In all of the twenty years Ordhan had lived in Denerim, not since the Blight itself had there been such an eventful few days. He needed time to let himself absorb it all. The quiet of the road was welcome, as were the watches he took in the night in lieu of more sleep. He would not be able to sleep if a thousand thoughts were buzzing in his mind, after all, so why not make restlessness useful to the company and allow the others more rest? And there were too many things to dwell upon--the Arlessa's death and her daughter's promise, his meeting with Lord Piers, what he did and didn't learn about Hilda's brother...not to mention their struggle with the slavers. Though Ordhan was chased by a vague guilt for having delayed the group a day or two by involving them in Denerim's woes, it was nothing compared to the solace of knowing that they had done some good. The city needed it. If they had not intervened, it was all too likely that Tevinter (curse them) would have soon had more workers to oppress.
Now the city was behind them, their task before them, and Ordhan was as eager as any to be back on the road. It was a different group that set out than they had begun with, and Ordhan had mixed feelings on their newest additions, but what was done was done. Today, he walked towards the back of the group. The area encircling the city was far from safe; those too jumpy to work their business in Denerim itself often took advantage of the surrounding area, hiding by the roads and sheltering in the forests. Travelers leaving the city were often laden with supplies, a tempting mark for bandits. Their company could not depend on numbers for safety. Many of their number had little or no experience, and Ordhan wasn't even certain if all of them were armed. He felt better having them all in sight, his own back to the road behind rather than theirs.
When noise of conflict rose not far away, his stomach tightened. In the last confrontation the group met too many had run ahead, leaving the rest unprotected. It would not happen again. Ordhan drew his sword and readied his shield on his arm, but stayed with the group as they quickened their pace rather than running forward to investigate.
Before long the site of battle was in view; magic crackled in the air and blood stained the ground, but only one stranger remained standing: a man in rags, weapon in hand and ferocity in his eyes. Ordhan's glance flicked to the wounded young woman Conlan stood supporting, then the horse; as little as he liked making snap judgments, this seemed far more clear-cut than the confrontation between Davin and Brethor. One last glance was cast around him for the possibility of ambush, but there seemed to be none--visibility was good in every direction but forward, and there was no sign of movement behind them.
The knight began to run forward, shield raised and sword ready. The man saw his approach and turned towards him; Hissra and Conlan were both occupied with the wounded woman, and no others had drawn within range. When Ordhan did bear down on the other, however, he did not immediately attack. The man's first attack was caught easily on his shield. It was a blunt and obvious swing; the other was no experienced fighter, or perhaps too desperate for subtlety. Ordhan hesitated rather than take the opening presented to him. Instead of hacking at the man's unprotected left side, Ordhan swung his shield up and towards the other's face. It was a move meant to stun rather than kill, but a snap rang out and the man's head flung too far back as he stumbled.
With the last assailant sprawled in a lifeless heap at Ordhan's feet he glanced back at Conlan and Hissra. The young woman with them was curtained in blood, and though her open eyes blinked, the wound seemed worryingly deep. There was something familiar about her, but the situation at hand was far more important to let his mind wander off to chase the thought.