The Dalish weren't what Kalya thought. She'd expected indifference, anger, maybe a reluctance to cooperate, especially with their own problems to keep them busy. After speaking with the sentry Mithra that first day, a new fear resurfaced, one long buried from childhood, that, although Kalya had a Dalish name, she was somehow not as Elvhen as they were.

Then the group had met Zathrian. Alistair convinced him of their true Grey Warden's business - without even having to drink darkspawn blood - and they were welcomed with quiet reverence.

It was then the Keeper spoke of the barriers to honoring their treaties. Satisfying as it was to witness Elissa's sneering anger at not immediately getting her way, it meant the group would need to conquer the horrifying werewolves they'd only survived once because the beasts retreated.

If the lead Warden's disdain towards the elves wasn't palpable enough, her declaration of plotting the group's next move, alone, from Zathrian's ornate guest tent drove it home. Kalya took wry solace that Zathrian seemed eager to return Elissa's contempt.

Blessedly leaderless and at an impasse for a couple days, the group found themselves without a mission for the first time in recent memory. Zev, Leliana, and Oghren quickly formed Team Kick-Back, rooted to the areas of camp reserved for socializing and eating.

Kalya… didn't do downtime well. Itchy with the need for momentum, she spent her time soaking up as much information from the elves as possible. A day or so in, and she'd already picked up some Elvhen curses, sheepishly turned down Dalish Wine offered by several well-meaning parties, and begun cataloguing in her mind all the problems she could assist with while Elissa hid with her maps.

Alistair surprised her. Upon waking that first morning, he had beelined from his tent to the Dalish sparring grounds with a singular intensity that clouded over his usually gentle demeanor like a stain. He trained until nightfall at a clip Kalya didn't think she could keep up with, even flush with energy as she was.

The second day was more of the same, with Alistair storming silently to the grass-flattened arena, breaking at midday to eat, and retiring to his tent at sundown after a rushed dinner and wash in the nearby stream, without so much as a word to anyone.

He began gathering quite the crowd - mostly young elves having, minutes before, burst into adulthood - as he sliced into enemy dummies with a severity Kalya had seen only in herself. It looked wrong on others. It looked especially wrong on him.

Another solid-wood mannequin thrown to the kindling pile, and Kalya lost an internal battle over whether to stick to her usual conflict-avoidance. As Zevran had rightfully stated back at the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, emotional exile was her preferred reaction to adversity; it wasn't everyone's.

With a heel of Dalish wheat bread and a warm sunflower soup, she took her chance when Alistair broke for lunch, appearing behind him and asking quietly if anything were the matter. He jerked a head up, mouth full of bread. Blowing crumbs everywhere, he breathed "…Nooo?" which set his gaggle of elven fans giggling. Which set him blushing.

The scene looked so Classic Alistair, Kalya wondered for a beat if she hadn't been mistaken. But not speaking to anyone? Not joining them by the fire at night? With a worried look, she nodded, hoping he would find solace in the vicious murder of several training dummies.

True to her word, Morrigan had set about gathering information on healing of a manner beyond her skill.

The witch had found discretion in one of Kalya's favorite Dalish to chat with - Lanaya, also a former city elf. Lanaya had been forced into servitude by the bandits who killed her family before the Dalish found her, which certainly explained why Mithra believed Kalya and Zevran needed emancipation while traveling with a band of mostly humans.

Among less-promising leads, Lanaya spoke of a Mad Hermit blood mage who lived nearby, warning that it wasn't safe to seek him alone. Morrigan nodded silently to Kalya, in unspoken agreement to question the mage privately the next time their Extra-Sulky Leader deigned to attempt the forest maze.

Speaking of the Angry One, Elissa's reading and plotting had only gotten them as far as an enchanted copse of trees, through which none of them had been able to pass after days of searching for weakness.

She emerged from her tent once a day, between the morning and midday meals, making her unwavering way to the outdoor larder. With an armful of cured meats and a large skin of water, she returned almost immediately, looking as eager to get back to her maps as she was to avoid speaking to anyone.

Only once did she stop along her way - blinking with bored curiosity and munching on a crunchy stick of meat as Leliana and Kalya crouched before the halla pen. A single halla stood outside the enclosure stomping its hooves and glancing about anxiously.

The master herder wrung her hands and looked up at the Warden.

"I fear she may have been bitten during the werewolf attack," the woman said. "I've tried speaking with her, but she's too agitated for me to understand."

"Poor dear," Leliana said, cautious hands held out for the halla to catch her scent. "It's all right, little one."

