Summary: He heals a wound left bleeding for years, and in return she reminds him that happiness, however fleeting, is always worthwhile.

Overall Rating for: Explicit scenes of an adult nature (aka Smut)

Overall Spoilers for: Human Noble Origin; Dwarven Commoner Origin; The Stolen Throne (Novel); The Calling (Novel); DA:O plot before Lothering; Warden's Keep DLC information; Grey Warden information; Alistair's history

Other notes: Last chapter folks; queue for anyone who wants to kill me starts over there…somewhere. Many, many thanks once more to Thessali for putting up with my long (compared to hers) chapters each week and doing such an excellent job of beta'ing.

This Chapter

Rated for: Not much this chapter.

Spoilers for: Human Noble Origin; Dwarven Commoner Origin; The Stolen Throne (Novel); The Calling (Novel); DA:O plot before Lothering; Grey Warden information; Alistair's history

#

"I…you…she knew!" Alistair spluttered. "She knew – you said none of the recruits were to know!"

"Do you think her less worthy for knowing beforehand, for knowing and still facing the Joining?" Duncan kept his tone even, refusing to add fuel to the fire. Though the junior warden might not be aware of it, Duncan was sure that any anger was a strange blend of jealousy, fear and uncertainty.

Up until he had returned with Calla – not just a recruit, but a lover – Alistair had been secure in his position as 'Duncan's' recruit. Now everything was set to change and change had very rarely been kind to the lad. If he wasn't allowed to express his concerns now, it was almost certain that resentment would set in, and fester, and that would do no one, least of all Alistair, any good at all.

"But you couldn't have known she'd still go through with it," the junior warden protested. "You don't know who else she might have told. How could you trust her like that?"

The anguished, betrayed expression on Alistair's face showed his real, unspoken question – 'Why didn't you trust me like that?'

"Alistair…"

"Is it because…because…" He stammered to a halt, blushing and refusing to meet Duncan's eyes, unable to spit the final words of his accusing query aloud.

"No, Alistair, it is not because I happen to be sleeping with her. Calla already knew about the Joining before I met her." He wasn't lying – she'd known, literally, of the Joining, and had guessed most of the details. He simply wasn't distressing Alistair any further by admitting that he had filled in the details she hadn't known.

"What?" All the heat was gone from the blond's tone, replaced by pure shock. "How?"

"The Cousland family library. Records from Warden's Keep. It makes no difference now."

"No…no, I suppose not." Alistair sounded dazed, no doubt the result of having his argument cut off at the knees. "But still, she might have told someone."

Duncan couldn't help but chuckle, even though it caused Alistair to shoot him an indignant look. "The Joining isn't exactly the best kept secret of the order," he confessed. "True, it's almost unknown in Ferelden, but it's common knowledge in Orlais that you either become a grey warden or die, and I suspect in Antiva they know about the blood as well."

Alistair stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "This has something to do with politics, doesn't it?" He asked with a grimace.

Duncan shook his head disapprovingly. "You would do well to stop avoiding everything remotely political…"

"Why? Every other bastard gets to – why do I have to be the exception?" It was a poor joke – a sign of just how unsettled Alistair currently felt.

"There may come a day when you have no choice but to be the exception."

There was a long, tense silence.

"Aren't you going to move her, make her more comfortable?" Alistair asked, blatantly changing the subject. He gestured at Calla, lying in a crumpled heap like Nora, both lost in dark and twisted dreams of the archdemon. "I mean, she is your…with you, after all."

"She's also a junior warden – have no fear that I or anyone else will show her any favouritism." Duncan's tone was deliberately chastising, and Alistair had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, running a hand through his hair as he visibly tried to find the words to express himself. "I will still have time for you, Alistair, do not worry." He reassured the blond.

Alistair turned away, shoulders sagging, and Duncan couldn't tell whether it was in relief, resignation, or some other emotion. He hoped it was the former, feared that it wasn't. But when the blond turned to face him once more, his expression was back to the cheerful front that the rest of the world rarely saw beyond, only a faint tension around his eyes and a tightness to his lips suggesting that all was not as well as it appeared.

"You are right, however." Duncan said, deciding that there was nothing to be gained in continuing to pursue either Alistair's reluctance to discuss anything political, or his reaction to Calla. "We should make Nora and Calla as comfortable as we can, and dispose of the other bodies."

