"Tavern or chantry first?" I ask as we reach the outer limits of Lothering.

"Chantry is closer," volunteers Morrigan.

"Chantry it is," decides Angel. We've passed a camp of refugees and are through the main gate when we're halted by a Templar.

"Move on if you can. Lothering's lost."

"Well, isn't he just a ray of sunshine?" I whisper to Angel who tries to supress a smile.

"Unless you plan to physically restrain us I suggest you move out of our way, fool," says Morrigan, stepping up to the Templar. He seems taken aback, though I'm really just guessing since he's wearing full Templar plate, including the helm. For all I know, he's a broody elf with glowing tattoos under there. He takes a step away from Morrigan. Smart man.

"I have no plans to stop you, nor does anyone else here, I wager. The Bann marched North with Teyrn Loghain, taking his army with him. Elder Miriam and Ser Bryant both are simply trying to evacuate as many people as possible. Excuse me," he says, stepping away and heading for a refugee trying to get his attention.

"Morrigan, must you threaten everyone we meet?" asks Angel, amusement in her voice. Morrigan seems to consider this for a moment.

"I suppose it's not a requirement, though it does seem to resolve matters more quickly." Angel gives her a look and she sighs. "Very well, I'll attempt to try your way." We make our way across the village to the doors of the chantry, only to be stopped once more.

"If you're seeking refuge in the chantry there's simply no room left," says the Templar.

"For the love of the Gods, do we look like refugees?" exclaims Morrigan.

"Well done giving Angel's way a try," I lean over and whisper to her. She glowers at me. Angel thanks him for his advice and we finally make it into the chantry.

"We are the only hope this village has against the darkspawn and we will not abandon them," comes a rather forceful voice from farther back in the chantry. I need no introduction to know this is Ser Bryant, commander of the Lothering Templars. If there's one thing I learned among the Templars it was how to spot the man that can give you kitchen duty. He looks up when he hears us approach, his gaze immediately honing in on Angel. Not that I can blame him. That's where my eyes rest most of the time as well.

"Yes, my lady? Who might you be?" Angel gives him a smile.

"You can call me Angel," she replies.

"I am Ser Bryant, commander of Lothering's remaining Templars, he says with a bow. "You don't seem like refugees. Are you one of Arl Eamon's knights?" She looks at him with amusement.

"Does Arl Eamon have many female knights?" He blushes faintly.

"None that I have seen, though by the look of you he should make an exception."

"It sounds as though you've seen many of his knights," she continues, pushing gently for information.

"Quite a few in recent days. Arl Eamon has fallen ill, and his knights are on a quest for the Sacred Urn filled with Andraste's ashes, said to cure any malady." He gives a disbelieving scoff. "He must be very ill if they chase miracles as the only cure." My heart drops to my stomach. Arl Eamon is ill? Can not a single thing go our way?

"Surely you don't mean to tell me that a man of faith such as yourself doesn't believe in miracles?" Angel says earnestly. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I know she's kidding, but he doesn't. He seems flustered.

"I-of course not, my lady. If you wish to know more about their, ahem, quest, one of the knights, Ser Donall, is here." My eyes immediately start scanning the chapel. I spot him to the right of us, struggling through a tome.

"Ser Donall? Is that you?" I call, breaking from the group and heading over to him. I hear Angel mumble some parting excuses before following. He looks around for who's calling his name and breaks into a grin when he sees me.

"Alistair? By the maker, how are you? I... I was certain you were dead!" he says, grasping me by the arm.

"Not yet, no thanks to Loghain," I reply bitterly. What can I say? Killing the king along with my entire order and then attempting to pin the murder on us has left me with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. "So, you're here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then?"

"I am indeed, though I fear we are chasing a fable."

"Speaking of chasing," says Angel from behind me, "shouldn't you be fleeing the darkspawn?" Ser Donall gives me a questioning look.

"Right, Ser Donall this is Angel, my fellow Grey Warden."