Kalya kept her eyes on the creature, sure her favorite warrior had only stopped because she hadn't noticed Kalya crouched down when she first approached.

After a beat, Elissa jerked a chin towards the halla. "Have you checked the hoof?"

The herder blinked, then shook her head. As she knelt beside the others, the animal permitted her to take its hoof in her hand.

"This blackness," she said. "I didn't even think to... Is it Thrush?"

Elissa shook her head. "Blight Hoof. Happened on father's farm one year."

"I've never seen an outbreak of Blight Hoof. How is it treated?"

"There's no cure. Separate it from the others, and check that it hasn't spread the moment you put it down."

"No!" the herder said. "There has to be something else we can try. I-I can ask the healer."

Elissa shrugged, and Kalya watched her jab another thin stick of meat into her mouth as she walked away.

:::

By midweek, Elissa emerged from her tent and ordered the group at breakfast to split in two. Kalya was assigned Zev and Oghren. The two former Crows shared a gulp at being separated from Morrigan, but they were promised sufficient potions. Plus, Kalya had a handful of relatively safe missions in mind from her interactions with the Dalish.

They solved a few minor social issues around camp, then ventured east to the alleged final resting place of an elf Zathrian promised was dead, but whose husband believed she was alive and turned werewolf.

Kalya didn't fancy fighting wolves while fractured from the full group, but it was that or bring peace to the elf. Elissa would never have allowed time for such a frivolous quest, and, were Kalya in the elf's place, she'd have wanted to know if Zathrian was lying, too. So they set off.

The three had the upper hand when attacking the werewolves who crowded the place the elf Danyla was last seen. The fight was over quickly. Zevran matched Oghren's berserker ferocity, and while they looted the pelts, the dwarf clapped Zev on the back, clearly impressed. Zev just smiled breathlessly.

Killing Danyla had been a difficult decision, but the werewolf had all but forced their hand. She would have attacked them if they'd refused, and they couldn't convince her there might ever be a cure to change her back to her former self. Zevran solemnly delivered the killing blow.

On the way back that evening, Kalya was carrying the body of a dead-or-close-to-it hunter, when the other group intercepted them just as they rounded the last bend outside camp.

Elissa stormed up to them, sneering towards the elf on Kalya's shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Meaning?" Zev asked, eyebrow quirked.

"Our goals are to get through the Sylvans or extract Witherfang's heart. Are you the clan's healing wagon now? Drop him."

"No!" Two voices sounded simultaneously.

Kalya's impertinent reply had left her lips unbidden, and for an instant, she regretted not thinking before she spoke. But when it registered that someone else had agreed, she peered behind Elissa to where the others were gaping.

Alistair stepped out, straightened tall.

"You know the elves are forbidden to leave camp. No one's coming for this man."

Elissa blinked slowly at her fellow Warden, as if he were a child. "A lot of people need our help, Alistair. Shall we retire to Highever and cart everyone down on their luck to the healer?"

Alistair's head was cocked, incredulous, as if seeing who she truly was for the first time. "This elf is someone's son, Elissa."

"A lot of sons and daughters will lose their lives if we deviate too far from our path." She exhaled deeply. It looked like it wasn't the first time they'd discussed this topic. "We must draw the line somewhere."

Nostrils flared, Alistair's jaw clenched. "So we just step over those who can be saved now? Sons? Nephews?"

Leliana gasped. The others shared glances, confused.

Elissa's eyes narrowed into dark lines. "What did you say?"

"What if a Warden had turned their back on Oren if he could have been saved?" He shook his head and added, "Elissa, we have to try."

The other warrior spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing as if lit by fire. "Duncan was at Highever when my family was slaughtered. Or don't you remember which fights your commander picked and chose?" She turned to Kalya. "Drop. The elf."

"Elissa." Kalya gulped, scarcely believing she was the role of Good Guard-Captain in this scenario. "The Dalish will honor the treaties if we help with their problem. This is part of the problem."

Poorly hidden restraint reverberated through Elissa, and for one wild, imagined moment, Kalya could see the woman lunging towards her and slitting the dying elf's throat so there would be no debate. Or perhaps it would be her throat Elissa lunged for...

Instead, Elissa fought to even her breathing, lip curled up in anger. When her shoulders stopped pulsating with fury, she stormed back to camp without saying a word.

:::

That evening, as Lanaya and Kalya spoke over dinner, the First excused herself to meet with a scout, leaving Kalya alone with her salad of roots and stalks.

