Varric: "While we are sitting on our asses twiddling thumbs until Curly is done making nice, let's just make sure we are on the same page. Everybody heard about this morning, right?"

Charter: "The validity of that rumor is questionable at best, ser Varric."

Varric: "Questionable? Questionable? Charter, it can't get any more credible than the gossips of the maids! Why, Pasha said she heard it straight from the horse's mouth. I mean, Inquisitor's. Same difference, I guess. But trust me, it happened."

Charter: "There's a hundred different versions of the incident circulating in Skyhold. And soon, the world, if it isn't contained properly. A sensitive matter like this must be controlled. The way information is released affects how it is received. This may hurt our efforts, cost us allies-"

Hawke: "Well then, miss best-of-Leliana's-people, how do you suggest going about getting to the bottom of this so-called rumor? We all know something happened."

Barris: "Pasha was there, along with few other maids. They've said much regarding the incident."

Hawke: "But someone in this room doesn't approve of asking the maids. Why were the maids there anyway? I thought the Inquisitor initiated the whole thing. There's no way she wouldn't have known there were maids in her chamber listen- ohhhh, that conniving woman. Ha! That sure didn't work out the way she'd hoped, did it?"

Jim: "Ser Hawke? What didn't work out? What was she hoping for? Ser?"

Mira: "Someone help the poor kid out."

Charter: "If the Commander had accepted the Inquisitor's proposition, a very different rumor would be circulating by now. One which would cement her hold over the Commander."

Jim: "Oh, oh like that."

Pellane: "By the Maker's beard, but did the Commander turn her down flat. The way she raged so, you would have thought the Commander had insulted her blood."

Dorian: "Tell us everything,"

Pellane: "Truth be told, milord, the maids have not exaggerated. The Inquisitor propositioned, and the Commander rejected. Politely, might I add. The Inquisitor proceeded to rage and insult the Commander just as the maids have spoken."

Varric: "I told you so! Maker, do I love a good scandal."

Jim: "But why do you think he rejected the Inquisitor?"

Rylen: "Besides his unadulterated distaste regarding the woman, you mean?"

Charter: "Ser Rylen!"

Hawke: "I think it's got something to do with my cousin."

Dorian: "Noooo! Really? Do elaborate."

Hawke: "The way he froze in the Throne Room today? He acts even worse whenever she's mentioned. Suspicious, don't you think?"

Rylen: "You realize she was at the Circle he served in?"

Barris: "We've all heard horrors of what happened in that Circle during the Fifth Blight. The Commander was the sole Templar survivor. Not so strange a mention of her would give him pause, to survive that together. It's no secret it was the Hero of Ferelden who liberated those still alive."

Varric: "Do you think Curly will just stand and scowl or attempt bodily harm if I ask him for an interview or an anecdote to adapt their story into my book?"

Hawke: "Bodily harm, without a doubt."

Dorian: "There's got to be a way to dig deeper! I can feel there is a great scandalous tale behind all those… intense gazes."

Hawke: "I think I'm going to do it. I'll do it. I'll ask my cousin when she summons me."

Barris: "You haven't intruded unannounced to bother them yet?"

Hawke: "I don't always show up unannounced! Sometimes I'll wait to be summoned, just to be unexpected."

Varric: "Don't listen to Hawke, folks. He's just too scared to barge in with Zevran there."

Hawke: "Varric!"

Varric: "What? It's true. And you should warn these young innocent spies before they get it in their minds to try any of their tricks near that man. Now listen up and listen well to what Hawke's about to say."

Jim: "What is it? What happened?"

Hawke: "You're the raconteur, Varric."

Varric: "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Varric: "Everybody knows of the renowned Hero of Ferelden, the woman who saved the world from the Fifth Blight before it even truly began. Everybody knows of her legendary companions, her true comrades with unwavering loyalty despite the terrible odds of her quest. Among them, is an assassin, yes, an Antivan Crow! You've all heard the tales, the whispered secret of an assassin who serves the beautiful Hero."

