This was supposed to be a one-shot, but around the time it hit 21k words, I decided to split it up a bit. I figure three chapters at about 9k each will be a bit easier to read, no? Just know that there was no easy way to break this thing up. It all flows into each other part, so I do apologise for how the breaks interrupt that. I hope breaking it up is the right decision.

Anyway, I wrote this piece because I…was not happy with how the final battle played out in DA:O. I love a good war campaign, and let's face it…charging the city gates of an occupied city is not good battle tactics. So, I rewrote it. This piece is, thus, very action heavy. If you like that stuff, I think we should get along fine.

There are a few OCs in here, because there really isn't any way to avoid them in a piece like this, but with one exception (unless you count Tabris as an OC, which he sorta is, then it's two exceptions), I tried to keep their importance and involvement to a minimum.

Anyway go read…and hopefully enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment, because I do love those. :D

Warnings: Extreme violence, descriptive gore, profane language

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, all affiliated characters and settings are the property of BioWare and EA Games. No copyright infringement is intended; no profit is being made.

Denerim

"What's going on out there?"

"I-I'm not sure, Captain, I—"

"Then perhaps you had best dispense with the excuses and find out, ensign!"

"Y-yes, ma'am!" With a snapped salute, the wiry recruit turned and dashed off, his armoured feet clacking heavily off of Denerim's paving stones as he jogged towards the gate.

Evin had only joined the military recently, and he had stayed behind when the wardens left, having been declared too inexperienced to handle the march and war that was too follow. He, like the many other newcomers who had flocked to the army at their new king's call for aid, had been left behind to train. Learning to fight would, ultimately, make them marginally more useful, should the Blight spread this far.

"Monsters!"

At the cry that rang down from atop the battlements, Evin's head snapped up, brown eyes widening as he spotted the sentry who had yelled. The man was leaning over a crenel, gesturing so wildly he bonked an elbow off of one of the merlons. Evin was about to yell up to ask for more details when a rain of arrows flew over the parapet.

The sentry fell forwards, his body smashing into the paving stones beneath the wall with a sickening thunk. Eyes wide, the redheaded recruit turned to flee the scene, heart pounding. This couldn't be happening! They weren't supposed to be attacked here! The army had gone to face the threat! Their job was to train. It was a bare token of experienced knights and soldiers that had remained, mostly to keep order in the city with the king away.

Heart in his throat, Evin stumbled over his own feet as he flew back to Captain Solea. He had to tell her! They had to…do something! How had this even happened?!

He would never know, for the blast of Denerim's gates blowing inwards ended his worries forever.

The sky was red.

It was ludicrous, but that seemed to be the only thought that Fälin Tabris could get through his skull at the moment. It was like his mind was rejecting further thought, thought of what that might mean, as he gazed up at the sky above them. Could one beast change the colour of the sky, or was this some doing of a Maker he did not really believe in? Or was the sky just reflecting the burning of Ferelden's City?

"It is ominous, no?"

Glancing over at the assassin riding to his left, Fälin snorted a humourless laugh. "I was actually thinking that it rather compliments my hair." At least he had retained his humour, dry though it was.

"Ah, you are most correct there, my warden. It is a stunning picture. If not for the lack of privacy, I would be forced to strip you now to enjoy the view in its fullest."

"That, and the impending war, right?"

"Tch. Minor inconvenience."

The redhead chuckled, flaming auburn hair shaking as he swung his head. "Thanks for trying, Zev."

Expectedly, at least in Fälin's eyes, the platinum blond's eyes softened. "It is my pleasure, Fay. You have enough to worry about without ever having fun."

The Grey Warden just snorted derisively at that. Yeah, maybe they could all use a laugh or two more, but that did not seem likely to happen in the near future. Still, he did appreciate the subtle efforts Zevran was always taking to keep the whole group's morale up. Too bad they had a whole army to see to, now.

…or, rather, not too bad. In fact, it was quite a useful thing, having an army to fight a war. Though, their little group of nine had done fairly well on its own before now. Perhaps they could have handled it. He choked back a laugh at the mental image of them charging the darkspawn horde alone.

"Fälin?"

Glancing over at the blond, he quirked one eyebrow and grinned almost painfully. "An army's a useful thing, Zev."

"Of course, my Fay." Zevran's voice was tense, his eyes suddenly wary, a fact Fälin did not miss. Yes, maybe the stress was getting to them both.

"We're getting close."

Glancing over as Alistair rode up, the king's large palomino dun settling in on his right, the elven warden could only tighten his expression in response. There was so much to do. They needed to get there faster…but at the same time, he never wanted to get there at all.

What if…what if Denerim was simply gone? What if his home had been burned to the ground—never mind that much of it was stone. It could still be little more than a hollow husk, a cruel testimony to the life that had once been there.

And, by the Maker, his family…

"Fay? You listening to me?"