Zevran approached with a smirk and two wooden cups in hand. He stepped wide over the wooden bench across from her.

"You really sure that's wise?" she asked, as he sat the frothing cup in front of her.

"Dawn Lotus Juice," he said. "The main ingredient in some of my most favorite herbalism recipes."

She lifted the cup and inhaled. Something about the earthy scent was familiar. "You know, last time we shared a drink, you finished it by beating the shit out of me."

Zev quirked an eyebrow.

"In a warehouse in Denerim? When you were teaching me to fight?"

He tipped his glass towards hers. "I assure you, the only high this concoction will bring is the intoxication of good health."

Kalya took a long pull, bracing for the bitterness that usually accompanied plant-based liquids. Instead, the frothing concoction tingled through her joints, warm and soothing. It was like drinking a super weak potion. Or a really strong tea.

"And it was the Pearl," Zev said, setting his cup on the table.

"Mm?" She took another sip.

"The last drink I brought you was at the Pearl. Though there was a pounding that night."

Kalya choked, nearly spitting the drink out.

Of course it had been the Pearl. After the Trials, every night was a blur of alcohol, bandages, and one-upping her fellow Crows inside training and out. She hadn't remembered sharing any particular drink with Zevran. The pounding, though, she remembered.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Zev, you're gonna give me whiplash."

"I promise to be gentle."

Kalya leveled a finger at him from where it grasped the warm mug. "Exactly what I'm talking about."

Inhale. Exhale. Fuck, she'd stood up to Elissa today and lived to tell the tale. Maybe this communication shit wasn't such a bad idea.

"Zevran, ever since Redcliffe, you've gone from scolding me to ignoring me to fucking manic-fighting me, to what? What is this? Light flirtation?"

"Ah, don't forget mourning you. It's been a busy month, has it not?"

That shut her up. At seeing Kalya's jaw snap shut, Zevran coughed lightly. It seemed that barb struck harder than intended.

"In my tent, I promised you lovely ladies there would be no more lies, so I will put it simply. It occurs to me that you and I are both embarking on new beginnings. You as a Warden-"

"And you as a Fade-powered killing machine."

Zevran gave a low chuckle. "I was a killing machine before, mia cara. Fade-powered, Archdemon-powered." He gestured between them, then leaned in conspiratorially. "We're both powered. Should we not both start this new chapter of our lives on a more… united note?"

Kalya leaned back, eyes rolling. "This from the guy who refuses to spar me? Whose every conversation begins with how often he's failed me?"

"You make a point," Zev shrugged. "However, I've promised you honesty. You would prefer I kept such truths to myself?"

"I would prefer you not feel them at all! I wanted to be a Warden, Zev. You gave that to me."

"Alistair gave that to you."

"Okay? Who cares! And you won't spar me because, what, you're afraid I'll hurt you?"

He splayed his hands out. "Just my pride."

Kalya pressed her lips into a hard line. She could scarcely believe the two couldn't even discuss a truce without an argument.

"Would it have hurt your pride if I'd stayed with the Crows and bettered you naturally, after years of training?"

The moment she said it, she wished she hadn't. If she'd stayed with the Crows, he'd be dead now, at Elissa's hand. Fuck.

Mercifully, Zevran just smiled, ever the deflector. "I guess we'll never know. But!" He gestured to his shins. "With these pouring ferocity into my veins, perhaps we're more evenly matched, mm?"

Kalya glared at the legs of Zev's leathers. "I don't approve of what you did to yourself just as you don't approve of my becoming a Warden."

"I think you're starting to see my point."

Kalya just blinked. Zevran leaned in.

"Let's start over. No more lies, no more… whining about life sentences. No more avoiding each other because talking is hard." His glinting eyes bore into hers. "Two powerful and ridiculously attractive elves, fighting side by side as friends. Friends with a history of something more. Will they? Won't they? It'll be a story worthy of Leliana's songs."

A smirk crossed Kalya's lips. "Just so I have this straight, are we starting over or do we have a history?"

Zev took a slow drink from his burbling mug, grinning as if he hoped it would give him strength.

"I love a challenge. And you, Kalya Tabris, are always a challenge."

He put his hand out. "Deal?"

With a gulp that wavered her voice more than she'd hoped, Kalya asked, "And how do I know this isn't just one more lie?"

Zev took a deep breath. The smirk never faded from his face in the firelight. "How much infinitely easier would it have been to not come over here tonight? To act as if nothing were wrong. To brush the past away, without begging for your forgiveness."

Kalya's heart calmed, and she took a long sip of Dawn Lotus. It felt like a hug.

