Snippet #1368918

Asmara slumped in relief when her companion professed to believe her, and managed a wan smile despite the misery she was currently in. For the moment at least, this little camp was an oasis in the desert, and its sole occupant a friendly face where she had not expected to find one.

Which was why she was hardly surprised when a Templar of all things stumbled into their camp. What was that proverb? No rest for the wicked? Asmara did not know if she was wicked, but other people tended to think so; maybe there was some validity to that. It would certainly go a long way to explaining how she managed to get into situations like this.

She did not speak to the Templar, nor again to the man, whose name she gathered to be Antius from his introduction to the Chantry's soldier. She could practically feel the suspicion radiating off him; she was not certain how long Antius's story would hold, if it ever had. She did not look like a Circle mage, between her green Tevinter robes and the bloodstains and smears of dirt that adorned them. The swamp had done her more damage than she would have initially suspected, truth be told, and she probably looked quite a fright. Not so bad normally, maybe, but when you had someone within sword's blow from you who had every reason to assume the worst about you, well... the situation was not looking too good.

The discussion shifted to a tense one about road-building as Antius tried to diffuse some of the obvious tension, bless his heart. It didn't seem to help much, and the Templar chose his words carefully. She did not think him one of those Loghain might command, but then there was more than one way to die, wasn't there? Despite herself, Asmara was somewhat interested in the conversation. The laborers... those are mostly elves, doing that kind of work, or prisoners, and they'd be lucky to see the kind of coin you seem to think, Ser Templar. We'd be lightening their burden, not their purses. This was something she had come to understand only recently, the subjugation of her species, and it just made her sad to think about.

And still, he was suspicious. A weighty gaze fixed itself on her, and Asmara held it from her folded position on the log. Sighing softly, she glanced at Antius. "I thank you for trying to protect me, but I do not think such a guise holds under the observation of Ser Templar." Shifting dark green eyes back to the man with the all-too-familiar crest, Asmara removed her pendant, as clear a mark of the Wardens as any she was able to provide, and tossed it to him. "I know not what position the Chantry takes on the Grey Wardens, but this is what I am. I ask only that if you decide I am to die, that you leave him out of it. He was only being kind to a wayward soul." Asmara was far from suicidal, but she knew there was no hope of resistance in her present condition, and the more forthright she was about what was actually going on, the better chance she stood of gaining some small mercy, or perhaps agreement to her request that Antius be allowed to continue whatever knowledge-quest he was on in peace.

She knew not what the man would do; his actions were his own to decide. She was far too weak to resist anything at the moment, and her one hope was that the Chantry was neutral on such matters as politics and kingslayers. "I know nothing of Lyrium trade, and if that is truly your business, I'm afraid your information will have to be found elsewhere." For all her knowledge of her chances, Asmara could not bring herself to show or even feel any fear, particularly. Aside from the fact that she was simply tired of running away, she still liked to hold out the belief that people, even the Templars who had been hunting her since the day her parents refused to send her to a Circle.