Glancing up, the elf's lips tightened momentarily as he nodded. "You asked what I want to do."

Silence descended for several more seconds before the blond human gently prompted, "…and?"

That was a good question—and one easily answered, though it was an answer he did not want to give. He wanted to rush ahead; to charge that horde and save everyone inside the city. That was the reckless, young, foolish city elf speaking.

The army commander, though? He had other plans. Better ones.

"Send the word back; we stop here."

Alistair's eyebrows rose noticeably as he glanced at his friend. "Stop? Fay, you sure? Those things are marching on Denerim. People are dying!"

Before he could react in any way, to snap like he wanted to, to say that he knew that, Zevran interjected, his calm voice cutting off the eruption that was halfway out of the elf.

"Yes, and this army has marched almost ceaselessly to get here, yes? They are tired." Zevran motioned around them, to where their troops marched around them. "Would it not be better to face these darkspawn rested and ready to fight, not tired and ready for their beds?"

Those accusing eyes snapped to him again, and suddenly Fälin found himself feeling tired again. With a sigh, he nodded. "Zev's right. We need to rest and regroup; send out scouts to see what's going on over there. If we charge in like this, we'll be useless to everyone 'cause we'll all be dead."

Alistair's expression only got tighter, if that were at all possible, before the blond turned and rode off. With a sigh, Fälin turned to the contingent of runners that were following on his heels. It was always left to him to do the work; make the bad decisions. Everyone would just yell at him later, anyway.

Issuing orders to the boys, he finally turned back to the other elf. Heeling Gryphon up alongside Zevran's huge, black stallion, he stopped the red dun only when they were so close their knees were touching.—or, rather, his knee to Zevran's calf; Gryphon was significantly smaller than Black Warden.

"Thanks," he muttered, keeping his voice low for the other's ears alone. "I would have just yelled at him."

"I know, my Warden. You are very overworked."

"You can say that again," the redhead agreed with a dry snort.

"Hm? Oh, Fay, there you are. My apologies; I was speaking to the horse. Did you need something?"

One would think after close to a year in Zevran's company, he would learn not to be flabbergasted over the incorrigibility of the blond.

One would also be very wrong.

"You're an ass."

"Mm, and a fine one, no?"

Fälin leaned up, stretching to reach Zevran's ear. "The finest."

"I'm worried about Fay."

"Oh, and what gives you the right to concern yourself now, after you have successfully dumped all of your burdens on him for so long?" Morrigan demanded, one eyebrow raised and arms folded beneath her breasts. Honestly, if there was one thing—or, rather, one of many things—she hated about the former Templar, it was his knack for dumping all of his duties on his fellow Grey Warden.

"I have not! I'm the king now, aren't I?"

"Oh, and what a fine king you are to abdicate all responsibility for your army onto our elf. Very regal."

"I really hate you," the blond snapped, eyes narrowing. "Those armies follow him, and you know it! It was the right decision!"

"I do not deny that. 'Tis most certainly true that you have been dumping your responsibilities on him for so long that the army that should be yours…is now his. It is a fine plan, Alistair. Very clever, especially for you."

Before the argument could go any further, a fact that rather disappointed Morrigan, Leliana stepped in. "What's worrying you, Alistair?"

At the bard's words, the fight seemed to sag out of the pompous tin can. "He looks…tired?"

"Well," even Leliana had to look away, "he is under a lot of pressure."

The blond huffed, but there was no heat in it. "Don't tell me you blame me, too? Look, I'm just…not good at…this!" Alistair accompanied his words with a wild flail that took in the whole army. "Fay's…better at it than me."

"Yet you are the king, sorry lot of good that it will do this country. Perhaps when this is done, you can also abdicate your throne to him. Perhaps I will also be able to remain in this country, should that occur." Morrigan shifted, her piercing, feline gaze boring into the Templar. She hated him, but she did know one thing: He had to accept what he was, or else Ferelden would suffer.

So would Fälin. She could not admit it, not with how he fawned over the assassin, but she was…fond of the elf. The least she could do was snap this useless human onto the right path.

"Look you two," Leliana's voice was firm, and Morrigan shot her a sceptical look that the bard returned steadily, "now's really not the time for fighting. We need to stay together. He needs us, and so does everyone in Ferelden. We cannot fail here."

Before either of them could retort, a messenger rode up and nodded to Alistair. "The commander and Ser Riordan want to see you."

With a sense of smug satisfaction, she watched as the idiot trashcan clanked off. Maybe he would, for once, take to heart the good advice she was always throwing his way.

Yes, and perhaps the Chantry was right, too…

Denerim burned. The little resistance that had mustered against the horde was quickly being pushed back in the streets, the citizens fleeing into the bowels of the city in raw terror. Women, children, the elderly, craftsmen—they were all going to die; she was failing.

