves that were not her clan, who were weaker than she and who had given up hope long ago.” He lifted Adela’s hand in his own, turning the palm over, and lightly kissed the palm. A tingle ran up her arm, and she gaped at the man who had never shown any kind of affection for her before. She realized discussing her mother had a strong emotional impact on him, and she wondered about that as well. “Cailan took an immediate liking to you and did not know of his father’s broken promise until he and Anora were wed.” He shrugged at the question in Adela’s eyes, “Anora knew of it. And she told him.”

Adela bowed her head. Was Loghain trying to tell her that the royals’ friendship with her was out of some sense of guilt? She looked up, Loghain’s eyes holding a sense of openness she had never seen there before. No, she realized. He was trying to make her see how hard the king and queen were fighting for this; how hard he would fight for it. To fulfill a broken promise. She nodded, smiling at the Teryn, the legend, who seemed to be standing before her asking for her forgiveness. None was needed, as far as she was concerned. Loghain still held her hand, and she used that leverage and stood on her tiptoes, placing a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. With a whispered “Good night” she turned and left the palace grounds. Loghain watched as she melted into the shadows, his hand going to a pocket wherein lay the stylized halla figurine the girl had carved just a couple of years earlier.

Duncan remained silent as she spoke. So, Loghain had told her of the promise Maric had been unable to fulfill? Duncan found that interesting. Looking at his companion, he asked, “So, this is why you refused to go to the queen for assistance?” He wasn’t sure he completely saw the connection, but had his own thoughts and wanted to see how close on target he was.

With a nod of her head, the girl replied, “If I were to beg the queen and king for sanctuary, how would the nobles take that? As some knife-ear” Duncan scowled at the term “using her influence over the royals to protect her, even though she blatantly broke the law. Apparently there were enough rumors going around regarding our relationship,” she shivered at the memory of Vaughan’s outburst regarding Cailan, “and I do not want my crimes to affect the rest of my people. As it is,” she looked up at Duncan, her eyes betraying a slight annoyance at him, “your conscription of me into the Wardens may have repercussions for them in court, but I’m not savvy to politics that I could well be wrong.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I just did not want any questions raised. I committed a crime, in self defense, yes. I do have to question and wonder if we really needed to kill all of those guards?” she shrugged again, this time causing her pack to shift uncomfortably on her back. “I don’t ever want anyone to think that I would hide behind my friendship to the king and queen and think I can get away with something because of it.”

Duncan walked quietly by her side for several minutes, and then nodded. “Understandable.” He grinned down at the lovely elven woman. “You still seek to protect your people. Very worthy. But, remember Adela,” his voice turned stern, “As a Grey Warden, everyone is now your people, we make no distinction between race or class, noble or commoner, mage or warrior. Among the Wardens you are not an elf; you will always be a Grey Warden first.”

She snorted, “Well, make sure the rest of the world has the new rules, will you? If I hear ‘knife ears’ one more time…” she chuckled, her expression softening as she tilted her head upwards to look Duncan in the eye (Duncan noticed that she always seemed intent to look people in the eye, another good quality). “But, it’s good to know, Duncan. Very good to know.” She grinned up at him. “So, tell me about some of the other Wardens.”

Duncan’s chuckled rose, “Well, there is one Warden, just a few years older than yourself, who is our junior warden. His name is Alistair.” An affectionate look crossed his eyes. “I think you will like him. He has a…quirky sense of humor, is a rather self-deprecating lad. And, oh, yes,” he smirked, “he has an unholy love of all things cheese.”

“Cheese?” the young elven woman asked, her right brow rising as a slight laugh hitched her voice.

Nodding, Duncan said, “Yes, any cheese really. I have no idea how he came up with such an obsession, but the rest of the Wardens have taken to piling their plate with cheese immediately before the boy can get his hands on it.”

Adela faced forward, an amused expression on her face. “Cheese, huh?” She looked back up, “Anything else you can tell me? Such as, am I a Grey Warden now or do I need to pass some sort of a test?”

She did not notice the darkening of Duncan’s face. The man felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. He liked the girl; she was the daughter of a very old friend, and he hated lying - by omission - to her. The lass was nothing short of entirely open and honest (Alistair will love her), and he felt badly that, in this, he could not offer the same. However, “There is the joining, the ritual that makes a Grey Warden,” he began, but raised a hand to her next question, “It is kept secret, and for good reason. I won’t be able to tell you about it until the time of the joining.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she glanced up at the setting sun. “Well, okay, I understand, I guess. Is there anything you can tell me?” she prompted.

Looking at her profile, Duncan replied, “The sun will be setting in a couple of hours and I know of a spot to set up camp,” he stifled a laugh at the girl’s annoyed expression. “I am sorry, Adela. There are many things I do need to tell you, but only…”

“…after the joining,” the girl finished. With a wave of her hand, she grumbled, “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets, silly Warden. I’ll find them out when I pass the joining.”

With an exaggerated flounce, Adela quickened her pace, casting back to Duncan a contrived look of superior annoyance before skipping ahead. Duncan rolled his eyes and smiled at the elf’s antics. I have no doubt you will pass, he thought as the sun continued its westward journey toward sunset.

DA:O

The flickering light from the campfire illuminated the small camp, creating shadows that moved just beyond the perimeter. The tents Duncan had acquired prior to leaving Denerim were set up at one end, and the smell of conies sizzling over the fire reminded Duncan - even more than his grumbling stomach - that he had not eaten since earlier in the day. Stepping into the lit center of their camp, Duncan watched as Adela turned the spit the four small rabbits were strung upon, watching the crackling and sputtering skins spit grease, dripping into the flames. Shaking his head, he sat down on the log behind the girl. Although he was pleased that they were be eating fresh food instead of the rations they had been eating these past couple of weeks.

“Now, who would have thought a city girl such as yourself knew how to hunt?” he teased, unbuckling the silverite breast plate he wore. With a heavy sigh, he removed the armor, rubbing his hands over the soft cotton shift he wore beneath.

“Heh…” Adela’s response was more sound than word as Duncan‘s comment broke her from her thoughts, “Do you really think Adaia Mahariel would allow her daughter to reach age ten without knowing how to care for herself in the wilderness?” her voice rose slightly in affected pique. “Really?” She looked back over her shoulder to the older man. With a small giggle, she continued, “I actually love to hunt. It’s the skinning and cleaning part I hate. Had you not disappeared to wherever you went…” she gestured vaguely in the direction he came from, “you would have been given that delightful task.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Duncan replied, a chuckle in his voice, “Alright, alright. I doubt Adaia could tolerate her daughter being reared without some common knowledge of survival techniques.” He watched as the girl nodded her consent, turning her gaze back to the meal cooking before her. He saw a watchful, guarded expression come to her eyes. “Are you well, Adela?”

“Hmmm…?” she glanced up. “Oh! Sorry Duncan, I was just thinking…”

Pulling off his boots and setting them aside, Duncan nodded, “I’ve noticed. Your eyes get an almost far away look, but it’s still as though they are watching everything around them.” He tilted his head. “It’s actually a bit unnerving.”

“Really?” She asked, “I hadn’t known that.” She gave the spit a turn, resting her chin on one knee. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Well, my dear, I believe you just did,” came the wry reply.

“Oh, ha ha,” she retorted, “You are just too funny. And you wonder why Mother did not want to join the Wardens?”

“Ah, ah, my dear girl. I do not wonder. I know she did not like us, and I know the why,” he made a welcome gesture with his hand. “Go ahead and ask your question.”

Another turn of the spit, and the fire spat and crackled as the fat from the rabbits dripped down. “Is it strange to mourn for someone you barely knew?” she looked up into Duncan’s face, which she noticed was carefully guarded. “I mean, I barely knew Nelaros, and before I even met him I was prepared to…well, not like him. But, from what I did know of him, I almost feel as though I am now…missing something.” She scoffed, looking down at the wedding ring Nelaros had placed on her finger before his death. “It’s strange. How can I be missing something I never had?”

Her eyes were turned back to the conies, watching the flames lick up to the greasy flesh. She didn’t really expect an answer from Duncan; how could he answer something like that? Did he know anything of loss? She presumed so. What warrior - especially one from an order more dedicated to others than any other she had heard of - would not know of loss. She knew Maric had known loss; Loghain she was certain of it. Her mother? Yes, from what she remembered, most definitely yes. She looked back over to the warden. “I apologize, Duncan. It’s an unfair question, especially when taken out of context.” She pulled the spit from the flames, resting the rabbits on the hot stone. She heard Duncan shuffle behind her, and felt his strong hand on her shoulder. Tearing her gaze from the flames, she was startled to see such an expression of sympathy radiating from those dark, intense eyes. “I can tell you, from experience, my dear girl,” his voice laden with emotion he thought long buried, “it is more than possible to mourn the loss of something, especially when you believe you never had it.”

Biting her lip, she nodded, reaching up to pat the hand that had remained on her shoulder. Then, with a slight quirk of her eyebrows, she turned her attention back to the conies. Duncan moved back to his seat, and watched silently as she pulled two off from the spit and placed them on a plate, handing it to him. “I can’t vouch for my open fire culinary skills, but, I’m certain they’re edible.” With a small smile, she pulled one off for herself, settling on the ground, her back against the log Duncan sat upon. Stunned by his own reaction to Adela’s question, Fereldan’s Commander of the Grey ate in silence, his eyes staring, unseeing, into the flames of the fire.

[SheilaD67]

Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

As stated before, I’m not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story.

And, thanks for the reviews! Biff McLauglin, mutive, patbaking, zevgirl. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting. And, also I’ve noticed a few others have been placing the story (and me!) on their favorites list. Thank you so much!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 6

The great ruins of Ostagar came into view ahead, the ancient Tevinter fortress sprawling over several acres bordering the Korcari Wilds. Even at that distance and despite centuries of abandonment, the ancient power of the Tevinter Imperium almost radiated from the structure, chilling Adela to her core. Realizing her steps had slowed and Duncan continued his brisk pace, the young woman quickened her pace to catch up to the man.

Duncan glanced sideways at the girl, a small grin on his face. Adela huffed a bit. “Yes, very funny. You keep forgetting that I’m an elf, and a small one at that. I practically have to run to keep up with you and your overly long legs!”

The commander’s grin widened into a true smile, and then he stepped off the path, pulling his pack off. Confused, Adela stepped to his side and slid her own pack from her shoulders. Her shoulder muscles practically rejoiced as the weight was removed and she stretched and flexed her shoulders, neck and arms to keep them from getting stiff. “Why are we stopping here?” she asked. She figured another hour or two of walking and they would enter the huge fortress looming ahead.

Merely raising a finger, encouraging patience, Duncan turned around in time to watch a large, bear like man emerge from the surrounding trees. Adela was impressed: the newcomer was easily the largest man she had ever seen, not just in height but breadth. A heavy full beard of red covered the lower half of his face, with shaggy red hair covering much of the upper half. From beneath heavy brows bright blue eyes glimmered with mirth. He was dressed in fur and leather armor, and carried upon his back a huge greatsword. The two men greeted each other, embracing and clapping each other soundly on the backs. Adela suppressed a giggle when she noted that the bear-man’s clap staggered Duncan.

Pulling away, the newcomer’s sharp eyes settled upon the diminutive form of the elven woman, skimming over her form from head to toe and then back to her face. “This yer new recruit?” he all but growled out in a deep, rumbling voice like an earthquake.

Nodding, Duncan replied, “Artan, this is Adela. Our newest recruit.” The commander stepped closer to the elf, allowing his familiar presence to bolster her nerves. The other man - Artan - scoffed, lunged forward and grabbed one of the girl’s hands in his huge paws, encompassing her hand and half of her forearm. “Good to know ya,” he responded, his eyes still on her face, almost searching. A moment of recognition came over his face and he looked back at Duncan, still holding Adela’s hand.

“You know, Duncan, the girly here looks jus’ like that uppity Dalish woman,” he rumbled, looking back at the girl.

“Indeed she does, Artan,” Duncan replied, “This is Adela Mahariel Tabris, Adaia’s daughter.”

With a “humph!” he let go of her hand, placing both meaty fists on his hips, and continued to appraise the young elf before him. “Well, well, well…can she fight like her ma?” His eyes went specifically to the bow on her back.

A chuckle and Duncan replied, “I’m not certain I’d say she fights like her mother, no. But, she does have a style that is quite effective.”

“She’s rather scrawny, ain’t she?” the bear-man continued, his eyes losing their mirth and becoming hard in their scrutiny of her. Adela continued to meet his gaze, fighting down the unease rising in her stomach. Could she actually be turned away from the Wardens before even getting to the joining? She honestly did not know how she felt about that possibility.

But Duncan was confident in his newest recruit, and let Artan know as much. “She may be small, my friend, but she’s a good head on her shoulders, and has the skill necessary to either avoid a fight or get herself out of trouble with words or blade. She’s exactly the kind of Warden we need. You know,” He grinned, nudging his friend, “she thinks. Not all brute strength.” Artan looked up and met Duncan’s eyes, clearly seeing the hidden meaning behind the gaze. Artan knew what Duncan was about and trusted in his instincts. Shrugging his massive shoulders, Duncan’s second met the girl’s eyes, gave her a wink, and then turned his full attention to his commander.

Adela stood aside as Duncan gave his second instructions and then handed him a rolled parchment with instructions to give it to Alistair. The giant of a man chuckled at the mention of the junior Warden, and Duncan gave the man a hard look. “Sure, sure, Duncan, no worries,” he grumbled at his commander. Then, with a deep bow to Adela, the huge man stepped back into the forest, blending effortlessly into the shadows, and left without a sound.

Adela simply could not hide her appreciation of the man’s talents, gave a low whistle and turned back to Duncan. “For such a huge, seemingly ungainly human, he certainly moves like an elf,” she complimented. Duncan nodded. “He was raised amongst the Chasind folk,” he told her as he picked up his pack, indicating for her to do likewise. “They know these wilds like the backs of their hands, and Artan is no different. He’s an excellent scout, and a good man. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but there are few better to have clearing the way through a mass of darkspawn.” After they adjusted their packs, the pair stepped back onto the King’s Highway and continued their trek to the ruins.

DA:O

A couple of hours later, and the travelers were standing before the entryway into the ruins. Adela had stopped, her gaze moving upwards, and upwards still, taking in the sheer enormity of the fortress itself. Duncan stopped, and watched as the elf took in her surroundings, smiling at the bemused expression upon her face. High stone walls reached up toward the sky, their jagged edges creating a false horizon. Where once ceilings had protected the stone floor, now only open sky could be seen. High arches indicated where doorways once stood, and in the distance towers could be seen, piercing into the sky. Taking in a deep breath and letting it slowly out, Adela stepped under the first arch and into Ostagar. As they walked along the uneven stones of the pathway, Duncan pointed toward a ramp to their right. “That is the Tower of Ishal,” he explained. “It is named for its architect and was considered quite a marvel of architecture in its day.” Adela merely nodded and smiled, her eyes still roaming the ruins, taking in each detail, memorizing it for future work. If I even ever have a chance to sculpt again, she thought, a sense of loss sweeping over her.

As that thought hit her, they stepped out into an open courtyard. She looked up as a familiar voice penetrated the brief moment of self-pity that came over her. She could see a familiar form, clad in golden armor, rush over to them. Cailan headed directly to Duncan, not yet seeing the small elven woman standing slightly behind the Warden.

“Duncan!” Cailan clapped the older man on the shoulder, his face an open expression of awe, relief and gratitude for the Warden’s presence. “I was just thinking we would need to send out a search party for you!” His voice as jovial as ever, a wide smile on his face, Cailan looked almost like a boy meeting a childhood hero. Perhaps he is, Adela thought, grinning over at her friend.

Duncan chuckled at the king’s joviality, “No need for anything of the sort, Your Majesty,” the Warden replied with a slight bow. “This is one battle we could not afford to miss.”

Shaking his head, with an answering chuckle on his lips, Cailan smiled as he started to turn towards the woman standing behind Duncan, “No, no need for that. I have heard that you have found a promising recruit?” His eyes then fully on Adela, the smile vanished, and the friendly look in his blue eyes faded. “Adela?” he questioned, stepping around the Warden to stand before his young friend. “What?” Then, anger clouded his face as he shook his head, rounding on the Commander of the Grey. “Duncan! What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, one hand reaching over to grasp Adela firmly by the arm in a protective, brotherly fashion as he turned his anger upon the elder Warden.

“Your majesty, Adela has been recruited into the Wardens,” Duncan calmly advised the young king, a little taken aback by the strong negative reaction the king met him with. But Cailan would hear nothing of it. “No.” he said firmly, pulling a grimacing Adela forward, “No, I won’t allow it. You cannot recruit Adela into the Wardens.” Adela’s brows rose at the sheer intensity of the king’s voice.

“Your majesty…” Duncan began but Adela cut in, pulling her arm free of Cailan’s grasp. “Cailan, I’ve been conscripted in the Wardens, and I will gladly serve…” she ended the sentence with a slight squeak as Cailan’s hands landed firmly on her shoulders, giving her a shake. “You are not a warrior, Adela!” he all but shouted. “You are an artist,” his hands moved from her shoulders to her hands, pulling them up. “Duncan, have you even looked at her hands? They are soft, the hands of an artist, someone who creates! Not the hands of a warrior!”

But Duncan would not hear of that. Shaking his head, he calmly replied, “Your majesty. You are wrong. Our young Adela here is more than an artist, more than a warrior. She has courage and a good sense of people. We need people just like her in the Wardens, and,” this time Duncan stepped forward, pulled Adela from Cailan’s grasp and moving her behind him. He met the king’s eyes unflinchingly and calmly reminded the young king, “she has been conscripted, and even the King cannot deny the Grey Wardens Right of Conscription.” Duncan felt regret form in his chest. Cailan was an ardent supporter of the Wardens, and he did not wish to alienate him. However, Adela was an excellent recruit, one he was willing to fight for to keep for the order.

Cailan met Duncan’s eyes, so unflinching, determined to get his way in this. Concerned by the turn of events, Adela stepped forward, between the men breaking the ongoing war of wills, and placed a hand on Cailan’s chest. The human king looked down upon his elven friend. “Cailan, I thought you worshiped the Wardens?” there was a teasing quality in her voice, and it helped to calm the irate man somewhat. “Now this way you can worship me.”

But Cailan was not in a good humor. “Adela, do you know what this means?” he asked quietly. “You’ll be spending the rest of your life fighting, killing, destroying. That’s not you. You create; you preserve. This is not the life for someone like you.” All Cailan could do was hope his young friend would understand, ask for sanctuary from the conscription. He would gladly go against the Wardens to keep her from that life. He was utterly dismayed when the only reply he got from her was a gentle shake of her blonde head. “Anora will kill me if anything happens to you,” he pleaded, the last card he had in hopes of changing the woman’s mind. A sharp little giggle, a sad smile, and Adela reached up and placed a calming hand on her friend’s cheek, “How about you just send her in Duncan’s direction and she can kill him instead?” she joked. Duncan raised an eyebrow at that comment, chuckled quietly, and said nothing. The king and elf’s eyes remained pinned to each other, and then finally Cailan sputtered out a bitter sigh, and looked down. He clasped Adela’s tiny hands in his own, and then turned to the Warden Commander.

“I apologize for my outburst, Duncan,” the king apologized. “I was taken aback by this news.”

Feeling the tension slip from him (he had no desire for a confrontation with the king in regards to the conscription issue), Duncan nodded. “It is understandable.” He placed an affectionate hand on Adela’s shoulder. “You would be surprised just how skillful with blade and bow this little lady is.”

“How did you come to be conscripted?” Cailan asked of Adela. She looked down at her feet, shuffling uncomfortably. “That, Cailan, is a discussion for another time.” She looked up, straight into his eyes. “I promise.” Cailan studied Adela’s face. Then, nodding, accepting that answer (for now), he then turned back to Duncan.

As the two men discussed the situation, with Duncan mentioning the Arl of Redcliffe, Cailan chuckling in reply, Adela looked about her. The guards that surrounded Cailan (and heard the whole discussion regarding her conscription! She groaned at that little bit of gossip she was certain would get around) stood at attention, trying to blend in to the surroundings. She didn’t recognize any of them, and so let her gaze wander around. Cailan’s next words caught her attention.

“But we’ve yet to see the Archdemon. I‘m not even certain this is a real Blight,” there was strong disappointment in his fine voice, and Duncan picked up and commented upon that.

“Disappointed, your majesty?” Did Adela note a tone of amusement in his voice?

“Well, yes,” came the quick reply, “I was hoping for a battle like the old tales: the king riding into battle with the Grey Wardens to defeat the Blight in one fell swoop.” Adela nearly cringed at the hope and awe that was heavy in his voice. “It would be glorious!”

“Your majesty,” Duncan tentatively started, “I am certain that the Archdemon will show itself in time. If you could hold off until the Wardens from Orlais were to arrive…”

But Cailan wasn’t hearing it. “We have won every battle thus far and this next will be no different.” Conviction rang heavy in his voice, and if Adela had not spent the past three weeks traveling with Duncan, she well could believe it. As it was, base dupon the conversations she and Duncan shared during the journey, she was fairly certain that the previous battles had just been preliminary, and that the war against this Blight - and she had no reason to doubt it, despite the non-appearance of the Archdemon - was far from over.
Duncan tried to continue, but Cailan held up an impatient hand, “I’m sorry Duncan, but I must cut this short.” he turned to Adela, “Adela, my friend, please come with me. I have something to discuss with you.”

With a look to Duncan, Adela responded, “Just a moment, Cailan. I need to speak with Duncan first.”

Nodding his assent, the king moved away with his guards in tow, to stand, waiting, at one of the ramps which, undoubtedly, lead to where his camp was. While Duncan chuckled at the thought that the King of Fereldan would wait by word of an elven artisan, Adela was frowning, and Duncan took note. “You noticed it too,” the Warden stated. Nodding, she replied, “I don’t think Cailan is taking this very seriously.”

“No, he is not.”

Her frown deepened. Taking a breath, “Well, Cailan obviously has something to speak with me about. Hopefully he’s not going to try and talk me out of joining the Wardens. But, if he tries to pull the ‘Anora will be so upset’ tactic with me again, I will pull his braids!” That visual in mind, Duncan allowed himself another chuckle. “What do you need me to do, after my talk with the king?” Adela asked the man who would be her commander. “Take some time,” the Warden instructed. “Take your armor to the quartermaster and have it resized, restock your supplies,” he held up his hand to her expected protest that she had no coin. “Just set it to the Warden account.” His gaze shifted to the king, and then beyond, further into the ruins. “Adjust yourself to the new surroundings, get something to eat. Once you’re settled a bit, seek out Alistair. He’ll be assigned to help guide you.”

Grinning, Adela responded, “Ah yes, the one with the unnatural love of cheese.” Duncan returned her grin, patted her softly on the shoulder, and then left. As he passed by Cailan, he offered another polite bow and then continued into the ruins. Taking a moment to collect herself, taking another calming breath, the elf turned and walked over to where Cailan waited. The young king turned concerned eyes upon his young friend, took her arm and silently led her to where his encampment was located, in the western part of the ruins.

The pair, flanked by Cailan’s bodyguards, was hard not to notice as they made their way over the bridge connecting the entrance of the ruins to the main square. Many eyed the small, beautiful elven woman the king kept a firm grip upon. Some smirked, others shook their heads. But all bowed respectfully as their king passed by. Up another set of steps, and turning to their left, the pair and their escort entered the royal encampment. As Cailan was about to pull Adela into his tent, the girl stopped, shaking her head. Cailan, confused, looked down at her. With a wave, he motioned for his guards to step back and away.

“What, Adela?” Cailan asked.

Letting out a gusty sigh, Adela replied, “Is there somewhere else we can talk?” she lifted her blue eyes to Cailan’s. “I’ve…well, I’ve come to know that there are certain…rumors floating around regarding you and I and I’d just as soon not feed the gossip.” Adela’s face flushed with embarrassment. She knew very well that those rumors - as well as others that suggested Cailan was unfaithful to Anora - were untrue and completely unfounded. However, she had no wish to fuel the fires as a target to some of those rumors.

Cailan’s face darkened. He, too, had heard various little snippets that questioned his devotion and love for his wife. Loghain himself had even once questioned him! But, he had not known that their friend here - their honorable friend who had never asked anything of the royal pair other than their friendship - was part of those rumors, and this sudden knowledge did nothing to relieve the tension he was already feeling. He had considered granting her request, but thought better of it. Why fan the flames by avoiding a situation they normally would find themselves in? With a shake of his head, he said, “Come now, Adela. If you did not know of these rumors, would you have any trepidation coming inside?” He smiled as Adela shook her head. “Well, then, fine. Just because we know doesn’t make them true, right?” Again, another shake. “Sooo? It’s comfortable inside.” He grinned, teasing her. “There’s a nice, comfy chair that normally only I get to sit in, but I may let you.” He tilted her face upwards, and was rewarded with a grin.

“Fine, fine, you big baby,” she swatted his hands away. And followed Cailan into the tent.

The tent was huge - a pavilion really, with curtains sectioning off a private area from the main chamber. In that chamber stood a table covered with maps and other parchments, several wooden chairs, and - oh yes - the comfy chair Cailan promised. With a grin, the elven woman practically jumped into the chair, and then, with an imperiously graceful wave of her hand, motioned for the king to sit. Laughing, Cailan pulled one of the chairs closed and took a seat beside his friend. His face quickly took on a thoughtful expression, one the elf knew well. So, she sat patiently as he gathered his thoughts.

“Adela,” Cailan began, almost tentatively, as though unsure of his own thoughts, “when was the last time you had seen Loghain?”

Surprised by this question, she paused before answering, thinking. “Well…I had seen him several times prior to your leaving. But, always in a distance and never to speak. So, I suppose, if your question is when was the last time I spoke or interacted with Loghain, it would have to be the night of dinner after the last Landsmeet.”

A slow, steady nod of his head, Cailan sat silent for a moment. “So, you hadn’t spoken to him since then.” It was not a question, more akin to his adjusting this information into whatever he needed to discuss with Adela. The line of his mouth bent downwards slightly. With a deep breath, he continued, “I know this will sound strange, but, I have cause to be…concerned about Loghain.” He looked over at his friend, gratified to have her full attention. If anyone could help him puzzle this out, he was certain it was Adela.

“Why concerned?” she asked, prompting him to continue. Her question met with a shrug, and a confused, uncertain look in his eyes.

“I can’t really put my finger on it,” he answered. “Anora’s noticed it as well, although neither of us can say for certain what, exactly the issue is. He seems distant…” Adela snorted at this, but he continued, “No, Adela, more distant than usual. And, there have been moments of…confusion.” Exasperated, the young king threw himself off the chair and onto his feet, flinging his hands upwards. “I just don’t know. It’s more of a feeling, really, than anything either of us can put a finger on.” He turned back to Adela, noting the concern that now eclipsed her face. “Loghain is here, of course. Over in the next encampment. I want you to go over there and talk with him. See if you notice anything.” His eyes were pleading. He knew that Adela wasn’t particularly comfortable in Loghain’s presence, although he knew that discomfort had been waning over the past few months. And, other than Cailan and Anora, she was the only person alive who knew the real Loghain, one of the few people Loghain ever let his guard down in front of. Cailan’s hope was that she would be able to pinpoint what was wrong with Loghain or tell Cailan he and Anora are worrying over nothing.

Adela studied Cailan’s pained expression for several moments. Then, rising from the chair, she placed her hands on his arms. “Okay, Cailan. If you and Anora think that something is wrong, I’ll see if I can spot what it may be.” She shrugged. “It could just well be the darkspawn uprising is causing unrest and he‘s just reacting to it.”

Nodding his golden head, the tension seemed to ease a bit from the king. He had no idea how tense he had been about this. “Thanks, Adela. I appreciate it. Just talk with him. But, don’t come back here right away. I don’t want it to seem like we’re working against Loghain,” he noted Adela’s frown at that. “If something’s up, we need to be careful. Go about what you were doing before, and then come back later on. Maybe have dinner with me?” He was practically pleading.

Helpless against the little boy expression that came across Cailan’s handsome face, Adela held up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I do have other things to do in the meantime. Like, get my armor refitted, locate Alistair…”

Cailan’s head lifted. “Alistair?”

The elf nodded her blonde head, “Yes. He’s the junior Grey Warden and I’m to locate him. He’s to be my guide in all things Grey Warden.” Her eyes caught Cailan’s. “Why? Do you know Alistair?”

The king shrugged, hating to lie to his friend. “A bit. Not very well, actually. I understand he’s a good man…”

“With an unholy love of cheese,” Adela finished with a chuckle.

“Wait. Did I hear you needed to get your armor adjusted?” Cailan smoothly changed the subject. Adela nodded again. “Why not buy new?” he asked.

“It’s Mother’s armor,” she replied, and that answered everything. “It’s a bit large, so Duncan suggested I give it over to the quartermaster for resizing. I’ll most likely need it if I’m going to be seeing any battle.” she purposefully ignored the wince that crossed Cailan’s face. She was not going to have this argument again.

“Well, wait a moment…” Cailan went to the table, pulled out a piece of parchment and hastily scribbled something on it. Rolling it, he sealed it with wax, pressing his signet ring into it before it hardened. “Here,” he handed the rolled parchment to the elf. “Give this to the quartermaster. It’s instruction to make the repair of your armor priority.” He raised a hand as Adela started to protest. “As you say, if you’re here, and you’re determined to fight, you will need armor. And, knowing how busy the quartermaster and his staff are, you may not get it in time. This way,” he rapped the parchment against the side of his head, “you will.”

Taking the parchment, Adela thanked her friend. Cailan placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, his blue eyes intense, friendly. “While I’m not glad you are here,” he started, “I am glad that you are here.” He pulled her in for a quick hug, and then released her, turning her toward the exit.

She stood outside the tent for a moment, trying to decide what, exactly, she should do first. Then, straightening her back, she decided to get her conversation with Loghain over first. With a slight nod to the guard nearest the tent entrance, she walked toward the Teryn’s camp site, just across the walkway.

Adela did not recognize the guard standing outside the tent, but she was not as familiar with Loghain’s guards as she was with those who served at the palace. This one watched her approach with barely concealed disdain.

“Halt!” he called out, an arrogant tone to his voice. Wonderful. “You approach the camp of Teryn Loghain. State your business or be off with you.”

She stopped, frowning slightly. Okay…”My name is Adela Tabris, and I’d like to speak with…”

“Ha!” the man took a menacingly step forward, trying to intimate the slight elf with his superior size. “What makes you think that you, an elf, can request an audience with the Teryn?”

“Because she happens to be a friend of the family,” can a dry, unamused voice from behind the guard. His eyes widened, the guard hastily took a step back to his post. “I apologize, my Lord. I had not known…” he started, but the Teryn cut him off. “Regardless, you should try and treat others a bit more respectfully,” Loghain admonished the man as he took a step forward, taking Adela’s hand in his. “This girl could have been anyone with an important message.” Nodding in assent, the guard raised his head and resumed his duties. Without another word, the Teryn of Gwaren led Adela into his tent.

Adela stepped behind Loghain as he pulled the flap of the tent closed. She noted a confused expression on his face as he turned his attention toward her. He could be confused as to why I’m here, she reminded herself, trying to keep Cailan’s concerned words from her head.

Moving past her, Loghain went to the room’s center table. “I must admit, Adela,” he turned back to her, “I am rather surprised to find you here, at Ostagar of all places.”

Biting her lower lip, she shrugged her shoulders, “Well, that is a long story, Loghain. It would seem that I’ve been conscripted into the Grey Wardens.” She watched his reaction change from confusion to almost outright fury.

“What!” Oh dear, was she going to have to argue with him, too? “Adela! How did this come about?” he demanded, stepping closer to her.

Still not quite ready to discuss what happened at the Arl’s estate, Adela merely replied, “I…ran into a problem in Denerim, and Duncan conscripting me was the only way out.”

A dark brow rose, “What kind of a problem?” Icy blue eyes, intense, caught Adela. As was usually the case, she found it difficult to break the contact. She frowned. “I…ended up killing some humans in self defense. The law is clear, though, and Duncan intervened before I could be taken to Fort Drakon.”

The scowl deepened. “You killed someone?” Adela nodded. Shaking his head, turning around, he crossed his arms before his chest. Adela killed someone? He could scarce believe it. He turned back. “In self defense?” he prompted.

The girl nodded. As the Teryn digested this, she watched him carefully. She saw nothing that would make her think anything was amiss. He reacted fairly much as she expected him to. “Adela, why would the Grey Wardens conscript you?” his question snapped her attention away from her thoughts.

A self deprecating smile twitched her lips. “Duncan tells me I’m just what the Wardens need.” She grinned impishly, and was rewarded with a scoffing noise. “Ha! Duncan is just pleased to get his hands on a Mahariel!” He stepped forward, his clear blue eyes still retaining that intense look. “You are no warrior, Adela.”

She stepped back, feeling a slight tug of anger growing in her chest. “You know, I had this very same lecture from Cailan, and I’m really not in the mood for another.” she stood defiant, glaring at the Teryn. “Mother trained me; I have continued to train. I can use a bow nearly as well as she could, and I am well versed in the use of daggers. No, I would prefer not to be a warrior to fight, but I am capable and I wish people would stop telling me what I can and cannot do!” Loghain blinked, forcing away the traitorous smile that threatened to cross his lips. He always knew Adela had spirit, but he had never seen her as impassioned as she was now. As he admired the girl before him, Adela noted a quick, almost imperceptible change: his normally clear, icy blue eyes clouded slightly, giving them an almost milky quality. His face almost blanked. But, then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. Had she not been especially watchful, the shift would have been unperceivable. What was that?

Shaking his head, Loghain stepped forward, taking the girl’s hands in his, his voice soft. “Calm, Adela. I meant no disrespect.” He took a breath, his voice taking on its usual strength. “The Wardens are fortunate to have someone who is known more for her thinking than bashing things, that much is for certain.” His gaze took on its usual intensity, and Adela had to wonder if she had imagined things. “I am certain Cyrion is not pleased with this turn of events?”

Adela shook her head, “Not really.”

“What happened?” Loghain quietly asked, searching her face. But the girl remained resolute in not discussing it. “I am not ready to talk about it, Loghain. And, most certainly not with you,” she pointed out, stepping back. Loghain frowned, realizing that the issue had to be very serious for her to say such a thing. “Perhaps with Anora?” he prompted. She merely shrugged her shoulders, indicating the matter was no longer up for discussion. He took the hint, and backed off from the subject.

Still watching Loghain, Adela had to admit to an uneasiness regarding him. He had not said or done anything to indicate anything was wrong. But that slight shift in his face was a cause for concern. What it could mean, however, was very much beyond her knowledge and experience. And, she was not going to discuss it with anyone other than Cailan at this juncture. It could be nothing. It could be tension regarding the darkspawn as she had thought. Sighing, she spoke again, “I have some errands to run, my Lord…” She offered an almost defiant grin. “Armor to adjust, Wardens to find.” She moved toward the tent’s exit. Loghain moved to her side, looking down at the tiny elf. “Do you think you’ll be on the front lines?” The question startled her momentarily. She shrugged, “I truly do not know. I don’t think that my abilities are front line worthy, but that will be Duncan’s call.” She looked up into the concerned gaze of the older man. She frowned slightly, said her goodbyes and left the tent. Loghain had not said a word as she departed.

Frown still in place, with a final glance back to the tent entrance, she walked away, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps Cailan and Anora were correct in their assessment that something was wrong with Teryn Loghain.

[SheilaD67]

Same old, same old: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine, although I seem to recall Loghain pocketing that. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

As stated before, I’m not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story.

As always, reviews are welcome; and I also appreciate constructive criticism. How else can I improve my writing?

And, thanks for the reviews! O.G. Green, Kira Tamarian, mutive, Biff McLaughlin. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting. I’ve noticed a few others have been placing the story (and me!) on their favorites/alert lists. Thank you so much! Sometimes I need that ego boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 7

Loghain stared at the flap allowing egress into his tent. Adela is here? In Ostagar? The thought brought a slight groan to his lips, and he turned away, frustrated and angry at this turn of events. She should not be here! Damn that Duncan! He spied his table - piles of parchments and maps neatly stacked, one large map encompassing the ruins of Ostagar spread out over the rest. Moving over to the table, he let his eyes settle on the chalk marks - gold - indicating what Cailan and the royal troops would set their front lines. Further to the south was marked in white chalk where Loghain and his troops would await the signal to come in and flank the enemy forces, sandwiching the monsters between the two forces. The plan had merit save for one blaring weakness: because of Loghain’s vantage - or rather lack thereof - they needed to depend upon the beacon in the Tower of Ishal to be lit so that the general would know when to send in his troops. Loghain would have to send one of his soldiers in to do so. He leaned over the map, nodding his head, forcing all thoughts of the elven girl from his mind.

DA:O

Adela wandered through the camp, searching for the quartermaster’s stall. She did not notice the appreciative glances tossed her way or the lingering gazes. She paused briefly by the platform upon which stood a priest, quoting the Chant of Light, offering up prayers for the few soldiers who stood or knelt on the ground below. Adela believed in the Maker, but also revered the gods of her mother’s people - the Creators. Of those gods, Adela revered June, God of Craft. She dipped to her knees, offered a brief prayer of thanks to both the Maker and June, and then rose to continue on her search for stall.

Finally, she spotted the area that had to the quartermaster - what with all the armaments and other various supplies strewn about. Pulling off her pack, she entered the area, starting to pull her mother’s armor from the depths.

“Er! You there!” the man who had to be the quartermaster shouted at her, his hands waving wildly at her. “Where you been, girl! Where’s the armor you was to deliver? And,” he scowled, “why are you dressed so preposterously?”

Taken aback, Adela glanced down at her breeches and tunic. Preposterously? What? Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. “I was talkin’ to you, girl!” the quartermaster continued.

“Now just wait a moment, sir!” Adela found her voice. “I am unsure as to what you are talking about. Do you think I’m one of your servants?”

The balding man took a step back, this time actually looking at the girl before him. It was then he noticed the elegantly curved bow on her back and the pair of fine daggers sheathed at her hips. Oh…”I apologize,” he mumbled. “All you elves look alike to me.”

Fine brows rose at that. “Hmm…well, if you must know, I am a Grey Warden recruit.” She actually took satisfaction in watching the man pale a bit. He was rude to a Grey Warden? She continued. “And,” she pulled her armor out of the pack, “I have armor here that I need adjusted to my size.” She took a measuring look of the man. “You can accommodate this request, correct?” She did not notice the dark young man who stood beside the stall, now watching the exchange with cheerful interest. She did take note of the quartermaster’s nod. “Fine. Here.” She handed him the armor.

The man stared at the pieces of armor she handed to him, a frown furrowing his brow. “Two pieces?” He looked up.

“Its Dalish armor,” she advised him, now concerned about her mother’s armor. “It’s in two pieces to allow more freedom of movement. You’ve probably noticed that women are built differently than men?” She quirked up one brow; the man nodded numbly. “Well, because our muscle structure is different, and for those of us who rely on agility and dexterity as opposed to brute strength, we need to be able to move. This,” a sweep of her hand indicated the armor the man now held. “allows for that freedom of movement.” She looked up and smiled into the man’s dazed brown eyes. Win them over with bull****, she smirked as Shianni‘s words came to mind. “Now, can you make the adjustments?” She smiled sweetly at him.

The quartermaster nodded. “I’ll just need to size it to you. Please, please step this way.”

Adela followed the man around a corner, where he took each piece of armor and held it up against the girl. After muttering some, making a few marks on the armor with some chalk, he nodded.

“I can have it to you in a few days,” he said as he set the armor aside. But, Adela shook her head, handing over Cailan’s parchment. “I’m sorry, my good man, but I need it in a few hours. Here,” she placed the scroll in the man’s hands. She watched, slightly amused, as he read the king’s commandment. He looked up at the elven girl and then back down at the scroll, king’s seal and all, and then back at the girl. Then, with a snarling growl, he said he’d have it done in a few hours, and suggested she leave him be so he could get to work.

“Oh, wait,” she halted the man. “May I see your wares?” she fluttered her eyelashes, well aware the man was annoyed with her. It worked. “I need some arrows. Oh! And, do you happen to have any cheese…?” she chattered as she followed the man through the stall.

After making several purchases, remembering to put them all on the Grey Warden account, Adela walked from the stall, tucking her prizes into her pack and slinging a quiver full of arrows over her shoulder.

The dark man who had been watching the exchange sidled up beside Adela. “So,” he chuckled in a friendly, smooth voice, “got to put that fool in his place, did ya?”

Glancing up at the man, Adela turned fully toward him. “Who might you be?” she asked, stepping back from him. He had been standing far too close for her comfort.

“Me? Name’s Daveth.” He puffed his chest out. “I’m a Grey Warden.” he bragged.

“Oh really?” Adela smiled. “Well, I’m a recruit, just arrived with Duncan.” she held out a small hand. “I look forward to joining your order.”

Daveth’s entire countenance and posture relaxed, and genuine pleased smile crossed his lips, softening his face a bit. “So, you’re the new recruit are you? Well, so am I. I’m not a Warden yet.” he eyed her critically, taking her hand in a firm shake. “’Bout time you showed up. Was startin’ to get bored, what with only some uppity knight to talk with.”

Laughing as she released Daveth’s hand, Adela introduced herself. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the joining?” She had to ask. She was so curious about the darned thing, especially since Duncan wouldn’t say a word about it. She was disappointed when Daveth shook his head.

“Sorry, but no. Only thing I could figure is that we’re gonna be sent into the Wilds.”

“The Wilds?”

Daveth nodded sagely, “Oy, yeah. I grew up around here, been in the Wilds a time or two meself. Kinda creepy what with witches and barbarians and such. But, I gather it’s some kind of a test.” The man watched the elf carefully. She didn’t seem too concerned, which was fine by him. At least she wasn’t a coward. And, she’s pretty. He grinned. Very pretty. Maybe….

“Well,” Adela spoke, shaking Daveth from his thoughts. “I suppose we’ll find out later. Now, I need to find the Warden called Alistair.”

A bark of laughter came from Daveth. “Oh, yeah. You’ll find him thata way,” he waved and pointed up the ramp slightly behind them. Tapping his nose, he added, “You’ll know him when you see him, trust me.” Then, grabbing her hand and kissing it lightly, the rogue bounded off.

Shaking her head in bemusement, certain that Daveth had to be the biggest character she had ever met outside of Denerim, she turned about and headed up the ramp. To her left she spied elves hurrying to get a table set up along one end of the hall. To her right, was another ramp, from which emanated the sound of an angry male voice. Intrigued, she turned and headed up the ramp.

Standing several yards ahead of her stood two men: one a mage dressed in a robe with a staff slung across his back. He was the angry one. And the other, a handsome young man with reddish blond hair and an open, friendly smile, dressed in splintmail carrying a sword and shield on his back, was the target of the mage’s ire. As she neared, she could hear quite clearly as the ‘argument‘ continued.

“Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?” the mage demanded, his posture with crossed arms and too straight back indicating an extremely aggressive stance.

“I apologize, Ser Mage, but the Revered Mother asked me to present you with this message,” the young man, completely unperturbed, maintained a relaxed stance, clear amusement showing in his amber eyes. He spotted Adela and shot her a quick, good natured wink before turning his attention fully back to the irate mage before him.

“I care little for what that woman wants. Have you nothing better to do than to harass me?” he demanded.

The man - apparently a Grey Warden - responded, his warm, educated voice taking on a slightly snide tone, “Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.” He crossed his arms, obviously getting tired of this exchange.

“Bah!” the mage scoffed, “Get out of my way, fool!” he shoved passed, nearly knocking Adela from her feet. The younger man shot a nasty look over at the mage while reaching over to take hold of Adela’s arm, steadying her. “You could be more polite!” he shouted at the retreating back of the mage, “Or at least apologize!”. The man either did not hear him or choose to ignore him as he continued on his way.

Releasing Adela’s arm, the young man turned fully to the girl, “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it pulls people together.”

He said it so deadpanned Adela just stared for a moment and then said, “I beg your pardon?”

But he just chuckled. “Oh, you know! It’s all one big party, and the darkspawn are invited. We could hold hands and sing campfire songs,” he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “One big happy family!”

Giggling, shaking her head, Adela replied, “You are one very strange human. You are aware of that, correct?” she teased.

If he was offended, it did not show. Not with his smile widening. “You know, you’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He then took a step back and really looked at the elf before him. Maker, he thought, feeling a bit of tightness in his throat, she’s soooo….

“…Adela,” she was saying, holding out one tiny hand toward him. The young man merely stared at the proffered hand. Adela sighed, reaching out and tapping him on the chest. “Hello?” she looked up, her bluest of blue eyes gazing up into his amber. He has nice eyes, she thought. “I said my name is Adela, I‘m the recruit that recently arrived with Duncan.”

“Oh! What? Oh yes, sorry,” the man blushed as he focused on the blue (wow! They are really blue) eyes. “Yes, sorry. Ahmm…my name is Alistair,” he managed to get out. “I’m the junior Grey Warden and it will be my duty to escort you about and settle you into being a Grey Warden.”

“Greetings, Alistair. Duncan has told me some about you,” she smiled. She has such a pretty smile. “I’m very pleased to finally meet you.”

“Oh, what? Duncan’s mentioned me?” he blushed as the elven girl nodded. “I hope he didn’t say anything too bad.” How come Duncan didn’t mention in his missive that she was pretty?

Her laughter was like a tiny bell chiming, and Alistair found he liked the sound of it greatly. The new recruit is a pretty - no beautiful - girl, he thought, with a nice smile and pretty laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry, Alistair. Duncan said only the best about everyone.”

Oh. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, it’s just occurred to me that there have hardly been any women in the Grey Wardens.” He frowned. “I wonder why that is.” he mused.

The right brow going up, a smirk on her face, Adela queried playfully, “Oh? And you want more women in the Wardens, do you?”

Alistair smirked right back at her, “Now would that be so bad? Not that I’m some drooling lecher or something,” he smiled as both of her brows rose, “Please don’t look at me like that!”

“Well, Alistair, the not-drooling-lecher,” Adela’s smile widened. She felt completely comfortable with Alistair and was a bit amazed at herself for flirting - flirting - with him. “Might I ask what that argument was about?” she really was curious.

“Oh, that…” He glanced quickly behind him, making certain the uppity mage was long gone. “Well, I was asked by the Revered Mother to deliver a message, and Duncan said we’re all supposed to get along, so I did.” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Trouble is…” his eyes met hers honestly, flinching just a bit at their intensity, “I used to be a Templar, and that tends to cause some…friction between me and the mages.”

Adela was stunned. This jovial, friendly man was a mage-hunter? “Well, I can certainly see how that could cause some…awkwardness.”

The young Warden nodded, appreciating her words, “Yes, well. I get the feeling that the Revered Mother simply had me deliver the message as an insult to the mage, and did he ever pick up on that.” He shook his head ruefully. “I probably should have refused to deliver it…”

“But Duncan’s orders are sometimes hard to disobey,” Adela offered, fully understanding.

“Hey, yeah. I bet you know, having traveled with him for the past few weeks.”

The elf nodded. “He is a wonderful traveling companion, though. Good sense of humor.” she was grinning. “Even if he is a bit tight lipped about some things.”

“He’s a good man,” Alistair replied, his voice heavy with reverence for the man. At Adela’s questioning look, he clarified, “He saved me. I had been sent to the Chantry as a young boy and had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably die in the Chantry’s service. Duncan saw I was…unhappy, tested me, and recruited me.”

She nodded. So, Duncan has a history of saving people. Smiling, she replied, “He’s a good man. He saved me, too.”

“Seems to be a habit with our Warden Commander,” Alistair laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you around, and you can ask any question you want.”

They moved away, Adela digging into her backpack, pulling out a paper wrapped parcel. “Here,” she thrust it into Alistair’s large hands. The young man looked down at the package she gave him, and up to her smiling face. “I understand that you have an unholy love of cheese.” She waved to indicate the package, and then skipped away a few steps. Alistair unwrapped the package, revealing some crumbly goat cheese. Okay, he thought picking off a piece and popping it into his mouth, now I am officially in love. And followed after the elf.

DA:O

Their first stop - the mess tent. Alistair claimed to be starved and Adela had to admit she was hungry as well. She was amazed and a little appalled at the amount of food Alistair piled on his plate. She contented herself with a roll, cheese and some dried meat. Grabbing a cup of water, she sat down beside her guide, watching in almost morbid fascination as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Taking small bites of her food, sipping at her water, she almost choked with laughter as Alistair not only finished his meal before she did but got up for a second helping. Must be a human warrior’s appetite, she figured, covering her mouth with a delicate hand when Alistair sat back down. She glanced back over at him. He is handsome, she noted. But approachable handsome. She experienced a slight pang when her thought of Nelaros, but shook that away. She had a new life to adjust to and she had already mourned him. As she and Alistair sat beside each other, eating in relative silence (apparently his devotion to his meals did not include small talk) she was startled to realize that his features seemed familiar. However, she was certain she had never had occasion to meet any Templar before, and she was sure she would remember one like Alistair. Shrugging, she concentrated on her meal. When Alistair rose for a third helping, the elf could not help it and erupted into a fit of laughter. Alistair merely raised one red-gold brow at her, grinning away like he knew some great secret he wasn’t going to share, and shoveled more food into his mouth.

The pair spent the rest of the day together, with Alistair showing her around the camp and answering any non-specific Warden and non-warden questions. He, too, avoided answering anything with regards to the joining, much to Adela‘s growing frustration. As they briefly passed by Daveth, the young rogue merely waggled his eyebrows at Alistair, gesturing to the lovely elf walking beside him, and then walked away. Alistair glared at the man’s back before turning his attention back to Adela. During their tour, they met the third recruit, a Ser Jory, a human knight who took great pains to inform her that he was originally from Redcliffe and was currently serving in Highever. This was obviously the knight Daveth had complained about earlier. Adela could understand the rogue’s frustration. While not a “bad” man, he obviously had his prejudices, not just against elves, but women as well. Maybe ‘prejudices’ isn’t the right word, she thought, revising her opinion to one that he was merely ignorant.

Taking their leave, they walked to the quartermaster’s stall. As it had been a few hours since her prior visit Adela decided to check on the status of her armor. The man was almost glowing with pride in having completed the armor, and in awe of the workmanship of the gear itself. He had given her the spare pieces, asking if he could keep one. “The workmanship is truly amazing and unique,” he quipped, gazing almost lovingly at the bits of leather he held out. “If we could create other suits like this…” Seeing no harm, Adela allowed him to keep one piece, wondering if he’d be able to learn the secrets of Dalish leather working. With the final words of “If it doesn’t fit correctly come back” the pair went off to put Adela‘s belongings in her tent, which was located at the camp set up for the Warden recruits. Alistair‘s tent had been set up as it was his responsibility to look after the recruits until the joining could take place. Daveth and Jory were no where to be found, but Duncan stood, gazing into the bon fire roaring in the center of the recruit camp.

“Ah, I see you’ve found Alistair,” Duncan remarked as the pair entered the encampment. Adela nodded as she placed her belongings in her tent, and Alistair replied, “And she gave me cheese.” Duncan chuckled at that, but then his face took on a slightly stern look as he turned his full attention to his junior Warden. “Are you quite finished riling the mages, Alistair?” Oh.

“What can I say?” Alistair quipped, “The way the Revered Mother wields guilt she should join the army.”

“Oh? And she told you to sass the mage, did she?” Duncan scolded. Glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of the scolding, Adela sat down on a nearby log, picking at the fire with a stick as the two talked. “We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We must all try and get along.”

Hanging his head rather like a beaten puppy, Alistair mumbled, “You’re right, Duncan. I…apologize.”

Watching the young man, Duncan nodded. “Just, try and restrain your…sense of humor, Alistair,” the man encouraged. “Not everyone is as understanding as I am or,” he indicated Adela, “the little lady here.”

Alistair perked up, and glanced at his mentor at Adela‘s name. A sense of dread briefly shot through Alistair’s stomach as he watched the girl play with the fire and he was aware of Duncan‘s eyes on him. Shaking his head, he cleared the unpleasant thoughts away. It wouldn’t accomplish anything to get worked up about the inevitable anyway.

After speaking briefly with Alistair, Duncan said farewell and went off to go and speak with the other Wardens, who were camped on the other side of the ruins. Alistair went to his tent to gather some tools and then, unsheathing his sword and removing his shield, sat beside Adela, and began sharpening his sword.

“Any more questions?” he asked as he stroked the whetstone along the sword. Adela shook her head, “No, not really.” She looked over at the young man. “I’ve a friend who’s fascination of the Wardens near rivals yours of cheese,” she teased. Alistair grinned back. He really hoped she survived the joining. Not only because she was pretty, but she was nice and had a sense of humor. Plus, she was young. He glanced over at her. Too young, he thought, guessing her younger than twenty, a few years younger than himself. But, he reminded himself, it was hard to tell with elves - they seemed to be eternally young. He wondered what her story was, but was aware that he really wasn’t technically allowed to ask. A Warden’s prior life ceases to be once they become a Warden. Well…he thought, she’s not a Warden yet. As he opened his mouth to ask just that, a messenger arrived in their camp.

“Lady Adela?” he asked of the girl. Adela’s brows rose, a small grin on her face. “Lady? No. Adela? Yes.” The messenger looked a bit confused. Adela glanced at Alistair, who was very busily sharpening his sword (will there be any steel left?) and replied, “Yes. How can I help you?”

The messenger, a young elven man she had seen running messages all day, replied, “The king wishes to remind you of your dinner engagement with him.”

Now Alistair’s head shot up. She knows the king? He looked over at her as she rolled her eyes and rose. How well did she know him?

“Thank you, Pick, is it?” the elven boy nodded, “Alright, I guess we won’t keep his majesty waiting.” She turned to Alistair, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I had forgotten I had promised Cailan I’d have dinner with him. Sorry to leave you on your own.”

Alistair merely shrugged his shoulders, continuing with his work. With a small, confused frown, Adela followed Pick to Cailan’s encampment. Once she was beyond the recruit circle, Alistair looked up to watch her as she walked away, a slightly jealous feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. She knows the king….and he went back to work, trying not to think of pretty smiles and musical laughs, or delicate elven ears…

DA:O

Cailan, attired more familiarly in breeches and hose, greeted her warmly at the entrance of his tent. With a word to his guard he was not to be disturbed unless urgent, he led Adela to the center table, which had been cleared of parchments and maps and was now covered with food.

“What? Did you bring Isabelle with you?” the elf asked as she sat, laughing, gesturing to the table. “And, how many people did you expect?”

Shaking his head, he laughed, “I was hungry,” he joked as he spooned food onto his plate. Adela did likewise, and sat back down. She noticed an almost wistful look cross her friend’s face. “You miss her, don’t you?” she asked as she put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. Cailan looked over at her, his misery all but laid bare. “I do.” he sighed, taking a forkful himself and began to eat. He looked over at her. “There are days, since I’ve been away, that I cannot help but feel like I have not let her know just how much I love her.” He frowned. “How special she is to me.” He sighed. “And without our having borne an heir yet, there has been some squabbling amongst the other nobles. My uncle especially has been making noises for me to set Anora aside for a more ’fertile’ bride.” Adela stared at the king, an expression of utter confoundedness there. Set Anora aside? How could anyone expect him to do that? “I know he is been making inquiries of the Empress Celene.” His frown deepened. “Loghain has even accosted me with this, reminding me of my obligation to his daughter. As if I would ever forget that.” He looked over. “I love Anora. And, if something happened to me here,” he looked over at his friend, who had stopped eating to give him her full attention. “Do you think she would know?” He frowned at his plate. Adela stood and walked over to Cailan’s side. Placing a warm hand on his shoulder, she gave him a gentle shake. He looked up. “I am positive Anora knows exactly how you feel about her,” she assured him. “How do you know?” he asked. Adela shrugged, walking back to her seat, and starting to eat her food. “You forget, I’m her best friend. We best friends share everything.” He could not help but notice the little wicked twinkle in her eye. He groaned, dropping his head down. “Great! Just great! I suppose I am no longer some mysterious marvel of king to you, am I?” Adela laughed. “You never were, Cailan!” and began to eat with gusto. Smirking, looking down at her plate, she said, “No, I can tell. This is not Isabelle’s cooking.”

With a laugh, the somber mood broken, Cailan began to eat as well.

After their meal, they stepped away from the table, Adela retaking the ‘comfy’ chair, and Cailan choosing to stand. He did not want to start this conversation, that much was evident. So, Adela decided to take the initiative. “I spoke with Loghain,” She started. Cailan turned his attention fully to her, waiting. “I am…unsure as well.” she concluded lamely.

Sputtering out a sigh, Cailan sat down on one of the other chairs. “Nothing at all?” he asked, hopefully, yet dreading.

Frowning, Adela said, “There was a slight change in his…countenance, while we spoke. An almost hazing of his eyes, his expression going blank. But, it was over so quickly I almost question what I saw.” She looked into Cailan’s eyes. “And, it’s not an unfamiliar look. I’ve seen it in my father’s eyes when he’s overworked or tired, or worried about something.” Slender shoulders shrugged. “And Loghain is about my father’s age; and there is this Blight business, and,” she indicated to Cailan, “what you just told me about the nobles’ griping about you and Anora not having produced an heir yet. Don’t you think that all that would cause him to be over tired, over worked, concerned?”

Nodding, biting his lip, Cailan nodded. “That is exactly what Anora and I thought,” he confirmed. Slapping his hands to his knees, huffing out a sigh, he rose, extending his hand to Adela. The elf took it and rose from the chair. “Well, it seems we are back at square one,” he said, still holding her hand. “It is probably nothing. So,” he kissed her hand, “we will not worry about it any longer. Not until we have real reason to do so.” He pulled her toward the exit. “You, my dear, need to get some rest.”

As they neared the exit, they could hear a protest from Cailan’s guards. Glancing at each other, they moved to investigate when a familiar form emerged from the flap. Loghain stepped fully into the tent, scowling at the sight of Adela’s hand in Cailan’s. A black brow rose and he shot Cailan with a questioning look.

“Oh, do not give me that look, Loghain,” Cailan scolded with barely concealed irritation, “it is Adela.”

Loghain’s frown intensified. He reached over and pulled Adela from Cailan’s grasp, pulling her to the exit. “Precisely why you should be concerned,” the Teryn shot back, his grip tightening slightly. The king and elf each exchanged concerned looks. Now this was behavior unheard of from Loghain. Trying to diffuse the situation, Adela calmly extracted her hand from Loghain’s grasp, and stood at the entrance.