"Ah, a pleasure, Warden," he says. "My mission takes priority over the darkspawn and I had hoped to make use of this chantry's library. Alas, my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales."

"I was hoping to meet Arl Eamon, in fact," she says. "Is there any point in going to Redcliffe?"

"I wish I could answer that for you. He may be dead already, or perhaps his luck has changed in the weeks I have been gone. I don't know."

"We should go see what's happening in Redcliffe for ourselves," I chime in. "I believe that now more than ever." Angel still looks doubtful.

"If nothing else, I am certain you would be welcomed at Castle Redcliffe," adds Donall. "The arlessa is there, and she could tell you more than I could." I try to quiet the discomfort his words bring. Arlessa Isolde. The memory of a stern faced Orlesian instructing the cooks not to give me anything to eat, that I'm already too fat, enters my mind. I shake my head to push the recollection away.

"...once Ser Henric arrives," Ser Donall is saying. It seems I missed part of the conversation.

"This Ser Henric, would he be wearing the same armor as yours?" asks Morrigan.

"I... suppose so," he says. "Why?"

"He is dead. Here, I found this locket on him in the woods," she says, handing it over.

"When did you find that?" I ask in confusion. Last I checked we were all traveling together.

"When the two of you were dawdling behind," responds Morrigan.

"Why did you take his locket?" I ask suspiciously.

"Does it matter? It's now fulfilled a need. Don't question such things."

"Well, at any rate, with Ser Henric gone I need to return to Redcliffe. Thank you for your help, and perhaps I'll see you there." With a nod of his head, Ser Donall leaves the chantry. Wow. To say we got more news than I'd bargained for is an understatement.

"On to the tavern then," says Morrigan, turning and leading the way. Angel shrugs at me and follows, while I fall into step next to her.

"So, this Arl Eamon," she starts, curiously, "did he raise you?" Maker, this woman is smart.

"What? Of course not! Dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact." She's smiling now.

"Really? That must have been tough for them," she says with an even voice.

"Well, they were flying dogs you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians, to boot." She's laughing now and I feel rather pleased with myself.

"Uh-huh, raised by flying dogs were you?"

"Or did I dream all that? Funny the dreams you'll have when lying on the cold, hard ground, isn't it?" I continue to tease. "Are you having any strange dreams?" She glances at me with that wicked gleam in her eye.

"Only the ones where we're making mad love in my tent." I trip over my own feet and barely manage to stay upright, while she sports a satisfied grin. I've completely lost my train of thought. The only thing going through my head now is what she looks like under that armor... I look over to see her still smiling at me. She raises an eyebrow expectantly. Point, Cousland.

I suppose now would be the time to tell her the truth, to tell her I'm King Maric's bastard son, but... I think she might be starting to like me. And Maker knows I like her. I want her to like me for me, not for anything else. So I'll tell her the truth, mostly, and just leave out the part about Maric. I clear my throat.

"Invisible rocks, they're the worst," I say. I don't think she bought it. "How do I explain this? I'm a bastard." I see her eyes light up with mirth and quickly add, "And before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind." She gives me a disappointed look.

"You're no fun." Woman after my own heart. Or rather, I'm fairly certain I'm after hers.

"I know," I respond. "I'm often told I need to lighten up, stop being so serious." She rolls her eyes. "My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the chantry once I was old enough." I wonder if she'll let the story end there.

"But you blamed him then, I take it?" she asks. I should have known better. With all the questions she's always asking Angel is one of the most curious people I've ever known.

"I was young and resentful and not very pious," I start. She grins.

"I see some things never change," she says. I snort.

"You try living in a chantry for ten years and see how pious you end up. Anyway, of course I blamed him. I remember screaming at him like a little child... well I was a child, so I doubt he was surprised."

"Why did he send you away?" she asks. "If he'd held onto you for ten years what was the sudden change?"

"Arl Eamon married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king, since it was so soon after the war. But he loved her, so he did it anyway. The new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed."