Varric: "You've all now seen the man in question. Zevran Arainai, an Oathsworn to the Hero of Ferelden. He's a friendly sort, one with a devilish smirk and easygoing nature that invites you to spill all your darkest secrets. But just because he's handsome and friendly, don't you dare forget even for a moment who he really is. An assassin, who will slip a dagger in your throat just as easily as he would say hello passing you down a hallway."

Jim: "But he's real friendly, ser Varric!"

Varric: "I'm not saying he's not, kid. He is, but I'm reminding you he's dangerous. You see, Hawke learnt it the hard way, and you'd all do well to not make the same mistake he did."

Charter: "A mistake, ser?"

Varric: "A mistake,"

Varic: "In Kirkwall, Hawke's name spread like wildfire after he returned from the expedition to the deep roads. A Ferelden refuge, rising high into Hightown! It was a scandal, an upstart, something new. And people talk about nothing but new things and gossip have a way of spreading among nobles."

Varric: "And who heard the rise of the mighty Hawke? None other than our dear Hero of Ferelden, second cousin to the Champion of Kirkwall himself!"

Jim: "They're related?"

Pellane: "Did you think ser Hawke was saying 'cousin' as a joke?"

Dorian: "Hush!"

Varric: "The Hero of Ferelden had been ripped away from her family at a young age, when she was taken to the Circles after her magic manifested. When she heard her old family name, she came to be reunited with her blood, to rekindle the ties she'd thought lost. A few visits to Hawke's estate in the Hightown of Kirkwall, and soon the Hero and the Champion were like any other families you'd stumble across. Bickering, bratty cousins who'd fight to the steps of the Black City and back with each other, for each other."

Varric: "One day, Hawke was out and about on his business and got word that his cousin had arrived at his estate and was resting from hard travels. So, Hawke being Hawke, decided to surprise his cousin and snuck back to his estate, into the guest chamber, with vilest intentions."

Hawke: "I was going to throw a bucket of water on her, Varric."

Varric: "Vilest, evilest intentions."

Varric: "Our great villain snuck through the door, his soft boots nary a whisper on the floor. He inched closer to the Hero sound asleep on the bed…"

Dorian: "Then what? Damn the theatrics, talk!"

Varric: "Hawke's hand went up to his throat and came away crimson with blood. He fell where he stood, just two steps in from the door, his lifeblood pooling around him, and saw only the smiling face of her assassin staring down at him."

Barris: "Dear Maker, Ser Arainai attacked Ser Hawke?"

Hawke: "Closest I've ever gotten to actually dying. Can you see it?"

Varric: "You have a beard, Hawke."

Hawke: "Ah, right. Well, the scar is still there. And it's still huge."

Rylen: "What happened then?"

Varric: "As luck would have it, Anders had also gotten word that his Commander was visiting and came to the estate. He saw Hawke bleeding out on the floor and barely managed to heal him, even with all his legendary healing powers. It was a terribly close call. And thus ends the story and now you know why Hawke won't ever try to surprise the Hero of Ferelden ever again."

Pellane: "And Ser Arainai?"

Hawke: "Apologized."

Dorian: "Apologized? For nearly killing a man over a prank?"

Varric: "What else would he do? Not apologize?"

Hawke: "With a bottle of Mackay's Epic Single Malt. Worth every drop of blood I lost."

Dorian: "Oh, I see. No harm, no foul as some would say. Say, do you think he might have another bottle?"

Jim: "But why did he attack you, Ser? What offended him? Trying to kill someone for a prank seems a little extreme."

Hawke: "Ah, you see, Zevran is very protective of my cousin. He doesn't need to be, considering my cousin could eradicate everybody in this keep with a little wiggle of her pinky finger, but he is. Usually, it's not a problem. But when my cousin sleeps she has… well, that's beside the point. As far as Zevran is concerned, anything suspicious while she is asleep deserves knives first questions later. So, avoid their bedchamber unless you have a handy Anders around."

Charter: "Sister Nightingale has ordered us away from the west wing above the garden. I'll make certain the word is spread."

Cullen: "I'll order my guards away from their chamber as well."

Barris: "Commander! We did not hear you enter."

Cullen: "At ease,"

Hawke: "You don't need to worry about your watchguards, Curly. Zevran would know their guard rotation duty roster by heart. He wouldn't kill them. It's Leliana's people I'm worried about, with their nosy curiosity and quiet steps. Zev would slaughter them if they got too close while she sleeps."

