"Execute?" Brand's feet moved apart, strengthening her stance but what did she think she was going to do? She couldn't attack a queen, especially not when said queen was already glowering up at her, dark eyes tumultuous and lips twisting as they held back Treason.

Such an awful word, treason. It meant death, or dungeons, or bounties placed upon heads and only professionals or the dangerously desperate were willing to risk their lives for a bounty, like the refugees in Lothering who attacked with glorified cutlery and Brand had known for certain what life was going to be like as long as she was branded a traitor of the crown and she'd never done anything against Anora's crown-

"Um...Brand?" Anders popped his head up, his expression clearly trying to communicate that now was not the time to get reflective or random.

"Do you not care?" Anora's scowl deepened and there was suspicion in her words, as if Brand's hesitation was a strategy and not blind panic over the fact that Alistair might die, and just when he seemed to be getting good at living again.

"Of course I care," Brand winced inwardly at the way that came out, like don't be stupid. But don't be stupid worked equally well for Brand you know what you have to say, you and Fergus figured this part out and Alistair knows his role, too. "You know I don't like to play the Grey Warden card when I don't have to."

"He left the Wardens, Commander," Anora's hand waved in dismissal, as Brand figured it would. She didn't think she'd ever had a conversation with Anora, personal or professional, in which the queen relented without argument. "I seem to recall you were there when that happened."

That's a low blow. Brand's stomach tightened and there was an accompanying burning sensation at the back of her head as a memory, hazy for so long, wavered into focus and Alistair's eyes had been so gleaming cold as he announced he was leaving that they were more like mirrors of anguished rage and Brand had been numb to everything at that point, the wrong words coming out automatically because she was just a Grey Warden and sentencing a man to die was suddenly beyond her.

But the same reasoning that could justify Loghain Mac Tir's conscription could keep his daughter from claiming Alistair's life the same way she'd claimed his birthright.

"Wardens don't recognize deserters, Anora," Brand spoke as calmly as Riordan had at the Landsmeet, so calmly that what should have struck her as madness had actually worked to change her mind. "Once you join the Wardens, you are always a Warden. It's an inescapable sentence, and one that cannot be overturned by any ruling monarch."

You know that.

Anora's posture shifted into something less combative, her small frame relaxing slightly. Brand could see, however, that the lowering of her shoulders was offset by the way her chin lifted in defiance and she was not entirely convinced that the situation had been settled.

"And you can assure me that his motivation for returning to Ferelden was to, in fact, rejoin the order?" Her head cocked slightly and there was passion in her gaze, the normal cool abandoned for something she reserved for people like Brand, who might be flustered by her imperiousness but knew that she was human beneath it all and could be swayed in different ways. "I've enough to contend with...enough pressure and instability from the bannorn, without having to worry a possible rebellion. Give me your word, Brand."

Also low. Brand closed her eyes for a second, considering carefully where she stood, literally and in a metaphorical sense. She and Anora were not friends, nor was their relationship adversarial. They were women whose lives could have been interchanged, had Cailan refused the marriage arrangements made before he could walk. They were both the daughters of teyrns, both raised for their country even if the Cousland approach had been far more gentle than Mac Tir's. In the days after the Landsmeet and in the weeks after the Blight had ended, the women had come to acknowledge their similarities, and the fact that they were powerful women in a world where powerful women were sometimes met with skepticism.

And Brand respected what Anora had managed to do as queen, even though she sometimes felt that there had to be more that could be done for, say, the city elves that had been suffering far more than their human counterparts. Brand knew, too, that the respect was mutual despite Anora's misgivings about Brand's less than orthodox approach to just about everything.

Like now, when a lie would suffice and most politicians would just go with it. Brand knew that Alistair had no designs on the throne and would never so much as endorse a rebellion in his name. But...he hadn't come back to join the Wardens, and if they were going to use Eamon's papers to help facilitate the passing of Redcliffe to Alistair, Anora might realize she'd been mislead, which would make her angry and the last thing Brand needed was for Anora to have a reason to hate her.

That never turned out well for anyone.

"Eamon brought him back," Brand's voice was low and even. "After I told him of our arrangements for Bryce, he decided to name Alistair his heir. We have papers and-"

"No," Anora shook her head and her voice was serrated once again. "That will never happen. And what of your plans, Commander? Teyrn Fergus told me that you would replace Eamon as Arl of Redcliffe."