Gripping her broadsword tightly, Solea shouted encouragement to the rough contingent of trainees and veterans that she had gathered. They were a ragtag group, but pure desperation kept them together—and it kept them from retreating. They were single-handedly stemming the flow into the marketplace as people fled behind them. She knew she had to hold if even one person was going to escape alive.

Maker, but it was hard.

"First rank, fire!" she snapped, her voice accompanied by the snap of bowstrings as her front rank of archers fired over the heads of the pikemen and into the milling monsters before them. Obediently, those then dropped to their knees, the second rank standing, bows drawn and ready to fire. "Second, fire!"

Watching as the second dropped, prompting the third to rise, the stressed brunette found herself mentally calculating how long they could hold. Her archers didn't have unlimited ammunition, and even as the thought crossed her mind one of her now-standing first rank fell with a scream. Still, it could be worse.

The darkspawn were hardly intelligent, and they did not work as a cohesive unit; she had to use that to her advantage. So long as they kept firing independently, she could protect her archers for the most part, she just needed to get her men into position.

"All ranks!" she snapped. "Stand! Three volleys, then drop! Fire!" As her archers complied, Solea waved the shieldmen she had managed to find into position, setting up yet another line of defence for the archers. As she was waving them in, a group of armed men and women came trotting up. They looked like civilians, armed with anything that could serve as a weapon, and she had never been happier to see anyone.

"Get on top of the buildings," she ordered immediately, waving to the thatching above their heads. "Spear down at them, but make sure to stay low. You will be easy targets standing up there." A few people looked nervous, perhaps intimidated with how quickly she had taken to giving them orders, but Maker be praised, none complained.

Watching as the group rushed off, she spotted one golden-haired woman, a boy barely higher than her elbow at her side. Snagging the woman with a look, she asked, "What's your name, goodwife?"

"G-Goldanna," the stranger offered, "and this is Kalian."

"Kalian?" she asked, trying for a smile that, given the blood leaking from a shallow gash across her forehead, probably looked somewhat terrifying, for the boy pulled back nervously. "Can you do something for me?"

With a hiss, the woman placed a protective hand around the boy's shoulders. "He's too young! I won't let you put him on the front lines!"

Solea could have screamed. Why bring him in the first place if he—oh, never mind. It was a waste of time to try and work out the logic of people. "Don't worry, you won't have to fight," she promised, her hazel eyes holding the boy's gaze steadily. "Do you know how to find the alienage?"

After a glance to his mother, who finally released the boy's shoulders, he stepped forward nodding once.

"Good boy! Do you think you can run there and ask them to come?"

Goldanna scoffed. "The knife ears? Why would they come? They probably want us to die!"

Enough was enough; her nerves were frayed enough as it was. "Listen," she said firmly, "this is their home too. I think they might surprise you."

"Might."

Choosing to ignore the woman, she met the boy's eyes once more. "Kalian?"

After another glance to his unpleasant mother, the boy nodded. "Yes, I can find them."

"Good lad! Hurry now; we need everyone to help!"

As the boy scurried off, Solea by chance glanced up, only to cringe as a massive shadow blocked out the already-dark sky. Never had she dreamt in her wildest nightmares that she would live to see an archdemon, never mind one throwing fire down on her city.

She was terrified.

She had to hold this gate.

"Archers!"

The three Grey Wardens stood stiffly around a cleared patch of earth, none of them saying anything. Really, though, what was there to say? Their plans had been made, now all that remained was to carry them out.

Riordan was to, as planned, go for the killing blow. He would try to slip away from the main army and make his way to Fort Drakon, the highest point in the city. From there, it was hoped that his tainted blood would draw the beast to him. Should he fall, Fälin and Alistair would be following behind for take two.

Should they fail, then Ferelden was lost.

Waving the messenger over, a young girl who was waiting just out of earshot, he sent the order to have the other leaders join them at last. Now that Grey Warden business was dealt with, he intended to relay the plan to his commanders. He and Riordan had cooked up much of it, but he still wanted confirmation from some of the more experienced commanders on the field. He thought it would work, but he was so tired, he might have thought that asking the darkspawn to tea would work…

The others gathered quickly, each of them having been waiting on the order to come. Casting his gaze over the assembled group, he met the eyes of each of them in turn. Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan looked grim, but determined. Irving looked…tired, and more than a little resigned, but also ready. Bhelen's dark eyes held a readiness he had not expected in the dwarf, though maybe he should have; his people had done this for years. A little distance from the group, Witherfang sat, seeming almost eager. The werewolves would be a formidable force on the field.

He had made some grim decisions recruiting them all, but given what they faced, he could not afford to regret any of them.

Beyond even that were his friends and companions of the past year. He trusted each and every one of them with his life—and now, he needed to ask them to trusts theirs with him.