Duncan suited his actions to his words, crouching next to Calla and rolling her onto her back before awkwardly gathering her into his arms. She was wearing scale mail armour now, not the splintmail that she'd still been wearing on her return from the Wilds. She must have found time to change – and get her injured leg seen to – whilst he was mixing the blood for the chalice.

Lifting her was a challenge. She was the same height as him, her build slightly thicker – though not as dense with muscle as being a grey warden would make her over time – and coupled with the heavier armour and her unconscious dead weight, Duncan knew he only succeeded because of the extra strength the taint gave all wardens. Putting her down was going to be equally tricky, but he would manage, even if he was half convinced that he could hold her in his arms until she woke.

"Er," Alistair was kneeling next to Nora, wary and hesitant. "How likely is she to wake up whilst I'm carrying her, do you think?" He asked. "I mean, the fist in the face was bad enough when she thought I was trying to look down her armour. I don't want to think what she'll do if she decides I'm taking advantage and trying to grope her…"

Duncan snorted wryly, having heard the tale of Alistair's black eye – healed now – from Brennan the previous day. "Don't worry, neither of them will wake for a while. Though the longer you wait…"

Alistair scooped Nora into his arms before Duncan finished speaking, rising and walking several steps before realising that he didn't know where he was supposed to be taking her. "Um…where are we putting them?"

"Over here." Duncan chuckled, walking over to where the worn flagstones were flattest. He knelt, carefully lowering Calla to the ground, using the excuse of seeing to her comfort to let his hands linger. He was aware of Alistair less-than-gracefully placing Nora down nearby, but his attention remained fixed on Calla, on the way her eyes were moving rapidly under her closed eyelids, the faint tension in her features that suggested her dreams were less than peaceful.

Her hair wasn't long enough to fall into her face, so the strands that he brushed away were purely imaginary. His fingers traced across her temple, across her cheek and down the line of her jaw to her chin, sliding lower to press against the pulse at her throat. He was glad he'd decided to leave his gauntlets off for the ritual, that he could feel the visceral reassurance of her blood pumping through her veins.

A hesitant clearing of Alistair's throat alerted Duncan to the fact that the junior warden was…not quite watching him, he discovered when he looked across. "Yes, Alistair?"

The blond glanced over, his eyes flicking down to where Duncan's fingers still rested against Calla's neck, then back up, finally meeting the senior warden's gaze. "I'll, um…what do you want me to do with…the others?"

"There's neither time nor privacy for a ceremony of any kind." Duncan stood, slowly and more than a little reluctantly, but Alistair's question – the implied offer to do it alone, whatever needed doing – had reminded him of his duty. "We will have to let the Wilds take them."

Alistair nodded, absently patting one of Nora's hands before he straightened from his crouch.

Quietly, giving the task all the solemnity that they could, Duncan and Alistair carried first Ser Jory's and then Daveth's corpse to the edge of the ruins and discarded them into the tangled undergrowth some feet below. It was clearly distasteful to the younger warden – a product of his chantry upbringing, no doubt – but he didn't flinch away from the task, or protest against it.

Bodies disposed of, all that remained was to create the pendants for Calla and Nora, a task that traditionally fell to the junior warden – mainly to keep them occupied and not fretting over the comatose forms of the successful recruits. It was a relatively simple process, but fiddly enough to require concentration, patience, and deft fingers. The latter, unfortunately, Alistair didn't have, and rather than spill half the pendant's contents whilst trying to seal them shut, he instead passed them over to Duncan, who had both deft hands and past experience at closing the things.

But two pendants hardly took long to assemble, and there was nothing left to do but wait until Calla and Nora decided to awaken.

Nothing except talk, of course.

"So. Who do you think will wake up first?"

"Nora." Duncan's prompt reply seemed to surprise Alistair.

"Really?" Duncan saw him rub at the back of his neck. "I thought you'd say Calla."

"Why?" Duncan asked, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "How soon a warden wakes after the Joining is no indication of anything. Except perhaps how quickly the taint spread through their body."

"Well, I guess I thought…I don't know."

"Typically dwarves will wake fastest, then elves, then humans, then qunari. But there are always exceptions, and they are difficult to predict."

Silence fell again, and again it was Alistair who broke it.