"That was before we knew what Eamon wanted," Brand had to fight to get this out without gritting her teeth in frustration. She'd expected Anora to balk, but there was no room for argument in that No, and the queen seemed on the verge of re-ordering the execution. "We have a plan, though."

"A plan?" Anora strode forward, the space between the two women closing so quickly Brand barely had time to register Alistair moving to stand beside her. "Does this plan involve the bannorn who are still so obsessed with the legend of Calenhad that they're willing to forget what happened during the Blight and push him up the ranks?"

"That will never happen," the way Alistair said this was a reminder of how he'd been not more than an hour ago in Eamon's office. Resolute. Brand was still impressed by the things he'd said, despite her apprehension at what people would say and, more importantly, what Anders would say. And think. And feel.

Anders was watching her now, his interest sparked by we have a plan and she'd wanted to talk to him first, because even the idea would not sit well with him, let alone the fact that she was considering it a valid option. Or she had been, before Anora's No had gone up like a wall.

"It wouldn't? You were a Grey Warden before, and a commoner at that, and there was still support at the Landsmeet even before Brand got involved," forged silverite was softer than Anora's voice as she spat this out. "You are a Theirin and there are those who will always be blinded by your...pedigree. All it would take is one unpopular law or ruling on my part and you start looking like a good idea."

"I don't want to be king," Alistair glanced over at Brand, his eyes shadowed with desperation. "I would never allow myself to be put forward. You have my word."

"Like I had your word that you'd leave and never come back?" The heat was returning, only it was resentment melded with anger and a rare amount of worry. "Or did your years in the gutter, drinking yourself blind between jobs, make you forget your parting shot to the Landsmeet?"

"Shut up, Anora!" Fiona's voice was like a shock of lightning, and the queen's eyes widened in response as she swiveled to confront the elven mage who'd all but exploded out of her chair and into the conversation, and Fiona's eyes were so much like Alistair's now, the same desperation and frustration, that Brand was certain Anora would see it, too, and know.

"Fiona," Brand glared at her fellow Warden, trying to silently express how wholly they did not need to piss off Anora, but the other woman was just as wholly unconcerned with whom they were dealing.

"It's a second chance, Brand," everything was steady steel and Brand, despite really not wanting to see Fiona imprisoned, stood down. Like Alistair had a right to make his case, to be someone in his own life, Fiona deserved this opportunity as well.

It was a heart attack, but it was only fair. The last time Brand had insisted on being in control of a showdown with Anora, things hadn't gone so well for those she cared about.

"I know you," Anora had ceased being offended at Fiona's order and now had a knot of confusion marring her brow. "You're the one the First Warden sent down after the Blight."

"Yes," Fiona must have been doing something subtly magical; as she moved towards where Brand and Anora stood practically toe to toe, Anora began inching back and Brand's own skin prickled a bit despite her being used to and largely comfortable with such energy. "I was stationed at Weisshaupt for several years."

"I am very close to ordering your return, Warden, or turning you all out of Ferelden for insubordination," she glanced back at Brand. "All of you."

"What if I gave you what you wanted?" Fiona interjected quickly, her voice low and just slightly conspiratorial.

"I very honestly doubt you could do that," Anora's head dipped slightly in interest, undermining her words. "Do you even know what I want?"

"Security," Fiona's arms went across her chest and the air around them went back to normal, normal being tense but not slightly electric and unnatural. "You want to do what's right for your country, but you're losing control. Maybe you trusted the wrong person..."

"I trusted no one and I am still in control" her lips curled into a sneer or resolution. "Tell me now, Warden. I have a man who is a threat to Ferelden's stability standing in front of me asking to placed steps away from my throne and he has the most influential family in Ferelden behind him. It is my job to see these things for what they are. It has won me few friends, but I am standing where a lesser man would have fallen."

"If that really were the case, you'd not be here today," Brand attempted to keep surprise out of the words, but it was there. "You'd summon us to the palace, or come in and take what you wanted instead of asking questions. Are you in danger, Anora?"

With a subtle wavering of conviction, Anora blinked at what she probably considered condescension rather than concern. But then she returned to her anger, unwilling to admit what her hesitation affirmed.

"What do you have to offer me, Ser Mage? Speak quickly, before I regret not coming in and taking what I wanted."