"The scout returned a short while ago," he began grimly, "it's not good. The darkspawn destroyed the gates and are swarming the city. It's burning." He shook his head. "They couldn't get closer to tell more."

Dad, Shianni…

"Well, then let's go get 'em!"

Shaking his head at Bhelen's enthusiasm, the elf forced a smile. "That's the plan." Drawing Fang with his left hand, he began sketching crudely in the dirt, mapping Denerim in rough fashion.

"Word has it that the gates are gone—that might be to our favour, if we're to retake the city." Nods accompanied his words, but he barely glanced up, grey eyes roving hastily as he drew awkwardly. "They're clustered near the gates, though. Even if they don't expect us, they know enough to hold them."

"So, what's the plan?" Teagan asked, moving to lean over Fälin's shoulder.

"We find our own way in." He moved to mark two locations on the front of the wall. "Irving, I need entrances here…and here. Bring the wall down, I don't care how."

"But…there will be people on the battlements!"

"Anyone up there is dead, Alistair."

The blond moved to protest, only to freeze up. It was the simple truth.

"Eamon, take your cavalry and go with Irving and half of the mages; that wall must come down. Witherfang," he indicated the other mark in the wall, "take your wolves and the other half of the mages—Morrigan, you lead them."

"An apostate, Fa—"

Whirling on the blond Warden, Fälin's face hardened. "This is my army, Alistair, and until such a time as this Blight is over, it will remain so. You will abide by my decisions, or you can sit out."

The former Templar froze at that. Truthfully, Fälin hated being so hard on his friend, but it had to be done. So long as he was head of this army, he had to act the part. Not even the king could be seen questioning his decisions, lest the soldiers start doing so, too. This was the reason why Alistair had been left out of the planning; he knew Alistair was going to balk at some parts.

"I understand," came the scathing reply. A moment later, Alistair seemed to deflate. "You're right, of course. Sorry, Fay."

Nodding, the redhead turned back to his map. "Eamon and Witherfang, you need to take your troops and move fast. While you're moving into position, Bhelen will be marching on the front gates with his dwarves and golems. I'm hoping that will hold most of their attention, but you still have to move fast. The moment the dwarves engage the darkspawn, Wynne will fire off a flash of light. Don't miss it; that's your signal. You need to bring down that wall. The moment you do," he paused, sweeping two lines in towards the main gate, "come in and crush them in a hammer and anvil pincer. If we have some luck, we should be able to clear the gates."

"The horses will not be able to charge over the rubble," Teagan offered.

"Find a way."

"Bu—"

"Don't 'but' me, Teagan. Find a way to charge over that rubble or we're all dead. I don't care if the horses have to grow wings; do it. If you aren't there to be the hammer to our anvil, the darkspawn will overrun us." Nothing hit as hard as a charge of heavy cavalry.

Surprisingly, it was Irving who piped up with the solution, "I believe we should be able to bring the rubble underground. The footing will be bad, but there will be no blockages."

"Fine, do it Irving."

Turning to Witherfang, he asked, "And you?"

It was the Lady who answered, "You need not worry; no rubble will hinder us."

He nodded, pleased that someone was finally agreeing. "Perfect. Then here's what I want. The mages that are to go with the werewolves get the fastest horses. As soon as they bring down the wall, send them back to the centre of the main gate. Their job is to stay out of range and blast anything trying to escape." He hesitated. "And do what you can about the fire.

"The rest of the mages can go with you, Eamon. Have them cover you from behind; don't let anything out to sneak up behind us and catch us in our own trap." His eyes darted to the spirit. "The same goes for you."

Taking a deep breath, Fälin accepted a ladle of water that Zevran thoughtfully handed to him. Draining it, he ran a hand through his auburn hair. Huffing out a breath of air, the elf steeled himself for phase two.

"Now, what is it they say about war? 'The best plans only last until the first arrow is fired.'" That earned a few dry chuckles. "Well, here's what we're doing anyway."

Stepping around the map, he drew two sweeping line, signifying troops sweeping out towards the depths of the city and Fort Drakon. "Darkspawn don't plan, and they don't accommodate for others planning, so let's pull the wool over their eyes.

"I want the dwarves and golems to hold the gates as best they can; it won't be easy, but try anyway. Eamon, your knights need to take to the streets—use the Denerim recruits to direct you. You're to act as a harrying unit; drive them here," he indicated a large square, one used for public announcements, set near the palace district. "I want a score of werewolves with them. Take to the roofs and be their eyes above the ground. Guide them to the darkspawn and help drive them.

"I want the rest of the werewolves to get here," he indicated the open square, "as fast as you can." And here was the catch that he suspected nobody would like. "The mages are going with you; carry them."

The silence over the group was almost stifling, but nobody said anything. That…was a first, honestly. He wasn't about to complain.