Cullen: "I'll have a word with the Hero of Ferelden."

Varric: "Won't do much good, Curly. Just make certain Leliana's people understand, Charter."

Rylen: "How'd the meeting with the Hero of Ferelden go, Commander?"

Cullen: "We will proceed with the siege of Adamant Fortress as planned. Rylen, you will overtake my duties while I lead the siege in the Western Approach as discussed. I will leave at first light day after tomorrow. The Warden Commander will accompany us."

Rylen: "Yes ser,"

Cullen: "The Hero of Ferelden will share this office for the duration of her stay at Skyhold. Jim, see to it that the Warden Commander will have everything she would need."

Jim: "Ye, yes, ser! Commander! It's an honor! She will want for nothing, ser!"

Varric: "She needed everything day before yesterday, if I know her. Good luck kid,"

Hawke: "And blankets, Jim. Blankets and pillows by her seat."

Jim: "Ser Hawke?"

Hawke: "My cousin, Zevran, and her mabari sleep on rotation so at least one will always be awake to keep watch over the other two. Their rotation hours change all the time, but usually cousin is awake during the day to deal with official matters while Zevran sleeps near. They always keep blankets and pillows for him in her office in Amaranthine and Gwaren. I did too, when they were visiting."

Dorian: "Paranoid, aren't they?"

Varric: "If you think about how many try to kill them, well, it kind of makes sense."

Pellane: "Do they really have that many enemies?"

Hawke: "Can you blame them? I'd strangle her perfection too, if I could."

Cullen: "What else, Hawke?"

Hawke: "What?"

Pellane: "What else should we be aware of? To be hospitable, ser? I will make sure the necessary people are alerted."

Hawke: "Hmm, what are they weird about… uh… Zevran and my cousin will never drink together. One stays sober while the other drinks. So, if cousin is drinking, which is more likely in an official setting, then don't bother setting a drink for Zevran. He won't touch it. And if he asks for something, then my cousin won't drink."

Pellane: "I'll alert the kitchen staff."

Varric: "And she eats enough to feed ten men."

Barris: "Really? She does? She did not look it."

Cullen: "She did clear six plates and seemed to want for dessert."

Hawke: "Something to do with her being a Warden, she said. All Wardens have voracious appetites. Or so she claimed. I think my cousin is just a pig."

Pellane: "I'll warn the kitchen staff of that too."

Varric: "Watch out! Here comes the Hero of Ferelden! Feed her like the Blight depends upon it!"

Cullen: *sighs*

"***"

Leliana: "'Till the crackle of fire slumbers, and longer. 'tis a promise, dearest.'? Really, Sol?"

Solona: "By the Blight, Leli! Do you know how long it's been since I've spoken noble?"

Leliana: "I know, I know, but… really?"

Solona: "Shall we discuss how you failed to mention Cullen was here?"

Leliana: "Bygones, bygones, yes? And we've such a delightful catastrophe to garner your attention."

Solona: "Speaking of, truly, a hole in the sky? Perhaps you should curb your taste for insanely dangerous to something less lethal."

Zevran: "Perhaps this is where I remind my dear Warden it's been a decade since someone hasn't tried to kill her for a week. What say you, Leliana?"

Solona: "Bygones, bygones, yes. Pour me a glass, Leli, and let us be friends tonight. We can be more tomorrow, for the world. But for tonight, let us keep tonight for us."

Leliana: "I believe we can manage at least that. I've missed you two so, more than you know."

Solona: "And we you, Leli. It is lovely to be back."

Zevran: "Despite the hole in the sky,"

Solona: "Yes, despite the hole in the sky. It is good to see you."

"***"

Cullen: "You are not her."

Cullen: "I know you are not her. She doesn't look like that anymore. She is different. We are different. This is no longer… no, I know now."

Cullen: "Why am I aware? Did she cast another spell? Or is it her magic in my blood? Speak, demon. Why have you revealed yourself? You've hardly wanted to converse before."

Cullen: "Why are you simply standing there? And leave her be! She is not for the likes of you to impersonate! Take to your own skin or be gone!"