"How's it going to work – you and…her, I mean. Does she know? About the nightmares?"

"She knows." Duncan replied, somewhat curtly.

"Well, what a clever girl, she's a veritable library all by herself. I wonder if there are any Grey Warden secrets that she doesn't know?"

He rolled his eyes, mildly exasperated. "Alistair, I love you like a son, but –" Duncan was cut off by a forced laugh, devoid of real humour.

"Oh I know you do. But, well, I've been here before - you have your own Isolde and my presence is not really conducive to happily ever afters. I'll go see if anyone else wants a slightly-used ex-templar.."

And before Duncan could say anything else, Alistair was gone.

He let out a heavy sigh and wondered if he could have handled the situation any other way. Probably not, he decided. Clearly Alistair had been looking for an argument, and his own choice of words – however honestly meant – had given the junior warden the perfect opening.

In some ways, although his timing was atrocious, this might actually turn out to be beneficial for Alistair. His upbringing had hardly been 'normal', and a teenage strop – such as this – would have never have been tolerated by the chantry. Unfortunately, whilst Duncan wanted nothing more than to go after him, the recruits couldn't be left alone. Not to mention that Alistair was very good at not being found when he didn't want to be.

#

Duncan didn't realise he'd drifted into a semi-trance, staring off to the south, towards the horde, until someone cleared their throat nearby, snapping him back into awareness of his immediate surroundings. He turned to find Marcus, hands clasped behind his back, expression resolute – as if fully expecting to find himself on the end of a lecture about 'making nice' with his fellow wardens. Duncan looked at him silently for a moment, watching as some of the defiance in the warrior's eyes faded into nervousness.

"Yes Marcus?"

"Brennan sent me with two messages." He paused, continuing when Duncan made a gesture for him to do so. "Firstly, battle is expected to be joined between one and two hours after dark; the king has requested that you attend a final strategy session at sundown. Secondly, Brennan says he will have a word with Alistair before then – something about duty."

For a moment Duncan considered making yet another attempt to break through the young warden's hard-headed attitude, then decided it was a battle for another day. Stubbornness was a good trait in a warden, but too much of it, or focussed in the wrong direction, it could quickly become as dangerous as any vice. Marcus had been searching for a purpose when he volunteered, and he gave short shrift to any other warden he considered to be less than wholly focussed on their 'duty' of eradicating darkspawn.

Fortunately he was the exception to the general temperament of the Ferelden wardens, and those who had to interact with him off the battlefield tolerated him for the fact that on it there were few better to have at your back or side.

"Thank you," Duncan acknowledged the messages, not letting his voice imply any of his thoughts about the tone of Marcus' delivery. "Since you are here," he picked up the two pendants, watching as the other warden's attention shifted and he took a step closer, hand starting to come up to accept the keepsakes, "perhaps you would be kind enough as to explain your outburst this morning."

Utterly wrong-footed, Duncan watched the younger warden's expression as it changed. Surprise – having not expected that particular request at that particular moment – anger, and finally a mulish expression accompanied by a defensive hunch of his shoulders.

"And if I don't feel like explaining?"

Duncan remained silent, expression giving no clue as to his thoughts. If Marcus really didn't want to explain, well, it wasn't as if he'd been ordered to. On the other hand, not explaining could reasonably be expected to count against him when it came to assigning camp chores.

"The Chasind took my sister," Marcus finally spat, glowering and refusing to meet Duncan's eyes, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"You do Cian a disservice in presuming all the Chasind are alike. They are a disparate people." Just as Loghain wrongly condemned all wardens for a decision that had, ultimately, been Maric's – but that was a thorny topic Duncan had no intention of bringing up with this particular warden. "Cian saved my life before he became a warden – I trust him implicitly."

"Yeah, and maybe that was fine before…" Marcus broke off to gesture in the direction of Nora and Calla. "You'll regret it – I've seen the way he looks at your woman, the way he's been cosying up to her. She's not exactly been fighting him off either…"

Duncan refused to voice the instant denial that sprang to his lips, instead forcing himself to consider Marcus' sly implications. It was true, Calla and Cian had been sitting very close together when he'd seen them last night. It was also true that there'd been no real need for them to be sat so close together, and that their silent communication – Calla's hand on Cian's shoulder – could have implied something far more intimate than he believed. Then, this morning, Calla had ended up seated next to Cian again.