"I can offer you what you need to dispute Alistair's claim to the throne, should anyone attempt to put him forward during your reign," Fiona's eyes fell shut and Brand detected the faintest quiver in the elf's voice, the tiniest pulse of uncertainty that this wouldn't backfire horrifically. However, when her eyelids came up, there was nothing in her gaze that betrayed her nerves as she named her single condition, "But this knowledge cannot be abused, and without my support it amounts to little more than hearsay."

Stomach lurching, Brand shifted, almost unconsciously, towards Alistair. He was breathing harder than he needed to be, each inhalation a small gasp as if he found the air surrounding them physically heavy with tension. Part of her wanted him to interject, to tell Fiona to keep their secret secret, and part of her thought to do it herself, to save her friend from saying what amounted to "Alistair is my son, and therefore sullied by my blood."

But Alistair had been spared his heritage his entire life, to save him from expectations and ridicule, and it had done him nothing but harm. And if what Anora saw as threat could be negated by the entire truth of his parentage, then perhaps they could get out of this unscathed.

"Let me hear what you have, Warden," Anora spoke briskly, curiosity tightening her features and the tiniest bit of hope glittering in her cool sapphire eyes. "But remember that I must do what is best for my country, and I cannot guarantee anything."

"No, of course not. You are only the queen, after all," a bitter laugh punctuated this and Brand remembered Fiona's expression when she'd confessed to her affair with King Maric, the shifting tides of respect and resentment in the way her brows tightened and relaxed, and how she seemed forever caught between an old grudge against anyone with power and a newfound understanding that power did not automatically mean corruption, or even freedom. While she cared for Maric, she was clearly uneasy with what he represented and now she was barely able to hide her contempt for the woman who sat on his throne. Thankfully, she kept her part of the exchange free from anything but the barest of truth:

"Alistair is my son. Elf-blooded, half-Orlesian and his limited ability to produce an heir comes with a significant chance of that heir being a mage and, thus, unable to inherit."

Brand's throat tightened automatically at this last bit, and she fought to keep her expression from showing panic, especially since the entire room, save Anders and Fiona, had turned their attention o Alistair and her, for some reason.

"Oh," it was as close as Brand had ever seen Anora be to dumbstruck. "I can't say that I see the resemblance."

"You wouldn't," Fiona leaned heavily on the back of the empty chair next to her, suddenly seeming impossibly worn. "When a human and an elf have a child together, it is always human. And even were that not the case, I've been told that Theirins have a tendency to look like Theirins."

"I see," Anora was watching Alistair now, eyes bright with newfound interest although it wasn't good-natured scrutiny, but the look of a hunter who has discovered a weakness in its prey and through that has regained the upper hand. "I never believed that Maric was the type of man to dally with maids, and I always wondered why my father was so willing to press that lie. This makes sense."

"I'm glad that you think so," Alistair sounded winded as he amended his comment."Your majesty."

Anora didn't seem to care about his attempt at propriety as she considered the new information, nor did she seem nearly as tense as she'd been since she'd stormed into the dining hall calling for Alistair's head.

"Please tell me you're not going to execute anyone, Anora," Brand leaned away from Alistair so she could steal a glance at him. He definitely wasn't seeing any reason to relax, his shoulders high and his jaw tight. "Besides, we have other things we need to discuss."

"Yes," Anora folded her hands neatly against her flat stomach and for the first time Brand noticed that her fingers, normally adorned with an ostentatious array of gold and gems, were bare save for a signet ring that bore the Mac Tir family crest. "I will accept Alistair's presence on one condition- he is to remain in your custody, Commander."

"My custody? As a Warden? But I'm not..." Brand's eyebrow shot up in consternation. "What about Redcliffe? It's either Alistair, Bann Loren or me."

"Of those three, only you are acceptable," Anora scowled slightly. "Loren's guard is good for thuggish pursuits and intimidation and he can work the banns, but he relies far too heavily on aligning himself with the right people and has no idea how to stand on his own. Alistair knows nothing about governance, but he is well-educated and well-trained. With my support, you will win your bid and Alistair can join you in whatever capacity you see fit. He'll be your responsibility."

"Anora," Brand's tongue darted out from between her lips, which were only slightly drier than her mouth and Anders was staring again, his own mouth opened in disbelief. They'd not discussed their future together but apartextensively, but it had been discussed and Alistair was never supposed to be a part of things. "We were thinking that Alistair could be Arl, and I'd be his seneschal for a few years. With these documents from Eamon, we could justify it to the Landsmeet and..."