“Calm yourself, Loghain,” she said quietly, “we merely passed the time with dinner. I needed to head back to camp anyway. I understand there’s a test I must pass and I believe it’s to commence tomorrow.” Both men now turned concerned eyes her way. She forced a smile. It was nice that they cared so much, but when would they stop seeing me as a child? She curtsied to Cailan. “As always, Cailan, it was a pleasure.” She then turned an impish grin to Loghain, “And nice to see you as well, Teryn.” With those words, she left the tent, tossed the king’s guard a smile, walked back to the recruit camp.

She found Alistair still sitting (in almost the same spot) in front of the fire where she had left him just a couple of hours prior. Daveth and Jory were now in camp, setting up their tents and settling down for a bit of drink and talk, which consisted mostly of Daveth teasing poor Jory about missing his wife. Alistair raised his eyes to her, and a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he broke from the gaze. Confused by that reaction, Adela bid the men good night, and crept into her tent. After changing into her nightshift, Adela crawled into her sleeping bag. The male voices outside of her tent would rise and fall, either with mirth or irritation. Sounds similar to the Alienage, she mused. Drawing comfort on these similarities, the elven girl closed her eyes and fell quickly into an easy sleep.

[SheilaD67]

The Halla Reborn
Chapter 8

After weeks of travel, Adela had gotten used to sleeping with nothing between her and the ground but the material of her bedroll. Still, she winced as she rose, stretching, arching her back, wishing for a real bed. She sighed, wondering if she would ever again sleep indoors, on a real bed with bedcovers as opposed to a sleeping sack ever again. She pulled her fingers through her silky hair, grimacing slightly at the dirty feel of it, and wondered if there was somewhere she could get a bath. Most likely not, she ruefully thought, and pulled on her breeches and tunic. She looked over at her mother’s armor - well, now it was her armor. Breakfast first, she decided, attempt to find a bath, and then she’d try on the armor. Her plans for the morning set, she grabbed her boots and pack and stepped from her tent.

It was early - so early the sun was just coming up over the horizon. The fire pit still contained remnants of last night’s fire and was easy for her to get started. There were soldiers and messengers already bustling about, but, judging from the noises coming from the other tents in their camp, she gathered she was the first to rise in the recruit camp. Frowning, she scanned the area, trying to recall just where the mess tent was located. Spotting it, she pulled on her boots, shouldered her pack and hurried over.

There were few inside (either it was too early or not early enough), but pans full of bacon and eggs and other breakfast items lined one wall, Grabbing a plate, she spooned out some eggs, grabbed a roll and set these on a nearby table. Locating a steaming kettle of tea, she poured herself a cup and settled down to eat. No familiar faces were seen, and so she finished her meal quietly and quickly, and decided to go on the hunt for a bath.

DA:O

Alistair didn’t know what to do. Jory and Daveth had risen shortly after he had, but there was still no sign of Adela. He stared gloomily at her tent. Should he just walk in? He had tried calling her name, quietly, but had received no response. He had even tapped on the tent flap and again was met with silence. Daveth had offered to creep in and ease her awake, but the grin the rogue wore on his rugged face only confirmed that that would not be the best idea. With a shrug and glance to each other, the knight and rogue decided to head off to the mess tent for breakfast, leaving a bewildered Alistair behind.

Rubbing a hand roughly over his close shorn hair, the former templar had no idea what to do. He had been raised in a Chantry and had little experience with women who were not priests. He did know, however, that just barging into a woman’s tent, uninvited, and while still practically strangers, would be a big no-no. He wished Duncan was there; the commander would not have any reservations, he was certain.

Steeling his resolve, straightening his back, Alistair made the decision. He’ll just poke his head in just barely…

“Alistair?”

Jumping, a guilty flush staining his cheeks, the young Warden turned around to see the elven woman who had been the cause of his dilemma standing behind him, her long blonde hair hanging, wet, down her back, her cheeks rosy, and a towel held in one hand. A questioning look in her eyes as she stared at the man who had opened the flap to her tent. Jumping back, Alistair stuttered. “I, ah, was just…ahmm…” he looked at the tent again, and then back the young woman. The questioning look in her eyes had brightened to amusement, and she grinned as she stepped up to him, waiting for him to move aside from her tent so she could deposit her damp towel and sundries within. She turned her amused gaze back upon the Warden.

Taking a deep breath, for all the world feeling like the little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Alistair mumbled, “I thought you were asleep.”

Biting her lip, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face, Adela whispered, “So you were going to go inside…?”

His head snapped up, his embarrassment clear, and he adamantly shook his head. “No, no, no, no…I was just going to…open the tent flap and call to you,” he said sheepishly. His brow furrowed. “How long have you been awake?”

“Oh,” she nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders, “Since sun up.” She looked at him appraisingly, “Shouldn’t you all have been up then?” she asked.

“Well, usually, I am, but, I, ah, didn’t sleep well last night,” it was the truth. Alistair had lain awake thinking about the newest recruit and wondered about her relationship to the king. He glanced down at her hands, noticing her turning the gold band that set upon her finger. Her ring finger. He started. A wedding ring? “You’re married?” the question was out of his mouth before he had time to think. Oh, maker! She’s married!

“What?” she looked confused, and then glanced down at her hands. Looking back up, she peered into Alistair’s eyes. Well, tried to. The young man was trying very hard to look anywhere but her eyes. “No, not married. I was betrothed…but…things didn’t work out,” there was a touch of sadness in her voice, and she dropped her gaze back to the ring. Although overjoyed she wasn’t married, Alistair did notice the sadness that spread across her face. What should he say?

Before he could even come up with a rejoinder, Duncan strolled into the camp, Jory and Daveth not far behind.

“Ah, good, you are all here,” Duncan turned his gaze to Adela, “And I see you managed to find the bathhouse.” Adela smiled happily at that, pulled her hair and wringing more water from it. Jory and Daveth by then had joined them and Duncan motioned them to the fire, now burning hotly in the center of their camp.

Alistair stepped away from Adela and took his place by Duncan’s side. Daveth went to stand beside Adela (a little too closely for the elf’s comfort, but she didn’t want to insult the man by moving a step away), Jory taking a place slightly behind the two.

“Today you three will be going into the Wilds, each of you to retrieve a vial of darkspawn blood,” Duncan instructed, his eyes going from one recruit to another. Adela met his eyes, but her brows raised slightly, a questioning look in her eyes; Daveth’s face took on a slightly green pallor while Jory frowned intensely.

“Wait,” Adela started, “is this part of the joining?” She asked, wondering if now she’d get an answer.

“In fact, it is,” Duncan confirmed. “I cannot go into further detail, but suffice it to say this is part of the joining.”

Adela nodded. So, the test required they face darkspawn and retrieve the blood. Why the blood? Her quick mind settled on the most likely explanation: as proof that they were each able to face the monsters and bring them down.

“There are also some old Grey Warden ruins located in the Wilds,” Duncan continued, “Within those ruins you should find a chest with a Grey Warden seal upon it. Retrieve the documents contained therein and return them to me.”

“What kind of documents are these?” ever curious Adela asked.

“Old treaties,” Duncan answered, “promising aid to the Grey Wardens in times of Blights.”

Alistair was confused, “I don’t understand. If they’re so valuable, why were they left behind, the rot in old ruins?”

Shaking his dark head, Duncan replied, “It was always assumed we would return someday,” he sighed, “A great many things were assumed that did not come to pass.” A frown marred his rugged features. “The treaties were once considered merely a formality. Now, with many forgetting their obligations to the Grey Wardens, it will be wise for us to have these to help remind others of those same responsibilities.”

“Get the blood and retrieve the treaties,” Adela was saying. “So, when do we head out?”

His eyes skimming over her form quickly, he replied, “As soon as you are armed and armored.”

Glancing down at herself, the elf grinned ruefully. “Okay, okay, off I go,” she stopped, looking back at the elder Grey Warden, “Unless you have further instruction?”

He chuckled. “No. Alistair, of course, will be accompanying you. However, he will not be leading, but observing, as well as guiding and assisting with trouble. Listen to him carefully, as he has fought darkspawn before.” With that, and a nod to the junior Warden, Duncan left the camp to go about other duties he no doubt had to see to.

The three recruits exchanged brief looks, and then Adela went to her tent to put on her armor and gather her weapons.

She picked the armor up from where it lay upon her pack, running her hands over the intricate designs stitched into the supple leather. She remembered seeing her mother wearing this set, and she hoped she would make her proud. She quickly divested herself of breeches and pulled on the leather skirt, lacing the sides and letting it fall to below mid thigh. She remembered that the skirt had fallen higher up the leg on her mother. Grinning, she pulled off her tunic and pulled on the top piece, lacing the sides. Next went on her shoulder guards and boots. Strapping the knee guard of the boots securely around her knees, she then pulled out the gloves. Like the armor and boots, the gloves were designed for someone who fought mostly with a bow, but could easily shift to wielding a blade. The leather guard covered her forearms, elbow guards strapping securely and comfortably about elbows. The gloves covered the entirety of the backs and palms of her hands, and half way up her long, slender fingers. The leather ended, exposing naked fingertips that could feel the string of a bow fair better than leather clad fingers could. Fully armored, Adela took a glance down at herself. She blushed faintly at the amount of exposed midriff as well as upper arm and leg. She moved about a bit in the armor, twisting at the waist, assuming an archer’s stance. She had to admit, despite being a cloddish bigot, the quartermaster certainly knew his work. The armor fit snuggly where it should, and gave away in other areas allowing for comfortable movement. She was also impressed with the quality of the stitches. Rebraiding her long hair in a single braid that fell down her back, she then twisted it in a knot and secured it at the base of her neck. Maybe I should cut it off? Pleased, the elf slung her bow and quiver full of arrows over her shoulder, strapped her daggers to her hips, took a deep breath and stepped out into the camp.

She expected a reaction - open leering from Daveth, certainly, even a scandalized expression to cross Jory’s face. But, she could have almost laughed as Alistair’s face, after one look at her in her armor, turned crimson right to the tips of his ears. Daveth’s reaction she could almost tolerate - she knew his sort and was prepared for open ogling. Jory’s reaction was superbly predictable. With Alistair, she was actually expecting a joke tossed her way. His embarrassed reaction was a bit more than she had expected, and she had to restrain herself from laughing at him.

“See now, Ser Knight,” Daveth said with a sweeping motion toward the elven craftswomen-turned-Dalish-archer, “that is why I joined. The women. ‘Course,” he turned appreciative eyes to Adela, who met his frank admiration with a raised eyebrow, “I had thought I’d be the warrior impressing the ladies, not the other ‘way ‘round.”

Jory’s expression didn’t change, but she did note that Alistair’s face was beginning to assume its normal hue. Clearing his throat, trying very hard not to look there, Alistair found his voice. “Okay, all.” Well, okay, there was a slight hitch to his voice. Where did she get that armor? Maker! It looked…she looks…”Let’s go.” And with that, Alistair led his charges to the gate that led into the Wilds.

The small group passed nearby Loghain’s encampment. Several soldiers and guards had looked up to watch the four, eyes inevitably straying to the elven figure. Scowling at the sudden lack of attention his men were paying, Loghain glanced over. Spying Adela, he nearly did a double take. With her blonde hair up, dressed in the Dalish armor and carrying that bow, Adela was, despite her lack of height and size, the spitting image of Adaia. No, he corrected himself. While he had always found Adaia to be a striking woman, Adela was more. She was beautiful. The Teryn watched as the young woman and her companions approached the gates and, after a brief discussion with the guardsman there, she and the others passed through and headed out to the Wilds. Anxious that she was left in the care of the fool Alistair, he prayed that she would return, in one piece. After another moment, Loghain turned back to the soldier he was speaking with.

DA:O

A ‘twang’ from her bow, an arrow shot straight and true, and the final adversarial wolf fell at Alistair’s feet, dead. Panting hard, leaning his hands on his knees, the young Warden shot Adela a grateful smile as she trotted up to him. Scanning the area quickly, assured there were no more foes at the moment, the young elf slung her bow back onto her shoulder, and carefully started running her hands over Alistair’s neck, shoulders and arms. Forgetting his own shyness, the Warden appreciated her attention. “So, am I in one piece?” he asked, that jovial laughter back in his voice despite his panting.

Adela returned his smile and nodded, “Looks like you’ll live,” she responded, then left to go check on Daveth and Jory.

Daveth had escaped the fight without so much as a scratch, but Jory’s armor had a few pulls where wolves had sunk their teeth into the leather straps of his scale armor. However, he didn’t appear injured. Adela, her strong suit being archery, had stood back and shot at the pack of wolves that had inexplicably attacked them as they passed the boundaries of the Wilds. She glanced back at the bodies of about a dozen white wolves, thinking that it was too bad they did not have time to skin the animals. She knew a leather worker in Denerim that would love to work these hides.

Her gaze stopped at a pile of something lying near the shore of one of the swamps. Alistair noted the frown that formed on her face. “What?” he asked as he stood straight and went to her side. “Do you see it?” she asked, pointing in the direction. “It almost looks like…” and the frown turning in a scowl the elf broke off and began trotting away from the Warden in the direction of the pile. Muttering under his breath, Alistair glanced back toward the knight and rogue, who were both drinking water from flasks, and ran to catch up with the nimble elf.

Adela stopped quickly, her heart in her throat. The pile she had noticed was the decomposing body of a man. Despite the time in the weather, she was able to make out that he had been a young man, and dressed in what could have been Chantry robes. Not very practical for the Wilds, she thought grimly. She spied a scroll tube clutched in one hand. Stepping up to the body, she crouched down, and gingerly pulled the case free of the man’s stiff fingers. She winched at the sucking sounds her feet made, there in the muddy shore of the pond. Pulling it free, she rose, holding the tube carefully. She stepped away from the body, pulled the ceramic cap from the tube and pulled the parchment rolled up inside out. Alistair had by this time moved to stand over Adela’s shoulder, curious as to what the scroll said. Adela read, her eyes tearing a bit as she realized the fate of the young man mentioned in the note:



“My dear son, Jogby,

“I fear this is the last letter I will write to you, I have had difficulty finding the Chasind to bring them the Maker's word. I have, however, seen evidence of their passing. They appear to have left this area in great haste, possibly fleeing the so-called "darkspawn" that are rumored to be gathering in the Wilds in ever greater numbers.

“I have left you a weapon and everything else I can spare, my son. I will try to find you once I have found a safe place. I only hope that you will be safe. With luck, we will meet again.

“If you see her, tell your mother that I love her. And take care of you family.

“Your loving father,
“Rigby “

Adela bowed her head and Alistair looked back at the body. “Poor fellow,” he murmured. Placing a hand on Adela’s shoulder, the Warden gestured that they should rejoin their companions. With a final look at the body, regretful that they had to leave him there, a victim to the Wilds, they went back to the others, the young woman tucking the parchment back into the scroll tube and tucking it in her pack.

Jory and Daveth watched the pair approach. Tucking their water flasks back into their packs, the pair picked up their weapons and followed the pair, their eyes staring out into the surrounding wilderness with fear and apprehension.

An anguished, choking sound rose to Adela’s sensitive ears and she stopped, putting a hand on Alistair’s arm. The Warden stopped and cocked his head, listening. Yes, he heard it too. Exchanging a look with the elven archer, he trotted ahead and Adela turned to the others advising them to be prepared and to follow, weapons ready. She pulled her bow from her shoulder, notching an arrow, and followed the junior Warden.

There, dragging himself across the muddy ground, leaving a path of blood behind him, was a young soldier dressed in Highever livery. Adela replaced her bow and pulled from her pack healing poultices and bandages as Alistair knelt beside the man.

“Hold on, man,” he whispered.

The injured solider glanced up. “What? Who?” he noticed the emblem on Alistair’s shield. “Grey Wardens?”

“Hmm…he’s not half as dead as he appears,” Alistair deadpanned. Adela shot him a look and gently eased the man over on his side. He had numerous wounds along his chest and stomach, and while obviously painful and the man was fatigued, he would survive the injuries if he was taken back to camp. She voiced this, but the solider only shook his head, “Just…just bandage me up. I need…to report to Teryn Loghain and tell him that our patrol was overtaken by darkspawn!”

As Adela continued to bandage the soldier, Alistair continued asking him questions: Where was the rest of his patrol? Where was Fergus Cousland, the nobleman who led this patrol? Each question Alistair posed was answered in the negative - he did not know.

“There,” Adela said as she tightened the last bandage and handed the man another poultice with instructions to place it on the deep wound on his chest once he returned to camp. With a grateful nod, the soldier pushed himself to his feet, and staggered back in the direction of the camp.

As Adela repacked her medical supplies, Alistair rose. He met two pair of dark, concerned eyes. It was Jory that spoke first. “Did you hear that?” He anxiously glanced about, as though the trees themselves would suddenly jump out and tear him apart. “A whole platoon of seasoned soldiers, wiped out.”

“Calm down, Ser Jory,” Alistair spoke in soothing tones. Adela stood up, pulling her bow from her shoulder.

“Calm down?” Jory’s tone was incredulous. “How can I remain calm with a hoard of darkspawn about? Now,” he straightened his shoulders slightly, “I’m no coward, but this is reckless and foolish. I say we return to camp.”

“Ser Jory,” the elf caught the human’s attention. She almost winced at the fright she saw clearly in his eyes. Why did Duncan recruit this man? “This is part of the joining, the see if we are worthy to join the Wardens…”

Jory scoffed, “Have I not already earned my place?” He demanded. “If I had known there would be more tests…!”

　
But Alistair was shaking his head, “There are darkspawn about, but we are in no danger of encountering the hoard or suffering an ambush.” Maintaining that calm, comforting tone, he continued, “That’s why I’m here.”

“You see Ser Knight,” Daveth piped in, “we may be killed, but we’ll be warned about it first.” Adela just rolled her eyes at the rogue.

“That is….reassuring.” he conceded, albeit quite unwillingly.

“Fine, then,” Alistair said, shouldering his pack, his shield and sword held at the ready. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?” And, indicating for Adela to move on, the Warden stepped away from the two men. Shaking his head, Daveth followed after, while a still reluctant Jory numbly followed behind.

DA:O

The small band found themselves still in the Wilds as night fell. They had battled through several small bands of darkspawn and Alistair had to admit he was most impressed with the little elven archer. She knew how to follow orders and also to give them as necessary. She would fall back, bow and arrow ready, and send forth a steady stream of missiles as Alistair and Jory would meet the foes head on, Daveth sneaking around behind to put his daggers to work. The Warden was also impressed with Daveth’s blade work as well as the rogue’s courage, which surprised the young man greatly. At first glance, Daveth would not be someone that the word “courageous” would spring to mind.

Of the three recruits, Alistair found himself most disappointed with Jory. The man could wield a blade quite well, and could put a great deal of force out, and willingly took the brunt of most of the attacks. However, he always seemed on the verge of running once the battle was over, and he could never quite get beyond the fact that although he was a knight, and his fellow recruits a rogue and an elf, he was not the most qualified member of the team. That, added to his constant whining over his wife, was cause for Daveth to, several times, make a point of accosting the knight verbally with sneering, snide remarks. As the day went on, even Adela’s even temperament was nearing its end.

Deciding it was unsafe to continue through the Wilds at night, the band set up camp. They had packed light, so none had a tent, but they did have bed rolls and means to start a fire. Alistair questioned whether it was wise to have one, but Adela figured that the darkspawn would find them regardless, and it was best to have the fire to hold back other predators. The other two recruits quickly agreed with the elf, and so a campfire was set up and lit. Unfortunately, there would not be any fresh meat to cook over the flames, and the group had to settle for iron rations.

After the camp was set, Adela had walked to the perimeter, staring out over the Wilds. Frowning, she realized she spotted the body of a man, laying within the deteriorated ruins of what must have been a gazebo. How many have died here recently? She wondered as she motioned to Alistair to come with her. Alistair followed quietly as the elf led him to the body. It did not appear that he had been there for very long. Frowning, shaking his head, the former Templar offered up a word of prayer for the man. Adela searched his body, finding a note. Opening it, her frown deepened. “Oh,” she whispered, glancing back at the body, “the poor woman.”

Wait? Woman? Alistair walked over to the woman’s side. She handed him the note and went back to the body.



“To whoever finds this note,

“This is the last will and testament of Rigby the missionary, proud speaker of the Maker's word. I have come to the Wilds to speak the Chant, but I fear I will die here at the hands of the darkspawn.

“I leave all that I came with to my wife, Jetta. Should the reader of this note feel charitable, I have buried a sealed lockbox in our camp, nestled in a Tevinter ruin in the western reaches of the Wilds. It is my will that this lockbox finds my wife in Redcliffe, and that it is still sealed shut when it reaches her.

“To my wife and my son, I apologize that my work has taken me from you, but I know that I die in service to the Maker.
“Rigby”

Adela’s blue eyes met Alistair’s amber. “We have to find that lockbox and return it to her,” she stated matter of factly, her eyes going back to the body. Alistair frowned. “Adela,” he moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. He was sympathetic, but, “we have to find those treaties and get back to Duncan as quickly as possible.”

But her eyes remained on the body of the missionary. He had risked so much to bring what he considered hope to the Wilderfolk. She shook her head, “Alistair. We can’t give this man - or his son - a proper burial. His wife will be waiting in Redcliffe for word from either of them,” she turned her penetrating gaze to Alistair, and he almost felt he could not deny her anything at that moment. “Waiting for word that will never come, unless we bring it to her.”

Various wildlife chirped and howled throughout the Wilds. The pair stood over the body of a man whose only dream was to bring the Chant of Light to the barbarians of the Wilds. And Alistair found himself staring into the bluest eyes, now sapphire in the grief expressed for the wife of the dead man who lay before them. Adela placed a soft hand on his armored arm. “If this was me, laying here, my last thought of my family, wanting them to find peace, I would want someone to find the heart to do this one small task.” She said the words so softly, so earnestly. Without a thought, not questioning it again, the junior Warden found himself nodding. His heart lifted at the appreciative smile that crossed Adela’s face. “We’ll search for the lockbox. And, if we find it, after the battle,” he said, “I‘ll ask Duncan and we can both take it to Redcliffe.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, rising on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. With a final look at the body, she stepped away and went back to the campsite.

Alistair stood there for several moments longer, staring out into the Wilds, thanking the Maker for sending this strong hearted woman to the Wardens. As he stepped away, he amended that prayer. To him.

DA:O

The last genlock fell, its body littered with arrows. Jory lay on the ground, groaning, while Daveth went about looting the darkspawn bodies. Cursing lightly under her breath, Adela pulled out healing poultices and bandages and ran to the knight, shaking her head at his stupidity. When Jory fought, he seemed to have eyes only for his current opponent. What did he think tournament rules applied to real battle? She thought angrily as she tucked a poultice into a tear in his armor. The knight winced, trying to push her hands away. She slapped them away impatiently, binding the poultice in place with the bandages. That was the last of the bandages, most of them having gone to patching this very same knight up. She really could not believe Duncan recruited this man. “Next time I say ‘duck’,” she gave the man a shake, “I mean ‘duck’!” Staring at her stupidly, Jory pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a bit.

Adela turned her attention from the man to the camp they found themselves in. According to Rigby’s notes, this should be his camp. Now, where was that cache…she scouted around, scouring the ground. She glanced up briefly to see Alistair walking back into view. He had chased after a particularly nasty hurlock, but now returned without a mark on him, well, save for some blood. Ugh! Glancing down at herself she allowed a moment of utter revulsion to pass through. It’s going to take a week of baths just to get the smell off her! Alistair raised a hand in greeting, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Shaking her head, she went back to searching out Rigby’s lockbox. Ah…there it is. She noticed the rocks that created the border of the fire pit were arranged strangely. There was no way that this arrangement would allow for a good, strong fire. Pulling the rocks away, she was rewarded by the sight of a metal box. A strong sense of relief swept through her, and she pulled the box free, tucking it into her pack.

“What, you’re not gonna take a look inside?” Daveth, walking up to her, asked. She shook her head. “No. The contents are for Rigby’s wife and her alone.” Adela stood up. The rogue stared at her a moment. Then, with a shrug went back to his looting. She shook her head, and then turned to find Alistair watching her with great interest.

A tired smile, and she said, “What? Too much darkspawn guts in my hair?” She meant it as a joke, even knowing she probably wasn’t too far off the mark. Alistair grinned. “But you really can pull that look off quite well.” With a “ha ha” Adela shifted her pack onto her shoulders. “Where to, oh guide of Warden-ness?” she asked of the junior Warden. Chuckling, Alistair pointed to the north. “I believe the ruins are that way,” he glanced at the two men who now approached the pair. “We should be able to reach it in a couple of hours.”

Taking a deep breath, hoping that this little excursion was soon over (she really wanted a bath), Adela nodded and took her customary position up front.

DA:O

Two hours later, after several more minor skirmishes and one fairly tough battle - facing off against their first magic-wielding darkspawn called an emissary, the group arrived at the ancient tower formerly controlled by the Grey Wardens. Alistair ordered them to spread out and search out the chest. Adela picked through fallen rubble and rotten beams, making her way deeper into the ruin. She could hear Jory and Alistair both clumping along and the only sign Daveth was nearby was the occasional call out he gave so everyone knew his position. She made her way into what appeared to be a courtyard. Glancing up, she saw that it wasn’t a courtyard, but had once been a great hall. The ceiling had fallen in long ago, and only remnants remained, clinging to the support walls. She lightly skipped over the rubble and spotted what they had come here for. Lying against one of the walls was the ruined remains of a metal chest, engraved with the Grey Warden seal. Frowning, believing that the treaties had long since been destroyed, Adela called out to her companions, and then stepped toward the chest. Kneeling down, she carefully examined the ground before and around the chest, checking for any traps that may yet still be operational. Finding none, she turned her attention to the chest itself. Rubble from the ceiling lay upon the crushed cover of the once ornate chest. The lock had been smashed and hung useless by its mechanism. Pulling the granite off the chest, she pushed the lid up, revealing a chest full of rubble and dust, but nothing else. She rose as the others walked into the chamber. Turning to them she opened her mouth to let them know what happened when a sultry voice echoed from one of the chambers off the hall.

“Well, well, well,” the voice said, and in walked a young woman, about Alistair’s age, sauntering into the room. Raven haired, with eyes yellow as a predator, clothed in bits of rags, leather and feathers that barely covered her graceful form, she continued her slow, seductive walk. “What have we here?” she asked. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?”

She stopped in front of Adela. “Well? What say you?”

“Don’t answer,” Alistair had moved closer to Adela and whispered to her. “She looks Chasind and others may be nearby…”

“Oh, you fear barbarians would swoop down upon you!” she raised her arms dramatically.

“Yeeesss….” came Alistair’s snide reply, “swooping…is…bad.”

Adela frowned, turning back to the strange human woman, “We are not intruders. This tower belongs to the Grey Wardens.”

“’Tis a tower no longer,” the mysterious woman replied.

“She’s a witch of the wilds, I tell you!” Daveth nervously broke in, his voice fairly humming with fear, “We shouldn’t be talking to her! She‘ll turn us into toads”

“Witch of the Wilds?” she ‘tsked’ at the frightened man. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the elf. “You there, girl. Women do not frighten as easily as men. Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.”

Adela felt Alistair move closer. Although the woman seemed strange, she didn’t get a strong feeling of danger from her. Taking a small step away from Alistair (she heard his sharp intake of breath when she did so), she replied. “My name is Adela.” she offered a small smile.

The witch returned the smile, “And I am Morrigan.” She paused. “Let me guess, you’ve come here in search of something…something which is here no longer?”

“Here no longer?” Alistair broke in, irritation evident in his voice. “You took them, didn’t you,” he accused. “You’re some kind of…sneaky witch thief!”

“How very eloquent,” the woman’s archaic, clipped voice held a touch of amusement. “I wonder, how does one steal from dead men?”

“Very easily, it appears,” Alistair’s voice took on an authoritative quality, and he faced off against the woman, “Those treaties are Grey Warden property, and I demand you return them.”

“I will not for ‘twas not I who took them.” She scoffed. “Invoke a name which means nothing here any longer. I will not be threatened.”

“Who took them?” Adela asked, remaining calm, hoping Alistair would do the same.

“Now there’s a sensible question,” Morrigan chuckled lowly, “I like you.”

“Careful,” came a warning from Alistair, “First it’s,” and his voice went an octave higher, “’I like you’” and then lowered to normal, “and then ‘zap!’ Frog time.”

Morrigan scowled at Alistair, clearly not liking the man. “’Twas my mother in fact,” she replied to Adela’s question, deciding to just ignore the man completely.

Adela frowned. Things were not going as they should. Finding Morrigan, a lone woman just wandering around while darkspawn were about was more than a little disconcerting and suspicious. Still, they needed those treaties. “Can you take us to her?” she asked. All three men behind her gasped, and Alistair this time grasped her arm. She shook her head at the man, her eyes never leaving Morrigan’s strange yellow eyes.

The witch smiled and nodded. “Indeed I can. Follow me, if you will,” and without another word, led them from the ruins and through a part of the wilderness they had not traversed. They soon crossed a small wooden foot bridge over a swampy part of the marsh, and into a clearing in which sat a small hut. An elderly woman with eyes similar to Morrigan’s stood at the door, as though she had expected them.

“Mother, I bring before you four Grey Wardens…” Morrigan began, but was cut off by her mother. “I see them girl,” she turned those strange eyes to the newcomers. “Just as I expected,” she said in deep, breathy tones.

“What?” Alistair said, “Are we to believe you were expecting us?”

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe." She chuckled. “Believe what you will,” the old woman replied, smirking at the man. “For it is not I who decides. Open one’s arms wide or close ones eyes tight, either way, one’s a fool.” Her attention shifted to Adela, her eyes brightening with interest. “And, you. Does your elven mind tell you something else?” The old witch watched the girl with great interest. Trepidation came over her. Was she being tested? “I’m not sure what to believe,” she answered honestly. Her answer apparently pleased the old woman for she cackled with pleasure. “Now there’s an answer that indicates more wisdom then it implies. Be always aware, or is it oblivious,” she looked down at her shoes. “I can never remember.” she muttered that last part.

Alistair smirked, whispering to Adela, “Sooo…this is a dreaded witch of the wilds?” Adela shrugged one shoulder, still not believing they were even having this conversation.

“Witch of the Wilds?” the old woman cackled. “Morrigan must have told you that! She’s always loved old tales. Oh! How she dances under the moon!” she cackled some more. Morrigan merely placed a hand on her forehead, as though trying to forestall a headache. “They did not come to hear your wild tales, Mother.”

“True. They came for their treaties. And, before you start barking,” she said clearly as she handed over the documents to Adela, “I have kept these safe.”

“You…you kept them safe?” Alistair just couldn’t believe it.

“Of course. And, tell your fellow Grey Wardens that this Blight is more than they realize.” Sagely spoken, the woman seemed quite pleased with herself.

“More than they realize?” Adela asked, “How?”

The old woman laughed, “"Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!” she cackled.

With a glance to Alistair, Adela replied, “Thank you for keeping safe the treaties and the information regarding the Blight.”

"Such manners! And always in the last place you look... like stockings!" Again, she looked down at her feet - actually her stockings.

“Now is time for you to leave,” Morrigan broke in, in hopes of forestalling any further nonsense from her mother.

“Don’t be rude, girl,” the old woman admonished. “These are your guests.”

“Oh,” Morrigan sulked. “Very well.” She glared at the group. “Follow me.” and reluctantly guided the four from the clearing and back to where they had entered the Wilds. Turning to thank Morrigan, Adela was acknowledged with a slight scoff, a toss of a raven haired head, and then Morrigan just walked off. Daveth, having gotten over his initial fright, gave a whistle of appreciation to the woman’s swaying hips. “What?” he asked when he spotted Jory and Alistair glaring at him. “She may be a witch, but, boy, those are some fine hips!”. Still frowning, Alistair led the recruits from the wilderness and back to camp.

[SheilaD67]

Okay, I forgot this all last chapter. So, here it is: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine, although Loghain did abscond with it. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just a some twists to make things fit to my story. I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. It went on way longer than I had wanted, and had actually planned for it have more and conclude a few things. *shrugs* That‘s what happens with you give your characters their own free will, I guess.. However, I figured I would end where I did and continue on to the next chapter (Loghain is shouting at me right now…guess I need to get the next chapter done; be forewarned - the next chapter may take a bit longer to post, and postings will start taking longer). And lisakodysam, there’s a special addition just for you!

As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. Biff McLaughlin, mutive, lisakodysam, and demonshade (thanks, demonshade, for your thoughtful critique. I am hoping to improve my writing and your critique will help point me in that direction). Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum.

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 9

Rid of his bodyguards, Loghain stalked through the camp, passed where fearful soldiers prostrated themselves in prayer to the Maker, to the spot the Warden recruits were camped. Glaring about the site, he grumbled as he took note that no one was present. Where was that bastard? He snarled to himself. He had seen him not an hour before speaking with Cailan. He surely had not gotten very far.

As he continued his brooding and search, Loghain found himself momentarily unnerved by his very strong reaction to the knowledge that soon Adela would be committed to the Grey Wardens. The longer he thought about it, the more enraged he became.

Lately, his emotions had been becoming…erratic. He was aware of this fact, but had been finding himself increasingly unable to calm them. He put it down to the ongoing gossip regarding Cailan’s fidelity to Anora, the increasing volume to the whispers of the nobles that Anora need be set aside in favor of a younger, presumably more fertile queen, and now Cailan’s insistence that they rely upon the Orlesians to assist with the darkspawn incursion. This did not explain to his satisfaction why he was so angry about the idea of Adela being here, in the line of fire, about to be initiated into the secretive order that was the Grey Wardens.

If only the girl would stay in Denerim where I could watch over her! He stopped in his tracks, absorbing that last thought. Not wanting to follow the path his thoughts took with that little admission, he continued his search for the Commander of the Grey.

His diligence was rewarded shortly as he spotted Duncan stepping away from the magi’s encampment. The elderly mage, Wynne, watched Duncan walk away before turning back to the tranquil she had been assisting. His eyes now on his target, Loghain advanced upon the other man.

“Duncan, a word,” Loghain called, his voice holding back any of the overwrought emotions he was dealing with. Duncan paused and turned toward the Teryn, his face remaining impassive. Duncan had been expecting this confrontation for some time now.

“Teryn Loghain,” the commander bowed respectfully. “How may I be of assistance?” His tone of voice calm. Duncan made a conscious decision to not start the conversation in an antagonizing manner. He and the Teryn had a history of…dislike for one another, and he had no desire to exacerbate the situation now.

Loghain’s brows furrowed downwards, the scowl firmly in place. “You must be pleased with yourself, Warden,” he remarked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

A brow rose slightly at that, and Duncan responded evenly. “Pleased? How so?”

The scowl on Loghain’s face only deepened. “You finally have a Mahariel in your pocket,” he snarled. “You must have been greatly pleased to get your hands on her.”

Although expecting some kind of confrontation with the Teryn regarding Adela’s conscription, Duncan was surprised by the naked emotion that the Teryn tried to keep a rein on. The Warden stood for a moment, studying his old adversary’s face. He could not help but wonder if the girl in question was aware of how the older man felt about her. Knowing Adela, most likely not.

“I assure you, Teryn Loghain,” he started, still maintaining his calm. “Had I not conscripted young Adela, she would have been taken to Fort Drakon and from there to the gallows.” He frowned. “And we both know her time at Fort Drakon would have been less than pleasant.”

“Anora would never…” the Teryn started harshly, taking a step forward.

However, Duncan cut him off, “Adela had no intention of calling for sanctuary from the Queen or anyone else.” A lesser man would have backed down from the intensity that was Loghain. However, Duncan was not a lesser man and so met Loghain’s stance, dark eyes meeting those icy orbs.

“She was willing to take full responsibility,” he frowned slightly at recalling just how willing she was to give up her life so that no harm would befall her beloved Alienage. “And she understood exactly what that meant.” He noticed a slightly confused expression crease Loghain’s brow, and the taller man stepped back, watching as the Warden continued. “I had to conscript her and even then argue with her to accept it. She actually called me on it several times during our journey here.”

“What happened?” Loghain asked, the aggressive tone all but melting away from his voice.

Duncan shook his head. “It is not my place to discuss that,” the Warden explained, watching as renewed anger clouded the Teryn’s face. He stepped back, bowing, and turned to leave. “That is something you need to discuss with Adela.” With those words, he walked away from the seething Teryn.

Loghain could only watch the Warden’s retreating back as his anger reasserted itself anew.

DA:O

“A bath,” Adela was muttering as they passed beyond the Wilds’ boundaries and back into camp. Alistair grinned at her. “No, really,” she was adamant. “I really need a bath.”

She grimaced at the tight feel of blood and dirt on her exposed skin, and glanced over to their campsite. No Duncan in sight. Hmm…“I’m going to skip over to my tent and then see if I can get a quick wash before Duncan arrives…” and with those words, she left the three men.

Alistair watched the elven woman skip away to the campsite. Daveth took the opportunity to walk up beside the junior Warden, whistling a little as he, too, watched the lovely elf with great appreciation in his eyes.

“Yup,” the rogue said, drawing Alistair’s attention to him. “Now that right there is a fine piece,” he continued, grinning at the other man. Jory just scoffed as he stalked away from the pair, and Alistair shot the other man a glare. Daveth noticed the look, but wasn’t going to keep quiet. “C’mon, chantry boy,” he quipped, obviously trying to rile him. “Don’t you be tellin’ me that you haven’t noticed her fine…” he grinned, “assets.”

His grin widened as Alistair remained silent. “I seem to recall you noticing them fairly well when we left camp the other day. Oh,” and Daveth quickened his pace away from the larger man, “and while we was in the Wilds,” he grinned wider still, “and at camp…” Then, the rogue turned away and stepped into the campsite.

Alistair just shook his head, a relieved smile on his face as he spotted Duncan walking toward them. Looks like Adela is not going to get her bath just yet, the young man thought with a great deal of sympathy. That sympathy erupted into mirth as he watched the girl exit her tent, sundries in hand, only to have Duncan shake his head “no”. Frowning, looking like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away, the girl reluctantly tossed her bag back into her tent and stood before the Warden Commander, waiting for the others.

Duncan nodded as Alistair stepped into the site. “Good. I see that you are all back,” his eyes still on Alistair, he added, “were you successful?”

Alistair nodded, handing Duncan three vials of darkspawn blood. “Yes, Duncan. Each of the recruits felled at least one darkspawn and retrieved the blood.” He stood straight, as though at a military inspection. “Although to be fair, each of the recruits felled far more than just one of the creatures.”

“Oh?” Duncan watched the junior Warden. “Very good.” He turned to see a young mage enter the campsite. “Take these to Senior Enchanter Wynne and ask her to finalize the rite.” The mage nodded his head, turned and left, carefully holding the vials.

“And the treaties?” Adela had already pulled them from her pack and handed them to Duncan. He looked them over briefly and then put them into a leather pouch hanging at his hip.

Adela watched as Duncan packed away the treaties, and then spoke, “Okay, Duncan. Are we near enough to the joining ceremony to know what’s going on?”

He nodded, “I will not lie to you,” his voice was serious, and he fixed each of the recruits with a penetrating stare. “We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decide that you pay that price now rather than later.”

“You mean, we could die?” Jory asked, dread fairly dripping from his voice.

“Yes, it is possible.”

“Well,” Daveth remarked, clapping his hands together once. “I’d’ve been hung in Denerim had you not the sense to see my own very remarkable skills,” he boasted. “So, I’m ‘bout as ready as I’ll ever be for this here joining.”

“I, too, am ready,” Jory remarked, trying to swallow down his fear.

Adela was nodding. She looked up. “Like Daveth, I would be dead - or worse - had you not come along, Duncan. If I die here, at least I had a few extra weeks and got to journey to Ostagar.”

Duncan nodded sagely, yet felt a keen sense of pride at the young woman’s words. A look over at Alistair told him that the junior Warden, although apparently upset by what could be the outcome, held a modicum of pride as well. “Alistair,” he got the other Warden’s attention. “Bring the recruits to the old temple. We will begin the joining shortly.”

“Yes, Duncan,” he replied as Duncan turned and walked to the old temple.

Muttering that she could have taken a bath first, Adela followed the others. As they passed the kennels, though, she ran to the kennel master and handed him a white flower. The man seemed pleased and wanted to speak more, but she waved him off and hurried away. It was then that Alistair recalled her picking that flower, saying something about a sick mabari. She caught up with the men just as they were heading up the ramp to meet with Duncan.

Duncan had stepped away to speak with the white haired mage, motioning Alistair to follow. The elderly mage handed Duncan a chalice, said a few words to both men and then departed.

Duncan turned to Alistair, speaking softly, “What was your impression of our recruits during their foray into the Wilds?”

Alistair frowned slightly, running his hand through his hair. “Well…” he did not know where to start. “I have to admit to a bit of…confusion…as to why Ser Jory was recruited,” he looked over at his mentor, who was studying him without expression. “He’s skilled with that huge sword of his, but…I don’t know. He seems to lack heart - it‘s so closely tied to his wife and unborn child that that’s all he seems to think about. He also doesn’t really have a sense for battle, like it’s all a great big tournament and we’re all invited to watch.” Alistair shrugged. “He, well, he also seems to lack a bit of respect for those who aren’t…” Alistair struggled here for the right word. “I don’t know…knights? Nobles? Human? Men?”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Oh? How so?”

Sputtering out a sigh, (he really did not like doing this, bad talking someone who may well become a brother warden), he continued. “He seemed to take on a superior air with Daveth, and all but treated Adela like she was some servant. Well, until she set him straight in that regard and Daveth can give as good as he takes.”

Duncan frowned a bit at that, but said nothing. They had recruited nobles before and could well deal with someone’s act of superiority. If nothing else, the more senior wardens would figuratively (and perhaps literally) beat it out of him.

“What about Daveth?” Duncan prodded, keeping the conversation on course.

Hi smirked and nodded. “You know, when I first met him, I was sure he was some braggart rogue looking to steal your purse with one hand, stab you in the back with the other, all while trying to bed some poor unsuspecting girl.”

“And now?”

Alistair laughed. “Well, I don’t think he’s going to stab us in the back.” Duncan chuckled at that. “He actually showed amazing courage facing the darkspawn, and was wherever any of us needed his blade at any time. He followed orders well, and just seemed to know where he was needed.” Alistair grinned. “He’s also friendly. I thought for certain he would be the most obnoxious ass, but he’s fair decent, once you know to expect the snide remark here or there, and you know he’s going to flirt with the girls.” The young Warden nodded. “He’ll make a good addition to the Wardens.” If he survives, he silently finished.

Nodding, his arms crossed against his chest, Duncan then asked about Adela. This was a subject Alistair could warm up to. “It’s obvious she doesn’t have a lot of actual battle experience. There were a few times she seemed to hesitate and when a foe got too close, I thought she‘d jump out of her skin.” He frowned a bit. “I even recall her acting skittish whenever one of us moved too closely. However, she listened well, asked questions when needed, and followed instruction. Heck, Duncan, she was even ordering us around toward the end there. She’s a natural when it comes to leadership and that, I think, more than makes up for any lack of battle experience she may have.”

“I had thought so as well,” Duncan agreed, motioning for the young man to continue.

“She’s deadly accurate with her bow; but needs more work with hand-to-hand combat; she’s courageous even when she’s scared stiff.” Alistair grinned. “Should I go on about how she’s smart, funny, beautiful, puts people at ease…?” Duncan smirked, raising a brow. “Oh! In addition, she’s a healer. Whenever any of us got injured, she was right there with poultices and bandages.”

“Hmmm…I’d imagine in the Alienage they would need their own as healers, as many therein would be unable to afford a healer from outside the Alienage.” Duncan put in.

“You know, I never thought of that. So, Adela must have been one of their healers,” the young man mused. “Huh.”

Duncan’s attention shifted to the three recruits. Jory and Daveth are bantering - bickering - back and forth and Adela is barely paying any attention to them. He noticed she was watching him and Alistair and when she noticed his focus on her, she gave a small embarrassed smile and turned back to her companions. “Thank you, Alistair. I believe we should begin the joining.”

The pair of Wardens walked back to the three recruits.

Duncan turned to face the trio. “We bear a sacred burden. For an age, we have protected the lands of men. Now, a Blight is upon us and we dare not falter. Regardless of race, station in life, mage or warrior. The best must take up our banner to save us all from annihilation.”

He paused. “We Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood,“ he looked at each recruit before continuing, “and mastered it‘s taint."

Jory paled. “We…we’re going to drink the…blood of those…those creatures?”

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we,” he motioned to include Alistair, “did before you. This is the source of our power,” he clenched a fist before him, “and our victory.”

“Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint,” Alistair advised, seeking to ease the tensions of the knight. “We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

Adela looked over her fellow recruits. Jory was terrified, Daveth resolute. To Duncan she spoke in a small voice, “It‘s the darkspawn blood that could also kill us.”

“Those who survive the joining are forever changed. This is why the joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.”

Recalling all the times she bothered Duncan and Alistair regarding the joining, the elf smiled sadly a bit.

“We speak only a few words prior to the joining. But these words have been said since the first.” he turned to the junior Warden. “Alistair, if you would.”

“Join us, brothers and sisters.” Alistair began, his voice soft and reverent, his head bowed. Daveth and Adela each bowed their heads, as did Duncan. Jory’s fearful gaze kept going back to the chalice, its presence foreboding, terrifying in its call of duty.

“Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

Turning to pick up the chalice, Duncan called Daveth forth. “Daveth, step forward,” he turned back to the young man. “From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

Daveth took the chalice in steady hands. He tossed a mischievous grin Adela‘s way, “Well, guess this is it. Will you be impressed when I’m a Grey Warden?” he joked, recalling his first meeting with the pretty elf. Adela graced him with a wide smile, giving him a small shrug. His attention back to the chalice, he brought it up to his lips and drank.

He handed the chalice back, but this time his hands were shaking, terribly so. Adela gasped as Daveth grabbed hold of his throat, choking. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stumbled. With a gurgling cry, he slumped to the ground.

Forcing herself to stand still, the elf watched as Duncan knelt down, feeling for a pulse. The Commander bowed his head, and murmured, “I am sorry, Daveth.” Fear clenched Adela’s stomach, and she felt the need to vomit. She controlled the urge, knowing that there was no turning back. She would live or die. As a Grey Warden.

Duncan turned to the knight, “Jory, step forward,” he commanded.

But Jory stepped back toward the wall, cornering himself in. “No.” he mumbled. “I have a wife…a child…”

“There is no turning back,” Duncan advised, advancing with the chalice. Jory started to pull his sword.

“No, there is no glory in this!” His sword was fully out of its sheath and he was bringing it to bear.

Adela made to move toward the frightened knight, but Alistair pulled her back and away. The elf gasped as the young man placed his hands on her arms, holding her too closely against him. She shook her head, trying to move away from him. That only caused Alistair to hold more firmly.

The junior Warden cursed Jory’s cowardice, not only for his own sake, but also for Adela. She didn’t need to be any more frightened than she already was, he thought bitterly, feeling her trembling almost uncontrollably beneath his hands.

Jory made a lunge at Duncan, which the older man easily side stepped. Drawing a curved blade - it appeared Dalish - Duncan sprang forward, his blade sinking into Jory’s chest, piercing his heart. Gasping out, Jory fell to the ground, dead. Duncan bowed his head as he resheathed his knife. “I am sorry, Jory,” he whispered.

Alistair had released Adela, and she stepped away from him, but did not make a move to run. She stared at Jory’s body for a moment, surprised that Duncan actually killed the man because he was afraid. There is no turning back Duncan had said.

Duncan was speaking to her now. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the Commander, trying to focus on his words. She could not understand them, they seemed garbled and like so much gibberish. Don’t panic, she scolded herself as she reached for the chalice Duncan held out to her. Biting her bottom lip, she looked into the cup.

The contents were black, brackish, with a vile odor. Anxiety caught her breath, but she knew if she refused, Duncan would kill her as he had poor Jory. She had no doubt of that. Not his friendship with her mother, not hers with Cailan and Anora, or their own growing friendship would stay his blade. The Grey Wardens did what they had to do to stop a Blight, even if it meant keeping their secrets safe. Now she truly understood why her mother had hated the order so; the secrecy, and what terrible secrets they did, indeed, have. She found she could not even blame Duncan. He would not have known until his own joining. Honorable as he was, with such a strong sense of duty, he would not let any of those secrets out, even to spare someone he may care for.

Taking a breath, she brought the cup to her lips, swallowing the contents. The taste was bitter, and burned down her throat. The burning felt like acid and fire, lightening and frost, twisting its way down her throat. The thought and so I die crossed her mind, and she fought the fear that rose with that thought. Gasping, she fell to the cold stone, where darkness overtook her.

Alistair rushed forward, kneeling beside the prone elf. Duncan watched as he checked her pulse, and noted the relief that spread unchecked over the young man’s face. Duncan set the cup down, and allowed himself to feel the same relief. She lived, just as he thought she would.

He frowned as he looked at the bodies of the two men. Daveth’s death he had not expected, but he had doubted Jory would have survived even if he had drank of the chalice.

He turned back to see that Alistair had picked the girl up and was holding her in his lap.

“Are you alright here?” he asked the younger man.

Alistair looked up. “If it’s all the same to you,” he replied, “I’ll...I’ll just stay here with her until she awakens.”

While he normally would not have encouraged such coddling after a joining, Duncan was not about to dissuade the young man. “Of course. I need to find Artan anyway and inform him of the results of the joining.” He looked sadly over at the bodies of Jory and Daveth. “And, I’ll send someone over to remove the other two before she awakens. She does not need to see that.”

Alistair nodded to Duncan and did not watch as he walked away. He turned his eyes back to Adela, brushing a stray lock from her face. He allowed himself a small, almost sad smile as he noted the dirt and blood that remained on her face and in her hair.

She is definitely going to want a bath.

DA:O

“So?” Duncan’s huge second asked as he stalked up to his Commander. “Did the li’l lass survive?”

Duncan looked up into the larger man’s face and nodded. “That she did my friend.”

“Huh.” the bear of a man scoffed, “Who’d’ve thunk it. Scrawny thing like that…” he glanced over at Duncan. “’Course, she probably got her ma’s temerity, eh?”

Duncan chuckled. “And then some.”

“An’ the others?” Artan was frowning. He had a feeling at least one of those men had perished. It was seldom that all recruits survived. And Artan just had a feeling that the squirrelly knight wouldn’t have the balls to survive. Duncan confirmed that much, but surprised him when he told him of Daveth’s dying.

“Humph!” the big man sighed, “Someone with that guy’s nerve I’d’ve thought would’a lived. He jest seemed to have that survivor‘s knack.” He shrugged. “Got someone cleaning up, eh?” Right to the point, Artan never danced around a subject, even one as unpleasant as removing the bodies of those who died during the joining.

Duncan nodded, pulling the treaties from their pouch and looking them over. “Indeed. Timmins and Reese are doing so now.”

Artan scoffed, frowning, “What ‘bout that li’l chantry boy?”

Duncan chuckled at that. Alistair was one of the larger men in the Wardens, standing several inches taller than Duncan did. Of course, everyone was small compared to Artan.

“Why ain’t he cleanin’ up the mess?”

Duncan looked over at the man from under furrowed brows. “He’s watching over Adela at the moment.”

Well…ain’t that interestin’?

Artan stared at his commander for a moment, then suddenly barked out a bellow of a laughter. “Now! Who’d’a thunk it!” Duncan looked up, surprised. “If’n I di’nt know better, I’d be thinking that you planned that.”

He laughed harder at Duncan’s raised brows. “Now, doncha be tryin’ to deny it, you old fool. Yer tryin’ to get the li’l boy hooked, ain’t ya?” Artan nudged Duncan‘s shoulder. Well, nudged for Artan is nearly knocking the man off his feet.

Steadying himself, Duncan replied. “And how could I do that, my friend?”

“Pfwt!” he nearly spit. “Now we’re all aknowin’ yer practically a da to the lad. And, then you come back with a pretty li’l thing, sweet as can be, smart, and brave. I’m fair certain you di’nt bring her back fer yerself,” his blue eyes went shrewd. “Or did ya?”

Rolling his eyes, Duncan shook his head. “I’ve done no such thing, Artan.” He looked at his friend. “If Alistair likes the girl, and she likes him as well, then we will count that as a happy coincidence.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Artan mumbled, walking away to resume his duties. “Wha’ ever ya say, boss.”

DA:O

Roiling black clouds blocked the sunshine, the smell of blood and death and decay assaulted her senses. Above, a terrible screaming roar shot through the air, vibrating in her ears, making her knees tremble. Staring up, she saw the huge, dark shape of the great dragon swoop down to her, its near skeletal form covered with taut skin. Giant wings beat the air, creating tornadoes in their midst, and its tail lashed behind it maliciously. Shielding her eyes from the maelstrom, Adela rose to her feet, steadying herself against the fierce winds. Then, the dragon reared back, and then lunged at the girl, breathing fire and smoke, lightening and frost….

Screaming, Adela lurched up, holding her head in trembling hands. She felt strong arms wrap around her, a soft, gentle voice speaking soothing words. Steadying her breathing, she swallowed her terror, taking deep breaths while listening to the calm voice.

Still not quite focused or aware of where she was, she glanced around. Oh yes, she thought, the joining.

Jory and Daveth were gone; Duncan stood nearby, watching. She looked up at the young man who held her. A brief moment - a terrible body memory - and she stiffened, jerking her body instinctively away from Alistair. Shaking her head - this is not Vaughan - she tried to force herself to relax, but her body would not obey her mind and remained stiff and unyielding. She felt Alistair twitch in confusion, a questioning look on his fine face, but he released her and stood.

Duncan, seeing that she was awake, walked over to the pair as Alistair helped Adela to her feet.

“How do you feel?” Alistair asked, holding her hand, concern in his voice.

She nodded, finding it hard to find her voice. What was that she saw? She swallowed, and spoke, “I’m…I’m fine. A terrible dream, that’s all.”

Duncan and Alistair both nodded. “You will find that you will have these dreams often.” Duncan put his hand to her chin and tipped her head up. “There are a great many things you will learn about what it is to be a Grey Warden over the months to come.”

She nodded. “More secrets, I suppose,” she replied, frowning deeply.

“Indeed.” Duncan acknowledged, his eyes searching her face. “Take a few moments. Then join me for a meeting. You will find us to the west.”

What? “What meeting?” she asked, strength returning, she pulled her hands from Alistair’s grip and stood facing her Commander.

“A strategy meeting with the king and Teryn Loghain,” Duncan frowned. “I am not certain why they requested your presence, however.”

Grimacing, she looked down at herself. Still dirty. “I don’t suppose I have time for a bath?”

Duncan noted the disgust in the girl’s voice. If he had his way, she would be on her way to the bathhouse and then to bed. But, as it was, with both the king and teryn requesting her presence…”I’m afraid not quite yet, little lady.”

“Before I forget,” Alistair was saying, pulling an amulet and chain from his side pouch. “It’s tradition that each new Warden receives one of these amulets. It contains a bit of the blood used at the joining.” He fastened the amulet to the chain and then slipped it over Adela’s head. “To remember those who didn’t make it this far.”

The girl held up the amulet. Emblazoned on its shiny surface was the emblem of the Grey Wardens: a rearing griffon.

Duncan was turning to leave. “Wait, Duncan,” she called, hurrying to his side. “I’m ready to go now.”

Duncan studied her face carefully. It was obvious the girl was quite shaken, and he felt that it was more than just the dream. However, they had never spoken of it before, and now was not the time to broach the subject. “Are you certain?” He felt a great deal of pride as she resolutely nodded her head. He motioned for her to go ahead. She took a step forward, and then turned back to Alistair.

“Thank you, Alistair,” she said, giving him a tremulous smile. “For staying with me.”

Alistair smiled widely. “Anytime.”

She turned back to Duncan and followed him to the strategy meeting.

DA:O

The pair headed toward the war council area, where Cailan and several others stood. When Adela spotted Loghain, she had an almost unconscious thought to fix her hair. Grimacing at the stiff feel, she let her hands fall to her sides. Nothing short of a good, hot soak was going to make her hair resemble anything shy of a bloody helmet. Frowning, shoving aside any hopes of protecting her vanity, the girl followed the Grey Warden Commander.

Cailan was the first to take note of their entrance. He offered Duncan a wide smile, but his eyes widened and the smile fell when he saw Adela and the bloody, dirty shape she was in.

The young king‘s reaction at the sight of the elven woman captured the attention of Loghain, who was bent over a topographical map depicting the Ostagar ruins in great detail. The teryn’s eyes narrowed at her sorry state, casting a malevolent glare at her commander.

Adela rolled her eyes at both men, raising her hands. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sighed, “All of this mess - not mine.” She grinned - actually grinned - as she said that. It was true. Despite these two men - wonderful though they were - trying to convince her and anyone else who would listen that she was not a warrior, she had come back from the Wilds virtually unscathed and covered with the blood of many darkspawn that had fallen to her bow and blades. She hoped these two would finally see that she could take care of herself.

Cailan’s horrified expression eased, but when she looked at Loghain, she could tell he was not convinced nor calmed. If anything, he seemed angrier. Ah, well, she thought, I’ll just have to deal with that later.

As Duncan and Adela took their places opposite Cailan and Loghain at the table, others walked in. One, an elderly woman with a perpetual scowl of self-importance, dressed in elaborate chantry robes, strolled in, flanked by several Templars. Adela knew immediately that this was the Grand Cleric, for she had seen her often at the Denerim Chantry.

The other was a squirrelly looking man dressed in heavily embroidered mage robes with a bald head and his own air of self-importance. Obviously a mage.

The two glared openly at each other as they took opposite stances to the side as the king, teryn and Warden Commander discussed the upcoming battle.

Truthfully, Adela found the meeting rather boring. She had no knowledge of strategy, and could offer no advice or suggestions. Duncan, Cailan and Loghain discussed, argued and strategize as the Grand Cleric and mage continued to scowl and glare at each one another.

Adela did notice that occasionally the Grand Cleric’s attention would shift to her, an obvious look of disgust and disapproval clear on her overly wrinkled, sour face. Either she’s unhappy an elf is here, Adela thought without any humor, or she, too thinks I really need a bath.