"I want the square cleaned and I wanted the mages and the werewolves to hide inside the buildings. Before that, though, block the exits as best you can; put up barricades at every entrance save here, here…and here," he muttered, indicating where he intended the cavalry to come from. "The moment the darkspwn enter, light 'em up. You will break the horde here," he looked up, meeting every eye, "or we will all die.

"When the darkspawn enter, crush them; do whatever you have to do. I don't want them leaving here alive."

"And what will you be doing while all of this is going on?" Morrigan finally chimed in. He had been expecting it ever since he had announced that she was leading mages, the only surprise was how long it had taken her to speak up.

"We," he emphasised the word, "will be heading to Fort Drakon." Time, it seemed, to confront his friends.

"Oghren and Sten, stay with Bhelen; hold the gates and clear out as much of the surrounding area as you can. If you get the chance, sweep further in. I doubt there's another horde out there, but don't neglect the gates anyway; keep the golems on it.

"Wynne, can you head with the cavalry? Try to keep them as strong as you can; take a dozen mages with you, too. Bring healers. Your unit cannot falter. Stay behind the cavalry and help them push forward.

"Sausage," he looked to his dog, smiling affectionately, "can you help Eamon, too? Your nose and ears will help guide them." The dog barked once, his stubby tail wagging. He was a good dog.

"Leliana," he took a deep breath, knowing that he was about to ask a lot of the bard. He trusted her to be able to handle this, however, "refugees. Citizens—find them. Help them. Take whatever and whomever you think you need. Just…do it."

"You have my word, Fälin."

"Alistair, Morrigan, you two are with me; we're hunting an archdemon." Morrigan made no response, but the blond nodded firmly, stepping up to clap his shoulder.

"Zev…"

"I am going with you," the other elf all but growled, drawing an affectionate smile out of Fälin.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Turning back to the assembled leaders, he finally took a deep breath, before glancing at Alistair. "Go give the orders to your officers and order everyone to gear up and form up. You have one hour. At that time, I want all of you to meet back here, and Alistair and I will address the troops."

Biting his lip, he glanced to Leliana, who willingly stepped forwards. "Maker speed you all."

"Go!"

They went.

Kalian ran like he had the archdemon itself on his tail—and, really, they all did. Ducking around a building, he nearly tripped over something dark and stinking lying across the alley. Not stopping to examine it further, he skittered off to the side and dashed off. He had to make it to the alienage, Captain Solea had said so.

He pushed himself faster as the gate came into view. With a confused whimper, he pulled up before it, eyes widening. The gate was closed. How was he supposed to get in if it was closed?! Dropping to his knees, the thirteen-year-old stared up at it in confusion. He could not help anyone…

"Who's there?! Get back, monster!"

Jumping up, the teen jumped back, eyes wide and afraid as something clattered against the gate near him.

"W-wait! That's a kid!"

Kalian breathed a sigh of relief as two elves hovered into view, both holding longbows.

"What are you doing here, shem?"

"He's just a kid! He probably wants help. Help me open the gate."

"We can't take in all the riffraff from out there. If we do that, we're all going to die!"

"N-no!" Kalian finally burst out, eyes wide and fearful. "Th-the marketplace! Come to the marketplace! We're fighting there! Help us," he all but begged.

"No way, kid, we've got our own problems."

Had his mom been right? Would they not help? But, Captain Solea had said…

"No, wait, let's hear him out."

"What, are you crazy? If we leave, we're all going to get slaughtered! We're safer here!"

"No, we're not. We're penned in. When they come here, they'll overrun us eventually. We'll be safer if we're with others."

"Or, we'll just get killed faster!"

"Please!" Kalian begged, jumping into the conversation. "Please help us!"

With a nod, one of the elves nodded and turned to run off.

"Where are you going?" the other snapped.

"To get Shianni."

Solea could not believe that she was still alive. Somehow, her makeshift army was holding—and, beyond that, it was growing. She had to have almost all of the resistance in Denerim with her, holding this gate. Most of them were half-trained recruits and civilians, but that did not matter, because they were holding.

At least, they were until it came. Two ogres led the way, their massive heads lowered into a charge that the pikemen barely managed to stop. As it was, at least a third of them wound up on their backs, and some of those did not get up again. With a curse, she waved some of her reserve into line. She could not let this line break. They were the defence for her archers.

Her archers had been running low on ammo, at least until a crowd of the elderly ran up, their arms filled with swaths of bloody arrows that they had retrieved from dead darkspawn. She had immediately sent them out again, along with many of the children who ran to her, lost and scared.

But none of that mattered when it came.

The darkspawn obeyed it. She did not know how or why, but they did. They focussed their assault, drawing back into an organised charged that broke on her pikemen, but took half of them with it. Before she could regroup, the ogres came, and in moments her line was broken, her archers jumping back and fleeing in a panic.

This could not be happening. Things had been going so well, they were holding, they were…!