But whatever instinct or taint-driven impulse had made his blood boil at the thought of Calla and Cailan being in the same grey warden camp – never mind sitting next to one another – remained utterly dormant at the memory of Calla and Cian sitting together. Just as it had made nary a protest at the time. And, vain though it might be, Duncan didn't think Calla had any cause to look elsewhere for 'companionship', not considering what she'd said about only walking away if he told her to. Besides, in all the years he'd known Cian, the mage had never, to his knowledge, pursued either a male or a female bedmate. For all the qualities he could see in her, Duncan didn't think Calla was so immediately striking as to change the habits of someone's lifetime – not in mere hours, anyway.

"I trust Cian," he repeated. "And I trust Calla. I trust all my wardens for that matter, including you. Should I start doubting my judgement now, when all these years that trust has never proven misplaced?" An outright lie, that last, but it wasn't as if Marcus was ever likely to be in a position to learn of the few 'rogue' wardens whose names had been stricken from the records, their lives snuffed out by the brothers they'd chosen to betray. By unspoken agreement, such traitors were never mentioned, their ultimate punishment not to die, but to be forgotten, their sacrifice discarded as the false offering they had made it.

"You know what you believe. I know what I saw." Marcus shrugged, expression disapproving, his body language struggling to match his 'couldn't care less' tone. "I guess time will tell."

"Perhaps," Duncan agreed, unable to avoid the brief thought that his time was rapidly running out. Too rapidly, all things considered, but then fate was rarely kind to those it touched, and to become a Grey Warden was to try and take fate's hand in your own, to try and strike a demon's bargain.

Nora chose that moment to stir, groaning and muttering dwarven curses as she awkwardly sat up, clasping her head in her hands.

"It is finished," Duncan murmured. "Welcome." He called to the dwarf, handing the pendants over to Marcus. "How do you feel?"

"Like a herd o' brontos just ran me down. Soddin' Ancestors." Nora choked out, still holding her head as if it was about to fall off. "Ain't seen visions so real since that time Leske found an overripe patch of deep 'shrooms." She peered out from between her fingers, carefully looking around with bloodshot eyes. "Least there wasn't anything fer me to destroy…or did I get blondie an' 'er high-n-mightiness?"

"Visions?" Marcus blurted. "Don't you mean dreams?"

"Dreams?" Nora sneered back at him, the redness of her eyes only making her expression more intimidating. "Dwarva don't dream, cloudhead."

"I'm afraid dwarven Grey Wardens are not exempt from the dreams in question." Duncan interrupted smoothly. "They come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That, and many other things, can be explained in the months to come." Though not necessarily, he thought grimly, by him. He gestured to Marcus.

The no-longer-junior warden stepped towards Nora as she forced herself up onto two feet, her stubborn expression suggesting she was fighting the after-effects of the Joining. It placed the two of them within arms reach of one another, and left Marcus, as he stared down at her and held out the pendant, looking – rather unfortunately – as if he was peering down her armour. He didn't seem to realise how it appeared, or – if Alistair's tale was anything to go by – what danger he was in.

"We take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us of those who didn't make it this far."

"What about those who ain't goin' ta make it much farther?" Nora snarled, snatching the pendant.

Duncan moved quickly, intercepting the knee moving towards Marcus' groin with a deft hand and a disapproving expression as his presence forced the two apart.

"Save your violence for the darkspawn," he told her firmly. "You have some time before I let you know what your role in the coming battle will be. I suggest you make any preparations in terms of supplies, and be at the large bonfire near the Ash Warrior camp by sundown."

"Hmph. Sure – like I got anythin' better ta do." Nora grumbled, shooting Marcus a venomous look as she carefully – only weaving slightly – headed out of the temple ruins into the main camp.

"Bah! And Brennan says I have an attitude problem!" Marcus groused – although Duncan noticed that he waited until Nora was out of earshot and sight before speaking. "That attack was entirely unprovoked."

It was on the tip of Duncan's tongue to suggest that maybe a human had stolen her sister. Perhaps fortunately, Calla gave a strangled moan behind him as she returned to consciousness, causing him to turn and smile at her in relief.

"It is finished. Welcome."

"Andraste's arse." Calla muttered, one hand pressed against her forehead as she lay on her back, squinting up at the darkening sky. "Which way is up again?"

