A/N: Dragon Age and its characters belong to BioWare. I'm just messing about with them. Beware the Awakening spoilers, mind the gap. ;)

The darkspawn nightmares still wash over me, and after the death of the Archdemon, they come coupled with the image of Alistair telling me this is the sanest thing he's ever done, pushing me aside as he rushes the Archdemon, his body writhing and falling limp.

So it happened that rage kept my feet pounding down the roads toward Amaranthine, my sword singing as I cut through all darkspawn and bandits in my way. That was how I grieved—with violence. Mhairi could barely keep up.

And so it happens now that this night in Vigil's Keep, and I am exhausted but awake. In truth, I haven't slept more than two hours at a time since that battle atop Fort Drakon.

Tonight, however, I am even more awake; there is an intruder stealthily trying to open my window. Here, I must stifle a chuckle. Zevran and Leliana taught me well, while we were on the road together. I have lost count of the number of attempts on my life since the first at my family home in Highever—they are almost routine, now—and my two dear friends kindly shared some of their trade secrets in order to help me survive. I have come to relish foiling these assassination attempts. I feign sleep and will myself not to grin in anticipation. Tonight, my attacker will be the man I released from the Keep's dungeon earlier this evening: Nathaniel Howe.

He's not unskilled. He might even have escaped the detection of a light sleeper, had the window's hinge not been a touch rusty. He stands for a full minute in the shadows, watching me breathe, listening for any sign that he was seen by the Keep's night watch. This is not the hallmark of a professional assassin. It is the mark of either a sadist drinking in the image of his slumbering victim, or of one who is undecided about his course of action. Intriguing.

Finally, he pads toward me, and I think perhaps he will make his move, but he halts again. I strangle an absurd impulse to leap out of bed and yell "SURPRISE!" It would probably frighten him to death. Then at least I could go back to bed. But no, I do not wish to alert my guards. I cannot have them thinking I am a terrified girl, unable to handle a single intruder. I am always the Warden-Commander now.

Another minute of gazing down at me from my bedside while I fake the slow, easy breathing of deep sleep. Maker, if he keeps this up, I may truly fall asleep.

Ah. Here it comes in the form of a hand on my wrist, and another hand on my mouth to prevent any shouting. Does he think I'll scream girlishly, or has he heard that my battle cry is loud enough to stun enemies? (It is.) Regardless, before he can get much of a purchase, I've turned his hold on me against him and flipped him neatly onto the bed, straddling him and stuffing a wad of bedsheet into his mouth. His grey eyes go wide in surprise, then narrow with loathing.

"I know you told me that if I let you go, you would probably be back, but I did not expect it to be so soon. Do not struggle, Nathaniel, and I may let you go again," I say with an easy smile.

He does struggle, and he is quite strong, but from his disadvantageous position he cannot budge me without committing all his strength and going for the kill. He rolls his eyes to the side. He's been bested in two seconds by a Hero of Ferelden, who at the moment happens to be a young woman in a nightdress, albeit a rather muscular one. An affront to his already-wounded pride. How will he react? I will test him.

"Don't be discouraged," I continue. "This does not reflect upon your skill. You see, I was already awake before you appeared at my window. You may wish to carry a small vial of oil for rusty hinges, however." I can't help it, getting that little dig in. "Now, since you appeared uninvited in my room, can I assume that you won't squeal for the guards if I allow you to speak?"

He nods, at once ashamed and annoyed. The annoyance piques my interest. Means he has some fight left, and also some measure of self-control.

I remove the bunched sheet from his mouth and flop myself upon the bed on my stomach, my face at level with his, and my feet kicked up into the air as if we two are girls gossiping at a slumber party. I do this to goad him, to drive home the fact that he is no threat to me. Zevran and Leliana again, with a side of Alistair: confuse the living hell out of your would-be attacker, and do it with good humor. Make them wonder whether they want to kill you, bed you, or pound you on the back and head to the tavern with you to get drunk and sing bawdy songs.

He picks a bit of fluff from the sheet off his tongue. "This is my bedroom, and you are the uninvited one," he comments sourly. And now it is my turn to look surprised, but I forge ahead in my Reasonable, Friendly Person voice.

"Really? I did know this section of the Keep was the Howe family's private quarters, but...Ah," I say. "This is rather awkward."

Through clenched teeth, he says, "Quite."

"I doubt our fathers, Maker rest their souls, would approve of our getting acquainted like...this." I indicate our location, here in bed, seeing just how far I can push him. "Although come to think of it, when your father visited my home in Highever, he did say to me that he wished me to meet his son."

"Did he." Dryly phrased as a statement, not a question.

"Indeed. In fact, I said I would be delighted, which seemed to surprise him! And I am, but I do so wish we could have met under better circumstances." I give him my fake-winsome smile, the one I gave to the crowds after the Archdemon was slain. To those who didn't know me, it seemed the bright smile of a champion. To those who did, it looked maniacal, unhinged.

His eyes darken with contempt and he sits up. "You have taken everything from my family. Our home, our lands, our father, our good name. Must you mock me as well, here in this room where I slept as a child? I came here to avenge my father, but if I cannot do that, I would like to collect the rest of my keepsakes from this room and be gone."