Cullen: "I know what you are! It will not work, your tricks, your visions, I will not fall for it. The Circle was restored a decade ago. I am free of your power, beyond your talons. All other demons from the Kinloch Hold is gone. So why? Why do you alone persist? Why do you haunt my dreams? Why?"

Cullen: "I've long lost my youthful infatuation for her. You tore that away from me! There is no cause for this hounding, demon! Be gone!"

Cullen: "And yet you persist. I will never break. For my sake, as well as for those who fell. Stay, if you must. Stalk me, if you will! I will never break. Never! I know better now, and she is here. She is here now. I know she is. A stronger shield, I cannot ask for."

Cullen: "Be gone, demon. Be gone, for she is here. You've no hold over me any longer."

Desire: "…I was, and I am. Forever your Desire,"

"***"

Solona: "Heretics. Suspected of killing the Divine Justinia. Militaristic organization with no allegiance. No watchguards in place. By the Blight, you've really racked up quite a number for yourself, haven't you?"

Barris: "Warden Commander! We are not-"

Solona: "Traitor. Kingkiller. Murderers. Treasonous vipers. That's the least of what the world once called me, lieutenant. Me and the current King of Ferelden, that is. Fear not for the repute of your order, Barris. I am well aware truth is oft far from what the world believes."

Barris: "…yes, Warden Commander. Thank you, your ladyship."

"***"

Jim: "Uhm…. Uh, I mean, er…"

Solona: "Yes, Jim?"

Jim: "It's… it's an honor, your… uh, ladyship. Warden Commander. Ser, ladyship? I'm… uh,"

Solona: "Thank you, Jim. Commander has informed me you readied this corner of the office for me on such short notice."

Jim: *blushes*

Solona: "Did my cousin tell you about the blankets? My thanks for getting them for Zevran. He was quite exhausted as well. Our travel has been hard."

Jim: "Anything… anything at all, your… my? Ladyship. An honor…"

Solona: "Jim?"

Jim: "Yes, your ladyship?"

Solona: "breathe. Address me as you would your Commander."

Jim: "I… I couldn't! My lady…ship! Ladyship. I would not dare."

Solona: "Would it help to know your Commander and I were once… well, friends?"

Jim: "…friends, your ladyship?"

Solona: "For the lack of better word. I was his charge, way back when I was an apprentice in the Circle of Ferelden. I've the cutest tales of him during-"

Cullen: "I'm perfectly capable of hearing you from this side of the room, Warden Commander."

Jim: *giggles*

Solona: *whispers* "We shall continue this later, Jim."

Jim: "Very well, Warden Commander."

"***"

Solona: "If I give this to you to send, do you promise not to keep a record of it for Inquisition?"

Leliana: "I wouldn't read your love letter to Alistair,"

Solona: "You so would! And there's also an official correspondence. Two separate pieces."

Leliana: "Fine, but I wouldn't read his response. They're always so cheesy."

Solona: "Leliana!"

Leliana: "Oh give it here, I will make sure none of my spies in Ferelden will get their hands on it."

"***"

Cullen: "Is he…?"

Solona: "Yes, Commander?"

Cullen: "Will he be rested enough for the march tomorrow, sleeping like that?"

Solona: "We are fit enough, Commander. Zev sleeps where I may protect him."

Cullen: "Inquisition watchguards are at post at all times on our battlements."

Solona: "I've had a chat with Garrett, Commander."

Cullen: "Well Hawke is…"

Solona: "Zev's fellow Crows are a tad bit more cloak and dagger than a loud drunk Mage from Kirkwall, Commander."

Cullen: "Point taken, Warden Commander."

"***"

Garevel: "Unfortunately, all but two of the horses that the Silver Order rode here have died of exhaustion."

Cullen: "All of them?"

Dennet: "Yes, ser. Fine waste that was, them fools. Running all those divine steeds to death."

Garevel: "We switched horses along the King's Highway, every chance we could. It couldn't be avoided."

Solona: "By the… Mistress Woolsey will not be happy. So… Dennet, was it? Do you have some horses for us?"