Cailan and Loghain were currently arguing about the front lines and the possibility of waiting for the Orlesian forces to arrive. Loghain was adamant that they did not need the Orlesians and had actually called Cailan a fool. Adela stared at the Teryn. Never had she heard him use that tone of voice with Cailan, ever. The king himself seemed a bit taken aback by Loghain’s attitude, and, in a firm voice, proceeded to remind the Teryn just who the king was here.

Adela glanced over at Duncan; he too seemed surprised by the turn the conversation was taking.

“Who will light the beacon?” Cailan was asking.

Loghain shrugged. “I have an idea as to who should go and light it. It’s not a dangerous mission, but it is vital.” The Teryn’s eyes rested upon Adela. “I think Adela should be given that task.”

Cailan chuckled. “Now there is something we both can agree to.” The king turned to Duncan. “And Alistair should accompany her.”

A strange, veiled look passed over Loghain’s face, but it was gone, replaced with his usual scowl. “Fine. So long as the beacon is lit as it should.”

The meeting was concluded shortly thereafter. As Adela passed nearby Loghain, the Teryn walked over to her, easily meeting her strides. “Adela,” he said in low tones. “I wish to speak with you.” He looked up and then back into her eyes. “I’ll send a messenger along to fetch you.”

The elf looked up in his icy eyes, a questioning frown on her face. She nodded, saying, “I really need a bath, first.”

Loghain chuckled, stepping back to look at her. She was covered in blood and dirt, locks of her hair encased in blood. “That you most certainly do, dear girl.” With that, he nodded to her and left.

Duncan had come up to her side by then, his questioning eyes following Loghain. The pair resumed their walk to the camp in silence.

Alistair was not at the site, and so Adela did take that opportunity to retrieve her toiletries and went to the bathhouse. The servants had made a point of assuring there would always be a hot bath available behind the partitions. Grimacing as she peeled off her filthy armor, the girl sighed as she sank into the steaming water. Ducking down, she fully immersed herself in the water, letting it soak into her hair. Picking up her bar of soap, the girl washed herself, letting her bath take as long as it took the water to cool.

Washed, dressed in a clean tunic and breeches, her hair combed back in a damp curtain down her back, she gingerly carried her armor back to camp and tossed her pack back into her tent.

She was unsure as to why Loghain asked to speak with her. She was already fully aware he was not pleased with her joining the Wardens and she truly hoped this was not another lecture. At this point, where she had passed the joining, she felt that the matter needed to be put to rest.

She combed her fingers through her hair (so nice and clean), sat before the fire, picked up a cloth and began to scrub the dirt and blood from the armor.

Her hair was almost dry, curling around her face, a shimmering wave of blonde down her back. She had just finished oiling her armor when Loghain’s messenger arrived.

With a sigh, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose, the elf roe and followed the young man to Loghain’s tent. The guard standing duty was different from the one who was there the first time she visited with the Teryn, and this one greeted her with a slight nod of the head. The messenger bowed slightly, taking his leave. Smiling, the elven woman stepped through the flap and into the cool, dark interior of Loghain’s tent.

She very nearly screamed as strong hands enclosed about her shoulders, pulling her forward.

[SheilaD67]

Ready? Set? I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine, although Loghain did abscond with it. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. I have also posted a new story DragonAge: The Halla which tells of the first time Adaia, Maric, Rowan & Loghain meet. Each chapter will be a POV from each of them. I’d like to say it’s required reading, but, it really isn’t. Just an idea Windchime68 tossed my way, so I ran with it.

As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. Biff McLaughlin, mutive, zevgirl, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I’m loving the alerts/favs!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 10

It was late afternoon, nearing early eve. There was a heavy, moist feel in the air, and Alistair was certain it was going to rain. Wonderful, he thought as he wandered about the camp. Just what we need the night of battle. He frowned, staring out toward where the rest of the Wardens were camped, lifting his gaze further to stare in the direction where the main battle would occur. He imagined fighting not just the darkspawn but mud…and having it in his boots, on his shield, in his eyes, in his hair…

Feeling uncomfortable in his splint mail armor, the young man continued his walk, trying to ease his nerves, wondering if he should just remove his armor for now. He sighed. Considering how long it took to take it off and put it back on, and then get reacclimated to it‘s weight and the feel…no, he‘ll just suffer for now. There‘ll be plenty of time after the battle...His sight found the designated battle area again.

This would be his first real battle. Certainly, he had fought darkspawn before, packs of wolves, and once a small group of bandits. But, those had been small battles, over in minutes. Never had he experienced a battle in a war. And that was what they were in, whether Cailan or Loghain or any of the others would admit it. The Blight was upon them, and that meant they were at war. Going into battle, thrown right into the hoard, surrounded by foes at each turn…he longed to prove himself in such a battle. He just couldn’t shake the bit of fear and, well okay, he could admit it, terror that rose whenever he thought of it.

His circuit took him back around to the campsite. A quick inspection told him that Adela was not there. Stepping over to the fire, he saw that the flap to her tent was slightly open. He went over and noticed that her armor - now clean and oiled - leaned against the entry, holding the flap open. It’s going to rain, he thought as he reached in, tucked the armor further in and closed the flap.

Amber eyes shifted upwards to the sky, watching as the clouds continued to roll in, confirming his belief it was going to rain. He went over to the fire, tossing a few logs to keep it burning bright and high. Pulling his sword and shield off his back, the young man sat down. He was worried about Adela being in battle. She was brave, no one would doubt that. And she seemed to accept her fate in the Wardens readily enough. A frown formed between his brows. But he doubted - very much so - that she would be ready for the upcoming battle. He looked around, hoping that Duncan would just magically appear to tell him that Adela would not be heading into battle, that she would be placed with the archers on the bridge, or kept at camp completely out of harm’s way.

Alistair knew his thoughts did the girl no justice, and he felt momentarily ashamed of them. But, if he was to be realistic (that was a good an excuse as any), he had to admit she wasn’t all that ready for battle. He sighed. But, is anyone really ready their first time, he had to wonder. He recalled his first fight to the death, the aforementioned bandits. He had been scared near ****less. Yet, he had fought well - after all, it was his life or theirs. And they were bandits. He shook his head, bowing it slightly. Even with that bit of realization, he still could not help but feel more than a little trepidation that the elf would be put smack dab on the front lines with the other Wardens. What use her bow there?

“Bah!” he said, lifting his head and then resuming his search for Duncan.

He saw Duncan approach him, a determined look on his face, a confident stride. And just on cue, Alistair thought wryly as he rose from his seat to great his commander.

DA:O

Rain before the battle…Duncan frowned as his gaze swept upwards to the gathering storm clouds. Not just rain but a storm. How appropriate.

The Warden Commander was pleased that the King and Teryn Loghain had agreed that Adela be the one to light the signal beacon. Despite his belief that she would do well in the Wardens, he did not want to risk her in the battle. She had not the skill or fortitude at this juncture to be on the front lines.

His gaze lowered, sweeping over the camp, coming to rest on the familiar figure of the junior Warden (no, he is not the junior warden any longer). He took a breath, and let it out slowly, resuming his walk toward the camp site.

Alistair, on the other hand, was not going to be happy about being kept out of the fight. How many times had the young man mention his desire to prove himself worthy of the Wardens? The commander shook his dark head. Too often, in his opinion. While he was grateful that Alistair was so adamant about the wardens, he feared that the lad had not yet realized the realty that was being a warden. He’s still young, he thought, a different young than I ever was.

“Alistair,” the elder man greeted as he entered the campsite, pushing old memories away. He glanced around. “Adela is not back yet?”

He noted a look of confusion mar the younger man’s face. “I thought she’d be with you?”

“No such luck,” Duncan remarked without humor. “The Teryn had requested a moment of her time.” A drop of water splashed upon his hawk like nose, and he squinted up. “I expect her to return shortly.”

As intermittent drops of water fell around from, the commander advised the younger warden of his assignment. Alistair’s reaction was about what Duncan had expected.

“What!” he demanded incredulously, “I’m not going to be in the battle?”

“Alistair, it’s by the king’s own request,” Duncan tried to soothe.

“Oh?” there was that frown again. “Doesn’t he think Adela can do the job? She’s quick and able…”

Duncan nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. And, personally, I agree. However, whatever his reasons, those are his orders: You and Adela will go to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon.” The authoritative tone in Duncan’s voice left no room for argument. He was pleased Alistair recognized it.

A red-gold brow quirked up. “How did Adela take the news?”

“Quite well, actually. I think she was privately pleased she wouldn’t be facing the hoard at this time.”

“Hmmm….”

Duncan’s gaze went to where Loghain’s tent stood. The sprinkle of rain had increased slightly, but could not yet be called actual rain. There were still a few hours before the armies were to get into position, still hours before meeting the hoard of darkspawn that plagued the Wilds.

“Make certain, once the armies move into position, that you and Adela make your way to the tower. Once the beacon is lit, I want you both to remain and help hold the tower,” he commanded, “And here,” he handed Alistair a leather pouch. “Make certain Adela keeps these on her at all times.” and he turned to leave. Alistair accepted the pouch without question.

“Duncan,” Alistair spoke, putting out a hand to rest on his commander’s shoulder. “May the Maker watch over you.”

He nodded in response. “And may He watch over you and Adela as well, my boy.” He patted the young man’s shoulder noticing as Alistair straightened under the attention. Giving him a small smile, the Commander of the Grey walked away.

DA:O

A noise at the entrance to the tent jolted him awake, startling up from an uneasy rest filled with dark shapes and harsh whispers. The light shifted, and a small, slender form entered. Quickly, with grace and skill that easily belied his size and age, he reached out with his strong hands and grabbed hold of the intruder by the shoulders.

A started “yelp” in a very soft, feminine voice surprised him, and his grip only tightened, the need to hurt racing through his veins. He suppressed the violent urge and struggled with the small form. There was another gasp, and the struggling figure twisted agilely in his hands and a foot lashed out and connected with his knee. A curse erupted from his lips, and he released his hold. Eyes now adjusted to the dim light that creeped in from the slightly open entrance, he was able to make out the small form of an elven woman. Lurching forward, he grabbed hold of the figure, wrapping one arm under her neck, the other around her waist.

“Adela,” he breathed in her ear, feeling her body stiffen against him, “Relax….”

“Loghain?” She tried to turn her head to look at him. His hands fell away and she turned to face him. “Why did you grab me?” she asked, breathless. “Why is it so dark in here?”

There was a moment of silence, his mind in a confused haze. He heard his guard shift outside, “Teryn? My Lord?” the guard called.

Frowning, Loghain called back, “All is well, Geoffrey. Adela merely tripped.” He listened as his guard returned to his post.

He crossed the room, and pulled the hood from the nearby lantern, filling the room with light. Loghain frowned at her, and he heard her gasp as her eyes adjusted and settled upon his half naked form.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Adela remained where she stood, confusion marring her lovely face “You asked me to come here,” she spoke in those same gentle tones, ones he had heard her use to placate others so handily with. “You even had a messenger fetch me.”

“I must have forgotten,” he mumbled, his eyes focused on the elf before him. He shook his head, bringing a hand to his forehead. He had asked her here? Why could he not remember? Why would he ask her here?

“Loghain?”

He opened his eyes, raising his head. The girl - no, not a girl. A young woman - looked concerned. He ran his hands through his black hair, very much aware of Adela’s presence in the room, aware of his shirtless condition. Very much aware as she took a step closer.

That feeling came over him. One he had fought against in smaller amounts whenever he was with this girl - this woman. But, as with all of his emotions of late, this one was urgent, strong, an almost violent need that suddenly sprang upon him. The urge to act was overwhelming…

And he moved, reaching out, grabbing the startled woman, pulling her to him. He bent his head to her, his mouth pressing against hers. He felt her startled gasp against his mouth, felt her body stiffen as he pulled her closer. Tiny hands pushed against his chest, and she struggled against the stronger man. All thought seemed to leave him; he fell within himself, no longer aware of what he did. Oblivion seemed to take hold for a moment, but slowly, carefully, he was able to claw his way up and out. He had pushed Adela away from him - or maybe she had managed to do so herself - but his hands remained grasping her arms - tightly. He saw fear on her face, in her eyes and he flinched. Moreover, mixed with that fear was something else. A look he would never have expected on her face, of all faces. He took a deep breath, once again fully in control of himself, his wants, desires….all of those were firmly back down, tucked away. Now was not the time for this.

“Adela…” he began, but stopped. The sound of his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. What could he say? He had known the elven woman since she was a child. Nothing in their shared history would have given him any cause…any reason to believe that this was what she would want. Chagrined, his head bowed. He was surprised when a small, delicate hand touched his cheek. A sharp intake of breath, and he raised his eyes.

Adela was watching him carefully, her bluest eyes fixed upon his face. He wondered, briefly, what she must think of him. His surprise was complete as she stepped forward, rose on her toes, and gently kissed him on the lips. He frowned, puzzled, but before he could respond to the contact, she stepped back, equally confused, the fear still on her face, that look upon her face that screamed ‘flee‘. But now he understood that other expression.

Desire.

He wanted to take hold of her again, press her slender body against his, and give in to that desire…that need and want. He wanted to feel his pulse speed up and that light headedness that accompanies the rush of adrenaline when that feeling overwhelms. He wanted…

He did not, could not. That fear he saw…

”Adela,” he breathed her name hoarsely, stepping away before he did something foolish - again - something neither of them seemed quite ready for yet. She seemed surprised by her own reaction and stepped back as well.

“This is foolish,” the teryn growled, watching as her right brow rose. “We’ve no time to…”

“I know, Loghain,” Adela said in her soft voice. “I had no idea…” She hung her head, at an obvious loss as to what to do, or even where to turn her eyes. And he could read it so clearly on her face, her body language. She felt shame.

Outside of the tent, the camp was alive with shouts and the sounds of soldiers readying themselves for battle. Inside that tent the silence that had fallen was nearly as loud and penetrating. Reaching out, Loghain took hold of her hands, pulling her gently towards him. He bent his head, and she raised her eyes. Nodding with decision, Loghain spoke.

“Now is not the time for this,” he stated again, in a stronger voice. “But know that once this is all done, you and I need to discuss it further.” He smiled as she raised that brow again.

She nodded her agreement. And turned as though to leave.

Another decision made.

“Hold a moment, Adela,” he turned away and walked to the cordoned off chamber to the back of his tent. From his trunk, he pulled out a small wooden box. cocking his head, he listened, hoping she remained, almost fearing that she would. He opened the box and pulled out an amulet he had had created, just for her, just prior to coming to Ostagar. He meant to give it to her upon his return (he used the excuse of her birthday as the reason for such a gift). He told himself that he had brought it with him as he felt no where would be better to keep it until then. Sodding old fool, came the harsh thought, you know that is just an excuse.

Palming it, he took a deep breath, calming his nerves, his hand going to the pocket of his breeches, feeling the familiar shape therein.

He had no idea how he could not remember asking her to visit him. He could not explain the surge of desire that had called for him to take hold of her, to take her. He looked down at his closed hand. But, he knew that it was no random thing. There was a reason he did not want her here, did not want her part of the Wardens. Wanted her safely back in Denerim, where she and Anora could keep one another company until he and Cailan returned. However, he would still not acknowledge that, could not acknowledge it while the battle still loomed ahead, while there was every chance neither he nor Adela would survive.

And so he stepped back through the curtain, determined not to say another word. He surprised himself by being pleased she waited.

Standing before her, feeling rather like the young man he had been far too long ago instead of the old (lecherous, some would say) man he now was, he took one of her hands and placed within it the silver charm he had created just for her. They didn’t say another word, aware that all talk would need to wait until after this battle. With a nod, her eyes going to her still clenched hand, Adela turned. Loghain watched as she stepped out of the tent, leaving him to his overwhelming emotions.

And a burgeoning headache.

DA:O

Stepping away from the tent, she took a few steps, and then turned, staring with open confusion at the tent. What just happened? She asked herself. Still clutching the charm Loghain had placed in her hand, still not taking a look at it, she walked slowly back to her camp.

She was confused and upset with herself. She had thought she had gotten over her infatuation with Loghain long ago. She had to as she knew that she would have to marry another elf; there could not ever be a future with a human, especially one as highly placed as Loghain. She snorted. She had never imagined that the teryn could ever have those feelings for her.

Yet, she remembered the way he had grabbed hold of her. So unlike the way Vaughan had held her, and taken possession of her. She shuddered. She had felt fear, almost overwhelming, when Loghain had first put his hands on her and pulled her to him. And when his lips first met hers, all she could remember was Vaughan’s lips on hers, seeking possession - ownership - of her. And how he had taken it.

She furiously shook her head. Loghain was not Vaughan. But Loghain had initiated the kiss with a demanding start. And in her panic she had fought against him. He held her tight and the kiss changed into something that had no reminded her of Vaughan. Yet, she still fought and pushed away, when Loghain had suddenly pushed her back. The look in his eyes had startled her, terrified her. They were his eyes still, not the cloudy, murky gaze she thought she had seen days before. But they held an intensity she was not able to identify. She clutched the token in her hand tighter and continued to walk toward the campsite.

Alistair sat before the fire, staring into the flames.

Her frown deepened. And what kind of a woman was she? She wondered. She had been flirting with the young Warden earlier. And now all she could think of was Loghain’s lips upon hers? Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She could not dispel the bit of disgust that rose up in her chest. She would have to sort this out, she knew that. She knew her feelings for Loghain were strong - she had known him a long time. Had had years for her infatuation to grew. And here was Alistair. A nice man, who obviously liked her. And she found she liked him as well.

She resumed her walking.

And, if she was to be pragmatic about it and use her head, with Loghain what could she have? Maybe be his mistress? If things were to progress that far even? With Alistair…no, stop that! She scolded herself. You are getting far too ahead of yourself.

After the battle, she decided. She would not need to make any kind of decision regarding anything until after the battle.

The charm in her hand pinched her flesh as she tightened her grip. Opening her palm, her breath caught in her throat as she gazed with disbelieving eyes.

There, wrought in fine silver, etched in gold, was a rendition of the ivory stylized halla she had carved for Anora years ago.

DA:O

The human woman watched with open contempt as the elven woman - the knife eared **** - walked away from her Lord’s tent. She had never understood Teryn Loghain’s fascination with the elf, although the woman believed perhaps some of King Maric’s preference for the beasts may have rubbed off a bit. After all, Teryn Loghain had also been a friend to this elf’s mother.

She frowned, the gesture making her plain face seem harsh, stark against the darkening skies. Her countenance was plain, her dark brown hair pulled back in severe bun at the back of her head, brown eyes that took in everything around them but gave nothing back. Tall, muscled like a man, with long legs and large, rough hands, there was nothing feminine about this woman.

Forcing her eyes from the retreating form of the elf, she turned to her lord’s tent. Small drops of rain began to fall from the ever darkening skies, and she blinked. She remembered when she had first met Loghain, alone and beset by bandits. She, a poor farmer’s daughter, had aided him. And he in return took her away from that life - a life that would have meant virtual servitude on that dirt farm, with the only prospects being to perhaps marry another dirt farmer. Instead, she rose in the ranks and was now commander to Maric’s Shield, His lieutenant.

She noticed an elven servant approaching, a tray laden with food for the teryn. Nodding to herself, she approached the elf, pulling a wine skin from her hip. She spoke briefly with the elf, placing the skin on the tray. The elf nodded once, and stepped in front of Loghain’s guard. The guard allowed her entrance.

Cauthrien watched as the elf disappeared into the tent. At least this knife-ear knows her place. She did not leave her spot until the elf left, tray empty. Nodding, the commander of Maric’s Shield turned to inspect her troops.

Battle would begin soon.

DA:O

Alistair was pouting. Adela could not believe it. He was actually pouting. And, well, he whined a little, too. He noticed her grinning at him and his pout grew deeper. Laughing, she playfully swatted his arm, her own concerns momentarily forgotten with the young man’s antics.

“Come now, Alistair,” she teased her fellow Warden. “It won’t be so bad.”

“Oh, yes, right,” he responded, that snide sarcastic tone fully in his voice. “Instead of being on the front lines with my brethren, I get to light a fire. “ He frowned. “Hey look!” he picked up a piece of wood and tossed it into the campfire. “I can light a fire!”

Raising her face up, letting the rain that continued to fall land on her cheeks, blinking as the drops caught in her long lashes, she laughed again. “Well, at least we can be out of the rain.”

“Not helping,” he called over. She looked over and saw the smile on his face.

She grinned back at him, and sat down on the log. Patting the space beside her, she voiced an idea she had. “You know, Alistair. There’s nothing saying that we can’t go to the tower before the start of battle.” Alistair sat down, looking at her with interest. “We could go sooner, take a leisurely walk to the top, and pick a comfortable spot to watch the battle and await the signal to light the beacon.”

Alistair was looking into the fire. “Well?” Adela nudged him with her shoulder. She hoped he found that her idea had merit. She really did not want to just sit and wait here. She wanted to do something, even if just meant walking up a few flights of stairs and watch something other than Loghain’s tent.

The young man turned to her, watching her as she gazed into the flames. “You know,” he said smoothly, “that may not be a bad idea.” He looked at her. “And even though we’re essentially playing errand boy…” he grinned as she looked at him “and girl, you may still want to put your armor on.”

Pleased he agreed, she slapped her hands to her knees and rose, ducking into her tent to put on her leather armor.

A few moments later, garbed in her armor, tucking the charm Loghain gave her into the breast of her leather top, with her bow and quiver upon her back, daggers at her hip, the elf exited her tent.

DA:O

The rains had come, and in full force. Thunder boomed and lightening crackled against the black sky as the downpour of acidic rain harried the soldiers who prepared for battle, creating instant morasses of mud, running beneath armor. While the warriors tried to maintain an air of stoicism as they prepared for battle, the harsh change in the weather was an ill omen to them all.

The elf and human made their away across the bridge that connected the main army camp with the Tower of Ishal. The rain pelted down, slapping Adela’s face, soaking her hair and her armor, making it heavier. She stole a glance over to her companion - he didn’t fare much better. At least he has a helm to protect his eyes, she thought glumly. The pair quickened their pace, stopping briefly to watch as the soldiers began to file onto the battlefield, organizing into groups. The hounds had been pulled from the kennels and stood beside their masters. Archers began to line up along the walls of the bridge and other battlements surrounding the field. The pair exchanged worried glances. Soon.

Unbelievably, the rain started to come down harder. Cursing, Alistair took a firm hold of Adela’s hand and practically dragged her across the bridge. At least inside the tower they would be out of this torrential downpour.

Alistair grinned as he said, “Maybe it’s a good thing I won’t be in the battle!” he joked as they neared the tower.

Shaking her head, the elf opened her mouth in reply, but was cut short by the shouting of two men approaching them: a mage and guard.

Fear was plastered on their faces as they told the Wardens that the darkspawn had infiltrated the tower. Without a word, barely a glance, the pair of Wardens bolted off to the tower, followed closely behind by the guard and mage.

Oh sod it! Adela thought as they came upon their first group of darkspawn, outside the tower! Notching an arrow, the elf let it fly, not watching as it hit its target in the throat. She was too busy notching another for flight, aiming at an archer that had a bead on Alistair.

Alistair let out a war cry, “For the Grey Wardens!” and attacked the nearest hurlock. He punched out quickly once with his shield, catching the creature solidly in the face. As the beast staggered back, the Grey Warden swung his sword from the side, striking the hurlock at the chest. Twisting the blade slightly, changing his stance just a bit, he then angled the tip and drove it fully into the monster’s throat. It fell from his blade, gurgling.

With the other guard taking down a genlock, the mage alternating casting healing and offensive spells, the four easily decimated the small group of darkspawn.

The next group of darkspawn was a bit more organized, considering an Alpha Genlock led them. The mage found the need to resort to keeping the archer and warriors on their feet and spent much of this battle casting healing and regenerative spells. The first time one of the healing spells had been cast upon Adela (she had to abandon her bow for her blades as she was attacked by a huge hurlock, and it knocked her down, cutting a deep gash across her midsection) she was initially startled by the warm, tingling feeling that overcame her. The tower guard had cut the beast down, and she pushed herself to her feet, watching as the blood stopped pouring from her wound and the skin knitted itself together. Casting a grateful look to the mage, she picked up her bow and began shooting down the genlock archers who stood on rises.

DA:O

Alistair thrust his sword into the alpha’s chest, grimacing as the beast still had fight left in it to sweep out at his head with its axe. The large man ducked, his sword catching on a rib. Loathe releasing the blade, Alistair twisted, yanking the sword to the side. The darkspawn screamed out in fury and agony, trying to right itself for another swing at the warden. The blade came loose, and Alistair stepped away, bringing his shield up, deflecting the clumsy blow.

Panting, backing up, the two adversaries eyed each other. The alpha was bleeding profusely, and Alistair knew it was only a matter of time before it gave up the ghost. “Just die already!” he shouted as he lunged forward, sword tip leading. The huge darkspawn jerked its head back, avoiding the blade aimed at its throat. Alistair quickly followed up the strike with a shield bash to its chest, opening the wound further. Drawing back, he plunged the sword into its chest again, and this time, the thing had the grace to just die.

Alistair felt the family tingle of rejuvenating magic course through his limbs and, with a feeling of renewal, glanced back to pinpoint his companions’ positions.

The mage was standing back from everyone, and the tower guard was running toward the human Warden. Alistair’s light brown eyes narrowed in concern. Where was Adela? He then noticed that the mage seemed to be working more magic. Running to the top of the ramp he watched as Adela slowly rose to her feet, rubbing her stomach with a shaking hand. He watched as she gave the mage a shaky smile of thanks, and then turn to trudge up the ramp.

“Are you alright?” he asked as she came up alongside him, her bow back in hand, an arrow being pulled from her quiver.

“I’m fine, Alistair,” she said in her quiet voice. “I am thinking we should ask Duncan to recruit mages into the Wardens.” She swept out a hand to acknowledge the mage (what was his name?) as he passed her, a grin on his face as he heard her comment. “They are certainly handy to have in a fight!”

Chuckling, the human warden replied, “I’m certain Duncan would agree with you,” he ran a hand over his face, wiping the rain from his eyes. “Come on. Now that we’ve cleared the darkspawn from the grounds, let’s go see what’s in store for us inside.”

DA:O

Duncan and Artan stood with their Wardens, surveying the scene where this battle would be held. It was a few hours passed nightfall and the rain had eased only slightly. The warm humidity of earlier in the day had been replaced with the crisp chill of an autumn downpour. Artan, with his heavy beard and mane of hair about his head and his leather and fur armor barely took note of the downpour. Duncan had to keep wiping the water from his eyes and grimaced more than once as water ran down the back of his armor.

Artan, noticing his commander shift, chuckled. “Now, if’n you weren’t so intent on bein’ the pretty boy,” the huge barbarian teased his old friend, “an’ grew some hair, ya wouldn’t be wiping the rainfall from yer eyes ev’ry minute.”

Duncan chuckled back at his friend. “I would never dream of out beautying you, my friend.”

While the two bantered back and forth, each of them turned their eyes back to their fellow Grey Wardens. Barely two dozen. That was what they had in Fereldan to face this hoard. Neither the king nor Teryn Loghain had been truly interested in awaiting reinforcements from Orlais. Artan had growled out his frustration to Duncan, but both men knew that at this point there was nothing they could do. If the Blight was not stopped here, it would overtake Fereldan and then cross the borders of Orlais.

And it would take decades for the land to recover, if the land would recover. The loss of life made both man shudder at the prospect.

Still, they were Wardens, and it was their duty - above all else - to stop the Blight, at all costs.

There was one thing that had been bothering Artan, and he felt now was as good a time to speak of it as any.

He took a deep breath. He didn’t really want to broach this subject, but felt the need to. “Boss,” Duncan turned toward him. “Tell me agin why the Orlesian Wardens ain’t here?” Duncan’s brow rose and Artan held up huge hands. “I be knowin’ the king thar and teryn don’t be wantin’ the chevaliers. But the Wardens, too?” He shook his shaggy head. “Makes no sense.”

Frowning, Duncan turned his head back to survey the battlefield. It was true, neither Cailan nor Loghain wanted the chevaliers, and Duncan had felt that he had gained the permission to have the Orlesian wardens here. But, after weeks without an answer from Orlais, the Fereldan commander was unsure if his understanding had been correct. Perhaps neither man wanted any Orlesian present - be they chevalier, Warden or servant. For this battle, it was all a moot point anyway. What concerned him now was his second bringing up the question. Did he have doubts in the Orlesian Wardens?

Duncan sighed. He knew Artan was a man who did not trust many. It had taken a long time for the friendship between the two men to grow into the complete trust they each held for each other. And Artan was one who only trusts in their Fereldan Wardens. He had found the Wardens of other countries to be too closely tied to their respective seats of national power.

The noises of the Wardens talking, making final adjustments to armor and weapons, combined with the nervous murmuring and movements of the gathered forces only served as a backdrop to the noise of the falling rain. Duncan raised his face to the sky, leaving off the conversation with his second for another day. His silence told Artan this much and the big man went about checking his own equipment, and then gave a high, piercing whistle. Those who were nearby and not Wardens glanced over as a huge bear ambled out of the trees, making its way to the Warden’s side. Artan spared the startled soldiers a big grin, and then the ranger bent down to scratch affectionately behind its ears.

Leave it to Artan, Duncan chuckled to himself, as he patted the huge man on the shoulders and then took his leave to find the king.

DA:O

This was supposed to be an easy, safe job, Adela griped as she let loose another arrow from her dwindling supply. The hurlock she aimed at - in all its mottled gray-green skin, skull-faced glory - fell over dead. Alistair and the guard - Tomas, that was his name - scoured the room, making certain that the darkspawn that lay upon the ground were dead.

She glanced over at the mage - okay, I have to stop thinking of him as ‘the mage’. I will learn his name - and noted his grim smile, assuring her he was well. Nodding, she walked over to the corpses that sprouted her arrows and began carefully removing them from the bodies. She was pleased that many were usable.

The group had fought its way through several rooms on three levels full of darkspawn. They were tired, having many injuries, the more severe being taken care of by the mage, leaving the least serious to mend on their own. Alistair slumped onto the stairs that led to the top of the tower, Adela sitting next to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and Alistair put his arm about her.

“We’re almost there,” he assured the small elf, smiling down at her. She returned his smile, nodded, and then rose to her feet.

“Okay, but if there are any more emissaries or alphas or archers up there - even the sign of a darkspawn mouse, I’m going to take a vacation!”

Laughing at his fellow Warden, Alistair rose and motioned for Tomas to follow, Adela next, followed closely by The Mage.

The four climbed the stairwell, and Alistair pushed open the door. As soon as the door, opened, the group could hear unmistakable crunching noises, followed by loud grunts. Confused, the two Wardens climbed up the few steps beyond the door, lying down in an attempt to remain concealed. What they saw was something neither of them was prepared for.

It’s back to the door, the huge horned thing appeared to be eating something. To their combined horror they identified a pair of legs - human legs - sticking from the side of its face, most likely in its mouth.

“What is that?” Adela’s whispered question was intense with terror. Alistair knew from stories told by the other Wardens. Standing easily fifteen feet tall, with massive, twisting horns on its head, this was an ogre. The largest and most fearfully strong darkspawn. Alistair pulled his terrified companion back to the others at the landing below.

Pulling everyone into a tight huddle, Alistair explained their situation in careful, even, quiet tones. The mage and tower guard looked as terrified as Adela did, as terrified as Alistair himself felt. They had to neutralize this threat, quickly.

“Tomas, you and I will approach it from the rear,” Alistair instructed, “keeping as quiet as we can. Adela,” he turned to the elf, “once we strike, fire your arrows.” She nodded. “Just keep firing. Tomas and I will keep its attention on us, you just shoot wherever you can hit. And, Ser Mage,” he hadn’t learned the mage’s name, yet, “your job is to keep Tomas and I on our feet.” the mage nodded. With a nod, Alistair and Tomas rose, and carefully and quietly made their way toward the beast which was, fortunately, still enjoying its snack.

DA:O

Adela felt like she was going to vomit. She’d felt terror before, but this surpassed anything she had ever felt. Not witnessing her mother’s death, not her kidnapping and rape by Vaughan, not even the joining had placed such foreboding in her heart. She admired Alistair’s courage, and was thankful for his taking charge of the situation. She watched as the two warriors made their way to the beast. She turned to the mage.

“Ser Mage,” she whispered, moving close to the man. “I fear I have been rather rude to you and not asked your name.”

The mage smiled. “Albus,” he responded, obviously pleased with the question.

Smiling weakly, pulling her bow off her shoulder, reading an arrow, the elf said, “I’m Adela. I want to thank you for your help.”

Albus merely nodded. “It has been an honor fighting by your side, Lady Warden.”

Adela smiled at that. She liked that, Lady Warden. “After this, how about I buy you a good, stiff drink?” They both moved to the top of the stairs.

Chuckling, bringing the healing spells he knew he’d need to mind, pulling out a few vials of lyrium potion to keep him fueled, Albus replied, “I would very much like that.”

Taking a deep breath, Adela stepped off the stairs, moving carefully for optimal range. How did the damned thing get up here? She had to wonder. It’s far too big for the door!

Alistair and Tomas had managed to approach almost right to the ogre, their shields up before their faces, swords held up, ready to strike high and hard. Alistair seemed to change his mind, and lowered the blade. Then, the two sprang forth.

Tomas jumped up, driving his blade deeply into the creature’s lower back, while Alistair went low and cut across the back of its heel, trying to hamstring it. The skin was tougher than he thought and the blade, while cutting deeply and causing injury, did not cause the desired handicap.

With a roar, the ogre leaped up, immediately ready for battle. Its eyes fixed on Alistair, who was the largest and heavier armored of the group. It lowered its head and charged forth, seeking to ram the man from his feet. Alistair backpedaled, keeping his shield and sword up, swiping at the lowered and exposed forehead of the beast. He managed to avoid being trampled and also gained a hit. Blood poured from the gash on its forehead and into its eyes.

Tomas, meanwhile, had worked his way around to the back of the monstrosity, and stabbed again, seeking a kidney to sink his blade into. The ogre’s height was a disadvantage to Tomas’s strike, and he again only managed a deep hit to its lower back.

Adela kept firing arrows, striking a hit in its shoulders and chest. She focused only on the beast and getting arrows that would cause it harm. Every arrow counted as her quickly dwindling supply would not last long.

Albus tossed a healing spell at Alistair, who had just received a hit from the ogre, tossing the young Warden across the room. Satisfied, he then cast a rejuvenation spell upon the elven archer, then drank down a lyrium potion.

An arrow (lucky shot, Adela thought as she notched another) struck the ogre’s left eye, driving deeply. Bellowing in pain and rage, the ogre lifted its head, spying Adela. Murmuring for Albus to get out of sight, the nimble elf scampered along the wall, to the opposite side. The ogre turned, following her movements, and she let the arrow she had been holding loose and it struck the ogre in the cheek. Enraged, the beast rushed forth, one massive hand reaching out to grab hold of the elf.

Cursing, she dove forward, under the reaching hand, between its legs, and behind it. Tossing her bow behind her, she grabbed her daggers and drove both deeply into the back of the monster’s previously injured ankle, cutting the tendon.

With a bellow, the beast fell to one knee, sweeping out with its hands, seeking the pesky elf. She rolled away from it, sheathing her daggers, and stood by her bow, feeling Albus‘ rejuvenating spell fall over her. She reached down and picked up her bow, notching an arrow as both Alistair and Tomas raced passed her.

Tomas, now no longer at a height disadvantage, drove his sword again and again into the back of the beast, cutting deeply into one of its kidneys. Hollering in renewed pain, the ogre struggled to rise, but its injured ankle would not hold its weight. Tomas danced aside and drove his blade into the other side, again hitting the kidney.

Alistair stabbed into its exposed side, withdrawing his sword, and bashing the kneeling darkspawn in the face with his shield, driving Adela’s arrow deeper into its eye. Grimly, Alistair faced the beast as it tried to regain its footing. Shouting out his war cry, Alistair lunged forward, his blade leading. Leaping from the ground, the Warden drove his blade deeply into the ogre’s chest, driving it forcefully into its heart.

Adela continued shooting arrows into its back until the beast fell, dead, to the floor.

Breathing heavily, the four stared numbly at the creature they had felled. Albus, the least physically fatigued of the group, looked at Adela with a wide grin. “My Lady Warden,” he said, “I do believe you owe me a drink.”

The others stared at him a moment, and then laughed.

DA:O

Sinking to his knees, Alistair tried to catch his breath. Maker! If he never had to face another one of those things again in his life it would be too soon! He looked over at his three companions. They had each done well - extremely well. He decided to ask Duncan to extend an invitation to Tomas and Ser Mage (he still hadn’t learned the man’s name!) a place in the Wardens.

Then, concerned they had missed the signal, Alistair pushed himself to his feet and raced over to the window facing over the battlefield. He felt Adela move to his side.

There, on the battlefield, the armies of Fereldan had engaged the darkspawn. He looked over to where he knew the Wardens would be. No, the Warden banner was still up. They had not missed the signal.

“We should probably sit down and rest a bit,” Alistair instructed the others as he turned around, placed his back to the window and slid to the floor. Adela moved down and sat next to him.

“I’ve been thinking,” the elf said after she had sufficiently caught her breath. Alistair turned to look at her. “These darkspawn - the ones just outside the tower and within - they had to come from somewhere.” She paused. “They didn’t come from the Wilds or the Highway. Someone guarding at each gate would have noticed. And someone would have noticed this many darkspawn wandering the camp.”

Alistair nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“Well, I think that after we light the beacon, we four venture to the lower levels of the tower and clean those out. I saw stairs leading down when we entered.” She looked into Alistair’s eyes and the man felt his heart skip. How could she have such blue eyes?

Alistair thought on it. It was a good idea. Especially where they had no other orders other than to hold the tower. He looked over at Tomas and Ser Mage (okay, he had to learn the man’s name!). They had been listening and seemed to be in agreement with the elf. Turning back to Adela, Alistair agreed. The smile that crossed her face brought a smile to his face. He took one of her tiny hands in his and raised it up.

“You did very well, Adela,” he praised her. “As did you, too,” he congratulated the two non-wardens with them. “Many would have fled at the mere sight of an ogre.” he glanced over at the carcass that lay on the opposite side of the room. He chuckled. “I near soiled my drawers when I saw the thing!”

Adela looked scandalized, but the other two laughed heartily at that.

His heart had slowed to normal, and so Alistair rose to keep an eye on the Warden banner. Soon enough, the signal was made: the banner was lowered. With a nod, the Warden went over to the fire pit, Ser Mage following closely. With the minimum of effort, the mage lit the fire, and it blazed up the pile of oil soaked wood, to the very top, it’s flames hotly burning.

“Yes indeed,” Alistair said as he slapped the mage heartily on the back, not noticing the wince from the smaller man, “we definitely need mages in the Wardens.”

A small gasp from the window and the two men turned. Adela stood there, watching. As they neared, they noticed she was pale, her eyes wide in disbelief. Alistair moved quickly to her side, searching for what could have caused her reaction.

The first thing he noticed was a huge ogre (easily twice the size of the ogre they had just defeated) grab hold of a golden armored figure (Cailan!). Adela cried out as it flexed its muscles and then tossed the limp form away. Another form, dressed in silver and white, leaped upon the creature, stabbing it multiple times. That has to be Duncan! The young man thought, fear and dread coursing through him.

Wait. Where was Loghain? His eyes skimmed over the battlefield, but saw no sign of the Gwaren troops. And where was Maric’s Shield? A tight feeling came over him, and he felt Adela’s tight grasp on his arm. He looked down into her stricken face as the same realization came to mind.

Loghain had deserted the armies.

Loghain had deserted the Wardens.

Loghain had deserted the King.

Loghain had deserted.

They looked out; the darkspawn hoard was massacring the Wardens and the armies Cailan had pulled together.

Without another word, the two Wardens, followed closely behind by the guard and mage, raced from the room, and down the stairs.

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine. Oh! And perhaps the silver halla Loghain had made). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

Also, you’ll notice that this story will be being updated on a less than regular basis. The first few chapters were really easy, but, although it’s still flowing, the tempo has changed its tune and demands more attention. I’m also working on the next chapter for DragonAge: The Halla that tells of the very first time Adaia meets Maric, Rowan & Loghain and each chapter is their own POV of that meeting.

Thanks, as always, to those who read and review!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 11

Cailan!

That single thought pushed the elf along, her legs carrying her away from the tower, gaining ground as she frantically made her way to the main camp. Dodging the few stragglers fleeing the battle site, she quickly gained distance from her companions.

Cailan!

She heard her name being shouted from behind her. Who was calling her? She kept running, mindful only that she had seen Cailan fall. Purposefully not thinking of why he fell. Ignoring all else around her save the one thought to get to his side.

Cailan!

She didn’t think, couldn‘t think. To do so would be to know that Anora would wait in Denerim for her husband, only to keep waiting in vain. And why…no, don’t think! And so she pushed all thought aside, just moved on instinct. Rushing passed the infirmary, ignoring the pleas from the prisoner locked in his cage; she sprinted through the gates that led to the Warden’s camp.

Cailan!

Thought did not guide her hands when a lone genlock rose before her, a leering smile on its death skull face. It lunged at her with its sword, and instinct alone guided the young elf to swing down, ducking under the strike, spinning, her daggers instantly in her hand as she rose, her blades against each side of its neck forming a deadly “V“, scissoring the blades, fury lending her strength to cut through the tough skin and sinewy muscle, decapitating the vile thing.

Cailan!

Her feet took her away from the Warden’s camp and onto the battlefield, where darkspawn systematically cut down the defenders of Fereldan. A huge hurlock stepped into her path, its axe swinging down toward the elf. She danced aside, around to it’s back, the heavy momentum of its own swing catching it off balance as it swung at empty air. She jumped forward, plunging one dagger into its throat as the other drove itself into its eye. Convulsing the thing fell dead to the ground. The elf continued her frantic flight through the battlefield.

Cailan!

And she spotted him, his golden armor coated with his own blood, his blonde head twisted in an unnatural manner. A sob escaped her lips. A small pain erupted at her shoulder, another behind her knee, but she ignored the pain as she fell to her knees, crying. She felt another jolt in her back, and picked up her friend, her king, cradling his body in her arms, burying her face in his neck.

Cailan.

Then pain, fiery and intense, exploded from her back straight through to her stomach, and she gasped, releasing the body she held. Looking down, she watched as the expanse of bloody steel slowly - painfully slow - disappeared from her sight. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the elf found herself falling…

DA:O

What in the name of the Maker was she doing? Alistair fumed, fear gripping him as he watched the elf practically fly away from him and the others. They had been fortunate: they encountered no other darkspawn through their flight from the tower. Once their feet hit the stone outside the tower, Adela had cried out the king’s name and sprinted away.

The three men cast one quick look to each other, and took off after the elf.

Don’t get killed….don’t get killed. Alistair chanted in his head and he quickened his pace. Just. Don’t. Get. Killed.

The three men were able to keep the elf in sight, but she was gaining ground away from them. How could anyone run so fast? They watched - horrified - as she met the genlock, twisting and spinning with such furious ease, taking its head from its shoulders so easily.

Albus (Alistair had finally asked the man his name) cast a quick healing spell at the elf as she ran off, ignoring the wound the genlock had managed to score before she killed it.

Tomas cursed the elf’s speed; Albus cast a regenerative spell at all three of them (they would need it to catch up with her, Alistair was certain). They ran passed the infirmary, casting a regretful glance at the screaming prisoner, and continued their chase after the elven woman.

The elf almost vanished from sight as a small group of darkspawn spotted the three men and rushed to meet them.

Alistair and Tomas each fought their own foe, shield and sword, taking them down. As the guard swiped the head from the last genlock to confront them, they heard an astonished gasp and gurgle noise behind them. Albus stood for a moment, transfixed, then blood spurted from his mouth and he fell over dead. Alistair and Tomas each gave a harsh war cry and rushed at and slaughtered the hurlock who had gotten behind the mage and ended his life.

Grimly, reluctantly, the pair of warriors left the body of their comrade and resumed their search and chase of the frantic elven woman.

They cut their way through several groups of darkspawn, and finally spied the elf. She was kneeling on the ground, cradling the armored, bloody form of a man - Cailan! They raced, noting with anxiety that several arrows sprouted from the girl’s back and shoulder, one in the back of her knee that she knelt upon, seemingly oblivious to the wounds. They increased their pace, shouting her name, as they saw a massive hurlock run behind her, it’s longsword raised and plunging down, into her back and out the front of her abdomen. Alistair screamed her name, rushing up to the beast as it retracted its blade, preparing for another strike that would end the elf’s life.

Slamming his shield into its side, Alistair knocked the hurlock down and away from Adela. Sweeping his sword down, he cut across the monster’s throat, scoring a bloody hit. Shouting its own fury, the beast pushed itself along the ground, bringing its sword in front of it to deflect more blows as its life blood poured from the wound. Alistair bashed away at the creature, overpowering it, and it dropped its sword. The Warden plunged his blade deeply into its chest, dragging it out again for another plunge.

A shout and scream of pain behind him brought Alistair around. Tomas was fighting a large hurlock and had taken some damage. The guard had inflicted many wounds - severe wounds - upon his foe, but he was tiring. Alistair rushed to his side, driving his blade deeply into the creature’s side. But, he was too late. With a last, powerful swing, the Warden watched as the dying monster lunged forward and drove its sword deeply into Tomas‘ body, angling upwards, piercing his heart. With a sob, Alistair backed away, staring at the body of his last companion.

A quiet sob behind him brought him around, and he turned to stare at the bloody form of Adela. She lived! Whispering her name, the Warden pulled her up, frantic as to what to do. A low growl to his right brought his head and sword up.

Standing just a few feet from them stood a black wolf, its yellow predator eyes watching him and Adela with interest. A great cry from above, the sound of ‘whooshing’ as though from giant wings, and the young man looked up to see a monstrously huge bird swooping down to them. Too tired and miserable to react, the young Warden watched as the bird lighted upon the ground. A great ‘boom‘ sounded and a rush of magic poured from the bird. All of the darkspawn in their vicinity, approaching for an attack, fell senseless to the ground, twitching. The bird’s form shimmered and took the shape of the old woman they had met days earlier. The wolf approached, and its shape also shimmered and flowed, taking the form of Morrigan.

Alistair stared at the old woman, who was talking to him. What was she saying? He couldn’t focus. With a snarl, the woman pried his hands free of the elf he held, ‘tsking’ as she quickly examined the girl. Morrigan had approached and quickly wrapped the grievous gut wound tightly. The old woman was speaking to Alistair again. “…get you out of here…” was all he could understand.

Shaking her wild head, the woman lifted her arms, resuming the form of the great bird. She gently picked Adela’s body up in one talon, and then scooped Alistair in the other. Beating her massive wings, the woman-in-bird-firm rose from the ground, winging her way back to her clearing.

With a snort of disgust, a quick look at the body of the king that lay once more upon the ground, Morrigan’s form shifted again to that of the black wolf, and she loped away, toward the home of her mother, and away from the battlefield.

DA:O

The rain had stopped, for that Alistair thought he could be grateful. The rain had stopped and he was alive and staring at the damned hut! Staring at it for two full days, waiting for word of his fellow Warden. Oh sure, Morrigan and her mother would come out periodically, placing bowls of stew in his hands, handing him blankets and a bedroll, telling him to rest and to wait. He had been bloody well waiting for two days, and they never told him anything! Yet all he could do was sit and stare at the damned hut, feeling impotent, lost, alone…

His lids closed over his amber eyes. He went over the entire scene of Adela kneeling, holding Cailan’s body. He could not recall seeing Duncan’s body, yet he knew - just knew - that the silver and white figure that had killed the ogre had been him. If his body had lain there, nearby, the young Warden was certain he would have noticed it. A ragged sigh. His only hope was that the commander had survived, and yet the young man thought it highly unlikely. He and Adela only managed to survive thanks to the intervention of Morrigan and her mother. Or perhaps only he survived and that’s why they hadn’t said anything yet. Cursing, the young Warden resumed his post, staring at the damnable hut!

The door to the hut opened, and Alistair’s bleary eyes focused upon the slender figure of Morrigan. Maker, won’t she put some clothes on? The ex-templar thought, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on her barely-covered chest. The witch, noticing his discomfort, smirked at him. That smirk widened, reminding him of a predator stalking its prey, she spoke.

“Mother advises that you are welcome to enter,” she stepped away from the door, gesturing to the door. “Your friend has passed through the danger, and now rests peacefully.”

His relieved sigh broke out of him as a sob, and he lurched to his feet and stumbled through the door. Morrigan shook her head in disgust, shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud.

Never had Adela seemed as small as she did now, lying upon the room’s sole bed, covered with a thick quilt to her naked shoulders. Morrigan’s mother had been spooning broth into the young elf’s mouth, tilting her head up to allow the liquid to flow down her throat. She was now picking up the empty bowl.

“She lives, boy,” the woman was saying, turning her back to the Warden, placing the bowl and cloth upon a nearby table. “She has been starting awake; I expect her to awaken fully soon.” she turned back to face Alistair, her strange eyes fixing upon his face. “I think it would be best if you remained in here with her,” she moved to stand by his side, her eyes flicking back to the prone elf. “Talk with her, or just sit,” she instructed with a shrug as she headed to the door. “Whatever suits you.” and with those parting words, she exited the hut.

As the door shut behind the old witch, Alistair pulled a chair near the bed and sat down. Reaching over he brushed a lock of her blonde hair off her forehead, watching as her face twitched from the contact.

“Adela?” he called quietly, moving forward, hovering over her. There was no sign she heard him. Sighing, he sat back, watching the elf.

“You know,” he started again, his voice sounding a little strained to his own ears, “you really shouldn’t have run off like that, you mad woman you,” he chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. He placed a hand on one slender shoulder. “Although, if you could fight like that all of the time, the darkspawn won’t stand a chance.”

His hand tightened around her shoulder, and he found himself giving her a little shake. “Please, Adela,” he learned forward again, his lips to her ear, whispering, “please don’t leave me,” he almost choked at the pleading sound of his own voice. “You’re all I have left.”

Bending his head down, his forehead resting on hers, the young man prayed and hoped, wished and cajoled at the Maker. Surely he hadn’t done something so awful in his life that everyone who ever meant anything to him would be taken away? He frowned at his own self-pity, but found it far easier to wallow there for a while than to think of anything else at the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, pulling the pouch that held the treaties up. With a glance to the elf, he pulled the rolled parchments free. As he did so, another piece of parchment, this one folded, with Adela’s name written on it in Duncan’s hand, fell free. Alistair bent and picked it up, staring at the paper for several moments. Glancing guiltily at the girl, he carefully placed the parchment back into the pouch. It wasn’t any of his business what Duncan wrote to Adela, he scolded himself, feeling momentarily ashamed at the thought to read it.

There were three scrolls and these were obviously very old, judging from the quality of the parchment pieces themselves. Each had been sealed in wax and Alistair’s templar training allowed him to feel the low buzz of preservation magic that protected each piece. He unrolled each: these scrolls obligated the Dalish, Circle of Magi and the Dwarves to assist the Grey Wardens during a time of Blight. The fourth parchment was a map of Fereldan, depicting clearly the King’s Highway, the Coastlands, Bannorn, The Hinterlands and Denerim. Skimming over the textured surface, he was able to locate the Brecilian Forest to the east, Orzammar further west. With a heavy sigh, he carefully replaced them in the pouch.

He was exhausted, he realized. He hadn’t slept much these past couple of days. Adela still seemed to be sleeping. Feeling a little self-conscious, yet not wanting to leave her side, Alistair pulled the chair up against the bed and lowered his head to the pillow beside Adela. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and fell into a light sleep.

And so he awoke, bent over uncomfortably in his chair, his forehead resting against her head. He felt more than heard a sigh escape the elf’s lips and he picked his head up just as her eyes opened.

Smiling, he whispered, “Hi there,” watching as her eyes focused on him. He noted the confused look that passed over her face, replaced by recognition as she focused on his face.

“Alistair?” her voice croaked out.

The young man nodded, replying, “You know, next time you decide to take on the whole darkspawn hoard, how about you ask for a little bit of help, hmm?”

A frown furrowed her brows and she tried to push herself up. It was then that both of them noticed her less-than clothed condition, and a flush rose on both faces. Grasping the blanket, she pulled it to her shoulders, holding it there as she pushed herself to a seated position, leaning on the headboard.

“Why would I want to take on a whole hoard alone?” she asked. She glanced down at herself. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Alistair asked, more than a little concern in his voice and on his face. She looked up, shaking her head. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, then looked at her. “Do you remember our leaving the tower?” Again she shook her head. “What do you remember?”

She frowned deeper, “I remember watching Cailan being grabbed and tossed by the ogre, and what looked like Duncan attacking the beast. And,” she went silent, tears rising in her eyes, “and our realizing that Loghain had left the field without engaging the enemy.” Tears now dripping unchecked from her eyes, she looked into Alistair’s face. “He left Cailan and everyone there to die.” She closed her eyes. “Why would he do that?” Her voice was tiny, weak and carrying more than a hint of despair.

That sick feeling returned to Alistair’s gut, and he shook his head. “I don’t know, Adela, it makes no sense at all.” He looked directly in her eyes. “You really don’t remember racing away from us and killing several darkspawn on your own as you searched for Cailan’s body?”

He watched as a myriad of emotions and thoughts showed so clearly across that expressive face. Then she took a deep breath and nodded. “I…I remember running, trying not to think. All I knew was that I had to find Cailan, that perhaps he yet lived…” the look of utter despair that was on her face now almost broke Alistair’s heart. “But, he is dead, isn’t he?”

Alistair nodded. “What about Duncan?” her voice was softer, almost as though she feared the answer. Alistair merely shrugged.

“I didn’t see his body, but honestly, I didn’t think to look,” he admitted, bowing his head. He felt her small hand rest on the top of his head. He looked up.

“I’m sorry, Alistair,” she whispered. He nodded his thanks, and pushed himself up.

“You really gave me a fright,” he gently scolded her, “don’t you know that you’re our archer and I’m supposed to be the big, tough fighter the darkspawn all fear?”

She smiled at his gentle teasing, and ducked her head down. “I’m sorry running off like that,” she frowned, turning her head a bit so that Alistair could not look directly into her eyes, “I’ve never felt anything that intense before…the anger and rage that rose up was very sudden…” she broke off, shaking her head, turning back to her fellow Warden. “I honestly didn’t know I had that kind of…darkness in me.”

The flickering fire in the fireplace snapped and crackled, moisture from one of the logs hissing. Alistair searched Adela’s face and nodded. “We all have some darkness in us,” he said, moving from his chair to take a sit on the bed, putting an arm across the small elf’s shoulders. “Your darkness showed itself at the death of …” he stumbled here. Who was Cailan to you? “…of someone you knew, our king, at the betrayal of someone who was sworn to the throne, who was supposed to be a hero.” he gazed into her eyes. “At least your darkness saw that and only wanted to cut down darkspawn and try and rescue another.”

Her eyes met his, she nodded. “Not some maniacal lunatic slaughtering innocents while running through the town center in my small clothes, eh?” she joked, and Alistair noted that she winced, her shoulder twitching somewhat.

Chuckling at her, he replied, “Something like that.”

They sat, staring into each other’s eyes for several moments. It was Adela who broke the silence. “And, so now what do we do?” The question had to be asked, Alistair knew that. But, yes, exactly what do they do?

He rose, standing, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. “I don’t know, Adela.” He pulled at the pouch at his hip. “Duncan gave me the treaties - I was supposed to give them to you earlier,” he frowned an apology, and she merely nodded. “I…I suppose we could try and meet with these people, gain their support for an army to fight to Blight?”

Adela was frowning, deeply. “But, what if Loghain has these people under his control?” she looked up. “How do we even find these people?” She scowled then, and Alistair realized he did not like that expression on her face. “Who are the treaties for?”

“Elves, mages and dwarves,” was Alistair’s reply.

“Elves, mages and dwarves,” she sighed. “Well, we know where the mages are kept. What about the elves and dwarves? I’m guessing the elves in the treaties are not those found in the Alienages?”

“Dalish,” Alistair watched as Adela’s gaze sharpened. “They’re most likely in the Brecilian Forest.”

Nodding, Adela responded, “Yes, yes…perhaps even Mamae’s clan could be found.” Alistair raised an eyebrow at that.

“Your mother is Dalish?” the young Warden asked, intrigued.

“Was,” Adela corrected, “she was Dalish.” She shrugged, clearly not wishing to discuss the ’was’ any further at this time. “According to Loghain, from an important family within the Dalish.” But he noticed she frowned. “Mamae met Papa when she was in Denerim helping to secure it for King Maric.” she shrugged. “She chose to stay. I have no idea how her clan had reacted to that decision, if they ever knew.” She frowned again. “Where would we find the dwarves?”

“The dwarves will be in Orzammar,” Alistair advised his companion, “in the Frostback Mountains. So, we know where to find them.” He looked thoughtful, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “The Arl of Redcliffe would be another wise choice, someone to approach for aid as well.”

“Arl Eamon?” the elf asked. Surprised she knew of the Arl, Alistair looked over at her and nodded. “I met the Arl once or twice at the Palace.” Adela was tapping a long finger on her lips, thinking. “How do you know him?”

The young man shrugged. “He raised me,” then he quickly amended at the raised eyebrow of his elven friend, “well, from when I was a baby until around ten. Then off to the monastery for me!” he tried to chuckle, inject some humor, but he failed miserably and he noticed that Adela wasn’t buying any of it anyway. He was actually rather pleased to see the distaste on her face at the mention of Eamon sending him away.

Another thought struck the young man. “Highever forces,” he mumbled, frowning. “You know, Fergus Cousland arrived with the main bulk of Highever forces, but the Teryn never arrived with the balance. And, Arl Howe of Amaranthine never showed with his.” He felt Adela’s watchful eyes on him. “Perhaps…perhaps we should go to Highever, try and figure out why the Teryn and Arl did not arrive,” he turned fully, facing the elf. “Perhaps they were delayed…maybe they are still on their way to Ostagar and will arrive only to find it in shambles.” Recalling the map in the pouch Duncan had handed him, Alistair quickly pulled it free of the leather pouch. Adela sat straighter in the bed as the young man spread the sheet of parchment over the rumpled quilt.