A lesson in intrigue from Leliana: If your opponent shows a vulnerability, it may be a trap. But if the vulnerability is genuine, do not revel in it. Show mercy when you can. And so I shall.

I sit up as well, square my shoulders, and look Nathaniel Howe in the eye. "I...you are right. I am wrong to be flippant about your family's plight. The same could have happened to my own, had they lived. I was your father's enemy, and at one time I did swear to see his whole family suffer, but I didn't mean like this. I apologize."

Nathaniel stares at me, incredulous. "You apologize? You murder my father, turn my family out on the streets, and then apologize? It's more than I expected from a Cousland, but not nearly enough."

I shake my head. "No. But it is a start, I think. Remember, your father and his men slaughtered both of my parents, and my sister-in-law and my little nephew."

He rolls his eyes again, still not believing, but I keep at him. He must learn. "I know the names of your family, the dead and the living. Rendon. Delilah. Thomas. I am aware of their plights. I know of their suffering. I dare you to look me in the eye and say the names of mine: Bryce. Eleanor. Oriana. Oren. Fergus. I do not deny that I struck down your father, the Arl. And yet if he and his men had not besieged my home, I would never have become the Grey Warden who hunted him down. I would have been pretty Lady Elissa Cousland, probably married off by now. Odds are good it would have been to your brother, or to you."

He's taken aback. I let those ideas bang around in his head for a couple breaths' time, and then I press on.

"You and I will not be able to forget our losses, but neither can we afford to be at each others' throats. Our families were once strongly allied, as you may recall. I cannot spend my energy on vendetta when darkspawn are destroying our country. I hope you can see the sense in that, Nathaniel. You and your remaining relations will not suffer at my hands. Stay here at the Keep if you wish. My men probably won't trust you for a good while, and you won't be considered nobles any longer, but I won't turn you out because of your father. You are clearly not he. He would have run me through at the first opportunity."

I neglect to mention that in addition to running me through, the old Arl probably would have raped me first, tortured me, then stayed to watch me bleed. There is only so much bad news a man can handle in one night.

The dark-haired man slumps back in the bed, rubbing his hands across his tired face, and groans, "The Maker is a sadist. Only a twisted bastard could devise this." He sweeps his one hand around, indicating not only our present location, but the whole series of misfortunes leading to this moment.

Andraste's tits. Being somewhat broken myself, I always soften a bit for other broken souls.

"We must put things right, Nathaniel, and quickly. If we cannot...this will not end well." I lay a cautious hand on his shoulder.

He grabs my wrist again, the idiot. I could break his arm, but he's trying to get my attention, not to dominate me. He suggests, "Make me a Grey Warden, then, so that I can better help put things right. My grandfather was one."

He doesn't demand, doesn't plead. It is a fair request, and I need recruits. I was told that it took four Grey Wardens to stuff him in the dungeon cell where I found him. Pragmatically speaking, it would be wasteful to let him go.

"I am inclined to do so, but you must first know what it is you're asking. Becoming a Grey Warden is dangerous. You may die. Worse, once you've become a Grey Warden, there is no undoing it. You will have a complicated life, and a relatively short one, but you will have your Warden brothers and sisters at your side if you do your duty. Do you understand?" I cannot tell him about the Joining ritual or the side effects of the Joining, but I can give him this warning.

"Yes. I understand. I will try to redeem my family's name, and I will help you fight the darkspawn, Warden-Commander." He is suddenly formal, as if already taking an oath. I cannot help but indulge him with a small smile for that. He and I were both raised from birth to mouth the proper phrases in any situation. Even now, both of us dislodged from our former positions, we still slip into pieces of that dance with little effort.

Giving a short nod, I tell him, "Grey Wardens don't stand much on ceremony, except when accepting a new member and a few other times. No need to go into the 'Warden-Commander' bit here."

Nathaniel rewards me with a rueful smile of his own. He sees the bizarreness of this situation. It is so strange to see any smile on a Howe face. He does resemble his father a bit, but without the piggy, cruel eyes and the tightly pursed lips. Maybe his looks favor his mother. Or maybe before the greed set in, Rendon Howe was once a handsome man like his son. It is difficult to imagine.

"Very well. I will join the Grey Wardens tomorrow morning, then? Where shall I stay until that time?" He's still holding my wrist in his hand—I think he forgot he had it.

I pat his fingers, and he lets go. "Stay here. This is your bed. I'll use the settee. I'll take other rooms tomorrow, but tonight I don't wish to raise questions with the guards by wandering the halls. They'd be irritated that you got in here relatively undetected." I procure a spare blanket from the armoire. "May I use this one?" I ask. It's his, after all.

"My...nursemaid. Made that. But yes." He's already falling asleep.

I tsk. "Here."

I bring the blanket to him and spread it over him. It smells faintly of perfume. "Get some rest. You'll need it."

The poor blighter's out cold already. Never even moved from where I threw him, and he still has his gear on. I fetch another blanket for myself and make myself comfortable on the settee. It's a luxury compared to the bedroll and tent on hard ground.

I sleep lightly that night, but I do sleep straight through until dawn. It's a start.