Cullen: "We can spare a dozen horses for your men. Dennet, prepare them for the Warden Commander."

Garevel: "Uh, fourteen, ser. My ladyship and Ser Arainai did not arrive on horses."

Cullen: "What do you mean, no horses? You couldn't have walked the way from the west?"

Solona: "I… didn't walk it, to be exact…"

Cullen: "Fine, fourteen horses."

Garevel: "And… the Inquisitor would like to charge us for the horses."

Solona: "Of course she does. Blighted hurlock's hairy balls, that woman is something else. I'll purchase them with my personal accounts, you don't need to alert Mistress Woolsey."

Cullen: "We will lend the horses to her. Dennet?"

Dennet: "Yes, ser. If they don't kill them all, that is."

Solona: "We will return them as soon as Aidan can send us our own supplies. Thank you, Commander."

"***"

Solona: "So the correspondences to Ali… I mean, The King of Ferelden has been sent. I just wrote to King Aeducan, to my dwarven allies, nobles in Denerim, to my vassals in Amaranthine and Gwaren, to Sten-turned-Arishok, and the undead Mage in my fort… am I forgetting anyone?"

Garevel: "Uh… your Wardens, your ladyship."

Solona: "Blight! What is wrong with me?"

Aidan: "I suspect you are subconsciously avoiding having to deal with the damage Oghren must have caused without you there to rein him in. Uh, your ladyship."

Solona: "I need a drink."

Garevel: "I'll grab you a stiff one."

"***"

Cullen: "So… how did you get here so quickly, Warden Commander? Without horses?"

Solona: "I do not see how this is relevant, Commander."

Zevran: "It was hammer, nail, and magic, handsome ser."

Solona: "Zev!"

Cullen: "Ser Arainai? You're awake then?"

Zevran: "Zevran will do. Zev, to my friends. Or for handsome man such as yourself."

Cullen: "…Zevran, then. What did you mean?"

Solona: "Zev, don't-"

Zevran: "You mean how did my dear Warden travel the same distance that took us four years to cross in eight days?"

Cullen: "Wait. You can't mean-"

Solona: *mutter* "Ugly broodmother's saggy tits-"

Zevran: "Once mi pequeña amor realized we could Fade Step together if she grabbed a hold of us, she Fade Stepped all the way here."

Cullen: "You-! You could have… you might have- From that far away?! You understand the risks to yourself-"

Solona: "Commander,"

Solona: "It is not your place. Not any longer."

Cullen: "…as you say, Warden Commander."

Routine guides my feet towards the Chantry in the dark. All those years of prayers on the eve of battles shoving me past the amber torches along the battlements to hail an entity I denounced.

There is a flutter of nerves in my stomach. A familiar tension coiled deep in my gut at a thought of marching to battle.

Any battle could be my last, could have been my last. Yet despite the odds I've survived. Whether I should thank the distant deity for it or curse Him, is a separate matter entirely.

In the past I would visit the Chantry to pray for His guidance, His protection, and for any we may lose. Faith was demanded long before I learned to think for myself and I've scarce known much else. And yet I've not been to the Chantry since Haven. Not since that dragon brought her back into this mess. Where would I go, if not the Chantry? On the eve of battle, if not pray to the Maker what does one do?

The Light shall lead her safely

The wind carries a whisper in its dance, as light as a feather. But it is a voice I know well, its cadence marked by its unsung melody. My feet hesitate, then turn along the dimmer path.

Through the paths of this world, and into the next.

She is not in the Chantry. No, no wind nestles in that small chamber, no breeze dancing to twirl her voice.

For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.

As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,

She should see fire and go towards Light.

It's the garden. In the depths of the newly planted seedlings, amongst the scent of life and freshly tilled soil. The song stems amongst the living.

The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,

And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker

Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.

She does not kneel, nor are her hands clasped in a prayer as is proper. Her eyes are wide open, and she stands staring, away at nothing into the sky. The shadow beside her is slightly inkier than the night, her ever-present assassin who looks no more than a wisp of smoke. And she is aware, surely by my lyrium as I am by her magic.

"Do you believe in Him? You weren't sure, I remember." the words hang in the air, as if it had for all the years. Breaching all those years since.