"One more way you can be sure I'm telling the truth?" Zev's mischievous eyes twinkled in the dying firelight. "I come to you without hope for a post-drink pounding. Tonight, at least."

At her narrowed eyes and the tiniest crack of a smile at one corner of her lips, Zev raised his hands innocently.

"I meant sparring, mia cara. Why, what did you think I meant?"

Kalya blinked slowly, inhaling a long breath. Two months ago, every corner of her heart would have been screaming not to trust him. But, Maker, she wanted this. An inkling of friendship. Support. Feeling like she wasn't in this alone.

She took his hand in hers and pumped firmly. "Deal."

:::

Elissa paced the length of her tent, his sickening visage ghosting through her mind for the second time since they'd arrived at the Dalish Camp.

Growing up, she'd always resented it when her subconscious drifted to how Uncle Rendon might solve a predicament. She resented even more how frequently she tended to go with that option. Now, though, after all he'd done to her family, just thinking of him made her want to carve out the part of her brain that linked him to solutions and make him choke on it.

The first time she'd thought of him at the camp was a few days prior, when the others were tending to a sick halla.

As a young girl, Elissa delighted in hiding just outside her father's study, listening in on the confusing adult discourse between Bryce and Rendon over warm snifters of brandy. Over the months, she began to understand much about the issues of the teryn, much about ruling, occasionally much about women.

On more than one occasion, after more than two refills, she recalled Rendon calling her brother Fergus "too soft to rule," suggesting that Elissa would be the far wiser option - "alongside Nate, of course." Bryce always chuckled in that warm way he did, dismissing it as being too early in the children's lives to discuss such things.

Still, Uncle Rendon was a common fixture in the teryn's war room. Whenever there was a problem too complex for the Couslands to solve, the Howes showed up for an extended stay, and everything seemed to work itself out. It was only in her older years that Elissa realized what a toll it had taken on her father. After the difficult decisions Rendon had made were carried out, Bryce was left to shoulder the fallout alone. For weeks after, Bryce invariably spent his time holed up quietly in his study.

But none of that unpleasantness was why Rendon had wafted unbidden through Elissa's mind a few days prior. No.

When Elissa was six, Uncle Rendon had been called into town to deal with an unpleasant holdings dispute among two high-ranking nobles. On a walk to clear his head after a long morning of disagreements, he'd found Elissa in the stables one afternoon, sobbing over her beloved white steed.

Elissa had been riding her Seawolf since before she could walk. Seeing him lethargic and listless on the hard hay-covered ground was too much for her young heart to bear. Cheeks wet with tears, she watched Rendon examine Seawolf's hooves and solemnly shake his head.

"Blight Hoof," he told her. "One of the worst cases I've seen. We'll have to act quickly, if it isn't too late already."

Elissa peered eagerly out the door of the barn. "Shall I bring it out to pasture while you get the cure?"

His eyes closed as he exhaled a heavy breath. "Elissa, I'm sorry."

Realization evaded her, searching her Uncle's face for hints of how best to act quickly. "I could ride Mother's horse to the Circle. I don't know if their spells work on horses, but they would know how to-"

Rendon locked her eyes in a way that still sent chills down Elissa's spine, recalling it all these years later. "There's only... one thing we can do," he drawled.

Concealed beneath his noble finery had been a thick jeweled dagger, which he withdrew with buttery ease. The shock of its glint in the lamplight sent her stumbling back a few paces.

"You can't," she ordered in the desperate whine of a child who was used to getting their way.

"I won't," he said, shaking his head. "You must deal the blow."

All the air escaped young Elissa's lungs.

"Don't you want your mother to be proud of you? That you were the one who saved the family's horses?"

Rendon pressed the dagger into Elissa's hand. She loved that horse more than anything. She'd whispered it her secrets. She'd dreamt of riding it down the aisle to meet her husband at the altar.

"Seawolf would want it to be you," Rendon said quietly, false hand placed upon his breast.

At her hesitance, irritation pricked ever so slightly at the corners of his expression. She hadn't noticed it then, but she recalled it now, crystal clear in her mind's eye.

"Do it. Now, Elissa." His voice turned to ice so quickly. "Unless you want Seawolf's last thought to be how you doomed your family."

Rendon pointed to a thick tendon at the beast's neck as Elissa held the knife in a shaky hand. With tears streaming down her face, she plunged the weapon into her beloved friend. Rendon clasped his hand over hers and jerked backwards, making sure the blow was deep and true.

Elissa never wanted to hold another dagger again.