"No."

Fuck.

Brand touched her forehead, the smallest tell of disappointment for something she'd not realized she'd been truly hoping for since Alistair had suggested it in Eamon's study. The thought that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel after all, that if she just held on for a few more years then maybe she could grab Bryce and Anders and disappear into a life that was as close to normal as a retired hero-noblewoman and her two apostates could have…she was foolish to have given it any consideration.

"I assume that you have chosen Oghren as your successor, per our discussions earlier," Anora pushed on and Brand was forced to get caught up once again in the breakneck speed that Anora was taking things. "There might be some raised eyebrows at the Landsmeet."

"Oghren raises eyebrows everywhere he goes," Anders swiveled neatly around in his chair, rising in one elegant movement, his focus on Anora and Brand didn't like the way that made her feel. "And he's not exactly thrilled at the prospect of being an arl. Not to step all over any earlier discussions, but I would not be opposed to taking the position myself."

"No," Anora added a little more to this no, a bit of are you insane?on top of the established never going to happen.

"I was expecting that," Anders continued, feigning obliviousness to the way Anora was not terribly amused by his persistence or the way he was looking at her. "But I'm well-read, I speak several languages and I've observed the proceedings of court countless times since I became a Grey Warden."

"You've observed the women in court, Warden. That is hardly the same thing," Anora was unyielding.

"I would do a good job," there was nothing of the showman in this assertion, just unvarnished sincerity. Brand's lips pressed tight, and she blinked back the bright bite of tears that were threatening to fall. She'd not been lying when she told him the day before that he'd make a decent arl, but she'd never guessed he'd ask for it. It made sense, though. He'd have more control over Bryce's education and training, and with a title...

"Then it is unfortunate that you are a mage," Anora allowed this out with a small amount of sympathy. "Let the First Warden appoint you, if it is his will, but I cannot risk an Exalted March on Ferelden because I gave an apostate such power. Until I hear otherwise, Oghren will represent Amaranthine at the Landsmeet." She turned her gaze onto the dwarf, who'd been watching the exchange with bemused horror and a smidgen of hope. "I recommend that you bring Varel with you, at least until you're comfortable with the proceedings."

"Aye," Oghren shifted, obviously uncomfortable on Anders' behalf. Anders, however, was not around to see the minute show of support. He'd left the moment Anora's attention had shifted, his own focus away from hereand he'd not even glanced back as he swept out of the dining hall.

Brand felt herself leaning forward; her automatic response to Anders leaving was to follow him, to maybe soften the blow of two decisions that struck him where he hurt. To reassure him that she'd never meant for him to be blindsided by anything, or have his capabilities dismissed because he was a mage.

"Did you have to put it that way, Anora?" Brand caught herself before she could gain any momentum, shifting back into resignation. "He was trying to make this easier."

Anora's gaze flitted back to Brand and this time the curiosity there was of a less executive nature.

"Easier for whom, I wonder?"

It was an acknowledgement, and for the first time since Anora had barged into their dinner, Brand wondered how she'd come to know so much. Not about Anders, of course. Brand was realizing every day how very little they'd done to dissuade anyone else from thinking they were merely comrades. Anders was almost always with her when she traveled to Denerim, usually watching Bryce while she met with Anora or Shianni in the Alienage and then slipping out in the evening to visit taverns and the interesting quarry within. But he always came back early and empty-handed, funny little stories masking his lack of success…

"Fergus told me that Bryce would be squired with the Wardens," Anora's voice cut through Brand's racing thoughts and she jerked back to awareness. "I assume that Anders will have his hands full with that."

Fergus. He was in the city already, and had apparently gone straight to Anora. Unable to hide her annoyance, Brand snorted softly.

"Did he tell you about Alistair, too?"

"No," Anora tilted her head. "I am paranoid enough to have eyes all over the city, and your friend is right when she says that Theirins have a tendency to look like Theirins."

It will be like marrying his twin.

"Of course…your guard. We weren't exactly sneaky, either," Brand remembered making that decision well outside of the city. No use looking like they had something, or someone, to hide. From anyone. "What else did my brother share?"

This darkened the mood considerably, Anora's lips twisting into a sneer and her nose going up in disdain.