Pointing one blunt finger at Highever, way to the north, Alistair traced a line down to the Wilds, many weeks travel, to the South. “The King’s Highway makes the most sense for them to travel with such a contingent,” the Warden was saying, tapping a finger at Highever, and then to where Ostagar lay. “If we travel along the highway, continue north, we will either meet them on their way here or…” he broke off, frowning. “Or we continue to Highever and find out why, exactly, they failed to appear.” A thought struck him, one that would never had entered his mind had not he just witnessed Loghain’s treachery. What if Highever was in league with Gwaren?

A glance to his friend told him that she had the same thought.

Well, there was nothing for it, he decided. They needed allies. And for more than just against the Blight. A tight feeling came to his stomach. He wasn’t ready for this, he knew it. Yet, now he found himself as the senior Grey Warden in Fereldan, needing to take charge, and he just couldn’t do it. Lead? He shook his head, taking a look at his fellow Warden.

Adela sat there, a thoughtful look on her face. She always seemed to be thinking. Then she was nodding. “It makes sense, Alistair,” she said, turning her blue eyes upon him, capturing and holding his gaze. “Perhaps going to Highever first would make the most sense.” he raised a brow at that. “Well, think on it. If they are heading here, they would be following the King’s Highway. If we started visiting these other places - off the Highway - we may well miss the Highever troops altogether. Then where would they head? Most likely Denerim. And, if they are not in league with Loghain,” he noted a catch in her voice at his name, “then they are either walking into a trap or may well fall for whatever lie he may tell. That,” she pointed a finger at him to emphasize her words, “would make it very bad for us.” She took a breath. “And, we need other troops, other aid. Not just in force of arms, but politics as well.” She frowned. “Let’s face it, if Loghain betrayed us all here, who knows what he’s doing in Denerim?”

Nodding his head, Alistair could not help but agree. The journey would add weeks to their travel, but only if they had to travel all the way to Highever. But, as Adela said, they could not risk loosing a potential ally against not only the Blight but against Loghain as well. Alistair had heard tales of the famous Cousland family. They were honorable nobles, utterly devoted to Fereldan. The current Teryn and Teryna had each fought against the Orlesians during the rebellion, and had been faithful to King Maric, and stout allies of Cailan. Alistair even recalled Eamon once begrudgingly admitting that Teryn Bryce Cousland was a man of honor, devoted to the Theirin line, a fact further emphasize by the man’s declination of the throne that had been offered to him upon Maric’s death and his firm support for the former king‘s son.

There was no doubt in Alistair’s mind that Highever was not allied with Loghain and the betrayal he had wrought. Okay. Determination found a safe place to rest in his heart. Highever would be their first stop. He frowned, looking down at his battered armor. Well, first stop would be a place they could restock.

DA:O

Two more days, and Adela was strong enough to dress (carefully, and with more than a little sadness placing the silver halla charm into the lining of her armor) and leave the hut. Morrigan’s Mother (as they had taken to calling her as she had yet to tell them her name, despite being asked numerous times) seemed pleased at Adela’s recovery.

The two Wardens shared their thoughts and decisions with the old woman, who, despite seeming to be more than bit on the nutty side, had extremely good insights. While Morrigan would scoff and taunt from the background, the two Wardens and mad old witch would discuss the route to Highever, and map out the routes to finding the other allies to whom the treaties obligated.

“And so now, I must bring an end to my hospitality, children,” Morrigan’s Mother chortled, grinning at the expressions upon both Wardens’ faces. “But, I do have one parting gift to bestow.” She rose, brushing off her skirts, and then turned to her daughter, who had stood back, watching. “Morrigan will be accompanying you.”

The surprise that crossed Alistair and Adela’s faces were nothing in comparison with that upon Morrigan’s beautiful face.

“What?!” the younger witch exclaimed, her posture instantly shifting from relaxed amusement to tense annoyance. “Mother, this…this is not what I wanted!”

“Oh, come now, girl,” her mother scolded, completely ignoring the near fright in her daughter’s voice. “You’ve been itching to leave the Wilds for years for more than a brief foray. Now’s your chance,” she chuckled, looking directly into her daughter’s face. “Get out of the Wilds. See the world. End a Blight.”

Casting a malevolent look at both Wardens as though this was their fault, the young witch shook her head defiantly. “No! I won’t go.”

Morrigan’s Mother seemed only amused at her daughter’s defiance, then reached out and delivered a sharp slap across her face. Startled, Morrigan raised a delicate hand to the growing red hand mark flowering on her cheek. Alistair and Adela stood in startled silence.

“You will go,” her mother ordered, her voice lost the cheerful tone of lunacy and was replaced with firm command. “They need your help against this Blight, girl. They need magic. You know how to avoid the darkspawn in the Wilds, you can lead them to the nearby village.” she took a step closer, allowing her daughter to see the menace in her eyes. “You will go.”

Her hand still to her face, fighting back stinging tears, Morrigan nodded, and mumbled the need to gather her things. Adela was biting her lip, wanting to say something to ease the tension, but was startled as Morrigan’s Mother turned to face them, her face once again resuming the cheerfulness of a loony witch.

Moments later, Morrigan was ready. After a brief discussion with Alistair who truly did not want the taciturn witch to journey with them, “We need allies, Alistair,” Adela firmly reminded him, they agreed to take Morrigan along with them. Alistair and Adela thanked Morrigan’s Mother for her help, and then followed a silent Morrigan from the clearing, with a heading out of the Wilds.

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.
As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 12
Bright sunshine greeted the trio as they made their way through, beyond the Wilds, Morrigan leading them unerringly, and safely through. The witch said nothing during their travel through the dark Wilds, and neither Alistair nor Adela was in any great need to speak with her. They figured that she was embarrassed by the treatment her mother gave her and they had no desire to bring that up.

They were accosted by a small group of bandits, posing as toll collectors just outside the village of Lothering. The first words Morrigan had spoken since leaving her mother’s home had been that they just go ahead and kill the fools. And while Adela had been sorely tempted to (how many poor refugees had they preyed upon?) she sought instead to talk the men into leaving. Therefore, after talking the leader into giving her all the money they had collected (it amounted to over one hundred silvers), Adela suggested that they leave the area for good if they wished to live. Apparently, they did as the six men ran off with all haste.

Adela rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the headache that loomed there, trying to focus on what they needed to do and ignore what she wanted to do. A strong desire to just run to Denerim and make certain that Loghain was there overwhelmed her. She needed to know why he quit the field, leaving Cailan, Duncan and the others to die. A thought that something had happened to him had bloomed in her mind and the young elf frowned, feeling more than a little guilty at her earlier quick condemnation of Loghain. She did not know the circumstances, and wanted all of the details before making any other rash judgments.

She brought her hand to her lips, remembering the kiss - harsh, frantic, needing - she had shared with Loghain prior to battle. She should have remembered the way he had spoken then, that he had planned on there being an after following the battle. She bit her lip, forcing the guilty feeling down, knowing it would do nothing to help now. They needed more information. She lifted her blond head. She hoped they would be able to find it in the tiny village of Lothering, upon whose outskirts they now stood.

Regardless of what had happened, the simple fact was that Cailan and Duncan were dead, as were all of the other Wardens and most of the armies gathered against the darkspawn incursion. She picked up the pouch that held the treaties, rubbing her thumb along the rough leather, holding it tightly in her hand. Could they really bring these folk together to fight against the darkspawn?

She knew some about the Dalish: her mother had given her instruction in the language, belief system and traditions. She knew precious little about mages and next to nothing about the dwarves. She glanced over at Alistair, sighing. Yet here they were, two junior wardens seeking to bring these three factions together against the Blight.

The trio entered the village of Lothering, and were astonished by what they saw there.

Refugees. Everywhere. It seemed as though every free space of land around the village and encroaching to the town’s center was filled with tents, crates, livestock, and people. Children ran between tents and bedrolls, adults sat, dejectedly, amongst what few possessions they managed to gather in flight. The two Wardens exchanged concerned glances, and walked further into town.

As they passed the gate, a Templar in full armor uniform (how could he stand standing in this sunshine with that heavy helm on his head?) called for their attention, warning them that there was little room available in the town, and they would be better off seeking shelter elsewhere. Morrigan scowled at him, but Adela thanked him and walked further into the town.

“We should go to the Chantry,” Alistair offered, his gaze going to the large, stone building smack in the town’s center. Morrigan began to object.

“Morrigan,” Adela turned to the witch, “how about you go and purchase some supplies while Alistair and I go into the Chantry and see if there is any news?” She handed the witch a small pouch containing some coin. “And, see if there’s a merchant willing to purchase some equipment.”

With a nod, the witch left in search of a merchant as the pair of Wardens turned toward the Chantry.

DA:O

Alistair cleared his throat. “You really need armor that covers…” he swept his hand up and down to encompass her form, “you.” he finished weakly, flushing to his ears.

“Alistair,” Adela began, but the other Warden cut her off. “You were nearly killed!” he whispered, trying to keep his voice calm. “That armor doesn’t protect you…”

“Alistair,” this time she placed a hand on his arm, looking in his eyes. “This armor is best suited for an archer.” she grinned while pointing to her bow. “I’m an archer. I promise…” she squeezed his arm. “I will not go berserk into a hoard of darkspawn again.”

Alistair was not swayed. She was under protected. He knew it. She needed armor that at least covered all of her. Had she been wearing something that offered protection she would not have been so gravely injured before. He was certain of it. However, he knew he was not going to win any arguments with her here, not now. His eyes rested on the hand she had on his arm, noting just how tiny her hand was - no larger than a human child’s hand - how delicate the bone structure. With a sigh, he picked up her hand and held it tightly.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “I’ll not argue with you about it,” he smiled at her, “for now.”

Nodding, she returned his smile, and the pair of them walked into the Chantry.

DA:O

The Chant of Light echoed through the great vast outer chamber of the Chantry. Bookshelves lined the walls, and candelabras hung from the high ceiling. There were many folk in the building, some sitting talking quietly, some shaking with silent sobs, others kneeling in prayer. They walked passed children and old folk, and Adela felt a certain sad anger rise up.

“Why are they just sitting here?” she whispered to Alistair.

“Where else can they go?” he whispered back.

She frowned, deeply. “Anywhere is better than here, waiting for the darkspawn to take them.” She looked up at the taller human. “They could flee to Denerim. Further north to Highever or Amaranthine. Anywhere but…” she swept her hand out, “just waiting here to die.”

The human Warden gazed around them, and then nodded. “You’re right,” he acknowledged aloud.

The elf stared about her. This was crazy, she thought. Were they really going to just wait? Her blue eyes spied several Templar standing in the chamber’s center. Making a decision, the elf strode forward, determination marking each step. Alistair hurried to keep up.

Adela stood quietly as the elder Templar gave instruction to the others. Noticing the elf standing there, he turned a small smile her way, and greeted her with a bow. “Greetings my lady,” he said in a pleasant yet commanding voice. “I am Ser Bryant, head of the Templars stationed here in Lothering. How might I be of assistance?”

Adela returned the gesture, “My name is Adela and I am a Grey Warden,” she narrowed her eyes at the Templar and watched as his eyes lit with attention, and then got right to the point. “Why is everyone just sitting around here?”

The Templar blinked. Once. Twice. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, finally finding his voice.

Adela stepped forward. “There are refugees clogging this place, sitting, just waiting to die,” she accused. “Why are they remaining here instead of fleeing?”

The Templar sighed. “Flee to where, exactly?” he asked in a tone that suggested he thought this elf had overstepped her boundaries.

However, Adela knew that tone well enough, and chose to ignore it. “They could flee north to Denerim. Or continue on to Highever. Anywhere,” she stepped forward pointing a finger into his breastplate. The Templar backed up a bit. “is better than standing around here waiting for the death that will be coming.”

“Do you have any idea how much of an effort it would be to get people to just leave?” he demanded, apparently not liking Adela’s tone of voice. However, she just shook her head, and scoffed at him. She was quickly loosing patience.

“Look,” she peered up into his face, not backing down, not intimated in the least by his advantage in size. “The darkspawn have just decimated the forces at Ostagar. They are heading this way, out of the Wilds. These people will die if they do not leave. You need to organize the evacuation and get them to leave now.”

The Templar stiffened at the commanding tone in her voice. “I have a duty to the Chantry and Revered Mother…”

“Who in turn has a duty to the Maker’s children,” Adela finished. “And that duty needs to include ensuring that they get the opportunity to live.”

Ser Bryant frowned. “What you say is true,” he conceded, “however, until the Revered Mother orders otherwise, we are merely here to secure the area and keep peace to the best of our ability.”

The Templar then frowned. “You say you are a Grey Warden?” both of them nodded in reply. “You are aware that the Grey Wardens have been declared traitors to Fereldan and a bounty placed upon the heads of any found?”

Blue and amber eyes widened in disbelief. “Who…” Adela cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Who issued that declaration?” Fear gripped her.

“Ser Cauthrien, the Commander of Maric’s Shield issued the order on behalf of Teryn Loghain,” came the reply.

Ah, yes, she thought, I know Cauthrien. Adela felt as though she as going to faint, or vomit or both as a lightheaded feeling washed over her, making her joints feel suddenly so very weak and unstable. Ser Bryant’s words resounded in her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath. He had said Ser Cauthrien had issued the orders on Loghain’s behalf.

She took a steadying breath, fully aware of both men’s eyes upon her. “You will not speak of our arrival here,” she said in a small, but steady voice.

Ser Bryant nodded, saying, “I do not believe that the Wardens betrayed our king and country,” his voice was assured, “and so I shall say nothing.” He frowned, gazing about the chambers. “You are correct, however. I shall speak with the Revered Mother about evacuating these people. Remaining in the hoard’s path is not a wise decision.” With that, he bowed, crossing his arms before his chest, and left to seek out the Revered Mother in the vestry.

The vast building seemed suddenly closed in, and there was a roaring in her ears as her vision tunneled in on itself. Alistair moved closer, putting an arm across her shoulders, pulling her against his steady body. She heard him whisper something assuring, but she could not quite make it out. She lifted her face to his and saw that lopsided grin of his. Swallowing, she smiled back, resting her head against his chest, she fought against the tears that threatened.

And allowed Alistair to guide her out of the chantry.

They found Morrigan arguing with a merchant who had set up his cart not far from the Chantry’s entryway. A Chantry sister had joined in the argument. Rolling her eyes, certain Morrigan was somehow to blame, the elven Warden moved from Alistair’s side and walked over.

Apparently, the merchant was using the good timing of the darkspawn hoard to increase his monetary gain. The Chantry sister had been trying to get him to lower his prices so that the villagers could afford the goods they needed. Morrigan was just trying to purchase some flasks and reagents. Adela, having no patience for the unscrupulous behavior of the merchant, suggested that he lower the prices or she would help the Templars confiscate his wares. That earned an appreciative smile from the Sister, a scowl but acquiescence from the merchant, a bemused grin from Alistair, and a surprised look from Morrigan, who happily finished making her purchases.

There were a few jobs offered up on the Chantry board and, although Adela was convinced that the jobs would be moot if Ser Bryant actually did carry through with plans to evacuate the village, Alistair insisted they do them. To earn coin, he had said; to make the evacuation easier and safer, he alleged. He just kept at it so, eventually Adela told him that they would.

The jobs were far easier done than she had expected: remove a bandit threat, locate the body of a missing woman, and clear out some rabid bears. Easy. Therefore, they went back to the Chanter who gave them sovereigns for their trouble and a very nice sword.

Alistair tested the balance of Oathkeeper, balancing it in a loose grip in his hand, then tightening his grip and moving through several feinting motions with it. He could feel the slight humming of magical energy that emanated from the rune covered blade. He tried to offer it to Adela, who grinned at him and pointed out that the sword was far too large and heavy for her to just carry, let alone wield. Sheepishly, the human sheathed the fine blade.

By this time, the villagers who had been sitting about despondently were now hustling, gathering their belongings, forming organized groups. Several Templars were shouting orders and moving among the refugees. Alistair nudged Adela’s shoulder. “Guess they just needed a pesky little elf to push them in the right direction, eh?”

She looked up into his grinning face and could not help but smile back. She shrugged, turning to leave, when she spied a small family of elves standing out of the way, their meager belongings behind them. Curious, Adela stepped away from her human companions and approached the small family.

The father introduced himself as Gaylen, his wife Amery and their daughter Siobhan. They had been members of a nearby farm hold that escaped from the darkspawn and made their way to Lothering. While en route the elven family had been divested of their belongings by the same bandit’s the trio originally encountered. When advised that they had chased off the bandits, Gaylen smiled and nodded his appreciation.

“So, are you going to evacuate with the rest of the village?” Adela asked. Gaylen nodded his head. “I had wanted to leave sooner, however, being low on funds, we were unable to purchase the supplies necessary, and this delayed us indefinitely.”

The young elf pulled the small pouch of coin she had appropriated from the bandit leader. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into his hands, “take this pouch. It has at least a hundred silver.” she waved off the expression of confused gratitude. “Go to the Alienage in Denerim and seek out Cyrion Tabris. He’s my father. Tell him that Adela sent you and he will make certain that you and your family is taken care of.” She smiled at the man who, along with his wife, was trying hard to voice their appreciation. She clasped Gaylen’s arm. “Just survive and tell my father…” she paused. “Just, just tell him I’m fine and I love him.”

Gaylen and Amery nodded, and then pulled their daughter along behind them to go and purchase the supplies they would need for the journey north to Denerim.

When the small family left, Alistair pulled Adela to the side. “Was that wise?” he asked, glancing at the family. “Loghain may hear you live…that there are Wardens that survived.”

“And what, Alistair?” Adela snapped. “By the time any word got to him, we’ll be long gone from this place. This place,” she swept out an arm to encompass the village entirely, “will be long gone.” She shook her head. “It’s just…” she looked up, an almost defeated look in her eyes. “I need my family to know I’m alright. I want to make sure they know that whatever rumors are going around about the Wardens that they are not true.”

Caught up in her eyes, Alistair found his own argument weak. Nodding, he took her arm, and the three left the village center.

They bypassed the inn, knowing that there would be no room for them there. They decided to leave the village and travel northward along the highway until dark. However, they did not make their way through the edges of the town without incident. On their way out, the sounds of chanting rang from a cage hanging nearby, in which stood a bronze-skinned giant of the Qunari who called himself the Sten. Alistair mentioned that the Qunari were warriors without equal. Adela asked the giant his crime. Murder. She frowned; then asked if the giant sought atonement for his crimes. The giant gave the elf a long, leveling stare, and then pronounced that he would assist the Grey Wardens against the Blight. Adela returned the giant’s steady gaze and then picked the brittle lock of the cage. The giant stepped out, looming over the small elf, as he gave his oath of loyalty.

As they neared the highway, a red haired Chantry sister with a strong Orlesian accent hailed them. Adela’s history with Loghain and her own mother made her eyes narrow with suspicion of anything or anyone Orlesian, but Alistair yet again declared that she might well be a welcome addition.

“But, Alistair,” Adela pulled her fellow Warden aside at the pronouncement from the sister that the Maker sent her to them, that she had a vision and just knew they would be there, “she’s one Archdemon shy of a Blight!”

To which Alistair chuckled, “Yes, but she seems more…‘Ooh, pretty colors!’ than ‘Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!’"

The elven Warden gave her friend a long, searching stare. Alistair met it, his eyes warm with humor. Throwing her arms up in defeat, she declared the Sister, Leliana, welcome to travel with them.

It was when the Chantry Sister gave a high-pitched shriek of joy that Adela seriously had to wonder if she had made the right call. Alistair seemed happy, as he engaged the chatty human woman in a lively discussion about screaming bloody murder in the monastery to see if anyone was paying attention. Staring at the backs of the two humans, Adela shook her head. She glanced back at Morrigan, who merely rolled her eyes at the elf as she passed by her. Adela mimicked the expression and followed, the Sten following behind her.

DA:O

Loghain paced his chambers, forcing down the very real concern and fear that threatened to spill out in a shout of anger and despair. How did he get back to Denerim? He wondered, a frown deepening the lines and furrows that mapped his face. His last clear and lucid memory had been kissing Adela at Ostagar and telling her that they were talk after the battle. Only, there had not been an after the battle! To the Teryn’s knowledge, that had not been a battle at all. Only hushed voices, muted sounds, dark shapes and then nothingness. Nothingness until he awoke that morning in his Denerim chambers, sans King, Wardens, a victory, and Adela.

Heavy lids closed over pale blue eyes. He remembered how it felt to hold Adela and kiss her. He had frightened the girl, and himself, too. For years, he had watched her grow form a shy, quiet child into a thoughtful and talented young woman. And now she was a Grey Warden. That thought chilled him.

His scowl deepened further. Just moments before, Cauthrien and Rendon Howe were telling him that he was about to be declared Anora’s regent? How could that be possible?

His head ached - terribly so - and he found himself battling against nausea. He raised a blunt fingered hand to his head, rubbing at the temples, trying to pull his clouded and confused thoughts together. His meal sat untouched upon the table to his right. Scowling, knowing that it would not clear his thoughts but needing the drink regardless, he grabbed the goblet of wine and, in one gulp, drained it.

DA:O

Smooth, white hands pressed down the near non-existent wrinkles along the fine silk of her black gown. Anora glanced up, her hands before her, wringing, trying hard to maintain a calm she did not feel. All she wanted to do was hide in her chambers - the chambers she had shared with Cailan. Hide and cry.

However, she would not be afforded that luxury. The luxury to mourn her beloved husband in private.

She knew something was wrong when her father had returned from Ostagar, his contingent and Maric’s Shield in full force, without her husband, without any other survivors. There had been the chance that either her husband or father would not return from battle. She had thought she would be prepared for either outcome. However, her father had returned with stories that the Grey Wardens had betrayed Cailan, who in his bid for glory had allowed himself to be placed right on the front lines, had died from their betrayal and his own foolishness. That Loghain had seen the treachery too late, and had only managed to pull his own troops out of the battle before they, too, could be decimated.

Her hands twitched at the black cloth of her mourning gown.

No. She had grown up with her father telling her tales of how untrustworthy the Grey Wardens were. She had also grown up with tales of how Maric had allowed the order to return to Fereldan’s shores.

She had listened as Cailan would go on and on about battles and Blights and how the Grey Wardens were the only ones standing between a Blight and total annihilation. Yes, the awe in his voice was reminiscent of a child’s awe of a tale of the knight in silver armor slaying a fearsome dragon. However, mixed in with that awe and hero worship was knowledge. Cailan had read nearly every treatise, volume, tome and scroll available regarding the Grey Wardens.

He had committed to memory every strategic detail of each of the battles that Grey Wardens had been involved.

He knew, without doubt, that whenever a Blight had been defeated it was always by the blade of a Grey Warden.

Cailan just knew, without knowing the details that the secretive order would never let out, that Grey Wardens were essential to stopping Blights.

Therefore, because of her husband’s knowledge and insistence, despite having grown up hearing otherwise, Anora knew that never had a Blight been stopped without the Grey Wardens. Nor was it possible that one would ever be stopped without a Grey Warden.

Anora frowned at the door. And now her father tells her that the Grey Wardens of Fereldan had betrayed King and Country…but never the ‘why’ or ‘how’.

Why would the Wardens betray Cailan? They were not an order that involved themselves in political or personal power. Dying alongside Cailan would certainly not grant them either in any case.

How could they betray him? By giving him up to what…the darkspawn? That went entirely against their creed and code, their very goal and only reason for existing - to stop the darkspawn and stand against a Blight.

No. None of it made sense.

And, coupled with Cailan and Anora’s ongoing concern with Loghain’s behavior of late, this only added to her conviction that something was most definitely not right.

The Queen smoothed her hands once more down the front of her gown. She would stand by her father’s side as he addressed the nobles, arls, banns and other political powers as he declared himself her regent. Anora tried to steady her trembling hands. She did not need her father to act as her regent. She and Cailan had been legally married, bound by the Chantry, and they had ruled jointly. She could assume the throne immediately, with just the approval of a majority of the nobles.

However, Anora did not currently feel strong enough to act against her father. She stopped, frowning. When did she feel that she would be acting against her father by assuming the role that was hers by right, law and tradition?

No, indeed. Something was not right.

A door behind her opened, and her father walked in, flanked, as always these days, by Ser Cauthrien and Arl Howe. No, not Arl any longer. She refrained from frowning again. Teryn Howe. The arl’s sudden rise to Teryn also caused the woman to be concerned. More news of betrayal, and a quick act, moving without approval from the Throne, and one of the most loyal and ancient noble families in all of Fereldan - a family older than the Theirin line itself - was eliminated. Again, against a backdrop of baseless rumor and innuendo, put forth by Howe himself that they sought to act against Fereldan by allying themselves with Orlais. Finding her disgust for the man difficult to hide, Anora turned her head, bowing it as though in an expression of grief.

The act was not so difficult, as it was truth. Her heart ached, and she wished desperately for her husband.

She felt her father’s presence by her side; saw how the other two flanked him. She raised her brilliant violet eyes to stare into Loghain’s pale blue orbs. There was a veil of shared grief there, but something else. Something that Anora was unable to identify. She shivered at the alien…presence behind that gaze.

“Come, Anora,” her father bade, gently taking her elbow in one hand, guiding her through the door that had remained closed. “We must advise the nobles awaiting us of their obligations to the Throne.”

Nodding, unable to find her voice to speak, Anora allowed herself to be led out of the chamber, to the balcony that would overlook the chamber where the Landsmeet normally would be held. She shivered as Teryn Howe moved closer to her, a hand almost errantly brushing against her arm. She glanced up into his face, and knew fear. The look the man gave her was purely predatory. Moreover, Anora knew that none of those currently with her were her allies.

It was like a door shutting on her heart as she heard the heavy doors close behind her.

DA:O

She was helpless, bound hand and foot, naked, and unable to move. The sky above was blackened, with roiling thunderclouds and streaks of lightening. Small dragons swooped above, roaring out their fires, the sounds of battle complete with the shrieking screams of the dying, surrounded her. And then he’s standing above her, taking in every curve and plane of her. She tries to curl in on herself, but he merely laughs, roughly yanking her around onto her back. Then he lowers himself down and onto her, as the dragons continue to ravage the field, his green eyes boring into hers…

Adela sat up suddenly, a scream upon her lips, covered in cold sweat and shivering. She felt someone’s strong arms wrap around her, a familiar soothing voice seeking to calm her. She struggled against the hold upon her, screaming out his name, seeing only his eyes, a hand reaching down to pull one of her daggers. That voice is telling her to relax, and another voice accompanies his - a sweet, female voice with a thick accent - and gentle hands brush the hair from her face, telling her to open her eyes. Her hand closed upon the hilt of her dagger, but she felt one of those gentle hands encircle her wrist, keeping her from unsheathing the weapon.

Open your eyes! That voice pleads.

With a gasp, her eyes snap open. Breathing hard, she turned her head. Alistair had his arms locked tightly about her, his eyes filled with concern and just a bit of fear. The woman’s voice - Leliana - was talking in soothing tones, not saying anything just shushing her as one would an infant. Adela forced her body to relax, taking deep shuddering breaths. Leliana released her hold on Adela’s wrist and sat back, concern shining in her bright blue eyes.

“I’m alright,” the elf whispered, trying hard to stem the trembles coursing through her body. “Alistair, you can let me go,” she met his eyes, tried to convey with a look that she is all right despite the tremors racing through her body. Her fellow Warden did not look as though he believed her and, although he maintained a hold on her, his grip relaxed.

Leliana asked Adela if she would like a cup of tea. The elf nodded, and the Orlesian woman stood and walked to the fire pit, hanging a kettle of water over the fire.

“Bad dream?” Alistair asked in a quiet voice, his amber eyes watching the elf closely. Adela nods. “Nightmare is more like it,” she whispers back.

Alistair nods sagely. “Do you get nightmares often?” he asked.

Adela shook her head, “No, actually. Although given what has happened over the past few weeks,” she shrugs her shoulders, “they happen more often than ever.”

“You will find your nightmares occurring on a more…regular basis,” Alistair said glumly, watching as Leliana poured hot water from the kettle into a cup.

“A Warden thing?” Adela asked as the Orlesian handed the cup to her. With a smile, the human woman walked away from the pair, seeking her own bedroll.

Alistair raised his head, noticing that Adela’s tremors were subsiding. “It’s our…connection to the darkspawn,” he whispered, “and the Archdemon. We can,” he shrugs, “hear them. And it affects our sleep.”

Frowning into her cup, Adela asked, “Are there any other secrets that I should know about?”

Sighing, Alistair glanced around the camp. Leliana was trying to go back to sleep, and the Sten was standing, keeping watch. He noticed Morrigan, away from everyone else, watching the pair with interest. He turned his gaze upwards. There were many stars out that night, and it was still quite late. Adela had not gotten much sleep, and he could tell from the circles under her eyes that she was exhausted. He released his hold and stood, offering a hand to her.

“Come on,” he said as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “We’re going to discuss Grey Warden secrets and can’t have anyone not part of the club overhearing.” He offered up his most charming lopsided grin, and was pleased Adela responded with a weak smile of her own.

Alistair led his fellow Warden away from the others, keeping the campsite in sight, but far enough away that no one would overhear. With a grin, he gallantly brushed away dirt, leaves from a large rock, and invited Adela to take a seat. Once she was seated, he sat down beside her.

“Alright, let’s see…first thing you know is about the nightmares,” he stared into her eyes, “some Wardens are affected by them their whole lives, others get, I don’t know, used to them. I hear that the dreams are worse for those who join during a Blight.”

“Oh, wonderful,” came the snide reply as Adela rubbed at her eyes.

“Another thing is that you won’t have to worry about the dreams for too long,” the elf lifted her head. “The taint…it’s a death sentence. We’ve an average of thirty years to live after the joining.”

He watched the emotion that skittered across the young elf’s face - betrayal, anger - and he felt a moment of pity. After all, Adela was very young. And elves, even those born in the city - tended to live longer natural lives than humans did.

“Any more secrets?” the elf managed to grate between her teeth. Yup, Alistair thought, she’s angry.

The young man shrugged his shoulders, pushing down his irritation at the elf. You have your own secrets, he thought bitterly. “Well…you will notice an increase in appetite.” he grinned at that. The girl still ate like a bird, in his opinion. “The taint does something to our metabolism and we tend to use up energy quicker than normal. So, we need to refuel often.” Adela nodded. “We can sense the darkspawn, although I believe you already knew that.” Again, the elf nodded in the affirmative, her eyes turned away from her friend. “And, well,” he ran a hand over his hair. “I know there are other secrets, although to tell the truth I don’t know them.” He held up a hand defensively. “I hadn’t been a Warden much longer than you, and Duncan told me that I’d learn all there was to know over a year’s time.”

A mosquito buzzed by Adela’s ear and she swiped it away irritably. “So, there are even more secrets out there.” she hung her head, reaching into her tunic and pulling out the silver halla charm. Alistair watched as she turned the charm over in her hands.

“That’s,” he gestured to the charm, “very pretty.” he watched her hands stop moving. “May I?”

She paused, then gently placed it into his hands. Alistair turned it over, marveling at the detail of the creature. It reminded him of a deer, but with long curving horns, and a tail more like a horse than a deer. The face also seemed more intelligent, wiser than a deer. “What is it?” he asked, awed by the fine detail of the item.

Adela smiled, taking it from his hands, running her fingers over it lovingly. “It’s a halla.” she looked up. “The Dalish and the halla have a…symbiotic relationship. The halla guide the Dalish on their journeys and pull the aravels, and the Dalish take care of them.”

“Aravels?”

“Land ships,” Adela clarified, her hand closing around the charm, bowing her head. “Something like wagons, but Aravels are the homes of the Dalish.”

Alistair nodded, letting the ensuing silence settled in for a few moments.

“Adela?” she raised her head to look at Alistair. “Do you feel like talking?”

She shrugged. “How do you feel?” she asked him, turning it around. He appeared surprised. “I mean,” she frowned, her eyes going back to the charm. “About Duncan. I know he was important to you, probably even a father figure…”

“You don’t need to,” Alistair replied, putting a hand over both of hers. “I know you didn’t know him long.”

She smiled, shrugging up one shoulder. “I knew him long enough to know he was a good man who had to make tough decisions. One who knew his duty and did what he could to follow it while still maintaining his humanity.” She looked into Alistair’s eyes, and the young man once again found himself lost in their depths.

“He…he was very important to me,” he admitted. Okay…”What about you?” Adela tilted her head. “I know you…Cailan was important to you…” he felt the heat of a blush rise on his face. Great, great…

A frown marred her features. “What do you mean?”

“I…well, I mean…” Alistair stammered, not sure what exactly he meant. Were you the king’s lover? That was what he really wanted to know, but could not just come right out and ask.

Her face darkened somewhat. “Are you implying that I was…the king’s…?” Alistair noticed she stammered, anger heavy in her voice.

“I…I just meant…” and Adela rounded on him.

“What? An elf could only be a human man’s ****?” she snarled out, leaping from her perch.

“No!” Alistair reached over and grabbed her hands. “I’m sorry, Adela. It’s just…” he frowned. “I know of Cailan’s reputation…”

She freed a hand and raised it, delivering a resounding slap across Alistair’s face. He stood there, stunned. Angrily, the elf said, “Those are all lies!” she hissed. “You don’t…didn’t know Cailan and anyone who would spread such vicious lies certainly didn’t know him.” she was shaking with anger, fear, and grief. Alistair stood there, staring down at the tiny elf.

“Cailan loved Anora, and she loved him!” she declared, jabbing a finger in Alistair’s chest. “And I was fortunate to be his friend.” he noticed she tightened her grip on the halla charm. “I’ve known Cailan since I was a child. Just as I’ve known Loghain…” she stopped, tears running freely down her face, her eyes glued to the charm in her hand. “I’ve known Loghain since I was a child,” she said in shuddering whispered tones, tears falling upon her hands, upon the charm. “Loghain would never…”

Confused, Alistair stepped forward, covering both her hands with one of his, the other on her shoulder. “Adela,” he whispered. “I am sorry.” she raised her tear-filled eyes to his. “I am sorry about Cailan, about…coming to the wrong conclusion.” he smiled weakly. “You’re right. I didn’t know him. Not as well as I would have liked to, anyway,” he flushed a bit, glancing down at his feet. “And I guess knowing you knew him, and having heard the rumors, and seeing how pretty you are…” he shook his head. “I was wrong, and I apologize.”

Adela nodded, her eyes going back to the charm.

“But, Adela, Loghain did betray us,” he persisted. “He left the field, and let Cailan and Duncan, all the wardens and all those soldiers to die!”

Adela shook her head, her eyes snapping up, no longer filled only with sorrow, but tinged with anger as well. “We don’t know that!” she grated out. “Cailan was his son in law, his daughter’s husband, I…”

His grip on her tightening, he gave her a shake. “He left the field, Adela!” Why won’t she listen? “We lit the beacon in time, the signal was given. His troops should have entered the battle as planned and slaughtered the darkspawn and prevented Cailan and Duncan from dying!”

“Something must have happened!” Adela persisted, yanking herself out of his grip, glaring up at him.

To his own horror, he pushed the smaller elf back, causing her to stumble. “He was a coward or a power hungry fiend,” he hissed in her startled face. “Either way, he deserted us all - left you - to die!”

“He wouldn’t…” came the weak whisper, the elf’s eyes falling back to her hands. Alistair dropped his gaze to her hands as well. The significance of the charm she held became clear to him. Anger, sorrow, jealousy - all fought for dominance of the man‘s emotions. Maybe it wasn’t Cailan who had been her lover after all.

He just stared at the downtrodden woman, watching as she took shuddering breaths. Guilt overtook him. He couldn’t blame her for her feelings, he realized. She had known both the king and Loghain far longer than he had Duncan. And being presented with the possibility that someone she cared for had betrayed them all? Alistair stepped forward, and felt a small twinge of pain as his friend took a small step back, away from him.

“I’m sorry, Adela,” the young man whispered, taking another step. She did not move away this time, and allowed him to put his arms around her and pull her against him in a hug. Sobbing, still clutching the charm Loghain had given her, the elf buried her face in Alistair’s chest.

In the darkness of the woods, with a blanket of stars twinkling above, the young Warden stood with his arms around his elven friend, his cheek upon her bowed head, his own tears leaking from his eyes and sliding down across his nose and cheekbone, as his own sorrow overtook him.

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

This chapter is more for fluff as they travel along the Highway to Highever. It can’t be all deadly serious all of the time, right? Hmmm…well….And, strange as it may seem, this chapter has given me a lot of grief. Please let me know what you think.
As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville,, celtic-twinkle, voltagelisa. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I’m loving the alerts/favs
 DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 13

The small party had traveled fully a week outside of Lothering, heading northward toward Highever. They had encountered small roving bands of darkspawn that had somehow become separated from the hoard to the south. During one such encounter, they were assisted with the teeth and muscle of a mabari war hound.

After the last darkspawn fell, the dog approached, it’s brindle coat covered with blood, dirt and small wounds, some healing over indicating they were older, others new from the recent battle. Adela spotted the beast, watching it carefully.

“I’d be careful,” Alistair whispered, taking her arm to prevent her from approaching the hound. “He could be rabid or infected.”

Patting Alistair’s hand and carefully removing her arm from his grasp, she stepped forward a bit, her eyes firmly on the hound, who in its turn watched her carefully. Maintaining eye contact, the elf hunkered down, crouching several feet from the beast, while still maintaining eye contact. The great beast, easily as large as the small elf, most likely outweighing her by several stone, gave out a great sigh, and then dropped to the ground, rolling over and showing her his belly. With a smile, still moving carefully, Adela rose to her feet, walked over to the hound and rubbed his belly. His tongue lolling happily, the hound accepted the attention gratefully.

Alistair stepped over to the pair, amazement in his eyes. “How did you know to do that?” he asked, watching the elf pat the dog, which had now rolled over onto his stomach to accept scratches at his ears.

The elf bit her lip, a small frown on her face. Well, he did ask…”Loghain had a war hound when I was a child,” she glanced up quickly. Seeing Alistair’s face darken slightly, she looked back to the hound. “He made certain that I knew how to handle myself around the hounds.”

The human Warden didn’t say another word at that moment. Leliana cooed at the “big puppy” while the Sten acknowledged the war hound a fine addition to their party.

A derisive laugh from Morrigan, who asked, “Now we have another mangy beast following us around?” at Adela’s questioning stare, the witch gestured toward Alistair, “At least the beast smells better than the Templar.”

Alistair sputtered at the witch, and Adela remarked, “Leave him alone, Morrigan.” The elf rose, and the war hound leaned against her, almost knocking her from her feet. She gave a gentle nudge back with her knee. “So,” Alistair moved to her side, staring down at the huge war dog, “what are you going to name him?”

Her bottom lip was being mauled by her teeth. “Can’t I just call him ‘Dog’?”

Alistair was horrified. “No, no, no…you can’t!” he knelt down to the dog’s level. “He needs a name!” the senior junior Warden declared.

“Oh!” Leliana jumped into the conversation, “I know a name….’Aveline’.”

“It’s a boy dog, Leliana,” Adela advised, grinning down at the beast.

“How about ‘Rover’?” Alistair offered, and then seeing the look upon Adela’s face, quickly amended, “Okay, how about not!”

Tapping a finger against her chin, Adela shook her head, “Naming a mabari is very important.” She grinned up at the two waiting humans. “I’ll need to think about it.”

Leliana grinned, Alistair’s mouth dropped open. “He’s going to be nameless until you come up with a name?”

Adela nodded. “Yes. I’ll not have names like ‘Rover’ or ‘Rex’ or ‘Dan’ being tossed about just so that we can call him something other than ‘Come Here’.” She reached over and petted the dog’s ears fondly. “He needs a name that suits his personality, and we’ve only just met.” She looked up, smiling into Alistair’s face. It was the first real smile she’d given him with since the night outside of Lothering, and Alistair felt grateful she had forgiven him his outburst. So, he returned her smile and agreed that they’d get to know the pooch before naming the pooch.

The Sten merely grunted, seeming to think that the whole conversation pointless. Judging by Morrigan’s sneer, she agreed.

DA:O

That night they camped out along the side of the highway. Leliana particularly was nagging about naming the war hound.

“How about Shartan?” she offered. Adela shook her head. “I don’t know; naming a dog after one of our greatest heroes?” She shrugged, leaning back over a piece of wood she was examining.

“Garahel,” Alistair offered. Adela gave him a questioning look, and Alistair replied, “He’s the Grey Warden who stopped the last Blight.” He stirred the pot of gray stew he was cooking. “He was elven.”

Again the elf shook her head. “Nope.” she reached over and petted ‘The Dog’. “Still seems a little…unflattering to name a dog after the few elven heroes we have.” She brought the wood up, checking over the grain and texture. Then grinned over at them mischievously, “How about ‘Maric’?”

“Argh!” Was Leliana’s response; Alistair just assumed a serious look, shaking his head. She laughed at them.

“Don’t worry,” she calmly said, returning to her inspection. “The right name will come to me.”

DA:O

Two nights later, they found a suitable campsite beside a deep pond. The women in particular were very pleased with the opportunity to bathe. The men…not quite as thrilled with the prospect, the dog even less so.

After a cold bath, her hair drying about her shoulders and down her back, curling and forming a halo about her beautiful face, Adela sat on the ground, her back against a log, her legs curled under her as she worked her carving tool along the length of a piece of wood.

“Ooooo…what is that?” came the Orlesian accented question. Adela looked up from the piece of wood she was carving into the likeness of the Vhenadahl tree, with its thick, ancient trunk, and out stretched limbs, heavy with a thick, broad leaf.

Adela smiled at Leliana, “This is the Vhenadahl, The Tree of the People. Every Alienage has one. It is the center of the Alienage and stands witness to important events.” She handed the unfinished work to the human, her smile widening at the awe and appreciation that shone so clearly on the expressive face. “Weddings, births, deaths - these are all celebrated before the Vhenadahl. And, in so doing,” she took the piece back and resumed carving away those pieces that did not belong, “those who lived in the Alienage are always remembered. They become the roots and help to strengthen the community.”

“Oh,” Leliana breathed, watching Adela’s dexterous fingers working the rough wood, shaping it into the beautiful tree. “What a lovely tradition.”

Dropping the wood he had gathered for the fire, and tossing a few logs onto the existing flames, Alistair quipped, “What’s a lovely tradition?”

Leliana grinned at the man, gesturing grandly toward the elf sitting before the fire. “The Vhenadahl. Oh! It’s so romantic! Perhaps I should write a poem - oh! No! A song. About the tradition of the elven people to perform important ceremonies before the gnarled and ancient roots of the Vhenadahl, to ensure that every life passed within the Alienage lives on long after they pass!” Clapping her hands merrily, the red head rushed off to her tent, seeking writing supplies.

“Well, that got her in a tizzy, now, didn’t it?” the young man joked as he sat beside the elven Warden. Adela glanced up briefly to bestow a bright smile upon him, and then turned her concentration back to her work. She had decided she was going to make time during quiet moments to devote to her art. Alistair sat and watched her quietly for many moments, neither noticing that the Sten had moved over from his post at watch to take note of the artwork the elf was creating. Morrigan was no where to be found.

“Sooo….” Alistair began, “you have a hobby carving stuff.”

Adela arched one blond brow in a quick quirky movement, “Hardly a hobby,” she told him, turning her eyes back to the wood. “My father is a renowned artist in Denerim. The nobles and other notables commission works from him all of the time. We‘ve even received orders from as far away as Val Royeaux. I was his apprentice until about two years ago, and then I graduated to artisan myself.” She lifted her eyes to smile at Alistair. “I’m not a warrior, Alistair. I’m an artist. I work in different mediums: porous,” she grinned at his frown, “that’s ivory, wood, some stones,” she turned back to the wood, “I even work clay and I paint, usually in oils, but I have used watercolors before. Although sculpting is where most of my talent lies.”

The Sten, watching and listening, nodded his head, “And so why are you no longer plying your craft as you should?” the huge Qunari asked, never taking his eyes from the woods surrounding them. “Why are you playing at being a warrior?”

Adela put the carving down, her thumb flicking at the blade of her carving tool. She noticed Alistair starting at her intently, and while she felt somewhat comfortable in discussing some of the circumstances with Alistair, she had not reached a comfort level with the giant, on any level, to share any part of her tale. So, she replied, “An abrupt change in circumstances occurred, Sten.” She looked up at the huge warrior, meeting and holding his eyes. “And, I am still an artist. And this is hardly ‘playing‘. I have just taken a…side journey.”

The Sten turned his eyes to stare at the elf briefly. Then, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he gave her one quick nod, and then stepped away to resume his patrol of the perimeter.

Alistair watched him with some amusement. “Glad he’s on our side,” he paused a thoughtful look crossing his handsome face, “I think.” He turned back to Adela, who had resumed her carving. He watched her fingers work in unison with the carving tool, feeling along the surface, quickly nicking any piece that didn’t belong, cutting into the wood with a thumbnail to create texture. He was almost mesmerized by the flowing and supple movements of her fingers.

“Do you want to talk about how you became a warden?” the young man asked when Adela lifted her eyes to his in question.

“I thought Wardens didn’t have a past?” she quipped, smirking at her friend.

“Yeah, well,” Alistair grimaced, reaching over and tugging at an errant lock of blonde hair before tucking it behind a delicate ear. “I’ve never quite bought into the whole ‘Grey Wardens don’t have a past’ deal.” He shrugged. “Pasts - the good, bad and ugly - help make a person who he or she is.” He smiled. “But, if you don’t want to tell me…”

The elf looked down at the half-finished tree in her hands. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to tell you, Alistair,” she looked up, staring at the sky. The stars were coming out, “It’s just…difficult.” She sighed. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.” She flicked the blade of her tool again. “Duncan didn’t even really know what happened, although I’ve always thought he suspected.”

They sat there quietly, the crackle of the fire blending in with the sounds of crickets chirping their last before autumn came in full. “Adela,” Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I know this past month has been rough on you,” he smiled gently, watching as she bit her lower lip. “Just know that I am your friend. You are my sister Warden, and if you ever feel able to talk about it, I’m here.” He released her, and she nodded her thanks.

Adela went back to work on her carving, and Alistair rose to gather more fire wood.

DA:O

Adela finished her carving the following evening. She stood up, stretching, moving and shrugging her shoulders to loosen them. She knew she should not have sat there the entire time, but once she got the picture of the tree in her head, and the wood working in her hands, she found she could not put it down. She smiled at the sight of Leliana sitting across the fire, her eyes switching from the paper she was writing on and the Vhenadahl, the tip of the quill between her teeth as she got lost in thought and prose. Reaching down, the elf picked up her carving and walked over to the Orlesian, holding the piece of wood out to her. Leliana’s eyes widened in appreciation as she took the gift, gazing at it with loving eyes.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” she breathed, turning it reverently in her hands. “Truly you are a master craftswoman,” she praised the elf, unaware that the younger woman had been praised by royalty and national heroes for her talent. “It is a magnificent gift,” the red head smiled, tucking it close to her chest.

“An artist always appreciates those who appreciate her work,” Adela said, bowing slightly. Leliana grinned up at her, chattering away about the song she was working on.

A short while later, the Sten bade a good evening to the ladies, and went over to Alistair’s tent, calling out for the Warden to take up second watch. The giant turned away as a string of cheerful grumpiness streamed from the tent. A few moments later, and Alistair, his hair not quite as tidy as normal, dressed in a tunic and britches, tumbled out of the enclosure, seeking ‘relief‘ just beyond the trees.

Adela tapped Leliana on the shoulder, suggesting that the woman get some rest. With an appreciative smile, thanking the elf once more for the carving, the Orlesian crept to her tent and retired for the evening. As she watched the woman enter her tent, Adela had to admit to herself that perhaps not all Orlesians were the evil incarnate both her mother and Loghain said they were. Leliana was definitely as nice (no, nicer) than many Fereldans the elf had met.

Although it was not her watch, Adela found she was not tired. She knew very well the fruitlessness of even trying to sleep if her body wasn’t up to it. So, she pulled up the pouch that contained the treaties, pulling the parchments free of their confines. The folded piece with her name written on it fell out.

Frowning, for the elf did not recall seeing this before, she picked it up, immediately recognizing Duncan’s handwriting. Why is there a letter for me and not Alistair? She wondered briefly, breaking the seal and pulling the parchment open. Another square, this one with Alistair’s name on it, fell out. Nodding with a smile (of course), she picked that off the ground, holding it in her palm until her fellow Warden reappeared.

She began to read the letter written in Duncan’s neat, flowing hand:

My Dear Adela

Well, little lady, I first must congratulate you on passing the joining. As you no doubt are now aware, the joining must remain secret. If the conditions of the ritual were ever to leak out, few, if any, would choose to become Grey Wardens. I tell you this as a means of apology for keeping so many secrets from you during our journey together. You are very much like your mother, honest almost to a fault, and I had learned quite early on that you valued honesty above all else. And, for that, I must apologize for integrating you into an order that survives upon secrecy.

It is with the assumption that I may not survive that I put ink to parchment to you. The upcoming battle will be difficult, but if all of our planning comes to fruition, it is very possible this note would be moot. Even if that is the case, and I should survive, the words herein contained are still very much true.

Many believe that to be a Grey Warden one must be a warrior without peer. The truth is, the Wardens are made of many different types of folk, all dedicated to the duty of ridding Thedas of the darkspawn, and putting a stop to Blights. To do so, we must be ready to employ any means necessary. While warriors who can wield shield and sword - such as our Alistair - are the front line of our ongoing war, those who possess more subtle talents, such as yourself, are highly sought after for our ranks. Someone who can read people, who can interact well with them; One who can feel compassion and empathy for those who suffer, and can fully and truly understand the consequences of one’s actions - these are few and far between, and I count myself fortunate the day I was able to garner you for our ranks.

To be honest, although I was highly impressed with your escape from the Arl’s estate, I had every intention of recruiting you when first we met solely based upon observations I had made prior to our very first meeting (and I am thinking of your encounter with Lord Vaughan when he first attempted mischief with you) and based upon our initial conversation, when you had stood up to me, bravely, seeking a way to forestall any violence. And, if it’s not too heartless to say, I had intended to recruit your betrothed. Nelaros displayed great heart and courage, and would have made a most excellent Grey Warden.

Glancing down at the wedding ring she still wore, Adela smiled at that, thinking of the elven man who was to have been her husband.

That said, I want you to know that, should I survive the battle, I plan on grooming you as my replacement.

Adela gasped here, then continued reading.

You recall Artan? The overly large, loud fellow who greeted us upon arrival at Ostagar? He is my second, but truthfully has neither desire nor aptitude to lead. He and I both agree that you have the talents needed to do so, although Artan did suggest fattening you up a bit as he believes you are rather scrawny (I apologize, little lady, his words, not mine). Once you take over as Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan, Artan most likely would remain as your second until his Calling.

Calling? She needed to ask Alistair about that.

Then, it would be your duty to choose one who would serve along side you as your second. Alistair most likely would be a good choice. Do not let the boy fool you; his sense of humor and seeming inability to lead is merely a shield he had erected about himself. He is far more capable then he lets on. Truly, a more loyal, capable man you could not find.

I know you must be surprised and perhaps a little overwhelmed by this, Adela. However, I have the utmost faith in you. Do not think that this has anything to do with you being Adaia’s daughter. As stated above, this decision is based upon my observations of you at and since leaving the Alienage. You purported yourself well, even though I am certain you suffered at the hands of Lord Vaughan. Do not worry, I will not try to pry from you what happened. I do feel you need to confide in someone though, my dear, as even those of strong will and character, such as yourself, find that they cannot always carry their own burdens alone.

In case I do not survive the battle, you should be aware that the Grey Wardens have a safe house in Denerim. There is a warehouse located in the area of the Wonders of Thedas, a magic shop supported by the Circle. At the end of this letter is the combination for opening the cache room. This is a secret to all but the Warden Commander and his Second. There are not even any records of this safe house in our headquarters at the palace. I realize that putting this information in written form may prove disastrous; however, I felt the risk necessary in order to make certain that you are able to access the vault if in time of need.

You will also find information in our Denerim headquarters that will assist you in your adjustment to the life of a Warden and should answer many of the questions I am certain you have.

If I fall, do not hesitate to seek out Artan, and any of the surviving senior Wardens to assist you. They are aware of my intentions with regards to your training.

Enclosed is a note for Alistair. Please be certain the boy receives it.

And one final thing, little lady. You really should stop biting that bottom lip.

Faithfully yours,
Your friend,
Duncan
Warden Commander of the Grey, Fereldan

Adela stared at the letter in her hand for several moments, blinking against the prickling sensation of tears, and then quickly re-read it to make certain she understood it correctly. Duncan really thought to prepare her to take over command of the Grey Wardens? She shook her head. That can’t be right. Surely even Duncan could make a mistake. She frowned. She knew nothing of leading people.

The log she sat upon shifted with the added weight of the large human man taking a seat. Without a word, Adela handed Alistair his letter while her blue eyes scanned over hers for a third time. With a quick look to his friend, Alistair broke the seal and read the letter from Duncan. He then refolded it, placing it inside his tunic, his face soft and thoughtful.

And sat there watching Adela as she tried to absorb what Duncan said in his missive.

It was with a profound sigh that Adela finally put the letter down, having absorbed all she could from it. She still could not believe it, but there it was, in black and white, clearly in Duncan’s hand (the tone of the letter was the way the man spoke, even the use of his moniker for her). She looked up and saw that Alistair was watching her closely.

“Didn’t you have one these?” she asked him, waving her parchment in the air.

Alistair nodded, “Yes,” he looked down at his hands “I…I just need more time and perhaps a re-read,” he grinned, “or three before it sinks in.”

“One of those, huh?” she frowned at her letter. “Mine, too.” Then, with barely a second thought, she handed Duncan’s letter over to Alistair. He looked at her carefully, his hand outstretched. At her nod, he took the parchment, reading the letter carefully.

The elf watched, a red-gold brow twitched here, a slight quirk of a lip corner there. He doesn’t quite frown, but neither did that lip quirk offer up to a smile either. Perhaps he felt that he should have been considered by Duncan instead of her? She felt a moment of distress at that thought. What if he resented her for Duncan’s decision?

She is pleasantly surprised when Alistair chuckled and replied, “Well, then, Commander,” he grinned widely, “better you than me!”

And she groaned, “No! Don’t call me that!” She assumed a whining tone that almost - almost - sounded like Alistair’s own. The other Warden, far from being insulted, laughed harder. He handed the letter back, clearly amused by this turn of events.

She looked at him through the corner of her eye as she tucked the letter back into her satchel. “Yes, well, you as my second,” she grinned wider as his eyes widen. “Need to be prepared in case you ever have to take command.”

Holding his hands up, waving them about, he pleaded, “No, no, no, no! I don’t lead! I can’t lead,” his voice dropped lower, taking on a more pathetic whine. “Bad, bad things happen when I lead. People die! We all get lost! And, I am leading without any pants!”

She bit her lip, trying to stem a peel of laughter, but failed miserably. There they were, the last two Wardens in all of Fereldan, falling over laughing at the very thought of Alistair leading them all through the mired wilderness, sans pants.

DA:O

The next day it rained. Not a dreadful downpour, but a steady drizzle that, at times, was worse than a steady rain. Adela walked up front, Alistair at one side, The Dog on the other. The human Warden glanced over at the mabari, feeling sorry for the beast’s still unnamed state. He opened his mouth to bring it to Adela’s attention - again - and then shut it. He had been harping on it for over a week now, and the elf would just smile at him and tell him she was still thinking. Thinking?! It seemed like that’s all she did. And while she thought trying to figure out the perfect name for the beast, the poor guy had to settle for prompts of ‘Come Here’ or being called ‘The Dog’. Really, how humiliating for one of the noble breed?

And so Alistair settled for huffing, and that drew Adela’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the frown that turned the corners of her lovely mouth down, noticed that her bluest of blue eyes narrowed slightly. She glanced over at the beast dutifully trotting along at her side, his tongue lolling out as he happily matched her pace. Alistair sighed again, and Adela’s eyes went back to his face.

“Okay, Alistair,” the elf muttered, maintaining the pace. “Out with it.”

Feeling a bit cheeky, Alistair asked, “Is that a command, Commander?”

Adela huffed back at him. “You know, I could institute latrine building duty in which you would be the sole contributor.”

“What?” his eyes widened. “And have me hog all the fun?” He tsked at her. “No, no. I’m certain Sten or even Morrigan would love to be able to share in the fun.” He grinned at her smirk. “Ah, yes, latrine duty. Always fun.”

She gave a great sigh, shaking her head, obviously choosing to ignore his comments and plod along.

Grinning openly at her, Alistair skillfully ignored the sneering “Fool” that came from Morrigan and the foreign “Pashara” from the Qunari. His grin widened at Leliana’s giggle.

They continued this way for quite some time, until finally Adela just stopped. Alistair stopped as well and turned to look at his fellow Warden (she’d kill him if he thought Commander!). She gave him a ‘look’ that made him both a little fearful but also weak at the knees. The Sten, Morrigan and Leliana had stopped, watching with interest as the elf turned to the war hound.

“Since big old Alistair won’t shut up about it,” she was saying to the dog as she gripped his ears, staring into his eyes, “I guess I’m going to have to give you your name now rather than wait until we’re at camp tonight.” she shot Alistair another one of those looks, and he found himself grinning at her like an idiot. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the dog. “Your name is Hafter.” She released the dog, who barked happily at her. Taking that as acceptance, she turned and continued walking along, Hafter prancing by her side. Frowning, Alistair followed, the other three, after sharing a shrug, followed.

“Wait!“ Alistair hurried to her side, glancing backward. “That’s it? No ceremony? No long story about the significance of the name?“ He looked over at the hound. “Hafter?” the human Warden paused, trying to recall a history lesson from his days at the Chantry. “Isn’t that the name of some Dane’s son?”

Adela shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” she replied. “However, I remember King Maric telling me about how he had gone to the Deep Roads, accompanied by Warden Commander Genevieve and several of her wardens. One of those wardens was named Kell and he was her second or some such.” She smiled. “He had a mabari named Hafter. So, now my mabari’s name is Hafter.”

Glancing at the mabari, Alistair asked, “How long ago did you pick that name?”

“Ooohhh…a few days ago,” was the elf’s smug reply.

A few…”And you let the poor doggy go without a name that long?” he whined.

Adela grinned wider. “I’d let him go longer, but I was getting tired of listening to you whine and pout about the ‘poor puppy’ not having a name.”