She stands, staring at nothing. Without the words in her eyes her thoughts are silent to me.

"No, I've seen too much of this world to believe."

"And yet you sing the Chant for the Departed," I say.

"And yet, death is no stranger to me." she sighs and finally meets my eyes, and I know.

"For those we lost at Haven," I realize.

"I've heard much and read double what I heard today. They were worthy. You could have saved more, it's true. But with the cards you were dealt, Commander, no one could have done more."

"and those we will lose," I shake my head.

"I'll preserve what blood I can. But demons are a difficult foe as you know, and my magic is still… recovering."

"and they believed. So, you sing," I finish for her.

"The Chant is for the departed. It matters not what I do and do not believe. It is not meant for the living, but for they."

"You did not know them. Any of them. They were my burden to bear, not yours. You needn't grieve," I say.

"I've known many good men, and I've known death. Does one need more to grieve for those lost?"

Her eyes are vacant and dry. No tears, no false sobbing Trevelyan would squeeze out for the sake of her audience, just, nothing. How very familiar that is.

"You've lost many, I see. My condolences."

"So have you. Take heart. You must. Allow yourself grief and mourn. Your heart's full to bursting with those you've crammed in there. If we are to lose more and survive, you must make room for more."

"I'm not-" I shake my head.

"You still read me well. Perhaps I can also read you just as well as before."

She does. She learns too much each time our eyes lock.

"Perhaps," I admit.

"You did all that you could, and more." she urges. Kindness I do not deserve, least of all from her I'm certain. But even after, after all that has passed, she still eases me.

I catch my hand inching towards her, but it must have been my withdrawals. Shaky hands, weepiness, it is but my condition. My young infatuation with her has long passed.

"I've failed many," the words come unbidden.

"But you serve infinitely more. Haven was by no means your failure. I know so. And Kirkwall? You were hurting. You could have done more, yes, but you didn't do less. Not like the others there, not like those like Benin." An old hurt flit across her voice.

"And the Circle," I choke.

She looks away. She is hiding something from me. What more have I forgotten? From… from that, what more is left for me to remember? How could anything be worse than what haunts my dreams?

"I promised I'd not bring that matter up with you, Commander." She distances herself with my title, and her shadow pulls near to embrace her in his arms.

"I've renounced the Maker. I once grieved, asking Him to guide those who journeyed to His side. But after… well, after. I couldn't." I can't stop talking. I do not want her to leave. There is… I need… more.

"If He exists, He is distant," there is pity in her words.

"I fear Leliana is also of the same mind as I," I say.

"I do not believe, Commander. But what I am willing to put my faith in, is men. Good men, doing good things. It changes the world, you know." A light smile tweaks her lips.

"Is that so?" I smile in response. How could anyone resist? I, for one, cannot.

"It is so. I've seen it, and I've done it. There was that pesky Blight if you remember. There were many good men doing many good things."

"I remember. I was there, under your banner."

"You were?" she gasps.

"Market. Ogres." I sigh.

"Oh, those bastards were ugly. But you see, good man, doing a good deed. You are one too. It'll be the same this campaign, Commander. It's a tale we've spun many a times in our lifetime. A fight we've won many a times. Just another day, and we shall toast to our victory, and drink to those we lost."

"And for those we will save?" I ask.

"For those we will save, we rest. Good night, Commander."

Cullen: "Mira, is the Silver Order eating with different units every meal?"

Mira: "Yes ser."

Cullen: "All of them eating separate?"

Mira: "Yes ser?"

Cullen: "Hmph, bloody brilliant that Garevel. She has a good eye."

Mira: "Should I ask them to stop, ser?"

Cullen: "No, leave them be. The sooner she trusts us, the better. We've nothing to hide."

Mira: "Besides your soft spot for mildly sweet biscuits that is, ser."

Cullen: "She knows that one already."

Cassandra lunges for her, her longsword slapped away just barely before it pierces the Warden Commander's throat. The Warden Commander pants, her longsword poised to strike high.

She fights like a Templar, of all things. Standard sword and shield training, except she is lacking a shield. Decently skilled, but without her magic she wouldn't last an hour in the siege. I must convince her to reconsider the tactics.