A blast of fire ripped through the charging darkspawn, killing many of them and drawing the rest up short. Turning to look behind her, Solea found herself face-to-face with a tall man dressed in robes that might once have been fine, but now were barely holding together. And he had a staff.

Him, and the score or so of men and women clustered behind him.

"Move, we will handle this. Regroup your troops."

Taking a deep breath, she finally nodded, racing off to call her line back to her and get them back into position while the mages rained death of fire and ice down upon the darkspawn trying to break into the marketplace proper. As she worked, her mind reeled. Mages, there were mages here? She could have sworn the Circle snapped up every one of them for the war. So how…?

Her eyes widened as she looked them over once more. Not mages.

Apostates.

She had never been happier to see them.

Under the heavy fire from the apostates, the flow of darkspawn was stopped dead. They began milling, calling out in the guttural voices and pushing back to escape the death being showered on them in the bottleneck. In front of the mages, her lines began reforming, grim determination painting many faces as her soldiers took their positions once more. They would fight for their city.

"Captain!"

Whirling at the screech from behind her, Solea met the scout's eyes grimly. It was time, was it? The darkspawn were pushing in from other entrances, it seemed. Despite the wall that housed the marketplace, it was not impossible to breech it, and the look in the man's eyes said that that had happened.

"You know what to do. Rally the spearmen and clog those streets, then give the signal for those inside to charge. Move between safehouses and harry them. Don't let them catch you."

The scout nodded once before bolting, his eyes grim. They knew the plan, but actually implementing it without well-trained troops was something else. They were to hid in the buildings, wait until the darkspawn passed, and then charge out, crushing the enemy before moving to other buildings and returning to hiding. The few archers she could spare would fire from second-story windows, and piles of rubble waited on roofs for children to push down onto the foe.

She was relieved that they had had time to finish their preparations before the darkspawn made it this far.

"Break!"

Spinning, Solea gritted her teeth as she saw a group of darkspawn make it into the open square, a trail of carnage following them out. Dammit, she could not afford a break, definitely not this early! How had they broken through so fast? They should have at least been slowed! She knew the answer, though: These were not soldiers, they were civilians.

Before she could order anyone to stop the tide, a rain of arrows fell into the monsters, followed by another and another, until only twitching limbs signalled any life in the growing pile of corpses. A quick glance in the direction of the fire revealed what she had hoped it would: The elves had come.

With the last darkspawn dropped, the fiery redhead leading them raised her bow, meeting Solea's eyes from across the square, but addressing her people. "Let's show them that this is our home, too! For Deneriiiiim!"

A ragged cheering greeted the elves as they all but charged for her defences, led by little Kalian. Jogging out to meet them, the captain swept a hand out to indicate the rooftops.

"Can you get up there? Shoot down on anything that so much as twitches!"

For a moment, their leader met her eyes, before nodding. "We'll show them we won't go down so easily."

Solea found herself smiling for the first time in what felt years. "I think we've already done that. Now let's remind them."

Zevran stepped forward only once the others were gone. Wrapping his arms around Fälin's waist, he pulled the other elf into him. For a moment, the redhead resisted, but eventually he relaxed, letting his back rest against the assassin's chest.

"You are tired, my warden," he stated obviously. "You carry a great many burdens."

"We can't fail here, Zev. If we do, Ferelden dies."

"Then we shall not fail," the blond replied firmly. "It is a good plan, and they all have a reason to fight. They will win; we will win."

"How can you sound so sure?"

Chuckling, Zevran pressed his face into the side of Fälin's neck. "Because, I believe in you. You have done the impossible before, no? So why not again."

"Impossible. That's one word for it," came the wry reply. "But…thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Perish from a broken heart, certainly."

"Oh, naturally. Probably one I'd get in a valiant frontal assault that no one will ever remember."

"You wound me, my warden."

"Well, we can't have that. I imagine the darkspawn will be trying to do enough of that soon."

"You imagine? I should think it is a certainty. It shall be most difficult to avoid them all."

After a moment's silence, a single, soft word broke in, "Zevran."

He knew that tone, and though he tried to remain relaxed there was no controlling the subtle shift of his muscles that Fay would certainly not miss. He was nervous.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

He barely managed to hide the quiet hitch of his breath beneath his usual mask of indifference. He knew the truth in the words already, but neither had said it—not like that. To hear the words, though, it was like a certain sense of reality was suddenly pressing in on them. One, or both, of them could die today. There might…never be another chance to just say it. To really lay himself bare like that.

…and yet, he still could not do it; could not say those three, stupid words.

Turning Fälin to face him, the blond swallowed thickly as he met those steel-grey eyes he was so familiar with. After a moment, he leaned in to kiss the other elf, holding the gesture for a long moment as he gathered every bit of his willpower.

When he eventually drew back, Zevran met his love's eyes for a long moment before whispering, "And I, you." For now, he could only hope that was enough.