Aha! “Soooo….” Alistair’s voice took on a smooth quality and he sidled up beside the pretty elf. “All I have to do it whine and pout?”

Sputtering, both eyebrows rising up, the elf flushed a deep pink (which Alistair found very fetching). “Don’t even think of trying it,” the elf growled out that warning, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the road.

“Hmmmm…” the taller Warden hummed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Huffing up at him, the elven Warden increased her pace, ducking her head so that her insufferable fellow Warden would not see the small grin that touched her lips.

DA:O

Alistair is nervous, sweating under his tunic. Adela is leaning over a rock, the map spread out as she traced the route from Ostagar to Highever. Her finger moved back down to the spot where they believe they are. The human warden moved to her side, leaned over, trying to not think about it at the moment.

“I’m thinking we’ve another full day’s march to Highever,” the elven Warden stated, glancing up to Alistair to gauge his thoughts. She’s obviously pleased as he nodded in agreement.

With a sigh, she rolls up the map. “Well, I’ll be glad when we finally get there.” She tucked the map into the satchel she used for the treaties. “I just hope our reception will be on the positive side.”

Alistair merely nodded, again, not saying anything. A small frown formed between her brows, the elf tossed a few logs on the fire, enjoying the snapping sound the crispy bark made upon ignition.

“We may even be able to restock in Highever,” she continues, watching Alistair as he stared into the flames.

“Uh huh,” was his response.

“Maybe I’ll buy myself another suit of armor,” she stated as she stepped to his side,

“Sounds good,” he said absentmindedly.

“Maybe get that dress for you so that you can dance the Remigold for the Teryn,” she joked, grinning as Alistair merely nodded.

“So, what color? I think green would look splendid on you,” she tried not to laugh, especially when Leliana giggled behind them.

“That would be fine,” the man responds, then frowns, looking up. “Wait? What?”

Adela and Leliana burst out laughing, while the Sten merely grunted and Morrigan snickered.

“I didn’t think you were paying attention,” the elf teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he apologized, offering a grin. “Mind’s somewhere else, I suppose.”

“Ah,” Morrigan put in, “of course, one would find it necessary to assume you had a mind to be ‘somewhere else’ to begin with.”

“Morrigan…”

“But, truly, Adela, he makes it so easy,” the witch continued.

“Morrigan.”

“Oh, have it your way,” she huffed, turning back to her work of brewing potions.

Smiling, shaking her head, she turned back to Alistair. “Hey,” she touched his arm, “do you want to talk?”

He looked up, and then did a quick survey of the camp. “Ah, actually, I would. But,” he looks back at her, “can we talk privately?”

A blond brow twitched. “More Warden secrets?” she asked.

Shaking his head, Alistair responded, “No, no. I just want to talk privately. You know,” he gestured around. “Without the peanut gallery listening in.”

Leliana gasped indignantly at that. Point proven, Alistair thought. Adela smiled, rolling her eyes, and nodded. Taking her arm, Alistair led her away from the campsite.

The forest floor was wet from the rainfall that had been falling the past couple of days, and it was quite dark. The light from the camp fire helped them navigate a far distance from the others, although Alistair wished for some moonlight to help light the area.

They stopped, and Adela found a stump to sit on, ignoring the dampness. Alistair watched her and grinned as her feet hung about a foot off the ground and she swung her legs. He fidgeted, and then pulled out from his side pouch the object he wanted to give her.

"Here, look at this,” he handed a delicate red rose to her. “Do you know what it is?"

She quirked a brow up, one corner of her mouth following in a slight grin (her face was so expressive) "Your new weapon of choice?"

He laughed, "Yes, that's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!" and he took a deep breath through his nose, smiling broadly at her.

Adela grinned down at the rose in her hand, raising it to her nose. “You’ve been thumbing this awhile, haven’t you?” she looked up into his warm eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Why nervous now? He berated himself. She has the rose. “Actually, I picked it in Lothering.” He stepped in front of her, looking down at the smaller elf. “I saw it there and thought that it was such a beautiful thing, flourishing in these dire times.” He reached out and gently touched the side of Adela’s face. “It rather reminded me of you.”

“Of me?” she asked, glancing down at the flower. “How?”

Leaves crackled as he moved, kneeling down onto the wet ground so that he and she were eye to eye. “Just as I said,” he remarked very quietly. “Something so beautiful flourishing in the most dire of times.”

He smiled softly as he watched the blush rise up her neck, to her cheeks and to the very tips of her ears. How he longed to touch those ears.

“Alistair…” she began, softly, her eyes lowering to the flower.

“I…I know that you may not feel quite the same way about me as I do you,” he acknowledged a bit sadly, “and I don’t know everything about you as perhaps I should.” she looked up at that. “But, I do know how I feel about the you that I do know. And I hope that…well, someday you may begin to feel it, too, for me.” he looked at her with such hope in his eyes. He watched as she swallowed nervously, her body language betraying a certain level of discomfort. He moved back a bit, to allow her room, to let her know that he was not going to do anything that she did not permit.

She was biting her lower lip - again. A clear sign she was nervous or anxious about something. Or thinking very strongly about something. Her eyes darted from the rose, to the side and then to Alistair’s face.

“Alistair,” she started again. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to gather strength for what she was going to say next. Please don’t tell me you’re in love with Loghain, please don’t, he silently begged her. I think I already know that but couldn‘t bear to hear it from your lips.

What she did say surprised him. “You had once asked me about the circumstances that surrounded Duncan conscripting me for the Wardens,” her voice was so small, scared. He could only nod, fearing what she may say.

She took a shuddering breath, and told him about her wedding day, about Vaughan coming to the Alienage, about his kidnapping her and the other women from her wedding party. Tears fell from her eyes as she told him about Vaughan’s attack upon her, leading to her rape and Alistair took her hands and held them tightly, feeling her grip upon his hands tighten. She looked up but not into his eyes, but a bit off and over his shoulder as she recounted finding her cousin, battered and assaulted; of how her betrothed, Nelaros had perished during the rescue attempt. She took another breath, and explained how, upon returning to the Alienage she had taken full responsibility, thinking that it would spare the others in her home trouble for the massacre that occurred in the Arl’s palace. And when done, she sat there, shuddering with sobs, grasping the rose in her hands, unable to look at her friend who sat there for just a moment, stunned.

And he knew what he needed to do. Without a word, he put his arms around the elf, and just held her, letting her cry upon his shoulder, or talk when the need came upon her to do so. How long they sat like that, Alistair didn’t know. He decided that he could just kneel there, like this, holding her, his knees upon the wet ground, for however long she needed.

And Alistair knew that, even if she never returned his feelings, her telling him of this occurrence that had forever changed the course of her life she trusted him, and valued him, probably more so than just about anyone else in his entire life had ever done.

He had never before felt this way in his entire life. And he thanked the Maker, yet again, for this wonderful woman. Whether she be friend or lover, it didn’t matter. So long as she was a part of his life and he hers, he would forever be happy.

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

This chapter would have had more, but then it would have been too long, so I’m splitting it into two chapters. I hope the ending on this one makes sense. It’s bugging me.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Gaspode. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 14

　
Teryn Howe surveyed the room, a cruel, viper smile spreading across his face. There stood the throne, it’s heavy wood elaborately curved, gilded in gold. Empty.

Of course empty, he thought with a harsh chuckle slipping from between his thin lips. He stepped forward, almost reverently, running a hand along one of the gilded armrests. Loghain lay above in his chambers in a stupor, watched over carefully by Cauthrien. Howe frowned. Lately Loghain had to be restrained more than before, somehow managing to fight against the darkness that was overwhelming him. The latest news, that Wardens had actually survived Ostagar, had set him off and he had been extremely difficult to control. Thank the Maker for Arawn, he thought.

Anora was locked in her chambers to keep her from mischief. The Teryn‘s eyes narrowed. The Queen was proving to be as much a handful as her father, and just as uncooperative. His smile acquired a leering quality as his thoughts turned toward the lovely woman. Once he was certain of his power base, he would have to…break the young woman of that most unfortunate quality.

Soon, he thought, resisting the temptation to sit upon the majestic fixture.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him, and Howe turned carefully, his narrowed eyes meeting those that looked at him from across the room. The elf’s eyes, tawny in color, reflected a hint of amusement as he watched the human step down from the dais and walk over to him.

“The Antivan Crows send their regards,” the elf spoke in a smooth, heavily accented voice, bending into a graceful bow.

“I trust all is prepared?” Howe questioned the elf as he moved to stand before him, looking down at the smaller elf as he straightened.

This elf, however, would not be intimidated by this or any other human. An assassin by trade, a member of the highly sought after and elite Antivan Crows, he knew that there were others far more capable for him to fear. This Fereldan nobleman would have to do more than just look at him from a greater height to instill trepidation.

The elf bowed yet again, a slight smirk gracing his handsome, tanned features, “All is in the ready, my lord,” he replied, rising. “The Crows merely await your word to proceed.”

Howe nodded. “Very good.” He gestured the elf away, “Just make certain that the Wardens die.”

Chuckling, the elf bowed again, then turned and left the room. This time, Howe walked up to the throne, turned, and slowly lowered himself to the padded seat. Very soon.

DA:O

Leliana frowned as she stood beside Adela and Alistair, staring up toward Castle Highever. Something was wrong. She knew it. All of her experience screamed it at her. A glance to the Wardens told her that they, too, felt something was amiss.

“Adela and I should scout around the castle,” Leliana offered as the trio stepped back off the road and into the forest. “Circumnavigate the immediate area around the castle, and return here to report what we find.”

The elf nodded her agreement, and after a moment, Alistair did as well. Then, moving as quietly as shadows, the two women melted into the shadows, and vanished from sight.

Leliana circled around the western boundaries of the castle while Adela took off on the eastern side. The Orlesian was amazed by the grace and ability the artisan displayed. She had seen the elf in battle against darkspawn, and she admitted to a bit of jealousy by how well Adela handled the bow. Almost like she was born with it in her hands, the red head thought. But, she did offer to teach the younger woman a thing or two about using her daggers. While she was good, she did not have the same confidence with hand to hand combat as she did with her archery.

But, her stealth skills…Leliana was absolutely impressed. And could not help but wonder where the craftswoman, one who befriends royalty and nobles alike, would learn such skills.

She paused, listening. Now mid-autumn, there were no chirping crickets or frogs in the background. There was, however, a near constant drizzle from the gray skies, which were now darkening toward nightfall. Of course, they were on the coast now, and rain was a near constant occurrence. She sighed, sniffing. Maybe it was due to the constant rains that Fereldan always seemed to smell of wet dog.

There, she was certain, was a noise to her right. Carefully and quietly unsheathing a dagger, the Orlesian carefully stepped closer to the castle, pressing her back against the cold, wet stone, blending in perfectly to the shadows. A guard passed within feet of her position, not taking any notice of her. Although she was not particularly familiar with the various coat of arms of Fereldan nobility, she was aware that the livery of the guard was not that of the Cousland family. She had had the pleasure of meeting the Teryn and his son at Court in Val Royeaux several years ago, and had been impressed with the simple green on black, large tear drop crossed with spears heraldry of the Teyrnir of Highever worn by the accompanying knights, while the family crest - a laurel leaf set upon a background of blue - had been worn proudly by Teryn Bryce Cousland and his handsome son. This coat of arms - a large bear standing before a white and gold shield - was one she did not recognize.

Frowning, the bard stepped away from the castle, and made her way back to the rendezvous point.

Adela arrived a few minutes after Leliana and, together with Alistair, the women went back to where the Sten and Morrigan stood waiting.

“I do not believe that it is the family Cousland who holds these lands any longer,” the Orlesian reported, a small frown on her pretty face. Adela nodded her agreement.

“No, but I do recognize the heraldry of the guards around the battlements,” the elf replied. Leliana tried not to let her surprise show. How would an elf know the heraldry when she, an Orlesian bard, did not? “That is the coat of arms for the Arl of Amaranthine,” the elf continued, a deep frown on her face.

“I take it you’ve met the Arl?” Leliana inquired.

To which the elf nodded. “Oh, yes,” a concerned look crossed her features as she tipped her head to look back toward the castle. The first time she had met Arl Howe had been shortly after a Landsmeet about a year ago, and she was waiting for Anora in the great entry way. The Arl had apparently thought she was a servant and had taken to treating her as such. He had not taken kindly to Loghain’s telling him that Adela was an honored quest and close friend to the king and queen. The second time she had met him, he had made it clear what he thought of her being a ’friend’ and so had propositioned her to ’visiting’ him at his estate in Denerim. While she had been spared having to speak with him further on that subject (Anora had entered the room with the ever watchful Loghain), she could never shake the uneasy feeling she had gotten from the man. And, now to find his troops patrolling Highever’s walls…. “I’ve had the displeasure.” She stated simply, ignoring the looks her companions gave her.

“So, it would seem our journey here was a waste of time,” the Sten put in, the tone of his voice betraying the irritation he felt. “Come. We must waste no more time.”

“What?” Adela turned to the huge man, staring at him. “If you truly expect that we are going to just leave without finding out what happened, you are sadly mistaken.”

Alistair joined the conversation. “Look,” both elf and Qunari turned his way. “Duncan told me that the king had been expecting both the Highever forces and troops from Amaranthine to participate in the battle. That they did not arrive was confusing to everyone. Now we get here and find that it appears as though Arl Howe has taken over Highever.” He shook his head. “Something is very wrong here and we need to find out what it is.”

The Sten stepped forward, making a cutting motion in the air with one huge hand. “Pashaara!” he cursed. “What bearing does whatever happened here have with the darkspawn?” his lavender eyes narrowed as he tried to intimidate the smaller man. “You say you are a Grey Warden, prove it!”

Alistair blinked, but did not give ground. “I am a Grey Warden,” he all but growled out. “And as part of that duty, Adela and I must find out what happened to the forces that had been promised to stop the darkspawn.” The young man actually took a step forward, closer to the Sten. “You can help or you can leave.”

The Sten stood, staring at the young human before him for many moments. Then, with a nod, he stepped back, awaiting further instruction.

Leliana blew out the breath she had been holding, convinced the two men would come to blows. She turned to Adela and watched as she chewed on her lower lip.

She gives away too much with that face, the bard thought. I’ll have to teach her to conceal her emotions better.

“Alistair is correct,” the elf stated after a few moments. “We need to find out what is going on. As Alistair said, we know that Cailan, Loghain and Duncan had been counting upon the forces of Highever and Amaranthine to assist in the battle at Ostagar.” She tapped a finger on her chin. Leliana resisted the urge to pull it away from her face. “That Arl Howe’s troops are here…well, I have to think that there’s nothing good about that.” Her hand moved from her face, and she looked back up at the castle’s battlements. “We need answers, and I believe we will only find them within those walls.”

Leliana nodded. “If he took over the Teyrnir, he would have needed the permission of the Throne to make it official and legal,” she smiled as elven and human eyes turned her way. The Sten merely stood stoically keeping watchful eyes upon the surrounding wilderness, and Morrigan sat upon a nearby log, seeming to not be paying attention. “If this was a coup, then most likely he did so without permission, and it is not a legal take over. The Crown may well step in and confiscate the lands, and censure the Arl. Although, with Cailan dead, it would be Howe‘s word against, whose?” She waved her hand in front of her face. “All too complicated and unnecessary a discussion at this time,” she conceded with an embarrassed giggle. She had let her thoughts run away with her mouth, she realized.

But Adela seemed to be following along. “So we need to see if there are any Cousland survivors here,” she speculated, “in case this was a coup.”

The bard nodded.

“Okay, then,” Adela grinned, “I guess we are infiltrating a castle.” She looked pointedly at the Orlesian. “Any ideas on how we do that?”

Grinning from ear to ear, recalling a hidden passage she found during her scouting of the area, Leliana gave a most enthusiastic nod.

“Good then,” the elf got all serious and businesslike, turning her eyes to the quiet Qunari and witch. “Sten, Morrigan, you two will need to participate.” They both looked at her, and both heads nodded, a slight feral gleam in Morrigan’s eyes.

DA:O

To say he was impressed was an understatement. How the Orlesian could have found the hidden entrance into the castle was simply a feat beyond him. The outline of the stone doorway perfectly blended into the rest of the stonework of the foundation, and opened at only the slightest touch in just the right spot. Had he not known otherwise, he would almost swear that magic was employed in its construction and activation. However, due to his templar abilities, he did not sense any magic and so knew it to be simply a genius of architecture.

The group entered the cellars of the ancient fortress, carefully closing the door behind them. It was dark and damp with disuse, a heavy earthy smell permeating the tunnel. Morrigan had called forth a spell wisp and by its light the band made their way through the uneven and winding tunnel system.

The tunnel ended at a wooden wall. Leliana moved forward, using her sensitive fingers to explore the wall, searching for the seems of the doorway she knew was there, trying to locate the triggering mechanism. She smiled broadly; it was similar to the exterior door. Finding the corner, she gave a most gentle push, and with a soft ‘click’ the outline of the doorway was revealed with the soft natural light filtering through from the room beyond.

Raising a finger of silence to her fellows, the bard pushed open the door way just a fraction, while the warriors behind her held their weapons at the ready, and Morrigan gathered the necessary mana to toss a spell at any foes that lay beyond. Adela stepped back, pulled her bow off her shoulder, and prepared to fire should it be necessary to use deadly force.

The tunnel opened into a pantry. The group moved in, ignoring the dark reddish brown stains upon the stone floor. Leliana and Adela moved to the larder’s sole door. Adela moved into the corner diagonal from the door, an arrow notched, ready for flight. Alistair moved to the wall toward the door’s opening, while the Sten stood slightly to Leliana’s side. Morrigan and Hafter standing toward the small room’s center.

Leliana nodded, and then opened the door a crack. She breathed out a slight sigh of relief, and opened it further, revealing a cold kitchen. The fire was out, and the group could not help but notice more of the stains on the floor.

Leliana shut the door, and the others relaxed their stances. Alistair went over to the dark stain on the pantry floor.

“Well, I think this is an indication something bad happened,” he muttered as the bard and elf moved to his side. Adela’s eyes roamed the pantry and Alistair followed along, noting the hanging sides of beef, potatoes and other food stuffs that lined the shelves or hung from the ceiling. All of the food were spoiled and molding, a clear indication that this kitchen and pantry had not seen use in some time. Alistair was not too surprised; a castle this size would usually support two or three kitchens and pantries.

“So, now that we’re in, how do we get around?” Alistair asked, knowing that while their Orlesian minstrel and elven Warden could just slink into the shadows, trying to sneak a seven foot tall Qunari warrior and heavily armored Templar may not be the easiest thing to do. He watched as Adela’s eyes settled upon some clothing hanging near the door from hooks.

She turned to him, a small smile on her lips, and then moved to the clothing. Poking through them, she obviously found what she was looking for and carefully pulled it from the hook. Examining it as she approached the group, she held it up.

“Okay,” she shook the dress out, “I can put this on and pretend to be one of the servants,” Alistair was shaking his head as she spoke, but Leliana obviously thought it was a good idea by the nod of her head.

“No,” Alistair said firmly, grasping hold of the garment, “no way are you going to walk around here unarmed.”

“Listen, Alistair,” Adela spoke, pulling his hand free of the dress. “I go out in the open, scout around and see what I can learn. Leliana,” she waved a hand toward the Orlesian, “can scout from the shadows, get into places an elven servant may not be able to. You big bad warriors and mages,” she grinned at the others, “wait either in this pantry or in the tunnel until one of us reports back with a better idea of what we’ll be facing here.”

It was a sound plan, Alistair had to admit. At this point, it was clearly all they could do. It did not make sense having them all traipsing about the castle blind. And, he had to admit Adela could take care of herself. “Okay,” he nodded, glancing at the Sten and Morrigan, both of whom had remained silent. “But, I don’t like you being unarmed.”

“I won’t be,” Adela promised, and then turned her back to remove her armor. “Ahm, Sten, Alistair?” both men gave her their full attention, “Please turn around. Lady undressing here.” The Sten merely scowled but turned around, Alistair waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a sharp look. Grinning, he turned his back to her as well.

He heard the sounds of armor being dropped to the floor, Adela muttering slightly under her breath, and then, “Okay, I’m decent,” from behind. Both men turned around to find the elf, dressed in a simple woolen dress of brown and white, twisting her long braid into a coil at the base of her neck. Leliana handed her several pins and then tucked the elf’s armor into her pack. Alistair was surprised to notice that the dress fit her rather well, although he noticed it was a bit large around the bust and waist, and a few inches longer than normal. Maker, she is tiny even for an elf! Came the unbidden realization.

“Ah, Adela,” Alistair called. She lifted her eyes to his. “You are not going out unarmed, right?” To which she grinned. Lifting her skirts just a bit, she bent down and pulled a knife from one boot, and then switched hands and pulled out another. Although not completely satisfied (those were awfully small knives) Alistair knew that there was no further arguing about the plan. Adela handed her pack and bow to Alistair, and then moved with Leliana to the door.

Both women watched as their companions slipped back into the tunnel, and then they moved out the door, Leliana slipping into the shadows, and Adela stepping openly through the door, leaving it open so that the rogue could slip to and from the kitchen unnoticed.

DA:O

She had to admit, she enjoyed walking around without wearing armor - even the Dalish armor, which was lighter and move flexible than other armor. She almost missed the sensation of wearing a dress and made a firm mental note to purchase one and wear it whenever possible - at camp, at an inn (an inn! To sleep in a real bed! And a hot bath!)…she shook her head, focusing on the task at hand.

Walking the wide corridors of the castle, Adela was pleased that she hadn’t been accosted by any of the residents. However, that also caused her a bit of concern. Normally, in a castle of this size, she should have run into other servants or denizens. That she hadn’t spoke volumes, and she worried now that perhaps an elven servant walking the corridors would raise suspicion. Nothing for it now, she thought, deciding to continue on.

She did take note of more dark stains upon the floors and walls of the corridors she traversed, as well as the obvious damage done to the structure of the castle. Fresh burn marks and crumbling and missing stone gave quiet witness to the violence that the castle had obviously seen - and quite recently. Turning down a side corridor, she found a guard post where the door had been broken and bashed off its hinges. Frowning, she stepped into the small room, glancing around. More of the disturbing stains. She turned, spying another door, this one bound in metal. She stepped over and noticed that there had been attempts to batter the door down, but these had failed. Running sensitive fingers along the surface, down to the floor, she found that it was trapped as well. Removing one of the pins from her hair, the elf went to work on disabling the trap. She then went to work on the complicated locking system.

After several minutes, time wasted as she paused in her work to listen for any oncoming footsteps, the elf finally managed to get the door unlocked. She grinned, thanking Soris for all those hours he spent teaching his cousin how to open nearly any lock she encountered. Of course, she would never attain the level of skill her tricky cousin had…with that thought, she stood, once again checking the door for traps (there were none) and then pushed the door open.

Gleaming armor, shields and weapons hung from mannequins and various weapon racks. Feeling badly about being there, the elf backed from the room, relocking the door, and then leaving the guard room. She made a mental note to revisit the room with Alistair (they were in need of better armor and weapons, she told herself, trying to justify the decision to loot the armory) - after they discovered what happened to the castle’s residents.

Leaving the room, she turned to her right instead of retracing her steps to her left. Turning a short corner, she arrived at a door. Bending down, she noted that it was unlocked. Cautiously she opened it, revealing a flight of stone stairs leading down into darkness.

Glancing about, her eyes settled on a nearby torch the hung from a wall sconce. Reaching up, using a hand on the wall as a way to make her way further up the walls (darn humans and their darn long legs!) she gripped it and pulled it free. Checking her pocket for flint and steel, she stepped through the door, closing it behind her.

The stairs nearest the top of the flight were dimly lit, and her elven eyes - sharper than a human’s - allowed her to see quite a way down the stairs. She was a creature of light, however, and decided to light the torch now. The torch flared to life, and Adela found herself staring down a long, winding flight of stone stairs. Although in good repair, several steps were crumbling with age. Congratulating herself for lighting the torch, the elf made her way down into the bowels of the castle.

The earthy smell that had existed in the tunnel the elf and her group had entered the castle through gave way to a more decayed odor in the flue of the stairway. The stairs ended at another door, this one locked and bound in metal, although not as securely as the door to the armory above. After a quick check for traps (there were none) she deftly picked the old iron lock. After putting an ear to the door and hearing nothing, she carefully pulled the door open.

And fell back as the stench of rot and decay, blood and death assaulted her senses. Reeling, gagging from the odor, the elf brought a sleeved arm to her face, eyes blinking against tears. Maker! She thought, forcing bile back down her throat, it smells worse than darkspawn! Lifting her skirts, she carefully tore a length from the underskirt and wrapped it over her nose and mouth. It filtered some of the stench to a more durable odor. Thinking she was prepared, she ducked her head to take a breath, and then walked through the door.

This is a dungeon, she realized, although pleased to note the absence of torture devices every tale says are found in such places. Instead, there were cells, many cells. All with heavy doors and small barred windows. Walking carefully and slowly, she looked into each cell in the small chamber and found them to be (thankfully) empty. She turned a corner to enter into the larger chamber of the dungeons.

She was not prepared for what she saw.

Bodies. Scores of them, stacked into piles along the walls. Most of them are divested of clothing, in various stages of decay. Some appeared to have been burned, and others…she turned away, retching. Some of the bodies there were children. She rushed over to a wall, leaning against the stone, as a sob escaped her lips. Children? She realized that these poor souls must have been the inhabitants of the castle. She forced herself to look back at the gruesome display.

The bodies were just piled up, with no regard to the humanity that they once represented. Elves and humans alike shared in this atrocity, and Adela felt a rage build within her at how evil people can be. Her eyes skimmed along, trying not to take in too much detail when she spied a smaller pile, consisting of four bodies, set by one of the cells. These bodies were stripped completely of clothing. Next is the body of a human woman, amazingly left alone for the most part, as is the little one beside her. It is for the other two bodies, a man and woman, that she felt tears rise up for. They have been horribly mangled, obvious signs of torture, even at this stage of decay. She turned away, unable and unwilling to tally the numerous atrocities done to them.

She needed to leave, now that she knew what happened here. She needed to just leave these poor souls and get out and find her companions…she turned, but then she heard a soft sob. She turned back. The sound was coming from the direction of the smaller pile of bodies. A rat scurried through, and she nearly jumped. Damned thing! Once again she turned to leave, but this time the sound is unmistakably human. Purposefully ignoring the death about her, she stepped to the cell she was certain the sound came from, and pressed an ear against the wood of the door. Yes, she was certain she heard a voice.

She could see into the barred window as it is placed too high. The cell was locked, but so far none of the locks she’d encountered had deterred her, and this one was no exception. Pulling one of her knives out from a boot, the elf slowly and carefully opened the door, grimacing as it hit against the body of the woman that was too close.

The sight before her was as heart wrenching as the scene behind her.

Chained to the wall and floor sat a human man. Covered in filth, obviously left to starve, he obviously suffered great tortures, judging from the lesions that covered his dirty skin. He was naked, his head bowed with long, dirty hair covering over his face. On the floor, just out of his reach, sat a bowl full of tepid water, a plate of moldy bread next to it. Too cruel, she thought, keeping the knife in her hand as she approached the lone prisoner. What had he done to deserve this? And quickly dismissed that thought. What had any of them done to deserve this?

Slowly, carefully, she knelt down, staying just out of reach in case the poor man was violent or deranged. She ignored the human filth that covered the floor as she knelt there, watching as the man raised his head.

She gasped, wondering how long he had been here. She could tell that once he was a warrior, for his shoulders, though stooped, were broad. He was fairly thin, telling of weeks without proper food, lips parched, dried and cracked. His skin nearly gray, and his breathing rasping in the fetid air. His hair, hanging over his eyes, was red, and he peered at her with green eyes, misty with pain and misery. He blinked at her, as though trying to clear fog and sleep from his eyes.

In a dry, raspy voice he asked, “Are you real? Or is this another cruel dream?”

She was amazed at the clarity in which he spoke the words, knowing it was telling of his spirit and will to be as coherent as he was. She offered him a gentle smile. “I’m real.” She wanted to reach out to him, but was still unsure of how he would react, and so she just smiled. “My name is Adela.”

The man frowned. “I don’t recognize you,” he managed, a dry tongue licking at drier lips. “You are not one of the Cousland servants, are you?”

Shaking her head no, Adela replied. “No, I am not. I am a Grey Warden come to discover what happened here.” She decided not to say more, and just waited for him to reply or ask.

Green eyes light with recognition and hope. “A Grey Warden?” his head lifted a bit further. “Is Duncan with you?”

Surprised he knew Duncan, she sadly shook her head, “I wish he were,” she admitted freely, “But, sadly, no.” Now she did reach out a hand to brush aside the hair that covered his eyes. He flinched somewhat, but did not move away. “What is your name?” she asked.

“My name is Gilmore,” he replied, his head rising slightly more and his back straightening, as though recalling who he was helped to return him to humanity. “Ser Roland Gilmore. I was a knight here for the Teryn and his family.”

Nodding, Adela’s attention shifted to the chains that bound the man down. She reached for one of his hands, and, after a moment’s pause, Roland obliged. Watching as she inspected the lock, he flinched slightly as she touched the raw skin beneath the manacle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then pulled a pin from her hair and began to work on releasing the lock.

It was rusted, and some damage appeared to have been done to the manacle (she assumed Roland tried bashing at the lock at one point) but she managed to get it undone and his wrist free. She wished she had brought some of Morrigan’s poultices with her. She could tell that the wounds on his wrists are infected, as were most if not all of the wounds that covered his body.

Roland relaxed and let her undo the rest of the manacles that bound his hands and feet. He rose, unsteady on his feet, and gripped the wall for support. Straightening, he stumbled a bit, and Adela instinctively reached out and took hold of him by the waist. She was aware of his state of undress, and she noticed his flush as he became aware of it as well. Shaking her head, she helped him lean against the wall.

They were near the armory and she was certain that something there would fit him. However, she wanted to spare him any further humiliation if possible. Frowning in apology to the young man, Adela turned her back and lifted her skirts. In one quick motion, she tore the second layer of skirts free and pulled the length of cloth out. She handed this to Roland, and he gratefully accepted it, tying it about his narrow hips.

He stepped away from the wall and walked with halting steps toward the doorway. Adela put a hand on his arm to stop him. “What is beyond this door will be…difficult,” she raised blue eyes full of emotion, “don’t…don’t look, just follow me and focus on the doorway out.”

Roland stared at her for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head.

“We’re going to the armory first,” Adela told the human, “and then we’re going to get you out of here“. He nodded again, and then followed the little elf out of the cell.

She watched as he tried to avert his eyes, and stepped over to his side when he could not. He paled under the dirt and grime, under the gray complexion from lack of sunshine and food and breathing unhealthy air. She took his arm and pulled him with her, away from this. His eyes settled on the smaller pile that had been placed by his cell, and he stopped. A near immovable object, denial causing his feet to root to the stone floor, Adela had not the strength to pull him along.

“No,” he whispered from between parched lips.

Adela again pulled at his arm. He wouldn’t move. Frowning, she shook him, pulling again, saying his name, pulling again. The knight turned, his eyes focusing on the elf - the Grey Warden - and he stepped forward once, then another step. Then he let her pull him along, out of the wretched cells and up the stairs.

She couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and the relief that swept over her when Roland allowed himself to be pulled away was extreme. The relief remained when she saw that no one had tampered with the lock to the armory. She quickly unlocked the door, pushed Roland inside, and then locked it up behind them.

The knight stepped over to a suit of silverite armor bearing the Cousland family heraldry. In one of the trunks, the elf found under padding and clothing and handed them to Roland, turning her back as he unwrapped the skirt and, with shaking hands, dressed. Realizing that stealth and subterfuge would no longer be necessary (and would no longer work, now that she had a gravely injured Highever knight in tow), the elf pulled a set of leather armor down fro a rack, stripped off the dress and replaced it with the armor. She was amazed it fit her almost perfectly (it was still a little large across the chest and waist). Pulling up the boots, she located a pair of daggers and gave them a test twirl, then picked up a longbow and quiver of arrows, slinging both over her shoulder.

She turned back to Roland, who was struggling with the clasps of the armor. Helping him with the last of the straps and buckles (she had gotten good at helping Alistair with his armor), she took a moment to get a better look at her new companion.

His face was haggard with grief and pain; what he had suffered these past weeks or perhaps months, was truly horrible. His eyes - a clear green - reflected that pain clearly. His nose and jaw were strong. He’ll need and want to bathe, she thought, recalling the pond they had camped by a few days back. How she wished they could go to an inn! More so now than before. She snapped in the last buckle, and the knight turned to the weapon rack behind them.

With a deep sigh, the man pulled forth a magnificent longsword, its bluish blade encrusted with runes. He brought the hilt to his lips and kissed it, and then pulled the silverite shield emblazoned with the Cousland emblem. He hefted it, finding his footing secure and steady, then swung the sword in an arch. Although a bit unsteady at first, by the fourth swing he managed to follow through the feint, his feet planted firmly. With a look to his elven savior, the young knight gave her a nod. Together they left the armory and headed toward the kitchens.

As with her first trek through this part of the castle, the pair did not meet anyone - guard, servant or otherwise - on their way back to the pantry. Roland offered that it was most likely due to the severe damage this wing received during the invasion. Looking back at the fire blackened walls, crumbling stone and damaged archways, Adela found herself agreeing.

The elf kept a watchful eye on the human knight, pausing often to allow him to catch his breath. Roland would accept her kindness with a slight smile and stubbornly continued onward.

Adela pushed open the door to the kitchen, peeking in and noting that it was still empty of life. She grimaced as she stepped in with Roland behind, watching as his eyes settled upon the dark stains sunk into the stone floors. His lips tightened into a thin line, his eyes misted. Swallowing, he followed the young woman into the pantry.

And he stopped, staring at the stains that covered most of the exposed floor. Adela turned a questioning eye on him and noticed he was trembling and looked as though he would retch.

“Roland?” she asked, taking a step toward him. She heard the door to the tunnel start to open and realized her friends must have heard their entry. Standing before the knight, she placed a hand on his arm, hoping that, even through the metal he could feel her presence there, for it did not seem as though he saw her any longer. His eyes were focused upon the stains.

“This is where…” he started, his voice a mere whisper, not even looking up as Alistair stepped through the secret entry. Roland turned his eyes to Adela’s hand, and then up to her face. “Those bodies, by the cell…those were of the Teryn and Teryna,” a sob caught in his throat. “And…” he shook his head, unable to continue. Adela looked over at Alistair, who had been watching the pair with uncertainty.

“Alistair,” she called to her fellow Warden, who stepped forward. The others came through into the pantry. Adela noted that Leliana hadn’t returned from her scouting yet. “Alistair, this is Ser Roland Gilmore, a Knight of Highever.” the aforementioned knight looked up. “Roland, this is Alistair, a fellow Grey Warden.” Roland bowed his head.

Wishing Leliana was here to take care of the knight, Adela looked to the others, and was surprised when Morrigan stepped forward, a potion in hand, offering it to the knight. “Here,” she pushed the potion into his hands, “drink this. ‘Twould restore some strength to your limbs so that when we flee this place you may keep up.”

Alistair pulled Adela aside as their witch tended the newest member of their group. “Where did you find him?” the human asked, staring down into her face.

“Alistair,” she whispered, “it was horrible! I found him in the dungeons, alone,” her eyes went back to the knight and watched as he followed Morrigan into the tunnel entrance. “chained to the floor and wall, without food, clothing…” she shook her head, fighting the nausea and tears she had been holding back for Roland’s sake. “The dungeon was filled with the bodies of the…” she stopped, her head bowed.

Alistair stared over the top of her head. Then he nodded. “We now know what happened to the Teryn,” he said softly.

Sniffing, she looked up, nodding. “I had thought Arl Howe was a snake, lecherous and unkind. But, this…” she trembled with anger, “only a monster could do something like…” She wiped a trembling hand across her eyes, steadying herself.

Taking a deep breath, gathering herself (she had to be stronger than this!), she said “This part of the castle seems to have been vacated.” she shrugged. “I didn’t meet a single person - servant, guard - at all. Which is rather strange,” she looked thoughtful. “Roland and I are of a mind it’s because of the damage to this part of the castle. It seemed rather excessive.”

She looked around the pantry, taking in the dust covered cobwebs and rotten food, avoiding the stain on the floor. “I should go and find Leliana,” she said almost absently, concern growing for their missing companion, stepping back from Alistair.

But her fellow Warden was shaking his head. “No,” he said firmly, “let’s not change the plans now.” She looked up at him. “Look, we sent you and Leliana out to scout around different wings of the castle. You’ve done yours. That you didn’t run into anyone was pure luck. Let Leliana finish her job.”

Frowning, she bit her lip. Of course Alistair was right. If she changed the plans now, Leliana could very well be placed into danger (if she hadn’t already found it yet, she thought). “How long was I gone?” she asked.

“About three hours,” was the quick - very quick - response.

Adela raised a brow at that, but Alistair just looked at her. “Okay, we’ll give Leliana another couple of hours. She’s moving slower than I was anyway because she’s been all quiet and stealthy, while I was just trying to blend in.” She tapped her chin with a long finger, and glanced back at the entrance with concern. “Roland is going to need help,” she turned back to Alistair. “He is very bad shape. I’m amazed he has the strength to carry that armor and his weapons.”

“Really bad?” Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. He frowned deeply as the elf nodded.

“I wish we could get him to an inn where he could get a proper bath, clothing, food…But, we can’t risk it. Any inn near the castle will more than likely recognize him. And we can’t have it out that one of their…” she grimaced in disgust, “prisoners escaped.”

“There’s the pond a couple of days back,” Alistair offered.

“I know, I’ve thought of that. And, it’s better than nothing. I’ll have to scrub out his wounds…” she shivered. “I wish we had a proper healer with us.”

“You do a fair good job of keeping us all whole and death free,” he quipped, brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes.

She grinned up at him. “I know, but think of how much better it would be if I could just,” and she waggled her fingers, “be all magical and heal all wounds instantly like a mage.” She slumped. “I miss Albus.”

Shaking his head, he gently turned her and pushed her toward the secret door. “If you had been born a mage,” he said as he pushed her through, “You would have been at the tower and you’d never have become a Warden,” he shut the door carefully, turning to gaze down at her, “and we would never have met.” He grinned widely. “And guess who would still be sitting at Ostagar, whining that everyone died? Me.” he poked himself in the chest.

“Silly human,” the elf scolded, moving to take a seat by Roland to check on him. “You know damned well you would not have just stood there waiting for death.” She smiled at Roland, offering him a water bottle from her pack, which he accepted gratefully. After scolding him to drink slowly, she looked back at her fellow Warden. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.” She then turned back to her pack, searching out some bread to give to Roland, knowing he would be unable to eat anything more substantive at the moment.

Alistair watched as she took care of the Highever knight, smiling thoughtfully. “Yeah, well, you have never had occasion to follow me, Commander,” his grinned widened as she shot him a nasty look, “so you don’t know. Remember: No pants?”

She blinked, a slow smile forming on her lips. Then, the two Wardens shared a chuckle as their companions looked sharply at them at that remark.

DA:O

Leliana had returned an hour behind Adela, and did not have anything positive to share. By her estimate, there were at least two to three hundred soldiers stationed at the castle, and there was a rebuilding effort underway in the northern wing. While there were plenty of servants - mostly elven - she did not see any other humans save the soldiers. She had managed to poke into some of the rooms, but there were some areas she had been unable to access.

Roland had mentioned that one of the Teryn’s children - a young woman named Elissa - was missing. Based upon some of the questions Howe and his lieutenants asked of him, he was under the impression they had not found her.

“That’s good,” Adela said, and Leliana nodded her head in agreement. “There is at least one surviving member of the family.”

“’Course we need to find her,” Alistair prompted, but Adela shook her head. “I’m afraid we can’t take the time to try and locate a missing - or hiding - noblewoman.” She sighed, not happy with that decision. “If they haven’t found her yet, they most likely won’t. She’s safer wherever she is right now.” She lifted her head, speaking gently into the obvious displeased looks she saw on both Alistair and Roland’s faces. “Remember, Alistair. We Wardens have a price on our heads, people are looking for us to help fill their pockets with gold. If we start looking for this noblewoman, we could very well be placing her in even more danger or inadvertently leading her enemies to her.” She looked from one face to the other, grateful as she saw them both ease, accepting her reasoning. “We also have some treaties to enforce, and an Arl to get on board before we can even think of ending this silly Blight.”

With a heavy sigh, knowing she was right (that’s why she’s in charge, he thought) Alistair bent to pick up his pack.

Roland looked over at the elven and human Wardens. “You should probably go back to the armory,” he whispered, his throat still dry and unused to speaking, “there may be more weapons or armor for use.” he grimaced. “I am certain the Teryn would rather the Wardens use whatever is there than risk Howe’s men getting their hands on them.”

Glancing back to the doorway, Adela nodded, “Okay. Alistair and Sten will go with me. Leliana,” she turned to the bard, “You and Morrigan will take Roland and Hafter out and back to camp. We’ll follow as quickly as we can.”

“Is separating the group a wise idea?” Alistair asked, feeling it his duty to do so.

She nodded, “Roland is in no condition to fight,” she smiled apologetically at the knight. “The sooner he’s out of here, and into fresh air, the better. Morrigan,” she turned to the witch, “make sure you give him some of your potions, the ones for strength and stamina, but not for healing,” the witch raised an eyebrow. The elf explained. “The potions will heal the skin over infected wounds, and they need to be cleansed first.” With a slight nod, the witch turned away. Leliana grinned at the elf, and together with Morrigan helped Roland to his feet, and began walking him out.

DA:O

Several hours later, now with quality armor and weapons, the group reunited at camp. Roland had been given a bedroll and was currently sleeping in Adela’s tent. They were too close to the castle to risk a camp fire, so they alternated watch, two at a time, throughout the night, and then, before first light and after a cold breakfast of bread and cheese, packed up and headed back southward.
 

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, phoenixandashes. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 15

　
The next night they arrived at the pond. Adela had insisted that Roland bathe and handed him some elf root soap Morrigan had and he was inclined to wholeheartedly agree. Alistair accompanied the knight, who was still far too weak to be on his own, to watch over him, making certain he did not slip and drown.

The knight was grateful for the care the group had given him, especially for the ministrations of the elven Warden. He was also very grateful that Alistair merely walked with him down to the water, letting the proud knight travel under his own power. The ex-Templar had lent him underclothes as well as a pair of breeches and a tunic to change into.

With a heavy sigh, grimacing in pain, the Highever knight pulled off the clothes he had been wearing for the past couple of days and tossed them aside. They were going to need to be washed, he thought, trying to ignore the sympathetic grimace he saw cross the other man’s face when he saw the numerous wounds that covered Roland’s back. He bent down and picked up the soap and cleaning cloth Adela had given to him.

Taking a steadying breath, Roland stepped into the water, ignoring the chill of it, walking until he was covered to the waist with the cold water. Cold or not, it felt wonderful to finally be able to wash off months of filth, blood and grime. He ducked under the water, feeling his too-long hair fan out around his head. Gasping as he broke the surface, and quickly washed his hair and body.

His wounds were terribly infected, and Adela had said that she would need to lance them and drain the poison before being able to apply the healing poultices and potions. She feared having the flesh heal over the wounds, letting the poison to flow through his system anymore than it already had. He remembered the look on her face as she discussed what needed to be done. However, after months of torture, starvation and the inevitability of death looming over him, having his wounds lanced by the gentle elf did not seem quite as traumatic to him as it seemed for her.

He found himself wondering about the small elf. She seemed too gentle a soul to be a Grey Warden, and, if what he gleaned from the little quips and jokes Alistair tossed at her was correct, she was the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan. Well, all two of them. He frowned. Duncan had visited Highever a few months ago, seeking to recruit Roland into their ranks. The only reason Roland had not gone with the Commander at that time was his duty to the Cousland family. He had been with them since childhood, and although his greatest desire in life had been to become a Grey Warden, he had duties and responsibilities to see to before leaving their service; the most important was to select his replacement. He was to have met up with the Warden at Ostagar to submit to the joining. It was the night prior to his leaving - with the Teryn and the balance of their troops - that Howe had shown his true colors and decimated the family and nearly everyone within the castle. Shuddering, he pulled his memories away from that night, not quite ready to deal with them.

Would Adela allow him to join? He decided that he would ask, once he was stronger.

He finished his bath, wincing at the pain his many wounds caused him. Hopefully, after tonight, they would no longer be an issue. He was not looking forward to it, but it needed to be done.

After drying and dressing in his small clothes and wrapping up in the drying cloth, Roland accompanied Alistair back to the camp.

Adela had lent Roland her tent for during his recuperation, deciding to sleep outside. He had protested, but the elf told him she enjoyed sleeping outdoors, attributing it to her Dalish heritage, even telling him of how she used to sleep on the roof of her home in the Alienage on especially hot nights. Although he had felt strange allowing the little elven woman to give up her tent to him, he had appreciated the comfort it afforded him. Now, the tent flap was open and Adela had just crawled out. She smiled at him when he entered the camp site.

“Roland,” she called out to him as she stepped away from the tent. “You should go in and lie down. I need to finish gathering some things and I’ll be in shortly.”

He nodded, feeling more than a little self conscious about being in the tent alone with the pretty woman. She did not seem bothered by it as she pushed him along and went to the fire to gather the hot water, cloths and poultices she would need.

He entered the tent to find that she had placed another drying cloth over his bedroll and a second sheet for him to cover with. Based upon their earlier discussion, he knew that Adela wanted to drain all of the infected wounds, but he now felt very self conscious. He would have to be naked as most of his body was covered. And some of the tortures…his head drooped as he thought of the techniques Howe had employed to humiliate him and cause harm. Some of his wounds he was not anxious or willing for the elven woman to see.

He removed his small clothes and lay down on his belly, pulling the sheet up over his hips. Shortly thereafter, Adela entered, closing the tent flap. She placed the pot of hot water by the entrance, and arranged cloths and poultices to within easy reach. In her hand she had one of her carving knives. Clenched in the other hand was a small vial with a murky liquid.

“Roland,” she said his name quietly, gently, passing the vial over to him, “Morrigan brewed a mild sedative. It will help you through the pain,” he noticed her voice was very soft. Nodding, he accepted the vial and, uncorking it, swallowed the contents. The taste was bitter and vile, but soothing and warm, and he soon felt a bit of lethargy settle upon him. He crossed his arms and laid his head down, closing his eyes and tried to relax.

Small, warm hands passed over his shoulders and back, prodding at the wounds, testing them. He felt a pressure and the sharp pain as she cut into one large wound at his left shoulder blade. He hissed, and she apologized, squeezing the poison out and scrubbing at the wound with a hot cloth soaked in water and elf root. He still felt the pain, but it eased as the poison filled sac was emptied. With her free hand, the elf rubbed his shoulder, trying to soothe and relax him as she then packed the wound with a poultice.

The air in the tent was warm, almost humid with their breathing and the steam from the kettle. Roland found himself relaxing, enjoying the feeling of Adela’s hands roaming over his body. He could almost ignore the pain that accompanied those hands. His eyes shot open as he realized he was having a very strong reaction to Adela’s treatment. Horrified, he tensed; Adela asked if he was alright and he told her he was, that the last cut hurt a little too much. She apologized; sitting back on her heals as she applied a poultice to the wound she had created. He closed his eyes, willing his body to stop! He knew it had been a long time - even longer than the time he spent in the dungeons - since he had been touched by anyone so intimately. It was a natural physical reaction, but that did not stem the shame he felt warm his cheeks. Forcing his breathing to slow to normal, his heartbeat eased, and he felt other parts of his anatomy relax as well.

She continued the process - identified a pocket of poison, cut quickly into it, drain the poison, clean, and then treat with a poultice - many times, working her way down his back. He tensed when she got to the wounds located on his buttocks, closing his eyes, willing himself to not think about it. She hesitated, once again asking if he was alright. He nodded, joking that it was a little disconcerting to have her touching him there. There was a nervous giggle on her part and she promised not to look too closely. It was a bit more difficult for him to ignore her hands there, but he was able to keep himself relaxed and focused. That done, she covered him with the sheet, and then turned her attention to his legs, which were far more infected than the rest of his body. Roland had expressed concern about that, and Adela told him it was most likely due to his having to sit in the filth for so long.

Once done, she ordered the man to roll onto his back, and repeated her ministrations along his chest, arms and legs. As she finished the last wound on the bottom of his feet, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

“Are there other wounds?” she asked, almost shyly. The direction the wounds on his body took, she was fairly certain that there were.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “I’d…I’d rather take care of that myself,” he responded, with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t really want anything sharp and pointy there anyway.”

Blushing crimson, the elf nodded. “I suppose I can understand that,” she said with a forced giggle. She handed him several poultices. “Okay, then…ah, apply these to…” she coughed, blushing even brighter, “to the area. Hopefully it will draw enough of the poison out.” She then handed him a few health potions. “Once that’s done, drink one of these before you fall asleep. And then again in the morning. These should help speed up the healing process.”

She began to gather her supplies, and the young knight watched her. She is very pretty, he thought, watching as her delicate hands scooped up the poultices and clothes. She turned her eyes to him. It’s her eyes, he realized as he gazed into their depths. “Thank you, Adela,” he spoke softly.

She smiled at him, moving to the tent flap. “You are most welcome, Ser Knight,” she grinned before leaving. “Get some sleep.” and with those words, she exited the tent.

Placing the healing potions down and picking up the poultices, Roland went about following her orders.

DA:O

Leliana was sitting by the fire when Adela exited the tent, her quill back in her mouth, while she still worked on the song for the Tree of the People (Leliana had told her that was its ‘working title’). Morrigan was nowhere to be seen (although judging by the splashing sound, Adela guessed she was bathing), Alistair sat on the other side of the fire cleaning his armor and sword (he looked up and gave her a bright smile) and the Sten…well, as per usual, he had taken up a post at the other end of the camp, convinced they would be attacked at any moment.

“How’s the patient?” Alistair asked, his attention back to his armor.

Adela dumped the dirty water by a tree, setting it beside other dirty dishes to be washed later on. “I think I’ve taken care of the worst of his wounds,” she replied as she tossed the cloths into a separate pile. She sighed, taking a seat next to the other Warden. “His wounds were many.” She frowned, looking into the fire. “How can anyone do that to another living soul?”

Leliana, not looking up from her parchment, piped in with a sad voice, “There are many in this world who do not follow the Maker’s plans, and seek to do harm to others,” she then lifted her head, staring into the fire as though with memory, “sometimes it is hard to fathom that there are people in the world like that.”

There was Morrigan’s familiar scoff as she sauntered back to camp, her raven hair wet and loose about her shoulders. “Do not follow the Maker’s plan indeed,” the witch sneered at the former Chantry Sister. “Most of the world’s strife can be placed firmly and solely upon the shoulders of the Chantry.”

Leliana was about to respond, when Adela held up a hand, “Ladies, please,” she said, raising her eyes from the fire, “I really do not want to have a religious debate started now, tonight.” She looked from one set of clear blue eyes to the other of feral yellow. “If you two must have this conversation, please do so elsewhere.”

“Why?” Alistair asked, curious. “Don’t you believe in the Maker?”

She gave him a sidelong look, and Alistair realized it was that look. “I do. I also revere the Creators,” she sighed at the humans’ blank looks, “The elven gods. My patron is June, God of Craft.” She tossed a stick into the fire. “But, I do tend to agree with Morrigan with regards to the Chantry, and therefore I’d prefer not to get drawn into a debate. I’m too tired.”

Preening, Morrigan shot Leliana a triumphant smile, rose and waltzed back to her tent, retiring for the night without a goodnight to anyone.

She shot the chantry sister a glance, one that she hoped told Leliana without doubt that she was not in the mood for this discussion. Alistair, grinning away, stood, saying that he was in a cleaning mood and so, picked up the dishes, kettle, and cloths, and made his way to the pond to clean them.

Watching the other Warden walk off, Leliana picked up her parchment, inkwell and quill and moved to sit next to Adela.

“So,” the bard carefully arranged her inkwell on the log, just holding her quill and parchment, “he’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”

Her eyes narrowing (she knew how much Leliana loved to gossip), the elf turned to look at the woman. “Who?” she asked, certain she knew of whom the bard meant.

“Well,” she grinned, warming up to the topic, “I suppose we do have two handsome young men accompanying us.”

“Leliana…” Adela’s tone was warning. “If you are talking about Roland, give the poor man a break. He’s just recovering…”

But the pretty Orlesian merely held up her hands, “Oh, I know, I know. But, under those wounds, and despite how thin he is, you can tell, he is quite handsome.” Her grin grew. “But, I wasn’t talking about our latest addition to our extremely attractive group. No. I meant your fellow Warden.”

I knew it! Rolling her eyes, Adela tossed another stick at the fire. “Yes, he is quite handsome,” the elf conceded. She looked at her friend. “Why? Are you interested?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she giggled girlishly, “I shall leave our golden god to you, ma cheri,” her posture relaxed more, “as he has eyes only for you, my pet.”

She couldn’t help it, she blushed a bit, and raised one brow. “So, you are thinking of perhaps pursuing our ginger haired knight, then?”

Leliana’s lovely blue eyes widened, and she giggled more. “Oh, no, no, my friend. Although I do so enjoy a masculine touch every now and again, it is the…” her eyes drifted toward Morrigan’s tent and then back to Adela, “fairer sex that I find far more attractive.”

Eyes wide, a blush at her cheeks, Adela looked to the witch’s tent and then back at Leliana’s glowing face. “You and Morrigan?” the elf managed to get out, astonished. Leliana turned back to her friend, a dreamy smile on her pretty face. “I don’t know, Leliana,” Adela remarked. “I’m thinking that perhaps Morrigan isn’t quite into….” she waved a hand, “that.”

Grinning hugely, the bard tugged Adela into a hug, which before this latest declaration would not have made her quite so uncomfortable. Now? “Ah, come now, ma petite, I will have Morrigan,” she rose up, picking up inkwell, parchment and quill and walked away, “eating out of my hand.” And, with a flourish, she disappeared into her tent.

She was still staring at the Orlesian’s tent when Alistair returned.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as he placed the cooking ware into the pack, tossing the cloths at her with a grin. The elf shook her head, and rose to help hang the cloths up to dry.

“Nothing is wrong,” she clarified as she stood next to him, reaching up to toss a cloth over a rope he had hung up earlier. She glanced back at Leliana’s tent. “Orlesians are…strange, aren’t they?” she queried her tone quiet and bit confused.

Alistair laughed. “Well, ours is a bit…” he bent down to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. “off.” He nudged her with his shoulder while hanging the last of the cloths up.

“Well, as long as it’s not just me,” she grinned up at the taller human. “I’ve been told my whole life they are not to be trusted, and that they are without morals.” Giggling, she said, “I think I’ll amend my own opinion to that they are just so…”

“Odd? Rambunctious? Shoe fanatics?”

“No, just different.”

“Oh,” Alistair said with a shrug, watching as his friend sat down on the ground, leaning against the log as she pulled the map from her satchel. “But, that’s not quite as amusing as other…”

Snorting, she shook her head at him, “As amusing as it may be to discuss the differences between an Orlesian and Fereldan,” she waved the map, “I want to go over our route with you.”

“Sounds good,” he gave a little grunt as he sat down beside the elf.

Spreading the map out on her lap, she laid one finger on the general area she believed they were in. “I think that our next stop should be the Tower of Magi,” her finger traced the route to the Tower. Alistair’s eyebrows shot up.

“Why not head right to Redcliffe?” he asked, looking back at the map.

Smiling, she shook her head, “We could make it to Redcliffe in less than a week from here,” she said, tracing a route from their current position to village. “But, we practically go right by the Tower,” she then retraced the route to the Tower. “We can be there in about two days.” She tapped the icon depicting Lake Calenhad and the Tower, “And, then, it’s another two, maybe three days from the Tower to Redcliffe on foot,” she traced the land route from Tower to village, “or we can catch the ferry and be to the village within a day or two.” She looked up into Alistair’s face, watching as considered her suggestion. She liked how his thoughts were clearly displayed on his handsome face. She knew that he wanted to see the Arl as soon as possible, but she didn’t want to waste any more time in gathering their other allies.

“Alistair,” she shook his shoulder when he didn’t reply, “I know you want to see Arl Eamon as soon as possible. But, we’d waste time by going there straight from here following our current route.” Alistair turned his amber eyes to hers. “We go to the Tower, talk to whoever is in charge, show them our fancy treaties,” she shrugged, tugging on the satchel containing the scrolls. “We remind them of their obligations to the Wardens, they all nod in acquiescence, and then we can leave.” Her smile was almost smug, “couple of hours, tops, easy-peasy. And,” now her voice had an almost wistful quality, “we can take a boat to the fishing village.”

A chuckle burst from his lips. “Sooo…you just want an excuse to take a boat ride, do you?” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder, enjoying the little blush the rose on her cheeks.

“So?” she asked, her hands spreading out the map, smoothing out the wrinkles. “We should have some fun while running all over the country, gathering allies, on our way to stop the Blight,” she nudged him back.

Laughing, he snatched up the map, taking another look at the route Adela had traced out. It made sense; this way they could easily save a week’s travel. Yes, he did want to go see the Arl. Of course, seeing the Arl would only open up another matter that the young man was not in any hurry to discuss with Adela. The thought of talking to her about it caused a bit of tension in the pit of his stomach.

“Okay, oh fearless leader,” he teased, “we’ll go to the Circle first.”

“Good,” she said as she snatched the map away and refolded it. “If Roland is feeling up to it, we’ll set off tomorrow.”

DA:O

Roland proved that he was, indeed, up to the trek to the Tower. Fortunately for them, the only troubles they encountered were a couple small bands of bandits. Although ordered to not engage in any melee combat, the Highever knight proved quite efficient with a crossbow. The bandits were easily dispatched and the group continued to Lake Calenhad.

The Tower was set a fair way from the shore, a row boat docked for use for traffic to and from the Tower. Nestled against the hillock was an inn, the Spoiled Princess. Pleased that there was an inn (Adela planned on their staying there after their business at the Tower), she turned back to the Tower.

Morrigan snorted as they approached the dock. “A man most definitely had built this towering obscenity,” she quipped, staring at the high tower, “for only a man would build such an obvious phallus symbol.”

Leliana giggled at the witch, who merely rolled her yellow eyes at the bard. The Sten stared at the tower with interest. “Hmm. A prison for mages.” He frowned slightly. “Seems a waste of effort and space. We of the Qun cut the tongues from our mages and keep them leashed.”