"Were you raised as his son?" she asks. I can't hold back a short laugh.

"No, not at all. I slept in the stables on hay, not in the castle on silk sheets. At any rate, off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well, really. The arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me." Angel's eyes spark with fire.

"What an awful thing to do to a child!" she fumes. I smile a bit. It comforts me to see her being defensive of the child that I was.

"She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her."

"Well I blame her. Having an orphan shipped off because of her own insecurities is not the actions of a grown woman. It's the actions of a child. Did Eamon ever come to visit you?"

"He came by the monastery a few times. He even brought me the only thing I had of my mother's, an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. I was so mad that I threw it against the wall and it shattered. I hated it there, and blamed him for everything. He eventually stopped coming." My voice has gotten quieter while I speak. Angel touches my arm.

"You were young, Alistair."

"And raised by dogs," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. But maybe all young bastards act that way, I don't know. Anyway, that's really all there is to the story."

"Are the two of you quite finished?" asks Morrigan from just ahead of us, standing by the doors of the tavern. Angel quickens her step so she's in the lead once more, entering the tavern. The door's barely shut behind us when we're confronted by a group of armed soldiers. Loghain's soldiers.

"Well, look what we have here men. I think we've just been blessed," says the commander.

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a woman by the very description? And everyone said they hadn't seen her?" asks one of the soldiers behind him.

"It appears we were lied to," muses the commander.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble," says a new voice, a red headed sister stepping out of the crowd. "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

"They're more than that," spits the commander. "Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them." Instead of shrinking back and hiding as I would expect from a lay sister, she stands her ground, looking not very worried at all. Angel grins and pulls her daggers out.

"That's okay, Sister. It looks like he wants a fight, and I'm happy to oblige." I draw my sword and skewer the nearest soldier to me, while daggers go flying in two different directions. That's odd, normally Angel keep a hold of one... I glance up to see the sister retrieving her dagger from one of the fallen soldiers and Angel pressing her remaining dagger to the throat of the commander. I can see now why the sister wasn't worried.

"All right, you've won!" yells the commander. "We surrender." Angel laughs.

"Of course you surrender, you fool. I've got a dagger to your neck."

"Good, they've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now," says the sister.

"They would have shown us no mercy, and deserve none in return," says Angel, pressing her dagger forward just a bit so it bites into his skin. "But I will let them live this time. Take a message to Loghain," she tells the commander.

"W-what do you want to tell him?" he stammers.

"He'll pay for what he's done. We're coming for him," she says, pushing him away so he lands on his rump. He scrambles to his feet.

"I'll tell him. Right away. Now. Thank you!" he says, rushing for the door, his few remaining soldiers following quickly behind. Angel turns to watch them go with a satisfied smile. There's that vicious streak again.

"I apologize for interfering, but I couldn't just sit by and not help," comes the sister's voice from behind her. Angel turns to look at her with her arms crossed across her chest.

"So I see. Where does a sister learn to fight like that?"

"I wasn't born in the chantry, you know," she says with a touch of exasperation. "Many of us had more... colorful lives before we joined. I am Leliana, a lay sister of the chantry here in Lothering. Or, at least, I was." Angel's body language doesn't change.

"And is there something you wanted from me?" she asks impatiently.

"Those men said you're a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?" she asks. I had suspected she was Orlesian from her accent, but her pattern of speech confirms it. Wonderful. Orleasians. Yay. "I know after what happened you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along." Angel raises an eyebrow.

"Why so eager to come with us? You do realize darkspawn blood is very hard to get out of your clothes, right?" asks Angel.

"The Maker told me to," is Leliana's response.

"Right... I believe this is where I back away slowly," says Angel, taking a step back.

"I-I know that sounds... absolutely insane- but it's true! I had a dream... a vision!" protests Leliana.

"More crazy? I thought we were all full up," I say. Honestly, do we really need to add a chantry sister that sees visions to our roster of former Templar, current apostate, noblewoman out for vengeance, and dog smart enough not to talk?