"Enough that I know what I must do next, and that I have little enough time to act," her features smoothed and she turned on her heel with unexpected ferocity. "Which is why I must return to the palace, Commander," she paused just past the doorway, and offered a parting shot. "Your safety is important, but so is my own. Never forget that. Brand."

At her last syllable, the Queen of Ferelden was consumed by her guard, a wall of gleaming armor going up between her and Brand as they escorted her out with as little ceremony as with which she'd arrived.

Brand should have turned to say something to her Wardens, to comfort Alistair or Fiona, to reassure Oghren. Instead, she acted upon her earlier impulse and allowed her feet to take her to the Warden that mattered the most.

And it's a good thing I'm retiring, with biases like this.

He was in one of the small courtyards that were wedged between the mansion and the city walls, this one barely more than a shaded corner with a bench and matching fountain. Both the bench and the fountain had obviously spent years in a more open spot, the stone sun-bleached and all the edges eroded could clearly make out the mabari motif if you looked for it. Three mabaris crouching in the ground and balancing the seat across their heads, a pack in mid-run that made up the back…

Anders was at the fountain, running his fingers along the worn lip of a long dry basin and leaving behind a gleaming trail of ice.

"I think it's cold enough already," she glanced down at her plain linen tunic and wool trousers, wishing she'd grabbed a cloak; the crisp autumn air had already leached what little heat they'd managed to retain from inside. Anders wore something very similar, although he had ways of keeping himself warm if he really needed to. At the moment, he was pre-occupied with making ice. "So…not talking?"

He remained silent, and only the near imperceptible twitching of his head wanting to look in her direction gave away that he'd noticed her at all.

"Anora knows that Bryce is staying at the Vigil. I didn't tell her about the whole…anything. She's fine with you being his tutor, though," Brand hesitated, uncertain whether this would be something that would quell his anger or encourage the old bitterness that she'd never been able to eradicate in all her years of I am so lucky that you're a mage.

"And here I thought she wanted to avoid an Exalted March on Ferelden," his voice went into Anora's at the last bit. "I could fill her little heir's head with all sorts of mischief, coach him to raise a rebellion the moment that crown touches his hair." Anders whipped around to face Brand, his eyes narrowed and slightly menacing. If she didn't know him, she'd be genuinely nervous. As it was, she was merely upset that he was upset. "Can't you picture it, love? It would probably be the most interesting thing to happen in that palace since you wiped the floor with Loghain."

"I took her to task for that," Brand leaned against the city wall, the day exhausting despite her relative inactivity.

"Oh, to task," Anders mimicked her posture, taking a place next to her but still several inches away. "I'm surprised you had any spine left after using so much on Alistair."

"Because trying to keep someone from being executed is totally the same as being annoyed that you didn't get a position that you weren't even offered!" Brand dug her shoulders back against the stone, enjoying the way it scratched at her skin and relieved a bit of the frustration that was rapidly building inside her chest. You know what he wants you to say, so just say it.

But she couldn't, because Anders was back in front of her, eyes wounded but angry.

"And why was I never offered that position? If you really think I'd be so good at it."

"What? Andraste's ass what kind of question is that?" She felt her lips twist down at the corners. Anders had never wanted that much responsibility. It would take him away from his relatively low-stress job of talking about magic, and being magical, and doing pretty much anything he wanted to do. Besides, "Oghren has actually led troops before. And, including the Blight, he has seniority.And, most importantly, you weren't even in the Wardens when I promoted Oghren. Surely you can't find a big conspiracy there."

"I'm not looking for a big conspiracy, Brand!" This time he was aghast as well as angry. Teagan's death was the only reason why she'd named Oghren as her co-Commander, to keep the operations at the Vigil and within the Wardens running smoothly. Had Anders been there... "I don't know what I'm looking for."

The quiet way he said this, as if he were talking to himself and not to her at all was like forgetting how to breathe. For several long, black, seconds Brand could only choke on what he could possibly mean by that.

"What do I have to hope for here?" He was back at the fountain, the ice now spreading up the throat of the howling mabari that would, in decades past, be venting water at the sky. "I wouldn't be surprised if you told me tomorrow that you're taking Bryce with you to Redcliffe, and that Alistair will teach him to be the good little warrior that he should be."

"Anders, stop it," Brand blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the way it felt like he was coating her in ice, from the inside and starting at her stomach. "If you keep doing this I'm not going to be able to breathe and you know this is not what I want."