Adela stopped while Morrigan sputtered for a suitable reply. Adela spoke first. “Your people cut out mages’ tongues?” her voice betrayed her distaste. “And keep them leashed?”

The Sten turned his impassive eyes to the outraged elf, his lavender eyes revealing nothing. “They are beasts, and are therefore harnessed as beasts.”

“Beasts?!” Morrigan had found her voice. Leliana placed a calming hand on the witch’s arm, turning her from the Qunari.

“I think,” Adela spoke, her voice rising above the fury of the witch, “that this is a conversation for another time.” She looked pointedly at the Sten. “A much later time.” The Qunari warrior merely bowed his head slightly at her.

Deciding she did not want to learn of the Qun or any of their other practices, Adela led the group to the dock.

The attendant at the boat was an idiot. Even Adela could not be diplomatic about her opinion, although she did not voice it. There was something strange about the Templar’s eyes, an empty quality that reminded her of those few elves she knew addicted to opium. Oh, what did he say his name was? Carroll? He complained about being peckish (why would she care?) but the Sten came to the rescue and offered the Templar his bag of cookies. Adela laughed and asked the Qunari where he got the cookies, to which he responded, “I took them from a fat, slovenly child in the last village we passed.”

“You mean you stole them?” the elf raised an eyebrow.

“No, I liberated them from him. He had no further need of them.” the Sten looked calmly into her eyes as they all boarded the boat. “I suggested he take up calisthenics to work off the extra weight.”

She rolled her eyes at the huge man. Definitely the Qunari would not fit in well with Fereldan culture. She didn’t even want to see it tried.

So, with all of them on board, Carroll sat at one set of oars, the Sten at a second, and together, the two of them rowed the boat toward the other dock.

Alistair, sitting next to Adela, nudged her shoulder. “So, now you get your boat ride,” he teased.

Smiling up at him, she shook her head, “No, no…not a rowboat ride.” She lifted her head, letting the breeze flow over her face. “I want to ride in a real boat.” She sighed. “Take a ship somewhere exotic and far away.”

Roland, who was sitting across from the pair, smiled at the elf. Adela returned the smile, enjoying the feel of the water rolling beneath the boat. One look at Alistair, however, told her that he may not be enjoying the ride quite so much. Leaning against him, she whispered, “Do you not like boat rides?” she asked, concerned.

“No, not really,” he admitted, frowning up at the tower. “Although it’s not really a physical thing.”

“Oh?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to look into his face. He wasn’t looking ill, just unhappy.

“Yeah, well, you know I was in training to become a Templar?” the elf nodded. “Well, the last time I rode a boat - this boat - was during my training.” He frowned. “Every initiate, prior to taking his vows, must participate in a Harrowing.”

“What is a Harrowing?” the elf asked.

Alistair’s lips pursed together. “The Harrowing is the final test of an apprentice before they become a full mage. It’s a test to see…” his head drooped slightly, “…to see if they can hold off against a demon.” he shrugged. “I came here to attend my first harrowing. The girl they brought in was young,” he pushed a lock of Adela’s blond hair behind her ear. “Younger than you. And tiny,” he looked into her eyes, “actually, she was an elf and looked quite a bit like you.” He sighed then. “They had her enter the Fade. But,” his voice softened to a whisper. “She couldn’t resist the demon that was there. She awoke as an abomination, and the elder Templars present had to…” his voice trailed, and Adela put her arm around his waist. “They killed her.”

Hugging him, Adela leaned her head on his shoulder, “And that’s why you didn’t want to become a Templar?” she asked. She felt Alistair nod his head.

Looking back at the looming tower, feeling the repressiveness exude from it, the elf said, “Well, hopefully we won’t have to spend much time here.”

DA:O

The atmosphere within the Tower was tense. Tense, fearful, resigned. Adela didn’t like it, and it only took one look to Alistair’s face to know that something was definitely wrong.

An older man, with gray hair and a short gray beard, dressed in the heavy Templar armor - replete with purple skirt (she decided to ask Alistair about that little fashion statement later) - turned to them, irritation clear on his lined face. “What? How did you get here?” he demanded, stepping forward, “I specifically told Carroll no one was to enter the Tower.”

Taking her cue, Adela stepped forward the treaty for the mages already in hand. “I am Adela, Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan,” she and Alistair had both thought she should sound as official as possible. “I have here a treaty that obligates the Circle to offer their assistance during a Blight.”

The templar glared at the elf, but found his voice to speak as cordially as possible. “I am Knight-Commander Gregoir.” His brown eyes flashed with irritation. “And I am tired of the Grey Wardens’ demands upon the circle!”

Really? Adela’s brows rose, and she straightened. She was not going to let this man intimidate her. They had too much left to do. “I am sorry that the Blight has interfered with whatever you have going on here,” she said, trying hard to keep sarcasm from her voice, but knew that she failed. “However, the Circle has an obligation, and it would be in everyone’s best interest…”

But Gregoir merely waved his hand at her, dismissing her words. “Yes, yes. I understand the Wardens claim there is a Blight, however, that is not my concern. My concern is to see that the mages are contained. And, as you can see, we have our own problems now.”

“What is the problem, Knight-Commander?” Alistair asked, stepping beside the elf, hoping he didn’t overstep himself.

“Simply put, we have had to seal the tower,” Gregoir motioned toward a set of heavy metal doors on the other end of the chamber. “Abominations have been set loose, and I have sent to Denerim for the Writ of Annulment.”

Alistair blanched at that, but Adela didn’t understand. “Writ of Annulment?”

“To neutralize the Circle,” the Knight-Commander advised, “completely.”

“Are you telling me that every single mage in the Tower are now abominations?” the elf asked, still not quite following.

Gregoir shook his head, “No. However, we could not take the risk of any of the abominations getting loose, so we…”

“Locked up the place, you and your Templars safe, while innocent mages are left to die in there?” Adela felt like screaming, and Alistair could tell she was getting angry. He placed a hand on her arm. Gregoir was getting angry at the elf.

“I have even had to lock some of my Templars in there,” he justified, “the Writ will be approved, and we will eliminate the Circle completely.”

“Every Templar’s dream come true,” Morrigan chimed in, her cultured yet archaic tones heavy with sarcasm. “To kill all of the mages in one fell swoop. ‘Tis a pity you cannot simply abort the abominations prior to their birth, now, is it not?” Her yellow eyes met with the Templar’s, hers rife with hatred, his with anger.

“How dare you?” the Knight-Commander demanded, taking a step toward the witch. Morrigan held her head higher as Leliana stepped protectively to her side. Roland and Sten each flanked the woman, while Adela called out to the Templar.

“Hold your ground, Ser,” she commanded, facing the enraged man. While she agreed wholeheartedly with Morrigan’s assessment, she truly wished the apostate would, just this once, keep quiet. “Our discussion is regarding the treaty the Circle must oblige.” The Templar turned back to her, his fury easing somewhat.

“And how do you propose for us to do so, Warden?” he asked dubiously.

“We will go in and destroy all abominations we find.”

Brown eyes narrowed in thought. “I shall only open those doors if the First Enchanter himself stands before them and assures me that the Tower is cleaned.”

Adela met his eyes with the appearance of calm. Yet she did not feel calm. If they failed, if the First Enchanter was dead…what would that mean for them? She looked back over at her companions. Morrigan was still glaring at the commander of the Templars, while Leliana stood beside her talking in soothing tones. The Sten, as always, simply stood, impassive, awaiting orders. Her gaze shifted to Roland, who returned her gaze with open frankness. She was worried about bringing him into an almost certain battle. However, she saw the determination, the resolution in his clear green eyes and decided he could come in as well. Hafter bumped up against her thigh, and then she looked up at Alistair. Her fellow Warden had absolute faith in her decision. She could see that clearly in his amber eyes.

Taking a breath, she turned back to the Knight-Commander. “Alright, we will go in, destroy any abominations we find, and seek out your First Enchanter.”

Gregoir stood staring into the elf’s eyes for a moment, as though trying to take her measure. Then, with a curt nod, he moved aside to allow the party through.

The Templars at the inner doors appeared nervous as the party approached. One of the Templars muttered something about their being addled to risk so much for a “bunch of mages”. Adela pointedly ignored the remark, and was glad Morrigan was too far in the back to hear the obstinate remark. She stepped through the doorway, the others following. The doors closed behind them with an ominous thud.

DA:O

To say that the Tower was a living nightmare would be an understatement. Adela had never seen an abomination before, and hoped to never again in her life. They were twisted images of humanity, made more grotesque in the knowledge that once they were human or elven. They were strong, some managing to cast some spells, but it was in their death throes that they were more deadly. Each body of the abomination would explode once their final breath expelled, creating a massive fireball. Had they not encountered the healer, Wynne, they would never have survived the first time they had been so trapped.

Wynne. Adela was thanking the Maker for her the further into the Tower they went. She remembered the elderly mage from Ostagar; she had been the one that Duncan had relied upon for preparing the blood for the joining. She had not had the chance to speak with her at Ostagar, but the mage remembered seeing her.

They found her in a large chamber, barred at one end with a shimmering barrier of magic, protecting a group of children. Adela had been surprised to find the children, and this only further enhanced her anger at the Knight-Commander for what she saw as his cowardice. He left children to suffer!

Wynne had insisted upon going with them, but Adela was concerned about leaving the children alone with a few apprentices. She therefore left Morrigan, Leliana, Hafter and Roland behind to watch over them. Morrigan was more than a little miffed, but Leliana was quite pleased to stay with the children, and had immediately engaged them in a song loop to help keep their minds away from the dire situation they were in. The Highever knight appeared as though he would argue her decision, but after taking one look at her face he nodded his agreement. The war hound whined his disagreement with being left behind, but Adela told him to watch over the children and perhaps they would play with him, and he seemed to reconsider. She grinned as she watched the huge animal happily wag his tail as the children climbed over him.

Shaking her head, she turned to watch as Wynne gathered the magical energies needed to dispel the barrier she had erected over the doorway that led further into the tower.

DA:O

She stood in a garden, surrounded by high, stone walls, vines crawling up the sides, curving over the tops. Roses and wisteria grew from several plots, mingled with daisies and irises, tulips and narcissus, and other flowers she did not know the names of. She turned, smiling. This was her favorite spot in the palace; the garden that Cailan had taken her to the first time she had been brought to the palace by her father, just months after her mother’s death. Cailan had told her that this had been his mother’s garden, one she had cultivated with her own hands, and he always came here whenever he missed her. She remembered how he had smiled down at her, telling her that if she wanted, he would share this spot with her, so that she could come here when she was lonely and think of her mother.

She smoothed her hands down the pink fabric of her dress. This was her favorite dress, one Anora had purchased for her. The pink color brought out the rosiness in her skin tone, and made her hair appear more yellow, her eyes a brighter blue. A stone bench stood just behind her and, with a happy sigh, she lowered herself to the cool stone.

Gazing out at the flowers about her, she let the feeling of peace and joy sweep over her. Birds were heard singing nearby, squirrels chirping at one another. Most likely fighting over the bird seed, she mused. She turned her head toward the sound of heavy boot falls upon the cobbled pathway.

Loghain stepped into view, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight, his blue eyes becoming intense when they settled upon the young elf. He was dressed practically, as always, in brown trousers and white and tan tunic. A slight smile crossed his thin lips as he approached her.

“Ah, there you are,” he said in his low, dry voice. He reached a hand to her, which she accepted. He pulled her up and into his embrace, his mouth pressing down onto hers, kissing her with great fervor. With a happy sigh, she returned the kiss in full, running her hands through his hair. He pulled her body further into his, the kiss growing with intensity and passion, his tongue sweeping over her lips, seeking entry to her mouth. An unfamiliar feeling swept over her, a warming feeling that flowed from her abdomen and lower. Loghain’s hand moved down her back, pulling her even closer and she could feel his own arousal.

Gasping, she pushed herself away, her lips bruised and swollen from the kiss. Loghain looked down at her, the look of surprise clear upon his face. A frown formed between his brows. “Is something wrong, Adela?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

She shook her head, unable to vocalize what felt amiss. But there was a tiny niggle in the back of her mind. Loghain stepped back to her, taking her hands in his very large ones. “Come now, my wife,” he smiled at her confused look, “perhaps you just need to rest.”

Wife? “Loghain I…” she shook her head again, trying hard to clear out the fog, but it only strengthened. She raised her fingers to her temples as a headache started to bloom. She felt Loghain’s hand under her chin. He lifted her face to his and bent down to kiss her, gently. “Perhaps it is the pregnancy tiring you,” he said softly.

A hand went reflectively to her abdomen. It still felt flat, no sign of the life that Loghain said was growing there.

“How can I be your wife, Loghain?” she asked in a small voice, looking up into his intense blue eyes.

He scowled, the furrow between his brows deepening. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Because I asked and you said yes,” he said dryly.

It didn’t make sense. She stepped back, still watching her husband. “But, Cailan and Anora could not even convince the nobles to allow elves fundamental rights,” she argued, “why would they allow someone as important as you to marry one?”

The scowl deepened further, “Do you truly expect that I would allow some fool nobles to dictate whom I marry?” He had his hands on her again, pulling her to him, staring into her eyes. “I made the mistake once not to be with the woman I love; I’d be damned if I’d do it again!”

The bird song was starting to fade, and strangely, she noticed that. Loghain was speaking again, “You are tired, my dear,” she felt his hands, heavy on her shoulders. “Cailan and Anora have been preparing….”

“What?” she spun around in his hands, shock clearly on her face, “Cailan?” Her body started shaking. Wasn’t Cailan dead?

Something was not right. If she was married to Loghain, why could she not remember the wedding, or the engagement? She looked over at him. Or even the courtship? The last time…when was the last time she spoke with him? She placed a hand to her lips. He had kissed her, with fierceness. She remembered that. A promise…what promise?

Loghain was watching her, interest clear in his eyes. Worry as well. Again her hand went to her stomach. And he tells me I’m pregnant? Yet, I don’t feel it…

‘Loghain,” she turned to him. “What happened at Ostagar?” She watched as his face moved through several emotions, which was unusual for him. One to always keep his emotions and thoughts to himself, this was new. Or maybe she just learned how to read him better?

“You do not recall our routing the darkspawn?” he asked, a slight tilt to his head. “Cailan led the charge, decimated the darkspawn.” He stepped closer, smiling down at her. “You and your fellow Grey Warden, that lad Alistair, lit the beacon at the signal. Our forces crushed the darkspawn hoard between just as was planned.” A frown formed then. “You, my dear, did not obey Duncan’s final orders to you, to remain at the Tower. You took it into your lovely head to join the battle.” Concern was there in his eyes. “You arrived by Cailan’s side as he defeated the ogre that had killed Duncan. You were…” he grimaced, “badly wounded before I arrived to remove you from the field.”

She was shaking her head. This was wrong…”Where is Alistair?” she asked.

A black brow rose. “He is the Commander of the Grey, stationed at the headquarters here at the palace.”

“But I’m the Commander,” she insisted. “Duncan appointed me…”

“My dear bride,” Loghain shook his head at her. “You are carrying my child. Were you truly planning on fighting any stray darkspawn in your condition?”

Taking a deep breath, she spoke. “No, this is wrong,” she paced out of his hands moving several feet away. “No. The…Cailan died. I saw him. I was injured, yes, but,” she turned and looked Loghain in the eyes. “It was Alistair that got to me, not you…” tears formed in her eyes. Loghain’s were suddenly impassive. “You never arrived. Your troops…those of Maric’s Shield, never joined the battle. There was no routing of the darkspawn,” anger now rose, and she stepped up to Loghain, hitting him in the chest with one small fist. “Everyone was killed!”

“Adela,” his voice was firm, scolding, and he grabbed a hold of her, not too gently. His face was twisted in anger. “Are you denying that I love you?”

“Love me?” she whispered, tears running down her face. What was this? “I don’t know if you loved me.” She remembered. “One kiss, one promise to talk after the battle, a gift,” her hand went to her breast. Where was the charm? “But never a declaration of love. We never spoke because there was no after the battle!”

She spun away from him. The bird song and squirrel chirping had ceased. And she was now dressed in her leathers, her daggers at her hips, her bow and quiver on her back.

Loghain stood before her, hissing in hatred and anger, his face twisted into something not human. “Foolish child!” the Not-Loghain shouted at her. “I could give you anything you wanted.” It swept a hand out, encompassing the garden. “I can make you happy here!”

She shook her head, pulling her daggers free of their sheaths. “No,” her voice was resolute. “I can make my own happiness, thank you!”

“Ah…” it leered at her, circling her. “But happiness is never without a price. There is always despair, sadness, loss,” it continued it’s circuit around her. “How can you even know that you would ever have the man who holds your heart? Here,” again it swept out a hand, which was now a clawed thing. “you can.”

“False,” she spat out, following it move for move, not letting it get behind her. “In life, you accept the bad along with the good. Without the loss, the pain, any happiness in life becomes stale, unappreciated. It is through loss we learn to love and accept.”

It hissed again, “Then you shall learn loss, my dear,” and it lunged at her, its claws sweeping out to catch her across the face.

The elf was quick and agile and alert; she danced out of the way of the creature. She stepped back, then lunged forward, her dagger leading the way. Ducking under its arms, she ripped a deep gash in its stomach. Foul air hissed from the wound, and, not taking notice the monster fell back, hissing its anger at her.

The garden around them was fading, taking on a more surreal appearance. Like a watercolor painting exposed to moisture the colors were now muted, almost bleeding into each other. Disturbed, further aware that she must still be in the tower (she remembered!) the elf circled her opponent, whose resemblance to Loghain was quickly fading.

The demon-Loghain-thing leaped at her, pushing her back. One claw managed to connect, slicing a wound along her jaw. Crying out in pain, the elf stepped back and to the side of the thing, digging in with both daggers, driving them deeply into the chest region. It stumbled back.

Still using Loghain’s voice, it cried out, “I can take you to the one you want!” It barely avoided one dagger as the other cut across the side of its neck. It was pleading now. “He is here,” it continued, its eyes, still blue, watching as the elf now circled it.

“Another lie,” she said, ignoring the blood that dripped from her wound.

“No,” its voice was stronger as it seemed to feel her resolve falter. “He is here,” it smiled. “He is almost always here.”

The elf stopped circling the beast, taking its measure. She knew it would lie to save its life, the hissing wounds spoke that she had caused it great damage. No, it was only trying to distract her, bring her into another lie. Why, she did not know. But it did not matter. She needed to be free of this place, and soon.

Snarling, realizing it had failed, the thing lunged at the elf again, its claws digging into her shoulders. Gasping at the pain, Adela brought her daggers up, plunging them deeply into its chest. Twisting, she pulled them aside, tearing through skin and bone, opening the chest wide. Roaring in agony, the thing released the elf, and fell, convulsing to the ground. As it died, its features assumed Loghain’s. Adela forced down the bile that rose, and then turned away as the body itself faded from view.

The garden had now vanished. And the elven Warden found herself standing in a vast gray emptiness. Her head hurt, as did her wounds. Digging into her pack, she pulled out one of Morrigan’s healing potions, and drank it down in one gulp. Sneezing through the vile taste, she took stock of her situation. Grayness surrounded her. She turned. Ahead, she spotted a blue glow. Shrugging her shoulders, aware she had no other options, the elf headed in the direction of the glow.

　

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 16

DA:O

The endless gray surrounding her went on forever, never changing. Had the blue glow ahead not appear to be growing larger, the elf would never have known she moved at all.

Finally, she stood before the blue glow. It wasn’t a doorway, more of a veil or a curtain through which she needed to pass. She could not see beyond it, to see what lay on the other side. But it was the only thing different in the great vastness. She felt certain that if she did not pass through this veil, she would forever traverse the endless nothing.

Gripping her daggers (she had to tell herself to relax, but she found her fear too great), she stepped through.

Blue lights dazzled her eyes, and she found herself standing in a courtyard of an ancient ruin. Surprised, she turned, taking in the features of the new environment. She did not recognize this place, nor the young man dressed in mage’s robes standing to the side, watching her with great curiosity.

There was something familiar about the young man. His features were rather nondescript, being typical for a Fereldan man: brown hair, dark eyes, wide open face and narrow chin. Despite that, however, the elf was certain she had seen this man before, and fairly recently.

Still holding her blades before her, she approached the mage. He watched her approach carefully, almost seeming ready to bolt.

Speaking calmly, she introduced herself to the mage. He seemed to relax at her words and told her his name was Niall.

“Niall?” she asked, recognizing the name. “Are you the mage that took the Litany?”

Eyes widened, he nodded. “How did you know?”

“The tranquil, ahm…Owain, told us that you retrieved it.” She grimaced, “I presume it must still be on your…body.” she hesitated.

Eyes shifting to the surroundings, the mage nodded. “You are aware you are in the Fade, correct?”

Letting out a breath, the elf shrugged, “I had suspected, but I wasn’t completely certain. I mean,” she frowned, “I’m awake, as far as I know, right? I had heard that only mages can enter the Fade awake?”

“You are correct about the mages. However, I doubt you are fully awake. The demon,” he grimaced in memory, “has kept a portion of your mind active so that it seems as though you are awake here in the Fade. That is how it draws power from you. Your activity here, trapped, ‘feeds’ it, until you finally die in the real world.”

Frightened and concerned, she glanced around her. “Is there a way to find my companions?” She looked at the mage. “They must be here as they encountered the demon at the same time as I.”

Niall frowned. “There may be a way; however, I have not been able to find it.” He scratched his chin. “I went through the portal over there,” he pointed to his right to a small blue curtain of shimmering light. “And found a mouse darting in and out of mouse holes. Perhaps you can learn how to move from one Fade portal to another, you may be able to find your friends.” His frown intensified. “However, you may just as well resign yourself to the fact that you shall die here.”

Giving him a look that told him clearly what she thought of that idea, Adela moved to the Fade portal, and walked through.

DA:O

The young elf leaned against the stone wall of the room. She had just defeated the final demon and felt that the domains where her friends were trapped were open. She ached, and was almost out of healing potions and poultices. She had met with four different souls trapped in the Fade, each of them teaching her a new shape to transform into in order to avoid the various traps within this part of the Fade: a mouse, a golem, Spirit and Burning Man. And, she had learned the name of her nemesis: Sloth.

She looked over to the Fade portal that had formed after the last demon, one of pride, had died. Pushing herself from the wall, she advanced, hoping that she was not too late to help her friends.

DA:O

The landscape was reminiscent of that at Lake Calenhad, the area the Sten had pointed out as where he and his fellow Qunari had battled the darkspawn. Frowning, staring at the blue sky, bluer waters and green trees, the elf followed the sound of the deep, male voices.

Sitting next to a small campfire were two heavily armed and armored Qunari warriors. She noticed that their features, while obviously Qunari, were blurred, undefined, as though the artist who painted them were unsure of how they truly looked. Perhaps they appear this way because I don’t know them, the elf thought.

These two were joking, jovial, nudging each other while eating their meal. The third was a very familiar, stoic figure. The Sten turned toward her as she approached and she noted that this features were very well defined. Could still be a trap, she reminded herself as she cautiously stepped forward.

“Warden.”

“Sten.”

One of the Qunari turned to them. “Who’s the little one?” he asked of the Sten. Ignoring his fellows, the Sten kept his attention firmly upon the small elf. She looked at the other two, who were watching her with mild interest.

“You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?” she informed the giant, thankful yet again for her meeting with the mage, Niall. She would never have guessed that was where she was if he hadn’t told her.

The Qunari warrior nodded his massive head. “Indeed, Warden. I am aware. You may leave now.”

Her brows shot up at that remark. “Leave?” she glanced around in confusion. “Not without you, Sten.”

“Ha! This little one wants you to go with her, does she?” one of the other Qunari quipped. Adela looked at him, confusion on her face. These others were nothing like Sten!

The Sten merely scoffed at the Fade Qunari. “They are undisciplined.”

“I thought all Qunari were disciplined.”

The Sten stared at the elf. “Why are you here, Warden?”

“I’m here to rescue you, Sten.”

“Pashaara!” a huge hand cut through the air. “I do not need to be rescued, Warden. Leave me in peace.”

“You actually expect me to leave you here, Sten?” Adela asked disbelief in her voice, on her face.

“I have failed in my duty. Leave me here for atonement.”

She stared at him for many moments, ignoring the joking and laughing of his fellows. Did he really expect…? “No,” she took a step forward, glaring into his face. “You swore an oath to me, Sten, one sworn seeking proper atonement” she jabbed a slender finger into his chest. “If you break that oath where then is your honor?” She met his eyes, unflinching. The Sten growled deeply in his throat.

“You question my honor?” he demanded, glaring down at the much smaller elf.

“Yes,” she glared right back, “If you break your oath to me, the oath you swore when I released you from that cage.” She rose on her toes, maintaining eye contact. “The oath to end the Blight, to return to your country with the Arishok’s answer to the question…”

“I know the question asked!” the Qunari roared.

“Then answer it!” the elf shot back hotly, not backing down, heat rising to her face. She hoped the huge man would not notice her hands were trembling.

The Qunari warrior stared down at the tiny elf, amazement on his stony face. Taking a deep breath, the warrior stepped back, backing down from the resolute elf. He nodded. “I will honor my oath to you, Warden and to the Arishok.”

“Wait there,” one of the other Qunari rose, his hand going to the greatsword strapped upon his back. “You can’t go anywhere, especially not with that tiny thing.”

“I go where I am needed,” the Sten advised, almost impatiently. “I swore an oath.”

The other warrior rose, his axe in his large hands. “Sorry, but we cannot allow you to leave us again, brother.”

“We will need to fight them, Warden, in order to leave this place,” the Sten calmly said as he pulled his Chasind greatsword from his back.

“Of course we do,” Adela whispered sarcastically, drawing her daggers. The Sten glanced down at her before charging to meet the Qunari.

Brute strength against brute strength. That was how the Sten fought. His massive sword swung in, intercepting the swing of the axe wielding Qunari. Focusing his power, the Sten brought his sword up, altering its course to swing out to the side. The other could not bring his axe up quickly enough, and the Sten easily took his head off.

Adela ducked beneath the heavy swing from the greatsword, diving in and driving her daggers between the plates along her foe’s stomach. The false Qunari growled out in pain and anger, drawing back on his sword for another swing. The heavy two handed style was not effective against an agile elf, and he found himself swinging at empty air as she danced around to his back. Bringing her hands together, she drove both daggers into his back, slipping into the overlapping plates, through the flesh beneath and into one large kidney. The Qunari howled in pain as the Sten’s sword swung in, piercing through the plate and out through the chest. Gasping, the Qunari fell to his knees, and then flopped to his face.

Breathing heavily, Adela resheathed her weapons. “I hope they were not so easily dispatched in real life,” she muttered, trying to catch her breath. The Sten merely scoffed at that notion.

“Let us leave,” he demanded, putting his sword back in its scabbard. “Wait! What trickery is this!” he demanded as his form faded away.

“Damn!” Adela thought, kicking at the ground, watching as the trees, blue sky and bluer water of the Lake vanished, to be replaced by the grayness of the Fade. Searching, she found another familiar blue glow, indicating another section of the Fade. Scowling, deciding that she really hated the Fade, the elf stomped off in search of her other companions.

DA:O

Weariness threatened to overtake the elf as she continued her journey across the Fade. She hated it here; the endless gray landscape revealing no detail until almost upon a ledge or under a crag made her nerves more on edge than she already was. She had met and faced many demons since entering this part of the Fade, some taking on Loghain‘s form, others her family, still others made no attempt at subterfuge and merely attacked her on sight. She had numerous injuries detailing each battle. Her hands hurt, she had a headache, and her concern and worry for her friends nearly grounded her.

But it was for her friends and the knowledge that they had to get out of here that pushed her along, kept her feet moving. Because of the lack of distance, her bow was nearly useless here, so she had to rely upon her daggers. She grumbled, wishing she had allowed for more time with Leliana to further train in their use.

She faltered, bringing a hand to her forehead. This part of the Fade was very draining on her physical and mental resources. She had to consciously keep herself moving. She looked up, trying to discern anything - a path, a horizon, a ledge - but still was greeted with only gray fog and incomprehensible shallowness. She was surprised and alert immediately when a familiar figure emerged from the fog, staring down at her.

DA:O

Loghain blinked, staring down at the elven woman with clear disbelief in his eyes. But there she was, weary looking, dark circles under her eyes marring her fair skin. She was dressed in leather armor and holding her daggers - he recognized them as Adaia’s daggers - tightly in her hands. He reached over to grasp her shoulders, but the elf backed up, her daggers up and ready to strike.

“Hold right there, demon!” she all but snarled. “Trying this trick again, are we?” she tilted her head. “Not too original now, are you?”

Realizing that he was unarmed and dressed only in trousers and a light shirt, Loghain stepped back, astonished by the hostility with which he was greeted. A realization that this was not Adela came to mind. After all, he had encountered many strange things here, not the least of which were demons posing as a more supplicant Adela.

He wondered why they would incarnate her as battle weary.

She was watching him, those fathomless blue eyes scrutinizing every move, ready to strike. He had told her once she was no warrior, but watching this Adela he doubted his words. She was battle weary and covered with numerous wounds, many still bleeding. The sight hurt him, even if he did not believe that this was his Adela. Despite that doubt, he spoke, “Adela, it is me, Loghain,” his voice rasped out, as though he had not used it recently. He shook his head, trying to clear out the confusion that fogged him mind. It usually took him a while once he was here, but eventually his senses would return.

For now, his focus was on the elven woman before him.

“I know who you are supposed to resemble,” the elf said, taking another step back, frowning severely at him. “But I’ve met other Loghains here as well. I could just kill you as I have the others.”

Loghain stopped, listening to her voice, taking in the sorrow, the fear, the weariness that exuded from it. “How long have you been here?” he asked, for some reason feeling concern for this pseudo-Adela.

She shook her head, “I have no idea,” her eyes looked up, seeming to try and pierce the gray veil about them. “A while.” Her eyes closed, and she shook her head. “Too long,” came the whispered reply.

Never would I imagine her this way, the man thought, staring at her. The other…perhaps. But, not this. Loghain knew where he was, in a portion of the Fade where he had been trapped, time and time again. His own little hell created by an unknown captor who would dig deeply into his mind and psyche and pull those elements he kept only to himself. Adela’s image was one that was used more than any, more than his wife Cecile, more so than even Rowan. The one who had created this tiny corner just for him had also attempted using Maric’s image once. But, those had always failed; the images of Adela, however, had always caught him, at least for a while.

Perhaps they are changing their tactics, he thought, continuing to watch the wary elf. A sense of sorrow came over him as he thought of her, dead on the field at Ostagar. Too soon, he thought, staring at her. And he had never been able to tell her…

“So,” Adela spoke, breaking into his thoughts, “do we fight or can I just continue on my way?” She frowned, “Because if it’s all the same to you, I would rather avoid a fight and just keep going.”

A dark brow quirked up at that. Now that sounded like Adela. “Where are you going?” he asked, curious.

There was a tilt of her head, and he could see she was debating answering him. “I search for my companions. They are lost…” she swept her hand out “…here, somewhere. I keep running into resistance,” her hand waved vaguely at him, “and I am certain they are in need of help.”

The way this Adela spoke was more like the real one, even if the image of her did not fit. “Adela,” he spoke her name, gaining her attention. She turned her face back to him, an inquisitive look upon her fair face. He reached a hand to her face and this time she did not jerk back or retreat. Her eyes fell closed for a moment, but shot open quickly before she allowed herself to relax against his hand. “I am sorry we never were able to speak after the battle.” He watched as her eyes widened, and her hand reached up and took hold of his. She stepped forward, her blue eyes on his, searching…for what? He wanted to say more, started to, but then felt that familiar tug at his consciousness, the forceful pull that would rip him from here back to himself. With a growl, he fought against it, and Adela stepped back, wariness in her eyes. One final pull and Loghain was gone, the last sight of Adela’s face being one of confusion and despair.

DA:O

She was shaking. The gray fog that permeated this part of the Fade had vanished as did the doppelganger of Loghain. Why was she shaking? She was tired, hungry, and afraid. And the only one of her companions, the Sten that she had been able to find and rescue from his current imprisonment had vanished.

And then to encounter a Loghain that was so very much like Loghain…She feared that too much longer here and the next time they tried to entrap her they may well succeed. She had to find the others, and quickly.

Resolutely, she forced strength through her limbs, and jogged away from the area.

　
DA:O

Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto her clasped hands. Kneeling in the great chamber, among the bodies of the young, her white head bowed, Wynne prayed to the Maker, asking for deliverance, wanting an answer.

She heard the light footfalls approaching, but she did not look up from her misery to see. It didn’t matter. Death would be most welcome to the elderly mage. Her eyes lifted and her vision skimmed over the bodies of the young apprentices - children she was sworn to protect. And, she had failed them. All of them dead.

Leather clad legs stepped to the mage’s side. A voice, carrying its own sadness, called out to her, “Wynne?” the booted figure knelt, “Are you alright?” A small, concerned hand lay on her shoulder, squeezing it.

“Leave me be,” the mage whispered, tears in her voice. “I have failed them.” She looked up into the concerned face of the young elven Warden. “Why was I spared if not to protect them?” Her blue eyes, usually so sharp with wisdom, were pale with age and sorrow, “Leave me here to build their pyres, scatter their ashes and mourn their deaths.” Her head drooped again to her chest. “And then I, too, shall die, and be grateful for that.”

“Wynne,” Adela spoke again, her voice low and soft, giving her shoulder a bit of a shake, “You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?”

The mage lifted her head, eyes narrowing at the elf. “I am a mage, am I not?” she asked indignant. “I would know if we were in the Fade!”

She glared at the elf when Adela shook her head, “Your grief, your fear, is making it difficult for you to see the truth,” she sighed, her eyes skimming over the corpses. “Wynne,” she turned back to the mage, “Please, think. Put aside your grief and fear and just think for a moment.”

Wynne shook her head, a slender hand to her forehead. “Why do you persist?” Anger formed in her heart and her head snapped up. “And where were you!? I trusted you as an ally and…and you were no where when this atrocity occurred!” The mage rose to her feet, looming over the smaller elf, her staff in her hand. “Have you no regard for the dead?”

With a sigh, the elf pushed herself to her feet. “Wynne, please,” she tried again, putting up her hands in a placating manner, “just do whatever you mages do when you’re in the Fade,” she grimaced, “just look around, push aside the grief for a moment.”

Pale blue eyes stared hard into the depths of Adela’s eyes. “Alright, if it will make you feel better,” the mage conceded, her eyes darkening in concentration. “I have always had…” she paused, frowning, “Wait. My mind is…unusually foggy.” she shook her head, “I don’t understand. I have always had an affinity to the Fade, yet now I cannot concentrate…”

The elven corpse rose, causing both women to jump back, “Please Wynne, don’t leave us,” it pleaded, the words erupting from torn lips.

“No, no!” Wynne shouted, raising hand and staff, “Get away foul demon!”

As the other corpses arose, each calling out Wynne’s name and pleading, Adela spoke, “We have to defeat them, Wynne,” the mage turned and noted the sad look in the elf’s eyes. “It is the only way we will be able to leave this part of the Fade.” Adela pulled her daggers out. “We still need to find Alistair.”

Nodding the mage set about casting her spells, tossing one of rejuvenation upon the weary looking elven Warden. Adela moved gracefully, cutting into an apprentice that had raised his staff to throw a spell at her. Wynne closed her heart off, reminding herself that these were not the children she had sworn to protect; these were demons and needed to be destroyed.

A rock fist smashed one apprentice down, elven daggers cut the throat of another. Wynne cast healing spells upon the elf before turning and freezing another of the corpses. From the corner of her eye she saw Adela spin, her daggers back in their sheaths, her bow in hand. If she hadn’t been pressed with a skeletal apprentice snarling in her face, the elderly mage would have been impressed with the rapid shooting the elf displayed as she took out the two skeletal archers on the rise.

Wynne smashed her staff into the face of the apprentice before her, staggering back from the impact, almost falling. A cry came to her lips as the thing grasped her by the throat, squeezing, leering into her face. Then the grip eased, and the apprentice-thing fell. Staggering upright, the elderly mage saw that Adela stood there, pulling her daggers free of the corpse. She saw the concern in the elf’s eyes as she turned her attention back to the mage.

“Wynne, are you okay?” the elf stepped over, eyes skimming over her, searching for wounds. Appreciative of the honest concern she saw there, the woman shook her head. “More frightened than hurt, my dear,” she replied in her warm tones, allowing a nervous chuckle the form. She placed a reassuring hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “We must leave this place and find our missing Warden.”

Adela nodded, obvious relief on her face. The room began to fade, taking on a grayness Wynne hadn’t seen before. “Wait?” she was confused, and looked to the elf, who was fading from her sight. “Where are you going, Adela?” she moved forward, reaching for the startled elf. But, then, she was alone, Adela was gone.

DA:O

“Damn!” Adela cursed as Wynne vanished from her sight and her surroundings took on the familiar and hated gray nothingness. She bowed her head briefly, then lifted it to skim the horizon, looking for that blasted blue glow…ah, there it was. Sighing, keeping her bow in her hand, the elf began to trudge toward the glow, hoping that she would find Alistair soon.

DA:O

She found Alistair, standing in a garden, a small, neat cottage behind him. Children of various ages raced and played, giggling, laughing and shouting in the background. Alistair stood, speaking with a woman whose hair was the same color as his, but with the same blurred features of the other denizens of the Fade she had encountered. The children as well. She paused, frowning, at the three masculine figures that stood back, watching the scene. Those figures were distinct and she recognized: Duncan, Maric and Cailan. Why would Alistair be envisioning them here?

“Adela!” came Alistair’s happy shout, and then she found herself scooped up into his arms, pulled tightly against him in a hug. “I was wondering where you were!” His happy amber eyes gazed down at her, his affection for her shining very clearly. “Don’t you know that Goldanna has supper nearly ready?”

“Goldanna?” the elf asked, letting Alistair put her back down on the ground. The man took her hand in his and pulled her toward the cottage.

“Silly,” he teased, tugging her hand. “My sister.” He looked down at her. “The kids have been waiting for you to return.” He sighed, happily, as his gazed swept over the playing children, settling upon the men it the back. “Of course, my father and brother kept telling me that you would arrive soon, but…” Wait? Father? Brother? The elf peered up at Alistair as he chattered away, glancing back at the dead kings. She almost wanted to slap herself in the head. That’s why Alistair had seemed so familiar when she first met him! Now was not the time to discuss that little omission on her friend’s part.

“Alistair,” she said gently, pulling him from his rant.

The look he gave her nearly caused her heart to break. “Come on, Adela,” he said, his voice softening as he turned, pulling her into his arms. “We can be one big happy family.” He smiled, and the look of pure happiness she saw there made his handsome face just shine. “I have my brother and sister, my father, Duncan, and…” he bent his head down, so his words were only for her, “and you. The family I want.”

The sting of tears formed behind her eyes, and she felt her face tremble. Alistair’s dream was for a family. How did he grow up that this is what he would want the most? She looked away from him, toward Duncan and the kings. They each were watching her, and each nodded to her, Cailan with a wide grin on his face. The children’s playing noises increased, and Goldanna scolded the children cheerfully to wash for supper. All the while, Alistair just gazed at her, holding her, wanting this so badly she could feel it.

And she had to break his dream. “Alistair…” she started, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. “No, Adela, please, let me say something…” that wistful look on his face returned, but she couldn’t let it remain.

“No, no, Alistair,” she shook her head, pulling away from his grasp. She noticed that the others were watching more intently now, even the children had stopped their play. “This,” she thrust her hand out, sweeping over the scene around them, “this is not real.” She lifted her sad eyes to him, truly wishing she did not have to do this. “This is just a dream,” she stepped forward, maintaining eye contact. “A dream you can never have.”

“Wha…what?” he frowned, “No, Adela.” He shook his head. “This is real, a family, just as I’ve always wanted. And, you, by my side, always,” he bowed his head, “I lo…”

“No!” she shouted, pushing him back. “Alistair! Duncan, Maric and Cailan are dead!” She pointed to the men, who were now glaring at her. “They died, Alistair. And I don’t…” Alistair was shaking his head, pleading with her as he stepped forward to take hold of her again. She backed off, “No, Alistair.” her voice lowered but remained firm, “I don’t love you.” She shook her blonde head, “Not the way you want me to.”

His face cracked, and his head bowed. “You could learn to,” he said in a soft, broken voice.

Biting her lip, she stepped forward, keeping an eye on the demons that surrounded them, still watching. “Maybe,” she admitted, wondering if she had just lied to him as she pressed a hand to his cheek and smiled at him when he raised his head. “But, not here and not now,” she stated firmly. “This is not real, and we have to leave.”

Alistair stood there for many moments. His pseudo-family remained impassive, still, as though awaiting a move or word from the quiet Warden. He raised his face to her, and although sadness remained, there was a determination as well. The demons masquerading as his family began to change and twist and the three men at the back pulled their weapons and advanced.

Sorrow in her heart, knowing how much it would hurt Alistair to have to kill these things, Adela pulled up her bow, notching an arrow, “Be ready, Alistair,” she commanded, relief sweeping over her as the ex-Templar pulled his sword and shield from his back. An arrow flew, striking the false Duncan in the chest. Although she knew this was not real, it still hurt to have to fight - to kill - those who looked so much like men she had cared for in life. Alistair turned, a war cry issuing from his lips, as he smashed his shield into the face of his ‘sister‘.

The fake Duncan staggered, glowering at the arrow protruding from his chest. She let fly another, and then a third. A sob escaped her throat as she let loose a fourth arrow, this one embedding solidly in one eye. A raging inhuman roar issued from the not-Duncan’s throat and it fell over, clutching at the offending arrow.

Alistair bashed and stabbed at the demon posing as his sister. It snarled at him and, his face grim and determined, he stabbed forward, his blade cutting through sternum, slicing upwards further, cleaving the monster. Its agony escaping its lips in a ragged snarl, it fell over, convulsing to the ground.

Adela spun, arrow already notched to bowstring, turning to face the image of Cailan bearing down upon her. This is not Cailan, she reminded herself, keeping her eyes from the enraged blue eyes of the fiend that dared take the face of her friend. Growling, she let the arrow loose, not even watching as it slammed into the creature’s throat. She pulled another arrow, notching that and letting it fly, and another in rapid succession. The creature wearing Cailan’s face continued onward, ignoring the arrows protruding from its chest, and it took a swipe at the small elf with the greatsword she recalled Cailan carrying into battle. She raised her bow, catching the heavy sword against it, twisting the blade away as she danced to the side. With a viscous yank, she let go of her bow, causing the Cailan double to stumble. She stepped aside, drawing her daggers, as the demon regained its balance and advanced upon her.

Alistair fought through the throng of demonic children, swiping each aside with great sweeps of his blade. He could see Adela battling the false Cailan, but a movement to his right caused him to turn. Just in time, he raised his shield to deflect the blow from Maric’s longsword. Alistair stared for a moment into the reflection of his father. He knew this was not the man who had sired him, the one who had abandoned him as a babe, left to the care of another. And, yet…he felt that pang of regret and longing, and he had to fight hard against it, knowing that if he faltered he was doomed, and so was Adela. Hardening his heart, refusing to think of this creature before him as anything other than a demonic evil, he pushed against the creature with his shield, thrusting the creature away. With his war cry “For the Grey Wardens!” tumbling from his lips, he brought his shield back and then smashed if forcefully into the handsome, snarling face. The creature staggered back, swaying slightly, and Alistair brought his sword up and swung in an arc, hitting it again in the face with its pommel, and then twisting the blade to bring the blade itself sweeping across the fiend’s neck. Foul air hissed from the wound, and the thing stumbled, tripping backwards, and Alistair took advantage and plunged his sword deep into the demon’s chest. Kicking the creature from his blade, the Warden spun about, racing to finish off the Cailan duplicate.

The heavy greatsword swooped down at her; she barely danced aside, feeling the rush of air the weapon created in its passing. She didn’t recall the real Cailan being this adept with the sword, but then she had never really seen him in a real fight. She doubted, however, that these doppelgangers mirrored the men’s battle prowess as they did their appearance. Duncan’s duplication, after all, had fallen very easily.

She stepped to the side, bending backwards to avoid another powerful sweep. She ducked and rolled under the blade, coming up to the side of the creature. She slashed out with one blade, trying to find a weakness in the ornamental gold armor the thing wore. There were no seems that she could find, no place to drive a dagger. She bent down at the waist, moving again beneath the blade, to the back. Ah ha! She jabbed her blade into the back of one knee. The thing lurched forward, loosing its balance. Another jab to the other knee, and it fell to the ground.

Alistair arrived, shouting at the Cailan-thing lying on the ground. In one fluid motion, his sword descended, easily swiping the head from its neck, sending it flying away.

They stood, breathing hard, trying hard not to look at the corpses that had yet to fade away with the cottage and cheery surroundings. Then Alistair moved, gathering Adela into his arms, holding her tightly. She returned the hug. He started babbling an apology to her and she shook her head, pushing him away enough so that she could look into his face. “Alistair, not now,” she gave him a small smile. “Later, we’ll talk. Now we have to get out of here.”

He nodded, releasing her, rubbing his hand over his short hair. “Okay, so now what do we do?”

She was biting her lip, watching him closely. “Well, if this follows true to form, you will disappear and then I’ll probably end up having to find you all again.”

“What?” he asked incredulity overriding sadness in his voice. And, as before, the cottage and surroundings faded to gray, and Alistair, with a final cry out to Adela, vanished as well.

Adela hung her head, her eyes closed, fighting the tears. Will this never end? She wondered. Raising her head, she gasped in surprise.

The grayness remained, but instead of an empty landscape she was surrounded by veins of lyrium jutting from the gray ground, and ahead stood a tall figure, reminiscent of the demon they had encountered back in the Tower. She was shaking, but resolved. Hoping this was not a battle she had to endure on her own, she approached the creature.

DA:O

It had promised to make her happy; it had promised to give her everything she desired. Wynne scoffed, telling the demon that they would not be swayed; the Sten stoically faced the creature and said not a word; and Alistair merely quipped about how stifling hot the countryside had been and so not thank you. Adela smiled, replying that her happiness could only be found in the real world and not some fantasy derived from avoiding life. The thing sneered at her and raised a hand. And a bolt of cold lightening struck it from another corner. Adela turned and there was Niall, fire in his eyes as he began casting his spells. Wynne’s voice joined in and the Sten and Alistair rushed forward, each striking at the Sloth demon.

Adela danced back and away, scooping up a handful of gray dirt and tossed it into the demon’s eyes. Snarling, momentarily blinded, the two warriors were able to gain significant hits. She could feel the buzz in the air as the mages cast their spells, causing further injury to the monstrosity. The elf ran to the back of the thing, stabbing it as she made her way there. The creature’s form blurred and vanished, to be replaced with another, larger form. Three times the thing changed, three times the Wardens and their companions defeated it. Then, as its final reincarnation vanished, the five of them stood, standing in the field of gray and lyrium. Niall, breathing hard, had a smile on his face.

“Well,” he said, the smile in his voice, “That was invigorating.” He turned to Adela, his face becoming firm. “Now, you must awaken and remove the Litany from my…body.” his head drooped slightly at that.

“Body?” Adela questioned, stepping toward the mage who had helped her through the Fade. “What do you mean?”

The young mage shook his head. “I’ve been here too long,” he replied, lifting his head, looking into her eyes. “The demon was feeding off my life energy to fuel the dreams of you and your friends,” he frowned. “I doubt there is much left of me…”

“No,” she said firmly, grasping his arm. “I don’t believe that. We will heal you, Niall. You’ve done too much for the Circle and the mages to just be left to die.”

He smiled at her, this elf who was a stranger but also a friend. “Thank you, my friend.” He looked at Wynne, who was watching him with kind eyes. “You should be prepared to use the Litany against Uldred. He is a blood mage, Wynne. He is the one who summoned the demons and caused the abominations.” The elder mage nodded; she had suspected as much.

“Now, my friend,” he placed his hands on Adela’s shoulders. “All you have to do now is wake up.”

DA:O

The four awakened by the body of the abomination that had hosted the Sloth demon. Next to it, lay an unconscious (but still alive) Niall. Adela sent a pleading look to Wynne, who merely nodded as she stepped beside the young man’s body. She began casting, a deep, penetrating blue light erupting from her hands. Adela noted the frown on the older woman’s face, but saw here, too, determination. “It shall take some time,” Wynne gritted out from between her teeth as the casting began to take more power from her.

“Take the time you need, Wynne,” Adela said, determined that this man’s bravery not be rewarded with death. She knew the Sten was looking at her disapprovingly, but she did not care. He had pledged to follow her lead; if he did not like where she led, he was free to go. She was determined not to become so hardened that one life meant nothing to her.

Wynne’s efforts took the better part of an hour. Although not completely healed, the young mage now slept in a natural sleep. Alistair and the Sten had cleared out an adjacent room and carefully placed the young man within. Wynne cast a glyph on the doorway, offering the slumbering man a modicum of protection.

The group passed through several hallways, fighting a few straggling abominations. At the foot of a flight of stairs (Wynne told them that they led to the Harrowing chamber), they found a young Templar knight, kneeling in prayer. Surrounding him was a nimbus of white light, obviously a cage of some kind.

The young man looked up, noticing the small group before his cage. He murmured something about not falling for more of the demons’ tricks. His eyes, glazed from lack of sleep and worry, settled upon Adela’s face for a moment, and his face crinkled in thought. Shaking his head, he rose, demanding to know what they wanted.

“Calm yourself, Cullen,” Wynne spoke in soothing tones, stepping forward. “The Wardens are here to help.”

“Help?” the young man - Cullen - croaked out in disbelief. “There is no hope. The mages…” his voice faltered. “He’s torturing them. Making them change, into those abominations.” His eyes hardened, and he glared at Adela. “You have to stop them! Stop them all!” A gauntleted fist punched at the barrier, and a spark flared.

Staring at the ruin of the chamber they stood in, Adela turned back to the Templar. “Don’t worry,” she assured him, “We will stop Uldred.”

“You have to stop them all!” he insisted, his mind obviously close to breaking, the pain of what he had endured and seen too fresh for him to deal with. “Kill all of the mages!”

Shocked, the elf stepped back, bumping into Alistair, who placed a hand on her shoulder. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll not kill everyone up there.” She frowned, staring at the enraged Templar, very glad he was in his cage. “I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands!”

“Innocents?” the Templar raged, rushing at the barrier, pounding at it to escape. “Mages are not innocent! They are abominations, waiting release! They must all be destroyed!”

“Cullen…” Wynne began, but the Templar cut her off with a snarl, and began pacing his cage.

Seeing he was too far gone at this point, knowing that he would not - could not - comprehend, Adela began leading her group up the stairs. She turned as she felt his eyes upon her back. “Be well, Cullen,” she said quietly as the Sten and Alistair passed her on the steps. “We’ll finish this and come back to help you.”

His eyes, a reddish brown, stared into her for a moment, and then, with another cry of rage, he turned away, and resumed his pacing.

With a sigh, the elf turned and watched as the Sten pushed open the heavy doors.

DA:O

The smell of fear, human waste, and lyrium assaulted Adela’s senses. Standing in the center of it was a smug mage, one she recalled from the meeting she attended at Ostagar. So this was Uldred? She thought. She recalled his arrogance at the meeting, the sneering looks he had tossed her way. Some how, she was not surprised that he was the one responsible for the destruction and death at the tower.

He had actually thought she would want to become one of those things? Was he mad? Well, she took a look at his face and thought, actually, he is. She calmly pulled her daggers, and she heard the Sten pull his massive sword and Alistair set his blade and shield before him. Uldred continued to rant and Adela reminded Wynne to make use of the Litany. The mage nodded and, without another word, the three charged at the mage before he could come back to any semblance of coherency.

The bald mage snarled at the warriors and elf, crying out in the ancient Arcanum of the Tevinter Imperium. His form changed, grew, and all semblances of humanity vanished, leaving in its stead a huge, ogre-like creature with bladed arms. The Sten and Alistair continued their assault with blades and shields; Wynne kept both warriors on their feet by casting healing and rejuvenation spells. Adela, dancing behind the mage-turned-abomination felt a sudden chill to the air. Wynne cried out a warning, and then Adela heard the elderly mage’s voice lift up in song, singing from the scroll she held in her hands. The chill vanished with a burst, and she heard the Uldred-monster snarl, trying to swipe at the annoyingly efficient mage. Wynne, with agility that belied her age, dashed away from the huge hand, and ran to where a group of stunned mages lay.

The thing was huge. Adela concentrated on bringing it down, and so stabbed continually at the backs of its knees and ankles. It would swipe out as though to swat at an annoying gnat and the elf would simply dance out of its reach. When it was distracted, the Sten and Alistair would push their assaults harder, digging their blades deeply into muscled chest, stomach and thighs. When it would turn its attention back to the men, the elf would dash back in, resuming her stabbing assault.

And so it continued; every now and again Wynne would need to sing out the Litany, and the mages continued to lie on the floor, each in a stupor of some kind. Adela’s arms ached, and then she would feel one of Wynne’s rejuvenating spells wash over her with a cool heat.

Uldred bled for numerous wounds, the Sten and Alistair managing to deal it many serious wounds. A fisted rock spell cast from Wynne finally toppled the beast over, and Alistair stabbed at its neck with his blade. The Sten, snarling in his native language, took a running charge and drove his greatsword deeply into the abomination’s chest. Pushing at it with arm and hip, the Qunari drove it deeper and upwards, slicing into the great heart behind the massive ribcage. Blood spurted from the jugular Alistair had severed and, with a great sighing groan, the abomination lay still. Wynne cast a quick healing spell over the two men, and then turned her attention to the mages.

One of the mages, an elderly man with a great, bristling beard of gray and white, rose unsteadily to his feet. “Ah, Wynne,” he spoke in a gravely, deliberate voice. “I see we have you to thank for our rescue.”

Wynne smiled graciously, then pulled Adela closer with a friendly hand. “Oh, I don’t know, Irving,” her warm voice met his with obvious amusement. “I had some help you see.” She nudged Adela affectionately, turning her eyes to encompass Alistair and the Sten, both of whom were walking - Alistair with a slight limp - over to the group.

“And, so I see,” the man’s gray eyes settled upon Adela. “And whom do we have to thank for such a timely rescue?”

Bowing slightly, Adela introduced herself and the others. “Gray Wardens?” Irving asked a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Ah, so it is a Blight after all?” Adela and Alistair both nodded. “Then you are here to see to it that the Circle honors it’s obligations to the Wardens.” Again they nodded. A knowing smile crossed the man’s face. “And, of course, you shall have it.” He grunted, taking a small, unsteady step forward. Alistair gripped the older man’s arm and Irving gave him a thankful look. The other mages rose unsteadily to their feet as well. Adela was pleased to see that so many had survived. The look of relief upon Wynne’s face said much the same thing. The elderly mage turned her smile to the young elf.

“Thank you, my dear,” she whispered as the two followed Irving, Alistair and the Sten from the chambers. “I am so pleased that the Maker saw fit to send you our way.”

Adela accepted the praised with a bow of her head. “I came here for the Circle’s help, Wynne,” the elf reminded her. “I’m just glad that we were able to help out.”

“The Circle owes you much, Warden,” Irving had called from the front of the group as they made their way down the stairs. “And we will see to it that our obligation is met.”

DA:O

The group gathered Cullen (who stared suspiciously at Irving’s back) and Niall (who had awakened and, with the Sten’s assistance was able to walk), and walked slowly down to the ground level where awaited Gregoir and his Templars. The rest of their group followed quietly, although they were curious as to what had happened, they knew they would have to wait until they were away from the Tower before their questions would be answered.

Adela could not shake the anger she felt toward the Knight-Commander. It had taken their small group of four (along with the four they left to guard the children) to defeat the evil that had swept through the tower. The Templars, who were trained to combat magic and abominations, and far more numerous, could have easily taken care of the evil within, and without the need to kill every living soul they encountered. The Knight-Commander had seemed genuinely relieved to see Irving alive, and had reprimanded the still exhausted Cullen when he had spoken against the First Enchanter. Still, looking at the older Templar, Adela could not shake the dislike she had for him. He had been far to willing to destroy all of the life within the tower, as though the life of a mage was not worth fighting for. She felt he was abominable himself and a coward, and she held no respect for him or his station.

Her thoughts turned back to her companions as she heard Wynne speak with Irving, requesting permission to go with the Wardens. Her dark mood brightened. Morrigan was a wonderful mage for damaging things, but she was no healer, at all, on any level. And while Adela was a fine non-magical healer, having a mage who could just cast a spell while in battle and keep the combatants on their feet was definitely an advantage. Both of the Circle mages turned to the elf, and she quickly gave her assent for the elder mage to join them. Adela pointedly ignored Morrigan’s scoff at that.

With final farewells, and a promise from Irving to be ready when they were needed, the group left the Tower. Adela was very much looking forward to a night sleeping in a bed, and a hot bath.

　

[erynnar]

I love this. Promise to post more reviews. Um I will have to post one review for every couple of chapters I think. Loved the AU turn in chapter 2 and Loghain's reaction to both the stylized halla and our heroine. And I love the flashback. Thanks for sharing your story with us! *HUGS*

[SheilaD67]

erynnar wrote...

I love this. Promise to post more reviews. Um I will have to post one review for every couple of chapters I think. Loved the AU turn in chapter 2 and Loghain's reaction to both the stylized halla and our heroine. And I love the flashback. Thanks for sharing your story with us! *HUGS*

Oh!  I love getting reviews from authors whose works I enjoy!  Thank you very much, ernynnar!  I'm glad you are enjoying it.  Next chapter follows...

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, celtic-twinkle, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost! And a special thanks to Windchime68 - I had been having the devil of a time with this chapter, but talking back and forth helped me fix it. I hope this chapter reads well…

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 17

He gasped, breaths coming in deep gusts as he pushed himself up. His heart beat too quickly and blood pounded in his ears. Blue eyes opened looked around; back in familiar chambers at the palace, his chambers he realized, bringing a hand to his aching head. The last visit to the Fade had been wearing on him. He could not shake the feeling that the Adela he had encountered therein was, somehow and impossibly the real Adela.