"For once we are in agreement," says Morrigan. "Let's move along, shall we?"

"Wait! Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos... it will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do is the Maker's work. Let me help!" she pleads.

"I need more than prayers here, I'm afraid," says Angel gently.

"I can fight! You just saw me not a moment ago. And I can do more than that. As I said, I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but now... I will take it up again, gladly, if it is the Maker's will. Please let me help you." Angel sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Very well," she says, looking up. "I will not turn away help when it is offered."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought," says Morrigan.

"It must have been," I say to her. "After all, my fellow Grey Warden let you come along." I'm greeted by a glare. I do love provoking those.

"Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down," says Leliana.

"Right, well that puts us at one too many. Someone needs to go ahead and scout out a camp location," says Angel, turning to the rest of us.

"Why?" asks Leliana, confused. "Why can't there be five of us? Or even six?"

"Any more than five and the enemy will definitely hear us coming," I explain.

"And any less and we're easily overwhelmed," finishes Angel. "Matika, can you manage finding the site?" she asks the Mabari. Leliana gives her a strange look.

"Is she talking to that dog?" she asks.

"Right, the woman spouting visions thinks I'm weird," says Angel, apparently having gotten the affirmative from Matika. "He's a Mabari, he's as smart as you are, and thus far has proved himself more useful." She opens the door to lead us out and Matika trots off towards the opposite direction of town that we came in from.

"Okay Sister-" starts Angel, but Leliana cuts her off.

"Please, I'm leaving that life behind me. Just Leliana."

"Fine, Leliana, since you know the town best you'll take the lead. We've already been to the chantry, we've obviously visited the tavern, where next?" She pauses to think a moment.

"Elder Miriam. She's this way," says Leliana, leading the way with Angel by her side. That leaves me with Morrigan. Time for a bit of fun.

"So, let's talk about your mother, for a moment," I say to her.

"I'd rather talk about your mother," she responds without missing a beat.

"There's nothing to talk about. Besides, isn't your mother a scary witch who lives in the middle of a forest? Much more interesting."

"To you, perhaps. You would find the moss growing upon a stone interesting." Okay, not working. Change tactics. I'm nothing if not committed.

"You know what's more interesting than that? Apostates. Mages outside the Tower. That's illegal, you know." Morrigan doesn't even bother to look at me, she simply keeps her eyes trained on where Angel and Leliana are speaking with the Elder.

"You did not read that in a book somewhere, did you? I hope the small letters did not strain you overmuch." Angel's headed back for us. Guess it's another loss for me this time.

"Or we could not talk about your mother. That works for me," I say, and I swear I see an evil smile flit across the witch's face.

"Okay, we're going to gather some herbs in the woods to the north. The village needs poultices to help those fleeing the darkspawn," says Angel.

"Are we to solve every problem in the village personally? My, but the darkspawn will be impressed," says Morrigan snidely.

"No, we're going to help these people with what we can before we have to move on. Because it's the right thing to do," counters Angel before turning around and heading for the woods. She doesn't get far, however, before she's sidetracked. There's a man, more like a giant, standing in a cage, speaking in a language I can't understand. The cage is built so he has barely any room to move, and none to sit down in. He stares at Angel as she approaches.

"You aren't one of my captors. I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace," he says, his voice low and naturally menacing, but calm. Angel ignores his words and only stops when she is within arm's reach. I keep my hand on the hilt of my sword, just in case.

"What are you?" she asks.

"A prisoner," he says.

"That's not what I meant," says Angel.

"I'm in a cage, am I not? I've been placed here by the chantry."

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family," speaks up Leliana. "Even the children."

"That's horrible!" says Angel, though I notice that she doesn't step away from the cage. I take a step closer to her.

"I agree," answers the prisoner. "I am Sten of the Beresaad- the vanguard- of the qunari people." That would explain the size of him.

"I am Angel, pleased to meet you."

