Dawn had found the world once more. All around me dreams starting and ending all around me. Some so lost within themselves. It was like a unescapeable fire that licked at their toes. Fear, longing and happiness all mixing together in the cold dawn air. The tents were crowded together, barely enough room for me to sit between them. Where I sat didn't give me a good view of the rest of the camp, only Sam's tent. The children had slept well last night. Finally getting use to the torn earth that surrounded them. Beaten soft from those who passed by earlier. Before they had settled and marked the land as their's for the night. Tender from the water that they rested near.

Sadness. Pain from the past. Memories old with an even older anger clinging to them. Someone was hurting. Distant but not beyond my reach. It was time once more to help. For with the dawn came the hurt. People were safer in their dreams. Quiet and still. With the waking world brought back all the pain, all the memories and what might have been. It was strange to know how easily people found peace in their dreams. It scared me.

Broken, beaten. The pain was like a fire. Swollen, swelling. Sore from the cold. This hurt echoed the loudest.

I found myself by the healers. The wounded and sick. Every time the sun rose anew another sought the healers. Old women with blood stained hands. Ancient ways that they believed worked. But there was a young woman there. Her mind a blaze with new ideas. Books filled with new knowledge. Her knowledge worked more then the old crones.

I watched in silence as she worked. Pouring the soothing water for thirsty mouths. Breaking the bread for hungry bellies. It was morning, breakfast would be soon upon the camp.

The hurt came from a solider. Waiting, wondering where the lad went. Gone again? He laid on the cot with his eyes shut. Waiting for a friend to return. Maybe they would this time. Guards.

His face withered from a lifetime of hurt. Misfortune. Losing all that he held dear. The stubble was growing in, he wanted it gone again but no energy to do so. A burn scared his face. Fresh but months old. Save the boys. The memories were lightning in his ears. Scaring him, making the hurt worse.

"I can help." I whispered beside him.

He cracked his eyes open slowly. "Finally back?" He asked as he turned to face me.

His vision blurred. Distant. He didn't mind seeing me. Messy straw hair, eyes the color of a clear sky. He smiled. He hoped I had been someone else.

"Where are you from?" He turned back to look at the tent's ceiling. He didn't mind.

"Ferelden. You are hurting."

Weakly he shook his head. Talking drew so much energy. The wound one his side needed new wrappings. His thoughts were screaming.

Son be careful. I will be. Be back before dawn. Take the horse. He wasn't back then the whole village was in flames. Like a dragon had been descended upon them. Mages. Son lost. Found face down in the river below.

"You couldn't save him." He doesn't react. "He wouldn't have made it back before dawn. A girl lied to him. He was heartbroken."

"You don't know that." He said through gritted teeth.

He knew it was the truth. The boy, the son was in love. He planned to leave.

"I can make the pain stop."

I had sharped the blade nights ago. It wasn't used as offered as those begged me to use it. Too many to help. So much to take.

"What are you doing?" The voice is familiar. Days old. New. Startled, both of us look to the voice.

The blade is away. Hidden but I am not. How can he see me? Crimson robes. Gold trimmings. A kiss shared to confirm reality. It was him.

Familiar thoughts of the stranger echoed in my mind. He was thinking of me again. Lip chilled. The warmth had left some time ago. Thin with dirty leathers. He didn't like my clothes. Offerings. New clothes and a tent. He wanted to help me. Strange, stranger, strangest. What was his name? Cole. He remembered. Messy hair. He needed a hat.

His thoughts were suddenly in my head. Crisp, clear. They didn't echo into others. Like thunder as a storm rolled in. Thoughts that didn't bleed into other thoughts. They always did. Bleed next to an old one or into a new one. A scratch you can't get cause its in you. In the dry throat. On the top of your mouth.

"He's just chatting with a dead old man, Brutus." He waves the younger man away.

"Well if he's gonna chat you up, he can feed you too."

The bowl is wooden, warm. I feel the hunger stir in the soldier's belly. Brutus eyes me with suspicion. He knows I remember. He wants to leave but this is his friend. Won't leave cause some the strange boy showed up. The bowl slips into my hands. Warm.

Brutus snatches spare pillows from the empty cots. Used and in disuse. Gently he places them under the soldier's head. Easier to swallow.

"Thank you." The soldier whispers to Brutus. Prideful but so very thankful. "Tell that old fool Marcius he better see me off, any day now."

A smile breaks across Brutus' face. He was waiting for those words. Inspire. "Arthur, you aren't dying anytime soon. Too many stories you have left to tell me."

The words touched Arthur. Whispered a thousand times to so many friends. Heroes. Ancient words that always worked. Deep down, somewhere I can't go. Similar to words I will whisper. Not as sweet as my words. Inspire. Inspire. Hope.

"A world to change." Arthur replies. How often had Brutus whispered those words in his ears now? Everyday since the bandits attack. Almost week now.

"Feed him proper," Brutus said to me in a hard tone. No trust yet. Still unsure about me. "I'll grab Iris for you Arthur."

Off he wandered. That girl was never too far off. She liked Brutus. Liked how safe she felt near him. He was stronger then the river. I should make him forget me. I needed to be whispers to them again. A memory too old and out of place. It bothered me how Brutus remembered me.

The warmth in my hands were nice. Sweet. I liked the smell.

"Pass me the bowl." Arthur demanded as I sat on the ground beside him. More prideful now that Brutus was gone. "I can feed myself."

A quiet lie he had said since the first night. His arms were too sore, not stretched in over a week. He could barely move them in the first place.

"I'll help." He didn't protest. The healers had forced him to let them help as well. Arguments didn't help. Only made him grow tired.

The first spoonful was too much. Almost choking. Too thoughtful to say anything. He wanted it to be done. Soon enough it was proper size. Easier to chew and swallow. When he was done, he took my hand.

"Thank you."