Black hair fell in his face as he bowed his head, strands catching in long eyelashes. How could that be? He recalled vividly Cauthrien and Howe speaking when they had thought him unconscious. The Wardens - Duncan, Adela, that huge barbarian, the bastard - had all died at Ostagar. As had Cailan. An anguished groan escaped his lips as he thought of his son-in-law, Maric’s eldest son. The boy could be reckless, at times foolish, but he had been a good king, a good husband to Anora, and a better man than his father had been. And now he lay dead amongst the filth of the darkspawn. Usually pragmatic and realistic, the man avoided any thought of her laying dead on the field. The man growled deep in his throat, wanting nothing more than to throttle the life from Howe’s body. And Cauthrien! How could she betray Fereldan, her king…him?

What plans did they have for him today, he wondered as his eyes skimmed around the room, taking in the neat appearance, everything as it should be. Save for his armor and weapons; these were no where to be seen. His captors had taken precautions for these few periods of lucidity they allowed him. A scowl formed across his face, eyes narrowing in anger. They were using him as some kind of puppet, but to what end? He had no recollection of those times that occurred between his few waking periods and the sojourns into the Fade. He was aware that his visits to the Fade were occurring with more frequency, and that disturbed him greatly. There were no remembrances of interacting with his daughter, of even seeing her since his return from that ill fated battle. He recalled only a handful of times actually speaking with Howe and Cauthrien, and those conversations had been less than revealing. Other memories were foggy, disjointed, as though merely memories of something spoken of and not experienced. He had no idea how the war against the darkspawn was progressing.

Snarling, throwing aside the bedcovers, the Teryn rose unsteadily to his feet, a lightheadedness overtaking him. He stumbled, catching hold of one of the bed posts, glancing down at himself, noticing he was wearing only light trousers and a linen shirt. A hand went to his stomach and he realized he was very hungry. He obviously was not eating as frequently as he should. Crossing to the mirror that hung on the wall, he carefully examined his features. Cold, tired blue eyes stared back, ringed heavily with dark circles. There were more lines on his face than he recalled, the frown furrow between his brows more defined, his cheeks almost hallow, the hint of overnight stubble on his face. Never one for vanity, Loghain could not help but notice how much older he looked. With a start, he realized he had no sense of time, no idea how long ago Ostagar had been.

He turned. There were footsteps at his door, and he heard a key sliding into the lock. Moving quickly, the warrior stepped to the side of the doorway, prepared to grapple whoever entered his chambers. As the door swung open, Loghain moved with it, keeping behind it but moving toward the figure that entered. Rounding the corner, he reached out to grab hold of the intruder…

And was instantly frozen in place. Ice, colder than the middle of winter, crept into his bones, chilling his very core. Incensed, the Teryn looked up, into eyes the color of blood set in a face startling in its familiarity. Snarling out his rage, he tried again to lunge, to will his hands to move around that throat, but as the words spilled from the intruder’s mouth, he found only oblivion.

DA:O

Water splashed lazily in tiny whirlpools as the washcloth dipped back down. A happy sigh escaped the elf’s full lips as she brought it up to wash her face. Ah…a real bath! In a real tub! Full of real hot water! It had been the first thing she did upon entering the inn and renting the inn’s full compliment of rooms…order a hot bath be brought to her room. While the others ate a hearty meal downstairs, Adela indulged in a good, old fashioned soak.

She decided that of all of the things she missed from the Alienage (other than the people) - from home - a real bath was at the very top of her list.

She tried not to think of what had happened during their visit to the Circle. She tried very hard to ignore the events surrounding their visit into the Fade. Hard as she could, she tried not to believe that the last incarnation of Loghain had been real.

All she wanted to think of was the heat of the water soaking into her pores, drenching down into her very soul. Clean skin; clean hair…the water was dirty but she still did not really care. The water was still hot and she was loathe to leave it.

A final dunk, a final rinse of her hair, and she decided that now the water was, indeed, too dirty to remain. Maybe she’d indulge in another bath tomorrow before they left….

With a contended sigh, she rose, picking up the drying towel, and stepped out onto the rug. Wrapping herself in the towel, she moved slowly to the bed - a real, double bed! She picked up the clothing she had set out before stepping into the tub. Drying off, wrapping her long hair in the towel, she quickly dressed in soft trousers and a light shirt. She tilted her head back, feeling her damp hair swing down her back. The muscles in her neck felt loose thanks to the bath. Picking up the towel, she sat at the end of the bed and began to towel dry her long hair.

There was a rap at her door, and then a second. She called out for whoever was at the door to enter, and in walked Alistair, carrying a tray laden with food. He grinned over at her and she returned the grin, pointing to the table by the door.

“Nice room,” he commented as he placed the food down. He, too, had obviously partaken of a bath; his hair was damp and his face had a certain clean rosiness to it. “I bring my lady shepherd’s pie,’ he gestured grandly to the food.

“Oh!” she sighed, tossing the towel to the floor and going over to the table, the smell of lamb, potatoes and gravy assailing her nostrils. “This is my favorite!” she exclaimed as she picked up a dish and started spooning the food onto it. Grinning, Alistair helped himself to some food and then sat down next to the elf.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, Adela happily engaged in eating the wonderful meal while Alistair kept casting small sidelong glances in her direction. Finally, she put her spoon down and looked at him.

“Okay, Alistair,” she said calmly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you want to talk to me. Am I to guess its dinner theatre?” She waggled her brows at him, and was rewarded with a smile.

“Oh, good one,” he poked her in the side. “I see my own marvelous sense of humor is rubbing off on you.”

Quirking a slight smirk at him, the elf drawled, “Oh, yes. Next you know I’ll be talking endlessly about my hair…” she said this with a toss of her head, her hand running along the length of her damp tresses.

The young man chuckled, a slight flush on his cheeks. “Really, Alistair,” Adela continued, “if you wish to talk, I am more than willing to listen.”

It was with a heavy sigh that Alistair put down his fork and sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. Adela remained quiet, letting him gather his thoughts. “I really haven’t told you much about myself, have I?” he asked her quietly, his amber eyes searching her face. She shook her head. The only thing he had told her was that he had been training as a Templar and Duncan recruited him prior to taking his vows. “Well, let’s see…I’m a bastard,” his eyes went to her grin, “no funny remarks about that one, missy,” he scolded. “I was taken in and raised by Arl Eamon,” Adela’s eyes widened at that. “He took me in and raised me. He didn’t have to, but he did.” His face fell slightly. “He was good to me. Better than my own father.” His sidelong glance to Adela told him he had her attention.

“Maric,” the elf offered. Alistair nodded. The grin returned to her face. “Sooo…you’re not just a bastard by a royal bastard.” She’d been saving that one since the Fade.

Alistair’s eyes widened and his face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, ha ha!” he quipped, then, with a thoughtful expression, said, “You know, that’s not half bad.” He laughed. “I’ll have to remember that one!”

Adela laughed along with him, glad to hear the sound from him. “Okay, so Maric was your father, and Arl Eamon raised you,” she prompted, “how in the world did you end up at the Chantry ready to take your vows as a Templar?”

“Eamon married a young woman from Orlais,” Adela’s face darkened at that. “She heard the rumors that pegged me as Eamon’s and she wasn’t happy about that. So, when she became pregnant with their son, she insisted that there was no room for me, and so off to the Chantry I was packed.” His voice broke there, and Adela moved over to him, putting her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. The young man greatly appreciated it and, with a pat to her arm, continued. “I was so angry when he told me. I remember I had an amulet of Andraste, the only thing I had of my mother’s. I was so angry that I tore it off and threw it at a wall. It shattered,” he sighed, head drooping. “It was such a stupid thing to do.” He looked up. “My mother was a servant at Redcliffe. She died giving birth to me. It had been the only thing I had of hers.”

“Alistair,” Adela breathed, now completely understanding his dream in the Fade. Her forehead rested on his. “I am so sorry, my friend,” she kissed him softly on the cheek. “I had no idea…”

“No one knew,” Alistair said, turning his face towards hers, their faces just inches apart. “Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew, and even he treated me differently. He kept me out of the battle.”

Adela shook her head, moving away from him a bit. “No, Alistair. That was Cailan,” Alistair’s eyebrow rose. “It’s true. He had insisted that you accompany me. It was Loghain’s idea that I go to the tower, and Cailan added the condition that you go as well.” She was biting her lip. “He knew, didn’t he?”

Shrugging Alistair replied, “I guess. I don’t know. It’s not like Cailan and I ever spoke, you know.”

But the elf was getting angry, angry and disappointed at her friend, Cailan. Of course he knew! Why else would he insist Alistair be kept out of the battle? She reached a hand up and brushed it through Alistair’s hair. “Alistair?” she peered into his face, and he looked at her. “I know it’s not the same, not really, but we’re a family, you and I.” She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling at him. “We’re the only Grey Wardens left in Fereldan.”

He nodded, accepting and appreciating her words. With a sigh, he replied, “Well, it’s not like it does any good, my being Maric’s son and all,” he smiled at the confused expression upon Adela’s face. “I’m a commoner; it’s been made very clear to me since I was a child that I’m nobody and have no claim to the throne or the Therein name…”

“That’s not true, Alistair,” Adela spoke, trying hard to keep the irritation she felt toward Maric and Cailan, and everyone else who had kept Alistair under heel, from her voice. “Just because your mother was a commoner does not mean you are.” she poked a finger at him. “You have noble - no, royal blood in your veins. That Maric and Cailan, for whatever reason, decided not to acknowledge you is moot. You have as much right to the Therein name as they did.” She was frowning deeply as she spoke.

“I don’t want the throne,” the young man protested, amazed that Adela was so upset and that that anger was directed at someone he knew had been a friend.

“So?” she quipped, “don’t take the throne. Anora’s a good ruler anyway. However,” she looked him in the eyes, “don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are less than you are. I don’t know why they kept you hidden, told you that you were nothing, but they were wrong to do so.” She chucked her hand under his chin, causing him to smile. “Don’t ever forget that!”

Grateful for this friend, the young man nodded, pulling her in for a hug.

“You still should have told me, you know,” she scolded as she pulled herself from the hold.

“I know, I know,” he conceded. “It’s just that when people do find out they start treating me differently. I just didn’t want you to do that,” he looked imploringly in her eyes. “I was hoping that you would like me for who I was, well, before you found out who I was.” Adela laughed and Alistair groaned at how awful that sounded. “Argh! You know what I mean!”

Laughing, she put her arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug. “Yes, yes, I know, I know.” Then she pushed him back, looking sternly into his eyes. “But, I’m warning you now, the next time you call me Commander, be prepared to be called My Prince!”

And while Alistair thought he liked how that sounded coming from Adela’s lips, he acquiesced with a grin.

DA:O

A short time later, the two Wardens walked downstairs and found that their companions were still in the common room. The Sten sat quietly, contentedly munching on a plateful of cookies. Every now and again the stoic warrior would toss one to a patiently waiting Hafter. Roland sat at the bar with a tankard in hand talking with the inn keeper. Wynne sat in a corner darning what appeared to be Alistair’s socks (the elderly mage lifted her hand and nodded in greeting), while Leliana sat next to Morrigan, chatting about hair and fashion, make up and shoes. Morrigan looked vaguely uncomfortable, but remained seated, adding few words to the conversation. The Orlesian would touch the witch’s arm every now and again, a happy smile on her face.

“What,” Alistair turned Adela’s attention to the two women, “is going on there?” His face crinkled with confusion. “I would have thought Morrigan would, you know, “ he wiggled his fingers at her, “get all witchy on her.”

Grinning, she pulled her friend over to the bar. “Our lovely Orlesian has a thing for our beautiful witch,” she whispered in Alistair’s ear as the inn keep approached. Alistair suppressed a giggle that arose in his throat as the elf’s words sent hot breath to swirl on his ear and neck.

“Really?” he glanced back at the two women. Apparently Leliana had said something that had gotten the witch’s attention as Morrigan had bent her head forward, gesturing with her hands. “Huh,” he turned back to Adela. “Interesting.”

Adela giggled, turning to ask the inn keep for a cup of water. “Interesting?” the elf shook her head. “I think I may have been too sheltered,” she admitted as she sat down, smiling over at Roland as he moved closer to the pair. “But I never realized…” she let it drop off, an embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks.

Chuckling, Roland smiled at the elf. “You would be surprised, Adela,” he glanced over at the two women, who were now smiling and laughing. “I have known a few women who prefer women, and more than a few men who preferred the company of men.” He grimaced slightly, taking a quick sip of his ale. “Myself? I have never seen the attraction,” he glanced at the pretty elf, a small smile on his handsome face. “as I have always appreciated the grace of a pretty lady myself.”

The flush on Adela’s face deepened a bit, and she averted her eyes, looking into her cup, shaking her head slightly. Alistair just gave the knight a quick look, frowning. If Roland noticed the warning look the Warden gave him, he made no sign of it.

Alistair turned to the tankard of ale the inn keep placed in front of him, frowning deeply into the cup. What he really did not need or want was more competition for the pretty elf‘s attentions.

DA:O

They left the Spoiled Princess the next morning to bright sunshine and a cool breeze. It was late autumn, but the cold air had not settled in yet, making walking comfortable and pleasant. Adela had tried to gain passage on the ferry, but the inn keep had informed her that the ferryman had recently passed on, and no one had taken up his route yet. The forlorn look on the elf’s face as she stared over the water almost - almost - made the young Warden by her side laugh. Had he not known how much the ride would have meant to the small woman, he just may have. Well, okay, there was a tiny chuckle that had escaped, but, really! She looked too cute, standing there, pouting out over the water. It wasn’t his fault. Ah, but the glare she sent his way…only made him chuckle more.

And so, Alistair walked beside Adela, every now and again teasing her about the boat. Roland followed closely behind, adding his own clever remark to Alistair‘s teasing. Hafter walked beside the knight (the hound had taken a liking to the knight; perhaps it was the jerky he’d toss to him every now and again), at times bounding off into the brush after something. The women walked in the center, Leliana trying to convince Morrigan to wear her hair differently; Morrigan tossing snide little comments back at the Orlesian; all while Wynne just rolled her eyes at the younger women. The Sten, as always, took up the rear, his lavender eyes ever alert for danger. The bronze giant didn’t seem to think anyone noticed when he’d reach into a pocket and pull out a cookie to munch.

They walked like this for hours. Alistair thoroughly enjoyed it.

Glancing down at his companion, Alistair, again, replayed in his mind their conversation about his heritage. There was a certain relief in telling Adela about his father - of course, after her encountering him in the Fade with his ‘family’ he rather felt he had to. But her reaction had not been what he had expected. He had expected indignation that he had not told her, a bit of fawning, perhaps, since he was the last Therein (that anyone knew of he reminded himself. After all, if Maric had one dalliance, could he not have had others?). But that she would be angered that no one had parented him, disappointed that Maric had abandoned him and Cailan never acknowledged him? That surprised him. Especially when he thought of her years-long friendship with Cailan: Shouldn‘t she have defended Cailan in some manner, made up an excuse on his behalf?

And, there was a small part of him wondered if Loghain knew and if Adela would feel the same anger toward him as she did Cailan? That very same maybe not quite so small part of him hoped she would. Just, whittle away a bit at whatever feelings she had for the treacherous Teryn so that she could see the truth and perhaps…well, those kinds of thoughts were best left for another time.

Taking himself out of his mind, he looked around a bit at the scenery, taking in the environment their very strange little group was traversing through.

It had been over a decade since he had left Redcliffe. Not much of the surrounding countryside had changed. Still full of farmlands and fields, trees and, well, not much else. Just peaceful, beautiful and empty. How he had missed it.

Small pebbles skittered by his feet, skipping up and over the armored toes of his boots. He glanced over to see his fellow Warden kicking at the dirt, causing tiny wakes of pebbles to scatter away.

“Still pouting over the boat ride?” he teased, bumping into her with his hip. His brows quirked up, as did the corners of his mouth, when she shot a blue eyed glare his way.

“Can’t believe the silly boat man didn’t have a back up,” she groused, again kicking the stones. Alistair heard Roland chuckle behind them, and he looked over his shoulder and shot the man a wide grin.

The knight reached over and gently patted the elf’s shoulder. “There, there, Adela,” he moved closer, teasing her, “I am certain that you will have ample opportunity to ride a boat before this adventure is over.”

Alistair was very happy to see that that little remark earned the red haired knight an even deeper glare.

Adela mumbled something under her breath, kicking at the ground again.

“You will wear out the soles of your boots, young lady,” came the admonishment from Wynne further back. The young elf merely rolled her eyes, grumbling again.

“What?” Alistair bent down, hand to ear, “What did you just say?”

Her head snapped up, “You,” she poked him in the chest, “and you,” she turned to include Roland in her current glare, “can both just go and…and soak your heads!”

With that, the perturbed elf marched ahead of them. The two men looked at each other, and then burst into laughter, hastening to follow after their leader.

DA:O

“Ah, and you are certain that they were Grey Wardens, no?” the smooth, heavily accented voice purred as the golden haired elf held a packet of coin just over the man’s hand. Nodding anxiously, glancing back toward the back door to the inn, the human man licked his lips.

“The elf and one o’ the men with her for certain,” he muttered, eyes going back to the pouch with greedy intent.

“Hmm….” the elf tapped a finger to his chin, watching the man closely. “And, the direction in which they are now traveling is…?” he prompted, giving the pouch a gentle shake, sending the coin within jingling.

“Oi, toward Redcliffe, ser,” he crooned, wiping a hand through his stringy black hair. “Left at daybreak just yesterday, followin’ the road directly.” He waved a hand to the south, indicating the road that would take them to Redcliffe.

Keen eyes moved in the direction the man indicated. His companion, a pretty human woman with dark eyes, smirked at him. The elf avoided rolling his eyes at her. So predictable, he thought. Amateurs.

“Ah, then, very well,” he said as he dropped the pouch into the man’s outstretched hand, making as though to turn away. “I do believe you have well earned these.” He suddenly spun, catching the man under the chin, his tawny eyes holding the human’s. “However, I should hope not to hear of this on my way to visit with my friends. The surprise, well, it would be ruined, would it not?” The human nodded, eyes filled with fear, knowing well what would happen to him should word of their inquiries reach the ears of their…friends.

The elf released him. He wanted to kill the man, but knew he had worked as a Crow informer and was always reliable. Still, it did not hurt to instill a bit of fear into the wormy little man’s heart.

Stepping to the woman’s side, he smirked, knowing the human would be listening. “Well, I believe if we hurry, we may well catch up with our friends the day after tomorrow.” He placed a hand over his heart as they jogged away from the inn. “I so do love reunions.”

DA:O

They managed to cover a lot of ground that first day from the Tower. Darkness had not completely fallen when the Wardens decided to set up camp. Because of their incessant teasing, Adela assigned Alistair and Roland to setting up her tent as well as theirs (they had managed to acquire camping supplies for both Roland and Wynne at the inn). Feigning contrition (and hiding their grins to each other from the elf), both men set about making camp.

While camp was being set up, Adela had ventured into the woods, setting snares with the hope of catching a rabbit or two. She was pleased that the group, on the whole, was getting along well. Oh, for certain, Morrigan continued to throw nasty little comments Alistair’s way, but the witch was spending more time with Leliana (Adela thought it was more the talk of fashion than any romantic notion the Orlesian had), so those comments had dropped considerably. She thought she had even seen a small (very small) smile cross the Sten’s stern face now and again.

A frown now crossed her face as she busily twisted the rope to the snare, making certain it was set. She had a concern, and needed to speak with someone about it. She glanced back toward camp. There was no way she could speak with Alistair, despite his being her closest friend. Besides, this issue was decidedly female in nature, so there was no way she could possibly speak with any of the men.

Leliana would be a good option, but sometimes the Orlesian girl just seemed too frivolous to bring such matters to. And, she honestly could do without the scorn she was certain Morrigan would throw her way. Oh, she had no doubt the witch would help her, after all, they were becoming friends for all the surliness the human woman displayed. But, the witch still had an incomprehensible lack of compassion for others.

No, Adela decided, she needed to speak with Wynne. Of everyone here, she would be the one to address her concern without becoming overbearingly protective (as Alistair would) or overwhelmingly caustic (as Morrigan).

The last snare set, the elf walked back to the camp.

DA:O

Worry and nervousness churned in her stomach, the desire to vomit was very strong. She could not believe she had not noticed earlier. But, she supposed with the flight from Denerim and then Ostagar and everything else they had been dealing with these past couple of months, it was truly not that difficult to understand how she could have overlooked it. Truly, she should not have been surprised.

But now she was distressed. And she hoped Wynne would be able to help her.

She approached the elderly mage, who was, yet again, darning socks. Most likely Alistair’s, the elf thought, setting down beside the mage. Her mother never sewed, but she recalled that her father’s sister, Dalia, loved sewing. Adela remember sitting for hours with Shianni tucked under one arm and Soris off causing trouble somewhere, just watching as her aunt would sew clothing or create dolls for the girls. Like so many things about the Alienage, the young woman missed her family.

“Wynne?” she started tentatively, concerned about pulling the woman’s attention from her work. A white brow rose, and then her head.

“Yes, dear?” She had a grandmotherly tone, one that Adela had learned quickly could turn almost militarily commanding.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Wynne, I…I need to talk with you.” That fear started clenching her throat, and she forced it down. Wynne put her work down, concern showing upon her finely lined face.

“What is it, Adela?”

Shaking her head, she motioned toward the mage’s tent. “Not here,” she pleaded quietly, trying not to draw anyone’s attention to them. “It’s rather personal and I just…” her voice trailed off.

The mage nodded her head and put her work into the bag that had been beside her. Wynne motioned Adela to enter first, and then the mage followed, tying the flap closed as she entered.

Sitting, wringing her hands, now the elf did not know how to approach the subject. Now, more than ever, she wished for her family. The feeling of homesickness had never been as strong as it was now. “Wynne,” she began, her voice cracking. “I…I think I may be pregnant.” She managed to blurt this out, her face heating with rising shame.

Shock came across the mage’s face, but was quickly replaced with one of matronly concern. Never would she have thought Adela one to have engaged in such relations outside of the bonds of marriage. She just did not seem that type of girl. The mage then scolded herself for passing such judgment; she did not really know the elf. She knew nothing of the girl’s life prior to becoming a Grey Warden. “Come here, child,” she motioned the girl closer to her, and then carefully placed a hand on her abdomen. “When was the last time you had…?”

The girl started to shake a bit, recalling Vaughan. “It was about three months ago,” she admitted, shame flushing over her anew. Wynne frowned as she sent some of her magic into the girl, searching. “It…well, it was not by choice,” bluest eyes rose, tears there. And Wynne understood, and felt a rush of pity for the girl. Of course; this girl was a product of an Alienage; and humans tended to use the girls within…”It was the only time, but I have not had my courses since, and so…” her voice trailed off again as she felt the elderly mage’s warm magic pass through her.

Wynne nodded. “So this man raped you and you are concerned?” she asked carefully, still searching. The elf nodded, tears running down her face. Sighing, Wynne pulled back, looking the girl in the eye. “Well, my dear, you do not need to worry. You are not pregnant.” She then reached over and wiped the tears off the elf’s face.

The relief that passed over Adela was almost as unbearable as the fear had been earlier. “Thank the Maker!” she breathed. Then, “So, why have I not had my courses?”

The mage sighed. “I believe it may have had something to do with the joining itself.”

Her face crinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Sighing, taking the younger woman’s hands in her own, Wynne asked, “How much about the joining, or the Grey Wardens on the whole, were you told?”

“Nothing, really,” Adela admitted, frowning. “It was all a big secret. And, then, there really wasn’t any time for Duncan to talk with me afterwards as we were preparing for the battle.”

“How much has Alistair told you?” the mage prodded.

Head shaking, Adela responded, “Not a whole lot. He doesn’t seem to know a lot about it, either.” Her face scrunched. “Why?”

“Well, my dear. I think that perhaps the concoction you drank at the time of joining may have something to do with your current lack of courses.”

“But, but, if I don’t get my courses,” her hand went instinctively to her stomach. “doesn’t that mean I can’t have children?” Now a real fear gripped her heart. Not have children? How is that possible?

Wynne looked thoughtful, then replied, “It is possible.” She peered into the girl’s face. “I take it that would be a problem for you?”

The girl nodded. “I always knew that I would marry and have children. That’s what we did for the community. Live and keep the elven race alive. And, regardless, I want to eventually marry and have children. I had thought it still possible even if I was a Grey Warden.” Tears formed in her eyes. “But now…” her voice trailed off. This was not fair! She looked at Wynne, trying to force herself to be steady. “Thank you, Wynne.” she moved to the tent’s entrance, but stopped when the mage placed a hand on her arm.

“This may be temporary,” the mage advised, trying to put some hope in the girl’s heart. “It may be your body adjusting to the taint that was placed there. In time…” Adela nodded her thanks, and then left the tent.

Never have children! That was unthinkable! That thought, more than her shortened lifespan, caused her a great deal of sorrow, and then anger. What in the name of the Maker…! How much more are we expected to give up!

Chuckles and soft words drifted to the elf’s ears. She looked up from her bout of self pity and managed a grin as she watched Alistair, who was happily engaged in a meal of rabbit and pheasant, absentmindedly toss a bone over to Hafter. Morrigan had set up her own tent and fire and appeared to be brewing potions. The beautiful witch was scowling as she attacked the elf root she had lain out and was chopping. The sound of metal ringing against metal brought Adela’s attention to where Roland was sparring with the Sten. His motions were fluid and graceful, but still a bit shaky. The sparring with the giant at this time was to try and build up the ravaged knight‘s strength. Adela still worried about him, but he always smiled at her concerned inquiries, insisting he was well. Her eyes moved away from the knight’s form. Leliana was no where to be seen, and the elf presumed she was in her tent, getting some rest before her watch later in the evening.

Plucking a wing from Alistair’s plate, the elf plopped down next to him, chewing thoughtfully. The man assumed a pouty look. “Hey! That was mine!” he whined playfully, batting his eyelashes at the elven woman.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, well, I set the snares, and look!” she gestured toward the empty spits. “This is all I got.”

The Warden glanced guiltily at the fire. “Oh…” he mumbled around the food in his mouth. “Sorry.” He handed her his plate, which consisted mostly of bones with barely any meat on them. She looked up at him, arching a graceful brow at him. Blushing, he pulled the plate back. “I bet I have some cheese…” he started patting at his clothing, “…somewhere.”

“Argh!” Adela shook her head, imaging lint packed cheese. “No, no, that’s fine.” she smiled over at him as she deposited the wing bones back on his plate. “I’m okay.”

Setting his plate down on the ground, Alistair wiped his hands off on a cloth. “You know, for a Grey Warden, you don’t eat enough.”

Licking the grease from her fingers, she nodded, “So I’ve been told.”

Chuckling, he put his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, tugging her closer. She was grateful for the contact as she felt chilled, and Alistair was always warm. She looked over at the profile of his face as he sat there, watching the fire. He really was handsome, with a kind, open face, although she preferred clean shaven to the always present stubble he maintained. And that little patch under his chin? What was that? She grinned, continuing her survey of his face. She decided she liked his eyes the best. They were always warm and full of humor, but she had seen them go hard and filled with concentration when he was in battle.

She was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him, how very safe she felt whether he had his arm about her as now or just merely being in the same vicinity. Knowing how he felt about her always gave her a guilty pang, and she hoped he did not misconstrue her affection for him. As fine a man as he was, she just did not have those romantic feelings toward him that she knew he had for her. She turned her gaze back to the fire.

There were times she thought she should pull back, back away emotionally from the young man so that he would not start to think that his feelings were reciprocated. But, she always stopped herself. Before he had told her of his childhood, he had always come across as someone who needed affection and attention from others. After they had spoken, she realized how accurate that assessment had been. And, truth be told, she would miss his company and companionship if she did pull away. She sighed, leaning her head against his strong shoulder. And they sat in companionable silence for a while. Alistair shifted in his seat a bit, slinking down a bit more to more fully wrap his form closer against the elf‘s. Adela noticed something about his posture that suggested he was in deep thought, but did not press him. He always came to her once his thoughts were settled, and she had learned to wait until those times.

They sat like that until it was time for Alistair to assume first watch. The young man pushed the elf toward her tent, telling her to get some rest before the dreaded ‘second watch’. Laughing at him, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then crawled into her tent to snuggle into her bedroll.

DA:O

The morning sprung cold, the sky dark and bleak, promising rain. The knight glanced up, his eyes blinking in the dim light. Although he was recovering from his ordeals at the hands of Howe and his men, the young man was still experiencing many physical side effects from his tortures and confinement. One was a continued sensitivity to light.

A roll of his shoulders settled his armor comfortably, and he looked around at his traveling companions. A strange lot, indeed, but one he was most grateful for. Alistair strode ahead, dressed in silverite armor similar to that the knight current wore, next to his fellow warden. The young elf continued to wear the leather armor she had acquired back at the castle. He knew that she carried a second set - of Dalish make - in her pack, and he was also aware that Alistair did not think much of that set. Roland was curious about that, but then, he found himself growing more curious about anything pertaining to the lovely woman with each passing day. Next to her walked her great war hound, his tongue lolling out, happily enjoying the walk as though a morning stroll. Leliana currently walked next to him, unusually quiet and pensive and, try as he might, he could not engage her in any meaningful conversation. Wynne walked serenely behind them, content to simply walk and enjoy the fresh air. This day, as every other, the huge Qunari warrior walked further back from the group, but this day the witch walked beside him. It was difficult not to notice that the witch was carefully and skillfully avoiding the Orlesian.

He remembered how Adela had been slightly hesitant to take from the Highever vault, but Roland had insisted. It made sense; why leave them for Howe’s men? So, she had agreed. And now Alistair wore Cousland silverite and carried a Highever blade. Roland wore similar armor but carried the family heirlooms Cousland Heraldry and the Family Blade. They had found effective plate for the Qunari and a great two handed sword. The knight had insisted on their taking all they could carry. If nothing else, they could sell the surplus and fund their quest against the Blight.

He found his eyes going back to Adela, watching as she bumped up against Alistair, laughing at the man, her smile reaching her eyes. Alistair just grinned back at her sheepishly, watching her as closely as Roland felt himself watching. He shook his head. He missed something; not paying attention to what was going on around him but lost in his musings that consisted mostly of her. It was obvious that the two Wardens were close, and that, on the part of the man at the very least, there was something there. He had to wonder at the slight bit of jealousy he felt toward the other man. There was no call for it; not only because he did not know Adela as well as Alistair, but he had no claim to her attentions. But he was and he couldn’t deny that he was. He was heartened only by the fact that all of Adela’s affections toward her fellow Warden had always seemed more on par as the affections of a close friend rather than beloved. Despite what he saw in the other man’s eyes when he looked at the elf, Roland was certain there was nothing other than friendship and a sort of kinship between the two.

At least, he thought as he watched Alistair bend his head down to whisper into Adela’s delicately pointed ear, that was his hope.

DA:O

The group made good timing. Either that or Adela’s calculations on how long it would take to get to Redcliffe were off. The elf shrugged at Alistair’s teasing. At least they were ahead of schedule rather than behind, she had retorted with a toss of her head.

They were greeted at the footbridge leading across a small gully by a nervous young man who had introduced himself as Thomas. “Are…are you here to help, then?” he asked hesitatingly as his eyes kept glancing over his shoulder.

“Help?” Adela asked as she and the party stopped before the young man. She and Alistair exchanged confused looks. “What’s wrong here?”

“Then...then you don’t know?” his voice rising in pitch with hysteria. Adela stepped forward and grasped his arm, wanting to calm the youth.

“We are here to see Arl Eamon,” the elf explained, worry now on her features.

“The Arl i-is sick or worse!” the boy cried out, pulling his arm from Adela’s hold. “And every night we…we’re attacked by those monsters!”

“Hold on here,” Alistair stepped forward, his amber eyes fixing on the lad. “The Arl is ill?” The boy nodded. “And you say there are monster attacks?”

Thomas nodded his shaggy head, “Ye-Yes, and only B-Bann Teagan has been able to keep the village organized.”

“Bann Teagan is here?” Alistair asked. Again Thomas nodded. “Well, take us to him,” the Warden insisted, ignoring the rumbles of the Sten behind them and the scoff that came from Morrigan.

Thinking that of course it couldn’t be easy, Adela motioned for the group to follow as she matched pace with Thomas.

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, fighter-chic, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 18

The followed Thomas into a village filled with the sobs of distress, curses of resignation, and mumblings of determination. Adela thought that, had she visited this place under different circumstances, she would have found the small fishing village quaint and pleasant. Her gaze wandered over the men practicing archery, hearing their curses and frantic muttering, over to an older man, his face age lined and heavy with worry speaking with one of the militiamen. And while some of those they passed were hardened with resolve, most appeared to only be going through the motions, as though their limbs were responding to hearts and minds that had already given up all hope.

Alistair, Roland and the Sten had stopped, their eyes quickly taking in the scene set before them with quiet professionalism. She paused, falling back as the others continued to follow the young man into the Chantry. Each of the three men, trained warriors, were obviously taking in the skill sets of each of those present in the village‘s center. Moreover, although none of them said a word, she could tell that they were not overly impressed by what they saw. As a one, they turned their attention from the practice and continued to the Chantry. Taking one last look around, the elf followed.

The doors to the Chantry protested little as Thomas pushed them open, holding them as the rest of the party entered. The young man led the group, Adela and Alistair closely behind, to a man of mid-years dressed in chain mail at the back of the great hall. They waited as he finished giving orders to a young man clad in leather and carrying a bow. Thomas motioned for the party to remain and he took a few steps forward, bowing his head and speaking quietly to the man.

After a nod, putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, he turned to the group assembled before him.

“Greetings, travelers!” he called out, bringing a hand up in acknowledgement, and then bowing his head slightly. “I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere. As you can no doubt see, we are in peril here. How may I be of assistance?”

Alistair stepped forward, “I remember you, Bann Teagan,” he said, his voice strangely quiet. “Although the last time we saw each other I was covered in mud.” Adela smirked at the image of a younger Alistair covered head to toe in mud. The young man gave her a sidelong look, a small grin on his face.

“Covered in mud?” the man’s cultured tones rose in question. His eyes, a coppery brown, searched the young man’s face, recognition dawning quickly. “Alistair!” He moved forward, grasping the younger man’s shoulders, almost pulling him into a hug. “By the Maker! I am so pleased to learn you are alive! We had heard all the Grey Wardens had perished.”

“Alive, yes,” Alistair said, his tone now serious and grim. “No thanks to Teryn Loghain.” Adela grimaced slightly, but did not say anything.

“Indeed,” Teagan’s tone of grimness mirrored Alistair’s. “Loghain would have us all believe that Cailan’s death was of his own doing, brought about by the treachery of the Grey Wardens!”

Finding her voice, Adela asked, “You don’t believe that?”

Teagan’s eyes went to the young elven woman standing beside Alistair. “Believe that Cailan let his dreams of glory bring about his death and the death of his army?” he scoffed. “Believe that the Grey Wardens would betray King and County to darkspawn? Hardly.”

Adela had questions, many questions, for the Bann: had he seen Loghain? Anora? Nevertheless, she pushed these and the other questions aside. For now, things were going badly here in Redcliffe, and that must take priority.

“I apologize, my lady,” the Bann bowed, catching her attention, “But I did not catch your name.”

Smiling slightly, more than pleased to overlook his breach of protocol (if there was protocol for a noble addressing an elf), the elf responded, “I am Warden Adela,” Alistair snorted next to her and she cast him a questioning look. Alistair turned his eyes to the older man, a grin firmly in place.

“This is Warden Commander Adela,” he informed him, pride clearly in his voice.

The elf rolled her eyes at him while Teagan’s bow deepened. “Warden Commander,” he responded.

Gracing Alistair with a smirk, which he had the sense to return, she turned back to the Bann. “What, exactly, has been happening here?” She kept her tone down, keeping in mind that there were many frightened people within earshot. She glanced over to where a revered mother was holding prayers for some of the children and elderly confined to the chantry.

The Bann’s face clouded. “Monstrous things come from the castle each night,” he began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. “They attack the village from the dark of night until dawn, and then go back to the castle. Each night it is the same. We’ve lost many villagers and, I fear, if the pattern holds true, we may lose even more this eve.”

“Not is we can help it,” Alistair put in, disturbed that his childhood home was being threatened in such a manner.

Nodding her agreement, the elf asked, “What kind of monstrous things are we talking about?”

The shudder that went through the Bann’s body was nearly visible. “They appear to be corpses, the walking dead.” His head fell. “We have taken to burning our dead as soon as the attacks cease, otherwise…” his voice trailed off. There was no need for him to explain.

Dread filled her. Walking dead? From the castle? She feared greatly that they would not find the Arl - or anyone - alive within the castle. However, her resolve was firm. These people needed aid; they would help them with this menace and then seek the source. It was the only right thing to do.

Stepping forward and placing a comforting hand on the Bann’s arm, Adela softly said, “We’ll stop these attacks, Bann Teagan,” she looked him in the eyes, trying to convey more comfort and hope through the contact. “How may we be of assistance?” the elf asked, politely forestalling any further conversation between the two men.

The relief that came across his handsome face spoke volumes. “Thank you,” he breathed, motioning a nearby man to his side. “Mayor Murdock is out in the courtyard, rallying the militia. You should ask if he needs any assistance.” His gaze fell over the Sten, Alistair and Roland. “I see you have capable warriors in your group. He may need someone to help train what men he has left.” He paused, his eyes skimming over the rest of the group, finally settling upon Adela.

“Ser Perth of Arl Eamon’s’ retinue can be found in the higher levels by the mill. He may have need of your assistance as well.” He frowned, thinking. “Most of the villagers who are unable to fight have been brought here, although I am certain there are a few of the more stubborn folk who yet remain in their homes.” his eyes fixed on Adela’s face. “Truly, I am most appreciative of any assistance you and your party can render to Redcliffe’s aid.”

Nodding, she turned to the party, ordering the Sten, Alistair and Leliana to see if they can be of assistance with any last minute training the troops would need. The Sten, who had seemed on the verge of an argument, grunted his approval and led the trio out. Roland had remained behind along with Wynne and Morrigan. He listened as Adela asked the elder mage to see to any injuries of those huddled within the Chantry. With a nod, a pat on her arm, Wynne set off.

Morrigan stood, watching the elf with disbelief. Her snort of disapproval was difficult for the elf to ignore.

“You have something to add to this, Morrigan?” Adela questioned as she turned toward the witch.

Yellow eyes met blue, unblinking. “Indeed I do,” the witch replied in her usual sultry tones. “I have to wonder why we waste our time here when there are other allies we could be collecting.”

Those blue eyes widened. “Hmmm…could it be because these people are in need of help?” came the sarcastic reply.

The witch merely scoffed, not at all impressed. “’Tis the people in need of aid; we have no idea of what is happening in the castle, wherein presumably lies this Arl Eamon,” the witch frowned. “Leave these to their fate, Adela. We can collect on the other treaties and have our army.”

Shaking her head adamantly, the elf now stood before the human. Although Morrigan stood many inches taller than the petite elf, Adela seemed to loom over the human woman. “We will help these people, Morrigan.” Her head turned slightly toward the sound of a young woman crying in a corner. “Let us forget that we need the Arl’s help in order to even hope to prevail against the Blight,” the elf turned her eyes back to the witch. “Let’s forget that at this time we have no idea of how fares the Arl, and the only means of getting into the castle may well depend upon saving this village and stopping those monsters that keep attacking.” Then the elf took a step forward. “We shall put aside all of the pragmatic reasons for this. Mostly, we will help these people because it is the right thing to do.”

Morrigan did not back an inch, the look of disdain clearly upon her face telling the elf exactly what she thought of that argument. “Why do you persist?” the witch asked, her tones lowering slightly. “None of these here would lift a finger to help you, and you know this to be true.”

A blond brow arched upwards. “What do you mean by that?”

Another scoff. “Come now, Adela. Surely you are not so sheltered as to be unaware of how little regard humans hold elves in.”

Memories of her mother’s death…Lord Vaughan’s raid of the Alienage…her time spent within the Denerim estates…Vaughan…”I do not need you to tell me of how little regard some humans may hold elves in,” it came out a snarl, and surprised the elf greatly. Roland shifted uncomfortably behind her, but she did not turn.

Smirking, feeling smug at this little victory, Morrigan pressed. “’Tis a wonder, then, that an elf would be so insistent upon doing the right thing by these pathetic humans,” a graceful arm swept out to encompass the poor souls lingering in the Chantry, “when none here would lift a finger to so much as give you the time of day.”

She took a deep breath, backed away from the witch. “While your words may well be true, Morrigan,” her voice was steady. “It does not change the fact that I will help these people. That we will help these people.” She turned away Hafter right at her side, almost dwarfing the tiny woman. She tilted her head at Roland for him to follow. The knight stepped to her side, and the elf turned once more back to the witch. “Simply for the fact that your words may well be true.”

Then, smiling at the confusion in the witch’s yellow eyes, the elf turned and walked out of the Chantry. Roland cast one look at Morrigan, and followed the elven woman out.

DA:O

The militia was, by its very definition, just a collection of fishermen and tradesmen who owned few weapons and would be ready to defend their village when necessary. What the Sten, Alistair and Leliana found were men who barely knew which end of a sword to hold, or could barely hit the target with an arrow. However, many of those in the militia were determined and had heart, and those two could mean the difference between living and dying. Those that seemed to have fallen into despair could well use the training, if for nothing else to gather their thoughts from the darkness and prepare to defend their village.

The bard glanced up at the sun. By the Maker’s own providence, they had arrived at the village earlier than scheduled, and early in the day. She looked over to where the two warriors met with those who bore swords. An entire day training these men may keep them alive, but the Orlesian was finding it difficult to believe. She was amazed that any of them had lived this far.

She turned to watch as Adela left the Chantry, Roland and Morrigan behind her. The woman let her gaze shift over to the witch, who was scowling in irritation at the elf’s back. She smirked. Morrigan was obviously not happy with the decision to remain and assist the village. The Orlesian turned back to the man she was straightening the stance of. Leliana knew that Morrigan would be a tough nut to crack, or so the saying went. The Orlesian knew that there was more to the lovely witch than just the caustic personality she showed. She sighed inwardly. Well, things that are worthwhile are never easy to obtain.

The man relaxed into the stance, pulled taut on the bowstring, and let the arrow fly, hitting the target fairly close to the bull’s-eye. With a word of praise, the Orlesian went on to the next in line.

DA:O

Roland watched the activity in the courtyard as he followed Adela over to an older man with a heavily lined face. The knight was concerned about the battle that would most likely occur this evening. Taking a quick look at the fighters and archers - all of whom were obviously benefiting from the experience of his three companions - he could not help but feel as though each one would need the Maker’s last rites.

He shook that dismal thought aside. No doubt Adela would not appreciate such counterproductive thinking. He glanced over at the group’s leader, and forced a smile from his face. He had appreciated her words to the witch within the Chantry. It was obvious that the elven woman believed each word she had spoken as well.

Despair. That was what the knight read upon the older man’s face. Despair and a certain acceptance of the death that waited. That was not helpful, Roland thought. These other men depended upon a leader to be confident, or at least the appearance of confidence. The man spoke in a deep, gravely voice, and it took him a moment to realize that the older man was addressing him.

“I take it you are the Warden Commander,” the mayor replied, looking directly at the knight, avoiding looking at Adela.

Roland noticed the smirk that crossed Morrigan’s face, and he felt a rush of anger at this man. He had obviously assumed Roland was the leader because he was human. He glanced at Adela, who was opening her mouth to address the other man, his thought continuing, and most likely because I am a man.

“Pardon me,” Adela spoke, her voice strong. She was also carefully avoiding Morrigan’s smirk. “But, I am Adela, Commander of the Grey in Fereldan.”

A sense of pride, and then smugness flushed over him as Roland watched the man flounder with apology to Adela. The elf, to her credit, merely brushed aside his apologies, wanting only to find out how else she and her group could help. The man’s grey eyes wandered over the forms of the militia training with Leliana, the Sten and Alistair.

“You’ve provided us with a good start, Warden,” he acknowledged in that gravelly voice. “My men can certain benefit from instruction from such capable warriors.” He turned his eyes to the elf, and Roland was pleased to see respect clearly shining there. “We are having difficulty with the blacksmith, Owen.” He rubbed an embarrassed hand across the back of his neck. “He refused to repair armor and weapons, and without his assistance the equipment we currently have will be nearly useless in tonight’s battle.” He scowled as he surveyed the sub par bow strapped to one of his militiamen’s back.

A graceful brow shot up at that. “Wait,” a slender elven hand raised, “are you telling me that one of your townsfolk refuses to help in the battles?” the disbelief was obvious in her tone.

A nod from the Mayor, and then he clarified, “His daughter is one of the Arlessa’s maids.” his eyes wandered over to the blacksmith shop, its billows obviously cold by the lack of smoke from the chimney. “He refuses to help out without a promise that I’ll send someone after her.” He snarled at that. “As if I have the manpower to launch a rescue to the castle while the village remains in danger!” The despair that had been in those eyes mere moments ago was replaced with frustration and anger. “He’ll let the whole village die around him without a second thought!”

Coward, Roland thought that at the building the mayor had indicated. Adela had bowed her head, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Morrigan shuffled slightly behind them, turning as she gazed about the village square.

“Well, I’ll just have to go in there and convince him he needs to pull his weight,” Adela lifted her head, determination written clearly on her face.

“I don’t see how you think you can,” the mayor grumbled.

The elf grinned at him. “Oh, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it, Ser Mayor,” the elf replied. “I just cannot believe that a man would not do anything and everything in his power for his community.”

The mayor tilted his head, watching the elf. “You must be from an Alienage, I take it?” he asked. The elf nodded, that brow still raised. “Thought so. You elves tend to have closer communities than some human villages do.” he bowed his head. “Perhaps we humans should learn more from that, eh?”

That grin still on her face, Adela actually giggled, “I’ve always thought so.” Her face turned serious as she faced the smithy. “Okay, guess I’ve a blacksmith to convince to do his job.” With a determined step, she walked to the front of the smithy, reached for the handle and turned…

Only to find the darn thing locked. Locked! Roland supposed the blacksmith truly did not want to be bothered.

Adela knocked. There was no response. She placed an ear to the door, listening. Obviously, there was nothing. With a frown on her face, the elf knelt down and started examining the lock. Great Maker! Roland thought. Was she really considering breaking into the man’s home? Then the knight reminded himself that those same skills had helped to free him of the dungeons in Highever. Moreover, if the fool within this building was not going to be reasonable…

There was a sharp click and Adela, with a triumphant smirk on her face, turned the knob and watched the door swing open. There was a shout of mild protest from within, and the elf entered, followed closely by the knight and witch.

The stench of stale ale permeated the smithy. Combined with the old smells of hot metal, damp creosote and ozone…it nearly made the elf gag. An old man stood, well, really leaned awkwardly against a far wall, glaring at the intruders.

“Humph!” he snorted, stumbling forward slightly, obviously inebriated. “What right ya got for bargin’ in here?” he demanded, stepping forward to glare down with bloodshot eyes at the much smaller elf.

“I am Warden Adela,” she introduced herself. “I understand that you are refusing to assist the militia during this crisis.” She stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and steel in her melodic voice. “I am here to make certain that you live up to your obligation to this village and the townsfolk.”

The old man snorted, spittle flying from his mouth, “Yeah,” he swayed. “You and what army?”

Fighting the desire to throttle the man, Roland stood back and watched as Adela took care of the situation.

“I won’t need an army,” she looked him in the eye. “Because you are going to do it out of a sense of duty and loyalty for your home.”

“Oh I am, am I?” he growled, straightening. “And what makes you think I’m gonna listen to some knife-eared wench who just says she’s some kinda warden, eh?”

Both Roland and Morrigan’s heads shot up, a sneer crossing the pretty witch’s face. Although she may have taken some glee when the mayor turned to Roland as their leader, she obviously did not like having the elf so insulted. The knight had to remind himself that Adela was the leader. He could not undermine her by grabbing a hold of the old man who glared down at her.

Steady stare met angry glare. “You are going to help because it is what people facing a crisis to a community do.” She stood tall and, although she barely came to the man’s stooped shoulders, she was the one dominating the area and conversation. “You will light those fires; you will repair any weapons and armor that the militia need.” She rose on her toes, her eyes sharp as sapphires, “You will do this because it is what you do. No one else here can do it. And,” she backed off a bit, allowing some sympathy into her face. “it is the only chance anyone will survive.”

“What do I have to fight for?” came the quiet question, the pain on the man’s face so evident Roland felt a rise of pity for him.

Adela must have felt it as well for she reached a hand out and gently patted him on the arm. “The only way anyone can get into the castle and save whoever is still alive,” she said softly, her voice calm, immediately loosing the iron from earlier, “is for someone to still be alive to be able to save them.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “Your daughter included.”

Heavy lids closed over tired eyes. A soft sob slipped from between his lips. His head nodded down once, then twice. “You have my word, Warden,” he raised his head, his voice full of respect and hope, “Tell Murdock to send over whatever needs repairing.” He turned to his forge to light the billows. “And have him send over someone to help me here,” his fist clenched with determination. “By the Maker! We’ll show those monsters what for,” his hopeful eyes turned back to Adela. “Now won’t we.”

She smiled at him, and nodded. “My thanks, Ser Smith,” she replied as she turned and left, Roland and Hafter behind her. While Adela did not take note, Roland noticed the dark look Morrigan tossed to the smith before she followed.

DA:O

He did not understand why the Elven Warden cared for these people. He grunted as he paused in the instruction of how to properly wield a sword. These people were simple fishermen, and had no business wielding a sword. After reprimanding the angler turned warrior for holding the sword too tightly, the Sten turned to survey the area. The Human Warden seemed to be having as much luck with his students as he was; the Orlesian was actually faring better with her recruits. Archery seemed to be the combat form more common among these folk.

He shook his great head. The Warden commanded it be so, and so he shall teach these simpletons how to wield a sword. Not that he truly expected it to do anyone any good come nightfall.

DA:O

Okay, so the mayor is happy and the drunken smith will be smithying soon. Adela let out a sigh as she surveyed the homes located on the docks. Murdock said that the dwarven merchant was housed somewhere by the docks. She scowled slightly. Which house? Do I just go and enter each one? She glanced about, looking for someone - anyone - from the village. She spotted a familiar figure - Thomas - and headed straight for him, aware that Roland and Morrigan followed behind.

The young man was more than happy to direct Adela to where the dwarf lived. Of course, the door was locked. She knocked. No answer. Why were things never simple, she had to wonder, and wonder also, why she was the one who had to speak with strangers to fight for their village when the town’s mayor couldn’t get anywhere? Ah, well, nothing for it other than to…she bent down…go and see…her pick quickly and deftly released the lock…if anyone will listen. She straightened, cast Roland a small smile, and then turned the knob.

The dwarf was amiable enough, with gold lining his pockets that is. Ah, a mercenary. How truly original. She shook her head, feeling just a little tired and wanting only to take a nap. However, she needed to let Murdock know that he now had a few other weapons - these skilled - on their side this evening. She stepped back out, feeling the cool breeze from the lake flow over her. She lifted her head, her eyes closed. This was not turning out to be as easy as simply waving the treaties in front of people’s faces or pleading that the darkspawn need to be stopped. Each step seemed to have its own peril, and she had to wonder if other Wardens from other ages had to jump through so many hoops that she found herself and her companions needing to jump through. She felt a large hand rest on her shoulder and she knew, without opening her eyes that it was Roland. She did open her eyes, meeting his friendly gaze.

Okay, talk to Murdock, and then she needed to speak with Roland.

DA:O

Well that could be better, the young Warden thought as he surveyed the militiamen, counted off in sparring pairs, hacking at each other with blunted blades. Actually, it could be a lot better, he thought with a groan as he watched the clumsy strikes. Argh, he brought a finger to the bridge of his nose. This must have been how Commander MacTavish felt when he was training raw recruits for the Chantry. Alistair glanced over and watched for a moment as Adela spoke with the mayor. Roland was studying the older man with an intense expression while Morrigan just seemed…well, bored. The young warden’s eyes went back to the knight. He could not help but feel a little hurt that Adela brought Roland with her and had him remain behind to help train the troops. He was her second, after all, wasn’t he? A sudden crash brought his attention back to the sparring pairs. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, pulling the pair off the ground from where they were brawling - brawling! He gave each man a shake, showed him - again - how to properly hold a sword, and then went back down the line. Most of them seemed to get the hang of it, but some…well, hopefully fear will instill some skill at the time of the battle. That was all he could hope for.

He looked up again, and saw that Adela and Roland were talking, their heads close together. Roland nodded, then pointed up the hill toward the tavern. The elven woman nodded her head and, with a word tossed back to the witch, the trio, along with Hafter who seemed glued to Adela’s side (that is where I should be), headed toward the tavern.

I just hope they bring me back a drink, he thought as he turned back to the recruits.

DA:O

Why do all of these simpletons not seek to protect their own? Morrigan wondered in disgust as she followed the elf and knight up to the tavern. The mabari was now walking beside her.

“What now, you stupid dog?” she asked as the beast (oh, what did the elf name him?) merely tilted his head at her and whined at her.

Exasperated, Morrigan exclaimed, “Stop looking at me, mongrel. I have nothing you want!”

To which Hafter (that is the bloody dog’s name!) merely whined again.

She pointedly ignored the amused looks Adela and Roland cast in her direction.

“Why do you keep staring at me so, you flea-ridden beast? Can you not tell when you are not wanted?”

“Oh Morrigan,” Adela called out, “Stop picking on my dog.”

Hafter whined again, wagging his stubby tail. Roland tried hard not to chuckle, but he still earned a glare from the witch.

“I enjoy the company of creatures of the wild. Not stench-ridden, domesticated wolves.” she waved her hand imperiously at the beast, who only continued to whine and wag his tail at her.

“And he persists! Maddening!” She stomped off, passing the elf and knight, who had both given up their efforts to not laugh.

Hafter merely followed the angered witch, barking happily in her wake.

DA:O

The militia was two more men heavier than it had been earlier. Adela had somehow managed to cajole and bully an elf - who had been sent by Howe to spy upon Castle Redcliffe - and the tavern keeper, a fat, unsavory man name Lloyd, into joining in the fight that eve. Roland was proud of her; the elf had a way of making people come around to her way of thinking that was incredible. Especially when one considered she was a shy elven artist from an Alienage with no training in command whatsoever.

They then met with Ser Perth, one of the last of Arl Eamon’s knights. Apparently, the Arlessa had sent out all of Redcliffe’s knights in search of a Brother Genetivi. The details were vague; however, the Arlessa apparently believed that this brother could locate the whereabouts for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Andraste’s final resting place. Rumor had it that the Ashes could cure all ills. Roland merely shook his head at that, while Adela, not completely telling the knight that she thought the quest foolhardy, had questioned the Arlessa’s decision to leave the castle and village so unguarded. Ser Perth appeared to be in complete agreement.

So, the group found themselves back at the Chantry, much to the amusement of Morrigan, asking the Revered Mother for holy symbols for the knights, who apparently felt they were needed for protection. After much haranguing, the Revered Mother finally obliged.

Now, there was nothing left to do but oversee the militia’s final training, and wait for nightfall.

Adela had taken up a spot with Leliana to help with archery lessons. Although she herself was a better shot than the Orlesian, Leliana had a better knack for teaching. Adela taught by example: the human archers taking note of her form and stance, how she grasped the bowstring and then fired. Leliana would talk them through the steps, giving them encouragement, adjusting a stance here, relaxing a grip there. Between the two, they had managed to improve the skills of the archers considerably.

Roland had taken his previous experiences as a knight and Captain of the Guard at Highever and had helped Sten and Alistair with their own recruits. Although still lacking in skill, the men in the militia at least now had a working knowledge and confidence in their swordsmanship. It would not be a total blood bath.

Word soon arrived from Ser Perth’s men for the Warden and her group to get into position. The plan called for Roland, the Sten and Leliana to accompany Ser Perth and his knights up by the mill. Adela, Alistair and Morrigan would remain with the militia by the docks. Wynne and Hafter would be inside the Chantry, along with Bann Teagan, a last line of defense should the knights and militia fails.

Roland admitted to not liking the idea of leaving Adela’s side. However, splitting the group was a good decision if solely for keeping morale up. With final farewells and good lucks tossed about, Roland led his group up to the mill to await the start of the battle.

DA:O

Adela was nervous. As she always was before a battle. The time before, when there was time to think - and for someone like Adela, there was always time to think - made her far more nervous than battles that are just sprung upon her. With time to think came time to think of everything that could go wrong. In addition, facing these strange foes even more could go wrong. She took several breaths, trying to calm herself. She looked over at Alistair, who was examining his blade. A smile crossed her face as she watched him. Alistair never seemed nervous before a battle. But then, he was an accomplished warrior, well trained, and naturally brave. She was an artist who had been trained by her mother at the art of bow and dagger, but had never really had any cause for their use until fairly recently. The other Warden looked up and grinned at her, sheathing his sword and motioning her to him. The elf had to tell herself not to run to his side.

Putting his arm around her slender shoulders, Alistair bent down. “Nervous?” he asked, putting a teasing quality to his voice.

Nodding, she snuggled closer to him, trying hard not to appear nervous as many of the militiamen were watching the two wardens. “Do I look nervous?” she asked, lifting her face to watch Alistair.

He shook his head. “No, not really.” he honestly replied. “Just a little tentative.”

“Humph!” she grunted a bit, her gaze wandering up to the mill. “I’m a little worried about Roland,” she confided, turning her gaze back to Alistair.

She missed the little flicker of a grimace on his face. “Why?” He asked.

Shrugging her shoulders, lifting his arm with the movement, she answered, “It’s only been a couple of weeks since we rescued him,” she explained.

Snorting, Alistair commented, “Don’t worry about him, Adela,” he gave her a little shake. “He was well trained before his imprisonment, and dutiful in his practice since. He’s in good shape, and more than capable to handle a few walking corpses.” He shifted, pulling her in front of him as he draped his arms across her, resting his chin on her head. “He’s a good enough soldier that if he felt his presence was a detriment; he would stay out of the fight.”

She lifted her face, turning it slightly to the side so that Alistair could see her smile. “Thanks, Alistair.”