"Dizzy?" He asked, amusement colouring his voice.

"Eh…" She slowly pushed herself upright, half leaning against a broken pillar once she was finally back on her feet. "It's fading. I'll be fine." She glanced up to give him quick grin, which turned into a wince as she moved her head too fast. "Feels like the time I didn't duck fast enough and Ser Gilmore knocked me halfway across the salle. I had a knot on the back of my head for weeks."

Marcus cleared his throat and stepped forward, eyes staring at a point somewhere over Calla's shoulder, proffered pendant barely within her reach. "The last part to the Joining – some of the blood from the ritual, placed in a pendant. A reminder of those who didn't make it all the way."

She took the pendant, shooting a bemused look at Duncan. "What happened to Nora?"

"She woke up a few minutes before you," he explained, then turned to Marcus. "Pass these messages on. To King Cailan; the Grey Wardens have two new junior wardens. To Brennan; meet at the bonfire near the Ash Warrior camp at half after sundown for a final strategy briefing. To Alistair; meet at the bonfire near the Ash Warrior camp at sundown. Please also let Brennan know that Calla and Nora are our new junior wardens, if he doesn't already know."

Marcus nodded, shot a brief, wary glance at Calla, and then hurried away.

"He seemed remarkably nervous for someone who had the balls to insult a mage this morning." Calla paused and seemed to consider her statement for a moment. "Or maybe not." With a dismissive shrug, she clasped the pendant around her neck, carefully tucking it inside her armour.

Duncan chuckled. "I think his nerves had more to do with Nora."

"Oh – I can sympathise with him there. She's…volatile." She grimaced. "A force to be reckoned with on the battlefield as well, although the term 'reckless' springs to mind." It was clearly her first time witnessing a berserker in combat.

"Assuming he survives the battle, she'll be Brennan's to train. He's already all but said as much. But now is not the time to discuss this." Duncan shook his head. "These were given to me shortly after my own Joining." He said, unbuckling the belt holding the silverite daggers at his waist and gesturing for Calla to move closer. "I want you to have them now." He murmured, leaning forward and embracing her briefly as he reached around her, then leaning back to fasten the belt securely at the front.

She touched the hilt of each dagger with a wondering expression on her face, experimentally drawing and then sheathing them again, but she was frowning as she looked back at him. "Thank you seems somehow inadequate, and I don't want to sound ungrateful, but why are you giving me these?"

"I remember asking exactly the same question." Duncan laughed. "So I shall give you the same answer I received. I have my own weapons and they have served me faithfully," he gestured at the sword and dagger hilts poking above his shoulders, "these weapons suit your fighting style – or one of them – and will find a better home with you, for, I hope, as many long years as a grey warden gets."

It was only when he saw the blood drain from her face that he realised the fear that he had inadvertently revealed.

"Duncan…" Calla's breath hitched and she swayed towards him, pressing her forehead against his, hands clutching at his shoulders. "I have no physical tokens to give you, but you should know, my heart will always be yours." Eyes falling closed, she kissed him, slow and tender and bittersweet.

He was silent for a moment after she drew back, watching her colour returning to give life to the resolute expression on her face. "I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king," he said finally, already knowing that she wouldn't refuse. Sure enough, she nodded.

"Very well. When and where?"

Glancing at the sky, he smiled wryly. "Now." Gesturing for her to precede him out of the temple ruins, Duncan fell into step with her. The tables set out to enable battle plans to be unrolled on them were obvious ahead of them, as was Cailan's voice, raised somewhat peevishly as he reiterated his plan to stand with the Grey Wardens in the coming battle.

"You risk too much, Cailan!" Loghain was insisting as Duncan and Calla skirted the edge of the tables to take up a position opposite the disagreeing men. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

Duncan folded his arms, stance mirrored by Calla to his right.

"If that's the case," Cailan snapped, "perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all." It was a low blow, precisely calculated to infuriate Loghain – it worked.

"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!" Loghain snarled.

"It's not a 'fool notion.'" Cailan retorted. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past…" There was a pause as he seemed to realise that he was being sidetracked. "And you will remember who is king." He added, sounding rather like a sullen child.

Loghain, scowling furiously at the one argument he had no way to counter, turned away from the table, one gauntlet-clad hand rising to his forehead in a gesture of exasperation. "How fortunate," he growled, "Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!"