"You mock me," says Sten without much inflection. "Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands. Though it matters little now. I will die soon enough."

"This a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone," says Morrigan. I look at her like she's grown a second head.

"Mercy?" I say incredulously. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage," she continues.

"Yes, that's what I would have expected," I say, my mind back at ease.

"And I suggest you leave me to my fate," says Sten, seemingly content to have us go on our way and sit in silence once more. Angel doesn't budge.

"Are you guilty?" she asks.

"Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed? However I feel, whatever I've done, my life is forfeit now," responds Sten.

"If you feel guilty about the murders then why did you commit them?" Angel says. Maker's breath woman, could you at least not stand so close to the homicidal qunari as you continue to interrogate him? The expression on Sten's face changes for the first time, to one of disdain.

"Either you have an enviable memory or a pitiable life to know nothing of regret." Angel studies him for a moment.

"Are you interested in seeking atonement?" she asks.

"Death will be my atonement."

"There are other ways to redeem yourself," she says, continuing in a conversational tone. Sten's interest seems to be peaked. And by that I mean his eyes might be a tiny bit more focused.

"What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"You could help me defend the land against the blight," she says. It appears our group was in need of a homicidal qunari. How fortunate Angel was able to find one for us.

"The blight?" says Sten. We have his undivided attention now. "Are you a Grey Warden, then?" Angel nods.

"I am."

"Surprising. my people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill... though I suppose not every legend is true." Wow, it's a good thing Sten's around to keep me down to earth. I was actually feeling good about myself there for a second.

"The Reverend Mother might let him out if we tell her the Grey Warden's need his assistance," volunteers Leliana.

"No need," says Angel, fiddling with the lock. "I've got it." The lock pops open and Sten steps out of the cage and stretches.

"And so it is done. I will follow you into battle. In doing so I shall find my atonement."

"And what if I don't lead you to your atonement?" asks Angel.

"Then I will find it myself. May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere."

"Of course. Leliana, go catch up to Matika. We'll be following behind soon," directs Angel.

"Oh come on, can't you ever send Morrigan to camp?" I protest.

"Not unless you suddenly develop the ability to cast spells," she replies.

"Wonderful, we're done with Lothering. Can we move on now?" asks Morrigan. Angel gives her a look that says she's not fooled.

"We are not. Off to the woods for the herbs, then we can move on." We traipse off to the north, splitting up once we get there to make the task faster. I've gathered two or three plants when something else catches my eye. It's a rose. A beautiful, red rose, growing wild in this forest. A thing of wonder in a place filled with so much darkness. The darkspawn will be here soon, they'll trample this forest, this town, and all the people left in it. But this rose... this I can save. I pluck it and tuck it safely away in my pack.

"Draw your weapon," says a voice behind me, startling me severely. I turn to see Sten looming over me.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Your weapon. Draw it," he says.

"Why? Are we under attack?" I ask, looking around confused.

"I want to see what you can do," he says, crossing his arms. Okay, it seems he might be crazier than I thought.

"You want to fight me? Just like that?" I ask, rising to my feet.

"You are a Grey Warden. How are you going to face an archdemon if you cannot face me?"

"It is a mystery, I'll admit," I say, attempting to step around him. He blocks my way.

"I should let your weakness damn us all? Draw your sword, I'll try not to injure you permanently." Okay, that's about enough.

"I don't have to prove anything to you. Forget it," I say, pushing past him, bumping his shoulder with mine. Yes, he's a big scary qunari, but I'm a damn fine warrior myself. I don't answer to him.

"So you do have a spine," he says from behind me with-dare I say it?- grudging respect. I turn to look at him. He pushes past me, causing me to stumble. "Pity you don't use it."

"There you two are," says Angel, coming up the path with Morrigan behind her. "I think we've got all we need."

"Finally! Can we drop these off and finally be gone from this pitiful little town?" asks Morrigan. Angel grins.

"Yes Morrigan. We're done with Lothering. Off to camp."