"Thinking she'd die the moment she steps foot on the walls, Commander?"

"Zevran! Hang it, I did not hear you approach." I release my pommel.

The Warden Commander steps, fluid and balanced. Despite her exhaustion she keeps her steady pace, sure of her response and Cassandra's. And despite her lack of shield, Cassandra has yet to land a solid blow. The Warden Commander makes for a backhanded slash and Cassandra brings her shield up, her strike screeching along the shield to be flung wide. Each time the blades cross the gathered crowd cheers.

"She is not bad," I shrug.

"But she would not last, no, not like that. Quite right, Commander." Zevran grins, perched on a fence. He doesn't even spare a glance towards the spar, his back turned to the spectacle and eyes focused on me.

"And you have not convinced her to stay back on the siege?"

The Warden Commander's blade pierces Cassandra's guard, narrowly missing her eyes.

"She means to lose, Commander. Fear not, my dear Warden has a few up her sleeves." he chuckles, leaning into his palm.

"She means to lose? Her?" I do not ever remember her losing on purpose. For anything.

"Imagine how the morale would rise when their Seeker can best even the legendary Hero of Ferelden." Zevran chuckles.

"But the morale of her Silver Order-"

"-knows what she is capable of. Fear not, Commander. My Warden is not so helpless as you believe."

Cassandra breaks form to swing for her sword arm, but the Warden Commander steps away as easily as a breeze.

"She is a Mage without her magic about to charge into a heart of a hostile fortress. I have cause to worry."

Cassandra charges, forcing the Warden Commander to backtrack as she bashes at her with her heavy shield. The Commander drops, rolling to evade. Cassandra stabs down to the ground, and the Mage somehow kicks out at the Seeker's foot for the larger woman to stumble. The Warden Commander finds her feet, but Cassandra's blade is at her throat. The air fills with cheers.

"I yield," she says.

Cassandra grunts. I know that grunt.

"Seeker!" I shout.

She thrusts forth so swift, it could only have meant to be a killing strike. But the Warden Commander pirouettes, her steps clean, her balance exquisite, so sudden she is but a blur for a moment. She's a good five paces away, longsword at ready, slightly crouching.

"Do not insult me with insincere humility, Warden Commander. I can sense you are going far too easy on me," Cassandra growls.

Zevran laughs so hard he slips off the fence. The Warden Commander glances at him before straightening.

"I've not meant to offend, Seeker." she smiles, sheathing her practice sword.

"If you respected my skills, you'd fight harder."

"I respect your skills, Seeker, so I meant to learn. I've a way of fighting I'm more comfortable with, it's true. Zev's taught me much, and in combat it serves me well. The King of Ferelden has also shared the basics of Templar training with me, but I've not the chance to master it with him tied in Ferelden for much of the past decade. And how would I learn without sparring with those who are better than I in the art?"

"Oh," she says. Truly, Seeker?

"I apologize for failing to inform you of my intent beforehand, but I'd like to continue to learn. If you do not mind, Seeker."

"It… it would be my honor, Warden Commander." she blushes.

"***"

"And… why is the Warden Commander's tent located in an isolated clearing away from any guards?"

I will not snap at the messenger. I will not snap at the messenger. I will not snap at the messenger.

"The Hero of Ferelden came and asked for a spot that would be the furthest from the center of the camp, ser. We informed her, then she went and pitched her own tent."

I will snap at a completely depleted and exhausted Mage hell-vent on avoiding her own guards assigned for her own safety.

"And?" I growl. It is not a snap.

"and… ser?"

"Did no one try to dissuade her?" that was an exasperation, not a snap.

"Dissuade… the Hero of Ferelden, ser?"

"Dismissed." I shake my head and head to the northwestern clearing the messenger pointed out.

I would have preferred to confer on the last details of the siege for tomorrow with more people present, but at least I can count Zevran to be there. And her mabari as well. Why she insists on setting up so far from the Inquisition's camp, I do not know. It's as if she's set on-

-on getting ambushed like that. Blast it, I'm too far to be heard by the guards to call any warnings. My shield is also back in my tent. A long sword and a few daggers. It'll have to do.