It was, he could tell as Fälin leaned in once more to steal his lips.

Once they parted again, Zevran leaned in to press his forehead against his Warden's. "I am…unaccustomed to feeling like this, my Warden. So, we must both come back, so that I may continue to explore this feeling." And if Fälin did not come back, then Zevran was fairly certain he would not be, either.

Because the only way anyone was killing his warden was if Zevran himself was already dead.

"We should get ready," the other elf finally muttered, drawing back from the embrace.

Gazing up into the tired, grey eyes, Zevran hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, the sooner we win, the sooner we can pick this up once again, yes?"

Fälin grinned. "Naturally."

"I admit, I am more accustomed to stripping you from your armour than I am to putting it on you."

Fälin wanted to laugh at the weak joke, but, as Zevran knelt, lacing up his left greave, he found himself unable to summon even the smallest lick of humour. How the blond elf could still be so easygoing was a mystery, though he appreciated the sentiment. Someone had to maintain their normal wit.

"Fay?"

Taking a deep breath, the redhead glanced down at the blond and smiled wryly. He needed to try. "Sorry, Zev. I'm just…"

"Scared? Terrified? Fit to wet yourself? …stunningly handsome?"

"All of the above."

"Do not fret, my Warden." A hand landed on his knee. "For we all are."

"Oh? Is Arl Eamon 'stunningly handsome'? That I hadn't noticed."

"No? Such a shame. It is the beard, I think."

"Should I be jealous—or are you saying you want me to grow one? That might be hard; we elves aren't really known for copious body hair."

Zevran stood, the blond running a hand over Fälin's smooth chin. "You are quite fine the way you are, I think."

"You only think?"

The lazy smile that always graced Zevran's lips turned into a full-on grin at that. "You have caught me. I am quite certain, mi amor."

"That's better."

Accepting the helmet that Zevran had retrieved, Fälin took a deep breath and tucked it under his arm. His stomach felt like it was roiling. He had been unable to eat all day, but Zevran had forced some weak soup into him not ten minutes earlier, and it was not sitting well in him. He was just…so scared, but he could not show it. He needed to lead these people into what would be the most ferocious battle of their time. If he faltered, so many would die. He could not falter.

Thinking about it, Fälin could not help but note how ironic it was that it had all come to this. Who would have thought that a scrawny city elf, who had murdered an arl's son, would be leading an entire army against a Blight?

Fighting for a glorious and noble cause had had its place in childhood play, so long ago. Back then, playing with Soris, Shianni, and the other children, he had often pretended to be a great and noble warrior, leading troops to war to rescue a fair maiden—often played by Soris, somehow—or something. That had just been play, though, and now, this…this was real. Either they won here, or they died.

The weapons were not sticks, not this time. His 'enemies' were not shrieking, giggling elven children, and his right-hand-woman was not Shianni. Not this time. But Shiannai, and all of those 'children' were still in that city, and he still needed to rescue Soris. It was not so different, there.

Only this time the danger was real. And this time, thousands of other lives were on the line.

One thing was the same, however. He was still the leader, and he still wanted to save them. He would; he had to.

Grabbing his freshly-honed blades, Topsider's Honour and Fang, he rammed them into their scabbards, which were positioned across his back, before grabbing Falon'Din's Reach and a quiver of arrows, and slinging them across his back, too.

Turning to meet the piercing amber gaze of his partner, Fälin grinned, forcing every ounce of confidence he had to the surface. "Let's do this, Zevran. I won't lose this country to any bloody dragon."

Striding out of the hastily-erected pavilion, where he and the other leaders had been preparing, the redheaded elf led the way to a wagon that had been propped up on its side. Bounding up, he braced himself next to a wheel and stared out over his army.

As he waited for Alistair, Fälin allowed his gaze to rove, taking in the organised chaos before him. They had long-since been forced to leave the camp followers, cooks and grooms and blacksmiths, behind in exchange for speed, so soldiers hastily gave their gear last-minute checks, or saddled horses flighty with the scent of adrenaline in the air. Mages checked potions and vials, while the werewolves almost seemed to napping off to the southern corner of the camp. So long as they were ready and fought for him, he did not care what they did.

Leliana, it seemed, was giving blessings to a group of Eamon's knights, while Sten almost seemed to be meditating. Beside him, Sausage was curled up, the dog clearly taking advantage of the stop to catch a nap.

Wynne had her head together with Morrigan and Irving, the three seemingly in conference over something Morrigan clearly did not agree with. Yet they were working together, and he had to be glad about that. Morrigan had come a long way since she had joined them, and though she hated the Circle, she was willing to help them in their fight. It was…good to know, that she was on their side.

Over with the dwarves, Oghren appeared to be arguing with Bhelen, his dwarf allies' arms waving wildly as they disputed some detail of deployment. They still had spirit. They still cared.