For several minutes, Anders kept his silence. Brand watched in agony as he began chipping at the fountain, his bitten down fingernails too short to find a way in and, in his growing frustration, he gave up, his hands going hazy orange and Brand could feel the heat coming off of him from her place by the wall. Then it was rivulets running down to the once empty basin and they tracked like the tears that stung her cheeks.

"I hate that I can't be with you," he stopped burning and dropped his freshly extinguished hands. "And it's not fair that he gets to be."

"But not like that," her heart was making low, muffled noises in her ears now. She'd experienced this before, in battle and during horrible moments when her mind left her and the very thing she should be doing chasing down Alistair, running away from the Redcliffe Chantry and the patient betrothed therein, winding my arms around you so you know how very much I wish things could be different and I meant to tell you first was not getting done.

"Yet," he pushed away from the fountain and took a seat on the bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him. It was a casual pose, a resigned posture and his entire face was an impenetrable mask of resignation. "Just don't ever say anything like it's unfortunate that you're a mage. I'm very much aware of that fact."

It would have been easy to take a few steps across the small courtyard, to force him back to her. She could kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his nose. She could tell him all the ways that him being who he was, Anders, mage, friend, comrade, lover had saved her and saved her and saved her.

But that was all she could say, all she could do. I love you and thanks. Despite everything they'd been through, when it came to what really mattered they were as restricted as they'd been that evening he'd walked her and a newborn Bryce to her bedroom and all she was allowed was nothing close to what she wanted to do, which was to commit to him with her life the way she was now committed to Redcliffe and Ferelden. But what had been merely improbable before was impossible now. Officially so, what with talk of Exalted Marches.

Brand walked away without another word, her chest still tight and her ears full of that damnable noisy silence. She doubted that she'd ever be able to tell him the reason why she'd been open to Alistair's plan, because wasn't that just as painful? One final hope for something resembling normalcy blocked by a curt, dismissive no.

Don't think about it, Brand. You have other things to do, other people to help. Check on Bryce, make sure Fiona's not fled to the Free Marches, make sure Oghren hasn't run to the nearest cask of ale, find Alistair and...

"Hey!" The hand caught her elbow and she realized with a jolt that she had made it inside and was alone in a narrow corridor that only the servants used. It was long and shadowed, torches slung intermittently along the stone walls and only half were lit. The only other light filtered through highs set windows, but it was enough to catch an edge of straw pale blond that showed itself beneath a black hood and the hard gleam of golden eyes beneath heavy lids.

"I have been looking all over for you, my dear," Zevran tilted his chin up and the hood fell away from his face. "How would you feel about some good, old-fashioned bloodshed?"

Whatever had been dulling her senses in the yard disappeared at the sight of the assassin's smile, a flash of danger in the dim.

"Whose blood are we talking? I'm on strict orders to keep as much of mine in me as I can."

Zevran laughed, his head thrown back and Brand felt his slender fingers press affectionately where he still held her elbow. It was familiar and for a second she could almost forget they weren't six years past, before the Landsmeet, and everything was going to be fine.

"Oh, of that I have no doubt," he shrugged and dropped her arm carefully. "Then you will be pleased to know that, within ten minutes, the largest number of Ignacio's operatives in the city of Denerim will have been extinguished."

"What?" Things were unsteady again. "That's..."

"Sudden? Unexpected?Awesome?" He twitched his shoulders again. "I have been working very hard, Brandelyn. You have no idea what Zevran can accomplish when he wants something badly enough."

"Apparently not," she drew a sharp breath. "I thought that this would take longer? I thought you were waiting."

Zevran chuckled warmly, as if they were discussing a favorite childhood pet or romantic conquest. He looked somehow even older than the last time she'd seen him, only weeks ago, but there was an odd ebullience about him now. Brand was one to revel grimly in victory, if she was able to revel at all. Zevran, though, was a cheerful winner.

"Things have fallen into place magnificently these last few weeks. I think they did not anticipate that you would be so very hard to kill," he paused, bemusement touching his lips. "I should really be thanking Anders, I suppose. No doubt he is the one responsible for your current state of living."