It was as calculated a low blow as Cailan's mention of the Orlesians had been, albeit rather more flimsy in its content. Duncan knew, as no doubt did Cailan, that Maric had been the one to initiate peaceful relations between Ferelden and Orlais after regaining the throne from Meghren.

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailan's voice was icy, but his expression softened as he turned, acknowledging the presence of the Grey Wardens with a nod. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty."

"And two new wardens, I hear. Congratulations Lady Cousland."

Duncan tensed, yet the murderous rage he'd feared was absent. Had, in fact – now that he thought about it – been absent earlier as well, when he'd been contemplating Marcus's implications that Calla was closer to Cian than was appropriate.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Calla replied, "but I am Lady Cousland no longer, merely Calla."

"Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honoured to join their ranks." Cailan continued, demonstrating his selective hearing.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan." Loghain sneered, another man well-versed in the early warning signs of the king drifting into wild fantasies of his own grandeur. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine," Cailan sighed. "Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?" He bent forward over the large map, thick black lines scrawled onto a less-than-realistic depiction of the ruins of the fortress. It was exactly the same diagram that Duncan had seen at each strategy meeting prior to this.

"You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover," Loghain answered, leaning forward and staring at the map as if he could see the battle playing out in the static image.

Duncan could almost see it himself, though whether his version and Loghain's version of events matched was another matter entirely. He was certain that Cailan's version, if he was imagining the whole battle and not just the part where he ran in and defeated the horde single-handed, could be counted on to be the least likely.

"To flank the darkspawn, I remember." The king sounded like a young boy, trying to escape a boring and repetitive lesson by rushing to prove he already knew the subject. "This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes?" One metal-clad finger tapped at a point on the map. Duncan was reasonably sure that Cailan had just identified a guard tower to the west of the actual Tower of Ishal, but as long as the king wasn't trying to give anyone directions, it didn't matter much. "Who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there." Loghain stated, straightening up. "It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital."

"Then we should send our best." Cailan announced, causing a suspicious frown to appear on Loghain's face. "Send Alistair and the newest Grey Wardens to make sure it's done." It wasn't a request.

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?" Loghain protested.

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain." Cailan sighed. "Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

"Your Majesty," Duncan interrupted, willing to risk rocking the boat slightly now that Cailan had upheld his promise to send Alistair and the junior wardens out of the main battle. "You should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds." Loghain immediately, and predictably, dismissed his concerns.

"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" Cailan seemed genuinely confused, as if he couldn't see, in Loghain's battle plans, that the Grey Wardens were apparently there to die, attempting to funnel a horde – too big to flank, as Loghain's men were supposed to be doing – into a narrow gorge.

He probably couldn't.

"I…" Duncan hesitated, and realised that it was far too late to do more than hope for a miracle. Had been too late since the day Cailan had naively given Loghain free reign on the battle plans for the campaign. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary." A mage, the Circle's liaison to the crown, spoke into the gap after Duncan's agreement. "The Circle of Magi –"

"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" The revered mother, a severe woman in both looks and demeanour, interrupted him. "Save them for the darkspawn!"

"Enough!" Loghain snarled at the two of them. "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon." The glance he shot at Duncan was faintly triumphant.

Damned if they did, Duncan thought wryly, and damned if they didn't. He could hear Loghain's accusations already; that the Grey Wardens had failed to protect the king; that the Grey Wardens had failed to hold and channel the horde; that the Grey Wardens had failed to light the signal beacon in time. And there was nothing he could do or say to foil the Teyrn's plans – he could almost feel fate grinding inexorably towards them.

"Thank you, Loghain." Cailan beamed. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

Loghain merely turned and walked away, shaking his head slightly.

With a nod to Cailan, Duncan touched Calla's elbow, gesturing with his head for her to follow him. She did so, ominously silent, her expression dark.

"What troubles you?" He asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Everything." She replied, tone bleak. "I might not be the 'Hero of the River Dane', but even I can see that plan's doomed to failure. Is Cailan blind?"

"In this," Duncan admitted, "it seems so."

"I'd send men to die, leave them to die – but never for nothing."