Bodies. Half a dozen, dead. All from a single wound to the throat surrounding the tent. Traces of her magic. Wards?

Metal clashes. Sword on sword, likely. It must be Zevran. I burst inside and Zevran is locked with two shadows, flurry of blades passing at ridiculous speed. He is managing fine.

But her, she is in her bedroll locked in a silent scream.

"Warden Commander!" I shout. I kneel by her bedroll and put down my sword, untangling her sheets while she thrashes frightfully. Her limbs twist the wrong way, eyes screwed shut in sleep, magic sporadic on her fingertips.

"Commander, by the… Warden Commander!" I shout, shaking her awake but she writhes in pain, mouth open in an endless silent scream. Even through my leather gloves, she radiates deathly chill.

"Mi amor, mi amor, is she not waking? Brasca!"

Zevran appears by my side, cradling her contorting form into his embrace. Blood from the assassins wets her loose hair while she struggles against his hold, but Zevran holds her tight. He grabs her wrists and pins her against him with practiced ease.

"What is happening? Why is she… she has never… what is this?"

She's always had trouble waking, but never… never this, whatever this is.

"Can you wake her?" He asks instead, eyes ablaze.

"I… I can't."

"She's told me of you," he hisses. "she spoke of how you used to call her from the Fade."

"I have never seen her like this," I growl. It has been a decade since! He cannot expect me to-

"She screams for you still when Fade holds her prisoner!" he snarls.

"I… I give you my word, we haven't ever even touched-"

"Brasca! I am not jealous, Commander! Jealousy is a moot emotion my Warden has no use for. What she needs is her Templar of old, who can wake her from the Fade!"

"But I've never seen her be-"

"It's her false Calling, or so she thinks. She's twisted like a vine ever since she mentioned hearing it. Every night she screams in agony and cries for help. Every night she trembles with each slithery tongue whispering louder and louder with the taint of the Blight! And all I can do is hold her."

"Wake her, Commander. If you ever cared for her, do what I cannot for mi amor."

…how long has it been since I've last tried to wake her? It came so easily to me then, nudging her just so to coax her awake. Gently, so I would not jolt her. Beckoning her from the Fade with soft whispered words. Without a single doubt that those eyes would open, and she'd smile up at me.

This is desperation. He couldn't possibly think she would still wake for me. But she still cries in pain.

"Warden Commander," I call. "Commander, Warden Commander, Commander!"

She does not stir; she does not rouse. She screams silent in agony.

Zevran bows his head, cradling her still, protecting her in his arms. Despair at his helplessness writ across his face.

That used to be me, there. That was my place. Not any longer, she said. And it is true. She deserved someone better than I, and the way this man cares hidden past his sultry smirks…

He was by her side when I fled, protected her back for a decade while I erased her from my memories.

"I apologize. I couldn't…" I shake my head.

"You tried, no? That's all one can ask for," he says, his voice worn from worry. He presses his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes.

Cold sweat runs across her face, soft whimpers tugging somewhere inside me.

"Commander, Warden Commander! Awaken, Commander!" I try again.

"I will hold her till she wakes," Zevran sighs.

"Warden Commander. Commander! Command-"

A tear rolls down her cheek.

"Zev," she gasps between her silent screams "Ali,"

Her limbs convulse and Zevran's knuckles turn white on her wrists.

"Perhaps it is best you leave; she may start casting." Zevran says to me.

"I can suppress her magic, allow me to-"

"Cullen," she gasps and something in my mind shatters.

It was dark. As dark as it is now, and cold. Stone cold, with the smell of copper and rot thick in the air. And someone screams my name with tears.

Her fingers twitch as if she's casting, just as I remember. Her jaws clench the way it does when she concentrates. She is fighting. She fought then too.

Her magic in my blood churns.

She fought for me. I may have forgotten much from then, but that I do remember.

It is not my place. Not any longer, not by a long while. Once, it didn't matter because we were us. Now it does, because we were.

But I still. Don't. Care.

Zevran for some reason allows me to lean in and I place a gloved hand over her shoulder.

I imagine, perhaps she is tilting her head for my voice.

"Solona," I breathe.

"Wake up,"