The human gave her a squeeze and she rested her hands on his arms. He let his eyes wander the courtyard, where most of the militiamen had been stationed. If the creatures got past the knights and Roland’s group by the mill, it was their duty to stop any of the monsters from entering the Chantry, wherein stood Wynne, Hafter and Bann Teagan, defending what was left of the villagers. He shivered slightly, recalling the undead they had encountered in the Circle Tower. He had no desire to face their like again, but here they were, preparing to battle them for the village. His eyes wandered upward, to where Castle Redcliffe sat upon its cliff overlooking the lake and village. A flicker caught his attention and he straightened, rising from his perch behind Adela. The elf noticed his movement and stood up, following his gaze with her own.

A cloud of darkness rose from the castle, spreading and running along the bridge that connected the village to the castle. Alistair called out to the militiamen to ready their arms.

The walking dead were running.

DA:O

Roland spotted the undead, and called for the knights and his companions to be ready. He had expected the undead to be shambling, slow moving, as those few he had encountered in the Circle Tower had been. The pace with which these undead moved was startling in their quickness. The noise the arose from the parched throats of the dead was horrifying: guttural snarls, gnawing sounds. The knight shook himself as their Orlesian archer shot off the first volley.

Leliana, firing off arrows enchanted with fire, sent a steady stream of the missiles into the first bodies running to them. The Sten stepped in, swinging his greatsword, easily cleaving the nearest corpse from shoulder to groin. Another slipped by the giant, and Roland met it with a shield bash to its face, his sword cutting into its chest and out the back. Ser Perth rushed forward, leading his knights. Dwyn, the dwarven merchant Adela had to bribe to assist in the battle, led his group of mercenaries off to the side, crushing and hacking at the corpses before they could exit the pass’s bottleneck. Berwick, the elf from the tavern Adela had persuaded to join the ranks, fired off arrows at a speed that challenged the lovely Orlesian archer. The ranks of the undead quickly diminished.

The group stepped back, taking a moment to catch their breath or apply poultices to wounds. No one had fallen, and Roland took that as a good sign.

The next group that attacked was easily twice the size of the first, and more horrifying. Leliana and Berwick’s arrows, each enchanted with magical fire, did the most damage. Roland waded into the undead’s midst, swinging his sword, pleased with how easily it came back to him. His shield cleared a path, knocking many of the creatures down. The Sten swung down with his mighty blade, cleaving many of the corpses in two.

Ser Perth and his men fared well. One knight had been badly injured, but could move on his own power. Perth ordered him to the chantry for healing and, albeit reluctantly, the young knight obeyed. Roland had numerous scratches on his face, but nothing serious. Few of the creatures wielded blades. The Sten and Leliana both were unscathed.

There was little time for rest as the third group - far larger than the first two - descended upon them in a hungry wave.

DA:O

Adela turned to watch as the lone knight entered the Chantry for healing. She looked around, first taking note of the nervous militiamen, and then allowed her vision to pass beyond their barricaded front. Her eyes narrowed and she tugged Alistair over, pointing to where she saw movement. The human squinted his eyes, and then they widened.

The undead had found a path to the village’s center.

Nervous curses and harsh mumbles sounded from the militiamen. The archers raised their bows and sent a volley into the mass of undead bodies that shambled, ran and shuffled into the square. Adela raised her bow and sent a steady stream of missiles into the midst, felling several of the corpses. With a great war cry, Alistair raised his shield and sword and plunged into the mass of bodies, bashing and swinging his sword, cleaving many in two as he turned to meet the rush.

Words of magic spilled from Morrigan’s lips and ice fell upon several of the nearby undead, freezing them to the spot. Lloyd, the tavern keeper Adela had earlier conscripted into the militia, rushed forward with a heavy dagger and stabbed at one of the frozen corpses. With a snarl, Morrigan stepped back, and her form shimmered. In her place stood a giant spider, spewing forth a great web that entangled many of the shambling forms just outside of the square, gaining the militiamen time to dispatch those already in the courtyard. Her form shimmered again, and in its place stood the form of a great black wolf. With a howl, Morrigan plunged into the fray, tearing and clawing the walking dead to pieces.

Fighting down the surge of fear that threatened to overtake her, Adela continued to concentrate her shots to the corpses just beyond the square’s borders, slowing down and felling many of those dead that had not yet engaged their allies. A sharp, chilling pain shot through her shoulder, causing her to drop her bow. Her arm and hand numbed, she turned into the gaping maw of a large shambling corpse. She stumbled back, reaching for her daggers, but her right hand would not obey her commands. Her dagger held in her left hand, she swiped at the monster, parrying its claws, turning them aside. She managed to duck beneath a powerful swing, its claws catching in her hair, tearing through it with a growl. Straightening, she thrust her dagger into one of its eyes. With a snarling growl, it clawed at its face, swinging out again to knock the elf from her feet.

The numbing chill that had taken over her right arm had spread across her shoulders and down her torso, and the elf found herself weakening. With a shake of its head, the corpse bent down to grab at the stricken woman. There was a shout, then the monster was knocked back, and then down onto its back. Murdock stepped forward, and sent a stream of arrows into the struggling corpse. A look of concern crossed his craggy face and he bent to the woman. Murmuring a thanks, darkness overtook her.

DA:O

The smell was horrendous, but they had agreed that, during respites of attacks, the bodies were to be burned. Each position had built a large bonfire. Roland watched as Dwyn and his men carried the corpses and tossed them into the blaze. The knight’s eyes roamed over the scene. They had been fortunate; despite the numbers of walking corpses sent against them, they had lost no one in the battle. Many of the injuries sustained were cared for with poultices. His eyes continued further down, toward the village center. He hated not knowing how his companions fared. Trusting in their skills, the Highever Knight turned his attention back to the pass, standing guard and ready alongside the Sten, Ser Perth and his knights as the mercenaries cleared the bodies.

DA:O

“For the Grey Wardens!” echoed from his lips, his shield covered with the blood and gore of his foes, his sword - Oathkeeper - maintaining its sharpness as it sliced into putrid flesh, shattering bone, and stopping the hoard of undead.

From the corner of his eye he saw the familiar dark shape of Morrigan in her wolf form. He allowed himself a moment to be grateful the acerbic witch was on their side - well, as far as he could tell. He turned his eyes from her ripping the arm from a corpse to engage another enemy.

Finally, the hoard stopped coming. Alistair ordered the militiamen to gather the corpses and toss them onto the bon fire. The smell would be horrid, but they could ill afford for the corpses to rise back up, especially if another mass of them attacked. The fire had been set closer to the docks, downwind.

Bending at the waist, the ex-templar took a moment to gather his breath, then rose to search out Adela.

DA:O

“Hush, child,” Wynne scolded as she sent another warming burst of healing magic through her limbs. “If you don’t relax the magic will take longer to heal.”

Lying back on the bedroll, Adela watched as the elderly mage’s face crinkled in concentration. A large figure knelt at her side, patting her hand. “Easy, my lady,” Teagan’s warm tones soothed. “Had Murdock not brought you in here, your wounds could well be far worse.”

Managing a weak smile, the elf nodded as the warmth flowed back into her tiny form. She was far more concerned about her friends and the militia outside of the chantry’s walls, but she knew that she was currently in no condition to help. The corpse that had attacked her had literally frozen her blood, and had the mayor not intervened so aptly, she would have died with barely a scratch.

She could admit it: she was embarrassed by how small a wound it took to knock her down. Never mind that the small wound was created by a magically animated corpse; never mind that, as Wynne had said, her blood had literally turned to ice. The scratch was barely anything any of the others would have noticed and yet here she was, the Maker bedamned appointed Commander (okay, Duncan, really, I’m beginning to think perhaps all that darkspawn blood sullied your thinking!) and she couldn’t outlast a scrape? Wynne chuckled at her and she turned to regard her friend.

“Really, child,” the mage scolded as she watched Adela flex her now responsive hands, “the look on your face…”

Adela cocked a brow at her as she pushed herself up. “Really, Wynne.” the elf complained, sitting up and allowing her equilibrium to catch up. “Can you see Alistair or Roland falling down in a faint because a scratch?’

Wynne’s own expression matched the elf’s. “If it was the same ‘scratch’ you just suffered?” A smile crossed the older woman’s still lovely face. “Yes I would even go so far as to say Sten would have difficulties as well.” She reached a hand out and touched Adela’s face with affection. “These undead are unnatural, child. The spirits that inhabit them are driven mad and have certain abilities from the Fade. The attack upon you was magical in nature.” She smiled as she rose to her feet. “Take a few more moments here, Adela,” she chided as she turned. “I trust the good Bann here will be certain you behave yourself.”

“Indeed, Lady Mage,” the Bann bowed his head gracefully to the mage. “I shall see to it that she rests for a few moments longer.”

Eyeing them both, the elf could only roll her eyes as she pushed her back against the wall behind her. “Fine, fine. A few minutes, Wynne.” she agreed, glaring defiantly at the mage’s retreating back. Bann Teagan chuckled at her as he took a seat beside her against the wall.

After a moment of silence, the Bann spoke. “I know how you feel, Commander,” he said as he turned his friendly gaze to her.

“Please,” Adela begged, “Just Adela. Commander is…well, that’s just not me.”

Chuckling, he bowed his head. “Adela. My thanks.” He turned his eyes to the Chantry doors, where stood Ser Belmont, the knight who had arrived earlier with injuries, guarding the entrance. “I can hear the battle raging outside. And, yet I remain behind those doors.” He turned back to her. “While you and your companions fight for this village, I remain hidden away.” His face frowned. “I feel almost…cowardly for doing so.”

Adela placed a hand on his arm. “Not cowardly, Bann Teagan,” she replied. “You are the last line of defense for these people. Without you,” her arm swept to indicate a small group of children, huddled with the revered mother, who was telling them a story at this moment. “these people would feel more despaired than they already do.” She smiled. “Keeping their spirits from completely failing is necessary for their survival as well.”

Gratitude spread across his handsome face, and the Bann took one of Adela’s small hands in his. Kissing the knuckles gently, he murmured, “My thanks, Adela.” A grin. “And, please, call me Teagan.”

She bowed her head, accepting the invitation. Then, giving the Bann’s hand a squeeze, she rose, unsteadily, to her feet. Teagan rose with her, placing a concerned hand under her elbow. Taking several deep breaths, the elf nodded to the Bann, who released her. Glancing around, making certain Wynne was no where to be seen, the elf walked to the huge double doors. The knight standing guard bowed to her and opened the doors to allow her to exit.

DA:O

“Easy, laddie,” Murdock placed a gnarled hand on the younger man’s arm, pulling him to a stop, urging him to calm down. Alistair glanced at the hand, and stopped. The mayor continued. “She took a little damage from one of those corpses, and the mage in the Chantry is healing her now.” The older man’s gravelly voice rumbled through Alistair’s head. “She’s a tough little one, and I’m sure she’ll be fine. Just give it a bit.”

The wind changed direction just briefly and the pungent smell of burning flesh assailed his nostrils. Both men winced, bringing hands to their faces. The wind shifted again, carrying the odor along.

The doors opened behind them, and Alistair’s relief was palpable as he watched Adela step through, her bow back in hand. She paused briefly, surveying the carnage, taking note that none of the militiamen lay dead upon the ground. Her eyes, tired, fixed upon Alistair’s face, and she smiled. The young man smiled back at her, watching as she stepped to his side. She bowed her thanks once again to the mayor, who merely chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes turned toward the horizon.

The sky was lightening, dawn’s promise just within an hour’s reach.

DA:O

The Sten growled in his native tongue, his sharp blade taking the head of the nearest walking corpse from its neck. Growling, he spun to sweep aside several more of the undead menace.

Arrows sped in a steady stream from the Orlesian’s bow, their flaming enchantments burning holes into their targets where they hit. She glanced over her shoulder, taking note of her dwindling supply. Berwick, his own arrows having long since been spent, had taken sword and dagger in hand and was attacking those corpses that had gotten past the warriors and threatened the archers.

Roland and Ser Perth found themselves back to back, surrounded by a dozen of the putrid foes. Roland darted forward, his shield bashing into and smashing the face of one, while his sword found the chest of another. Ser Perth’s greatsword swung overhead, cleaving down to slice one foe from head to gullet, twisting to send the thing to the ground.

This last wave of foes had been relentless, and several of the defenders died, torn and ravaged within the pass. Roland avoided all thought of the need to burn their corpses once the dawn rose, lest they, too, rise to join the ranks of the undead.

The last of the corpses surrounding the two knights fell. Ser Perth clapped a heavy hand to the younger man’s shoulder as Roland raised his eyes to the horizon.

Over which the sun was rising.

　

[SheilaD67]

I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I’m still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. This chapter is a bit longer than anticipated, and that’s after cutting some stuff out!

As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68 . And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit *shudders* welcome (my feelings won’t be too awfully hurt).

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 19

It was still early when the final walking corpse had been slain, and the dead burned. The bright sunshine had difficulty piercing the smoke heavy air, and so the atmosphere had an almost surreal cast to it.

Adela and her party stood upon the steps of the Chantry, alongside Bann Teagan and the Revered Mother. The priest gave prayer, giving thanks to the Maker. And, truly, they had been fortunate. They had lost only a few knights and Dwyn’s mercenaries (although the dwarf himself had survived). None of the militiamen had been killed, although several had endured severe injuries. Both mages were exhausted from both the battle and healing the wounded - those from the previous night’s battles as well as those of prior nights. Once the prayers had been finalized, the villagers disbursed, some returning to their homes, others too exhausted or frightened to do so and so went back into the Chantry.

Teagan turned to the Wardens’ party, gratitude radiating from his handsome, yet tired features. “Again, I must offer my thanks to you, my dear lady,” he took one of Adela’s small hands into his own. “The Maker smiled upon us when he sent you here.”

Flushing slightly, the elf shook her head. “We were happy to be of assistance, Ba-Teagan,” she quickly amended, grinning.

Smiling at her slip, the Bann replied, “We will still need to gain entrance to the castle,” his gaze swept over the exhausted forms of the party, “however, I would suggest that you and your companions get some rest. Meet me at the mill,” he pointed to where the knights and Roland’s group had been stationed the night prior, “at mid-day. I have a plan for getting inside the castle.”

With those words, the Bann walked off, seeking his own rest.

Adela watched as Morrigan, Wynne and Leliana headed back into the Chantry to find resting places. The Sten had moved off to lie beneath a nearby tree, resting his massive back against the trunk, closing his eyes. Roland was sitting on the steps quietly, his green eyes surveying the courtyard.

She turned to Alistair, who was by her side, and gave his arm a pat, asking him to find a spot to rest. He merely smiled at her and sat down on the stone rail of the chantry steps. Grinning at him, she turned to go over to where the red haired knight sat, missing the look that her fellow Warden gave her.

Adela’s shadow fell upon the knight, and he looked up at her with a small smile. Taking a seat beside him, Adela reached over and patted his clasped hands. “Are you alright, Roland?” she asked, unable to hide the concern she felt from her voice.

Shifting his hands to enclose hers, he nodded. “I’ll admit to being very tired this day,” he responded, smiling at her. “But, as frightening as it was facing those monsters, it was also exhilarating.” His smile widened into a full faced grin. “I had forgotten how good it felt to actually do something so worthwhile.” His eyes skimmed over the village, a softening of his face made the elf think he was remembering the events back at Highever. “It felt good to save these people.”

She watched his face for several moments, then leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The knight turned his face to her, but she had already pulled away and was standing. “Go get some rest, Roland,” she ordered. “We’re going to have to get into the castle later on and find out how bad it is there.” She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and then turned to go back to where Alistair sat. The knight watched her for a moment, taking in the smile the other man gave her as she approached. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, and then went into the Chantry to find a bedroll.

“How is he?” Alistair asked, tamping down any jealousy he may have felt, knowing his friend had been concerned about the knight.

She shrugged her shoulders, moving to sit against the outer wall of the chantry. Alistair moved from his perch and settled beside her. “He says he is well, and honestly he looks fine,” her gaze went to the doors. “I’m probably being a worry wart over nothing.”

Chuckling, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head, he nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. “You know,” he said as he bent his head to the side, looking at her profile. “You keep telling us all to get some rest.” she looked up into his eyes. “Are you planning on getting any?”

“Hmmm…” she nodded as she rested against him, enjoying the heat that he always seems to emanate. It felt nice in the cool autumn air. “I was planning on resting here, actually. The chantry is too full and rather stuffy.” She closed her eyes, relaxing.

Alistair chuckled, and she felt it vibrate through her. “Okay, okay,” he relaxed against the cool stone. “I guess I’ve been relegated to cushion, eh?”

Nodding, the elf dozed off, completely safe and warm in Alistair’s arms.

Alistair sat, staring down at the elf that was sleeping so peacefully in his arm. He found himself wondering, and not for the first time, at just how easy it was for the two of them to be together. Whether they were talking, fighting, or simply sitting. The ex-templar, who was shy around women and had been for all of his life, found it so easy to reach over to her and pull her into a hug or, as now, sit with her snuggled on his lap. By all rights, she, too, should be uncomfortable in his presence, and yet, she seemed to have the same sense of ease as he did. He gently bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead, smiling as she twitched a little. Then, shifting and adjusting himself against the wall, Alistair allowed himself to fall into an easy doze, getting what rest he could until they had to face whatever lay within the castle that had been his childhood home.

DA:O

Teryn Rendon Howe was not pleased. He paced back and forth in Arawn’s chambers, glaring at Ser Cauthrien, who looked on with mild irritation.

“Where is she?” he demanded to the ceiling. Cauthrien merely rolled her eyes, glancing at the door. She was wondering more along the lines of where was he?

The knight turned to watch the Teryn as he paced back and forth. “We should have word on her whereabouts soon,” she tried to assure the man, if for no other reason than for him to stop his idiotic pacing. “The Cousland is nothing if not resourceful.”

Howe stopped, giving his compatriot a hard look. Cauthrien met that look with a level stare. “Arawn would know if there was a problem concerning her,” the knight remarked, not truly knowing why she was trying to calm the irritable man. Maybe his pacing was just getting to her.

It seemed to work, and Howe ceased his pacing and threw himself into a nearby chair. “And of course Loghain continues to be difficult.” Cauthrien raised a brow at that. Of course he was, she thought bitterly. He was Loghain, not some trumped up nobleman whining he deserved more!

“What has happened?” she asked, more curious about the welfare of her former commander than any real reason to help Howe sort anything out, her eyes scanning over the opulent room while the Teryn gathered his thoughts.

“I think that he has figured out that his wine has been tainted,” he responded, a scowl on his hawk like face. “He has been refusing to eat or drink lately.” He rose. “If he continues in that manner, he will be of no further use to us!” He slammed a fist onto a nearby table, rocking the vase of flowers that stood upon it.

The door nearby swung open, admitting a familiar figure. Cauthrien’s already ramrod straight posture straightened out a bit more, while Howe’s countenance of superior frustration now held a hint of fear.

The man who entered stood tall, taller than Howe, taller than Cauthrien. A well muscled and well formed body - broad shoulders, narrow at the hip - covered with the attire of a nobleman, he moved with the grace of a warrior. Blond hair, cut to above his shoulders, the front locks braided, shone in the lamplight. His face was handsome and well proportioned, with a wide mouth, high cheekbones and strong nose. He seemed like any other nobleman save for one difference: his eyes were the color of blood.

Howe swallowed, uncomfortable as always in the presence of the blood mage. Cauthrien stifled a smirk at that. The Teryn had thought himself in charge of this, however, truly it was the mage who now stood in their midst.

The mage’s red eyes settled upon a portrait on the opposite wall. Taking in the details of the handsome man portrayed therein, sword held point first to the ground, dressed most regally, those unsettling eyes narrowed in absolute hatred. He turned back to his fellows.

“Is there a problem, Howe?” the mage asked, his voice containing a low, predatory quality to it that always sent shivers up Cauthrien’s spine.

“We must find other means to control Loghain,” the Teryn complained. “And ways to find to feed him as well as he now knows that he has been being poisoned.”

Arawn’s eyes narrowed. Of course he would figure it out! The mage was tempted to let the old man die, let him starve himself. They had Anora after all. She could prove far more amiable…

His thoughts drifted slightly, and then he shook his head. No. He felt that the general was still needed. Anora alone would not instill the confidence in the nobles that he needed. He turned to the others.

“I have means to control our good Teryn,” he replied smoothly, stepping to stand directly under the portrait he hated. “See to it that food it brought to the old fool,” he did not turn his head as he gave the orders. “and let me know when it is delivered.” Then he turned, his voice taking on an almost purring tone. “I am…certain that I can convince him that it would be in everyone’s best interest for him to cooperate.”

Bowing, the knight and Teryn left the room. Arawn continued to stare up at the portrait, into the face that was so very much like his own.

“Soon,” he whispered to the man portrayed there, the one he hated above all else. “Soon I shall have what is rightfully mine.”

DA:O

When he was thinking, he paced.

When he was irritated, he paced.

When he had nothing else he could do, he paced.

Loghain stared with baleful eyes at the food laden tray the servants brought in to him. Did they really think he would continue to poison himself at their demand?

He glanced around his room, taking note of the barred windows (as if he could really attempt an escape several stories above ground?) and the ever locked door.

He grumbled an obscenity at the door.

He resumed his pacing.

His thoughts were a jumble, and he had trouble forming coherent thoughts. He felt the poison he had been ingesting was leaving his system, but it still remained. Still made its tainted presence within his blood known. A familiar pressure brushed against his chest, and he brought a hand up to the ivory Halla figurine he wore on a chain around his neck. His fist closed around the charm and he bowed his head, willing himself to remember that she was dead.

A snarl escaped his lips, and he resumed his pacing. He wondered how his daughter fared in all of this.

The sound of his door unlocking brought him around, watching as the door opened and an unknown man walked in. The Teryn noticed first the fine cut of the garments the man wore, how well they fit his warrior’s form. He could not be blamed for the startled gasp that almost escaped his lips as his eyes settled upon a face that was far too familiar for comfort. The blood red eyes peering over at him reminded him of the first time they were acquainted, an involuntary chill coursing through his veins.

The younger man watched him, his eyes revealing nothing; the only emotion on his face was one of mild amusement as he gazed upon the older man. Loghain returned that stare, allowing a hint of malice to shine therein, fully aware of the power his own gaze held. The other man - the mage - however, did not flinch, and he only seemed more amused with each passing moment.

“So,” Loghain began, his voice calm, icy, “do we stand here staring at one another, or are you going to tell me, finally, what it is you want?”

A blond brow rose at that, another indication of amusement. “Want?” even his voice was frighteningly familiar, and it caused Loghain’s heart to clench. Maric? What had you done? The man wearing Maric’s face merely smiled, and even that was so like the dead king’s. “I want you, my dear Teryn, to cooperate and retain your strength.” He indicated the tray of food with a graceful hand. “It would not do well for you to allow yourself to become enfeebled, now, would it?”

Loghain snorted. “I suppose your concern for my health is clearly a genuine concern for my wellbeing.” It was not a question, and sarcasm punctuated each word spoken.

That grin again, the grin that had been so charming and disarming upon Maric’s face took on a different quality when graced beneath eyes the color of blood. Striding further into the room, the door shut tight behind him, the mage stepped closer to the older man. He moved as a warrior, and Loghain could not help but think of him as a mage in a warrior’s body. They now stood, nearly nose to nose. The closer he was, the more Loghain could see Maric in the man. More so than even in Cailan. Or that other bastard, the one who had the sense to die at Ostagar. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a son of Maric, although it was difficult to tell the man’s age, he guessed him to be only a year or so younger than Cailan. His voice had the accent of a Fereldan, but was highly educated. If he was a mage, perhaps he had been at the Tower….

The mage watched as the thoughts crossed Loghain’s mind. Although Loghain was very good at concealing his emotions, the sheer shock of what he now faced allowed some of those thoughts to be revealed in his eyes, upon the stoic features of his face. “You wonder how it is that I have come about, now, do you not?” There was something about his sentence structure that struck the Teryn odd. Almost Orlesian in quality, but not quite. Riviani? No. The man before him was too fair to have a parent from that country.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing with a flourish. “My name is Arawn Amell, formerly a mage from the Circle Tower here in Fereldan.” His smile took on a decidedly less friendly twist. “My father, King Maric, met my mother here, at the palace.” He turned away, not watching the other man’s face as he spoke. “She was a diplomat from Navarra, of one of the noble houses. I believe that Queen Rowan was heavy with child at that time.” He turned back, obviously pleased by the slight look of anger that was now upon Loghain’s face. “One thing led to another, and, as they say, here I am.” He now frowned. “My mother was bringing me here, to meet my dear father, when I was of age and had a resemblance to the young prince. Foolish Templars stopped us and the rest is history.” He strode forward, eyes flashing. “I managed to escape the tower some years ago, and have managed to do quite well for myself.”

“What do you want?” Loghain growled out.

Arawn turned, smiling. “Why, merely my birthright, of course.”

“Mages cannot inherit,” Loghain pointed out, a bit smugly.

The mage merely shrugged. “Oh, so true. So, very, very true. But, as you are well aware from your time battling the Orlesians,” he stepped forward, raising a hand, “there are ways around everything.”

Loghain’s eyes narrowed. Howe obviously had some part in this. As did Cauthrien. “Where is my daughter?” he dared ask, concern for her well being rising in him.

“Ah,” Arawn turned away, picking a grape from the food tray. “The beautiful queen is well,” he looked up as he popped the fruit into his mouth. “For now. She has been proving difficult, and is only restrained with she receives visits from you.” His eyes hardened, the smile was gone.

No memories of visiting Anora came to him, and Loghain knew a moment of despair at that. Arawn smiled at that. “Ah, no doubt you have no memories.” he shrugged as though it was no matter. “That is of no consequence. Needless to say, if you do not keep your strength up, your visits to your daughter will cease. And, then,” he stepped forward, purpose in every stride, “the more difficult she becomes, the less we have need of her.”

His back straightened. “You cannot kill the queen of Fereldan!” he scoffed, not backing down and allowing this impudent upstart to unbalance him.

Arawn stepped forward, standing fully an inch taller than the warrior. “You and I both know that she is deeply in mourning for her husband,” he said quietly, menace within each word. “That she could become so distraught that…things, unpleasant things, could well happen.” He turned away, unafraid to turn his back to the man whose daughter he had just threatened. “How could we have known that, in her grief, she sought to join him beyond the Fade?”

Now standing beside the table, Arawn’s chilling gaze held Loghain’s eyes. “All you have to do is make certain you retain your strength,” he indicted the food. Then, with a narrowing of red eyes, he stepped forward. “I have other means to make you comply, Loghain.” he nearly spat the Teryn’s name. “Far less pleasant means, which I am certain you are aware of.” He stood, watching as the other man digested that information. By use of blood magic. The mage did not need to say it. The threat was clear.

Blue eyes settled on the food tray. He had suspected Howe and Cauthrien had been poisoning him, and that was why he had so few memories of what had happened since before Ostagar. Now, this bastard of Maric had all but said so. If Loghain complied, what harm was he doing to Fereldan? His gaze shifted away, to the barred window. If he did not comply, his daughter would be dead. Turning back to the blood mage, he knew there was no doubt of that. With Howe now installed as Teryn of Highever (his eyes closed at the thought of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland dead), he would well be the next option for the throne. He opened his eyes, fixing them upon the tray.

So, why did they need to keep Anora alive? Loghain needed time to figure it out. But, if he ate the tainted food, drank the poisoned wine, how long before his next bout of lucidity?

Many minutes of silence reigned. Heavy lids closed over icy eyes. He needed more time, but it was not in the offering at this moment. Perhaps later…patience, it would seem, would be the order for now.

Nodding once in resignation, the man stepped to the table, picked up the goblet of wine, and drank it down.

DA:O

Having been able to garner a couple hours of rest, a quick meal and even quicker sponge bath, Adela and her companions found themselves by the mill, facing the castle. Alistair stood oddly silent as Bann Teagan outlined what he had in mind.

“I most likely should have mentioned it earlier,” he conceded after telling Adela of the tunnels the led under the lake to the lower basements of the castle. “However, I had been unsure at that time if you would still assist the village.” He frowned, bowing deeply at the waist. “I apologize for judging so ill of you, my lady.”

Her eyes on the castle, the elf merely nodded. “I can understand your decision, Teagan,” she shifted her gaze to meet his. “Although personally I probably should be insulted,” she said this with a grin, taking the sting from her words. “The village needed to be saved.”

Rising from his bow, the Bann responded, “I thank you, dear lady. You are far more gracious than some would be.” His eyes lifted, squinting. “Maker’s Breath!” he exclaimed, pointing behind the group.

As one, the party turned, watching as a well dressed woman of mid-years skipped towards them, followed closely by one of Ser Perth’s men. Adela noticed that Alistair’s face tensed up and he looked away from the woman as she approached. Frowning, Adela watched the woman as she hurried to Teagan’s side.

“Teagan!” the noblewoman exclaimed, her heavy Orlesian accent pitched in a high whine grating to the elf’s ears. “Thank the Marker you yet live!”

“Isolde?” Teagan turned, taking her hands in his. “What? How is that you survived? Where is Eamon? How…?”

“We have no time for this, Teagan,” the way she carried out the Bann’s name was annoying as well. Where Leliana’s Orlesian accent was rather sweet and delicate, this woman’s was just grating. Shaking her head, Adela stepped forward.

“What is happening at the castle?” she asked, not bothering with introductions. The less the Orlesian noblewoman spoke, the better.

“What?” the human turned, briefly looking Adela over and then dismissing her in one glance. She turned back to Teagan. “Who is this…woman?” she asked of the Bann.

It was Alistair who replied. “You remember me, Lady Isolde.” The tired resignation that resounded from his voice almost broke Adela’s heart.

Isolde turned, glaring at the young man. “Alistair? Of all the…what are you doing here?” her tone of voice was imperious, haughty, as though speaking with the young man was beneath her. Adela bristled; showing an elf disdain was one thing the young elven woman was used to; but to so dismiss Alistair? She decided she liked this Orlesian even less.

“Isolde,” the Bann wisely drew the Arlessa’s attention back to him, sparing Alistair any further disdain. “Alistair is now a Grey Warden, and this,” he indicated Adela with a gentle wave of his hand, “is the Commander of the Grey within Fereldan.”

The Arlessa turned her eyes back to the elf, obviously not impressed with what she saw. To Adela it did not matter; she had no intention of trying to impress an Orlesian noblewoman of anything. Meeting the human woman’s eyes, Adela allowed her gaze to harden. The human woman seemed slightly nonplussed that an elf would look so boldly into her eyes. She broke the gaze first, bowing her head slightly. “I apologize,” she said quietly, “I do not mean to be rude, but,” here she turned back to Teagan, “I…I need you to return with me to the castle, Teagan.” She paused. “Alone.”

“No,” Adela said in a clear, firm voice. Both human nobles turned to her. “That is out of the question.”

“I beg your pardon!” Isolde sputtered, “Who are you to make such a decision?”

“I am the Commander of the Grey,” Adela spoke up. “And we,” she indicated her companions with a back sweep of her hand, “are the people who just saved your village from an onslaught of hungry undead.” her blue eyes narrowed at this. “You have given no sign of concern whatsoever for the villagers and their fates. And, now you want us to just blithely let you take the Bann to the castle? The same castle that all of those monsters came from?” She shook her blond head, her arms crossing her chest. “Not without an explanation.”

“I…I…” she turned to Teagan, who had been watching Adela with interest as she spoke. “I don’t know what to say. There is an…evil within the castle, Teagan,” she turned, pouting her full lips at him. “It keeps Eamon alive, allows Connor and myself to live, but I don’t know why. I fear for Connor’s safety.” She wrung her delicate hands in front of her, obviously playing up being helpless and weak.

Adela found she couldn’t listen. The Orlesian’s accent was giving her a headache, and she could tell Alistair was greatly uncomfortable in the woman’s presence. While Isolde and Teagan discussed his going to back to the castle, she turned, placing a hand on her fellow warden’s arm. He managed a weak smile at her that did not reach his eyes. Frowning, she turned back at the lull in the conversation between the two nobles.

“Lady Isolde,” Adela caught the human’s attention. “What, exactly, is this evil you spoke of?”

The noblewoman shrugged slightly. “I do not know,” she admitted. “A…presence? Something the mage unleashed!” she declared.

“Mage?” she hadn’t mentioned that before. “What mage?”

“One of the staff, an…infiltrator. He apparently had poisoned Eamon.”

“Eamon’s been poisoned?” Teagan nearly shouted, “Why didn’t you mention this before, Isolde?” he demanded, grasping her arms and turning her about.

The woman seemed on the verge of tears, “I am unsure of what is safe to say, Teagan! Please, I need your help! For Connor’s sake! If the…thing in the castle thinks I am betraying it, it could harm Connor!” Now she was reduced to tears, her hands covering her face. “You must return with me alone.” she whimpered.

Teagan, his patience clearly at an end with the woman, gently patted her shoulder, telling her that he would return with her and told her to wait by the gates for him. He turned to Adela’s displeased expression.

“It may well be a trap, my friend,” he conceded, “but this is my family we are talking about. However,” he pulled a ring from his finger. “The tunnel I spoke of has its entrance here,” he waved toward the mill, “in the cellar of the mill. This signet ring,” he placed this into Adela’s hands, “will open the door.” He closed his hands over Adela’s much smaller ones, tugging them gently. “Please, my friend. If there is anyway to save whoever is left at the castle, I fear it may well be only you who can do so.”

Staring at their hands, feeling the warm metal clutched between her fingers, the elf nodded, raising her head. “Very well Teagan,” she agreed. “We will get into the castle.” She looked around to where Ser Perth and his knights stood. “Maybe once we are inside Ser Perth and his knights can get in as well.”

“My thanks, dear Lady,” he raised one hand and brushed her knuckles lightly to his lips, and then left to follow after the Arlessa.

Frowning heavily, not liking the possibility that they were all walking into a trap, the elf sighed, turning to look at her companions. With a heavy sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she led them into the mill to search out the tunnel entrance.

DA:O

The mill, having long ago been abandoned of its purpose, smelled of old and dusty grain. Brushing aside loose bales of hay and dry grains, the group found the trap door that would lead to the cellars. Adela went down the ladder first, watching with careful eyes as her more heavily armored companions made their careful and cautious way down the ladder as well. Brushing aside cob webs, the elf led her band through the room, to a stone wall encasing a heavy door. The door unlocked once the signet ring was placed within the locking mechanism and twisted around once. It took Alistair and the Sten to push the door open, revealing a webbed and dusty corridor, leading out under the lake’s waterbed.

The air in the corridor was humid and oppressive. It dipped down for many yards. The tunnel was well crafted; although there was a dampness to the walls, there was no trickling of water (which did much to ease the elf’s nerves), no obvious structural flaws that would indicate that the lake above them would come rushing down, crushing them beneath its weight. Still, the walls felt too close for the elf, and she remembered her mother once telling her that the Elvhenan were not meant for enclosures, but were born and bred to run free without confines. There was obviously a great deal of truth to her mother’s words.

After a silly remark by Alistair about having locked himself in a cage as a young child (Roland laughed out loud at that one while Morrigan scoffed at his intelligence), the group passed through a second door, encountering several more of the walking dead. Morrigan cast a quick ice spell, freezing several of them in place as the Sten smashed one to pieces with his great sword. Alistair and Roland bashed two others, felling those without the need of their swords. Despite the corridor being narrow, Leliana and Adela were able to effectively shoot down several of them before they could make it to the rest of their party.

“Maker, I hate those things!” Adela ranted as she replaced her bow to her shoulder.

Chuckling, Alistair nudged her, “Yes, they’re not really the cute and cuddly kinds of monsters, now, are they?”

Scowling at him, she led the group further down the corridor.

They passed through several doors, and fought off more of the undead. At the last door, they found a young man locked in a cell. After a discussion it was revealed that this young man was the mage that Isolde had mentioned. He admitted to being a blood mage and that Lady Isolde had hired him to help teach Connor magic in secrecy. Also revealed was that he had, upon a direct order of Loghain (Adela‘s heart almost stopped at this, for the young mage told of a meeting with the Teryn), poisoned the Arl, Adela made the decision to leave the mage caged in his cell for the time being. Morrigan disagreed wholeheartedly with that decision, but Adela made it clear that the decision had not been put to a vote. With a curt nod to the mage, the elf led the group from the cellars and up into the castle.

The stairwell opened into a small room in which were piled crates and sacks. An investigation of these produced mundane items such as parchments, cloth and other non-essentials.

Alistair pushed open the door, and found that it opened to a hallway. He frowned, as he could not recall where this hall led to. With a backward glance, the Warden stepped from the room, followed closely by his fellow Warden and their companions.

They had entered a great chamber that apparently was the castle’s chantry. Pews lined both sides of the room, and a dais with podium stood at the front wall. Adela, leading the way, looked around, eyes settling upon the rear door. With a shrug, she turned to leave the chamber when a group of four shades - demon like creatures without true form or substance - materialized in their midst.

Adela’s bow was useless with the shades so close. She unsheathed her daggers, and ducked beneath the sweeping claws of the demonic creatures. Dancing aside, she rounded behind one monster, sweeping out with both daggers, cutting into the smoke-like hide of the spirit. A low growl emitted from a non-existent mouth, and it spun quickly, swinging out and clubbing the elf on her shoulder. Grimacing, she skittered back, bringing a dagger up to block a blow while diving her other blade low and out, sinking into where its abdomen would be. Another growl, higher pitched this time, betrayed the pain she delivered it. Dancing around, ducking down, the elf spun and clipped her blades out, slicing into it, carving small bits of it away as she sought to drive it down. Another claw raked out, slicing a gash across her collarbone. Blood dripped from the wound, and she bit back a cry of pain as she stumbled away from it. The pain eased as she felt the warming power of Wynne’s healing spell pour over her.

Alistair saw, from the corner of his eye, the shade swipe out and connect with Adela. Roland stepped forward, bashing his shield into the face of the shade he and Alistair had been battling. As Roland’s sword dug into the main part of its form, Alistair turned, stepping behind Adela’s adversary, swinging his blade, slicing through its neck. With a gurgling sigh, the shade dissipated into nothingness. With a small smile to the elf, the human Warden turned back to his original adversary.

The Sten’s greatsword cleaved downward, slicing into his adversary’s shoulder and through its chest. A chill went up his blade and through his gauntlets. With a war cry in his native tongue, the giant Qunari yanked his blade back and out from the misty form, giving a mighty swing to slice into its side, his great strength giving the swing momentum to continue through its side and chest, and out its other side. A crackling sound, like the crackling of a great glacial monument, resounded in the room and the shade vanished into an icy swirl.

Alistair and Roland continued to bash and slash at their opponent, a giant of a shade that would have towered over their Qunari companion. As one warrior bashed his shield into it, the other would swing his sword, cutting into its body. Neither found easy strikes, however, as icy tendrils of weakness would seep into their bodies whenever the shade garnered a strike upon one of them. A warm, tingling sensation flowed through their extremities, and both warriors knew that Wynne had cast a rejuvenating spell upon each of them. Revitalized, the pair continued to bash and hack at the monstrosity. Words of power spilled from Morrigan’s lips, and she cast weakness spells and hexes at the beast, aware that any of her ice spells would most likely revitalize the demon rather than cause it any harm.

The Sten faced off against the fourth shade, this one crackling with lightening and standing as tall as the Qunari himself. The giant warrior growled out to his opponent, sweeping his great blade across, seeking to slice the thing’s head from its broad shoulders. This one was more agile than its fellows, and swept backwards with ease. The giant’s blade only cut through air.

Adela, noting the Sten’s frustration with his adversary, stepped behind the monster, sweeping into the shadows from its own body. The spark of electricity coursed through her, and she gasped as it rushed through her blood. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward, toward the electrically charged body, driving both blades point first in front of her. With a snarl, she penetrated the tough hide, twisting her grip, and then ripping the blades out its sides. The shade bucked backwards, knocking her from her feet and onto her back. The shade spun to lash out at the fallen elf; the Sten took advantage of its distraction, swinging his blade out and around, decapitating the fiend. Lightening crackled, and the form vanished.

As the Sten’s foe fell, so, too did the shade Roland and Alistair battled. They bent at the waist, catching their breath, as the Sten bent down to lend a hand to Adela and offer her a hand up. Offering the giant a smile, she gratefully accepted his help, and stood upon unsteady feet. There was no sign of any of the shades they had just defeated.

They passed through a corridor, checking each room they passed for more undead or demonic creatures. Battling and prevailing against one particularly tough group in a small dining alcove, and then finding it necessary to put down several rabid mabari, the group came upon a frightened young woman who introduced herself as Valena. Adela recognized her as the smith’s daughter. Frowning, she glanced back the way they came. She was certain they had eradicated all of the creatures on their way through, but she was not willing to entrust this young woman’s life with that. With a sigh, she ordered the Sten and Morrigan to escort her back to the village, with orders that they then meet up with Ser Perth and his knights. Each bestowing the elf with a heavy scowl, the pair left with the frightened girl.

Two short, the group entered the kitchen area. There they battled several undead, but the battle did not take long as these undead seemed weaker than others encountered. The door to the main hall was locked, and neither Leliana nor Adela could pick the lock. The women frowned at one another, offering to each a shrug. It wasn’t often when they encountered a lock neither of them could penetrate.

Okay then…Adela stood, casting her eyes to the door she knew entered the kitchen itself. She then looked over her companions. Everyone was tired and sporting more than a few wounds from their previous encounters. Having to take the long way around to the main chamber just wasn’t something she wanted to subject them all to. She glanced back at the offending lock. Telling everyone to be prepared, as she was certain they would encounter more undead, she went to the kitchen door and flung it open.

A steady stream of arrows erupted from Leliana’s bow as the elf swung to the back of the advancing group, pulling down her own weapon and swiftly notching an arrow, sending forth her own stream of missiles.

Alistair raced to the center of the undead hoard that greeted them in the kitchens, deftly knocking aside any of the reaching claws with blade and shield. With his war cry “For the Grey Wardens!” he pulled back and then slammed his shield into the face of one near perfectly preserved corpse, sending it flying back and into the cold fire pit. He then swung out his sword, slicing fingers and arms from those undead reaching for him. He almost smiled as Wynne’s rejuvenating spell swept over him, warming his joints and muscles.

Roland ducked the swipe of poisonous claws as a near skeletal corpse rounded on his, teeth gnashing and claws grasping. Pulling away, he spun low, swinging his sword out, cutting the creature’s legs out from under it. As it toppled to the ground, he stood, sending his sword down like a pendulum, swiping the thing’s head from its shoulders. Fully aware of where his fellow swordsman was (ahead of him) he straightened, swinging his sword out wide from him, keeping his shield close, as he spun, slicing easily into necks and chests of those creatures surrounding him. An arrow lodged into the eye of a corpse rising behind the young knight, staggering it back. With a quick jab to its heart, and a second and third arrow driving into its face, the thing fell over dead. The young man turned to give Adela an appreciative smile as she notched an arrow to dispatch the final standing dead.

The kitchen opened to a larder, and from there led to the pantry and cellars below. Alistair explained that the cellars would open up into the main courtyard and, there, they could open the main gates to allow Ser Perth and his men (hopefully, along with the Sten and Morrigan) entry. With a nod, the elf led the group from the larder, down into the pantry, and then out the cellar, into the courtyard.

The main gate was, indeed, closed. Adela could see Ser Perth and his knights - a half dozen - along with their errant witch and Qunari warrior. She rushed to the lever that would unlock the gates and allow the knights to push the portcullis upwards. Alistair and Roland were already engaged with skeletons that had seemingly sprung from the ground. Ser Perth’s group rushed in and, as the elf turned, she spied from the corner of her eye a heavily armored, towering form of an undead warrior. A revenant. The warden’s group had encountered one at the Circle Tower, and that one had been difficult to defeat. This one appeared taller, stronger, and wielding a heavy two handed sword. She heard a shout from the Sten as the huge warrior surged forward to engage his own heavy sword against the undead knight’s. With spell and blade the revenant fought against the Qunari warrior. Adela, seeing that her companions and the knights were handling the other undead with ease, shot arrows enchanted with fire at the undead knight, sending it stumbling back when she hit a particular spot on its armor. The Sten’s blade would then cut down, grinding across the blacked metal of its armor, catching along a seem and tearing it apart. A fire arrow would then find home in the rent, injuring the creature further.

Leliana’s stream of arrows took out each of the half dozen skeletal archers from atop the stairway. The warriors efficiently took care of the shambling corpses and fast moving undead while the mages either healed, rejuvenated or otherwise provided magical back up to keep the warriors on their feet. The Orlesian turned and saw the monstrosity that the Sten and Adela were battling. Noting that the elven archer used her fire arrows, the Orlesian pulled hers free. Moving to a position nearer Adela, she carefully notched an arrow and let it fly.

Wynne sent healing and rejuvenating spells over the tiring, and heavily wounded, Qunari. Roland and Alistair rushed to add their blades to bringing the thing down. Morrigan stepped back, sending an icy covering over the revenant, slowing it down somewhat. Now, with the addition of more arrows, blades and spells, the undead knight fell in a clattering heap.

Regrouping with Ser Perth and his knights, the band wearily walked up the great stone steps and entered the castle.

The first thing they noticed upon re-entering the castle was that this part did not stink of death as much as the kitchen areas had, but had a stronger sense of wrongness to it. The main entry opened into the main hall, where the rulers of Redcliffe would meet dignitaries and other guests. Ahead, at the back of the room, stood a grand fireplace, in front of which, upon a small dais, stood a small throne like chair. And, seated upon that chair, flanked by a weeping Isolde and a ridiculously cavorting Teagan was a young boy, of perhaps ten winters, dirty, disheveled, and with a decidedly cat-that-ate-the-mouse look upon his too young face. Behind them stood several corpses dressed in house guard armor.

Adela and Ser Perth walked in, side by side. Alistair walked directly behind her, followed closely by their other companions. Ser Perth’s knights took up positions along the walls, their weapons in hand. The young boy’s brown eyes followed their progress before him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Isolde’s sobs quieted, and she looked upon the group with hope gleaming from her eyes. Teagan’s demeanor reminded the elf of a court jester in both mannerism and speech. She turned her attention back to the child, who seemed to be the puppet master, if his superior smile held any clue.

“Maker’s Breath!” Ser Perth swore, staring at the still corpses that lined the wall along the fire pit. “What happened here?” the question really did not beg an answer.

“Mother,” the young boy - Connor - called to get his mother’s attention, “who is it, Mother?” his eyes squinted at the group before him. “I can’t see it very well.”

“This,” Isolde said, her voice weak, “this is an elf, Connor.” she waved a hand in Adela’s direction. “We have them here at the castle.”

“An elf! An elf!” Teagan exclaimed, rolling his eyes at the Wardens, a stupid grin on his face. Adela winced, feeling pity for the noble man.

“Quiet, Uncle!” Connor scolded, leaping from his perch and slapping his uncle across the face. “I’ve warned you about shouting, now, haven’t I?” Teagan cowered back, whispering “an elf”.

The boy turned his attention back to the group. “Now, now,” he peered forward, “I can see her clearly now.” his smile widened, almost impossibly so. “Hmmm…a pretty thing, isn’t she, Mother?” he turned his eyes to Isolde, “far prettier than you ever were.” He looked back to Adela, who was watching him with great interest. “Perhaps you should order her flogged, eh, Mother. For being prettier, and younger, and probably even nicer than you,” he jumped up and down, clapping. “Yes, yes! A good flogging would help to keep me entertained.” Behind her, both Alistair and Roland stiffened; she kept her eyes on the boy. “What say you, elf?” he turned back to Adela. “Did you come here to keep me entertained?” he asked almost hopefully. “These,” his wave encompassed his mother, uncle and the dead along the walls, “are just so boring.”

“I’m here to see Arl Eamon,” Adela replied in an even voice.

A downtrodden “Oh,” answered that comment, and the boy hung his head as though truly upset, “but Father is so very ill.” His smile brightened. “But She keeps him alive. All for just a small price, a small price indeed.”

Here Morrigan stepped to Adela, “The boy has made a bargain with a demon,” she advised, her yellow eyes firmly upon the boy before the. “’Twill not end well, certain of that I am,” she looked at the elf briefly, allowing Adela to see how serious she was. The elf nodded.

“I think that perhaps we really should be speaking with Connor,” Adela said, keeping her voice calm and level, although she really was not certain of the outcome here. Morrigan’s very tone, remembering what happened at the Tower, all spoke that this child would soon be dead.

“No!” the demon in boy guise shouted, cutting the air with both hands. “I crave excitement! I want to experience the world! Rule as I should!” his eyes narrowed, and Adela was certain she saw a glow therein. “This woman ruined it all! You will pay!” With those words, the boy rushed off through a side door. The dead along the wall started to move toward them, their weapons and shields rising, Bann Teagan grasped his own sword and shield and, with a great cry, rushed toward the group.

Adela, noting that Isolde cowered on the floor, twisted away from the Bann as Roland’s shield came forward to knock him down. With a “don’t kill him” tossed to the knight, the elf rushed to the Arlessa’s side.

Whatever her personal feelings for the woman - whether due to her treatment of Alistair as a child or because she was an Orlesian - the elf would not allow her to be harmed. Grasping the larger woman’s upper arm, the elf pulled her away, pushing her into a nearby closet. “Remain here, Lady Isolde,” she said as reassuringly as she could and shut the door, turning just in time to see the sword of one of the dead guard’s descend toward her head. With a gasp, she ducked down, dropping to the floor and rolling away.

As she rose, she pulled her daggers from their sheaths at her hips, spinning around with her blades raised, crossed, to catch the longsword at the junction. Twisting her wrists, bringing the blades down, she managed to twist the blade free of the dead hand that wielded it. As the sword dropped to the ground, the elf pulled back, dipping low, then rising to drive both blades into the creature’s chest. She twisted the blades, and yanked them back and out, stepping back. Disgust formed on her face at the sight of the black ichor that oozed from the wounds.

The undead guard stumbled, managing to swing its shield up, aiming for the elf’s head. The edge of the shield grazed the top of her head as she ducked beneath, grimacing in pain. She ducked lower, driving a dagger into the back of a knee, skating backwards and away as the walking corpse fell to the floor. She rose unsteadily, staggering slightly. The dead man on the floor twisted and wobbled, rather like a turtle on its back. Kneeling, the elf drove her blades deeply into its skull, and its thrashing stilled.

Bann Teagan lay on the floor, unconscious. Seeing that her companions had the other undead nearly defeated, the elf rushed to the human’s side, kneeling down, a dagger held at the ready. As the Sten’s sword chopped the final undead handily in half, the Bann’s eyes fluttered open. A frown on his face, he groaned, raising a hand to his eyes. Smirking slightly, hoping the man did not have memories of how like a puppet Connor had played him, she lent him a hand in rising.

Nodding his gratitude, the Bann’s eyes scanned the area. Lady Isolde had left the security of the closet once she heard the sounds of battle had ceased.

Upon close questioning, Lady Isolde acknowledged that she had hired the blood mage currently held in the dungeons below to teach Connor magic in secrecy. When the Arl had fallen ill, that was when strange things had happened. “We thought the mage had summoned the demon and the undead,” she sniffed, “but he would not do anything to stop it!”

“Where is this mage now, Isolde?” Teagan, his tone firm and disapproving asked.

“We left him in the dungeons,” Adela offered, frowning deeply at the Arlessa, wondering how many people had died because of her fear for her son. How many other mothers’ sons had died?

Teagan had volunteered to fetch the mage. Morrigan and Wynne had come closer to the group, and offered their advice on what needed to be done. The Sten stood silently as they all heard the mages advise that the only course of action they were aware of - and that could be accomplished with the group as it was - was to kill the boy. Adela blanched at that thought, and Alistair looked like he was going to be physically ill. Worrying her bottom lip with pearly teeth, the elf turned her attention to Teagan and the man he held firmly by the arm.

“Jowan,” Isolde hissed at the mage. “This is all your fault!” she launched herself at the man, her hands extended like claws. Teagan caught hold of her and pulled her behind him.

“I am sorry, Lady Isolde,” the young mage apologized, looking contrite. “I am responsible for poisoning the Arl,” he admitted, “but I had nothing to do with the demon and the undead.”

“How can we be certain of that?” Adela asked, keeping her voice calm, ignoring the sobs that shuddered through the Orlesian noblewoman.

“I think that Connor may have had something to do with that,” the blood mage offered, flinching at the look of utter hatred Isolde shot him. “If I had been the one to call upon it, it most likely would have taken hold of me, and not the boy.”

A glance back to the mages, seeing them both nod in acknowledgment, Adela turned back to the others. “So, is killing the boy the only option we have of stopping all of this?” she asked, cringing at her own words.

“No,” Jowan offered, slightly hopeful. “We can send a mage into the Fade to confront it.”

“We don’t have the mages or lyrium for that, Jowan,” Wynne scolded, disappointed clearly evident in her voice. Jowan flinched; apparently he had known Wynne at the Tower.

“True, but I have…blood magic,” he ducked his head down, expecting the verbal assault from his former tutor.

No one was thrilled with that idea, but Adela needed to know. “What, exactly, does that entail, Jowan?” she looked at him in the eye, watching as the young man turned to her.

“Lyrium can power a mage to enter the Fade. It takes quite a lot of it, but it can be done. Since we don’t have lyrium, the only other power source would be blood.” He frowned, his hands crossing behind his back. “Blood is actually a far more powerful source for magic. However,” he stopped and turned, “in order to perform this particular ritual, it would take a lot of blood.” He stopped here, frowning, an almost frightened look crossing his face. “Actually, all of it.”

“You mean…” Teagan started, than stopped, trying to collect his thoughts. “You mean that someone must be sacrificed?”

Jowan nodded dejectedly. “I’m afraid so.” He lifted his head. “It’s not much of an option; I should not have said anything.”

Adela shook her head. “No. It is not an option. We will not sacrifice anyone else.”

Isolde, her sobs ceasing, stepped forward, more resolute than Adela had seen her yet. “If the mage needs blood to save my boy,” she stated, her voice firm, “then it shall be my blood.” she took a breath. “I shall be the sacrifice!”

“Isolde!” Teagan turned, pulling her back, “you can’t do this! Eamon would never…”

“It is my boy, Teagan,” Isolde turned and looked her brother-in-law in the eye. “I am his mother. I will do as I must to protect him.”

“We do have a willing sacrifice,” Morrigan began, frowning. “As distasteful as it may be, ‘tis the most likely option.”

“Blood magic?” Alistair rounded on the witch, anger in his eyes. “Blood magic is evil!”

“What is more evil, Alistair?” Adela’s quiet voice broke in, and the ex-templar turned to watch her with disbelief in his eyes. “The use of blood magic to allow a mother to protect her child, or killing a child for something he had no control over?”


Alistair seemed ready to yell at the elf, decry the use of blood magic, but whatever he was going to say never reached his lips. The look of profound sorrow was etched upon the elf’s face. And she was worrying that lip again.

“So it is decided,” Isolde said, her voice firm, strong. “I shall be the sacrifice.”

Adela shook her head. “No, Lady Isolde,” she turned back. “We will not be sacrificing anyone else over this.”

“But…” the Arlessa began, but the elf raised a hand to forestall any argument.

“The Tower has mages and lyrium,” she advised, relief rushing through her as she spoke the plan as it formed in her mind. “Alone, and traveling lightly, I can reach the Tower within a day.” She glanced at her friends, noticing both Roland and Alistair’s frowning faces. “I’ll leave my party here, to help contain Connor.”

Teagan, Isolde and Jowan were in agreement with that plan, the blood mage obviously relieved he would not be called upon to perform the ritual he obviously detested. Most of the group agreed as well, save for the knight and warden.

“You cannot go on alone, Adela,” Alistair admonished, pulling her aside and speaking low. Roland followed, his own words echoing Alistair’s.

“Look,” she turned to Alistair. “I need you here, Alistair. You are the one who will make the final decision in case…something goes wrong.” She looked him in the eye, seeing the uncertainly there. She placed a small hand on his arm. “I trust only you to make this decision, Alistair. You have your templar abilities to call upon in case the demon tries to reassert itself.” Understanding lit the young man’s face, but he still did not want her to go alone.

“I’ll take Hafter,” she relented.

“And I will go,” Roland advised. But Adela shook her head.

“You are still recovering…”

But the knight sputtered at that. “I’m recovered enough.”

“Your armor is too heavy.”

“I’ll wear leather, and carry only my blade.”

Adela’s blue eyes met green eyes, shining with determination. She watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. You can go too. But, remember, we’re traveling fast and light.” The knight nodded and stepped away to change his armor.

“Are you certain about this, Adela?” Alistair asked.

She nodded. “More than certain.” She smiled into his face. “Alistair, I meant it. You are the only one I truly trust to make the right decision, to make certain that every other option had been pursued before needing to do anything…unpleasant.” A small hand brushed against his cheek. “You have a vested interest in this family. And, you are kind hearted enough not to act first with a blade, but thoughtful enough to know when too much is enough.”

Amber eyes stared into the blues of his fellow Warden. No, his commander. He wanted to go with her, not be left behind to watch over the boy, to possibly have to order his death if the demon shows itself again. He knew Roland would watch over her and protect her, but it did not help because to Alistair, only he could properly watch over her and protect her. He would not, however, argue with her. She had made a decision, and it was the right one. With a nod, he bent down and kissed her lightly on one smooth cheek. “Be careful,” he whispered as he pulled away, and then went to gather the others to set up vigil.

Adela stepped into a nearby room and removed the studded armor she had acquired from Highever Castle and donned her mother’s Dalish set. Roland, outfitted in light leather, carrying only his longsword, was already waiting for her by the main doors.

Calling her massive war hound to her side, the elf gave the knight a nod. With his answering gesture, the pair stepped through the heavy double doors and left the castle.

[erynnar]

YAY! More wonderful story! Thanks Eva!

[SheilaD67]

Thanks, erynnar! You are awesome! I appreciate you're taking the time to read and give a shout out.

But, how come you're not playing DA:2? I'm not complaining, mind you, just curious...

[erynnar]

ROFL I have bronchitis and I haven't gotten my game yet. It was shipped but not arrived. *sniffles*

[SheilaD67]

erynnar wrote...

ROFL I have bronchitis and I haven't gotten my game yet. It was shipped but not arrived. *sniffles*

Oh, sweetie...I hope you're feeling better soon.  I feel your pain - I've had this awful flu for weeks now, and it won't go away.  Plus, I was one of those unfortunates that had the save/load/loop issue and, while I received my game on release date, was just able to start playing last night.

Get better sweetie...I think I'll post another chapter, just for you!