He remained silent, sympathetic to her righteous anger, but unwilling to fuel it. If – or more likely when – Calla realised that there was a reason, and concluded, as he suspected, that it was to eliminate the Grey Wardens… But Loghain had pulled off seemingly suicidal tactics during Ferelden's rebellion against Orlesian rule. Duncan had to believe that, even if most of the Grey Wardens were killed, and the rest denounced as traitors, they could at least inflict enough damage to the horde so as to buy the rest of Ferelden time to prepare. Time for the Orlesian Grey Wardens to send aid over the Frostback Mountains.

Still he doubted. The guttural murmur of the horde was thick in the back of his mind, the very air starting to grow heavy and oppressive as the blightstorm crept ahead of the massed darkspawn. He could not help but marvel at the common soldiers, faced with such a terrifying enemy, who were prepared to stand their ground, defiant to the end. Grey Wardens knew the darkspawn with a terrifying intimacy, they had no ignorance to shield them. Yet that same certainty of the evil they sought to destroy saved them from the terrors of their own imaginations – terrors born of fears all too personal, and thus frequently all the more potent than reality.

If the archdemon did appear… The Grey Wardens would be too scattered to punch through the horde and reach it, even if the ballistae mounted high on the fortress ruins were able to cripple its wings and bring it to the ground. The battle would be over the moment it appeared; the darkspawn would not relent with the Old God driving them, no matter how many the army managed to kill.

Calla was still brooding, arms folded and staring more at the ground in front of her feet than where they were going, when they reached the bonfire near the Ash Warrior camp. Alistair, Nora and Brennan were all there, waiting.

"No change." Brennan stated as Duncan approached. "Told you there wouldn't be." He shook his head, grin more than half grimace. "Should've made it a wager."

"You know I wouldn't have taken it." Duncan replied quietly.

"Aye." Brennan gave him a curt nod. "I'll be off then." He paused, glanced at Alistair and the junior wardens, and seemed to decide better of whatever he'd been going to say. "See you on the other side."

Without further ado the senior warden strode away, heading for the location where he and half of the order would make their stand. If any of the wardens directly involved in the battle stood a chance of surviving, it was those on the east defences – the side from which Loghain's men were meant to flank the horde – precisely why Duncan had set his Second in charge of that side.

A cold, old feeling swept over Duncan, as if every one of his tainted years were pressing down on him. With a shiver he stepped closer to the fire, barely aware of its warmth against his back as he turned to face the three wardens that were his 'insurance'. Such a heavy burden to risk passing on to such inexperienced wardens, and yet he believed they could shoulder it, beyond all expectations, simply because their enemies would inevitably underestimate them. There was no give, no surrender, to be found in either Nora or Calla, and they would drag Alistair along with them, kicking and screaming if necessary.

"Alistair; you, Nora and Calla are to go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit when the signal is given."

"What?" The blond exclaimed immediately. "I won't be in the battle?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?" Alistair protested sarcastically.

"Aye – we should be in the battle." Nora agreed fiercely. "Send 'er nobleness if one of us gotta go."

"It is not your choice." Duncan reiterated. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there." Though Calla had said nothing, he included her in the hard look he gave the other two. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn…exciting or no."

"I get it. I get it." Alistair huffed. "Just so you know," he added, "if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I don't know." Calla disagreed, expression a shade too amused for her thoughtful look to seem genuine. "That could be a great distraction."

"Me shimmying down the darkspawn line?" Alistair chuckled. "Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing."

Nora sniggered. "I think I'd like ta see that."

Alistair made a face at her. "It'd have to be an armoured dress then – you do recall I said I'm not getting injured around you?"

Duncan sighed, and fought down the urge to demand they take the situation seriously. There was nothing wrong with lightening the moment with humour, and he was certain that all three were at least subconsciously aware that things were dire indeed.

"The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp, the way you came when you arrived. You'll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley."

"When do we light the beacon?" Calla asked, frowning.

"We will signal you when the time is right. You know what to look for Alistair?"

"Cian's fireball." Alistair answered, nodding. The irony of the fact that they would be using a mage to signal the tower, when a similar offer from the Circle mages had been firmly denied, was not lost on Duncan.

"Tell me we can at least join the soddin' battle after the beacon's lit." Nora demanded, scowling.

Duncan shook his head. "Stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word." Not that three extra Grey Wardens were going to turn the tide of this battle. The Blight, on the other hand…

"What if the archdemon appears?" The dwarf asked, expression outraged.