They all believed they could win.

He could not betray that faith. He needed to lead them to victory today. Glancing down at where Zevran was leading their horses over, he smiled. He would lead them to victory, or he would die trying. There was no other option.

A ripple in the crowd revealed Alistair, the mass parting willingly to allow the soon-to-be-king to pass through, his own palomino dun gelding in tow behind him. It was time, then.

Once the king arrived, Fälin indicated for the king to hand his reins to Zevran, before helping the blond human onto the wagon with him. With the two Wardens now side-by-side atop the makeshift platform, word quickly spread that it was time, and the hustle and bustle of the camp quickly packed up, soldiers falling into rank quickly. At a nod from the elf, Alistair stepped forward, hands raised.

"My friends! I thank you for being here. Your families and loved ones thank you for being here! Denerim thanks you for being here! Ferelden thanks you for being here! Know that it is by your efforts that Ferelden still stands, and it is through your efforts that Ferelden will continue to stand! No darkspawn horde is enough to break this nation! We are going into battle against them, and we will prevail!" Alistair paused pacing slightly, hands now clasped behind his back.

"Why will we prevail? We will prevail because we must! We will prevail because the lives of every innocent in this country depend on it, and we will prevail because we will not let them defeat us!

"In the name of my brother, in the name of the Grey Wardens, and in the name of everyone who perished at Ostagar and elsewhere, we go into battle! Win, my friends, for we cannot let this spread! Win for your families, and win for yourself! Let no sacrifice be in vain!"

Stepping up beside his friend, Fälin gazed out over the cheering men and women of his army. After a moment, he raised one fist, signalling silence once more. He was not sure he could top Alistair's speech, but he was sure as heck going to try.

"Well, I think His Majesty handled everything I needed to say; guess my job is done," he joked, his efforts greeted by a few chuckles from the riled troops. "Let me just add this. We're going out there, and we're going to win, not just because we must, but," he paused, glancing down at the blond elf waiting at the foot of the wagon, "because we…are ridiculously awesome! Never before in the lifetime of those now living has an army gathered like the one before me today!

"This is not my army, and it is not Alistair's army. Nor is it Loghain's army, or Cailan's army, or Bhelen's army. This is your army! You do not fight for us, you fight for Ferelden; you fight for our home! Never forget that! You will not all make it back, but you will all be remembered, and you will all be honoured someday, as your friends and family toast this magnificent army that threw itself at death…and won! So gather your weapons, and let us fight!"

Alistair nodded, hoisting his sword on high. "For Ferelden!"

Lifting his own longsword, the sword of a long-lost Grey Warden, Fälin stopped any cheers before they could begin to add, "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." Glancing at Alistair, the two then roared together, "For the Grey Wardeeeeens!"

Letting the assembled army have its own moment to cheer, Fälin waved Alistair away to get himself settled before motioning for silence once more.

"Mount up! Eamon, Witherfang, take your troops and get into position. Bhelen, get your dwarves and get ready to march. We have darkspawn to kill."

Now that everything was prepared, and orders had been passed, Fälin found that his legs felt like jelly. If not for Zevran's help getting down from the wagon, he probably would have fallen on his face. Leaning on the other elf, he took several deep breaths before glancing up into his friend's face.

"So, how'd I do?"

"Wonderfully, mi amor. I found myself quite aroused by your words." Zev accompanied his words with a suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows, drawing a huff out of the redhead.

"Good, though I didn't write it all myself."

"I would not have known."

Fälin chuckled. "Yes, I had help from the best." Reaching out, he tapped the tattoo on the blond's cheek. "The most…ridiculously awesome."

Zevran just smiled.

Stepping over to Gryphon, Fälin took a moment to check the horse over. The dun had been outfitted in his battle armour. Or…not his battle armour. For the first time, the elf noticed that the stallion was wearing a new breastplate, one that had been painted with the Griffon of the Grey Wardens. Over the chainmail that hung to the horse's hocks, there was a thick, velvet blanket that also bore the marchin griffon, displaying it proudly on the horse's rump. Touching the blanket, he turned to Zevran with a soft sigh.

"This is real."

"Yes, my warden. I believe they wanted to show their support for the wardens. Alistair was given the same."

A quick glance behind him confirmed it. Alistair was sitting proudly astride Paladin, and the blond shot him a grin that seemed to say The Grey Wardens really do have a place in Ferelden. Fälin agreed.

"No, I mean," he began again, cutting off to rub Gryphon's cheek, one of the few unarmoured places on the stallion that he could reach, "this is really real. We're going to face the archdemon." Somehow, seeing the horse decked out like a proud parade animal going on ceremony was really making it sink in. It was also making him realise that the Grey Wardens really were needed, and that people understood that.

"Yes, my Fay. It is all real."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Shoving his left foot into the stirrup, he swung onto the stallion. "Let's go end this."