"Indeed," Brand's heart ached slightly at the mention and then shook off her sadness. This is excellent news, Brand. It seems impossible, but this whole thing might very well be over, without you really doing anything at all. "Like being washed ashore."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, I just...I haven't done anything. I planned on political intrigue and Landsmeets and taking on assassins in dark corridors. Some kind of action. But everything is resolving around me and it's turned out that all I've done is get caught up in a current that was headed towards dry land." But it could be over. Over. Done. Isn't that something good? Resolution? "It's weird when things fall into place, is all. It seems unlikely, but..."

"Is it the lack of action that has you disappointed, or is it something else that has made you so sad?" This was asked with genuine concern, Zevran observing her with disconcerting intensity.

This is not what I want.

"Lack of action, definitely," the urge to vent what felt like a lifetime of regret died in her throat. She would keep this to herself- the fact that any end would be bittersweet considering what she would be losing once things really were over. "Bargaining with Anora has a tendency to make a person long for a few rounds of ten to one combat. Better odds, at least."

Silence greeted this joke, when Brand was expecting at least a snort for her efforts. Instead, Zev grabbed her arm again, low on the wrist and his grasp was tight, desperate.

"What?"

"You went to see Anora?" He spoke at a volume barely above breath.

"No, she was here. You just missed her, in fact," Brand leaned away, her nerves snapping to attention as the elf's mouth disappeared into a thin, white line. "I take it this is a bad thing?"

"The worst," he began moving down the hallway, tugging her behind. "How long would it take for you to prepare?"

"Prepare?" Brand thought not about her armor and preferred weapons, which were being attended to by one of the local smiths, but of her wounded arm and uncertain strength. She could wear the finest plate and wield the sharpest blades in Thedas, but she could never call herself prepared if she couldn't stand in a fight. "Not long, but my gear is in the other direction."

Zevran automatically turned them around and they moved towards the armory at a run, Zevran shouting for help once they were inside the main hall.

"We must get to the palace as quickly as we can," he all but shoved her into the armory. "I knew I should have tried my hardest to make this whole thing seem like her idea."

"Zev!" Brand stumbled away and then turned to confront him. "What's going on? Have you been working with Anora?"

"Of course I have, Brandelyn," he smirked darkly. "I needed information and access, and she needed protection. Both of us needed many people to die. It was perfect. But now..."

"She's gone off plan?" She hurried to the trunk that held her secondary armor, trying to control her shaking hands. All she needed was for Anora to be assassinated and the last place for her to be seen alive was here, threatening Alistair and the Wardens.

"Yes. And, more distressingly, my measures to prevent her from going off plan have failed. She was supposed to remain hidden until I had confronted Ignacio. Now she is headed right to him, and with men who might no longer serve her best interests."

"Dammit, Anora," her hands were slick with sweat and having difficulty with the simplest tasks, but she didn't slow down and she didn't let the steady ache of her arm dissuade her from committing to what had to happen next. "I really fucking hate rescuing her."

"I know, I know," Zevran was remarkably calm given how dangerous things had suddenly become. "I promise you, if she tries to betray you or turn you over to someone who will hurt you, she will receive at least a stern warning from me, and probably a nice shock on the ass from Anders."

Without acknowledging his remark, Brand carefully sheathed a pair of silverite swords that Fergus had packed for her.

"Or we can go alone, not a problem. I will have men there, anyway," small pause. "Is there no one you would take with you?"

Brand thought about it for a few seconds, but not much longer. If something happened and the Crows failed, who knew what would happen or how quickly. And Anora had been here, which made here an even larger target and a more dangerous place to be. Maker, I can't let them get Bryce again, but moving him isn't an option, either. The Wardens will have to protect him, and I can deal with the queen on my own and take the blame if things fall apart.

Again. Some more.

"Brand?" Zevran prompted her in a low voice.

"I can't." She straightened up and joined him in the doorway. "We're close to the end. I don't want to risk losing anyone now."

"Except for yourself. And maybe me. I forgot how these things went with you. Maybe we'll get lucky, win, and there will be an exposed blade for you to fall on."

The recrimination in his words hit her.

"I don't want either of us to die, Zev," she pulled her cloak around her shoulders, the dragon clasp rough against her fingertips. It had been a gift from Varel and Fiona, given as an early Feast Day present before she and Anders had left for Amaranthine to begin this whole, mad affair. "I just want the ones I love to be safe."

"And you do not wish to let anyone else act on such a desire for you."

It was not a question, but she answered it anyway.

"No."