"We soil our drawers, that's what." Alistair interjected, earning himself a contemptuous sneer from Nora and an amused snort from Calla.

"If it does, leave it to us." Duncan wasn't sure his words would be heeded if it came to it, but they were Grey Wardens, and he wouldn't patronise them by telling them to get to safety if the archdemon showed up. "I want no heroics from any of you." He stared hardest at Calla, willing her to understand, to read the meaning between the lines of his words.

"I know what I have to do." Calla's expression was tight, her voice resolute. She already knew the particular pain of surviving, living thanks to the sacrifice of others. Duncan hated that he had to be thankful that she was willing to face that prospect once more.

"Not as dumb as you look, eh?" Nora sneered. "Go to tower, climb tower, light the soddin' beacon when blondie says, then sit around with our thumbs up our arses 'til the fun's over."

"What she said," Alistair agreed, "except the bit about thumbs." He added when Duncan raised an amused eyebrow at him.

"The battle will begin soon," Duncan decided, the horde's proximity throbbing in his veins, calling him to the fight. Calling him. "Once I leave, move quickly. You'll have less than an hour." Probably much less than an hour, but surely long enough to cross the gorge and ascend the tower itself. "From here, you three are on your own. Remember, you are all Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan…" Alistair hesitated, expression torn. "May the Maker watch over you." He said at last, voice thick with emotion.

"May he watch over us all."

Alistair nodded. Then, shooting a glance at Calla, he daringly caught at Nora's elbow, pulling her far enough aside to at least give Duncan the illusion of privacy.

"Calla…" She silenced him with a kiss, fiercer but no less bittersweet than the one they'd shared after her Joining.

"I know." She whispered as their lips parted. "I know."

"You should have these." He murmured, pulling the bundled treaties and letters from his belt pouch. "Just in case; the treaties and…a number of letters to be delivered if the warden named on the back falls in the battle."

She took them, tucked them away in her own pouch. "Duncan…"

"I know." He smiled slightly as he stole her words, cupping her cheek in his bare hand – gauntlets not replaced since the Joining ritual, an oversight he couldn't help but be thankful for now. Pressing one last, gentle kiss to her lips, he pulled away from her, unhooking his gauntlets from his belt and pulling them into place. "See you on the other side."

"One day, we will join you." She whispered in response, tears shimmering in her eyes, but refusing to fall.

With a last, regretful smile, Duncan strode away from her, towards the horde, and his fate.

He didn't look back once.

#

AN: Well, it's been an interesting road, walking in Duncan's shoes, and I have to admit I love the character all the more for it. Sorry to everyone who was hoping I'd somehow orchestrate Duncan's survival beyond Ostagar, but right from the start of the fic I always knew it was going to end (more or less) exactly where and how the game ends things. If you prefer to imagine that Duncan somehow survived past Ostagar in the game, the ending of this fic should be similarly vague enough for you to continue to imagine that.

I'm glad people seem to have enjoyed this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I was petrified that my Cousland was going to be universally hated, and that all my characters were dreadfully one-dimensional and stereotyped. My beta, Thessali (the most awesome beta ever - and I'm not saying that just because she's the only beta, aside from myself, that I've ever had), has been absolutely invaluable in (sometimes inadvertently) reassuring me that I haven't invented a cast of Grey Warden Gary Stu's, as well as giving me the occasional (deserved) thick ear about the characterisation of canon characters (Alistair in particular).

I may post a few different, related, pieces at some unspecified later date. They won't be a 'sequel' as such, but will include scenes from points of view other than Duncan's; behind the scenes of ADV, and off to one side of ADV scenes. They may also include scenes involving the rest of the game plot and how I envision things changing with three Grey Wardens and the particular approaches to situations that they take. Don't hold your breath for them though - I'd like to take a breather from posting for a while :P On the other hand, do feel free to make suggestions for anything that seemed unclear or as if something happened 'off camera' that you never got to see and would like to. I can't guarantee that they'll get written, but you never know :D

And last, but by no means least, a big 'thank you' to everyone who's reviewed, whether you did so logged in (I'll always reply to a signed review...eventually xD), or not. I appreciate you all immensely; your reviews make my day when I receive them, even if they're only a single word long!